Bird Guano’s
The column which doesn’t approve of genitally modified food and will only eat eggs that have been delivered by cesarean section.

READER: What happened to Nostra O’Darmus’s Racing Tips? I was on a winning streak there!

MYSELF:  Sorry, the editor spiked it. We got a lot of letters from anti-racing folks.

READER: Typical. I suppose the noble sport of kings is not for everyone. But for heaven’s sake, I mean…..The Grand National? The Derby? Ladies Day? The heady scent of dung, fear and cordite? What’s wrong with these people?

MYSELF:  Tell me about it. They just bang on and on about problem gambling and equestrian cruelty. As you and I both know, these noble beasts adore racing and everyone knows there’s nothing a horse likes more than having its arse whipped by an angry, vertically challenged man who left school when he was nine.

 Any tips for the weekend?

MYSELF: Since you ask, if you’re looking for a dead cert, what about Hitler’s Dog at 55/1 in the 3-30 at Aintree? Loves rough going, jumping over fences three times its own height and looks forward to getting shot and fed to the dogs for breaking a leg. Keep it to yourself, I got that tip from Nostra O’Darmus himself so I did.

 Mum’s the word. A nod’s as good as a wink, I’m on it.

It became evident early in the first half of this ambitious Upper Dicker Vaganova production of Mascarponi’s Rubella with Dame Melba Turste as the enchanted donkey and Tarquin Codpeace as the disappointed swan, that all was not well. During the interval, raised voices could be discerned coming from the orchestra pit, one of them being the unmistakable grating roar of the principal ballerina herself. The shocked audience could hear every syllable as Dame Melba vented her fury at orchestra conductor Remy Vaselini. The Grande Dame was insinuating that the tempo during the opening Le Petit Battement En Grenouille was played at a deliberately frantic Tutti al Presto, rather than the Allegro Ma Non Troppo specified by the composer, causing her to trip during a tricky jambes pliées sous le menton, and bang her head against a piece of scenery. An affronted Vaselini countered with the accusation that Dame Melba’s equilibrium had clearly been compromised by her previous night’s gin-binge, and that her feet were “like two canoes filled with cement’
Shortly after that, a reverberating crash rang around the auditorium, which turned out to have been caused by the heavy brass Chinese gong with which Dame Melba had fractured Mr Vaselini’s skull. As the house lights went up to allow the conductor to be stretchered off, queues were already forming at the box office to buy tickets for the evening performance, which were soon available from touts outside the theatre at three times their face value.

Recently acquired Russian proprietor Oliver Garki has named Hastings & St Leonards Warriors FC’s new manager as Giovani Fuctivano, former coach of Serie D’s AFC Cosanostra. The Sicilian supremo, dubbed The Goalfather, has promised fans he will bring “sexy Italian football” to the beleagered club. Last season’s catastrophic descent into the relegation zone, coupled with their spectacular expulsion from the FA cup by lowly Chiddingly Pharaohs FC, has sent the board of directors into meltdown.
OUT goes Irish manager Alabaster Tipperary after only four weeks in the job, OUT goes fearsome central defender Nobby Balaclava along with Dutch groin-kick specialist Ruud Van Smoot, IN comes curvy physiotherapist and former lapdancer Sabrina Petto-Massiccio, IN come financial advisers Johnny “Potatoes” Proscuitto and Luigi “Legs” Borgias.
A defiant Fuctivano told us; “The Warriors will survive. All we have to do is win all our remaining 19 games 8-0. As long as the teams above us lose all theirs, or their team coach is involved in some sort of accident on the way to a game I am confidant we can do it.” 

Cardigan (n)  the correct way to request a ‘twist’ in pontoon.
Caustic (n)   a portable, extending device for taking saucy selfies
Endorse (n)  the 3-legged nag you put all your money on in the 3-30 at Aintree.

Unqualified medical and psychological advice for the hopelessly out of sorts

Dear Wendy,
is it ever acceptable to wear a hat in a sauna?
Lena Morova, Inner Thyghe

Dear Ms Morova,

wearing a hat in a sauna is perfectly acceptable, provided that the sauna’s rear tappet washers are fully adjacent to the flapper and the collar-link connecting the pressure-assisted gravity feed to the backflow valve are adjusted to generate enough leverage to produce 250 psu or greater, otherwise the hat-steam balance will almost always result in wilting. There are, however, no circumstances when it is ever ok to wear a French beret, a fireman’s helmet, or a Coldstream Guardsman’s busby in a sauna.

Dear Wendy,
I take plenty of vigorous exercise and lie under a horse and drink whale sperm every morning. Whilst up to now it’s never done me any harm, I have recently begun to suffer from scurvy. Might there be any connection?
Roger Lilliput, Beyondenden

Dear Roger,

Scurvy, or scorbutus, is normally associated with pre-18th century sailors who were deprived of vitamin C, (ironically, when they were at sea). Whilst whale sperm is an excellent source of vitamin E, it will not, unlike lemon juice or rhesus monkey spleen, provide the vital vitamin you lack. Lying under a horse may temporarily deprive you of sunlight and vitamin D, but is unlikely to diminish your vitamin C levels. Look at it this way, Hastings Pirate Day is coming soon and with a genuine case of scurvy you will tower above the competition.

Dear Wendy,
I have received an invitation be a guest at the Lord Mayor’s banquet, but I suffer from Turet’s Syndrome fucking tits! …Whilst not wishing to embarress myself in front of his worship the Lord…twat!….Mayor…wanker!...I  feel compelled to attend, bollocks! ….. owing to my position as fuckwit!…. press secretary to the shite!…town council, . Do you have any piss off!…advice which could alleviate my….hairy .arseholes! dillemma?
Mavis Cattermole… Twat bollocks shithead!……Cockmarlin

Dear Mavis,

Goodness! I haven’t heard that much swearing since my third husband was stung on the penis by a wasp. My solution is simple. Have your dentist wire up your jaw, and take along a professional ventriloquist as your escort. Merely reciting “Peter Piper” or saying “gottle o’ geer” all the time however, is no substitute for a cultured conversation, so make sure he’s got a couple of GCSEs. My website provides a list of affordable and discreet ventriloquist services catering for the tongue-tied or compulsively sweary.

Government public health advice
Under no circumstances buy Defjams the plastic earplugs which are currently being touted online, falsely claiming to protect the hearing of musicians. These are not earplugs, but tiny spring-loaded spinning tops manufactured in China which explode when you listen to Kanye West. 

This week featuring Pauline Spoon, a founder member of The Eel’s Bollard Poetry Society.
A failed novelist, Pauline achieved brief childhood fame at Blackpool Tower’s iconic Tower Ballroom when, in 1953, she was outright winner of the BBC’s Britain’s Bendiest Baby competition

Twilight Falls
by Pauline Spoon

A dog Barks
I Bark back

The Sun Sinks
I sink too

The pub beckons

Evening Frank!
I don’t mind if I do

Time ticks
out the hours

I fall off my barstool




Sausage Life!




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