Just Plain Odd

First off, just want to say congrats to Captain America and his official photographer J who have just taken delivery of a beautiful baby daughter. Well done, good work.

Anyway, on the train into work this morning we were entertained by a group of travelling musicians made up of gay New Zealanders. I know they were gay New Zealanders because they had on T-shirts emblazoned with the legend "I am a gay New Zealander". What is the collective noun for a group of gay New Zealanders I wonder?. Kiwi fruits would be my guess.

Once at my place of work I was chatting with a Swiss colleague just back from vacation. "How was your holiday?" I asked. "Oh I have been to Hell and back" he replied. "Oh dear" says I. Twigging that I did not understand aforementioned Swiss colleague proceeded to tell me that Hell is actually a delightful little place just down the A3 and which boasts some fine tufaceaous limestone grottoes (me neither). Oh how we laughed at my ignorance. He stopped laughing when I asked if he had seen the England-Switzerland game last night and has been blanking me ever since. 3-1 to England in case you missed it.

Going slightly off theme for a moment; another colleague asked me this morning if I liked football. I said I did. "Isn`t that Wayne Rooney a pig. With his pregnant wife and prostitutes" she said with some venom. "Why did you ask me if I liked football?. What the hell has that got to do with football" I replied. She is also blanking me now. And, yes there is more, last night the wife was watching the game with me and suddenly made what I can only assume she thought was an incisive footie related comment. "Oh it`s rare to see two handsome goalkeepers isn`t it?". What!!!.I refused to dignify the comment with an answer but 5 minutes later I found myself considering the relative merits of both keepers as lovers and potential fathers. What the hell!!!! I had been enjoying a simple game of footie on the telly and now I had to avert my eyes from all further camera shots that involved the keepers in case I had unmanly thoughts. This meant I missed the last three goals. That’s another innocent pleasure down the swanny. I am starting to realise that women may approach the beautiful game from a totally different standpoint.

Ok, now back on track again. Living on a hill in Switzerland I often come across amusing things that foreign people say and do. There is the Blumen Eck, not a drinking club for ex-pat Yorkshire men but rather a fragrant flower emporium on the street corner. Likewise, Pfister is a Swiss furniture store and not a niche market sex club.

A local restaurant will invite you to sample the appetisingly named Tageshit (daily special) and when asking for your breakfast cereal never, ever confuse Müesli with Müüsli. Both sound pretty much identical to the untrained ear but former is the crunchy alpen-like cereal while the latter is a small mouse and, while also crunchy, is something of an acquired taste. If you are in a Swiss bar and some drunk turns to you and your mates and says "chuntsch!", do not take offence, he is not looking for a fight but rather enquiring if you want to come with him to a party?

Only yesterday I read a story about how a local Swiss village plans to use the heat generated from a crematorium to heat the next door old folks home. I bet you could cut the atmosphere with a knife in that old folks home at the moment as they eye each other up wondering who will be providing the hot water next week. It also throws up all sorts of questions, not the least of which is what will happen when they need to crank up the thermostat during the long winter months?. Will some of the old birds be "encouraged" on their way in order to meet demand? They must be living in fear of news of an increase in the winter fuel allowance. Aren`t foreigners funny.

An Hommage to Fromage

Here is a letter I have sent to all of the contenders for the Labour Party leadership. I know you are all as enthralled as I am about the future direction of the Labour movement.

Dear Labour Party Leadership Candidates
I live on a mountain in the Alps and I am strangely, and vaguely erotically, excited by the current scuffle for the Labour leadership.
I want to share with you a dream I had last night. Well, right after my favourite bit involving Cheryl Cole, a gym slip and warm custard, the spectre of a floating voter appeared and revealed to me the top ten policy commandments. Unfortunately, that is what eating cheesey wotsits after the watershed does to you at my age. So, here are the top ten policy commandments the floating voter said that you should adopt if you want to win instant popularity and become the next Prime Minister.

1. Slap a massive tax the agoraphobic to plug the fiscal deficit. Nothing against them personally, but it would be simple and cheap to collect as you just know they`ll be home, and they are not likely to come out on a protest march. For similar reasons a tax should be considered on the claustrophobic and the clinically obese as. Even if they tried to avoid the tax and do a runner, the latter would never make it past the end of the sofa before collapsing in a puffing, sweaty heap and the former aren`t likely to go underground to avoid the tax. Brilliant!
2. Do not bother with upgrading Trident. Lets face it, nobody is actually going to think that you are a cheapskate in their final, terror filled, pant soilingly awful milliseconds on the planet because you vapourised them with last season`s ICBM. Spend the dosh elsewhere, say on schools, healthcare or ex-pats living in Switzerland.
3. Legalise drugs and set up free dispensing clinics with health checks. It would stop the junkies biffing old ladies for their pensions every Thursday or taking a dump on your new Axminster shag pile after they have stolen your flat screen TV. The drug gangs would simply go off in a sulk, they do that. Most drug dealers are Lib Dems. We could even pay malodourous third world farmers to produce the stuff, thus depriving those foreign johnnies of a major source of terror funding. Is this really such a crazy cheese inspired idea?
4. Let local people vote directly on local issues. I know, I know. You are uneasy about the idea of the great unwashed actually making any decisions, it is a bit scary, and of course those fizzing little balls of hate from the shouty crackers brigade would ooze out from under their Daily Mails, but at least no one could blame the government when it all goes tits up. Maybe, just maybe, it might encourage people to get involved in politics.
5. Make Aston Villa illegal- I hate them and it would really piss off the Prime Minister. Ok, so that was one I made up. Be nice. Mr Cameron had his "hug a hoodie" campaign, why not take it a step further with a "cuddle a currency trader", "blow a banker" or a "tenedrise a traffic warden" campaign?
6. Tax- Come on chaps, tax doesn`t have to be taxing. Bin it and start again. A wealth tax not inheritance tax- excluding ex-pats natch - a national, county and local tax set up bringing flexibility and direct accountability to areas to do as they think best.
7. Decriminalise prostitution. The spectre was quite adamant that we have to accept that, after several thousand years and Ms Harriet Harman, it ain`t going away anytime soon, so why not at least give the gals protection from pugnacious punters and pimps, and allow them to receive health care and help?. Again, what am I thinking, it`s wotsit inspired madness, quite bonkers.
8. Execute all children. Sorry, educate all children. Teaching not targets, local schools for local kids, top terms for top teachers, pride in performance, tough on stuff and any other poor quality semi-alliteration you can come up with. It cannot be beyond the wit of man to sort this all out. They do it in Switzerland.
9. Implement radical environmental policies: I have to admit that I didn`t pay attention to this bit, it`s all dippy hippy speak to me, but I think it went something like: off shore wind and wave farms..blah blah.. Charles and Camilla to be mulched and made into Duchy Originals…blah blah…nuclear power…blah blah… Jeremy Clarkson adapted to run on legume fumes…blah blah, …this royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, this other Eden, demi-paradise, this fortress built by Nature for herself against infection and the hand of war, this happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea, which serves it in the office of a wall, or as a moat defensive to a house, against the envy of less happier lands,-- this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. Sorry, that was the cheesey wotsits repeating on me again.
10. I only have a vague recollection of No 10, as I suspect do you as the days and weeks pass by. If you ever want to see the inside of No 10 Downing Street again it`s gonna take balls. (The author would like to point out that this does not constitute an endorsement of any particular candidate, particularly Mr E Balls)

Good luck to all the candidates whoever you are.

Best Regards

Sun Flowers and Starting School

Despite popular demand I am back. The interregnum, for which I now have a soothing balm, was caused by employment problems, to wit, my getting a bloody job. And no, just for the record, I do not work for the international parcel delivery service UPS. Well, what has been going on in Sunny Mountain Street?

Yesterday, the daughter started at the big school, very emotional. When the kids arrived, the school director, Herr Reditary, gave each child a sun flower. Most of the rich kids knew that this was intended as a gift, a symbol of beauty, a new dawn and a warm sunny welcome. A few kids from the poor side of the street assumed it was an early lunch and had to be whisked off to A&E for a precautionary pumping.

Each remaining child was then assigned a Year 6 hoodie to lead them off to their new classroom and, presumably, to mug them for their lunch money on the way. The proud parents of those children not already in the ambulances were then invited to follow and to view the first lesson.

The school itself is a charming example of the Führer Bunker School of architecture. Obviously, only the very best reinforced concrete had been used and the arrow slit windows flood the building with light at exactly 6.45 pm each evening. All of the landings had brightly coloured anti-suicide nets lovingly strung across the gaps, charmingly decorated with Hello Kitty and Spongebob Squarepants motifs so as not to unduly alarm the first years.

On the way to the classroom we lost a couple of parents from the local traveller community. I think they were Roma or maybe Welsh. They were later spotted on the roof stripping off the lead guttering.

Finally, the parental rump was asked to sit on the itsy bitsy teenie weenie hard wood pixie chairs that had obviously been designed by someone into derriere based S&M, probably a Liberal Democrat. I tried to lighten the atmosphere by asking the teacher "does my bum look big in this?" No of course I didn`t, but it`s the thought that counts. We sat there for an hour and I lost all feeling from the waist down. The kids all had a great time which I am informed by the wife is the most important thing.

She says it was, all in all, it was a delightful experience despite what my memory bank log says. And she is always right despite what my memory bank log says. Strange that.

Rich Man Poor Man

Yes I am back. Sorry. People never ask me how I manage to combine a high maintenance wife with a new job and still manage to produce this wonderfully entertaining and insightful blog. Easy, now that I am rich I simply employ poor people to write most of it for me.

A quick word of thanks to the team for all their hard work ( in lieu of payment again this month I`m afraid chaps). There is Large "Mad" Ron Kollida, easily the Street`s most outstandingly obese American, disgraced particle physicist Mrs Higgs-Boson and of course not forgetting old whatsisname.

One thing that I have noticed is that my new found wealth slips through my fingers like a football through an England goalkeeper`s gloves. I am now working simply to pay for Frau Nanny McPhee to look after the daughter, Frau Mop to clean the house and of course not forgetting the wife`s new state of the art sunglasses holder/hairdryer, or BMW 328i Convertible as it is more commonly known.

