Disturbing - do not read

If you are of a nervous disposition, look away now.

I have had reports from the Wigsters of activities in toilets for which the facilities were never designed.

I cannot stress too strongly that the following will turn your stomach. Skip this blog entry.

Ok, you asked for it. Here are the nauseating details:

The Grey Cardigan reports - "On Monday I had the displeasure of going to the company lavs for a number two and finding someone taking a business call while doing his... business".

It gets worse...

Dark Chickens has had a similar experience:

"I've had a similar experience to TGC, only he was texting and sniggering. There should be a sign saying 'In the interests of Health and Safety please refrain from using your mobile during personal visits'".

It keeps getting worse...

The Goat has used facilities where an unknown person has decorated the wall with the contents of his nasal passages.

Action should be taken. Here is a poster you can put on your company noticeboard.

Inspired writing

The Grey Cardigan has helpfully supplied inspiration to budding authors. He writes...

"It takes too long for me to pen a novel, write a classic or create the next bargain bin special. I care not and with this in mind I have come up with this opening line.

Kevin shot up in bed screaming, he'd had that nightmare again. The one where he was at a Bewitched concert and they'd locked all the exits.

I'll give up now"

Tales from Plot 55, The Street Allotments. Part II


Good day once again from me Lord Blower of Lowershire. You know there's a lot of veg out there, and I know all their names.



Here I am in my pumpkin boat feeling contented.




Before anything else it's time to reveal another candidate for our 'Vegetable Hall of Fame' (VHOF) competition.



Each week we will show you a new vegetable and at the end of the series, you the public will select which one will be enrolled into the VHOF. A special ceremony will then take place at the Savoy (Cabbage - ho ho) Hotel with lots of people from the vegetable community in attendance, including Bob Flowerduw and Alan Titsmarch*.

This week, please put your hands together for the humble Kohlrabi.



Blower's Veg Facts: This vegetable is a member of the turnip family and, for that reason, is also called cabbage turnip. Like the turnip, both its purple-tinged, white bulblike stem and its greens are edible. The kohlrabi bulb tastes like a mild, sweet turnip. Those under 3 inches in diameter are the most tender. Choose a kohlrabi that is heavy for its size with firm, deeply coloured green leaves.

It's been an eventful week in the world of veg. Significantly, since I published last week's update I have become a Lord. Also, I've had at least one person stop me in the street and say 'Hey Blower, I liked that piece you wrote on alternative lifestyles". I had to ask him at that point whether he meant my organic crusade or my recent article for a special interest magazine about cross dressing. I also felt it necessary to pedantically point out I am now a self appointed Lord, and in future should be addressed as such.

Acknowledging my newly acquired title, he confirmed he meant the gardening, and went on to tell me that he and Mrs Lambpie have put their names down on the list for an allotment in the historic county town of Hertford, Hertfordshire. Nice work Lambpie - we look forward to veg updates from the Hertfordshire Lottie Posse in future editions.

While I'm here, I want to put the record straight following the publishing of the following misleading article in the Kent Messenger Maidstone East edition

"In a bid to take over Bearsted by stealth, 39 year old Wine making guru Blower Lower aka 'SABL' aka 'NorbertD' announced this morning that he has acquired another allotment plot opposite the Bearsted WI Halls." **

The plot isn't opposite the WI Halls. It's diagonally opposite. I wish people would get their facts right. Poor Mrs Blower followed these directions and ended up in the living room of Number 76 Ware Street. Fortunately, the occupants, a Mr & Mrs Chard will not be pressing charges as we sweetened them with a complimentary organic veg box containing spuds.

Now, I promised last week that we would take a trip inside my tool shed, and take a trip we shall.

Let's open the door and randomly select this week's 'Tool of the week' - SABL shuts eyes and extends a tanned hairy arm into the bowels of... Dennis!?
Ooops that's Dennis having a rummage about looking for his fish nets - it used to be his shed you see but he kindly gave it to me. Incidentally the fishnets are used to protect his fruit...

Anyway back to this week's 'Tool of the week' , drum role please TGC (that's The Grey Cardigan on the skins folks, earning a bit of pocket money to pay off his hair gel bills')

and it is one of these...



and the winner is the one on the left. I have no idea what it is called but it is extremely useful to disable a thief intent on stealing your prize veg.

Next week in part 3, what to wear to impress your lottie neighbours...

Until next week, may your seeds grow with you

Lord Blower

* Two guys I met on a pub crawl, and not the BBC presenters.
** We have no idea why this man has so many aliases, but he does so just get used to it.

Life Style Guide

Wine Guru

Good Day to you all from me, Blower Lower.

You know, a lot of people stop me in the street and say to me 'Hey Blower, we dig your style, we dig your life, how can we be like you?'.

I can't blame them. Because I'm fab. They see the lifestyle, the bald head, the myopia, the lightning fast wit, the Sid James looks. They want it and they want it bad.

So being the philanthropist I am, I decided that I should throw together a Life Style Guide so they too can be like me.

This week, Wine: In part 1 we will be looking at how to make wine out of anything. Home made wine is the new Cool, and I am a pioneer in its production.

In this first instalment I'm giving away my Recipe for Boiled Underpants Wine. Yes it's true, you can make wine out of anything.

You will need.

1 Gallon of Boiling Water
25 pairs of assorted worn Pants - preferably Y Fronts but Tanga briefs will suffice.
4 pounds of Sugar
Yeast (Marmite will suffice if you can't get hold of yeast) and yeast nutrient
Citric Acid

Large Bucket
Demijohn
Huge Spoon or Stirring device.

Vigorously Boil pants in the water, add sugar, acid. Cool.
Top up up to gallon with cooled boiled water
When cooled to hand temperature add yeast and nutrient

Pour into Demijohn, insert air trap (u bend) and ferment out until dry.

I guarantee this wine will taste pants.

Next week: The Look.

Tales from Plot 55, The Street Allotments

Introducing Blower Lower

We'd like to introduce you to Blower Lower the Vegetable Grower. In fact he would like to introduce himself:

"Good day to you from me, Blower Lower.

Some of you may know me as NorbertD of worldwidewig fame. Perhaps you know me already for my work with fermented vegetables and cheese, but I suspect few realise that I also like nothing more than a good forking knee deep in mud.

Now about this time of year, our green and pleasant lands are bursting with fresh greenyness and berryness.

Question:
Given the abundance of greenyness and berryness that has been established everywhere, do I
a) Order my produce from Tesco online and await delivery of shrivelled mankiness from a million miles away grown ten years ago in a chemical bath?

Or

b) Pop down to Plot 55, The Street Allotments, enjoy some gardening banter with Dennis and Albert from the adjoining plots and then manfully pluck an organically grown root vegetable from the rich soil hold it high above my head and shout ' hallelujah it's an organic parsnip and I'm going to make lerrrrrrrv to it'?

If you answered a) then you are very silly* and you did make Blower Lower hop up and down angrily.

However if you answered b) then read on fellow friend of the vegetable, Blower Lower will make a gardener of you yet."

Tales from Plot 55, The Street Allotments

Part 1

The Plot - 55 The Street Allotments lies in the peaceful village of Bearsted in Kent (peaceful that is until a huge 3 mile Rail Freight Depot is built which will effectively ruin it).

The plot is on a slight incline, so some gentle up hill gardening is necessary. It keeps me fit but it can be a bit messy. Albert gave me hand last week - between us we worked up quite a sweat. He may be old, but Albert is capable of a vigorous half hour burst that would shame a younger man. The old Blower muscles were a bit tired the next day though I must admit.

Next week: Focus on my favourite tool and we'll also be taking a sneak look at me sowing my seeds.

Until next week, may your seeds grow with you.

Blower

* the language was much stronger than this in his email.

