The notable exception to this trend is 'Toy Story' which obviously is awesome

There are many trilogies which have a belated third installment written long after anyone cares for, or indeed remembers, the first two. Bill and Ted and Ghostbusters are a pair of such franchises set to round things up with another episode a couple of decades too late, and now I shall join their illustrious ranks with an unwarranted not-at-all-sought-by-popular-demand follow-up to my 'things I have seen presented in the form of a list' series.

Yes, I have once again been out and about with a camera (not that we're dating, mind. That's just a vicious rumour), this time in the exotic locale of Portsmouth. It's home to Nelson's ship, HMS Victory, a museum dedicated to the ship, and an exhibit devoted to Nelson, so you might be thinking that they're a little obsessed with a boat. Well, you'd be wrong.

They're obsessed with loads of boats. All of these things are right next to the navy base as Portsmouth is a major port. Does this clash of geography lead to the armed forces regularly having to stop from their work of national importance in order to pose for pics with a cute elderly couple from Florida called Chuck and Nancy? Probably. Thank godness Area 51 doesn't have a gift shop then - we'd be swamped with aliens otherwise.

Anyway, my pictures. Here's what I saw around Portsmouth:

SOME OBVIOUS ADVICE

Guests should also avoid taking hot things out of the oven with their hands, and driving with their eyes shut.

 YE OLDE FIRE EXIT ABOARD HMS VICTORY

 THE LEAST THREATENING NAME FOR A SHIP EVER

 THE CUTEST NAME FOR A SHIP EVER

 A STONED SWIMMING FIGUREHEAD

 AND THE MOST ADORABLE SET
OF WOOD-EATING PESTS SINCE I PUT SOMBREROS
ON A COUPLE OF DEATH WATCH BEATLES.

Aww... Well, that's the end of another list. Will there be another? The answer is, like in the case of the aforementioned trilogies, only if the desperate attention-seeking people behind them want to rehash a successful formula in order to recapture their former glories.

That's a 'yes' then.

Given that I was in France, I also saw a lot of baguettes and cheese

If I've learnt anything from being a student, it's that lists are useful. If I had to stretch to a second thing, it would be that if you need something, you can probably find it in Poundland, but enough of my blatant attempt to get sponsorship from one of Britain's leading discount stores.

I recently (or, depending on when you're reading this, ages ago) posted a few photos from my holiday in France. Now, these were accompanied a list seemingly compiled by pulling words out of a hat.The following one, also of things I saw whilst across the Channel, promises more of the same, but without the pics. Oh, don't complain, just get on and read.

I saw...

*An octopus made of bread

*A combine harvester made of straw

*Stalactites

*Stalagmites

*One of the only cave-dwelling vertebrates in Europe

*A woman who evidently thought it was a good idea to bring her terrier on a cavern tour

*A road sign bearing the silhouette of a sheep

*A deck chair marked 'private'

*A road sign for a speed bump which had been altered to depict a snail

*A door knocker in the shape of a hand

And, finally...

*A beggar with a sign reassuring us that any money we gave him would be spent on alcohol and drugs


Yes, you're right. It was a lot better when there were pictures.

Reads like a 'Where's Wally' game held across the whole of France

One quality often identified in a good writer is that they are observant. I hadn't noticed.

Anyway, regardless, I have observed a lot of things whilst away (as opposed to a Way, which I've been all my life) in France, so I thought I'd share a few of the more quirky things with you. Why? Well, it means I get to show some of my holiday snaps, and you can get to see some interesting things without having to wait for me to work out when exactly it was I spotted a dead cat. Everybody wins!

Except the cat. Obviously.

Right, on with the list!

I saw...

A CONTRADICTORY REVIEW

 

A DISABLED KNIGHT

 A PLANT POT WITH A FACE

A HOUSE THAT LOOKS LIKE HITLER

THE WORLD'S MOST UNAPPEALING MANNEQUIN

AND THIS PIECE OF UNDERWHELMING GRAFFITI.

On second thought, it's probably a tribute to the deceased tabby. May they rest in peace.



This blog courtesy of Writer Brendan

You need many things to succeed in show biz. A combination of luck and talent. The desire to perform. Compromising photos of various producers. What also helps is a kickass name.

You've got to have something memorable. For example, 'Norma Jean Mortenson' is certainly that, but for all the wrong reasons. It's only when Ms Mortenson became Marilyn Monroe that people really started paying attention. It's a great name for a star - 'Marilyn' sounds like someone glamorous. 'Norma' sounds like she should be taking trash out to the bins round the back of a diner.

Anyway, this is all a roundabout way of getting round to talking about someone who obviously hadn't thought about what title would look good on posters or draw in a crowd. This person really hasn't a clue when it comes to advertising themselves because the moniker they'd chosen for themselves was...

Magic Dave.

