In No Particular Order...

Donald Trump has had his plans to build a golf course in the middle of a Site of Special Scientific Interest turned down by a democratic council meeting, so he's given them thirty days to reconsider their decision.
Donald? Hello? Over here? Hi. Now. What part of "Fuck Off" did you not understand the first time?



Back at the dentist this week for some more root canal treatment. When Tanya took my hand and asked me to "Kom vith me", I thought my luck was in. Especially when she led me into a small room and bolted the door shut. Just the two of us, how cozy!
But what she slipped into my mouth wasn't her tongue after all, just an X-ray plate. Boo!





I once had a Polish French teacher called Tanya Smölka. God, she was hot! Even though I was only thirteen, I could tell she fancied me.
So did my French Polish teacher, Brian the woodwork master. But that's another story.





How do you get rid of dullards?
We've been befriended by the most boring people on the planet. A typical scenario - phone rings. "Hi, we've been out shopping at IKEA, is it ok if we pop in?" Um, ok. I put the kettle on. Before it has even come to the boil, they are at the door. IKEA is five miles away and they live beyond that.
He's ok, he just goes through to the bedroom to play computer games with my eleven-year-old grandson and his chum.
But Mrs Dishwater? To paraphrase Douglas Adams, she could talk all eight legs off a tarantula and it would still try to drag itself away and hide. I don't know exactly what she talks about, I can never stay awake long enough. Mrs Farty has to give me a poke to wake me as they leave.
Perhaps we could feign death?




Elf and Safety. Killjoys in Alnwick District Council have banned Santa from driving his sleigh around Northumberland in case, breaking a thirty-year tradition, he falls off and hurts himself.
Twats.




I thought I was seeing things when out shopping at the weekend, but no. There is indeed such a thing as a Snow Calendar. Just the thing to brighten up a summer's day, er...no, wait.



And finally...this, from memory, from a spoof lonely hearts ad long ago.
Let us hold hands, take flight and soar on the fiercest winds. Let us race each other to the ends of the earth and back. Let us explore the deepest caverns, go diving into ancient shipwrecks, climb the highest mountains and exalt in our power over nature. Let us share our deepest, darkest, most intimate secrets.

You first.

Trust No-One

Nowadays, it's best to take anything you see on the telly with a large pinch of salt. What with rigged phone votes, invented arguments between Brenda and some foreign snapper, and now ITV faking the death of an Alzheimer's patient, next thing you know NASA will be admitting that the Apollo Moon Landings were filmed in Hollywood. Thank goodness we have t'internet, which is well known for its truthfulness and honesty.

*cough*

Anyway, what's in the news this week? Animals, that's what.

First we have Shipman, the tabby who lives in a Rhode Island nursing home. Once he's given you the cat-scan of death, you'd better start scribbling your will.





Then there's the Doctor Who Woo won a million dollar prize after successfully creating the first human-porcine hybrid.













And now we have the Oxford Goose creating a flap. As it were.


Right. That's me. Off to read Gordon Brown's blog now. You can always trust a Scotchman.

Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?

So I finally pluck up the courage bite the bullet can't stand the toothache for a moment longer and pay a long-overdue visit to the dentist. The usual geezer must have either retired or gone private, because in his place is a beautiful young Polish girl called Tanya or something.

Any road up, Vanya has a good root around amongst my bicuspids and that before telling me to "reense", then asking, "You vant me to pull eet for you?"

I almost choke on my mouthwash. "Pardon?"

"Your premolar, eet ees rotten. Do you vant me to pull eet now or vait for eet to fall out by eetself?"

"Er, is there nothing you can do to save eet? It, I mean. Save it. Please?"

"Vell..." Her flashing blue eyes glaze over momentarily, as if her mind has been transported to another world. "I suppose ve could try a root canal treatment. Do you vant to go private or NHS?"

"What's the difference?"

"About seeks months."

I sigh, close my eyes, lie back and think of Scotchland. Irina checks off my remaining teeth, muttering under her breath and giggling. "Amalgam, Uncle Vlad; MOD, Aunt Margaritte; composite, Cousin Monica; scale and Polish, seester Gabriella; meessing, pity; root feelling, feerst class upgrades..." Finally, she glances up and those ice-blue eyes pierce my very soul. "I vant to see you again."

Cool. "Transformers is on tonight at the Odeon. Shall we call it a date?"

"I don't theenk my husband vould approve." She produces a syringe the size of a pepperpot.

"Now open vide, thees may hurt a beet."