Planet Earth, Cakeholes and Cutlery

The planet’s got a real tit on at the moment, hasn’t it? Throwing hissy fits all over the gaff, what with tsunamis, earthquakes, floods – and not to mention my knackered palm tree that waved the white flag after that winter we’ve just had. No, it’s a sad and very sorry state of affairs. To my thinking, somewhere along the line someone’s obviously given the planet a large dose of the hump and now it’s come out fighting, throwing its weight around and kicking some serious arse.

            Maybe we’ve all given the planet the hump…or maybe it’s just a spiteful fucker. I’ll have to ask it when I next put my recycling bin out.

Now if that's not a guilty expression then I'm a kipper's bollock..



            I only mention all this planet stuff because a) it ain’t good and b) the traditional mark of respect, as in a minute’s silence, is happening so often – before sporting events in particular – that I fear it’s beginning to dilute the significance of what we’re all keeping our cakeholes shut for. Take the six nations rugby last weekend: three matches and three lots of silences for events in Japan. And the weekend before that, the same maths, but that time for events in New Zealand. And I’m guessing that this weekend there’ll be a whole heap more across the sporting world. If the planet keeps on like this, we’ll all be mute. And nothing will get done. Perhaps we should all be left to do our own mark of respect – whatever suits the individual, and maybe the best one would be lobbing a pound (or two) into the charity pot.

There, I’ve done it. I’ve written something about a grown-up subject. I knew I had it in me. Someone pass me a damp flannel…

…now where was I?

Don’t know about you, but in recent years I’ve begun noticing that more and more humans appear to lack the basic ability to use a knife and fork properly. Dear oh dear. In fact, half of them look only one step away from doing away with cutlery completely and simply resorting to plunging their texting digits, wanking mitts or indeed, neanderthal faces into their plates of spaghetti hoops, lard and chips or buckets of doner kebab.

This dog's got more class in his paw than some sorts. He blindly refuses to eat

this kebab without the finest silver cutlery, a linen napkin and a set of Postman Pat cruets. 

Thinking about it, perhaps some food outlets should just dedicate an area for these sorts and lob some form of communal trough in it. That’ll keep them quiet for a bit – although I doubt they’ll be thinking about the poor souls in Japan.

Go on, love! Fill yer boots!

This one takes things a step further and takes her bacon butty raw...