Ted Max

Turnout is around 50% in EP elections. So it looks like Herr ???? and Monsieur Snorky are winning this one. Does anyone intend to vote, and for what reasons. Let's say you wanted to do something other than "give Gordon/ Posh Dave/ Clegg a bloody nose", or express your nihilistic antipathy, do you know what the aims of the different parties in the EP are, and does that affect how you would vote?

Can someone explain this one to me. The election is by PR nationwide - returning 70+ UK MEPs that we vote for on a party political basis, but who then join larger, federated groups of like-minded parties within the EP. It's pretty much impossible for any grouping to have an outright majority within the EP, so the result is always either broad consensus or atrophy? If I've got this all wrong, please advise. My main reason for asking is, what difference would it make to us (apart from domestic political tally-keeping) whether the UK returned a majority of Labour, Con, LibDem or Green MEPs?

Heartfelt, Anna and the rest, but it's not that bad. There are four posters that currently form a magic quadrant of spavining tedium, committing every half-formed banality to screen, but they're not that hard to avoid/ ignore. And if there aren't any interesting threads then start some. I think the fact is many of the older posters, some with many thousands of posts under their belt, have run out of things to add as there's only so many topics to discuss. They've taken their positions and defended them many times, made their friends, and moved on. No need to blame anyone for that. One man's "great days of the Quiet Room" is another man's "offputting, insular carousel of role playing whimsy", after all. EDITED to add that I'm well aware I will have bored the very nipples off many posters here as well with my own role-playing whimsy. Which adds to my point.

???? I don't think you should be making flippant remarks about this until we have the full facts at our disposal. I'm on the school run tomorrow morning so will ask the Lollipop Lady what code alert she's on, and will report back. In the meantime, keep a bucket of confetti handy at your front doors, just in case.

Can you read, as well as predict the future?

What's the thing with two first-time posters telling others to "grow up"? Why, it's almost as if there was some sense of superiority being expressed. for all those labelling Alleyn's as a "dreary little prejudice-factory", the Gala event was actually used to raise bursary funds. think before you open your mouth and go on a ridiculous rant about private schools. As the only one who labelled said school as such - I'd like to point out it wasn't a ridiculous rant about private schools, but a ridiculous rant about this particular private school, the output of which I have reason to be far too familiar with.

The awkward wait in the Crem car park before the hearse arrives. Collars nipping necks that haven't sported a tie since retirement. Bewildered blankness on the faces of the grandchildren. Two middle-aged sons clinging to each other for support while their excluded wives search, red-faced, in their handbags for items unknown. The best friend rendering Abide With Me clear as a reed, half a beat ahead of the congregation. The deep, urgent hunger that strikes everyone at the wake. Mr Purdey slipping the publican a ton, because the relatives haven't noticed the tab's run out. Uncle George singing Me and my Shadow but being unable to finish. The middle-aged brothers' wives taking the children home, leaving their spouses bound together in speechless reverie.

I'd like a Forum funeral. Keef to do the music. Bonyard the catering. Moos the commemoration address. Jah to sort the wake out. Sean to make sure everyone gets home OK. And Snorky hanging around outside telling everyone what a fecking loser I was. Sorted.

A certain uniformity of style, there. A product of the school debating chamber, perhaps? Or maybe something else.

Hey, I've got no worries about the fireworks. I like fireworks. Even the noisy kind. And I'm second to Nunn in my admiration for Trevor's ability to make a personal fortune from transferring shows developed with public money at the NT to the West End. But the kind of middle-management lobby fodder this place churns out? Why, they drive me to my keyboard, so they do. EDITED for an attempt at clarity.

No.

Alleyn's celebrated? It's a dreary little prejudice-factory. An ?11,000 a year comfort blanket for parents horrified to find they haven't found the wherewithal to move from South London, or the imagination to engage with it.

All that theatre, all those kids weaned on professional standard theatrical facilities. To produce what? One pretty boy with the range of a tiger moth who got caught f*cking the help. Let's hope for a better return from this new platform, eh?

It was a wonderful night celebrating the unity of this most accessible of institutions. The only downside was that Sir Trevor never brought Imogen with him. Quite a few of the children's dads had been w*nking themselves into a pit thinking about her, but she never showed. Typical of those St Paul's and Westminster girls.

I thought your big fingers couldn't work the knobs, though?

Spotify. Any thoughts? I've just downloaded the free app and I likes it. Useful way to have a listen to stuff that I wouldn't necessarily otherwise get access to. And for me it's much easier to use than LastFM - with much less extraneous info. OK, you're not owning the music. But it's all free. For a desk-jockey like me pretty good. Catch? It's going to get cluttered with advertising isn't it?

Apart from the three posts that did point it out. Next.

A dog is knocked down by a car - and its owner rushes it to the vet. The vet inspects the dog, and says, "I'm afraid your dog is dead. My condolences." But the owner is stricken with grief and asks for a second opinion. So the vet says, "Tibbles, can you come in here?" And in walks the practice cat, who sniffs up and down the dog, and starts mewling sadly. Not convinced, the owner asks for a third opinion. So the vet whistles once and this time his own pet dog walks in and surveys the scene, before woofing quietly several times. "I'm afraid there's no doubt," the vet says. "Your dog has passed away. Now, I'm sorry to say this, but there is the matter of my fee - its ?750." "Seven and a half hundred quid? Just to tell me my dog's dead. You can't be serious," cries the owner. "Well, said the vet, it would have been ?50. But that was before you had the cat scan and the lab report."

I'd be quite tempted to take a bucket of golf balls up there and smash them away down Whitehall.

I learnt that my generous hosts thought it was OK to begin a meeting by getting their heads down into their Blackberries, leaving me sitting uncomfortably. Power hierarchy firmly established, children? Now we can begin.

No she doesn't, which is ironic given the nationality of the bloke who is the answer to her question.

My favourite.

Correct. The dialogue reads like Hazel Blears trying to write an episode of Grange Hill. The narrative isn't even consistent across the 200 dull words it describes and the details are anachronistic. If we're going to have fake posters, can they please show a bit of style. (perhaps the rat thing was Poppy's puppet master's only stroke).

It's just ended. But I don't think it was a miniscule difference of opinion at all. Sorry to have bored you.

I should have said, we believe that we believe in fair play and rationalism. No oil, no. Plenty of culture, though. Hoot hoot.