Chillin'

Just getting my head down and putting my feet up for few days.

Hell-o-ho-ho-ho!

A very merry seasonal shilleleagh to all my readers - both at home, abroad, and in spaceland!

I look forward to receiving all your very expensive gifts.

Caption competition

Clearly the powder kegs are in full working order.

Following on from the free publicity mention in Cozza the other night (not to mention a new character entering the fray in the same epiosode who goes by the name of Colin), it seems this chap can't keep out of the limelight.

But what's your caption for this somewhat disturbing portrait of the world's greatest living wretched and woebegone wordsmitherer?

Club Derrig Xmas Bash - Video

The Club Derrig Xmas bash video can now be viewed at the link below. Apologies for the poor quality and please don't blame me for the music. I didn't have any say in the matter.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Yu_moia-oVI

Club Derrig Xmas Bash - Exclusive Report

I am rather busy editing the video footage I got at this year's Club Derrig Xmas bash, gathered through the medium of a concealed camera about my person. From the rushes so far, this should make for very candid viewing, and I will be posting it in full tomorrow for anyone interested, so check back then.

In the meantime, here's a verbatim report from Tallulah taken direct from the soundtrack of Friday night's film and how everyone let themselves down big time. (I should add that the film only makes things worse.)

Tallulah writes:

O stumbling drunkeness.

Hey! Look - here's Stephy! Stephy-Wephy, my best friend. She's got a lot to answer for.Much like Manchester and that Maurice E.

I'm not drinking tonight. Oh no. Just a small glass or two, and nothing much more than that.

Man in shiny waistcoat behind bar. Funny look in his eye. And the other one. I wonder if he'll give me a drink?

Only a double, mind you.

Now he's hiding.

Just a little double in that, then.

That Morley the Megaphone the Postman! He's bellowing away.

Oi, watch my drink!

Jump around! Jump around! That's my favourite. Jumping. Jumping. Jumping.

OK, OK - I'll get up! There's no need to shout. Great lumbering galoot. And you. All over your head. Oh, yes, you and whose army? NURSE! NURSE!

Sssh! Sssh! Look out, the security are in. All testosterone and beardy. Little, little man. Very little. Teeny-tiny. And beardy.

But, funnily enough, no waistcoast on this one. Very suspicious.

Everyone out!

HEAD FOR THE HILLS!

Well, one more if I must. Go on, it's only vodka.

Hey - leave the macaque out of this. It's not even qualified.

Resting in their account

Fruitcake and hatbox pic by Red Snapper

I'm not one to go on and on and on and on and on about all my good charitable works.

You've only to look back over my many entries and you'll see it crops up almost less than once a week. I didn't even bother to put it on the blog yesterday that I paid for a goat to have a holiday in Africa.

But how the news wires were buzzing over the past few days about the latest charitable outrage!

Hardly surprising, though, when one realises the hubbub was generated by an announcement that two out of three winners of a "win a cake off a homeless" charitable eating contest raffle actvity were amongst the very organisers of same!

It makes Father Ted Crilly look like a saint.

Team Derrig Xmas Bonanza

Spilling over with Christmas spirit and beneficicenceness, yesterday I splashed out on Team Derrig.

Afterwards I rewarded them with a slap-up meal at the finest establishment that would still take us after the dreadful goings-on last time we did this sort of thing.

Derrig Towers Xmas Dinner Preparation 3

I am experimenting with the foreswearing of meat, instead of my usual bowel-blasting flesh-fest for Xmas.

I'll say that again for those of you who swooned and missed it.

I have foresworn myself as a wee trial of animal flesh.

It is in solidarity with vegetarians everywhere who can enjoy salad bars without ridicule and eat nuts too. In public.

I am determined to gain that whey-faced, sickly-thin look that is so popular in the fashion pages of the Sunday supplements.

I'm giving it four hours.

GHEOS RAMPAGE ATTACK HORROR!

Having now spent some time in the company of the truly awesome Gheos, Lord of Invicibilitiana, I have come to believe she/he/it (pronounced sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee........it!) may be the single greatest cultural artefact to have emerged this century.

A combination of custard colouration, an upside-down turnable head, and THE ALMIGHTY CLUNKING GREAT FIST OF GHEOS - THE LORD OF INVINCIBILITIANA !!!!!

