The next major event, that is definitely on is on Saturday 14^th June, and it is the first ever Chez Didsbury Sports Day, Barbeque, Disco and late night drinking session, so clear your diaries, hone your Frisbee, football and saucepan throwing skills, get your sleeping bags aired and bring plenty of alcohol.

Congratulations to Blondie, who won back her blonde of the week title, after temporarily loaning it out again last week.

Welcome to this week's letters, and, you know what? They make even less sense than usual, though there do appear to be some people out there with exceptional taste, although it would appear that none of them ever write in.

First up is Miss E. Rijkard from Heerenveen, Holland who writes, "Tip top, deze vrije vertaler werkt in lading van taal, die de gelegenheid mij geeft vragen achtige vragen te, Wat in de auto Is? iedere week zonder iemand opmerken. Ik kan ook goede dingen over Oostenrijkers zeggen vole goed, die weet dat enige Kolin begrijpt wat de fac, die ik ga op ongeveer. In ieder geval citeert enkele willekeurige greep te beëindigen. Dit is een vuurwapen Sol, het een facing Antivliegtuig vuurwapen vincent is. Wat weet u over pikeys? Komen zij niet van Antwerp? Tip top, deze vrije vertaler werkt in lading van taal, die de gelegenheid mij geeft vragen achtige vragen te, Wat in de auto Is? iedere week zonder iemand opmerken. Ik kan ook goede dingen over Oostenrijkers zeggen vole goed, die weet dat enige Kolin begrijpt wat de fac, die ik ga op ongeveer. In ieder geval citeert enkele willekeurige greep te beëindigen. Dit is een vuurwapen Sol, het een facing Antivliegtuig vuurwapen vincent is. Wat weet u over pikeys? Komen zij niet van Antwerp?" Yes everything is printed twice, so I’m assuming it’s been written in double dutch.

Mr Gary Marlow, from Everleigh, Wiltshire, wrote in asking the following question. "Can you tell us when there will be a return to the main story? It has now been a month since the last episode, and I’m sure I’m not alone in wondering what’s going to happen to our mystery man." Well Mr Marlow, all I can say is that the next few episodes are embedded in my mind and they will hopefully start again from next week, but it has been a really busy time for me, and the jokers that pretend they work here, and unfortunately the story is the most time consuming part of each weeks issue, therefore it is normally the first thing to get dropped.

Again there were lots of letters offering condolences for Rex, but it would seem that some of you are getting impatient with regards to the commemorative service. Please look at the details in the Rex Appeal section for an explanation of the current situation. Furthermore we have also received a letter from a E.S. Crooge, from Finchley in London, who writes, "Seeing as how the rex appeal has come to an end, would it be possible for you to return my donation?" In a word or three, No, Fac off, you tight fisted b’stard. The full legal response will be forthcoming from my lawyers in due course.

Miss Sarah Williams, from Cramlington, Northumberland writes, "I am disappointed that the first ever Surerandomality night out was in Manchester, shouldn’t it have been somewhere more central like Newcastle?" Where to start with this? Right then, just because you’re from a sad little mining town just north of Newcastle, doesn’t make Newcastle the centre of the universe. Granted a night out in Newcastle would be good, and there are plans being considered to take Surerandomality on tour, but for the first night out it is only fair, that considering 75% of the major stars live in Manchester it was a good place to hold the event. Not only that but it gave ample opportunity to show off some of the more famous locations mentioned in previous issues.

Mr Perrin, it seems that we, no let me rephrase that, you have a problem. You can’t write, your creative writing teacher has committed suicide and it would appear that Carlin from B wing wants you as his b1tch. Please don’t write again unless you have something constructive to say, it’s for your own good in the long run.

That's it for the letters for this week, BUT there will be more next week.

A couple of items that have caught my eye this week.

David Guest, 33, of London, England, just got his driver's license. Such is normally not news, except that Guest has been trying for 17 years, and always failed the test. He took 632 driving lessons with eight instructors, crashing five cars in the process, to get to this point. "When I was told I'd passed, I bent down on my knees and thanked God," he said. "I feel like I have died and gone to heaven." - I needed this down in print, just to prove that there may be someone out there who’s a worse driver than me.

