The worst thing in the world

Today's picture is slightly clever, even if I say so myself. It took quite a bit of setting up, but that's okay because I was angry at the time, and I needed to channel my rage into something. It was either: kick Clinton, next door's ugly cat; totally trash my bedroom (but that would have meant tidying up afterwards); or build a complicated model shot for a photo for my blog.

Look closely at the picture. You might think that's a full-size toilet with a person sitting on it, but it's actually just a miniature and the person is an Action Man. Or it would be if I had one. Instead, it's a Shrek doll from Poundland which I painted pink so it would look like a real person.

The picture, of course, illustrates the worst thing that can happen in the world. Desperate for a dump, you plop yourself down and go about your business. Soon there's a sigh of contentment at a job well done, and the icing on the cake is the ritual wiping of the rear.

What a comedown then to find that the bog roll's run out and there's nothing else to hand. This is what happened to me this morning. The only explanation is that the previous occupant was far too lazy and selfish to replace it for the next one in the loo.

And who committed this heinous crime? It has to be my sister, Nadine. Arrgh! She's the pits! She drives me stark, staring bonkers she does! Gnnnhhh!

Now that I've got that off my chest, it's time to paint Shrek green again so that I can flog him on eBay. Watch out for it. I'll be listing it under: 'Shrek doll, as featured on my brilliant, popular blog'.

Noise annoys

Last week, I wrote about my sister, Nadine, and the band she’s in called Dental Treatment. I’ve only seen them perform a couple of times, and it’s a couple of times too many, believe me!

The last time I saw them was at the Boardwalk in town. I happened to take my camera with me, and I’m glad I did ‘cause I got this snap of the support act.

Dental Treatment is what you would call a heavy metal band (though I’m tempted to call them something else!), so you might find it surprising that their warm-up artist was an accordion player.

Well, Dental Treatment found it surprising as well! They hadn’t booked a support act. They were just about to walk on stage when up popped this person who led the audience in two rousing verses of ‘We all live in a yellow submarine’.

Turns out it was a bloke called Kevin, an estate agent by day but a female impersonator by night. Kevin specialises in gatecrashing gigs and pub concerts and marching up to the stage to steal all the limelight.

But the staff of the Boardwalk were having none of it. Just seconds after this picture was taken, two burly bouncers got Kevin in a headlock, escorted him to the stage door, and chucked him out onto the pavement. The wailing his accordion made when he landed on it was ear-piercing.

But it still wasn’t as bad as the concert that followed. My ears are still ringing…

Sandwich short of a picnic

Sorry about the blurry photo. I took it from the window of the car while Dad was driving.

It’s a sandwich shop, in case you hadn’t figured it out. But I didn’t take the photo ‘cause I’m a big fan of sandwiches … although I do like the occasional cheese and marmalade on a bit of brown bread.

No, I took it because the name reminded me of my annoying older sister, Nadine.

She’s not a big fan of sandwiches either, she’s not short and she doesn’t go for picnics. But put all those words together – ‘sandwich short of a picnic’ – and you’ve summed her up perfectly.

I blame it on her headphones. She’s always listening to music full blast in her room. It can’t do her brain any good.

She’s also in a band. Dental Treatment they call themselves. I reckon it’s ‘cause listening to them is more painful than having your teeth done.

Nadine doesn’t like me, but that’s okay because I don’t like her either.

That’s more than enough about Nadine. Next time I’ll write about something more cheerful, like swine flu or piles.

Every town has a Boris

This is Boris. Every town has a Boris.

You know: someone slightly odd. Someone who roams the streets alone, laughing, shouting and having an imaginary conversation with a person who’s clearly not there.

Someone you cross the road to avoid, because you know that his cheery, mild-mannered exterior is likely to turn nasty at any moment, for no apparent reason.

For just breathing, coughing, scratching your nose, or daring to overtake on the pavement, your town’s Boris might hurl the worst form of verbal abuse at you, or even lunge out with his fist.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he would turn back to his imaginary friend and continue his light-hearted banter about buses, sprouts, flat-pack furniture … or anything.

Of course, he might not be called Boris. Your town’s odd person could go by another name … or you may not know his name at all.

Truth be told, I don’t know for certain if Boris is our odd person’s name, but he looks like a Boris, don’t you think?

He specialises in limping up and down our high street, bellowing: ‘Seed plants! Seed plants!’ Don’t ask me why. Maybe he comes from an agricultural background?

He also chucks clothes pegs at anyone that annoys him, which happens quite a lot. He’s an expert shot, so do watch out.

Maybe you have a Boris in your town. Tell me about him (or her) by leaving a comment below.