Well,first blog since last week,quite a bits happened. At various times over the weekend I was 50 Grand up,getting shot to shit in a nettle infested trench,almost had my leg severed at the kneecap and had to help a giant fat monster headed baby to bed. It all occured in Belfast and was a fantastic event,believe it or not. Considering we only visited pretty much one bar and had to try and organise ourselves,30 odd of us,into a cohesive stag party it was immense. Special mention has to go to Ian Dunn who had all bases covered and whose organisational ability is second to none. Chris Dunn dressed as a giant banana,Nathan Thompson went green,threats were made in an anti British bar,ex IRA showed us their scars and Marky Bonham tried under age molesting whilst technically "asleep". Belfast,or what we saw of it,appears to be over the majority of its troubles in the main,as the taxi driver from the airport pointed out where the peace wall was/is. The flight is supposed to last about 50 mins but in reality lasted about 35-40,just enough time for a stubby can. I was astounded the plane took off at all given the weight was shifted toward the rear of the cabin with so many larger gentlemen,fat arses,giant nostrils,ten storey faces and massive jaws. Paintballing was class, with the other team only sneakin it due to Slippys constant cheating. I have to say the honesty displayed by my team was a credit to humanity. Friday night became a bit of a blur for most,and it turned out to be for Bonham also,who only marginally avoided the register and jail time. Saturday in Benedicts was good crack until the atmosphere got edgy and a few of us had to lug a mortal Fat head Dunn into a taxi and back to the hotel. I was two footed in the lift,and found it amazing that such a heavy drunken person could produce that energy. I also found it astounding as to how quickly Nostrils moved when anticipating Anthony cahrging into the hotel room toward us,with yours truly just managing to avoid severe spinal damage. How Ian Dunn restrained himself I dont know,although he did wear his gritted teeth down to the gums when we had to take Andy to bed later that evening. Sunday was good watchin the match,and Sunday evening better with Span falling foul of the dodgy scratchcards,his was only 25 grand however. I still dont think I've recovered, and I just want to say now that Wally,it was me shooting you in the back of the head teehee...oh and my bags washed minus Nathans puke.

So Jose's left and,whatever opinion you had of him,the premierships not going to be as interesting. I particularly liked his Egg analogy,the last nonsensical comments af a condemned man probably,although I'd have went out in a blaze of glory,not free range bollocks. If it were me I'd have rolled Avram Grant in some giant pastry,cooked him some class one eggs,force fed him mustard and made Shevchenko and Abramovich watch on a big hostage screen, "EAT IT GRANT,EAT MY EGG MUSTARD YOU...ISRAELI." Other major news,as far as I can tell,is that weathergirl Sian Lloyd has won 'Rear of the Year'. This is one in the four eyes of Lembit "cheeky girl chaser" Opik,the Liberal Democrat freak that famously dumped Lloyd for one of the Romanian stick gargoyles. The cheeky girls were famous for their arses,so the irony is MASSIVE. Personally I'd go for Lloyds arse anyday,it looks alright in the Metro paper,and I dislike most poloticians but literally Despise that smarmy fuckin cretin. OJ's back in the dock again,hilariously as it turns out this time. I was present at his original trial for murder and believe him to be innocent... theres no way he left that huge log in the toilet,he was on the witness stand at the time. It was me,and I was proud to call it my child,eyes of sweetcorn,smile of brown vein. Must go,the kid from the exorcist that sits next to me has just projectiled a load of shit crack my direction. I once called him Craig but hes really called Martin. Peace up,A Town down...

Fresh from my hat trick heroics yesterday,I stumbled into work feeling rough and realising that Im here until 9pm. What a frustrating place this is,with the exception of a few,no one amuses me,they all have massive faces and everything they do annoys me. It stinks in here,someones left a dead grapefruit under a small persons chair and he just did enough with the weight behind him to squash it. Northern Rock customers are going mental I see,they sponsor Newcastle so they were always destined to implode at some point. I heard that it wasn't to do with sustainable mortgage rates,or backing from the Bank of England but actually to do with Immigrants. Apparently theres that many of them in the country now they had to live in the vaults of Northern Rock like Human Scrooge McDucks,making fires with peoples savings. What does Gordon Browns government do about this? Raise the amount of subs I pay for the Turks Head,inflation and taxation,the two priorities and always will be.TEE HEE

F1 fined Mclaren 50 million,depending on what you read,some papers suggest 100 million for 'spying' basically. They had technical information belonging to Ferrari,how do they utilise this info? My sources tell me they used it to create a super brain,a hybrid of minds designed to make the worlds first love machine. They'd codenamed it 'FC Bad Wind Baby.' I think we can be thankful F1 got in and nipped it in the bud before we all succumb to the love machine. Keith Gillespie and George McCartney were brawling on the flight back from Iceland. Gillespie scored a last minute own goal, Northern Ireland lost 2-1. Apparently Gillespie traded the first blow,reaching across to punch McCartney in the head. Shouldn't this have been the other way round? Gillespie has possibly ruined his sides hopes of qualifying for Euro 2008,and although I wouldn't condone it,the squad should have attached Keith to the landing gear. It was Gillespie who was famously clocked by Shearer in Dublin. He wound the big man up by constantly flicking bottle tops at him. I used to have a nasty habit of winding people up via flicking blue tac into their hair. Sick though it was,I enjoyed the pain on their respective faces as they tore the blue tac out,along with half the hair from their scalps. I wouldn't dream of doing such childish things now,although I am partial to the odd cheeky trick now and again...

