The great lightbulb cover up

In a more simple time (before the Internet, Ebola and ITV Be) it was a very easy thing to light up a darkened room. All one had to do was flick a switch and providing one’s electricity bill was paid the room would instantly flood with light. Instantly. No pissing about. Instant light.

This inefficient bulb was so saddened by what he saw he threw himself off a curtain pelmet.

This inefficient bulb was so saddened by what he saw he threw himself off a curtain pelmet.

These light bulbs not only aroused themselves with the voracity of a bull calf on prescription Cialis they also lasted for somewhere between 3 months and 1 galactic year. When these old fashioned bulbs did finally give up the ghost all you had to do was give the brave fella a round of good honest applause and then walk to pretty much any sensible retail outlet and replace it, for about 30p. What a simple activity all round.

Then, without any warning, scamps like ‘the tofu appreciation society’ began to spring up all over the place as if the Chernobyl reactor core meltdown was a bad thing and start jabbling on about chlorofluorocarbons and such voodoo. Before you can say ‘make my bathroom light up In the same time as it takes a hippopotamus to peel a carrot‘ everything has changed.

Having reached the point in my life where I can no longer make rational sense of Room illumination I decided to conduct a thorough investigation of the whole farce.

Who’s behind it?

The Government (oh, it must be kosher then), Retailers (souls of integrity) and Energy companies (honest as the day is long) according to the energy saving trust. Phew. It’s not as if any of them have anything to gain from selling gash products that last 44 seconds and cost more than a defibrillator then.

What will you save?

According to the energy trust, replacing one beautiful, kind and elegant energy inefficient bulb with a new bumcrust poohorse version can save you £3. Blatantly ignoring the fact that a bumcrust poohorse bulb costs more than a vial of unicorn tears in the first place. I actually witnessed a father of 3 have his kidney harvested at an express checkout in Tesco last week as he hadn’t he funds to cover a three pack of these twisty devil bulbs. His children wept knowing it would be Grandma’s turn to make the ultimate sacrifice in just three days time when the emperors new bulbs burnt out as limply as an asthmatic kitten running the wrong way on an airport travelator.

What is the environmental impact?

I couldn’t find anything specific on this. Probably because all of the people that had been paid to write such information for the Internet had instead taken lucrative employment digging emergency landfill sites to house all of the new ‘efficient and ace’ bulbs that lasted for only 11 minutes of their projected 10 year lifespan.

In summary then, honest organisations have decided that it would be best to take away our 3 for 99p bulbs that lit our houses with pride and honesty for years at a time with fancy looking impostors that cost somewhere around £10 and fail suddenly as if the the little lord Jesus himself has turned them off at the great fuse box in the sky. Not only that, some retailers are so embarrassed at this light bulb railroading they have stopped selling them altogether so it is even more difficult to easily locate an over priced duff bulb that takes almost the entire lifespan of a Galapagos turtle to even begin to emit enough light for one to locate a torch.

This is the first ever 'efficient' light bulb. It was switched on by Romulus and Remus and finally reached its declared 'lumen' power last week.

This is the first ever ‘efficient’ light bulb. It was switched on by Romulus and Remus and finally reached its declared ‘lumen’ power last week.

And as a side note Tesco, when I do grudgingly force myself to order some of these horrendous charlatans from your website it really doesn’t make for a great solution when you substitute bayonet fitting villains for screw fitting. Mind you, for all the good they do I might as well cut out the middle man and just chuck them straight in the bin anyway.

Loom Band Danger

This is something that has come to light today and any responsible parent, teacher, carer or sinister uncle should act immediately.

My son (aged 7) has learnt at school today that the charm bracelets that come with loom bands are actually the source of Ebola and you should be reasonably careful if you have any in the house, in fact you should probably contemplate discarding them before they infect you with the killer virus.

Last week a man from London visited Africa and was given one of the aforementioned charms. He instantly developed Ebola and within seconds had a bit of a runny nose and a surfboard willy. Once he returned to London the police shot him in his hand to stop him from driving away and have made him live in a house at the bottom of the Thames. He has been given breathing stuff so he doesn’t drown and will be forced to live there for many many years. Or at least until the end of September.

