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Is Branson taking the piss? Virgin have a file on me, know you're f*cking customer Richard. Forget the $200,000 for the ticket, ..I need oxygen just to go to Vegas, how is he expecting me to cope with space travel?

Jesus! As for medical insurance... it was hard enough getting a policy for a week in the USA;

- Hello Endsleigh?...I'd like some travel insurance please, one that covers pre-existing medical conditions.
- OK sir no problem, where are you going
- Space
- Yeah ok, jog on silly c*nt. click

Even if I was loaded and the picture of good health, he's having a Turkish if he thinks I'd trust him to blast me into space. Sort your airline and your trains out first.

Once you can carry people from Liverpool to London without subjecting them to serious psycological trauma then you can consider launching people into space. That's what I always say. F*cks sake.

I was watching the Big Match on ITV4 this afternoon. Briwyant it was too. Liverpool V Manchester United from February 26th 1983. It was an awesome spectacle - except for the shorts which are only worn by Hooters girls these days - and I found myself feeling rather nostalgic.

Oh people, what a fantastic era that was. The Iranian Embassy siege, the Fawlklands War, the Cold War, free Milk at school, conkers, Trumpton and Panini sticker albums - marvellous! I've never been one of those people who whine about the state of the game today, but I have to concede it was refreshing to watch a game where the referee only used his whistle for the kick-off and final whistle.

The tackles flying in all over the pitch in this game, which brought not even a raised eye brow from the referee, juxtaposed to the four-match ban Jeremy Aliadiere has just received for a slap on Liverpool's Javier Mascherano kind of made one feel embarrassed for today's nancy boy footballers who hit the deck at every opportunity because they can exploit the overprotective approach to policing the game referees are encouraged to take.

I'm not sure that four-match bans were ever considered in the 1980's. You might have got a three-match ban for killing a referee with your bare hands, but I don't think the football association back then could ever envisage a tackle that could be so heinous as to warrant such a lengthy ban as four whole games.

Equally as refreshing as the referee's leniency was the total absence of football punditry and player interviews; Just Brian Moore - who has always struck me as the kind of guy who wore womens underwear - paraphrasing a few comments made by inarticulate players and then on to the next game.

Is there anything more nauseating than Richard Keys' stroking Andy Gray's thigh under the desk while he vomits ridiculous rhetorical statements at Jamie Redknapp; "United will want to win today won't they Jamie?"

If there's one thing that makes me dry wretch consistently about football presentations today it's a sofa full of average ex-professionals thinking their opinions are warranted and post-match interviews with footballers who are reduced to churning out a series of clichés because they're not capable of insightful opinion, or stringing coherent constructive sentences together.

A year ago people, I would have argued that while the game has gone soft now it is better for it as the skilled players are able to entertain us with their impressive tricks and shiny football boots...but even in the light of Eduardo's injury at the weekend, I'm not so sure now.

Despite the physical nature of the game, I don't think broken legs and serious leg injuries were a frequent occurrence in 70's and 80's, amazing really since a lot of players didn't even bother with shin pads and I'm not sure the quality of play and goals scored is so much better today that it justifies turning the game into a homosexual's tea party.

I'll be doing some more research on this, but as it goes I think my recent loss of faith in the game has been compounded by this piece of 80's nostalgia. There has been no yearning for the return of Saint and Greavsie however.

I won't make any jokes about earth moving sex and variations on that theme on account of last nights earth quake as it's a comedy basic and a clear breach of my comedic ethic. However, I would like to discuss it briefly. I missed it you see. That's how it's been going for me lately. I'm missing all the good stuff.

This thing happened at about 1am. I know I was awake at 12.50am. I woke up, looked at my clock, considered putting the TV on to catch the end of Late Night Poker, but decided against it as I was Sky Plussing it and so took myself off for a quick piss and then back to bed. That means I must have been asleep within a few minutes of my return to bed. How unlucky was that? I never fall asleep that quickly.

I may not have noticed it anyway as I sleep on a water bed so Einsteins theory of relativity plus my drowsiness may have countered the vibrations, but it would have been nice to at least hear the screams from the neighbours.

This reminds me of the time when a tornado tore through a block of apartments a few hundred yards from where I was staying a few years back in Denver. I love tornadoes, they're my favourite causes of natural disasters. I've always wanted to see one, man I was pissed I missed that.

