Word of the week 8

Robotwatch 3

It seems the pace of the robot takeover is accelerating.

Already the entire monkey-kingdom has responded, sending in its finest guerrilla troops to the front-line, as shown in the terrifying photograph above.

I am not trying to be a Larmist about this, but are you going to simply sit back and let the Wackster Jackso win his bet, or are you going to stand and fight like chimps?

The choice is yours.

N.B. At the time of this emergency I am following a grand old Derrig family tradition of haring off to the best place for an overview of the entire world situation where I can report secretly, free from the constraints of anxiety and real actual hurting danger. It is my duty to my loyal readers and nothing will persuade me to return to the scene of this mechanical monster mayhem until I have satisfied myself as to my integrity, my honour, and my absolute safety. I owe it to me.

Robotwatch 2

Robots on the march! They've reached Canadadada!

A news story from the dog-oriented daily newspaper 'The Labrador Beacon' announces that a robot with a thinking head and manipulatable fists and fully-working hernia has been developed and is being sold as a domestic helpmate for slovenly sorts.

It can hoover, dust, and polish and all too easily snake a disturbing tentacle like implement into the filthy crannies one usually can't get a digit into.

It is, of course, a marvel and no mistake.

But also a marvellous THREAT! WOO!-WOO!-WOO!-SIREEN!-FETCH-THE-SHERRIFF!!! as well.

The only drawback I can see is the chap who has to operate it from inside.

Clearly, the horror grows. My advice is to cover your head in tin foil and sit under a table.

Balls Eye!

Watched a great bit of television last night - one which I am sure will show up time and again in those clip shows '100 brilliantest bits of the box' and '50 best telly gameshows' and 'Your all-time favourite repetitive catchphrasewords'.

This is up there with the greats. The host Simon "What's on?" Watson - a rising star if ever there was one - is a genius. He's got his own catchword: "There's an excellent Local Services Agreement in Clackmannanshire" which has the audience rolling in the aisles every time it slips through his lips.

He is particularly good at the soft-shoe shovel and seems likely to be a future contender for King Brucie's crown.

Nay, nay, and thrice nay!

I have said it before and I say it again, it is ENTIRELYFUL A TERRIBLE COINCIDENCE-THING that I am to depart these shores on the same flight tomorrow as the sensational and bounteous Susan "Brown Ale" Mawhood.

Much as I would like to lay claim to this particular conquest, I am - for once, and once only - forced to admit that she is in a seriously different class.

In the interest of covering our tracks, sorry, I mean disproving the wild allegations being bandied about Mabledon Towers, let it be known that I will be returning to Blighty at least a week earlier than the stunning Ms Mawhood.

It will be the jet-lag that makes me seem drained and confused.

A lovely couple

Further excavations up my attic have uncovered a wondeful portrait of Uncle Conor and Uncle Michael. I am forever grateful for their kindness in designing, building, and fitting out Derrig Towers with all the conveniences a modern man could want.

Of course they are probably better known as the more handsome two-thirds of that memorable - nay, legendary - boy band 'The Bachelors'.

"I'll take you home again, Kathleen". That was one of theirs.

Word of the week 7

Duty done

As a tribute to myself and the many skills I have deployed as Obergruppenfuhrer Button Boy in the past few days, I decided to celebrate with some well-earned boozing.

On the whole, I think it's fair to say the whole enterprise could easily have gone belly-up without my finger on the knob. There could have been anarchy - ANARCHY!!!! - on the floor or worse.

A lot of people ask me about how I manage to maintain an air of calm despite my flustered appearance and dishevelled state of dress.

Too many of them put it down to my having a reasonably efficient team of assistants. I say balderdash! It's me - and me alone - that pulls out the masterstrokes at the last knockings and saves the day. The rest of crew either rush to do my biddings or sit back in wonderment at my grasp of how to control the crazy and surreal events that befall us.

Still, it's back to Club Derrig for me to pick up the plaudits I know will be coming my way.

Me and the laydeez XIII

At last!