The source of this information is thingy that heard it while he was on holiday in France or America. It is definitely true because he has got a penknife which he killed his sister with because she stood on his new school shoes. Please act immediately, or definitely before the weekend. IMG_1161.JPG

The injustice of Jack

if you were to visit your local library, or mobile library if you are rural, you could pick out any number of children’s stories that told of an underdog’s triumph against a seemingly undefeatable foe. Read on. David & Goliath, the Hare & the Tortoise, Bananas in pyjamas and even the Hungry Tiger might as well all be sent for pulping. This is another level that even Dane Bowers wouldn’t have dreamt of.

Manchester United are the world’s most popular football team with more than 700m supporters spread across the whole breadth of planet Earth. United has so much brand identity that you could show the club crest to any human on the planet and he/she/it will instantly respond ‘Manchester United’.

Travel the globe and regardless of where you are even the most curious of creatures recognise the United brand.

Travel the globe and regardless of where you are even the most curious of creatures recognise the United brand.

At the peak of their careers players such as George Best, Eric Cantona, Jesper Olsen and Dong Fangzhou were the most recognisable people in the world due to the club they were representing. All of this makes their recent bullying campaign seem even more inappropriate.

Our hero, Jack Holt, is a fan of Manchester United and has been since he was 4. He was introduced to the ‘red devils’ quite by chance when a horse in the field next to his house bit him as he was trying to feed it a tin of pineapple chunks. The nurse that stitched Jack’s ear back on was none other than Gary Bailey, former Reds Goalkeeper, and as Bailey worked he regaled Jack with tales of his time between the sticks for United. Jack was enthralled and as soon as his ear was better he pestered his Mum to buy him a Manchester United bobble hat. He still sleeps with it under his pillow to this day. Jack’s adult life has been shaped around MUFC, he died his hair orange like Wes Brown, grew it into corn rows like David Beckham, then shaved himself a bald spot like Bobby Charlton. He tried to change his name to Oshea JohnShea’o’Shea when he turned 22 and if he hadn’t been on the buttercup syrup all night he would surely have filled in the online application form correctly. In short Jack is a devoted Red.

The horse still features heavily in Jacks psyche. He regularly draws it from his minds eye.

Jack enjoys meddling in the murky waters of the twitter and he runs a couple of accounts, his own @jackkholt (follow him, he is gleefully odd) and a mildly geeky account that was trundling along tweeting the names of players that represented Manchester United.This second account used the Manchester United club crest as the display picture. Not an issue you might say, many accounts use copyrighted images on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, Tumlbr and Friends reunited. However things they are a changing at Manchester United and last week the club took the hardline with Jack and demanded that the account be taken down. Jack shared his shock with his followers and as all good communities would they rallied round him and offered support.

Outrage was grumbling on the shop floor of the micro blogging platform and the ripples were reaching the other side of the world. An angry mob was assembling and being ring led by a doctor with a thirst, @busbymufc (as he parades himself on the twitter). This was not going unnoticed by the club’s underground security dorks though and they moved next. While Jack was midway through his morning incantations the front door flew suddenly and aggressively off its hinges. Two masked men burst into his kitchen and while the taller of the two held him the thicker set character grabbed Jack by the ear he so nearly lost at the teeth of his horse neigh-bour aged 4. They told him to ‘call off the geeks’ a reference to the fury building on social media. They threw Jack to the floor and tore down all of his John O’Shea posters, the thicker set chap did a long and very strong smelling wee in the fridge and they left laughing like a pair of drains.

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@Busbymufc soon assembled a virtual angry mob, on the twitter

Some time passed, Jack couldn’t be sure exactly how long it was because he had banged his head on the way to the floor and was a little disorientated. More people walked through the now unguarded doorway, this time two woman who had been sent by Horse & Hound magazine to negotiate an interview fee with the sinned against Mr Holt. Horse & Hound has been looking for any story that might decry the Glazer family ever since Malcolm was alleged to have interfered with Alex Ferguson’s horse. The women were persuasive and before Jack knew it they were offering him £200 and a trolley dash in countrywide farmers. However hurt and confused he felt Jack couldn’t sell his club out though and he sent the woman packing with a pack or organic vegetables and pumice stone each.

