Archive for October, 2009

teslaI can’t drive.

But when I finally take the plunge and learn to drive,I shall be selling a kidney or three to buy one of these little beauties…a Tesla Roadster.

A bargain at £100,000-ish….but think how much you’ll save at the petrol station….lots-because you won’t be going there ever again.

The world’s first electric car that you wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen cruising in,the Tesla Roadster was recently driven through the Australian outback from Alice Springs to Coober Pedy and rolled into town with three miles left on the battery.

In total,313 miles (or 501 kilometres if you’re strange) on a single charge of its batteries.

The Roadster’s 53 kilowatt-hour lithium-ion battery has a claimed range of 244 miles,so it would get me to London to see my babe with a bit more juice to spare.

Granted,I’ll have to plug it into the mains in order to get home,which may prove problematical….if you don’t have a garage you’ll have to get a whacking great extension lead and run it out of your house,over the pavement,trying to avoid tripping up any grannies,and thus any claims for damages which would probably cost you more than the price of the car itself.

Or perhaps people can just look where they’re bloody going….can’t you see I’m trying to save the planet here with my zero-emission passion wagon?

Satisfying array of knobs....

Lots of lovely flashy lights and knobs and stuff...

The official Tesla website (automotive porn if ever there was) claims the Roadster is 2x as efficient as a Toyota Prius…they neglect to mention that it is also a million times more sexy.

Saving the planet is one thing…looking like a Geography teacher is quite another.

Electric cars are the future…as long as the powers that be pull their fingers out and introduce a support infrastructure (I don’t know what that is,but it sounds good) for electric cars such as charging points at petrol stations,etc….

But perhaps the biggest obstacle to electric cars are drivers themselves….we love petrol.Even with gas prices rising,we are still reluctant to give it up and look for an alternative.True,an electric car may not be much use in an emergency if the battery is flat…will your very-much-in-labour wife wait while you charge the car up? Would you be able to get the weekly shop in the back?

No…because there isn’t a back….but there are two very sexy seats in the front.

And lots of sexy lights and screens and stuff….and that’s all that matters.

So the next time you’re filling up at Esso,muttering under your breath at the wallet-molesting prices,take a look over your shoulder at that flash of red zooming up the motorway on the way to the Big City at 80 mph without stopping.

That’s me,that is.


Kismet and Ketamine were indeed conjoined,but could not in any natural way be called “twins.”

In fact they had been born almost 5 years apart,but from an early age both had displayed certain…tendencies.

So disturbed was their father,the erstwhile Nemesis Misnomer,and their mother Godsmack Misnomer (of which nothing has been hitherto recorded) by their unnatural behaviour,that he had them sealed together at the hip.

All the better to keep an eye on them,he reasoned.

He had Kismet and Ketamine locked away in the Tall Tower at House Misnomer,and they were only allowed out under strict supervision.

From this day on,all weird shenanigans stopped,the sheep could sleep easily,and dogs and cats lived together in perfect harmony….and the Misnomers’ life went back to something approaching normal.

Then Marjorie was born…and Nemesis soon realised he needn’t have bothered.

None of this was of utmost importance to Martin Limp,even if he had been aware of the facts of the Misnomer family tree,strapped as he now was to the operating table in the cellar of House Misnomer.From his supine position he could see only the ceiling,and occasionally an evil face or three when the Misnomer girls swam into view.

Martin knew he was going to die.

If he was lucky,he thought,he’d stay dead…but he knew Marjorie was in possession of some unnatural gifts.

Just as he was making peace with his God,Marjorie Misnomer loomed to his left.The “twins” hovered to his right.

“Martin dear…what are we going to do with you?” cooed Marjorie.

He gulped.

Marjorie disappeared momentarily,then emerged once again into Martin’s personal Hell-space pushing a metal trolley.

On it,young Limp could just perceive out of the corner of his eye,were several….implements.

Marjorie looked down on Martin,her ebony black eyes impaling the rather pathetic,soon to be ex-art student.

She was holding a small spray bottle,the kind gardeners use to…well..spray things in gardens.Marjorie took to liberally spraying Martin with the liquid in the bottle,all over his face and body.

It smelled faintly of lavender…there seemd to be no adverse effects from it,as far as Martin could ascertain.

“Kismet likes.”

“Ketamine likes.”

Martin’s head swung around in the direction of the “twins”,who were getting very agitated and quite visibly drooling.

Oh dear….I don’t think they just want me to smell nice,thought Martin.

“Now now,girls,all good things to those who wait” cooed Marjorie,smiling.She turned to the table and picked up three runcible  spoons,handing two of them to Kismet and Ketamine.They grabbed them eagerly.

Marjorie pulled a small moleskin book out of her pocket,flipped a few pages and read from it-

“They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon”

She closed the book and returned it to her pocket.

Martin’s legs turned to jelly.

