Tuesday, 15 September 2009

Day 2

Domestic Misery intact. The mammoths still reside in their abode, neither slaughtered, nor sliced. The lady, soon to be awarded the Black Belt, 5th Dan, in Household Mismanagement, spent the afternoon in a Trans~, while the spouse in the house dealt with the car's cardiac arrest. The tank’s vital organ was happily humming away in the hall when JD, carrying gargantuan red onions from the allotment, came by and commiserated. I wish my batteries could be recharged so easily.

The growling grump recited Charlie Brooker on Dire Shit Man (anagram courtesy of BalkanBob) and Young Cartrain. She squealed with delight. Later, fittingly pickled in Shiraz, they remarked on the sorry sight of Keith Floyd. Equally fitting, if somewhat eery: this morning the news of his death. Did the booze up with Keith Allen (a mate, perchance, of the artist mentioned above, and like DH, a piss artist in his own right – for more on the connection between Art and Urine, check out orpheusintheworld), barely survived when filming, cause last night’s heart attack during the broadcast?

1 comment:

  1. just read the article. hillarious. charlie brooker's articles are much better than his TV appearances. i find the TV stuff dumbed down and ...well, milking his own image.