The City Council in Palo Alto, Calif., is working on a code of conduct manual for council meetings, and the draft specifically prohibits rude body language, including eye rolling, head shaking or frowning. Council member Judy Kleinberg, who led the effort to draft the new conduct guide, says she just wants members to follow "the rules we learned in kindergarten. I don't want to muzzle my colleagues," but "I don't think the people sitting around the Cabinet with the President roll their eyes." - That’s because all the eyes in the room are shut tight praying that he doesn’t say anything else dumb.

Where shall I start? Well I do think that if I rewind to the early hours of Easter Monday to point out that Hopalong managed to puke into the cupped hands, and all down the front of his girlfriend while staying in Swindon, it might explain his absence from most of the action this week. Of course, of course, I know that you came here to open up the box and see what happened on the first ever Surerandomality night out, and therefore lets get down to business. Hopalong had skived off work again and was hiding out at Mary’s house in the fear he may be dragged out. So the only two residents of Chez Didsbury still in residence, Squirrel and G Man, aided by the visiting Me Laird, started on the Stellas early. Squirrel and Me Laird, joined by Morning, got the first taxi to Scubar to start the proper drinking. By 9.30, everyone who was coming out had arrived in Scubar, giving a grand total of eighteen brave souls, they were; Squirrel, G Man, Me Laird, Morning, Garden, Blondie, Sarah, Tessa, Mogadon Man, Becky, Wes, Linda, Matt, Kate, Kev, Steve, Naomi, and Steve (yes a different person). Pints, wine, goldfish bowls, shooters, and champagne followed, some in large amounts, before the first casualty of the evening was found to have disappeared home at 10 (Mogadon Man, so no great loss really). The main party then set off to wind their way to 5^th Ave, but they had to make a stop at the cash point nearby, where, somewhat earlier than usual, the familiar tones of Gold were heard, much to the bemusement of any one passing by. Matt, Kate, Kev, Steve, Naomi, and Steve had remained behind in Scubar, and with the exception of Naomi and Steve, stayed there for the remainder of the evening, before having to carry the seriously worse for wear Kate home. On the way to 5^th Ave, the party managed to temporarily lose Becky, Tessa and Linda, to some unknown dodgy drinking establishment, but ploughed ahead relentless. Once inside, the vodka – red rooster combination kicked in, along with masses of various bottles, and the dance floor was hit virtually straight away. Becky, Tessa and Linda caught up with the rest soon afterwards, and then Naomi and Steve arrived, but before Naomi could continue, a puke stop was required. Lots of dancing and vast amounts of alcohol followed, interspersed with photos from funny angles. The first to leave 5^th Ave was Me Laird, who headed off back to Chez Didsbury with Squirrel’s keys. However, he didn’t have the alarm code, and 20 minutes of the alarm going off followed, during which time phones calls were ignored (well, they couldn’t be heard), and text messages were laughed at and then deleted. Squirrel managed to hit the deck twice in quick succession dancing to out of space, and Blondie managed to fall over at the top of the dance floor steps. Morning was the next to depart, feeling worse for wear, something that continued the next day, with a near all day puking bout. Blondie and Sarah headed off to Sankey’s, though not for very long. Becky, who had spent most of the evening being chatted up by one of the bouncers, disappeared at some stage, before Squirrel, G Man, Garden and Tessa got a taxi back to Chez Didsbury, leaving only Wes and Linda in 5^th Ave, where they were til the end cos Wes managed to lose his cloakroom ticket. Back at Chez Didsbury, Squirrel wouldn’t behave, at all. Jumping round the house, shouting "Sip Bacardi like it’s your birthday" and generally being a pain in the arse, before going out for a walk. Meanwhile G Man and Tessa were laughing on the floor in one of the rooms, before heading next door for the night. Garden went to bed and Squirrel returned to occupy his favourite sofa.