All of a sudden the tide turned in Jack’s favour. Popular Sunderland player John O’Shea was relaxing with a pink gin in his local Wetherspoons after a hard training session when Adam Johnson (already half cut on Apple Midori) called him over to show him a ‘fanboy’ he had found of his on twitter. can you guess who it was? That’s right, our Jack. JOS read on and as he read he got angrier and more frustrated with what he saw. His old club had lost the plot, how dare they try and do this to one of his number. As he choked back the tears he made a desperate phone call. What happened next is shrouded in mystery but what we do know is that the geeky twitter account was restored to the twitter and 2 lifeless bodies were carried from the ‘brand protection’ offices. Some witnesses claimed to have seen a cloven footed beast with heavy neck scarring leave the offices minutes earlier, its loin cloth covered in blood and ligaments.

Could this thing be responsible for the bodies leaving the ‘brand protection’ office?

This story has had a happy ending but this is only the first chapter in what is likely to be a horrific tale of internet bloodletting. We won the battle but the war has only just begun.

The badge of the resistance

The badge of the resistance

Christmas made easy

Christmas is statistically the most stressful time of the year. Consider that for a moment while you force-feed yourself with food you wouldn’t normally touch with the decomposing hand of a leprosy ravaged tramp. This magical time of year that is supposed to reinforce ones belief in family, friends, community and coca-cola has morphed into a dreaded period which for 78% of families will end in a fist fight and admission for at least one person into either Accident & emergency or the Salvation army.

If you don’t fancy a 17 hour wait to have a tree of brussels sprouts removed from your anus and you could only contribute a basic knowledge of playing pink flute to the Sally Army band you need to follow our handy guide to the letter.

This was removed from the anus of a 75 year old woman in Hull last Christmas.

This was removed from the anus of a 75-year-old woman in Hull last Christmas.


No-one wants to be awoken at 3:37 by recalcitrant youths screaming, dancing and demanding to be given milkshake while they look at their presents and while it is generally frowned upon to tranquillize one’s own children (just ask the McCann’s)  it is possible to take some precautionary measures to avoid these dastardly scenes. It is also considered a fire hazard to lock your children in their room (and under the stairs, in the garage or in the boot of your car) so you need a few obstacles to slow things down. Tempting as it is to litter the landing with porcupine spines or organically harvested wasp stings it won’t help maintain the silence, you need to find something that will keep the potential noise polluters so absolutely filled with dread that they will be unable to utter a single sound. Maybe you could borrow a knot of snakes from a nearby zoo/ safari park/ reptile house/ voodoo doctor that you could be positioned just outside your bedroom door, or could kidnap a swan from your local park and tie its beak to your door handle. Whatever you think would render your infants so mortally terrified that they silently retreat to their room and wait for the soothing tones of their fully refreshed parents to summon them to review their presents.

This would make a great hallway deterrent, especially with the word "EVIL" shaved into its forelock.

This would make a great hallway deterrent, especially with the word “EVIL” shaved into its forelock.


Make sure you don’t put yourself under too much pressure when making Christmas dinner. Most of your guests over the age of 13 will be inside out – upside down – back to front – in the hedge on flames pissed so they wont care if it’s a Norfolk black turkey or a deep-fried wren’s beak. Until the age of celebrity chefs telling the culinary retarded what is possible with a splash of balsamic vinegar and a sun-dried tomato no-one cared what kind of goose fat the roast potatoes were cooked in, they just wanted solids to soak up the Bristol cream sherry.

The perfect easy to serve dinner for all your inebriated guests.

The perfect easy to serve dinner for all your inebriated guests.

So save yourself the heartache and just buy one of these beauties for each guest and plate it up while they are watching the Christmas edition of Rastamouse on Cbeebies. To make sure they don’t notice your lack of kitchen work treat everyone to a turbo absinthe (25 ml of absinthe, 50 ml of absinthe, a dash of poitin and fill the glass up with Stolichnaya) and for the designated driver a stick of Uhu. You can’t go wrong.


