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.