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That's right, our very own Scotland's Top Model turns 22 today!

I hear you. But I've said this before: you don't win in this situation. Their house, their rules: her her family, her loyalty. Her parents do sound unreasonable.

As I understand it from my time in retail, the £xx.99 thing is both a psychological trick -it sounds significantly less than the rounded-up amount, thus encouraging purchase- and also a security ploy by the retailer: cashiers are forced to open the till in order to get the penny out. Opening the till generates a customer receipt and a record on the journal roll.

Thanks @bob @S\.C\.G. This is the start of a novella I'm putting together. @jayseven I'd say yes, but the truth is, I've met accountants who really LOVE their job and get NOTICEABLY EXCITED when numbers are present.

And the best thing about Wolverine in the New Avengers was the scrap he DIDN'T have with an Extremis-enhanced Tony Stark. That was about it.

“But if you could just tell me what it was, it would really lay my mind to rest…” The fussy little man in a blue pinstripe suit said, looking despondently at the demon in front of him. The demon shrugged his shoulders and smiled sadly. “Sorry Bob, I don’t get told that information. Would it make any difference? It could have been a car accident, falling off a cliff, a knife in the back while you’re making love to your boss’ wife…” Bob looked shocked. “An affair? With Gordon’s wife? That’s ridiculous! I’m an accountant!” “Good, well, at least you’re going to spare me THAT question!” The demon laughed with a forced cheerfulness. “What question?” Bob replied, a puzzled frown creasing the brow under his neatly-combed hair. “It’s usually the first question everyone asks me – ‘What am I doing here in Hell?’” “Good point,” Bob raising a finger to his lips. He wagged the finger at the demon. “What am I doing in Hell?” Now it was the turn of the demon to look puzzled. “Well… you’re an accountant aren’t you?” “Yes?” “There you go then!” The demon sat back in his leather chair, smiling again. “Are you telling me ALL accountants end up in Hell? Why?” The demon nodded a little sheepishly and tried to convey by the wringing of his hands that there were those in the Underworld who thought Hell was far too good for the likes of Accountants, but taking them on was an act of charity that could be written off against taxable income every April. Bob looked crestfallen. He sniffed a little and looked around at the red walls of the cluttered office. “So I suppose I’m going to be tortured for all eternity?” “Absolutely.” The demon said apologetically. “Fair enough,” Bob sighed. “Let’s get on with it. What will it be first – few centuries on the rack to warm me up, then cut out my entrails and make daisy-chains with them?” “Oh no,” the demon shook his head with a … demonic smile. “Something much, much worse…” “Oh lord,” said Bob, his eyes wide. “Something personal? Something specific to me?” The demon’s smile widened: he was clearly enjoying himself. “You’re… you’re going to send me to a true-to-life recreation of Ramsgate where I have to eat watery ice-cream and get terribly sunburned in an endless summer of peeling skin and sand in my socks?” Bob swallowed, the horror on his face was tangible. For a moment, the demon looked nonplussed. “That’s your idea of Hell?” Bob nodded vigorously, barely able to speak. At last he was able to gasp the words out. “My grandmother used to spit in her handkerchief to clean my face…” “Oh that sounds fine, don’t be such a drama queen. There are people here suffering eternal damnation who would give what’s left of their entrails to see their grandmothers again. “ “She smelled like old leather and had a tongue like a whip.” “Hah, and there are people here who are really fine with THAT kind of thing… that took us a few centuries to weed out. Now most of them are sitting in a recreation of the London Ritz drinking afternoon tea. The screams are quite blood-chilling, according to some of the demons I know who have to work there.” “What are you going to do to me then?” Bob looked nervous. The demon shifted in his seat and pressed a button on the desk “Angela, be a dear and send in Stet will you. Thanks.” He took his finger off the button and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “It’s like this, Bob: sometimes the people upstairs who make the decisions are a bit stuck on a borderline case - maybe the sins and good deeds are of equal weight and there needs to be a tie-breaker on where they go. Ever heard of the phrase ‘your whole life hangs in the balance’?” Bob nodded, mutely. The demon continued. “In that sort of situation, we tend to look at financial records. Self-assessed income tax forms, VAT records, expense accounts – even if their pocket money was stopped when they were eight for saying something really naughty about the teacher. It will be job to look through all these and submit reports to the higher-ups, who will then make a decision.” There was a loud knock at the door. “Come in, Stet.” Said the demon. A smaller demon entered, wearing a black suit, a pair of thick spectacles, short horns and a worried look of good-natured concern. “Bob, this is your knew boss, Stet, the demon of Leaving Things As They Are. Stet, this is Bob.” “Hello Bob,” Stet smiled wanly. “I’m looking forward to working with you for, um, forever.” Bob nodded, and turned back to the demon at the desk. “So my punishment for all eternity is that I have to be an accountant?” “Oh yes,” replied the demon with a wicked grin. “There will be a cup of really, really WEAK tea on your desk every morning, salty cucumber and tuna sandwiches every day for lunch” He paused, the fire in his eyes growing as he warmed to his subject. “Your secretary will be named Nicki –with an ‘i’- and she won’t know her arse from her elbow, she’ll never tell you about appointments, meetings or clients. Every day the books full of little rows of numbers will pile up on your desk, an endless torrent of carrying-the-one,” the demon was standing now, his eyes ablaze and a fiery tongue lashing excitedly. “VAT calculation errors, stupid people who have added the date and subtracted the day of the week, petty little men in cheap suits in a second-hand car dealership who have tried to apply for petrol as a tax-free allowance! Single mothers running a business making hair clips out of their back bedroom who never finished their GCSEs and DON’T KNOW WHAT A DECIMAL POINT IS! AHA-HA-HA-HA!” The demon threw his head back and roared with cruel laughter. Stet smiled sadly and motioned for Bob to follow him out of the door. Just as he was about to leave the room, Bob paused and turned to the demon. “Are you sure I’m in the right place?” He asked as Stet grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the office. “Sorry about, that, Bob.” Said Stet as they hurried along the glowing red corridor. “He tends to get a bit carried away. He does so enjoy handing out his ironic punishments.” There were sounds of tortured screams from the closed doors that they passed. “I’m still trying to get to grips with how it is I’m being punished…” Bob said, his voice trailing off. “Now hang on a minute,” said Stet, stopping suddenly. “Are you saying that being an accountant is not sufficient punishment?” “Well,” replied Bob, confusedly. “I sort of CHOSE to be an accountant, up there.” He pointed up at the ceiling. “And now there’s no longer any choice!” Stet said, beaming. “Before, you could have changed and become a-a-a… wind surfer or a … TV repairman! But now, you’re stuck being an accountant!” “Is that a joke?” Bob asked, eyes narrowed. “Yes!” said the demon. “But the joke is on YOU! Ha!” Bob was beginning to suspect that this picky-looking demon was one of those people who didn’t have a sense of humour, and tried to cover it up by being as funny as possible. About everything. It seemed that this was going to be the real torture. He could already see the office – a cheap plastic airplane bought “by my youngest” on the desk, a faded poster stating “You don’t have to be damned eternally to be here, but it helps!” and a collection of pens that would bring the stationery manager to full cardiac arrest and then down here to Hell – where all office stationery managers belong. “Ha.” Bob laughed, humourlessly. Stet smiled. “I can see we’re going to get on like a house on fire, let’s keep going, we’re just through here.” He opened a heavy-looking black door with iron spikes. “oops…” he said. Through the door in the massive chamber that lay before them stood massed ranks of the dead: their flesh was in various states of decay –some were missing limbs, eyes, clothes and even a body. Bob was sure he saw a few heads sitting on trucks with string attached. The horde of zombies turned towards the open door and a cheerful – if slurred- cry of “Braaaaaaiiiins!” rang out from floor to ceiling. “Ah, no, chaps, sorry. It’s not time yet.” Stet shouted to the assembled corpses. “Braaaiiins?” Came the sad reply. “Just took a wrong turn by the look of things. My apologies for disturbing you. Um, treating you alright are they?” “Braaaains.” “Oh, good, good. That’s, uh, good to hear. Anything I can get for you?” “Braaaains!” Came the shouted reply. But Bob was sure that on the very edge of hearing someone had said “ice-cream”. “No trouble chaps, I’ll see what I can do.” Stet waved and closed the door. He met Bob’s questioning eyes. “Er… Zombie apocalypse. Not sure when it’s going to happen. But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-24160150 Wow... The man who practically made Nintendo is gone...

