Big Brother is a big pile of poo...discuss.

Whenever i come up for air or to simply show off my leaping-through-hoops ability or to press the 'feed Smy fish' button repeatedly until my human captors arrive with a nice salmon for me, i have to listen to the inane chatter from the scientists and pool cleaners and Cetacean Interior Decorator Specialists as they discuss the horror that is Big Brother.*

"Did you know Chantelle has left the house?"

"I couldn't believe it when Nick took the last apple this morning!"

"The cliche homosexual stereotype one was having a screaming, shrieking, hissy-fit this morning and it was really intense! I thought i might spill my cocoa!"

These and many other sentences are bandied about between my human, flipperless observers.

The entire concept for this 'programme' seems completely rubbish to me and so i have come up with an alternative....

Big Daddy would be a programme in which the only-slightly-dead zombiefied corpse of 'professional' wrestler, Shirley Crabtree (aka Big Daddy, aka The Blonde Adonis, aka Mr Universe) is left in the house with 12 contestants.

The usual array of 'zany'** members of the public would have to try and attempt to stay alive as long as possible as (don't call me) Shirley would attempt to use his trademark Belly Buster moves on them and then devour their brains with a straw and a spork.

Anyone surviving longer than 12 minutes would be awarded the opportunity to allow another dead UK wrestler to come to their aid and fight Shirley off for a bit.

Davina and the crowds would chant 'Easy!! Easy!!' until eventually Big Daddy is left alone in the house surrounded by twitching corpses and a blunted spork.

Who wouldn't watch THAT?

*longest sentence ever.

** See also 'irritating' and 'ridiculous' and 'wastes of space'.

Wombles!

For anyone taking a trip to London for the first time, a must-see tourist spot is Wimbledon Common.

Personally, i try to avoid anything common but on this occasion, even i am intrigued for this is the stomping ground of The Wombles.

In the 1970s, The Wombles were well known for tidying up the surrounding area, making 'good use of the things that they found' and being generally rather nice but once the cameras stopped rolling and the BBC documentary team went home for the final time (somewhere around 1975), these lovable furry creatures sort of fell off the radar.

'Whatever happened to them Smy, you deliciously lickable creature?' I hear you ask. Well, using the power of the interweb, i have discovered the truth. Read on:

Great Uncle Bulgaria: Personally, i never really saw what was so 'great' about him. I'd say he was 'above average' at best. But after the final curtain fell on him, he fell into alcoholism, often found near bottle-banks, licking the insides of empty wine bottles and draining the last remnants of cider into a paper cup and shaking his fist angrily at squirrels.

Tobemory: In the series, his skills as an inventor and handyman were unsurpassed but once the limelight was stolen from him, he found it difficult to get a patent for his inventions which included the Breville Badger Toaster - 'ideal for stripey late night snacks' and his Otter-Away-Spray which was, quite simply, a ridiculous thing to invent.

Bungo: Known for being rather bossy, it turned out that he was struggling with an inner desire to be a lady. After a slightly dodgy bit of surgery from Tobemory and his 'Winky-Goodbye-Slice-O-Matic' gadget, Bungo is now known as Bungolina and lives in Wales.

Tomsk: In the show, it appeared that Tomsk was simply super-fit. Very energetic and full of beans. Turned out that he was simply injecting Cocaine directly into his eyeballs each morning. Tomsk was found selling 'furry-hand-specials' and 'snuffle-jobs' to sailors to pay for his habit in the 1990s and subsequently went on to appear in hardcore videos which can still be found on eBay if you look hard enough.

Madame Cholet: Seen making intriguing meals for the others during the 70s show but her love of unique dishes went one step too far and she was arrested in 1991 for attempted cannibalism. Mme. Cholet is the author of three best selling cookbooks and has shares in the KFC (Knightsbridge Fried Cockroach) Chain.

Orinoco: Often touted as being 'the rather dim one' in the group, Orinoco was declared 'mentally challenged' in 1987 but this did not stop him from winning three chess matches against Bobby Fischer in 1979 or inventing the Pop Tart. Currently Orinoco is serving time in the London Prison for Rodents for exposing himself to three Japanese schoolgirls. He is up for appeal in 2013.

Floods!!

As anyone not stuck in a cave, a plastic tupperware box, or a glass specimen jar on a giant's shelf knows, it's been raining a lot in the UK recently.

I really don't see what the fuss is all about. Surely all this water makes it easier for you all to swim to the shops using your fins and gills and splashy flippe.....oh, wait, i forgot.

Yes, i can see it might be a bit troublesome for those people without webbed toes (the residents of Kippax* are OK then). But Let's not complain too much, right? We should be making the most of this valuable opportunity!

OK, so your slippers might not dry for the next three weeks but think about it, you could have your very own family of ducks in your living room. Think of the excitement as you try to turn the TV channel only to find that Colin the Mallard has eaten the remote control and is quacking with happiness as he forces you to endure another hour of The Ricki Lake Show (ducks love anything with 'lakes' in).

Make little inflatable lifevests and a raft for the cat and push it around the dining room until it gets a bit stroppy.

Pretend your kitchen is the galley of a sinking pirate ship. Make the family dress up and force them to say 'Garrrhhhh!' and 'that it be' instead of 'yes it is'. Drink rum and eat dry crackers and make a hook out of tinfoil and a baguette.

Fish! Cast a line out from the bedroom window and see what you can catch from what used to be your garden.

Lure a family of otters into your home using the aforementioned line with a sausage on the end. Otters love sausage.

*a rather inbred village in the North of England. Think 'The Wicker Man' but without electricity or rational thoughts.

