There is no 1973… (a sort of part 2)

It's not all doom and gloom actually, as even though Sam Tyler didn't get home (in a really pathetic bid by the BBC to string out another series), other things have been awreight.

Had a cracking time in Bath, despite the aforementioned Aussie arse getting on me tits (thankfully, only figuratively), and the bum-numbing ride on t' bus home. FC Utd of Manchester played away to Great Harwood Town yesterday and drew 1-1 (match report here). My iPod (which I previously thought was a goner, software-wise) has been exonerated in the Failing of the Battery case (iPod Shuffle v the Soupdragon, February 2006), and things are getting back to normal. My sister's famous random phrase inspired me to get me own, and this successfully dealt out a Napoleon's farewell Sharpe-style to several wankers I met at the various pubs and clubs in Bath over the weekend. I am not at liberty to divulge the nature of this phrase, however it has become one of me favourites and will be remembered long after I've blown this pop-stand and returned to the Bright Centre of the Universe (Hong Kong).

So anyway, to the matter at hand. Did you know that in 1752, September 3rd – 13th did not exist? Really! That's like 2 weeks that just disappeared… And so it could have been in 1973! I'm starting to believe, Muldar-like, in this idea that perhaps 1973 didn't exist…

Damn, I haven’t thought of a picture yet. I'm still looking for more of Ewan or hopefully Max getting their arses out. Will keep trying. In the meantime, there's Ashley J Williams. Speaking of which, I hope they get a wiggle on and make "My Name Is Bruce".

Tags:
Bruce Campbell
Life on Mars