So did the rest of him,as Marjorie’s concoction of the digestive juices of various venomous spiders and snakes did it’s work and melted Martin’s flesh and bones into mush.

He started to scream as he liquefied.

“Well,Martin” said Marjorie,”we don’t have any quince but we do have quite a lot of lovely Limp.Off you go,girls…bon appetit!”

“Kismet likes.”

“Ketamine likes.”

What was left of Martin’s eyes registered their final,sanity-blasting image—the Misnomer girls,runcible spoons plunging into the remains of Martin’s inner portions and raising them to their mouths.

Sometime later that day,Martin Limp died.


Plenty of this...

What a difference 4 months makes…

Since starting this ‘ere blog,I have have often found myself indulging myself in two activities regarding it-

1.Laughing at my own jokes

2.Looking back at early posts and seeing what’s changed.

Well….quite a lot has changed.

Try this from Born Crappy-

***”From the moment I was born,when the doctor slapped my mother,I was up shit creek.

I had nothing going for me from day one.

Let me explain.

First,my name…Emyr Wyn Lewis,which is a Welsh name…I’m Welsh by the way.

Yeah,I know,I can’t pronounce it either,not even Welsh people can.This is one of the reasons that I’m still single…I die of embarrassment when I have to tell anyone my name,especially women.

And let’s face it,girls,would you rather go out with an Emyr or a James?

Next,my height.

I don’t have one.

I fall into that category known as “short of arse”.This means that most women won’t even look at me unless they’re hobbits.

Onto my looks.Well,women who are usually overweight and haven’t seen any action for a decade always say I’m “lovely” and “sweet” and “handsome”.I’m never told these things by a woman who’s still got her own teeth.

That’s because such females aren’t even looking at me.

Think a bargain basement Daniel O’Donnell…..mixed with a bit of Jimmy Hill.

With a sprinkling of Mr Blobby.

So that’s what I’m working with,and yet I still get people telling me I’m, fantastic and great and a good catch and all that shit…can’t they just be honest?

I learnt a long time ago that you can’t polish a turd.”***

That was back in July….what a moaning old bastard I was then.

I’m quite embarrassed by it,actually.

I’ve changed,honestly… 😉

From Love & Marriage…?-

**Anyway,as many people will tell you,there is apparently “someone for everyone.” I have had the chance to get married several times,but to be honest the thought of spending my entire life with the same person fills me with dread.***

Well as I’m sure many people are sick of hearing by now,I have found someone I would happily spend the rest of my life with…and that DOES NOT fill me with dread.

From All About Me-

BE6E7552-0DAA-3F6F-238F300A0B6D1615**I GO THROUGH 3 PACKETS OF CUSTARD CREAMS A WEEK-only because I am trying to cut down….my favourite brand is Tesco’s own in the yellow wrapper….the best custard cream you can buy..I should know I’ve tried them all,I’m a biscuit expert…***

Believe it or not,I’m truly trying to cut down on my CC intake….I’m moving on to Chocolate hobnobs,much healthier 😉

FromNot Going Out…Party Fears Two

***I prefer the rain.It covers everything.

It means I can wear a raincoat with the hood pulled right over my head…that way no-one will see me and recognise me.

I hardly ever go out unless I really need to,other than for work purposes.I work early in the morning and so have the afternoons off,but once I’m back in the house I stay there.

I fear I may be becoming anti-social….

…but I truly HATE the outside world.***

OMG…Now I can’t wait to get out into the world….I just wish I could go everywhere at once,holding hands with my beautiful little girlfriend.

I want to go out into the world and shout out to everyone who will listen…look at my gorgeous girl,she’s the mutt’s nuts and I’m SO proud of her.

Then I’ll probably be arrested…but at least I’ll be happy 🙂

From What’s In A Name?

***I think until I can decide on a new name,or the whole world turns Welsh,whichever comes soonest,I shall be known as Wyn to all those non-Taffies out there….well,the ones who actually want to know what my name is…***

Well,The GF is a non-Taffy,and she has no problem pronouncing my name….go figure.

She can pronounce my name,is small,cute,brainy,pretty and cuddly…could she BE any more perfect….? 😉

Talk about a bolt from the blue….perhaps the universe had had enough of my moaning and arranged for Cupid to do a bit of overtime.

Whatever….I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it….I want to shout it from the rooftops,and,judging by my early blogs,I wouldn’t normally do this kind of thing.

But now I do do this kind of thing….I’m actually confident for the first time in my life….I no longer want to hide my head when I’m outside….

I’ve got a bit of a swagger in my step. 🙂

But some things have not changed-

1.Still hate Tesco

2.Still can’t drive,but am working on it

3.Still like Cup-A-Soups,but not as much as I used to…

4.Still live next door to an alcoholic granny

Thank you to all my readers for your continued visits to my blog…I know I’ve been slacking of late (well,I’ve had my mind on someone 😉 but I’ll try and make up for that from now on.

