Yes, it's St Turpy-Turpy day and everyone's an Irishman for the day. No doubt, everybody will be having smelly, black Guinness poos tomorrow. Everyone except me of course. I'm English not Oirish, and I don't think I could find any connection with the Emerald Isle if my life depended on it - although I think a great-grandmother may have lived in Belfast for a while. Oh, and I don't drink, so the Guinness (and Guinness poos) are out of the question. I could simulate this by eating lots of charcoal or lots of black pudding, but I don't think it's worth the effort.
Back to black (text), but continuing the colour theme, I feel the time has come to make mention of that scourge of the cutlery tray: the BROWN TEASPOON. Now, I like brown: most of my clothes are brown (or beige); coffee is brown and I love coffee; some of my favourite coloured poos have been brown and brown wee is fantastic. However, brown teaspoons are just disgusting. They're an indictator of shoddy (no-existent) washing up practices and there needs to be a clampdown. I'm going to contact Home Office minister and Salford MP, Hazel Blears, to ask whether the Government can introduce a bill giving the police powers to enter people's homes to assess the brown-ness of their teaspoons and perhaps to extent to powers to search crockery cupboards for telltale signs of greasiness on plates and cups. Perhaps people suspected of not doing their pots properly could be put under house arrest? Just a thought
My insides are all wrong and my ear hurts from where my specs have been digging in today. Oh burdens of my life are manifested in physical erosion. Perhaps a session with my fellow fat fighters might help jiggle the badness out of me.
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