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The Big Day Nearly

A brain-imagined version of what it will be like tomorrow, today

Sorry if I forgot to mention this before, but I'm off to film my victory over the Smartarses tomorrow.

For those who are not tight in my friendly circle, I'll go over the main points here:

The world-famous TV Smartarses hear of my prowess and brain-huge knowledge.

They issue a challenge to me, but ask me - out of fairness to themselves - to handicap myself.

I pick 5 wibble-heads from Club Derrig to be my handicap and tell them they are "on my team" and can have a shiny new penny or a handful of beans each - depending on exchange rate at time of filming - for doing so.

That's about it.

Only twenty-four more hours of some well-hard boning-up with Beattie back at Derrig Towers before battle actually commences.

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John or Harry? Harry or John?

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Me and the laydeez XIV

Another great meal organised by your truly - and all totally free!

Mind you, I did have to sport myself about and ended up getting sandwiched between these two. Not that I'm complaining, of course.

And neither were they.

I'm a big fan of toothsome lovelies and it's not often you get the chance to make merry with two at time.

I tell you, it's all go when Derrig's in town and on the roam - even in Bristol!

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Smartarse Dry Run

Not strictly a "dry" run for the Smartarse filming this coming Friday, in that I believe only the Genius Amanuensis abstained from the demonic drinking.

I pitted my team against the finest brains in Club Derrig that night, plus the Lady Jojojo, Tallulah, Braisers, Twin of Evil No.1, and John "Johnno" Dolan.

Bazza "Well-Clever" Lyons, managed his team very effectively into a comprehensive defeat by yours truly and the Ant/Dec Lovechild Tim "Bert" Uchi, after I had sacrificed four of my prawns to give the losers a false sense of superiority.

All in all a triumph of right over guesswork and grubby corruption.

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Slump

Beattie appears to have fallen victim to the world slump-crisis.

One can only hope that he recovers in time to buy me a drink later this evening.

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Smartarse Update - Treated like stars

Eeeh - it's all luuuuxxxxury round here!

Yes, our appearance to come - as yet to happen sometime soon - in the near future is girded about with all the trimmings of splendour the likes of which have not been since the fabulous wealth of Monty of County Cristo.

Today we learned we are to be conveyed to the Smartarse studio en team in what can only be described as a state-of-the-cart vehicle, the ultra-whizzy Ford Foci.

All done out in Smartarse livery and other high-end accoutrements (seatbelts, wing mirrors, hub caps) no-one can say they aren't pushing us out in a boat.

I will publish the route shortly so that crowds may gather and wave delicate lacy handkerchiefs at us as we pass along the way.

A Day Of Great Momentousnessissity

Seeing as its 47 years to the day that John Frankenstein Kennedy got inauguraugurated I decided to pay my own little tribute to him in the form of kabuki. He was, famously, a hamburger.

Later on today, of course, there is the 51st anniversary of the polar explorers Dame Vivian Fuchs and her team, accompanied by Baroness Hillary Edmund, completing the first surface all-women-and-huskies crossing of the Antarctic.

But far more important than all that old pony, this evening I will be ensconced to the neck in Club Derrig's Presidential doings as we come together to hold a vigil of drinking to mark yet another year passing which - scandalously maximales - has not seen a black person achieve the Presidency of the USA of A.

Of course, sadly it will never happen, but do not deny us our hope.

In some ways it reminds me of a fairy story my father used to tell me when tucking me up at bedtime. It was a lovely little tale about a tin container.

Now, this container was so small - tiny in fact, and of tubular shape.

The tiny tinny used to wander about all forlorn and lost, feeling not at all good.

Finally the tiny tinny went up to the head of the tiny tinny tribe.

Looking up from his low position, craning his tiny tinny neck, he asked, "Tell me O Great One, will a day come when I will be chosen to serve a purpose? Maybe to lead our people to grat acclaim and good fortune? Will I be able to set an example and inspire people?"

And the massive chief tin looked down on the ever so small little tiny tinny and said in a great booming voice...
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"YES, WEE CAN!"

