Back

Yip, c'est moi! I am back and rejuvenated after a short jaunt to sunny Glasgow. 

Travelling, eh? So good for the soul. I felt like a plump, cigar-smoking, drill-wielding, fur hat-wearing John Candy as Uncle Buck: vaguely unhinged, driving through the night to see to my estranged brother's children, against the wishes of his prudish, conservative wife. But despite the best attempts of the young Macauly Culkin to derail my good intentions, I charm them in the end with my giant pancakes, sassy saxophone music, badass attitude and general bonhomie... and I prevent my rather sour niece from making The Biggest Mistake of Her Life with some nastophone named BUG.

God I fucking love that film. If only because the complexion of old Buck's tru luv resembles a grade of sharkskin sandpaper SO CLOSELY as to always make my mind turn to home repairs and the fashioning of spice racks when I watch it. For real, peeps. Have a look. That shit could scar a diamond.

Erm, anyhoodles... what did I do on my travels? Ate my weight in curry, skipped along a jellyfish strewn beach and dipped my dainty toes in the briny sea, as I watched a small dog try to have sex with a seagull. Note to self: when the inevitable happens and I have my very own Doc Moreau isle of hybrid freak manimals, NEVER contemplate a seagull/Jack Russell mix. Twould be an unhappy beast with a passion for theft and fish and chips (they go hand in hand), a fun-loving heart and a high-pitched yip that would shatter glass.

Welp, that's it. Did you miss me? Seems I've bee gone for YEARS. Have you forgotten what I looked like? Well here's a recent snap from my holiday:

Bwwwaaaaahhhhahahaha! Just kidding! I know, Bat Boy is a pretty easy target, eh? God bless him and his filed molars, double chin and snappy black turtlenecks. Like a angry stand-up comedian doing a bit about sitting in traffic... and it's falling flat as a pancake. Fucking shit audience. Nobody GETS me.

Love,

Me