Maximum Attack

So, the auditions for 'Britain's Grumpiest Man' went well.

Thats what I've been doing while I was away from the blogosphere. The first round of auditions were far to easy and went something like what follows beneath this line of text:

'Hello, and whats your name?'

'Does it even matter?'

'Good, good. We'll just call you Dave.'

'Thats what usually happens.'

So, Dave, do you have any particular talents or skills you'd like to share with us?

'Nope.'

'Excellent! You're in.'

For people judging a competition about Britain's most morose downcast, they were surprisingly upbeat. They'd obviously decided not to go with the common theme of employing a 'nasty or depressing' judge, as the contestants themselves would provide enough of that.

In the end, even though I managed to get to the semi-finals, I did not win the title of 'Britain's Grumpiest Man'. That went to a bloke who didn't turn up.

I was briefly cheered, however, by the sighting of an Ariel Atom, that steadfastly refused my quiet but insistent pandering to follow me onto the motorway.

An Ariel Atom, just in case you were wondering, is not some kind of microscopic detergent product, but a car. It can be easily seen by pointing your web browser to a search engine and making with the typing of Ariel atom into the search field.

Doesn't it look both quite fantastic, and scarily space age? Well, I'm glad you think so, seen as I had absolutely nothing to do with its conception, design or manufacture. I've not even had anything to do, so far, with its purchase. Blast!

To top off my motoring merriment, I was overtaken by a car sporting the emblem and crest of 'The number one Robbie Williams impersonator' the charmingly self-titled 'Gobbie Williams'. I of course, was so desperate to avoid any kind of contact with any single thing to do with pop music, that I swerved clear off the road and into a ditch full of illegal immigrants.

But that, is a different story. So I'll tell it at another time.

After I'd done a quick three point turn, I found myself. I'd been there all along, as the old joke goes. Brilliant.

Up, up uppity up, oh no... ceiling...crash, bump

As the old adage goes, there is more than one way to milk a goose.
In fact there are over 17, ranging from behind with one hand, to in front with an air of mystery and slight surprise.

This blog will be comprised of cliches and tired old sayings, if you see what I mean, because I can't be bothered, you know how it is.

It takes three grannies to hijack a bus, one on bus pass duty, one for the driving and one to say 'Pardon?'

Hey Diddle Diddle,
My mouse is not little,
That cows a bit of a loon.
A bloke on a hog,
Carries currant buns,
And fish, fish, fish
and June.

Two Alsatians are sat on a front lawn, reminiscing about the 'good old times' they had.
'I saw sarge last week, poor old fart. Said they're thinking of putting him down. Can't even chase the pigeons away anymore.'
'That's sad. I saw Princess Tenuiqa today. I laughed at her for having a stupid name.'
'Score.'
'I know.'

Non sequitur.

As I was walking,
To St. Ives,
I met a man, who juggled knives.
And we had quite a nice conversation about the role of the electron microscope in micro-biology. His name was Jeff.

The lack of coherence may have thrown some of you by now, others may wonder if something so incoherent as incoherence could form itself into a strong enough force to throw you, or bowl you over, in the manner of a martial artiste.
Especially seen as you were so prepared, with a good wide quadrapedal stance and quite a low center of gravity. Oh wait, sorry, I was talking to the statue of a pony.

Dolly the dystopian dinosaur,
eventually and egregiously,
forced a few feeble fishes to flee.

'Go on', goaded glittering, gurning goldfish,
Happily, haroo-ed the huge and hulking history piece,
and ate them.