There's Nothing like A Well-Dressed Wino

Mr Pesto Pickles pictures (done by Twitterfolk)

My wonderful cat, Mr Pesto (Colin) Pickles, has now been drawn twice by lovely people on Twitter.

The first was by the wonderful @Fironza as seen below.

And the latest was done by the (also) wonderful @rachael_ as seen below.

They’re both very talented, and I think you should follow them and say hello. Take the time to tell them how groovy they are!

Different Strokes

I hate being told “I’m going to unfollow you if you tweet about subject X” or ‘You’re going on my unfollow list’, or however people want to phrase it.

People tweet about things on a daily basis about things I have little or no interest in. But I’d never dream of telling people to shut up and only tweet about things that interest me, which is essentially the same thing, only ruder and slightly more direct.

That’s the beauty of Twitter. It’s a big melting pot of interests, thoughts and ideas.

No matter what the hashtag is that brings you such dread, be it #wc2010, #xfactor or #masterchef, use a filter to avoid having to see them.

I’d feel quite sad if any of the people I’ve been friends with on Twitter for a year or more decided to unfollow me on the basis of a subject I was tweeting about.

Anyway, different strokes, and all that.

It’s not the flu. It’s World Cup Fever.

I’m in bed. I don’t know what it is.

(It’s the thing you go to sleep on. But that’s not important right now.)

No, no-I mean I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Shivering, cold sweats, dizzy, projectilesque vomiting, ugh.

Anywho, as you know, the World Cup is about to start. And as you may have seen me tweeting on about it, I have set up a Fantasy Football league for the World Cup. (Two actually, but I’ll come to that.)

The first one is run through the Daily Telegraph website. Everyone who plays has the change to win £30,000 in the main game, and there are also prizes for the mini-leagues too. The only drawback is that it is £5 to enter. But if you’re interested anyway, here is the link to my league. If you want in, tweet me and I’ll give you the PIN for it. I need at least 5 (but I’m hoping for more), otherwise it won’t count as a valid mini-league.

Now…(drumroll)…for the FREE one!

I had been trawling through the App Store trying to find a decent Fantasy Football app for free. Then I found this one. It’s totally free, and I have given my league the rather original name of ‘Twitter World Cup’. The name and PIN etc for the league can be seen here.

I hope as many of you as possible can take part. The overall deadline for both these games is 3pm on Friday 11th June, so get going people!

Also, it’s my birthday tomorrow (Thursday), if you required a further bit of emotional blackmail.

RT this please!

Be happy

Dave x

I Had A Dream

I had a totally mental dream last night.

Basically, I was being sentenced to death by hanging. It emerged that I was being executed because of a event years ago in a previous job, when I had nipped out for a quick smoke when it wasn’t my break.

I was being held in a prison which appeared to be more like a hospital, and all the cells looked like this only with a small window in the wall.

As the dream progressed, I started to see (old-fashioned) soldiers carrying buckets of what appeared to be mud. But then I noticed all the buckets had labels on them like “Bits of Sapper Jones” and “D Company’s Limbs” etc (I know, it’s weird).

I was then reading holiday brochures. And crying. And then i worked out that all the places in the brochures were places I’d been on holiday as a child (when my family was still together). The very last page was a picture of a guy climbing a huge cliff (something like this ) which set me crying even more. (I don’t know why).

I then asked the ‘guard’, who appeared to be more of a hospital Matron than a prison officer, if I’d had any visitors, she said no. “Not even my Mum?”, I asked. Still no.

At that point, I turned and looked out the window, to see my Dad being led away somewhere (I assume to be hanged as well) being followed by two prison officers.

THEN I happened to notice another man being led away, only this guy was Eric Cantona.

Before the dream could spiral any deeper into the realms of madness, my cat woke me up by jumping on my bed and mewing in my face.

Maybe I should give Jennifer Melfi a call.

An Open Letter To Whoever Is In Charge

Dear Sir/Madam

Please sort it out. I’d leave the country if I didn’t have to give a portion of my income to the fucking Halifax every month.

Thanking you in advance, although not holding my breath,

Dave

My Little Boat

Once I had a little boat
That was gaily painted blue
And when I played out in the rain
My boat would be there too.

I made it out of matchsticks
And sealed it up with glue
Then I left on my windowsill
Ready to show to you.

Then one day out in the rain
When play was almost through,
My little boat sailed down a drain
And forever out of view.

Follower

My father worked with a horse plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horses strained at his clicking tongue.

An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck

Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.

I stumbled in his hobnailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.

I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow around the farm.

I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.

Seamus Heaney