Saturday, August 26, 2006

Yaaaaaaaaar It be that time of year again.

The clock be tickin' Ah HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!

Friday, August 25, 2006

Pschyo Killer qu'est que c'est

This is Scrumpy. Not sure whether to be proud or disgusted.

I have raised a murderer.


Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Oooh the circles I move in.

I went to a wedding, and blow me down if the leader of the free world wasn't there. Still, old G.W. does a very convincing Welsh accent.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Types of Wind.

Stop that sniggering at the back. Today we have been learning about local winds. Sadly the Keanu is not listed. If you don't like it, you can Burga off.

Also, cheers cheers cheers for the new season of geek club, hosted by Jeremy Clarkson or something. Last night was a 125 pointer.


Friday, August 18, 2006

Intents Sex.

Camping makes me randy. FACT. But the combination of thin canvas and close proximity to others makes discrete sex a bit tricky.

So when I start pitching my own tent, the missus is having none of it, especially when the strains of another couple start drifting across the campsite, putting paid to my ”no-one will notice” argument.

I mean honestly! The chances of her actually having an orgasm are next to nothing, and I know I can keep quiet.

I try a different tack “If you don’t sleep with me, I will make really loud fake sex noise” After a period of contemplation she decided I don’t have the balls.

She was right. But I did have an erection you could see from space.


Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Glyn to Win.

This man had a wank in a condom on live TV and then presented it to Channel 4 employees as a gift .

He is legend - and should be rewarded with a king's ransom.
Pete will make a fortune anyway, I love him, but by golly I want this lad to have his day in the sun.

The Harridan must not win at all costs. I have enjoyed her, but now it is time for her to FUCK OFF.

Yes you, you horrible slapper.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Call me a cynic…Ok you’re a cab.

I saw a blind man at Tate Britain on Sunday, I am not sure how much he got out of that trip. But apparently Turner had cataracts, so for the partially sighted, a trip to the gallery could still be a blast. The Hodgkins must look stunning.

As an added bonus you can concentrate on what the art twats are saying. I love art twats, with their overly expressive hand gestures, and voice pitched slightly louder than necessary, to prove just how very clever they are to everyone in earshot.

I may know nothing, but at least I know I know nothing.

10 years ago in the Tate, a friend and I watched a couple stare intently at some heavy duty plastic builders sheeting taped to the wall, admiring the wrinkles, texture and play of light. After a couple of minutes musing, she went to read the little sign and find out what it was called - “Shop Extension”.

We had to leave for fear of exploding in mirth.

I also like playing the art game, where you walk around seeing how far you can push it before you are rumbled. My girlfriend hates it. As soon as I use the phrase, “in a very real sense” she walks off in disgust.


Tuesday, August 08, 2006

It's murder on the dancefloor.

At a wedding, a circle of people are showing off their HOT HOT moves. The second, the very second, I leap into the centre to bust my stuff I re-pull the ligaments in my knee.

The resulting agonised flailing might possibly have been interpreted as some kind of avant garde art form. More likely - I just looked like a prize tit.

I can hardly walk. Booze is the devil.