listen to old sarge...

old sarge's sad, but true tales from The Lockdown presents:   'hit me with your postponed wedding stick, two fat persons, click, click, click', incorporating 'reasons to be cheerful, one, two, three'... gentle reader, sad, but true...The Colonel and me and, as I lovingly refer to them whenever possible, Our Rancid Offspring...   (...sweet fucking creeping covid-19 jesus, it just occurred to me that there's the hideous prospect of a supergroup of the same name to form/have formed somewhere in the multiverse, featuring members of Our Chemical Romance, Rancid and The Offspring...you have been warned, I do appear to have developed the Lockdown Superpower of being able to bring unlikely, even fictional scenarios into existence these last few weeks...it compliments my almost supernatural ability to pack boxes of assorted household shit into the tightest of cupboard spaces, first time, every time...you know, like Magneto but with cardboard boxes...again sad,

the fourth in a short series of lockdown top-tips… old sarge lockdown top-tip #4... hairdressers of the UK! your desperate nation needs you! please mobilise immediately to full alert status, sharpen those scissors, rehearse your inane small talk, and be at full readiness to be deployed at the drop of a sweaty, greasy hat in a few weeks’ time when The Lockdown is further eased. if you already find yourself surrounded by resentful, chemically burned, skinhead family members; if you’ve already scalped your Girl’s World (Boris Johnston 2019 Limited Edition); if you’re scraping the bottom of your signed and officially endorsed tub of Sir Keir Starmer Brylcreem; if you’ve burnished your First Minister Jimmy Crankie hard-hat-helmet-hair wig to a dazzling, epilepsy inducing finish, why not keep your hand in between now and then - and be in the running for an invite to be Liz’s Guest of Honour at the Glorious Key Worker Garden Party and Victoria Cross Medal Ceremony at Buckingham Palace l

the third in a short series of lockdown top-tips… old sarge lockdown top-tip #3... alert citizen of the UK! do you have a dry, persistent cough, are sweating profusely and currently possess only three of the five senses? perhaps you’ve just been on a bicycle ride in continental temperatures with a rucksack full of alcohol purchased from your local convenience store, where you were by-chance verbally abused by a self-appointed non- staff random social distancing special constable prick? if I may be so bold, sir, tell the cunt to fuck off, promptly remind them to maintain the correct social distancing protocols themselves, excuse yourself from further debate on the matter, then retire at haste to a suitably safe social distance to enjoy your purchases: as your attorney, I can recommend you quench your thirst with the cerveza of the hour, a tall, frosty Corona: no sense of smell or taste required ...don't thank me, you're weclome… two empty bottles of beer showi