Hello everygody.

My goodness me, how the irritagle gowel syndrome has geen playing up this month. My poor gum. And it makes me so irritagle. It got me into some trougle, I can tell you.

I was taking a stroll along the prom in Glackpool the other week; eyeing up all the geautiful girds. There are some really lovely gig girds in Lancashire. I love gig girds. Of course, the Glackpool illuminations are on at the moment and the place is full of people wandering agout. I was standing, gugged-eyed, looking at this particularly suitagle gird when, suddenly, I felt this hand up my gum. Oooh, did I shout. And this gloke gragged hold of me, hoisted me in the air and then plonked me on his knee.

"Would you like a bottle of beer?", he asked me. "F*** off!", I replied, "My gum really stings at the moment and I am in no mood for this cagaret gollocks". I think he must have geen from Glackgurn gecause he took no notice at all of my plight. They're thick in Glackgurn. Trust me, I know.

"How about you recite the alphabet backwards and I drink a glass of water?", he persisted. "Do you know how many times I've said the alphaget gackwards, chummy?", I asked, "Too many gloody times and, after a while, it just doesn't work. Trust me, I know. Now, get your hand out of my gum and sod off."

He must have heard me that time, gecause, the next thing I know I'm face down in a litter gin with some twit trying to shove a half-eaten gag of chips into my poor gum. It's no fun geing a ventriloquist's dummy. Trust me, I know.

Gye gye everygody! Gye gye!