Think we should at least give original artist Brian Protheroe credit for a song we all love so much. I agree – not keen on Weller’s take.

Erm, but IT IS quicker if you run, no?

I have to leave. I didn’t realise it was possible to feel claustrophobic in an online blog thread.

I once told my five-year-old daughter “Behave!”, to which she replied rather sharply “I AM being have!”

Mmm, I believe you’re thinking of Howard. Les was from the Wiltshire branch of the family.

Les Negresses Vertes under N, obviously. Les is his first name.

Thanks – that’s absolutely bloody lovely.

The opening sentence of Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” does it for me. Time, place and mood wrapped up in 22 words. “It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know […]

I bet you can let a good one off, though.

Ace

My dad was a cracking whistler and no mean pocket-change rattler, often simultaneously and usually on his way up or down a garden path.

I always had a soft spot for the rather moving “All The Men Are Hungry”. Seemed to encapsulate all those missed chances and regrets and slightly elusive memories.

Christ, I can’t take any more of this. It was fun until Moose woke up.

Arse Man Arse Biscuit. Before Moose says it.

It took me a while, sal, but Les Soeurs etc is genius.

Cripes, I think I’ve done ten years. Not so active recently, but I vividly remember some cracking spats involving Faux Geordie, Ianess, Bob, Niscum etc. “Whatever happened to … all the Shakespearoes?” Hannah, […]

Thanks. It’s the blue highlights, maybe.

You can hear the Roy Wood influence on that one.

Looking at these selections – f**k me, I’m old. And it’s only just happened, you know, recently. “…and the bells were ringing out for Christmas day…”

Is there gas in the car?