July 9th 2006

I shall be on holiday in Lanzarote until the 19th. While I’m away your guest blogger will be my good friend Atkins Down The Road (Atkins is thinking of starting a blog of his own soon and says he wants to gain some experience). I have shown him how to use my text and dialogue templates so the design of the page, if not the content, should be roughly the same).

Although he can be quite uncompromising at times Atkins is as sound as they come, public school educated, Charterhouse, although you would never guess it from his diction. Having said that he is a capable writer, something he proved to me when we recently wrote two one act plays together for the local amateur dramatic society, of which he is a leading light. But a word of warning – although he is computer literate he unfortunately isn’t English language literate, inasmuch as he can’t spell for toffee. In fact I’ll go as far as to say if he was suddenly struck by dyslexia it could only improve his spelling. He also uses capital letters quite indiscriminately and sometimes doesn’t bother with them at all when he should be bothering with them. But you should be able to work out what he means, with a little patience.

I’ve told him I don’t mind him replying to any comments he might receive, but if he does to always sign his replies Atkins Of The Road, so there is no chance of people mistakenly think it’s me. Good luck with him anyway.

Helpful Hints No 2

Things To Do While You’re Waiting To Pee

Men with prostate gland trouble, and there are millions of us throughout the world, sometimes have to wait for ages for their pee to come when they go to the lavatory. Lacking a prostate gland women never have this problem; unless of course they find themselves in need of toilet facilities whilst visiting places like Alton Towers or Chatsworth, where the queues for the Ladies are always about a mile long and they have to wait for ages. It is only when they find themselves together at such places then that man and woman find themselves similarly disadvantaged, the only difference being that women stand outside the toilet waiting to have a pee whilst men stand inside the toilet waiting to have a pee.

Faced with a wait of up to five minutes standing there with your dick pointing at the porcelain waiting for something to happen  every time you need to urinate – and this for upwards of ten times a day – you need to have something to do to pass the time, particularly as you are temporarily incapable of passing anything else. You could just stand there waiting of course, or count how many tiles you have in your bathroom – there are a hundred and eighty four in ours, two of them cracked – but that gets boring after a while. So, and in the interests of helping any fellow sufferers who may be at a loose end – if you’ll pardon the expression – here are a few things I do to while away the time whilst waiting. Please feel free to adopt them.

  1. Do a crossword puzzle. My first job every morning is to cut out the crossword from the Daily Mail (apart from Garfield and Mac about the only decent thing in it nowadays), and prop it on the toilet roll holder in the bathroom. On average I fill in about eight answers per visit to the lavatory so after about four visits I’ve usually
  2. finished it. It can also be used in emergencies if you run out of toilet paper, but then of course it is the devil’s own job filling  in the crossword afterwards.

  3. Do a few simple keep-fit exercises. However don’t do any exercise which involves  rotating the hips from side to side, because if your pee decides to start coming you might find yourself peeing on the bathroom floor, with all the subsequent earache from your wife that peeing on the bathroom floor always entails.
  4. Sing (daytime only). Don’t be embarrassed, people sing in the bath so why
  5. not in the bathroom whilst waiting to pee? I’ve been doing it for years and while my peeing has been getting increasingly poorer my singing has got increasingly better, so much so that the woman next door used to send in requests before she moved.

    Give some point and focus to your singing for added enjoyment. I once sang the first line of twenty seven Frankie Laine songs and it would have been twenty eight if

    the twenty seventh hadn’t been ‘Cool Clear Water’, which set me off peeing.

  6. Make plans for the day. On one waiting to pee occasion I planned to mow the lawn, weed the flowerbed, wash the car, clear out the garage, put up a kitchen shelf and change a light bulb. However I only managed to change the light bulb as I spent most of the day waiting to pee.
  7. Read a book. Be careful in your choice of book though. Over the course of six
  8.  weeks I once read ‘The Exorcist’ whilst waiting to pee, but at times

     it got so exciting I carried on reading it after I’d had a pee; so if

     you don’t want to spend any more time than necessary standing at the lavatory

    select a book that you will be glad to put down after you’ve finished peeing. I recommend something by Jeffrey Archer or Jilly Cooper, or anything by Tolkien. Young boys with prostate trouble should read Harry Potter.

  9. Watch television. The programmes, especially through the daytime, are absolute drivel, but there is something oddly satisfying about watching Trisha, Des & Mel, Loose Women, and Richard & Judy with your dick hanging out.
  10. I would welcome other suggestions.


July 7th 2006

Yesterday officials stopped a woman tennis fan from taking an Alpro Yoghurt into the Wimbledon Tennis Championships because it might anger the official yoghurt sponsors Haagen-Dazs. Whatever next?


OFFICIAL: Can you open your handbag please, Madam?

WOMAN: What for?

OFFICIAL: I have to check you aren’t hiding any unofficial food in there.

WOMAN: I’m not.

OFFICIAL: I’ll be the judge of that. Open up please.


