Electile dysfunction

Hello readers. I do hope you’ve all been OK while I was away?

It’s funny really, but you know when you go on holiday and come back and you’re expecting everything to be different. Then it turns out that actually not much has happened?

Well, walk a mile in my shoes readers and you’ll appreciate that practically my entire world has turn upside down in my absence.

While I was away, it seems as though the country was gripped tight by the televised three-way mass debates of Clegg, Brown and Cameron. Now we find ourselves staring into the barrels of a well hung parliament. It's not the sort of return I was expecting to life back in the blogosphere.

I've been saving the duck-billed platypuses in Wollumbin Park. Literally a million miles from the corridors of power in Whitehall. Well, I was for a few weeks anyway, then if the truth be told, it all started going a bit mental on my ass!!!

Things between Dippy and myself took a bit of nosedive not long after my last post in late February. I always knew she was a free spirit, I suppose that was always part of the attraction. I’ve never been one to tie myself down and be content with humdrum existence.

Unfortunately, Dippy attracts the wrong type of person. Some people are only really out for themselves and she’s such a giving carer that she can easily get carried away. She got carried away behind my back several times at the camp with the self-appointed chief of our tribe – Shane Taylor.

I’m afraid I lost it a bit readers, I went a little bit mad.

I went into the jungle alone. Have you ever been at one with Mother Nature? I have.

I remember getting a stiffy after seeing Melanie Tate’s erect nipples through her swimsuit while we were on the beach on a school trip to Skegness. I needed to hide the evidence before Steve or anyone else noticed – I suppose in retrospect it might have stopped all the taunts about Brian Jacks, but I was too young to know any better. I hit the deck hard. I could still see Melanie of course, I couldn’t really stop myself. I dry-humped the beach readers. I felt like Mother Nature’s rapist. It was animal instinct.

But out in the jungles of Australia things were far more serious. I’d rather not dwell too long on events. Like everyone else in the camp I was taking massive amounts of psychotropic hallucinogens. It was like the Blair Witch Project meets Predator meets First Blood.

Apparently, they found me lying unconscious, dehydrated and half-starved on the outskirts of Lismore. I had fashioned what appeared to be a crude attempt at what my rescuers described as ‘a platypus superhero outfit’.

I was carted off to a hospital at after my rescue/discovery and stayed put for another week or two before finally Dippy and Shane came to visit. They identified me to the authorities and fingered me for what they claimed were some severe and frightening terror attacks on the camp.

No one could prove anything though and I genuinely didn’t really know what happened back in the jungle. In the end, the British embassy stepped in and I was given a one way ticket back to blighty. The irony of an Englishman being deported from Australia! lol ;-)

I’ve been convalescing up at Mum’s in Lincoln for the past week. So I suppose that even though things didn’t quite work out with Dippy, at least I have managed to patch things up with Mum.

Sadly, I didn’t get to vote in the elections since I’d been out of the country and missed registering. Still, the vote that I would have given to the Lib Dem’s Reg Shore would have been a complete waste of time, since the bloody Tories snagged the seat back off Labour by well over 1000 votes anyway.

At least Roger was in a pretty foul mood since his BNP candidate only managed just over 1,300 votes – a laughable sum that even Reg Shore managed to beat by a country mile. Still 1,300 fascists in Lincoln is still 1,300 too many!

Not sure quite how long I’ll be in Lincoln readers. I called Dan up and he said that unfortunately he’d not been able to keep my job open. So I guess I’m back on the old rock ‘n’ roll for a while.

It hasn’t been all bad news though. Dan’s partner has moved in and so my mortgage is being covered. Which is great. Apparently, Dan's falla is a former Muslim. It’s like that pair of gay guys on Eastenders isn’t it? Living in my flat! You should have seen the look on Roger’s face when I told him. Hilarious.

Also, upon my return to reality and life online I discovered a rather exciting email from Eddie Bluelights offering yours truly the opportunity of being given a good roasting on his blog. I want to send out a special shout of thanks to Mr London Street for bigging me up. Cheers MLS, you're a star.

Gotta go now, I'm using Roger's laptop to send this post. Ha! Another one in the eye for nazi goat. But he'll be back soon enough from visiting him own mother at the rest home so I'd best get back in front of the gogglebox. Dad's Army is on later - and I know for a fact that Mum loves that show, much to Roger's chargrin.

L8ers brethren!
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