One For The Boofheads Of The World!

It has been brought to my boofy attention vis-à-vis my most recent post - here's a link to it if you can't be buggered scrolling down - that I have come to the attention of artista Katherine Tyrrell before.

In fact, last year. In her Making a Mark awards, to be precise. The same awards in which I featured this year. Only twelve months ago. Just to clear up the timeline.

It transpires that not only was I nominated in the same category for which I was mentioned this year - losing out to a damn cat!, the horror! the horror! - but I was also, in fact, the actual recipient of an award!

Indeed, the 2007 Amusing Musings Trophy was mine.

I only wish I'd known. Do they forget to tell the Coen Brothers when they've won an Oscar?

I can only put the problem down to the machinations of artista Tyrrell's cat - the despicable Cosmo - who more than likely intercepted the email carrying the tidings to me.

How often does a boofhead get to make an award acceptance speech? Ask Sally Field.

Unlike Sally Field, I'm only a boofhead, not a boofhead and a slapper, so my acceptance speech wouldn't assume anyone liked me and certainly wouldn't go as far as to thank the single-cell thingy that crawled out of the primeval swamp without which I wouldn't be here.

Instead, with every ounce of sincerity I could muster, and beg and borrow and probably even steal, I would simply say that This Is One For The Boofheads Of The World.

Excluding Sally Field.

Modesty

No, it's not a new brand of perfume. Or even a new brand of that wonderful advertising euphemism "feminine hygiene product".

Don't you love euphemistic advertising? Take those ads for nappies. Or diapers as I think the American cousins call them. Just as they pronounce aluminium nothing remotely like it's spelled. Yet, paradoxically, they pronounce the word colour exactly as it's spelled - or, at least, the way it's properly spelled, which, in a further paradox, isn't how they spell it.

Color. Color isn't a word. It's very nearly a word. One more vowel and it would be. So near, so far.

But I digress. Ads for nappies. I've never seen blue wee-wee in my life. Mine is either clear or pale yellow or other varying shades of yellow depending how much yellow cordial I've drunk. Yet take any ad for nappies that purports to show their absorbency. The liquid is always blue. Blue wee-wee? Has the bub swallowed a bottle of blue ink?

But I digress yet again. Modesty is, in fact, a virtue. Which, come to think of it, sounds like a new model of car.

It's something you're either born with or you're not.

I was.

And I'm not too immodest to admit it.

Praise me and I blush. Though you'll have to take my word for it on the basis that my blush is buried beneath a couple of feet and half a stone of boofy hair, thus:


This week I was given cause to blush. Trust me I blushed.

This week I was awarded a Special Mention in artista Katherine Tyrrell's Making a Mark Awards on her Making a Mark art blog. Scroll down to '"The Moose" Award for the best animal in an illustrated blog' and you'll find me. Adjacent to a whole feast of cats - a feast of cats is my collective noun for the soulless sociopathic creatures - but beggars can't be choosers when it comes to fame.

Katherine describes me as "rather charming if somewhat gruff". It's somewhat of an achievement to be both right and wrong within the space of five words, Katherine.

But I thank you from the bottom of my boofy heart.

As for spelling my name wrongly, two can play that game, Catherine.

Baaaaaaaaaaah Hummbugggggggggggg!

The only thing worse than Christmas is a collapsed lung. A collapsed lung is said to be the most painful condition imaginable. Apart from pleurisy.

Okay, so there are two things worse than Christmas.

At Christmas, for some reason, the two-legged dogs suddenly mistake you for a Christmas tree.

Come questo:

The only consolation is that Barbra Streisand looks worse. Like a €0.10 Parisian streetwalker:


Bah humbug!

Roll on pleurisy.