The Cow and Coffee Morning

......Hang on a second...... Just bare with me....... Be with you in a mo. I'm just filling in my entry form.

I mean, let's face it, this is a chance not to be missed. After all, here is Pither, in desperate need of a costly dental revamp, crying out for expensive hair implants, longing for a gastric clamp to reduce his rotundity, with a house which needs thousands spending on it so it will at last be distinguishable from No. 73, Baghdad High Street, Iraq, but he would obviously tear up that wish list if he could just have................a year's supply of ketchup!

What a wank-wankety-wank-wank offer!! Who in the Holy name of Christ would want a fucking year's supply of ketchup? Besides anything else, in my case it would constitute ONE bottle. For the lardarses out there, where the fuck would you put it all?

Why are you banging on about ketchup, Reg, I don't hear anyone ask? Well, it's by way of explaining where I've been for the last few months. Confused? Bare with me again and let me explain.

In short, I have been working my mammary glands off at a new job - I think I mentioned I had finally swapped self-employment for PAYE again? Anyway, the job is with a daily paper. So far so good. They are a jolly nice bunch. Hurrah! The only drawback is the paper covers an area of the country which makes Siberia look heavily industrialised. It is what you might call........rural. Pither is used to the smoke and grime of the conurbations. He's used to murder, rape, explosions, death and darts. Where there's muck there's much to write about for a journo. My latest posting is, however, forcing me to lower my sights somewhat. I shall, henceforth, refer to the paper as The Cow and Coffee Morning.

Surprisingly, covering fuck all involves an awful lot of time and effort. I mean, those "bird found in tree" and "Women's Institute tea cup drama" stories don't write themselves. Consequently, I found myself working yet again yesterday and picking up the evening edition I realised just how silly my life has become.

The once in a lifetime, fabulous ketchup offer was trumpeted in a hamper on last night's front page, alongside the masthead. I was so tired and disillusioned I decided to actually read the bloody thing for once - (in reply to a previous editor who once asked "Pither, don't you ever read your own paper?" I replied "Of course I bloody don't! Do you?") - and so I present a few snippets to let you know just how near the cutting edge of journalism I am these days.

How about this? This, would you believe, is an entry on the letters page. It is my particular favourite. Does this give you any idea just how much there is to do on the patch and the calibre of reader?

This little item was a review. I think it not only says a lot about what a night in reading the paper is all about, it also says a bit about the standards of journalism around. If you read a review you want to get an overall impression, yeah? How are you supposed to come down one way or the other with this? Fence-sitting seems to be the order of the day.

Then there's this. I think it illustrates quite well that things are not done on a grand scale "round these 'ere paaarts". Hyperstore it ain't!

I include this merely to give you an idea about what the average reader looks like. I believe one of these two has won a dog show - sadly, the caption does not make clear which.
And finally, this was the strap along the bottom of yesterday's front page. Doesn't it just make the ketchup offer pale into insignificance? I can't wait.

So, there you have it. I shall keep you posted - literally - from now on. In the meantime, many thanks to all those kind types out there who have asked after me during my absence - notably BW, Ginni and Brad. Thanks again.
Nothing is more deserving of a trip to Grantham than this newspaper but, then again, if I send it I will be out of a job. It will have to stay out but......well, you know.