The pittance that is left over I am allowed to put towards surprise presents for the wife and daughter. Any remaining funds are mine to do with as I will, as long as I put them into the savings account to which I have no access.

Life is so unfair. My new high powered Alpha male status is certainly not as I imagined it would be. I had visions of Montecristo cigars, beluga caviar, high class hookers and bull semen hair treatments, but not necessarily all at the same time. Trust me, it`s not like that. Still I musn`t complain, I`m not a Liberal Democrat.

The Sands of Time

And now the end is near, and so I face the final curtain...and damn me if it isn`t dirty, I`ll have to pop it into the wash. That`s one more job I have to do in the dying days of what I had thought was my long planned for early retirement.

A week ago I decided that I would try and cram in as much of my life`s remaining "To Do" list as I could in the last few days beforing returning to the coal face. For the past three years my aim in life has been to do nothing and I must say I have hit it with amazing accuracy. I know hard work has never killed anyone, but why take the chance? And can you, hand on heart, say you would have done it differently?

So to be honest, it wasn`t actually a list, it only had one target and that was to do as much "sitting in the sun toasting my toes" as humanly possible. Who knows when I will be able to do it again. Anyway, done that. Tick. Does anyone have a remedy for sun burned toes?

At least we seem to have the nanny situation sorted. Last night the lads at Pot Bellies snooker club were getting very excited when they heard about the nanny. They asked me all sorts of probing pedagogical questions like, "is she fit?" Actually that was the only question.

I had to inform them that she has beautiful eyes, only one of which she removes at night, and that we would all lose an arm wrestling competition with her. The sense of disappointment was palpable so we had another beer.

Better go and wash that final curtain. Ciao for now.

The Vagina Monologues

Oh what a busy weekend. On Saturday, the first really warm day of the summer, I had to do community service, helping local piano dealer Yorkshire T and his lovely wife Ursula Von Deutschland move into their new country estate.

Ursula loves foreign travel but this year they will have to stay home after the expense of moving. Always able to think outside the moving box, Ursula hit on the bright idea of importing her own beach. I shifted several cubic tonnes of sand, a fully functioning donkey ride and a frightened looking ice cream vendor. There is now a perfect replica of the Costa Del Sol in a small village in Switzerland. I may never walk again.

Sunday and it was the daughter`s circus school performance. She was simply great on the high wire and the other kids were pretty rubbish. Pics available upon request. To celebrate we had a BBQ Sunday afternoon. All the great and the good were present, very select guest list, non of the local riff raff.

The guest list was as follows:

The Right Hon. Big J and Lady Annabel- Zurich`s social butterflies they were sadly only able to stay 5 minutes as they had another engagement. Three hours, several bottles of fizz and half a pig later they finally stepped into their waiting limousine and sped off followed by reporters from "Greuzi" Magazine, Switzerland`s equivalent of "Hello".

Richie Rich and Filthy Lucretia with heir and spare- they are the richest people in Switzerland. They arrived in their new 666 Series BMW FU Phallus convertible. Richie said he had only managed to get the car up to 270 kmh and complained that on a hot day he was sick of having to scrape bits of poor people off the windscreen. Well known philanthropists, they do alot of work in the community. Recently they erected a dung heap so that local children, if they stand on each other`s shoulders, can just about see the Rich family enjoying their olympic sized swimming pool. Jealous? You bet.

Mrs J Cameron-Clegg and the Rev. A. B`stinence and assorted Young Conservatives. Mrs CC is Gruppenfuhrer of the local Conservative Association and a leading light in the Prosecco Players, the local AmDram Society. There is a rumour that a New Years Honour is in the pipeline for her services to Blancmange. The Rev., a teetotaller, was hounded out of his native Australia for trying to ban "the devil`s tipple" and has now formed the Adliswil Temperance Society. Current membership 1

Beyoncé Lactose-Intolerant and children Brie and Gruyére. A tireless campaigner against the evils of cheese, Beyoncé made the front pages in the UK when she tried to fill in the Cheddar Gorge. She is a founding member of the Anti Fondue Front and lives on a hill.

Miss T Louboutin and fiance Mr D Head-Hunter Esq. Local "It" Girl Miss Louboutin is Zurich`s premier party organiser/attendee and a member of the "Prosecco Players". No champagne cork pops in this town without her approval and perhaps just a glass or two. She is affianced to Mr D Head-Hunter who controls the local Teamsters. No one works in this town without his say so. He is also a volunteer fireman and rumour has it that he and Miss Louboutin met when he rescued her from a burning hotel bar. She had gone back in to save the Kristal champagne and her address book but had been overcome by the fumes from a burning super model.

Yorkshire T and Ursula Von Deutschland. Frau Von Deutschland is one of Zurich`s best known architects. Her design for a SpongeBob Squarepants inspired pitch and putt crazy golf course to replace New York`s Twin Towers following 9/11 were narrowly beaten into 17685th place. She currently has 7 children and is expecting the 14th next Tuesday. Yorkshire T likes pianos,pot plants and Yorkshire tea.

After a lavish banquet, entertainment was provided by Miss T Louboutin and Mrs J Cameron-Clegg,"The Prosseco Players", who gave the assembled guests their charming interpretation of the "The Vagina Monologues".

I had hoped that Yorkshire T would tinkle the ivories accompanied by the extraordinary vocals of Ursula Von Deutschland and perform a version of Stair Way to Heaven. Unfortuantely, their piano was stuck halfway up their own stairway at home. You just cannot get good piano movers these days.

Luckily one of the Young Conservatives stepped into the breach and amazed guests with his Acrobatic Al Fresco Urination Routine. Guests were still talking about it hours later.

The evening was rounded off with dancing. I had planned a waltz but the Prosecco Players wanted to test out their new Macarena routine. Video footage is available upon request. I then telephoned the local taxi firm and a fleet of cars/ambulances arrived to take the guests away.

Suicide Isn`t Painless

The weather here is still as bleak and depressing as a UK election result, it`s really getting people down. I just drove past the Dignitas assisted suicide clinic and they were queueing round the block. There were also many religious groups protesting with banners saying things like "Don`t Let Worry Kill You- Let the Church Help" and "Honk if You Love Jesus".

I did honk the horn but only to clear the road of tambourine tapping happy clappers who were holding up the traffic. As I drove by one of the God Squad threw a leaflet into the car. All I can say is that any unemployed grave diggers reading this? Grab your shovel and hot foot it over to Zurich, you`ll hit the mother lode, guaranteed.

To add to my personal sense of doom and gloom I haven`t been able to find a decent shirt for my return to work. Actually thats not quite true. I did find and buy one shirt. To say it was expensive would be an understatement. I couldn`t afford it but the shop assitant gave me a special price. In the end I only had to sign over a tenth of my future income, agree to undertake a little light housework twice a week and perform a sex act. Shirt buying over here can ruin you and that really leaves a nasty taste in the mouth.I do miss Pinks and Hacketts.

Anyway, I have just had my 11am Pink Gin and I decided to read the leaflet chucked into the car at the protest. It had been helpfully translated into English and reads as follows.


REFORM CHURCH OF SATAN
CHURCH BULLETIN


Thursday night - Potluck Supper. Prayer and medication to follow.

Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our church and community.


This afternoon there will be a meeting in the South and North ends of the church. Children will be baptized at both ends.

Tuesday at 4:00 PM there will be an ice cream social. All ladies giving milk will please come early.

Wednesday the Ladies’ Liturgy Group will meet. Frau Würst will sing, "Put Me in My Little Bed" accompanied by the Pastor.

Thursday at 5:00 PM, there will be a meeting of the English Speaking Little Mothers Club. All ladies wishing to be "Little Mothers" will meet with the Pastor in his study.

Thanks to Frau Grun for her help at Easter when she came forward and laid an egg on the altar.

The ladies of the church have cast off clothing of every kind. They can be seen in the church basement this Saturday.


Who thought religion could be so much fun. I`m off to church. Have lovely weekends.

Innocent Until Proven Guilty

Modesty is a vastly overrated virtue so I feel obliged to tell you that The Widow Maker did it`s bloody work again last night. Two young cuesmen challenged and were then promptly dispatched with a brutal, clinical ease and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth from their assembled womenfolk. Yes, I won at snooker again. Is there no stopping me?

Today I have been feeling fed up. Partly its down to the weather, we have been living in a cloud bank for the last two weeks. But part of me, my feminine side perhaps, is tormenting me with the same questions time and time again: "Am I letting my daughter down by going back to work"? and "does my bum look big in this"? I am hardly able to sleep in the afternoons.

These feelings of guilt and shame, of letting the side down, of not holding out for the sake of a brave new world, of frankly being a sell out are oh so hard to deal with. Nick Clegg must be going through something similar.

Sources close to the author say it is a sign of being emotionally literate thanks to my three years as a Dummy. I think it may be dementia. The outward manifestations are worrying,a lack of concentration, short term memory loss and an inability to menstruate all point to the fact that I am not the man I used to be.

Does anyone have any advice?

The Widow Maker and the Au Pair

It has been a busy few days here on the Street as we search for an au pair. We have had to veto all the pouting, hair tossing 18 year olds full of eastern promise and with the morals of a Liberal Democrat. Totally unsuitable. When I say we, I of course mean not me. I am very open minded but perhaps it was a mistake to wonder aloud about taking duvet days off work.

I am sure we will find someone soon. Probably a Moldovan shot putter with stubble,sideburns,sensible shoes and a sun eclipsing silhouette.

Talking of pot bellies, it is snooker tonight. Another outing for my new snooker sword, the Excalibur of Adliswil,the Lightsaber from near Lichtenstein, forged in the fiery furnace of Hell`s bottom with added Dragon`s blood and just a pinch of nutmeg. In snooker loopy circles it is talked of in tones of hushed awe and known only as "The Widow Maker"

I want to be clear, that is "The Widow Maker" and not "The Window Maker" as my neighbour Aidan, or Hearing Aidan as he is known around here, seems to think. He is as deaf as a post, thick as two short planks and smells like a coalition government. Is that clear Aidan you deaf git!

