Meenzer

I'll never get tired of the name Scrogg Road.

Sic transit Gloria Swanson.

Tell me that's because you haven't been shopping yet and you're down to the last bits in the cupboards!? Not far wrong, actually. It was dead nice though.

There's a café by the bus stops on New Bridge Street that does a fantastic full English in a large wholemeal bap. So wrong it's completely wrong and therefore utterly right.

I'm about to have a nourishing lunch of pilchards in tomato sauce on toast with a fried egg on top. Now if that doesn't put you off your brekkie, nothing will.

http://improveverywhere.com/2008/04/07/best-game-ever/ Bless

Why not? Who? What? When? Where? Why? When did some guy learn how to sail round the world?

How's your new page going parky? He keeps trying to strike up a conversation about films with this "Tom" guy, but he never gets a reply.

Sounds like a genetically engineered Teutonic lesbian.

I think I'll start translating only the first and last 10% of each text. Nobody reads the bits in the middle anyway.

I'm in London that evening. I'd say "you know you want to", but I'm reasonably convinced you don't.

Two tickets to this: http://www.ukeurovision.com/

He knows I love him really, I just couldn't miss the opportunity for a bad pun.

By that logic, anyone who lives on the extended Tyne and Wear public transport network can be legitimately considered a Geord..... oh. mmmm Berkshire prick then. He's a prick-sure berk an' all.

By that logic, anyone who lives on the extended Tyne and Wear public transport network can be legitimately considered a Geord..... oh.

Rob would climb a mountain for a canny bag of Tudor.

"You'd have had your hands chopped off by now if this was Dubai"?

Good call.

Mallrats. Inherently awful, but I still have a lot of time for it.

We've got Michael Owen He's not Llewellyn-Bowen He's got less hair And isn't a cock

I remember going on a cracking go-karting night with the first company I worked for, over in sunny Mainz. It was pretty much the only bit of fun I ever had in 2½ years there (that didn't involve serious alcohol consumption, anyway). Admittedly, the memory was tainted a little when a trainee doctor friend later informed me that the hospital where he works "gets people in from there with shattered body parts at least once a week" - but then that might just be down to German competitiveness, because lord knows we were pootling around at speeds that your average 6-year-old would scoff at.

I freely admit I'd have a lot more time for his antics, and the media coverage thereof, if I thought his music was any cop or he was anything special as a performer. As it stands, though, I'd let him rot. Matter of taste I suppose.

Except you don't get a GCSE-equivalent qualification at the end of it all.

By all means ban the advert for being annoying as fuck, but not for that.