Sandra Bullock Has A Sex-Change And Retires To Norfolk

The Rolling Stones discography (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Time For Bed, Grandad

The Rolling Stones breached their curfew this week.  Playing at the O2 Arena, according to The Telegraph:

...the quartet, all aged in their 60s and 70s, were half an hour late starting, which meant the concert did not finish until just after 11pm [and] their set ran 40 minutes over a strict curfew.

Quite how strict the curfew was is debatable, given they ran a not insubstantial forty minutes over.

Fans, already annoyed by touts selling tickets at £3000 each – and who showed their displeasure by not purchasing them, leaving empty seats in the arena – were furious that the Stones’ final set omitted I Can’t Get No Satisfaction. Imagine their dissatisfaction, then, when many were left stranded because the tube line they needed to use to get home closed at 11:45pm.

You see, Mr Jagger – there’s a reason for the curfew.

But not to worry: in true British fashion,

It was left to a busker outside the local tube station to reprise I Can’t Get No Satisfaction as concert-goers made their way home.

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Bus, Earlham Rd. Norwich (Photo credit: mira66) Not my story, but what a great picture!

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Meanwhile, Over In Norfolk

Ms Bullock, real name Alfred Throop, has been up to her old tricks again, driving speeding buses.  The Telegraph reports:

Alfred Throop, 67, was on the number 58 bus in Northfields, Leicester, on Thursday when the driver fell unconsious [sic] and the bus began to swerve.

Realising what had happened, Throop grabbed the wheel and steered the bus to the side of the road where it collided with metal railings at a pedestrian crossing.

With true British understatement, hero Mr Throop remarked:

“I noticed the bus going from side to side on the road and thought ‘there’s something wrong here’.”

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Up against a brick wall (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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One For Alien Hippy‘s Mr Locoman

Mel Thorley of Stockport is having some trouble selling his house.  The Stockport Express reports that Mel’s perfect house [has] a spiral staircase, triple-glazing, two garages and six off-road parking spaces…It’s a great garden for sunbathing, the neighbours are great and it’s a good price.

There’s just one small problem: potential buyers tend to be put off by one little thing.  The paper describes it as:

…four railway engines parked on the back lawn…which each weigh five tons.

British house buyers – picky, picky, picky.

I’m An Exercise Freak: There’s A Report That Proves It

I was cheered by a report in the Telegraph* that says dog owners get more exercise than non-dog-owning, gym-going folk.  This is true (it says so in the papers so it must be).  My dog has short legs – shorter even than mine – and it was recommended that he get half-an-hour’s walking a day, which means that I get half-an-hour’s walking a day.  He often gets more, of course, but only if it’s not cold, not wet, not dark, not boring and I’m annoyed with the Hub.  If I’m being honest, if it was just the last qualification we would have daily three-hour walks.  Toby also runs around a lot in the house – she’s standing up: there must be food!  He sneezed; I wonder if there’s any food?  The big one’s home; I bet she makes food.  He likes to play tug with his gezillion toys, which means that we play tug with his gezillion toys as well.   He’s very demanding; maybe we should have had another kid instead; at least they grow up and leave you: we’re stuck with this fella until he departs for that great park in the sky.  Hope there’s less poo up there.

 

Three minutes after being brushed. Typical adolescent.

I was also chuffed to notice a related article which claims that playing Sudoku burns off more calories than is contained in a Hobnob.  Me, I am liking this newspaper.  When I spotted that ‘Comfort eating does work’ and that superdiets are ‘based on myths’, I had to roll around in a box of Maltesers to celebrate. 

I am a little surprised that I don’t look like Posh Spice**, however, given the rigorous exercise & diet regime I have been following.  Next time I am exercising the dog,  I will put away my Sudoku puzzle as I sit virtuously on my park bench, and exercise the little grey cells instead: I’m sure M. Poirot will be able to help me; after all, we look so alike.

 

 

 

*Yes, I know the report appeared at the end of November but give me a break; I’m exhausted from all the walking.

**I first typed,’I am a little surprised that I don’t like Posh Spice’.***  Think it was a Freudian slip?  I don’t; I rather like her, but why does she never smile with all that she’s got to be happy about?  I bet she’s hungry.  She should follow my diet then she could look terrific and be cheerful.

***Then I corrected it and accidentally wrote, ‘I am a little surprised that I don’t loo like Posh Spice’.  Don’t think we’ll go there.