After a hearty Christmas dinner in a can your guests will want to take things down a zone or two and relax in front of the television. THIS IS A PERIOD OF DANGER. Make the wrong televisual choices and the ambiance will enter a terminal decline quicker than a short-sighted peregrine falcon having mistaken a Renault Kangoo for a tasty field mouse. I can’t even imagine a conversation that would end with “Oh yes, lets put Eastenders on. That will finish the day off nicely“. Unless it went something like this;

Mavis “Shall we put the telly on?”

Geoff “Well considering the car was torched by a radically extreme cell of the World Wildlife fund and the Christmas dinner was eaten by a pack of albino Polar bears that escaped from the Tamworth snowdome we don’t have much else to do.”

Mavis “I was going to suggest we popped over to visit the kids but it seems they have been taken hostage by the RAC after word got out they signed up with Green Flag so that’s out of the question too.”

Geoff “I tell you what would cheer me up, watching sheer misery acted out badly in a world that Laundry equipment and toasters haven’t yet reached. Better still, if the whole plot was about unlikely incest, unreasonable murder and constant sorrow I would be in my element.” Just to be safe put the jaws trilogy on, nature, nice marine scenes and a revered sountrack.

These two scamps wrestle over the remote control, desperate to avoid the Christmas soap specials.

These two scamps wrestle over the remote control, desperate to avoid the Christmas soap specials.


Even though you will have been absolutely elated to welcome extended family members upon their arrival at your house they will have been chipping away at your resolve from that moment onward. There is nothing worse than having a house full of hanger-ons when all you want to do is throw some drum’n;bass on, strip down to your vest and empty a couple of Strongbows. Keep feeding and entertaining these vile monsters and they will stay, you need to take extreme action. At this junction you have two options with very different risk and reward.

OPTION 1 – Low risk

Create the illusion that beings from another planet are landing on earth with the sole aim of harvesting the resources of the planet and cross pollinating the population. To do this you will need to cut funny patterns into your lawn and get a volunteer to scratch at your door intermittently. Your guests may take this as their cue to leave (mission accomplished) or they might decide to go and sit in your cellar in the dark eating munch bunch yogurts.

OPTION 2 – High Risk

Announce it is “adult time” and bring a bowl of melted chocolate into the lounge. Pass all adult guests a candy thong each and instruct them to remove any clothes that feel excessive. At this point everyone SHOULD get up, make their excuses and leave at a very impressive rate of knots. However if any of them stay you could be about to enter a whole world of odd.

High risk, high reward.

High risk, high reward.

Follow those 4 vital guidelines and Christmas day will be tolerable and pain-free, enjoyable almost. you will have had a decent lie in, a trouble-free lunch, a great afternoon/evening watching retro shark horror films and a chilled out evening drinking strongbow listening to Roni Size. You try telling me Jesus didn’t have that very day in mind when he first came up with the idea of supermarkets.

False Danger

If you are reading this AND alive it is only a matter of time until you are neither. Unless you live down a nuclear bunker with just a terribly insular tawny owl for company you will already be aware of your fate. A danger like no other known to human kind since the sands of time first trickled into the souvenir Isle of Wight display trinkets is lurking probably only millimetres away from you. The false widow spider. The name of this (not very) venomous arachnid is probably enough to make most grown adults involuntarily wee on their natty slip on canvas pumps.

Look how the sand has seperated.

Look how the sand has separated.

Luckily the media have been keeping us all up to date as these fearsome beasts, in some cases  measuring as much as 3cm in length, continue their devastating march up the island leaving havoc and panic in their wake. Just days ago a school in the Forest of Dean took the decision to close its doors after finding an infestation of these monsters in the technology block of the building. A measure they were simply forced to employ given the dire seriousness of the situation, and thank The Lord they did. In years gone by they may have been tempted to simply dispatch the school janitor armed only with a a simple broom to shoo the vile predators out. Imagine the consequences if they had tried that? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

Take a moment to visualise the enormity of these predators.

Take a moment to visualise the enormity of these predators.