Other than that not much to report. Thanks to all those who have voted on whether I should carry on with the blog. Love you all, except for the one who voted no. I will find you.

The Working Man

A spectre is haunting Europe, the people and the bankers wait in a state of exquisite arousal to see how the new man will perform. Yes, I have only gone and accidentally got myself a job!. More details available upon request.

Oh, and of course that unholy trinity, Tories, Libs and Dems have oozed and seeped their way into government. This morning all the ex pat Comrades gathered at the local Hooters bar. Over a glass or two of Heidi Slayer Beer with Cillit Bang chasers we discussed our options. The mood was very gloomy. Reg Hitler, the Street`s resident Communist, wanted an uprising. His life partner, Polly Glot, said she desperately wanted Reg to have one too but chance would be a fine thing.She says she can barely remember Erection Night 2005. Obviously the Viagra isn`t doing the trick.

The Street`s resident Idiot Savant, Warsaw Stan, said he feared a reintroduction of the Pole Tax and Ms Harriet "Hairy Legs" Hatemen, the firebrand leader of the International Gay, Lesbian and Transgender Nose Bleed Sufferers Collective, warned that there would be blood on the streets, and quite probably down the front of blouses too.

I decided to keep my own counsel, partly becuase those Cillit Bang chasers had made my lips go numb, and partly because I have not yet informed the Comrades that I am going to work for the military-industrial complex as a fascist running dog. No doubt they would accuse me of being a Champagne Socialist. My response, champagne, why not, nothing is too good for the working man.

It`s All Greek to Me

The family trip to Berlin to visit the wife`s olds was disrupted by Hephaestus, the Greek God with line management responsibilities for the fire of thunder and the flames of volcanoes.

Unable to fly we decided to drive up. There may have been a no fly zone at 30,000 feet but there was no shortage of the pesky little critters at ground level. I have spent most of this morning trying to scrape vapourised fly bits off my windscreen.

Driving on the German Autobahn is not dissimilar to a danse macabre, reminding all who hurtle along, what for the most part is a glorified country lane, of how fragile their lives are and how vain the glories of earthly life can be. I lost count of how many accidents we saw. Traffic reports of death and mayhem and stray cows in the fast lane (mad cow disease?)came in over the radio thick and fast. Strangely no "ghost drivers" this time. These are the suicidal souls who decide it would be a jolly good wheeze to drive the wrong way up a motorway and it seems to be a popular German hobby.

I noticed that every few miles there were posters of sad looking people under the banner "Runter Vom Gas". I asked the wife who this Runter Vom Gas chap was. A German X factor winner perhaps? She sighed her well practised sigh of the terminally disappointed, asked arched questions, the gist of which was had I ever actually turned up to one my German lessons, and then patiently informed me that it wasn`t a name but rather a road safety campaign slogan. It means take your foot off the pedal if you don`t want to die. Well, maybe, but I suspect that the majority of German road users also think Runter Vom Gas is an actual celebrity because they were certainly not slowing down. Maybe they were all racing to get home to catch his new single on tv.

Anyway, I survived. Lucky you.

Occam`s Razor-The Best a Man Can Get

Today the daughter is off school with a fever. I have been forced to clean around her, lifting her up every now and then to dust or hoover underneath. It has been non stop with the old Cillit Bang and I am exhausted. I havent even had the time or energy to shave this morning.

Well, I was taking the rubbish out when I saw Professor Roche Van Der Bong, the Street`s resident Dutch biologist know it all. The Prof is as thin as a stick and has his head in the clouds, literally, as he stands at well over two metres, that converts to just over bloody tall for those of you still using imperial measurements.

He was obviously out on one of his regular field trips, old canvas bag and butterfly net slung over his shoulder, pith helmet perched at a jaunty angle and sporting his usual unsightly sock and open toe sandle combo.

The Prof is always banging on about his work. He is totally obsessed and says his whole being is devoted to saving the richly diverse flora and fauna of our wonderful planet. Yawn.

I have always wanted to ask him why, when he finds some fascinating new species quietly going about it`s business, he feels obliged to impale it on a pin and then shove it into a dusty old glass display case?. But maybe its best to keep quiet for the sake of our friendship.

Anyway, after twenty minutes of being brought up to date with the fascinating developments in the world of tree-shrews and the mammalian phylogenetic tree (no idea) I managed to get a word in and told the Prof about the daughter`s illness, saying I wasn`t sure if it was Avian Bird Flu.

"You should use Occam`s Razor" said the Prof.

"I`m more of a Gillette man myself" I replied, stroking my unshaven chin.

The Prof slowly shook his highly domed head, "No, I mean Occam`s Razor,the principle that recommends selection of the hypothesis that introduces the fewest assumptions and postulates the fewest entities while still sufficiently answering the question".

"Eh?" I said

"I mean that the probability that your progeny has contracted H5N1, a subtype of Influenza A virus endemic to birds, perceived by some as a significant pandemic threat, is less likely than England winning the next World Cup" said the Prof in a decidedly egghead tone of voice.

"Eh?" I said

"She`s just got a cold you ignoramus" said the Prof

Well why didn`t he just say that in the first place?. Ponce.

Then he lolloped off to slaughter some more of his beloved life forms. I went in and told the daughter that she didn`t have Bird Flu.

"Get out of the way of the tv" she said " I can`t see Hannah Montana". I think she is feeling a little better. Excellent, back to school tomorrow.

Oh darling !

Sorry I was ill yesterday, bubonic space flu. A little better today thanks for asking. Anyway, despite being as high as a kite on flu medication I have dragged myself to the keyboard in order that you can get the final handy guide to help you decide to vote New Labour. See how much you mean to me.

As you may know I used to work very closely with Alistair Darling, the current Chancellor of the Exchequer. While we never became lovers there was some inappropriate touching around the Copenhagen Summit.

Anyway, Alistair agreed to be interviewed by me for your benefit. What follows is, to the best of my drug addled memory, an almost verbatim transcript of our romantic candle lit telephone chat.

Me: Hello, is that you darling?

AD: Who the f**k is this?. I`m in the effing sauna!

Me: Its me, stud muffin

AD: Oh its you. How`s it hangin?

Me: Now darling, we said we would never mention that little episode again. I just wanted to ask you why people should vote Labour in the next election. Whaddya think?

AD: Balls!

Me: Well really!

AD: Sorry, Ed Balls just came into the sauna in a state of psephological arousal and suggested we agree to get down and dirty on each others elections. I said no cos I have my freakin consultation period and it just wouldn`t be right. That little ***t is gagging to get his hands on my portfolio, I just know it. Anyway, I gave him a Glasgow kiss and he`s unconscious now.

Me: Thats wonderful Big Al. But this is a family blog that goes out before the 9pm watershed so try to keep it clean won`t you.Ok. First question. Why should people trust you to run the economy?

AD: Yes you are right that David Cameron and George Osborne, or Zippy and Bungle as Mrs Darling calls them, are totally clueless bed wetters. In a recent survey 9 out of 10 cats say that they preferred Labour to the Tories. As for those little weasels the Liberal Democrats it is a fact that 94.7% are kiddy fiddlers. So this election will be about policy and not personalities and I think the choice is clear.

Me: Right..what about the Prime Minister, the polls say he something of an electoral liablity?

AD: Screw those Commie b*****ds,they come over here picking our soft fruit and then expect to have a say. I blame Lech Walesa. Where was I, oh yes, while it is factually correct to say that all Conservatives are vile little slugs with breath like an autopsy I think we should concentrate on policy. In a recent survey 11 out of 10 women said they prefer Labour because they are worth it. And don`t worry about Gordon, I know a couple of geezers from Glasgow, sorted.

Me: Do you think the war in Iraq has harmed this country?

AD: Yes you are absolutely right that Saddam Hussein had several outstanding parking tickets which totally justify the inva...liberation of Iraq and he was card carrying Liberal Democrat. Lets not forget,a vote for the Lib Dems will allow the Ba`ath Party to have their wicked way with your children. And I think we all like having cheap oil. So whats the problem?

Me: You eloquently put a very convincing case darling. Anything else you would like to share with my readers?

AD: People read your crap? Well I really cannot comment on rumours that David Cameron is a vacuous whistling anus and that all Liberal Democrats are sexual deviants who smell of urine, that is for the voters to decide. But what I can say is that if you don`t vote Labour we are all ***cked.

Me: Thanks so much darling, very enlightening. Think we`ll have to end there before OffBlog close me down.

So there you have it. Now you have the full picture it is up to you to choose New Labour and who could blame you.

Jump on a Passing Liberal Democart

As promised here is the second handy guide to what the parties have to offer in the forthcoming UK General Election. Today it is the turn of the Liberal Democrats.

Top Pledges

1. Be totally cross our hearts and hope to die consistent, clear and tell it like it is. We will simply not promise anything to anyone anytime anywhere.

2. More police

3. Cut police budget to fund tree hugging

4. Cut down trees to help world peace

5. World peace except if we need to go to war to get world peace

7. The number six to be banned as this is offensive to non Christians

8. Campaign for the reintroduction of the number 6

6. A fully costed pledge not to giggle when we talk about being a realistic political choice rather than a wasted vote.

2.Improve the teaching of mathematics

9.More police again

7.Improve care for those suffering with dementia

7.Improve care for those suffering with dementia

1.Compulsory candy floss clouds and lemonade rivers

9.We will not tolerate intolerance

10. Ummmmmm

11. Support our troops

12. Undermine our troops

44. More neighbourhood watch schemes so that we can spot a populist bandwagon and jump on it

1. Everyone to have their cake and eat it

If the Lib Dems form the next government, stop it, it is widely predicted that Vince Cable will fill every cabinet position. The Lib Dem leader, old whatisname, is widely tipped to run in the 4.15 at Wincanton.

So there you have it. And remember, the Lib Dems are a serious force in modern British politics. Stop giggling at the back.