Until next time—-goodbyeeee!!!

...not so much of this.

...not so much of this.

The next President of the United States relaxing at home,yesterday...

The next President of the United States relaxing at home,yesterday...


Look….it’s like this….

I could bang on at great length as to how Predator is Arnie’s finest hour,possibly even greater than’s certainly his best “action hero” film.

But it all boils down to one line,uttered by the Governator himself,because no-one else could do it justice…..

“If it bleeds…..we can kill it.”

Those are words to live by,dear reader….words to live by.

20070525_star_wars_con2_74318146_21STAR WARS

Needs no explanation.

Neither does this photo…it’s a fan thing.


Kathleen Byron as Sister Ruth in Black Narcissus....she has issues

Kathleen Byron as Sister Ruth in Black Narcissus....she has issues


Made by Powell & Pressburger in 1947,Black Narcissus is a psychological drama about the emotional tensions of a group of nuns in a remote Himalayan convent.

The eternally wonderful Deborah Kerr plays Sister Clodagh,who is trying to forget a failed romance in her native Ireland,and is the top nun at the convent.Her heart is set a-flutter by the charms of the local British agent,Mr.Dean,who is the only person who can communicate with the locals and trots up to the convent everyday on the smallest donkey you will ever see.

Unfortunately,Sister Ruth,played with an eye-popping intensity by Kathleen Byron,is also attracted by the hunky Mr.Dean,and becomes pathologically jealous of our Debs.

And Sister Ruth is as mad as a lorry.

There’s only one way to sort this out….FIGHT!

Which the two ladies do,conveniently on the edge of a cliff…I won’t spoil it for you by saying who lives to “nun” another day,but will just urge you to check the film out when it’s on telly next…you will not be disappointed.I’ve only touched the surface of this masterpiece here,it’s worth a blog of it’s very own.

(As an interesting aside,Deborah Kerr was director Michael Powell’s ex-OH…and Kathleen Byron was his current one.Can’t be bad for the ego,to have two women fighting to the death over you,even if it is in a film.)

2001_a_space_odyssey_hello_dave2001-A SPACE ODYSSEY

Computers….more trouble than they’re worth.

But I’d wager your PC,prone to failure and freezing as it no doubt is,has never actually tried to kill you because it has been given conflicting orders.

2001 is not only about HAL chucking a wobbly in deep space….it’s about aboutness.

It’s about the journey of mankind from the Dawn of Man through to his death and rebirth as pure thought in the form of the Star Child.

I think.

It has so many classic moments that have become part of cinema history,and the greatest ever jump-cut as an ape throws a bone into the air,only for it to fall down and change into a space-weapon–millions of years of evolution and history in a few seconds.That’s the genius of director Stanley Kubrick—no need for superfluous scenes of exposition.

The long sequence as the astronaut Dave Bowman travels through the stargate (possibly) is perhaps a tad too long,and how he gets to his final destination,a kind of alien hotel where his every need is catered for until he dies and is reborn,is never explained…but perhaps it doesn’t need to be.


Da da da-daaah,da da daaaaaaaah.

May I be controversial for a moment,and say that there shouldn’t have been any sequels to Raiders of the Lost Ark…it’s just too perfect and wonderful.

They shouldn’t have even made The Last Crusade,and you can forget about The Temple of Doom and the latest one.

Stick with the original and the best.

OMG..they know we voted for the twins!!!

OMG..they know we voted for the twins!!! Claire Bloom & Julie Harris in The Haunting


If you’ve seen the recent version of this story with Liam Neeson and Catherine Zeta Jones,you should give the original a spin.

Four people move into the mega-haunted Hill House to investigate the ghostly goings-on,being driven mad in the process.

Mysterious writing appears on walls,and a wooden door breathes.

What sets this film apart is is the way a ghostly atmosphere is built-up without the use of gore or violence,and it features the line-

“Don’t make me give a name to something that…..hasn’t got a name.”

"Fancy a shag?"

"Fancy a shag?"


I am a bit of a soppy bugger at heart.

I really love a good old-fashioned weepy,and they don’t come more old-fashioned than the extremely nice and well-mannnered tale of Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard meeting in a train station waiting room and falling in love.

Everyone is very English and polite…men wear hats,women are called Dolly.There are no naughty bits on show and no swearing….Celia helps her husband with the Times crossword,which thankfully isn’t a pseudonym for rampant rumpy-pumpy.

Here’s a sample of the dialogue-

“You know what’s happened don’t you?”

“Yes…yes I do.”

“I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“Yes I know.”


Adultery has never been so polite.

close_encounters_large_09CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND

Richard Dreyfuss’ finest hour,it’s not only about aliens…it’s about a normal man trying to cope with something he can’t understand,while trying to hold on to his family in the process (and his marbles)

The final part of the film,with the aliens landing,is more classic than classic,and has probably actually happened in some remote part of the USA…but that’s for another blog. 😉 There are a couple of funny moments too…

When the mothership opens up,a bloke runs for the toilet.