Saturday morning brought fun and games, as Squirrel crawled off the sofa in search of other people. Garden was asleep in bed, but was the only other person in Chez Didsbury. Me Laird had left at about 10, and G Man was still next door. A quick role call got things moving again, and G Man poured vodka shots at midday, which everyone refused except Squirrel. A lift into town with Tessa from Garden, led to more mayhem. After dropping the camera in from the night before, Squirrel and G Man moved to Sinclair’s Oyster Bar, for a couple of breakfast beers. Then it was shop, pub (pint & tequila shot), shop, pub (Stella and double JD’s), then strolling up to the Train station in T shirts and sunglasses in the pouring rain, singing Cos I got it like that, and getting strange looks from everyone they passed, who were trying to get out of the rain. They later found out that they had narrowly avoided bumping into mummy and daddy G, who were on an unexpected visit to Manchester. Back at Chez Didsbury, the Vodka came out again, along with bottles of Stella, as they tried to persuade Hopalong to come out drinking. Hopalong was going out for a meal, but his departure was hurried along by Squirrel and G Man attacking the vodka with such gusto. Then at 7.30 disaster struck, after a vodka and Red Rooster, G Man came to an abrupt and alcoholic stop, and refused to move, not even the taking of his phone could persuade him to move. So Squirrel headed to the Friendship, knowing that Wes was out. Also out was his girlfriend Emily and a number of her friends. One of them mentioned that they were going to go to friends and family at the roadhouse, so Squirrel got himself invited, as Wes wasn’t going anywhere due to the effects of the previous night, and being out drinking since 1 had caught up with him. So Squirrel, Helena, Caz and Shiv went to Revolution, and then Glass, where some p155ed up Muppet came over and asked him whether he was Johnny Vegas, much to the obvious embarrassment of his girlfriend. Then to friends and family, before leaving at 2 for the long bus journey home, via a kebab shop. Garden meanwhile was also trying to get back to Chez Didsbury from work, but managed to get bumped on princess street, and then pulled by the police for being on the phone to Squirrel, ordering Kebab.

Sunday saw Squirrel get up with a bad back, probably caused by repeated falling on Friday, but not noticed due to the alcoholic anaesthetic that he’d been under since. G Man and Hopalong refused to leave the house, so Squirrel and Garden went to the Friendship for Sunday dinner and met up with Wes, Emily, Helena and Caz, all of whom started the afternoon off on soft drinks. Despite protestations to the contrary, Squirrel finally cracked just before 4 and had a Stella. They were joined briefly by Kate, who was still feeling the effects of Friday. When the football finished Squirrel got a lift back to Chez Didsbury, and Garden went back home for the first time in ages. It has to be said that for the remainder of the week, Chez Didsbury could hardly be called a hive of activity. So much so that there were stages where the residents couldn’t even be bothered to get up and turn the lights on, and so sat in the dark. Amazingly everyone made it to work on Monday, and G Man went down to London for a course. Ricky Organ arrived back in the country and is currently serving a 10 day quarantine from work, to preventing him from possibly passing on any SARS bugs he managed to catch in China. So although he is back he hasn’t managed to make it back to Chez Didsbury yet. Rumours are that Thursday night might get messy, but I won’t have time to update you on that this week, but if the casino (Viva Las Vegas) does beckon then it will be here next week.

After the sad demise of Rex, there have still been a few donations still coming in this week, which have been added to the total, BUT as of Monday any further donations will have to be returned. The grand total for the appeal now stands at £691.79, 12 Guinea, 58 second & 51 First class stamps, 202 euros, $39.99, 9 Irish Punt, 12 drachma, 71 French Francs, 23 Swiss Francs, 34 Belgium Francs, 1756 Andorran Pesetas, 44 Yen, 301 Australian dollars, 666,666 Italian Lira, 2,056,179 Turkish Lira, 7 Krugerands, 28 Luncheon Vouchers, 124 Green Shield Stamps, £221.50 in postal orders, 14 Esso tokens, £30 worth of Circus Casino (Viva Las Vegas) chips, 71,000 WH Smith club card points, 18,000 Nectar points, 4 Car wash tokens, 5 Milk Tokens, £15 worth of Argos vouchers, £2.50 worth of Mothercare vouchers, £20 worth of Specsavers vouchers and £1420 worth of out of date HMV money off vouchers, thanks to all those that have contributed, and please No more contributions.