PP and the magic black cap - Chapter 1, 2, 3

Introduction

A story translated for you by “http://www.poltran.com/” from the pens of the creators of “The Giant Rabbits and Mr Miggins”.

Disclaimer

This story is not true and may not make any sense. We accept no responsibility for anything. PP is not an abreviation for Peter Pavlova.

Chapter 1

Although it was mid August, the village of Bleeksi, Polska (Poland) was covered in a blanket of deep snow and a bitter wind blew across the barren eastern European ramshackle of a village.
In a far corner a small boy of about 7 years of age, with large ears and a mop of black hair emerged from a hut, fighting his way across the village square to get to the store in order to buy provisions for his sick grandmother. He was dressed in a long black coat with a Rupert The Bear scarf wrapped 1000 times around his neck. A croaky decrepit voice shouted after him…

“ Oh my little PP! Do not be forgetting my incontinence pants now!”
PP sighed: “No Babka”
….”And my steradent tablets….”
PP sighed more heavily “No Babka”

As PP continued his struggle against the wind and snow, suddenly a black cap fell out of the sky onto the floor in front of him. He looked around him to see if somebody had dropped it but nobody was to be seen. His curiosity getting the better of him he picked it up and looked it over. There on the inside was a note pinned to it which read:

“The lucky wearer of this cap
is blessed with powers each time they clap
and tap my top three times and say
“tappity tap, tappity tap, tappity tap
oh Magic Cap, oh Magic Cap, oh Magic Cap
make my wish come true clap clap!” .

Young PP’s heart raced. Looking around once more to make sure he wasn’t being observed he placed the cap on his head. If anyone had seen him at that moment they would have laughed hard and heartily. The cap was far too big for his child’s head, and his ears protruded like the handles of the European Cup. Fortunately, there was nobody looking at that precise moment as the entire population seemed to have gathered around the Village Post Office at the far end of the square.

Satisfied that he was alone and unobserved, he took a deep breath and raised a hand to his head. He tapped once and nervously began to repeat the words he just read:

“tappity tap, tappity tap------“
“PP! And don’t forget my Wodka!” interrupted his Grandmother’s bellowing voice
“No Babka!” He shouted back, slighlty irritated,
He quickly moved to the shelter of another hut which was out of site of his ‘babka’. Looking around nervously again he tapped the hat once more and began to repeat the words again:

“tappity tap, tappity tap, tappity tap
oh Magic Cap, oh Magic Cap, oh Magic Cap
make my wish come true clap clap!”

At once a brown paper bag appeared in his arms. He quickly peered inside and to his utter amazement he found incontinence pants, steradent tablets, vodka and a signed picture of Pope John-Paul 2nd. He quickly removed the cap and hid it away in his coat pocket. It had really worked, but he was keen to test it again.

At that moment PP noticed there was a lot of laughter coming from the entrance of the Village Post Office. He looked over and saw that a large crowd had gathered around the revolving doors where it seemed a beefy Nigerian gentlemen had become trapped. The crowd was laughing as the Nigerian attempted in vain to free himself. PP whipped the hat out and placed it on his head once more

“tappity tap, tappity tap, tappity tap
oh Magic Cap, oh Magic Cap, oh Magic Cap
make my wish come true clap clap!”

At that moment the doors sprung open and the stout Nigerian was propelled out into the snow. The crowd soon dispersed, and after recovering what little dignity he had left, Brigadier Armitage Shanks wiped the snow from him and marched off, tightly clutching a large parcel in his arms. PP could not believe it. A Nigerian in Bleeksi? And the hat had granted his wish again.

PP could not sleep that night. Mainly because his ’babka’ had downed a cocktail of Vodka and Steradent and was singing traditional Polish folk songs at the top of her voice, but also because the two earlier incidents n the Village Square were by far the most exciting to have ever happened in Bleeksi. A Nigerian man in the village? For what? And the hat! What adventures were out there awaiting him?

Chapter 2

That morning PP got out of bed earlier than usual, his ‘babka’ had finally fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning and was now snoring loudly in the next room. Although he was tired, he couldn’t sleep any more and anyway he was too excited. She would be asleep for a while, PP thought to himself, which gave him lots of time to try out his new cap.

He quickly got dressed, grabbed some stale black bread from the kitchen table and slipped on his shoes. Checking the cap was still in his coat pocket he quietly left the house out onto the snow covered streets of Bleeksi. The roads were empty, they would be for some time. The people of Bleeksi only come out during the snow season if they have provisions to buy or people to laugh at. It was an odd village, PP thought to himself, maybe he could use his cap to explore other places. He’d always wanted to see the rest of the world, to see what else was out there. His heart was beating faster and faster and his head was spinning so much that he didn’t notice where he was walking.

“Watch out boy!” a voice shouted, he crashed into someone and was sent sprawling into the snow. PP looked up to see an out-stretched hand offering to help him back up.

“Are you ok?”
“Ye… yes sir.” PP replied brushing the snow off his coat.
“You should really watch where you’re going, you might hurt yourself.”
“So… sorry sir.”
“Say, you look like a local. Could you direct me to the nearest bush?”

PP was puzzled, the man in front of him was bald, had dodgy fake tan, sported toe-less sandals made by the Crocs company on his feet and was wearing what could only be described as a white table cloth wrapped around his body. Wasn’t he cold? Why a bush? Where on earth did he come from? Things were turning weird in Bleeksi, too many things were happening at once. Was this because of the cap? Maybe it didn’t drop out of the sky. Maybe it did belong to someone. Two many things were whizzing around young PP’s mind, it was making him dizzy. PP became aware the man was still looking at him and weakly pointed down the street.

“That way, sir.”
“Thank you my boy, be careful now. You never know what might happen.”
“I... I will.”
“Some things aren’t always what they appear to be my young friend, you’d be wise to remember that. Farewell, may our paths cross again one day.”

What did that mean PP thought to himself, was it a warning? He was very confused and decided that it would be best not to use the cap for a while. The stange mas comments had dampened his earlier excitement. Maybe it was best to only use it when really needed. Anyway, what would happen if the real owner saw him use it? He was always told never to steal by his ‘babka’, he didn’t want to be a thief but there was something about this black cap which made him want to keep it. Something that made him want to keep it close, safe, secret.

“PP!” a familiar voice brought PP out of his daydream and remembered that his ‘babka’ would probably need help going to the toilet after a night of vodka and steradent. PP dreaded this moment every morning. It wasn’t helping her into the toilet or her doing the deed that bothered PP. It was applying the cream afterwards that always made him cringe. Even washing his hands for half an hour afterwards didn’t help. But she was ill and needed his help and after all he was her precious little PP. He sighed, braced himself and started to walk back towards his home.

“PP, where are you?”
“Coming Babka, coming!” PP shouted and started to run.
“My little PP, what would I do without you!”

Suddenly for no reason at all, into his head popped an image of the parcel the Nigerian man was carrying. He wondered what had been in it and why it had been delivered here. He quickly reassured himself, instructing his thoughts to return to the tasks of everyday life, and managed to convince himself that nothing weird was happening. He was too young to be worrying about these sorts of things. That was the adult’s job.

Watching from the shadows the man stroked the albino ferret happily sprawled across his shoulders under the chin. He smiled to himself. Everything was going as planned…

Chapter 3

It may have been a coincidence, it may have been because the ferret lost his grip. Perhaps the stroke had been more akin to a push. A little too affectionate, like a small child who tries to kiss and bites you on the nose instead.

For whatever reason, the claws that had secured the ferret to his masters jacket were withdrawn, and the ferret swung down like a furry pendulum and dangled by his feet from the mans left shoulder.

Ferrets are not best known for being ideal scarves but this was a fact that had been ignored and hitherto, the experience had been one that the man would have recommended to a close friend. If he had had any. The white fur was an excellent insulation from the cold wind of Bleeksi and the additional warmth from the animals body, combined with the musky smell of it’s secretions, served to clear his nose and prevent him from exhibiting the symptoms of cold or flu.

