Well, for once the tight fuckers took me with them to a cottage by the sea. Went walkies on the beach every day, fucking freezing it was. The tight bastards. They kept chucking a stick in the bastard North Sea for me to go and fetch. The North Fucking Sea. In bastard December. There were some complete wankers all dressed up in black in there already too (I think they must have been The Muslim Womens Ironing Board Formation Swimming Team or something). So I wasn't in there on me own, freeing my little bollocks off I was. No sooner had I got meself dry by the fire then they were dragging me back out again. The heartless twats. I'd have got more rest in Stalag 45, or the kennels as they call it. Got to go to the pub on Christmas Day. Fucking packed it was. Biscuits, that's all I got for me Christmas Dinner. Fucking bastard biscuits. No chance of a fucking pig in a blanket for me. No siree. Bastard dry buggering biscuits. Not even a fucking splash of gravy, nor kiss my arse. Dr

I hate the fucking thing. Me Dad does too. He was doing his swede in yesterday trying to order his little granddaughter a present online. The whole sorry episode went something like this: The only place he could find what she wanted was on a website he'd never used before, so had to set up a new account, what's your mother's maiden name and all that shite. He went through the order process, got to the last hurdle, put his card number in and hit "confirm order" and it went through to a Lloyds Bank Clicksafe is authorising your transaction thing and then stuck there for about 20 mins. There was a "request online chat" button. He hit that. "You are in a queue, a representative will be with you in approximately 16 minutes..." 16 mins later, Hi, I'm Jessica, how can I help? He explains the situation to Jessica. He doesn't know if the order has gone through or not. "Hang on I will check your account....sorry Mr Norris I can see the accou

Me Mum and Dad took me to the pub yesterday, which meant that Me Dad had to get some cash out on the way. Get this right, where we live, when you need cash, you just go to this magic thing called "the hole in the wall" and type in how much you want and it gives it to you! How afuckingbout that! And when you've run out, you just go back and it gives you some more! I don't know why the soft fuckers go out to work all day, what's the fucking point? Anyway, we get to the hole thingy, and there's two people in front of us, they are probably married, but I don't know for sure. I didn't ask to see a marriage certificate or anything, but they looked married, right? A man with a stick (the lazy twat) and a woman. The bloke is wearing large very dark sunglasses. In the middle of bastard winter right, dickhead. He's got a dog, one of them Alsation things. And get this, it's got a fucking hi-viz jacket on and some sort of "handle" coming out of i

What an embarrassing load of old shitty bollocks that was. I see that the retail sector are seemingly so fucking desperate for cash, "extended" Cack Friday to cover the entire weekend, and are now following that up with pissing Cyber Monday today! Have they no fucking shame at all? No is clearly the answer to that one. I'm surprised that we didn't have last Thursday off for ThanksfuckingGiving as well. What else can we import from the pissing states? We've already got Trick or Bastard Treat night, High School Proms and all that shite. I blame Hannah Montana and all the other bollocks that the kids watch on telly these days, the lazy fucking work-shy bastards. If they want to be American so fucking much they should try pissing off over there to live. They can't even spell properly any way, so fuck off over there where nobody will even notice. Cnuts!

My canine cup runneth over. Not only is there "a new bitch in town" but me Dad came home from work with a parcel for me last night! Me bezzie mates, Thomas Bell of Brigg, the country's leading fertiliser importers, have sent me a doggie advent calendar! I've never had one of those before, so I'm not really sure what to do with it. I think that maybe there's a selection of little doggie treats in there, this is obviously my December 1st calendar, so I assume that the Dec 2-24 calendars will arrive one by one as the special day draws ever nearer. I'm so excited, I'm shaking like a shitting greyhound. They also sent me a proper calendar for me bedroom wall, and bugger me rigid, what's on the front page but a picture of Staithes, up the coast from Whitby. And where am I going for Christmas? Yup, I'm taking the humans to Staithes. I'll be warming me Dad's hands by doing my festive dump on that very beach on the big day. Gives you a warm glow

Wooohoooo, guess who's moved in 3 doors up? Trixie the 9 week old Border Terrier! OK, 9 weeks is a bit young for erm, you know what. I mean I'm not that bloke out of the LostProphets or anything. I intend to do the decent thing and leave that sort of malarkey until she's about 6 months or so. For now though we can still proceed with her "training" - in much the same way that me Dad trains me Mum. She's already been to the vets for eating shite apparently. The pup that is, not me Mum. Her cooking isn't THAT bad. Big mistake just diving in and eating shite. Never just go straight in and fill your boots, when you can roll in it first and then eat it. The first thing they teach you in Border Terrier Club that is. Also she will need some instruction on how to play stick. Run after the thing and fetch it by all means, just don't bring the fucker back or they'll only throw it again for you. What's the fucking point of that? You've fetched it, so i

And the BB Bastard C, why don't you just put a sign up at the back of the fucking Match Of The Twatting Day studios that says "Everton supporters go to bed now"??  "Well that last match was so shite, imagine now poor this next (and last) one is going to be? It's got nil bastard fucking twatting nil written all over the fucker this one. I feel so fucking bastard sorry for the fuckers that have avoided the fucking result all bastard day in the vain hope that their team has won that I'm going to tell it to the sad fucking twats now and completely urinate on their chips. I'm fucking so bastard glad that I never played for the Toffees, if I had I'd have completely erased it from my (admittedly limited) memory banks. I played for Barcelona you know." The jug eared twat.

