Yeah, I know this bloke’s been at this for years but I don’t get to Covent Garden very often. Why? Because if i want to be surrounded by vast swathes of people enjoying themselves I wouldn’t be called Richie the Miserable Bastard of Seville. I know you’re all all screaming at your PC screens saying ‘theRichieBoy’s not from Seville’, but you can all shut up. By ‘all’ I mean ‘please look at my blog…somebody. I just want your love. And a house plumbed with Worthington’s White Shield.’

This is what google tried to tell me I was searching for when actually I was searching for ‘Why are people so against looking at my blog? Is it because they’ve cracked the fact that I have  malware encoded into this text that is going to directly infect your brain, sukka?’ (You can now send me your bank details including pin number with your comments).

…And stay away horrible people that force me to have to use incorrect grammar in my post title (sort of).

Please indicate where you think the splat formerly known as a cyclist should be and send your entry to ‘The Literal Cycle Smear Campaign’ c/o the  London Borough of Brentford on Crack.

Your head feels like a French nightmare.

You remember the 3 cases of Armenian Buffalo Expectorant you drank last night.

The bacon smells like Nan’s stew (a bad thing).

What do you do?

You do this:

Last night’s mash+flour+butter+rolling pin+heat+brown sauce=

LASTNIGHTSMASHFLOURBUTTERROLLINGPINHEATBROWNSAUCE (x10²⁴⁾.

You do this because you:

a)  am cookin’ wit boo-tane of the highest quality,

b) are known to your friends as Senior Mustard.