Dark And Lovely

Do you know, Graham Bandage's Lovely World is so lovely that he seldom manages to post here these days. Personally, I think he's letting down the blogosphere.

But today, he has been stung into action. And here he is, acting. And speaking of himself in the third person, unable to think of a good way to shift into the first person. He'll probably have to talk about himself for the entire post.

Bandage had occasion to buy a newspaper in WH Smith's. "Would you like a bag?" asked the nice lady behind the till.

"No," said Bandage. "I'll be all right."

"Yeah," said the lady, "Save a tree."

Can anybody explain where the flip one can find a plastic bag tree? Bandage thought he saw one once in Greenbank Park, but all that had happened was a discarded plastic bag had been blown up there by a gust of wind. Perhaps the lady in WH Smith's had had a similar experience, but had failed to investigate. We will never know.

On the subject of trees, can anybody tell Bandage what the worst tree is? The answer is below*.

Tree bark, that's nice. And brown. A friend of a friend contends that brown is a horrible colour, but Bandage thinks he's wrong. Lots of nice things are brown. Just because poo is brown, it doesn't mean that brown is bad.

A List of Nice Things That Are Brown

1. Tree bark


2. Onion gravy


3. Chocolate


4. Conkers


5. Hair (some varieties)


6. A polished bookcase


7. Beyonce Knowles.

Bandage dares say he could come up with many more examples, but they'd probably be much of a muchness.

* Purgatory

Animal Cruelty

"How much is that doggy in the window?/The one with the waggily tail?"

What sort of pet shop puts a dog in the window? The logistics of such an action chill me to the bone.

I bet they put a cat next to it. And a mouse next to that. They probably think, "Ooh, it'll be just like a cartoon."

No, it'll be a bloodbath. Irresponsible idiots. How dare they? I mean, how bloody dare they? They shouldn't be glamorized in song, they should be strung up. Monsters.

I know it's an old song, but it's only just occurred to me.

Goodness me, it's nice to be back.

Browned Off

Gordon Brown must feel a little bit like the lady in this clip from the film Airplane.

Hair Today, Etc

I've got one of those beards like Radovan Karadzic has got. A special magical beard of invisibility.

I've been wearing it for the last couple of weeks while I've been in hiding and I have to say it's certainly done the trick. I've not been mithered by any of the people I've been hiding from.

For proof they work, see this. You'll have to look very hard, but if you concentrate you can see a mass-murdering war criminal hiding in plain sight ON THE TELLY.

I understand Osama Bin Laden gets his beards of invisibility from the same supplier as me.

Perhaps the Portugeuse police are on to this, but it's all gone terribly wrong. Maybe they've been confused because they've been looking for a bearded toddler. That's probably the most likely explanation.

Sandwich Of Doom

So I go into my favourite sandwich shop, for what I now know is the last time. I walk up to the chiller cabinet and pick up a lovely chicken, bacon and sweetcorn sandwich. Then I walk over to the tills. So far, so good.

Now the shop is quite empty, as it's 11.45 and most people are still at work. There are two women on the tills, with an empty till between them. One (on the right) is a gnarled old crone, the other is young, but a biffer.* Neither of them seem particularly attentive, so I walk to a point roughly equidistant from the pair of them and wait to see who cracks first.

The young biffer's reactions are about a second faster, and she picks up a bag in which she will pack my sandwich. But only a second faster. The old crone picks up her bag, but doesn't see Biffergirl pick up hers.

Obviously to me, Biffergirl has won the Bandage prize, so I walk towards her till. But it's not so obvious to Cronewoman.

CRONEWOMAN:
'Ey, what's wrong with me, lad?

BANDAGE:
Whhubble.

CRONEWOMAN:
Going to 'er? Oh, I see. (BROWNED OFF) Going for the young pretty one? Oh, yeah, age before beauty.

BANDAGE:
(BAFFLED BY CRONEWOMAN'S NON-SEQUITUR) Oh, no, no. (ATTEMPTS LAUGH, WHILE HANDING OVER TENNER) I can't win here, can I?

CRONEWOMAN STARES AT BANDAGE.

BANDAGE IS DISCOMFITED. LOOKS AT BIFFERGIRL, THEN BACK TO CRONEWOMAN.

BANDAGE:
(PROTESTING) I don't fancy her at all.

BIFFERGIRL FLINGS SANDWICH INTO BAG, SLAMS DOWN CHANGE AND STALKS OFF.

I wonder, can any of my readers beat this complete lack of ability to interact with the human race? I imagine Captain Mac could give me a run for my money.

*Not sure if 'biffer' is in common parlance outside Liverpool. Perhaps 'moose'?

Hole In Shoe And Reasoning

I have discovered, thanks to today's frankly inclement weather, that, while there is not really a good time to find out one has a hole in one's shoe, some times are markedly worse than others.

On the subject of shoes and that, I had occasion to visit a shoe shop last week. I saw a box of special socks to be used to protect ladies from other people's verrucas when they are trying on shoes. What an excellent idea, but I wonder if it is slightly let down by the marketing.

I can imagine the scene when the chaps at product development were pitching this to their bosses. And here I am, imagining it ...


BOSSES:
So, chaps in product development, what do you have for us today?


CHAP IN PRODUCT DEVELOPMENT (hereafter known as CPD):
Socks.


BOSSES:
Socks? I think we've done those.

CPD:
Ah, but not these. These are disposable socks.


BOSSES:
Disposable? What, may we ask, is the chuffing point of those? Are we to market these to people with particularly rank feet?


CPD:
No, no, Bosses. These are protection from those with particularly rank feet. To be used in shoe shops.

BOSSES:
Now that is an excellent idea. Well done, Chaps in Product Development. Now, as usual, marketing is the key. You'll have to be careful to distinguish them from ordinary, everyday socks.

CPD:
No problem, Bosses. We've just the name. Something so utterly distinctive that there can be no confusion between the use of these socks and what we will call normal socks.

BOSSES:
Excellent, carry on...


And so was launched ...

Heyyyyy, It's The Zonf

I'm delighted to see that Henry Winkler, the Fonz from the 1970s sitcom Happy Days, has been talking to children in schools about dyslexia.

That's a winner, I think you'll agree. Catchphrases like "Heyyyy" and "No way, Mr C" are all the rage on the playgrounds and schoolyards. Certainly that was my experience when I was a child.

It would be tremendous if Paul Michael Glaser, or Starsky off Starsky & Hutch, could be persuaded to give a talk on bullying. Perhaps Anna Karen, better known as Olive off On The Buses, could talk to them about teenage pregnancy.

I would shy away from any stranger danger talks by Gary Glitter, though.

I wonder if my many readers could suggest any other eye-catching 1970s celebs/PSHE combinations. By all means use the comment facility below.