Scraping the Barrel.

I must be a bit preoccupied today because I’ve been trying to think of something to post about and I seem to have become non compos mentis, or whatever the phrase is. (Blimey, Word hasn’t squiggled it. You mean I’m right?)

You don’t want to know how many years I’ve had the hots for Sally Philips, do you? Thought not.

How about the Mystery of the White Dust on the Inside of My Underpants? I notice it every time I change them, so that makes three times this month already. How does that happen? It’s been occupying my deductive faculty for years and I haven’t got to the bottom of it yet. No, I don’t use talcum powder. Neither do I take my trousers down while cleaning the ashes out of the grate or using flour to make dumplings. So it must be magic, right? Fairy dust – the sort that magic wands sprinkle when shaken by experienced practitioners in Disney cartoons. So, the next mystery: Which experienced practitioner has been sticking her wand down the front of my trousers? And why do I never notice her doing it? And what’s the bloody point anyway?

Which reminds me of a joke.

I met Sally Phillips once. I sidled up to her and said ‘I’d really like to make love to you,’ and she said ‘Well, if ever you do and I find out about, there’ll be trouble!’ Seems she must have heard about the parsnip. Britain’s a small country.

And in true blogging tradition, I think I might run a competition. The first person to get the right number of jokes in this post (not counting Sally Phillips’ punch line) will get a year’s free subscription to my undying gratitude.