Land of Diskgrinder

I just repainted the wall, and then had an idea, a permanent marker, and a spirit level.

Watching Dr. Who, being at Glastonbutty. Nothing else

And a nice smile, so double bonus there. Happily, this didn't happen

Today I made guns for the 3 small Bs

Stop talking shite

Asked number 2 son (Marley) who would win out of Daleks vs. Bionicles. He answered immediately, "Bionicles, because they know weak spots" I asked him what the weak spot of a Dalek is, "The eye," he says, "I saw a man jump off some boxes and shoot a Dalek in the eye and his head exploded". As I am nearing my mid 40s and have grown up with Daleks as kind of evil hardcore uncles, I was disappointed that he thought mere lego could ever be contenders against the continuing darkness of the Dalek empire. However, Marley's 7, and therefore knows better. But I added Dalek to the spell checker's dictionary (so no red dashed underline for them); I'm not adding it for Bionicles . There will always be Daleks in my vocabulary, Bionicles are transitory. But I am really, really happy that these (hey!) 45 year old monsters, still figure large in my small boys' imaginations. Daleks were probably the purest expression of 60s design, as it was all about ...

In the south west the weather will be mostly coming out of the sky and hitting the ground with various degrees of enthusiasm. Northerer, the weather is currently sulking upstairs, satellite images suggest a large depression. Westerly: raining cats and dogs, dogs confused and wagging tails anyway as they land, cats pretending they meant to do that.

You should take a leaf out of my book, I don't fucking swear at all, because that would be fucking unacceptable. I mean, if I swore at all, people would think I was shit. Fuckers. So that's why I never swear - don't want the wankers I daily encounter to think I'm some kind of twat. So I live by this mantra: "Swear? Me? Fuck no. Fuck off do I."

When I worked on the railway I heard the apotheosis of creative swearing, where every part participle of the grammar (cow) of the sentence was replaced by the f-word. Butcher McCready (yes, his nickname), tried to chisel a bolt out of a seized fishplate with his shovel and the fishplate exploded (cast-iron see). So he says: "Fuck, I've fucked the fucking fucker" He was also the one who branded me Dr. Stupid - "brain the size of a planet, common sense of a gnat". I lived with that for the whole three years I worked on the railway. Butcher McCready was the guy who named all of us on the big yellow bus. "Doom and Gloom" the body-builder ex Corby steel worker who lost all his body hair because he worked in the galvo plant (electric blast furnace) and did not have a sunny disposition. "Jimmy Saville" - Jim, our miserable driver, because he cunt clit every trip. "Noggin the Twat" - our norwegian tool boy "Dick Turp...

This here

A lexicon got jammed in between a tree and a rock in the valley between the sky and that other thing that looks like upside down sky but ripples, oh that's right, a lake. So the words fell out of the pages and spread around the green things growing there, oh yes, the grass and leaves. And some sentences formed, some that made sense, some that didn't. But I didn't take note, and certainly didn't write any down. As I was passing by in my car, with the window wound down, the sun in my side of face, it whispers by the hedge, tall so I don't see the lake with words splashing in. Don't see the grammar getting wet, or damp punctuation Instead I'm listening to Terry Wogan and something about traffic on the M42 And missing the ink dissolving in the water

The one in the trousers.

Fundamentalists Mental fundaments Scientologists Trainspotters Stop it, stop shouting! I can't hear the voices Kill, kill, kill. Me and my multiple personalities, or am I? No. Fuck off. Sorry, I thought it was my turn. No it's not. Who are you? Hey, look, ants! I love ants. Some nuts in a bag May contain nuts June doesn't

Got attacked by a japonica today, made me wysteriacal. Fuck gardening, you don't call laying paving slabs streeting (although you should) or redecorating housing . Shitty sweaty hotness with various scratches and dirt, the smell of ripped crab-grass and dandelion. And why are proper plants so fucking limp-wristed? (wilting namby-pamby splitters). Weeds have big broad fuck-off constitutions, and laugh in the face of me. So I have decided I will cultivate weeds: brambles, chickweed, thistles and sticky peter (which isn't the name of a weed, but should be). Then I will have a lush but raggy garden. And I can relax in a miasma of pollen.