A bank of cameras continually takes photographs,and a scientist type stands up behind it and takes a snap with a tiny instamatic camera….to show the wife and kids,presumably.

Interestingly,before the film came out,when people reported seeing aliens landing in their back garden,they always described them as 7ft men in shiny spacesuits….after Close Encounters,the descriptions changed to short,grey aliens in the nude.

Exactly like the aliens in the film.

I reckon Spielberg knows something.

the thingTHE THING

How’s this for a classic line-

“I dunno what the hell’s in there, but it’s weird and pissed off, whatever it is.”

Not for the faint-hearted,The Thing is a gut-wrenching remake of the original film The Thing From Another World.

With added guts.

And slime.

And awful,gungy,stretchy wobbly bits.

And the daftest cowboy hat in the history of cinema,as worn by the star,Sir Kurt Russell.

Not to mention a shape-changing,body-ripping,brain-sucking alien.

(Best bit-the doctor tries to revive one of the other scientists with those electro-shock pads things they have on Casualty (I don’t know the proper name…don’t judge me)…but the alien has already taken the poor bloke over.The Doc’s hands fall through his chest..the sides of which then slice off his hands.In the long shot of this scene,where you see the Doctor sitting on top,loudly bemoaning the loss of his appendages,it’s actually an amputee dwarf,not the original actor,as it was found to be cheaper to hire the dwarf rather than using prosthetics.)

the-wizard-of-oz-the-wizard-of-oz-925344_420_326THE WIZARD OF OZ

No explanation necessary.

Possibly a cautionary tale about the dangers of eating cheese before bedtime,possibly the biggest mind**** in cinema history…..whatever,poor Dorothy obviously needs to lay off the blue Smarties.

Also recommended is the sequel,Return To Oz,in which Dorothy,having nightmares about Oz,is given electro-shock therapy to help “cure” her of her delusions.Travelling back to Oz,she finds the place totally changed and a bit “wrong.”

Interestingly enough,in the original book,Oz is a real place….random fact for ya.

And if you’re wondering why such a virile,handsome,thrusting young buck like myself likes such a film,and not something like Die Hard,then take a look at my next bestest film–



I like Grease….get over it.

Too awesome for words,surely the greatest thing about it,apart from Olivia Newton-John being sooo thin,is the fact that all the actors were pushing 30 when they made the film.

If it was remade today,they would have young actors in the roles,and that would not be good.It would star Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers…and the only thing the Jonas Brothers should be in is a grave.

Only joking,Jonas fans. 😉

(By the way,on no account watch Grease 2….I’ve seen it TWICE (don’t ask)…it’s not a pretty sight,even with Michelle Pfeiffer in it.)


Eat your heart out,Torchwood!

Eat your heart out,Torchwood!

Salutations and felicitations,oh seekers of the truth and collectors of the pure!

I am…

…..The Blog Dog!

But of course,you already knew that,otherwise you would not be here,seeking my wisdom….and dripping on my welcome mat.

Anyhoo,come yourself in and I’ll spin you a wee tale of adventure & derring-do.

That’s it,park your sit-upon down there,mind the cannibal,they’re everywhere,harmless really…just keep an eye on your extremities.

What’s that? Oh yes,I’ve moved my centre of operations into Mornington Crescent tube station…nobody ever gets on or off here,so I can do what I like…..welcome to the Fortress Of Blogitude,2.0!! It’s spacious,secret and has tea & coffee making facilities.It was closed for “repairs” during much of the 1990s,which was when I took the opportunity to make a few “structural alterations”.

Cuppa? Help yourself,there’s some in the pot.Will you pour one for me too…milk and four lumps,please…no sugar.

Now…let me tell you about the “little problem” I had when I moved in to Mornington Crescent.I had only that day returned from the 1960s,where I had been “filling in” in the gynaecology department at St.Bartholomew’s Hospital…they were short staffed you see,the other doctors had disappeared but they found them later,bound and gagged and stuffed in a broom cupboard.

I reckon it was medical students,or something,sniffing ether.

This station does not exist....

This station does not exist....

Anyway,I landed the Invisible Plane in the concourse of the station,and alighted.I had no trouble from the ticket collector on duty as I jumped the barrier,because Raffles is “on the staff” as it were,and helps keep real people out who may have wandered in thinking Mornington Crescent is a genuine tube station and want to go to Cockfosters.Eh? Yes it is,isn’t it? Most amusing.

I trotted down the escalator which doesn’t work,for appearances sake,and went to inspect the work that was being carried out.Several art students were hard at it,a-hammering and a-nailing and a-trying desperately to break their chains–no chance,those chains were made of case-hardened Dynastrene,the hardest substance known to man.

Deidre was busy polishing the third rail….her hair was somewhat “on end.”