Dracula!

So after a hard night of sucking and flapping about, it's back to the castle...but enough about me, let's talk about Dracula.

Surely he doesn't just drink blood then slink back to the coffin, right? I mean, it's never a good idea to sleep on a full stomach. All those calories swimming about will go straight to the wings so what is there for an evil abomination of the after-life to do during those early hours before sunrise?

Here are just a few suggestions to consider for everyones favourite man-of-a-certain-age:

Laundry - Sure, you may only have one suit, the one you were buried in, but it's bound to get a bit 'foisty' after the first hundred years. Plus moths aren't picky. Time to pop that cape in the Hotpoint with as much Bounce Conditioner as you can lay your sharp little fingers on.

Send Emails - You might be a party animal at night but not everyone works on the same shift-pattern as you. Time to let Frankenstein know about that Science Museum exhibition or send the Wolfman handy hair-grooming tips that you found on Wikipedia. Alternatively, you can forward those Viagra junk mails to the Mummy. He hasn't 'had it' in years.

Make a nice quiche - they can keep for up to three days in a tupperware container and you never know when those lovely buxom wenches from the tavern down the road might pop 'round for an after-hours snack.

Start a photo album for otter pictures - Everyone has one and they're just great. Mine is laminated for obvious reasons.

Watch anything with Christopher Walken in it - you know, for tips on how to be REALLY scary.

Decorate - it's not like you have any neighbours is it? So fire up the drill, let loose with the Phillips Screwdriver and let's get busy with some nice throw pillows and matching curtains. Beige is very non-threatening and pastilles are all the rage in Tuscany.

Watch those late night phone-in quiz programmes -Hey, you ARE the undead and probably totally devoid of emotion. You'll find you have so much in common with most of the hosts of the shows! Quick start speed-dialing that premium rate number right now!

Calculate the amount of hard cash you could earn from the tooth fairy - they don't have to be just YOUR teeth under the pillow, right?

Tanning Butter!

We're all going on a....summer holiday.

Well, that's what Sir Cliff said and, let's face it, he'd know (he's related to God, doncha' know?).

Each year, quite literally zillions of people flock to the beach to bake in the sun and turn a shade of brown that resembles toasted bagels. At least that's the plan. As a dolphin, i have watched with interest from the comfort of the ocean (wearing factor 15 waterproof Ambré Solaire) as Britain's attempt to catch as much of the sun's attention as possible by wearing nothing more than dental floss and spreading themselves liberally over a Union Flag beach towel.

Unfortunately, the British public fail to realise that most of them simply aren't designed for warm climates. After a few torturous days, most of them have turned the colour of lobster thermadore, are complaining of blisters and severe dribblyness from their nether regions and can only manage to eat Jacobs Cream Crackers for the rest of the holiday.

Most of the British people i know are scientists and therefore 'geeks'. They assure me that their natural colour is a light shade of blue and the closest most of them get to daylight is to answer the door for Mr Postman as he delivers yet another video game or a new shiny nerdy object.

Personally i quite like being grey. It's a neutral colour- easy to match with and its also quite slimming.

Bumble Bees

Jumper wearing bullies of the insect world or simply misunderstood fluffy little miniature bear-cubs with gossamer wings and happy honey purses?

According to scientists, bumble-bees should not be able to fly. It confounds them. The body weight to wing fluttery speed lift off potential something-or-other is all out of whack.

However, i CAN confirm that these darlings of the flowerbed neighborhood are,in fact, powered not by their beautifully constructed wingloids but by tiny motor boat engines concealed neatly beneath their fluffy yellow and black stripey sweaters.

Because insects get up really early in the morning (in order to get all their tasks done before Jeremy Kyle starts at 9.25), no 'human beans' are around to see them frantically tugging their rip-cords to get the motors started each morning. The distinctive 'idle' put-put-put noise is a dead giveaway which is why you rarely see them ever stopping for a rest or taking a stroll.

After Jeremy Kyle has finished, all the bees get naked and have a huge bee orgy in the honey they've collected while their jumpers spin around and around in the hive washing-machine (on a low temperature, obviously).

Wasps, on the other hand, are just gits.

July!

Goodness! You know what? It IS July! That's right!! Turn to the cover of your Take A Break Weekly magazine and look next to that over-inflated price and you'll see it confirmed! Ace, isn't it?

As always, my little flipperless chums, I will try to enliven your world with factoids about the month which are so fascinating, your head may actually become detached from your neck. So, with neck-glue at the ready, let's delve....


July was named after Julius Cesar. For those that don't watch the history channel, Julius Cesar (or JayCee if you know him as well as i do) is the name of the man that fitted my pool filter last Wednesday. Nice chap. Tends to shout a bit. Smells like teen spirit.

Luckily for July (and for us) they didn't use Julius' middle name or we might be stuck with calendars with 'Nigel' written on them for a whole 31 days a year.

In Finalnd the month is called heinäkuu, meaning "month of grass". I had a month of grass once. Cant really remember much about it but i did get through 164 packets of Cheezy Wotsits and 77 Curly-Wurlys and i found myself uncontrollably giggling for up to 17 hours a day.

Canadians have 'Canada Day' on the first of the month. This replaced the slightly less successful 'Bulgarian Day' which only 12 Canadians bothered to celebrate by setting fire to a Bulgarian in a ceremonial way.

Pretty sure Americans also celebrate something on the 4th of the month but i can't remember what it is. Is it 'Microsoft Day'? Maybe it's 'Summer Blockbuster Day' or perhaps it's Ronald McDonald's birthday or something.