She never gave up even when the train hit her.

As tough lives go, hers was vintage leather.

Orphaned at 6 weeks, she found wannabe parents at the never-too-late age of 78.

Within a year they’d gone, but that year changed her life and theirs.

And yours, in a way you’re just about to find out.

It could be a band, a drink, a haircut, a word, anything underground.

But the most underground scene is the one that no-one else hears, sees or experiences, only the person who writes, performs or comprises it.

Put another way, all underground is overground once it’s exposed.

So the next time you think you’re onto something truly out-there, keep it in-there, or else it’ll be nowhere.

I paid my national insurance stamp for 50 years, worked myself to the bone I did.

For this.

A pension that never came when they said it would.

And might never come at all.

I’m 72 and can’t go on welding at my age.

I’m being punished just because I’m fit for an old boy.

I may be healthy but I’m broke.

I need help from the state.

I need and want my pension.

Give us a break, will you.”

As overheard in most homes a few years from now, and sadly not used as evidence in the strikes today, 10-5-12

Thank Christ for that.

She cursed her luck.

He cursed her life.

They blamed each other.

So both stood trial.

And both got off.

From here on in.

Their love was sex.

Love based on hate.

Wracked deep with guilt.

They made a pact.

To die as one.

With no soul there.

To see them go.

Their lives are wiped.

From all who knew.

The slate is clean.

Such days as that.

I heard a whisper – there is no majority.

We’re facing a hung London parliament.

Deep into the night Brain Paddick will be faced with a choice – to back or bin Ken or Boris.

Can we handle another Lib Dem Conservative coalition and another tragic combo?

By the time you read this, they’ll be hand in hand in power – Brian & Boris.

Then the mess really starts.

But hold up, we can stop this by signing this:

Dear Brian,

On behalf of London’s residents, pick Ken.

Yours faithfully

(type your name here)

23.06, 4th May 2012

After the news from New York that Edvard Munch’s only public version of his painting went for £74,000,000, I’ve been fortunate enough to come across a previously unknown 5th version of The Scream, although this one is restricted to audio.

Obviously, this mono-symphonic cry will not quite fetch the sum of its visual sister, but hey, what else can you sink your money into?

So, let’s start the bidding at £9.99…

…do I hear ten pounds?

In mid-wail, her father inhaled the screams, took a gulp and burped out laughter.

Decible for decible, he converted more sadness to happiness than any faith, music or drug ever made by man.

His pioneering technique changed the childbirth statistics for Western civilisation.

And gave him angina.

But Rennie took care of that.

Rebrand, relaunch and recalibrate the currency as THE NEURO.

This NEW, IMPROVED, DOUBLE CONCENTRATE FORMULA coin will be impervious to all forms of currency destabilisation. Indeed, THE NEURO will usurp the dollar as the global benchmark within the first hour of trading.

Now, all we need is a yes from France, Spain, Germany, Holland, Finland, Italy and the rest of the danglers-on.

At one point, the legacy of CEEFAX out-trended Anders Breivik on twitter.

Brain Eno has already been earmarked to compose the score, while the big money is on Tilda Swinton to play the analogue enemy, Teletext.  It will, of course, be directed by Mr Tumble.

Rumours say the story arc is along the lines of the anti-social network, but the screenplay itself will be crowd-sourced. So if you’re keen to co-write, badger the project senseless via the Beeb website.

They say, man is off the pace, he can’t keep up, he’s too busy looking it up online to get out there and ‘smell the honey’ – which is as good as it from the horse’s mouth (to bundle two awful phrases into one stumbling half-sentence).

The flowers are seeing more of the bees than ever. Instead of a quick pollen peck, it’s now a long-term relationship with each anther. The animal and vegetable are now into something deep and meaningful. In human terms, it’s a golden wedding versus a quickie behind the bike shed. Quite what this means for the crop season we’ve yet to know.

It also throws open the question, have the bees just been lazy bastards? If so, they’re undeserving of their simile and ‘as busy as a bee’. Let’s re-draft it: ‘as slack as a bee’ or ‘as bone idle as a bee’.

And what about the honey? Will this counter-argument to possible bee extinction mean we get thicker, gooier, honey with deeper medicinal powers that could make manuka honey taste like Shippams fish paste? I don’t know, none of us know, because as ever, we’re guessing and making mass predictions and assumptions based on a small scale observation.

Just like astrology.