About Me

The best typo I have ever seen is the mangling of "ego" as "eog". Thanks.

Friday, 18 March 2016

An Ode to the Small Brown Smudge Found to the Rear of a Toilet Seat in an Otherwise Clean Toilet Cubicle

Sir, The sphincter of your anus has expanded, and while other creatures have glands 'twixt their cheeks you have only your passings to mark your passing. O! most foul affliction! like poured concrete you are an amateur plasterer. Fuck off, and take your stool upon which no man may sit with you.


What the hell is this?

Nigel, I don't understand why you won't publish me

This is just further evidence of the abject horror that true genius induces. Prepare to regret your decision.


Sunday, 6 July 2014

Bloody hell the football's on!

Time to put a crisp £20 on England to win! Come on, England! 

Perhaps that Gareth Lineker will slot a tasty ball in...

Monday, 9 December 2013

A hushed epiphany

That which serves to provide edification and comfort simultaneously can occasionally be found upon yonder windowsill

Like a feathered pill this winged saviour dosed me with truth

The pigeon sage

Sit ye down, child, and listen a while
I was stumbling about in my garden after a particularly fierce bender when I chanced upon my own shed, built all of brick and solidly brittle in that way that only icy cold stone structures can be. Or maybe ice as well. In any case, I spied on the windowsill an ancient and somewhat ruffled pigeon specimen, a great wiry brown beard presumably cultivated for years spread across his chest like that of a sage old seer. I was all agog, for as I leaned in to better appreciate the eminent wisdom of so fluffy a bird, I was at once struck by a whispering, entering my bonce not through any ear but being spoken immediately into the dark whirling void of my most mysterious mind, as you sometimes hear the less mentally well describe. In my mind's eye a great dervish of wings was set all aflutter, and my mind's eye became blind and my thoughts became one long nonsensical mutter. In my mouth was the vague taste of butter.
An eye for the finer things in life
He muttered something unintelligible as he settled into place, and looked rapidly about him as if to ensure there were no covert listeners leeching from our discourse.
'We are as human flotsam tossed about the oceans of reality.'
'But you're a pigeon.'
'We are as mere flotsam tossed about the oceans of reality, at the mercy of serendipity.'
'Is there any chance of mercy?'
'My boy, there is no chance.'
I was agog at this abrasively cynical view of the heavens. I myself have had many an opportunity to sit with pipe by log fire and reflect upon the circumstances in which I find myself, and have had cause to conclude that I am indeed lucky, that fortune has smiled upon me, and continues to do so. With my intellect and great fortune, I forge a path of blazing glory through ignorance and calumny, fighting a brilliant swathe to the pastures of wisdom, knowledge, peace, harmony, love, wisdom, sagacity, calm, satiation, society, and pithiness. I simply could not fathom this turbulent news that shredded this sensation of oneness.
'Surely there must be some small chance of mercy,' I began. 'After all-'
'No, there is no chance.'
His words cut through the chill winter air like lightning, and I stood, agape this time, and perhaps just a little agog, with my mouth hanging open. My mind had been steeped in the chill realization of what he had said.
'How can you speak? You have a beak.' My companion bristled at this.
'You are a fool. I must away. Good day.' And with that he drew himself up to his full portly magnitude, and flapped his fusty wings with regal disdain for yours truly, despite my best efforts to understand the true import of the knowledge which he had tried to export into my bemused brain, the essence of which threatened to drive me insane. Yes, he drew himself up, regal and ancient, and slowly heaved himself into the heavens, and shot away with supernatural alacrity. I turned, misty-eyed and sad, wondering how I would ever sum up this surreal encounter, when I heard a thud from across the way, a light echo around that old overgrown courtyard. My wise liege had flown into a window.
It was then, in a manner most similar to the way my philosophical guide had struck that pane of glass, that the full realization of what had been revealed to me struck me. From the moment that all things that can be considered to exist existed, whatever arcane and unimaginable apparatus first creaked into action, all things were set in place, in time, space, and chronological order, a set piece, a great chess game with the difficulty set to 'universe'. Which meant, as I fell to my knees, that upon delivering his great epiphany, by pulling the scales from my eyes and then flapping off to his demise, he had served his function as it had been written in the stars (so to speak). His part had been written, and that collision with that window scripted to take place like some smack about the head for a trespass against the omnipotent will, the hand seeking to deliver that blow reaching right back through the eons from the very beginning of everything, to punish this perceptive pigeon for doing as fate dictated. 
I tilted my head back, fully agog and agape this time, my tears brimming fit to fill a lake, a thousand animals the thirst to slake, and I cried at the sky, 'You bastard!'
Because god is a bastard.
If you ever have the feeling that you are being watched,
this is most likely the reason.

Monday, 2 December 2013

Tuesday, 17 September 2013