Now this turns out to be a nice bit of Charlie Drake resting on top of some rabbit food. It was so pleasant that I pooed my pants while eating it.

This is the carbon based lifeform known as Macca being asked by the one called Toddy if he has any spare vouchers.

Now is this a Scottish person playing the pipes after a haggis supper served with deep-fried Mars bar and a side salad of midges?

Now this is a bowl of Bacon Pasta. Aswell as bacon and pasta it also has red pepper, spring onion, garlic and tomato juice. It was so tasty I nearly made a mess.

This is a work of art. It's a biting social comment on the hypocracy of our times. It begs to be understood. It begs to be taken seriously. It begs to be consumed.

The one called Toddy leans at the bar doing the crossword because he is cross. He is cross because he didn't check the expiry date on his voucher.

As I stood on the balcony, glass in hand looking out over the rain soaked fields, I thought to myself: what a corking country England is.

This is the Republic of Mostonia. It's a semi-autonomus self governing province of Cheshire. I often used to fly over it on my way to the Egerton Arms.

Well, blow me down! Someone stole a urinal from out of the gents toilet in the Argyll the other day. I wonder if they took it home on the bus.

A girl dressed in white crosses the road near the Argyll, but who is the strange lady squatting on the pavement? Why it's the same one who sqatted outside the car-wash one evening at Mostonia.

The Johnny Pye. Well, I wouldn't eat a pie with those things in it, and they've spelt "pie" wrong.

The chef at the Argyll reads the new menu.

A happy Christmas to all our readers.

Well. They won't be doing that anymore, will they?

A vacant parking space in a pub carpark.