Boy oh boy am I in a bitchin' mood. I guess you too sometimes feel that when the world reveals itself as being layered in pooh, which if you think about it, happens to be pretty much the case. But I'm not interested in your woes right now. This is my blog you know.

Among the many comments and appraaisals I've received of late is the opinion that I'm not funny. Oh. Sorry about that. It depends on your sense of humour of course, but it hasn't escaped my notice that the very same people who accuse me of 'not being funny' are the very same ones who fall over laughing when I pass by. Go figure.

The other opinion offered last night was some young fella who reckoned he was getting sick of me. Why? I have no idea who that youngster was or where I've encountered him. Now either I'm suffering from alzheimers or he's so insignificant I didn't notice when I passed him by. Guess he should have laughed louder. The thing is, as I always say, if people talk about you, you're famous. So last night was my five minute fix for the night. Sorry, no autographs.

Second Class Service

It came as no suprise to watch the news last and find that the big four supermarket chains in Britain are getting up to shabby tricks to increase profits. Sorry, but that's what it is. Only the other week I spotted bottles of black pepper for 69p each. Bargain! Or so I thought. When the lady on the till announced how much I'd spent in total I was a bit suprised. Well... Perhaps I miscalculated....

As it turns out my mental arithmetic was a bit better than that. The problem with shabby tricks is that they're always played when you're lulled into a false sense of security. As for the black pepper, it turned out the actual price was