Hello people, I do apologise for my brief hiatus. I hope you've managed without my pearls of wisdom the last few days. I'm afraid I lost my mojos. This has never happened to me before and I was all at sea. I made a breakthrough today though and to celebrate the renewing of my spirit I thought I'd redecorate the place. I hope you like it.

So anyway, I'm having a cappuccino this afternoon and I'm listening to some native American flute music on my iPod as you do, and out of the fog that has clouded my thoughts recently, came a moment of clarity. I won't bore you with the details of what has caused my discombobulation of late, but suffice is to say I won't be reading any more space books for a while or getting involved in any conversations about football, science, religion, politics or home economics.

In my new chilled out state this afternoon I must have released a shit load of pheromones or something because the waitress appeared to me to be a state of intense arousal just at the mere sight of me. I did have one of my best jumpers on though to be fair.

She looked at me in what I felt was a very suggestive way. To be honest people, I felt I might have been able to smash one up her had I just asked. I didn't pursue it however as I felt from her body language and personality that the sex would have been quite physically demanding and I didn't have my inhaler with me.


In other news, you might have wondered just now what the fuck I was doing listening to Indian flute music and you'd be right to feel concerned. The truth is it's quite soothing and well, I like it. I'm not sure what it's all about, but in retrospect the piece of music I was listening to this afternoon when the waitress handed me my coffee may have been part of some sort of mating ritual which would explain the release of my sex fumes. I'll do some more research and get back to you.

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But anyway, I haven't turned into a hippy or anything and I am still bathing regularly, it's just something I thought would guide me through this elongated sense of ennui that's been plaguing me recently cause in the movie Young Guns, Chavez Chavez said when an Indian is lost he turns to the spirit world. I felt the flute music would help me find it...if it was unsuccessful I was going to turn to a more physical spirit world i.e. the Threshers in the town centre.

Finally just so you know what else I've been up to...I've had my bathroom floor tiled and it looks very pleasant indeed. It's quite cold obviously under foot without socks on, but I should imagine it'll feel quite pleasant in the summer should we have one this year.

It's certainly made the difference anyway as I had a nasty old carpet in there before which smelt and life was evolving out of it. But now it's a joy to take a shit in there.

That is all.

I don't wish to discuss the significance of Arsenal's result tonight, but I would like to comment on the non-entity at Arsenal who didn't get enough hugs as a child who's decided his band of stretcher carriers ought to be called Pitch Rescue. With the exception of Ruud Van Nistlerooy a few seasons ago, since when does a fucking footballer need rescuing?

People caught in avalanches need rescuing. People on sinking ships need rescuing. Fucks sake, what's wrong with some people? Give them fluorescent jackets and ear pieces and they think they're the Thunderbirds.

I made an error last night. I found myself Dorian Gray stylee, lurking about in some of the darkest corners of You Tube in the wee small hours where I stumbled upon the entire series of The Boy from Space; undoubtedly the scariest children's programme in the history of telly.

I was six years old the last time I saw this show and I found it equally disturbing last night as I did in 1980. As I recall at Primary School Monday afternoons we were treated to a bit of TV. Educational TV, but TV nonetheless. Look and Read the show was called. Presented by some weird dude floating about with letters all over his face.

During Look and Read there was a 10 minute scary as fuck show that served what purpose I have not a fucking scoobies, except perhaps to make Heidi Flaxman piss her self, which she only usually did when they made us do country dancing. Dark Towers was one of these shows, but the Boy from Space was in a different league of terror.

After the pissing incident the teachers let us decide whether we wanted to watch the show or hide in the next room and paint pictures of horses. The girls chose to paint pictures, most of the boys would have too, including me, but obviously we didn't want to appear scared and so we sat there pretending we were enjoying it when in reality it was giving us all nightmares ..some of which I still have.

The boy from space was extra scary for me cause the baddie space dude wore a brown mac which was just like one my Dad owned that he kept hanging in my wardrobe. Everytime I was on my own in my room the sight of that mac would slacken my bladder.

So anyway, last night I sat and watched all ten episodes and to be fair, I'm thinking of suing the BBC and my Primary School for making me watch it. They may have assumed it to be harmless, but the psychological damage of this show on all of us is undeniable. It's on a par with that poor Marie Curie woman and her husband who discovered uranium and fannied about with it thinking it was brilliant and glowy only to die some time later of Leukemia.

