proper music...

... not like this modern wrap music rubbish... sheeesh!!!

I've got the horn !?!!

No, not that kind of horn! You have a filthy mind. Besides, it's along time since there was any movement in that area i'll have you know, ahem. I'm of course talking about those damned vuvuzelas at the World Cup. As you know, i'm not the type of chap to moan about anything, but what kind of blithering idiot thought thousands of Africans blowing cheap plastic horns would be a good idea? Why, Nobby Stiles would be turning in his grave if he could see whats happened to our ''beautiful game.''

A global event turned into a farce i reckon. Fans and pundits spending more time talking about vuvu's than they do about football [not soccer]. For once in my life i wish i was a Scotchman. Yes.... i realise that in order to do that i'd have to; [a] wear a string vest [b] become an alcoholic racist [c] adopt the Proclaimers song '500 miles' as my national anthem, but at least then i wouldn't have a problem with these horns because Scotts never watch any World Cups games, primarily because they never participate in it. lol.

Anyway... i've now found a nifty way of overcoming the irritating drone of the vuvuzelas. Everytime the football starts i get out the vacuum cleaner and get busy. It drowns out the noise a treat and my carpets have never been so clean. The Shake 'n' Vac people are making some serious cash out of me this summer. At least when the football season starts in England we won't have to put up with that infernal racket. Although i did hear that some worried footy fans had read an article about the Nottingham Forest club shop buying 10,000 for next season. Such was the uproar that chairman Nigel Doughty had to issue a statement saying the entire story was pie in the sky as Forest don't even have 10,000 fans.

This country has officially gone to the dogs !!!

It really makes you wonder what this once fine country is coming to when a no-mark waster like Cheryl Cole/Tweedy can get an award for..... wait for it ...... ''Woman of The year.'' >insert belly laugh here<

One can only guess as to what the selection criteria was.

Maybe candidates were chosen for:

1. Who has the most orange face?

2. The worst weight problem?

3.Who is the vainest and most shallow?

4. Who wears thousands of ££'s worth of extensions whilst promoting hair care products?

5. Who has teeth so fake they look like they were purchased from B&Q?

6. Who got the worst conviction for launching a drunken attack on an innocent female toilet attendant?

7. Who married a cheating black footballer to save her image and avoid be branded a racist thug [see No.6].

Yep. That's one hell of an impressive CV for someone so thin and talentless.

Is it any wonder that impressionable young girls who look up to these vacuous non-entities grow up with so many issues regarding weight and poor self image? Oscar Wilde was once quoted as saying; ''We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." I guess we all know which way Tweedy is facing.

proper music....

....not like the rubbish they trot out nowadays.... pffffff

Come Dine With Me

I love it. Not just of the overall concept of the show but for the narration from Dave Lamb. As you know, i'm not a big fan of sarcasm as it's the lowest form of wit, so they say, but hey! Anyway... it got me thinking about hosting my own 'Celebrity Come Dine With Me' and who'd be the lucky souls to get the covetted golden invitations.

Now, apart from the grub, what's needed at a successful dinner party are a broad spectrum of guests. Firstly, you need someone who's very funny and can tell good jokes [so that's my role sorted out then, heheheheh]. Guest No.1 would have to be Pineapple Dance Studio's very own Louie Spence. He's like sunshine on a stick, nearly as flamboyant as moi and probably has bum cheeks just as firm ... ahem ??!!





Guest No2 would be Iranian comic Shappi Khorsandi. There's nothing more attractive than a strong, intelligent, confident, empowered, well-cultured woman ... plus she has a grrreat rack.



Guest number 3 would be someone like Lindsay Lohan. An out of control, coked-up [allegedly] Hollywood starlet would mean great entertainment and be able to regale us with tales of glitz, glamour and other dubious excesses. Plus, she'd be a real boon in the kitchen. It would save me the job of doing the washing up as Lindsay is more than qualified to lick the plates clean!!

Ba-dum-tishh

The road to nowhere ???

As something of an intelectual, i was reading an article in the local rag the other day regarding the ever increasing amount of traffic on our roads. Local 'experts' [i use the word 'expert' in the loosest sense of the word] were trotting out the usual bilge about cutting traffic by using car-share schemes and congestion charges. ie; pricing people off the roads.

Well maybe if public transport was up to muster, you know, reliable, clean and didn't cost an arm and a leg to use then people might start leaving their cars at home. Speaking personally, i never use public transport. It's cheaper for me to run a car, plus i don't have to put up sitting next to some smelly chav who has both hands jammed down the front of his trackie bottoms!!

Anyway..... as an intellectuall, this got me thinking of the best ways to reduce traffic, and i think i've got the solution. Just by banning all women off the roads will reduce congestion by over 50%, easy. Lets face it, most women don't even need a car in day to day life. Popping down to the shops to get something nice for hubby's tea does not require the use of a car.

