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.