The column that thinks there’s nothing beats a good cigar after a bit of arson
MYSELF: How do you feel about the EU, now that we’re in the middle of a constitutional crisis?
READER: What constitutional crisis? Is there a constitutional crisis? Why haven’t I been told?
MYSELF: You haven’t heard? The winos have taken over the brewery. A horrid little man who looks like a middle-class junkie is now in charge of the government and he’s working Boris Johnson via a radio transmitter planted inside his wig.
READER: Boris is bald? Ha ha! I knew all along that was a rug!
MYSELF: Yes, it’s a vintage Arthur Scargill hairpiece which has been shored up with Brillo Pads and Shredded Wheat. The whole thing is secured on his fat head with brass clips from a Victorian Davey lamp.
READER: A wig. Well I never! He’s always good for a laugh though isn’t he, old Boris.
MYSELF: Is that why you voted leave then? So that an unelected fat oaf who can’t keep his trousers on could appoint money-obsessed maniacs to propel the economy down the toilet?
READER: I’ve no idea what you mean. I voted Brexit to bring back proper British kippers, like we used to have. Kippers from The Isle of Man, not these sissy French ones with olive oil and garlic and God knows what else. And bendy bananas with slippery skins which you can drop in the path of pursuing clowns. Not your whey-faced French clowns with white faces and normal sized feet pretending to be trapped in glass cases by the way – I mean proper British clowns with big shoes, red eyes and scary teeth who eat goldfish and drive cars with doors that fall off. British cars.
MYSELF: Like the ones GB Inc will be exporting to the USA once WTO rules kick in?
READER: I see you’re coming around to the idea.
TAKE THE WEIGHT OFF YOUR BRAIN
Sweetfeck Hall in St. Leonards is to host Mindlessness classes on Wednesdays. Bring your own mat and try one of their introductory lessons at only £57.38 per lunar hour. Find out how to sew eye patches together to make blindfolds (bring a thimble), or learn to play the Tibetan singing bowl (bowl not supplied), from one of the qualified Tibetan Tantric guides. Be the envy of all your friends as you hover six feet above the ground making dogs bark and frightening children.
MONEY SAVING TIP: Very small Tibetan singing bowls can double as thimbles.
Rumours of a new shade of pink being developed by Hubristic Hues, Professor Gordon Thinktank’s paint factory in Upper Dicker, have spread like wildfire amongst the interior decorating community. “As we speak, white-coated men wearing protective specs are working around the clock at my top secret lab on this exciting new shade.” the science supremo told us, “They are on the verge of a pigmentary breakthrough and all I can reveal is that it is somewhere between Glasgow Granite and Vuvuzela Vermillion, both now sadly discontinued due to overwhelming demand.” Puzzled, we asked Thinktank why the company decided to cease production of these two hugely popular paint lines. The inventor took me aside and whispering from the corner of his mouth told me: “Those are precisely the conditions our marketing department intended to create. Our PR team at Hubristic Hues is well versed in the art of harvesting algorithms and in this way, we are confidently able to control the minds of our customers via Facebook, Snapchat and Instagram. Once they catch a glimpse of our new, as yet unnamed shade of pink, interior decorators will be clogging our switchboards, consumed by a hankering bordering on despair.”
Sophocles, the ancient Greek genius was working on a method of marking slate with intelligible writing, and was demonstrating it by laying the slate on the ground and writing on it with chalk attached to a long stick. After some practice, he was able to produce semi-legible script, if a little on the spidery side. He asked young Eurypides, his apprentice genius, what he thought of the new device. Eurypides, a precocious and enthusiastic pupil, considered his reply carefully. “Master,” he ventured, “it is truly a wondrous invention, but with great respect, there are flaws. If we are to improve the script’s legibility, might we not position the slate at eye level, and thus eliminate the long stick?”
Sophocles frowned. “But pray tell me,” he enquired of the boy, “how on earth might we address the problem of securing the slate at such a height?”
“Easely” replied the apprentice.
Sophocles said nothing. Instead, the wise old philosopher put down his chalk-stick, carefully rolled up a heavy marble pestle inside a waxed scroll containing the recipe for an advanced form of hummus, and fetched the lad soundly around the head with it.
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