Four out of ten old ladies drink hair-restorer

A geust blogg from Damain Thopmson
 

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Up to 40% of old ladies drink hair-restorer, according to recent research undertaken by the University of Adelaide. My own informal observations bear this out, as Patient M, a ridiculously old lady who is also currently my guest in Castle Thompson - as is her great-nephew, a charming man called Eccles - has turned out to be a consumer of many unusual products.

My butler, Will Heaven, reports that Anti Moly, as Eccles calls her, began by drinking my supplies of gin and whisky, but, when he started to lock these up, she turned to other substances.

Did I mention that I have written a book on addiction, called The Fix? Do buy a copy. I am hoping that Eccles will agree to serialize excerpts on his lovely blog. Anyway, in my book I treat all sorts of addictions and obsessions: for example, there is a biologist in South America who is addicted to stories of clerical child abuse, having a whole laboratory wall decorated with stories from the Puffington Post and the New Yawn Times. Another strange addiction I write about is cinnabons, a sticky cake much loved by Yorkshire bishops.

Returning to Patient M, once she had run out of conventional alcoholic drinks, she drank a bottle of my Geoffrey Lean hair-restorer; then she went to the garage and drank my supply of Delinpol anti-freeze (much to the annoyance of Hannan my chauffeur). Finally, getting desperate, she drank a bottle of her own Possumgon, a product she uses to protect the roof of her Australian home from enthusiastic marsupials.

Her drinking is irregular, but when she decides to have a "binge" or "meltdown," she is often seen on the internet, posting insults on blogs (including my own). For some reasons she particularly hates Catholics, especially serious ones.

Patient M seems to be immune to poison, according to her nephew Eccles. The old photograph below shows M and her friend informing a visitor that they had added some arsenic to his drink, "To give it some bite."

Well, it's difficult to know what to do in such cases, but if enough people buy my book The Fix, I will be able to do some more in-depth research (Tenerife looks like a promising place to start).

Some uvver Tellegraph bloggs

Holy Water Shortages
By Geoffrey Anel








As the world's oldest environmental correspondent, and the sole survivor of the 1913 conference which found that the sinking of the Titanic was due to atmospheric carbon dioxide, I was invited to a prestigious Climate Change congress in Rome this week. There I discovered that Pope Benedict XVI is so concerned about water shortages that he will be banning the use of Holy Water in Catholic churches so as to minimize the Holy Spirit's "Hydrogen footprint".

For many years the Catholic Church has been known for its indifference to green issues. Indeed, the carbon dioxide produced by this Easter's Paschal candles has caused sea levels to rise by no less than six feet, and (so I am told) the town of Adelaide has completely disappeared underwater. Will Benedict XVI go down in history as the Green Pope? We can but pray to Gaia that it will be so.



For our children's sake, stop this waste now!
 

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It doesn't matter what notes you play
By Stephen Oh-Hug








Occasionally, when you are performing a concerto at the Carnegie Hall, or possibly the Royal Albert Hall, your attention will wander for a moment and you will think, "Am I supposed to be playing Rachmaninov or Tchaikovsky right now?"

Well, you'll be pleased to know that it doesn't really matter. The great pianist Alfred Brendel said that under such circumstances he would wing it for a while, perhaps simply playing an embellished version of Pop goes the weasel until the orchestra gave him a clue what he was supposed to be doing. Then he would come back to the score as if nothing had happened. Provided that he kept a straight face, none of the audience would ever notice.



Alfred Brendel in conversation with André Previn
 

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Why we owe so much to Chris Huhne
By Tom Vichers








As a fully-paid-up pro-Gay Liberal Atheist, I see it as my duty to wind up the Telegraph's largely conservative readership. So today I am focussing on the achievements of Chris Huhne, one of my real heroes. Who can doubt that if he had been prime minister, he would have legalised cannabis, heroin and opium, which, after all, are no more harmful to the teeth than coffee with sugar? Then again, there are some parts of the British countryside that do not yet have their own wind turbines - why oh why should the Yorkshire Dales be deprived in this way? It can only be attributed to the fact that Chris Huhne was forced out of office by the forces of reaction (Inspector Norman Plod).