A figurine of mighty, mighty standing and an absolute joy to finger.

(Look away now if you are of a sensitive disposition.)

On figurines

As a man of many-womanly reputation, it sorely besores me to have to deal with this issue.

Reprobates of no import are suggesting that my figurine collection of the Marvel heroes is only informed by an affinity for the distaff gender because of their snug lycra costumes. Word is abroad that these particular 'statues' or 'modeles' are handled roughly and far more often than the hairier, male variety. I say hairier male variety with no actual knowledge of the hirsuteness involved, except of course for Wolverine.

For once in my life - as Mr.Stevland Judkins put it so eloquently - I can stand tall and proud of my assemblage, and will take great pleasure in the doing down of any one that gainsays my innocence.

I'll be waiting in the car park to continue this conversation.

You know who you are.

Secret Satan

At last - my preferences and desires are being acknowledged by those around and beneath me in the form of gifts.

Those of you who have followed my column for some time will know I have a fondness for figurines.

This is a serious top-notch effort by those master toy-craftsmen 'Flair', one which knocks the DC and Marvel competition into a cocky hat.

I would like to thank in all humblitude the anonymous one who bunged this in Satan's sack for myself.

If I get a better present this year, I'll be grateful.

A ruling too fark

Oh, the nonsense these jumped-up regulatory johnnies come out with in the middle of a credit crunch!

There I was masticating at the breakfast table, as is my wont, when I was forced to eject a quantity of milky coco pops all splatter-fashion over poor old Beattie, so banjaxed was I by what I had read in my newspaper. Took him twenty minutes to get it off his smoking jacket.

It appears that ASA - the Anti-Smutty-Ads crew - has decided to come down like a ton of quangos on the use of the word 'fark' in a promotional effort by the lads from Mangers, the world's top tipple after brandy and babychampers.

How me old ma would be shrieking in her boots if I ever used the word 'fark' to the grey-haired feller in the collar at church!

The ASA chaps have let this one through as they claim it has been popularised by the celebrated Cornish wrestling TV programme 'Farkin About' (South West TV only).

There they are! Down in the South West!

Foisting their campaign for self-rule on us by the backdoor and using our own official bodies to do it.

Feck 'em.

Strictly not on

I am alarmed and depressed in simultaneous quantities to hear that there is a campaign being got up the judges to get John 'Private' Sergeant off of the X-Dancing programme Saturday night, Sunday evening on BBC1 and most of the week on BBC2 with the Winkleman.

This is nothing short of a trial by jury but without a jury, except one made up of judges.

There can be no justice with those kangaroos in wigs.

It is one of the world's greatest and most innocent pleasures to have a large, ungainly, and possibly drunk chap stumbling around an impossibly beautiful and dancingly-talented young laydee in skimpy accoutrements. (The man wearing an evening suit, of course.)

And I should know! I have paid enough in the past for partaking in this pleasure.

I am sure the "great" British public will not allow this to happen, and I call on everyone who reads this to send me a £10 note in order that I may write a letter to the Queen (HM) as to her genuinely pleading subjects on this issue.

I may as well drop her a PS as well, asking for our airwaves to be spared the ongoing misery of the attacks on Timmy 'Biff, Bat, Botch' Mallet and have him crowned king of the jungle, if not adjutant-general.

God save the licence fee!

Bah, Humbugger!

I was too busy working and fiddling with my PC screen.

Derrig Towers Xmas Dinner Preparation 3

Irish pork! You just can't beat it!

I was toying with the idea of a post-starter sausage course. Nothing but the best, naturally, so good old Irish pork.

Can't seem to find any in the shops at the moment, though, so I may have to rethink.

A certain expectation

You will know, of course, of my journey to Turkish a week back.

Unlike some people, I like to return bearing gifts of my trip for friends and family. It is all part of my generous nature.

I go for quality, too. None of this "My mate went to Istanbul and all I got was this lousy fez" rubbish.

Decent gifts which I pick thoughtfully, a dedicated endeavour through which I can show that once in a while I, too, can think about other people.

I don't want acclaim for it. No, that would be ludicrous. Highly ludicrous.

I don't even ask for a gift in return so that I stay evens-stevens with whoever the grateful recipient of my largenesse may so be.

But I am all flabbergasted and flummoxed with the latest lack of turn of events.

