Robber Williams

How did Robbie Williams successfully sue the People newspaper for saying he's gay?

Now he might or might not like pushing the sausage up the chocolate hill, but how has he been libelled?

This is the age of equality. If the NoW next weekend reveals wrongly that George Michael has a secret girlfriend could he sue for 'substantial damages' because it is alleged he is heterosexual.

Since when did 'gay' become a defamatory term? Do we hold a straight Robbie Williams in higher regard than a gay Robbie Williams?

Would Williams have sued if he'd been called 'black'?

They think it's all over...

I haven't been playing football for the last year while awaiting a shoulder operation and it has been one of the most frustrating periods of my life.

However, we all have a dream. And the other night I dreamed I was playing football again. In my dream I was pressing on the shoulder of the defender and he decided to knock the ball back to his keeper - but he underhit it.

In this vivid dream, I had recovered the speed of my youth, and I realised that I could slide in ahead of the defender, get to the ball first and poke it past the keeper.

So I sprinted at full pace and lunged at the ball with my left foot.

The next thing I knew was that I was wide awake and sliding across the bedroom floor at high speed before colliding painfully into a chest of drawers.

In great embarrassment I looked back to see what the Piranha made of it all, but the bed was empty as she apparently had suffered enough during the first half and had gone to sleep in the spare room.

And the worst part of the experience? I still don't know whether I scored.

Life is full of shit

I used to empty my bowels once a day. I always assumed this was normal.

Over the last six months my constitution has enjoyed a revolution and without fail I have three craps before 11.00 in the morning.

At first I thought this might make me really thin, instead I'm still a fat git but I'm spending £50 a week on toilet rolls.

It's been a long long short time

So Spluttermonkey is back. I suddenly found myself. Well found myself in my favourites and remembered I'm a blogger - an intermittent one admittedly.

Actually I was very surprised to discover that I blogged pretty constantly for 8 months. And looking back I actually enjoyed the experience. So why did I stop. Well, why does it stop raining?

So much has happened and so little. Over the coming days, weeks and maybe even months I will bring you up to date with the so little.

This blog didn't die but it does believe in cryonics....

I'm just a number...

I was on my way home from work tonight when my mobile rang.

'Hello', I answered.

'Is that you?' the caller asked.

'Yes, I answered truthfully.'

'Sorry, wrong number,' she said.

Either the caller didn't know who I was and wanted to talk to someone else far more interesting, or knew who I was and wanted to talk to someone far less dull. I'm not sure which rejection is less painful.

I shall never admit to being me again.

Sick notes

My local hospital wrote to me this morning to tell me that they will be writing to me to offer me an appointment with the specialist.

I've written back to say I will be sending them a letter to thank them.

Blog to bog

Sorry for the interruption of service in November. I only went for a piss...

Tit for tat

Every Tourette's sufferer depicted in a book, TV drama or film always says 'Tit Fuck' at some point. I'm jealous.

I can honestly say I've never heard this fantastic phrase used in any other context, not even a tit fuck one.

This is undeniably discriminatory. Why should the mentally ill have exclusive swear words?

Tomorrow, I'm going to strike a blow for the sane profane community. The first person I meet is going to hear the first ever tit fuck mantra.

The long and short of it...

I hate long blogs.

Let's look backwards

I drove across London today. It took me three hours. A hundred years ago a horse would take about half that to get across London. People thought it too slow so they invented the car. I wonder if it's possible to re-invent the horse - and patent it.

In the childerness

When you are young you rely on the wisdom of your elders.

When you become an elder you realise you have no wisdom.

It is a case of the old not leading the blind.

Out of my tree?

I've had what I think is a winning idea for a new business. It's a chain of country pubs called The Treehouse.

Each pub has a minimum of four large oak trees in the garden and in each there will be a treehouse, the size of Tarzan's lovenest, for adults only.

Parties rent the treehouse by the hour, or for the whole evening for £250. Each treehouse has its own bed, table etc so anything goes. And each is linked to the bar by technology so you enter your round remotely and a waitress comes to the bottom of the tree and you pull your order up on a pulley.

