What a dreadful week this has been. Last Monday officially voted the worst day of the year! Naturally I wondered why. I mean it doesn't really matter how many rent boys Mark Oaten beds. We all knew Simon thingy was gay and who cares about how awful Gorgeous George looks in a flaming red leotard (ssh not now Enid.........what he's been evicted?) Yes well nevermind that now dear, put him on the compost heap. Sorry where was I.........

I've had the onerous task of deciding upon which corvine creation suitable for my best friend's husband's funeral next Friday. I know it's all very lamentable. If not a little complicated as Algie always loved a little joke at Enid's expense. It all started when Enid told me that Algie had forgotten their wedding anniversary. Enid (dear love, never one to mince her words) told him "Tomorrow there better be something in the driveway for me that goes from zero to 200 in 2 seconds flat".

The following morning Enid found a small package in the driveway. She tore off the paper to find a brand new bathroom scale.....

No flowers please but donations can be made to a small but well-meaning charity called "Porsches for poverty".

I got the idea for this fustian nonsense earlier today when commenting on my mate Charlie-boy's blog...........................

"Frosty" (without the kind permission of Charlie-boy) basically jawing(?) about the fact that his car was strangely frost-free window wise. I helpfully suggested that his car had sloped off in the night and cuddled up to another car for engine warmth, then just before the daily morning exodus, slipped itself into neutral and coasted quietly back into position. Steamy windows and all...............

He then wildy accused his car of having an illicit affair. But this may not appear as preposterous as it sounds. I have noticed that cars today are gregarious gas-guzzlers. They do love the comfort and proximity of one another. And with this theory on the back (bunsen) burner of a biology class, my thoughts swerved to the parallels (parking) of love.

A windswept parking lot (the Texan tumblweed rolling to when the bell tolls - Sorry!) The majestic grandeur of emptiness (it's only a garden centre here but hell, play with me). I'm just nipping out in my slipppers for a bag of compost and a seed packet of winter pansies.....

Back outside. And there in the middle distance my car. But not just my car, there's another provocatively parked right beside it. There's a whole dancefloor/parking lot to play with. A complete lot of vacancies. But there they are batting wing mirrors at each other. Side panel snuggling. It's at this stage as I struggle to open the door to drive off I ponder the theory of car coitus interruptus.

Apologies, apologies for the truly bad play on words up yon. I'm sure anyone who may have played supervisor on a campsite en francais can haul me over the tent pegs.(Figuratively natch - not now I'm busy typing).

I've come over all movie-moody lately. I blame my jaunt to Brokeback last week. I'm into road movies, travelling in savage scenery and twangin' geetars (to be said in the style of a ranch-hand with a toothpick jumping around his jaw). And so on to "The Motorcyle Diaries". I know...... don't all shout at once - it was past it's view by date ages ago in movie/dvd circuit years. But I'm like that. Very slow to jump onto the wagon trail. Never go wit da flow. That's why I've never read a Harry Potter book, never read the Da Vinci Code, never EVER watched Titanic. Never. EVER! (Mental note to self? Good blog fodder - things which I have never done, of which I am right proud)

I'm world renowned in Reading for being unable to sit through anything for more than half-an-hour. But this movie with subtitles and everything (preening because I never thought I had the attention span for subtitles or everything) was a good South American buddy movie. And I have a fascination with Chile. Good wine, better mountains.

BTW I'm sounding like my good mate cj592 (no, that's not a freeview channel on the digibox). Wasn't "Friends and Crocodiles" just a poke in the eye for all the bland gruel that's served up on a Sunday night before beddy-byes? Get me! I can't believe I'm watching the TV. I watch it so little that I don't believe I should pay for my TV licence.............on second thoughts I don't think I do pay. It's free if you are a senior citizen or blind surely?

I attended the premiere of Brokeback Mountain in Leicester square last week.......

No I didn't. I just went to the flicks, movies, cinema on a very cold Friday afternoon. I have had a fascination with this movie for sometime. Since reading one of many reviews I was determined to see it. Based on a true short story by Annie Proulx (Shipping News) it appealed to my bleaker side. And why not? (Barry Norman would say). A story about two gay cowboys spanning 20 years. I was going to outline the plot but that would be irritating and indeed bad manners for anyone wishing to see it. However I will sound off about the price of two movie tickets, the popcorn and a small bottle of still water - almost £25!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So if you never had any reason to indulge a smidgeon of light depression before entering you certainly would afterwards when you realised that the small bucket (neigh, horsebag) of purchased popcorn would have to be sufficient grocery fodder until the end of the month. Adding insult to injury then, when I lost my boot spurs in Chinatown. Well I lost one and so with a defiant flourish threw t'other in the bin - and missed! Just as well I never went for a job interview as a lassoist.

By the way (complete change of subject) wasn't the Liverpool v Luton match just epic stuff? Liverpool play the game like gladiators (and I don't mean that lame, inferior semi-celeb "it's-a-knock-out" nonsense). I'm talking the dust, sweat and blood of the Roman arena. A maximum match!

You know when you get those blips on television............a breakdown in transmission? And then somebody announces, a la Monty Python, that normal service will be resumed but in the meantime have a gander at this...................

Well I just lost my blog. I popped over to visit a good mate's blog just for a cuppa and a comment and came back and the entire dissertation of 3 paragraphs had gawn. I want to cry - but nobody will hear the sound of crying in blog world, and so, bereft and bemused I'm reduced to this:

"On a golf tour in Ireland, Tiger Woods drives his BMW into a petrol station in a remote part of the Irish countryside. The pump attendant who obviously knows nothing about golf (sensible fellow) greets him in a typical Irish manner completely unaware of who the golf pro is.

PA: "Top of the mornin' to yer sir
Tiger nods a quick hello and bends forward to pick up the nozzle. As he does so, two tees fall out of his shirt pocket onto the ground.
PA: "What are those?"
TW: "They're called tees."
PA: "Well what on God's earth are dey for?"
TW: "They're for resting my balls on when I'm driving."
PA: "Jaysus, BMW think of everything."

That's all folks.