This... reminds me of something...

I see that Britain is planning on joining The Space Race and we'll have good old British astronauts to take to the stars.

Doesn't look good for one of them "first contact" scenarios!

Remember that English bird off've Beadle's (no longer) About? They planted a blow up slanty eyed Grey in her back passage, and what does she do?

Offer it up a cup of tea!

Now, apart from being as thick as pigshit for being taken in by a blow up doll, what if our intergalactic cousins had an aversion to tea? The dozy doxi could have poisoned the interplanerary personage and started Interstallar War and have us all zapped by ray guns with Slim Whitman our only hope.

Besides - what if they'd been an ET equivalent of a club 18-30 holiday?
"Venusians! Vist Earth - the Ibiza of the Milky Way! Them english birds are well up for it!"
"Fancy a cup of tea love?"
"Sod that! Give us a lager and whip yer funbags out! Veeee- nurrrrrse! Veeee- nurrrrrse!"

Not to mention their mate Colin, who's come all the way to Earth to find a chemist where no-one knows him sp that he can buy a  packet of condoms without his mum finding out.

Still, makes a change from "Kin i gets you a jug of moonshine, sonny, afore ye tek ma pa up inter gawds country?"

I have your cold, Blake...

Strange thing The Fog...

Out in Norwich - all sunshine, lollopops, and puppeteers dogs performing karaoke, but traverse out to Catton - thick pea soupers, full to the brim with betentacled beasties and revenge seeking leperous piratey types!

Is there some ginormous extractor fan set up atop The Castle, sucking out the smog and pumping over the outlying areas? Surely, the city centre is generating all the smoke from their wokhouse orphanages shovelling coal, so The City should be all clammy and opaque.

I reckon we should all don top hats, capes and canes, and revert back to Victorian Values (nobbing serving wenches and the like).

I say Holmes, is that the baying of some monstrous, gigantic hound?

No Watson, it's some pissed up chavette down PoW road!

Enraged, Incensed, There’s no reason, no sense...

It would appear that the latest penny pinching scheme proffered by The Council is that, in order to save money and the Environment, they're considering turning off the street lights at night

Now, call me an unrestrained arsewit if you will, but surely it's a bigger waste of cash having them on during the day? How often have you gone down a daylit street and seen the bright beams of 1950s martian war machines seeking you out and burning you to a crisp?

The whole purpose of lights at night is to illuminate the area and drive away The Darkness (although Justin will probably take refuge in the nearest curry emporium). Imagine coming out of a nightclub, then having to traipse up The Most Dangerous Street In The World and getting deadded by some yob. PoW road? Yeah - taken and held in bamboo shacks and dipped in and out of the Wensum.

Wensum one comes along and foolishly takes a plunge into the icy depths in an intoxicated fashion! They were moaning on the nudes this morning, of how some drunken sot managed to fall in the river on Riverside, and they were bewailing the lack of railings.

Well, Excuuuuse me, but there is a great big fuck off road and pathway with barrier all down Riverside. If you decide to leave the path and wander along the embankment, you dererve the watery grave you end up with! If the aquanautical gormsters bypassed one huge set of railing to get to the trickling brook, I doubt another one's gonna stop 'em! Honestly, you don't find me jumping off the Tube platform and wandering alongside the rails, and wondering why I get walloped by trains, do you!

Darwin Awards and Gene pool cleansing, I think it's called.

And that was with the lights on!

Still, at least if they lights are off, they're more likely to walk into the barrier, rather than vault/duck under it, and collapse on the floor bewailing their bashed and bruised bodies before getting on the mobile to injurylawers4u or the fat faced Pie Man to claim cash for being thick as pigshit.

"I walked through a slippery puddle that was marked with a huge 'wet floor' sign, and lightly bruised my shin. I could've walked around it, but instead I got £5,000 compensation."

Awake...
A dream in the distance...
A scream...
In and out my mind goes...

Brown paper packages tied up with string...

Why can't all cars be made of cake?

Honestly, these automobiles suck cash wose than vampires on a virgins neck!

My brum failed the MOT cos it needed a new bush. Now, what exactly a bush is going in my engine, or why there needs to be one there to make it run is beyond me!

