the isle of kevin

i said to doris i wanted to tell her how i feel.

she immediately removed her lurid lycra vest, which was a bad mistake, because she expanded to three times the size and i was pinned against the wall with something that belonged to her sticking in my right ear.

no, i said, not that sort of feel.

i gave up.

we're staying together, at least for a bit longer.

well about at least an hour longer, because that's how long it's going to take her to get dressed, and me to restore feeling to my vital parts.

whoever coined the phrase 'i've got a crush on you' certainly had doris in mind.

the latest mick jagger and the pacemakers album was playing on the turntable - i think the last track i remember was called 'sanatogen sennapod blues' or something.
anyway, it was quite stirring, whatever it was.
enough to make me get out of my suede hammock - difficult when you're wearing velcro boxer shorts - and retire to my royal chambers (as you do after a few silver tankards of best bitter).
i'd just slipped between the sheets (and if i find out who put that banana skin there, they're in big trouble) when i heard knockers being rattled.
yes - doris wanted to share my bed, again.
she came trudging in, wearing a satin romper suit that wasn't so much baby doll as michelin man.
the material was so shiny, she slipped out of bed four times and i had to strap her down with me snake belt.
this got her a little bit over-excited, and she was none too pleased when i announced that i felt peckish and was just going downstairs for a pot noodle.
'why don't you bring it up here?' she whispered.
'yes, but what about the pot noodle,' i enquired, knowing full well that if i allowed her a sniff of my snack she'd wolf it down.
'oh well - hurry back' she breathed.
'i won't' i muttered.

and i didn't.
as predicted, i couldn't find a pot noodle in the whole palace, so i had to make do with a cumberland sausage.
by the time i crept back into the boudoir, doris was snoring so hard i had to start up a pneumatic drill to drown her out.

i've said it before and i'll say it again - and don't try and talk me out of it this time - she has to go.
and that's final.
probably.

apparently, the isle of britain, with its general manager gordon brown-overalls, spends £33 billion a year on defence.
this is about £10 billion more than china. (i have to admit i don't know anyone in china - they're a miserable lot, haven't invited me for a state visit, or even turned up for one of my bingo nights).

so could i suggest that you unfortunate people on the isle of britain should start asking why your teeny country has such a high opinion of itself?
what are you defending yourself against?
fear of invasion from the isle of kevin? switzerland?

just think, you could save £10 billion, and still have enough to win an arm-wrestling contest with china.

£10 billion!
that's almost enough to bail out another bank.
must write a terse memo to gordon brown-overalls.
he used to be the isle of britain's bank manager didn't he?

there were queues at the petrol station this morning.
it was crazy.
people were arriving driving tractors, ride-on lawn mowers, and occasionally the family saloon.
three people collapsed under the weight of the cans and containers they were filling up.
but doris was a star - she walked four miles carrying a skip on her head, filled it up with a couple of million litres, and walked back without breaking sweat, and without spilling a drop.
i incurred her wrath by telling her she forgot the box of matches i wanted, but still... she did very well and i gave her a big eclair for her trouble.

anyway, the whole thing has inspired me.
panic buying?
you ain't seen nothing yet.

i'm told the weather is going to be cooler and wetter this week.

OMIGOD!
umbrellas!
there's going to be a strike at the umbrella factory, a spokesman said.
a ship carrying containers full of see through plastic macs has run aground off the macaroons.
marks and spencer only has two hundred woolly tank tops left...

doris is already on the phone, spreading the word.
i suspect my new shop, WarmN Dry will be pretty busy tomorrow.

doing anything interesting this weekend?
one of my subjects asked me that as i paid a state visit to the new gents toilet near the market square.
i made a couple of wisecracks about royal flushes and george michael but they fell on deaf ears.
people were more interested in trying out the facilities - so many people hopping from one foot to the other.
why don't they learn bladder control?

my weekend?
oh, yes.
well, gordon the brown is coming across, in a manner of speaking.
he wants a tete a tete.
i told him we're out of tetes but he's catching the last ferry tonight, and i hope he remembers the oars because we're out of petrol.
can't afford it, thanks to him.