Scenario: I hand over in good faith a perfectly good, fit-for-purpose, mock-turkish-carpet fridge magnet of no less than 1.5inches by 2.5 inches. It did not cost a fortune. Far from it. It actually doubled as the ticket to a Turkish harem where I whiled myself away a bit for a while about two days of my four day trip.Oh how I whiled.

Yes, I hand over this remarkable artefact - a tribute to the ancient skills of the weaverers of that carpet-crazy nation - to someone who took it swiftly.

But nary not a word of thank you, sir, at all!

NARY NOT!

It is a good thing I am a man of deep forgiveableness.

Finally recovering my senses

Ok, I admit it.

I am a waltzing loon for a free bar and when it was all systems go at Club Derrig Tuesday night I let myself go for it big time indeed.

The upshoot is that yesterday itself was a complete blank.

I have vague recollections of wandering lonely as a cumulo-nimbus between a number of different watering holes, but then it all cirruses over again and it's like looking through a jug of custard.

Anyone out there can help?

Derrig Towers Xmas Dinner Preparation 2

Following on from the gourmet spoonering - or alongside, depending on your dining habits - I think we'd be diving into this lovely plump red.

Refreshing and fruity - exactly my kind of vino.

Club Derrig Xmas Shindigs 1

O, the ignominy!

There was I, soaking in the culture of an episode of Smartarses on the Club Derrig TV when I was called upon to shift my "lardy butt" by Tallulah, and erect something enticing, warm, and colourful.

Without the aid of safety clothing apparel or any kind of protective headgear, I leapt upon a chair and raised my arms just to the right height that my Kalvin Clein's waistband was exposed.

A titter ran round the room as my hero - Sir Frankie Howerd - was wont to declare.

All-in-all a festive display of gargantuan proportionality.

Nice decs, too.

Derrig Towers Xmas Dinner Preparation 1

Glorious!

The centre-piece of my special Christmas-dinner-for-two will be the new King Prawn Spoons, all the way from Greenland.

It will be a challenge to which I am uprising of in which to find a set of possible juicy acompaniments, but it will not defeat me.

Putting together a meal fit for a King Prawn will be my task for the next twenty five days.

It'll be worth it for the look on Beattie's face. There's nothing more he's keen on than a good old spoon.

Woolly Wonderland

So, why couldn't they get Take That to appear?

A very moral tale

There I was getting into bed and the doorbell of Derrig Mansions rang.

"Who's that?" mumbled Beattie from under the duvet.

"I will investigate," I said, and padded off in my pyjamas.

I opened the door and there was a little laydee - who shall remain unnamed - considerably the worse for wear.

"Come on, you," said Carol. "We need directions to Stokey."

Never one to leave a damsel in distressment I ran from the house, oblivious to my nightwear-apparelled state, and jumped into the vehicle being gunned by the young laydee's accomplice, a chap-type bloke of sorts.

I navigatored them directly there, and no messing, where we had a fine old time, except for said chauffeur chap who was pretty abstemious all things considered.

The evening having waxed, it waned and I was being returned to Derrig Towers when the vehicle was pulled over to assist with the inquiries of the local constabulary.

The said Mr.Plod proceeded to accuse us of being over the white line, and indeed we were! But only to accommodate ONE OF THOSE CYCLERS.

Following an exchange of a highly banterous nature between us and the Officer, we were invited to step out of the vehicle.

Naturally I protested loudly that the outside world was unready for a jim-jammed-up me.

Our chap-bloke driver was accused of being somewhat the worse for drink. He appeared totally incapable of communicating successfully that a single 33cl bottle of beer was not the bucketload being alluded to. I believe he may have said something about the poorly-educated getting important public sector jobs, but let that pass.

Soon a gang of spotty youths on push-bikes had gathered calling for the release of the Jim-Jam 3. They had plenty of nicknames for the Police Officer, many of which cannot be repeated as I have forgotten them.

Finally we were relented of into the night to get me home and back to bed.

And the moral of this story?

Never open the door in your pyjamas.

AGM Debacle 2: Presidential Induction

Oh, yes - it all looks sweetness and light now as Lady Jojojo of Wheeeeeeeelan embraces the new President of Club Derrig, Jools "Can I Fly?" Hallam.