Finally I bagged a a bit of class. Nicely turned out, and with her own drink.

I like to think of this as a Bill'n'Hill* shot, and I am prepared to consider offers from 'Hello' and other celebritatious-type periodicals for any ceremonials that might arise from what I hope will be a long, loving, and fruitless encounter.

*That's Bill and Hillary Clinton you churlish numpties.

Dick's everywhere

Dick's everywhere I go, everywhere I look!

I can't escape him - even in Bournemouth.

Is there some crazy world-takeover internet-type thing going on - orchestrated from the underworld of Mabledon Towers by this mega-brained* money-generating* bloated evil genius?
Or is it merely a teaser for his forthcoming SteakShark chain of restaurant-cum-gambling dens?

*Subject to verification in the real world through exams and actual profits in actual money.

Fashion crisis in Bournemouth

I told him, but did he listen? Did he eckerslike!

The genius amanuensis Williams - never knowingly appropriately dressed.

Me and the laydeez XII

Things have definitely taken a turn for the worse when I have to resort to responding to advertisements.

Still, if it works, who'll look pretty silly then, Mr "T""h"omas?

Me and the Laydeez XI: Up all night

Pulled a right corker in Club Derrig the other night.

Unfortunately the product this minx-cum-temptress plied me with (from her own shop!) was little more than a placebo and I subsequently spent the night on the couch.

Which is, of course (and for avoidance of her doubting husband), the reason my back is playing up.

Damned strange

Arrived in my plush and well-appointed hotel room, only to find one of these in the cupboard!

Anyone out there who has a clue what it's for?

Bargain

Word of the week 6

Oh no, not again

The rigours of exam preparation have been getting to dear old Dicky "Rockafeller Skanky" Evans.

Long nights of hard concentration have left him gasping.

It was delightful to see him up at Club Derrig again last night for a further bout of revision.

Bingo love

I have been captivated by a televisual delight of no small genius.

Arriving home the other night after a lengthy evening of challenging intellectual discourse over a bucket or two of liquid refresher, I was in sore need of some relaxing 'wind-down' entertainment.

And boy did I strike it lucky!

There on channel 41 was the perfect programme: Bingo Live.

Immensely simple, but totally satisfying, it is built around a concept so simple I could not understand why it had not been done before to me ever before.

Basically, it's a chap declaiming numbers in a rhythmic fashion, thus:

21 - Twenty-One - 21.

And he sticks to that pattern throughout:

45 - Forty-Five - 45.

71 - Seventy-One - 71.

64 - Sixty-Four - 64.

33 - Thirty-Three - 33.

70 - Seventy - 70.

88 - Eighty-Eight - 88.

12 - Twelve - 12.

16 - Sixteen - 16.

54 - Fifty-Four - 54.

39 - Thirty-Nine - 39.

20 - Twenty - 20.

1 - One - 1.

82 - Eighty-Two - 82.

43 - Forty-Three - 43.

36 - Thirty-Six - 36.

27 - Twenty-Seven - 27.

19 - Nineteen - 19.

76 - Seventy Six - 76.

59 - Fifty-Nine - 59.

83 - Eighty-Three - 83.

29 - Twenty -Nine - 29.

44 - Forty-Four - 44.

78 - Seventy-Eight - 78.

36 - Thirty-Six - 36

35 - Thirty-Five - 35.

58 - Fifty-Eight - 58.

77 - Seventy-Seven - 77.

Apparently there were 23 - Twenty-Three - 23 people watching it in Bolton last night.

Another terribly busy day

Look what I did this morning!

It's amazing what you can do with your left-side brain while your right-side brain is supposed to be concentrating on someone giving it some right old waffle in a 'Unit meeting' (Whatever that may be when it's at home.).

Dicky fundraiser

Mad Dicky 'Cashbuilder' Evans has decided to dedicate his wealth-creating talents to a good charitable cause.

He is parading the streets of London in a High-Vis RNLI-style jacket and asking people for money.

