Miss Marple, starring Joan Vixen (geddit?)

May I say how much I enjoyed the programme on the electric television this evening called “Book Club”?

I may?

Thank you!

I enjoyed the programme on the electric television this evening called “Book Club” very much, thank you for asking.

I struggled for some time to tolerate the smarmy Frostrup woman on one of the Sky channels. I failed, alas.

Those nice people at channel 4 then came up with the idea of having a book programme hosted by Jo Brand. We love Jo, don’t we? I probably won’t read many of the books that are discussed (as a concession to being one of her majesty’s unemployed I have curtailed my book spending), but it was still very enjoyable.

You may have seen a television series called Silent Witness. As it is sort of a detective thing, I felt obliged to watch.

I found myself becoming slightly fascinated by the leading lady. Like many actresses in these sorts of programmes she seems to have only one facial expression (as does, for example, the nice young lady who is the DS in Rebus).

More alarmingly, when wearing this expression, which I calculate to be 90% of the time, she adopts a kind of frown in which something sticks out on her forehead just above the right eye. It does seem to be a vein, but, lacking medical training, I could not accurately identify it. Maybe it is the clitoris, who knows?

I suspect that they employ actresses with these bizarre quirks in order to distract the discerning viewer (i.e. me) from the appalling continuity errors and ludicrous plots.

I became so diverted by this lady that I decided to find out more about her, to see whether there were any genetic reasons for her face to be set into so peculiar an expression.

“Bugger me!” I exclaimed. She is Emilia Fox, and cousin to my favourite weirdo, Lawrence, who is Sergeant Haveitaway in “Lewis”. Do you know of any more members of the Fox dynasty who are portraying eccentric members of the law enforcement community on the electric television? Maybe they have a monopoly. I think we should be told.

Continued on page 94

I apologise in advance for writing about blogging. I hate it when people do that.

But I need to tell you that my absence here is due not only to my not having anything worthwhile to say (yes, I agree, that has never stopped me before), but also my awareness of that lack.

I am still reading your daily jottings, but I don't have anything much to say about them. Fortunately, there is one blog out there specifically invented for those with nothing to say, so I usually leave a comment there. Thanks, Dave. I have also been more than a little rude to Tom. I may regret that later.

Anyway, can I direct you to two of the many little contributions to the creative part of the electric internet which may have escaped your attention?

First Nations.

Max.

I've nearly finished this, and still not regretting what I said to Tom. I mean he's watching some sort of celebrity nonsense on television.

Spare me a moment, please, Mrs Bennet, and you better bring half a pound of your finest butter with you.

Much as I hate to select the less savoury aspects of the news upon which to comment, I am sure that some of you will have seen the description of the poor man who had a rather embarrassing incident with a metal pipe.

The Torygraph, usually so careful about sensationalism, reported somewhat ambiguously:

“Medics at Southampton General Hospital could not get the man's penis out of the stainless steel pipe because the restricted blood flow had caused it to become aroused.

So they called in Hampshire Fire and Rescue Service.”

I think that it needs to be stated that they were called because of their expertise in releasing things from other things, and not because they were likely to cause the end of the arousal. Yesterday evening a couple of members of the Hampshire police force had reason to enlist my help and called at my house. I cannot tell you how exciting this was, and can only assume that other members of the emergency services are equally stimulating in this fine county.

For those of you whose geographical knowledge is below average, I should tell you that Southampton is in the far south west of the county, whereas my property is in the North East. While I am shocked and stunned that anything like this should occur in this locality, it would certainly never happen in Jane Austen country. She was, after all, a leading advocate of lubrication – Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Ass and Anallube.

Any more perverts?

Someone on the Indescribablyboring has located my previous posting, if not my G spot, and commenced to find some other unsubstantiated claims to do with thingy.

The correspondent finds ten subjects to conjecture upon, but mysteriously ends the final one with:

"that frequent masturbation can actually reduce the chances of contracting prostate ca"

I guess that he just gave into the impulse after getting too involved in the subject.

