#1 - Ellie's Perfect Man
Have you ever visited a dating website? A website where you look for a man or a woman for friendship. Or maybe more. I never have. But I've sometimes wondered, if I did, if I actually visited a dating website, how would I describe my perfect man?
Sometimes it's easier to say what we don't want. For example, I don't want a man with a big spot on the end of his nose. Or, I don't want a man who blows his nose on his sleeve. Or, I don't want a man who reads computer manuals all day and never talks to me, or looks at me.
Also I definitely do not want a drug dealer, an accountant or a psychopath.
Do you know what a psychopath is? If you've seen the movie, 'Psycho,' you'll know. A psychopath is a crazy guy who murders women for fun, usually with a very sharp knife or a big axe. Then he chops the woman's body into little bits and flushes it down the toilet.
So, definitely, no psychopaths.
I like a man who can dance. Sometimes I dance all night and my man, the man of my dreams, has to love to dance too. All night. But he must use deodorant. A strong deodorant. My man will dance all night and never sweat.
I do not like sweaty men. Also I do not like hairy men. Most of all I do not like men who are both sweaty and hairy.
I like a man who can sing. I want a man who will write love songs just for me. And sing them just to me. But he mustn't sing in a café, in the park or on the street. No, that would be embarrassing, very embarrassing.
My man should send me love letters, in the mail, not email, in pink envelopes, pink perfumed envelopes. And he should send me flowers, red roses, white roses, tulips, or whatever, I don't mind. He should send me flowers every week.
He should buy me presents. Nothing too big, nothing too grand or expensive. Ear rings, bangles, a pair of sandals, or a necklace, maybe.
My ideal man would know how to cook. Because I can't. I can boil an egg. I can pour cornflakes into a bowl. I can make a cheese sandwich. I can open a yogurt carton. I can grill a sausage. But I can't cook paella or a vegetable lasagna.
I can't bake a cake either, obviously.
But I can eat. I can eat almost anything. And I do. So a man who could cook up a few canapés, a tasty Thai green curry or a tiramisu would be just right for me.
My man should have blue eyes. Eyes that remind me of the sky on a summer's day, or the sea in a picture postcard. Of course the sea isn't really blue. It's a kind of dirty green or brown. It's full of oil, urine, sewage, s___, dead fish and rusty bicycles.
But I want to look into my man's clear blue eyes and forget that the world is full of s___.
My man should never fart. At least not when I'm around. I don't like the sound and I don't like the smell. I know everybody does it, even we girls, but people, men and women, should fart in private, behind closed doors. Definitely. My mother taught me that.
So, my man should never eat baked beans.
Also, he should not eat sardines for supper. Sardines stink. I do not want to kiss a man who has just eaten a plate full of sardines. I do not want to kiss my man and taste fish oil.
I want a man who knows how to clean glasses. I like to drink wine from a shiny, sparkling clean glass. No finger marks, no lipstick stains, no sign that someone else once drank from this glass.
My man should be bigger than me but not too much bigger. I don't want a man who could pick me up with one hand. Have you seen the movie 'The Terminator'? My man should not be a Terminator. Too many muscles.
But he should be handsome, good-looking, cute as we girls say. Of course. Who wants an ugly man? Not me. Not anybody. But don't worry guys. One girl's ugly guy is another girl's cute guy. Even guys who fart have girlfriends.
So what do you think? Will I ever find my perfect man? Is he out there, somewhere, looking for me? I think he may be.
But if I b__ped into him in the subway or the supermarket would I know him? Would he know me?
Maybe I passed him on the street today, and didn't notice. Maybe

#2 - Reincarnation
Last year I flew from Europe to Australia. It was horrible. I mean the flight, not Australia. Sitting in an airplane for twenty-two hours is not exactly fun. The very worst thing about flying for a long time is the bathrooms.
About sixteen hours into the flight my stomach was a mess. Bad movies, bad food, no exercise. Dinner was served at four in the morning with cheap red wine. I know I didn't have to drink the wine.
It wasn't just my stomach that was messed up. You should have seen the line for the toilets. And when I got into the bathroom and sat down on the warm toilet seat, a seat made warm by a stranger's b___ocks, and breathed in the disgusting smell ...
Anyway, during the flight I was sitting next to a man who was wearing a purple robe. Also, he was completely bald and was served special meals, only vegetables, fruit and bread. So, obviously, he was a Buddhist monk.