Lets not even think about poor decorator Ricki Whitmore, 39 from Narnia, who disturbed a feeding frenzy of these fatal menaces. Ricki was renovating a school (These demons seem to resonate towards scholastic buildings) when the whole cluster turned and charged at him, despite his best efforts he was unable to fend them off and the ringleader leapt at him, sinking his fangs deep into his thigh. If you can stretch your realms of imagination so far try and picture yourself in such a terrifying position. There you are, a grown human, with this motley crew of 8 legged destroyers, some as big as 3cm hurtling towards you at breakneck speed. Frozen with terror and only daring to think about the loved ones that will be left behind you resign yourself to certain death. Suddenly and without warning the alpha male launches itself towards your thigh and all you see is the light glinting off its sabatier like fangs. Ricki was lucky to survive, surgeons had to apply 3 different Mr Bump plasters before the weeping wound was dormant, the plucky decorator my never wield a broom again. If you ever find yourself feeling complacent about the danger offered by the false widow spider please take a look at Ricki’s stitches, this was definitely absolutely caused entirely by this fiendish arachnid.

Brave Ricki, the poor brave decorator.

Brave Ricki, the poor brave decorator.

Luckily the Daily Mail has decided to help us during these times of grave danger, which is akin to the fruit and vegetable team of Tesco being scrambled to deal with nuclear warhead threat.


The key message is that you shouldn’t disturb spiders if you can help it because they will usually only bite you if you get on their tits.

To avoid it while asleep, remove everything from under the bed so that the only way the spiders can get up on the bed is to crawl up one of the four legs, to prevent them from getting any further you might want to employ trained chinchillas to halt their progress.

Do not leave clothes around in piles for long periods as spiders like to hide in them and shake shoes in case a spider has crawled in overnight. To be extra vigilant set fire to any soft furnishings in your house, this will alert the fire brigade who are trained in handling false widows.

If you have a garage store things in plastic bags if you use them with your hands and feet and cannot see inside. Also seal cardboard boxes if you are storing things. Also only enter garages when accompanied by a cloven hoofed animal, all domestic spiders are hugely allergic to llamas and they may be fooled into a hasty retreat.

If you think you may have seen a deadly false widow you need a llama

If you think you may have seen a deadly false widow you need a llama

If you are unfortunate enough to be bitten and have a reaction, pack the wound in ice and drink strongbow. In the same way that tonic repels mosquito’s Strongbow exposure will kill false widows within seconds.

The bottom line is that these murderers are running amok, the daily star told us as much weeks ago, so ultimately you will be killed by one over the next few weeks unless you invest in a personal llama, a chain mail suit or a seat on Richard Branson’s space flight.

look out for next weeks article on how the storm of the century destroyed the United Kingdom.

This article is dedicated to my social and digital bestie Steven Caddies, I would love it if it made him smile.


The year is 1983 and Dennis Internet is sat in his lounge sketching out his plans for what he envisaged as a method for computers to talk to each other over a virtual network. A communication system that would allow fellow beekeeping enthusiasts to share their cutting edge royal jelly making methods without picking up the phone or troubling their local stationers for a pen and paper. He finishes up by sending the worlds first ever bee-mail and then heads to the local hostelry to share these ground breaking ideas with his chums. Three pints of scrumpy into the session and Dennis can no longer keep his powder dry, he blurts out his thoughts to his drinking pals and they look on quizzically open mouthed and agog.

20131005-122705.jpgA young buck working behind the bar listened with interest and later that evening as he shared an intimate crispy duck platter with his housemate he divulged the details of the topic he had overheard. The next morning the barman left the house to campaign for Greenpeace and his housemate, Tim Berners-Lee, headed off to work with a new idea freshly tucked under his bonnet. Just A few years later the world wide web was up and running and the impudent Berners-Lee was accepting the acclaim for reformulating the world as we know it, scant consolation for Dennis that the pretend founding father of the information superhighway used his surname to title the new ‘invention’. To be fair had he used his own it might have been less catchy, I cant see as many people popping out for a skinny hazelnut latte and a browse of the web in a Berners-Lee café.

