Doing my bit

I was wandering around Mancunia on Saturday when I was approached by a young laydee of Scottish origination who asked if I had any experience in the erecting department.

Never one to fall for the old double-entendre, imagine my utter and thorough-going blooming heck delight when it turned out to be sail banners of which she had McSpoken.

I was called upon subsequently to pose with my efforts and some bit of old card for photographical evidentiary purposes.

Oi!

It's MISTER Derek to you. Got that?

My little joke

It seems some people were unable to see the funny side of yesterday's post.

It was, of course, entirely meant in a humourous vein.

After all, why would I scupper my sinecure in such an absurd manner? Indeed, why would I even dream of giving up such an important position as an underling of the most magnificent, fair-minded, and totally mentally-balanced BossLady-who-treats-me-so-well-I-can't-think-why-all-the-others-go-on-about-her-behind-her-back-(and-I'm-prepared-to-name-names) TM?*

After all, can you imagine me - Derrig! - being taken in by a rather expertly-executed phisting scam?

Of course you can't.

No, you can't.

Oh no, you can't.

*Will this do?

Stuff your job, BossLady!

Wooo-hoooh!

I say again, yeeeee-haaaah!

Hah, BossLady who-thinks-she-rules-the-universe-but-in-reality-is-a-tinpot-tyrant TM you can take this job and shove it!

After years trapped in drudgery and the sheer filth of hard-blooming-work*, I can now walk away without a care, my financial future secured and not a care in the world. No more of that wage-slaving for yours moi.

Where before unto now I did see up a future of misery and toil until I was retired upon forcibly and left a broken knackered old man, I can foresee now a golden later-middle- and later-life, which I will of course be happy to share with Beattie if he behaves himself like I ask him and when I ask him.

And all blessings on the head of John Miller (FBI)who has released me from the dreadful prospect of a tedious future under the whip hand of the BossLady-who-is-as-happy-to-leave-a-lash-mark-on-tender-skin-as-she-is-to-soothe-it-with-vinegar TM.

All this because of an investigation that has come up trumps in my favour. Who'da thought it?

Brilliant. Just brilliant!

*Subject to independent verification.

...Sunday morning

On alert.

Oh, so tired.

So very, very tired.

Saturday night and...

Look at 'em!

A glorious group of the most toothsome luvverlies it has been my pleasure to wine, dine, and generally entertain.

Even I, with my magnificent powers and reputation, have never before tonight been so successful as to have nine of them for company in one evening!

Stars Spot!

Unbelievable good luck today when I was fortunate enough to breakfast with a major star at the hotel currently enjoying my patronage.

Yes, just feet away was the famous 'Barry Egghead', no doubt up in this part of the world for filming further episodes of that remarkable show 'BigHeads'.

He was subsequently joined by his team mates Kevin Egghead and Chris Egghead. Regrettably though, no sign of the delectable Daphne Watermelon.

Ah well.

Oh...and the famous 'L' Bodily Macpherson was also here the previous evening but who would want to hear about my run in with such a minor sleb, or indeed gawp slack-jawed at pictures of her in all sorts of scanty get-ups?

No. Thought not.

Help!

Anyone know where I am?

It's an enigmama alright - it's cold, slightly damp, fogged up-a-gogo and the sun is about as much use as a brick-built yacht.

I'm hazarding a guess at Norwegia.

Iron Laws of Entertainment No.1

I was a-mulling it over yesterday, as is my wont, but then I stopped and had a good wash before joining a choice lunchtime crew (Beattie, Tallulah and the Genius Amanuensis) to announce my latest findings vis-a-vee unremarked upon iron laws of entertainment.

They listened enthralled as I explained that the entertainment industry - throughout the world - is run according to certain 'iron laws' that are as fixed as the stars in the sky, or indeed on the telly-box. These laws cannot - must not - be broken for fear of messing with formulae that have stood the test of time in throwing-up and sustaining in the firmament the great stellar array of entertainers we all know and love mostly.

"Write this down, Genius," I declared. "It's one for the blog, and may crop again in my memoirs.".

"The first law, the one on which many of the others relating to acts involving more than one person, rests on the simple but rigid requirement that where any such act shall be known by the members' names, those names ARE ALWAYS - INVARIABLY - IN ALPHABETICALISED ORDER."

Of course, the assembled throng gasped as they reeled through lists of such acts, racking their feeble brains, and unabled to come up with a single one of an example between them.

Next in the series: that Macbeth play, and the country which shall not be named in any theatre.

Kris-Krosser - With A Twist

Who amongsteth you can forget those heady times of the 1990's when Kriss-Krass ruled the airwaves. Mozzer and his Smithboys had woven their musical magic and departed, only to be replaced by their devoted heirs whose intriguing lyrical assaults can be heard on such mega hits as (google that will you, Genius Amanuensis?).

But far and away and over the hills over and above this crazed pop genius was their sartorially-revolutionary approach to clothes-wearing. I speak of course of their refusal to wear clothes the right way round. Can you remember the outrage of parents everywhere as youths simply copied suit?

Well, the world turns and the fashion cycle has gone a full one, and this time I am not to be outdone.

As ever, the reliable George at Asda have come up with a cheeky twist on the mode by ..... wait for it .... creating clothes that are INSIDE-OUT! Really inspired couturiering I call it.

I could not resist the temptation and have already joined the trend. Just check that crazy seamage, people.

I do believe my youth is returning. I wonder if he's brought me anything back?

Film Review 12: The King's Peach

Synopsis: A sulky rich aristo-type simply can't articulate his desire to give his wife his closest attention, leaving the whole Empire at risk, apparently. Beastly Germans are on the horizon, while the aristo's useless brother dallies with Marge Simpson.

Col's commentary: Once again the sensationally-gifted and provocatively-pouting Ms Helen Bon-Temps Carter has to step in and save a gloomy production whopse one high-point is taking the mickey out of stutterers to hugely hilarious comic effect. Only by dint of her dress-sense and all round vampishness is this dreadul effort saved and made watchable. Possibly the greatest film since her last one.

NYE H&S ALERT!

There is - hereabouts - a lot of nonsense spouted about how alcohol, lighters, safety tapers, matches, fags and fireworks are some terrible accident waiting to happen. Look at the Chinese, for example. They did chess too, you know.

And I was of the same mind - blithely dismissing the possibility of any kind of ludicrous combination of the aforesaidful bunch of incendiary items, and the dreadful consequences that could follow.

That was until this very New Year's Eveness when I did visit upon the Lady Jojojojojo and the Spiv Oestreicher at their palatial new accommodations up Enfields.

I present my evidence thus herebelow:

Item 1, m'lud - Spiv seeks to spark up a firework (Massasmoky - from the 'Old Firebugger' range):

Item 2, who that there a-wandering in the smog?


Item 3, always maintain a respectable distance between one's delicate bodily being and mentalist's with a death wish.