Unfortunately our picture editor could not find a photo of the great man, but here is a photo of his ex-wife going for a spin.



I was only doing 30 m.p.h., officer.

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Continued here.

De Voyage of St Eccles, Chapter 2

1. So it came to pass dat Eccles and Anti Moly-ben-Dite went to de Pottymouth trane station, for to catch de Indian Pacific trane to Sidney.

2. And de statoinmaster at Pottymouth hardened his heart and said, "Lo! Dis dame is a well-known trubble-maker and she aint gonna go on any of our tranes unless you puts her in a wooden crate."

3. And Moly she was very wrathful, but she knew dat dere was no real chioce, if she wanted to see her beloved, he dat is called Pell.

4. So Eccles he made a crate out of de finest gopher wood. Lo, it was 4 cubits long, and nearly 2 cubits wide and 2 cubits deep. And in it he placed his beloved ant, together wiv a supply of de finest liqours and a wondrous engine called an iTroll, wot is able to send forth insullts to bloggs on de Internnet.



5. And de Pottymouth stationmaster hardened his heart and said, "Peradventure we shuold also handcuff and gag de old biddy? For she will scream 'woful!' in de nihgt, when de honest man sleepeth."

6. But Eccles he pointed out dat de regullatoins for transportin livestock on de trane said dat dey must not be creul to de animules. So it came to pass dat he buoght himself a Saver ticket (for he was Saved) and he placed his beloved anti in de gaurd's van.

7. And Anti Moly spake forth wiv her iTroll, sayin, "WOFL, WOFL, WOFL. I has got an Easter message for all traddy fanatical Cathlics. Easter is a time for buying chockolate eggs and smashin dem over de heads of sockpoppets. It aint got no uvver purpoise."

8. But de Internett connectoin faileth, and her vioce cryeth out in de wilderness, "WOFL" and no man heareth de Easter message of Anti Moly.



9. Thus dey came to Sidney, a city of great baeuty and cullture, where dey hath an opera house and signeth all de famuous operas, such as "De Barber of Pottymouth," by Micki Rossini, and "Gotterdamian," abuot de Twillight of de Bloggs.

10. So dey released Anti Moly from her wooden box, and she walked in de streets wiv Eccles, her saved nehpew, wot is loved by de Lord and gets Vallentine cards from Him (althuogh some saith dat it was a practical joke played by his creul bruvver Bosco).

11. And dey meets a Momron, who saith "G'day, yuong man. We has a projject to bapptise all de dead poeple wot can't say no. But we also bapptises people wot is old and decreppit, so maybe de old skellington lady wot walks wiv you wuold like to be bapptised?"

12. "Whom hath thou bapptised recently?" asks Eccles.

13. "We has done Gahndi, Buhdda, Mahommed, Atilla de Hun and Pop Pious X. Dey is now all good Momrons," saith de Momron, "but dey doesnt ware de magic undies like we does, of cuorse."




Dat's a pitcher of Gahndi, wot is now a Momron

14. And he spake the name of de magic undies; that is, de Abracada Bra, de Wonderbra and so on.

15.  But Anti Moly saith that she hath no wish to be bapptised, and they moved on in deir quest for de Cradinal known as Pell.



16. So dey came in due course to de Cathlic Cathedral of Sidney, wot is called St Mary's.

17. And dey saw dat de Easter Viggil Mass was gonna be cellebrated by Cradinal Goerge Pell, who got de job of carryin de Easter Candel into de Cathedral. Probabbly he gonna kiss it, as dat's wot Cathlics doth.

18. "We gonna attend dat!" shreiketh Anti Moly in glee, and she began to make her plans.

Here endeth de seckond chapter of de story of Eccles's voyage to Sidney.

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Concluded here.

De Voyage of St Eccles

1. Dere was a young man whose name was Eccles (wot meaneth "Church" or "Chappel") and he was saved. He also liked savin uvver poeple, and dey came from far and wide to read his luvvly blogg.

