Driving Me Mad, Too

I don't what it is, but this song is also ricocheting round my bonce.

Life and soul

Two beers on the go AND he's fingering up his own BillBerry.

It seems multi-tasking is part of the All-New Job Description for Commodore Jahhhhhhhn.

Driving Me Mad

Ever get one of those tunes you can't get out of your flipping brain?

In The Wet Patch

Reconstruction

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times down at the All-New Club Derrig.

There we were - slurping up our drinks - when all of a sudden I went totally Kirk Douglas and managed to cover the rather over-imbibulous Genius Amanuensis with the contents of his own glass of top quality vin.

Fortunately for him, and not so for me, he had a second glass on the go and responded in a swiftly revengeful and unecessary manner, dousing yours truly to immense proportions.

Never have I been so old a soak. Be-drenched with inundation doesn't even cover it.

Mind you, it did put the orgy-tastic behaviours on the next sofa into proportion.

The laundry bill is in the post!

Speaking in Tongues

Picture for illustration purposes only.

I want to start by thanking you all for coming here today at what is clearly a crucial time for me, as you can tell by the suit-tie-jacket combo I’m wearing.

It’s always good to have one’s acolytes gathered in hushed reverence when one has to impart news of great impartment.

It is a rare occasion on which I forego my usual merry banterisms and witty reparteree, so you will know the degree to which I have come up with the very serious face you see before you and that if – I say if! If! If there is at any time a smile on my face, its only there trying to fool the public.

But when it comes down to fooling you – now that’s quite a different subject.

Moving swiftly on from that miraculous digression, I come now to the meat of my message, and I urge you to pay attention with your ears and brains:

Τα μάτια μου πεποίθηση, επισκιάζεται με τους νεότερους φεγγάρι επιτυγχάνεται με την αγάπη. Θα αλλάξει σχεδόν τεταμένες ανάμεσα σαφές μάννα από ψηλά. I σταυρώθηκε μίσος μου και πραγματοποιήθηκε η λέξη μέσα το χέρι μου. Υπάρχει σας, ο χρόνος, η λογική, ή τους λόγους που δεν καταλαβαίνουμε.

Sad θάρρος υποστήριξε τα θύματα στέκεται ακόμα για να τις δουν όλοι, Όπως τεθωρακισμένα υποκινητές πήρε πλησίασε για να έχουν θέα στη θάλασσα. Δεδομένου ότι υπάρχει το καλώδιο, την άδεια, ή τους λόγους που καταλάβαμε θα είναι.

Κάτω στην άκρη, κοντά από ένα ποτάμι. Κοντά στην άκρη, γύρω από τη γωνία. Κοντά στο τέλος, κάτω από τη γωνία. Κάτω στην άκρη, γύρω από το ποτάμι.

Αιφνίδια προβλήματα που δεν θα πρέπει να οδηγεί τον τρόμαξε μνήμη. Συνολικά, το ταξίδι σας μεταφέρει σε όλη τη διαδρομή. Όπως πέρα από κάθε πραγματικότητα που έχετε δει ποτέ και είναι γνωστό. Μαντέψουν τα προβλήματα μόνο για να εξαπατήσει το αναφέρω, Περνώντας μονοπάτια που ανεβαίνουν στα μισά του δρόμου στο κενό.
Καθώς περνάμε από πλευρά σε πλευρά, ακούμε ότι η συνολική μάζα διατηρούν.

It is happening again....

Let me take you on a brain-mind experiment.

Imagine yourself two hundred years in the future.

You are in a room with four people all looking at you.

There is a film projected on a wall, showing a chimpanzee in a hat. The film is on a loop: the chimpanzee keeps lifting its hat and bowing.

Again and again and again.

Someone is singing in the next room, but you can’t quite make out the words. It’s clearly a lament, possibly an Irish folk song or even a sea shanty.

The other people in the room start pointing at you and shouting.

Your hands are shaking as you try to drink the hot liquid – Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate? - in the cup before you.

Hammers - lots of them. Then a tap, dripping.

A man in a tall hat walks into the room and says “Everything has changed. Do it all again. The deadline has been brought forward. You will not be allowed back.”

Then everything goes dark, and all you can hear is people moving around, stumbling and bumping into things.

Welcome to my world of campaigning.

Boss Lady Done Gone

It is a truly sad day when your overseer scoots off for a balmier (and loftier) situation up on the 3rd floor.

As the tumbleweeds gather at her old desk, and the office vultures steal away her stash of Blu-Tacky and Post-It-Up Notes, it seems the time is right for suitably mournful music.

Bumped up a notch

Far from walking the plank as has been suggested he should be a-doing of, it seems Cap'n Jahhhhhhhn has been elevated beyond his powers to the ranks of those who should be obeyed, but never arrrrrrr.

Congratulations, Commodore Jahhhhhhn on this excellent bit of bribery you done.

The Man Who Quite Literally Decked Himself

No further commentary needed, is my opinion.

Spooky McGookie

There is nothing more scary than a haunted house, unless it is a haunted great big office building.

Every attempt was made to design-in the most modernest features and eradicate anything ghosty or spookful. For instance, preserving and tarting-up as part of the project an old hospital place where they cut up screaming women, some of whom pegged out.

Despite this, it appears that the All-New Derrig Towers has become spooked-a-plenty.

