Here's a juicy snippet from the world of Things I Didn't Know This Morning But Now I Do And Am Quite Surprised About: pistachio nuts, when stored in sufficient quantities, are explosive! According to the Cargo Container Operator's Handbook, fat- and oil-containing hygroscopic solids of organic origin (such as pistachios, walnuts, hazelnuts, and even peanuts and sunflower seeds) tend to undergo self-heating because of gradual internal chemical changes during storage. If you have enough pistachios and you store them long enough, they reach a critical combustion temperature and... KABLOOIE! deep-fried crispy cargo ship.

It's all down to hydrolytic/enzymatic fat cleavage, apparently. Make of that what you will.

Public Service Announcement: Why, said a recent reader, do I get a fancy Smurf figurine next to my name in the comments pages, whereas you guys just get a swirly orange thingy? Because you haven't got one of these, that's why. Quite a few blogs use them, I believe. Get one, and epiphany (or Smurfs) shall be thine. It would be churlish of me not to share.

In other news, the seasonal lasciviousness of the trees is once again wreaking histamine-induced havoc upon my poor sinuses, with the result that I'm typing this while dosed to the eyeballs, and with two bits of tissue stuck up my nose. It's an attractive image, which I invite you to consider next time you plant anything pollenaceous in your garden. Bloody green leafy bastards.

In other other news, I've finally gotten around to implementing comment subscription on this blog. In your comment window you will see a spanking new shiny little checkbox. When ticked, this will endow you with the power to see through walls, leap giant Japanese sea-monsters in a single bound, and summon cups of espresso with the power of your mind.

No, wait, that's my other secret project.

The checkbox will just mail any further comments made to that particular post to your specified email address. Nifty, eh? Just don't go fighting Godzilla with it.

(Also, given my current powers of concentration, it's not entirely impossible that my code is a pile of bat poo, so if you get unexpected results with it please send me an admonitory message. Thanks.)

[fx: sound of thin wooden door closing]

Pastamasta: Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been 3 weeks since my last post.

[fx: sound of gently indrawn breath, followed by deep, sorrowful sigh]

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: What troubles you, my child?

Pastamasta: Nothing, Father. I just have a lot on my plate, that's all.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Your wife is feeding you too much?

Pastamasta: No, Father, I mean my life feels very busy.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Sorry. I tend to take things a bit too literally.

Pastamasta: No problem.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Everyone is busy, my child. The world seems to move more and more quickly these days.

Pastamasta: Tell me about it.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Really? Oh, okay. Well, I had 3 baptisms and a Bar Mitzvah on Sunday, plus there was this bloke with a shovel who...

Pastamasta: No, no, I mean I understand what you're saying.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Oops. Mea culpa. Er... please go on, my child.

Pastamasta: Right. Well, first my wife had the 'flu. Then it was my son's birthday, and then my gran's birthday, and this weekend it's my daughter's birthday and also coincidentally my own birthday. Then it'll be my dad's birthday next week.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: That's a lot of birthdays.

Pastamasta: Yep. And plenty of cake-baking, present-buying, garden-mowing, house-tidying and event-arranging for every one of them.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Was it sponge cake?

Pastamasta: Huh??

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Was it sponge cake? I don't like sponge cake.

Pastamasta: Are you even listening to this, Father?

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Yes, yes, sorry. Go on.

Pastamasta: So I haven't got a lot of spare time at the moment. Which means I haven't been posting as often as maybe I should.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: What about posting from the office? That's what normal people do.

Pastamasta: Hang on a minute, Father, are you suggesting I should be using valuable company time and resources on a personal hobby?

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Yeah, pretty much.

Pastamasta: Oh. Well, the Pointy-Haired Ones aren't too keen on that, you know. There's been a bit of an office clampdown.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Persevere, my child. Did not the Lord bear the wounded elephant upon His back for many miles through the desert?

Pastamasta: No, actually I'm pretty sure He didn't.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Shows how much you know, then. [taps side of nose knowingly]

Pastamasta: Anyway, I'll do my best, Father. But I can't promise anything.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Fair enough. That'll be fifteen quid, please.

Pastamasta: Pardon??

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: Sorry, I mean, that'll be three Hail Garys and an Ave Feldstein. See you next month, my child.

Pastamasta: Thanks, Father, you've been a great help as always.

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: You're welcome.

[fx: sound of thin wooden door opening, followed by receding footsteps]

Archpope Dave the Hirsute: What a lazy schmuck.

[fx: sound of large joint being lit]