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Reviews written

since 08/01/2002


Casio G-Shock Chronograph Watch G-1000-1AER 30/07/2010

Watch Tells Time. Man Takes Credit

Tavira, Algarve, Portugal 27/06/2010

Pampered President Demands Milk

World Cup 2010 17/06/2010

Everybody's Free (To Watch The World Cup)

HTC Desire 31/05/2010

Queen Meets Dragon. Dragon Says No. Queen Soon Leaves.

Sharm El Sheikh (Egypt) 17/05/2010

Funky Monk Seeks Soul Of Party. No Time Waters. Some Russians.

PADI (Professional Association of Diving Instructors) 20/03/2010

Teenage Mutants, Napoleon Turtles

Edinburgh in general 28/01/2010

Don't Mention The Kilt

A-Z for Members Challenges 29/12/2009

Alphabetical Metaphorical Management

T-Mobile G1 07/12/2009

The Dry And Crooked Fingers

Sky + (Plus) 20/11/2009

Green Switches and Purple Wizards

Sigiriya (Sri Lanka) 11/11/2009

When Biscuits Given As Tips, Success Is Variable

General: Sri Lanka 06/11/2009

Nine Lives Of Matthew Hoggard And Other Revelations.

RAC 28/08/2009

Stakes and Madders

RAC There was a story told by older boys when I was a younger boy about The Snake Pass, or to give it a more exciting moniker, the A57, which was a road that left from our village on the Cheshire/Derbyshire borders and took you over the moors of the High and Dark Peaks and over into the mysterious world they called “Meadowhall.” Hold a torch under your chin and join in. A Husband and Wife were driving at night time on the Snakes Pass, through mist and low cloud. Their car breaks down, and steam pours from under the bonnet, so the dutiful husband tells his wife to stay in the car, and lock the doors whilst he headed off into the pitch darkness to get help from the house whose lights were twinkling in the distance. Several hours pass and the wife is beginning to get worried as the rain is lashing down and the car still won’t start. In the rear view mirror, she can see a shadow in the back window, which is quickly followed by a Tap….Tap…. Tap on the glass. She turns around hoping to se her husband, but there’s nobody there, so she unlocks the doors to let him in and out of the rain when there’s another, louder TAP! TAP! TAP! on the roof of the car. In the dark and through the rain-washed windscreen, she struggled to see the figure who stood in front of her car, but she knew one thing. The figure was holding a stake………..and on the end of the stake……..was her husband’s severed head. Muahahaahaaa…. I didn’t pass my driving test until I was 24, but I was a nailed on ...

SEAT Ibiza 1.4 16v 31/07/2009

Imperial Finger Raves Darling

SEAT Ibiza 1.4 16v In June of this year, after a prolonged run of the RAC delivering me home from work via the hard shoulder of the M25, and once being towed for a mightily useful 30 feet by the Velvety Hi-Vis adorned Traffic Wombles before they stopped and left me stranded on the M4, I’d had enough. I was in the market for some wheels. Some proper whips dude. I was going to buy a car. Actually buy an actual car. Of my own. It’s the nearest sensation to feeling like an excited child without risking misunderstanding peasants with pitchforks. Luckily for me, the entire banking system had collapsed across the globe, and as a way of an apology for the inconvenience, the not-so Alistair Darling offered to give me £2000 for my bucket of nuts, so long as I bought a shiny spanky new new car. After careful deliberation and driving lots of different makes and models of cars that were way out of my price range, I set my budget at £7000 and suddenly came over all sensible and rather than get a very basic brand new and possibly Korean car, I’d get a better specification, and probably electric windows if I bought a 3 year old car instead, forfeiting the £2000 discount but saving about £5000 on the same brand new versions. In my price range were Vauxhall Astra’s, Ford Fiesta’s and Focuseseses, and other ones, that I didn’t like much. What did I buy? I bought a 5-door 2006 Seat Ibiza 1.4.SE DAB. There are some numbers and letters there that the friendly car salesman kindly explained to the ...

Sepilok Rehabilitation Centre 21/07/2009

In the Jungle. The Neon Jungle.

Sepilok Rehabilitation Centre Back in England, one week before our wedding and impending subsequent departure to the other side of the world, I decided somewhat foolishly you might think, to carefully read some of the literature sent by Kuoni, our Tour Operator, about the items we should take with us and the health requirements when we visit the Sepilok Orang-utan Sanctuary in the Sabah region of Borneo. I already knew intimately well about the extra costs of the recommended injections, we’d been regular visitors to GP clinics to receive our Hepatitis A and B, Tetanus booster, and Typhoid jabs – some of these injections clearly being so complicated that the scientists haven’t figure out how to put them into just one dose, so you have to keep going back over a 3 week period whilst a nurse stabs needles in you. On one long and despondent day, I left with two small holes in my left arm and two in my right. Driving home is challenging when your arms refuse to lift over 45 degrees away from your torso. These injections were nothing however. Literally nothing. My National Insurance contributions over the years had supported the NHS sufficiently well for them to feel generous enough to not charge me for the privilege of being a human pin cushion. 10 gratis injections in 3 weeks, all courtesy of 1950’s MP Nye Bevan. Sadly for my battered Maestro card, the NHS point blank refuses to stump up for the Rabies course, and these three injections would involve an extra expenditure of £70 each. That’s £70 ...
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