Writer’s Block – the curse of the blogger. Even this duck gets afflicted every now and then, where the words get stuck inside you like a verbal Pot Noodle, and only specialist treatment with a large, pointed stick gets them out.
All I wanted to do was write something erudite and witty for you with perhaps one or two chuckles thrown in, and life has thrown up a blank screen for me to stare at. I could be lazy and throw up another Scary’s ‘Did you know…?’ of which there are a plentiful supply; or a huge pile of links swiped from Blogdex and doing the rounds on every blog in the world; or even something I wrote several weeks ago that might come in useful now. And no, you’ve already had a Scary story this week and you’re not getting another. This has led me to lie awake half the night trying to come up with something for your delight and edification, while spending the other half of the night trying not to think about ladies’ arses. So, it’s your fault then.
During a freezing morning mucking out the fish-pond in a howling gale straight off the Urals, I’ve come up with absolutely nothing that is of any use to man or beast:
* Why is the shipping forecast on Radio Four so good at sending people to sleep, when the whole point of warning you about hurricane warnings in Portland and Rockall is to keep you alert?
* Why haven’t we heard about lesbian bishops? Good grief, the church is missing a trick there. They’d fill the pews in no time.
* Where do they find the people to go on the Tricia show? Is it anything to do with the fact it’s made in Norwich?
* The way I write the letter “f” so it comes out backwards can be described as "somewhat freaky, you left-handed weirdo."
* What is it with women and “I Will Survive?” Is there some kind of girly test where they must be able to recite the lyrics while under the influence of alcohol and male strippers?
* I once went to school with a kid known to both pupils and teachers as “Phallus.” After several months of ignorance, and thanks to missing out on a classical education, I had to ask the obvious question. “Hey, why is that kid called Phallus?” The answer, unsurprisingly, was, “Because he’s such a prick.”
* The world is full of problems and tragedy, and somebody’s got to take the blame. Personally, I’m putting my money on David O’Leary. He’s got shifty eyes.
There, that’s just about sorted it.
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