Hilarious. Mr Sneddon e-mailed me his recollection of he and I toking a fatty boom-batty in Brixton Academy bogs during a PWEI gig about 10 years ago. It came through on the company e-mail system so I'm hoping for a drugs test and immediate dismissal very soon. Jam fool man.

Anyway, whilst logged in to my Gmail account, clearing out my Spam folder (55 mails in a week), I noticed the following sponsored link\advertisement - Creamy Spam Broccoli Casserole. Do you think sales of Spam have increased in recent years with the prevalence of the term to describe junk mail? Quick Google reveals the craziest thing I've ever seen. You can buy a luminous Spam scrunchy for long hair. No...words...can...describe...how...wrong....Spam and hair..?

Other internet observations today yielded: a band called Goblin Cock and a website, www.musicmen.co.uk, that has been hacked by NeEeO_HaCk and states at the bottom of the page, "Arabic we are never F*CKING STOP!". Oh, OK then.

Maybe writing down the things that I find irritating will be cathartic and I'll chill out about them. Maybe. Today we have, drivers who brake when a vehicle approaches them on the other side of the road. AAAARGHHHHHHH!! I'm gripping the keyboard, this pisses me off so much. Driving behind some mongrel who stamps on the brakes everytime they see a car coming the other way and those brake lights flashing in my face like, "oh my, a car!", "oh another!", "oh no a car!", "ah! a car!". YES A BLOODY CAR! ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD!! Quick, call Reuters! Mankind is at threat!! No, Idiot-kind is though. Pretty much from the time that roads were invented to enable people to travel easily from one destination to another, it was found that they could also be utilised to allow people to travel back from that destination. Useful no? That was aboput 5000 years ago and yet some cretins are still shocked to see traffic coming in the opposite direction on the A and B roads. And by the way, every time you brake, it moves the car behind a little closer to you, so you're actually endangering yourself more. So don't do it!

Another tip I have to increase road safety is magnified side mirrors, so as to enable male drivers to check out female pedestrians without having to take their eyes off the road and crane over their shoulders as they drive past. The bus driver yesterday was halfway over the white line trying to aggregate the points he scored for her backside with the front in order to decide whether "he would" or not. The paradox was that the biological desire he had to assess a good mate for reproduction (and so perpetuate his DNA) was the one that almost caused him to drive his bus into the articulated lorry on the other side of the road (thereby terminating his DNA).

It's ONLY a co-incidence! I was telling Chris V about Toby's little nose vs radiator incident the other day. It split his nostril, grazed his face and he ended up pouring blood down the sofa. Quite a lot too. Chris was telling me about Emily (his little girl) who fell against a radiator and split her head open. When they rushed downstairs she was standing with blood pouring down her face. "Like Carrie" I added. Next day on the bus I sat opposite a woman who reached into her bag and pulled out a book to read.....Carrie by Stephen King. It's ONLY a co-incidence!

And finally: Swan Vesta matches\Vesta Prawn curries - both hot. Makes sense now yes?

Hey well that's not too bad. Only about three weeks gap between correspondence, which is better than correspondence by pigeon, stoat or by stamping morse code onto the ground. What prompted me to update, as well as to advise that Senor Collardinio indeed should look for another job that doesn't involve him speaking gobbledegook (possible?), was the discovery that the Hokey Cokey is a dance of ridicule aimed at the Roman Catholic community. It woud seem to me, my brave Sir Pietro, that there would be ample room to perform this energetic
and "quaint British folk-dance" in the church St. Francis at Ripa, where your friend De Chirico is resting I believe. A simple photograph of the action would suffice. Feel free to offer me a challenge in return.

As far as my work's concerned, it's been really hectic (yawn, "have you tried turning it off and then on again?", stretch) and at present the funniest thing I have to report on is the dance production Toby was in on Sunday which had me crying with (unintended) laughter and culminated with him staring into the audience while everyone left the stage and then being yanked off into the curtains. Rudolph Nureyev he ain't.

Not sure if i welcome being called beloved,but anyway its better than some names people call me.How is this going to work? As some kind of DJ style battle? A call and response style thing? No matter...I'm sure it will take care of itself.

Now then,now then (said in a Jimmy Saville stylee) - Rome.Whilest I wait for humorous incidents to befall me here in the 'eternal city',I'll describe my first day at work.Today I started at an art gallery and as one of my first jobs I had to translate from english into italian the dialogue of a video 'performance' (it was a talking car).Here is a snippet :

"Hi Miss Emma,high pullers,high purple hats,high pusher,high spoosh,high tissue,hi Dr.Feelgood...bride with peaches,nurse with spikes...spackle,geep...i love my time because of the nuggets,i love my time because of the 'all lit-up'...."

It went on for 9 minutes....I may be looking for another job next week

New coincidences will be highlighted thus: It's ONLY a co-incidence.