He didn't say much. But I don't suppose a monk has much to talk about. He lives in a monastery, gets up very early every morning, sings, meditates and works in the garden. It's not an exciting life. Not like being an English teacher.
Just to make conversation I asked him, 'what's the point of reincarnation?'
He took a bite out of his apple and said, 'Reincarnation is an opportunity, to become better, better than you were in the last life, and wiser, wiser than you were in your previous life.'
'I think I'm a good person already,' I said, ' I give money to beggars, I give stray cats milk, I always smile at the postman, even when he brings me the electricity bill. Also I do not kill insects. Well, almost never. Sometimes I kill spiders but only the small ones.'
The monk nodded and asked, 'Suppose you are in the supermarket and someone pushes a shopping trolley over your foot, how do you react?'
'Is the shopping trolley full or empty?' I asked. 'Full,' he said, 'it's definitely full.'
'And am I wearing boots or sandals?' I asked. 'Sandals,' he said, 'you are wearing sandals.'
Think how much it would hurt if someone pushed a heavy shopping trolley over your toes. He was a very mean monk.
'I would certainly cry out in pain,' I told him.
'And would you smile at the person with the shopping trolley?' he asked. 'Would I smile at the person who had just broken three of my toes?' I said, 'No, I don't believe I would.'
'Maybe in the next life,' he said, 'you will learn how to smile at the person who breaks your toes.' Then he closed his eyes.
Do you believe in reincarnation? Do you think you've lived before? Were you once a prince, or maybe a princess. Perhaps you were a soldier in the Roman army. Or a pirate on the high seas. Maybe you once shook hands with Napoleon Bonaparte. Or did you once kiss Cleopatra? And if you did how was it?
And girls, just think, maybe you once kissed Casanova. Or maybe you did more than just kiss him.
It could be, though, that you have lived many, many times before and each time you were a very boring person. A boring caveman, a boring peasant, a boring office worker. An accountant.
Suppose you were an astronaut in one life, or a great explorer, or a movie star and then, in the next life, you were an accountant. Wouldn't that be disappointing?
Or maybe you were an accountant first. All you did was count money and drink tea. And then in the next life you were a pilot in a jet plane in a war. Wouldn't that be really scary?
So maybe it's better that we don't remember our past lives. I'd like to know though where I lived and when and why.
This is what I was thinking about when I noticed the monk's big feet, and his big toes. He was wearing sandals, of course. He was a monk.
He was sitting in a corridor seat and it was time for lunch. He had stretched out his right leg so his big right foot was in the corridor and the air hostess was coming towards us with the food trolley.
You can guess what happened next. Destiny, fate, karma. Crunch! The food trolley went straight across his foot. Did he cry out in pain. Oh yes he did!

#3 - What Makes Ellie Mad?
It's the little things that make you mad. Have you noticed that? For example, you are in a train reading a book. The man sitting next to you has a cold. He sniffs and sniffs and sniffs. You think, 'why won't he blow his nose?' But he doesn't blow his nose. He keeps sniffing. That's very irritating. Then he sneezes, all over your book. That's really annoying. It happened to me last week.
Or, you sit down on a park bench, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, the birds are singing. Life is just so good. Then you realize you are stuck to the bench. Somebody, some awful, nasty, evil person left a piece of fresh, sticky chewing gum on the bench and you sat right down on top of it.
Now your backside is covered in horrible, sticky, pink stuff. If you are lucky you're wearing a pair of old jeans. If you're unlucky you are wearing that brand new, expensive outfit you bought yesterday. But either way you're really mad.
Also annoying are church bells. Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong. I live quite close to a big church and every Sunday at 10am I hear ding dong, ding dong, ding dong. For 10 minutes! I hide under the bed covers, I put my fingers in my ears, I imagine a beautiful tropical island, the sand, the sea, sunshine. But still, I can still hear the bells and I'm really annoyed. And they are not even real bells. No, it's a recording, a recording of bells.
I think everyone knows when it's time to go to church. They don't need bells to remind them. Or if they do why can't they set an alarm on their cell phone.
Of course cell phones can be really annoying too. Other people's cell phones that is. I hate stupid ring tones. Most of all I hate the 'Blue Danube' ring tone. Do you know it? It's a waltz by Strauss. A very annoying waltz.
Also I hate people who shout into their cell phones. Last week I was standing in a very long line in a supermarket. Then I heard it, The Blue Danube, right behind me. It played three times before the man answered his phone. He was a big man, huge, enormous, a giant, King Kong with a shopping trolley. And he had a very, very loud voice.
