Ted Max

Another thread insulting the elderly of East Dulwich.

You can usually tell when the end of summer is near, because thattwatNigel from accounts chooses the first cooler day to tell everyone that the nights are drawing in. When this elicits no response, he details how many shopping days are left till Christmas. Finally, as his trump card, he tells everyone that he knows summer must be over because it took him 13 minutes longer than usual to drive to work this morning. Because the schools are back, you see. Nigel loves this time of year. Last year he kept up a running commentary on the state of Tracy's peeling, then fading, tan, until the office manager had to take him aside and say that although everyone enjoys a bit of banter, he was beginning to freak Tracy out a bit. Since then, Nigel has always made sure that whenever Tracy asks him for updated costings, he delays opening her email for a couple of days. Let the snooty bitch wait for her figures.

Indeed. And I was endeavouring to point out that even if the desired two copies had thudded on your mat, instead of one, you would still have been in possession of sod all.

Two times zero is still zero, PGC.

Is this about drugs again?

Levi....'You say Reggae, I say Sauce'...Roots!! I watched about ten minutes of his Caribbean cooking programme. One of his recipes involved chopping up some mango and other fruit, putting it in a bowl and serving it with ice cream. Then he played his guitar. Another involved putting some chicken on a barbeque, and then playing his guitar. At one point, he dispensed with the cooking pretence altogether, and merely played his guitar. I thought by the end of series he might just be filmed sitting on the beach, with a massive reefer on, watching money transfer into his bank account at the speed of light. Roots.

Was Curry Cabin there in 1959? I did not know that.

Let's say traffic lights were set up to facilitate a crossing, and traffic allowed (as it is now) to turn left and right into ED Grove. If you retain the parking, the councillor is right that this will make this junction a single lane in both directions on LL. Southbound traffic especially will surely grind to a halt, as it waits behind traffic turning right into EDG. I'm not sure if it's a law or not, but it surely makes sense to say that if you put signals in at that point, you would have to do something about freeing up a second lane.

Not sure Eynella Road has quite the traffic flow of Lordship Lane.

In advance of a certain band's upcoming gigs. In place of the glammed-up young troupers of the early 1970s, all stack heels and tumbling locks, there's a gang of casually dressed, grey-haired fellas in the late stages of middle age. With wives and girlfriends, their party has the air of night-before arrivals for a wedding, "You can't eat. Well, you can eat, but you can't have a good time. You can't have stuff like English breakfasts. Old habits die hard if you're a frontman: you just don't want to go all fat and horrible. I'm a 32 waist, to this day. Then, I'd have been about a 28, 29." http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2009/sep/03/mott-the-hoople-reunion

You should make it there and back by candlelight. Not on the slow boat.

We're just going round in circles, here, Rosie. Well, you are.

Toasted pig sounds quite nice. If unusual. That pig did not die in vain Yes it did, old chum.

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I worry as to what it means for characters in DC Thomson comics who are suddenly seized by a bright idea. A 5 second delay while the light warms up, followed by a not very satisfying glow, is not going to be sufficient for that "ping" moment when a whizzbang jape occurs to Dennis or Minnie. Apart from anything else, it will be difficult to draw without using another frame.

Sema Thai Me up, Sema Thai Me Down The Jaflong Good Friday The Name of the William Rose Midsomerfield Murders

"Wearing hats in the dark" sounds like a good title for the sort of slim volume of poetry one might find in your favourite uncle's smallest room. The poem "Night cap" (page 12), being a particular favourite of your uncle's, is often quoted as he takes his tumbler up to bed with him...

September is often warm and sunny, I like the Autumn and the seasons... Jan/Feb are the grimm ones for me There's never jam left out for tea But Autumn's not so bad you know As intermediate seasons go And it can be a useful metaphor For looming revolutionary war

September is often warm and sunny, I like the Autumn and the seasons... Jan/Feb are the grimm ones for me Keats, the first draft. Your iambic pentameter needs a little tweaking, perhaps. But a good start.

"Possibly" Off-Topic but its like yesterday when myfriend, accidently, broke the microwave plate. Was she handing you your arse on it at the time, Tony?

A close-cropped picture of a local architectural detail adorns the front cover. Its relevance is never explained within the issue. The editor welcomes the current month: always her favourite, and ever the busiest for commerce and culture in our SE haven. A local artist makes murals in people's back gardens from used baked bean tins. Perhaps you could be persuaded to commission one? The photographer makes the most of a cloudy day. An unknown actress who lives in an adjoining postcode enthuses about her equity minimum role at the Old Vic. It transpires that she admires Kevin Spacey's artistic ideals and likes nothing more than browsing local vintage clothing stores, but is hard-pushed to expand further on either topic. The internet is scraped bare for historical details of a local landmark. Although the item is trailed as the first of a series, further episodes are never printed. The editor, having glommed a free weekend at a country house hotel feels compelled to write about it. The hotel owner's former, but brief, residency in a flat in Brockley is introduced as justification for the article. A cluster of local shops is profiled. There is, the intro tell us with crushing inevitability, something for everyone in this up and coming area. The petfood store has not submitted its 75 words by deadline, so an unattributed photo of a dog in a hat is substituted instead.

Dear Norman If you want to take that Godwinson down a peg or two I suggest turning up at Hastings two days after you said you would, at seven in the morning. Make sure you slam the van doors as you get out. Instruct his missus to get a brew on, and then while they're distracted brutally impose your claim for the monarchy by imposing a systematic and ruthless confiscation of land and property. Kill any who rebel but reward those who side with you with land and titles (you can make those up as you go along). Then leave a bill for twice the estimate plus VAT. They won't know what's hit them. Signed, Stan

Aw, he's lovely. He'd probably say things like, "You go, girl" and "Work it, sister," as you shyly undressed in front of him. And that Gok Wan's not a bad sort either.

Jeremy's montage reminded me of:

I can never imagine the Normans as French. The Norse who headed to France must have felt pretty sweet when the Christmas circulars started arriving from their mates in Iceland and the Faroes. "So. Life here is pretty sweet. The Frankish food and women are to die for, and any time we get a bit moody or short of the readies we just pop across and kick some Anglo Saxon derriere. Even the winters are warm: and we can burn trees any time we are cold, which certainly smell better than whale oil - and are a lot easier to catch LOL!! :)). Seriously, how are things with you?" "Dear brother. Thank you for your letter. Sorry for the late reply but I had to wait four months for it to get light enough for me to read it. It's just like home here, only even colder, darker, and more miserable ROFL!! If I see another salted herring I think I will go a little beserk (geddit?) Must go now, as I have a precarious cliff-top existence to maintain. PS Some of the lads say there is a great land to the West, full of bison and large flightless birds, and ready for the taking. One day we'll think of a name for it, but at the moment we're just not up to it."