Celebrity Deathmatch

I've not been blogging much recently. I just feel worn out, what with all the health problems. I haven't been able to get up to the allotment, either. But it has been entertaining watching those two blogging walruses, Dr Simon Moores and Eastclliff Richard, slug it out on the virtual beaches of Thanet.

I've known Eastcliff for some time, and a mutual acquaintance knows Dr Moores, and it's no wonder there have been fireworks. One's a pompous twit who thinks he's the canine's testicles, and the other's an arrogant bore who reckons he's the apium patellae. I'll leave you to work out which is which.

The Worms Turn

Every autumn the lawn looks a right mess, covered in worm casts. The bits that I didn't kill off with the Weedol, I mean.

A friend suggested I introduce a predator that eats worms, so I've bought myself a pair of moles. That should do the trick.

Stumped

Not a good week, really. Wheeled myself down to the pub yesterday evening, as it's usually grab-a-granny night down there on a Friday. Even managed to pull a half-decent 62 year-old, who offered to push me back to my place.

We got home and things started to hot up, but when I got my kecks off, and she saw the stump, she muttered something about having sobered up now, and asked me to call her a taxi. Maybe I'll have to join one of those clubs for amputees that Geoff in the Vice Squad used to bang on about.

It's been like that all week. The bloke next door's been getting on my quince, playing his awful music at full tilt all night with the windows open, so I thought I'd give the council's new 24-hour Anti-Social Behaviour Line a try. Trouble is, it's not 24-hour, all you get at 11pm is a recorded message asking you to leave your details, which I did. Two days later, nothing, so I rang them again during the day.

They took my details (again), and said an officer would call me back that afternoon. Since when, nix.

Oh well, I think I'll console myself by renting one of those DVDs you need a box of Kleenex for. And I'm not talking about a weepie.

Pulling My Leg

I've been looking at artificial limbs on the internet, but there's a problem. None of them come with any hair.

My right leg is pretty hirsute, so how on earth am I going to get anything to match? I often toddle down to the beach for a bit of a paddle in the summer, roll my trouser legs up, dip my toe in. How's it going to look with one smooth leg, and the other looking like a gorilla's forearm? And please don't tell me I'm going to have to start waxing.

Leg Over

Three weeks in the QEQM and I've lost a couple of stone. Most of it being my left leg, which unfortunately finally succumbed to a lifelong daily diet of 60 Wills Whiffs washed down with a packet of Hamlets.

Still, they've promised me a new one, and I'm hoping to get one of those hi-tech things you see paralympians bouncing around on. That should put the spring back in my step.

I did ask for the old one back, thought I might invite the ex-wife and that arsehole from the BTP round for Sunday lunch, but they said they had to dispose of it due to 'regulations'. Spoilsports. Anyone fancy blowing a raspberry?