Because there are few things we can be sure of….

Joy to the world. But how?

joyjoyJoy to the world?

We have been thinking about how we can inject more joy into the world.
It seems reasonable that we could siphon it from playgrounds or tap it from oft-climbed trees.
Realistically, what might be a good idea is to distil the very essence of childhood.
We could connect children to a Joy-Malizer™ by means of a Fluff-o-Matic scooper. In this way, we would be able to gather some of their natural supply of joy in a non-intrusive manner.
It should not leave the children lacking, as they do seem to be able to create more of it every single day.
Perhaps we could put in a place a “Joy Donor” system.
All healthy children under the age of eleven are encouraged to donate a giggle and a half on a bi-monthly basis. We do not suppose a child would miss six giggles a year and those given could easily be re-grown after a few days.

The donated joy could then be distributed to those most in need.
We would like to propose that the neediest are those whose joy supply is running low, rather than those who are totally without happiness. For these cases, more than just a direct joy donation is necessary. Infusing pure joy into a barren, bleak and empty space would be futile, like dripping a bead of ink into the sea.

It would be more effective if those who have received a joy top-up (Play As You Go™) could help the joyless to cultivate a fertile soul in which the seeds of contentment could be planted. They could achieve this by means of showing those gloomy souls brightly coloured feathers, singing them French nursery rhymes and taking them on outings to waterfalls or rabbit warrens. These activities naturally increase one’s sense of gladness by means of funsmosis.

Once the joyless have been brought up to a level somewhere between gladness and satisfaction, small amounts of joy could be dripped into them to see if they reject the donor joy or assimilate it into their true-self.

In extreme circumstances, a desperate, joyless one could get an emergency dose of joyfulness direct from source. However, this would mean being exposed to a laughing toddler for ten minutes – not recommended for the faint of heart or those with a wiggly stomach.

Joy donation is still in the early stages of development and the Fluff-o-matic Scooper is proving problematic. The technology has a long way to go before it is reliable and we are endeavouring to stop it making strange “spoinking” sounds. In the meantime, it is therefore advisable to take preventative measures to ensure that you are not left with low levels of happiness and and empty chuckle-buckets.

It is suggested that, in order for adults to avoid the need for joy transfusions, all those over the age of eleventy-teen spend at least three minutes (daily) pulling faces at themselves in the mirror. If possible, this should be combined with puddle-jumping and loud whistling (weather permitting) at weekends.

Further updates, when available, will be published.

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Travelling at the speed of dog


I’ve been doing some thinking about space, time and puppies.

If a light year is the speed that light travels in a year (~5,878,625,373,184 miles); then a dog year must be the distance that a dog travels in a year.

I have done some calculations and estimated that the average dog (say a beagle) walks at about 3 mph, breaking into runs only to chase cats or avoid baths. I estimate that the dog will only walk for about 6 hours a day, sleep for 10, nap for 2, scratch itself for one and spend the remaining time waiting by the side of a hot dog stall.

So, if there are 6 hours of walking at an average speed of 3 mph, a full year of walking would cover 6552* miles in a year.

Therefore, the answer to “how long is a dog year?” is 6552* miles.

Thank you for your attention.


* For those of you who actually are paying attention you will have noticed that the calculation was actually 6 x 3 x 364 – a whole day and a quarter missing. This is because I estimate that this time will be lost with a dicky tummy after having eaten a bad kebab from behind the bus stop.

And, no, I haven’t included leap years in this calculation; dogs don’t recognise them.

How silly are you? Sheesh.

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