Apparently some clown has announced that I'm dead. Oh well, worse things happen.
Actually I'm just very busy. Chalk Enterprises is taking up all my time at the moment, so I've not really had chance to do any posts on this blog. Sorry about that.
Dan the Publisher suggested that I get off my backside and write something, so here's a few random thoughts.
1) I'm all for a bit of discipline and my hat goes off to this school in North Carolina. If we don't clamp down on mindless clapping where will it end?
2) Why is it that in my local Tesco all the staff are on fire, serving customers at an incredible rate and buzzing for more people to get on the tills if there's ever a queue? Maybe the Boss takes a stick to them at the start of each day in some sort of bizarre Japanese corporate ritual. On the other hand, if I go into the Co op or Spar all the staff all seem to have been injected with a sloth drug. It's like watching a film in slow motion as every item is queried, vouchures examined and Supervisors summoned to gawp at the till as if they have never seen it before. Meanwhile the queue snakes round three aisles, past the rotting fruit and the room where the rest of the staff are sleeping. Occasionally a customer just loses it completely, throws down their basket and storms out screaming (it's usually me) .
3) Regardless of what the school thinks of his haircut, what sort of 13 year old boy goes to a Salon? For Christ's sake Mrs Scrote, get a grip.
4) The Henry is the Vacuum of Champions. Don't be fooled by its innocent smiling face; it is the Challenger Tank of Hoovers, a Man's Machine that allows us to behave in a naturally male way. Rip the top off the box and drop it out onto the floor; it won't care. Gather up the instructions, along with the plastic bag full of silly fussy female accessories and throw the whole lot into the bin. Fit the three tough metal tubes together any old way you like and you are ready to go.
Now for the real fun. Push the large and obvious button and listen to the throaty roar of the engine as you show the carpet who's boss. Hoover up anything you like, Henry won't mind. When you run out of bags, just laugh manically and keep on going regardless. As I said; it's a Man's hoover and it couldn't care less. In military terms, if the Dyson is a chinless wonder in the Officers Mess debating the best way to iron a shirt, then the Henry is an airborne warrior who doesn't want to know how many enemy there are, just how soon he can get his hands on them.
Tesco and the makers of Henry didn't pay me to say any of the above, but obviously I'd be even more enthusiastic if they did.
Bear with me for now and I'll post again soon
Frank Chalk RIP