Page 3 of THE SUN,aside from the usual,has a picture of Madonna walking with a "purple penetrator" in a see through bag. What kind of message is this sending to people,that the Queen of Pop is banging away at herself listening to Def Leppards "Animal?" Hope so. Big game tonight. Im Mclarens biggest critic,theres a canny few of them,but you have to say he decent sized balls to play both Heskey and Barry on Sat,lets hope he hasnt emptied them since then. A lot of people say to me "Glenda" for 'tis one of my many pseudonyms,they say "Glenda, have you any tales from your time in the Delta?"
"Plenty," I usually reply with great gusto,"particularly the time I rescued 5 sand monkeys from the clutches of Dr Yachtgrape. They were precious and sacred to the Yogurt tribe of East Delta,creating great friction among the masses. Sand monkeys are the only monkeys that can give the time to the exact millisecond,therefore making them invaluable to the Yogurts. I resolved the situation by harpooning Dr Yachtgrape through the foreface,his one weakness." More tales of secular injustice at a later state.

I really feel for Andy Roddick with his mother now dead. Rather embarrassing for Gordon Brown at the TUC Conference,breaking wind in front of Union Leaders,he blamed it on an unruly Whistle Blower in the front row.Everyone knows it was really the PM because of the accent.Reminds me of the time I tripped over the disabled rail in front of a packed showing of 'Billy Elliot', resulting in my hand coming into contact with someones delicious Ben n Jerry's.True story from the brizzle of Maythoughts.Except I didnt blame it on a trade unionist gobfloater,just the disabled rails lifelike qualities,and it was dark,the film was into its opening credits.I think it started with a gun toting florist,which startled me into stumbling,and then a squeal of pain from a malted Sheriff,or was it Omar SHARIF,cant remember too well now. Someones just spilt Coke on my ankle walking round a blind corner at work.He said "sorry mate". "All very well, but sorry's not going to bring back ankle dryness," I should have said. Think i'll wait until tomorrow before lowering his chair and salting his coffee, he may be suspicious of Coke Ankle Boy. Think thats what my alias will be when pranking waterbed salesmen from now on in.Over and in d oubt

Twisted little creatures,dont know who they were/are, tipped the wheelie bin over. No doubt its the same sick pick n mix wrecking balls that place chocolate covered peanuts in the chocolate covered raisin pot,could well be the same person.Im tired today,drained in fact,drained of all blood from my ears,they appear white and lifeless.Anita Roddick,bodyshop tycoon has died.Famous people die in three's they say,though I wouldn't wish it upon anyone, I wonder who's next.You could run a giant sweep on it,id probably draw a child prodigy,given the gift of eternal life for Christmas.Britney Spears eh?shambles.I could have crawled inside myself and died watching her out of lip sync shite at the MTV Video awards.I've had toe nail clippings with better comebacks than that.I'd like the hand of a dead celebrity to grow in my brain garden.I'd shake its decrepid fingers and laugh at times gone by.Better leave it 'til later as Im gaining boredom points and starting write nonsense.Wouldnt want this blog to be too lovely and jungley.

The Russians are obsessed with skirting our airspace.What are they doing man,flexing their Vodka faces left right and centre. This is going to lead to something big and scary,like a giant dog made entirely of cheesecake,even if it would appear delicious.Dunny licks his 1% crack. Im not too concerned at the moment, im worried about corrupt mattel toys, they give kids lead poisoning. My budgie I had years ago nibbled at some lead on the stained glass window in the back room, we found it on the bottom of the cage on its back stone cold dead the next morning. Quite upsetting at the time I recall.Theres this freak sitting across the room from me who answers the phone thus, "good afternoon is mrs ..... there please?im calling from Ge in Newcastle,ME names ian", he smiles like a paedophile and cant keep his loud face quiet for two bastad minutes.I think hes challenged chromosome wise, apologies for the crudeness.If Hughes reads this he's similar to Dan Porter facially and gramatically, and probably also recreationally...sniff.Its all go here so have to leave you, someones placed a tramps severed head under my desk in a particularly morbid prank.Heres a question,how do you dispose of a tramps head without attracting attention and without looking like your bothered about it to the person who pranked you? Taxing on the brain like Gordon Brown on cigarellos

Page 9 of THE SUN,"Pete Doherty's Cat's on Crack", great.Presumably we can expect a spate of headlines condemning his cat to death at least twiice a week, with the odd report of failed cat rehab,he say "miaow miaow miaow." Did you know that Teddy Roosevelt is the only person to win both the Nobel Prize and the US' highest award for war. Totally unrelated matter,crocs are deadly, and i'm not talking about the gater variety. Rubber crocs are causing so much friction in Hospitals that they are affecting the instruments with static electricity. This is just another example of THE SUN et al attempting to place the fear of god into us about anything, American style, no offence, unless Michael Moore's been exadurating. At work, the most annoying thing about it being that some people aren't. I'd love to be able to watch A Place in the sun or UK TV History's Rome Season in the comfort of my own living quarters. Over and out for now

Pavarotti died today.I've always wondered what it would be like to interrupt one of his afternoon naps.Apparently he used to hate it and would sweat profusely during and after nap time. Saw pictures of his wife and child in the Metro paper,his wife was typically much younger than him and his child wasn't fat or blasting out some Italian tenor vibrato. Credit where its due for Nessun Dorma mind, I still prefer a bit tranquillity with Claude Debussy's piano concerto's. Other big news was The Sun picturing Stevie Gerrards big toe and inviting everyone to rub their big toes on it, hoping by some kind of bizarre osmosis to heal its brokeness. Basically the same healing powers used on Beckham and Rooney in the past, it worked but we all know the eventual outcome, one of them being used to joyously trample over Ricardo Carvahlo's testicles. Anyone who got me text or stumbled upon this should also sign up to be a blogger,its actually quite refreshing.