Snails aside, I've just been watching "Sex in the City"...or as it ought to be known, "Three Sad Old Bags who Ought to know Better."

From what I could ascertain (I wasn't paying much attention...the snail peering in through the catflap was starting to unnerve me) the plot consists mainly of the three ugliest, brittle-bone-diseased sows ever to disgrace a television screen, flashing their sagging breasts (not that there's much of them to sag but gravity works wonders even on anorexia victims) and complaining about how apalling men are in bed.

What surprises me is that anybody would want to sleep with these rejects from the opening scene of Macbeth in the first place. When I first tuned in I thought I was watching a documentary about drag queens.

These dreadful haridans shouldn't complain anyway! Even if the poor, half-blind and extremely desperate blokes they were shagging couldn't work out where the clitoris was! I have news for them...it's not that men can't find the clitoris...we just don't care.

To re-address the balance of this whining, politically-correct garbage, here's a joke, courtesy of Mr Roy "Chubby" Brown...or as he's known to those who live down the coast from him, Royston Vasey. (Sadly true...the League of Gentlemen were fans of his, which is why he appeared as the Mayor!)

A man staggers home from the pub and calls upstairs to his wife, "Pack your bags, Love. I've won the National Lottery!"

His wife appears on the landing very excited. "The National Lottery?" she shouts. "What do you reckon I should pack? Something light?"

"I'm not bothered," the bloke replies. "Just pack your bags and fuck off."