But it was so far from that when the Induction took place, with the "Lady" spilling bile about Short People down on our tiny new leaderene from her immense height.

If you can bear to hear it in all its glory, here goes:

AGM debacle 1: Roy Mackerness Trophy

Previous trophy winner raises up cup to Evans above.

In my Turkey-time absence a momentous occasion occurred, namely the Club Derrig AGM.

Yes, you may say I was foolish to let this carry on without me.

How right you were.

Turquay Trip - Photo Essay Part 5

Turkey crazy-water

Turquay Trip - Photo Essay Part 4

The Phosphorous

Turquay Trip - Photo Essay Part 3

Turkey in disguise.

Turquay Trip - Photo Essay Part 2

Seasonal Turkey

Turquay Trip - Photo Essay Part 1

Raw Turkey.

Robotwatch 9

A robot gang, earlier today

This just in from "The Age" (Australia's favourite fear-reporting/generating newspaper) .

"Technology such as cloned part-robot humans used by organised crime gangs pose the greatest future challenge to police, along with online scamming, Australian Federal Police (AFP) Commissioner Mick Keelty says.

"He identified the use of robotics and cloning as future challenges."Our environmental scanning tells us that even with some of the cloning of human beings - not necessarily in Australia but in those countries that are going to allow it - you could have potentially a cloned part-person, part-robot," he said.

Now, just because it's Australia and a long way away, don't go thinking robots can't swim or build ships or planes. They are already building cars, for flip's sake!

It's time the tale was told

I know I joshed about the Boss Cat going over the water to help that Barracker Barma lad, but it seems she actually caught his eye...

Here's how the story broke when private emails were circulated about:

From: Barracker Barma, 5th November 2008, 2.55am

Lee-Anne -- I'm about to head to Grant Park to talk to everyone gathered there, but I wanted to write to you first. We just made history. And I don't want you to forget how we did it. You made history every single day during this campaign -- every day you knocked on doors, made a donation, or talked to your family, friends, and neighbors about why you believe it's time for change. I want to thank all of you who gave your time, talent, and passion to this campaign. We have a lot of work to do to get our country back on track, and I'll be in touch soon about what comes next. But I want to be very clear about one thing... All of this happened because of you. Thank you, Barack

Then - out of the blue - a follow-up in case she hadn't cottoned on:

Could she be positioning herself to be the Second Laydee?

Newsflash! Rolf to remake Two Little Boy shit

Rejoice! Rejoice!

After several letters I've dashed off to the World's Greatest living Australian, my prayers have been answered.

Yes, it's the news Beattie and I have been waiting for, stood here in our quilted housecoats, smoking our pipes and tapping our slippered feet: Wolf is to re-record his classic tearstained-tiny-tot-mucking-about-on-pretend-horses-wartime-drama of the the pair of fightingest young lads. Emetic doesn't even go near the power of this neo-disastrous piece of the didgerdooer's vocalistic art.

We have been re-enacting the story every night in my pyjamas, hoping against hope for a glorious release.

It's about time, and definitely one for stuffing up your Christmas stocking.

They're here!

My new glasses have arrived!

Designed by Paul Smyth for the stylish gentlemen I can now not only have an IQ that is seen to be higher by those around me, but also they can stop the laydeez making willy-nilly passes at me.

I do have to keep my standards up after all.

Also great for microbiology and nano-engineeering.

A total disgrace

Totality of enshockment. It's the only word for it.

The Israeli police had to wade in and sort out some brawling and a-fighting monks in Jerusalem's Old City.

It was a re-flare-up in an ongoing Clanton-Earp-type feud between Greek Orthodox and Armenian monks at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre - in full robery and hats and all.

Now, back in the day, monks meant something.

They were toughened up old religious-minded thugs of the first order, God Bless 'em.

And - like those gents the Ronnie Kray trio - they never went against their own. It was the code, you see.

They thought nothing of fetching tiny boys a mighty one across the knuckles with a steel ruler merely for looking like they were thinking they could - given a right set of circumstances and a get out of jail free card - possibly consider the vaguest idea of a scintilla of sinning.

Now it seems these new-fangled monks have to rely on the busys to sort them out. And the busys of a state allied to a jumped-up johnny-come-lately sort of religion, to boot.

