3D Printing

I'm still sick.

Really sick.

I remember feeling a bit sick when I was twenty, and thinking the world was out to get me. But that's nothing compared to how sick you can get when you go to the cleanest and shiniest, most superbly well maintained one year old's birthday party. The dribble alone could feed a bio warfare attack. It turns out twenty happy, healthy children extrude enough bacteria to drop every adult in attendance.

I don't think I've ever felt so old and tired and miserable.

Even the joint in my little toe aches.

I didn't even know there was a joint in my little toe.

It turns out I have two of them.

Everything hurts.

So I have nothing to blog about except that I found around 3 cubic foot of strawberry runners, and they are sitting on my kitchen floor in plastic bags topped off with a hand full of weeds, but still dying, because if I go outside in the cold I start a hacking cough that brings me right back to suck air from around the heater until I stop choking.

The only reason I'm even typing is because I'm hoping to get some karmic credit by (albeit misleadingly) making someone named mike (who has been a long time reader) briefly happy by making him think I was going to talk about 3D printing.

That was the best I could manage.

Mike has kindly offered to print anything I need on his 3D printer. I'm not sure if the offer extends to the rest of the world. I'd ask him if I were the rest of the world.

But more importantly, he also pointed me in an interesting direction which I wont talk about until I see if the people involved are all crazy or not.

This has to rank right up there as one of my most informative posts.

But enough about 3D printing, and more on baby-bio-hazard.

It can be like watching a clown pulling silk from its pockets.

Endless.

And a bit scary.

It can just go on for ever.

Drool.

An endless stream of colourful, bio-hazard drool that is always out there. 


It can't be bargained with. 


It can't be reasoned with. 


It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. 


And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead. 








But it seems the real danger is in the well kept ones that aren't leaking all the time. 


Stealth babies.


Yep. Stealth baby-bio-hazard.








120 Things in 20 years sees me wondering if I'm the first person to come up with the "I missed, and kissed the air next to your forehead!" game, when it comes to kissing little people goodnight, in a desperate attempt to stay dribble free.