A classic advert that appeared in the local newsagent shop this week. I love the caveat about performing ‘wifely duties.’ Well, at least he’s honest about what he wants.

 

Shops always go to town on Xmas decorations and I was glad to see the local funeral director getting into the spirit of things this year with display headstones artfully dusted in fake snow along with fairy lights weaving in and out of the various display caskets.

I’m sure the bargain hunters will begin surfacing soon. I have my eye on a nice biodegradable wicker coffin in the window giving worms instant access to their Christmas dinner.

 

 

They say you can judge a person’s character by their shoes but their tea cup? I wonder what snarling beast lies beneath a civilsed exterior in our office? The cup has been giving out the vibes for several weeks and its owner’s identity remains a mystery. My money’s on the old dear who does the photocopying.

 

The good people of Oxford are no doubt a tolerant bunch but I have my doubts after passing this sign on the city outskirts.

 

 

Humans generate enough madness in the world without conjuring up visions of the devil and blaming it on satanic hocus pocus. Too much TV. Too much religion.

 

One of the most disgusting meals ever created is pie and mash, an east London ‘delicacy’ guaranteed to have you retching over your shoes like a poisoned rat.

Optional extras are jellied eels (stewed or mashed) that have spent their lives sucking mud off the belly of the Thames and liquor – an evil green stoop of liquified peas.

If zombies ran out of humans to eat this would be their new feeding ground. I walk past one of these shops regularly and stopped today to watch its pale tribe of diners sucking up their liquid gruel.

“Ah, what I would give for some fresh flesh,’ I could hear them whisper.

 

On an everyday high street in an everyday town your destiny awaits…

 

Forget psychedelics. Just rack off a 100 mile plus bike ride in a day and your brain starts rambling off into Never-Never Land of its own accord.

I cycled from Norwich to London last week and twelve putty-legged hours later made the final stretch.

I knew the roads I was on but struggled to recognise any landmarks or shops including my own street. Strawberry Fields Forever Mac 10.

I assume it was fatigue but it was a surreal experience and one I haven’t felt since a long solo walk across India several years ago.

The difference then was things truly were bizarre and it was a case of going with the flow or losing your marbles.

Curious memories of that trip include being propositioned for sex on some back country road (I politely declined), narrowly avoiding stepping on a snake, being attacked by a monkey and having to burn a nice plump leech off my toe. A good trip.

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