If you're not familiar with it, have a goosey:

DAR ES SALAAM, Tanzania (CNN) -- President Bush gave Tanzania's president, who played basketball as a youth, a pair of Shaquille O'Neal's shoes Sunday, along with millions of dollars to help combat disease and poverty in the east African country.

I have nothing to report today and nothing to do. This must be how it feels to live in Belgium. This afternoon I shall spend my time watching 80's movies: The Breakfast Club, A Nightmare on Elm Street and Ferris Buellers day off. I shall then have a sandwich.

So I think it's about time we discussed the future of all mankind. We're fucked aren't we really and ironically it's the dudes who have taken it upon themselves to advance the species who are resonsible. Wankers. I didn't ask them to, did you?

Science may have proven beyond a reasonable doubt that monotheist religions are tosh, but these religions have boundaries. They're restricted to the confines of their respective books of nonsense. There's only so much harm they can do without the help of science.

Scientists on the other hand know no boundaries. Their experiments are not subject to theological restrictions and this makes them infinitely more dangerous. Don't get me wrong people, I'd rather have a science boffin living next door to me than a religious whacko, but it has to be said, that however ridiculous it is to believe in the paranormal in the 21st century, a Christian living next door to you is hardly likely to end the world.

A nuclear physicist or chemist on the other hand might very well be toiling away in his basement developing some technology he thinks is gonna be the next wheel that'll actually just end up progressing our extinction. Just ask Thomas Midgley's neighbours.


Have you seen this list of technological frontiers these people are tackling? I'm no sciencesmith, but all this stuff appears to me to represent the end of our species. Provide energy from fusion; reverse engineer the brain; advance personalised learning - eeek, you know what that means don't you; that's bionic implants - it's turning us all into cyborgs. Preventing nuclear terror? How? With more duck and cover public safety videos? Fucks sake people - we've got to stop them. I'm not ready, I don't want to die until the end of the football season.

They talk about these things as if they're inevitable. They're not. Natural disasters are inevitable. Stress incontinence is inevitable. No one has to develop technology that will ultimately turn us into a race of Terminators, they do cause they wanna do.

It's got nothing to do with humanity. It's the antithesis of humanity. No one has stopped me in the street and asked me about the challenges I think we're facing as a species. A challenge to humanity is being able to spill someone pint without ending up in the emergency room. This list is just the horse shit science has come up with because the fuckers that fund their research have instructed them to. Yeah, right on!

Science has killed way more people than religion by my way of thinking. Second onnly to malaria in human fatalities probably. Wars may be fought over religious disputes, but it's science that developed the weapons they kill each other with. Religious wars were fine back in the day when all they had to attack each other with were sticks and leather sandals.

It wasn't a rabbi or a priest who developed the atomic bombs that melted a sizable percentage of the Japanese population. It was that science c*nt, what's his name? Oppenheimer - a physicist. It's science that figured out ways of burning peoples internal organs with chemicals and it's science that allowed the Americans to drop napalm on the Vietnamese and Iraqi's. Crucifixion really is a doddle compared that stuff.
Have you ever listened to a Scientist discuss technology and it's possibilities? Scary as fuck. The look in their eyes, the foaming of the mouth, the rabid enthusiasm these people exhibit at the possibilities of turning flesh and blood humans into robots.

Do you recall that Dolly the sheep genetic experiment? They cloned a sheep and Dolly was the result. Dolly went crazy and died. Steven Hawkins is the Dolly the sheep of human cyborg symbiotics. Steven Hawkins was a good looking athletic dude before science got hold of him.

Poor Steve had a few beers signed on the wrong dotted line and they had him in for assimilation, now look at the state of him. He might have an IQ of 2000, but watch him eat soup and tell me he's the future. But they don't think about the consequences do they, ooooh no; it's all about the could we and very little of the should we. I think you know what I'm trying to say.

We're all so suspicious of politicians and their megalomania, but we at least have some means of regulating them; of reigning them in when they get too crazy. Scientists though, there's no regulating them. There are no elections to police these people. Consequently they're all locked away unsupervised in labs creating the kind of technology that could blow the galaxy up as early as later this evening.

Sandwiched between science and religion we've got no chance people. I wash my hands with all of them. I've recently begun stowing baked beans, orange tic-tacs and porn.