Not that the man ever suffered from either malady. He had long since had the flu jab and was now immune from all but the most deadly of strains. Unlike the Nigerian, who had had the sniffles since his arrival in the town.

By now, the ferret was beginning to wonder whether the whole idea of being owned by the man had been a mistake. The hours were good, and there was always food delivered in payment for the services it provided, but he felt as if there was something missing in its life. Something intangible. Maybe something with longer ears.

Albino ferrets are rare. There are ferrets in Bleeksi that are completely white, as a natural camaflage, but this ferret was born of Western European stock. Both parents were dark in colour, his mother an attractive chocolate brown and his father a rather more masculine black. His uncle had been born with red hair so had been kept away from the rest of the family, and only invited for the more important events in the ferret calandar. The ferret that was now precariously dangling by one foot was the only one in his family born white and had been rejected almost at once. However, as bad as it was in ferret society to be an albino, amongst humans he found that he was valued. He embarked upon a career that now brought him close to acceptance from his species.

One barrier remained. The ferrets of Bleeksi spoke Polish. When they shouted “Dobry rano (poranny)”, he was unable to respond in the appropriate manner. He hadn’t the slightest clue whether they were throwing insults as all his family would have done, or merely calling out a cheery “Good Morning” as an ice breaker.

Reluctantly, he re-established his grip, climbed back and adopted the earlier position. The man didn’t even seem to have noticed, and it was not for the first time that the ferret had felt insignificant and exploited. Little did he know that when the story of TT and his magic black cap would eventually be told, there would be a whole chapter dedicated to ferret ambition.

To be continued...

Suits you Sir

New Trousers

Dark Chickens spent the day in a vain attempt to buy a new suit - he has tried everywhere and still can't find one in his size - apparently tall skinny people don't exist and he's just being picky wanting a suit that fits.

He was so desperate that he even ventured into 'Suits You', a place he'd sworn never to return to after the changing room assault he suffered last time - the guy pinned the trousers to his pants for goodness sake!

Yesterday's shopping trip was no better an experience. You will be able to hear the stress in his voice as he recalls the event...

"Do you know what it's like having a man on his knees in a changing room working too close to your private regions? They're on commission I tell you, the guy just pulled out any suit and said there you go this one will fit, it's a lovely suit (it wasn't) and before I knew it he's measuring me up and explaining they've got expert tailors who can convert a 31" trouser leg in to a 33". Thankfully he relented when I asked where they got the extra 2" from. "

Film concept

An idea for a film about pirates

In a small town on the outskirts of London lived Kevin, a middle aged, middle of the road guy.

Kevin was nothing special, but as he completed another day working for Westminster Bank he paused to consider whether others knew he was a mighty pirate.

There were no give away signs, no eye patch, no wooden leg and no treasure map. To the rest of the world he was an everyday man, well apart from his ribbon tied pony tail.

Kevin was no ordinary pirate for he'd never been to sea, never owned a ship and he was even allergic to parrots. Despite all of this it was a mighty pirate that Kevin was born to be.

Kevin climbed in to his vessel of choice, a red fiat uno and made his escape after another uneventful day to fulfil his pirate fantasy as one of the Pirates of the Caravan Site.

(Film rights for "Pirates of the Caravan Site" to be negotiated with Dark Chickens).

Post Office Rant

Lunchtime at the post office

There are some services for which you must visit the post office in the uk. People with jobs have to quickly leave work at lunchtime and join a queue which is so long it makes them late getting back. The Goat understands that post office staff like lunchtime off too. Maybe that's why there is only one cashier to serve forty people.

Today, he had mostly pensioners in front of him who were grumbling about the queue.
"Whatever time you come, it's the same" they all said repeatedly.
"Well then why don't you all avoid lunch time?" he screamed (silently).

Public Notice - Limited Distribution

Important Email (possibly)

I received this email from Dark Chickens. I won't pretend to understand it, but it is published here in case it is important.

"It is with tremendous joy, delight and excitement that I announce my trouser pockets have been fully signed off by the tailor and are now free to take heavy loads such as conkers, Swiss army knives and post cold/flu handkerchiefs.

To celebrate this good news I have decided to give my trousers the day off and as such they are currently travelling to Brighton.

Don't take life too seriously regards,

Mr D Chickens."

Merchandise

Get your bonus points here

It has been stated that extra wig points are available if you 'do a wiggy' with official merchandise.

A number* of people have enquired about the merchandise with a view to purchasing it. We expect that this is so that they can amass points for this years championship.

To clarify, the below is not a pair of glasses. It is the layout for our official wiggy mug.

To prove it, here are a few mugshots of the finished article.

* The number is 0.

Just because the top is red

Fruit Yoghurt

I have just called Sainsburys to congratulate them on managing to make a black cherry yoghurt with brambles and apple. They were pleased that I called. So pleased that they are going to send me a voucher for £2.

I feel like this is the equivalent of a bronze award and I'm very happy with it.

I know you'll want the full details...

They didn't ask for a receipt, but they wanted to know whether I still had the packaging so that they could get the barcode number and use before date.

There were two whole brambles and three individual juicy bits. I didn't count the apple bits, but I think it was a normal ratio of Bramble:Apple as the quantities didn't seem unusual. The colour was purple, I was fooled into thinking it was black cherry when I opened the carton.

It reminds me of my favourite poem:

Just because
The top is red
Doesn't mean
The pen won't write in blue


Wigsters comments
Dark Chickens: "Wordsworth would be turning in his grave"

NorbertD: "I didn't realise he was a carpenter"

Writers block

A Novel Idea...

If you are a writer, and need to start a new book or chapter you might struggle. Sometimes, the words and ideas just won't flow. This phenomenon is called writers block.

Here are a few opening sentences that you can use to get you started:

1) His trousers left little to the imagination as you could clearly see his legs.

2) "I'm beginning to see a pattern here and it isn't tartan" said super sleuth Sam Sputnick.

3) The bumpy curvy thing in the mirror was called Dorothy.

4) As he sat in his fine Milan leather armchair, with the standing lamp illumunating his cap, he began to ponder.

5) His invisible freind was taunting him about his need for a haircut.

6) The girl with the squeakiest name put up her hand.

7) I wandered along a deserted beach, the sea laden wind leaving me bereft of my sense of normality.

8) The lime green scarf clashed with her boots.

9) I was no McEnroe, but my balls were so on the line that I could see the dust flying.

10) "Triangulation complete sir, we have a lock", but the maths teacher was not amused.

Just make sure that we are mentioned in the acknowledgements.

Office Physics

The Gray Cardigan is a man of principle...

Charity Shop

Dark Chickens attempts to be carbon neutral

With my personal drive and determination to become an eco god, I recently purchased a retro (or is it vintage) wind up clock from a local second hand shop. It's selling feature was an alarm, which I thought would prove very useful given my personal desire to work the early shift. At the time I was shocked at how such a stylish and desirable piece could have possibly ended up on a charity shop shelf and couldn't believe my luck in finding such an unusual purchase for the cheap price of a fiver.

When I got home that evening I wound the clock up and set it free on it personal clockwork adventure, setting the alarm for six o'clock in the morning. I left my bedroom and returned at night fall dressed in my PJ's and nightcap. With teddy safely tucked in I settled down for what I thought would be a good nights sleep.

Half an hour went by and I was still wide eyed listening to the constant and somewhat hyperactive tick-tock of this wind up clock. After another half an hour I decide action was needed and covered the clock with a spare pillow. The disturbance continued and the clock was soon covered by an additional pillow, but still the ticking kept me awake.