2. And dis Eccles was de bruvver of St Bosco, wot hath got his own book of de Bibble, so I aint sayin much about him, except dat his way of savin poeple was to get actors to dress up as preists and do nasty fings so dat he cuold put dere pitchers on his blogg.

3. Now Eccles goeth on a juorney to a far cuontry called Austriala, wot is full of boomerangs, and didgeridoos, and uvver savvage creechers. Dis was in order to look after an old lady called Judy, she dat dey calleth Moly-ben-Dite, wot was his Grate-Ant.

4. Some sayeth dat dis Judy, or Moly, hath also a grandson in Brisbane, wot was imprisoned for showin his nether regions to de Queen Eli-Zabeth when she visiteth from de North. But Moly doth deny dat it was any rellatoin, even dough dey hath very simmilar manners.

5. "Anti Moly," sayeth Eccles. "Where thou goest I is gonna go too, cos dey will lock you up if I doesnt." And dey took provisoins for de juorney, dat dey hungereth not, niether doth dey die of thirst, wot is somefink dat truobleth Moly terribly.



6. And they came upon a town called Pottymouth, which being translated meaneth "The mouth of de Rivver Potty." And dey settled in Anti Moly's luvvly home in Stickybeak Street.

7. Now Anti Moly was grately truobled by insonmia, and sleepeth not. And she crieth out in de nihgt: "Woeful! Yeah, verily, it is woeful!"

8. For she imagineth dat dere is rabits under her bed and possums jumpin up and down on de roof. But some sayeth dat it is de strong drink what is a mocker.

9. And one of de nieghbours in Stickybeak Street waxeth angry, and he sayeth unto Eccles, "We cannot abide dis Ant of yours, for she waketh us in de nihgt wiv her cries."

10. Dis maketh Moly sore wrathful too, which aint hard to do, and she grabbeth de shirt off dis nieghbours back. Den she looketh at de labbel, and sayeth, "Dat proveth it, you is a member of de Traddy Cathlic Clique wot is tormentin me."



11. And Moly she venteth her spleen by writin messages on de blogg of a man called Damain, wot was formerly a grate sage, known as de blood-crazed ferret.

12. Latterly, dis Damain aint very good at profuond spiritaul matters, as his only engagement wiv relligoin was to discuss de quallificatoins of de learned Doctor Charters, and de foolish prattle of de not quite so learned Nick Banes.

13. But Moly she continueth her vendetta against de Church, and she imagineth dat dere is sockpoppets writin, so dat she can attack dem even when dey aint dere. For it is written in de book of Joell, "Your old ladies will see visoins and dreem dreems, at least if dey dont sober up and get some propper spectacules."

14. But the time cometh when Moly sayeth unto Eccles, "Arise up, Eccles, you nubmskull. For I is called to go to Sidney to see a Holly Man, he that is called Pell. For when I was yuong, he adored me, yeah he sayeth unto me, as it is written in de Song of Sollomon:

15. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them."

16. "Dat aint rihgt, Anti," sayeth Eccles, "cos thy teeth is in de glass of water by de side of de bed."

[Pitcher of Anti Moly's teeth removed cos it mihgt offend sensitive poeple.]

17. "Never mind dat," snappeth Anti Moly. "We is off to rejoin my beloved."

18. "Shall I saddle de ass, Anti Moly?" asketh Eccles.

19. "Nay, Eccles, thou moron," sayeth his Ant. "We is gonna take de Indian Pacific trane."



Here endeth de fust chapter of de story of Eccles's voyage to Sidney.

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Continued here.

We goes to Austriala

We got a letter from de Austrialan govermnent, sayin dat Anti Moly is allowed to go back dere wivvout bein locked up, providded dat a responsibble person come wiv her to keep an eye on her. Dat's grate news, as Anti wants to go lookin for Cradinal Pell, wot used to be sweet on her before he became a cosstume holly man.

Bosco is still sittin on a pole medditatin about how he is de only saved pusson in Callifornia, so Anti have persauded me to go wiv her. De call of love is strong, and Cradinal Pell gonna have a nice surprise.

