My Life as a Boozy Oaf

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So, this is it, after much prevarication, several stiff conversations late on a Friday night and a damn good thrashing involving a sock drawer I have finally given in to temptation and decided to try and write something of a regular nature for this here august journal.

The question is, what shall it be about? I am currently spending a lot of time on trains, so I thought, as a first off, I'd talk about things that occur to me while on these trains. You know, ticket prices, soggy sandwiches, the chances of summoning Cthulhu while moving past Polmont, what ever happened to the BBC Scotland news reader Lynne Lithgow and where did I bury all those Dinky cars as a lad.

Today though, it being my first I thought I would lie back, think of Scotland, and try to come up with a winner of an article. One that really grabs you by the Trossachs and forces you to come back time and again. If it works and I get a loyal following I can then stop trying, which will make life so much easier.

So, how does one do such a winner of an opener? I need to combine the wit and skill of Wowbagger, the knowing wink of Spimcoot, the vast wordage of a Demon Drawer, the ability to keep going like Dr Funderlik, the effortlessness of an Awix or the general good readingness of that fine body of men, women and small, furry creatures from Alpha Centauri...

Stuffed if I know. I can't draw (excepting penguins), I can't remember enough to review (excepting Cuckoo Clocks), I can't condense (excepting milk) and my exciting happenstance hat is at the cleaners. Hmmmm, mayhap I'll just witter. Possibly about my happenstance hat. Would we like that children? Are we sitting comfortably? Then I'll begi... what, you're not happy? Why is that? Well you shouldn't have put it there now should you. It won't fit back on the digger now and you'll have to sit like that for a week. Yes, you will. And don't hit her with it either! Now, where was I? No, I don't think I was being Joyce Grenfell thankyou very much, I never look good in that shade of green.

Ah phooey, the Playbus bell has gone, my final destination hoves into site and I haven't even written something worth catching jwf's beard clippings in. Still, it will look good wrapped around a fish supper by the weekend.

So, did I pass the interview?

Next time: Can Munchkin become regular? We ask a fibre expert.


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