I feel compelled to take issue with all these buffoons who keep appearing on the nation's television sets, telling all and sundry that we Britons are obsessed with lavatorial humour.
In my experience, there is nothing remotely humorous about a visit to the lavatory. It is, in fact, quite a serious business. For instance, when going for a lengthy sit down session, certain accoutrements must be meticulously assembled, in order to make the visit as tolerable as possible.
The newspaper is a given essential, as is one's pipe, and a box of Swan Vestas. The lavatory is a chapel of thought and meditation - not a place where one goes for a cheap laugh over some smutty innuendo.
I don't get all this enthusiasm for antiques. Given the age of the world, there must be lots more old stuff floating about than new stuff. And if you look at the junk shops in my area, they're full of old tat that nobody could possibly have any use for. Strikes me that antiques are the same, it's just a right load of boring old shite, which nobody in their right mind could ever find a useful use for, but with a fancy fucking price tag stuck on it.
What an overrated pastime snorkelling is. After watching a television documentary on the subject, filmed on the Great Barrier Reef, I became proper fired up with enthusiasm, and went up the town to buy some goggles and a snorkel. But when I got into the water - the River Thames at Dartford, I couldn't see a fucking thing and the water was bastard well freezing cold. If any of your readers want to buy some goggles and a snorkel, they can eMail me with offers.
I fail to understand why Public Sector workers are going on strike. Personally, I can't see it making much difference. I'm pretty sure my neighbours will be in full agreement that if our local dustbinmen go on strike, nobody will notice. The lazy bastards only come round once a fortnight as it is. People should take a leaf out of my book and burn all their shite on a fucking big bonfire out the back garden. Dustbinmen eh? Who needs 'em?
D L Travis
Whilst cleaning out the kitchen cupboards recently, I came across a strange object. It's cylindrical, appears to be made out of tin or something, has lots of different sized holes in it, and it stands upright on a flat surface. I was wondering if any of your readers might know what it is. And possibly if it's worth anything. At the moment we're using it to keep potatoes in, but when Jersey Royals go out of season we won't have much use for it, as the larger varieties of potatoes such as King Edwards, Maris Pipers, and Ormskirks won't fit in it. We did discuss using it as a grape holder, but quickly dismissed that idea as neither the wife, nor I, are particularly keen on grapes.
I have to laugh when I hear all this talk of multi-tasking. It's hardly anything new. I used to work with a bloke who was quite proud of the fact that after a heavy night on the ale, he could crap, pee, puke and masturbate all at the same time. And then fall over and scrape the skin off one side of his face on the stone fireplace. Last time I saw him, he told me that he'd mellowed since his wife had a baby, but I didn't believe a fucking word of it.
In these times of great austerity, I believe that I have come up with the perfect solution to keep on top of nigglesome bill payments. Every Friday I put all the week's bills in a hat, (preferably a pork pie hat, but any hat will suffice. Such as a fedora, a Panama, a cowboy hat, or a WWII German helmet with a bullet hole in it.) then draw three out and pay them. The rest stay in the hat until the following Friday, along with any new bills which may have arrived during the week. If anybody gets stroppy about unpaid or late bills, I simply telephone them and tell them that if they don't back off, I won't even put them in the fucking hat for next week's draw. That usually shuts the buggers up.
While we're on the subject of nostalgia, I must say that I have fond memories of the days when Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons and brush salesmen came knocking on my front door in a really importune manner, at the most inappropriate times. Oh how I miss scrambling out of the bathtub covered in soap suds, with just a towel to cover my modesty, only to be greeted by a hapless looking oaf trying to flog me a Watchtower, asking me to pray, or waving a brush in my face. This sort of thing inevitably happened with the worst possible sense of timing. Usually, as I said, when I was in the bath, or when the wife and I were getting a bit frisky, or even when we were half way through our tea, or when there was something really gripping happening on the telly, long before the advent of the live pause function. Am I alone in thinking that life just isn't the same without such intrusive interruptions?
I'm not usually one to complain, but in this instance I feel compelled to put pen to paper. The problem is that the local authority in my area has banned the travelling circus from making its traditional annual appearance on the local recreation grounds. The reason given had something to do with animal welfare. It just seems all wrong that we live in a nanny state who always think they know what's good for us. I've always enjoyed my big top outings immensely, seeing the elephants and the lions and tigers. It seems to me that these so called wild animals don't serve much purpose in their natural habitat, so surely having them in the big top circus show is giving these wretched creatures something useful to do, not to mention the virtues of the work ethic. It must be infinitely more fulfilling for a lion to have a bloke shaking a chair at it than loafing about in the Serengeti getting sunburn.
Given the soaring price of petrol, and the knock on effect it has on the cost of just about everything else, not to mention all the bother that seems so prevalent in the oil producing countries, is it not high time that the science boffins in this country got their heads together and came up with alternative fuels? Life would be so much simpler if we could run our vehicles and heat our homes with something like, say, seawater. There's loads of it about, and it won't cost a fortune extracting it. Come on you boffins! Sort it out!