Some blogs I know

  • Freckles and Doubt
    Considering her mastery of narrative structure etc. (insert narrative structure here.....)
  • Trailer Park Refugee | just three shots of tequila away from a bar fight….
    Just three shots of tequila away from a bar fight...
  • Exile on Pain Street | Straddling the Hudson River. One foot in NYC, the other in suburban New Jersey.
    One man's story, etc.....
  • Fat Man on a Keyboard
    'At first they came for the smokers but I did not speak out as I did not smoke. Then they came for the binge drinkers but I said nothing as I did not binge. Now they have an obesity strategy...'
  • New York Bike Blog
  • Belgian Waffle
    Prolific? Bien sur. Waffle? Not a bit of it. The best thing to come out of Belgium since Leffe Blonde, and that is saying something.
  • Non-working monkey
    'Why taking work seriously turns you into a cock', among other lifesavingly important career advice.
  • Razorblade of life
    'Not so much cutting-edge as half-cut and still sliding'...
  • blue cat
    This blue cat fellow (he writes for the telly you know) issues forth an apparently effortless stream of grade-A funniness that has me overcome in turns by helpless laughter and shameful, powerful envy. There I've said it.
  • Joella
    Joella in Oxfordshire. Working for The Man while training to be a plumber (I think!). Loves gherkins, hates aubergines... and Fascists.
  • Bushra
    Bushra's blog/ homepage/ call it what you want
  • Dubsteps (formerly Hobo Tread)
    Thoughts of Skif, a Havant and Waterlooville fan exiled in Liverpool- possibly the most engaging non-league football writing to be found on the web- and with a little bit of politics, and plenty more beside!
  • Tired Dad
    The Man Who Very Nearly Fell Asleep
  • troubled diva.
    Mike, the self-styled 'Fairy Godmother of British Blogging'. He got us all published in a book, you know...
  • Private Secret Diary
    Dispatches from deepest Norfolk. Not that private and not that secret. Just consistently hilarious.
  • The man who fell asleep; Sadness and ecstasy in unequal measures
    The book inspired by this veteran site (A Year in the life of The Man Who Fell Asleep) features the 'sarcastic polar bears of north London' among other oddities that the author manages somehow to render absolutely plausible.
  • Pete Ashton's Internet Presence
    Birmingham's finest. Writing with enviable clarity on every subject under the sun since 2000 (a very long time indeed!). Now with added nice pictures of canals and stuff...
  • Looby
    'An awkward, clumsy fellow; a lubber; a novice'....a venerated (if refreshingly irreverent) blogging institution. Lancaster's very finest!
  • RichardHerring.com
    The comedian Richard Herring's kind of online diary thing. Always worth a visit.

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July 25, 2005



He he - very well described, although at 8am and with a slight hangover, I did momentarilty read it as being the Scottish people who were pooing on your head and stealing your chips.


I hate to disillusion you, but you must have seen the "nice bit" of Thornbury (although I wasn't aware there was one). I grew up a few miles from there. Most of the town is one bloody big housing estate.

Ah but I also grew up on scrumpy. Proper stuff, bought in plastic containers from farm kitchens. Flat, warm and green. Gets you drunk from the feet up. After five pints your head is completely clear, so you stand up and fall over 'cause your legs don't work any more. Marvellous!


Welcome back Jonathan!

"Babeh!" I love the East Midlands accent - it's great.

Proper Scrumpy in four litre containers is brilliant - we had some recently from The Fat Cat in Sheffield and it was gorgeous. Not quite as lethal as the bright orange Cheddar Valley Scrumpy served at the Anchor in Birmingham, though...


I am beginning to suspect that the so-called English countryside is a sham operation set up to part us gullible citydwellers from our hard-earned money. All these winding lanes full of red phoneboxes, Olde English Inns and village cricket greens are a mere front put up strictly for the benefit of passing tourists. The actual villagers, meanwhile, are hidden in a massive council estate behind a line of trees laughing their heads off, and merrily getting smashed out of their heads on four-litre containers of super-strength scrumpy.

How else would you explain that when I passed Thornbury village green on the way into town the scoreboard read 33 for 2 after 15 overs... and that when I passed again on the way out, the game was still in progress but it was still exactly the same score? Very damn suspicious if you ask me.


I must confess to the same momentary misreading as looby.

And here in Edinburgh we get Scots who aren't on caravan sites.(And some who are.)

If you go to any camp site in mainland Europe you will realise that the truly ubiquitous site-dweller is the Dutchman.


Goede Morgen from an organic farm in Holland! What was that about dutchmen? Yes, I think the Dutch, being a farming and wellies nation, have a hankering for the open road and the muddy field. Our plastic kettle here has an earwig in it and it's stuck in the bit that indicates how much water is in there so you can't get it out. It's a fantastic country.


Was it just me, or did anyone else read entry number 4 thinking it was another comment on the Scots who were everywhere?

Stealing fish and chips, and crapping as they went.


It wasn't just you Paul it was everybody- see comments above. In the interests of cross-border relations, let me make it quite clear that during our holidays in Devon no persons of Caledonian extraction tried either to steal our chips or crap on our heads. On the contrary, the conduct of the Scottish people we came across was quite beyond reproach. Unlike that of the seagulls, who were a right bunch of bastards.

Glittering Lee


Marvellous, marvellous fun.

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