i've lined up a sherry and meat pie reception, and dancing till dawn at the black pudding disco.
no doubt doris will want to do her own version of skinny dipping afterwards.
but last time she bathed in the sea, three fishermen were consulting their maps and thinking they'd discovered a new island.

saturday morning will be formal discussions about the future direction of the world.
i think it's in orbit round the sun, but gordon's not got a clue.

but don't worry - i'll see if i can persuade him to cut the price of petrol.
otherwise, how is he ever going to get back home?

see?
clever, eh?

i remember once i found a five pound note on the pavement on my way to school.

i can actually still feel the excitement of it.
wow!
just think of all the sweets i'll be able to buy!

the first thing after school, i ran to the sweet shop on the way home, and bought myself a quarter of riley's chocolate toffee rolls, and very carefully re-counted all my money.
i was hopeless at maths, but i could quickly calculate that, at this rate, i'd be buying the best sweets for several weeks to come.

i often wondered whose money that was.
i did look round several times before i picked up the note.
but i decided after a suitable pause that it was now rightly mine.

now, having dredged this memory up, i will no doubt be pestering the nearest sweet shop to get some rileys chocolate toffee rolls.

doris was just giving me my annual pedicure - i like my toenails LONG because my shoes are a few sizes too big and i don't like to waste them, you see.
anyway, she had just switched off the black and decker hedge trimmer, having scythed a few inches off, when there's a knock on the door, and flossie waddles in - a vision in skintight jeans and a vest so stretched it looked like clingfilm.
i was immediately reminded of the time i asked the butcher to shrink wrap a pig.

i know i'm cruel, but flossie deserves it - she was so rude.
apparently she was annoyed with doris with running off with the most handsome man at the black pudding disco last night.
i gather he was called kevin but beyond that, i couldn't tell you much more, apart from the fact that he had a big wad.
of cash.

so while i'm putting my socks on, and doris is trying to sweep up toe nail shards, flossie is jumping up and down with her irritation showing.
and when flossie imitates a pogo stick, we invariably get a call from the earthquake alert centre in san diego.

i'd had enough of her by this stage, and booted her out.
more accurately, i ordered three man eating tigers from the chinese herbalist, and they chased her away.

i just caught a glimpse of her trying to shin up a giant redwood, then winced as i heard the sound of splintering wood.
the last time i looked, she was 300 feet in the air, hair streaming behind her, as the tree gave way under her weight, and toppled towards the abattoir.

serves her right.

now, where was i?

by popular demand (my great nephew's second cousin twice removed asked me, if you must know), the return of my kingly HOW TO series.
this edition is sponsored by STAY DRY UNDERWEAR, manufacturers of a unique range of undies that stay dry in all conditions (warning - always wear them under your other clothes, and the guarantee is null and void if you are incontinent - or even in Swindon).

so - it's raining - you haven't got an umbrella.
how on earth are you going to stay dry...

1. go to the post office to buy stamps - you'll be queueing for hours and the shower might have passed over by the time you escape
2. steal a dustbin lid and strap it to your head with a belt
3. mug people on their way out of the supermarket and empty their carrier bags onto the street - then stitch the bags together to form a water tight plastic mac (do this quickly to avoid detection)
4. bend forwards so only your back gets wet (you'll find it easier to walk backwards, with your head between your legs)
5. stand very close to someone with an umbrella and stay there as long as possible (pretend you're lonely and just want to connect with someone in a meaningful way - they'll quite understand and won't mind missing their bus)

sponsored by STAY DRY UNDERWEAR - guaranteed to stay dry, as long as they don't get wet.

when i was little, it was a proud moment when mum allowed me to go to the corner shop to get some milk or bread.

a soppy woman said she was shocked when she saw this on her kitchen floor ...

it probably only came in because there was food on the floor.
she should clean up more often, i say.

and anyway, why should she worry.
i got home from a state visit and found doris on my kitchen floor.
but did i complain?
did i hec.

some teachers on the isle of britain are having a day off tomorrow because they want a pay rise.
what a strange concept!
here on my island, teachers are very happy people, satisfied with the pleasure of rearing our young.
and mindful of the fact that if they complain, i put them in detention.

