Ha! Bloody, Ha!

Oh! God! My aching sides. Please, Stop! Stop! I don't think I can take anymore. Oh, bloody hell, I think I've wet myself.

Lost

His name is Nigel.

I wonder if there is another one like it somewhere, out there.

Virtual Threat

...and maybe not.






God, the suspense is killing me. 






Is it or isn't it in operation.

Invasive Species

That's all very well, but this is Twickenham.






I kept my eyes open but I didn't see any.






Not even a wombat.






It was womless.






Mind you what would a wom do with a bat is anyone's guess.






P.S. There isn't a collective noun for koalas.

Fickle Fame

A tragic accident by any standards, 

He knew what the dangers were, and we told him not to go, but he wasn't having any of it. Always the performer, always the need to be the centre of attention, underneath the spotlight, the smell of grease paint. This time though there were consequences.

He'd obviously been drinking.






I wonder if the fez would fit.






Fezs are cool.






I wonder if it would make me popular.

Everything is relative

You should see Waterstone's Uninteresting Theory section.

It's downstairs in the bargain section.

Right next to Jeremy Clarkson's latest offering.

The Shape of Things to Come...

...remote controlled lawn mowers roam the landscape unimpeded.

 A horticultural Dalek for the Hi-vis jacket generation.

Extirpate! Extirpate!