Yay, the Queen's Joobiloo hit town like a whirlwind, and the pubs opening first thing in the morning for the world cup went a long way to greasing people up very nicely. OK, there were some downers. Having to go to work at some stage obviously didn't help. Nor did the fact that someone thought that the civilised world could be entertained by clowns, piss-poor magicians, and God help us, jugglers.
Like I've always said in The Way of the Scary Duck (available in all good bookshops soon): "Juggling is like masturbation. Only the extremely skilled should attempt it in public". And then came the worst of the lot: a Tina Turner tribute band, featuring the whitest, most un-Tina Tina I had ever seen. She looked like a transvestite in a fright wig, in the scary way that only trannies can manage when they're trying too hard. *shudder*. Missing on the big day was Georges...
Very nice... but I couldn't eat a whole one
You may have seen (and even believed) a news story about our local celebrity this week - Georges/Randy/Flipper the randy dolphin that's been luring swimmers off for sex rather like an XXX-rated version of Jaws. What a load of old bollocks. The truth is that no-one in the Weymouth area has had carnal knowledge of Georges, and if they did, no-one's shouting about it from the rooftops. Made up. Fiction. Complete bunch of arse.
The sad fact is that ever since Georges crossed the Channel from France, the Frenchies have tried anything to get their local tourist attraction back, going as far as employing a loud-mouthed "expert" from America to stir things up round Weymouth. He's made a mighty good job too, pissing everybody off with his "rescue attempts" and now our flippy friend has gone missing. Nice one buddy, now nobody's got him. Scary's theory of choice: Georges is in some motel somewhere, gettin' down an' jiggy with the laydez. That'll be it. One eyed, fish-eating hero that he is.
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