I tell you this by way of warning.

Fearful that this tripe will attract unwanted perverts via search engines

As the more astute readers (there is a fine oxymoron for you) may have detected, I became somewhat disenchanted with the Torygraph’s scientific review of the decade. I think it was just a space filler, which is odd as I read it online, and as of 8:40 this fine morning there still seems to be lots of potential space on the electric internet as yet unfilled.

So this morning I turned my attention to the august offerings of the Belfast Telegraph and their perspective on the scientific community.

The particular article that caught my attention, and I have no idea why, concerned a study by ‘scientists’ from King’s College London which has cast doubt on the existence of the ‘G Spot’.

No details are given as to the source of funding for this project, but I suspect that it was the good old taxpayer. The alternative is that a millionairess had become distraught at the loss of her erogenous zone.

Let us applaud the restraint, then, of these fine scientists who did not set about their task by the more obvious practical route, but instead conducted the research by the medium of a questionnaire.

The BT tells us that the questionnaires were “filled in”; not “filled out”, nor “filled up”, nor even simply “filled”. What does one do with questionnaires? Perhaps I ought to conduct a questionnaire about it. When ‘filled in’ and ‘filled out’ clearly carry the same meaning ought we not to dispense with all the outs, ins, ups, downs, rounds, throughs, ons and offs that superfluously qualify verbs? I am sure that you all have an opinion on this important matter. I am equally sure that I care not what it is. (that’s enough wandering off topic, Ed.)

There will be, no doubt, a parade of comely wenches who, having had this issue highlighted, will be begging my time and expertise in searching out their G spots, and indeed any other alphabet related personal area that is normally concealed from public view. I am sorry to disappoint, but my mailbox and letterbox are filled with similar requests, and these boxes alone take too much of my time (I nearly wrote “take up” there). I really wish there were someone around with my discretion and sensitivity with whom I could share these arduous duties.

Perhaps instead you could inform the chaps at KCL if you have a G spot. Or tell them if you once had one and have now lost it (where was it the last time you remember seeing it?). If you have ever found a G spot, particularly in some place that you were not expecting to find one, then I am sure that they would be equally interested.

Scientific discoveries of the decade. Chapter 4

Are you all keeping up?

Colin Pillinger Professor of planetary science at the Open University is excited about the discovery of ice on the moon, and the prospect of an astronaut base there. Yes, boys and girls, another corner of the universe that mankind can go and befoul. I don’t rate the ice’s chances of survival. If we (the species, you fool – my readers and I will be lucky to get past Thursday) survive the next century then the news will be full of the threat of lunar warming.

Charlie Burton, who is only a journalist and not an academic, but he probably tries hard, champions the cause of wireless power transfer. He says “meaning that inconvenient clutter, such as mobile-phone chargers, will soon be a thing of the past”. Oh goody. This means that the owners of cellular telephones will never have to go home, and can entertain us all with their conversations – 24/7 as annoying people like that say.

Roger Highfield is another journalist, and I can barely follow the reasons for his being excited. The clue may be in the surname, but perhaps I am being uncharacteristically cynical. He thinks that the discovery of “Homo floresiensis” is important. This refers to a bunch of remains of creatures now extinct who lived 18,000 years ago. Dave is nearly that old, and still with us, but does he get that kind of recognition? Most unfair.

Vicus Scurra, head of applied obfuscation at North East Hampshire Faculty of Physics Deniers heralded the discovery that you don’t have to review the rest of the contributions in this particular offering from the Torygraph. Apparently, it gets even more boring and is filled with similar piffle.

Scientific discoveries of the decade. Chapter 3

Sue Hartley, professor of ecology at the University of Sussex is thrilled to report that plant scientists (i.e. fauna who study flora rather than flora who study something else) have found that plants can recognise what is attacking them and adapt their behaviour accordingly. She reckons this will be important. I reckon it foretells the evolution of triffids. I need to clarify that my problem is not with those who like nothing better than to tuck into a cabbage (not a euphemism, that boy at the back), but those who destroy the environment with chemicals. She also says that we need to work out how to maintain crop yields in the face of a changing climate. Good point, Sue, no other bugger has thought of that, have they?

