:: "Boots can sell them willy-nilly" ::

Ah, Popbitch, you seething nest of self-interested bitch-vipers.
The problem is, once in a while, the message board can throw up something new, amusing and unavailable elsewhere. Flicking through the usual round of web-based boredom-alleviation yesterday, I came across a link to a local newspaper article. It's very hard to tell whether there's an element of tongue-in-cheek about the whole thing, but how can they get away with the quote in the header? Not to mention the comment from the Boots spokeswoman:

"We consider the stock that we sell extremely carefully. This product is very discreetly packaged and it's extremely difficult to remove it from inside."

So, with that over, on to more violation of our childhood dreams, with this b3tan effort:

Feeling slightly flushed after posting that, I think you probably don't want to know about this act of wanton cannibalism, so I bring you a little light relief. Tied up with the play this week, I missed the must-see TV show of the week last night. Yes - one with posh-pants Victoria Aitken (daughter of disgraced former Tory MP) "rapping". Apparently she's set to become "the female Eminem". Somehow I doubt it.

More pre-weekend amusement in the form of an ananova quirkies special. It's all about some old dear who decided to take a packet of puff pastry on holiday to France. In her abandoned bag, the packet was thought to be a plastic explosive and was blown up. This could bring about a revolution in quick cooking methods:

CUE: Soothing flute/guitar/harp melody. Title sequence of smiling children in oversized chefs' outfits, baking in a swanky kitchen. Close up on a still life of flour, butter, eggs and vaguely erotic vegetables on a wooden worktop. Fade in titles: "How to boil water". Cut back to kitchen, now devoid of irritating brats

Delia sidles into shot and smirks ominously

- Hello. Today I'm going to show you a really quick and easy way to cook a whole chicken. This is a failproof method which provides fun for all the family.

Camera pans down to reveal items on the worktop: a chicken in a baking tin, half a lemon, some herbs, garlic cloves and a saucer of butter

- First you need to make a garlic and herb butter to baste the chicken

Delia chops a few herbs and some garlic, takes a fork and mashes them together with the butter. Then she slops the mixture over the chicken.

- Make sure you cover it well - you want the skin to go really crispy. Now, for extra flavour, put half a lemon inside the chicken [she shoves lemon up chicken's arse, lingering, as if enjoying the moment a little too much] It's time for my special secret ingredient, which really helps speed up the cooking process.

With a glint in her eye, Delia reaches under the counter and produces a hand grenade and bungs it up the same hole as the lemon, pin pointing out of the poor fowl's posterior

- Here, the timing is critical to achieve the best results.

Delia takes the chicken tray over to a chest-height oven and places it on the shelf. She briskly pulls out the hand-grenade pin and shuts the oven door, running to shelter behind a juicer

After the inevitable explosion, the screaming kids run back in and start to eat bits of exploded chicken off the walls. Delia approaches, her hair now in disarray, beaming beatifically.

- As you can see, it's quite an exhilirating cooking method, but the children love it! Join me next week to find out how to squash fruit with a sledgehammer

Well, a little lame I suppose, but never mind. I've always been a bit suspicious of Delia, though. She seems a bit goody-goody to be true... which is something that can't be said of my next victim. Another PB steal from today's board:

Iain Lee - a fate worse than death
I was introduced to the super idiotic Iain Lee recently, who appeared to have indulged in a spot of sunbedding/fake tanning in order to relieve himself of his pasty milk bottle tan. Unfortunately, the result was such a shock that all I could say was "Shit, you look like a Pepperami". Everyone laughed including him but he did so with a strained look and glaring eyes. He didn't speak to me again, funnily enough. Ah, well. It was worth it...
pussy_galore, 10:21 25/7

I laughed my merry arse off at that - the sooner that poor excuse for a breakfast show is hounded off the air the better.

That's it, I'm off to play for the pleasure of the people of Dulwich. As it's Friday night, and no work tomorrow, I expect we'll be having a few bevvies afterwards. On a park bench, swigging a bottle of this tramp-agne stuff: