Today marks a special day in the UK blogging calendar - the annual posting by Watski. One day each year, the stars align, electricity is restored to Nottinghamshire, flowers bloom, young maidens strip off their clothes and skip happily through the streets of Sutton-in-Ashfield, in Mansfield houses are decked with bunting spelling out the traditional message of "Sod off you southern poofs" and Watski dusts off the paper tape punch and composes a message to be fed into the Normantebbit 8700 supercomputer in his wardrobe which then updates the internet with all the latest news from Mansfield, usually bugger all.
Go over there and greet him, drape yourselves round his muscular body and festoon him with kisses (no tongues) and with joy in your heart, tell him "keep your fucking blog up to date, you idle twat".
8 comments:
he's blogged ???
I'd better check then - there's no trusting you.
No, he hasn't you cynical old ratbag, I just wanted you to go and hassle someone else.
I'll be round for dinner tomorrow night then.
I don't have time to hassle every Tom, Dick and whatever-his-name-is.
I made a mistake,I do have time to hassle Tommy though. Oh, and you.
Other than that....
Pamela. We are not at home to Mrs Stroppy. You can either go over there now and say hello to Watski, and offer him some of that fatted (soya) calf, or spend the rest of the day sitting in the corner thinking about what you have said.
I'm up for it. Dinner a deux. That's how we spell it in Canadialand.
Shall we say seven?
He had better be back: or I shall pit weasels in your shorts.
Broomhilda, what a delight! Now, as you know, I am not a strict teacher, but you haven't been very prolific blogwise of late yourself, have you?
As for "pitting weasels", did you mean "putting", or is this some strange practice of you American ladies, like pitting fruit? Without being too improper, I do not mind if you do this, but I think that you will find my shorts are already fully occupied, if you see what I mean.
I prefer my weasels with their pits intact.
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