Beattie Superstar

Breaking news on the film du cinema blogs:

He's one of the biggest movies star on the planet and Hollywood's highest paid actor.

Bill Smith’s latest film, One Hundred and Seventy Pounds is shrouded in secrecy. What we do know is that Bill plays Ben Thomas - a dark and disturbed man hell-bent on righting a serious wrong.

Ben Thomas is a dark and serious character, very different to most of Will's wise cracking movie roles.

"Ben is so much the complete opposite of who I am, with the darkness of his thoughts and feelings, that it was a very difficult emotional space for me to live in during the production,” Bill explains.

Which would go some way to explaining why Beattie's been such a grumpy old Hector lately.

Obviously just getting into character.

Hilarious

It's official.

I AM the funniest man on the planet.

Note I don't say "in the Universe" - modesty forbids, and who knows what is out there that might be (or could be) funnier than me.

I will be on top form next Tuesday when I am entertaining at the new President Obama's inauguration, with a wealth of topical and political material.

I am scheduled between Maya Angelou and the Boston Girl's Patriotic Choir.

Top Tip

Parents! Do you despair of finding somewhere safe to store your sentimental knick-knacks?

You know - all those very precious and personal items that you can look at over the years to come that will bring to mind those cherished memories of your children as babies. Those special recollections that make you go "aaah"?

Maybe you need somewhere to keep crucial documents like birth certificates?

Here's my top-tip:

Don't stuff them in a black bin bag and then ask a friend to clear all your rubbish out!

Smartarse Update

New Smartarse Barry Simpo

Of course, the question that has been on everyone's lips is "What's happened about Col going up against Smartarses with his team of science experts?"

I am now at liberty to reveal that the celebrity (?) espidodes were considered to be a televisual failure of such onanic proportions that I have been again approached to fill their slot.

Having taken soundings with my PR people and other trusted advisers, I have decided to take up the bejewelled bucket of opportunity and go right in and blast them away to bits of smithereens in a quiz-like stylee.

I have conveyed the information that I will be available on the 30th January - this year - and they had better send a decent luxury car with driver to collect me.

I've put a crate of Mangers, a leather harness, and the Cheeky Girls on my rider.

Great night out

I was asked the other night what my plans were for tonight.

So, see if anyone of you bunch out there can top this:

12.00 noon, into pub, pint of Magners.
12.30pm - Pint of Mangers and a fag.
1.00pm - Pint of Mangers and plate of egg and chips
1.30pm - Pint of Mangers and a fag.
2.00pm - Pint of Mangers and a fag.
2.30pm - Pint of Mangers and a blagged rolly.
3.00pm - Pint of Mangers and two fags.
3.30pm - Pint of Mangers and a fag.
4.00pm - Pint of Mangers and a fag.
4.30pm - Leave pub.
4.35pm - Into another pub, Pint of Mangers

What? No Mangers! Pint of Boomoranje. Cigar.

5.00pm – Pint of Boomoranje and packet of crisps.
5.10pm – Loo break
5.15pm – Leave pub.
5.17pm – Arrive at Club Derrig. Disco! Pint of Mangers. A fag.
6.00pm – Pint of Mangers, Blue WDK. Don’t mind if I do.
6.30pm – Voluntary bar duty. Pint of Mangers. A fag.
7.00pm – Pint of Mangers. Wipe drool off. Suck on a straw.
7.30pm – Pint of Mangers. Go on - have a fag.
8.00pm – Ring laydee and apologise for likely lateness of return. Pint of Mangers. Fag.
8.30pm – Ring laydee and apologise for likely lateness of return. Pint of Mangers. Fag.
9.00pm - Ring laydee and apologise for likely lateness of return. Pint of Mangers. Fag.
9.30pm – Looking at dancers. Pint of Mangers. Fags. Loads of them.
10.00pm – Pint of Mangers. Baileys. Blue DKW. Twenty fags.
10.30pm – Leave Club Derrig.
10.32pm – Enter pub. Pint of Mangers. Plate of chips. Two fags.
11.00pm – Pint of Mangers. Fags.
11.30pm – Pint of Mangers. Fag.
12.00midnight – Leave pub, head for train. Fag.
12.25am – Board train.
1.25am – Wake up in Peterborough. De-train. Fag.
1.30am – Hail minicab.
1.39am – Engage in light-hearted fracas with minicab driver.
1.40am – Abandon cab somewhere that looks like New Southgate.
1.41am - 4.40am - Amble about for 3 hours. Fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag. Two fags.
4.40am – Hail minicab.
4.42am – Get out at rail station. Lost me fags.
4.44am – Board train.
6.00am – Arrive home. Wake up laydee, tell her all my adventures through medium of gestures and facial expressions.