For every pound donated, he is rushing 0.1% to the brave lifesavers.

Good stuff, Dicky, lad.

(Mind you, he's got another think coming if he believes I'm going in a pub with him on our forthcoming Eirea jaunt while wearing it.)

Redneck

Yes it was sunny yesterday.

Yes I used sun lotion.

Yes I have very sensitive skin.

Yes I found it difficult to get comfortable last night.

Please send all other mightily stupid questions to my agent, Mr Ben 'Swarthy' Thomas.

Word of the week 5

Robotwatch 1

I have to admit I was completely septic about the bet placed by young Paul "Who D. Daddy" Jackson-Wackson that by the year 2020 robots will have taken over the earth.

My first reaction was, I confess, to believe it another one of those smokey-Joe-pipe-dream-idea-brainbox-mentalist-doodah-oojah-oojah-stick-it-up-your-jumpah type-efforts for which he is renowned about reading stuff up and then filtering it out to the more gullible through the processes of his neural swamp of looniness.

Little did I know that WE ARE ALREADY MORE THAN HALFWAY THERE!



I will be monitoring for more robot scare stories to ensure the world is alerted via my highly famous (3357th out of 13000+) blog in the ethererereral world of the blogos-fear.

Rush me your robot-scare stories now!

Crazy town goes wilder

An unexpected North West Nancy

The whole town of Blackpool has gone absolutely bonkersville as bicycle-carried news from London of probably the most important thing that has ever happened finally reached this sleepy backwater of maximum holidaying. I count myself lucky to have been here to witness this public outpouring of joyousnessness unbound amongst the pasty tribes of the coast.

It would be no small exaggeration of hyperbolically-over-the-top proportions to say that the denizens have been gone hysterical, partying non-stop with nebuchadnezzars of the world's finest champagne and palletful's of the North West's famous micro-chips.

Despite the town's elders putting the local constabulary on a 24/7 'scramble' notice, and all of the local Territorial Army volunteers being on standby, so far all the rioting has been of a reasonably peaceful nature, with serious injuries yet to reach triple figures.

For myself, I am content with kicking back and enjoying an interlude of observing the locals getting totally out of control from the comfort of my maximum-security hotel accommodation and making good use of my Teas Maid and shower in a louche fashion.

The jewel of the North West

Ah, Blackpool!

Full of its whey-faced holidayer-makerers and illuminati.

And trams! Who can forget these marvellously comfortable transports up de lights? Almost a throwback to a bygone age if the town itself had not been so perfectly preserved in Harpic as a warning to the future about what the past would be like if it ever came back again from an earlier era into a present or future one of tomorrow, nostalgica notwithstanding.

I don't think I can quite put into my second-language of Englisher quite how I feel about this historic place, so maybe it's best said in the eloquently-harmonicised words of the Beach Boy:

"I want to go home. I want to go home. I feel so lonesome, I want to go home."

Film Review V: Cerise Narcissus

Synopsis: High on a hill was a lonely goatherd,lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo. Loud was the voice of the lonely goatherd. Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo. Folks in a town that was quite remote heard: lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo. Lusty and clear from the goatherd's throat heard: lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo.

Then the children come in with: O ho lay dee odl lee o, o ho lay dee odl ay. O ho lay dee odl lee o, lay dee odl lee o lay.

Back to the nun, now - Prince on the bridge of a castle moat heard:Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo. Men on a road with a load to tote heard: lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo.

The kids again: Men in the midst of a table d'hote heard: lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo

Enter man in shorts astride a donkey! Rushes around yelling! Nun gives him the glad eye, waits for kids to clear off and then dumps herself over the cliff.

End song: Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo Ummm ummm . . . Odl lay ee odl lay ee. Odl lay hee hee odl lay hee hee Odl lay ee . . .. .Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hoo hoo, HOO!

Col's commentary: I doubt there has ever been a film of such stirring eroticism - yodelling in the valley of love, indeed - without nazis. Avoid at all costs. Nine out of ten.

Word of the week 4