'Yeah,' he said, when he answered the phone. I am, as you know, an English teacher, and 'yeah' is not a good way to answer the phone. I say, for example, 'Hello, Ellie speaking, how can I help you?' Not 'yeah.' Definitely not. Never. It's very rude. But, I suppose, if you're as big King Kong you can be rude and nobody will object.
And he was very aggressive. He said things like, 'you tell him, if he's not there in one hour, I'll kill him.' He also said, 'I'll punch his lights out.' If you punch somebody's lights out you hit them very hard. And then he said, 'I'll rip his head off.' Why was he so angry? And who was he so angry at?
I'm not sure because I could only hear his side of the conversation. But he mentioned his stamp collection, 15 bottles of beer and vomit. If I drank 15 bottles of beer I would definitely vomit. I would be very, very sick, sick as a dog. So I think somebody had drunk too much beer and vomited on King Kong's stamp collection. So King Kong was very, very angry.
Nobody has ever vomited on me although somebody did vomit on my handbag. It was revolting. It happened in a fast food café, you know, hamburgers, horrible coffee, mac-this, mac-that, mac-everything. I was more disgusted than angry.
I washed my bag three times but it still stank like a stale cheeseburger. Finally I burned it, I burned my favorite handbag. Guys, you have no idea how that feels. But let me give you a tip, never, never burn your girlfriend's favorite handbag. Don't even think about it. It would annoy her a lot, definitely.
I try not be angry, annoyed, irritated or agitated. I try to smile. I try to be philosophical. I try to think nice thoughts about the person with the Blue Danube ring tone or the man with a nose full of snot or the priest who just turned on the very loud recording of church bells. But somehow I just don't seem able to manage it. It's the way I am. It's the way I'm made.
I'm just not cut out to be a Buddhist monk. Maybe in the next life.

#4 - Ellie And The City
Do you live in a city? A big city? Do you ever think, 'I wish I lived in the countryside, away from all the people, the noise and the stress?' I do. But then I think, 'if I lived in the countryside where would I buy pizza?'
I live in a small apartment in a busy street near the center of the city. Everything I need is right on the doorstep; pizza, kebabs, fried chicken, toasted cheese sandwiches. Also I can see a movie, learn yoga or take a drama class. Yes, I admit it, I would like to be an actress.
I had a dream last night. I was on a movie set in Hollywood. How did I know it was Hollywood? Because Brad Pitt was there. I can't quite remember all my lines but I think I told Brad I loved him. He seemed really pleased about it. So pleased that he tried to kiss me. But, just as his lips were about to touch mine, I woke up, sweating.
Do you ever dream about being rich and famous? Would you like to be a movie star, or an astronaut, or a soccer player. When I was a little girl I wanted to be the world's greatest basketball player. I had a hoop in the garden and actually, I was pretty good. But, let's face it, basketball players are tall, very tall and I, well, I am small.
When I was a little girl all I wanted to do was grow. I did stretching exercises every day and ate lots and lots of vegetables. Carrots, broccoli, peas, mushrooms etc etc. And fruit. Apples, oranges, melon, grapes. And I did grow, but slowly and not enough. So now I eat pizzas.
Being able to buy pizza is a good reason for living in the city.
A good reason for not living in the city is noise. Noisy cars, noisy people, noisy animals. The woman in the apartment below me has a dog. It's a very small dog, so small it could sleep in a shoe box. It sits on the window ledge all day and stares out onto the street. Every time it sees another dog it barks, and yaps and screeches. And if it sees a cat it goes crazy, absolutely crazy.
I would like to kill the little dog. I mean, I am a nice person, and I'm never violent, never, never, never. But I hate the little, yapping dog.
The man in the apartment above me is deaf. Actually he's not absolutely, completely deaf. He wears a hearing aid. I'm not deaf. In fact my hearing is really very good so I've never worn a hearing aid. But I imagine, it could be quite uncomfortable having a piece of plastic stuck in your ear all day. This must be why, usually very late at night, the man takes out his hearing aid. How do I know he does this? Because I can hear his television.
He likes to watch old movies in the middle of the night without his hearing aid. Of course, in order to hear it, he has to turn the TV up really, really loud. The problem is I can also hear it. Every word, every sound effect, every note of music. It's as though his TV were in my bedroom next to my bed. This is another good reason not to live in the city.
Does anybody know why a motorbike is noisier than a car? Motorbikes are smaller than cars and only have two wheels. So why do they make more noise? About three in the morning, just after the deaf man has finished watching TV, a guy comes home on a very, very, noisy motorbike. He stops right beneath my bedroom window and revs the engine five or six times before switching it off. Does anyone know why he does this?
