Wednesday, July 16, 2003

Britain's Best Homes!

Who says? Well, according to Channel 4, the three tossers that present the programme who only seem to like houses with a 60's retro-feel. (Boy, won't they look stupid in ten years time when 80's retro is back in fashion? Come to think of it, they look pretty fucking stupid now.)
I want to know how anybody was supposed to enter this competition. Nobody approached me to exhibit my fisherman's cottage, did they? And, quite frankly, my home is better than any of those crappy psuedo-Llewellen-Bowen dumps that they've had on so far.
"It's so minimalist..." You mean you couldn't be arsed.
"I've recreated a classical look..." You mean you bought a cheap bust of Venus from the market and couldn't come up with any complimentary decor, so you bought a load more.
They should have written to me! My cottage is superb! Every piece of artwork hung on the wall is original and personal and sent to me at great expense by its creator. Money can't buy stuff like that. Well...not unless somebody offered me a few hundred quid for job lot that is. Even the individually handcrafted and highly unique Muggins collection I have in my kitchen couldn't be bought. Mainly because they've gone out of business nowadays. The books on the shelves are all signed (or scribbled in by whatever kid owned them before they were passed onto Oxfam) and my cottage suite is irreplaceable. (I know...I tried to buy some new covers for it last year and, apparently, they haven't been made since 1973.) Even the ivy in my garden was signed by Jesus. (It would have been signed by God but he was away that weekend poking fun at some Arabs.)
My cottage is the perfect reflection of myself. It's handsome, sophisticated, unique and charming. It hides a great many secrets, is thoroughly modern whilst remaining mature and well bred, is pleasant, mysterious, excellent in bed and hung like a donkey.