here's how school works on the isle of kevin.
school opens at 8am so that parents can come and join in the school assembly with their little darlings before they rush off to
the mfi sale, or work.
all children and teachers wear school uniform...though i do allow them to wear different sizes, you understand, on account of the fact that some children are bigger than the teachers.
teachers serve school dinners and join in the games at lunchbreak.  they do seem to enjoy spin the bottle, i have noticed.

school ends with an afternoon assembly where teachers report back to parents and pupils on the day's work, everyone gives a round of applause for good work, and a nasty stain on the record for poor performance. three stains and you're out...teacher or pupil.

teachers are paid 52 weeks of the year, for working about 35 weeks, so they tend not to go on strike for more pay.

seems to work, but what do i know?

please note that any protest letters from teachers will be ignored.

i've been in a car with Deacon Blue and Michael Heseltine - though not at the same time.

regular admirers may well recall my experiments with cross-breeding.
(cross breeding is not what happens between two people, at least one of whom is angry about something.)

anyway, my top scientist kev has finally cured his acne and come back to work.
at least i think it's him - his skin is orange.
he looked better with pulsating spots, i thought.
still, at least now he's earning his money instead of skiving off on full pay.
i just can't afford to pay someone three pounds a week to sit on their arses all day applying clearasil.

the first experiment was to cross a parrot with a ferret - we're thinking of calling it a parret, unless you can think of anything better.
all i can tell you at the moment is that the resulting mutation immediately ran up kev's trouser leg and started pecking.
i urged him to throw a couple of fat balls down his trousers by way of a distraction but now he's thinking of using them for some sort of transplant operation.
poor lad.

and just his luck, at that point, we had a visit from the Women's Institute Lap Dancing team who were very interested in the movement in kev's trousers.  pretty soon though, their interest turned to shock, and finally horror, as a lumpy bulge appeared just below his knee.

three of them fainted but one had the presence of mind to call norris mcwhirter to see if it was too late to get in the guinness book or records.

i just hope kev's back in the lab tomorrow.
i want him to try crossing a bat with a twig.

i'll let you decide what we should call it.

take a look at this picture first ... double click to see it full size...

can you just about make out that tiny dot at the bottom?
that's where we live.
how puny earth is, compared to the sun.

now take a look at this picture ... double click to see it full size

the sun is just about invisible at bottom left - a tiny dot compared to the massive stars of antares and betelgeuse.
they in turn are just tiny dots when we gaze up at the night sky.
antares is the 15th brightest star in our night sky.  and it is 1000 light years from earth.

it really is a small world, isn't it?

now that i have my feet firmly under the throne, i decided to venture forth today (or was it fifth?).
i felt a saintly tingle in my nether regions and decided i wanted to do good.
but i couldn't find her anywhere, ha ha.

so i visited an old folks home instead and helped them while away an afternoon.
we played cards.
the prize was a jar of fish paste and some of them still cheated.

we played bingo.
when i looked round, old mavis was frantically printing her own forged bingo sheets as the numbers were called.

we had tea and cakes.
bert nicked the jaffa cakes.

we had a dance.
sid stepped on my toes just so he could have the last dance with beryl.

honestly!
the older generation!

next time i want to do good i think i'll shoot john prescott.
just after i've barbecued his new book and served it up with chips, of course.

i love my dogs.

kev the chauffeur was bored.
doris was bored.
they were just pacing around outside the door of my chambers, saying things like
"i'm bored."

that's how i knew they were bored.

so i suggested a sunday drive.
kev the chauffeur yawned and said -
"i suppose i'll have to drive, as per"

i said - 'well you are paid handsomely to be my chauffeur."
'handsomely?' he yelled. "handsomely?"

