But I saw it and had to post it!

I knew a bloke who was a massive fan of tractors his whole life.

When he was a kid, he didn't have toy cars or posters of lambos on his bedroom wall, he had toy tractors and trailers and posters of the latest John Deeres.

He didn't go on holiday to Spain, France or even the Lake District. No, his family holidays were centred around the agricultural shows, especially the Great Yorkshire Show and the Appleby Show.

Sometimes, the tractor salesmen would even let him go for a ride on a tractor while they moved them about the ground!

As he grew up, his love for tractors never waned or faded, and was just as strong on his wedding day as when he was a child, to the point, he didn't have wedding cars, but tractors!

On his honeymoon, he and his new wife travelled north to stay at Appleby Manor Hotel and go to the show, telling everyone that they were honeymooning.

One of the salesmen, who'd known him for years, asked if he'd like to drive his new wife around the showground in the newest machine.

Obviously, he leapt at the chance! To take control of a tractor? This was a dream come true!

So, he and his wife climbed aboard and he drove a full circuit of the ground, loving every single second.

Of course, it couldn't last forever and all too soon, they got back to the salesman. They jumped down and thanked the salesman gratefully. The salesman asked if they'd like a photo with the tractor. Of course, they said yes and they stood next to the tractor, he with his hand on the step in front of the big wheel and his wife to the outside.

Unknown to anyone, he had forgotten to put the handbrake on and a sudden gust of wind, combined with the slight incline the tractor was on caused it to roll forward.

Before anyone realised what was happening, he'd slipped on the grass and the big wheel had run straight over him.

The Great North Air Ambulance service was in attendance and flew him straight to the Cumberland Infirmary at Carlisle. Nearly every bone in his body was broken, several of organs were damaged and he had huge internal bleeding.

It took hours of surgery to stabilise his condition, followed by a medically induced coma lasting several weeks and repeated surgical treatments to realign bones and repair what damage they could.

He then was put into an intense physiotherapy regime to teach him to walk and rebuild the strength he had lost over the past six months.

Obviously, all this time in the hospital gave him a lot of time to think about his life and he came to the realisation that being such a huge fan of tractors had been a massive waste of time and had, in the end, cost him a lot more than it had ever been worth. He vowed, silently, to leave his obsession behind and move on with a more normal life.

As he laid in his hospital bed, day after day, week after week, month after month, subsisting on the hospital food and whatever his beloved and devoted wife bought to him, he realised that when he got out of there, what he really fancied was a proper pie and a pint in a proper pub.

So when the day came, and he was finally discharged from the loving care of the infirmary, he hurpled on his stick across the road to the pub he'd seen. He got his pint from the bar, ordered a steak and ale pie with creamy mash, peas and gravy and took a seat at a table next to the window.

He was sipping away, soaking up the ambiance and listening to the old man at the end of the bar put the world to rights, when the door to the kitchen flew open and a huge billow of smoke plumed into the bar and filled the room.

Everyone was panicking, trying to get out of the pub, but not my mate.

He just calmly stood up, using the table for support and opened the window. He turned his head into the smoke and inhaled deeply, turned back to the window and blew out. He did this twice more and the smoke was gone.

Everyone just stopped and looked at him. After a moment the bartender spoke, “How the fuck did you do that???”

“Easy,” replied my friend, as he took his seat and picked up his pint, “I'm an ex tractor fan.”

I just read this headline in a science email: "Some dinosaurs sat on their eggs just like birds do." That sentence is loaded with potential humor. Super-tough egg shells? If so, how did the little guys get out?

"A fossilised oviraptor found on top of a clutch of eggs confirms that at least some dinosaurs sat on or near their eggs to keep them warm as birds do. Oviraptors were bird-like dinosaurs around 2 metres long, including the tail, and several specimens have previously been found on or near clutches of eggs. But some researchers argue that the oviraptors found on nests died while laying or guarding their eggs rather than while brooding them. Now a team led by Xing Xu at the Chinese Academy of Sciences in Beijing has described and analysed a fossil found near Ganzhou city in China. It consists of the partial remains of an adult oviraptor on top of at least 24 eggs, many of which have embryos inside. The eggs contain late-stage embryos that developed at temperatures of up to 38°C, providing strong evidence that the eggs were being brooded, not just guarded."

NewScientist (from England)

For some reason, the word "tons" has gotten very popular. Listen to people talking on TV for just a few minutes, and you'll hear it - maybe. : )

"You probably don't have tons of experience with this."

"I can't go out tonight. I have tons of homework."

"Don't buy that car. It needs tons of work."

When you listen for examples of people using this word, one of two things will happen: you'll hear it every minute; you'll never hear it.