Tuesday, October 21, 2008

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Beans

I consider myself a reasonably intelligent chap, but there’s something that baffles me. It’s a puzzlement over my recently-diagnosed lactose intolerant wife’s purchase of a carton of Alpro Soya Milk: how on earth do they make milk out of beans? Look at the picture, they’re beans. And they make milk out of them… What’s that all about?

God Lives In Mysterious Ways

Bit of a strange story on the Beeb the other day about a US judge throwing out a court case brought against God on the basis that the defendant doesn’t have an address (and therefore legal papers can’t be served). Perhaps a better reason would be because the defendant doesn’t actually exist, but there you go.

I’m not entirely sure I agree with Judge Marlon Polk’s reasoning though, as technically therefore, any homeless person is free to commit crime without fear of retribution. Additionally, as any good Christian will testify, God is omnipotent and is thereby surely a resident of every domicile worldwide, from the lowliest straw hut to the most opulent mansion. You could pick an address at random out of the phone book and he’s bound to be living there, no doubt helping himself to tea and biscuits in front of The Antiques Roadshow when everyone’s out.

I’m not sure where God lives in my house cos I’ve never seen him, but I suspect he’s under the stairs where we hang our coats and kick off our shoes. On the other hand, maybe he doesn’t exist at all and we haven’t got an imaginary lodger capable of raining down fire and brimstone upon our heads when his godly duties are interrupted, which is just as well given the amount of pairs of wellies or leather brogues constantly belting him in the face.

The Usurping of Butch Gok

It was while watching Alan Carr’s Celebrity Ding Dong the other night that the following conversation took place twixt my wondrous other half and I:

“I wish he was my best friend,” she wistfully proclaimed.
“I thought you wanted Gok Wan to be your best friend?” I replied.
“Nah, he’s not camp enough.”

It seems that Gok, despite registering a respectable 8.2 on the Campometer, has been out-gayed by a toothier rival. They should be forced to fight it out.

Thursday, October 02, 2008


There’s an ad that’s been on telly for a little while now, though I remain confused (and more than a little disturbed).

Premier Travel Inn’s Lenny Henry-endorsed campaign is difficult viewing enough – watching him sell his soul to the god of celebrity endorsements in a piss-poor set-to that reeks of the finest Stilton – but, unsettlingly, his companion is a small toy duck who he bathes with and takes to dinner (even going so far as to order him/her/it bread).

What happens after dinner is anyone’s guess, though the image of Lenny Henry nobbing a small plastic waterfowl in a motorway service station hotel isn’t one that encourages me to spend a night there, even given the promise of a “small time” bill.

I suppose after seeing Dawn French in the buff, I suppose anything’s going to look good.