It dawned on me then that perhaps the alarm really wasn't such a required feature as to sleep with this noisy ticking and tocking device was near impossible. Not only was it loud, but the tempo of the tempo was impossible to unwind to.

It was now 2 o'clock in the morning and drastic action was required, but from the comfort of my bed the only drastic action available was to shove the clock in one of the bedside cabinets. It soon became apparent that this was only resonating the sound and after a further half an hour the only action I could possibly take was to get out of bed and put the clock in the spare bedroom, making sure to shut all of the doors behind me.

Before settling down again, I set the alarm on my mobile to 6:30 and was soon fast asleep in the now tranquil environment. I thought nothing could disturb me as I lay there enjoying the pleasures of rest, the odd dream and some random leg movements.
Then, BRINGGGGGGG!, it was the alarm clock going off in the spare room. In my daze I immediately thought it was the fire alarm. My heart was pounding. I grabbed my personal belongings and the dog before realising it was that bl00dy alarm clock. To say it was loud was an understatement, if it was a human it would have come with an ASBO for anti-social behaviour. If it was car then it'd be a 1960 diesel lorry with honk horn blaring out.

The following day I cut my losses and gave that alarm clock back to the charity shop... it was then that I realised why this alarm clock was on that charity shelf.

DC.

The Grey Cardigan comment:
"I can relate to this, I once bought a South Park wind up clock and that ticking is the most annoying thing ever. Ended up stuck in a drawer under a load of clothes until it wound down."

Government In Action

Or should that be Government Inaction?

Only time will tell.

NorbertD has discovered the UK governments petition website. No 10 have responded to his request as follows:

From: 10 Downing Street [mailto:team@petitions.pm.gov.uk]
Sent: 21 May 2007 15:02
To: NorbertD
Subject: Confirm your new petition to the Prime Minister - 'Demand that The Grey Cardigan of Strood gets his hair cut by Aunt Pat'


Please click on the link below to confirm that you wish the Number 10 website to display the petition at the bottom of this email in your name.

http://petitions.pm.gov.uk/Haircut

Your petition reads:

We the undersigned petition the Prime Minister to Demand that The Grey Cardigan of Strood gets his hair cut by Aunt Pat

The Grey Cardigan of Strood is refusing to get his hair cut. It has now been some 18 months since his last visit to Aunt Pat. His friends and colleagues demand that TGC makes the call to his Aunt and books himself an appointment, as his hair is now the second longest in the office behind a lady. We do not expect the Prime Minister to exert pressure on TGC to go for a number one all over, but something neat and tidy with a little left over his collar and ears would be ideal. Please sign and help us to help The Grey Cardigan.

Thank you for submitting your petition.

[ This email has been automatically sent by the Number 10 petitions system ]

Marriott Memoirs - Chapter 2

A night out of the hotel

At the local dry ski slope, there is a freestyle ski club. For those of you who are unaware of the activities that freestyle skiers perform, I'll list a few.

• Ramps - Of variable height (0.5 - 1 metre). Skiers go as fast as possible, ski up the ramp and take off into the air, with skill it is possible to land without falling over. Some people can spin in the air before landing.
• Rails - A small ramp leads onto a gas pipe. The skier or boarder has to turn 90 degrees, land on the pipe and travel sideways balancing on the pipe.
• Moguls - A series of bumps of varying height and width through which the skier must travel without being thrown over.
• The coffin - Two parallel rails forming a box. Snowboarders seem to like this one.
• Quarter pipe - At the bottom of the slope, a 2 metre high ramp which curves at the bottom and ends with a vertical section. Skiers will go as fast as possible, hitting the curved section (called the transition) and ski upwards to the vertical section (the vert), then just before falling backwards will spin around 180 degrees and ski back down the vert and transition.

Last night was Quarter pipe night.

The freestyle club has a few well known faces on the UK skiing scene. The England freestyle coach and UK champion amongst them.

With this standard of tuition available, it would have been churlish to refuse the offer of having a go.

Sitting with the coach watching the regulars and hearing his analysis and instructions, it all seems very straightforward. You need speed. You need to have your weight forward as you hit the transition, push off the vert as you lose speed, and simply turn in the air. The main problem that most people have is not having enough speed. They bottle out at the last minute, brake with a snowplough and don't get past the curved transition section, making it very difficult to turn.

It was my turn. I went up the lift to the top of the slope and waited in line. Most people were being given the now familiar instruction to speed up. I wouldn't need that. The skis I was wearing were slalom skis designed for speed, unlike everyone elses twin tips designed for freestyle tricks.

As I set off, the video camera was recording my run. A straight line. No last minute braking. Skiing right up the transition onto the vert. Leaving the top.

It's at this point that you need to turn if you don't want to fall to the ground. I did turn, but not enough. Landing on my left shoulder I hit the ground and the coach was there instantly to pick me up, the video camera thown aside in panic.

Bruised, but otherwise unscathed, I got up, massaged my shoulder and wondered what had gone wrong. Playing back the video in slow motion showed a skier accelerating fast and hitting a wall. The fall had not been captured as everyone had leapt to their feet and run towards me.

"Do you want another go? "

I heard myself saying "Yes"

Descending from the same height on the slope, but slowing down slightly before hitting the transition, I took off into the air as before. This time was more successfull, getting the same extreme height as before and getting one ski round the turn before landing on my head. Did I say more successfull? I meant from a video footage point of view. This time it was all on film.

Dazed and confused, I nonetheless understood the instruction "No more for you tonight". It was only then that I noticed the trampoline club logos some of the regulars were wearing. Maybe they already knew how to turn in the air.

Back at the hotel, the bed didn't seem quite as comfortable as before. Knee and elbow grazed, thumb unable to grip, shoulder aching and a headache.

It's good to get out to get some exercise once in a while.

Gone Wig-about

Aboriginal Tradition

Not wholly unlike the indiginous people of Australia, Dark Chickens sometimes disappears and it's a cause for concern until he returns with a pocket full of wig photos depicting his latest trip.

A few months ago it happened again so we decided to run a competition.

The email went out to the Wigsters
Subject: Where is Chickens?

Answers on a postcard to:-
Where is Chickens Competition
I have No Idea
PO Box ***
Sandy
Beds

It's tricky to judge a competition when you don't know the answer, so we emailed Dark.

Dark, wherever you are,

Please send us a postcard.
We forgive you, it doesn't have to be this way.

A few days later a postcard arrived. It said...

I'm in trouble, I've been locked in a secret chicken barn somewhere in Shropshire by the infamous Dr Howsyapappa. Thankfully it looks like I have enough material in the barn to build an industrial cake mixing machine. Sure, this sounds foolish but with the egg white and the whisk, I'm hoping to fill this barn with a stiff peaky texture... this may in turn offer too much pressure on the doors.

Our trivial competion was clearly in poor taste so the team was mobilised.

Team,

We have a job to do.

This weekend we will meet in Shropshire and search chicken barns until we find Dr Howsyapappa's lair.

Your primary roles are as follows:
Brigadier - Google searches
NorbertD - Long range surveillance
CommanderChristie - Master of disguise (I suggest you bring a moustache)
Lambpie - Tools supplier
Goat - Stiff peaky texture specialist

I'm looking forward to releasing Dark and making use of the remaining egg yolks, perhaps by cooking a few pancakes. Please bring your own recipes and additional ingredients as required.

Sadly, on Friday (after a frying pan had been bought), this message had to be sent...

Team,

A postcard arrived this morning describing a daring escape.

Pancakes are off. Sorry.

A True Story

TV Star Story (and this time it's true)

Dark Chickens diary

25/05/2006

"On my way back from working in London today I bumped in to Paul O'Grady (of Lily Savage fame) whilst he was walking his dog buster. Anyway, one thing led to the next and I ended up asking Paul if buster would like to do a wiggy and before I knew it the wig was out and in Paul's hand. But alas the first celebrity wig was not to be as buster was not playing ball. To add insult to injury Paul then declined with "I'm not getting into that". Never one to take no for an answer I have emailed him one of BigBoyBertie latest wiggy and reminded him again of the wiggy website address."