Always wears sunglasses because he's got glaucoma, he tells us. That explains why he still hasn't found what he's looking for then doesn't it? In other news, Sheffield United have announced that they are to offer Oscar Pistorious a contract when he gets out. Michael McIntyre apparently stormed off stage in a full blown hissy fit because a woman on the front row wouldn't get off her mobile phone. Which is a bit harsh, as she was only trying to find out what time the comedian came on. Bored bastard shitless I am and it's 5 fucking hours to tea time yet as well. Overheard me Mum and Dad talking about getting another dog yesterday. The fucking cheek of it, am I not good enough for them? I hope it's not a puppy, I'm no Rolf Harris. Talking of which, what do you call a bus full of child molesters? The Radio One Roadshow. I just made that one up. Here's another. Knock, knock. Who's there? Deja. Deja who? Knock, knock. Repeat 19 times. I told you I was b

The East of England Ambulance service have apologised for leaving a dead body outside their station  in Ely next to some dustbins overnight, according to a report on the BBC website! Which reminds me of me Dad's story of how he got so fed up with his first wife that he drowned her, chopped her up into little pieces in the bath and put her into bin bags and left her out for the binmen to take. He was understandably a little bit nervous on "bin day" when there was a knock on the door. "I'm sorry mate we can't take one of your bags," the binman said. "Erm, why not?" asked me Dad, all coy like. "The arse is hanging out of it," came the reply. Do you ever wonder if he makes these stories up? I do. A talking binman FFS!

The clocks go back next weekend, so that's an extra hour you've got. Woof

Ground out a grim 1-0 victory against the combined might of 10 man Estonia I see. Didn't see the game live, but watched the highlights. What's the point of being bored shitless for 90 minutes when ITV will condense that punishment down into around half an hour for you? I know Rooney scored the goal, even it it was only in off the post, but is it just me or has his first touch completely deserted him? And his second and third touches weren't much better sometimes. He's also a greedy little twat, especially since being handed the captain's armband. Wants to take every free kick in and around the box, shoots when he should pass etc. Out of form and looking past it, Woy has now gone and made him ubdroppable courtesy of being England captain. My match ratings: Hart, had nothing to do and did it well enough 6; Chambers, quite shite 4; Cahill - see Hart 6; Jagielka - also see Hart 6: Baines, not made enough use of 6; Delph, woefully out of his depth even against this shite

Have you heard of it? People are giving up drinking alcohol for the month just to prove that they can do it and to improve their health. Me Dad says it's a great idea as it means he can get served at the bar just that little bit quicker. He was out on business last week, and said he got caught short on the M62 and had to pop into the motorway services for a pooh. All the cubicles were full, so he waited outside for a bit. The first guy out was a lorry driver emerging from trap 3, who said "I wouldn't go in there just now if I was you, mate." Me Dad said "Why does it smell a bit?" The lorry driver said "No, but I've just murdered a prostitute in there." And he didn't even wash his hands afterwards, the dirty bastard.

Nicola Sturgeon is apparently the new favourite to take over from Alex Salmond as First Minister of Scotland. The next Scottish yes/no vote is scheduled to be "am I a trannie or not?" Google "her" if you haven't already seen a picture. I use the word "picture" in it's loosest sense.

Has apparently had a baby and called it "Bunny" - which I find a bit odd as I thought that bunnies came out of a magician's hat, not a clown's pocket. Clown's pocket - noun - 1. where a clown keeps his water bucket and things. 2. an excessively capacious lady's fandoolie. Woof.

So, the sweaty socks voted 55% yes and 45% no - I bet the no's were the ginger ones. William Wallace must be turning in his grave this morning. All five of them. Woof.

I see that Tommy Sprockett, the original inventor of the anagram has died. May he forever "erect a penis" - Amen. Kate's up the duff again I hear. Paddy Power have released their odds on the new baby's hair colour. It's 1/12 ginger and 100/1 against for anything else. Woof.

Goes into a sweet shop and says "how much for a quarter of pic n mix please?" The shopkeeper says "it's a pound, Sir." Van Gaal says "I'll give you fifteen grand and that's my final offer." Woof.

Am I the only one who doesn't give a flying fuck? If the sweaty socks want to be independent then let them fuck right off and be independent. We'll have our North Sea oil back, it's our oil, in our North Sea where WE found it, so we're fucking having it right? You can have Lulu back and keep your deep fried Mars bars and your wanky bank notes. That's fair. When they ring us up and say that they've changed their minds and this independence lark isn't all it was cracked up to be we'll just put the phone down on them, saying something polite like "I'm sorry, you're independent, now fucking do one sweaty or I'll call the police." Whilst we're at it can't we force the Welsh to be independent too?

We went for a nice walk at the weekend, sat at the cafe in the park and ate sausages and bacon in the sunshine. Foraged a few discarded Haribo's too. Fucking ace it was. Talking of "walking" - did you hear about that blind bloke who climbed Everest? What a fucking achievement that was. Especially as he was dragging a frozen Labrador behind him. Woof.