Game On

And so it begins. Given my vast experience in British politics I am able to give you a unique insight into what is happening today. Well, this morning the British Prime Minister caught the number 37 bus to Buckingham Palace to see the Queen. Assuming she was in, she has pilates on a Tuesday morning, the Queen will have offered the Prime Minister the traditional meal of Vimto and Eccles cake.

The Queen will then have challenged the Prime Minister to a game of Top Trumps. Mr Brown will of course have let Her Lizness win as dictated by royal protocol. He will then have let the Queen`s Equery clean the corgi sh*t off his shoes and have asked Her Maj if she minds awfully if he calls a General Election. So now it is game on and gloves off.

Living on a mountain in Switzerland it has been quite hard to keep up with political news. I do listen regularly to Radio GaGa , although the reception is somewhat erratic. So, based on what I think I have been able to pick out from in between the static, I have decided to give you a head start in deciding which party to vote for and have prepared a handy guide.

Today it is a handy guide to the Conservative Party.

Top Pledges

1. Cut Taxis. This is utter madness in my humble opinion. As anyone who has ever tried to get a taxi on a Friday evening will tell you. We need more taxis not fewer. If this goes ahead it will jeopardise the fragile economic recovery as pubs,kebab shops and lap dancing clubs will be forced to shut down through lack of punters.

2. Tax Breaks for married couples. As I understand it, stressed couples will be able to get away from it all for a long weekend in Belize with their host and possible British tax payer Lord Ashcroft. Married couples will be able to open off shore accounts and get unlimited duty free fags and booze as well as the chance to win non dom status.

3. NHS ring fenced. This means no one will be able to get into or out of the hospitals. After a few months starved of funds the patients and NHS unions will be forced into surrender. BUPA can then take over.

4. Caps for Immigrants- fashionable headgear designed by SamCam will be compulsory for all Johnny Foreigners. This will make them easy to spot and allow insults and rotten fruit to be thrown at them. This will boost the British fruit industry.

5. Fox hunting to be compulsory in all primary schools. In rural areas where foxes have already been wiped out schools will have the flexibility to hound homosexuals out of bed and breakfast accomodation instead.

6. The Conservative Party is committed to keeping Britain out of the Eurovision Song Contest. In this they have the support of the ultra right wing Polish and Latvian Nice Party. No question of judgement here then.

7. Waste will be targeted throughout government. Quangos, Tango, Spangles and Mangoes will all be banished. Civil servants will be retrained as domestic servants to serve in big country houses.

Early indications are that key positions in a Tory government would be given to the following people:

Kirsty Allsop- Minister for the Home Counties with special resonsibility for Braying Horsey Types, Patronisation and City Crash Pad building on a massive scale.

Carol Vorderman- Minister for Minor Celebrities With No Real Talent and Very High Opinions of Themselves

Simon Cowell- Employment Minister: Ensuring Britain keeps it`s position in this high tech world by promoting show biz as a realistic career option for our deluded youth

Ant and Dec- Our Man in Washington.

Multi Billionaire Zac Goldsmith- Minister for the Poor and Unwashed

Remember you heard it here first. Tomorrow the Lib Dems.

Easter Bunnies and a Rampant Rabbit

I spent this morning pottering around in the garden. Not through choice, I simply couldn`t find my house keys. Oh how I enjoyed the snow. Snow!. Its April the effing first and it is still snowing.

Anyway, to kill time I decided to prune the wife`s bush. Just as I was about to set about it with my trusty Swiss Army knife the daughter yelled April Fool! and produced the keys. How we laughed. She has her mother`s sense of humour. Does anyone know how easy it is to give children up for adoption?.

More developments in the strange case of the feuding Daughters of the American Revolution gang. As you may know they have ruptured because of ideological differences. A group consisting of mainly erstwhile lawyers want to resume work, they are now known as the "Daughters in Law". They hate the stay at home Daughter/mothers who think working mothers are super abusers. This group now style themselves as the "Don`t-Oughtas". Confusing I know.

To add to the confusion there is now a sub fissure between the two leading "Don`t-Oughtas". Accusations are being hurled around that involve a trip to the Accident and Emergency Department, a steak and kidney pudding and a Rampant Rabbit. Your guess is as good as mine.

The upshot, total chaos. The natural order has been turned on its head. There are no-go play dates, kids are napping rather than playing with the enemy and some have witnessed drive by ignorings. On the plus side the splinter groups are now so small that I am suddenly in demand. Whereas before I was as welcome in most households as a case of swine flu I am now invited into, and schmoozed in, the Street`s most fragrant salons. The hob nobs are munched as poison is slowly dripped into my ear. There`s nowt as queer as folk.

Moving on. Thanks to those who have given feedback on the blog. I love you. Have smashing Easters.

Mummy Trouble

Well I finally found out what all the hullabaloo was about from last week. Apparently the Daughters of the American Revolution have now split into two factions, those that are stay at home mums and those that want to go back to work.

Each group looks down on the other. One Go Back told me that the Stay at Homes are 1950s throwbacks, all Laura Ashley prints and Boden wellies who have excess body hair and smell of vanilla pods, spend time teaching their children to sing happy birthday in Cantonese and have all the go getting drive and ambition of a stay at home dad. Bit uncalled for that last comment I thought.

The Stay at Home view as told to me is that the Go Backs are self obsessed pop and go Epilady using breast milk expressing child abusers. Who is right and who is wrong I cannot and dare not say, they get nasty round here. If I take sides I could get a Filipino nanny thrown through my car window or a freshly baked cup cake lodged where the sun dont shine. All very unpleasant.

But it has got me thinking. Should I go back to work? I have always been upwardly mobile. I used to live in a valley and I now live on a mountain.Surely at the age of fortycough I still have something to offer. Of course it would mean the end of this blog.

What do you think? Basically this is just a desperate cry for attention. Other blogs get loads of comments. Is there anybody out there actually reading this? If you are wont you please write something in the comments section of this blog. Anything, email, female, male mail,hate mail,blackmail or Rik Mayall I don`t care. I also welcome stalkers. Time for a dry sherry I think.

Pipe Smoke and Mirrors and a Clerical Error

This morning I inadvertently dressed up as a bishop. Black trousers, a jumper of ecclesiastical purple with white shirt and black jacket. This impression was further reinforced when I stopped outside Zurich Cathederal to enjoy a contemplative puff of Scrotum`s Old Fandangable Ready Rub with my new cheery wood pipe.

Before I was eventually challenged by a passing Papal Legate and had to leg it I had conducted two baptisms, heard 17 confessions and done a roaring trade in Holy relics and Papal Indulgencies. I may have made some of that up but I certainly had an uncanny resemblance to a man of the cloth and there are a group of North Koreans out there who are blissfully unaware that their souls are in mortal peril.

All this would not have happened if the wife allowed mirrors in our home. I am not for one moment suggesting she is a vampire but it would be nice if I could leave home safe in the knowledge that I don`t look like an extra from Father Ted. It is worth reflecting on the subject of mirrors for a moment.

Ok, moving on. We are enjoying balmy spring weather here and the residents are out in force. Down at the playground the gangs were out last night, the Sunny Mountain Street Mother`s Mafia on one bench and the Daughters of the American Revolution on another. I sat alone on the rocking horse, gently swaying back and forth, watching. I think they have come to tolerate my presence by now. I wouldn`t go so far as to say that I have been accepted but at least they have stopped throwing things.

Anyway, out of the blue there was a kerfuffle on the Daughter`s bench. Two mothers rose and squared up to each other, Miu Miu handbags swishing menacingly. There were shouts of "fight!" (ok that was me) and "leave it, she`s not worth it" and "Won`t somebody think of the children!".

As quickly as it had started it fizzled out. One group of Daughters headed off up the hill while the rump stayed on the bench. I strained my ears as hard as I could and picked up fragments of conversation..."bad parenting....bitch....that`s it now...why is He listening in?". At that stage I decided it was wise to make my exit.They had a nasty glint in their sunglasses. I will use all my powers to find out what happened but there is undoubtedly a split in the ranks of the Daughters. Tee hee. I have missed this over the winter.

Post Script: Snooker Report: Wednesday 24 March 2010. Big J, our very own Rab C Nesbitt, had been in the pub since last Thursday so he wasn`t at his fighting best last night. Philthy, who hails from Essex and gave up his job as an armed robber of sub Post Offices to pursue his dreams, performed like a man who had been taking secret snooker lessons. Like a Mayfly enjoying a brief flirtation with life before the inevitable oblivion, he played with aplomb. I was playing with a piano leg. It was the only cue like object left by the time I arrived, but that in no way takes anything away from the his first ever thingy.

Some independent commentators have suggested that my game was badly affected by playing against the wind, with the sun in my eyes, a septic finger and a touch of the vapours but I said no. So hats off to Philthy, well done mate. All the lads in Pentonville Maximum Security Wing must be proud.

Cry Havoc and Let Slip the Dogs

And so it begins, my annual battle with dogs. Don`t get me wrong, I quite like dogs. It is the small minority of irresponsible dog owners that I have problems with. Recently a dog has been coming into my garden, digging up the bulbs and using the lawn as an al fresco toilet. I identified the dog`s owner as Shiela, the Street`s resident dyslexic atheist. Entering her garden I noticed a sign saying "Beware of the God", was this the dyslexic or atheist in her I wondered.

Anyway, I explained to Shiela as nicely as I could that I wasn`t happy. Her response was that it was only natural for dogs to roam around and do what came naturally. I said very well then, in that case every time the daughter wanted to take a dump I would bring her round and let her loose in Shiela`s garden. After all it is only natural for kids to roam around and do what comes naturally. Bingo. She was speechless.

Triumphant, I decided to make the most of the warm weather and take the bicycle out for the first spin of 2010. I had forgotten that the route into town is infested by dog walkers. Picking my way gingerly through the throng I finally hit an open stretch with no dogs in sight. Whistling a merry tune I was bowling along when suddenly out of the undergrowth a dog swerved out in front of me. I slammed on the breaks.The dog bounded up and started to jump up and lick me. I must say he was a very nice dog but I was annoyed that I had nearly had an accident. Seconds later an old man in a dirty old mac shuffled out of the trees and ambled up to us. "He likes you" said the owner. "Be that as it may my good man" I said, "You should have him on a lead, we nearly had a nasty accident". "Oh he is only doing what dogs like to do " said dirty old mac man.

