The coming of a new age. The age of the Koza.

The story of the Koza is long and winding, and for another time. Suffice to say that the first one published below was the spark for a journey that would take me into the depths of the Polish countryside looking for it's creator. When I found him I asked him if he would make another Koza for me. He did and one year later I returned to Poland to meet him and bring him home. Together we returned to England to allow him to sample life away from the windswept plains of Southern Poland.

His coming is significant, and marks nothing less than the beginning of a new religion. He is all knowing, all powerful and he is so beautifully daft, he will blow you away.

I need not ask for your silence, nor for your reverence. He demands it in ways unsaid and unheard. He is your master. He is the Koza - you need search no more.

In the arms of his maker, the Polish folk artist genius, Mr Josef Hulka.

In the departure lounge at Katowice airport the waiter asked him what he was having. He had the usual of course, a shot of the finest polish vodka with a side-salad of apple, cress and tea towels.

Heading for England, the Koza sees clouds from above for the first time.

Arrival....excitement and disbelief after having been locked in the aircraft toilet for take-off and landing.

The Koza is at rest for a few weeks before heading out into London for a series of state functions and happenings. More of his adventures and his incredible life story to follow soon. Stay tuned.

Overhearings from the belly of the beast

"I fired off an e-mail to see what the state-of-play was"

"Our customers need a solution that works"

"We manage expectations, but nobody's managing our expectations"

"We currently have 50 engineers working on the problem"

"I'm in a position to prioritise these actions"

"Could you just pop-up the actual, physical website"

'Just gotta get some brain food'

"Less Jar-Jar, less 3PO - good for me"

"I'm hearing good mood music about it but there's no point stirring the mud'

Nightmare on Liverpool Street

A half-witted bunch of PR turnips are recovering tonight after a terrifying ordeal at the hands of a rival gang of office mutants.

Expensive drinks

Given confidence by ‘expensive drinks’ and ‘finger food’, the mutants, fresh from a wasteful and useless ‘exercise’ baited the turnips as they came through the gates at the famed eastend station.

Nibbles

Some turnips splintered and ran for a nearby buffet bar while others, emboldened by sanctimonious drivel and smug hype, decided to take the fight to the mutants and taunted them with a barrage of ringtones and hold music.

Who is who?

The mutenips ran for cover, only to find gaggles of corphags waiting at the entrance, some with corporate ladders in their tights. The corphags joined the fight and station guards were called to break up the ruckus. Two of the turnips where seen trapped in the gates to the tube, bleating like sheep that their ‘oysters’ didn’t work.

Order was restored by laying on cheap wine and plastic food at an overlit, garish and downright hideous coffee emporium nearby.

Resignation letter

If you must quit your mindless career to grow organic vegetables in Somerset,

at least do it with some feeling.

Simply fill in the blanks, sign and deliver by hand.

Dear ……..,


Please accept this letter as an indication of two month's notice of me leaving the …….. Pond. I have become utterly sick of the mindless drivel that passes for conversation in here and in the past year have almost commited suicide due to the archaic and draconian bullshit that has been bulldozed in my direction. I wish to state, furthermore, that ………. is akin to a silage pit full of worms during a particularly hot summer, festering like an open wound on the side of the earth. I hope you agree.

I would like to take this golden opportunity to wish you all the best in your daily search for clams and would like to make you a gift of this framed print entitled, ' The Wanking Walrus'.

Yours faithlessly etc,

...................................

Plum Sawing

18th Plum-Sawing Championships kick off in style.

From our reporter S.K Marks

Special 'gilt-edged' towels will be used at this years annual Plum-Sawing Championships, being held deep in the cleft of the Peach Mountain range of Southern England.


The towels have raised eyebrows in the plum-sawing fraternity since they were introduced in open competition in 1996. Many competitors claim that the Ooh factor is diminished by the edging as it 'rides up' too easily. These claims have been dismissed by the German manufacturers Giltenbotton Plomhack who claim no ill effects from prolonged sawing. Spokesperson Holda Clench issued a statement to the press yesterday claiming "Our towels comply to international Plum-Sawing specifications. The gilt edging is there to give the spectators and judges a 'clean line' of sight along the towel and to increase the 'yelp factor' for competitors".

Yelping

Competitors will be judged on the 5 golden disciplines of strenuousness, depth of towel, leg height, sighing and yelping and will be marked by a team of expert judges flown in from across the world. Top judge Wilhelm Grape was confident of a high level of competition. "It should be pretty interesting , many of the new crop of sawers should be hitting the right spots this year", he said, tugging at his cleft and wistfully looking into the distance. Sighing plaintively will probably be the major battleground though a willingness to show mild gratification whilst sawing will also score heavily.

Foxtails

Judges will be on the lookout this year for illegal 'foxtailing'. Last year 7 top competitors, mostly from the UK were disqualified for this revolting practice that has been dubbed, the 'arse-end' of the sport. Stakes are usually high on the underground circuit and many plum-sawing wannabes are lured into the shadowy world of foxtailing for the money and free towels.