DOWN WITH MEERKATS

What is it with you lot and Meerkats? I don't understand it myself. You get your mug on the "haunted fishtank" a few times and all of a sudden you're the best think since sliced Hovis.
Well let me tell you something. They are nothing special. I mean what do they do, anyway? Yes that's right, they stand around in gangs and they wait for something to happen. And they wait and they wait. What are they waiting for anyway - Godot?
Then, on the rare occasions that something actually does happen, they scatter in as many different directions as there are Meerkats. Call that an Act. They can't even get you cheap car insurance!
Now take my Act. I not only juggle balls (stop that), I race around on my shiny red bike, get chased by clowns, take prat fall after pratfall and generally bring laughter and magic into the audiences life - EVERY NIGHT! That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is an ACT.
I don't even get my distinguished features replicated on the Circus' posters and yet those lousy show offs get a regular feature on that stupid "Walk on the Wild Side" programme. Struth! It's enough to give wildlife a bad name.
And as for that flatulent Gorilla....please. I know I am a chimp but he brings shame on the lot of us. Anyway, much of my problem in that direction has gone since Stromboli started making me drink buckets of Peppermint Tea. Not so much Gone with the Wind as gone with the Peppermint, you might say.
Then there's that pointy eared little idiot shouting after Alan. Someone wants to tell him that "Alan" has probably been trampled by a bunch of stampeding Meerkats.
Oh switch the T.V. off Come to the Circus and see a real Act. Meerkats! Meerkats! Meer Rodents I say.
Has somebody out there got a drink? I'm spitting feathers here!

IT'S RAINING IN MY HEART - BUT I'M EXPECTING A BRIGHT SPELL LATER!

Dear Reader,

Pardon, if you will, the lack of communication in the last few weeks. Summer should be a carefree time, of course, but I have found that the recent sudden outbursts of hot, humid weather (sometimes for as much as twenty minutes at a time) followed by two hours of monsoon rain has put me in mind of the old country.
In fact its made me come over all melancholic just thinking of my kinfolk, from whose bosom I was so brutally ripped.
I see them all now, as though in a dream; Cholo playing with his coconuts, Bingo playing with Malulu, Bongo playing with himself.
Then, of course, sooner or later, the dream fades and I wake up in the Penny Arcade which is my new life and also in this beknighted country of yours.
No offence, dear reader. It's just that everything here seems to centre around how many possessions people can accrue or how much booze they can force down their throats or how much.......well, never mind about "the other".
And the paranoia in your world. Don't get me started on that. Well, now that I have started, I might as well finish.
Back home, we have big cats with very sharp teeth who mean us no good whatsoever constantly circling the old homestead. Imagine getting your bonce caught in jaws that could rip your nut off in seconds. That's something guaranteed to tighten the old sphincter, still we manage to keep cheery.
But you lot,....If you're not worrying about terrorists, or the state of the economy or swine flu, you are busy looking for something to worry about - and your meedja is only to ready too oblige, is it not?
Everyday seems to bring a new scare story about this, that or the other and, somehow, it seems that the more "experts" there are the more dangers they discover.
They are the new priesthood but they are not concerned with the state of your soul. They are only interested in imposing their will by telling you what you are doing wrong, and that you are not the person you could be and that everything is hopeless anyway.
Do your best to ignore the experts and they might just GO AWAY.
Oh, look, look, see - over there......a chink of blue in a glowering sky!

Can anyone out there send something amusing to free me from this "brown study"?