“That’s it,babes” I said as I scuttled past,”I want to be able to see my face in those rails.And sort your hair out,you look a right state…and watch those arcs of electricity emanating from your extremities,you could hurt someone.”

Professor Bernardo Whiplash-Prebendary was installing the secret door to my lair,cunningly disguised as the Mornington Crescent tube roundel on the wall of the platform.She turned to greet me.

“Ah Bloggers,you complete and utter waster in time and space,there you are! Not bad this,eh…you just touch the second “O” in “Mornington” and the wall slides back to allow access to the Fortress.” She demonstrated,the wall slid back silently to reveal a dark,velvet-lined corridor; a distant light indicated the door to the inner sanctum,secured with a 21-tumbler lock.

“Good work,Prof.Fancy a cuppa and a bourbon?”

“Yes please,after you.” We crossed the threshold into the Fortress of Blogitude,and walked down the corridor towards the door.I produced my key to open the Triponic Lock.

“By the way,Bloggers,can you smell burning?”

“Oh that’s just Deidre.”

“Oh,that’s all right then.”




“Do you have any unwanted gold jewellery lying around the house? Then send it to me,and I’ll send you a cheque by return of post for their full market value!!! Just pop your baubles in a jiffy bag and send them to this address-






Unlock the potential value of your valuables today!!!

(Terms and conditions apply,cheques will not be honoured.)


Look,that's my TARDIS !!! The brown,cupboardy thing...

Look,that's my TARDIS !!! The brown,cupboardy thing...


I was just drifting off to sleep in my King-sized bed,Deidre quietly simmering and still sparking a bit next to me,when I was startled by a curious sound issuing from the general vicinity of the platform.Slipping on my slippers,I crept out of the boudoir,through the study,across the piranha pool,around the aerodrome,crossed the kitchen,stopping only for a cuppa and a garibaldi,took the monorail to the main living quarters,and tiptoed to the front entrance.I opened the door,just a crack,and had a look.

I did some lookings,and thanked the Gods above or wherever they hang out,that I had taken the shortcut from the boudoir,for there,acting as if he owned the ruddy place,was a Suit!

The Suits had found my secret headquarters!!!

I was immobile with shock and fear….and worse than that,I couldn’t move either.I thought I had seen it all in my long,exciting life….I had battled the Flesh-eating Fish of Fantabulus 5 in the Wombat galaxy,arm-wrestled with Genghis Khan in the snug of the Dog & Duck…even skinny-dipped with Osama bin Laden….

But there are corners of the universe that have bred the most evil unspeakable things,and l was looking at one of them now.

It was beyond description…the words needed to do justice to its appalling appallingness have yet to be invented by some mad,deranged dictionary compiler who has recently looked up the arsehole of Hell whilst wearing a thong.

 My very soul shat its pants.

The Suit was wearing a tweed suit.

The tweed suit wasn’t too happy about that,and was desperately trying to escape the thing’s vile slimy blobbiness.

The Suit was studying what looked like a map.

Summoning every last inch of my iron will (and I have a very big iron will…just ask the missus) I opened the door wider and strode out to meet my doom.The oily pen-pusher turned to “face” me,an unctuous smile birthing,suffering a short but painful life,then dying on his noisome visage.

“Ah good evening,sir.” he smarmed “are you the owner of this umm…hee hee….secret underground lair?”

His voice chilled my very being.

“Yes I am,you hideous horror from Harrogate.How did you get in here?” I feared he may have done Raffles a damage.

“The ticket collector was in his little hut watching Doctor Who..hee hee..a David Tennant episode I think.”

He smiled a soul-fisting smile…he was enjoying himself….how did he know of my utter hatred of….”The Tennant?”

“I stopped for a cuppa and a French Fancy and had a chat while we watched the programme.Tennant is much better than that awful Tom Baker person,I think.”


“He said I could go down and,as it were,”knock the mad bugger up”,so here I am…ha ha….and quite frankly,it’s a good job I came,because this whole place is just downright dangerous.Did you know there are piranha fish in your swimming pool?”

“Yes,it’s a piranha pool.”

“But someone could fall in and get eaten!”

“That’s the whole bloody point,you knob!”

“Fair enough….oh and by the way,I’ve err…ha ha…come here to twat you.Twattage should take no longer than 30 of your Earth seconds.Twattage is completely painless and lovely.Your experience of Twattage may vary.”

“Begone from my Fortress,you muppetry salesman! Don’t you know who I am ?”


I waited.

I waited some more.


He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket,unscrewed it and consulted its contents.There was a Werther’s Original stuck to it.

“You are the Blog Dog.” he announced,and returned the paper to his pocket.


“Ah indeed,you canine clod.” said a velvety voice from the void.

I turned towards the sound-a small girl was erupting from the blackness of the tunnel which led to Edgware on the Northern Line,calling at Camden Town,Chalk Farm and Belsize Park,among others.

