Bloody dial up #2

As I have a bit of spare time at home, I decided to try and get a column printed in "the Londonpaper". For those of you outside the capital (of England), this is a free rag that offers joe public the opportunity to pretend to be a journalist for the day. The vast majority I have seen either focus on the knucle-bitingly obvious ("Oyster cards!", "Kids playing their mobile phone music on buses!", "Isn't funny how everyone ignores each other on the tube!"), to the pseudo-intellectual / women wanna shag me cos I'm, like, so in touch with, like, stuff ("Y'know man... all of us are like, a religion, even if we're not religious, so let's just stop this intolerance, ok? Cos, like, did you know there are over 300 different languages spoken in London?")*

Anyway.... I thought I'd compose some verbal diarrhoea of the top of my head tonight, and see if it made it, despite the fact I'm guessing it's not at all what they're after. Unfortunately, I think my mother's dial up has resulted in me never finding out, as the website crashed when I tried to submit it. To be honest, it's all very confusing, as one part of the form says its a 200 word limit, the other says 500. I figured it must be the latter, so fleshed my 398 words out a bit. I thought it was 400, see. And you thought I couldn't be a professional journo....

I shall post the ramble in an extra post, as I have gone on a bit here, so please bear with me. Obviously, the wondrous design of my blog means you've probably already read it and wondered what the feck I'm on about.

Please feel free to vote "More" or "Bore". As if I don't know which way you'll lean, you cruel people....

*for non-Londoners - this is one of the first facts you get taught when you attend your "welcome to London" induction course. Did you not know we had to attend that? Aw, bless, you naive provincial country cousins.