Surely it's not too late to get back to the days of proper Glasgow-gang-trained razored-up bike-chain-wielding Brothers? Pump 'em full of hard liquor, light the belt cord and retire! Watch those lads go! Tasmanian devils got nothing on them.

These half-hearted mealy-mouthed Mediterranean monks are no match for our ones.

Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!

And as for them Sisters: simply vicious.

Spiny vicious nutjobs. No contest.

Blessed be the punch drunk.

Amen.

Taken right aback

You wouldn't want to see his face, I can assure you, but the Genius Amanuensis Williams has chosen today to parade about sooted and buited, clearly haven taken culinary advice from Jon 'Clothes Stallion' Richards.

Next thing you know he'll be copying my idea of wearing a ouch-that's-crazy-like-a-rhino-sharp three-quarter-length grey-herringbone overcoat at only £99.00 S&M.

Women

No, not laydeez, but women.

You know how much I strain every available muscle to love them with great vigour and often.

Yet they remain a mystery in the way they can take a simple phrase and use it to beat you with: a phrase used innocently, and not intended to harm in any way. They throw it back at you, start berating you for past behaviour you had long since forgotten (and in many examples cases where I actually think I could easily have behaved a whole lot worse.)

It's a skill taken in with their mother's milk, and which we men are doomed to endure merely for being the better sex.

Here's how it happened.

Me: "I'm cutting it down to three minutes. Two minutes for anyone else wants to join in."

Her: "It was only five minutes to start with, and even halfway through the first effort I was nodding off."

I just don't know how they do it.

Victory is hers

Yes indeed and yessirree, its the little moose-huntin' laydee who turned the McCain bandwagon from a lumbering ineffective vote-dumping machine into a barnstorming election-winning juggernaut!

A wink, a smile, and a fully-loaded array of firearms...who could have resisted?

US election barney outcome prediction thing

Barracks McCain..................John O'Bama

So that's it, then.

Yes, yes, I know. I shouldn't be saying it's all over at just a minute past midnight with just two states declared.

A number of people will no doubt accuse me of being a tad premature - and I don't mean just the laydeez - in congratulating the winner of the US election.

But I, Derrig, hereby and thustofore do put unto my head on the line and thuswithly announce that I am setting down for all eternity the correct prediction of the winner of the election of US.

From Day One it seemed pretty much a foregone conclusion, with a clear leader and an obvious sous-chien.

I have followed the race closely, and despite the switchback course it has pursued and the excitement it has generated, I am able to say with great confidence that the election was over well before it was conceded.

It was hard fought, but policy, tactics, and strategy won out in the end, helped by a stroke of genius in choosing a running mate who would make the ticket workable. A running mate with a wealth of foreign policy experience and the ability to communicate with Joe the Plumber. Sorry, Joe the Public.

Senator Obama, I salute you. Right up the flagpole of Democraticness.

We all salute you.

But military experience won out.

Maybe next time, eh?

Strange bedfellows

Following the shock news of Colin Powell's backing for Barack Obama, the G.O.P. have come right back at 'em with two totally unexpected McCain endorsements.

Bukky "Behave Yourself" Akinwale and Sue "Microphone" Davey made strirring speeches to the Republican National Convention on the eve of the election.

"This man McCain, I love his chips. Much better than that Obama chap's," said Akinwale. "Now quieten yourself down and sit calmly in the corner. I don't expect to have to tell you twice."

An amazing musical experience

Quite possibly one of the finest musical experiences available to the likes of us this year.

Featuring:

* a great lot of fiddling

* a fair chunk of fine guitar twiddling

* some Byrdsian harmonies

* a cover of Arthur Lee's "A House Is Not A Motel".

Such a shame I couldn't shift myself off me lazyarse duff to actually get down to the gig myself.

Tidy

Possibly even scarier than yesterday, but a right punch up the snoot for those who said it couldn't be done.

But, cocking a snook at the devil's dandruff of asbestosis, it's a necessary evil.

Normal chaos resumed on Monday week.

In training

Protein, carbs, and oleaginous vein-blocker

I am informed that Mr Dicky 'Mad' Evans, has entered himself upon the London Marathon listings for next year.

"I know I can do it. It's all about the training," he said, over his fourth pint of Magners.