I recognised “her” instantly,even though it had been some time since we had spent any time together.

“Marjorie Misnomer….we meet again.”

“Indeed we do.” She sidled towards me…she gave good sidle.” seems to have been neglecting one’s children recently,hasn’t one?”

She kebabbed me with her gory gaze.

“Well…umm..I’ve been busy.”


“Yes…moving house,saving the world,you know how it is,all kinds of things cropping up.Ummm how have you been,Marjorie?”

Marjorie Misnomer stared at me.Hard.

“Well you see,that’s the funny thing-I don’t know how I’ve been because you haven’t written me for bloody ages !!!!” She grabbed me by my tartan collar and hoisted me up level with with her eyes.

” I want more life….father.”

(You nicked that from Blade Runner.)

Oh hello,you’ve been quiet tonight…Deidre keeping you busy…good…that coal won’t clean itself…..


I felt something give in my nether regions,but I kept a stiff upper.”But…but…Deidre doesn’t like your stories,she prefers it when I blog about real life stuff….but I do have one of your stories in the archive,I just need to finish it…it’s a good ‘un too.” I lied.

“How is Deidre by the way?” asked Marjorie.


“Really? How interesting.Where was I…oh yes,Tarquin was going to Twat you.” She motioned to The Suit,who had taken to picking his nose.”Tarquin,please be so kind as to bring the Twattage.”

The abomination in tweed slobbered towards me…I was going to be Marmite.My mind raced…..actually it raced quite quickly,so quickly in fact that it left my body and made a run for it-I couldn’t in all honesty blame it….it was the end of The Blog Dog.

If Tarquin didn’t get me,then Marjorie would–why had I written her so evil? She was only ever meant to be a bit of fun because I couldn’t think of anything good to blog about one evening.

Curse my boundless talent!!

“Wait!” I yelled,as Tarquin loomed over me,poised to Twat me with his Twatter.”I promise I’ll finish the third chapter of Marjorie Misnomer & The Impossible Fish!”

Marjorie halted Tarquin’s arm.”Promise on your signed photograph of Katie Price.”

The bitch!

“Alright I promise on my signed photo of Katie Price.”

“Very well,dog.I shall give you until this time next week to finish and publish it.Make sure I get all the best lines.Come along,Tarquin.”

They ambled off in the general direction of Golders Green,holding hands.



(Bit of a crap ending,that.)

It’s one of them “To be continued” jobbies.

(I simply cannot wait for the next part.)

Of course you can’t…now,it’s time to feed the piranhas…I think one art student will be enough,don’t want them to get too fat.

Until next time,thrill-junkies!!!










blogger_london_undergroundAt the weekend,I had the opportunity to revisit one of my favourite places on Earth…

The London Underground.

I was first exposed to its labyrinthine loveliness at a very young age,on a family trip to London…(a caravan was involved,but that’s another story)…and I have been hooked ever since.

And now,I have the chance to really gorge on its tunnel-based temptations thanks to my London Lovely,my gorgeous girlfriend. 🙂 (Although I would like to point out that being able to travel by Tube isn’t the main reason I visit her,honestly.)

I love it….I have no solid idea why.

Maybe it’s the way that it represents the veins and arteries of the great city of London…a city within a city,if you like.

Maybe it’s the mystery of the disused stations and tunnels….the rumours of a race of cannibals living in the darkest,forgotten corners,preying on the unsuspecting commuters who missed the last train to Cockfosters.

Cockfosters….never fails to get a laugh that one,so I’ll be repeating it at various intervals throughout this blog when I run out of jokes….which brings me on to another wonderful thing that makes the London Underground special….the station names.

Even though there has been much modernisation of the entire tube system in the last decade,the station names evoke a much older world….Mornington Crescent….Elephant & Castle….Blackfriars….Gallions Reach….Holborn.

Old London town…

underground_mapThankfully,the powers to be have resisted the temptation to update the names…taking the Bakerloo line to Katie Price Park via Posh & Becks doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

It’s always fun to people-watch on the Tube,if you’re discreet about it.Passengers go into a kind of trance state where they’re not looking at anyone or anything in particular…you don’t want to be caught eyeing anyone up.I like to imagine what they’re thinking about,what kind of life they lead…whether they’re happy or not.london_underground_logo

One of my ambitions is to walk down the tunnels,when the trains have stopped running for the day obviously,to look for abandoned stations,said to be still manned by corpse-like conductors and translucent ticket collectors.Because I’m funny like that,I like to imagine that disused stations lead to hidden,underground (well,obviously they’re underground,but a bit more underground) nerve-centres where the government conduct secret and unholy experiments into time-travel and all that,and strange societies meet to discuss their dastardly plans for mankind.

