Prone

Sometimes I check out my google analytics page to see what search terms lead people to this blog.  The vast majority are people who search by typing in the actual URL.  Okay people, why not save a mouse click and actually type that URL into the box thingy of your browser rather than into the google box thingy?  (sorry to get all technical on you)  A small majority of the remaining minority are the people who search for "prone to reverie", "reverie blog", "pronetoreverie" or some small mis-spelling of that kind of thing.  So that's interesting - these are people who are looking for this blog and find it.

Then there are the searches which come up over and over again in small numbers, so seem to be of interest to people generally: "baked egg challenge", "imaginary country names", "start low go slow", "questions about sandwiches", "mr tumble hello song lyrics".  I like to imagine that I'm able to help these people but in reality I know I almost certainly don't.

And finally there are the searches which are just a little bit creepy.  Most of these involve the word "prone".  For example: "prone hairy", "doctors used for prone examination", "aunt prone", "fantastic four prones", and "gay prone dark alley".  These are the one that I prefer not to use my imagination on.

Mr Tumble

While my Smaller Half and I were in the UK we spent a fair few days mooching off the generosity of an old friend in London.  It was great to catch up with him again after so long - I am spectacularly bad at staying in touch with people so I think I last saw him in the 1950's.  Anyway, since he has a little boy now we were able to spend the first part of each day watching Ceebeebies, the BBC's children's television thingamajig.  Children's television is awesome.  They make everything so compelling.  Colour!  Noise!  Excitement!  Talking pigs!  The screen is like a magnet for my eyes.

I particularly enjoyed watching Mr Tumble, the clown who teaches sign language.  His large gestures and happy smiling face just make you want to be his friend.  After a week of that I was walking around singing the Mr Tumble theme song everywhere I went.  Listen to it yourself at this link: (click on the big "Something Special - PLAY" icon)

Hello, hello!
How are you?
Hello, hello!
It's good to see you!
I say hello!
I'm happy that you came!
I say hello!
Please tell me,
Please tell me,
Please tell me your name.

I realized that I needed to get that song out of my head while I was in the public toilets of the National Gallery on Trafalgar Square.  I was attending to my ablutions and was happily singing the song out loud to myself when it occurred to me that I was not the only person in that block of toilets and that the song's lyrics might be open to dubious interpretation.  Sure enough, the anonymous occupant of a nearby cubical had frozen into immobility like a rabbit in the headlights of an onrushing car.  I just had to laugh and leave.