I've Stopped Throwing Up Since I Removed The Dartboard From My Ceiling.

Yes, the total randonmess of my thoughts continue. After all, why break the habit of a lifetime now? Shall I tell you how it all began for me over the past few days?

Well, I'm going to tell you anyway. So, either stick with or butt out.

Hot and spicy Wotsits - or equivalent cheesy puffs, and garlic and herb dip, to which I have become addicted. For haute cuisine addicts like myself, those two combined are a marriage made in culinary heaven. Try this yourself and see. It's MMMmmmmmmmmm of the truly satisfying variety that'll delight your tastebuds to the point where they will dance in delirium, and for a writer like I try to be, the perfect accompaniment as my brain churns out the next pile of dross to delight, educate and amuse.

So, as a disclaimer to everything you read from this moment forward, I accept no responsibility for what I write and lay any responsibility for such in the lap of my current addiction and the side effects thereof.

All that said, what delights have drawn my attention today? Could it be the anally retentive councils around the country who are refusing to allow taxi drivers to display clip-on flags that celebrate St George's (whoever he is) Day for reasons of creating a distraction to other road users?

Or how about another non-story, such as Boris - yes him, commenting that he "Wished he was black" when speaking to a mixed-race journalist at a party he attended with his former wife in 2008, which, by my reckoning was, one moment, please.

2024 - 8 = 2016 - 16 = 2000. Ah sod it, a long time ago!

Anyway, I have friends who are Pakistani and West Indian that I'm always having banter with when I place my white hand against theirs and moan that my colour is slowly getting darker compared to evident perma-tan. I admit I am envious because I have to work on my colour. Like nearly all whities I might get two weeks, three in a good year where I benefit from the sun and reach what I would call a decent colour. For the remaining fifty weeks, I revert to a pasty, unhealthy, and almost anaemic-looking white, to which I object.

Now, clearly, by means of genetics, it would be impossible for me to ever have darker skin, and I would never wish to be either brown or black. If only I could settle for a nice, healthy-looking Meditteranean tan, that would do. So, when I've made my squillion on the Euromillions Friday draw I may well get to fulfil that objective. Until then though, it's back to the banter, and people whom at least I can have a laugh about it with instead of having to stand on tiptoes because they have retained, internal, unresolved issues the majority of more normal people would have forgotten about it well before now, and not bother to raise it over twenty years later.

Finally, should I actually give further oxygen to yet another barking-mad initiative? Okay, a little perhaps. The rest I'll leave to you to write your own jokes about, and it's the irony in London Mayor Sadiq Khan paying drivers in the capital to scrap their polluting, environmentally unfriendly cars in the hope that they would all run out and presumably purchase the even more environmentally unfriendly, all new and funky electric ones instead - or, at best, any other type of road vehicle that didn't create unwelcome emissions into the air over London.

The problem was, that having purchased all these nasty, fuel particle-emitting wrecks from Londoners there would be nowhere to park them all. So, in a lightbulb moment of pure genius, it was decided that the same cars would be better used polluting the skies over Ukraine instead, and so what was a problem here became one that was shifted over there for the Ukrainians to worry about rather than Sadiq. Except for the fact that said vehicles have been stranded in a Surrey field awaiting movement, and won't be moving anytime soon due to the London Mayoral Election.

It would seem, by all accounts, that more than 40.000 cars have been bought under the Ulez scrappage scheme so far and Putin must be laughing his head off. After all, why bother bombing Ukraine when the Brits will do a perfectly good job polluting everyone? All he has to do is sit back and wait -providing, of course, he lives long enough to see it.