But it’s not just me…

In the Doctor Who story,The Web Of Fear,featuring the Second Doctor played by Patrick Troughton,the Great Intelligence uses robot Yeti to try and take over the world,starting with London–one Tube station at a time.Doctor Who monsters thought small in the 60s.

The (rather excellent and highly recommended) novels of Robert Rankin feature the shadowy Ministry Of Serendipity,the entrance to which is concealed within Mornington Crescent station…and let’s face it,when was the last time anyone got off at Mornington Crescent?

There could be anything down them tunnels….anything.

You may get eaten,but it’s cheaper than a taxi.

The Tube is a great setting for horror films,too…it’s underground,claustrophobic,dark and a bit smelly….like my sock drawer.

I’m sure you’ve all seen the film “Creep”…not the best advert for Transport For London,that,but a great film….if you’re reading this on the Piccadilly Line,someone like that could be watching you right now….hunting for fresh meat to feed his family of savage,feral cannibals.An earlier film called “Deathline”,made in the 70s,actually features such a race-they live in the tunnels in complete darkness and filth,preying on commuters,unable to talk except for one chilling sentence,which echoes through the pitch-black tunnels…

“Mind the doors.”

Have a safe journey home!! 😉


Count Mephistopheles Von Tiddles.....yesterday.

Count Mephistopheles Von Tiddles.....yesterday.

The story so far:

I,Blog Dog,Agent Double Oh-Woof,undertook a mission on behalf of HM The Queen (God Bless Her) to recover the lost book,The Necronomnomicon,for England and all that.In cahoots with Agent Norma Snockers,we discovered our first clue in the bowels of the Top Secret Library Of Very Scary Books,from whence the book was half-inched….a cat hair that could only belong to my old nemesis,that Malfeasant Moggy—Count Mephistopheles Von Tiddles!!!

Now read on!!


Aston Martin BD-5,speeding towards the British Museum

I gripped the wheel of the Aston and sped towards The British Museum…..I wanted to see my old friend Professor Bernardo Whiplash-Prebendary,an expert on spooky books and all that Dan Brown,Lawrence Da Vinci secret society bollocks.

Norma was still out cold in the passenger seat,her blouse loosened so she could breathe easily,and so I could have a look at her-

-so I could make sure she was alright.

I came to a screeching stop outside the museum,narrowly missing a group of students….so I reversed and made sure I flattened the scruffy bastards.

I stepped from the Aston,scuttling over the twitching bodies of the unwashed,workshy,cup-a-soup guzzling,long-haired wasters-

(Not too keen on students,then?)

-and trotted into the museum,the unconscious Norma slung over my shoulder.I stepped into the lift and rode it to the thirteenth floor,where the professor’s office was located.

Professor Whiplash-Prebendary’s office was disguised as a mop cupboard,but was far bigger on the inside than outside,like that thing off the telly…you know,Doctor What,with that Scottish bloke,whatsisname….Derek Tenement.

(Hah…I could show him a thing or two about time-travelling…I’ve battled the dreaded Garleks throughout space and time,and I didn’t continually over-act while doing it.

And you should have seen my scarf-it was epic.)


But this was the real thing…the trick was all to do with books.

Just as second-hand bookshops and libraries will increase their interior size to accommodate the books within (shops selling NEW books don’t do this),any room with sufficient reading matter within it will also extend it’s inner volume out  through our dimension and into the higher non-Euclidean dimensions,stretching it’s very atoms to fill the dreadful,unknowable void of the Etherverse.

All you need is enough secondhand books…and Prof.Whiplash-Prebendary sure loved books.

If you’ve never seen half a million well-thumbed Mills&Boon paperbacks stacked floor-to-ceiling before,I recommend you pay the Professor a visit.

It is quite a sight.

Mind you,so is the Professor….6ft 6 inches tall,white hair like an explosion in a sherbet factory and built like a brick convenience.

Quite a woman,is Bernardo Whiplash-Prebendary.

The Prof was sat at her desk,bent over a book…I crept up behind and read over her shoulder-

“Percy gazed longingly at Deidre….her glass eye glinted in the moonlight….her heaving bosom heaved rhythmically in time with the tossing cruise liner.She pressed her firm yet yielding body up against Percy…Deidre could feel his growing passion poking into her nether regions.Deidre looked at Percy lustily,and said “Oi,put that away-you’re half decent-”

“My girlfriend’s called Deidre.” I remarked.

The Prof. swung round,startled.

“Ah there you effing well are Blog Dog,you old sod! Who’s the totty?” she asked,indicating the still asleep Norma.

“Agent Norma Snockers.”

“Hmm….named after her father,no doubt.Anyway,what the bloody hell can I do you for?”

“It’s Von Tiddles…he’s stolen the Necronomnomicon!”

“Jesus H.Tennant!! Not the chuffing Necronomnomnomicon!!”

“It’s just two noms,actually,Prof.”

“Sorry,I’ll try again……………..Not the chuffing Necronomnomicon!!”

“The very same!”

