My stats are telling me that I am super popular in Germany and that views of this blog site have gone up 3,210% thanks to my German fans!!! Or a server based in Germany, who knows? In any case I thought I would welcome my new viewers and ask: Who sent you here???? Are you here for calligraphy??? Are you here for my ingenious prose? Should I ask this in German???? Okay then….
Meine Statistiken zeigen, dass ich in Deutschland super beliebt bin und die Aufrufe dieser Blog-Seite dank meiner deutschen Fans um 3,210 % gestiegen sind!!! Oder vielleicht auch wegen eines Servers in Deutschland, wer weiß? Jedenfalls dachte ich, ich begrüße meine neuen Besucher und frage: Wer hat euch hierher geschickt? Seid ihr wegen der Kalligrafie hier? Seid ihr wegen meiner genialen Prosa hier? Soll ich das auf Deutsch fragen? Na gut…
Curtesy of Google Translate, cos I don’t know any German.
Meanwhile, apologies to my loyal chums who generally stick with me through thick and thin. It has been too hot to do much other than stand on cold tiles and whinge about being too hot. I will try to catch up with my blog reading at the weekend, or later today.
All this talk about Scottish Widows has reminded me of this old advert post, published on my original blog in 2011, and then given another airing on this blog in 2016. 2016 was a long time ago wasn’t it? I can air it again.
Due to the sluggish financial market, staff at the Halifax have little to do. They are under strict instruction to only authorise two mortgages per year, and can only lend to people who don’t need loans. The financial advisers have all been made redundant, leaving the entire operation propped up by overenthusiastic members of the catering team. To improve morale staff have been authorised to set up a radio station in the basement of an NCP car park in Brewer’s Lane, London. They broadcast daily, via telegraphic transfer, to five mountain goats, three pigeons, and a lama in Suffolk.
Scottish widow Sandy and Co-operative Carol provide an entertaining breakfast show. They are a tight knit team. Originally they bonded over unit banking, which naturally progressed to a mutual interest investing their extra digits in hedge funds. Alas, they are so enamoured by one another that they have failed to notice the potential threat of a hostile takeover bid from tea boy, Derek. He has coveted their breakfast slots from afar and, in a spiteful effort to remove the women from the helm, he has sabotaged Sandy’s liquid assets. He completes this arm’s length transaction by passing Sandy her mug, the compromised handle breaks causing hot tea to spill across the mixing desk. Unfortunately for Derek it appears that Carol and Sandy are unfazed by life’s little dramas, after all they have each other, meaning that any accelerated depreciation is negligible. They smile sweetly and, still laughing, still singing from the same spreadsheet, they tell Derek that life is better with a beaver.
I have edited the hell out of this old post – if I ever publish it again it’ll probably be reduced 3 sentences and a photo of a cat.
….with a nice knitting pattern resulting in World peace. In September 2022 Devine was coerced into a writing collaboration with Ms Scarlet Ambrosia Blue [1917 – ?]. This arrangement proved to be beneficial for them both as each time a new instalment was published readers would clamour to their blogs desperate to be the first to leave a pithy insightful comment, and perhaps be instrumental to furthering the plot. However, the collaboration was short lived and ended when Blue cried foul play. During the climax of their epic adventure Devine turned Blue into a mouse thus rendering her a mere squeak in the Blogosphere. With hindsight it is clear that Blue was suffering from the delusions that would later become the inspiration for her Mogwashian Opus [paperback only – £0.99, Amazon] – as with all of Blue’s work it contained too many commas, lacked a perceivable structure and a satisfactory conclusion, and, to make matters worse, it had an irrelevant, long-winded chapter about using cheese as an insulation material.
In March 2023 Inexplicably Devine had another birthday, specifically on the 22nd March, although it was seen to spread well into April, and popped up again in both August and November for an encore. By this time Devine was at his most creative and influential; aided and abetted by his new familiar, Bertie, Devine found fresh impetus to watch science-fiction based visual media whilst ensconced on a long upholstered seat with a back and arms that provided physical ease and relaxation. It was from this place of comfort that Devine was kidnapped and then trapped in what he colourfully described as the ‘Rubber Ducky Room’. This room would become the blueprint for Devine’s much lauded….
Wilmslow, Peter (2036) Blog Communities, The Early Years, Vermilion Press
Phew! Wot a scorcher, etc, etc… I am a day late with my promised post, apologies, but I am still wafting aimlessly, and playing around with my curtains/windows as per my last post. It is exhausting.
And, speaking of my last post, Mr Mags enquired about the background paper that I use in my collage photographs. It is this:-
Back in 2012, or thereabouts, I decided it would be a challenge to paint some text from my favourite book – a book that always makes me laugh until tears are streaming down my cheeks and I am reduced to a hiccuping mess on the floor. It is this book:-
I originally bought it for my Dad when I was about 10, and didn’t quite understand it like I understand it today. It is a collection of misprints from the world’s press. And I can’t even read the cover without snorting and getting a stitch in my side.
