Ted Max

I was once mugged* for a Wimpy burger and fries. This was in the days before iPhones obviously ? teenagers had to be creative with their petty street crime in those days. (*my assailant was white, with cross eyes and acne, just in case the racist sleuths of the EDF would like to update their speadsheets)

Simmer the chicken first, in water. Then you have your chicken stock to simmer the sausages in. HTH. FFS.

Thanks for this Giggirl. Hope he's back posting his usual cobblers soon.

Let's nail the important issues. I'm not as keen on the Wm Rose sausage as many others seem to be. Hope this helps.

LEAVE THE IMAGE JUST AS IT IS.

I'm like: maybe describing religion as ridiculous mumbo jumbo is more offensive (and patronising, which as we all know is the worst thing you can be on the EDF) to the faithful than condemning those who have abused that faith and trust. (But then I don't really give a toss about the abuse, it's just a convenient pretext for me to give free reign to my existing anti-Papist prejudices. Not too keen on the Jews either, natch, which is why you won't find me starting threads about those power-mad c*nts who recruit young girls and boys, strap explosives to them and detonate them in shopping malls. Or who lift young boys away from poor families in rural Pakistan, indoctrinate them in so-called maddrassahs, abuse them, and send them to die half way up a mountain fighting an enemy they can't see. ^I've sent Nick Cohen the cheque for this bit^)

Depressed again now.

It takes a special class of c*nt to exploit mass child rape as an opportunity to reassert power - especially if what you are seeking to do is re-impose the very power structure that gave those same rapists decades of immunity to prosecution in the first place. And calling on the "laity" to up their PR game, as if they've been letting the side down by not going in to bat on behalf of their lying, abusive, spiritually bankrupt masters? That's the dynamic of an abusive relationship right there. You the laity have brought this on yourselves, you've given us no option but to teach you a lesson. Bend over, here comes the dogma. If it weren't so sad it would be funny; this unwitting revelation of exactly the mindset that empowered the abusers in the first place. / c*nts c*nts c*nts \

The many facial expressions of Bryan Ferry look-a-like Billy Murray. http://www.cam.co.uk/images/clients/ti-1197892839_large.jpghttp://i2.listal.com/image/356299/600full-billy-murray.jpghttp://www.walfordweb.co.uk/ww/sites/default/files/imagecache/400px_high/ls-billy-murray-01.jpghttp://www.probertencyclopaedia.com/j/Billy%20Murray.jpghttp://i2.listal.com/image/356297/600full-billy-murray.jpghttp://i2.listal.com/image/356298/600full-billy-murray.jpghttp://images.mirror.co.uk/upl/m2/aug2005/6/4/0001C328-1D27-130C-9CF30C01AC1BF814.jpghttp://i2.listal.com/image/356299/600full-billy-murray.jpg

Secret Sharia bank accounts Halal hospitals Rich Indian doctors Suspiciously multicultural meals on wheels Christmas tips on what to do if you've shat yourself insensible with alcohol and fear the social taking the kids from off of you EDF's finest.

Leave the price tag on, *Bob*. (And you can say shit on here.)

Buy British ham. Serve it every day for a fortnight with softened celery, proper (green) lettuce and sum Branston. It's what the old folks want. I saw one take her teeth out an polish them on Phil Schofield's arsecheeks, she was so happy it was proper ham the other day.

Feckit. That was Rosie's goal DC was calling, by the way.

ahWunn-nil.

Aw, look at this one. Anyway, hipster hating is so 2010. The hipster, one ultimately concludes, is, as Jace Clayton puts it, really just "a straw man in skinny jeans", a punchbag for a broader range of consumer anxieties and civic ills* http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2010/11/10/1289401813291/Hipster-006.jpg * http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/nov/14/what-was-the-hipster-review

*Bob* wins. http://i43.tinypic.com/wuhroy.jpg

With my extensive industry knowledge and TV insider status I can confidently state that his zombie Big Brother thing was OK.

I know France and Paris very well. Ha ha. All. The. Talents.

What he thinks he's doing is pressing everyone's buttons and having a laugh and showing up "the EDF" for the self-righteous knobs that they are etc etc And whereas previously he displayed some semblance of being merely a confused egotist who needed an editor, and to post a bit less, sadly he now looks a bit... unbalanced. What he really wants is to join in, but he's like the boy in school with a crush on his teacher and no love at home, so he'll keep shitting in her handbag because he has no other reference as to how to express his feelings. Happy to help, Wolf.

I just had somebody come to my house and amongst other things fit a brush letterbox thing (that'll please the postie when he tries to shove the letters through), water-saving tap aerators, radiator panels (for rads next to outside walls) to reflect heat back into the room, a powerdown device for the telly and an electricity display monitor (already had one but never got round to fitting it). How did you find his workmanship?

Wolf.

What I hope for the 'looch is that he and Giggirl are shacked up together*, and are out gigging and giggling and getting just the right side of tipsy on Peroni cocktails every night. They hold court in dive bars, smart private members' clubs and back street locals around Town. Their courtiers are, for a night, London's nobility. Tales are told, the legends grow. Most mornings they hail a cab at 6am on Regent Street. Breakfast at Luigi's awaits. Pearls, Manolos, coffee and blackpudding. At home, in the hall, rests a gift-wrapped case of cucumber relish. "Sender: I Hunter". If the reality is different, I don't want to know about it. (* Platonically, like, I'm not weird or anything)

Absence coincides roughly with the gentleman champagne swindler getting a bit of free bed and board, does it not?

Something like that, anyway. Think I need a sunbed, as it goes.

Hanseatic networks wither and die. England's Eastern face becomes its slack backside as the country turns to look west and south. Bristol, gorged on the triangular trade, eats Norwich's future. The east now nothing but a grain and protein store for ravenous London, drilled and reaped for the profit of ducal land owners. Obsolescent waterways haemorrhage England's lost soul into a forgotten sea.