Thirty years on from Dennis Internet sharing his visionary thoughts the world wide web is a virtual cesss pit, the information sharing that was envisaged has been replaced by pornography, gambling and price comparsion websites. However like a parsnip sandwich served by a man with weeping sores on his hands the content stopped being the problem years ago. In the infancy of the web a tabloid “journalist” attempted to live for a week without leaving his house, using his computer to order everything that he needed to survive. He managed to order takeaway food and grocery shopping while finding the answer to anything else he needed via the medium of search engines. If that experiment was run again in 2013 it would look like this;

Spent morning on twitter arguing with a native Eskimo about the validity of whale hunting. Forgot lunch. Watched Miley Cyrus twerking on YouTube. Ordered lube from Ann Summers. Had a twix for tea. Watched a whole series of Rentaghost on Netflix. Fell asleep just after 4am.

Twitter account suspended for alleged anti Inuit remarks. Ordered a legal high from a Dutch gardening website. Lube arrived, watched Miley again on youtube. Fell asleep until 8pm. Opened a Google+ account. Played Farmville on Facebook, passed out just before 5am.

Woke up at midday, legal high arrived. Spent 6 hours staring at colourful hallucinations in the toilet while experiencing furious diarrhoea. Had 3 paracetamol for tea. Opened a new twitter account and Retweeted everything Louise Spence posted just to “do his head in”. Fell asleep at about 2:15.

Struggling to see out of left eye, probably the gardening drugs. Had Dairylea for lunch. Watched Miley Cyrus on YouTube , ordered anal beads from Anne Summers. Joined a facebook group called “Pictures of your ex-girlfirend”. Finished off lube. Watched 7 episodes of “The young ones” on Netflix.

Left eye completely closed and anal leakage becoming more frequent. Had 2 sachets of Lemsip for lunch washed down with a bottle of TCP. Anal beads arrived. Watched Miley Cyrus. Spent the afternoon following cricket on twitter. Opened an online betting account with William Hill, used £50 free bet on a horse called “tweet”. Joined a facebook group called “My nan’s ladygarden” used up all the Vaseline. Fell asleep just after 3:30am.

Right eye twitching heavily, left side of face numb. Put £500 on Gary Barlow to say the word “Spatchcock” on X Factor. Watched football results on twitter. Followed everyone from the cast of “Towie” and asked them all to Retweet me. Barlow didn’t say “Spatchcock”. Drank bottle of Old Spice aftershave. watched “A Field of dreams” on Netflix. Fell asleep crying.

Right eye fully closed, internet self diagnose suggests vaginal prolapse. Bet £750 on Prince Philip dying before 7pm. Watched Miley Cyrus, used up all the butter. Called Ringo Starr a nonce on twitter, police came to the house. Prince Philip didn’t die. Bought an eastern European bride off Using money Borrowed off a handy loans website. Collected by Paramedics at midnight.

The internet itself isn’t the problem it’s the way people use it and the astounding effect it has on some has been diagnosed as an illness by the British Medical Council. Over a 5 year period they have monitored a group of adults that have been exposed to a gradual increase in their internet usage and the findings are astonishing. Candidate 3 was a vicar In a small Buckinghamshire village at the start of the experiment. He listed his interests as Gardening, macrame, discovering new blends of tea and bee keeping but by the time he left the process they had changed to snuff movies, horse porn, spot betting, retweeting dub step dj’s, dwarf porn and playing candy crush.
These findings weren’t isolated, an accountant from Ludlow relinquished her choral singing for internet dating, dogging and reiki while an ice cream salesman from Lymm gave up home baking for a career in Cialis dealing and horse meat wholesaling. This personality changing condition has been known within medical circles as Batshitmentalitis but the recent furore caused by the mental patient Halloween costumes led to a rethink and it will now be known as Batshitmartinitis.

Reassuringly a team of medical scientists have begun dissecting what makes a seemingly normal person direct racist abuse at a footballer on twitter because he misses a penalty, what inspires someone to share the most minute and sometimes intimate details of their day with strangers and most importantly what makes the normal rules of social behaviour alter so dramatically in a virtual world. Less encouragingly the same team of scientists most recent discovery is that altering the temperature of semi-skimmed milk by half a degree makes very little difference to angel delight.

