No sex, no shopping, no Scotland, no Sky
You're thinking, it's the new Tory back to basics campaign and it'll never work and actually give Gordon Brown a boost.
Yesterday a man came and introduced the Baudelaire-Lagru family to the delights of satellite television, a wonderful opportunity to watch a scary looking bearded baldy priest say the rosary (EWTN for those not in the know).
I took it upon myself to go through all the channels and delete those of an unwholesome sort of which there are many. And a real collection of tired slappers there were, gazing at the screen with almost no effort at seduction while an ever tireder voice over asked you to call them at 2 quid a minute, like as if you would. You would see better at a Mercy Ireland Conference. Well, maybe not but do you remember the episode of Father Ted where Mrs Doyle was making eyes at the milkman and began wearing makeup. That's the sort of type. One dear in the midst of her writhings spotted a hair on her arm which she stopped to pick off.
So anyway, I was deleting this rubbish, only I didn't know what I was doing and accidently deleted every station begining with "S". My wife, Bellatrix, is not a happy chappy this morning.