Well, those words were like a red rag to a bull. Almost the same excuse I had received from Shiela this morning. I decided to apply a similar retort to the one I had so successfully used on Shiela.

"How would you like it if my young daughter leapt out of the bushes at you, panting and jumping all over you and nuzzling your crotch, eh?" I said. By the strange look that came over dirty old mac`s face I realised that he would like it very much. Mmmm, so this line of attack doesn`t always work. Sicko.

Giving him my best tut and roll of the eyes I pressed down on the pedals to make a dignified exit. My gears slipped and I came crashing down on the crossbar. "Oh that must have hurt" said dirty old mac man. It did. I still have tears in my eyes. Must go for a lie down with a cold compress. I think we might have to get a dog as I don`t think I can father any more children now.

Education Cuts, Education Bruises and An Education in life

This morning it was off to the daughter`s school for a parental visit. As you know I have experience of the little darlings from my trip to the zoo. I still haven`t got my wallet back. So before setting out I checked to make sure I had packed everything I might need, Mace spray, Taser and hip flask of Old Bloke`s Finest Sippin Liquor.

When I arrived kids were all strangely subdued and glassy eyed. I suspect their teacher, Frau Ning, had slipped Rohyphnol into the morning milk. She`s not stupid. Normally there are at least two adults there, the teacher and Vlad, her Spetznaz trained close protection officer. But the teacher had dispensed with his services this morning in order to create a good impression.

The register was taken and we all learned which kids had been taken into custody over night.

Then the children led us round proudly, if somewhat groggily, showing us parents the work they had done. The straight jackets in the naughty corner were covered in ribbons, the water cannon, riot shields and batons in the teachers room had a light sprinkling of glitter and the gibbet gently swinging outside the entrance had been buffed up to perfection.

Then it was arts and crafts time. I was put in charge of the bucket of feathers and glue with orders to keep a close eye on things. Now I am not a professional and I think that was asking too much. Half an hour in little Razor came up to me and said there was a phone call for me from the Prime Minister. I marvelled at the No 10 Downing Street telephone operator`s abilities to track people down. While I was gone the little class swot Maisy-May got tarred and feathered. How was I to know, I was set up. No recall to British politics and the pre election fray for me sadly. Gutted.

Well anyway its over now and thank goodness. I have feathers where the sun don`t shine but all in all it was a very enlightening experience. I`ll send the wife next time.

Wishing you all a pleasant weekend.

How To Get Black Balled In One Easy Lesson

Last night was my weekly unescorted release into the community. My carer made sure I had everything I needed. Bus fare and enough for a choccy treat,check. Piece of paper in breast pocket with my name and where I live written on it, check. Gloves securely sewn onto elastic and into the sleeves of my jacket, check.

Yes it was snooker night with the special needs care in the community lads.

My first game was against Four Points aka Philthy, who pulled off some brilliant shots but then quite unexpectedly started to play on my side. With two people playing against nobody it was not a close game but I didn`t like to say anything. He was very excited about his new brown seude shoes and kept looking at them admiringly. I don`t think this really helped his game. Sadly he had forgotten to take the shoes out of the box and had to hop around the table but the locals know him down there by now and are quite understanding, bless him.

Next up was Big J,the Bill Werbeniuk of Pot Bellies Snooker Club. Tragically, due to health service cuts, he has been forced to self medicate with 30 pints of Special Brew an hour. If he hits and sustains his beer peak he can be a devastating player. He didn`t. When he finally reached the peak last night he immediately fell right off the other side. Such a waste. So that was 2-0 up for yours truly.

Finally, it was Blind Jon and his formidable new cue, Satan`s Todger. He was also enjoying a 2-0 score line at that stage. His confidence riding high because of a recent award at work for the high standard of his packed lunches, he promised to be a dangerous opponent. Blind Jon is a fine player trapped in the body of a Liberal Democrat and despite the fact that I was playing with a bent cue and a ruptured spleen the young pup was taught a lesson in the dark arts of snookerocity.So a very satisfactory 4-0 night for me. Is it smug in here or is it just me?.

Then we all went back to our institutions and were strapped in for the night. Just want to wish Blind Jon bon voyage. He is off to Snooker Camp for a month.

Girl Power!

Waking this morning to the soul stirring sound of birds singing their little hearts out I flung open the bedroom window and gulped in the soft mountain air, noticing too late the neighbour and her two teenage daughters at their kitchen window directly opposite. They stared right back at me. I must remember to buy some pyjamas.

Moving on. People often ask me how I find time in my busy life as a Dummy (daddy who takes on the traditional role of mummy) to maintain a blog. Its easy, I simply neglect other things. The house is a tip and daughter has not eaten a sqaure meal since early December.

Infact, I can see her out the window trying to shimmy up to the bird table, desperate to get at the food. So cute, up she goes, oops, slips back down. She looks confused but has no idea that I have greased the pole. I don`t want the neighbours thinking I am a bad parent.

But she is happy. At least I think she is, she is not talking to me at the moment. I must have done something wrong, its either that or lockjaw.

Anyway,I treasure our precious father-daughter moments. Just last week were sitting watching a cop show in a companionable silence. Suddenly, the daughter pointed at the screen and announced that when she grew up she wanted to be just like one of the women on telly. "Ah, a detective" I replied. "No, the other one" said the daughter. I looked at the screen. The other woman was a lap dancer.

I nearly choked on my absinthe. Over my dead, cold body. With hindsight maybe I over reacted. In the last few weeks alone she has said she wanted to be a super spy, a pony with a rainbow mane and the leader of the Liberal Democrats. All silly passing childish fancies I know but maybe I am letting her watch too much telly?.

Well thats all going to change. My daughter will only have positive role models, both male and female, from now on. There is no reason that she cannot try to be anything she wants to be. Living in a female dominated household (the only time I get to pee standing up is at the snooker club) I have come to recognise that women are better at pretty much everything except throwing, catching and scratching.

And in her mother she already has a role model who, when sober, can be inspirational. I have decided I need to do my bit, to give the daughter a rounded education. So with the benefits of my vast experience I will teach her all the essential secrets of the male world: how to bowl the googlie, the lbw and off side rules, the difference between a ruck and a maul and how to get your conkers super hard . If she wants to pee standing up so be it, I`ll buy her a Shewee for Christmas.

So now that I have a plan we can concentrate on her actual career. This is obviously going to be as an opening bat for the English Women`s Cricket Team and England`s first Winter Olympics downhill ski gold medal winner. She can play conkers for Germany. If at first you don`t succeed, live vicariously. Thats my girl.

Nummies Au Naturel

Waking early on Sunday I saw that the glacier in my garden had started to recede. The small family group of itinerant Sami reindeer herders who had been living by the shed had packed up and headed north. I will miss those evenings by the fire but I found the Lapp dance I was given very disappointing. I wonder if reindeer crap is good for roses?.

Could this be the start of spring?. Listening hard I could just make out the sound of the birds coughing down by the chemical factory, and lo, was that the unmistakable first flush of spring down at the playground, milk laden breasts bursting through nursing bras and into the life giving sun, signalling the start of this year`s al fresco feeding frenzy?.

After our traditional Sunday morning breakfast of whatever is left over from Saturday night I agreed to let the daughter go down to the playground. When I woke up again after a couple of hours I decided to go and check that she was ok.

The playground was infested with tots and mothers. Oddly, members of the rival gangs, the Sunny Mountain Street Mothers Mafia and the Daughters of the American Revolution seemed to be getting along well and talking animatedly about something. As I approached it all went quiet and the botox brigade turned my way as one. I didn`t think it was possible to frown disapprovingly after poisoning your own face.

"Hi" I said, stubbing out my Capston Cork Tip. " Just come to see if everything is ok. You cannot be too careful these days. There may be Catholic priests in the area".

That didn`t go down well and you could have heard a baby drop, which it did, but that was not my fault. There appears to be a nest of Papists that I was hitherto unaware of. Even the Hindus,Protestants and other assorted God botherers seemed to take offence.

"How remarkable that you let your daughter come down here on her own" piped up one disgruntled runt. I recognised her, this was recent addition to the street New Dawn who moved over here with her traveling salesman husband, Non Dom. Despite being here only a short time she has risen through the ranks quickly and now heads the Daughter`s National Security Agency, monitoring potential threats to a wholesome American way of life. She has me down as a real and present danger to everything that is decent and wholesome.

Even though I have given up religion for Lent I thanked the almighty for what happened next. An older kid, must have been 6 or 7, walked up to his mother and said "I want nummies". The mother obligingly whipped out her equipment and proceed to feed the fully fledged freak.

There was a collective eeww of facial expressions and undisguised panic in the eyes of those mothers with older kids. They moved like a herd and started to shield their offspring from the sight and usher them away. So much for the sisterhood, ha, but at least the heat was off me.

Oh Fudge Where Art Thou

I had a Facebook friend request this morning from Stomper, a kid I knew at school. He used to boast that he was a Neo Natel when what I think he meant was a Neo Nazi. Clearly he was not the brightest button in the box and currently works as a speed bump in Leeds.

It always puzzled me how someone with the IQ of a stick of liquorice and the body mass index of Jabba the Hut could claim to be a member of the master race. I do rememeber I used to enjoy winding him up by pretending that I was Pakistani. Praying 5 times a day was tough but I dropped 2 dress sizes during Ramadan.

Anyway,I declined his friend request but did find on his site a link to an old school chum, Fudge. Fudge was very quiet and very very fat. It must have been terrible for the poor chap. Teachers can be so cruel. The main thing I remember about fudge was his ear wax. He used to have amazing formations of the stuff, stalactites and stalacmites even. He let us queue up to shine a torch in his ear so that we could marvel at the natural wonder that was Fudge`s ear. And he never even charged us,a missed business opportunity as he would have been minted and had the run of the tuck shop.