I can't see this failing, and it's just the kind of novelty pub that the country needs, and people would definitely invite their friends just because of the uniqueness.

The only slight flaw is that I don't have any money to invest, and even if I did, despite many years drinking, I can't recall any pubs with oak trees in the garden.

However I refuse to be bowed. I'm going to start by buying a field. Then I'll build a pub, and then I'll plant four acorns. One day I'll be a millionaire.

Keeping the Olumpic flame burning

What is the point of the Paralympics? It's a competition for people who can't run as fast, jump as high, or throw things as far as other people.

And before the PC brigade start flaming me or sending me foetuses through the post consider this:

Can you imagine having a Mastermind competition for people with an IQ of less than a 100. Questionmaster: 'What is your specialist subject?' Contestant:'Pass'.

Can you imagine the announcement: 'Tonight on Sky Sports 24 there is a head to head football encounter between Jewsons (Romford) X1 and Bigglesmith Reserves.

People who are shit at something may enjoy it but why should anyone else be interested?

Everyone wants their day in the sun and in the interest of fairness and non-discrimination I would like to suggest the Olumpics, a multi-displine event for the over 20 stoners.

Just imagine the spectacle as 12 jelly monsters, sweating profusely, struggle to complete the marathon, otherwise known as the 100 metre sprint. And the diving events would be a must for all sports fans.

If someone doesn't stop this insanity we're all going to end up watching David Beckham finding the meaning of life and Stephen Hawking winning the high jump.

Falling off a blog...

Not blogging is not like falling off a log.

Back from hols. More to come. Equally dull.

A man of few words

I've always been a great admirer of my work. I've also been quite of a loner. I suspect the two things may be connected.

But what I like about my work, is that there isn't much of it. I can say anything I want about anything I know about, in less than 250 words.

Lots of blogs I like have lots of words. But there is nothing on earth I want to spend more than 250 words talking about. That either makes me very shallow or other people very verbose.

The whole point of this piece was that I could wrap it up in 249 words with a very pithy and humorous ccomment. Unfortunately I don't even have that much to say.

Silence is golden

I haven't updated this blog for a week and my visitors have gone up! How depressing is that. The less I write, the more people want to read it.

The sparsity of my words has been because I decided instead of blogging every day, I would only blog when I had something interesting to say. Then I realised I had stopped blogging...

Well good to speak to you again,... of course now no-one is listening.

Poetry in e-motion...

Had a brilliant idea today. I'm going to write a rhyming dictionary. It would make every would-be poet's life a doddle.

The only problem would be deciding who would be Poet Laureate, because we would all be able to rhyme anything with anything, well at least anything with many a thing.

Then when I thought about it a bit more I realised just how thick the rhyming dictionary would have to be. Every word, apart of course from orange, rhymes with about 2 million other words.

So, and here's the clever part, I thought I'd do it on the Internet. I'd make a website where you type in a word and it gives you everything else that rhymes with it.

A slight flaw in my strategy was discovered when I put rhyme dictionary into Google and it returned about 130,000 results.

Oh ducking spell.

I've consoled myself by coming up with with an Ian Duryesque little ditty, using these excellent tools, entitled 'Frigid hairy Mandy and my modus operandi'.

Yog that hurt...

Hope I've never eaten anything from here, even strawberry flavour...

Cut throat razor wars

Where will the battle of the razors end?

First came the original single blade razor that you threw away when it became blunt. A revolution in its own way.

Then some bright spark thought it would be a really rather clever idea to add another blade, to make the first double bladed disposable razor.

But did the competitition rest on their laurels. Not for one moment. These boys are as sharp, as well, a razor and some genius came up with the triple blade disposable.

In ten years time we will all be using razors the size of brooms with a dozen super sharp blades. Forget a close shave; one confident stroke, and half your face will come off. That's progress.

Oo la la!

The most popular Google search in France in June last year was for 'nice people'.

Now I know the old grenouilles aren't everyone's cup of tea but it comes to something if they have to resort to using a search engine to find a countryman they like.