Paul O'Grady and Buster

We are still waiting. Paul/Lily are you reading this?

TV Star

Our very own Dark Chickens has become a star.

In case you missed it last week,there were two shows desperate to do an interview.

Parkinson

Parkinson: "Hello and welcome to Parkinson. My guests tonight include international playboy, eligible bachelor and sport car collector - The Gray Cardigan. "

[clapping and wolf whistles]

Parkinson: "NorbertD the international film star will join us to talk about his exotic life and his new film 'Undercover on the nudist beach' "

[clapping]

Parkinson: "But our first guest tonight is none other than a sporting legend, not content with leading England to success in the lefthanded ping pong world championship he then went on to spearhead the efforts in saving one of the most endangers species, the dirty white rhino. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Lambpie".

[applause as Lambpie enters stage, wearing a beige suit and panama hat. Lambpie walks up to Parkinson, exchanges pleasantries and takes a seat.]

Parkinson: "I got a warm sense whilst reading your autobiography "Born to lefthanded ping pong", the part in which you describe the encouragement your father gave you to achieve your dreams was particularly touching. He must have been a remarkable man..."

Lambpie: Silence

Parkinson: "My next guest started life as a single cell, then briefly flirted with childhood and finally grew up to be an adult. He has ginger hair, a voice like caramel and an ass so lily white that Dulux have added it to their colour range. But he needs no introduction from me - ladies and gentlemen he's our own Neil Sedaka......it's international singing sensation Dark Chickens......... "

[Parky rises from his swivel chair with the aid of an unseen hand pushing his backside up. He flashes a pair of white dentures at the camera, grins cheesily and gestures stage right in expectation of Chickens walking on.
There is loud applause and a section of the audience containing Motherwell Womens Institute members whoop in anticipation of seeing their hero.
Meanwhile Chickens cheekily comes on stage from the right and pinches Parky's butt from behind. Parky flies up into the air and slips a disc.
Pandemonium breaks out as security guards rush on stage to try and pin down Chickens. Chickens is rugby tackled by one of the guards, ex con Gary McCustard but escapes his clutches and head towards a fire exit where he is cut off by more security guards.
In moments, police arrive and a gun shot is heard. Chickens drops to the floor having tried to scale some scaffold.
Parky then remarkably gets up, brushes himself off and puts his hand over his mouth to stifle hysterics whilst pointing at Chickens. Chickens also gets up, looks over at Parky, grins and winks at the audience.
The whole thing was a set up and was designed to boost Parky's flagging ratings as a result of the show clashing with Match of the Day. The two men embrace like long lost brothers and the audience whoop with enthusiasm. One member of the Motherwell WI is so overcome with emotion that she dies.
Lambpie, who is still sitting on stage in the middle chair, hammily grins like a toothless moron at camera 2 and shakes his head in disbelief. The truth was he was in on the gag all the time.
In years to come this piece of TV history will reach number 73 in 'a hundred classic TV fit ups' ].

Parkinson: [holding back the tears of laughter - he leans forward and opens his mouth to talk and then collapses in hysterics again. Lambpie shakes his head and rolls his eyeballs like a drug crazed psycho]

"Oh dear! Oh deary me!"

[he collapses again and slaps Chickens on the thigh. Chickens retaliates with shadow boxing. He swings round to hit Lambpie whose well rehearsed duck and accompanying look of horror are straight from the amateur dramatics society school of overacting]

Dark Chickens ladies and gentlemen! What a guy! Are you going to sing us a song?

Chickens: [shaking his head and looking coy] I'm not really in the mood tonight Michael....

Parkinson: [Invisible hand propels him out of his chair once more as he goes to milk the audience...]

"You want him to sing Ladies and Gentlemen?"

Audience : Yessssssssssssssssssssss

Chickens: [grinning like a smug fool] "I'm not sure"

Parkinson: "He's got to hasn't he folks!"

Audience: Yeeeeeeessssssssssssssssssssss

Chickens: "Well, I guess just one song wouldn't hurt...."

Audience: Hoooorrraaaayyyyy

[The lights dim and Chickens leaves his chair and heads for solo microphone stage left. The sound of the pan pipes accompanied by slap bass are heard as The James Last Orchestra emerge from an underground orchestra pit. Dry ice is pumped on to the stage so that Chickens completely disappears]


Jonathan Ross

Jonathan Woss: "Good evening and welcome to this weeks show".

[Loads of whooping]

"Alwight alwight, calm down. What's wong with ya tonight? Deaw oh deaw" [shakes head and grimaces as if sucking a lemon]

[whoops, clapping, general hysteria, sounds of a foghorn from back of audience - Woss raises eyebrows and pulls the sucked lemon face again and moves swiftly on]

"My first guest caused pandemonium last week when he appeawed on the Parkinson show. West assured Ladies and Gents that we will be having no such cheap stunts on this show tonight......"

[laughs from the trendy looking mostly gay audience]

"Of course we are far too professional to attempt to pull off such a tacky display"

[The fog horn goes off again and a naked figure with ginger hair resembling Chickens is seen running in through the back of the audience. He runs up to Woss and kisses him - he also embraces the lead singer of house band 'Four Poofs and a Piano' before setting light to his hair. Security hit the scene carrying fire extinguishers. They train them on the man and cover him completely with foam.]

"Ladies and Gents, it's Dark Chickens!"

[Loud guffaws, whoops, clapping and Four Poofs and a Piano hum a terrible version of 'Proud'. The figure covered in foam is dragged away and simultaneously Chickens appears stage right, dressed in a purple crushed velvet suit ala Austin Powers. The audience are wetting themselves.]

Woss: "He's done it again the cheeky pwankster!"

New Diet

It's Guaranteed to work!

In the unlikely event that any of you toned and surprisingly well groomed people ever find you have need for a diet, then we can recommend the following.

It's simple, it's guaranteed to work and it can be summarised in one sentence.

"Eat whatever you like, but do it in front of ten overweight naked people".

Oh, and don't forget to send us a picture of yourself wearing the wig while you do it.

Health and Safety

Spot the difference

When a Wigster sees a sign on a table in a restaurant, it can be difficult.

There is an almost uncontrollable urge to subtly modify the wording, replace it and see if anyone notices.

Take this one for example:

I wonder whether anyone spotted these...

And finally, the strangest one of all...

Regards 2

Email signatures - No 2




Best Knee Guards

Regards 1

Email signatures - No 1





Rear Guards

Spot the difference

Xmas special - six differences to spot






(Yes I do know it's not christmas, and yes there are really six differences).

Desk Chess

The Rules of this popular office game

You will need:
- Three very large chess pieces, suitable as garden ormaments.
- Desks, numbered 69 to 78
- Players to sit at the desks

Rule 1 - The Board

1.1) The board (hereafter referred to as "the board") consists only of desk numbers 69 through 78 inclusive with the exception of desks 69, 73 and 78

1.2) A desk (hereafter referred to as "a desk") is only in play when the desk owner (hereafter referred to as "the desk owner") is in play (see next Rule)

Rule 2 - In Play

2.1) On any given day a desk owner is only in play from the first time he is "in situ" at his desk that day up until he gets up for the last time and signals his intent to leave the office for the day - professional players will accompany this with the phrase "good night all fellow desk chess enthusiasts".

2.2) A desk owner is said to be "in situ" when he is either i) in physical contact with his desk or ii) within 1 metre of his desk with no desk divider between himself and his desk

Rule 3 - Legal Moves

3.1) A chess piece (hereafter referred to as "a piece") may only be moved to a desk where the desk owner is not in situ (with the exception of Rule 4.2 see below) and the desk is not already occupied by another piece.