So noise is a really good reason for not living in a city.
There is so much noise because there are so many people, too many people. On the street, in the subway, everywhere you go there are people, people, people and more people. You can stand in line for fifteen minutes just to buy a chocolate ice cream.
Fifteen minutes is too long to wait for a chocolate ice cream. Far too long, definitely.
In the countryside there are no lines and there's not much noise. You may hear a cow or a rooster or an owl but the countryside is quiet, peaceful, restful. You can sit quietly, be still, meditate.
And afterwards you can cycle down to the village shop and buy a chocolate ice cream. Also you can buy frozen pizza.
Peace and quiet, ice cream and frozen pizza, these are very good reasons for living in the countryside.

#5 - If You Won The Lottery
Have you ever wondered what you would do if you won the lottery? I mean the first prize, the jackpot, loads and loads of money. So much money you could do anything you wanted.
You could buy a big house or two, maybe on the coast or in the mountains. A car, a Mercedes maybe. Lots of clothes to fill the big closets in the big house. A boat, a private jet, a small Mediterranean island.
And of course you would be really, really happy. Or would you?
The best thing about having lots of money is, you don't have to work and you don't have to worry about paying the rent or the mortgage.
Believe it or not, English teachers are not very well paid. That's why I live in a small apartment. My living room is about half the size of Britney Spear's walk-in closet. My kitchen is just big enough for me and the refrigerator and my bathroom is too small for a bath. My bedroom? Well, there's the bed and enough s___e to open and close the door.
There's not enough s___e to swing a cat. This is a saying not something anybody actually does. Nobody goes into an apartment, grabs a cat by the tail and swings it round and round. Only a really, really mean person would do that.
Anyway I suppose I would buy a bigger place to live. But I wouldn't buy a very big house, not a mansion and definitely not a castle. A castle would be too cold and too draughty. And don't forget it could be haunted. Really. Ghosts like to live in cold, dark places and scare small children and nervous adults. A castle is just ideal for a ghost.
So I would buy myself a nice house with a garden but what would I do all day? What would you do all day?
Hang out? Drink coffee with friends? Eat lunch? Surf the internet? Play sports? Read a novel? Go see a movie? Drink a beer or two? Go for a drive in the Mercedes? Go out dancing until four in the morning? Take a trip somewhere?
I mean, really, what would you do? You wouldn't even have anything to worry about.
I've always wanted to write a novel. So I suppose I could do that. It would be a mixture of adventure and romance, gun fights and kisses. The main character, the protagonist, is Annie. She's twenty five years old, drinks very strong coffee and smokes French cigarettes. She doesn't have a boyfriend because, well, have you ever kissed someone who drinks lots of coffee and smokes strong cigarettes?
I have. His name was Lex. I'll tell you more about Lex some other time.
Annie wears a leather jacket and jeans and rides a very noisy motorbike. Her eyes are green, like a cat. Her hair is long and black.
Annie delivers pizza for a living. One evening she takes two pepperoni pizzas to a small house on the edge of town. When she gets there the house is dark. She rings the bell. Nobody answers. Then she notices that the door is open. She goes inside and finds two dead bodies lying on the floor in the living room. She drops the pizzas and runs.
Out in the street she jumps onto her motorbike. A hundred meters away headlights are turned on. Annie is scared. It could be the killer. The car comes towards her, slowly. Annie tries to start the motorbike but something's wrong. The engine won't start.
The car stops beside Annie. The window winds down. Annie recognizes the man inside. It's Alistair, her ex-boyfriend and he's holding a gun.
That would be how my novel would start. If I was rich and had time to write it. What do you think? Would it be a best seller? Would you buy it?
When I was younger I wanted to be a private detective. It seemed so glamorous. Catching bad guys. Drinking whisky in smoke-filled bars. But actually I don't like whisky and I don't smoke. So I became an English teacher instead.
A poor English teacher. I don't do the lottery every week. It's too expensive. And I never win anything. Not a cent. So I think I'm going to have to keep working a little while longer.
But maybe, I could write my novel after all, in the evenings, or the mornings when I have no lessons. And maybe, when it's finished, a big publisher would pay me lots of money for it.
It would be just like winning the lottery. No it would be better. Much better. Because I'd have earned it.

#6 - Ellie Hates Shopping
It's a cliché I guess, girls like to shop, guys don't. But actually I hate shopping.