Simon Singh who is not even a professor, not even at the University of Slighty Obscure on Severn, is excited that we have seen a planet outside of this solar system for the first time, but is unclear as exactly ‘how’ we saw it. I have checked, I just took a peek through the curtains, and even though there is a clear sky and a full moon, I can’t see this planet of which he speaks. He does say “Viewing another planet (albeit at infrared frequencies) was an extraordinary moment, because it made the idea of extraterrestrial life more concrete. This particular planet is probably too inhospitable to harbour life.” In other words, even though we can see it, (probably only if our name is Simon Singh), that’s all we can do. We can look at it. Simon, lovey, there are more than enough bloody things to look at already. I have not seen half of the things on the electric internet, and I’ve been sitting at this screen since quarter past seven. In fact, all Simon really has to say is that there’s a very good chance of intelligent life out there in the universe. I think, Simon, that we have caught you unprepared, haven’t we? The heading for your section should be “Will This Do?”. And what, pray, do you mean by 'harbour life' - not entirely free from ambiguity, is it?

Lord Rees - Astronomer Royal and president of the Royal Society. Is in agreement with Simon, and is all excited about the discovery that lots of stars have planets. I think the Torygraph must have contacted him whilst he was quietly getting pissed in the “Pipette and Micrometer”, probably with Simon Singh, if this is the best he could come up with. What, in the name of buggery, does an Astronomer Royal do? Is he on call in case Prince Andrew sees some light outside his bedroom window that he can’t recognise? Does he have to telephone Liz once a fortnight to report that Saturn is maintaining the correct orbit? I wonder if there is a Cynic Royal and how much it pays. I could do that. (Drifting off topic a bit here – just caught the end of Spinal Tap on the electric television).

Paddy Moore (still apparently alive) has got all het up about the discovery of bacteria on Mars. (Rog, do you want to do something about unhygienic chocolate bars?) saying how marvellous it is that life will appear just about anyplace that is capable of supporting it. To me, this just shows that life is totally indiscriminate, as witnessed by it managing to allow Patrick Moore and his loony cronies to exist.

Scientific discoveries of the decade. Chapter 2

Next up to the oche is Steve Jones. professor of genetics at University College London (When did professors start having names like Steve?).

He agrees with contestant number one about the garden gnome project, but thinks that sooner or later people will stop funding research which has no promise of any benefit. I almost like him.

I will now demonstrate a proper name for a professor, and quote his section in full:

Richard Wiseman - Professor of psychology, University of Hertfordshire

"In my field, I would select the 'Gorillas in our Midst' experiment by Daniel Simons, of the University of Illinois, and Christopher Chabris, of Harvard, in 2004. They asked people to count the number of passes being made by a basketball team in a video – the vast majority failed to notice a gorilla walking across the court, even when it thumped its chest (the idea was copied for a recent road-safety video, using a moonwalking bear).

As well as being a fascinating demonstration of a psychological phenomenon known as 'inattentional blindness', the experiment illustrated that it is possible to have a great deal of fun while carrying out science, and inspired lots of researchers and students to create other fascinating studies exploring the surprising limitations of our perceptual system."

(When did they start having universities in places like Hertfordshire).

Doncha just love “inattentional blindness”. I have made studies of the limitations of our perceptual system. I have observed that there is a propensity among humanity to read the discoveries of members of the scientific community and not immediately proclaim “This is bollocks”. As for having fun carrying out science, well, Dickie, you obviously didn’t go to my school.

OK, time for the big boys:

Frank Close - Professor of physics, University of Oxford

He is excited by the fact that some chaps found fault with earlier research by another chap. We can now detect all three kinds of neutrino being emitted by the sun. Before you all breathe sighs of enormous relief, then I should inform you that I am in the process of contacting Frankie, and telling him that I have found six different kinds of neutrino in my garage this morning, without having to look too hard.

