Oi Jona Lewie, fuck off out of my head.
I love Christmas movies. Not watching them you understand, oh no.
I like to paw through the one copy of the Radio Times I buy a year. I then carefully study the film schedules to pick out the choicest films and set the PVR to record them. In the old days it required a bank of video cassettes but the results were the same. At the end of Christmas I’d have between five and ten films.
Then a year later I’d delete said films as I hadn’t bothered watching them in the whole year but needed to free up space for this years films.
To the girlfriend of the gentlemen I saw today, nothing says I love you like running out of a chemists as fast as you can with with a stolen shower gel gift set under your arm. You lucky, lucky girl. I hope he stole decent wrapping paper to wrap your gift in.
I have a chocolate advent calendar, so does my son. Mine has Homer Simpson on it, his has Winnie the Pooh. I’m 38 years older than he is. Yet somehow the designers of the advent calendars decided that our numbers should be in the same place and contain the exact same chocolates.
Today we both had what I think was an owl. It was equally deformed in each calendar.
As calendars go it’s almost as shoddy as this. Almost.
The lovely Mrs Fatuous bought me an early Christmas present, Sainsbury’s Mulberry Spice bleach. It’s part of their seasonal scents range.
I don’t know about you but, when I think chemically stripping faecal matter from a toilet, I think Christmas.
I haven’t been able to get a crappy advent calendar again this year due to a stupid illness that has left me with a face off of George Romero’s prop department, blinding headaches, the inability to look at computer screen for more than 10 minutes and bowel movements that can best be described as vociferous.
It looks like year will be more hasty tat thrown together at the last second. I’m working under the assumption that rock stars write their best stuff on drugs and that as I’m on five prescription drugs the gold will just flow out. I’m not sure Lennon wrote “I am the walrus” clutching his head and pebble-dashing the toilet. Still, I never shacked up with Yoko Ono, swings and roundabouts.
Today’s (yesterdays technically) advent treat was supposed to be a drawing but it was shocking bad as were the next six or so. You’ll just have to make do with this rambling nonsense instead.
I’m off to bed now and I’ve just eaten a cashew nut. What sort of drug crazed loon eats a slow release energy food just before bedtime?
Emerdale (farm, it’s still a farm to me, nay nay Mr Wilkes) has been feeling the heat recently after a blackboard in a scene contained an offensive message.
Was it this?
No, it was jam rags and pile cream. Oh those troublesome Dingles!
I had the pleasure of dropping somebody off at Belfast International Airport the other day. The airport had the genius idea recently of making everybody who wanted to pick up or drop off anybody pay a pound.
I can just, and I mean just, about see how you could justify charging to pick up as idiots were always getting there way too early and hogging the few spaces.
But how I wondered did they justify charging to drop off? Something that takes all of two minutes. See if you can guess.
Did you say to thwart terrorists? The airport is obviously targeting the terrorist who buys his balaclava from Lidl. Not like those fancy 9/11 terrorists with their plane tickets and flight training. No, they want to stop the careless terrorist who blows his entire budget on bomb making equipment.
Your pound doesn’t even pay for an attendant or security guard. You get the same bored looking policeman you always got and a basket to throw you terrorist tax into.
I was powerless to avoid paying this levy but I still wanted to make a point.
Hurrah for permanent markers and a potty mouth!
Fly my golden sweary wonder FLY!
Today’s Daily Mail cover is a classic. Who knew of Brucie’s involvement in the Moat investigation?
Yes I did buy a copy just for this image. I intend to offset this by kissing a lesbian immigrant.
Each nation is known for it’s fauna and flora. Mexican cacti, Austrian edelweiss, Dutch tulips and the Irish shamrock for example. I imagine the conversation that took place when England decided on what plant we’d be famous for went a bit like this…
Right guys I’ve got just the plant for us, you’ll love it. It’s green, yes I know lots of plants are green. Flowers? Well not really flowers as such, it does get a little fluffy if you leave it long enough. Size, well it’s quite small really, no it doesn’t have an interesting shape, it’s very straight.
Here’s the best part, you’ll have to grow thousands of them and they’ll look really terrible unless you spend every weekend going over them with a special machine. You also have to remove any other plant that grows anywhere near it which they’ll want to.
Of all the plants we can grow why did we decide we were going to be known for our bloody grass lawns.