My name is Angus Prune...

How do I love ISIRTA, let me count the ways... I don't know if anyone else is a fan of this wondrous radio programme, but frankly, you all should be. May heaven smile upon whichever of his teachers it was who introduced Chris to them back in the day. I posted this quote on my blog years ago, and thought I would trot it out again, because it makes me giggle. If you're really lucky, I will do the cricket one, because that's solid gold genius right there. But for now, let me introduce you to the Angus Prune take on the soap opera:

:::theme music:::

Announcer: The continuing saga of Mrs Forsyte's Ambridge newcomers to Coronation Place Crossroads. Jenny has confided to Phil the part she played in Granny Grove's mysterious accident in the strip club, while Giuseppe has been cleared of the manslaughter of his wife's lover's hairdresser's gibbon. Alice, returning home after a hard day's work annoying chickens, surprises her husband in the bedroom with Attila the Hun. Meanwhile, Jerry, the ex-son of Giuseppe's wife's lover's hairdresser's gibbon's friend, the lumberjack cousin of Granny Grove's second husband, De-bo-rah, has paid a surprise visit to Annette, the estranged wife of Attila the Hun, and one-time nurse to old Martin Forsyte's chauffeur's uncle, Giuseppe's wife's lover's hairdresser's gibbon. They decide to sort things out between them, once and for all.

Annette: Jerry...

Jerry: Don't say anything, darling!

:::theme music:::

A question of national import...

Right. So. Katie and I were watching Laws of Attraction last night, featuring the beautifully coiffed Julianne Moore. I love her hair. I have such hair envy it knows no bounds. And I mourned the fact that I can no longer claim to have red hair. So, unsurprisingly, am tempted to dye it. What say you? (I would apologise for obsessing publicly, once again, about my hair, but an apology implies that next time I'll try not to do it, and we all know that's a big fat lie, so I'll not even bother.)

[Poll #1042728]

Also, it's my birthday tomorrow! Very excited, very excited indeed! (Though I don't know why, because everyone knows that once you hit your twenties, birthdays are intrinsically not very exciting, but my brain continues to behave as if it were seven, and who am I to squash its enthusiasm? No-one, that's who.)

And I think I need some kind of hair icon. I'm going to get right on that...

0.o

I am deeply perturbed.

I was just browsing an old post in hp_britglish, and someone made reference to how Jim Dale pronounces a name in the audiobook. Surely, surely, the audiobooks in America have Stephen Fry reading them? Surely? Clearly, anything else is just wrong.

"I'm Osama Bin Laden, and *this* is Cillit Bang..."

How to draw a giraffe.

Dur - dur - duuur - durrrrrrrr...

My bionic improvements are proving useful...

See What You're Made Of - Visit The Official Site

"We may not know much about cricket, but at least we're gentlemen!"

Further to my post about I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again, I found some software that can split MP3 files, and have made a couple of little MP3s to share some of the ISIRTA joy. They really are a thing of beauty.

The Cricket Commentary
My favourite sketch ever, je pense.

The Traditional Christmas Farce
Joyous.


Also, here's the entry I referred to yesterday, that I wrote at about two o'clock on Monday morning and which Marjorie refused to let me post:

I am vee tired. Why am I not asleep? Curse my brain for keeping me awake, and curse me for having a little sleepy when I got home from Kathye’s because that always ends badly.

Anyway, I spent the weekend chez King, which was very jolly. I got to play with Hannah yesterday (she is officially the world’s most gorgeous baby), and Megan this morning (it was quite a complicated game. I was a horse. We rescued animals, like the bear who was kidnapped by monkeys and stuffed up a tree. Sometimes Megan went on this missions alone and I stayed in the boat, but had to come to her aid when she was menaced by an aggressive elephant or whatever baddies had stolen the cat’s sparkly hearts and wand. And there was a magic remote control (that was actually Darren’s old phone) that we used to turn the alligators purple).

In the afternoon, Kathye’s parents arrived, followed, after lunch (ah, Darren, king of the Sunday roast), by Lorna and Richard, by which stage the house was very full, so I made a discreet exit. Came home to find Katie watching thing about the ineffable Mr Fry, so watched too and ate cookie bits (yum). Ah, Emma – she’s so cool! And Hugh has improved so much with age (on a purely shallow front). Then we watched Dexter (well, later – I was asleep for the bit in between), which is so very good indeed, and there is a great deal of love.

And Kathye and I reaffirmed our Best Friend Forever status and felt about fourteen. Always joyous… *g*

WHY WILL OUR FUCKING INTERNET NOT WORK? WHY, ENGLEBERT? AND WHY DOES MY BLUE ARROW PERSIST IN LYING TO ME ALL OF A SUDDEN? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ABOUT? AM INCANDESCENT WITH RAGE. INCANDESCENT LIKE ONE OF THOSE FLARE THINGS THEY ALWAYS HAVE IN DISASTER MOVIES.

"That's not jazz. It's the soundtrack to a bad 70s porn movie filmed in the San Bernadino valley."

The Weather Forecast
Hedgehog with less than four good feet: sunny spells and then some sleet...

The Parking Meter
Woodburn, do I detect a note of recidivist heterodoxy?

Prune Playhouse: Julius Caesar
History and Latin and puns - oh my!