Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Staff photo

I'm in disguise in the front row, second from the left!


Anonymous said...


Unknown said...

Oh son, you found me, what can I say?
Your poor old mum has had some trouble since we last met. The doctor says it's nothing that a new pair of hips can't fix and he says that if I have them done at the same time as me feet I can have a discount. Only £10,000, what a bargain!
The only trouble is I can't see the small print on the medical bills these days, what with me eyes an' all. The consultant says that it will only cost cost £3,000 on account of it only being the one eye. They weren't too keen on doing the operation at all seeing as I sold the other one on Ebay. You'd be proud of your dear old mum, a chip off the old block, I got more money for that one eye than I did for both of me kidneys. Dr Rob Eary said that I shouldn't moan and that I got the best price for 'em seeing as they were siffalitic or something like that.
So, my son, see if you can make your old mum happy and pop a cheque in the post for me. £50,000 should cover it just fine.
With love
Mommy Dearest
ps - it's probably best that you don't try and contact me again son. Uncle Cleetus has just moved in and you know what he's like for the bourbon and you wouldn't want any blood loss at this stage of your career now would you?

Anonymous said...

Dearest Mommy, I'm sorry to hear that you're still hobbling around half-blind, and most especially sorry to hear that you probably can't lend me the 50K I need for my new venture--an emu ranch in North Dakota, USA.

Free range emu is the next big thing. Think eggs. Think meat. Think drumsticks the size of your own.

I knew, when you and Cleetus left me on that barstool in my nasty nappies, I knew it wasn't the last I'd see of you. I knew that somehow, someway, someday, we'd meet again, and you'd lend me that hundred thousand. Okay, fifty. What was all that goo-goo for? Was it all BS, Mum? All of it?

Your loving son,


PS Sorry to hear about your eye. I hear the prices are good on "parts.com."

Maxine Clarke said...

Can't make head or tail of what is going on here in these comments, but what I want to know is, what do you all do with those tassels???

Anonymous said...

You mean the flagella? Well...

Unknown said...

Darling Algy,
the emu ranch was never going to pan out, just like your previous venture with those luxury goods.
I never understood how you thought that those dear little hamsters could be milked!
Seems we are both up the creek without a luxury liner and our only hope lies in Alaska.
I hear that 'The Freezing Bollocks' brothel is doing well and all fourteen of your sisters are making a mint - perhaps we might take a little trip together? Failing that, the S&M Torture Club is just down the road and we could probably make a killing on the 'flagella' that I've just nicked from work.
Love as always and regrets for dumping you (but you were butt ugly!)
Mommy Dearest

Anonymous said...


Yes, I've been told about the gruesome visage more than once, but there's jack to do about it, isn't there? Heredity, I guess. And it wasn't the fault of the hamsters, either, MD; don't blame the hamsters. It was the milking machines that killed us. Them. But that's all water under the bridge.

Glad to hear the ninnies are staying warm in the great north. Irksome when I've been having to hawk lobster mittens door to door. "Lobster Mittens--warmer than rubber bands!" But you wouldn't believe how cheap I got them.

Do you know how many people are bitten by lobsters every year? A lot, that's how. Word to the wise.

No regrets, Ma. It's all for the best.



Anonymous said...

no good writing letters here no more, your mother has gone. Packed her bags an hour ago and ran off with the Doc who promised her the fanny of a twenty-year-old.
She left a number but all I get is
"Hurrow, Ching Chong Club, you want boys yeah, I get you boys'.

Seems she is gone from our lives, but at least she was thoughtful enough to make sure I could stay in the shack. She sold my liver, a lung and one kneecap to parts.com and they're coming to pick them up next week.

I'm gonna miss the one-eyed old cow and I'm sure you will too, still, we'll just live with happy memories.
Good luck with the lobster mittens, I'm sure you'll make a killing

From Your Uncle Cleetus (and no son, I'm not you're daddy)

Anonymous said...


You always was as shifty as piss on a hot rock, but I can see you're more to be pitied than censured. And believe me, Cleetus, the news that you're not my dad fills me with...happy memories. Truth to tell, you're just another of her victims, like me. So no hard feelins, right? Precious memories, how they linger, can't forget those bony fingers, the one-eyed stare, the cockeyed stance, that certain suspect ambiance--we were lucky to know her as briefly as we did. Weren't we? Clete?

I's you, Cleetus, I'd be out of that shack three steps ahead of those parts people--a kneecap, and even a lung, hey, okay, you can do without. But a liver? Cleetus, you'd have to take the Pledge, and we all know where that leads. But you know best. I'll miss you, Clete. Unless I practice...

Been goo to know you, Unc, truly goo. Ta.


Unknown said...

Bravo jta, onwards and upwards, think we've exhausted this one!!
Looking forward to the next one.