Tidy

Possibly even scarier than yesterday, but a right punch up the snoot for those who said it couldn't be done.

But, cocking a snook at the devil's dandruff of asbestosis, it's a necessary evil.

Normal chaos resumed on Monday week.

In training

Protein, carbs, and oleaginous vein-blocker

I am informed that Mr Dicky 'Mad' Evans, has entered himself upon the London Marathon listings for next year.

"I know I can do it. It's all about the training," he said, over his fourth pint of Magners.

"The sixteen weeks after Christmas are crucial, especially on building up the stamina. But I'm no slacker. I've already started, " he announced through a cloud of Marlboro Light smoke.

"I've been watching my diet and making sure I get all the right nutrients. It's very important that the body gets the necessary inputs. Absolutely essential if I'm going to make it past the first 300 yards."

It is good, then, to know that he now resides in Winchmore Hill where "Agatha's fish and chip emporium" - just across the road from the station, ensuring that no excess energy is used - is able to cater to his physical well-being, as it did so superbly last night.

Keep up the good work, lad!

Subterfugical

No! Don't be afraid - it's me in my superhero disguise.

Here I am as the Master of Secrets!

I was cackling in an evil sort of way at the time.

Spectacular!

For purposes of clarity I am trying to identify a suitable pair of looney-ettes.

I should say here and nowtofore that I do not NEED such nasal-perching accoutrements for any visual incompetency. I have perfect 20 (Twenty) - 20 (Twenty) eyesighting and can see a laydee wearing a paternity suit coming at me a mile off.

No, the glassy-oracular knick-knacks are simply an accessory which make me look slightly less distinguished than I am. I was finding that a number of people seemed to be intimidated by my grand self and were holding back from offering to buy me a drink.

Obviously this simply cannot be allowed to go on.

Clubbable

A lot of people often say they find me quite clubbable.

Here I am rolling out of a rather tacky nightspot at which I was forced to put in a celebrity-star appearance while in Chesterinium.

Word got out I was in town and I was prevailed upon.

Not a patch on Club Derrig, of course, and I made several recommendations to the club owner about ways of keeping the clientele down to a more manageable five or six.

The owner very kindly offered to show me the door, but as you can see I found it perfectly easily myself.

Didn't look that special a door to me.

Roaming ruin

Ius, Colinus Derrigus, wasus atus Chesteriniumus thisus weekendus.

I was priviliged to visit the site of the Official World's Largest Amphitheatre (as recognised by Harry Twit, the barman at Chesterinium's most welcoming pub the Marlborough Arms, as also recognised by Mr.Twit.).


It was a glorious and imposing site, despite being in a right old two-and-eight. Old lumps of stone all over the place and a nunnery plonked on top of it. Very impressive.

The people of Chesterinium are in an uproar.

As am I most Friday evenings.

Star split shocker

Fame forced incognitoity on the pair.

I have been following the troubles embracing the amorous pair of Maddo and Rich Guy.

Can I say now that I was right all along as usual as I predicted this on learning of their marriage all those years ago.

"It won't last till Christmas", are the very words I used.

And it hasn't. Still more than two months to go till the festive season and they split like an over-ripe puffin.

I blame, of course, very dirty dancing. All that rubbing of legs and tight outfits.

Having said that, now Maddo and Rich are no longer an item, and I - being a single man with a strong interest in dragging myself by fair means or foul out of the ongoing credit crunchie - I would like to put myself forward.

Yes, readers, you read it a-right: I am tendering myself - body and brain -out on a strictly cash-for-Col basis.

I have the looks, the skills, and the years of experience needed to cope with the likely demands that will be made upon me.

I am experienced in fantasy and role play, many laydeez having told me I make a very good "heavy".

My body has been honed to adapt to long periods of sitting around waiting with short bursts of intensive activity between.

I don't mind doing the same thing over and over again until it's finished, just to get it perfect for a demanding sort.

So yes, Rich Guy, send me a script - I'm gagging for a part in your next film!

Cash-strapped

"...a rich and famous lifestyle..."

Club Derrig has been just as hard hit as the banks and other financial institutions as we are all washed over by a tidal wave of credit crunchings. And I have been financially smashed on a personal basis.

No longer can I this week live a rich and famous lifestyle.

In the words of Gordo Broon, our beloved Chancellor, "With exogenous fertility, it has been shown that the government can mandate the first-best outcome by simply imposing the socially optimal transfer. By contrast, with endogenous fertility, the government can no longer enforce this outcome."

I couldn't have put it better, or more intelligibly, myself.

This is at the heart of why Club Derrig will be unable to extend any further credit provisions between now and Friday, and is in the process of approaching Mad Dicky "Cashbuilder" Evans for a bail-out-rescue-type-have-a-wedge-why-don't-you-23%-daily-interest Plan.

We don't have much choice.

While the Boss Cat's away...

Yes, we're having a rare oul' time of it while the Boss Cat is across the great water backing up O'Bama, or "The Big B.O." as we like to call him.

The Boss Cat has landed

I am priviliged to report that the Boss Lady is out of the country.

Good for lucky old US.

Yee-hah!