It's ONLY a co-incidence:

Number 1:

Apparently this morning about 6 I woke Sarah up with a start ("Better than a fart" I said: stony silence). I was grunting, humming and jerking ("Practising my barn dancing routine" I said: a modest dry stone wall of silence) and kicked her under the bedclothes. I was oblivious until she told me that she was shattered and explained about my "behaviour". Well, she is a nanny. So I was in the bath singing "Shattered Dreams" by Johnny Hates Jazz. Although I used to call them Jason Hates Johnny Hates Jazz, I did actually like one of their songs, which I was struggling to recall. I remembered that it was a biblical name and kept thinking of "Jacob's Ladder", although I know that that was actually Huey Lewis and the, er, News. Let's move on from the embarrassing 80s bands. Anyway, listening to my iPod on the way to work, it's on album shuffle, and up comes Depeche Mode (OK, another embarrassing 80s band, except this album is actually from 1997 and doesn't count) with a song called The Love Thieves. The third verse's lyrics go, "sure as Adam to Eve, sure as Jonah to whale". And that was it, the name of the song I was trying to remember, "Jonah". 20 minutes after I asked myself the question, "What was that song?" I get an answer via a completely random iPod shuffle. It's ONLY a co-incidence!

Number 2:

I was writing an e-mail to a customer advising that processes on their server (yes, yawn) had stopped plateauing at 100% CPU usage and had dropped to a normal 1-2%. Except I couldn't spell plateau. Again, listening to my iPod, Nirvana came on whilst I was reading the mail through and the song from Nevermind that was playing?..............................."Plateau" of course. Don't freak out! It's ONLY a co-incidence!

Push-ups: 48, without falling on my face. Like I did yesterday.

Money found this year: £1.28

I thought it appropriate to revive this blog on the first day of Spring. And what a way to open. When I walked out my front gate this morning I looked across the road and saw a wizard soaking up the morning sun. That was what it looked like anyway. Then, halfway up the road, I realised that I'd left my phone in the secret drawer under our dining table (oh, not so secret now). I went back to get it and as I was leaving through the front gate again, I saw a wizard soaking up the morning sun. Oh, OK, so, it was a wizard! A wizard living here, in Abingdon's most despised council estate. Standing in the garden of his little terraced house offering up some sort of praise to the solar Gods (maybe, I dunno). He was a large chap wearing a purple velvet robe\cassock\dress with a gold cord\belt\curtain tie round his waist and was sporting a big grey and black beard - he looked the part. More of a druid I suppose. And maybe he and his wife had booked the day off work to indulge in some Bacchanalian revelling and small animal sacrifice. If so, I hope they choose the fat white cat that has taken a fancy to shitting by our bins.

On Saturday I discovered by unfortunate chance that Hell is blue. Surprised? I was too. Anyway, you can too discover this amazing fact for yourself by going here. Oh. My. God. 11 CDs! 130 songs!! F*cking paintings!!! Jesus Christ. Oh, I feel slightly bad now I know that he's got cancer. No need for him to go all bitter though and inflict 130 blues records on us all. I mean, the blues isn't going to cheer you up is it? I mean, by definition it's not going to cheer you up. My Nan had cancer as well, but at least all she made was cakes. They were nice cakes too.

Soon I shall be welcoming to our fold my beloved Pietro who will no doubt enthral us with tales of glorious prima vera celebrations from the wonderfully romantic city of Roma (somewhere in the Middle East I think). But for now I will pose a puzzle that I'm certain he will solve for me:

If you were to make a perfectly round island in the Pacific Ocean, would you expect waves to break all the way round? And if so would they be going in at one end whilst going out at another? If a large wave was breaking at one end, could you surf it on the outside so as to travel the length of the island? And if you did, would you be able to catch a wave back? This actually kept me awake for about 20 minutes the other night, so help would be appreciated. I haven't checked the internet yet for an answer as it's full of paedophiles and ringtones.

And a final observation. I bet you any money you like, that when plain old Mr Heimlich books a table at a restaurant he uses another name. I'm not talking about Dr Henry Heimlich, the world renowned physician whose technique for removing airway blockages has saved millions of lives over the past 60 years. No, I'm talking about Mr Wilfred Heimlich, the shy and retiring dry cleaner with the nervous stammer and acute proximity phobia. Just imagine it for him. What if someone starts choking while he's trying to enjoy his Quiche Lorraine? A cough even, that's not satisfied by a glass of water. Nervous diners glance over, companions voice concern and start to get up and move round, back-slapping in turn (this is the wrong thing to do by the way, as it drives the blockage further down the windpipe). Becoming more frantic, vigorous slapping now, diner's eyes watering, gasping for breath. The Maitre d' is aware, thinking, "This is an emergency, the doctors will not get here in time". He's got a purple faced gasper in the restaurant now - not good for business. "Do we have a doctor in the restaurant? No we don't!". No doctor. He sweats, "What else, who else?! Think, think Jean-Pierre think!!". "Ah! Table 13!!"

Maitre d': "Monsieur Heimlich!!!"
Mr Heimlich: (sliding towards the Fire Exit) "Shit..."