To be honest, Bob Monkhouse was never really my cup of tea, but let's hope he went in the way described in his brilliant joke:
When I go, I want to die like my grandfather, peacefully in his sleep; not screaming in terror, like his passengers.
Going swimmingly
Conversation over coffee with my friend the farmer this morning:
Me: "Did you hear in the news recently about that chap who's planning to swim round the world?"
Farmer: "Bloody hell, he will go wrinkly."
16 not out
Today saw my sixteenth annual Christmas Eve ascent of Moel Famau in North Wales. Unlike last year, it was remarkably dry, and I had company in the form of Irish Mick, his dad and Stense.
[By the way Stense/Mick, when I said it was the fifteenth anniversary this year, I wasn't so much lying as getting my maths wrong. So much for my not-so-hard-earned science degree.]
STOP PRESS: Americans finally uncover Saddam's WMDs
Chicken Pun
I know I shouldn't laugh at my own jokes, but somebody has to…
Jen and I had the following conversation this afternoon:
J: "Russell's chickens didn't lay any eggs this week, apparently."
R: "Why's that? Don't they lay eggs in cold weather or something?"
J: "I don't think so. They can get too old as well, I think—a sort of chickens' menopause."
R: "You mean a henopause?"
Getting my hair cut
"So, Richard, what do you use the internet for?"
"Oh, you know, emailing my friends, surfing, checking up on the news…"
"Wouldn't it be cheaper to turn on the telly?"
Worrall Lorra Laughs (part 2)
BBC Food Newsletter:
Rick Stein joins the Saturday Kitchen on the 2nd January where he cooks fish pie with Antony Worral Thompson and a choice of three delicious dishes.
I wonder if Rick will be using the Antony Worral Thompson Juice Extractor.
Dilemma
BBC: The ethics of executing Saddam
How do opponents of the death penalty reconcile their beliefs with the need for Saddam Hussein to face justice in an Iraqi court?
How indeed.
One good reason for not executing Saddam: to demonstrate quite clearly that, as we all know, we are better than him.
Apologies for my momentary lapse in frivolity.
Knock-knock
email to the London Review of Books:
So, Leigh Hunt had a father named Isaac, did he? Pull the other one.
Yours,
Hugh Janus
Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire
Work it out.
Celebrity
In one of the Liverpool Starbucks™ this afternoon, the chap in front of me was getting more attention than strictly necessary. I thought I recognised him from somewhere, but couldn't place the face—which I guessed meant that he must be a famous sportsman. I don't follow sport much.
"How did you get on in Superstars the other week?" asked the lad serving him. (Bingo!)
"I came third," came the reply.
So, back to the office and a quick search on the BBC website…
Ladies and gentlemen, your host has rubbed shoulders with none other than Olympic cycling gold and bronze medallist, Chris 'My Bike's Made Out of a Washing Machine' Boardman.
Mr Boardman might be a Superstar, but, as celebrity sightings go, he's hardly in the same league as Her Majesty or Philippa Forrester is he?