My good friend Simon works in a branch of the popular bookshop chain Waterstones*. Today he informed me that he and his co-workers have been instructed to be extra vigilant when checking the shop before closing, in case somebody is hiding in there in an attempt to become famous like that Texan guy who got locked in a London branch of Waterstone’s* last week. I laughed quite a lot.

*Apostrophe optional, according to their signage


Hi guys, I’ve written a wee poem about going into space. I thought maybe I could stumble through it in my annoying voice while the rest of yous play some music underneath it, and we could kid on it’s a song and stick it on the new album. Would that be okay, Stuart?

No, Stuart, I actually think that sounds like a fucking terrible idea.

Great, let’s get on with it. If you like this one I’ve got another one about a cat, but it doesn’t actually mention that it’s a cat. Brilliant, eh?