Impolite Notice: Anyone who thinks they may not be able to help themselves from feeling emotionally, spiritually or intellectually raped, affronted or even slightly bruised, should piss off now before scrolling down any further!
But if you're just here for a laugh, please be my guest!
As battle rages, high in a clifftop mansion, between one man and the miscreants that live in his computer......
Simon shows off his latest pet, a checked fieldmouse/doormouse hybrid. "I think I'm going to call him Baldy Petey-poos, after one of my favourite hobbies, to keep it simple." Simon says.
Swimming isn't nearly as much fun without my North Isle chums, thinks one blogger, mistakenly. Simultaneously proving the absolute uselessness of swimming trunks and the truth in the saying 'be careful what you wish for'!
Though one blogger, visiting Margate nightclubs in search of the high life, seems to have struck pay-dirt!
Broadstairs, on the other hand, seem to have found their first 'sure-fire' way of encouraging people to stay.
More pet crises in one Margate-working-man-of-the-people-blogger's homestead and, as per usual, no-one knows quite who to blame. As Eastcliff Richard has yet to be spotted, it'll be a rocky road to pinning that one on him!
Though heading skywards with the Sun, the father of Thanet blogging likes to get off to an early start in one of the highest, paid jobs in the Country.
Meanwhile, back on the party side of the Island, our intrepid Ramsgate blogger decides, involuntarily, to have a bit of a lie-in on Monday morning.
Later on that day, one kindly Margate blogger offers to help his Westgate friend with a reasonably complex civil engineering job. Unfortunately they both have doubts as to whether there's actually two O's in SHCOL and think they may have to redo the last three letters.
While another Margate blogger receives a postcard from his uncle in Texas, which completely ruins one of his favourite hobbies for him, and makes him want to buy a bigger car.
One of the Island's more physically active bloggers likes nothing better than beating himself on the chest for half an hour, with a weighted metal bar, and then kicking someone in the head while trying to pull his own off, before settling down to a nice, relaxing puzzle.
And when he's done with correcting every single folly of the last Century, perhaps he'd like to tackle this tricky little number, which, as far as I know, still remains unresolved after more than 500 years?
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