The moment they announce the first solar powered atomic bionic man, I'm entombing myself in my Anderson shelter and never coming out. I suggest you do the same. It’s everyman for himself.

So this US spy satellite that apparently needs shooting down is all a bit fishy isn't it people? A good rule of thumb for appraising official statements by any Government, is that the official statement is bollocks.

The Russians are on to them though. They're saying this is all a smoke screen, the satellite doesn't need shooting down, and the US are using it as an excuse to test a weapons system for shooting down other countries satellites. And to be fair, I know who I believe.

If America wants to insist that this thing needs shooting down because of it's hazardous nature, surely the Russians are entitled to have a pop at it too and use it as an excuse to test their own weapons? They can just say well, it was entering out air space, and so we shot it down so it wouldn't land on our peasants.

We're expected to accept that a tactical missile needs to be fired at the tanks of the satellite that hold 1,000lbs of Hydrazine - which is a chemical that can kill humans if released into the atmosphere - so that it doesn't land on us and kill us!

Surely blitzing those tanks will release the chemical? And what if they miss? Won't a missile landing in a town somewhere be quite dangerous too? And what about all the debris from the explosion if they do hit it?

You just know some redneck is gonna be rocking back and forth in a chair on his veranda and take a piece of satellite to the face. Or get showered by Hydrazine that he'll collect and use as a mixer for his moonshine.

Did they explain why they're filling these satellites with a chemical that kills people in the first place? For fuel? Are we OK with this? You want to spy on the commies, fair enough, but if doing so puts us all in danger of having our faces burned off by showers of lethal chemicals, I'd prefer it if they didn't. Is spying even legal anyway??

Surely they all signed an agreement at a convention somewhere that prohibits spying? That Geneva thing maybe? Hazardous of not, no one seems to be raising any objections to this thing being a spy satellite? I'm sure spying is illegal.

Not that it matters I suppose. If Google can take pictures of my house and my street and probably me, I don't suppose it matters what the US Government have been photographing. I just hope it broke before they started showing the brand new series of Scrubs on E4.

I'm not myself today people. Some disturbing urges and desires have surfaced this week and if I'm honest I'm concerned. On Tuesday for example I was genuinely keen to watch the Sound of Music! I was able to suppress this thirst for Teutonic musicals with pain killers and a viewing of the original Rambo movie, but it's still a worry.

I've also enjoyed a series of filthy reveries this week involving the woman from the BT Broadband adverts. You may have seen the advert where she has to go out suddenly to attend to her sick mother and leaves her Peter Crouch look-a-like dopey boyfriend to take care of a bunch of kids. In my version she's not rushing out because of her mother, she's rushing out to get herself over to my place to have her arse filled with my schvantze. It could happen.

Finally, I've been dreaming about snakes a lot lately. On one occasion I was in a bar with Sarah Chalke - she's taller in dreams - suddenly a cobra weaved its way between my ankles. I reached down and grabbed hold of its hooded neck and as it hissed at me and tried to sink its fangs into my hand I grabbed the tail end of the bastard which wrapped itself around my wrist. No one in the bar would help me and the Chalke woman ran off shrieking. I was very very scared.

Now there's all sorts of opportunity here for sexual innuendo, but I didn't feel this dream can be interpreted in a phallic sense. I've since been informed that the appearance of snakes in ones dreams can be an indication of change, but unnervingly, a change from being alive to being dead. This seems daft to me, but I can't think why else I would be dreaming of snakes and Sarah Chalke. Weird.

Anyway, Scrubs is on now so I'm off for a wank.

Why is it whenever there's a theft of this nature that the only security measures in place in these galleries appear to be an old dude called Jasper and some velvet rope? If I'm understanding the situation correctly the chaps that have had these paintings away in Zurich simply pulled into the car park in their Volvo, strolled into the place, took the nearest paintings off the wall and ran out, cackling away to themselves while poor Jasper hobbled after them shouting halt Schweine!

There's an easy way to sort this one out - £90m of masterpieces they're saying have been stolen? Well, all the art world has to do is take it's collective head out of it's arse and admit that these paintings are crap. Over night they go from a valuation of £90m, to nothing. Simple. I mean really, people, look at this:

This is was one of the stolen paintings: "Boy in a red vest" by Paul Cézanne. It's rubbish isn't it? Look at the length of the boy's arm for fuck's sake! Unless the kid who posed for this piece was born of ape parents you've got to concede that it's crap.