They go back to school next week, hoo fucking rah, and good riddance to the lazy idle bastards I say. I'll have the house to meself, sleeping all day in a nice sunny spot by the window. Yes, I did say sunny, because the sun is coming out bang on cue once the great unwashed go back to school. That's what the Met Office say anyway: "fine and dry weather next week as high pressure dominates" - bring it fucking on. They've done my bastard head in this last 6 weeks. They live like fucking pigs. You can't see the fucking floor in the big one's room you know. It looks like there's been a fucking explosion in there. We've no idea what colour the fucking carpet is, or even if there IS a carpet in there. And as for the other fella, don't you think that nearly 15 is a bit old to be out "playing" and having "sleepovers"? It all sounds a bit fucking gay to me. He's got an earring you know. A fucking earring. He'll be joining the

"France tells citizens to flee ebola" was the headline in the paper today. I thought, fuck me, it's not like the French to run away at the first sign of trouble is it? Why did the Man Utd fan cross the road? To see how much a season ticket was at the Etihad. Me Dad was talking to this guy in the pub yesterday, and me Dad (mistakenly thinking that he's funny) says "What do you do if you see and epileptic having a fit in the bath" and before he could deliver the punchline a bloke sat a few feet away said "Do you mind, my son was an epileptic, and he died in the bath." Me Dad says "Oh, I'm sorry mate, it was only a joke, did he drown?" The bloke says "No, he choked to death on one of me socks." Woof.

On reading the headline "Thousands Gather For Ferguson Funeral" to discover that the Jock twat is still with us and they were referring to some place in America. I was so disappointed that I simply had to go out and roll in some shit. All down the side of my neck and face it is. Me Mum said she will try and brush it off me later when it dries. Me Dad said that they should try and kick it off there and then, which I thought was a bit harsh. I probably won't get let off me lead for a couple of weeks now. The bastards. Sad to hear of the death of Sir Dicky Attenborough today. Ghandi star Ben Kingsley said that "millions were touched by him" and I thought "crikey, here we go again then, and he's not even cold yet." In other news today, they reckon that Ebola has arrived in the UK. Arsenal are apparently set offered him a 3-year contract. Woof.

So today is A level results day. Those that didn't get the grades they hoped for should take a look at Richard Branson. He left school with only 2 'O' levels, but look at him now. A bearded twat that everybody hates! Woof.

Me Dad reckons that Putin looks like a man in the middle of a long, laborious poo, but I've got another altogether more controversial theory. I reckon he's a bender. I mean you never see his missus do you? He's supposed to have one. Lyudmila she's called, but where is she? If she does exist is this just one of those "sham" marriages, like Barrymore's? I mean, all this running around in the woods with your shirt off, come on, that screams "chutney ferret" doesn't it? When did you ever see John Major in the woods with his shirt off? Gordon Brown? Ted Heath? You see where I'm coming from? I reckon that last night's "emergency announcement" to the nation was him planning to tell everyone that him & Alan Carr were an item. He got talked out of doing it at the last minute "you can't tell them that Mr President, not with this Ukraine business going on, leave it a few weeks eh?" You can guess who'd be the giver

One of the kids asked me Mum how her first date with me Dad went last night. She said that when she first met him she said "So then what's your story, divorced, never been married, or what?" And me Dad replied "Well I'm a widower, my second wife died in a drowning accident actually." Me Mum said "Oh dear, how awful, I'm sorry to hear that. Was it recently?" Me Dad says "Quite recently, yes, me sleeves are still wet." Woof.

Is it just me or is it shit? And why do they put so fucking much of it on the telly? It's on like all fucking day and all bastard night. Loads of people you've never heard of running around in the rain. Adopt Geordie accent here: "And here he is, the great Kippo Kipono, the giant 8 foot 9 Kenyan" and we're all going "Who? Who the fucking flying fuck is Kippo Kipono when he's a fucking home? If he was that fucking great then you'd have thought that at least one of us would have fucking heard of the twat wouldn't you?" And here's another thing. They reckon that being on the telly makes you look 10 pounds heavier don't they? So does Mo Farah even fucking exist? That's why he's not there, there's no such fucking person!

Why is it that it makes all the girls want to dress up like fucking Daisy Duke or Kylie? There's nothing more guaranteed to get me to chuck my breakfast up than some fat munter in tight shorts and a skimpy top. What's up with them? Have they no self respect? They usually either have milky white skin or are more burnt than Nicky Lauda's ears after 20 minutes in the fucking microwave. We saw one this morning who's arse was so large that she left a trail of slug-like slime all down the pavement in front of us. The dirty cow. Fat girls, NO! Stay indoors until winter for fuck's sake you ugly trolls.

We got the bus back from Leeds at the weekend, and a right fucking weirdo that the kids immediately christened "Bus Jesus" got on. He was white, but had dreadlocks, clad in shorts and flip flops and donned a bit of a beard. He was clearly on "medication" and sat down and immediately scanned the bus for his next victim/disciple. Luckily it wasn't us, although it was directly behind us. Bus Jesus then decides to avail the entire bus of his thoughts on life, philosophy and pretty much everything else. "I always think that to learn something, you have to go out there and learn it"- cheers, Bus Jesus, I hadn't really thought of it that way. The best one though was undoubtedly "Why can't people just say what they are thinking? Why do they have to bottle it up? They just stare at their mobile phones." At which point I wish I could report that me Dad turned round and said "Shut the fucking flying fucking fuck up Bus Fucking Jesus, you bo

Argentina have put in an appeal against their World Cup defeat by Germany saying that as the tournament was in Brazil, to which they are geographically closer than Germany, then the trophy really belongs to them. Gareth Gates has had to cancel the opening gig of his comeback tour in Chester after the driver of the taxi he ordered took him to Chichester by mistake! The BBC are to make a one off special of Life On Mars in which Gene Hunt goes round arresting all the TV presenters of the 70's. Woof.

