No. 37 The End of the World

Jeffman has been in the wars of late, suffering cracked ribs and a bout of flu with enough of a kick to incapacitate a randy mule. But he doesn’t want sympathy! Jeffman is crafted from hardy, all-weather materials, and always bounces back to fight another day. So please, save your goodwill and comforting words for someone who’s in greater need of them.

Gordon Brown, for instance. The poor lamb.

Jeffman’s better half even commented on how he looked as though he’d had a stroke, and she never has anything bad to say about anybody, my good self excepted.

Not that falling victim to a stroke is an indictment on anybody’s character, but I could detect from the tone in her voice that this was more of a comment on his increasingly shabby appearance than concern for his health or well-being. I’m quite astute like that, see?

But would it come as any great shock if Gordon Brown was suddenly struck down by some terrible illness? After all, if what you read in the papers is true (and I for one, believe everything I read), then the end of the world is nigh, and it seems that everybody’s blaming Gordon Brown for it.

How unfortunate a position is that to be in? The world’s at an end, and if that isn’t bad enough you can’t enjoy those final moments before we all fizzle to nothingness because you’re too busy washing spit out of your hair. ’tis a poor do, is that.

But if this is, as we’ve been promised, the end of the world, then where is the perpetual blackness in the sky? The churning stormclouds spewing fire and brimstone onto our persons? The four horsemen swooping down to drive a sharp steel divide between our heads and torsos?

The Earth was created with a big bang and will go out with a whimper. (Apologies to any religious zealots that might be reading but even if your version of events does turn out to be true, I’m sure my place in hell was reserved a long time ago) Destroyed not by all-out nuclear tomfoolery, but an exclusive cabal of spoilt brats and flash tossers. Evolution must be so proud.

But Jeffman has more important matters at hand than the imminent collapse of everything that we know and hold dear. Namely the fact that his recent ailments have meant him having to stand down from general carousing and debauchery duties. Yes, your host has been confined to barracks by his untimely predicaments with only a can of beer and a bottle Buttercup Syrup to keep him company. A potent combination, I’ll have you know.

With this and recent in-roads into his booze budget, Jeffman predicts that the next time he gets to see the inside of a boozer will be sometime around November 2009. That’ s assuming there’s any left by then.

So yes. Perhaps I am deserving of a little sympathy after all.

Feel free to pass on any get well wishes; offers to nurse me back to health; marriage proposals; offers of alcohol; or just your bank account details in the comment box below. I enkyo.

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