Well I wont take you any further down memory lane just now, mainly because it is blocked by a bloody great snow drift. Yes it is still snowing here. Its been such a long hard winter here that the starving garden birds have unionised and now hunt the cats. And still no sign of Missy Biggs, the street`s smallest mother. I hope to God she has been taken in by a family of friendly hedgehogs and will emerge snuffling if a little flea ridden in the spring. When will this winter end!?.

Surprise! Dummy

If my hangover is anything to go by then the wife`s surprise birthday party last night went very well. I had told her that we were going out for a quiet dinner. But in actual fact I had arranged a surprise party in the Münz Bar, inviting the coolest and most interesting people we know. Sadly they were all too busy to come.

In the end it wasn`t too bad and after eight beers I stopped yearning for a swift and merciful death and the assembled motely crew of drunks and deadbeats, many of whom must be kept away from matches and are not allowed scissors, became strangely interesting. Granted, it was interesting in a wild life documentary sort of way rather than a why dont you come over for dinner sometime kind of way.

This morning I slithered out of bed and oozed my way like a toxic spillage down stairs, every movement and sound an ecstacy of nausea inducing agony, muttering "I will never ever touch alcohol ever ever again". I know full well that if I had a pound for every time I have said this I would have been able to buy my own brewery by now.

After I had packed the daughter off to school I decided to go for a walk to try and clear my head. Down in the town I had a look around in Tony Broccoli`s Clothing Emporium. I think I must have dozed off while standing next to the window display because when I came to a woman screamed. She apologised and said she had thought I was a shop display dummy. How we laughed. Bitch.

But this is not the first time this has happened to me. I remember in London, trailing after my then girlfriend around yet another boutique, I found a nice quiet corner and went into catatonic shut down just to dull the numbing boredom. When I moved to scratch my nose I startled a woman who screamed. She also informed me that she had thought I was a window display unit. This is now troubling me. Am I really so hard to distinguish from a mannequin? Do I have the skin complexion, personality and presence of a shop dummy? If I stood starkers in the window of H&M with a SALE sign around my neck would anyone notice? and do I want to know the answers to any of those questions?.

Barbie Girl

Today I have been pondering age. I am considered something of a blue sky thinker here on the street. Unfortunately its cloudy most of the time. Well, today is the wife`s birthday. Happy birthday the wife!. She shares her birthday with Barbie (I mean the doll and not the erstwhile head of the Lyon Gestapo 1942-44). Having a bit of time on my hands this morning I decided to learn more about Barbie the doll.

It appears that the older market is now catered for. You can now get a Bifocals Barbie. She comes with large print copies of Home and Garden and The Lady magazines. Then there is Bingowings Barbie and finally Divorced Barbie, who comes with Ken`s house, Ken`s car and Ken`s boat.

Anyway, it is cold and snowy here, so cold it makes your teeth hurt. The drifts are up to knee height. The word on the street is that Missy Biggs, the smallest mother on the street, has not been seen since the snowstorm. We have been asked not to use snow clearing machinery or burn garden rubbish before checking whether Missy is underneath. Or did I just dream that?. I think I may be going snow mad.

However, I know for a fact that I have picked up a repetitive strain injury from cleaning. Nearly three years of being a house serf, buffing,scrubbing and polishing has left its mark. My shoulder is giving me jip and its playing havoc with my googlies. My cricket career may be over before it got started, a bit late I know but I really felt that this season was going to be mine for the taking. How did it come to this and why don`t we have a cleaning lady?. I used to brief packed lunchtime press conferences in Downing Street, I now pack lunches in my briefs on Sunny Mountain Street.I need legal representation.

Anyway, am taking the wife somewhere special for her birthday this evening. I have excavated one of my old suits and shaken the mothballs out. If you stand up wind you can hardly smell anything.

More tomorrow.

Sorry

As a public service the police have asked me to publish the following post. Currently they are hunting a gang of international cheese smugglers. Here is a picture of Inspector Knacker with two suspected members of the gang. They were later released without charge as the police could simply not figure out how they moved the cheese wheels around without arousing suspicion.





The next picture shows a suspected cheese mule. These often unwitting innocents are forced to swallow many packets of cheese wrapped in condoms to avoid detection




Police in the UK have found that the end product is often cut or grated and is being sold quite openly to children as young as 37.




If you have any information that can help the police please call the Cathedral City PD.

The Great Smell of Brut

I was sitting at the breakfast table this morning when the daughter came down and said "You are not really a tosser are you daddy?". Well, I nearly bit the end off my Cohiba. "What! who have you been talking to?" I spluttered, removing shredded cigar leaf from my Choco Krispies. Then it dawned on me, she was talking about pancake tossing. My inability to toss has obviously scarred her more deeply than I thought.

She then told me that Jay, the bad boy/heart throb of the kindergarten has been at work again. Apparently yesterday he enticed the daughter and another girl in a double hug with the promise of unlimited sherbet dip and then took turns kissing them. I decided that action needed to be taken. I waited for Jay this morning as I had decided it was about time we had another chat. He told me that his secret with women lay in using Spiderman shampoo and shower gel. Well who would have thought it. I told him that in my day it was Karate, Old Spice and just a splash of Brut that was guaranteed to drive the ladies wild. Then he started to cry so I had to scoot tout suite.

Anyway, off to the supermarket this afternoon, maybe I`ll see if they carry the Spiderman range.

Let Them Eat Pancakes

For Lent this year I have given up religion. This means for the next forty days I can just kick back and enjoy life. Don`t know why its taken so long for me to think of it.

Yesterday I made my first ever pancakes with the daughter, just like in the good ol days when my mother would produce industrial quantities to feed me and my brothers. I did try to flip one, but it was more of a flop than a flip and the daughter looked at me with poorly disguised pity. I think the super dad phase is coming to and end and she is beginning to realise what a disappointment I am.

Today was the last ice skating lesson of the season. I will really miss standing on top of that hill in nut numbing sub zero blizzard conditions. The only thing that kept me warm was laughing at all the kids with obviously as yet undiagnosed inner ear problems. Hey ho, but it does mean that spring cant be far off..surely, please God. Just remembered I cant say that for the next 40 days.

Anyway, now for a public service announcement, does anyone have or know of a room to rent in Zurich for about a year to a young lady?. If you do, could you let me know please.

Psycho Smurfs and a Lucky Break

As you know it was off to the zoo yesterday. I had charge of three kids, the daughter, a boy called Trotsky and a girl known as Amnesia. We had a jolly trip in the car singing along to the Best of Bucks Fizz.

At the zoo I went with the teacher, Frau Ning, to buy the tickets. I let Frau Ning go first as I had lost my zoo membership card and needed to get a new one. The woman behind the counter was not the brightest button in the box and an argument broke out between the two over prices. The woman also complained that the kids were making too much noise. Finally they got it together and it was my turn. The woman tutted about unruley kids. "I know, terrible innit" I said pretending not to be part of the group. I thought we hit it off quite well and she brightened visibly as we discussed falling parenting standards and the Swiss trade deficit. But it didn`t stop the bitch charging me 20 Francs for a replacement pass.

Then it was off to watch the penguin parade. All the kids lined the path and waited patiently. I say all the kids, what I mean is all the kids who weren`t in our group. I looked at the kids opposite, all immaculately turned out,quiet and well behaved in their straw boaters. Then I looked at the psycho smurfs I was with. Enoch and Flex were robbing one of the collection boxes, Trotsky was using a compass and ink to tatoo Love and Hate on Slab Murphy`s knuckles, Thor tried to pppppick up a penguin and the girls were all applying make up and swapping flirtatious looks and telephone numbers with the Boater boys opposite. They grow up so quickly these days, 5 is the new 17.

In the reptile house I had a man to man chat with Jay, the school bad boy and heart throb. The daughter had told me that Jay was planning to kiss her today. "What are your intentions towards my daughter?" I asked him while adopting my most concerned father face and taking occasional puffs of my pipe full of Scrotum`s Finest Old Fandangable Ready Rub. "What does intentions mean?" he replied. The boy is an idiot.

The rest of the visit passed off without incident, probably becuase the zoo authorities had insisted we had an armed escort by then. Then off home, dropped Amnesia at the local kebab shop and Trotsky disappeared under the bridge where he currently resides. I was knackered and I think one of the little bastards swiped my wallet.

Moving on, rumour has it that there is a new blog in town. Its called The Swiss Clinic so I am told. I decided I needed to find out more about the competition so I squeezed my local sources, Red Heinz and Big Daddy. Red Heinz said he believed it was something to do with the treatment of sexually transmitted diseases, Big Daddy that it was an exclusive forum for those with embarassing genitalia, a kind of very small members club is how he described it. When I find out for sure I will let you know.

Then off for snooker. Mixed night for me and Big J. Blind Jon gave me a beating, I congratulated him and reassured him that, despite what the barmaids were saying, this uncharacteristic victory for him was nothing to do with the fact that I was totally washed out after the psycho smurfs. I also didn`t mention the injury I was carrying manfully during the game. Even Land Phil, on his first canter out in the paddock, turned in a remarkable performance. Off to prepare lunch.

A Handbag the Zoo and a New Cue

Sunday it was ice skating again. Now as you know I hate ice so I just sit and read the papers while sipping a hot chocolate while the wife and daughter trip the light fandango. One down side to this is that I have to look after the wife`s handbag. After 3 man sized hot chocs,and what with the bladder shrinking cold, nature took its course and I needed to visit the facilities. Here I learnt a valuable lesson. Never sling a handbag over your shoulder when entering the men`s toilets. Granted it gives you hands free access but it is a schoolboy error.

In a normal men`s toilet you would probably end up needing an ambulance but in one at an ice rink you are more than likely to leave with an eye opening new experience, and perhaps splinters. Lets face it, ice skating is not the butchest of pastimes. When I entered the room it was full of trainee homosexuals primping, preening and pouting. You couldn`t get near the mirror for all the spandex,sequins and spangles. With the benefit of hindsight it was also a big mistake to wear my new mauve jumper and apply a generous coat of the wife`s juicy fruit lip balm before going in. I became the centre of attention, but not in a good way.