Prof. Close goes on to predict that the LHC will discover something that no one had ever anticipated. Wrong again, Close you old goat, I have anticipated every daft notion, theory and useless fact to emanate from that particular corner of the age of confusion. Refer to my “this is bollocks” remark above.

Scientific discoveries of the decade. Chapter 1

The first contestant up to the mark is Colin Blakemore - Professor of Neuroscience at the Universities of Oxford and Warwick.

He nominates the breakthrough in the human genome project (pause while Rog makes joke about porcelain or plastic garden ornaments in form of small bearded men).

He says it is jolly important, although nothing has come of it yet. It probably will though, as it is ever so expensive. He predicts that “amazing new technologies will start to transform our understanding of how our bodies develop, work and go wrong.”

I predict that amazing new technologies will develop, seldom work and go wrong at enormous cost. Like my pals trying to understand the atom, the dna researchers will devise a way to spend a few billion quid, probably on some device to hurtle poor or dumb people into each other at almost the speed of light to see what results. More poxy scientists would be my guess.

Sobriety, sex, science and sundry soothsaying

Thank heavens for the Torygraph, inspiration for so many finely constructed essays in this blog. The following news items attracted my attention.

****

A DJ in Birmingham has lost his job after cutting off the queen’s speech at Christmas, saying it was boring, putting on a record called “Last Christmas” by a modern beat combo called “Wham” and announcing “from one queen to another”. I applaud this action, it may seem harsh to some, but anyone playing christmas songs in public should be sacked. I shall seek out his employers and offer my services. I have exciting ideas to enliven public broadcasting, including a week devoted to playing the complete clarinet concertos of Carl Stamitz. Helpfully, the Torygraph published a picture of the queen. Most of its readers will have assumed that Ann is still on the throne.

****

There is a report that the extra curricular activities of a well known golfer have cost the shareholders of his various sponsors $12 billion dollars. Good. Capitalist bastards. I trust that they are not so hard up that they face starvation. Having skinny targets for the firing squads when the revolution comes will be so tiresome.

****

A psychologist has put forward the theory that male infidelity can help a marriage. It would be cruel to suggest that judging by her photograph she is just desperate for a shag, and so I won’t do that. I will, however, run the risk of ignoring her advice and persevere by trying to keep Mrs S happy by being the kind of husband of whom she can be proud. I will not allow my dispensing of wisdom to the masses to be compromised by being distracted by sundry sausage hiding – I have neither the time nor energy. No doubt there will be some people distressed by my lack of availability. May I suggest that you avail yourselves of the services of the golfer mentioned earlier? He seems to have the time on his hands, and by – (insert sordid golfing pun here) – you will be helping to bring about the downfall of capitalism.

****

They have published numbers 11 to 25 (the rest tomorrow, I am so excited I could piss) of the “Britons of the Year”. I have heard of some of these people, and dare say that some of them may be loved by their families. Let me just take issue with their choice of Stephen Wolfram who, among other daft achievements, developed “the best-selling software system Mathematica, which has allowed millions of users to turn their computers into incredibly sophisticated calculating machines”. Yes, that is what we use our computers for, isn’t it? You won’t catch us wasting time by looking for obscure news stories, making jokes about tits or reading Dave’s blog, will you?

****

There is a further section on scientific discoveries of the year. I am virtually orgasmic with anticipation and almost certainly will be reporting on this in due course.

****

What of my review of the year? Well, there was that news story, that quite nice song, one or two good things on the electric television, a sporting achievement or two of note. Will that do?

Hark, the herald angels plummet.