OFFICIAL: Hah! No unofficial food eh? Then what’s that?

WOMAN: A tampon.

OFFICIAL: Just as I thought. I’m afraid I’m going to have to confiscate it.

WOMAN: But….why?

OFFICIAL: Because our official tampon sponsors are Tampax and that isn’t a Tampax, is it.

WOMAN: You said food. A tampon isn’t food. I’m not going to eat it.

OFFICIAL: You could.

WOMAN: Eat a tampon?

OFFICIAL: If you get a bit peckish and can’t afford the official strawberries and cream you might.

WOMAN: But it’s made of cotton wool. Even if I wanted to eat it it would be far too tough.

OFFICIAL: You could dip it in your official cup of Tetley’s Tea.

WOMAN: All right. Even if I could eat it. Aren’t you forgetting something?.

OFFICIAL: What’s that?

WOMAN: The reason I’m carrying a tampon is because I’m having my period. Later on today I’ll need to use it. And if you confiscate it I won’t be able to do that, will I?

OFFICIAL: No problem, just stick an official Weetabix up.

Clarice Cliff

July 6th 2006

The Flogiteer turned up at the charity shop again this morning. Atkins Down The Road and I were ready for him.
Since the Flogiteer’s last visit we had purchased two fairly plain ceramic vases from another charity shop. Atkins’ wife, a dab hand at painting, and induced by Atkins with a tenner, had painted it to my instructions in the bright, almost garish colours and design of a piece of Clarice Cliff pottery. She had then added ‘Bizarre by Clarice Cliff’ in that pottery’s distinctive script on the bottom of the vase. The bait was ready.
“I’d like to give all the items of pottery in your windows a closer examination,” said the Flogiteer, immediately on arriving.
“Of course, sir, my pleasure,” I said, obsequious to a fault.
I duly removed all the pieces of pottery from the window, about twenty in all, and placed them on an MFI pine table which, if all went well, I intended telling the Flogiteer was an example of early Chippendale, with a view to a possible sale. I then proceeded to go about my business while the Flogiteer went about his; however my eyes never left him for a second.
He proceeded to go through his routine of turning every item upside down and inspecting the bottom. He literally froze when he turned the first of the ‘Clarice Cliff’ vases upside down. He must have stood stock still for at least ten seconds before, with a shifty look around him which would have done credit to Richard Nixon at his trickiest, he placed the vase carefully to one side and continued his search. The same thing happened, only more so if anything, when he came across the second vase. He went through the rest quickly and was very soon back with me, his treasure trove clutched tightly in his greedy hands.
“Found something you like, sir,” I smiled.
“Not really. Not really my cup of tea this stuff, but I’ll take it off your hands if you like,” he said, trying to sound disarming and couldn’t-care-less.
I looked at the price stickers. “That will be ten pounds then, sir.”
“More than they’re worth,” the ungrateful twat replied.
At that moment Atkins stepped in. “Did I hear you say ten pounds, Mr Ravenscroft?”
“That’s right.” I indicated Atkins. “This is the manager, Mr Atkins.”
“There must be some mistake,” said Atkins. “Someone must have priced them up incorrectly. They shouldn’t be five pounds each they should be a hundred and five pounds each.”
The Flogiteer nearly choked, his faced a wonderful mixture of shock and rage. “A hundred and five?”
“Oh yes. These are Clarice Cliff. Genuine antiques. Didn’t you know? Oh yes, they’re easily worth a hundred and five pounds of anybody’s money.”
The Flogiteer wasn’t giving in that easily, even though the vases, if the genuine articles, would be easily worth three or four hundred pounds each at the very least, as he well knew. “But the price tag on the vases was five pounds. Therefore you’re obliged to sell them to me for five pounds.”
Atkins stood his ground. “Not a bit of it. A price on an item is only an invitation to purchase,” he said, then went on with great authority, although it was probably absolute bullshit, “Sale of Goods Act, Section 2, Sub Section 3, Paragraph 2 applies.”
“ I’m sure you won’t be wanting them at a hundred and five pounds each since you said they aren’t even worth five pounds so I’ll put them back in the window shall I?” I said, making to do just that.
“No!” the flogiteer squealed, grabbing hold of me in an attempt to stop me putting them back.
“No. No I’ll take them.”
“Even at a hundred and five pounds each?”
“Well ……well after all you are a charity. And I’m feeling in a generous mood today.”
“Well that’s most magnanimous of you sir,” said Atkins. “Most magnanimous indeed. Cash please.”
“Sorry, we only deal in cash. All the rogues you get about today, you know. Present company excepted of course.”
The Flogiteer duly tipped up after visiting a cash machine.
So all in all it was a satisfactory morning’s work. The charity shop ended up two hundred and ten pounds better off; and with any luck the Flogiteer won’t be bothering us again. The only disappointment is that Atkins and I won’t have the pleasure of seeing his face when he realises he’s been conned. But then you can’t have everything, can you?