“Not the Necronomnomicon!” cried Norma,then went back to sleep.

(You’re only keeping her asleep because you can’t think of any funny lines for her…or for anyone else for that matter.)

“What a bastard!”


Not you…

“Quite….and he’s going to use it to summon up all kinds of spooky,blobby shit to lay waste to dear old Blighty and have the streets run with blood,dogs and cats living together,and things of that nature generally.”

“So now you’re going after him to right royally twat him and get the book back?”

“Not ‘arf.”

“Fecking great! Will there be gratuitous sex and violence along the way?”

“Oh yes!”

“Funting marvellous!! Although I read in The Times that you’d recently jumped the broomstick…to the divine Deidre Macbeth?

“Ah yes,but a secret agent on Her Majesty’s (God Bless Her) official secret service is sometimes required to give in and of himself in the line of duty….that often includes nailing any nice piece of crackling that comes his way.”

(By the way,are you still carrying Norma on your shoulder?)

Yes…she was pressing against me in a way that suggested she more than lived up to her name…anyway,shush,there’s an exciting bit coming up.

(Thank god for that…I’m sure you’re getting paid by the letter,or something…oh,and Deidre said to tell you the dinner is ready.)

Tell her I’ll be right there.

Just then,there was an almighty crash from the corridor…the door of the office was rent asunder…and there,framed in the doorway was an abomination….a creature of such horrific countenance,of such awful visage,of such…suchness….that even I was speechless…

The Professor stood firm…she squared up to the monster.

It towered over her…no mean feat.

The horror stared balefully at the Prof,and opened it’s hideous mouth….inside was a Hell of teeth,worthy of some monster piranha….

A “voice” from the deepest pit of Hades spewed forth-

“Would you and your friend like a cup of tea,dear?”,it said.

“For chuff’s sake,Mum that’s the third door you’ve knackered this week….yes,we would like a cup of tea,please.Bloggers,you knob,you can come out now it’s only me old Mum.”

“Ah…ha ha I wasn’t hiding,I was umm….ummm…”

“Milk and sugar?”

“Yes please.”

“How many lumps?”

“Three please.”


“Yes….hurry up and pour,I’ve got a book to find-The Necronomnomicon!”

“The Necronomnomicon!” cried the Professor.

“The Necronomnomicon!” cried the Professor’s Mum.

“The Necronomnomicon!” cried Norma Snockers,who hadn’t had many lines in this episode.

“The very same…I don’t have a moment to lose……any custard creams?”

Next Episode-The Man With The Golden Bun!


How topical am I?

Very….that’s how.

Actually,I didn’t even know that the decision on which city will host the 2016 Olympic Games was being held today….shows I have my finger on the pulse of the globe,doesn’t it?

At the time of writing,the suits are yet to announce the winner…the nominees are – Chicago,Tokyo,Madrid and Rio De Janeiro…the latter being what I at first thought was a strange choice,but it looks like they’ve risen to the occasion.

Chicago were voted off,Strictly style,early on…they weren’t happy.Tokyo went next….cue much gnashing and wailing and unleashing of Godzilla.

Ooh…the time has come….

See you after this sentence,when we’ll know who the winner is and I can finish this blog and have my dinner.

And the winner is-Rio !!!

The first ever South American city to host the Olympics….the party on the beach is going to go on for weeks.

The Brazilians are well up for it….they’re bound to win the footie.

I’m sure they’ll do very well out of it.

Anyhoo….we’ve got plenty of time to wait for it…it’s not for another 7 years.

Before that,in 2012, we’ve got what you may like to call “our” Olympics…in good old London town.

Now I like a good Olympics as much as the next man,but I hope London doesn’t do a Beijing and make the games so totally and unbelievably massive that they lose focus….the Chinese did a great job of their games,but there was so much going on that you couldn’t take it all in.

I have a few ideas to liven up the London games,make them stand out-

  1. Boris Johnson to take part in all the events,regardless of his actual ability to compete in them.Go,BoJo,go!!!
  2. Chav Hunting-chavs are given a headstart through the streets of London before teams from every country hunt them,scoring points for kills.
  3. Black Cab Racing
  4. Women’s Shopping-female athletes are let loose in Oxford Street and have to spend the most money.
  5. Barbara Windsor to sing the National Anthem at the Opening Ceremony.
  6. Actually,I think Boris should just do everything,all the commentary and punditry…give Sue Barker the month off…
  7. ….because Boris Johnson rules…did you see him in Eastenders? ‘Nuff said.

I can”t wait…although if I’m honest,I prefer the idea of the Olympics rather than the nitty gritty of the actual events….the opening ceremony always fills me with hope that everyone in the whole world will love each other and dogs and cats will live together in perfect harmony on pianos like in that song.

This feeling doesn’t last long,obviously.

And anyway…isn’t 2012 the year when the world will end?

But that’s another blog,for another day 🙂