Some of you may take solace from the report in today’s Torygraph, which shows that our brethren in the scientific community do not use the celebrations as an excuse to take rest from their important research. The report says:

Prof Roger Wotton, from University College London, found that flight would be impossible for angels portrayed with arms and bird-like feathered wings

“Even a cursory examination of the evidence in representational arts shows that angels and cherubs cannot take off and cannot use powered flight,” said Prof Wotton. “And even if they used gliding flight, they would need to be exposed to very high wind velocities at take off – such high winds that they would be blown away and have no need for wings”

“Fuck him”, said a clearly tired and emotional archangel Raphael, when tracked down to the Elohim and Otter public house, just outside Ipswich. “Tell the twat that reindeer can’t fly either, so that’s bollocksed up his Christmas, hasn’t it? Teach him to be a smartarse.” Raphael, clearly unwisely having begun his festive celebrations a tad early was then led away by two members of the Suffolk constabulary. “This’ll be three points on your flying license, my son”, quipped one of them.

Later the European Confederation of Cherubim, Seraphim and Allied Heavenly Aviators issued the following statement. “Professor Wootton is clearly talking out of his arse, which is ironic as his research has shown that this is as unfeasible as angels being able to fly. It is time that members of the scientific community desisted from trying to second guess the mysterious workings of the Almighty, after all, He could beat them in a fight any day. I expect that the Angel Malik is preparing to welcome Rog in the near future.”

Keep the noise down out there, please

I feel obliged to share this one with you too.

Hibernation

As the author of this little diary seems to be too idle to write anything, may I introduce you to my dear friend Max? Please pay him a visit, remembering that we are not at home to Mrs Rude or any of her friends. I have even started a limerick in his latest post, so those of you too shy to introduce yourselves will not be at a loss to contribute.

Listening to Hairy Chimps

My friends at the Torygraph report that "Monkey alarm calls provide clues to origins of human language". Nice to see TCM speculating about something and spending slightly less money in doing so. Here is what they have found being communicated.FFS! Can't a chap take a shit without some twat eavesdropping?

Yes, it is a big fucking nose, but I have developed it over hundreds of thousands of years to help me cope with my environment - sticking it in other people's business is not the thing for which I use it. Now sod off.

Yo! George! Give him your David Bowie impression! See if the smartarsed git can make sense out of that.

One step closer, mofo, and you'll be investigating the origins of getting a microphone out of your ass.

Lend us ten bob until next Tuesday, please

Scientists at Cern show their delight at breaking a new record. The LHC has been officially recognised by Guinness World Records as "The biggest fucking waste of money ever, and then some!".

The project now outstrips all the previous occupiers of the record, having outspent:

• Money spent on buying Rod Stewart or David Bowie music
• The Christmas lights in Farnham, Surrey
• Dave's cosmetic surgery

Walk unafraid

I am very busy on an important project. If any of you really can't hold on for a while, please leave your concerns in the comments section and I will address them.

Just hit the ball

For those of you who think that because I sometimes cross the boundaries of iconoclasm that I am therefore without a religious dimension, may I direct you to this gentleman who seems to have a view of the nature of the Creator which concurs with mine.

Thomas Hardy's younger brother "Fool"

A gentleman whose surname will not be unfamiliar to some of you has entered on an interesting project. Please get over there and lend him your support.

Get down with this

My dear friend I,LTV has posted some Sibelius over on her site, and confesses to have been humming it.
If you prefer something older, let's hear it for Franky.

I am not Zoe's boyfriend.

I have entered into a sophisticated debate (note that twitter only allows 140 characters, so that gives some degree of the level of sophistication) with dear old Brian Cox on Twitter about the large hadron collider.
He asserts, and acknowledges that it is reported on Fox News so responsible presentation of an argument is obviously of negligible account to him, that “Anyone who thinks the LHC will destroy the world is a twat”.
I have pointed out the unfairness of this argument. Those of us who forecast that anything or anyone will destroy the world without defining a time frame will never have the satisfaction of saying “I told you so” when the prediction comes true. Let me say here and now, with complete conviction, that if the world ever ends, I will apologise to Margaret Thatcher. You have my word. Further I will donate £200million to anyone who correctly predicts the manner in which the world will be destroyed.
Professor Cox is the embodiment of the Schrodinger’s cat dilemma – he is a physicist, but I quite like him.

