Compromised Principals Syndrome (CPS).

Refreshing to see that even the World of Blog is not immune from our ever growing (out of control, like a cancer and so on...) litigation culture, with threats of legal action being bandied about like seagull poo, at the moment.
And people seem so proud that they currently have this weapon of ultimate defence/attack at their disposal. They also seem quite proud that the house they bought in 1995 for £50,000 is now worth over £200,000.
Why?
Because the same people that instigated all of this (solicitors, estate agents, building societies, government), stand to make heaps of cash out of it, so it's been 'sold' to us as the way forward?
Surely not, you say!
Well I, for one, don't believe that it has as much to do with improving my quality of life, as theirs.

And besides, what use would a World, where everyone has had their arses sued off, be to me?!

Raiding Party.

Not normally one for turning up anywhere, uninvited (except, maybe, ECR's blog, but I don't think he minds as much as he makes out), I found myself tagging along with a handfull of revellers to a party they were going to, in Ramsgate, last night.
I thought I'd inadvertently stumbled across Narnia, when I got there.
As it turned out, it was a fancy dress party with a 1940's theme.
I've been to a few of those, in Birchington, but they call them Nostalgia Parties, here.
Anyway, to cut a short story, long, I met this lovely young stud called Jamie who was wearing the most stunning hat, and I think I may be in love!
I also met, oddly enough, a collection of some of the tallest people I'd ever seen in one place.

I think I may also still be a bit pissed!

That Ramsgate, it seems, is quite a fun place to be and I really think it's time to haul my cute ass over to visit some of their estate agents.

Going Under Cover!

What with all this publicity that I've been getting of late, winning an award in a semi-national paper (some of them get recycled in Bradford) and being sued for libel by Canadian lawyers, I think I may have to disguise myself a little better, as I don't think that sunglasses will cut it now that the heat is on.
So, let's hope that this does the trick!

Up To My Balls In A Dyke.

As happens, from time to time, this week saw me going on a huge bender (not for the first time, though I'm not condoning obesity) and ending up lodged in a muddy crevice (no stranger to that, either).
One of those things that starts off gently enough, as a couple of drinks with a few friends, and then goes on and on and on. And as we all know, I'm sure, it's going to end up with someone looking pretty stupid (usually me) but the booze kinda negates the worry of that.
And I know it may seem like 'closing the door after the horse has bolted' but I think I'll be shunting off to our local fishing tackle shop today, to invest in a pair of waders, should I decide to shortcut through the countryside, pissed, on future occasions. They could come in useful for some of the messier encounters with 'friends', that also happen from time to time, to boot (pun intended)!

Right, where's that bloody Alka Selzer?

Stumped Bailes!

As a few of you have astutely pointed out, there is a possibility that I may be related to another blogger who lives quite close to me. In fact, were any of you to take the trouble of venturing over to this side of the island, you may even discover that the plot is a tad thicker than that!
Ashamed as I am to admit it, inbreeding has been quietly prevalent in these parts for many years.
Anyone that has any doubts about that need only pop up here, after the pubs chuck out, to witness The Half-Brother Army kicking the crap out of everything and the bemused yelps of disappointment when tin, scrumpy cider and other precious things are not given forth in response.
So it came as no surprise to me when The Andrex Times completely overlooked this, as it's my firm belief that their entire staff is similarly blighted and, therefore, unable to spot that anything may be amiss.

I can't help thinking that if everyone were a bit more like me, we could prevent this horror from being passed on to the next generation!

Am I Nick Dorman?

I've been asked that before, some time ago, and now, what with all this nonsense in The Times that stinks to high Heaven of nepotism, I find myself asking that same question OF myself!
Ever the optimist, though, I could console myself with killing two birds with one stone and and 'go fuck myself', were it true, which I'm pretty sure it isn't... er, I hope!
Anyway, I must fly. The self-publication machine waits for no man!

Crap!!! I hope that doesn't mean that I'm Simon Moores, too!

Under The Doctor!

Leafing through one of The Adscene Groups' lesser publications (such a shame that they don't offer alternatives) today, I was a little surprised to find my face splashed across the front of it! Well, the front of page 9, anyway. There was I, squeezed underneath one of our prettier, fellow Northcoasters who was, in turn, sqeezed in under that dishy schollboy from the edge of teh known World, Ramsgate.

I could think of worse places to be!

If I'm to be ripped apart by the good doctor, I'd much rather be underneath him when he does it. I certainly wouldn't want to be ripped apart by his rapier wit, a sad fate which befell ECR, only last year!