Blummin' heck, I go away for a few days, and the place is swarming with penguins in bow-ties. For the love of God, just don't give them fish. It only encourages them.
Today, my head is mostly pounding like it's got a hoarde of tap-dancing Frenchmen living inside. Reason: Arsenal 3-0 Tottenham Hotspur. Oh yes, it was men against boys out there in one of the most comprehensive humpings since the 5-0 at The Lane back in 1978. Scary fell off the wagon last night and got seriously mullered before rolling home in the wee small hours singing
"My old man
Said be a Tottenham fan
I said f*ck off b*ll*cks you're a c*nt"
...in my best fake cockney accent. It was ace. Spurs well and truly sorted out, and top of the league again. Boosh.
Back in the make-believe world, you may know that all this blogging mullarkey is leading up to the Great Scaryduck Book Project. I've written loads, and have even managed to shoehorn in some of the stuff you may have read here, you lucky people. It's got a working title of "Colin and the Dog". Here's a bit which I've got to type somewhere before I forget it:
"Colin spent an entire week's annual leave from the office tramping the streets of Reading looking, unsucessfully, for those bored housewives he had heard so much about. He had made a careful study of certain top-shelf magazines he kept locked in his wardrobe at home, and was sure he would be accosted by some desperate yet attractive woman in her early forties who needed "someone to change a lightbulb urgently", before moving on to the matter in hand. It was only after six days of wearing the leather off the soles of his shoes that he found out that he had one living next door.
Linda had a leaking tap in her bathroom. Linda only ever wore her nightclothes. Linda had a face like someone had set fire to it and then beaten the flames out with a shovel. She scared the shit out of him"
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