The serious nature of this apparent pandemic has led the NHS to issue seven golden rules that should be adhered to at all times;

1. Avoid posting pictures of your dinner on Instagram. No one cares what you have for tea.
2. Under no circumstances play Facebook games, FarmVille is the modern day syphilis.
3. Don’t disclose your banal daytime activities, folk nowadays prefer watching Jeremy Kyle.
4. Think carefully Before ‘liking’ a status. No-one ‘likes’ their grandparents dying.
5. Avoid substandard sites like Pinterest in a common sense way, you wouldn’t hire a unicorn to mow your lawn.
6. Never ever ever use the internet to self diagnose, Jeff from Wisconsin knows nothing about perineal tearing.
7. Always get foreign wives purchased from the internet thoroughly checked by a doctor for any signs of penis.

Apply this to friends as well in the same way that you might keep an eye on an elderly relative during the winter, if you notice any danger signs get into their houses and remove as many of their valuable goods as you can before they notice. The very fact that you have spent actual time reading this on some cobbled together half arsed ‘website’ does indicate it could be too late for you anyway.

Strawberries and Cream budget style

Wimbledon is here and the news is awash with tales of posh high jinks from SW19. How funny it is that Mrs Harrington-Buttbleacher from leafy Surrey has forgotten her waterproof macintosh and has been subject to the adverse weather conditions?.

Mags, chewy old bird. A Mags rack of ribs can be nice

Sadly a build up of snot* on this ladies lapel ultimately poisoned this mean old witch.

Not in any way. In fact it will only actually be funny in 48 hours when she is sat on her chaise lounge suffering from exposure on her butlers night off, having to wipe her snotty nose on her own lapel and burning the roof of her mouth on Lemsip. Wimbledon is all about champagne and strawberries but not everyone can afford to nip into their local waitrose and snap up such indulgent items. Fear not, here is an affordable recipe to enable everyone to tune into the Wimbledon vibe;


Pop into your local shop, its great to support local retailers and they probably wont have any kind of CCTV. Wait until an OAP comes in, they will provide a natural distraction with their requests for marijuana (for medicinal reasons) and KY jelly and stealthily approach the freezer. While no-one is watching steal at least 1 litre of vanilla ice cream, if the vanilla is tricky to grasp you can happily substitute it with any matt emulsion.


1 pack of Aldi raspberry mousse
1 bottle of blue nun
4 x AA batteries
2 packs of Colin the caterpillar sweets
100g Cathedral city extra mature cheddar
3 meringue nests (if you don’t have meringue chalk will suffice)
16 cans of Guinness
1 TFL oyster card
1 pair of running shoes
1 sharpie marker pen
1 Vicks nasal decongestant spray
£10 Cafe Rouge vouchers
2 slices of bread


1. Melt the cathedral city cheddar on to the part toasted bread. once bubbling, eat with some HP Sauce.

2. Drink half of the Guinness

3. Offer a stranger the bottle of blue nun in exchange for a lift to Wimbledon

4. Upon arrival at Wimbledon persuade the security team to let you into the TV commentary box by rubbing the Cafe Rouge voucher suggestively on your thigh.

5. Use the sharpie marker pen to scrawl offensive graffiti on Sue Barker’s face.

6. Swap your meringue nests (or chalk) with a ticket tout for centre court tickets.

7. Find Cliff Richards and insert the batteries into his eye sockets.

To be fair his eye sockets need some re invigoration.

To be fair his eye sockets need some re invigoration.

8. As he reels around screaming with duracell induced pain slip a polaroid of yourself as a child into his pocket.

9. Pull the picture out and threaten to report the yewtree suspect to the local bobby until he agrees to buy you champagne and strawberries for the rest of the day.

10. Rub the raspberry mousse into your cheeks, take three deep inhalations of the vicks decongestant and don the running shoes to enable you to make an effective getaway.

11. Sleep.

If you can’t get to London don’t worry, substitute all of the ingredients for 3 grammes of ketamine and a litre of Blue WKD and you will be none the wiser.