The dispersal of the remaining funds is now the major concern. It is only fair to let, you the readers (and contributors) decide which good cause we should donate the remaining funds from the Rex appeal to. Yes you’ve guessed it I’ve still not got round to dealing with this yet this week, but next week I should have sorted out enough suitable candidates for you all to vote on. Well at least I’ll try, promise.

Due to public demand, we shall be having a Rex Memorial service in the not too distant future, a time and a place just needs to be sorted, hopefully somewhere central to make it easier for people to attend. We are currently negotiating with 4 outstanding venues for this and hope to finalise in the next couple of days. Just out of interest the venues are Westminster Abbey, Liverpool Cathedral, Checketts Road Kingdom Hall in Leicester, and Trafford Bar Lutheran chapel in Manchester. Yes people, this is still not any closer to being sorted either.

Charlie Brown's father was a barber

Nutmeg is extremely poisonous if injected intravenously

Ingrown toenails are hereditary

Why do fat chance and slim chance mean the same thing?

Have you ever imagined a world with no hypothetical situations?

How does the guy who drives the snowplough get to work in the mornings?

Woodpecker (n).

A woman who performs rapid, hands-free horatio. From the movement of the bird's head as she hammers your trunk.

An American fighter pilot was flying his F16 aircraft over Baghdad when he noticed a flying carpet on his left hand side, manned by a man with a machine gun. He looked to his right and saw another carpet alongside, also manned by a man with a machine gun. He thought ' I've got to get out of this', so he accelerated flat out and put his plane into a high speed loop and came up behind both carpets, which he shot down. On arriving back at his Aircraft Carrier, he was told to report to the captain immediately. 'You idiot!' said the captain. 'We saw what you did on our radar and now we're in a load of trouble'. 'What do you mean?' said the pilot, 'I shot both carpets down!' 'I know that!' said the captain, 'But they were Allied Carpets!!!!!!!

A prospective juror in a Dallas District Court was surprised by the definition of voluntary manslaughter given the panel: "An intentional killing that occurs while the defendant is under the immediate influence of sudden passion arising from an adequate cause, such as when a spouse's mate is found in a 'compromising position.'" "See, I have a problem with that passion business," responded one jury candidate. "During my first marriage, I came in and found my husband in bed with my neighbor. All I did was divorce him. I had no idea that I could have shot him."

Three men go duck hunting one day. Two of them are inundated with stories from the third about his "great" duck hunting abilities. After a few hours the first two men have bagged a couple of ducks each, but the braggart hasn't taken a shot. They question him on this, so he agrees to show his shooting abilities at the next opportunity. A few moments later, one lone duck comes flying by. As promised, the braggart stands up and squeezes off one shot. The duck keeps flying! "Gentlemen, you have just witnessed a miracle," says the braggart pointing at the receding duck, "for there flies a dead duck."

What's invisible and smells like carrots? Bunny farts!

Three women had a very late night drinking. They left in the early morning hours and went home their separate ways. The next day, they all met and compared notes about who was drunker the night before. The first girl claims that she was the drunkest, saying, "I drove straight home and walked into the house. As soon as I got through the door I blew chunks for 10 minutes." The second said, "You think that was drunk? Hell, I got into my car and wrapped my car around the first tree I saw. I don't even

have insurance!" The third proclaimed, "Damn, I was the drunkest by far. When I got home, I got into a big fight with my husband, knocked a candle over, and burned the whole f**king house down!" The room was silent for a moment. Then, the first girl spoke out again, "Listen girls, I don't think you understand...Chunks is my dog."

The guy, in his cups, was lamenting to the bartender that he met his wife in a brothel. "You shouldn't be so unhappy about it," the barkeep said, "it's actually really romantic." "Oh, yeah?" responded the man. "Well, I thought she was home taking care of the kids and she thought I was bowling. And to clinch it all, the Madame wouldn't give me my money back and refused to give me another girl."

