Lately I've been...

driving through strange parts of town, unfamiliar places, odd environs with crazy angles and roads that seem to have no beginning or end. I've noticed the people are gnarled and have crooked sticks, and curly nails, and gimlet eyes. Oh yeah, and they're all named Caleb and say things to me in country voices, like "You be not from round here." Even whilst I'm filling up with petrol. It can make a person jump. I asked one the directions to Misery Grove and was told, "You don't want to be going there, to Misery Grove. Oh no." Stroking his stubbled chin he cackled to no one in particular, "Only fools go to Misery Grove." Then he laughed until a choking lump of phlegm dropped him like a shot elephant. Through the rear view mirror his receding figure heaved and spluttered, arm outstretched towards me, a rictus of pain scarring his deeply troubled face. Two miles later when I stopped on Misery Grove his tobacco pouch fell from the car roof. Being both a charitable person and non smoker I gave the evil weed to a passing twelve year old who amused me by using the word "Luvaducks" in a sentence about youth crime. I also gave him a shilling to hire the jack he carried in his back pocket. Clever kid, by hiring the jack I stopped him taking my wheels for half an hour . "Sort of insurance you see, Mister. " He said in a cockney accent. I left before he broke into song.

At the end of a long drive the house I was to visit glowered like the Bates place in Psycho, fortunately no one came when I rang the bell. Back on the road Spud, for I'd nicknamed the boy Spud on account of his filthy neck, was casting covetous glances at my vehicle. "Hoy!" I shouted. "You said half an hour." He shouted back, "It has been half an hour mister." He was right, convinced the crows above were talking about me I lingered too long on that rutted gravel track. My bird suspicion was confirmed when the car pulled away and one said, "Isn't that kid a bit young to be driving?" Reader, I could have wept.

Moles put tiny children...

at risk shock. And they have thin heads shock. Moles are currently plaguing a school field in the West Midlands town of Rugby. A BBC report shows these supposedly cuddly creatures are also able to snap a child's leg just by looking at it. One local councillor told a reporter "Only last week a mole robbed my seven-year-old granddaughter at gunpoint. Something needs to be done." There is evidence that moles have been tunneling from surrounding parishes to participate in digging up the playing field. Another councillor who wished to remain anonymous said, "Some of these moles are not local." Jethro Lump, Regional Finalist for the Honourable Company of Molestabbers told anyone who would listen, "When I were a lad we respected the elderly. And that's all I'm prepared to say at this juncture." It's a little known mole fact but they protect their paper thin noggins by avoiding stony soil. A representative for the moles said "It's true we don't like stony soil." In the packed community centre during a post bed-time debate tired tots cheered to the rafters on hearing one of their number demand they be issued with toffee hammers as a matter of urgency.

Responding to the children's proposal a mole spokesperson told the BBC, "You can't reason with a mob."

Shock news just in...

God declares for Evolution. Interviewed in a evening newspaper he said. "I hold my hands up, I was wrong." An ashen faced God declared that only one day's rest since the big bang had addled his thinking. He told our reporter it was a swivel eyed tambourine banging Creationist who did for him. "He just would not shut the fuck up!" Said God. "So I thought bollocks I'm throwing my lot in with Darwin, man had a bigger beard than me but I'll not let such trifles put me off a damn good theory." Shaken by this momentous event God told us of his future plans. "I'm thinking of a return to College, maybe do a course, study snails. Neat little guys, quite inoffensive, never upset anyone. Unlike those who argue for Intelligent Design. You see there's nothing Intelligent about the universe at all. It wasn't invented, it came about via natural processes and you know what? The biggest secret of all? So did I." God laughed, shook his head and said "That's why Creationism's a crock of shit. Hmmm, could do with a stiff drink. Hope the Student's Union is open. Cheap beer. Fantastic! Couldn't lend us a fiver could you?" The chalkboard indicated Happy Hour had begun and our intrepid reporter's last sight was of God forcing his way through the student throng.

In tomorrow's edition: A 24 hour drinking spree, God goes partying and tries drugs for the first time. "I'm completely off my face." Says a sweat soaked God before throwing himself once more into the dance floor melee.

I was planning not...

to say another thing about dogs until Guyana Gyal posted to me about those with bows in their hair. Grrr. I can't think of a dog joke so here's a budgie one.

How do you turn a budgie into a dog?
Dip it in petrol, throw a match and watch it go WOOF!

Great joke, still makes me laugh. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, urghh, I'm all dizzy now.

I have noticed that dogs with decorative bows are carried everywhere, the little rat faced layabouts. A dangerous occupation though for in evolutionary terms no leg use can so quickly turn into no legs at all. They would then no longer be dogs but trunks. Yapping trunks with tartan collars and perhaps a little bell or one of those squeaky things that when stood upon squeaks. A blessing if it opens new areas of possibility, in bridge safety for instance. Manchester has many railway bridges under which trucks that are too tall can become jammed. By suspending trunks from beneath those bridges in a manner similar to corks on an Australian bush hat such unhappiness might be avoided. One expects the sound of squeaking trunks bumping over a cab roof to be enough warning for most drivers. Only someone with a heart of stone would fail to stop.

The patent office shall hear from me first thing on the morrow.