3.2) The pawn pieces may only be moved to an adjacent desk in a direction perpendicular to a desk divider's longest dimension.

3.3) The king piece (identifiable by the fact that it looks like a king
piece) may be moved to any adjacent desk.

3.4) The queen piece (identifiable by the fact that it is not the king piece and not a pawn) may be moved in any direction and any number of desks in a straight line provided there is a clear path of unoccupied desks.

Rule 4 - Underhand Moves

4.1) The Misdirection Move - this involves a player manipulating another player into leaving their desk via a fake phone call, fake message or some other such means so as to enable them to make "a move"

4.2) The Stealth Move - this is incredibly difficult to achieve and involves making a move when the desk owner is still in situ. The move is only deemed successful (and hence legal) if it is completed without the desk owner realising the move has taken place. Please note a stealth move is illegal if any silencer devices are attached to the piece. A desk owner can signal he has detected the stealth move in progress by accusing the protagonist using the phrase "How dare you, you desk chess fiend". The chance a stealth mover takes is that if he is detected the move is deemed illegal which means he retains the piece and also picks up penalty points (see Rule 7)

4.3) The Collaborative Move - this is similar to the misdirection move but involves a player using one or more other players (or non-players) in the deception which either distracts the player (to enable a stealth move) or causes the player to cease being in situ (to enable a standard move).

4.4) Please note underhand moves are not to be frowned upon, far from it they are to be actively encouraged to promote a culture of backstabbing and mistrust amongst colleagues.

Rule 5 - Illegalities

5.1) A move is considered illegal if any of the following are true

a) the desk owner is in situ (except for a stealth move) or not in play at the time

b) the destination desk is already occupied by a piece

c) the piece has been moved in a direction/distance in contravention of Rule 3

d) a piece is removed from a desk by somebody other than the desk owner

5.2) Following an illegal move the piece should be retained by the player at fault and furthermore that player incurs penalty points (see Rule 6)

Rule 5b - Slow Play

5b.1) The day is divided into 2 sessions for each player, the morning session and the afternoon session.
The "morning session" is defined as the time from when the player is first in situ up until the point when they go for lunch, the "afternoon session" is defined as the time from when a player returns from lunch up until they are no longer in play that day.
If a players desk is occupied at the start of a session then they must make at least one move within that session otherwise they are guilty of "slow play". Slow play is considered most unsporting and hence there are penalties (see Rule 7).

Rule 6 - Winners

6.1) On any given day any desk owner who's desk is not occupied when they cease to be in play is deemed "a winner".

Rule 7 - Penalties

7.1) Each player will accumulate penalty points as follows:

i) not being a winner on a given day for which he was in play at some juncture

- if you are left with a pawn 1 point

- if you are left with the king 1.5 points

- if you are left with the queen 2 points

ii) performing an illegal move - 3 points

iii) getting caught mid stealth move - 4 points

iv) slow play in the morning - 1 point

v) slow play in the afternoon - 1 point

vi) slow play all day - 5 points

7.2) All players penalty point total is reset to 0 at 0:00 on Mondays.

Rule 8 - Weekly loser

8.1) At the end of each week the player with the most penalty points is deemed the weekly loser, and the following week he must either

i) restock the biscuit tin or

ii) buy a round of tea/coffees for all players who are thirsty or both.

8.2) In the event of a tie the loser will be decided using the following criteria in order:

- most penalties incurred

- most days left with the queen

- most days left with the king

- oldest player

Wise Words

Quotes of the day

"You can never go back after speaking the word carrot in a Welsh accent..."

"...or the word murder in a Scottish accent."

- Dark Chickens

Action photo

Be alert

Lambpie is always on the look out for Wiggy photo opportunities.

"I had to cut short my phone call as I used the camera on my phone, I put my electric shaver in my top pocket, balanced the pasty on the gear stick and held the hot coffee between my knees - unfortunately this meant my female companion at the time had to return to her own seat for a while.

I did actually nearly hit a Transit van - but it was an opportunity too good to miss." - Lambpie

Wiggy licence plate

Pescetarian

The Grey Cardigan is a pescetarian and he would like everyone to know.

More details can be found here http://www.answers.com/topic/pesco-pollo-vegetarianism

Please go about your normal activities.

Caught Short

The adventures of Upset Stomach Man and Spew Boy

Episode 1 : Caught Short

Interior - USM and SB are in their secret base watching their 42 inch flat screen vomitor for any crime related shenanigans.

SB: "Holy toilet roll upset stomach man, there hasn't been any crime for a whole week!"

USM: "Patience my under nourished and rather pale looking friend, all things come to those who wait."

SB: "I don't feel so well."

USM: "To the lav!"

Exterior - We see a rather suspicious looking character milling about outside a bank. We are introduced to USM's arch nemesis - The Unhygienic Chef.

TUC: "No one will suspect me when I rob this bank, it will be like taking lemontart made with out of date eggs from a baby. Then I can open more restaurants and spread food posioning throughout the city. No one can stop the Unhygienic Chef! MUWHAHAHAHAHAAH!!"

Interior - USM and SB's secret base.

SB: "I don't remember eating carrots."

USM: "You sure had a lot to bring up there spew boy, most impressive. Wait, look... the Vomitor!"

SB: "The Unhygienic Chef is robbing a bank!"

USM: "To the lurgey mobile!" Interior - Inside the bank

TUC: "Nobody move, this is a stick up. Give me all your money and make it snappy... snappy like brandy snaps covered in congealed cream!"

USM: "Hold it right there Unhygienic Chef!"

TUC: "Ha, you fell into my trap.. take this!"

USM: "No... not undercooked cod fillets with a dodgy looking white sauce. Spew Boy, get him!"

SB: "I don't feel so good."

Narrator: "Oh no, what will happen to our crime fighting duo with dubious health? Can they outwit the unhygienic chef? Can anyone think of any more lurgey and chef related comments?

Find out in episode two... the big clean up!"

Fini - A Grey Cardigan Production

The Rules for W6

The Rules FAQ
We often get asked about the website www.worldwidewig.co.uk which is sometimes known as W6, so it's worth putting some information here to help.

FAQ 1 - Do you have rules?
Yes

FAQ 2 - Really?
Yes we do. We really have rules.

FAQ 3 - Why do you have rules?
We could explain at length why we need rules to keep a balance between legality, common sense and ethical Wig play, but we won’t. Just accept that there are rules. OK?

FAQ 4 - What are the rules?
Please refer to the section "The Rules".

FAQ 5 - I have read the rules and my submission seems to have been scored incorrectly.
Please note that the rules are there to be broken by the Wig High Council. You must abide by them, but when it comes to scoring we can deviate or add to them at any time without notice.

FAQ 6 - So what’s the point of rules?
Wow, this is a tough one. Think of them as guidelines that can shift as rapidly as a whale in a blizzard. Now imagine that the Wig High Council get involved, put the whale on a slippery slope, lubricate it with goose fat and give it a friendly push. You don’t know where it might end up, but it’s still a large aquatic mammal isn’t it. I hope that clears it up.

FAQ 7 - Why do you give bonus points if there is a clock in the photo?
Please refer to the ‘Quick Reference Score Guide’

The Rules

Rule 1: Keep it clean to make the scene
Whilst we at the World Wide Wig welcome all submissions you should note the following rules apply:You should only send us submissions that you'd be prepare to show your grandmother.We'll only add submissions that we are prepared to show our grandmother. She's 87, very frail and easily shocked. If we feel that your entry is not suitable then we might track down your grandmother and show her what you've been up to.We reserve the right to alter your submission in anyway we see fit for the public domain viewing of our website.

