The day after

We ate roast lamb last night and it was most wonderful. I provided gravy and mashed potatoes. It all worked very well and it certainly beat an over-priced, over-crowded restaurant full of acne ridden teens dribbling over each other. The ice cream was a success also. I went for chocolate and mint. I'm surprised that Dickie never had an anonymous Valentines day card. I wish I'd known. I'd have sent him one. And what's this about your mother in law? She's in UK isn't she?

Last night parliament voted to ban smoking everywhere indoors in England, apart from one's own home I assume. From a purely selfish point of view, I think it will make going out nicer, so I don't mind. I still think people should be allowed to smoke and I have no doubt that all the health arguments about passive smoking are wildly exaggerated. I thouight it was significant that the PM decided to vote for a total ban after preaching the virtues of a partial ban last year. This in the same week that he accused the new Conservative leader of changing his mind.

My friends from PETA have been at it again. This time they have been chucking flour bombs at Paris Hilton in an anti fur protest. I like PETA's naked protests. I'm not so taken with flour bombs. They also lost some amusement value for me when it was I found out that their accounts seemed to suggest that they were funding terrorist activities carried out by the ALF. I would miss the loonies if they weren't there though.Click.

Strangely, on the same day that PETA is making headlines with flour bombs, other friends of the ALF are releasing wild boar from a farm right next door to my parents in North Devon. Apparently unnamed activists have contacted the ALF to claim responsibility. They were liberating the animals it seems. So there are now several dozen wild boar roaming the North Devon countryside waiting to eat children. These things have no manners you know. You don't want to piss them off. Click.

I notice today that the BBC is reporting on yet another attempt by a journalist to obtain access to Buckingham palace by posing as a job applicant. Usually when this happens the journalist works as a cleaner or something for a month, takes a picture of the queen ironing her underwear, and the paper publishes a huge front-page article about the woefully inadequate security at the palace. This time it's a bit different because the journalist was arrested. The paper is left with egg on its face while trying to defend the actions of the idiot reporter, and is forced to admit how pleased it is that security has been strengthened since the last time time they did it. Much more entertaining than the story they were going for. Click.