If your seven year old brought this home from school one day you'd say well done, that's fantastic. You wouldn't mean it though and as soon as his back was turned you'd have a good old laugh at his expense. Impressionism, bollocks more like. I fucking hate Paris.

What have I done today? Well, I had a nice cappuccino, I had my hair cut and I went to Boots if you must know. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but have you any idea how hard it is to find a decent concealer stick for a man with my skin tone? It makes me so cross. I'm very fair skinned you see, but you would think the Boots people assumed we were all living in the tropics judging by their selection of darker skin toned concealers. And don't get me started on their lippys. Fuck sake, who wears Magenta before noon in this day and age? I'm not a fucking whore you know.

I'm sorry people, I don't mean to take my frustrations out on you. On a more positive note, congratulations to Hazell Tindall from the Shetland Islands, who has the opportunity as the worlds fastest knitter to defend her title in the world knitting championships in Minneapolis later in the year. Rumour has it she can knock up a sweater during a single episode of casualty. It's this sort of thing that makes me feel proud to be British. They say back in the day she gave an awesome hand job too and I don't doubt it.


People don't know this about me, but I'm a keen amateur scatologist. A woman from Clanton, Alabama was referred to me recently after she claimed to have seen an effigy of Christ in one of her stools. By the time I got hold of it, it looked more like Kenny Rogers if I'm honest, but so insistent was this woman of the numinous quality of her shit she'd decided to actually nail herself to a cross. She emailed me on Friday detailing her plans and said she'd email again Sunday night after her resurrection. I've not heard anything back. I think there's a lesson in this for us all.

Except Gordon Brown though apparently who's been praising Rowan Williams for sticking his hairy nose in where it's not wanted. This is the problem with having a Jock Presbyterian in number 10. Say what you like about Tony Blair, but at least he chose his religion according to which afforded him the better tax benefits. Not Brown though, he's a legitimate and very dangerous believer.

What you want from the country's leader in this instance is a speech along the lines of 'fuck off please, this is a secular country and while your ridiculous obsession with the paranormal is your own business, voice your rambling parochial opinions anywhere near the good people of Britain's legal system and it'll be the last thing out of your mouth for at least three months.'

But no, praise ..praise for his dignity. It's enough to make you weep. Thank fuck I resigned form the world some months ago or I might lose some sleep over this kind of thing.

Roy Scheider died yesterday aged 75, the cause of death has not been released, however local sharks were said to have been brought in for questioning. Rest in peace Chief, here's to swimming with Bow-legged women.

You know the problem with kids today has nothing to do with a lack of discipline or respect, it all stems from TV shows today having rubbish theme tunes. I think the break down in law an order in our society can be regressed back to the cancellation of shows such as The A-Team and Magnum P.I., Buck Rogers and to a lesser extent, The Dukes of Hazard.

All cracking theme tunes that captured our imagination and attention because they were all at least one minute long. Canceling these shows is why kids have no attention span now. When I was 12 I didn't want to waste my time beating up pensioners or knocking back Woodpecker Cider before roasting the town bike in some waste land behind the Chinese take-way; no sir, I wanted to get home in time for Knight Rider.

You can't tell me it's a coincidence the most violent night of the week just happens to be when Strictly Come Dancing is on BBC1. You don't need ASBO's to straighten out the youth of today, you need theme tunes damn it.

With the exception of having ones genitals sponged by a selection of air hostesses from KLM Royal Dutch Airlines, there's no more pleasant a Sunday afternoon pass-time than watching Manchester United and Chelsea hacking their way through ninety minutes of sheer hell while the Arsenal boys rest at home sipping sonsaire and eating cheese.

In much the same way as their plane in 1958, I fancy Manchester United to slip and slide their way to a footballing disaster today against neighbouring Citeh (Poor taste? Me?). A United/Draw, half-time/full-time wager may have to be placed, with possibly a cheeky first goalscorer wager on Carlos Tevez also.

It'll be their own fault too. I can't see why the Munich air disaster needs to be respected just because it's the fifty year anniversary. Fifty is an arbitrary number. It doesn't need remembering in the same way as sommat like the Hillsborough disaster which in a sense, everyone involved in football contributed to and is worth remembering so it doesn't happen again.