I hate going to the supermarket. They are always so full, full of stressed-out people pushing shopping trolleys. I'm surprised there aren't more fights. And I always buy the same food. Fruit because it's good for me. Vegetables because they are also good for me. Eggs, chicken, yogurt and frozen pizza because, well, because I have to eat something.
When was the last time you ate something and thought, wow, that tasted really good. Let's face it, most of the time, eating is really boring. Apart from chocolate ice cream that is. I just love chocolate ice cream, but of course I can't eat too much of it. Because, if I did, I'd become fat and spotty.
Another cliché, life isn't fair
Most of my girlfriends like buying clothes. They also like talking about clothes. Girls will sit for hours and discuss whether they should buy the green dress or the red dress, the black handbag or the blue handbag, the purple shoes, the orange sandals.
I mean, really, who cares? Not me.
Sometimes my girlfriends go window shopping. Window shopping does not mean they buy windows. It means they just look at the clothes, through shop windows, because they don't have enough money to buy them.
Why are clothes so important? Do you ever think about how long you have to work to buy your clothes? Do you ever think about how long you spend in shops choosing clothes? We know we spend one third of our lives sleeping and another third working. Of what's left just how long do you spend shopping?
I buy all my clothes in markets. It's quicker and much cheaper. And I like to talk to the stall owners.
The old lady who owns the stall where I buy most of my clothes has fifteen grandchildren. One of them, Henry, was abducted, taken, by aliens. The old lady is not sure which planet the aliens came from.
Apparently, Henry was abducted whilst he was playing football in the park. A s___e ship landed, a door opened, and two aliens with green heads rushed out and grabbed him.
Why didn't somebody help him? Probably they were too scared. It's not every day you see an alien.
Do you believe in aliens? Do you believe there is life on other planets? Do you believe the aliens are watching us? Maybe even studying us? Or preparing to invade us?
I wonder what language aliens speak. Maybe they use sign language. Maybe they can read each others minds.
Personally, I don't want to meet a mind-reading alien. My thoughts are for me. Only me. If I want someone else to know what I think I'll tell them. When the old lady told me about Henry I thought; 'that can't be true. If a s___eship had landed in a park it would have been reported in a newspaper or on TV. I would have heard about it.'
I didn't say it though. No, I nodded and smiled. Do you ever do that? Think one thing and say another? I try not to.
So when my girlfriends ask me to go shopping with them I say, 'no thanks I hate shopping.' They think I'm a bit strange. They wonder what I do while they are shopping. They think maybe I've got a secret boyfriend.
I don't have a secret boyfriend. I have an ex-boyfriend, Lex, and I hope I never see him again. While the girls are shopping I am not seeing Lex, no way, I'm not. I am watching a movie or writing a letter or drinking coffee or visiting an art gallery.
Do you ever think about your ex-boyfriend or girlfriend and think, 'don't know what I saw in him (or her)?' Lex is not a good looking man. He smells of tobacco, coffee and garlic and he eats pizza in bed.
What was I doing with him? I really don't know. I would rather go shopping than spend time with Lex. I would rather go window shopping than spend time with Lex. And to think, I used to kiss Lex almost every day. And worse, I did more than kiss him ...
Anyway, some people believe that when you die your whole life flashes before your eyes. Just think of that. You'll see every pair of shoes you tried on, every pair of tight jeans you tried to squeeze into, all the underwear you ever wore. And you'll have to look at every hairdo you ever had.
Maybe you'll think, 'I could have climbed the world's highest mountain or written a symphony or driven a racing car but I didn't have time, I was shopping.'

#7 - Ellie's Bad Hair Day
Yesterday, while I was waiting for a bus, an old man approached me and said, 'can I ask you a question?' Of course the correct answer to his question was, 'you just have.' But I'm polite, mostly, so I smiled and said, 'yes'.
Do you ever do that? Ask someone if you can ask a question? What I really hate is when someone asks, 'can I ask you a personal question?' A personal question is usually something rude like, 'did you forget to shower this morning?' What the person is really trying to say is, 'you smell.'
Yesterday my best friend Marie asked me if I had forgotten to shower. It was true I hadn't showered. But I hadn't forgotten to shower. I got up about eight, went straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower. It made a funny sound, gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, squeak, squeak.
But no water came out. Not a single drop. I tried the tap at the sink. It gurgled too and spluttered. But again, no water came out. I ran to the kitchen and turned on both taps. Not even a squeak or a gurgle and definitely no water.