Did you know that statistically speaking, you are more likely to get bitten by Luis Suarez than a shark? Woof.... Christ that was a right twatting for Brazil last night wasn't it? Can't say I'm sorry, even if it does mean that Germany are in the final. That gives me a good opportunity to tell one or two of my favourite German jokes though. Two German blokes are in a bar, and one says to the other "I saw a long queue of men waiting outside you house last night whilst you were out, and your missus kept letting them in one by one every half hour or so!" The other German replies "Yes, sadly she has turned to prostitution to subsides her drink and drug habit." That's about as funny as it gets in Germany. I say, I say, I say, why aren't there any asprin in the jungle? Because the retailing of pharmaceuticals in a largely unpopulated rainforest isn't economically viable. Woof.

Any headline featuring the words "Gay Cake" has to be worth a read, right? So this one obviously caught the eye from the BBC: 'Gay cake' row could end up in court. Essentially, it's about a Northern Irish bakery that refused to take an order for a wedding cake from a pair of chutney ferrets. Unfortunately the fudge packers concerned elected to place their order with a "Christian" bakery, probably unaware that such things exist. But then again, this is Northern Ireland we are talking about. The "Christian" bakery told them to feck off, which in itself seems to contradict the word "Christian" to me, but I digress. Marriage is supposed to be the union of one man and one woman, they said. Or in me Dad's words "an expensive waste of time between one man and various women (although at different times obviously)". Apparently MrsN#1 is presently on her way to Malaysia to help the hunt for missing flight MH370. Me Dad says that s

Denies that he once "touched up" Vanessa Feltz, he says he simply thought he was sedating a hippo on Animal Hospital. Talking of Rolf, or "rolfing" to be more precise, I got into the teenager's bedroom at he weekend. A rare event indeed for the door top be open, and what a fucking mess that was/is. I can see why she keeps the door shut and the blinds closed now. I just thought she was a fucking vampire. Have you ever seen one of those compulsive hoarders programmes on the telly? Where they keep all the old TV Times's from the 60's to the present day, grandma's old clothes, the engine from a washing machine that died in 1974, and that useful collection of odd socks? Shite all over the carpet, or the "floordrobe" as me Mum and Dad wittily call it. Still, in among that shite was some chocolate. I say was, as I obviously saw it as my duty to help clean things up a little. Well, when I say clean, "redistribute" is possibly a better wor

Andy Murray has reconfirmed his status as a useless Jock bastard I see. There's been a 2.9 magnitude earthquake in the Scottish Highlands overnight. Unfortunately no "Sweaty Socks" were injured. The World Cup Quarter Finals start today, with France against Germany - the rumour is that the French have surrendered already. Then after that we have Brazil against Columbia. Apparently I read that the reason that Brazil play in yellow is because it's the colour of sunshine. Nice one. I can't wait to see the new England brown shirts when they come out. Psychologists examining Oscar Pistorious have said that his mental state means that he's in danger of suicide - especially if he gets himself confused with a burglar. Seeing as he doesn't seem to have a leg to stand on, Rolf Harris has offered to lend him his extra one. Experts say that widespread gambling in Britain is driving families apart. Which isn't true in our case, since me Dad lost all our money on the

No sooner do I "out" that Suarez creature as the "dirty, sweaty, cheating, biting, diving, racist slimy little twat," that he undoubtedly is than he goes and does it all over again. Has this low-life got no dignity? Obviously not. Money can't buy you dignity can it you twat? Milliseconds after biting the Italian guy he throws himself to the deck clutching his face like he's the one who's been on the receiving end. I mean I don't condone violence, but have you ever wished that, just once, a footballer might turn round and really welly the tit head? Give him a right good proper full on Royal twatting with all the trimmings, not just a bit of an elbow, something like the Nicholas Cage scene in Face Off where he smashes that fellow convict to a blubbering pulp with a metal canteen tray with a crazed look in his eye - the more he hits him the more he likes it. So you can see the outline of his face through the aluminium. All the crowd cheering wildly. Tha

Fuck off you dirty, sweaty, cheating, biting, diving, racist slimy little twat. A few misguided red-nosed Kopites might "think" that they like you, but they'll soon change their minds when you want away (again) after the World Cup is over. It wasn't after all that long ago that you wanted to leave the last time was it? Because you said that nobody liked you in this country. You're wrong Luis, it's not that nobody likes you, it's that everybody fucking hates you, you hamster faced twat. The Archbishop of Canterbury, the Queen, Joe Pasquale, Des O'Connor and even Graham Norton all think you're a twat. So get to fucking fuck, in the Kingdom of Fuck, fuck-face, and don't forget to kiss your sweaty fucking wrist band on your way out to BarcaFuckingLona or wherever you end up. Anyway, at least "Stevie Me" can say he's done the double this year - fucked up both Liverpool and England's chances of winning anything. Woof.

Has kicked off then I see. Me Dad's all set. He's got himself all "beer co-ordinated" he told me Mum. He's got some Becks in the fridge for when Germany are playing because it's German. Some San Miguel in the fridge for when Spain are playing as it's Spanish and some Carling in the fridge for when England play as it's shit. Woof. "Stevie Me" says that England players have been practising for any possible upcoming penalty shootouts by turning away in disgust and looking dejected. Woof, woof.

