SPEEDNOBBING. It’s juven­ile, it’s ridicu­lous, it’s silly and it took up a lot of time at school. The act of draw­ing as many cocks as pos­sible may seem to some to be either an unhealthy obses­sion or the biggest waste of time until real­ity tele­vi­sion was inven­ted, but to school-age me and my friends it was a weapon, an ever-present threat of embar­rass­ment and humi­li­ation.

The rules for speed­nob­bing are simple. Get hold of someone else’s essay/exercise book/bag/pencil case/textbook/coat/face and draw as many nobs on it as pos­sible given the time avail­able. The main use of speed­nob­bing was when someone was called […]

THE qual­ity photo above illus­trates the prob­lem when try­ing to lose weight - that of what to eat while los­ing it so you don’t put all the cal­or­ies back on. A four-mile, 90-minute walk may have burned off 581 cal­or­ies but to put that in con­text, it’s one footlong Sub­way roast beef sand­wich without the cheese or dress­ing, which is what I eat when at work. The idea that I could get rid of 580 cal­or­ies at 9am and then put them all back on eight hours later is bloody annoy­ing, to say the least.

At least I’ve dumped the crap I […]

I SUPPOSE I should be bow­ing or curt­sey­ing or some­thing, but although I’m a loyal sub­ject of Madge and the rest I think I’ll give it a miss. I’m host­ing the Roy­als thanks to Shel­ley*, who saw this set of bluebloods in a store and picked them up for me because I’m Brit­ish or some­thing. Here’s a closer look:

Madge is for some reason sport­ing an Adam Ant nose-stripe and look­ing pretty pissed off while Prince Phil­lip looks like he should be run­ning the Golden Horse Take-Away on any given Brit­ish high street. I have a the­ory as to why - ol’ Phil […]

IT WAS Fri­day night, you’d had one too many red wines in Giggles and the fresh air hit­ting you in the face didn’t so much wake you up as knock you for six so you staggered up the alley past FedEx, sud­denly had to throw up and you saw the big con­crete planter box. “Per­fect,” you thought, or rather didn’t think, unloaded some red wine, wandered off in the gen­eral dir­ec­tion of your home and woke up Sat­urday morn­ing won­der­ing where your sunglasses were and why your knees had fric­tion burns. But did you have to throw up right where I […]