Andy Stewart’s Macramé and Safari Jacket Shop,
That new loan shark place on Upper Parliament Street sets up a stall outside, and hands out tuffehs and balloons with their logo on it to kiddies. Amazingly, no-one punches them through the window. I swear blind that you could drive a float through town on a weekday with the Ku Klux Klan on the back waving at folk, and no-one would give a toss if they were lobbing out enough duddoos.
A young potato-faced end of the bell from Sneinton gets three years for sending text messages during the riots. One of them reads; “Girls, grannies, mums, dads, lads, granddads - everyone meet on Sneinton Dale tonight at 9 o’clock as we are all going to kick off”. Very socially inclusive, bless him. He missed out ‘babies’ though.
By the way, if loads of nanas and kids start lobbing petrol bombs on Sneinton Dale tonight after reading this because they’ve misread it and I get sent down, I’m going to be well dischuffed.
Nigel Doughty dies. The Post take a tribute to him off our website and whack it into their paper without telling us. They later apologise, but if you left a floral tribute at the City Ground, it might be an idea to nip back and see if they haven’t scrubbed your name off it and put theirs on it instead.
The Vernon Arms announces it is to be shut down and turned into a Sainsburys, because God knows we can’t have students walking more than five minutes for a packet of Boasters at 10pm on a Tuesday. Apparently, the last manager tried to get more punters in by hosting poledancing nights and a craft fair. What, on the same night? I wondered why my Aboriginal rain stick was a bit whiffy.
The Post’s letters page features someone from Arnold who suggests that the best way to combat hacking groups like Anonymous is to close down the entire World Wide Web until “the UN has satisfied itself that this sort of think (sic) can’t happen again, in about five years”.
It is announced that a couple from Stapleford have won £45,000,000, making them the world’s first emo-looking multi-millionaires. So if you see the steps of the Council House being ripped up and put into a massive paper bag, you’ll know whose back garden it’s going to.
What’s the difference between your Mam and Whitney Houston? Your Mam wouldn’t be seen dead in a bath.
My uncle was from the Ukraine. When he was finally reunited with his family, some of them came over here. When they were taken to Sneinton Market, they burst into tears of disbelieving awe at the sight of all the fruit and veg on display. Then they asked how many of the dented boxes of Mr Kiplings they would be allowed to buy, and burst into tears again. I received my gas bill – from a company that relies mainly on Ukrainian gas – on this day. Who’s roaring now?
Martin Allen is sacked by Notts County for, er, keeping them in a division they could have easily been relegated from last season, keeping them out of the drop zone this season, and making the club vaguely likable again after the Munto period when they were going around thinking they were summat. I think.
Channel 4’s Coppers – the documentary series made in collaboration with Notts Constabulary which depicts everyone in Nottingham as a shower of tracksuit bottom-feeders who regularly get into fights over whose turn it is to have a bite of a cheese sandwich – finally comes to an end. Jesus Christ, Channel 4, whatever did we do to you? Did we crucify Pob in the Market Square or summat?
It is announced that the full Robin Hood Marathon is to be cancelled this year, because, quote, “the route is no longer safe and viable”. What are they going on about? Was it over broken glass and spent johnnies? Was there a diversion through Yates?
Young lads on the top deck of the bus to town: could you please stop using the term “smashed her back doors in” when lying about your sexual activities to your mates? Firstly because by the look of you, it’s obviously that your penis is nowhere near the size or heft of a police battering ram, but mainly because it makes me spend the rest of the journey wondering what mine could genuinely ‘smash in’. An egg box? If it had been run under the tap a bit, maybe. One of those foldy-uppy things girls make to find out who they really fancy? Probably, but then there’s the risk of paper cuts. It’s all very depressing, really.
A lad from St Anns gets six years for possession of a load of manky hydroponic weed and an Uzi that was hidden at his Dad’s house. That was a stupid move – you can’t lend an Uzi to anyone that age. If it was me, I’d be coming home from the pub every night, blasting Public Enemy out the windows, and stomping about in the garden pretending to be in the S1Ws.
Figures released by the Crown and Magistrates courts reveal that over the last three years, they have confiscated 2,499 cameras, 575 cans and bottles of booze, four replica guns, 1,245 knives and 1,325 dangerous tools. That’s hammers and chisels, not angry bell-ends.
A council street cleaner is caught having a wazz in a street in Sneinton at ten past eight in the morning. When someone has a go at him, he says it doesn’t really matter, as he has some detergent in his van. Drink it then, you chatty bastard.
A whale with a massive gash is found on Skegness beach. Some people call that an “ecological tragedy”. I call it “Bulwell hen weekend.”
The Olympic torch route through Notts is revealed. It will travel though Mansfield, Newark and Radcliffe-on-Trent, where it will be joined by people with other burning torches and pitchforks who have mistakenly assumed that they’re going to set a suspected paedophile’s house on fire. Then it’ll go through the Meadows, where it’ll be lobbed through the window of a police station, before it spends the night in the Council House where councillors will secretly light fags off it and make toast, before being carried into Derby, where it will be poked at locals who will spit and cower at it, for a bit of a laugh.
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