<superpedant>I think it was also the shoulder braid and one says "bibble", not "wubble".</superpedant>

[Projoy] You wouldn't let it lie, would you.

[Projoy]Personally, I always thought it was "wibble".

Thanks for the birthday wishes. Had a lovely time getting lost in Wiltshire and Somerset with the Dutch Miller, who booked us a romantic night away and bought me dinner. He has now gone back, but left his own clogs on my back doorstep, next to mine. I think it's a sign.

Or if not a sign, a new euphemism: 'Leaving ones clogs on the back doorstep'. A new game, perhaps?

[Knobbly] You're confusing your Blackadders. 'Wibble' should be said with your underpants on your head and a couple of pencils up your nose.

(pen) I hope he hasn't been, er, well, sort of Emptying His Raingauge.

[penelope] He popped his clogs on your back doorstep? What a shame, he sounded like such a nice bloke. My sympathy is with you m'dear.

[pen] Has he left a message in them?

[Duj] I sniggered at your black joke, and reminded myself to make sure he has plenty of life insurance.

[Darren] No, the message *is* the clogs, i.e. "I'll be back". I've just booked another flight to go over there for ten days later this month :oD

[Rosie] I suppose we could calibrate the empty clogs on the back door step to become raingauges...

(pen) Have you heard of the Cloggies, a cartoon strip of yesteryear, by Bill Tidy? They were a clog-dancing group from a northern industrial town. They won their competitions by assault which normally consisted of co-ordinated knees to the goolies of their opponents. One of their members was The Blagdon Amateur Rapist, a middle-aged man who wore nothing but shoes, socks and a tie and humped anything that moved. Let none of this distasteful nonsense detract you from your burgeoning romance.