Now, a tiny minority of bra burning feminists might say i'm being a tad sexist but in their heart of hearts they'll know i'm correct [a man always is]. And lets be honest about it, most women struggle to safely navigate a shopping trolley around Tesco's so driving a motor vehicle on the open highway simply doesn't bare thinking about!!

Nowt daft as folk

This has to be the best election we've had for decades.

Okay, when i say the best i probably mean the funniest. Peter 'Mandy' Mandelson giving scathingly dirty looks [off-camera] to journalists. The porn widow [Jaqui Smith] and Lembit Opic getting their P45's. To be fair i didn't mind Lembit too much as anyone that can put up with a Cheeky Girl singing in the shower must have balls of steel. Then there's poor Gordon Broon calling that old woman a bigot.. hhaahhah.

They were all funny, but what was funnier were the prize muppets who were told they couldn't vote because they 'rocked-up' at the Polling Stations during last orders then proceeded to throw their toys out t' pram. People had 15 hours to call in and cast their vote. What were they doing all day? looking for a clock? or maybe a brain cell?

I've never had any problems voting, just wandered in .... and wandered out again, simples yes? Now i'm all for democracy, but maybe it's better for everybody concerned if people born that stupid are made exempt from voting.

Politicians.... what a joke

While walking down the street one day an MP is hit by a truck and dies. His soul arrives in Heaven and is met by St Peter at the entrance. "Welcome to heaven," says St Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we‘re not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in," says the MP.

"Well, I‘d like to, but I have orders from higher up. What we’ll do is have you spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."

"Really, I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven," says the MP.

"I’m sorry, but we have our rules." And with that, St Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell.

The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him. Everyone is very happy and in evening dress.


They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and champagne.

Also present is the Devil, who really is a very friendly, nice bloke who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They're having such a good time that before he realises it, it is time to go. Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises….


The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on heaven where St Peter is waiting for him. "Now it’s time to visit Heaven." So, 24 hours pass with the MP joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realises it, the 24 hours have gone by and St Peter returns.

"Well, then, you’ve spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity." The MP reflects for a minute, then he answers, "Well, I would never have said it before, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell."

So St Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. Now the doors of the elevator open and he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He see's all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the rubbish and putting it in black bags as more and more rubbish falls from above.

The Devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulder. "I don’t understand," stammers the MP, "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of rubbish and my friends look miserable. What happened?"

The Devil looks at him, smiles and says, "Yesterday we were campaigning…..today you voted."

Tidy house ... Tidy mind

I just don't know what's been wrong with me of late.

To quote David Brent; '' i've come over a little queer. ''

As you are aware, i'm usually such a positive, life-affirming chap who breezes through life casting goodwill to all who cross my path. But not at the mo. I can't put my finger on what's wrong. Maybe it's this credit crunch thing, social decay or the male menopause [about 20 years too late]. I've been thinking of trying that 'kitty kitty' stuff that everyone's going on about but seeming as i already rattle when i walk, i think i'll pass. Besides, i do like to think of my body as a temple of worship, especially for the ladies down at the local day centre.

One thing that did cheer me up happened whilst toiling down t'allotment the other day. I overheard a story on the local radio about misbehaving children. Someone rang in to say that a few years ago they were grounded because they'd put the gunpowder from some fireworks in an ashtray, resulting in their dad setting his arm on fire when stubbing out a ciggie !!

Well, it made me chuckle...

Anyway ... to try and cheer myself up i decided to give the homestead a good old clean from top to bottom. It's strange how housework can be almost therapeutic at times. I've now done the lot. The drawing-room, kitchen and even the bathroom. I've dusted, hoovered, done the ironing and made a Sunday dinner with Yorkshire puds to boot. Whoever said [probably a nagging woman] all us chaps are filthy beggars that can't do anything around the house are sadly mistaken.

Why, i even thought about washing the bed sheets, but seeming they were only changed at Christmas i figure they've still got a few more months left in them.

Poor me....

''My life is ruined'' screamed the headline from the downmarket rag.

So what's it all about (Alfie) ? Maybe it's bad news from a soldier that has been crippled by a roadside bomb, a newly orphaned child or someone terminally ill perhaps? .. err no ... not even close. Just the pathetic whinings of a £100,000 a week bi footballer who got dumped by some equally annoying WAG. Apparently he's thrown himself at her mercy, pleaded for forgiveness . Lets be frank here (don't call me Frank), if he's got any apologising to do then he should do it to the general public because no person on Gods earth should be made to witness the sight of C-Ashley Cole wearing a pair of Grandad pants and having a mouth like a ripped pocket !!

It seems to be the norm these days for micro 'celebs' and other wealthy types to constantly tell the world how hard their life is. Yes, i'm sure the paper cuts from counting all that lolly is a real bugger. People don't know they're born these days. Bye 'eck, when i were wee lad things really were tough. No shoes in the winter and 3 of us had to simultaneously squeeze into an old tin bath next to the fire, that was our only luxury. We had scurvy, rickets and T.B to contend with ... and that was just before breakfast !!