You remember how at primary school you learned to play that Chinese Whispers game, where the class would get in a circle and someone would whisper a message into the ear of the person next to them, and so on, until the message got back to the originator, who would discover that it had changed completely?

And you remember how there was always those naughty kids who'd deliberately change the message when it got to them, just to be utter bastards?

Heh.

One of my COWorkers passed by my desk earlier today with a bit of gossip about a manager who had just gotten back from an overseas trip. Word on the street was that his parents had forced him to go to India for an arranged marriage.

But by the time that message had left my desk, the manager had been to India for an "arranged gay civil union with singer George Michael. His parents were furious, apparently. Elton John turned up in person to play piano and sing their wedding song."

This ever-so-slightly-altered rumour finally reached the Person in Question's desk 15 minutes ago.

His reaction was priceless.

Oh how I laughed and laughed and laughed...

Wow. I discovered where I get my "sense of humour" from on the weekend.

Over Sunday morning breakfast, my mother informed me that swimmers were being prevented from diving in and "doing bombs" at public pools because people kept thinking they were terrorists.

Bah-dom-tsh!

Oh how I laughed and laughed and laughed...

Nice one, mum. Another comedy classic.

When me and D-Missus get divorced so that we can remarry each other just so we can do our wedding all over again, it's unlikely that Elton John will be present to play us a song.

Every year, Sir Elton holds an Aids Foundation charity fundraiser at his Old Windsor farm. Early in the 21st Century, I was working for the company responsible for catering this Shin-dig.

So much went wrong before we'd even left the depot, and I was surviving on two hours sleep after already working a 23-hour shift. Which was normal.

When I got there, the security monkeys at the front gate told me that no-one was allowed to drive on Elton John's grass.

He'd arranged for a single track to be laid across his paddocks and we were to, under no circumstances, move off it. It took forever to get to the giant marquee in the middle of his farm, because 16 other heavy trucks travelling in two different directions were also trying to use this single track of artificial grass hell.

Anyway, the party was good. There were supermodels, musicians like Madonna and those Spice Girls and Mick Jagger. Mick was smoking the biggest spliff the world has ever seen.

Then it started to rain. And just as Elton John started to sing his one and only song of the night - Rain Drops Keep Falling On My Head - about a thousand pounds worth of expensive champagne flutes went crashing to the ground outside, because the rain had destabilised the area where they were sitting.

There was a pause in the song as a frustrated Elton waited for the sound of smashing glass to die away, and then he continued.

Ugh.

At the end of the night (or morning, as it turned out) I went to leave and found that I couldn't because that single track of What The Fuck! was blocked by a dozen other trucks and their hairy, tattooed monkey drivers, who were standing around scratching their arses and showing no interest in moving out of the way for me.

So I simply revved-up my truck, moved off the artificial track and onto some real grass and then proceeded to lay down a massive peely burnout through Eton John's precious paddock, with one hand out the window and one finger in the air, aimed at Elton John's house.

I later heard that Elton John was somewhat unhappy over the state of his grass and he was trying to find out who was responsible, so he could have them sacked.

He was also trying to find out who was responsible for all that "smashing of fucking glass while I was fucking trying to fucking sing", so he could have them sacked.

But what did I care? I'd already quit that job by that stage, and besides - Who the fuck is Elton John these days, anyway?

Exactly.

(Grass is for smoking, not for not stepping on, buddy).

It's not that we were unhappy with our wedding day that me and D-Missus wouldn't mind doing it again. No. Much the opposite.

But, it's just that we had one of those outdoors weather-reliant garden weddings, and on that particular day the clouds decided to piss on our parade.

And no, Miss Alanis "would she go down on you in a theatre?" Morissette - Rain on your wedding day is not ironic. Just annoyingly wet.
Bitch.

D-girl's second birthday party went well. Except for that whole pouring down with rain half an hour before the party was due to start thing.

We had to move all the toys we'd hired for the day inside. On our new $6000 carpet.

But it seemed to hold up reasonably well.
Even when I had a go on the kid's mini roller coaster that we set up down the hall way and I came off and crashed into all those onlookers. Stupid cry-babies. Shouldn't have been in the way, anyway.

I blame their parents.

(They blame my parents).

We had an election here over the weekend. No one voted for me, which only goes to prove that democracy does not work.

Next time I shall instead simply seize power and use it like a child stomping play dough into a new carpet.