My only concern is that I may have been beaten to it.

I Kid You Not

2009 - It's International Year of Natural Fibres.

That is all.

Doctor New? No!

The world's biggest story was officially broken by the BeebBeebCeeb over the weekend when the new Doctor was announced.

Can I just say that I was atrociously dismayed by the revelation.

"Who?" was my initial reactionarism.

Never have I come across a decision so stupid in everso.

Firstly, the new bod is far too young.

Secondly, his nose is far too big.

Fifthly, who the heck on earth has heard of him afore?

A lot of people will criticise me for what I am about to say as unnecessarily and prejudically negatory.

The hoi-polloi will denounce me for denouncing the poor chap before he even has the chance to display his credentials.

But it is my duty to tell you now, this 'Tom Baker' (whomsoever he may be) will never replace our grand dandy Doctor the Magnificent Bill Pertwee.

Come back in 6 months and see if I'm wrong!

Resolutioning

It is that time at which it is become unto me customary to make a few easily-breakable promises thereunto myself about what I shall be a-doing-of in the course of the forthcoming year of 2008.

Overall I have decided to make my top resolution tackling the problem of being surrounded by clowns.


There are a number of subsidiary resolutions as well as detailed untoforehereunder.

First up, no more investments in the sharp businessing of Dickie 'Mad' Evans. Too much of my hard-earned spondulicks have been flushed down that toilet. No more, I say. I am henceforth re-directing his beggary for funds towards the louche Beattie. See how he gets on there. Not.

Secondly up, I am reigniting my campaign to be restored as figurehead and mascot of the somewhat decrepit Club Derrig. Away with this monstrous regiment of women of all sizes, the long, and the short and the tall.

It's not that I have anything against women. Well, not often enough for me to feel that some of my charm has rubbed up on them. So, no more of that sitting back and watching them dragging MY CLUB into lunatic charitable fundraising efforts for hopeless cases around the world.

Thirdly up, I can no longer permit Beattie a free bed for the night whenever he decides to roll in, dragging "his share" of the duvet off me without a word of explanation of wherever he might have been hanging his hat for the previous nights in other company.

I will now be charging very reasonable rates per hour for the comfort and warmth which my frame can disseminate on the coldest of nights.

Fourthly up, I am issuing once again a formal renewal of my one-off offer to Girls Aloud. One at a time or as a group, as soon as I've sorted out my fifth resolution (below) I will take them on.
They may be incapacitated for some time after, but I'm sure they'll agree it was well worth it. Even the Nicola one. It'll be good practice for Smartarses.

Fifthly up, I am determined - against all advice from friends and relatives - to see a medical practitioner about the ongoing trouble below my belt. It's been ongoing on for some time now and I understand that therapeutic massage is now available on the National HS.

Sixthly up, and finally up, I am hell-bent on spraying a little love and kindness over my closest and dearest in order that the gruff exterior for which I am world-renowned is seen purely as a superficial trait that hides a heart of glowing and rampant tenderness. So ready yourselves, because here I'm coming!

Now, readers, dear readers, I recognise that not all of you - if any, in fact - will have the strength of character to make and keep your own resolutions. I am also therefore offering to take up your resolutions and fulfill them. Simply send them in with a £10 note to the usual address.

Here's a picture for those of you who can't remember what they look like, Cap'n Richards.

Happy New Year to each and everyone of you. That even goes for the Genius Amanuensis.