They're spooky and they're ooky

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrgggggghhhhhh!

(Sticky-out freezing breast tips not featured.)

Twin of Evil 1 takes a relaxing moment away from her usual fund-raising activities .

With well-developed musculature and demonstrating an obscure yoga position (the pose of the still-wet-anti-perspirant) , she is clearly readying herself to greet the trickers and treaters brave enough to knock her up this evening.

The effect, I feel, would have been vastly enhanced up if she had managed to find a mask.

Engineering a feat of tautologicality

Ironbridge - so good they named the town and the bridge after each other.

It's a bridge. Made of iron. Get over it.

An invitation is in the post

I am delighted that The Spiv (a Treasurer) and Lady Jojojojojo (A Finance Officer) have finally found a lovely little place to live.

After years of scrimping and scraping through life with only a CostCo card to sustain them and their legendary generosity, they have at last acquired a modest property in which to spend their twilight years a-bickerin' and a-lovin'.

I look forward to the housewarming and the usual trays of Jose Ferrero Rocket chocolates and Colombian marching powder borne around the melee on silver platters by PORGs.

No offence, my smaller readers.

Competition time

Yes, it's me coming up all revolutionary.

No, relax, of course it's not! Me? Up a barricade? In those shoes?

I am in fact running a "spot the balloon" competition.

Simply put an 'x' where you think my balloon is and pop your prediction in my pigeon-hole. You too could win a balloon.

MacFashionista

Tallulah has discovered a brand new way of taking a sauna in a room whilst all about remain unsteamied.

This brand new total-vinyl sweat-enhancing baggy condom is not only comfortable and stylish, it is not even that! Available as a puncho or a capo (in the same design) it is produced in a resolutely lo-vis colour so the wearer can easily blend in with emperors and other imperial types.

I can let you have one for a fiver to the usual address.

Spam mail

I have become the recipient of spam mail from someone who chooses to be known as a 'Barber'.

In this rather childish attempt at a laugh at my expense, the spamster writes how much he appreciates all the work I put in on Tuesday, and the massive contribution I made to the success of the event. He goes on to write some would-be tosh about deserving a medal and that all went so smoothly it was hardly as if there was anything to do.

Of course, I am not in the habit of accepting votes of thanks, and in fact make it a point of principle to reject them and instead request that someone else be acknowledged viz. the Gavster, or the Genius Amanuensis. And I do this with a certain amount of dignity - not with any anger at all on my part. Not one jot. Not at all. No.

So 'Brother Brendan' - for I know it is you - you can take your spam and fritter it.

Z-Team

As for this lot, it doesn't matter what I do to try and exert some discipline into them, they will just stand around playing the fools and laughing at Joey Public.

And in case you are wondering who the mystery fool is cowering behind the pennant, then wonder no more, for 'tis...

...Beattie. Who, as is his spine-of-jelly wont, manages to lounge louchely even in the highest security zone known to anyone anywhere.

A-Team

No, I have to call them that or they'd get all uppity.

Anyways, here you can see them practising engaging with the public for the purposes of having a chat word.

Me and the laydeez XV

'Look, sweetcheeks, check your diary later, I'm here now.

There's no-one else about and I've got me best clobber on.'

Damn you, Gavster.

I'm not a punching-the-air kind of chap, unlike Mr Councillor Edwards. I prefer to take my pleasures in other, more modest ways.

And that's not just because he and the Genius Amanuensis got a public thank you, either.

Mock-Up

Posed by models.

I am delighted to be able to let you in on the ground floor of a brainstorm I have had for an idea of mine.

Basically all the information in the world ever will be compiled onto one computer in a room and then analysed down into bite-sized chunks for upping my braininess.

It'll be called a 'Nervous Centre'.

Go compare!

En training

Even on the bussy-train en route to Southport - the Mombassa of the North - I am hard at it briefing up the little lad Gavster.

It is harder than it looks: no matter how many times or how loudly I repeat myself he gets it first time. Irritiating Councillor.

It wasn't like this when I were a simple clerk.

Special occasion

No! I will say no more!

No....that's OK, you start first

Well, don't look at me....

Quizzical

Flip-to-Bessie knows how on earth a woman with a brain like Swiss-cheese manages to win a dementedly tough but charitable "100th Anniversary of the Club Derrig Handout and Generous IOU Fund" quiz as set by yours truly and the Genius Amanuensis. And this is not the first time, either, and on that basis is unlikely - statistically-speaking out of my back door, that is - to be the last of all either at all.

Even with a bunch of so-much-less-than-boffs on her 'team' she came through to win outright with a score so impressive, it was almost as if she had been privy to and fed the answers beforehand. Which of course was not and could not be the case bearing in mind the strict rectitudinal-attitudinal approach employed by myself truly and Tallulah's partner of seven years, the Genius Amanuensis.

And despite scurrilous accusations of collusions and fixes, Tallulah was sufficiently fully-fired up on vodka to set the record straight, accusing (via the medium of amplified microphonicals) the Genius Amanuensis of not only leaving the quiz answers lying about the house, but taking her up the wrong alley to boot.

Ha! Wrong alley? My arse!