Rule 2: Bonus Points
Each accepted entry will automatically be awarded 50 big shiny points (herein and thereafter referred to as "BSP"). In addition, extra bonus points may be awarded based on the contents of the submission. See "Quick reference Score Guide" for full details

Rule 3: Penalty Points
Each accepted entry may also be penalised based on it content. See "Quick reference Score Guide" for full details

Rule 4: Legality, Danger and Consequences
Please note that whilst we enjoy the risqué nature of certain photos, we at World Wide Wig accept no responsibility for your actions in pursuit of the ideal Wiggy. All consequences of Wigging are your own problem. We do not condone illegal actions (and although we all enjoyed watching The Italian Job starring Michael Caine, the movie is looking a little dated now).

Quick Reference Score Guide

Title	Points	Description and Comments
Basic	+50	Automatically awarded to all submissions
Famous place	+50	Extra bonus for including an identifiable famous landmark
Famous person	+ 50 to +200	Extra bonus for including an identifiable famous person. If the person appears on our "Most Wanted" list, extra points may be awarded.
National Flag	+25	Extra bonus for including a picture of the national flag. The full flag must be clearly visible.
Highly Public Place	+10 to +50	We expect to see people in a public place, and points will be awarded on how many there are.
Multiple Wiggy	+100	The Wigster who submits the picture is awarded the points. The Wig Accomplice gets no points unless the picture is submitted again (see Repetition penalty)
Comedy Setting	+10 to +50	We accurately measure the volume of laughter and award points from the output.
Comedy Sign	+10 to +50	Rated on comedic value and ingenuity
Miserable	-10	If it makes you feel bad you shouldn’t be doing it. Penalty points will apply
Clock	+20	We have no idea why we give bonus points for clocks. Don’t bother asking.
Repetition	-10 to -50	Please see below
Use of "Wig" in sign bonus	+50	Keep looking and carry your Wig at all times. There are lots out there.
Danger Factor	+10 to +50	Please refer to Rule 4
Wig not visible	-100	Why did you even bother submitting the picture?
Contravene the law	- 50 to +50	We do not condone this. Please refer to Rule 4
Silly outfit	+10 to +50	More silly equals more points, obviously.
Over enthusiasm	-50 to +50	Risky - can be judged with a penalty or bonus on a whim of the Wig High Council
Remote Location	+30	You may have spent weeks getting there, but you still get only 30 points.
Non-standard Wig	-40	The Wig should have been downloaded from the web site. No excuses.
Hiding or Lurking	-40	Wear your Wiggy with pride
Repetition	-10 to -50	Please see above
Use of a golden Wig by a non world champion	-200	Just don’t do it. It’s not big and it’s not clever.
Use of official merchandise	+50	If our official merchandise is visible, you get an advertising bonus.
Wig misalignment	-10 to -50	It’s not difficult to get it right. Please try harder. Try more hair gel.
Point of Interest	+10 to +50	Anything that we think is interesting in the picture. Be creative!

Pineapple

Does it look like I work here?

Today, I was lifting a banana from a supermarket shelf when another shopper spoke to me.
"Excuse me", she said, "can you tell me what the shelf life is on these pineapples? I have guests coming round on Thursday..."
Not wanting to embarass her by highlighting her mistake, I thought it would be kinder to pretend I worked there and give pineapple advice.
"This one would be fine for Thursday" I replied, "but that one would have to be left in the sun for a couple of days to soften up".
She thanked me for my help and I continued shopping.

Sound and Ground Force

NorbertD, our media correspondent has an...

Idea for a programme:
"Sound and Ground Force" presented by Alan Titchmarsh, Kenny Baker and Neil Sutherland. In it they surprise musical gardeners by not only redesigning their gardens but also composing a jolly piece of music for them.

Kidnapped!

Tealeaf

A fellow wigster who shall be nameless (let's just assume he is Dark Chickens) has notified us of the following correspondence:

-----Original Message-----

From: Iama Nutter [mailto:thegreattealeaf@*********]

To: Chickens Dark

Subject: Teapot

I have your teapot - if you don't believe me see the attached photo.

If you ever want to see it again you do what I say. I want £5 in 1st class stamps and a large cauliflower to be left in trap 2 (from the left) of 1st floor admin gents.

When, and only when, you have complied with this request your teapot will be returned to where you left it.

No cops. No funny business.

Knowing that Iama Nutter must have access to his place of work and the toilet facilities therof, Dark was very concerned and brought the matter to our attention. He confirmed that his teapot was missing and the threat must be real. We advised him to respond in the following manner:

-----Original Message-----

From: Chickens Dark

To: Iama Nutter

Subject: RE:Teapot

Dear Iama Nutter,

Despite your attempts to con me out of my life savings, I regret to say that I will not be taking part in your potnapping exercise as I am not the legal owner of the teapot.

The teapot belongs to one of my best friends who recently lost his beloved mouse, Tommy.

After Tommy's cremation, he used the teapot to store his ashes. Well yesterday marked a special day, a day when Tommy would finally be set free. For moral support I accompanied my mate down to trap four where he said a few words.

It was a nice ceremony, nothing too fancy, just how Tommy would have liked it. My mate despite a momentary lapse, when he shouted out "Oh God, why me?", managed to keep himself together. After the dispersion of his ashes, we flushed the toilet and said our final goodbyes to Tommy.

Outside the trap, we were in such a mess and in the rush to get out of the gents, the teapot was left behind. I hope you can find it in you heart to return the teapot to its rightful owner, as it is his last physical memory of his beloved mouse, apart from his entrails, which he had stuffed and displayed in a small box, which now sits on his bedside cabinet.

Please reply.

Within hours Dark had received his reply:

-----Original Message-----

From: Iama Nutter

To: Chickens Dark

Subject: RE:Teapot

I thought I said no funny business - look I'm not playing about wise guy - see attached.

You've got until tomorrow 1pm to pay up with the cauliflower - and make sure you're not followed.

We advised Dark Chickens to buy a cauliflower and visit the gents at 1pm, but instead of following our advice he sent another email:

-----Original Message-----

From: Chickens Dark

To: Iama Nutter

Subject: RE:Teapot

Dear Iama Nutter,

I can tell by your approach that your just an amateur - its more than obvious that a pair of scissors won't cut through the spout of my trusty old teapot. In light of this, I'm prepared to only leave a parsnip or a carrot.

The exchange will take place at 2pm. I'll take trap 4 (next to the hand driers), you'll take trap 3.

I'll say "More tea victor".

You'll say "No thanks I'm a lady".The exchange of the goods will then occur.

Do we have a deal?

Within minutes Dark had received another reply:

-----Original Message-----

From: Iama Nutter

To: Chickens Dark

Subject: RE:Teapot

Who do you think you are calling amateur I am a serious criminal, last year I successfully ransomed a toby jug in exchange for 5lbs of brussel sprouts. You will treat me with a little more respect if you ever want to see your teapot again.

I set the rules, I am in charge. The deal will be as follows:

- you will be at the exchange location first and waiting in trap 4

- when I arrive I shall make a loud cough

- you will know it is me as I shall conceal the word a**se within the cough if you listen carefully

- you will then say your line and I shall say mine

- the exchange will then take place

- I will then leave and you will wait for a further five minutes before leaving

Do NOT try and follow me. No cops, no senior management.

Dark decided to call the rogues bluff and did not reply for several hours. He received another email.

-----Original Message-----
From: Iama Nutter
To: Chickens Dark
Subject: RE:Teapot

In case you need convincing I'm serious, just listen to your pathetic pet:

"Please please help me Daddy.

The nasty man says he'll cut my spout of and stick it up my bottom if you don't provide the stamps and the veg.

I can help you - I'm a magic teapot, and if you save me I'll grant you one wish.