I went back to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. What does your hair look like first thing in the morning? That was how my hair looked. I needed water. It was then that I remembered the fridge and the bottle of water. One and a half liters. Thank you God.
I boiled the water in a pan and used it to flatten down my hair, wash the smellier bits of my body (we all know what they are) and clean my teeth.
By this time I was late, really late. I had an English class to teach. A group of accountants. So I threw on my clothes and ran out onto the street. The bus stop is about one hundred meters from my home. I could see the bus and the people getting on. I ran and waved my arms. Please wait for me, please.
Either the bus driver couldn't see or hear me or he was a very mean bus driver. Just as I got there he closed the doors and drove away.
It was a hot day, very hot. I was sweating. I sniffed my armpits. Thank God for deodorant. And then Marie arrived. Have I told you about Marie? Apart from being my best friend she's also an English teacher. And she sings in a choir, plays the violin, dances the flamenco and writes poetry. She's multi-talented.
And she's sometimes quite rude. She took one look at me, sniffed and said, 'did you forget to shower?' My face turned bright red, I think. I was embarrassed. Luckily there was nobody else at the bus stop.
Marie is one of those girls who always looks good. She's very pretty and her skin shines. She has three boyfriends and she could have more but she's too busy teaching English, singing and dancing and playing the violin and writing poetry.
Anyway I stamped my foot and said, loudly, 'What are you talking about? I don't smell.' Then I noticed the dog behind me, sniffing.
'Let's ask the dog shall we?' Marie said.
Before I could ask the dog I heard a voice say, 'can I ask you a question?' It was the old man. 'Yes,' I said smiling, 'please do.'
'Would you like to buy a hairbrush?' he said.
'I do not need a hairbrush my hair is fine.'
'Excuse me,' the old man went on, 'but I've been selling hairbrushes for fifty years. I know about hair and your hair needs a brush, definitely.'
'Definitely?' Has a complete stranger ever told you your hair is a mess?
The old man was carrying a small suitcase. He opened it and inside were, of course, hairbrushes, lots and lots of hairbrushes. 'Pick any one you like,' he said, 'I'll give it to you for nothing. You hair really needs a brush.'
My mother always told me, 'do not look a gift horse in the mouth.' It's a very strange saying I know but it means if someone offers you a gift, whoever it is, take it. So I said, 'I'll take that one there, the one with the red handle.'
'Ah,' the old man said, 'sorry, you can't have that one. It's my granddaughter's birthday today and the hairbrush with the red handle is her present.'
I am not a violent person. Not at all. Never. But I did think about punching the old man. Instead I smiled again, sweetly I think, and I said, 'wish your granddaughter a happy birthday from me. My name is Ellie and I'm an English teacher.'
I should have said, 'go away before I punch you.'
I'd like to be nice inside as well as outside. But that's not so easy. Is it?

#8 - Inventors And Celebrities
What is the most important invention ever? The computer? The television? The cell phone? The hairdryer? When I was at school my teacher told me, 'the most important invention ever was the wheel.'
Personally, I think the most important invention ever was the refrigerator. If I didn't have a refrigerator where would I keep my chocolate ice cream? The first refrigerator was built in 1803 by an American named Thomas Moore. Thank you very much Mr. Moore.
The wheel, I suppose, is also important. It's been around a long time, much longer than the refrigerator. I wonder who invented it. Inventors for some reason are not famous. For example, how many of you know who invented the internet? Or the soccer ball? Or the coffee machine?
I sometimes wonder who invented the pizza. I'd like to know who decided that pizza should be round. After all pizzas are sold in square boxes so it would make sense if the pizza was also square. Definitely. Don't you agree?
But it seems we are just not interested in inventors. When I think of an inventor I imagine a scruffy, long-haired little person who wears a dirty white coat and never sleeps. He (or maybe she) works and works and works in a laboratory or a dark basement until one day, they're finished. The light bulb comes on, the telephone connects, the spin dryer spins. And what do they do all day after they've invented their invention?
Maybe this is why there are no celebrity inventors.
Do you know what a celebrity is? Celebrities are often very good looking and always very rich. Mostly they are entertainers; movie stars, soccer players, musicians, comedians, even writers. And they usually have a partner; a wife, a husband, a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Of course, the most interesting celebrities are those who cheat on their partners, those who have affairs. Celebrities who have affairs with other celebrities are especially interesting.