I've been in your family since 1532

"And what, Scurra" you may ask, "are you thankful for on this auspicious day?"
"Well," would be my riposte, "I am fucking thankful that at least one shitladen American tradition has not invaded these isles. We already have Hallowe'en, prom nights and baby showers, none of which were around in these parts when I was growing up, so let's hope that we maintain sufficient self-respect to resist this one. We already have one day a year where morons eat themselves even more fucking stupid on murdered poultry corpses, and the European fucking Song Contest. Let's hope that it stops here. What the fuck did we do to you, America, that we deserve to inherit your dross? Bastards! I'm glad we gave you Benny Hilll and Engelbert fucking Humperdinck."
love and peace.

Another splendid scientific theory

I have been a little remiss in attending to that section of my readership (aMToNW) who fall into the category “pervert” – those who come here, if you will, under the impression that because this blog is on the electric internet then it must be here to talk about sex. I am therefore pleased to pass on the following intelligence to those poor folk; maybe even Tom will be induced to comment.

I should point out that all is well with me. I am in no need of the following research. If it should ever arise that I find my interest flagging, as it were, I need only to listen to Marianne Faithful singing or imagine a Tom Graveney cover drive, and my ability to please the thousands of people who force themselves upon me on a regular basis is soon restored.

Anyway, to get to the point, my friends in the scientific community have decided that there are not enough openings, missus, at Cern to occupy them all, and so they have had to devise other pastimes in order to justify their title. What better, they asked themselves – they should have asked me and I would have given a better answer - subject for study is there than the good old penis and its different moods?

They have turned their attention to the issue of erectile dysfunction, what with viagra being so hard to come by, missus, and all. After all, I am down to about 40 emails a day offering me said substance at cheap prices.

It is my habit to link to sites on the electric internet from which I quote, but I do not feel that these people are worthy of attention. They say:

“The researchers treated 20 volunteers with an average age of 56 years old who had mild or moderate erectile dysfunction for roughly three years.

At each session, a device that resembles a computer mouse applied shockwaves at five different sites on their penises.”

Please note use of the word “roughly”. Hardly encouraging, is it? And which of you, after reading this, does not feel a slight compunction to wash your hands after touching your computer mouse. Further, why do they say ‘sites’ instead of ‘places’ or ‘positions’? To me the word ‘site’ implies a place of special interest. I confess to having no special interest in any particular area of penises. I would suggest that once you had established which end was which that you had pretty much discovered everything that you needed to know. Are these ‘sites’ designated by special symbols in medical textbooks? I really do not wish to know.

More importantly, I cannot discover what exactly constitutes a ‘shockwave’. I have not looked beyond the article, and, again, I really do not wish to know. Our scientist friends can only give meaningless comparisons (see my previous writings on ‘the size of a salad plate’ and ‘teaspoonfuls of semen’). Apparently, the pressure exerted is 20 times the air pressure in a bottle of champagne. You see how really useful that is? If there is one among you, and if there is please keep it to yourself, who has encapsulated his gonads in a bottle of champagne, then all you need to do is to imagine 20 times that pressure and you will know with what the subjects of this experiment had to cope. I confess to have never having drunk champagne. I now feel even less inclined to do so, as it appears that there are a significant number of my gender to whom this comparison will be meaningful.

At the other end, missus, of the spectrum we are told that it is less than the pressure exerted “by a woman in stiletto heels who weighs 132 lbs”. This, sadly, recalls a previous article, also featuring a deluded scientist, who banged on about stilettos. I can only conclude that there are some out there, and they may be reading this, who derive sexual gratification by enlisting the help of someone to dance on their tackle. Good for them, I say. However, I find that I am approaching the boundaries of credulity to picture their enquiring about the weight of the operator as she enthusiastically performed the can-can on their bludgeoned todger. Perhaps I lead too sheltered a life in North East Hampshire.

I knew that it would lead to this. From my first physics lesson with Mr Sutton – and I have no idea what he was trying to convey now any more than I did then – I predicted that my studies would be of no use. I stick by that assertion, and I have no more respect for these silly people and their research than I have for Saturday evening television programmes.

