New Year, and a new blog..

Well it has been rather a long time since I last sat down at the computer and updated my blog. The reason, well you choose:
a) in prision
b) on holiday
c) rather busy at woek

But whatever the reason, I am back, well rested with a spring in my step and some cash in my back pocket. Pockets are fantastic.

Last night I went to a dinner party with my wife - her friends, not wine - and the topic turned to rather seerious matters. They, I was eating cheese (I prefer to bring my own) were suggesting that was was a bad thing and perhaps people should stop being so "silly" and talk about things, "as there was never any reason to resort to violence". I said that was stupid. But they would not listen to my reasoning and were frankly quite dismissive of my thoughts so I excused myself and crept outside and took the shotgun I keep in the car and went upstairs and I returned with a child under one arm and the family pet under the other. I kicked the door open and announed that "I was going to kill someone" and then started to wave the gun round like a maniac. There was silence and then Brendan, the father of the child, let out a roar and ran over and pushed me over. It was at that point I put the gun down and asked why he did not talk to me as there was no need to resot to violence. Amazingly we were asked to leave.

Finally readers, if there are any, why not ask me questions and I can reply and give the you the "facts" not some half-truths that some people are pedaling as "fact"

Cherrio and I will be back soon to answer your problems

Mr Fibs

Want to join the Mafia? Not worth the effort

Apologies for the delay, but I joined the Mafia and did not have access to a computer. What a waste of time! The number of hoops you have to jump through, for me frankly just do not seem worth it... and another thing, the Sopranos is not real.

So, now what will I do now that I have my time back to myself. Well, I guess that I will need to continue educating my wife, have some adventures and drink lashings and lashings of ginger beer - Hurrah!

I have recently made an important discovery, but I am not sure that I shoudl share it here.

Now, off to see my wife and let her know that she is no longer a Mafia wife and will be expected to cook excellent pasta, store stolen suits under the stairs and be happy to let us use the chest freezer for pieces of bodies. Hopefully she will not miss that too much.

And of course, we need ginger beer.... Hurrah!

Oh, and I am back

Want to create evenly shaped chips?

Then hit a partially boiled potato with a tennis racquet.

I have proved this to my wife. The result, I need a new tennis racquet!

Then we shall see... this is not over yet.

I have also joined the Mafia, and hope to dispell a number of myths, including (but not limited to) Mafia can wear more than black and secondly crime does pay.

Today was a day unlike any other. I had popped out to run a couple of errands and I got side-tracked by a rather curious spectacle and from that moment on I forgot that we needed, milk, juice and some apples, all I could think was “Gosh, this opportunity does not come along to often in a chap’s life”, so I seized it with both hands.

So what had I seen? Well, I am sure that you are all familiar with Jonty Brigstone, the owner of Curious Conundrum’s the fantastic little shop just of High Holburn. His shop has been called both illegal and amazing in the same review in GQ, but the fact is Jonty helps people through bartering. If you have a dodgy roof and have some food, you need to find a hungry roofer… now what could be easier? But what was he doing here, so far from home and juggling what seemed like an elephant, a large rock and a Ford Escort.

I pushed my way through the crowd, taking care not to step on old ladies toes (because once they are above 70 years of age, there is a self destruct button hidden in their left big toe and it makes rather a mess). When I got to the front I tried to catch the attention of Jonty, but it was difficult as he was concentrating really hard and it was a rather pleasant and awe inspiring sight. After a few minutes I had given up with polite coughing (having said no to a throat sweet from a rather sensibly dressed man – he would never get caught short in a storm), I simply called out, “Hey Jonty, would you mind stopping for a minute?”. And he did. HE put everything down and received a disappointed sigh from the crowd. He then took me by the arm and dragged me away to a quiet corner.

“Mr Fibs, oh how I am delighted to see you”. He then went on to explain that he had made the most dreadful barter and he was cursed. “Cuurrsseeddd”, he moaned in his splendid and theatrical way. After a few probing and in fact inspired questions from myself I had the story. It transpired that Jonty after a few too many glasses of beer, had agreed to a barter with a swan. Now swans are not actually the Queen’s personal property, but they infact own her, due to a card game with Queen Victoria – basically they have rather a ruthless streak and are not to be trusted no matter how many glasses of beer they buy you. The barter was that Jonty would double check their VAT Returns (although ruthless, swans pay their taxes), and Jonty would get one wish. His wish was to be loved and to make people happy. It should be explained that Jonty is loved and respected, but he is a little too sensitive so always sees the worst in himself.

So three months after the barter Jonty was trying to hide and get further and further away from people as the swan had double crossed him and for some fun made him incapable of saying no. Hence Jonty was doing incredible things and hating it.