Well, no sooner am I back from a stint at the Kennels/Stalag 45 than me Mum and Dad announce that I'm back in again on Wednesday as they are going to some bag of shite thing called Cereals - whatever the fuck that is. Sounds like a right fuckin barrels of laughs doesn't it? Cereals? From what I can gather it's a load of pissed up farmers wandering around looking for freebies and moaning about how hard done to they are. "One of the Range Rovers might have to go is wheat gets any cheaper than this. Young Rupert and Cassandra's school fees don't pay themselves you know. We could always sell one of the smaller houses or the hunting lodge I suppose, what, what, what, what, what. If it wasn't for the subsidy cheque we'd have to dump the bally skiing chalet in Gstaad. Jemima would be simply besides herself if we had to do that....."

Police investigating claims that tonight's friendly between Nigeria and Scotland at Craven Cottage was to be "fixed" are looking into suggestions that in exchange for throwing the game the Jocks were to be given 25 schoolgirls each. Woof. Me Dad reckons that he's already been told the score and can't wait for his winnings to be transferred into his bank account by his most loyal and trusted friend, the son of a Nigerian prince, who was tragically killed in a plane crash just weeks ago. He's sent them his bank details and a small administration fee just to cover the money transfer costs. Nah, he hasn't really. He said he knew it was a scam the minute that they said the Sweaty Socks were gonna win. Woof.

On Sunday 8th June Thomas Bell (the country's leading Fertiliser Importers bar fucking none and official suppliers of pig's ears to yours truly) will be gearing up ready for an epic cycle ride from Brigg, North Lincolnshire to Cereals 2014, Chrishall Grange, Nr. Duxford, Cambridgeshire – cycling 145 miles over two days for charity. (Swoon..) With four riders hard at work training, the charity has been primed and the main sponsor is on board. The participants are Andrew Major Managing Director, Matt Dawson Director, Alison Hindle Marketing Manager and Simon Sands Managing Director of SJS Agriculture Ltd. (Me Dad says he knows that last bloke well, and he's got fuck all chance of making it out of the county on two wheels, let alone all the way to Cambridgeshire). The charity they are raising money for is LRSN (Lincolnshire Rural Support Network) who provide pastoral and practical support to farming and rural people during periods of anxiety, stress and problems relating t

I see that a lorry load of chickens that crashed on the M62 near Manchester this morning brought chaos for motorists on the morning commute. The chickens were on their way back from Merseyside where Liverpool supporters had been busy counting them for the past few weeks. Woof.

Caught ten minutes of her on the telly last night, whilst waiting for something better to come on. Of all the TV chefs in the world she must be right up there as possibly the worst, surely? She looks like the auntie that nobody likes, but you have to round to her house on Boxing Day for a sherry and a mince pie just for your Mum's sake. She has this horrified look of disgust on her face when she's preparing her food, like she's washing a tramps cock or something. And she talks to you like your a child. "Today I'm going to show you how to peel a potato..." Get to high fuck, in the kingdom Fuck, Delia. Keep on going straight through the Championship and into the Isthmian Premier League, there's a big match against East Thurrock United to play next week. There, there, don't cry you sour faced, talentless, condescending old bag...

His lawyer says that the CPS case against him dragged on for far too long and has damaged his client's health. It certainly hasn't damaged his fucking appetite though has it, have you seen the size of the twat? He's fuckin enormous. Our Freddie has been eating more than just hamsters by the looks of him. I reckon the police want to investigate if he's been eating kids, not abusing them. Woof.

Me Dad's just finished making his first ever batch of homebrew. He says it slips down nice and easy. So he's calling it Steven Gerrard. Woof. Jurgen Klopp has ruled himself of the Manchester United job, but says that his brother Klipperty might be interested. Woof. That's about it. Shows you what a fucking exciting weekend I've had doesn't it?

Me Dad says his dander was well and truly got this morning after he saw a news story mentioned on Twitter that caught his eye. "EU wheat crops 2014 expects 2% rise compared to 2013" was the headline. Link here (if you can't see/click on the link it's all to do with HTML 5, so you can copy and paste this into your browser window: http://agri.eu/eu-wheat-crops-2014-expects-2-rise-compared-to-2013-news5707.html). Was there anything in the story that he didn't know already, he wondered? Alas there was NOTHING in there that he didn't know already, seeing as he wrote the fucking bastard thing himself just yesterday! To top off the whole thing the fucking dirty robbing Johnny Foreigner plagiarist stink monkeys have gone and stuck a fucking copyright notice at the foot of it! They come over here, stealing our market reports...If I had a vote, I'd be voting Nigel Farage after this.

Let down badly by me Mum and Dad as usual, fuck all sign of anything chocolately. The day was however well and truly saved by me old reliable muckers, Thomas Bell & Sons of Brigg, the country's premier fertiliser suppliers, who very kindly sent me a box of pigs ears to keep me from wasting away. Other than that there was fuck all of any significance to report. David Moyes is getting an extra long Easter break, I see. Ryan Giggs has been put in charge of United's "affairs" until the end of the season, as he's a bit of an expert in that particular department. Giggs told Sky Sports that he was delighted to be able to follow in the footsteps of his all-time hero Tommy Docherty. The interviewer said "surely you mean Sir Alex Ferguson?" Giggs replied "Why? Was he knobbing the physio's wife as well?" Woof.