An engineer dies and reports to the pearly gates. St. Peter checks his dossier and says, "Ah, you're an engineer -- you're in the wrong place." So, the engineer reports to the gates of hell and is let in. Pretty soon, the engineer gets dissatisfied with the level of comfort in hell, and starts designing and building improvements. After awhile, they've got air conditioning and flush toilets and escalators, and the engineer is a pretty popular guy. One day, God calls Satan up on the telephone and says with a sneer, "So, how's it going down there in hell?" Satan replies, "Hey, things are going great.   We've got air conditioning and flush toilets and escalators, and there's no telling what this engineer is going to come up with next." God replies, "What??? You've got an engineer? That's a mistake -- he should never have gotten down there; send him up here." Satan says, "No way." I like having an engineer on the staff, and I'm keeping him." God says, "Send him back up here or I'll sue." Satan laughs uproariously and answers, "Yeah, right. And just where are YOU going to get a lawyer?"

Paddy had been drinking at his local Dublin pub all day and most of the night celebrating Ireland's draw with Germany. Mick, the bartender says, "You'll not be drinking anymore tonight, Paddy" Paddy replies "OK Mick, and I’ll be on my way then." Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off. He falls flat on his face. "Shoite" he says and pulls himself up by the stool and dusts himself off. He takes a step towards the door and falls flat on his face. "Shoite, Shoite!" He looks to the doorway and thinks to himself that if he can just get to the door and some fresh air he'll be fine. He belly crawls to the door and shimmies up to the door frame. He sticks his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air, feels much better and takes a step out onto the sidewalk. He falls flat on his face. "Bi'Jesus... I'm fockin' focked," he says. He can see his house just a few doors down, and crawls to the door and shimmies up the door frame, opens the door and shimmies inside. He takes a look up the stairs and says "No fockin' way". He crawls up the stairs to his bedroom door and says "I can make it to the bed." He takes a step into the room and falls flat on his face. He says "Fock it" and falls into bed. The next morning, his wife, Jess, comes into the room carrying a cup of coffee and says, "Get up Paddy. Did you have a bit to drink last night?" Paddy says, "I did Jess. I was fockin' p*ssed. But how'd you know?" "Mick called. You left your wheelchair at the pub."

The master plan this week isn’t set in stone, but rumours of a quiet Friday night abound, but we’ve all seen that before. Saturday sees Wes’s Housewarming party, which should in the tradition of other house parties, get messy. Sunday can be all day drinking, cos no one’s got to go to work on Monday cos it’s the Bank Holiday. Of course, by now my pedigree chums, you should realise that anything written here is only a statement of intent, and don’t believe everything you see or hear. Rumours abound that Ricky Organ will be back at Chez Didsbury at the weekend, along with a guest for a couple of days, let us welcome him back and remind him, that for the first few days, his room is the one in the tent, out in the garden. You know that whatever goes down it might just make it to these pages next week. And as I prepare to go, just a friendly warning, watch out for mischievous squirrels, whatever size or shape they take. See y’all next week.

Here’s this week’s random review

Office Monkey. No not a reference to G Man, but a new reality game show on ITV2 at 11pm on a Tuesday. Basically they get two willing participants from the same office and send them a list of really stupid stuff to do, in order to disrupt the office as much as possible, without getting the sack. The one that disrupts the office most effectively gets a week’s holiday. The first episode saw two outstanding candidates managing to cause chaos. Pranks included handing photocopies of their backside to everyone, show the new woman a variety of sex toys, swearing at your boss, coming into work dressed as a chicken and then persuading someone else to swap clothes, deliberately emptying the hole punch on the floor and hoovering it up, getting their "girlfriend" to come into the office and pretend to have sex in the boardroom, and getting their "sister" in to show off their skills before an audition, for a strip club. Then just at the point where they might be pushing their luck too far, the show’s presenter comes in and tells everyone what’s been going on. Absolute mayhem, and all I can say is get one of your mates from your office and sign up, and you too can be crowned Office Monkey.

First the answer from last week. The answer last week was as easy as A B C, as it is the alphabet that is the everyday common item most commonly associated with the number 26. The winner was a Mrs Leona Riggott, from Halifax, West Yorkshire, who won 3 tins of Alphabet soup.

For this week’s competition, what day does the May Day bank holiday Monday fall on? This week’s prize is some hot cross buns found hiding in the back of surerandomality’s cupboards earlier in the week send the entries to the normal addresses through the normal channels.

TOTAL = 19

CUMMILATIVE TOTAL = 348