For blogs with less than 300 Followers

For blogs with less than 300 Followers
Thanks to Hestia's Larder for this delightful award.
(For Blogs with less than 300 Followers)

Sunday, 11 May 2014

The Delights of being a MAN (part 2)

In an ongoing project to celebrate the differences between blokes and our lovely ladies, I may occasionally meander into areas of some disagreement.

I am quite willing to agree that you may disagree with some of my comments, but I know who's right.

Thursday, 1 May 2014

The Delights of Being a MAN (part 1)

On a previous post, I commented (at probably too great a length) on some of the differences between ourselves and our lovely ladies.

Sunday, 20 April 2014

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Toilet Humour Seriousness

I try to keep a humorous vein running through most of my posts.

There is a reason for this.

Life throws so many damned nasty and unpleasant experiences at us, that I see it as my duty to help alleviate the gloom, and help myself and others to view the lighter side of life.

It also helps that I'm a deeply cynical, old Scottish Sod (M' Beloved's words, not mine)

But sometimes, a gleam of truth shines through.

This is an example.

Sunday, 30 March 2014


Just to keep everyone happy, and aware the TSB is still posting while I am working on my next masterpiece, just a few amusing images.

Friday, 28 March 2014

Tuesday, 25 March 2014

TSB Bombs (Part the 2nd)

I left the last post just as the school secretary approached at a great rate of knots, telling me that the Police wanted a word.

Tuesday, 18 March 2014

TSB Bombs

At Last.

After 16 years of teaching, my finer qualities have been recognised.

16 years of suffering teenage body odours.

16 years of maintaining a cool, friendly and professional mien.

16 years of correcting students' essays with such basic errors of grammar, syntax and punctuation as to cause an acute and sobbing heartbreak in the depths of my soul.(which I don't have anyway, so it doesn't really matter, but it's a bit existentialist, so I'll keep it in)

Plus of course 3 bloody years putting up with Ringo. (See earlier posts for this tragic tale of Mancunian angst.  And a right bastard)

I had made it.

I had reached the penultimate heights of teaching.

I was now an The Assistant Principal.

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