Ironically bungalows have no storeys, but are some of the worst raconteurs known to achitecture. Apparently their delivery is too flat and they are prone to stairing.

I once shared my Frosties with Angus Deayton, which was a very peculiar experience. All I remember of it now is the sudden appearance of Tom Parker-Bowles wearing nothing but an iguana, which promptly had its head eaten off by Ozzy Osbourne. All parties concerned have reliably informed me this was true, even the iguana. I found that just plain confusing.

Iguanas are often mistaken for small children and adopted by childless couples in Guam.

So was I, once.

I invented the letter X. I had some help from Al Gore, but he could only come up with the letter Z. Meanwhile, the Republicans invented W.

The parcel shelf in John Prescott's 2nd Jag is made from strips of human skin flayed from Peter Mandelson's back using a steel whip.

I invented the letter ð, but only the Icelanders were brave enough to use it.

Dutch was invented by an Austrian chef with a severe head-cold.

I recently bent a barman's ear but a panel beater has sorted all that out.

Bent barman's ears are an aphrodisiac, recently popularised by Sex In The City.

I did not go to bed at seven PM yester eve because a good book and a lie down was more attractive than the pap being served up on 'the box'.

Yesterday, I went to bed at a reasonable hour.

Beds are sinful.

Sins aren't bedful.

I have, for the last umpteen years, been trying to find what I like in bedding.

I do not mind that I appear to be the only person on the internet at this hour.

There is no delight in saying words such as 'icky', 'blancmange', 'feeble' or 'aardvark'.

[ZK] Nor "Wankel Rotary Engine".

Just for that, I'm gonna burn your house down.