The clipping I was trying to paint was this one:-
I will zoom in…
I was trying to paint it so that I captured the print quality, and failed miserably. Sadly, today’s press is digital and therefore news-sites are less likely to make such comical errors, however this didn’t stop me from reading this morning that Unicorns Warn on Cost of Living Crisis….
t is Christmas Eve, and I have decided that I will start a new Wonky Words Christmas tradition. From now on I will publish this old post every Christmas Eve to herald the festivities.
I really am spoiling you…
Here we see Darren. He is hoping to be selected as an ambassador for the Littlehampton Confectionery Display Team. He is submitting one of the finest examples of his work in their annual ‘Exposure’ competition. It is a grand affair. It is held in a disused caravan park close to Southend pier, and display enthusiasts come from far and wide to exhibit their elaborate confection. For example, competitor Annie has flown in from Amsterdam and has done something gratuitous with a fudge finger fan, whilst Gavin from Gateshead [the winner in 2006] has been imaginative with a Toffee Crisp and an artfully adapted 12 inch Twirl; Maggie, a mother of three [the winner in 1908, but never since] has chosen a minimalist/conceptual approach – her piece is entitled ‘Red Smartie with Toothpick’.
So far the judges have been less than impressed with the entrées, but Darren is confident that he can lick his rivals. Darren has a secret. Darren has balls, golden balls, and he knows how to arrange them. He waits in the wings as poor Simon, a professional kitchen fitter from Stevenage, sobs and stumbles from the judging panel after his Sherbert Fountain fails to font, and his Lion Bar goes limp.
Darren feels the tension rising – his moment has arrived, he takes a deep breath and walks into the spotlight. His golden balls are piled pyramid high upon a silver platter creating a sophisticated yet captivating display that brings the essence of Egypt to Essex. Darren stands proud. It has only taken a smidgeon of superglue to keep everything erect.
Alas, Darren is unaware of the envious Maggie who will do anything to win, and from the wings she gives Darren an almighty shove sending his nutty nibbles into orbit to splatter down upon the judges heads. Horrified, Judge Erica picks golden nuts from her hair, and exclaims, ‘With your display you are soiling us!’.
Darren hangs his head in shame, but he is not downhearted. There is always next year when he is planning an ambitious assemblage with Annie, they are hoping to cause an extravagance of good taste with a giant curly wurly and a custard cream flan.
First published on the Scarlet Blue Archive 8th January 2010 12:45 BST
Here we see Louise, she’s been feeling a bit dowdy lately having recently been dumped by her boyfriend; for the past week she’s been holed up in her bedroom scoffing chocolate and peanut butter sandwiches. She’s also been devouring self-help books, her two favourites being, ‘How To Get More Than Even’ and ‘Men Are From An Entirely Different Planet Altogether’. To cheer herself up, and to help her face the world again, Louise has decided that she needs a make-over. It only takes five hours, three boxes of Nice’n Easy Natural Baby Blonde, and forty-five ruined towels to turn Louise’s mousy brown locks into a brillo pad of ginger. Louise sobs, wishing she’d done a strand test first as per the instructions on the box, but who ever does? She spends the rest of the evening drinking neat gin and avoiding her reflection in the mirror. In the morning she awakes, still slightly sloshed, but remembers that her Dad keeps a selection of wigs in his dressing-up box. She chooses ‘The Cher’, in natural nylon – it’s bright red, but what the heck it’s better than the ginger brillo. She tops off her new look with a pink crochet beret. Feeling a shade braver she heads out the door to her local salon, hoping against hope that they can fix the damage. On her way she passes a shoe shop and is transfixed by a pair of red stilettos in the window, but there, looming behind the display, is Catty-Mean-Mouth-Bitch-Face-Fanny – the last person you want to see when you’re feeling less than your best. Louise, still fuelled by gin, whips off her beret and tosses her mane of nylon cherry red hair; she struts into the shop and she buys those shoes [you go girl]. We see her striding up the High Street to the salon like a graceful 7ft pillar box on a trolley, towering over all other pedestrians.
At the salon, Terry, who studied ‘Directional Hair Design with Pubic Topiary’ at Southend Tech, transforms her matted bush of ginger into a halo of golden blonde [amazing what can be achieved with industrial bleach, hair straighteners, and a pot of VO5]. Louise smiles at her reflection in the mirror, and it is in this moment she realises that life is never Nice’n Easy; Louise winks at Terry, and resolves that from now on she’s going to be easy’n nice….
Wonky Words 