Funny 404 page

Cat bowling. It's a cool game, I just got 93, is that good in bowling?

So, Slobodan Miselovic is a bit too poorly to continue with his trial at the moment. Poor wee dab. Nothing too trivial I hope.

Christine Hamm has a couple of new poems on her blog.

Polly Toynbee was one of the most robust liberal supporters of the war on Afghanistan. Does she still think we did the right thing?

I have posted about posh Nicaraguan revolutionary Gioconda Belli before, here she gives another interview.

I have tried to be good and not post too many Guardian links, but here we go, 3 in a row. Winston Silcott, who is due for release soon and who will almost certainly be the victim of a vile witch hunt, shares his thoughts.

Whoo chuffin hoo! The best news I have had in years. Now I can tell Mrs Buddha to put those two housebricks down.

My country loving fellow Bluenose, Hugh Mungus has complained on a football message board that I only answered 4 of The Bluetitch 5 but generously offers an alternative: do you believe in ghosts and have you ever seen one ?.
Well. Funny he should ask that. Last summer we rented a cottage on the Cardigan coast. It was a beautiful place, very olde worlde and unspoilt with all original features. Low beams, window seats, nooks and chuffing crannies everywhere.Very big and spacious. The owner had filled the place with hundreds and hundreds of books and toys from her nippers childhood, which must have been the sixties, and which we all loved. We had a woodland walk past a stunning waterfall to what amounted to a private beach and 2 other very good, very quiet, secluded beaches within minutes. We had beautiful mountains to the back of us, and within 20-30 minutes either way a bewildering array of beautiful beaches, coastal footpaths, towns, villages and scenery. A perfect spot, our days were filled from the minute we got up to the minute we arrived back, usually between about 8 and 10.
The kids naturally would be knackered, so would the Mrs and they would soon all be in the land of nod. Purely for the sake of making an incredibly cosy place even cosier we would get the coal fire going every night. The rest of em would be spark out and I would get the rocking chair (yes, chuffin rocking chair) close up to the fire and read for several hours, all the while quaffing a nice red and filling my face with crisps.
More than once, every night in fact, I had the feeling of an otherwordly presence. I am convinced I saw, several times, a ghostly, gossamer shape move from the stairs through a kids little play room into the kitchen. I am convinced of it.
I said nowt, assuming it was due to a combination of unaccustomed fresh air, tiredness and alcohol. Nor did I want to put the shits up Mrs Buddha, who can be a bit jumpy about these things. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, we both said we could do with a little break and she said perhaps we could phone the owner of that cottage to see if there was any availability for a weekend. Of course it is haunted I said, jauntily. Ho Ho she chuckled and that was that. Later she asked if I had been serious, and I admitted my tale. She said she had felt the same thing from day one, and pointed out she did not go upstairs alone. The visitors book had a similar story in it.
Chuffin spooky man. I would go back there, but not on my own!

Garrison Keillor is pissed off with his elected representative. Seriously pissed off. It is chuffin marvelous to see a bit of passion, fair play to the dude... this is a Salon premium article but you can access it if you subject yourelf to a Mercedes ad.

Something very spooky just happened. When I clicked to see if the link worked, Hugh Mungus' ghost question appeared.