Fabrice Muamba has apparently made such an excellent recovery that he's been sitting up in bed laughing and joking with his visitors. Until one of them reminded him that he plays for Bolton that is...

First up, I'm feeling much better and back to my normal old shit rolling self this week after me Mum slipped me a worming tablet wrapped up in a bit of ham, so all's well and all that. Second up, I am delighted to hear that S Club 7 are to reform. Coldplay must be shitting themselves this morning I reckon. I'm sure I saw one of the birds from S Club on the telly the other week, in one of those "I used to be a celebrity but now I'm a middle aged porker with a couple of kids and nobody recognises me any more in the queue at Tesco's so I may have to resort to getting my tits out but even Razzle won't touch me with a barge pole, woe is me" documentaries that are so interesting. Pooh count: just the one, but now that my constitution is back to normal it was as big as family-size Toblerone.

I couldn't help but chuckle last night with me Dad attempting to help the little two legged fella with his homework on WWII. Perhaps inevitably Hitler got a mention, to which the lad innocently enquired "what was his catchphrase?" That tickled me as personally I wasn't aware that he'd done any stand-up work, but sarcastic bastard that he is me Dad immediately replies in his best Kenneth Williams voice "I think it was Oooh, aren't you Kampf!" He's a ruthless bastard. The other two legged reckoned that she'd spotted a three legged cow in a field on Saturday afternoon. She took some stick for that one too. "Yeah, maybe they're eating it bit by bit." That sort of thing. "Look there's one with no legs, the one lying down. And there's another with only two legs, oh no sorry that's a duck." Then, later on, bored in the garden centre he swore that he'd spotted a packet of "grow your own cheese." Does ...