'well, ok - ugly." i quipped as he pulled out his starting handle.
to cut a short story long, he climbed in through the sunroof (where did i put those keys?) while doris pumped up the tyres with her enormous breaths.

unfortunately, she forgot to put her finger over the valve at one point, and the escaping air from the tyre pumped her up so much that a team of japanese whale hunters abseiled down the wall of the outside toilet and aimed harpoons at her.

kev drove off smartish, with doris holding onto the back bumper.
we decided it would be quicker to do this the other way, so doris simply towed the car a few hundred yards, to the comparative safety of the car park at the black pudding shop.

unfortunately, it was open.
doris is still in there.
comparing puddings.
and no doubt scoffing a load.

i'll give her another five minutes, then i'm tipping off the harpoonists as to her whereabouts.

kev will then have to drive very quickly.
assuming they are accurate shots, the explosion is likely to be heard from miles away.

nine out of ten people didn't look at me when they were talking to me today.

why was that?

i'll tell you.
it has to be because someone was permanently standing behind me holding up a sign saying 'free mars bars'.
not that they've been imprisoned for dental decay offences, but that they are being given away.

it's the only thing that can account for the fact that everyone was looking over my shoulder.
they smiled, they laughed, they chatted - but always at something just over my right shoulder.

how can you not look at someone when you're having a conversation?
unless there's a free mars bar in it.

YOU'RE DOING IT NOW!
I SAW THAT.
YOU LOOKED AT SOMETHING ELSE ON YOUR SCREEN.
DIDN'T YOU?

anyway, tomorrow - i'm going to jump around a bit when i'm in a conversation.
wherever the other person looks, that's where i'll jump to.

if we all did that tomorrow, we could probably tilt the earth's axis and send the planet spinning to destruction.

a small price to pay, i think.

well if i was hyperventilating a couple of weeks ago, i've probably stopped breathing by now.

but this hasn't stopped me climbing the walls and shouting WAAAAAHOOOO out of the my turret window.

because my book - The Isle of Kevin - is now available!!

how fantastic is that?

if you fancy a peek, you can get there by going to http://www.kingkevin.com

then just click on the book cover image for a look at the blurb.

and if you want to buy a copy, you can do that too.
i won't mind, i promise.

my next job is to try to promote it around the place, which shouldn't be difficult for a king, like what i am!

at the moment, though, who cares?
i'm just so CHUFFED i can't write any more.

i think i'll have a gallon of guinness to celebrate!
cheers everyone and thanks for your support.

i'll always wear it.

anyone know why we invaded iraq but we're letting mugabe get away with murder?

i was bored so i thought i'd call a meeting.
we had coffee and sandwiches and dusted off our clipboards and mobile phones, and sat round a shiny table for a couple of hours.
i thought i'd call it a strategy meeting because people like thinking strategically.
we didn't actually decide anything, though someone did say it would have been nice to have had a ten minute comfort break.
we all made a note of that on our PDAs.
i did suggest a bit of blue sky thinking, but then maureen lay down on the grass and gazed at the sky and there was a small stampede to lie down with her, and i decided i was losing control.

so i announced there was a motion on the floor.
and everyone decided it was time to leave.

after they'd gone, i wrote the minutes.
including an agreement to pay me a higher hospitality allowance.
then i invited maureen back for exploratory discussions.

but she said no and hit me in the chambers.

i'd given the staff the day off to go and wash their clothes in the sea.
well, you have to look after your biggest assets don't you.

just my luck, as soon as they mounted the donkey and clomped away, the doorbell rang.
it's a recording of big ben, actually.
he used to be a friend of mine. lovely singing voice but terrible halitosis.

i reluctantly opened the door to be confronted by a wizened hag, apparently trying to sell double glazing.
i told her i liked a draught.
she said she could tell that straight away because my flies were undone.
cheek!

i asked if she had any special offers, and she scratched the pimple on her nose thoughtfully, before asking me seductively what i had in mind.
patiently, i asked if she had any discounts on anything.
she said she picked up a nice frock at lidl's yesterday.

no - i said - double glazing...

her eyes glazed over and i decided enough was enough, and slammed the door in her face.
it broke.
the door, that is.

i bought a new double glazed door, there and then, and she fitted it for me.
i held onto her handles while she did the screwing.
lovely job.

but the staff can't get back in now, sadly.
no key.
no doorbell.
and it's raining.

poor souls.

the latest in the continuing, if not never-ending, series of random facts about me.
you may not be interested, but my followers around the world like to know these things.

