Saturday, December 04, 2010

Moribund the Burgermeister

It's positively balmy out there at the moment. The fishwife and his family appear to be farting about in the slush. I am keeping my eye on them as they have shovels and spades and are getting close to my car. Fishwife's son has bad eyes and glasses that would look funny in a 1970s Benny Hill show... They do strange things; not as strange or fuckwitted as the other neighbours, but strange enough...


It was never my intention to go to Stamford yesterday. But I thought that with the weather being really bad and this being Lincolnshire I'd better go with the wife and friends because this was Lincolnshire and the BBC was saying that this county was under 40 feet of snow.

I crawled out of bed at 7.30, leaving the wife to have a wee lie in and because she had, the previous day, had a rather unfortunate accident (more of that later). It was gloomy, cold and the earliest I'd got out of bed for nearly 2 months.

We set off at a little after 9am; the temperature gauge in the Sedici said -3 and it felt like it; yet by the time we hit the North-East corridor of Northants - up by Collyweston and Easton on the Hill - it had dropped to -6 and frankly that's just not very amusing; especially as I'd conspired to leave my woolly hat and scarf on the stairs. Roger didn't have any gloves, so while my ears froze, his ickle dannies were seizing up. -6 is as cold as a dead prossy's clunge, possibly even colder!

Stamford greeted us with a wall of ice, which if you know Roger's blog there is a picture of it, blurred because it was taken while I driving at 200 mph. The town centre was still there and the paths were well cleared, either shovelled clear or salted. I admit, this is a smaller town than Shoesville, but the fact you could safely walk around the entire town without breaking your neck was heart-warming (or almost lukewarm because of the -6 temperatures).

Roger and I spent the best part of our 3½ hours there being surreal and much of the journey there and back doing a rather crude version of Coogan & Brydon's The Trip. For instance, were you aware that Mason Williams' failed follow up to Classical Gas was called Practical Twats? Or that Kingfishers should be renamed Cuntfishers? The reason for this is because every time we got out of the stationary car to take a [picture of the little fucker, he flew off, only to return as soon as we shut the doors. Roger does all of this nonsense better justice than I can at the moment, so I recommend you check his blog out at: you can also find out why David Bentley should take up a career as a writer. You can't however find out some other things...

It isn't the first time I've been to Stamford. For that check out: unless you already have and then it'll be a bit boring, mainly because it only has a small mention of Stamford and the rest is a load of interesting statistics!


The wife was walking back to her car on Thursday when she went arse over tits and whacked her head on the frozen and extremely slippery pavement. After my initial worry, it soon turned to anger for our utterly shit Borough council, who, it seems cannot keep our roads or paths clear leading to people slipping and causing themselves potentially serious injuries. I really wanted her to consider suing these bunch of CAUCs, especially as she has her second case of whiplash in two months and has been in considerable pain since.


This is an addendum of sorts; I've been working on something big and sprawling and autobiographical since last Wednesday and I might not even use it. It is inflammatory, talks of events that happened over 20 years ago and might piss a few people off. But, it is cathartic and I will finish it, even if it goes into 10,000+ words.

Until that happens I'm going to enjoy the + degree temperatures today (all the snow is almost all gone - hooray); wince as my football team fails to beat a rubbish club after beating the Arse and the Red Shite in subsequent weeks; enjoy my old pub reunion tonight, even if I'm one of the few people who will actually turn up and look after the wife, who is struggling a little. Oh and Sainsbury's; more purple potatoes beckon.

This blog has been brought to you by someone who feels he could have done a better job writing this...

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