Road to Nowhere

Michael Winner writes a weekly column in the Sunday Times called "Winner's Dinners". This was the beginning of today's column:

"I hate Baker Street. It's a nothing street that starts near Oxford Street (another horror), goes in a straight line north, leads you one way or another to St John's Wood (don't like that either) and then goes on through Hertfordshire (nice), the north (strange) and Scotland (adorable) and ends up at the North Pole. I suppose, if it had the energy, Baker Street would carry on down the other side of the planet and go to the South Pole."

I don't know that I necessarily HATE Baker Street. After all, without it, my father would never have been able to become one of Holmes' Baker Street Irregulars. But it's defo a nothing street. A one-way road to nowhere. Can you tell me any of the businesses and enterprises that abut the tarmac full of double decker buses and taxis? Apart from the food chains and phone shops?
In the end, its reputation rests only on a fictional detective and a 1978 single by the late Gerry Rafferty. Am afraid I shall have to agree with Mr. W. Don't tell!

Make 'Em Laugh

Have you laughed today? If not, then I have a couple of jokes for you. If you like them, I shall take full credit. If not, then I shall have to admit that I pinched them from Michael Winner's column in the Sunday Times a week or so ago, and he pinched them from John Landis. Here they are:

I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian

A vulture boards an aeroplane carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess says, “I’m sorry, sir, only one carrion allowed per passenger.

I laughed. You didn't? O go watch a Fatty Arbuckle movie for goodness' sake!