i took my son - then a little nipper - to watch a football match.
big treat.
very expensive.
about 15 minutes into the game, i gave him a mint imperial sweet.
a few seconds later, he was holding his throat, eyes bulging, panicking - the sweet was stuck.
i tried everything, but no luck, and now i was starting to worry.

st john ambulance person spotted us and waved me forward, onto the side of the pitch.
i carried my son all the way along the pitch to the treatment room.
we spent the rest of the match in there, waiting for his bloody mint imperial to melt enough for him to swallow it.

missed the whole game, but he was ok.

funny.
i never offer to share my mint imperials with him now.

i'm slowly becoming convinced of the theory that dogs and their owners look alike.
there was a bloke out this morning, with his ugly pug dog.
and when i looked at his face to say good morning, it was uncanny.
i nearly threw him a stick to chase.

also, you see a lot of older couples who look the same.
have you noticed that?
it's almost like evolution in miniature - facial expressions and mannerisms adapting to each other, maybe.

so i've decided - doris has to go.

i really do not want to look like doris.

i don't even want a dog that looks like doris.

or cherie blair, come to think of it.

i'm going to have to tell her .. somehow...

i managed to shake off the crowd of palace visitors who were admiring my sceptre and staff.
on the way back to my retiring room - so called because the chamber maid is over 65 - i glanced out of the window
and saw the crowds queueing for just a glimpse of me.
i felt sorry for them.
they'd paid ten pounds to get in, and five pounds for one of doris's treacle and dirt scones, and i was in a giving sort of mood.
so i stepped out onto my balcony, brandished my regalia, and reminded them that we were shutting in ten minutes and any stragglers would be manhandled all the way back to the ferry terminal.
as i walked back into the room, a voice breathed at me: 'you can manhandle me any time'.
doris had changed into a see through plastic mac which would have been enough to cover the pitch at wembley.
beneath this she was wearing what can only be described as a bra put together with the aid of two coal scuttles and a snake belt.
her knickers probably consumed enough cotton to treble kwiksave's profits (you didn't know they did knickers, did you?).

to be frank, which i'm not, i didn't know where to put myself.

she stepped towards me seductively, the plastic squeaking so much it cracked the glass in the window.
fortunately, this unique sound also cracked the glass in her glasses, and she got a bit disorientated and tried to mate
with the hat stand.

last time i looked she was whispering sweet nothings to my mother in law's trilby.

a lucky escape for me, and no mistake.

it was kev the chiropractors last day today.
he's manipulated my vital organs for the last time, sadly.
i can't tell you how much i'll miss him.
because i won't.

my spine has got more kinks than a sixties reunion.
my neck is so cricked i can see round corners.
i'm almost certain my liver has been relocated but i'm damned if i know where it's gone.

be warned, he's moving to the isle of britain.

anyway, i had to make a farewell speech at his leaving party.
the atmosphere was a bit dampened by the fact that all the guests were stretched out on the parquet floor, trying to get some relief from their back pain.
the receptionist would bend over backwards for you, and it looks like she has.
and kev himself was so busy massaging his statistics, he wasn't paying any attention.

it even looked like he'd manipulated the vol au vents.
at least mine had finger marks on it.

good riddance, i say.

so there's a vacancy, if any of you want the chance to rearrange my organs.
free villa by the sea.
but you'll need a steady hand.
and a warm one.

i've got one of those irritating coughs.
the sort of cough where if i went on a bus or the cinema, everyone would stare at me and tut.

(tut is one of my friends - we go everywhere together)

the thing is, though, the cough usually waits till about eight o'clock, which is why i decided to write this note now.
in ten minutes or so, i'll be coughing and thrutching about so much i can't promise to hit the right keys.

what i write might come out as total gibberish.

imagine that!

anyway, the cough intrigues me because it always starts where my neck meets my ample chest.
it tickles for a while.
i swallow, it goes and hides for a bit.
then, just when i smirk and think i've beaten it - OUT IT JUMPS and tries to shake me out of my chair.

oops - nearly time.
better go and suck a soother.

any excuse.