The world is not un oeuf

23 October 2005
Whenever I go on holiday to France, I delight in repeating the same joke each day.
In answer to: 'How many eggs do you want?' I reply: 'One egg is un oeuf.'
Creases me up every time. Or greases me up.
Of course, France has hidden eggs everywhere. Take Eggs-en-Provance, for example.
Somebody came up to me yesterday and said that my blogs are weird. He then turned green and evaporated.
I' talking drivel again. I guess I'm too busy looking for specks on other people's eyes and can't see the blog in my own.
Okay, blog, blog, blog, blog, blog, blog. Best blog, best blog, best blog, best blog.
What was that about? Well, it will increase the search engine rank of this page to 120079663465th, which is definitely progress.
Someone doing a search for 'blog' would come to this page if they scrolled the search result for three and a half years. Not particularly funny, until you consider the purpose of this blog (besides entertaining you, of course) is to attract traffic to the site. I might as well climb the hill behind my house (which is looking lovely at the moment with the heather a much brighter purple than I've ever seen it, for some reason, must be the drugs). Even the midges were not pestering me, when I was out a moment ago. Lovely. The sheep always make me laugh. They stand and stare, in case you represent a threat. I have been experimenting with different sounds to terrify them. The sound of a small yappy dog appears to make them run away the fastest, rather than the deeper bark of a larger dog. Strange. Although I know that the Queen likes to walk her corgies in the hills. The grouse, of course, give you the fright of your life if you disturb them by walking by. They rise from their (ground) nests in the heather, making their distinctive cack, cack, cack, distress call as they fly away. The dear are much more numerous than they used to be but it would be very unlucky if a grouse rose from the heather only to fly straight into a grazing dear to break its neck. Yes, the dear can be killed by a grouse in this way, particularly as some of the grouse have taken to wearing spiked helmets. Why? Because they are a fashion-conscious species and they've seen the sheep. The sheep, you see, have started wearing them to protect themselves from the small yappy dogs they keep hearing. You can't pull the wool over their eyes.
Now go away and annoy someone else, I've had enough of your attitude to this blog.
There endeth this blog. Stay tuned!