It seems strange that some of the richest, most famous people in the world are also completely useless. I mean, it's great to be able to play the guitar, or pretend to be James Bond, or tell a joke, or kick a ball, but being able to fix a washing machine is a much more useful skill.
No washing machine repair man has ever been famous. Has there ever been a famous English teacher? I don't think so.
Murderers are often famous. Have you heard of Jack the Ripper? He murdered a lot of prostitutes in London in the nineteenth century. He was never caught but some people think he was a member of the British royal family, Prince Albert Victor. I should say, though, Jack the Ripper was not a celebrity. Celebrities are both famous and popular. Jack the Ripper was not popular.
We just love glamorous people don't we? But is Angelina the movie star really that much different than Ellie the English teacher? True, Angelina Jolie is more beautiful than I am. I've never seen her sofa but I bet it's more comfortable than mine. And her refrigerator is definitely much bigger than mine. And she can afford to buy more chocolate ice cream than I could ever eat. Even me! And I just love chocolate ice cream. Did I tell you that already?
But, is Angelina a more interesting person than I am? I don't think so. So why have I never been interviewed on TV? Why has my picture never been on the front page of a magazine?
Is Angelina a better person than I am? I believe Angelina is a very nice person. But so am I. Sometimes I share my pizzas with homeless people. I have to admit I do have a selfish motive. Pizzas are big and I don't want to get fat. So if I give half away I get to feel good and stay thin all at the same time.
Nobody is interested in homeless people. Nobody at all. Do you ever look at a homeless man and think, 'I wonder if he has a wife and, if he does have a wife, is he having an affair.' I'll bet nobody has ever thought that. However, if the homeless man were having an affair with Angelina Jolie or Nicole Kidman or Britney Spears or Kylie Minogue he would become famous overnight. He would be paid money for his story, a lot of money, probably enough money to buy a house and a refrigerator full of beer.
So if you want to be rich and famous and popular do not be an inventor. Do not do anything useful. Definitely not.
And remember, do not become an English teacher.

#9 - Ellie Eats Too Much Ice Cream
Do you like to gossip? Do you know what gossip is? To gossip means to talk about other people. Usually gossip is negative. It's about what's wrong with other people. Most of all it's Schadenfreude. Schadenfreude is a German word. There's no equivalent in English. It means to take pleasure in other people's difficulties.
But you and I, we don't do that. Do we? I am a very nice person. You are a very nice person. Everybody is nice. Well almost everybody. Yesterday I saw a man kick a dog for no reason. No reason at all. The dog was sniffing around a trash can. That's what dogs do. They sniff around trash cans, eat, excrete and sleep. Anyway, the man walked up to the dog and kicked it in the a__. He is not a nice person.
Or maybe he is. Maybe he's a nice person who has a bad day now and then. And when he has a bad day he goes out and kicks a dog's a__. Hard. Very hard. He was wearing big leather boots too. But I am sure that the man who kicked the dog's a__ thinks he's a nice person.
Do you ever talk about people at work? Maybe someone is having an affair. Or drinks too much beer. Or is too fat or too thin. Or is too big, too small, too noisy, too smelly, too ugly or too pretty.
Have you noticed when we gossip about somebody usually we say this person is doing something too much. Everybody eats, so we can't criticize somebody for eating. But if somebody eats a whole cream cake followed by a tub of chocolate ice cream we can say they are eating too much. Especially if this person vomits afterwards.
I did that once. I ate an enormous cream cake and a great big tub of ice cream. I was depressed. It was the day after I split up with my very first boyfriend, Jake.
Jake was skinny, very thin actually. He ate mostly fruit; apples, oranges and bananas. He also ate one chocolate bar a day. But that was it. So he was skinny. I'm not fat, I'm not even overweight, but when I stood next to Jake I felt fat. Really fat. So I stopped eating.
The relationship didn't last long. About three months. The three hungriest months of my life. I lost six kilos. In the end I had to finish the relationship. I told him, 'Jake, you are a very nice person, you are kind to animals, good to your mother, you work hard, you are honest, you never fart, you are clever, witty, intelligent, even quite good looking, but you are just too d___ thin. I can't stand it any longer.'
And that was that. I went straight to the supermarket and bought the ice cream. On the way home I passed a cake shop. In the window was an enormous white cake covered in cream. Remember, I hadn't eaten for three months so I was hungry. Really hungry.
I ate the ice cream and the cake in about half an hour. Then my face turned pale green and I headed for the bathroom. I had eaten too much. Definitely. Too much, too quickly.
