Foot in hand

Hello it's me. I've leapt like a squirrel onto a brand new blogsite. The branches are a little bit wobbly, but I am defying the laws of gravity. Look at my swishy tail. Oh, hello - have you got nuts?

So yeah, look at that big fish about to bite a man's head off. What does that say to you? Oh, right, OK - no don't worry - that's fine. I welcome all comments, comets and comedians (but I draw the line at Corinthians and caricatures - sorry, but I am a seething mass of prejudice and I just can't hide it).

So, what's this all about? Well, truth be known, I don't have a fucking clue - oh yeah - that's another thing - I'm allowed to swear here because...because I really love your tiger feet. And that's neat. When I sliced Neppytune with a breadknife some people said, 'Jolly good show!' whilst others raised one hell of a hullabaloo by saying, 'S'tut'. One person said, 'Can I be frank with you?' and I said, 'You can call me Betty,' and he hung up. I called back and said, 'Go on then, say what you mean,' and he said, 'Nobody gives a fiddler's fart what you do everyday - it's duller than dullsville on a dull Sunday afternoon - so write other stuff.' I said, 'Mmmm - let me think about it.' So I did. I thought. And now this. Hang on a sec - my foot is on fire.

Trouble is, I'm in such a habit of recounting the mundane detail of what I've been up to, I don't really know where to start. I will, I think, talk about the things I do that you might find interesting - but I won't, for example, tell you what I had for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Are you comfortable with that? We'll see how it goes shall we.

Yesterday I took up the bagpipes and put out the rubbish. It all happened so fast.