After weeks of being moderately careful of carbohydrate loading I missed lunch and, queuing in Sainsburys at 5.30, succumbed to the lure of a packet of five All-Butter Cookies (with chocolate and hazel nut bits). Scoffing them in a oner, I now feel bloated, slightly nauseous and very tired.
Still, it could be worse. I could be Mr Gay UK '93. Which reminds me of a snippet of conversation from last Thursday's Vauxhallville wherein I became briefly misty-eyed on the subject of early '80s girl bands, when Dawn Right Nasty played the sublime Sign Of The Times by the Belle Stars:
(It's a Song With A Spoken Bit. I like SWASBs. Is there a proper term for them? There should be.)
In my tangential meandering, I remembered the somewhat less sublime Toto Coelo hit I Eat Cannibals. Looking it up here, I rediscovered the somewhat overshadowed Milk From The Coconut and agree utterly with the YouTube poster's comment that it contains "the complete blueprint for the Spice Girls whole act". See what you think:
And, on the subject of gay male intimacy being bad for one's health, it seems the Rev Peter Mullen reckons we should have our backsides tattooed with public health warnings. Presumably in case healthy hetero blokes accidentally put their willies in there.
But, ho ho, it's all right because he's only joking! And judging from his photo, he's already been laughing on the other side of his face. A lot.
(It's okay for me to say that because it's in "the tradition of English satire".)