Got taken to the beach on Friday for game of stick. For the uninitiated, stick involves them throwing a stick into the sea, and me running in and retrieving it. Fucking freezing cold the bastard North Sea is at this time of year. In and out, in and fucking out, soaked wet through, covered in fucking sand I was. The tight bastards. I think they're losing it, seriously. Why on fucking earth would they assume that the first time I bring them back their fucking stick, that I want them to promptly chuck it back in again? It has no logic, look here's your fucking stick, keep hold of it this time will ya? But no, straight back in the fucking North Sea it goes, with me expected to go and get the fucker back. Still, at least afterwards we did pay a visit to Mrs Sausage as they call her, for an al fresco breakfast and a cup of tea. When we got back we watched Pointless Celebrities, have you seen that? Basically it consists of lots of old people who used to be famous, having one last shot

...a farmer's dog, a robber's dog and a banker's dog are walking past a butcher's shop, The banker's dog says "I know, I've got a really good idea, why don't we club together and see how much money we've got. If we've got enough, let's go in there and buy that piece of meat." The robber's dog says "Nah, bollocks to that, let's just go in there and steal that piece of meat." The farmer's dog says "no, why don't we just hang around outside the door, howling and whining, and maybe they'll give it to us?" Woof.

For this dish you need half a pound of Labrador shit (ignore what Nigella says, Labrador shit is best for this recipe, and you can find it in the chiller at Asda these days if you don't fancy foraging for your own) and some Choux pastry (you can make it yourself if you can be arsed) and a pint of double cream. Lightly grease a large baking sheet and put bits of rolled into a ball shaped proshiteroles on it and pop them into a medium oven for about ten minutes. Meanwhile, gently melt the Labrador shit in a bowl placed over a pan of simmering water. Gently is the watchword here, you don't want to go at it like a bull in a China shop or the shit will curdle and split. Keep stirring the shit until it's all melted. (If you're a student then you can skip this bit and simply place your shit on a microwavable plate and ding it on high for around 4 minutes). It won't taste as good, but as you're a student you will neither care nor realise that this is the case. Leave you

I often get asked about my favourite foods, and if I could pass on some of my culinary expertise onto you, my adoring public. So here goes, in the first of what I hope will be a regular series, is my Recipe D'Jour, something that you could maybe cook at home for your loved one this evening. Today we are going to start with a firm favourite of mine, Dog Shit Ravioli. Take about a pound of dog shit (avoid the white  stuff it's too dry for this dish) and shallow fry it with some chopped shallots, garlic and fresh oregano. Roll out some ravioli pastry, quite thin. Make little parcelly things out of the pastry and dog shit. Place in a large pan of boiling water for 5 minutes. Garnish with truffle oil. Enjoy. Tomorrow: Dog Cack Au Vin. Woof

Was telling me Mum last night that after years of struggling with her weight that the doctors have finally discovered what was wrong with his ex missus. It was all down to her ears, apparently. "Her ears, what've they got to do with it?" me Mum asked. "Well, they were so fucking good that they could hear the ice cream van coming from six streets away," me Dad said. Here's one for you. What's yellow and lies at the bottom of the Indian Ocean? It's sand. Why, what did you think I was going to say? Come on, have a fucking heart will ya. Woof....

First off, what the fuck was Fiona Bruce wearing for the Antiques Roadshow on Sunday night? Sartorial elegance has never been her thing, I'll give you that. Her dress standards are lower than Kerry Katona's IQ. Then we are treated to Mark Lawrenson on Match of the Day looking like Harry Hill's ageing alcoholic Grandad. What the fuck's that all about? Then they keep inundating us with another one of those fucking Oxfam ads. "Sinita has no food, no water and no hope..." Fair enough, I've got empathy for Sinita and her little lad who has to drag a carton of water back from the watering hole fifteen miles away every day, especially having only eaten the shite that Sinita dishes up for him. Why doesn't Sinita go and get the fucking water herself instead of scrabbling around in the dust and sending the little lad off for it? What I also don't get is how come for four quid Sinita can have a cow and suddenly everything's sorted. First off, is that all

Who, every time Oscar Pistorious gets a mention on the news, adds "happy and glorious" to the end of it in his head? What's got four arms, two legs and only one head? Oscar Pistorious and his girlfriend. Allegedly. I do the same thing when watching Match of the Day when Arsenal are on....Santi Cazorla, lives round the corner, bibbidi-bobbidi-boo. What's up with me? Bored fucking shitless, that's what.

The bastards have all buggered off to work, or school, or wherever the fuck it is that they go, leaving me on me Jack Jones once more. Still, at least they've left the TV remote control within easy reach. So here I am watching old re-runs of Antiques Roadshow from the settee, whist eating cheesey nibblets. Don't you hate it on Antiques Roadshow when people bring in any old shit, expecting to get a mega value on it because it has some un-provable "provenance" I think they call it. "Yes, Fiona, it might just look like a piece of old chewwy to you, but I picked this up outside The Cavern Club in 1960, just after John Lennon gobbed it into the gutter." Or, "My Mum's next door neighbour's sister used to work at Buckingham Palace at the time of the Royal Wedding between Charles and Diana. Well, Charles came home bladdered the night before the wedding, having gone out on his stag night with his brothers, Andrew and the other one. Drunk as a skunk he wa

This Malaysian plane thing. Why don't they just tell the insurance claimback twats that half the passengers on the plane might have been mis-sold PPI and they'd soon track the fuckers down. Also, following the tragic death of Mick Jagger's girlfriend L'Wren Scott, the Rolling Stone's singer is said to be "in a state of shock and too upset to talk about it," by his new girlfriend. Andy Murray and his coach Ivan Lendl have split up I see. Lendl said he couldn't understand a word the Jock Twat said. Four people have died in a helicopter crash in Norfolk. The dead were so horribly disfigured that the locals thought that they were still alive. Clarissa Dickson Wright has died, aged 66. I don't know why, but I think I'd have found it more appropriate if she'd have hung on for another 22 years. And finally, Waddingtons have launched a new disabled version of Cluedo today. The runner did it, in the bathroom, with the revolver. Woof.