Ooh, sounds exciting, doesn't he? I bet the punters are really going to flock to see him in Vegas.

Seriously, Magic Dave? That's the least exciting bit of branding since Jif became Cif. You can't simply stick a word related to your act to your name. Do I go around calling myself Laughs Brendan? No, because that would be idiotic. Also, it reads like an out of order stage direction. Magic Dave is not a good name. You can't call yourself 'Magic', you have to earn that description.

Also, 'Dave'. Dave, like Norma, isn't exactly a name you expect to see up in lights. On the chalk board to next play snooker perhaps, but not one you'd see above the theatre doors. Believe me, David Copperfield would not sell as many tickets if he was billed as 'Dave'. Dave is not a magician, it's a TV channel of blokey shows. If you're going to stick to being known as Dave, your repartee better be pretty funny. If it's not, I certainly won't be Laughs Brendan.

I came up with this title all by myself.

Well, I'm done. I asked for people to give me a title, and they did. I got ten great prompts, and so was able to produce ten great stories. Some, despite their titles (few would have thought Blu-tack would have been hinted towards a break up) were downbeat, others were out and out silly. Surprisingly, one reader found the fate of the naked role rat to be both. Each to their own, I suppose. In the end though, it was a useful exercise all round that allowed me to include a bit of everything from talking animals and topical figures to foodstuff and street signs. I will definitely do this again. Until then, I'll put down my pad, take a break, and go enjoy the simple things in life, like a good meal or a sunrise.

Thanks to everyone who contributed a title. Without you, I'd be sat just waiting for ideas.

Silver Dollar Sunrise

Staring into the campfire, I wonder if it has all been worth it. Was it really a smart move to leave Mary, little Zeke, and a house full of comforts to come out here and pan for gold? After all, all I get is a couple of silver dollars a week. Sure, there’s promise of more if we find something nice and shiny of course, but so far I’ve been sieving nothing but plain ole rocks. Oh well, at least the sunrises around here are spectacular. Honestly, they’re beautiful. I like to think of them as my reward for getting up.

Every time I rise in the morning, that big flame ball that we call the sun is peeping up over the horizon as if checking that I’m awake. Once he’s ascertained I’m up and about, he slowly flies into the sky, ready to redden my cheeks and lighten my hair throughout the day. Naturally, he’s hot as well, but swinging pickaxes into mountains was already a strain without him coming along and making us sweat, so I try not to resent him for that too much. Besides, I know that soon he’ll be retreating and I’ll get to go to bed. It’s the perfect arrangement.

There are times I think about leaving here though. Someday I will probably just chuck it in and return to Mary and little Zeke. I miss them, but right now, for the moment anyway, I know I would miss those silver dollar sunrises even more. Until that changes then, my life is going to be just me, Mr Sun, and a mountain load of rocks, and that sounds pretty good to me.

Butts Wynd

Jamie leads me round a corner. He giggles all the way.
‘What? What? What’s so funny? Where are you taking me?’, I ask.
Jamie laughs.
‘Oh, you’ll see.’
We run across the high street, then down a steep hill. Jamie stops to catch his breath, and then we’re off again. Eventually we stop outside an alley.
‘Here we are’, says Jamie, laughing.
‘What am I meant to be looking at?’
There’s nothing here. Jamie points.
‘The street sign.’
What? I turn around and I see it. BUTTS WYND.
‘Yeah, so?’
‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’
‘Why, because it contains the word ‘butts’?’
‘Yeah. And ‘wind’.’
‘I see. You do know the origin behind this place name, don’t you?’
‘No. Why, do you?’
‘Sure. Dad told me. Wanna hear it?’
‘Okay.’
I clear my throat loudly and somewhat overdramatically.
‘Right. Well, Tobias Butts was a Roman foot soldier who, pretty much by accident, ended up leading the legion to victory in the Battle of Badoink. He’d just been messing around, trying on his commander’s helmet, when someone mistook him for the actual leader. The real one was probably elsewhere, I don’t know, peeing behind a tree.
Anyway, rather than admit that he was an ordinary soldier playing a bit of dress up, he, out of fear of being found out, gave the men their orders. Luckily, it turns out that Butts had got wind of the enemy’s position via eavesdropping, and it was this knowledge that meant the plan of attack he formulated won them the Battle of Badoink.’
By now, Jamie is sat captivated and open-mouthed.
‘Wow… Is that true? Is that why the street’s called Butt’s Wynd?’
‘Course not’, I scoff, ‘some builders probably wrote up some graffiti by mistake. Come on, let’s go home.’
Helping him up, I laughed at the ridiculous notion that Butts Wynd could ever me named after an actual person or an actual butt when suddenly there was a low rumble below us. A burst of gas wafts in from nowhere. Now, I’m not entirely sure what it was, but it smelt distinctly like…
Farts.