Friday, 23 December 2011


What do we want? THOUGHT DIAL
When do we want it?
That's besides the point. It's not when we want THOUGHT DIAL that matters, it's when THOUGHT DIAL wants you. THOUGHT DIAL.
This has been a public service announcement on behalf of THOUGHT DIAL. Have a safe and happy crimbo.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Seventh Annual Cute Convention, Chingford 1923

Mucus Plug, fountain of all knowledge and even more ignorance here. You may or may not recall
Terry Tickle,the fine and talentless dog who joined me on my recently recent journey of discovery, recovery and cover me (but don't make it too close to the original because that would be pointless), across the fair to middling United Staples of Americans which I recently recently undertook by the very undertaking of. Until unfairly recently, more recently than the recently recent journey I mentioned just moments ago (unless you stopped reading after the second sentence and went off to make a hot beverage and toast before resuming your reading, I which case I amend my estimation of my mention to twelve minutes ago) I half heartedly believed that my journey with Terry was not in anyway except anyway directly related to the subject of finding sticks in any directly related way or indeed anyway. In connection with a deep and meaningless conversation Terry and myself included had one memorably instantly forgettable night while staying at the home of a close friend, orthodontist and failed inventor of the electric spork, Camantha Cookiejar, on the subject of sticks of the found kind, when Terry arrived home from our reckless sojourn he dug out the above photograph for all our delight and edification that knows no bounds. What, in the name of Bruce Willis' Beloved Teenage Bong has the Seventh Annual Cute Convention, Chingford 1923 got to undo with found sticks? I hear you asking yourselves and I raise a weary eyebrow at the stupid stupidity of you asking yourself such a question which you obviously do not yet know the answer to as yet and if you carry on doing such a stupidly stupid thing I will make it my sole purpose and ambition to make sure you never get permission to enter a windmill anywhere in the world, so think on, I make this threat lightly and without considering the implied great effort involved so it is a hollow threat but neverthemoreorless it is one not to be taken seriously but to be taken seriously. Is that unclear, I hope so for all our sakes, snakes and chocolate milkshakes sakes. Anways with that surprisingly pleasant unpleasantness, if not behind us then at least pushed to one side or another it is time to switch on the enlightenment bulb in your brains as to the relevance of the above photographic item. Front row dead centre sits Professor Venessa Tiddletums and next to that esteemed and thrice beloved intellectual giant of a kitten sits Trevor Tickle great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather of Terry and he, you will only now notice I've no doubt except doubt itself, is holding the very first documented found stick ever to be documented. So indeed we are behelding here a true piece of stick finding history and herstory and all ourstory.
What young Terry did not realise is the darker implication I just made up totally spuriously and off the cuff when my eyes first fell upon this rare photograph. Evertheless I will now share a stark naked warning with you and it is simply this stark naked warning that has now realised it is stark naked and is now feeling slightly embarrassed at it unclothed state.
The Cute Walk Among Us And They Secretly Rule The World. There I've said it.
All the best to you and may all your windmill entering be unimpeded, well by myself at least.