That finds the combination of the headlines "Max Clifford Persuaded Teen To Take Her Top Off" immediately followed by "Chris Tarrant Has Mini-Stroke" slightly amusing? That's about as close to having a laugh as I'm going to get today anyway, stuck in this fucking dump on me own whilst they're all out. There's fuck all on the telly either, now that Crufts has finished. Still, I guess that ParaCrufts will be on in a couple of weeks. Me Dad said he went into McDonalds yesterday, and the bloke behind the counter said "would you like one of our special Easter McCookies sir? They're 50p each, or you can have three for a pound." Me Dad said "I'll have two please." He said it took about five seconds, but the spotty ginger twat's head did eventually explode. Woof.

A man gets the following text from his neighbour: I am so sorry Bob. I've been riddled with guilt and I have to confess. I have been helping myself to your wife, hammering it morning, noon and night when you're not around. To be honest, I'm surprised that you haven't noticed as I really have been tearing the arse out of the job. I don't get it at home any more, although I know that really that's no excuse. I just had a little dabble one day, for a laugh really, and sort of got addicted. Since then I've just been filling my boots. I mean if it's on offer 24/7, and it's free then what's a guy like me to do? I'm only human after all. But, Bob mate, I can no longer live with the guilt and I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies along with my promise that it will never happen again. The man, anguished and betrayed, goes into his bedroom, grabs his gun, and without a word, shoots his wife dead there and then. A few moments later, a second tex

Me Mum and Dad went away for the weekend, leaving me consigned to the kennels, or Stalag 45 as I prefer to call it. The selfish bastards. When they got back they proceeded to knock up a full bifters Sunday Dinner with all the trimmings, and what did I get? Stew and biscuits. No, cold stew and biscuits actually. Cold fucking stew and a few pissing biscuits, whilst they fill themselves up on roast beef, Yorkshire puddings and gravy. Northern dogs love gravy. The more gravy the better in my book. I once licked my bowl five times round the utility room just to make absolutely CERTAIN that I'd got every ounce of gravy goodness down my scrawny neck. But not this weekend. Cold bastard stew and biscuits it was for your truly. Apparently I'm on a diet. Too fat they reckon. Too fat my arse I'm in me prime, me. Then to cap off the whole sorry scenario, this morning I'm treated to a trip to the vets to get me pissing booster jab thingy. I hate going to the vets. If they aren't

Director Harold Ramis, best known for his work on hit comedy film Groundhog Day has died aged 69. Director Harold Ramis, best known for his work on hit comedy film Groundhog Day has died aged 69. Director Harold Ramis, best known for his work on hit comedy film Groundhog Day has died aged 69. Director Harold Ramis, best known for his work on hit comedy film Groundhog Day has died aged 69. Director Harold Ramis, best known for his work on hit comedy film Groundhog Day has died aged 69. Director Harold Ramis, best known for his work on hit comedy film Groundhog Day has died aged 69.

Do you watch it? Did you see the one with John Noakes and Peter Purves on the other day? Poor old Noakesy looked completely befuddled. Gazing around like he didn't have a clue where he was. Like one of the extras in the background in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest he was. Several pork pies short of a picnic that lad these days. Kept wandering off. PP had to keep dragging him back behind the podium to where he was supposed to stand, and then he'd wander off again. There was one round where they had to identify famous dogs, and it wouldn't have surprised me if they'd have had a picture of Shep on there and he wouldn't have even recognised that, the poor get. Still, he did better than that thick bent twat Christopher Biggins. His best shot at naming a country which included one of South, New,  Islands, United and summat else I can't remember - eg. New Fucking Zealand, The United Bastard Fucking States etc, was fucking South Pacific! South Pacific - a fucking c

What sort of twat sees a sign that says "keep left" and thinks "fuck that, that sign isn't there for my benefit, it's for these other twats, I'm keeping fucking right as I may get where I want to be a quarter of a fucking nanosecond early if I do that?" Half the bastard population of York fucking railway station is the answer to that particular conundrum. The cheeky arrogant fuckers. "Fuck off and die old harridan, I'm important and you are shit on my shoe."

Why, oh why do the BBBastardC allow this brainless fucking clothes horse to read the news? A more shitter newsreader I've yet to see. DONG. Hundreds of women and children killed in Syrian chemical weapons attack. But let's not dwell on that. Look at my fucking ACE new jacket. Yes, I know what you're thinking, and you're right, it IS a Stella McCartney. And get this. Fucking get a fucking load of this. It was FREE! Yes, fucking gratis. When you're a celeb like me you just get given stuff like this given to you for fucking nowt! Look, look at the shoes. Jimmy Fucking Choo they are. And another fucking freebie. Oh, when I was poor, like you lot, I used to lie awake at night just yearning for a pair of fucking Jimmy Choo's and now I've got a cupboard full of the fuckers! Aren't I simply ACE? Where was I? Oh yes the news. DONG. Thousands of people on the Somerset Levels are homeless tonight as flood waters rise to new highs. Serves the fuckers right I say. Th

Put in 81 crosses in that game against Fulham the other night and still couldn't win it. The last time Wayne Rooney saw that many crosses was when he picked up the results of his GCSE maths paper. Woof.....