So I said, while rubbing a beard I don’t have. “All you have to do is to say no?”. He agreed that this was the crux of the problem. And I had the solution. All we needed was some jelly, some petrol and a swan. So we transported ourselves in a matter of moments back to Central London (no need to explain how we covered 1,100KM in just moments as it is rather trivial). I bought the necessary supplies and set of in search of a swan. Now, I am not sure if you know this but when swans have finished working (painting and decorating, helping out at theme parks and organised crime) they can be found drinking rum in the basement of Bush House (owned by the National Swan Alliance – yes the BBC is a front).

We walked into Bush House and made our way to the basement. Now, both Jonty and I knew we would only have one chance and we would have to take it. We went through our plan one more time and then it was game on!

I went in first and told the swan at the front desk (swans drinking dens are run like gentleman’s clubs from the 1850s) that I needed to speak to swan 8372328 and I would be waiting in reception with a barter for him. Soon the swan came through and I sat, he did that funny swan thing and we talked and an agreement was struck. The swan would take the curse of Jonty in return for a pack of jelly and 3 litres of Super Unleaded. Deal done. Of course what 8372328 did not realise is that the jelly was in fact sugar soap and the petrol a rather strong Chinese wine, and when mixed the swan would not be playing pranks of any kind for a while.

So, Jonty was grateful and we transported ourselves back (again boring and tedious, so no need to explain how) and he treated me to 12 excellent ales... Not bad for a day’s work.

But my wife, she does not believe a word of it and even questioned swans well know and established links with organised crime. She refused to believe that I went out with good intentions to run some errands, but how could I possibly refuse an adventure and a beer or two with Jonty?

When will she learn to trust Mr Fibs and to believe every word he says?

Did you know how crackers were invented?

Last night was a history lesson. I had to explain to my wife where crackers came from, not the exploding things at Christmas (now that is a story), but the things you pop cheese on at sophistacted dinner parties.

It all starts in Yorkshire, when it was still an island, in 1857. The local dignitary, a rather bulbous man called Charles "Right" Northern, was very fond of mineral water and in particular Evian and Volvic, but was disgusted to find out that they were French. At the time the French were regarded as little more than a race who were not to be copied (again another story that goes back to the beginning of the Xerox era). So Right Northern had no choice but to give up his beloved drinks, and as a man of science he decided to invent something that would make water tasty. But alas he was a rubbish man of science and invented a cracker that actually dried the mouth which was a little unfortunate to say the least. This would be a big enough setback for many, but as Right Northern was pigheaded he launched the biscuit and made a show of eating many and then died of dehydrations - this also led to the expression "he's crackers!"

Why I am here...

Frustration has led me here today!

The cause of my frustration is my wife. Only this morning she accused me of fibbing, when I explained, quite slowly, that my lawyer is a wolf called Marvin and that there is a one in thirty chance of getting frogspawn in a cigarette as all tobacco manufactures have chose to build their factories underwater.

The kind of wide-eyed stare I get before her eyes disappear to some place towards the back of their head, through a complex eye roll, is not uncommon on Sunday mornings when I have the opportunity to "update" her with crucial information about my past, the planet or key scientific facts - yes facts!

But as you may have guessed this frustration happens on a regular basis, for example when I explained to her that we were unable to buy a new shiny expensive item that both of us wanted, and may have even needed. The reason? Well a while ago I decided to hire my family... well not my family, but actors to play members of my family and to do family type stuff with. Now this is expensive, in particular when your father has 11 brothers (football team, glad I did not think about the squad game), and a mother with 3 brothers and three sisters. So due to a monthly payment to the actors guild we were unable at that time to both anything new, bright and shiny. Unbelievably she accused my of lying and asking me what happened to my actual family (long story, my mother want to make clothing for wolves, and set of to places far away and forgot to bring me and I, quite ironically, was raised by wolves for a short time - where I met my lawyer and learnt that wolves write by holding pens with their tongues).

Can you believe that...?

Anyway, my wife frustrated me again by calling me a fibber, but also said that she said some of my "stories" were endearing and nice and funny. So I thought that in the absence of anyone else in our 122 palatial holiday home on a private island (please note that is actually a fib) I would begin to share important messages with the world, you! I was also prompted to do this when my wife, Mrs Fibs said that I could tell a taller tale than Sandi Tokszig. (By the way if you want to get on to "Call My Bluff", simply call theirs by turning up and telling a big man with a clipboard that you are an important guest - Easy!)

So, why not join me as I set out on my mission to inform the world. Oh I would also like to one day do something important and I am leaning towards becoming the Minister of Education.