Ted Max

EDITED because I can't read.

Suggestions appearing that they Mr Taqui is taking the bullet for their 15 year old son. Spin? He'd have to know the code to work the pay per view, but also why not just get on the internet for your Gay Porn needs, like any normal person do.

As for the Wire. I was on my sofa at 11:20 like the good, easily bidden sheep I am and I have to thank you lot for the tip. Spark out by 11:35. Best night's sleep I've had in ages.

It was a dreadful programme and I'm amazed C4 didn't spike it. Bias or polemic are OK if there's some substance but this programme didn't lay a finger on him, or even get close. Pathetic effort.

Sunday morning. The East wind is still winning its battle, street by street, against the Spring sunshine. The familiar double doors open as you walk past; a hum of chatter and warmth. In the background, music. Families spill out. Women carry parcels of daffodils, thin waists snared by elastic bands. Children circle like foxhounds before the hunt. One older lady, alone, bends into the breeze, catching herself on the railings at the top of the steps. A yellow petal falls from her unclasped handbag. A father shepherds his children past you, his hands gentle on their heads. You step forward to the old lady, but a car swings in to the pavement and the door opens. The driver - a man your age, no age, gets out. "Morning Mum," he says. "Happy Mother's Day." The church sign says, "Mothering Sunday, Family Service, 11am. All welcome". You realise you have read the sign out loud. Two of the foxhound pups look at you cooly, and turn away. In the pub now, first pint of the day, you raise the glass and tell your Mum you love her. But not out loud.

Avoid ye the "All Day Ffpecial" though.

I'm backing Disestablishment each way, PGC

Sounds like you need a hostelry of some kind. I believe there are some new-fangled coaching inns on the Great Western Road. I suggest you dine on Pickled Herring and Roast Turnip, pick up fresh horses and head on to Basing House where an excellent breakfast can be had at Molly Peters' "Highwayman's Halt".

Viennetta Classic? Bag of tangerines? Special Fried Rice Side Order Crispy Fried Seaweed?

Cheese on Toast? Sausage Rolls? Shit on a Stick?

Variety, you say?

Tony.Bexley.Gardencentre tells it like it is was.

Poor effort, Lou. "I have them made" then... "they will probably be a cross between the dead or alive style but may contain a few..." You've made them but you don't know what they might look like? I think you're fighting on too many fronts, here and your work's getting sloppy.

No no no. You've made them already, remember? (I have them made) Do try and keep up with yourself.

We sow the seed, nature grows the seed, we smoke the seed.

Have you put your posters up yet, Lou?

ACTUALLY I COULD USE AN EMAIL READING SERVICE TOO. CAN YOU CHOOSE THE READER? I'LL HAVE BRIAN BLESSED FOR THE ONES FROM MY BOSS, PLEASE?

If Lord Grey had powerpoint...

Moving stuff, isn't it?

I know you like my poetry, Lou, so I just knocked this little number out for you. Perhaps it could form the basis for one of your signs. I wander'd lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the road, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Yet heard I then the cut glass tones Of Motherhood, the yummy kind, With notes so kind it chilled my bones And form'd an outrage in my mind. For blithe young hands did tear and roil These golden rays from out the soil. And mummies nothing did to stem This ill-timed harvest of the spring. And "typical" I thought of them, With bugaboos and pizzas bling. I'd rather have a ground-held daff And two link sausage from the caff.

Listen, Tony, you sound like a bit of a soft lad to me so I'll let that one go, but don't tell me what I had for me own breakfast. Now, here's a fiver for the pictures - do your mum a favour and piss off.

That's one purty cat, right there, Moos. There's a certain regal haughtiness that's familiar, though.

Giving me some lip, Jaybee? You wanna watch that mouth of yours, understand? I'm not saying I'm nasty, but I'm not nice, either. I'm not about to let someone eat my lunch, iff you catch my drift. Listen, what I'm about is none of your business. I'm here to tell you to get your trousers on, make the tea and piss off.

I seen several servals And wot a lot of ocelots As I walked Through Peckham Rye Park I seen moles, rats and polecats And cougars shooting Lugers As I walked Through Peckham Rye Park But I never seen a beaver yet Nor even just one marmoset As I walked through Peckham Rye Park No I never seen a beaver yet Even by the badger set, So I won't walk through Peckham Rye Park

I'm a bit tasty, if you know what I mean. What I'm saying is, I'm a bit handy. I mean, I don't go looking for it, but if it's on, then let's have it. I'm useful. Ask Terry. Let me explain, if you're looking for a slap, son, then I'm not shy. You want some? I'm your man. You ain't getting in my face because I'm putting you down before you get to my space. What I'm trying to say is - I hit first, and I ain't asking no questions later either. I'm not here to lie to you, my fists do the talking and what they're saying is, "Have some." That's all I've got to say on the matter. Now piss off.