Check the evidence above of an especially scary horror-face in a window of my establishment captured on my very own 'Shake-O-Cam'.

I was never sickened quite so much as what I did gush out on seeing this supernatural oddity.

But - and I think this is the question, is it not?

It's an enigma that may never be solved - like magnets or even vegetables.

And also just who is it in that window?

Will we ever know the truth?

Will we ever know who it is that moans and struts the halls in such uncanny fashion?

Scrambled!

Yes, having been on "foot-war" for a not inconsiderable period of the past day or so, we have already been scrambled in readiness for "The Big Day".

I have been dusting down my hi-vis raiment and buffing up my hailer. All is gleaming as we enter upon the road to "The Big Day".

"The Big Day" by all accounts will be even bigger than the last "The Big Day" involving even more massed ranks sporting baseball caps, tabards, and ponchos - all of which are at a premium because of a world shortage created by the Chinese taking a day off. I am told.

I am writing lists and chivvying people up. "It's time to get off your duffs and play with your part" is my rallying cry.

And for my efforts I have been rewarded with a brand new designation: "Unrealistic Expectations Delivery Commandant".

Yes it's all go here.

So, forward!

Forward to "The Big Day".

Stuff it in your calendar, would you?

Tugging

"Pull!"

I am keeping myself in a permanent state of readiness - on a "war-foot", if you will - just on the off-chance I get my opportunity to step up to the plate and offer my services.

It's a difficult balancing act, staying ready without actually "sallying forth", so to speak. That teetering on the edge - it's all tension and gritted teeth, let me tell you.

I put my success so far down to my mental discipline, reciting in my mind the names of the England World Cup winning squad as a diversionary delaying device. It can make all the difference between staying firm of purpose and simply going off half-cocked.

My greatest fear? That I could suddenly get pulled off.

But it's a risk I'm willing to take.

Sponsorship Con

A Little Briton

I have been inspired up to the back teeth by all these celebrities undertaking massive feats of physical endurance stuff the likes of which have captured the British imagination for funding.

Most recently people have dug deep for that brilliant comic Mack Lucas and his "non-stop" chundering and crapping up a river for children.

Now I'm not one to criticise such efforts, but I am.

It's all very well this physical endurance malarkey, but travails of the brain seem to me so much more demanding. Of course, these slebs are not really up to the mark on that area.

So I am taking on a challenge of my own with sponsorship from you. For every pound you send me I will remove from my extensive conversational flurries one mention of Formula One, or war, or what was on the box last night.

Simply stick your pound coin to a piece of card with the word 'car shite', or 'fighting a lot', or 'boring telly' - the choice is yours - and rush it to me at the usual address.

Remember, you can sponsor me as many time as you like. You can also dig deep unto me through 'PayChap' to my charity internet-pocket site 'RakeItInForCol.com'.

It couldn't be easier.

The Lesser-Spotted Genius Amanuensis

Dapper, charming, suave, tanned, charismatic.

No. Not at all.

Hot Stallion Man

A book

Twin of Evil A, having despatched with alacrity the literary opinions of her oppo, Twin of Evil 1, pursues her bibliographic assaults with this intemperate and savage bit of quoting at yours truly.

"...he had ceased to express his fondness for her in words, and recoiled with angry suspicion from her girlish caresses, as if conscious there could be no gratification in lavishing such marks of affection on him."

Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights, Ch. 8

You know - I like that man's style. Loathe 'em and leave 'em - that's my motto. And he's clearly got that superior randy-up-a-ding-dong swagger that I am so well renowned for in my parts. Very much like me, en factotum.

But lawks-a-mercy-o why isn't the young flibbertigibbet lavishing marks of affection on him? I thought that's the kind of thing they went for?

I await with interest the riposte of Twin of Evil 1.

Casus Belli: Bronte

One of them Bronte bunch

I am a great admirer of old-type books full of all that grandiose languifying and romancing up the laydeez and whatever.

And I also enjoy a good old chinwag of literary criticism matters, especially those conducted on the higher intellectual planes.

Lacan...Althusser...Levi-Strauss - I can't get enough of them and their crazy denim fashions.

So, imagine my unbounded delight at having the good fortune to be quite literally sandwiched between the Twins of Evil as they tongue-lashed each other over none other than one or other of the Brontes.

I have tried to remember the full content of the discussion, and render it faithfully here as follows:

Twin of Evil 1: That's shit'n'all, that Wuthering one.

Twin of Evil A: You shut the fack up, you.

I think it's fair to say Twin of Evil A landed the winning blow.

I am now very much looking forward to the next Laydeez Book Club, which is scheduled for 12 three-minute rounds, and could be settled by a Knock-Out.

Lunacy With Intent

Tallulah has sent me this charming and very moving picture/poem of her recent stay at The Priory.











I'm not sure we've invented a cure yet for what she's got.

Salutations, old girl!

Gay Replacement

I am putting myself up for the job of being a replacement for Gaybo.

Eireland has awaited too long filling in that vacancy he left on the screens of all and about on the telly.

That, or I'm going to take the cloth.

Chef D'Ambience 5

Now this is what I'm talking about.

Top quality bar snacks with a continental edge.

Up-market, chic, and chock-full of E numbers. It's the future, alright.

Just Teste-ing

I call one Twin of Evil A and the other Twin of Evil 1.

Una paloma blanca not pictured.

(Come on, get a grip, man!)