Our glorious democracy

Philip! Philip! Look! It's just as if I am on the telly!


Sarah refused to stay at home, even though Gordon had superglued her spectacles case to her head.


For God's sake woman, who the fuck are these people? I thought we were going to the Chessington World of Adventure.


No, David, I don't want to hold hands. You seem to have forgotten that I did not go to Eton.


The "Heigh-ho" song was always one of Liz's favourites.




Neither of them would admit to cutting the cheese, and managed to keep a straight face for over 36 minutes.

"What do you have under your gown?"
"Your momma!"


This year's erotic dancer adopted a black tights and giant pepper dispenser theme. "Sleaze and Sneeze".



No, we confiscated your wand and cauldron on the way in, you vile old ratbag, now sit down and shut the fuck up before you curdle any more milk.


Gerald had gone to great lengths to ensure that he had enough spare wigs for his Mae West tribute act.


Ever since she had seen "Cleopatra" it had been Liz's dream to be rolled out of a carpet down a very long corridor.



Hundreds of Father Christmases staged a sit in to protest about the proposed tax on beards.

The lads practise for the skittles tournament. Last year Edwin managed to topple Nicholas Soames.


Wait until you hear what I said about you in the speech. You'll piss yourself!


Liz read the script, and wondered who in hell had requested Take That to appear.


Gord and Dave were equally perplexed as to which party Jimmy Krankie represented, and why he got precedence over them.


You'll never believe this shit! And here's me supposed to read it out as if it is for real.



You will shit yourself when you hear what Philip is going to say to you.

Get a move on, you old trout, I want to get home before Countdown.

Illegal immigrants sent back home

We had all been waiting patiently for an update from our reporters at ground zero, but MJ giggled incessantly throughout her audience and couldn't remember a thing afterwards, and Donn claims to have been forced to sign the Official Secrets Act and says that his conscience will not allow him to discuss the plans to take the USA back into the Commonwealth using huskies and the RCMP.

So I will just have to tell you the story myself

The royal couple had been advised that it was protocol to wear two poppies in Canada - one to commemorate the war dead, and one to apologise to the rest of the world for Celine Dion. Just after this picture was taken, Cams leapt on Chuck's back, shouted "Yee Haw!" and had to be restrained. The palace refused to comment on the "All fur coat and no knickers" stories in the less respectable parts of the press.

Donn assures Chuck that he had not gone to any trouble, and that he always dressed like this on a Tuesday.
"Can you repeat that more slowly please? We're cutting down on expenses and haven't brought an interpreter. It sounded as if you said something like 'How'd y'all like three foot of rusty sword up your sorry limey ass' but I've no idea what that means.

Trisha and Janice told the prince that they certainly did not want to know what he had in his pocket, and that he could expect to hear from their respective mothers. Meanwhile Camilla is curious to know exactly what the children had done wrong to be roped off.


In order to avoid frightening the last 7 pairs of mating "McKenzie's bison" in Manitoba, Camilla was given a sound proofed umbrella. "I can still see you, though" joshed Charles, "and it's put me off rumpy-pumpy for the night!"

Charles was crestfallen. Mummy had told him that he would be going on a boat trip round the Great Lakes, but when he got to Toronto he had to make do with the Mayor's photographs of the new 'water feature' in his yard.

.... but I like it.

Now on YouTube - young Henry's audition to replace Steven Tyler.

Culture

May I solicit your views about the artistic performance most deserving of an award this weekend?

The contenders are:

• The elegant and poetic Martin Castrogiovanni, who epitomises grace and subtlety.

• The multitalented Henry. You will all know his dear mother Melissa from her association with dear old Bozza. Henry is the 8th of her seventeen children, and has already made it into the national spotlight. Henry hopes to become lead singer with Hawkwind when his voice breaks. On this link, he is about 9 minutes in.