Our kitchen keeps getting flooded in the middle of the night, especially when me Mum and Dad go to bed early, and we don't even live in Somerset. The flood waters round here smell of piss too, which is a bit odd. As Toyah would say, It's A Mystery. Or was it a Mythtory? Me Dad says not to worry too much about this Somerset lot though, apparently they're so inbred down there that even if the water goes above head height they'll still be able to breathe using their rudimentary gills. We were watching the telly last night and there was this appeal on for money to help South American victims of Hypertrichosis, which is a disease which causes excessively abnormal hair growth in kids, known informally as Werewolf Syndrome. Apparently, just £3/month can rid South America of this dreadful, debilitating affliction. Send a cheque to the Shave the Children Fund. Woof.

Did anybody else notice that Sheffield United appear to have most of Mumford & Sons playing for them in their FA Cup replay against a dreadful Fulham side?

Had you ever heard of him? No, neither had I. For all this sudden outpouring of grief "one of the greatest actors of all time" etc, well excuse me, if he was that bleedin good then I thought I'd have probably heard of the fucker. His grandad, Dustin, yeah. Mrs Fuckin Doubtfire, Cream Cake Versus Cream Cake, know who he is, but never heard of this bloke. Tributes are flooding in on Twitter from the rich, semi famous and desperate by all accounts. Found brown bread on the  bathroom floor apparently, Christ what a shit that must have been. I've done some smelly dumps in my time, but nothing that was ever potentially fatal. Respect.

Create a password..... cabbage Sorry, the password must be more than 8 characters.... boiled cabbage Sorry, the password must contain 1 numerical character. 1 boiled cabbage Sorry, the password cannot have blank spaces. 50fuckingboiledcabbages Sorry, the password must contain at least one upper case character. 50FUCKINGboiledcabbages Sorry, the password cannot use more than one upper case character consecutively. 50FuckingBoiledCabbagesShovedUpYourArse,IfYouDon'tGiveMeAccessImmediatelyYouTwats Sorry, the password cannot contain punctuation. NowIAmGettingReallyPissedOff50FuckingBoiledCabbagesShovedUpYourArseIfYou DontGiveMeAccessImmediatelyYouTwats Sorry, that password is already in use! See  Fucking phone calls too

No, not a newspaper, it's a zebra crossing the M62 on that very busy bit to the north side of Manchester. He must have escaped from the zoo, and been trying to thumb a lift back to the Serengeti.

Between red and green? Fuck all if you're a cyclist. I REALLY hate those twats. On the evolutionary scale they are on the same rung of the ladder as Morris Dancers, and we all know what a sad little gang of wankers they are. One minute they're a road user (cyclists, not fucking Morris Dancers, keep up will you) - demanding equal respect with drivers - the next they're mounting the fucking pavement to dodge the lights scattering pedestrians hither and dither. If not that then they're cycling 14 abreast down the fucking A59 in their fucking gay lycra pants. Get to high fuck in the Kindom of Fuck you fucking bum fettling bent as a nine bob note chutney ferrets.

Is it just me or is it getting increasingly shit? It gets more and more like Blue Peter every week. "Hello, look at the lovely little fluffy bunny rabbits. Later John will be investigating cheese, whilst down on Adam's farm we're going to be making sheep out of pipe cleaners, putting a new sticky backed plastic roof on the barn and using some tin foil to make a pond for the ducks. But first the new gay bloke is going to talk to you about Morris Dancing, which is making a comeback after being almost extinct 20 years ago...." There's a reason it was almost extinct you twat, 'cos it's fucking shite that's why. And who are these wankers that have brought the stupid fucking thing back to life? They should have left it dying in the fucking gutter, with it's stupid twatting knotted hankies and it's fucking bells and daft hats. We should put them up against the fucking wall and shoot the bastard lot of them. That'd solve the fucking rural housing s

Did you know it's his birthday today? No? It's all right, neither does he! Woof. I've sent him a few of my favourite German jokes to cheer him up. Here's just a couple of them: Two German men are sitting in a pub. One man turns to the other and says: "Last night I saw lots of strange men coming in and out of your Mum's house." The other man replies: "Yes, I'm afraid that she has become a prostitute to subsidise her drug habit." A black man goes to get a vasectomy. He shows up to the doctor's office wearing a suit. The doctor says, "Why are you wearing a suit?" The black man says, "I just got back from a funeral." A Blonde and a Brunette jump off a tall building at the same time. Who hits the ground first? Both of them hit the ground at the same time as hair colour doesn't affect acceleration due to gravity. Have you seen Stevie Wonder's new house? No? You should go and have a look, it's really nice. How

Well fuck me sideways, me Mam and Dad went away for Christmas, and get this, they actually took me with them! A whole week in a cottage by the sea. There's all sorts of shite to eat on your average English beach you know, it was ace. Dead crabs, bits of decomposing fish, seaweed, mussels, I even bagged meself a severed seagull's head once. Me Dad decided that a bit of tug and war was in order with that one, we had a whale of a time. Him pulling on one end and me the other. Fucking covered in blood at the end of it he was. A proper family Christmas. He took me to the paper shop one day, actually INSIDE the paper shop, not tied up outside like he usually does. What a fucking place that was, there was sweets and chocolate and all sorts of stuff all over the shop. Have you ever tried wresting a packet of Swizzels out of the jaws of a Border Terrier? Me Dad has. There was this magazine on sale in there called Bella. Have you heard of it? There was a picture of some old tramp stood n