It can only be a small wish I'm afraid as I'm only a small teapot, but it could be a good one (I can't do fame, fortune, women or eternal life, but I'm okay at helping you choose the right queue at Sainsbury's and stuff like that )

Don't let the nasty man hurt my bottom. Don't let me down Daddy."

Meet my demands or the pot gets it!

Dark was in contact with us immediately, and we repeated our advice to pay the ransom. He finally agreed, and went to trap 4.

It wasn't long before he heard a cough from the cubicle next to him. He said "More tea victor?"

"No thanks, I'm a lady" said a strangely muffled female voice from a recording played through the loudspeaker of a mobile phone.

"I'm passing the cauliflower now." said Dark and passed a carrot through the gap at floor level.

In return, a small teapot was passed back and he heard the kidnapper leave. Tempted to peek, but afraid of the consequences, Dark remained in the dark (the lights had mysteriously been turned off) for five minutes.

The deal was complete. No cops or senior managment had been involved. (It's usually the best way).

First Class Excuse

A post room adventure
The post ladies gathered like brooding witches within their letter clad chamber as they waited for the morning post to arrive. Time was already pressing on and Beryl, the smallest of the post ladies, flicked through a ream of self adhesive stamps as she waited, cracking her knuckles after every complete flick. Behind her stood Curly, so called for her extraordinary curly hair, who held a leg of lamb and was ripping off raw chunks of meat with her teeth without regard to avoidance of gristle. Meaty chunks were consumed with fervour. The delivery driver was 5 minutes late and they'd make him pay.

At 10:05 the door bell signalled an arrival and beyond the door stood a slender chap with mid spine length ginger hair. His grey cardigan glistened in the harsh lights as he waited for the post room door to open. Curly opened the door which creaked as the stranger came in to focus.

"Are you the post man?" Curly enquired

"No, I'm The Grey Cardigan and I wish to buy a stamp" The Grey Cardigan announced.

As he made his way in to the post room the door slammed shut behind him. Perhaps he wouldn't be seen for the next twenty five years. Few could imagine what a bizarre world The Grey Cardigan had entered and in a very short time he would regret making his request for a first class stamp.

What follows is The Grey Cardigan's personal account of his time in captivity with the post room ladies, the torture, the ridicule and the self adhesive stamps. If you are of a weak nature, then look away now. If you are normal, then stop reading and maybe plan to read these opening lines when you're older and wiser. If you're working in an office and have nothing better to do then read on.

"I knew I was in danger as soon as the door slammed shut behind me. The fact that I was quickly wrestled to the ground by Curly and Beryl and within 45 seconds found myself gagged and tied within a post sack only added to my concerns. Dazed, confused and disorientated I was bundled into the back of a van and driven to an unknown location. A location so unknown that not even those who knew the location were sure of whether they really knew it or just thought they knew it. As I heard the van halt, the doors opened and I was dragged out of the van, my legs frantically kicking in an inept attempt to free myself from the post bag.

Thud! Whack!

I had been knocked out cold by a blow to the head and was not to come round again until mid day.

Mid day arrived and I found myself sitting on a chair in the middle of a disused sorting office. I was cold, mainly due to the fact that I had been stripped of all but my distinctive grey cardigan and grey y fronts. A fan had been placed to blow a draught of cold air up my left thigh. They had forgotten to tie me up, so I put my clothes on and went home to recover. That's why I was late to work today".

Email Tennis

A little known internet sport

Dark Chickens:
First Serve - Smack

NorbertD:
Net

Dark Chickens:
Second serve - Thwack - over the net and in court

NorbertD:
... but not as powerfully as the first service. Like a girls serve, and not Tracy Austin or the Williams sisters, more like Victoria Wood in a dinner ladies outfit (but using a tennis racket, not a frying pan). The ball moves gracefully and slowly, and then rockets back over the net, raising chalk as it hits the base line.

Dark Chickens:
Unfortunately for you I have cunningly disguised myself as a ball girl and have a racket hidden up my small pleated tennis skirt. I spring forward, pulling the racket out of my skirt and hit a back hand shot across the court and heading towards the corner of your half. The crowd ooooh in anticipation of a point, very much similar to the anticipation felt went fatty Arbuckle raise his 65th hotdog to his mouth during the "1987 hot dog eating world championships".

NorbertD:
Momentarily distracted by the pleated tennis skirt and a recollection of the smell of onions cooked outdoors on a portable stand, the receiver stumbled as he launched in desperation towards the corner of the court. "Aagh" turned to "Ah" and winces turned to wonderment as the racket at last made contact by the merest of margins. The sound heard by the ball boy and a privileged few in the front seats was that of ball hitting racket rim. The ball glanced up at an unusual angle, dropped like a stone and trickled across the net as if it was morning dew. Surely, this would not be returned.

Dark Chickens:
Despite the excessive ground between my standing position and the net, I instantly stick my excessively long foot out and hoof the ball up over the net, in a similar style to Chrisy Waddle England penalty in the World Cup defeat to Germany. The ball head out over the court and into the neighbouring court, where LambPie waits poised like an mountain lion on a crevice. To everyone surprise he carries on the game and the first ever version of two court tennis begins.

LambPie:
Still hung over and suffering from post alcohol abuse shakes LambPie makes a feeble attempt to play the ball and skews it 90 degrees which results in it floating like a dandelion head on a calm summers day heading towards NorbertD. There's a hush, there's a lull, heads in the crowd fall, the point is over the ball is not going to pass over a net so surely, even in 2 court tennis (where according to rule 134b.2 the ball may be played back to any opponent so long as it passes over a net) it's point over, but wait what's this. The faces in the crowd are aghast, a team of doozers (of Fraggle Rock fame) emerge from a sprinkler head and rapidly construct a new net between the 2 courts, the new net cord is pulled tight, doozer no. 375 polishes the top of the net post and then tips his helmet as at that moment the ball passes the line of the net - the crowd go wild, it's game on and NorbertD has got but a few moments to finish autographing that female fans inner thigh, pick up his racket and "play ball".....

NorbertD:
Wondering what the crowd are wild about, NorbertD turns around and sees the ball heading in his direction. It's not often he gets to practice his tattooing skills and for an instant weighs up whether to finish the autograph or return to the game. If he tries and fails to return the ball, his admirer might decide to discontinue her autograph collection. However, if he ignores the ball and finishes his work, other members of the audience might leave the queue that has formed. He almost hesitated for too long and had time only to throw the racket at the ball. Miraculously, it colided with the ball just as it was about to hit the floor. The audience held its breath as the ball rose, cleared the net and landed in centre court. Two more people joined the queue as NorbertD leapt to his feet to retrieve the racket amid rapturous applause.

Dark Chickens:
Despite the extraordinary delay the tennis ball which had been caught by an Eagle suddenly dropped to the ground, whistling like a twenty pound bomb as it fell to earth. The ice coating which had encrusted it's surface in the high altitude melted and with a Ka-pong the ball hit the court surface and rebound violently upwards... the pressure was on, it was hit this or the point would be lost... the bragging rights gone... tennis court cred left in tatters. The ball started to turn towards the earth and with an almighty swing, much large than the one experienced in the 1997 general election, the racket and the ball headed for a collision... time slowed as the anticipation built... could I hit it at such a speed. Wham... the racket whizzed past the ball, contact had been missed... the shot was fluffed. The speed of the shot pulled be over and as I headed for the ground my legs went up into the air. From nowhere I remembered Rene Higuita's scorpion kick in 1994 and luckily managed to pull it off and connect with the ball. It limped over the net and into my opponents court like and injured Gazelle. I lay on the floor bruised, battered and humiliated as I realised that I had forgotten to put my pants on underneath my small pleated tennis skirt and my opponents had had a full flash of my undercarriage. Would this be enough to scare them into submission? The crowd had already started a chant of "New balls please".

Sorry, photograph censored.