Recent posts include subconscious musings on the Christmas season, why blue dogs are more expensive than pink dogs, and gems inspired by the news of impending parenthood. And you should go and have a look right now, because it's utterly brilliant. And then come back here, obviously.
This isn't all about self-promotion, and I want to give a fair shake of the stick to my fellow finalists. So, in the spirit of "other blogs are available", here's a run-down of the six fine sites who made the final cut.
Warm up with a bit of Bauhaus; ramp up the pace with Killing Joke, a touch of Siouxsie; then take a fag break and puke in the corner to The Cramps while the session winds down with The Cure and a few obscure 4AD acts that you pretend you bought on the original vinyl with the art prints and everything.
There was a time when you couldn't have a sitcom without a comedy camp character, and there were even one or two that bordered on outright racism. While Mr Humphries is fondly remembered, the past is exactly where he should stay.
Let me take you back to the year 1988. Thatcher was still in Number Ten, Kylie's 'I Should Be So Luck'" had just been knocked off the Number One spot, and Reading Football Club were officially the 43rd best team in England. On a good day, with a following wind. I remember standing on the terraces at Elm Park during a dour 1-0 victory, singing "You must have come in a taxi" to the visiting Shrewsbury Town fans, who - it transpired - <b>had</b> come in a taxi.
Back in the 1990s when I was some sort of feckless idiot, I was a member of the high-IQ organisation Mensa. I know what you're thinking, but the stark truth is that they know how to throw a good party, and I have yet to apologise to forthright TV critic Garry Bushell-On-The-Box for making off with his umbrella after a boozy Mensa evening in a rainy London.
Dredd is one of the few times that I have paid out cash money to see a 3D movie, essentially because I'm a huge fan of 2000AD (with a much dog-eared, torn and graffiti-ed copy of issue one in a box under my bed), and there are no 2D showings within sensible distance. Three dimensional movies give me a three dimensional headache, invariably leading to very much three dimensional rich, brown vomit in the car park afterwards.
I hope you've managed to get past the clumsy headline for this piece, it being my (doomed) attempt to harvest more clicks from the wilds of the internet through the dark arts of what sharp-suited people are calling Search Engine Optimisation. And the Lord above knows how I need to boost my brand, after than nasty business with the bus full of nuns.
Hull was voted the worst town in Britain in 2003, but I found the parts I saw reasonably pleasant. On the other hand, I'd be happy to see the following year's winner - Luton - leveled and turned into an overflow car park for Watford. Poor Luton.
You pay your money, stand in a field, and a man in a vest with a wispy moustache shouts at you for an hour. While this happens, your body is forced into all kinds of unnatural positions known to acolytes of the craft as "the press-up", "the star jump", the "run to the fence and back MOVE!" and - I shudder at the memory - "the burpee".
Camping! A battle between man and the elements since time immemorial, a life under canvas as families go back to basics, living off their wits and whatever the land can provide. Just as long as there is an electrical hook-up and decent wireless reception.
I've been writing various blogs for <a href=" http://scaryduck.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_hplink">myself</a> and various - <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/comedy/" target="_hplink">excellent</a> - organisations for the best part of ten years now. There have been ups (Two national 'best blogger' awards), downs ("A turd-in-process being squeezed out of the fundament of your own prolixity" being my favourite piece of unintentionally hilarious trolling), and some side-to-sides (being called 'better than Jeffrey Archer', for example) down the years that have made it all worth while.
Nothing is permanent. Nothing stays the same. I say this in sadness as another of my comedy heroes - the great <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2012/07/04/eric-sykes-dead-the-plank-video-pictures_n_1648530.html?utm_hp_ref=uk-comedy" target="_hplink">Eric Sykes</a> - dies at the age of 89, the post-war boom in comics taking another step toward extinction.
My last column for Huffington Post, on the possibility that close-harmony singing business <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/alistair-coleman/cults-and-the-escape-therefrom_b_1605206.html" target="_hplink">Rock Choir™ might actually be a cult</a> (it isn't, just in case you were wondering) was a first for me. It signalled the first time that somebody has actually reached out to me through the technological marvel that is Twitter and told me that I am not funny. Everyone's entitled to their opinion.
In 1944, when he wasn't messing about with cats in boxes, the philosopher Erwin Schroedinger wrote a book asking the eternal question: What is Life? I find in my advancing years that life is far too short to read what he might have said, but I doubt it had anything to do with Association Football, which is where he went wrong.
15/05/2012 10:06 BST
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