This was just a plane crash, there's nothing fans can do to stop it happening again. It's not a footballing tragedy, it's a Manchester United tragedy and most United fans in the stadium today will not have been alive in 1958 and won't be able to name the Busby Babes under interrogation.

I fancy there's enough doom and gloom occurring in the world today without having to hark back to something that has nothing to do with anyone anymore and is really just an opportunity for some to indulge in a bit of voyeurism or mawkish sympathy gaining.

Speaking of disasters, the citizens of Liverpool with their own inherent maudlin nature can't wait to get up in the morning to have a minutes silence over something and I fancy they'll have reason to mourn after this days work.

I fancy Chelsea to win this one quite comfortably. Liverpool may have had the Indian sign over Chelsea in recent seasons, but I feel Chelsea have exorcised those demons and that stroppy rat faced c*nt Anelka will feast, fit to gorge on Liverpool's joke of a defense. I fancy a 3-0 home victory and why not.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to mourn the loss of ex-Arsenal reserve centre-back Jack Fallon who died tragically in 1935 after being alive.

People people, what a palaver. My bone of contention with this whole episode has not been his opinions - I'm not likely to respect the opinions of a grown man who still believes in a sky fairy, whatever they be - my objection is that his opinions are respected and even sought in the first place (look at the state of the man).

Rowan Williams expressed his opinions in an interview with the BBC and at the Royal Courts of Justice. Why? What the fuck has it got to do with him? The issue here is wider than the Islamic community having their own legal processes, which wasn't what the boy Williams was suggesting anyway, the issue here is why religious 'clerics' are afforded such exaggerated levels of respect that their opinions are sought on matters which have very little or nothing to do with their faith.

What does a Bishop know about settling legal disputes? What does a Bishop know about Abortion? Iraq? Binge drinking? Teenage pregnancy? The answer is no more than the next man whose profession is not directly concerned with these areas. Therefore in reality, his opinions are no more valid than my window cleaner's or mine for that matter, but I wasn't asked for my opinion and I'm unlikely to be given the opportunity to voice them anywhere else but here, but an Archbishop will often find himself on a panel somewhere debating these issues and his opinions will be respected.


The general public's hysterics over this issue are not objections to religious ring-fencing, which they should be, they're born out of a distrust and hatred of Islam. Instead of focusing specifically on this one issue with the Daily Mail as the eye of their rage, they really ought to be considering why they allow religion and religious people as a whole to be considered separately from any other demographic in any area of daily life.

You can't soil yourself with rage at the thought of the Muslim community's immunity from due process on the basis that there are no legitimate grounds for their exemption, without pointing out the Archbishop of Canterbury who recommended the idea, has no qualifications from which to base his recommendations and ought not to have been given the platform to voice them. That's what I always say.

What Christian fruitcakes and Theologians refuse to accept of course, is that the Gospels were written approximately 120 years after the fact. In reality Lazarus probably just had a cold and felt much better four days later.

Similarly, Peter, who apparently denied Jesus three times and was martyred - crucified upside down by Nero – probably never even knew Jesus and just happened to be on the piss in Rome and got himself arrested and nailed up for singing Jesus songs. We've all seen how Man United fans are treated in Rome.

The accumulative effect however, of what were essentially over a century of Chinese Whispers, morphed these completely incidental events into miracles and parables of the life of the Son of God! What I’m about to recount here though, are no Chinese Whispers my friends. This happened. I was there. Proper miracles. Gospel truth:


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13
the final tables' grief will turn to joy

1The final table was angry this night. Aggression and resentment hung in the air in a tangible funk, but emerging beneath, conceived in this mood, the gestation of a Fox poker legend had commenced.

2Pete of Spedding was crippled, holding only 2,500 of the 140,000 chips in play. A crowd had gathered as they heard he was on his way out. They drank from the cup mirth and joy as Pete of Spedding quipped that a chop should be had and the final four should share the spoils. John of Salmon saw that it was bad and offered up to Pete his finger, the middle one.

Pete's first denial

3At first John of Salmon, Chris of Peros and Andy of Perrie did not understand. Only after Peter’s first denial of tournament death did they realise that some things are written. Peter had turned 2,500 into 7,500 and blessed was he, the flopped King of Clubs.

Pete's second denial

4Pete of Spedding was again all-in and again denied death - doubling through to 15,000. Now the crowd was with him, his chips were plenty and he had risen from the dead. And so it came to pass, folded round to the blinds, John of Salmon cried out all-in and 12,500 chips were in the middle. But Pete of Spedding was not blind for he could see and took off his grave clothes and did call with Q-8!

