*Bob*

Hats off to Alexandra for her masterclass in miming too.

Shopping for rugs.

I'm 'down with' the usual rug routes. Ikea-types are fine for a quick fix but are a little coarse underfoot and destined for the bin within a few years. There's John Lewis, them up to Heals and Pervs and SCP etc, but was just wondering if I've missed anywhere obvious?

Rugs. The ones that go on the floor, not on your head. BIG rugs. Any ideas for where you might go to see and buy a really big rug? 3m x 4m sort-of size. Shaggy, bobbly, roll-aroundy ones, not the Turkish brothel type. Cash waiting. Thanks.

As long as you remember to log-out and delete the browser history you should be ok. I won't tell.

Did you snoop for pictures of your ex-girlfriends on Facebook before your trip down musical memory lane, or after?

Brendan Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > Is this the punk rock thread? It's the impending mid-life crisis thread.

Nice of Dannii to 'out' one of the contestants on live television last night as well. Nice touch, Dannii.

Not like back in my day, when we had proper talented acts involving brothers, like Bros, who were incredibly talented and not annoying or ridiculous at all.

Is that a track from their second album, Melancholic Googling At 2am?

Think of it as a two week flash-mobbing. It could be a win-win situation: We get somewhere to hole-up. They get more than four posts in a week, for a change.

Temporary Accommodation from the 15th? See you there.

Much fuss is made of 'the dreaded piss drip' by gentlemen up and down the land as they religiously shake, rattle, throttle, thwack, milk, knead and jiggle their Old Chaps in an effort to get a dry put-away. It is ALWAYS in vain. It's one of nature's cruel jokes. In any case (a bit of trivia for the ladies here) as anyone who has ever visited a urinal wearing mildly absorbent trousers of a particular colour - or flip-flops - will tell you: most men in pubs are probably wearing half a pint of piss anyway.

Buttons Vs Zips.. for men, I believe it all comes down to Sex. Sex.. and Piss. As regards the piss aspect, the zip offers unbeatable cock access - especially important when using a public facility, where you don't really want to be hanging about staring at a slowly-draining pool of your own urine as a queue forms behind you (pretending not to be watching as you fumble as you with buttons like amateur). But everyone knows buttons are sexier. Pulling a zipper down is a risibly Carry-On experience for both parties - it's no way to get the ball rolling. But the slow popping of buttons..? (Perhaps accompanied a stray hand furtively burrowing into an underwired bra).. now that's class.

Sorry about that, Jeremy - I should have knocked.

He only says he wants to marry you. But he only really wants to screw you.

We're not married - though I am under considerable pressure* to get married. *from David Cameron

This is weird: Last Saturday morning, I got a selection of tools out of the toolbox in the cellar, with the intention of repairing a broken door handle - and placed them on the kitchen table, next to the fruit bowl. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I didn't repair the door handle, electing instead to sit in the garden, then open some wine, watch X-Factor and then go to bed. The next morning, the tools were no longer next to the fruit bowl - they had been put in a carrier bag and thrown down the stair back into the cellar. This has happened on several occasions now. Freaky or WHAT?

???? Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > Nice to see the prejudice that Essex is a hot bed > of prejudice continuing if everyone wants to get > impossibly sensitive. Fair enough.. 'Tony' is from Sevenoaks in Kent, another hotbed of prejudice.

I can't think of many other occasions where people demand the right to behave in exactly the same way they did when they were a child and didn't know any better - but this one seems to come back time and time again. Perhaps tomorrow I'll start the day with fifteen minute tantrum about which cereal to have, pull the legs off a few spiders, wee my pants, eat a mouthful of soil and then go down the Paki shop.

You can bet your bottom Rupee that one 'Paki' which 'just slips out' of Anton's mouth on an off-camera moment equals another thousand you haven't heard about. You either say these things, or you don't. And he does. So goodbye Anton Du Beck, top telly dancer with a impish sense of fun, hello Tony Beck from Essex, going down the 'Paki shop'. Urgh.

Well, as you say - it is free. But then so is crushing the heads of a spare box of Bryant & May and using them to set fire to your pubic hair. Proof - if any were needed - that free does not necesarily mean 'worth doing'.

Never heard of 'em

Thanks for that, Sean.

He who hesitates, Rodney.. alas, it was not to be. There were two tickets to be sold in any case, and only one of me = second choice. At least I still have my memories. And the records, of course.