Luckily nobody knew about this except me. So nobody would be able to gossip about me. I did tell my best friend Marie about it a few days later. She agreed that Jake was too thin. And that I ate too much. And I had waited too long to finish with Jake. And it was too bad that I vomited but I had deserved to vomit.
So you see, I didn't vomit too much. I vomited just the right amount. The amount I deserved.
Marie has three boyfriends, I think I told you. Is that too many boyfriends? Should a girl have only one boyfriend and be loyal to him? If Marie is too anything, she's just too beautiful. If she was less beautiful maybe she would have less boyfriends and her life would not be so complicated.
The boyfriends know about each other. And, guess what, they don't like each other. It can be really awkward if Marie goes into a bar with boyfriend number one and boyfriend number two or three is there. This happened once and number two punched number one on the nose. He bled all over Marie. Her outfit was ruined.
I don't like the sight of blood. And I don't like fights in bars. Especially not if they are about me. So I prefer one boyfriend at a time.
It is possible to have too much of a good thing.

#10 - Soul Mates
Do you believe in soul-mates? Is there one special person out there who's just for you? Or have you already found your special person?
What is a soul-mate exactly? A soul-mate is a person you could live with for thirty years and will never tell you it's your turn to wash the dishes. A soul-mate will never tell you you're putting on weight. A soul-mate will not forget to buy you flowers for two months. How can you forget to buy flowers every day for two months? Just how is that possible?
A soul-mate will never, never, never have an affair with another woman. Or man. A soul mate will not pick his nose whilst eating spaghetti. A soul-mate will not sneeze all over your tub of chocolate ice cream and say it doesn't matter. A soul mate will not fart in bed.
In other words a soul-mate will not be called Lex.
I met Lex in a club. He and I danced all night. Do you know what body language is? It's what we communicate with our body postures. So, if you touch your nose a lot it means you are lying (or you have an itchy nose). If your arms are folded it means you are feeling defensive. If you wiggle your hips at someone it means you like them. A lot. Lex wiggled his hips at me and I wiggled my hips at him. He was cute and tall and sporty. I thought he was the coolest guy I had ever met. How wrong can a girl be?
The first time I heard Lex fart was in the cinema. At first I thought it was a character in the movie. I thought Brad Pitt had farted.
Some actresses have a clause in their contracts that says they will never appear naked in a movie. I also believe that some actors have a contractual agreement that says they will never fart in a movie. Can you imagine Piers Brosnan farting? Or Sean Connery? Or Nicole Kidman? Well maybe Nicole.
Anyway, for about fifteen seconds I believed I had heard Brad Pitt fart. Then I smelt the smell. I looked at Lex and whispered, 'can you smell it?'
'Smell what?' he said. 'Someone has farted,' I said, 'definitely.'
'It wasn't me,' Lex said.
A soul-mate will never lie to you. Lex was lying. Later that night, in bed, I heard the same sound and smelt the same smell. He thought I was asleep.
It was then that I knew Lex was not my soul-mate. We had been living together for four weeks in my apartment. I guess, I should have ended it there and then, on the spot, that very night. But I didn't. I held my breath and pretended to be asleep.
When I was at school we girls used to practice holding our breath. I don't know why but we did. We used to have competitions to see who could hold their breath the longest. During one of the competitions Felicity, fourteen years old, skinny, bad breath, went blue in the face. She collapsed and had to be taken to hospital.
I never won one of the competitions but I also never went blue in the face. I was average at holding my breath. So when Lex farted in bed I smelt it. Even though I held my nose. After 1 minute I had to breathe, no matter how smelly the air was.
About a week later I was passing a café and looked in through the window. I saw Lex with a very pretty Chinese girl. He was kissing her, on the lips. Of course, I didn't confront Lex there and then, in the café. I decided to go home and eat a tub of chocolate ice cream.
When Lex arrived home I was still eating the ice cream. He knew there was something wrong.
'I saw you with a girl,' I said.
'A girl?' he said, 'oh yes, she's my sister.'
Now, it is possible that, for example, a European woman could give birth to, for example, a Chinese-looking girl, even though the father is also European. These things do happen. But they are very, very rare. I'm guessing that the pretty Chinese girl's mother and father are Chinese.
This is what I thought. But what I said was, 'if she's your sister, why were you kissing her on the lips?'
It was then that Lex sneezed all over my chocolate ice cream.
'It doesn't matter,' he said, 'it's just ice cream.'
The relationship was finished, it was over, it was history. Lex was my ex-boyfriend.

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