In this lightly alcohol fuelled ramble, we discuss:
- Hidden body parts
- Kev’s struggles
- Knee boobs
- Ian’s best bits
In this lightly alcohol fuelled ramble, we discuss:
I recently discovered something I didn’t know, which is that there is a word in the English language that breaks my brain. I can’t process it. Something about it just doesn’t fit inside my head.
The word is “froths”.
This came up the other day when I needed to describe something frothy to someone. I attempted to say that it “froths up”, but every time I tried to say it, my head got stuck and the word that came out was “frothies”. I made four attempts to say “froths”, all of which were “frothies”, and then I gave up and started a new sentence that avoided using the word altogether.
I don’t know why this is. I don’t know how long this has afflicted me. I know the word “froths” exists, of course. I can sit here and type it. But each time I’m approaching the point of typing it, my brain first suggests “frothies”, and even now – even knowing that this is a problem, and that the word is coming up, and being conscious that I might get it wrong, I still can’t say it right on the first attempt.
I have decided that, from now on, I’m just going to stay away from any bubbly, foamy or otherwise aereated liquids as a way of avoiding the problem completely. That’s definitely the answer.
There’s a serious problem that we have all been completely failing to address, and it’s been going on for too long now. I have decided to fix it. The arrangement of bank holidays across the year is inconsistent, unfair and stupid.
Just look at this chart showing where all the bank holidays fell in 2020. What a mess.
Just spacing them out evenly wouldn’t bring an end to this madness, because there’s only seven of them. That would mean a wait of 52 days between free days off work, a barely acceptable waiting time.
The solution is obvious. More bank holidays, sprinkled evenly throughout the year, so we get one about every two weeks. That’s a massive win. Here’s my suggested list.
This results in a much better spread of bank holidays through the year, as shown below.
Please consider this the start of my campaign to enshrine these new bank holidays in law, and also the start of my campaign to be Prime Minister. Thank you.
What was that? It was a bad idea to begin with and now you’re going to run it into the ground like you always do? You clearly know me so well.
Hi, I’m Ian, I recently turned 37 and I still retain the intelligence of someone a quarter of my age. I used to take song lyrics, change them into something else and then hand them to my friend to upload onto our website because that was “funny” even though most of the time it really wasn’t.
Do you remember ‘Slut Call Girl’, a “hilarious” reinterpretation of Billy Joel’s ‘Uptown Girl’? Probably not. It was one of my better efforts. The others are better best forgotten.
In the spirit of this though I have decided to drag all of my showbiz mates out to record a covers album to end 2020 the way it began; awfully. It’s even worse, it’s a funny covers album. I will be taking some of the moved beloved rock songs from the last 30-40 years by one of the most amazing bands from within our very own lifetime and I will be turning them into a one joke joke about curling one off.
(I can hear you groaning already)
Let’s take a look at the track listing:
The One I Shove
Shiny Happy Faeces
It’s The End of The Roll As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)
The Sidewinder Shits Tonight
What’s The Excretion, Kenneth?
The Great Pee-Pond
Imitation of Shite
I feel as though I may have crossed a line that I can never recover from; please forgive me Buck, Berry, Mills and Stipe.
You can imagine the scene, can’t you?
There I was, minding my own business, asking for a very simple birthday present when I was told, of all people, me, yes I know, that I wasn’t posh enough. The present in question was an afternoon with the very lovely Jeany Spark, an actress so lovely that I lost several pairs of eyes when watching her on my recent re-run of hilarious chortle-fest ‘Man Down’ because the loveliness overwhelmingly blinded me. I take eyes very seriously but I was willing to lose them for her.
So you can imagine my predicament, mainly because I have just explained the whole thing. I am not the kind of person who will take a glove slap in the face and walk away from it. With my trusty photographer in tow (that’ll be Master Reuben), I set out to show the world how posh I really am and when you see the results I expect you will know exactly what I mean.
Rather than clog the whole post up, I’ve used the modern facilities and supped the photos into an album which you should (should!) be able to view whenever you want.
The world is pretty macked, you’ll note,
Sweet Petunia, help us turn the tide.
The simple truth that everything’s better
With an onion nestled by your side.
I faced a day of vigorous work,
I faced a mountain of calls and ‘mails,
An onion at home there, steady and strong,
A solution, yes, that never fails.
The doctor had some bad news for me,
He called me into his surgery,
Before he spoke, an onion in hand,
I threw it at his face so grand.
The onion won and he fell over,
Knocked out by my supernova,
A triumphant look amidst my brow,
I quipped so quick, “Who’s laughing now?”
Don’t feel too bad when you need to cook,
Don’t even give it a second look.
That onion is so glad to aide
When you need some bulk to your bolognaise.
It will titter up your stir-fry woes,
You’ll forget about your week-day lows.
Your arms will rise when you realise
The flavour it brings to your sad meat pies.
It’s the tonic you’ve been waiting for,
Your new best friend, your new amor,
The world is sweeter with an onion to hand,
Everything’s better and life is so grand.
Ah! Celine Dion. Sometimes the random albums that arrive on my doorstep are a bit of a mystery, but we all know Celine Dion. One of the most popular artists the world has ever known, shifting more than 200 million albums worldwide, she isn’t just one of the biggest selling English acts of all time (although, yes, she is), but she achieved that having only learned to speak English around the age of 20, four or five years before The Colour of My Love was released, and continued releasing French-language albums in between her English releases. She also speaks and performs songs in Spanish, Italian, German, Latin, Japanese, and Mandarin Chinese. (Thanks, Wikipedia.)
What we have here is her second English language album, released in 1993, and the source of several of her biggest hits, The Colour of My Love.
I don’t know if you’re familiar with Toffifee. It’s a sort of over-packaged nutty caramel confection that a distant relative might buy a grandparent for Christmas, or that might be the only product you recognise if you visit a German supermarket.
In a move common to all European confectionary when it’s advertised in the UK, Toffifee released a new TV advert a couple of months ago that has somehow made it on to the airwaves without anyone involved realising that it looks at least 30 years out of date. Presumably nobody involved in the entire campaign had any sense of irony.
This post isn’t really about anything other than my need to share with you just how naff the whole thing is.