Stop The World - I Want to Get Off

That's it. I mean really, THAT IS IT! The whole world has gone stark staring mad. You doubt me? You accuse me of hyperbole? Think again. Read this and despair.

I mean, you've been flooded out of your home, a gale came along and blew what was left away, it's Christmas and you are living in a tent, and this is supposed to cheer you up???

Paul McCartney to replace Kurt Cobain in Nirvana reunion

Former Beatle will perform with Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic at 12.12.12 benefit gig for Superstorm Sandy

• Guardian music
• guardian.co.uk, Wednesday 12 December 2012 10.51 GMT
• Jump to comments (82)

With the band … Paul McCartney plans to unveil a new song with the Nirvana crew

Paul McCartney will fill the role of Kurt Cobain when he plays with the surviving members of Nirvana at the 12.12.12 concert for victims of Superstorm Sandy on Wednesday night.

The former Beatle will join Foo Fighters singer Dave Grohl and bassist Krist Novoselic on stage in New York to play a new song after secretly working with the pair. Grohl and Novoselic have not performed with each other for 20 years.

A spokesman confirmed that Grohl recently asked McCartney to come along to "jam with some mates".

The former Beatle suggested they "just make something up" and found himself playing with Grohl on drums, bassist Novoselic and guitarist Pat Smear, who toured with Nirvana for the last six months of the band's career.

Kurt Cobain took his own life in April 1994.

McCartney said: "I didn't really know who they were. They are saying how good it is to be back together. I said: 'Whoa? You guys haven't played together for all that time?'

"And somebody whispered to me: 'That's Nirvana. You're Kurt.' I couldn't believe it."

I was right all along....

The more creepy old men get fingered by the pigs for being pervs, the more justified I feel in always being suspicious of them. My personal list of (possible) miscreants reads like the End of The Pier Show from Hell (or Blackpool as it is more usually known):

The Chuckle Brothers (oh the irony of that name)
The Krankies (for obvious, non-Shakespearean cross-dressing reasons)
Little and Large

The Shudder Brothers

Les Dennis
Keith Chegwin
Tony Hart
Morph, Chas, the Nailbrush and almost certainly Mr Bennett the Caretaker
Mike Reid
Peter Powell
Peter Purvis (too easy really)
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater
Peter out.......

It is probably easier to make a list of so-called celebs who categorically NOT child abusers. At this rate the list is both small and exclusive (and empty for the moment, however I would literally keel over if Ronnie Corbett was mentioned, not least because the average 8 year old could duff him up, then scarper).

The Hell Jar (apologies to S Plath)

The only cute slug I could find.....

And the gift that never stops giving....refuses to stop giving. I still sound like a goose farting in the fog, and I am convinced that a past life transgression has condemned me to eternity with what feels like a pair of trained slugs living up my nose. Honk.

At least my sense of taste has sort of returned. The pickled chilli jar of hell was dipped into the other night - a very odd sensation - no feeling at all north of my collar, and then disaster broke loose south of the border. And as for the after effects, well, less said the better.

Anyway, better out than in. With the wedding approaching of Mr (and soon to be Mrs) Handy,I have to be snot-free and mellifluous. And capable of not soiling myself in front of a) the happy couple, b) a vicar, c) the congregation, d) God and e) anyone else who happens to be passing. Thankfully, I've kept the reading short and sweet. I share my poetry and words of love with you. Stand back in awe and wonder at me.

ALL HAIL THE HANDYS. PEACE OUT DAWG.

Blowing in the Wind

Or in my case, making a noise like a flock of geese honking into a tuba. Which is a fairly accurate way of saying I have a cold. Bleagh.

Worse thing is, I have lost my sense of taste completely. It re-emerged at lunchtime with a brief snippet of chicken soup - hooray, celebration, but all too briefly. Poor old Husband was served up insano-turkey last night with a ladle full of chilli flakes dumped all over it. I tasted nothing; not even the evil, evil, evilness of the newly discovered 2011 pickled Habaneros managed to blast through it. WOE IS ME.

On a lighter note, I have discovered a rather splendid album by a Norwegian lady called Susanne Sundfor, The album is called The Silicone Veil and she is obviously a bit mad, but I quite like that. The single White Foxes includes the wonderful line "I hunger, I crave the gravy of your soul". Okaaay. Lost in translation maybe? Who knows. Maybe soul gravy is a very real thing in Norway. Actually it sounds quite nice....mmmm, soul gravy.....meaticilious.... Hang on - Soul Train, Gravy Train?!! -My God!

Full of Eastern Promise

I have realised that, having trumpeted this blog being about food and books, I very rarely write about either one. So, I have to report that I made Moroccan Lamb and Chickpea Soup last night, and very nice it was too.

And I further report I am reading "The Case of Spring-Heeled Jack" which features the (alas) fictional adventures of Algernon Swinburne and Sir Richard Burton, which ties in nicely to the Eastern theme as he spent much of his life researching and translating Arabian poetry. Tah-dah! Book and cooking tie in.

Spring Heeled Jack was a peculiar thing. In Victorian London he appears as a cloaked figure, spitting fire and able to leap over walls in a single bound. He attacked several people and in one really scary incident, spat fire at a woman who answered her door when he knocked. Her sister came to her rescue and shut the door in Jack's face. BUT rather than run away, he just carried on knocking....brrrrr...shiver.

Who knows who or what he was? One things for sure, between Jack (both bouncy and rippery), opium dens, Moriarty, and sundry other unpleasant types, Victorian Britain probably wins the "Scariest Time"award; doesn't mean I wouldn't want to visit! In a gesture that can only mean it's true love, the Husband has booked us onto the Jack The Ripper walking tour....I shall have to resist the temptation to correct the host and start looking for blood stains....

The way is should be...

If things happened the way I think they should, I can guarantee the world would be a weirder place but a lot more fun...well, for me at least.

I think this pretty much sums up how history actually happened. Oh and Francis Drake was a man-duck.

You must suffer to be beautiful

As my mother and granny always said, which makes them sound as though they were used to being squeezed into rib-crushing corsets as youngsters - not true. Unless of course I am actually 112 years old and they were protecting me from the truth that I am related to Yoda.

However I would gladly ram skewers through my earlobes to sport these bad boys!

These earrings are now fully operational.