It was my fastest ever pee. I am strongly considering getting a catheter fitted for my next visit.

This afternoon I have been conned into helping on a school trip, taking the tots to the zoo. You can`t possibly understand how much I am looking forward to it. If I make it through then its snooker tonight with Big J, Blind Jon and Land Phil. Blind Jon has a new cue, sensibly he bought it in very light wood so it can double as a white stick. Money well spent I think. Update you tomorrow.

Spanx for the Memories

It is snowing again. I am getting fed up with it, it`s so depressing. I am experiencing frequent black dog moments. His name is Felix, the neighbour`s labrador. The bloody dog barks everytime someone moves, which makes it socially awkward for me when I am trying to secretly tip garden waste over the neighbours hedge rather than take it to the dump. I believe Winston Churchill had a similar problem.

Anyway, bumped into Reg Hitler and Polly Glot this morning. They were struggling up the snowy hill carrying shopping bags. This is very unusual as, despite being eco hippy save the plant mung bean freaks, they drive everywhere. Reg told me that their car, a Toyota Pius, has been recalled for safety checks, something to do with sticky brakes. I said they were probably sticky with chicken blood because their charming little Chlamydia likes biting the heads off poultry and small rodents just for fun. No you are right, I didn`t actually say that, just thought it.

Then I remembered that they have a second car, Polly drives a little Renault Clitoris. It turned out that this too is out of action as darling little Chlamydia had hidden the keys and is refusing to divulge their location. Bless her. Polly then droned on about how well Chlamydia was settling down in the local Borstal Secure Unit after being "totally victimised and unfairly" asked to leave her previous school for throwing classmates from the dual carriageway overpass and gluing others to trees. Polly, bless her, is fluent in four languages and interesting in none.

Then Polly`s shopping bag split and everything tumbled into the snow. I helped them gather up the shopping. I picked up a package labelled Spanx. "What`s this?" I asked. Polly went red and pale at the same time, not pleasant, and, gathering up the shopping rushed off home. I told Reg that I didn`t mean to offend, well not this time anyway. He said not to worry and that Polly was a little self conscious about using Spanx. "Yes, but what the hell are Spanx?" I asked.

It turns out that they are compression under garments that make women look a lot slimmer than they actually are. All the rage on the street Reg informed me. Well,you live and learn. That certainly explains the bulging necks and calves I have noticed on the street recently. I had always put it down to water retention or gas. But apparently no, these women are being squeezed like a tube of Pàte, it is not surprising that with so many pounds per square inch of pressure a certain amount of ballooning overspill takes place. But my goodness, if that was what Polly looks like while wearing Spanx I do not want to be a fly on the wall at bedtime. Imagine the pressure build up during the day, it would be like releasing a tsunami. She would need at least 2 metres clearance before she pulled the rip cord to release the garment. Doesn`t bear thinking about.

I know, I know it is very easy to mock, that`s why I do it. I wonder if they do Spanx for men. Off for a quick Google.

Dib Dib Dib

I remember the day my scout troop, the 201st Hagley Bastards, was disbanded. We were forced to line up and were ceremonially wet towel flicked out of Baden Powell`s finest after a series of incidents involving the local girl guides, the Queen, warm custard and a flag pole. I will spare you the sordid details. Our scout leader, Adolf Hathaway, moved down the line, shredding scarves and mashing merit badges. The most painful experience was having my woggle crushed under a hob nailed boot.

We were then informed that we were a disgrace to Queen and country and that never in the history of the scouting movement had a troop achieved such notoriety. When I asked if this qualified for an achievement badge we were forced to flee screaming into the night as old Adolf lost it and went absolutely shouty crackers.

So that is where my association with the scouting movement ended some 30 years ago. I always assumed that my family name had been placed on some International No-Scouting list. So when the wife signed up the daughter for the local Swiss Brownie troop I was expecting a bit of a kerfuffle. But it appears that time has healed the collective scouting consciousness and the daughter was welcomed into the fold with open arms.

Did you know that the book Scouting for Boys (you have to love scouting, the names they use, its a target rich environment for double entendres) comes fourth in the list of bestselling books of all time, behind the Bible, the Koran and Mao-Tse-Tung`s Little Red Book?. There is also a book called Scouting Aids. Presumably this is a must-read after the scout master has located you via Scouting for Boys.Be prepared, always practice safe scouting. Please feel free to use any of these amazing facts to impress your chums.


They do seem to be a bit short on meeting places over here. Ours was under a tree just off the A3. When we arrived we approached one girl who looked about 12 and asked her where Brown Owl was. It turned out that she was Brown Owl.

We were told that the mandatory parts of the Swiss uniform are the shirt, scarf, hiking boots, fire lighter and a Swiss army knife. Optional items are a belt, Scout jeans (obviously ones that stay up if you refuse the optional belt), hat and dagger. Yes that’s right, optional dagger. This list would send your average English Health and Safety officer into a spinning hissy fit, but they have balls here, ging gang goolies infact.

Anyway, the daughter loves it. The end.

Ice Age 3

The street is still covered in a blanket of snow. Even by Swiss standards we have had a lot of the white stuff this year, more than you could shake a stick at. One of my favourite pastimes during the winter is to go down to the Vegetable Bridge, get a hot chocolate and watch people fall over on the ice.

This morning I met up with two good friends, Minty and One Round. Minty had a copy of the International Judging System For Figure Skating so we scored the falls a bit like a skating comeptition. We gave points for artistic impression, choreography and how long they were unconscious. Credit was given for jumps, spins and footwork. Bonus points were given for taking passers by down. One Round emerged as the winner. He selected two mothers with prams, a Rabbi and a convoy from the Graubünden Gay Pride Tandem Touring Club who all went down like Andrew Murray. They simply had no chance, it was very messy. How we laughed. I suppose we could have warned them, but where is the fun in that.

Eventually Minty and One Round had to leave to check in with their parole officer so I went home.

It`s a Bull Market

Housekeeping first: In the previous post I wrote that the wife likes my new goatee beard and that she compared me to Johnny Depp. Her lawyers, Messrs Gettum Inn and Fleecum, have asked that the following clarification be made public.



"Our client wishes to express in the strongest terms possible that she hates the aforemetioned goatee and that she did not compare the author favourably with Mr Depp. What she stated quite clearly was that even Mr Depp did not look good with a goatee. If the author does not shave that damn thing off our client will be forced to withdraw from the marriage forthwith".



What can I say, I`m heart broken. Moving on, I have had complaints about yesterday`s exposé of the seemy underbelly of alpha male banker activity post bonus involving east european hookers, gym slips and warm custard.



One female banker correspondent, who goes under the pseudonym "Filthy Lucrezia", pointed out that women also get obscene bonuses. Quite right too, mea culpa.



So I decided to explore what female bankers get up to with their big bang bonuses. Of course we all know about what they get up to with Botox, Blaniks and Bimboys, but what else can the loaded girl about town splash her cash on?.



Exotic beauty products and treatments were an obvious angle to explore. Following a tip off from my correspondent I investigated the latest en vogue treatments available. I just wish I hadn`t.



The first treatment I found is called a Geisha Facial. This sounded interesting and I was ready to phone the local brothel to book myself in. Thank goodness I didn`t. The Geisha facial is where you have nightingale droppings rubbed into your face. Yes thats right, you pay money to have bird shit rubbed on your face. Apparently this originated in Japan because Geishas had trouble removing the thick white makeup. One day someone had the inspiration to rub nightingale dodo all over her face just to see what happened. I am speechless.



I thought this was as low as it could get, but oh no. The next treatment I found was Bull Semen Hair Treatment. I know!



My research told me that the idea came (forgive me) to Katherine and Hari Salem, who own and run a hair salon, over dinner with friends. Now I have been to some pretty rum partys in my time but I can honestly say the subject of bull semen was always considered beyond the pale, because its difficult to catch in a bucket I assume.



Anyway, as luck(?) would have it, at this party there was a cow cum pusher?, puller? tugger? whatever the correct terminology is. He agreed to pimp his cows and so the treatment was born. Apparently, the sperm is applied to freshly washed hair, massaged in and left for 30 minutes and is a best seller. It leaves the hair soft and bouncy but not lank and flaccid, which I guarentee is more than you can say for the bulls.



I cannot help thinking that you could achieve the same effect at a fraction of the cost by hiring out a pantomime cow costume, wearing it back to front in a farmer`s field and looking available and Viola!. Women scare me.

The Beard and the Burqa

I met Fatima, the bearded lady of Adliswil, this morning while out walking the snow covered mountain. She had a face like thunder altough its difficult to make out subtle facial expressions under that magnificent beard, it could just have been a touch of wind.

Anyway, I asked her what the matter was. Will I never learn. She was, she said, incandescent with rage because of a ruling by a Swiss court that a Muslim woman basketball player was not allowed to wear a headscarf when playing. This comes on top of a decision to ban the building of minarets. This was an attack on the Muslim community she said. "Would you wear a burqa?" I inquired. The answer was a resounding yes. I nodded sympathetically and said Fatima should follow her heart in this matter. I only said this because I believe that the world would be a far more attractive place if Fatima was covered from head to toe in a sheet.

I was about to say my goodbyes when I saw an avalanche heading down the mountain directly towards us. My whole life passed before my eyes, and what a disappointment it was. I must get out more.

My terrified mind tried to remember to do in case of an avalanche. What did my old scout master used to say when he called us boys in for his special after hours lessons?, bend over and relax. No that is no good, nip and tuck? no. Lie back and think of England?. I just could not remember.

As the wall of white swept towards us I was relieved to see it was not an avalanche. It was Fat Kath out for a walk dressed in a brilliant white Juicy Couture velour tracksuit. Kath saw us and had to start breaking some 50 metres away. She is very much like a supertanker when it comes to manoeverablity.

So there we were, we three, chewing the fat. I noticed that out of the three of us I was the one with the least facial hair. This is strange as I have been trying to grow a goatee beard for the last week.

