When a man is tired, that man is usually me

I'm really shattered today.  I'm definitely coming down with something - the same bug that's made the office look and sound like a trench in Mons for the last fortnight, no doubt.  In fact the only thing that's kept me for actually falling asleep is the Not Nigella Lawson twitter page (https://twitter.com/CarryOnNigella).

This admirable endeavour is a page of obviously spoof tweets from the well-upholstered sauce pot and sometime chef Nigella Lawson.  It contains the kind of fire-proof single-entendres that make England go round, and always leave me gasping with laughter.

You can get away with murder in this country if you peddle smut as long, that is, it's genuinely funny and intelligent.  I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue is the high water mark of this type of, peculiarly English, humour.  Humphrey Littleton used to say some outrageous things on there, and they always passed without comment or censure.

The chap who runs the Nigella site accepts contributions, so the following were composed when I should have been doing something altogether more worthwhile and therefore dull:

My pet hamster's food gets all over the furniture at home.  I spent this morning flicking the nuts off a tallboy.

I recently attended a Buckingham Palace garden party.  I met lots of important people, and ended the evening with a Sir Mellie Finger.

Went for a cycle on the bridle path earlier.  It was fun, but muddy and I ended-up with a face full of muck from some fellow’s Chopper.

The extractor fan in my kitchen makes a frightful noise. I must get a man in to peer under my hood and oil the flaps.

I accidentally spilled a bottle of Mazola all over the bird table this morning, and had to spend the entire afternoon hosing the oil off my tits.

 - My work here is done