wordworld

......Or rather the popping of plim-soles sent me up to my loft on a mercenary mission rather than a mission of mercy. The loft was baking hot, baking, but, undeterred, I was going to find that, bought new, spun once, vinyl album "Thriller".

It must be in here somewhere.......

There was a sad pile of old vinyl - my old vinyl. In a wrinkled bin bag! And in there I found a complete record of my lost youth. Better than any photo album, scrapbook or school reports. And because I somewhat misguidedly consider myself a music purist, here are some of the less embarrassing albums:

Prince - "Sign of the Times" (needs no clarification)
Elton John - "Too low for zero" (a rather lacklustre affair)
Naked Eyes - "Burning Bridges". (Great band never heard from them again)
Christopher Cross - Christopher Cross (orignal title there I think)
Imagination - "Scandalous" (Black men in funky poses with protruding pubic hair - yes honestly)
Heaven 17 - "Penthouse and Pavement" (sort of Human League-ish)
Thomas Dolby - "The Flat Earth" (he blinded me with science and his music at the time)
Japan - "Tin Drum" (David Sylvian is still too cool for any school after all these years)
Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel - "The Best Years of Our Lives" - (ditto)
Bronski Beat - "The Age of Consent" (Ian Hislop in his formative years before HIGNFY)
Talk Talk - "The Party's Over" (Gwen Stefani listen and learn)

I could go on but the loft was stickier than an Aborigine's armpit.....and I found my old badminton racquet. The one Henry VIII used at Hampton Court. Oh that was tennis!

"Don't blame it on sunshine!". Well actually I will......for I believe the habitually sweaty, humid weather in London is responsible for every petty cock-up including my computer deciding to adopt the indolence of a Koala bear sleeping off an 18-hour lunch of eucalyptus leaves........

And the fact for the second day on the trot, Next Directory have sent me the WRONG order. One day at a time sweetpea face!

IT'S NOT ROCKET SALAD!!!!

Duelling duvets at dawn, if only!

I just wanna cover for my frigging bed! Not any old sweaty, tog-50,arctic eiderdown either. Just a nice taffeta throw. Before I end up throwing a taffeta tantrum!

As I took a bite from the pixie's arse more commonly known as the fruit dried fig, those undulating, retro waves of nostalgia wafted through mind. The pixies arses, for that is how I seem them, look good enough to eat. And how many times has a baby's bum, cleaned and freshly powdered looked good enough to eat? My point is, they look enticing but bite into one and you are left with a nasty taste reminiscent of musty rose petals and carpet grit.

In truth they are the POOKA of the dried fruit world. And Pooka are the mythical Irish goblin that first appears friendly but has the habit of turning nasty.

Which brings me to the gist of my gripe. FIG ROLLS! They are without doubt the most disgusting biscuits ever to evolve from the swamp of the mixing bowl.

Could there possibly be anything more repugnant than a fig roll?

A Gordon Brownie perhaps?

Have I missed anything, anything at all in the last week? Nobody died?

All good then as I would like to share my wonderful achievement.

Simply put: I climbed this hill in Glen Coe last Tuesday.

The weather was superb, conditions were good and it took 4 and half hours to march to the top of the hill and stagger back down again. By the time I got to the car my legs were trembling with fatigue. But what a wonderful view from the top.

Och I love Scotland.

I did hear a wee rumour about Wacko Jacko but that's a conspiracy by the mad mullahs of Iran to detract from slaughter of the opposition supporters surely?

REDACTED: You might be forgiven for thinking that a pterodactyl has just brought up his luncheon on your tax returns. Or spewed on your spreadsheets. In truth it is what our MPs started doing with their expense claims: redacting them, preparing them for publication by revising and shortening them.

OR

Forget the Latin terminology. We are living in the 21st Century after all. In this modern day to redact is to cover up by censorial black strips anything embarrassing, questionable and fraudulent. Think nipples on knockers. They have been redacted in many publications unless you are purchasing from the Top Shelf.

Millions of black permanent markers must have been bought by MPs to redact their receipts before submitting them for publication. MPs are redacting them, making them shorter by editing out any personal information, such as their addresses, or any extraneous information, such as details of private purchases that share the same receipt as details of public purchases

I bet they put the cost of those black-out methods on expenses too. And after all that blather from Gordon Moron Clown Brown to be more transparent in Parliament. He is TOAST. Burnt toast still lodged in the toaster that is Parliament.