Someone may feel free to correct my Pratchett quote up there. Moving swiftly on...

The Dorset chalk giant has a buddy.

Oh, you wacky, wacky Pagans. I did think our druids and so on were relatively sane and not prone to waving human rights acts and things at anyone who offends them... it'll be sad if that becomes less true.

A third of UK householders admits to keeping an "anti-intruder weapon", and half of those would use it. Only 20% of us feel safe in our own homes at night. Fascinating stats.

I admit I'm not scared of intruders in my own home. Given some kind of emergency I could quickly lay hands on the steel pipe we use to open the hatch to the loft, but I don't keep it at the front of my mind or anything. I'd be more likely to injure myself accidentally than an intruder deliberately.

On the other hand, my mother, a poor sleeper in any case, keep a poker under her bed and occasionally prowls around if something wakes her. ...Yeah, I gotta move out.

Fruity Liimatainen Swiss cheese plant! <3

Sounds yummy, too. Your average living-room specimen is unlikely to fruit - most remain as perpetual juveniles — and indeed, ours never fruit.

World's first bionic hand on sale (squee!)

If you happened to acquire one of these, you would incessantly say "I keel you with my robot hand!" too. Admit it.

'Sacred' bullock Shambo is saved.

Glad for the cow, humongously freaked out at the precedent. This was a possibly-defensible decision but made for all the wrong reasons.

Sheltie squeeee!

James Marsters in Torchwood. Geek girls across the world declare their lives officially complete. (I, however, anticipate a Welsh accent every bit as bad as the Southern English one.)

I didn't think they'd make a second series of Torchwood. How, when the main character seemed to have departed at the end? Kind of liked the idea that it was a one-off spinoff. So many things refuse to grow old gracefully and are milked until they've long since jumped the shark and my grace, what a strange mixed metaphor that was.

Tests on mystery spiders at flats

Now a random work-ish link: Saint Swithin. You know, the one with the rhyme about the rain. This article is 363 days early for next Saint Swithin's Day. *coughs* (I only dashed it off yesterday on impulse because Sunday did that interview about him.)

Also, I officially can't resist The Golden Legend. I thought I was doing well only including one snippet of poetry, because there's a great, snarky one in Poor Robin's Almanac...