That was unusual. I woke earlier this week to the sound of two fellows mowing the roof. Yes, I did say the roof. Why mention it? Because the building in question, to follow on prosaically from last week, is allegedly France’s biggest indoor arena – The Palais Omnisport de Paris-Bercy.

Yes, Walking With Dinosaurs rolls on, unimpeded by the brace of chaps playing tug-o-war with a Flymo on the arena’s near-vertical slope. One waggled his end of the rope, the other let out more slack from above. Thus the mower’s serpentine twists triumphed and the roof was trimmed. It was so interesting to watch, in fact, that I headed inside for a cuppa after twenty seconds or so.

Haute Cuisine

Now, there’s been plenty of undiluted nonsense over cups of tea on tour recently. For example, Roast Guinea Fowl was on the menu the other evening. ‘Poor little bastard,’ said one driver. ‘Probably spent all his life on a wheel in a cage.’ The confusion with guinea pigs, however, weakly compared with the misunderstanding between nasturtiums and Cistercian monks. Sound similar if said quickly? No. Funny then, that it was I who misheard, euphoric at the prospect of seeding a sprinkling of Cistercians before the last Spring frost.

Doomsday

Still, at least it looks like we’ll have a Spring. And, indeed, a Happy Christmas – Mayan prescience turned out to be iffy. An advanced knowledge of spherical trigonometry? Tick. Short fellows living in the jungle? Tick. Forecasters of impending doom on December 21st, 2012, presaging blackened skies and cataclysm? Whoopsydaisies. I’ll have to award a black mark there, Johnny Mesoamerican.

We’re still here. Ipso facto, your Long Count calendar contained a rather glaring error. Unless that “1” was shoddily written – a smudged “7”, perhaps – I’m afraid you simply didn’t know your onions.

BBC Weather Blooper

But don’t feel bad. If it’s any consolation, weatherman Michael Fish wasn’t doing any better in 1987. ‘Don’t worry, there isn’t,’ he assured the nation, dismissing reports of a brewing hurricane speeding across the Atlantic. The following night devastation struck; it was the worst storm to hit south-east England since 1703, and I can remember waking to a howling chimney and trees being uprooted. ‘Up yours Michael,’ said one irate viewer on Youtube recently. ‘Our fucking garden fence blew in through our fucking window. Ya shitter.’

On that note, Happy Christmas, Everybody. Would you like a crap joke, just in case you don’t get one in your cracker at dinner? OK, then. Q) What does a transvestite do at Christmas? A) Eat, Drink and Be Mary. Told you it was crap. Maybe check out this two-minute clip of Santa Claus disgracing himself instead, then..