Anti Moly's eyes filled with nostallgic tears, as she showed me a postcard of her home town, where we is goin.



We has had to buy 3 seats on de aeroplain, as Anti wants to take her iddle of St Cuttley wiv her. She says dat she prefers talkin to de iddle and not me, as de iddle don't answer back (dem's creul words, Anti). But I doesn't know how she is gonna survive a long flihgt wivvout interrnet access, she will miss all de excitin debaits on Damain's blogg.

Dere was also de probblem of what to do wiv de 4 crockodiles dat Anti buoght recently as part of her campaing to be poppular. When Didgeridoo Airlines told us dat crockodiles wasnt allowed in de aeroplain wiv her, we went round to de local Cathlic convent and dropped em all down de chimney of de Muvver Superoir. Here is one of dem peerin out frew a window of de convent, sayin to itself in crockodile, "My, dat was a most deliciuos nun! Wot's for puddin?"



At de airport securitty, Anti Moly had grate probblems, as dey wuoldn't let her take six bottles of gin onto de aeroplain as hand lugage, and she screemed at dem when dey made her go frew a specail x-ray. Here is de luvvly x-ray photto dey took of my dere Anti gettin cross. She is sayin "Woeful", perhaps I orta add a speech bubble.



So here we is waitin to board de plain for Austriala, where excittin adventures beckons. I was askin Anti if she was gonna introdduce me to her Austrialan freinds, and she said "I aint got any freinds, I hates dem all! But I has got some ennemies who aint too bad, I suppose."

Anyways, I hopes dere is a Calumny Chappel in Pottymouth, cos I is a saved pusson,and bessides, I is gonna need to stock up on cemment doves.

Pop Bozodict

We had a good Chritsmas dinner, wiv a luvvly puddin, on which Anti Moly puored a whole bottle of branddy. She was verry cross dat it cuaght fire, but she soon put out de flames and we drank de rest of de puddin.



After dat we was all gettin a bit merry, and Bosco said dat he had finally ran out of pattience wiv de Pop, who is refussing to ressign in favour of a saved pusson. So he said we was gonna ellect a new Pop. De ellectoin was conductted by de very merry college of Cradinals (Bosco, Eccles, Anti Moly and Farver Arfur), and de votes was 2 for Bosco, 1 for Anti Moly, and 1 for Farver Arfur. I voted for Bosco and I fink de uvvers all voted for demselves.

At dis point Anti Moly said "Stuff dis for a lark, let de clown be Pop, I is goin for anuvver drink," and dat gave my bruvver de majoritty he needed. I fink dat's what happened in de Vattican, last time, as well - Cradinal Pell said "Strewth, I needs a tinnie of Chatteau Wallaby Clarret now. Let Cradinal Ratzigner have de jobb. Anyways, I gotta get away quick, cos I is bein stalked by an old lady from Adellaide. She's out dere in St Peter's Sqaure now, shoutin 'Coo-eee, Goerge!'"



At dat momment we relleased de white smok which proves dat we has got a new Pop. In fact it was Anti Moly's lapptop wot cuaght fire, I fink she spilt some branddy on it.

Bosco and me is currantly postin under alliases on Damain Thopmson's blogg. He is now Pop Bozodict, of course. I is callin myself "incongito" - dis is to confuse Farver Arfur, wot reports all my words of priase to de muddlerators. He cant stand de idea dat I is saved and he aint, cos he is a cosstume holly man. (But I finks he wont be in good stand-in much longer if de Pop in Rom reads dis blogg and finds out dat Arfur voted for an Anti-pop.)



Dat's Bosco in his brand new Pop vestmeants, I dont know what dere names is, fings like cossacks, chazebels and stoles, I fink dey is called. Don't he look handssome?

My bruvver Pop Bozodict has learnt dat Pops like writin fings called Pappal Bulls, dey doesnt use paper like de rest of us. I aint seen one of dem pappal bulls yet, but we did find a pitcher of an old Pop called Herbert goin to de bank to cash a check, so dat proves dat it must happen.



Farver Arfur says dat after Vattican II de Pops aint allowed to use bulls any more, but we is still checkin dis.