Hello dears.
So that's another painfully tedious Sunday out of the way, with precious little happening anywhere as all the murders, rapists and idiots who ski into trees have spent the day in bed. In lieu of this terribly boring lack of violent death, I've been forced to make my own entertainment, which I did by watching the football and having a nice roast dinner in the pub - I'm not sure how long spring onion has been part of the standard roast beef layout, but whoever decided to throw a bit of creativity and flair onto my plate is a genius, because those elements were sadly missing from the football on show, with West Ham probably deserving to edge it over a lackluster Manchester City side who looked like Elano could do with a couple of weeks on the Costas, and Everton beat Wigan 2 - 1 thanks to a terrible mistake from Titus Bramble and the extraordinary power of Joleon Lescott's bonce.
Anyway you're not here to read about my gastrointestinal intake, but there's not much to tell you, I'm afraid. The Gaza Strip has been plunged into darkness because their one and only power station has run out of fuel because of Israeli restrictions (Maybe they ought to try not bombing the shit out of Israeli cities, then they might be a little more open to giving them some more petrol), the crashed plane just outside of Heathrow has been moved, which is probably a boon for anyone flying into Heathrow with a dodgy heart, who will have spent the last two days seeing a crashed plane staring back up at them on final approach, and the Scottish have asked the Yanks to lift their ban on imported haggis. Having tasted it, I can see why they've banned it, and see no reason why they should lift it. Apparently, the only haggis you can buy in America doesn't have enough offal in it. Be sure to read that sentence twice, because it's probably the first time you're going to see the words "not enough" and "offal" right next to each other like that outside of a Scottish cookbook. Seriously you lot, Gordon Ramsay looks like he can knock out a nice enough helping of pie and mash. You can learn.
The ultimate indictment of a boring day is, however, what they can find to put the sports link on the main page. Today must have been a bad day, because they've actually been reduced as far as linking to the snooker. And so have I. Apparently some bloke potted all the funny coloured balls before the other bloke. Fascinating. In other news, Liverpool co-owner Tom Hicks has denied that he is selling his half stake in the club to Dubai International Capital. Perhaps he's holding out for two Clefairies and a Charizard.
Anyway, I've got another hectic week coming up so the posting on the blog's likely to become a bit sporadic, so apologies in advance. I'll try to post as regularly as I can but I know that on at least two days I'll be completely swamped, so just bear with me and all the problems ought to be ironed out by the end of the week. Tomorrow ought to be alright, though, so until then, I'll bid you all adieu. If anyone's got to do something stupid to give me something to write about tomorrow, I hope it isn't you lot.
Goodnight.
So that's another painfully tedious Sunday out of the way, with precious little happening anywhere as all the murders, rapists and idiots who ski into trees have spent the day in bed. In lieu of this terribly boring lack of violent death, I've been forced to make my own entertainment, which I did by watching the football and having a nice roast dinner in the pub - I'm not sure how long spring onion has been part of the standard roast beef layout, but whoever decided to throw a bit of creativity and flair onto my plate is a genius, because those elements were sadly missing from the football on show, with West Ham probably deserving to edge it over a lackluster Manchester City side who looked like Elano could do with a couple of weeks on the Costas, and Everton beat Wigan 2 - 1 thanks to a terrible mistake from Titus Bramble and the extraordinary power of Joleon Lescott's bonce.
Anyway you're not here to read about my gastrointestinal intake, but there's not much to tell you, I'm afraid. The Gaza Strip has been plunged into darkness because their one and only power station has run out of fuel because of Israeli restrictions (Maybe they ought to try not bombing the shit out of Israeli cities, then they might be a little more open to giving them some more petrol), the crashed plane just outside of Heathrow has been moved, which is probably a boon for anyone flying into Heathrow with a dodgy heart, who will have spent the last two days seeing a crashed plane staring back up at them on final approach, and the Scottish have asked the Yanks to lift their ban on imported haggis. Having tasted it, I can see why they've banned it, and see no reason why they should lift it. Apparently, the only haggis you can buy in America doesn't have enough offal in it. Be sure to read that sentence twice, because it's probably the first time you're going to see the words "not enough" and "offal" right next to each other like that outside of a Scottish cookbook. Seriously you lot, Gordon Ramsay looks like he can knock out a nice enough helping of pie and mash. You can learn.
The ultimate indictment of a boring day is, however, what they can find to put the sports link on the main page. Today must have been a bad day, because they've actually been reduced as far as linking to the snooker. And so have I. Apparently some bloke potted all the funny coloured balls before the other bloke. Fascinating. In other news, Liverpool co-owner Tom Hicks has denied that he is selling his half stake in the club to Dubai International Capital. Perhaps he's holding out for two Clefairies and a Charizard.
Anyway, I've got another hectic week coming up so the posting on the blog's likely to become a bit sporadic, so apologies in advance. I'll try to post as regularly as I can but I know that on at least two days I'll be completely swamped, so just bear with me and all the problems ought to be ironed out by the end of the week. Tomorrow ought to be alright, though, so until then, I'll bid you all adieu. If anyone's got to do something stupid to give me something to write about tomorrow, I hope it isn't you lot.
Goodnight.
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