Friday, June 25, 2004

How gutted am I?...

Am I as gutted as a freshly gutted bloater, slapped on a marble slab in a fish shop window in Grimsby high street?

No, much, much more gutted than that - by some considerable margin, I'm afraid.

When will we stop being heroic failures?
It's at times like these I remember what Noel Coward once said (possibly) - "My dear, dear boy, it could be a lot worse, you could support Scotland"

That's true. By gum, I feel better all ready.
p.s. - Anyone want to buy 500 small car window St George's flags?

Did he really see that?…….

My brother-in-law insists that whilst driving around in North London last week he saw a van with a sign on the side of it that said - Patel & Patel, Plumbers. You’ve been let down by the cowboys, so why not try the Indians!

Is that an urban myth?

Welcome to my very worst of……
(an occasional series)

Worst ad’ currently on the telly – The very, very fat man with oversized strap on jingly-jangly jowlingtons, advertising his ambulance-chasing services from PA helpline. Always on during the daytime, it’s cheap nasty and very jowly.

Actor’s budget – Bugger all. Just the big guy, who obviously owns the gaff.

Props budget - less than bugger all. An old beach ball with some dodgy felt-tip writing on – and a ‘70’s phone. Plus, the strap on jowls (jumbo size).

Monday, June 21, 2004

Father’s Day pressies – getting what you really want…..

Yesterday I got a really, really fab pressie. It was a great day all round really.
Because it was Father’s Day I didn’t do the ironing.
Because it was Father’s Day I didn’t do the washing up.
Because it was Father’s Day I didn’t do any cooking.
Because it was Father’s Day, I mostly sat on my arse, drinking beer and watching the footy on the telly.

Come to think of it, most days are Father’s Days…..

Back to my pressie. I hinted, I coughed, I left post it notes around – ‘Must remember to buy Dad ‘Who murdered Geoffrey Chaucer’ by Terry Jones’ for Father’s Day’

It’s a brilliant book, not least giving a superb account of the malevolent murky medieval machinations that I love reading about.

No hints were taken up – only one thing to do, buy it myself – and raid offspring’s piggy banks to pay for it. Magic, dictatorship is alive and well and living in OK Mansions – and you could tell, they were really, really happy for me – honest!

The strange case of the one legged policeman – (does ‘P.C.’ stand for Police Constable anymore)……

West Midlands police have taken on a one-legged police recruit – a career traditionally taken up in the past by bipeds. I just don’t understand it at all – can a one legged man be as active as someone with twice as many legs? It reminded me of that great sketch by Dudley Moore and Peter Cook.

Cook plays a theatrical agent, auditioning for the role of ‘Tarzan’. In hops little Dud’ – he’s only got one leg…
Cook eyes him up and says "Let me get this straight, you’ve come to audition for the role of Tarzan? You, a one legged man is going for a role traditionally undertaken where the minimum requirement in the leg department is two"….


"As soon as you hopped in I looked straight at your right leg and thought to myself, now that’s a lovely leg. That’s a lovely leg for the role of Tarzan. I have nothing against your right leg …. Unfortunately, neither have you".