It’s amazing how many times I’ve been involved in a drunken conversation about this and argued over the facts of how it was made - is it under the sea bed or sitting on top of it? Or is it floating half way down like giant industrial seaweed?! Who bloody knows? Some things are just better to argue about than to google for the real facts.

In French it is Le tunnel sous la Manche… Yes – the French version doesn’t quite have the same ring (now there’s a first!) as the English pet name for that beast of engineering, The Chunnel.

I’ve been through the Channel Tunnel more than once. Yep, there AND back. At least I assume that’s the case but I can’t really remember the ‘back’ having been drunk on all that good French wine (see picture).

Anyway, I did google it, just (obviously the French name for the chunnel is not something I just happened to know) – I didn’t read much of the boring (or should I say ‘boreing’ ahem) stuff about building it, but here’s what I have found out: There have been three fires; no one has died. At least not in Chunnel fires – a dozen refugees have died trying to sneak into the UK via the Chunnel jumping onto moving trains from bridges, tampering with railway equipment and the like.
One thing I did read about building it was that both England and France had machines on either side drilling the tunnel and whilst England's ones were called dull things like ‘1A’ and ‘2B’ the French gave their machines sexy lady names like Brigitte and Virginie…
Somehow I think men’s names may have been more appropriate for drilling machines…

Usually thought of as the domain of frustrated teens who can’t or won't physically act on their hormonal urges, this particular by-product of the ubiquitous smartphone is not just relegated to those greasy teens anymore – it’s also popular among those in adult relationships who for one reason or another don’t get to see enough of each other to feed that new-relationship hunger.

Sexting is really just a modern love letter. As a race we’re all a shitload more sexually liberated than we were when Gramps was courting and the only way to titillate a far off lover was to send a fragrant letter by post. These days you can instantly send and receive naughty pics, suggestive messages, even dirty videos. I know from personal experience that with free smugphone to smugphone multi media messaging apps these day, the sky’s the limit.

It’s staggering the amount relationships have changed in the digital age. I for one can’t even remember how I ever even saw or communicated with boyfriends 10 to 15 years ago. If we were stripped of mobile phones and the internet these days we’d lose each other for weeks on end and be reduced to walking the streets in the hope of randomly bumping in to one another. (Luckily it's really only stalkers who have to resort to this type of behaviour).

The media love sexting, mostly because it involves teenagers, and as we all know those crazy teens are just out of control.
In the course of my research (by research I mean a bit of lazy googling, barely ever beyond the first page of results, and a few dirty pics sent back and forth with a ‘friend’) not surprisingly the fifth search result was a piece from the Daily Mail, which in the first 3 paragraphs uses the phrases “provocatively”, “shockingly” “leafy suburbia” (oh god no!! surely not!!), “degrading”, “deeply alarming” and "will horrify parents”…
Ok so not that I agree with the Daily Mail (over my dead body), but I will say this; grown ups? Why not? Get your kicks (not that 'grown ups' are beyond trouble arising from sexting). Not so grown ups? Be careful, remember - you are idiots – you’re only gonna be broken up in 3 weeks with nothing left of your relationship but a bunch of dirty pics for him to show his mates and anyone else who cares (i.e. the internet, a.k.a. everyone in the whole world everywhere, ever).

They’re just another set of human beings… you are not contractually or legally obliged to be nice to them, but in all actuality you’d better be…

I can write about this with some authority cos although I don’t have any at this time, I bloody well have had in the past.
They’re the parents of your live-in lover; what may be viewed in the eyes of 'god' as your sinlaws.
So, you‘re living in sin...
You would hope that this delicious buffet of sin lets you off the hook as far as familial duties with your other half’s family go, just leaving all the fun and sexy stuff with none of the responsibility! Waaaay! You get to avoid all the rubbish stuff like having to do paperwork if you break up (breaks-ups suck bad enough as it is without having to fill out documents).
But somehow, being as we are human beings, and therefore generally disposed towards harmony (at least most of us fairly sane, or 'can pass as sane' ones) you find yourself in situations with these people, dealing with the strain of hyper-politeness, trying not to swear, generally being on best behaviour, stifling all the best and most exciting parts of who you are and acting like you are some sort of a wholesome, mature individual who was certainly not completely off your face and naked with their son the previous night.

