Inlet Jump

I'd like to begin with an apology.

Unfortunately I've never done anything wrong. And a disingenuous apology is tantamount to a slap in the the face.

So I'd like to apologise. For slapping you in the face with this deceptive apology. I'm sorry for offering a baseless apology.

But of course, it now has a base (perhaps one filled with melted cheese), and so I don't really have anything to apologise for after all.

Sorry.

I've been a bit slow on the uptake lately (and the upload, and the upstairs, and the upset). I haven't had many thoughts.

I mean, I've probably had quite a few thoughts. Probably in the hundreds. And that's not taking into account conjoined thoughts (which some would consider equalling two or three regular thoughts).

But they are mostly unblogworthy.

Unlike the stuff I've written so far.

Which is.

I recently bought a present for a Swiss friend of mine who just found out his wife was having an affair. It was a cuckold clock.

I'm not usually good at buying presents, but this was EXACTLY APPROPRIATE FOR THE SITUATION.

Of course, as you know I know, the Swiss didn't invent the cuckoo clock. But it's close enough for the joke to work.

Weirdly, my friend didn't appreciate the gift. Not because it reminded him of his wife's infidelity, but because the horns prohibit the cuckoo from exiting his little house.

That's right, elements of the cuckoo clock have been retained for the cuckold clock. They decided it was best.

I don't really have a Swiss friend.

Actually, I do. But I don't imagine she'll be reading this. Or will she?

In any event, she doesn't have an unfaithful wife. At least, to the best of my knowledge.

(She's not really Swiss anyway)

Maybe I'll spend more time speculating about the marital status of friends that may or may not be reading this.

It won't be of interest to anyone but me and those friends that may be reading this. Those that may not be reading this probably won't be.

Like Greek Andy. I wonder what he's doing now...

He's probably pretty much as I remember him: not a real person.

If there was any justice in the world, a venerable sheep would be wearing a John Motson-skin coat right now.

Because justice is blind. And has an odd sense of humour.

Justice likes watching You've Been Framed!, but only when the people falling over are criminals. Justice is more satisfying with a wry Harry Hill voice over. And then that bank-robbing toddler will understand the error of his ways, as he slips on a cake and sets his mother on fire.

Justice is served.

I'm not going for the little three-asterisk breaks in this entry (***).

They seem slightly pretentious. Like I'm implying each section is a well-honed, self-contained golden comedy sketch nugget.

The three asterisks are like the little comedy drum rimshot. But today, I feel like having everything flowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwe all make mi[stakes are high]&MIGHTY



That eerie theme is one of the main reasons I don't trust Mighty Mouse.

The other reason is: he's a mouse. I've always found something untrustworthy about mice. I think it's coupled with an awareness that rats are hated and feared by the world at large.

As far as I'm concerned, it's just a kind of rodent apartheid.

Even in the field of cartoon mice (micefield, if you will), I'd much rather have dinner with Speedy Gonzales, Jerry or Minnie Mouse.

They all seem a bit more down-to-earth.

Anyway, it's getting late.

I should probably... you know...

Yeah.

I mean, I'm pleased with what I have here. Genuinely, generally pleased.

I'm going to buy myself a drink, and then...

well, we'll see where things go.

Mint julep is one of those cocktails that seems like an anagram of something interesting, but isn't.

You know the ones.