Scaraboosh, Scaraboosh, will you do the banned tango...

The first week back at work after all the Christmas gallivanting is always a bummer, so apologies for the lack of posts. Not that much has happened this week to report on, as it happens. I'm still weaning myself off the Christmas chocolates; met up with some gal pals on Thursday for some happy hour pizza and a catch up (always a winner when you're broke); took a half-day from work yesterday to attend the funeral of a very distant relative (was more there for the sake of other family members, and to serve quiche and tea at the wake than anything else); and ploughed my way through my bursting email inbox.

In fact, the most exciting thing (which highlights the tedium of my working life, sadly) to happen this week was a funny email circulated around some work bods featuring a catalogue of misheard song lyrics. You could tell who was bored at their desks and trying to while away the hours until home time by the guffawing and erupting ripples out laughter throughout the office. Which led me to think about my good mate S (moving back up here from The Big Smoke in a couple of weeks) and how we laughed and laughed at school over our other friend C - who thought the lyrics to a really bad dancey tune used often on 'Shooting Stars' with Vic Reeves leaping about inanely to it were "My lover has no money, he's on his trampoline." (Actual lyrics: "My lover has no money, he's got his strong beliefs." That's by Gala, if you care at all.)

This all tickled me so much I had to share:


But my favourite one on the email was this:

Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves by Cher
Misheard lyrics: Give these tramps some peas!
Actual lyrics: Gypsies, tramps and thieves!

Hmm. Perhaps next week will be more thrilling?