Thursday, March 23, 2006

Titchmarsh: the awful truth

Titchmarsh: The Awful Truth

Alan Titchmarsh - we know your dreadful secret.

You may or may not know that TV's genial gardener and best-selling author A.Titchmarsh writes a column for the Radio Times, in which he answers simple horticultural questions for the simple, green-fingered British public.

At least, that's what they want us to think. If his column in next week's edition is anything to go by, Mr. T hides an appalling secret, and there's mank in them there hills.

Oh, Alan.

Things your body cannot do

By way of a filler, a short list of things your body cannot do.

* Lick your own elbow
* Cut your own hair
* Look at arses whilst driving your car

Everybody knows these are a given. Even double-jointed members of the Cirque du Soleil cannot cut their own hair. After vigorous experimentation I have added a new item to this list:

* Take a photograph of your own arse, even using the self-timer and several mirrors

Don't ask me how I came to know this forbidden knowledge. Boredom was a factor.

Oh Lordy! It's a gee-enuine Thursday vote-o!

Hell freezes over, pigs fly, S. Duck holds a Thursday vote-o for tomorrow's tale of mirth and woe. Your selection, then, from the following:

* Party III: It was dreadful. His big night on Top of the Pops, and why didn't anyone tell him about Dave Lee Travis and his terrible secret? He would never be able to walk straight again.

* Meat: Seeing the bright side, he had a T-shirt printed up. "I joined Adult Friend Finder and all I got was Ann Widdecombe."

* Gaylord: The police broke down the door to his bedroom and all the rubber chickens tumbled out. Who was going to tell his parents?

* Scat: Sgt "Killer" Gregson squatted in his trench and readied himself for the attack. Rifle? Grendes? Bayonet? All ready. But with the Hun coming over the hill, he rued the morning he stepped out in a Cross-Your-Heart bra.

* Whiskey Alpha November Kilo: Another year, another budget, and once again nipple clamps remained VAT-free. Gordon Brown smiled to himself, and couldn't wait to get back to Downing Street where Cherie Blair would be waiting.

I'm sure you remember how to do it: vote-me-up!

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