Perhaps they're sneaking in all these green environmental (emphasis on MENTAL) measures by running transportation off've life giving oxegenating plantlife.

It's well known that you can power a space rocket on a hamster in a treadmill, a nail in a ping pong ball and some small screws, but trimmed hedgerows powering the engine? Perhaps they're the long lost Entsprog, turning cogs and pistons with their trendril like branches.

And how come it ends up so expensive, all you have to do is pop into Catton Forest and shoplift some shrubbery - cheaper than spending piles of cash on a sapling at B&Q wot dies in about three days.

Shame really, coz when they rang up and said they'd got me a new bush, I suspected they'd found out my birthday's coming up, and got me a bush in the nubile Spearmint Advocaat trollop 'Happy Birthday Big Boy' in the back room type sense.

And not with the bouncer with the greased up arm and the gimp mask!

Oh well, look like I've enough left to treat meself to a McDonalds* Birthday Fillet o'Fish...

...as in nubile young student fillie and associated fishlike connoctations.

Or something!

* LOOKS LIKE IT'LL HAVE TO BE! ALL MY PARTY PLANS HAVE BEEN UNINTENTIONALLY SCUPPERED BY PEOPLE DOING THEM IN ADVANCE, SO THEY AIN'T GONNA GO AGAIN SO SOON.
THINK I'LL STAY IN AND GUZZLE EGG IN SOUP (WITH PORK PIE SIDE DISH) INSTEAD!

I don’t like Mondays...

nor Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays or Saturdays

Nor Sundays.

Particularly Sundays.

Like today.

I close my eyes

Draw forth the curtains

Aw-wah-waaaaaah

Pills a-poppin'

Best get me DVDs back first though!

Dancing on hot tiles...

All my life I thought they were tenderhooks. e.g. "I'm on tenderhooks", as in hooks that are fairly tender, so that's you on the cusp of pain, but not quite, as they're tender, and not sharp.

Bit I now finds out that I am quite wrong, and people are on tenterhooks.

Like, WTF is a tenter?

Tentertwo, when it's 13:50?

Or is a dweller within a small canvas structure, performing some mystical Sun Dance, dangling from the steel rods atop a gas burner sizzling their sausages?

Surely it's be a bit cold, as the temperature seeps into the hooks, and chills you to the bone?

At least if you're Abu Hamza, the fundamentalist, you can put the fun back into being mental, by dangling one handed in wardrobes, hiring yourself out as a coat hanger, and keeping all snug in wolly mammoth skin pacamacs.

The Cleric in the Cupboard - Terrorists on Tenterhooks!

Bitch back? The Chronicles of Roddick...

Growly growly!

On a par with Nadine Baglady and her panty riptides, that slapper in No.7 slap drives me wild!

Not in a frenzy of lust and ravishment...

then again...

But I digress (though exactly what gress is and why it needs to be dyed I have no idea!).

She's so bloody WOODEN! That oh so flat "ta da.", and "If I put them on the wrong way round, will they may me look older?".

Course it won't you thick arse trout!

But what REALLY gets my goat, is a troll.

On the other hand, what I find REALLY irritating is how to put cream and serum on in the right order. Think of it like putting on your underwear before your dress. "Ah, I wondered where I was going wrong".

Like it matters! I don't have any experience is such ladywear, but I would assume it neither matters which way round you don said garments. Dress on first, you have unrestricted access to bung on some pants.

Unless you go commando.

Surely the ad should have compared it to putting on your underwear before putting on your trousers, for obviously you can't put your scanties on after stepping into some slacks. Unless, of course, you're a Superhero like Soupyman.

"Stand back, Croutons of Doom, for I have placed my pants over my brightly colored pantyhose. Flee my wrathful package! Beware the Kryptonite Cock, for my trunks are tailored to display my trunk in a fashion to put David Bowie and Borat to shame! These are special knickers, called a gress, dyed red to accentuate my lustful manlyness! I'm not called the Man of Steel for nothing - just grip my rod".

Anyhoo, now she's back with another dull as dishwater performance in the latest ad! Oooooh, I'd like to give her a slap, and bring some color to her pale cheeks...

...in some bare assed spanking session no doubt (alas, without Gwen. Though she's welcome to join in, the gap toothed Welsh wench!).

Anti-aging serums indeed!