Ho, ho - BoJo? No, no!

Oooh-err, cripes! He's the lovable, capering political puppy-dog, the blonde-headed mop of a Mayor of London who we all know so well, and can't help ourselves from grinning at when he's on the box! Been on the box quite a lot too, hasn't he, what with the Tories' conference and all that. Boris, though, is also probably the biggest threat to the Labour Party's electoral prospects since that recent nonsense about (chuckle, chuckle) boundary changes.

Reversion to Typing

Here we are, then - a placeholder, if you will.

It's been an horrifically long period since my last post (seriously - I could have actually fathered an actual child in the time since), and following a potentially unwise statement made in order to try and persuade someone whose posts genuinely are worth reading to get her bloggin' freak back on, I've agreed to up staves and try to beat life back into the motionless corpse of just four minutes.

As always though - good intentions and the burning fire of spirit-of-the-moment aside - it's a battle against inertia, indifference and insufficiency of time. We'll see, eh?

The future's bright...

Yes, I know I've not been about or posting much - but to be fair, I've had a little time off of late, revising and a-studying for some exams; it's not just you, I've not much been talking to anyone.

Pubwatch 2012 (no.4) - The Penny Black, Bicester

What can one say about a Wetherspoons, really?

The ale was cheap enough, the food served its purpose and the service was indifferent. Standard. Mind, the only pub in Bicester, in my experience, to consistently serve a decent pint of proper beer - management at certain other pubs just across from the Methodist Church on Sheep Street could learn a thing or two about, y'know, keeping the bloody lines clean and rotating the barrels, stuff like that...

On its way...

...went to another pub this week, the Standing Order in Derby. Didn't get a pic though, because it was dark and we had to get over to the cinema. But it's coming, the review and everything (including more about that heartwarming £1.29 pint!) just as soon as I do get a pic.

Much love, etc xx

Pubwatch 2012 (no.2) - The Mallard, Derby

Hot on the heels of yesterday's pub review comes another. Just like buses then, in many ways - nothing for ages, and then the heavens open and while you're stood there, soaked through in the driving rain, the bastard, twenty-minutes-late bus driver drives straight past because he "didn't see you, mate"

Or maybe that's just me. Hmmm...

Pubwatch 2012 (no.1) - Queens Head, Ockbrook

I wanted to do a pub guide last year, really - a bit of a guide to pubs I'd visited over the year, where they were, what I thought of them and the beers they served - and never really got round to it. A shame really; for one thing, I can't remember many of the pubs I visited (and I went to a few, for the pub-quizzing and such if nothing else) - sure, there's the Centurion in Bicester, but this apart I really have to have a bit of a think to remember...

So here's Resolution Number Seven (maybe - I forget exactly):

• Go to pubs. Take notes. Remember the good ones...

Late-night ironing party!

So I've come home tonight, washed a few pots, made dinner, eaten it and then sat on my backside and done bugger-all as shite telly washed over me from a half-ignored corner. Seriously, no matter what anyone might say - there is no excuse whatsoever for the festival of arseholes that is Celebrity Big Brother.

As posted yesterday, this is something of a recurring motif for me ("...I've a nasty, sneaky tendency to sit on my backside and fester instead of doing useful bits and pieces about the house...") - and I'm going to get up and do something. Now.

I'll get a couple of shirts ironed or something.

[EDIT - fifteen minutes later]
See, that's done now. Two crisply-ironed blue shirts on hangers on the back of the door, I've got the telly on Newsnight and I'm having a late cuppa before turning in. And I feel a lot better, too; surely some sort of moral there if I were so inclined to think about it. But I'm not. I'm off to bed. Night-night...

The resolutions of thirty-year-old men

So then, another year. Happy New Year to you all, you dwindling band of increasingly disappointed followers, searching in vain as you have been over the past few months for fresh posts on this raggy-arsed, semi-dormant excuse for a blog.

Apologies.