It can only be a matter...

of time before the rich start botoxing their dogs. I'd be surprised if this were not already available in Beverley Hills. Today's press reports the cost of botox is reducing to a level that ordinary mortals can afford. Botoxing as a means to resculpt the family dog therefore might soon be within everyone's reach. Bored with that faraway look you once found so endearing? Have him re-done. Christian owners might favour a saint, Muslims a nice floor design, Jains, well Jains would probably having nothing done for fear of the dog being a relative. Spiteful types could have their dog botoxed to resemble whom they wish to insult. To alleviate the pain of a long separation (should your employment so demand) the dog could be botoxed to a likeness of the missing loved one. Botoxdog might be given as a great Christmas gift, or birthday treat. Think of the excitement, 'Darling I'm home' and under your arm a miniature Britneydog or Eminem. There might be some social downside such as increased street accidents through people walking into things because their eyes have been captured by a Cheneydog weeing on some lamp post, or the shock of seeing a dog that looks like a dog. I reckon botoxing dogs will bring us humans closer together, even if only to exclaim.

It seems Tutankhamen enjoyed...

a snifter or two of white wine or so says today's New Scientist Magazine. Of the six jars tested from his burial chamber one had evidence of red wine and the rest of white. I've seen photo's of those ancient Egyptian jars and we're not talking jam sizes here, no siree. Your average Egyptian jar was the size of a small giraffe and could hold a substantial quantity of wine. Legend says that a year passed before the sound of partying and vomit from within the Royal tomb finally gave way to silence. Many ancient Egyptians worried the boy King might have drank his fare rather than immediately boarding the celestial packet boat as he'd been ordered to by his mum. But hey, he was young, headstrong, first time away from home, what did they expect?

The evidence surprised archeologists who up to now believed white wine (incidentally a liebfraumilch which explains why it took so long to catch on) first appeared in 3AD. However 2,500 years previously Pinot Grigio and Chablis were the tipple of Pharoahs, though not being stupid the ex boy King also knew it was easier for a pilgrim to pass through the innards of a camel than enter Valhalla smelling of cheap plonk.

An alternative theory to explain the large jars is that Tut simply wasn't prepared to pay the outrageously inflated prices they charge for a drink on ferries.

Last Friday...

whilst driving home from work a massive lorry passed me on the inside lane and as it turned a great hunk of steel tore the passenger side mirror from my car. Slipping into psycho mode I pursued said lorry until he stopped. From the lofty heights of his cab (so high there was a snow line with some boastful off-piste skiers who had about them the look of corporate lawyers) the driver stared down and through high altitude gusts mouthed that I was to blame. J'Accuse! I replied. His lips moved for some considerable time but the only words to reach me were "..uck off you knob." In circumstances such as these it's normal to exchange insurance details but by then his condors were sizing me up so it seemed more prudent to leave. Losing a mirror is a pisser but having my eyes pecked out by huge Andean Buzzards would have been a pill too bitter even for me to swallow, especially on a Friday night. I retreated, though as the truck pulled away was lucky enough to see one of the braggarts disappear toward the upper slopes hanging beneath a pair of talons. Small compensation I know but better than nothing.

Reported in today's press...

Californian minister gets eighteen months for selling church to buy BMW. Apparently parishioner suspicion was aroused when arriving for morning service they noticed the new auditorium only sat 4.

Strange dream...

last night. I was in a place where all communication was via neatly folded handwritten notes that were slid like playing cards across tables or furtively palmed by those wishing to remain discreet. It seemed an up-market cafe served by a short order chef dressed in whites behind the polished bar. On his head was a small cotton hat and around his neck a cravat that gave him the look of a young Al Pacino. Up and down the bar people were sliding notes that only after making eye contact would he pass on. The place was busy and even though no one spoke it was full of noise and chatter because when people unfolded their squares of paper words were released into the air like conversation.

I had an idea it was Saturday night and everyone was relaxed. Some of the notes made people laugh and everyone was patient even those I could see waiting outside the tall double doors for the doorman to write his greeting. He used a beautiful maroon fountain pen and I could hear the satisfying scratch of its nib on the heavy paper. He creased each sheet twice to make sure the edges were neat then folded a square which guests opened so they might enter the room with words.

The dream changed, a pity because it was so unusual.

This universe of ours...

is a tricky place. For instance a headline in today's scientific press claims they have finally measured the 24% that's called Dark Matter . The remaining 72%, known as Dark Energy has yet to be accounted for because at present there's no means by which it can be detected. On the way into work this morning I stepped on a paving stone where from beneath more water gushed with more force soaking more of my leg than is proper in a Newtonian Universe. Methinks the hunt for dark energy might profit from a little look under the pavements of Salford.

I'll be on to the Council in the morning.

This evening...

between the hours of 6:05 and 8:50 I've been mainly fixing my ipod. It is done. Nearly three hours, for fucks sake! I've had nothing to eat, the evening's gone, my throat is parched, my hair is unkempt and my sense of self is askew. Still, got it going again and that's the main thing. Not sure taking the back off was such a good move especially as half the tiny musicians made a run for it and only threats to fetch the hoover got them all back in again. Cheeky gets.