Pete's third denial

5John of Salmon did weep as the Queen of diamonds did river and his 10-7 fell fallow. Only the angel who falls knows the depths of hell, and so it came to pass he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. Chris of Peros fell soon after and into the light came heads-up.

6Andy of Perrie with Ace-9 and a 4-1 chip lead was again denied by Pete, who, with Q - 4 did recover to parity by hitting runner-runner-runner on a board of Ace-8-2-3-5 for a wheel straight. Thus, Andy overcome with grief did offer the chop.

7Points were played for and Pete of Spedding ultimately prevailed. Fox Poker legend – conceived in hostility, was delivered in joy and we saw that it was good. Amen.

I've just finished watching the Superbowl. I thought it was rather entertaining (for an American sport). I don't know an awful lot about the game really, I used to follow it when I was a nipper, but these days I only watch it when the Redskins are on or the Cowboys cause they have the sluttiest cheerleaders.

I did want New York to win though as I used to live there and I did get caught up in the whole Boston New York rivalry at the time - it became a sort of surrogate hate filled sporting rivalry while I was detached from the North London derby - so it was splendid to see a New York team put the Patriots in their place.

I hope all those idiots in Boston who ridiculously claim to be Irish are all crying into their fake Guinness as we speak. I believe only Arsenal fans can tell you how it feels to go a whole season undefeated. Don't give me any of that Miami Dolphins horse shit, they only played about 14 games. Plus they play in pastel green, gayers.

Couple of things almost spoiled (spoilt?) the Superbowl for me though. I was disappointed Tom Petty didn't get his nipple out. I thought the half time act was obliged. Also I was rolling my eyes at the typical jingoistic military flavour added to the national anthem. Groan - America, listen to me; if you insist on dedicating every damned national anthem played at sporting events to your armed forces camped in other people's countries, you will never get the rest of the world to love you. And you can sport all the bald eagle star spangled banner tattoos you want, but I know what you really want is more hugs.

Remember, this game goes out to the entire TV watching globe. By having shots of your military in Iraq and Afghanistan when the anthem plays, you're essentially saying we our defined by our military "might." People don't like that, see? Plus, your military is shit anyway. Sending Marines to fight in the desert - it was never gonna work. Pound for pound the US Army is no more of a force than Belgiums and every country in Europe has rifled it's way through Belgium at some point in history on it's way to some where else.

What I'm trying to say is; if you want to celebrate all that's good with America why not have pictures of - erm - I don't know something laudable - Mickey Mouse or Vegas or something, I don't know, just not the Army. What about a nice picture of Ellen Degeneres - she's funny.

Things have got to change, you know what I'm saying? With this in mind, let's discuss the people who might bring about that change. All the remaining Dorito's and bottles of pop I didn't get through this evening will be saved for Super Toosday on er..Tuesday. Twenty four Mercan states go to the polls to elect the two candidates from the reds and blues who will run for President. And I will watch it too, I'll stay up all night. I do this kind of thing.

Smarmy Edwards has given up, mostly because he's a mincer, but I do believe it was ultimately because Obama will benefit. It was a funny time for John Edwards to pack up his pots and pans and head for home - a home that wouldn't vote for him - but I think he did it to help Obama. He hasn't endorsed anyone publicly, but word on the street is he's backed out now cause more than likelywise his votes on Super Toosday will now go to Barack, as the Edwards people are not friends with the Clinton people.

I fancy this to be more exciting than the Superbowl and perhaps if Obama can pull this off, the next Superbowl in 2009 will have a less aggressive theme to it's national anthem and American can slowly come to terms with the fact that it is not the envy of the world, it didn't invent everything and it's sports are gay. I'm having some toast now before bed, goodnight.

"God invented bread, God invented fire, but America invented toast." -- the Pilsbury Doughboy


America's attempt to feed Africa. "We are the world." While I'm on my high horse, it would be nice if you could send them all a few morsels before they get to the stage where their eyes are popping out and they're bellies are the size of basketballs, it's not like you haven't got enough to go around, that's what I always say.

This was twenty years ago - Michael Jackson was still black when they made this record, Africa still looks like it could use a good feed to me, who's sailing the boat you sent all the steaks on? Stevie Wonder?