Savio Du Funk

For a couple of weeks I've been observing the protocol for this interaction. Seems relatively straightforward, doesn't it? Picture the scene: You are walking back to work from your lunch break and en route you see a colleague off in the distance. It's Dave from finance. At least I think he's called Dave, he could be called Paul. I can't really remember. Anyway, he's there at about 150 metres away ...

I suppose this could apply to riding a bike, but there is usually the option of momentum when on two wheels?

Anyway, in a car. Sat in a car, your car. The old tin can, jam jar, cage or wheeled coffin. Nothing says 'fuck my life' more than sitting in traffic and watching other like-minded people just sat there, doing nothing but strengthening the muscles in their clutch ...

Everyone's favourite hyperthyroid ocelot is on another piss-take, this time going from Sydney to somewhere. I'm afraid I don't really know the details, I just know that it is on our screens and has been for a while.

I'm a fan of Boorman. I like his affable style and he is certainly watchable and interesting, however I am starting to get a little tyred (sic) of his now typecast peregrinations. ...

This Friday, our bricklaying, tarmacing and general odd-jobbing cousins from over the Irish sea vote on whether or not they wish to accept proposed constitutional changes to the EU as laid out in the Lisbon treaty.

This is barely getting a mention on the proper news channels, primarily because most of us assumed the bog-hoppers had already voted on this issue already, haven't they? ...

Gordon Brown is a fucking cabbage with a Napoleon complex the enormity of which, if it were to be a cardboard cut-out, would actually be the size of 500 Corsican dictators.

Perpetually deluded to the point where he probably watches his every movement in the 3rd person, waltzing Imperiously amongst his flock regaled in only the Emporers finest wardrobe, and doesn't he look splendid. ...