"The sixteen weeks after Christmas are crucial, especially on building up the stamina. But I'm no slacker. I've already started, " he announced through a cloud of Marlboro Light smoke.

"I've been watching my diet and making sure I get all the right nutrients. It's very important that the body gets the necessary inputs. Absolutely essential if I'm going to make it past the first 300 yards."

It is good, then, to know that he now resides in Winchmore Hill where "Agatha's fish and chip emporium" - just across the road from the station, ensuring that no excess energy is used - is able to cater to his physical well-being, as it did so superbly last night.

Keep up the good work, lad!

Subterfugical

No! Don't be afraid - it's me in my superhero disguise.

Here I am as the Master of Secrets!

I was cackling in an evil sort of way at the time.

Spectacular!

For purposes of clarity I am trying to identify a suitable pair of looney-ettes.

I should say here and nowtofore that I do not NEED such nasal-perching accoutrements for any visual incompetency. I have perfect 20 (Twenty) - 20 (Twenty) eyesighting and can see a laydee wearing a paternity suit coming at me a mile off.

No, the glassy-oracular knick-knacks are simply an accessory which make me look slightly less distinguished than I am. I was finding that a number of people seemed to be intimidated by my grand self and were holding back from offering to buy me a drink.

Obviously this simply cannot be allowed to go on.

Clubbable

A lot of people often say they find me quite clubbable.

Here I am rolling out of a rather tacky nightspot at which I was forced to put in a celebrity-star appearance while in Chesterinium.

Word got out I was in town and I was prevailed upon.

Not a patch on Club Derrig, of course, and I made several recommendations to the club owner about ways of keeping the clientele down to a more manageable five or six.

The owner very kindly offered to show me the door, but as you can see I found it perfectly easily myself.

Didn't look that special a door to me.

Roaming ruin

Ius, Colinus Derrigus, wasus atus Chesteriniumus thisus weekendus.

I was priviliged to visit the site of the Official World's Largest Amphitheatre (as recognised by Harry Twit, the barman at Chesterinium's most welcoming pub the Marlborough Arms, as also recognised by Mr.Twit.).


It was a glorious and imposing site, despite being in a right old two-and-eight. Old lumps of stone all over the place and a nunnery plonked on top of it. Very impressive.

The people of Chesterinium are in an uproar.

As am I most Friday evenings.

Star split shocker

Fame forced incognitoity on the pair.

I have been following the troubles embracing the amorous pair of Maddo and Rich Guy.

Can I say now that I was right all along as usual as I predicted this on learning of their marriage all those years ago.

"It won't last till Christmas", are the very words I used.

And it hasn't. Still more than two months to go till the festive season and they split like an over-ripe puffin.

I blame, of course, very dirty dancing. All that rubbing of legs and tight outfits.

Having said that, now Maddo and Rich are no longer an item, and I - being a single man with a strong interest in dragging myself by fair means or foul out of the ongoing credit crunchie - I would like to put myself forward.

Yes, readers, you read it a-right: I am tendering myself - body and brain -out on a strictly cash-for-Col basis.

I have the looks, the skills, and the years of experience needed to cope with the likely demands that will be made upon me.

I am experienced in fantasy and role play, many laydeez having told me I make a very good "heavy".

My body has been honed to adapt to long periods of sitting around waiting with short bursts of intensive activity between.

I don't mind doing the same thing over and over again until it's finished, just to get it perfect for a demanding sort.

So yes, Rich Guy, send me a script - I'm gagging for a part in your next film!

Cash-strapped

"...a rich and famous lifestyle..."

Club Derrig has been just as hard hit as the banks and other financial institutions as we are all washed over by a tidal wave of credit crunchings. And I have been financially smashed on a personal basis.

No longer can I this week live a rich and famous lifestyle.

In the words of Gordo Broon, our beloved Chancellor, "With exogenous fertility, it has been shown that the government can mandate the first-best outcome by simply imposing the socially optimal transfer. By contrast, with endogenous fertility, the government can no longer enforce this outcome."

I couldn't have put it better, or more intelligibly, myself.

This is at the heart of why Club Derrig will be unable to extend any further credit provisions between now and Friday, and is in the process of approaching Mad Dicky "Cashbuilder" Evans for a bail-out-rescue-type-have-a-wedge-why-don't-you-23%-daily-interest Plan.

We don't have much choice.