There comes a time in every chap`s life when he has to prove to himself a man. As both jousting and pillaging are now largely frowned upon, war too dangerous and dwarf tossing outlawed in most parts of Switzerland, there are not many manly avenues left. And the wife loves it. This morning she compared me to Johnny Depp.

I asked Fat Kath if she would wear a burqa, more in hope than expectation. "I only wear Juicy Couture" she said. I left the bearded ladies discussing post natal stiching and headed home. I intend to write to Juicy Couture HQ to suggest they introduce a line, maybe Burqa Babes. Remember, you heard it hear first.

Laughing All the Way From the Bank

It is the end of January and the snow is lying deep and crisp and even. It is the signal for some strange ritual behaviour. Zurich rings to the sound of giggling bankers running to the local Bentley dealers. There is a fug of fine cigar smoke that hangs over the city and champagne cork related hospital admissions are at their peak. East European prostitutes wake from their hibernation, shake the moth balls from their mink coats, and head off to feast at one of the glitzy hotspots. They hunt as a pack, circling the small, balding and helplessly coke adled alpha male bankers. Using their finely honed implants, they sniff out the weakest, moving in ruthlessly to take the prize, usually a juicy pay day or, if they hit the mother load, a fat cat husband. Yes, that`s right, it`s bank bonus time again.

In a Tights Spot

Off to the supermarket to buy the wife more tights. What the hell does she get up to to get through so many pairs is what I want to know, but probably never will. Anyway, as luck would have it the ladies underwear aisle was empty. Unheard of! I couldn`t believe my luck. In I went, secured the targets and moved away to the relative safety of soft furnishings.



Flushed with success I moved with confidence to the cashier. I then remembered that I had a money off voucher. Arriving at an empty check out (too good to be true) I whipped out the token, presented the cashier with my feminine fripperies and said I would like to use the token. Then things started to go wrong, badly wrong.



The cashier, took the voucher, looked at it, turned it, held it up to the light, bit it and shook her head. "I don`t think I can accept this, but let me just check" she said. In a milisecond I realised what was about to happen. In bullet time slow motion I saw her open her mouth. For a nanosecond I considered beating her unconscious with a family fun sized Toblerone from the impulse buy display, but I was not fast enough.

She called out to the cashier next to her, in a booming voice honed down the generations by yodelling and Swiss inter valley shouting competitions. "Ermintrude, can we take vouchers for super slinky 20 denier deluxe women`s tights?. This er, gentleman, is asking".

Ermintrude (I know!, Magic Roundabout) took the voucher, scanned it then called to her neighbouring cashier, a woman called Grit. And so the process went on, four cashiers were consulted, four lines of shoppers listened in, glancing my way with distaste. I was mortified.

To make matters worse my check out was now filling up. Directly behind me were four builders, not your average builders, oh no, but the sort that can spit rivets through sheet metal and consider cage fighting somewhat effeminate. After 5 minutes it was decided the voucher was not valid, by that stage I could not have cared less. Oh why did I try to save money, never again, the humilation. I now have to find a new supermarket, I simply cannot bear the shame of going back there.

Crying most of the way home I stopped briefly to look at the village noticeboard which is actually the underpass where the locals spray paint and write very interesting locally focused news. This being Switzerland it is repainted every few weeks thus ensuring the news is always bang up to date.

A quick reading revealed that the local urchins wanted to inflict a wide and imaginative variety of sex acts upon a local police constable and that Shaz has a weight problem and is quite free with her favours.

One posting caught my eye. A girl called Bambi will do anything for 50 Swiss Francs, very reasonable. I have been having problems with a blocked U bend recently so I took down her number and will see if she can help me clean out my pipes. Will let you know how I get on. Have lovely weekends.

Children are Unbeatable

This morning I met up with Reg Hitler, who, by a cruel twist of fate, is the street`s resident Communist. Reg is a well known activist and is manna from heaven for the local newspaper headline writers because of his surname. Recent examples include "Hitler is a Stalinist" (he advocates gulags for bankers) "Hitler Rear Ends Elderly Gay Couple" ( Reg drove into the back of a car belonging to the street`s official homosexuals, Butch and Sundance) and "Hitler Only Wants One Ball". (Reg complained about filthy rich bankers staging too many glitzy black tie events this Christmas).



Anyway, I met up with Reg and his life partner Polly Glot at their eco friendly house for coffee. They are typical middle class lefties and so I had to wait for an eternity while Polly ground the Guatemalan Free Trade Eco Lentil Mung Bean No Harm to Anything coffee beans. She does this with a hand grinder. It took so long I was getting a caffeine withdrawal headache. Finally, Polly put the kettle on and I got my coffee. And it tasted awful.



I bet there is some Guatemalan coffee farmer driving a big BMW and laughing all the way to the bank. Just because he doesn`t use deodorant he can claim that his mixture of mud, bark and bat droppings is sustainable eco coffee and sell it at a premium to gullible western ecohippies. Everything in Reg and Poly`s house is sustainable, with the exception of Reg`s erection, which is why they are attending couples therapy at the moment. But that is another story and I am not one to gossip.


As I pretended to sip the foul brew conversation turned to the subject of beating children. I said I had read an article that stated children who are smacked when naughty grow up to be well adjusted and more valuable members of society than those that aren`t. Polly wasn`t having any of this and proceeded to drone on for half an hour about the military industrial complex, human rights and something about bondage and marmite. I must admit I wasn`t really paying attention. I was watching Reg and Polly`s 4 year old daughter, Chlamydia, as she took a screw driver to Polly`s Brotherhood of Man CD. Chlamydia has a reputation around here as the spawn of Satan.

"Don`t do that to mummy`s favourite CD please darling" said Polly. Did she pay attention? I think you can guess. After she had finished carving 666 on the CD, dear sweet little Chlamydia then proceeded to stab the cat and her mother with the screw driver, scream like a banshee when put on the naughty step and then throw the coffee pot from the table on to the very expensive sustainable Peruvian folk art rug. We discovered that it was infact a stainable Peruvian folk art rug. I must admit I was glad about the coffee pot as I was coming dangerously close to being offered another cup.

I decided to leave when Reg and Polly started to cry from stress, passing Chlamydia on the way out as she set fire to the family dream catcher. Bless her.

Route 66 (minus 22)

Last week I turned the square root of 1,950. The strange thing is I really do not feel that old, although I am getting thin in areas I dont want to be thiner in and larger in areas that I would like to remain thiner. But at least I have all my marbles, no sign of Alzheimers or short term memory loss yet thank goodness. But at least I have all my marbles, no sign of Alzheimers or short term memory loss yet thank goodness.



Only two whole days after my birthday the wife took me into town to buy me my birthday gift, a rather super Tag Heuer watch. Guilt gifts are always the best.



Then as aways seems to happen on me oriented shopping expeditions we went on to buy stuff for the girls. Strange how that always happens. Anyway, we ended up in the cosmetics department of some chic boutique where the wife stocked up on Botox and assorted lotions and postions.



When the time came to pay I noticed that the saucy young sales girl was gazing intently at me. "Well the poor girl is only flesh and blood" I thought " who can blame her if she gets hot and bothered by a tall, dark international man of mystery". I gave her my brooding, Mr Darcy look that said:" I know you are fighting your passions but you must be strong. I am a married man you know".



"And perhaps Sir would like some of our new Clinique Age Defence Hydrator" she said. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. She did not see me as a sex object, only as a sales opportunity, obviously in need of age reducing gloop. My ego has been on life support ever since.



Do I really look like I need age defence products?!. OK, I admit that over the last few years I have been using a hedge strimmer on my eyebrows, chase nesting birds from my nasal hair and developed an unexplained fondness for The Antiques Roadshow, jigsaw puzzles and Werther`s Originals, but for goodness sake I am still only in my extremely late thirties.

I have just checked the post and would you believe it, those scallywags at Saga, the magazine for people shortly about to cool to room temperature, have sent me an offer. Buy a stairlift and you get cut price Viagra. I am appalled but strangely tempted. Must dash if I want to catch the last post.

Ice Age

Very quiet in the compound today. The weather is keeping most of the breast feeders indoors, it`s nipple crackingly cold here. The paths are covered in snow and ice, a real death trap if you wear fashionable winkle pickers I can tell you.

Winter sports have never really been my cup of tea but as the wife is a ski nut I have had to make concessions. To be fair I do quite enjoy skiing now. But ice skating, no. This stems from an incident back in 1978 when I brained myself during Kevin Stevens`birthady bash at the local ice rink. The old bean took quite a pounding that day I can tell you and I lost a considerable amount of computing power, which explains why I am like I am, and the 12 year old me vowed never again.

I would like to apologise to the 12 year old me because I have broken that vow. The wife and daughter and associates decided ice skating would be a good idea. I pointed out that it is bloody dangerous. Do you ever see road signs saying "Icy Conditions Ahead-Enjoy Yourselves". No you don`t. It is lethal stuff and should only be approached with hob nail boots and a bucket of salt.

Would they listen, no. So off we went. All the other adults and kids took to the deadly frozen water like skate wearing ducks. I ventured on, did an impression of a new born giraffe on roller skates, and lunged for the side rail. And that was as far as I got, and will ever get. Unfortunately, the daughter loves it and wants to go all the time, fortunately I have discovered a cafe with sheepskin covered chairs that serves a delicious hot chocolate. I can lounge around, reading the paper and pretending to be a great skater simply resting between pirouettes, and no one is any the wiser. It is my birthday tomorrow and if i get ice skates I am going postal.

Anyway, I have sent off my application to join the local "Stitch 'n' Bitch" group. This is where you sit around sewing, darning, knitting or, I assume, learning practical medical procedures for closing wounds and have a good gossip. Should be fun and save a fortune on socks.

Finally, a big hello to my worldwide readers: Big J and Annie Down Under, Blind Jon on his firm sponsored world jolly and my dear old friend AM from Leipzig who hates receiving this blog. Give me an answer and all will be as before. Cryptic eh