Category Archives: Pictures

How cheese wire was invented

Be honest: isn’t this something every man’s done from time to time?

When officers had turned up to investigate they found Batchelor still partially dressed and with his flimsy thong on the wrong way round.

It’s so easily done, and after a few cans of Special Brew I’m told the chafing just doesn’t reach the brain. There are hospitals in Glasgow that specialise in reattaching testicles after just such incidents.

To the untrained eye, just two ordinary guys. Can you spot which one has his thong on back-to-front?

Have police established Freddie Starr’s movements on the night in question?

You know that bloke who killed all those people 20 years ago, yeah?

You know his wife, right?

You know her guinea pig?

It’s dead.

This, according to the Sun, is the biggest story in Britain today.


I mean, seriously. What about the canoe guy? What about Diana and Dodi? What about that nice bachelor man who gave all that money to that nice Mr Brown? About these pressing issues the Sun cares not one jot.

The country has truly gone to hell in a hand-cart, and to be honest it wasn’t even much of a hand-cart. The country has gone to hell in a wheelbarrow.

All UK “must eat more Q-Tips”

qtips.jpgA top UK judge made this astonishing pronouncement today, as pictured here by the BBC. He claims Q-Tips are a valuable source of protein and should be “force-fed to every man, woman and child in Britain”, along with beef brains and lead paint from China which apparently are “good for the backbone”.

See, this is how it goes with judges. One day they’re telling you you can’t do 90 in a built-up area, then it’s no murdering on week days, and before you know it’s all gone to their heads and they’re meddling in areas they know nothing about. These things should be left to experts such as Jamie Oliver and Ainsley Harriott.

The country’s gone to the dogs. I no more want an overpaid drag queen in a bad wig to tell me what to eat than I would seek legal advice from Gillian McKeith.

Pulling out

Princess Diana yesterdayI’ve decided not to go to the Diana thing today. The official line is that it “could divert attention from the purpose of the occasion”. The truth is that I couldn’t stand the woman and her kids keep staring at me every time I go for their dad’s crotch. It’s so humiliating.

I know one day the world will accept me, but until then I feel I’m best off stopping home, drinking gin and watching Cash In The Attic.

It’s just not cricket

It's just not cricket

The cricket crisis continues to roll on.

The Orange team continue to deny that they purposefully littered the crease with England cricketers. Captain Michael Orange said, “Yeah, y’know, the lads like England players, so I suppose they might have had one or two in their pockets which could have fallen out near the wicket, but deliberately? Come off it!” This despite the footage above which clearly shows fielder Kevin Orange about to drop a Michael Vaughn, a knowing wink on his face.

Yellow captain Zaheer Yellow has now taken his complaint to the sport’s international governing body. A spokesman today told blogrot: “The rules of cricket make it quite clear that distraction of the batting team by means of shouting, waving or laughing are not allowed. Unfortunately the rules are less clear regarding the dropping of England players on the crease.”

I just think it’s bloody childish. The umpire appears to agree.

The Scottish question

Watched a bit of CBeebies with the kids this morning and realised just how infiltrated it has become by Scottish. Honestly, you can’t leave your children in front of the telly for more than a few hours these days without a Scottish rearing its insidious head and whispering poison in their ear: Balamory, Me Too, Bits and Bobs, Brum… the list goes on, all populated by the inanely grinning descendants of William Wallace.

Forget the Midlothian Question. This isn’t about the ballot box any more – they’re getting their hands on them far younger now. We must join together and stem this evil tide before it is too late. They can mesmerise our toddlers with their brightly coloured houses and funny voices, but they’ll never take away… our freedom!

Granny Murray
“Granny Murray” – harmless cross-dressing presenter of Me Too! or undercover freedom fighter for the SNP?

I’m only kidding, of course: many of my best friends are Scottish. (But not for much longer if they don’t pay me that five quid they owe me.)

“Bored” is just another word for not enough press-ups

Youths ‘bored in school holidays’ reveals the BBC in yet another bit of piercing investigative journalism. However do they do it? They’re so down with the kids they must be scraping their faces on the pavement. The mind boggles at the ability of those 30-something men in ties to to connect with the adolescent zeitgeist.

It hasn’t always been this way, of course. In my day we had loads of stuff to occupy those long six weeks of the soul from July to August, including:

  • Brushing up on our Spanish on Sesame Street (e.g. “¿Sabes porqué me llaman la cuenta? ¡Porque amo contar!” – I know, doesn’t work. That’s Spanish for you I’m afraid.)
  • Waiting for Daley Thompson’s Decathlon to load on our ZX Spectrum
  • Sticking all the stickers back on our Rubik’s Cube in the right order
  • Applying tiny amounts of superglue to our friend’s sister’s doll so she had to sleep with her eyes open
  • Spending a whole day talking like the Belfast Why Don’t You? gang (“Frr thos wun yu’ll need som glyee”)
  • Filling our mouths with biscuit and water and then pretending to vomit on the pavement

Bored? The word hadn’t been invented.

A small boy, yesterday, shortly before he became bored and turned to terrorism.

OK, so our airports are on fire and we’re all on high terror alert, but still: isn’t life great?

OK, on the one hand – the Glasgow-airport’s-on-fire hand – everything looks really really bad.

However, on the other hand – the glass-half-full hand, the we-shall-not-succumb-to-the-evildoers hand – England now has a smoking ban in all public places. So, you know, it’s not all bad, is it?


Plus, blogrot’s little smoking ciggy countdown doodah worked a treat, which is yet another bonus.

You see? It’s all in the way you look at it.