Part of the problem is that you subconsciously know that without that marriage contract, you're on shaky ground anyway...
Also, there's always going to be the thought that you just can't chase away that all they are thinking when the look at you is "you do nasty, dirty things with my boy"...

I remember biting my tongue when now ex-sinlaws came over for live-in lover's birthday. I slaved frantically and fearfully away cooking a roast and making a massive and impressive cake covered in icing, candles, the whole bit... Upon arrival, mother-sinlaw announced she had brought a (not previously arranged) pudding. I thanked her and said that in actual fact I had made a cake but I'm sure we could have a little of both. To which she replied in her trademark blunt way "You can have the cake tomorrow night." I sat through dinner (while every bite was scrutinised by said mother-sinlaw, all the while damning it with faint praise) then after they had left and we could barely move for gluttony, I stubbornly got the cake out and insisted on lighting the candles and singing the damn song.

All in all though, I've had a fairly easy ride with the sin-laws... If you're lucky they live in a different city. If you're even luckier, a different country. You also want to hope for sin-laws that have extremely full and busy lives themselves so there is no time or desire for meddling, with the added bonus that conversation topics are more plentiful.

That particular mother-sinlaw (of the unrequested pudding) is soon to be another girl's actual 'in-law'...
I can't help thinking I dodged a bullet there...

This one is marvellous - I've been meaning to write about it for ages, but haven't gotten around to it for so long, I'm ashamed to say that I have now forgotten where I first read this. Probably in a dreadful woman's magazine. Or possibly even in the Sunday papers.

Today's delightful term refers to the product of the following set of circumstances: Let's imagine you are a woman. You are starting to reach an age where, after focusing on your career for 10 or 15 years to the detriment of your personal life, you have gradually comes to the realisation that it is getting fairly late in the day as far as your ability to bear fruit goes. Something must be done, or how will you possibly feel that you have lived a complete life when you are an old woman reflecting on your achievements?

Some women, searching for a solution to this problem, and without a suitable candidate (or 'mandidate', I should say) for creating offspring, decide to go it alone.

Now you and I both know that there is only so much a woman can do on her own. Even in this day and age, we still need something from a man - this is where your mandatory gay best friend comes in (all women have one of course)... You ask your gay best friend to donate sperm so that you can make yourself a delightful baby.
It's perfect, of course: your gay friend is intelligent, good looking, stylish, fun, driven, and best of all has no wife of his own to create complications and awkwardness in such a delicate situation.

How you go about the technicalities of this is of course up to you and your friend - whether you are adventurous enough to try it the traditional way (someone revealed to me recently "it doesn't matter who's touching it - if there is friction, it will get hard" - not sure that's true for everyone), or whether you prefer the more clinical, and certainly more costly, turkey baster method, the result - all going to plan - is the same:
A beautiful bouncing 'gayby' boy or girl. Your very own bundle of joy.

So, my Mum calls me up from t'other side of the world and tell me she's purchased this 'toy' poodle (kind of a misnomer, because while this creature may be seen as a mere plaything, it is an actual living, breathing - and apparently wee-ing - creature). So I'm kinda shocked considering my Mum's class taste in previous family canines - proves she gone all sub-urban - that's cool, she's in her late 50's, she's entitled.
Anyway, Opal (pictured, with the bad fringe and jumpsuit), it turns out, is to be the Queen Bee of my Mother's super designer doggie breeding empire...
What?
My Mother is to mate 'Opal' with another posh doggie, but of a different breed. What breed you ask? Schnauzer. What do you get when you cross a schnauzer and a poodle?
A damn fine conjoinulation, that's what, and $800 'Schnoodle' puppies.

Turns out dog breeders quite like, ahem, 'conjoinulating' dogs these days:
Cavoodle: Cavalier King Charles Spaniel + Poodle
Cockapoo: Cocker Spaniel + Poodle
Labroodle: Labrador + Poodle
Pekeapoo: Pekingese + poodle

If anyone can tell me why it's always damn poodles I will be most appreciative.

My theory is that they choose the mixes based on the quality of the conjoinulation, and that the double 'oo' sound in poodle is cutesy and irresistible to the type of people who sit around deciding on what dogs should have sex with what other dogs.
As an afterthought - I would also like to think they use the respective sizes of the breeds as a factor when considering these things.