So far I have tried to avoid turning this blog into a comment on current affairs, as the annoying thing about that is that you both have to have a valid comment on the whole thing, and keep the affairs about which you are writing – well current.

I have however been moved enough to write my tup’pence worth on a particularly juicy scandal that has rocked our tabloid media – and even some of the broadsheets, for shame – over the past day or so. I speak of course about the infamous Brand/Ross prank phone calls.

It appears that the entire English nation has had its sense of humour forcibly removed about the whole situation. Like all good workers I spent my lunchtime on youtube listening to whole shbackle. Personally I thought that it was actually quite entertaining. Even more so when you realize that you are listening to them wittily punning their way into a career black hole.

It is the picture of them in the press that really make me laugh, with them looking like puppies sitting next to a big pile of poo. It is like two little boys who took a joke too far at school, and it turns out that the little girl’s hair that they pulled – has cried to her mum, who has then gone and spoken very severely to the headmaster about it. It turns out that the headmaster is one of these new fangled ones that tries to do things like cancel Christmas as it might be offensive.

So Brand has quit – no great surprise - and they are idiots to let him go, and Ross is suspended without pay. When all they should have done is hit them hard on the nose with a roll of newspaper, and said ‘NO’ in a loud and firm voice.

Have you watered the brains today Igor?

It is official – winter has come to our fair Isle once more. The reason why I am able to proclaim this with such certainty, is that I measure seasons not by the weather (like meteorologists might) not by the clothes I might be wearing (like a fashionista might) and not even by the seasonal holidays that crop up (like… most people) – but by the colour of my skin.

I am by nature a pale person, but there comes a distinct time of year when my skin colour changes from ‘porcelain’ to ‘transparent’. My mum calls it ‘pale and interesting’ whereas everyone else starts to cross themselves as I walk by.

I have tried in vain to make myself look more like a living and breathing person. I buy that moisturiser that they have promised me will gradually tan my face with a subtle and healthy glow, whereas all that has happened so far is that the little bits in between my fingers have turned slightly orange. I liberally apply bronzer to my cheeks in the hope that this will help – but end up looking like I got made-up in the dark. (think Brigit Jones in the last movie at the lawyers do that she went to.)

The other night I went out with a group of female friends and since we are all incredibly vain, the camera was taken along so that we could upload little bits of our soul onto facebook in the vain attempt to try and look popular/ convince the world that we have an amazingly fun social life, really we do, much better than yours anyway…

However – after applying the aforementioned bronzer and thinking that I looked like something approaching normal - the next day, we looked back at the photos. My good god – I look like the ginger one from girls aloud when she is photographed next to the rest of the perma-tanned ones. It has become that time of year again when I fall into the ‘we belong dead’ category.

On the positive side – it gives me a really realistic look for Halloween – on the other hand the mobs turning up at our house with their torches and pitchforks do tend to annoy the landlord.

a sticky situation...

Today we had a brain storm about tuna. Not important. The thing that I wanted to share with you all was that during this storm of brains there were placed upon the table some gummy bears. While on technical grounds I didn’t approve of them being there, as I sure that they were there as some sort of corporate gimmick to try and increase out creativity and bring out our “inner child” so that the thoughts about tuna could really flow, but I largely approved of them in a pure sugary way.

Two of them – whom I have called Mabel and Dennis – are now living on my desk. I did the thing where you make them kiss (by smashing their faces into each other) and then married them in the hope that they would reproduce and I would have lots of tiny baby gummy bears to eat the next day.

This then made me think about what my kids (should I ever deign to have some) would do in a similar situation. Would the gummy bears have got married, or have got pregnant out of gummy wedlock? Would one have been 16 and the other on drugs (raw sugar cane)? Would they both have been of the same sex and had a civil partnership, or even have had a shotgun wedding in Vegas after only meeting 3 days before?

Then I realise that one was green and the other was orange. Did this make it a mixed gummy marriage? Would they be ostracised by other racists gummy bears and forced to hide their love?

All this angst has forced me to come to only one conclusion – that I should eat then forthwith.