AndAnotherThing

Hmmmmmm - a 'Magners business lunch'. Sounds like 60 minutes shotgunning three bottles of the devil's own bile followed by an afternoon gently stewing in a puddle of my own urine. I'll pass if it's all the same to you.

While I'm on the subject, what on earth is the normally godlike Mark Watson doing advertising the obviously turgid new Magners pear cider? Surely he can't be that hard up?

As he knowingly hams his way through the marketing spiel he implores everyone to 'give it to me straight'. Well young man, here goes:

Before parroting the words of some flaccid advertising exec, it might have been worthwhile learning some basic drinks knowledge. Pear cider is an apple-based drink flavoured with pear juice. If this is made from, and I quote, '100 per cent pear juice' that makes it perry you money-grabbing twat.

Now get out of my sight.

The BBC made the mistake of writing to thank me for continuing to pay my TV licence by direct debit.

£147.50. Jesus H Christ on a bike.

The last time I looked BBC1 on a Saturday evening had the look of a channel sponsored by breweries.

If it's not that git from Top Gear laughing like a dolt as hapless contestants attempt some kind of upholstered obstacle course it's Dale Winton squeaking like a cheap car alarm while more hapless contestants play a lame version of human tetris.

Enough already.

At least there's the immaculate Dog Borstal over on BBC3.

It's a bath. I was planning to fill it three-quarters full with medium to hot water and immerse myself in it, not skid down the Cresta run in it. Twats.

Back in the mists of time you made a living via time-honoured traditions like hard work, endeavour or by owning most of Cornwall.

Now there's a new game in town.

Whey-faced British backpacker loser Jamie Neale stands to rake in anything up to AUS$200,000 (approximately £3.72) for explaining how he is either:

1. A low-grade hoaxer
2. So poor a navigator he would struggle to find his own arse using both hands and a map

Amazing. So amazing that I almost admire him.

So....10 minutes after setting this thing up I'm stood on the Tube thinking 'I'll need a good one to kick the site off.' At that moment a passenger pipes up 'Good morning ladies and gentlemen' and kicks off with a stream of religious fervour normally reserved for hectoring unsuspecting shoppers in malls up and down the UK every weekend.

So I'm stood there chuckling at the delicious irony of a God who I don't believe in sending me a sign that I've been rewarded for kicking off my blog when another thought hits me.

The passenger's impromptu sermon is clearing the carriage faster than a mustard gas attack. Given that Transport for London want everyone walking to work rather than cluttering up the Tube why don't they put this passenger, and a few more like her, on the payroll.

I'm off to pitch them the idea.

Ka-chiiiiiiing