• The cast of “The Thick of It”. I done several lols this week. I am especially enamoured of Ms Rebecca Front, and I have contacted her via Twitter to ask her, if possible, for her to visit and do her dance on the cushions at my house. As I have never met the lady I felt it expedient to point out in said message that I was not a pervert. Strangely, she has not yet replied. Those of you (Dave) with no interest in her distinguished comedy career may recognise her as the boss of the repressed homosexual Lewis and his screamingly camp sidekick Hathaway. Surely in this new century it is no crime to catch the other bus, and the sooner these two incompetent cops come out of the closet the better. I shall put this point to her if I get the opportunity.

IITW-E,WNBRI

I may attend to the request from the reverend gentleman in due course, but I need to record the fact that I have been moved by watching one of the finest displays of sporting prowess that I can remember.
For those of you, and I really must try to educate you, who do not appreciate the beauty of the spectacle of rugby union I will be brief.
Leicester have just beaten South Africa. South Africa are the world champions, and just about the best team in the world. The result may seem close, but actually they destroyed them. I have never seen a tri-nations team capitulate in the scrum in the way that the boks did tonight.
For those of you who would, more than a little churlishly in my view, say that it was not the main South African team, I would point out that Leicester had 12 players injured and a further 6 away on international duty - they had to recall players out on loan to other teams in order to make up a full squad today.
Please view it as a religious duty to see Martin Castrogiovanni play rugby in this lifetime.
That is all.

Brotherly love

The BBC news channel is offering a story in which David Cameron outlines the Conservative’s approach to Europe.

Unfortunately one has to watch a video stream in order to find out what the approach is, and I fear that I would regurgitate the delicious vegan fruit and ginger cake that I have just eaten if I had to watch the odious little tit.

So I am guessing their approach is via Calais and direct to Dresden with the bombers.

My approach to Cameron would be from above, sitting on top of a five ton weight.

I will be back after these messages

• Boggins is back. Perhaps only temporarily. Please do not miss what may be his final performance of the year.
• Do not miss "Campus" on channel 4 on Friday 6th at 10.00. Dear old Blue Cat is the star behind the scenes.
• I am reluctant to send you lot to this next one. This lady is my cousin. She is actually my cousin's wife, so we do not have any genetic connection. I have never met her, and don't want any of you to be silly when you go to visit. She is a very nice lady, and I have forgiven her husband and his family for fleeing the continent when I was born. If you misbehave I will have my other cousins come and sing to you. Then you will be very sorry indeed.
• I had a postcard from my dear friend ILTV. I done a lol. Get over there and make her do one. Now.
  

Weeding out the troublemakers

I felt compelled to join the growing numbers of highly qualified experts who have resigned from the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs. My resignation letter is enclosed below. I trust that you will all respect the confidentiality.


Dear Alan

I am sorry to lay this heavy trip on you, man, but would it be cool if I split this scene? It’s kind of freaking me out, and I really want to be mellow and spend some time listening to the latest String Band album, if you can dig it. I can dig your vibe, right, but the only reason people have got it in for dope is that it is the people’s weed, man. The CIA and the KGB got together to try to control the supply (this is true, Steve told me) but they couldn’t stop all the brothers and sisters who were growing their own. I think that it would be far out if you stopped trying to mess with our heads, man, and realised that no harm ever came out of a few joints. Wow, man, if you just turned on, tuned in and dropped out in the cabinet meetings it would be too fucking much.

Love, peace and move away from the towers.

Scurra.

P.S. You know what would be really cool? To rename the Committee “The Advisory Council for Information about Drugs”. (geddit?)




You will all realise that the only way that a committee can advise on drugs is to get totally stoned. Otherwise there is no objective way of forming a view. The BBC have tried to cover up this truth, for example when they reported the sacking of Professor Nutt (crazee name, crazee guy) they said:
“The professor said smoking cannabis created only a "relatively small risk" of psychotic illness.”
I have corrected the punctuation:
“The professor said, smoking, cannabis created only a "relatively small risk" of psychotic illness.”