Yeah, I definitely see it now.

We wouldn't really know the difference, Achmed. :woops:

Yeah, I voted for you, enormous honking attention whore.

This happened in China, and it was an attempt to spite the victim - a restaurant owner was forced to pay 10,000 RMB to a woman beaten up by a waiter from his restaurant. He paid the fine in 1 jiao pieces (10 jiao to 1 RMB). It was an utter, utter dick move. And the worst part of it is, the bank had to spend two days counting it all in shifts. @Rummy I've looked at the picture. I don't get it. Does the sign mean no parking like that?

Also: you're porking their daughter.

Yeah, but ReZ is still into kids, so you're alright.

My then-girlfriend and I had just decided to pop into the town for a few bits and pieces that she needed before she went to University. I said "let's just turn on the news, see if we can get the football results". The first plane had hit and the second was on its way, we watched in disbelief as it hit...

It's ok, I've already started sending Louis Tomlinson death threats for scuffing Gabby Agbonlahor's boots.

Actually, everything you are saying is perfectly reasonable. At least, according to your rules. According to their rules, you're in the wrong. And, sadly, in their house, the rules are the rules that they set out. With her father, you are never going to win, so don't try. He is accustomed to being the one who is in charge and to have another man arguing with him is only going to turn him against you. The mum is the one you really need on your side: ultimately she's the one who can sway the father. However, it does seem like she's taking the piss. Anyone who says "You don't do anything for me" after a day of ferrying her around clearly doesn't appreciate what you do for her. Normally it would be best to just say "Well, here's a list of things I've done for you lately" but then she'd respond "OH! How undutiful a son in law you are! You keep a record of all these things, you think it's a chore to help me!" Basically you don't win. Question: do you pay rent?

Oh God, Carol Danvers is supposed to have charisma and sex appeal. Katee Sackhoff has neither.

Quote of the week there.

W-tothe-A-tothe-N-tothe-K-tothe-E-tothe-R. Remy on loan. Brilliant. A player who didn't want to come to us before now deigns to sign for us on loan because QPR got relegated. Phew. That's plugged a hole, thank goodness.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-23920336 Perhaps best known in recent years because of the film Frost/Nixon, Sir David was a fixture of my childhood through Breakfast with Frost. He died aboard the cruise ship Queen Elizabeth of a heart attack at the age of 74.

Um... No. I already have a smartphone which is way smarter than me. To be shown up by a watch would be...embarassing.

Star Fox 64, Mario Kart, Professor Layton, Final Fantasy Theatrythm... ....ANIMAL CROSSING.* *A newer game, but get it because... cucumbers are NOT pewcumbers.

TERRAHAWKS.. stay on this channel, this is an emergency!

Also known as "Six million sperm and YOU were the fastest? Oh, dear..."

I also hate the Daily Mail, but the guy kinda makes my point for me.