A while ago I put a Site Meter reader on a couple of my blogs, not because I wanted to taunt people that I knew their I.P., but because I thought the map that shows all the locations of your readers looked pretty cool. However, another cool feature is its ability to record the search words that are used by those people who stumble across your blog via a search engine. For some reason this only worked on my TV review blog and not my main one, although hopefully re-registering will change that.

We’ll start off with the surreal and then finish with the downright perverted (a bit like an average night in Swansea when pissed up on a Saturday night).

Maybe something got lost in translation, but someone from Linkping, Sweden, typed in “Kerri & James want to nightclub” and ended up at my blog. Hopefully they got to “nightclub” after all.

Unsurprisingly, many of the search terms consisted of sexual content, although while some of the terms were mildly depraved they didn't quite count as outright perversion.

Someone from Walsall (probably Alec Weston) typed in “strict mistress Vanessa” and ended up being... well, disappointed, while someone else typed “strict spanking mum” (perhaps they weren’t on first name terms with Vanessa).

One thing I didn’t realise after doing a TV review for Loose Women was that there were so many fans of the ladeez in question. Some search terms were innocent enough, such as “why is Kaye Adams no longer on Loose Women?” (she finally got a decent agent?), but most were pretty MILFy. Samples included “Carol McGiffin MILF”, “pics of Carol McGiffin boobs”, “Coleen Nolan boobs” and “Coleen Nolan breast size”. Hmm. Maybe it isn’t such a mystery why Kaye Adams got fed up of being on Loose Women.

Continuing the theme of all things MILFy, someone typed in “Vanessa Feltz is a MILF” while another perv was a tad more explicit and searched (if you’ll excuse the pun) for “Vanessa Feltz boobs” (I'd imagine it wouldn’t take too long to find ‘em).

As I like to keep my promises, I’ll close with the downright perverted, and it’s perhaps no surprise the guilty party was American (or at least residing in America). The sizzling sex fiend typed “spanking flogging punishment of female prisoners” and ended up with my TV review site, which while it does have the words “spanking”, “flogging”, “punishment”, “female”, “prisoners” and “of”, does spread them over several reviews and not stringed together in a in a lexically correct sentence.

It’s funny, because I would have thought that if someone typed “spanking flogging punishment of female prisoners” they would have ended up at a certain someone’s blog.co.uk blog before mine…

Finally, Doofus has gone to lunch. After having the above phrase looped in my head for twenty minutes she has gone to stare vacantly at another wall, this time the canteen’s.

Today’s words of wisdom have been to inform us that Jermaine Jackson is “Michael Jackson’s brother” and that she thinks the controversy over the current Celebrity Big Brother will “go on for years”. Which is more than her current job will if she doesn’t start getting some work for her to fit in between the staring at NHS walls sessions.

After having watched Pan’s Labyrinth yesterday I have this urge to draw a chalk circle around her so she collapse into a netherworld where a creature with eyes in its hands snacks on her and uses her femur as a back scratcher. Or I could get another job.

I’ll go get me chalk…

Despite the cynicism attached to New Year resolutions, I can’t help making a few each year. The fact that I’m not the head of a despotic military junta in some faraway land should have proved to me beyond doubt that resolutions typically fail the reality test (and I’ve been making the junta one since I was fourteen).

One of the resolutions I made this year (apart from the junta one again) was to try and be civil to Doofus and not upload any more posts about the silent agony of my days in the office when it’s just us and the hum of the fridge. However, after just one day back in the office last week the being civil bit went out the window, and a week later I find myself getting ready to upload the first blog entry of the year about her.

The simple truth is… I loathe the sight of her. Whether it’s the smug and aloof expression that parks itself on that slapworthy face for much of the day, the fact that she has even less work to do than I have (and a extra day of the week not to do it on), or that a corpse would provide more sparkling repartee during the day than she ever will.

So the Doofus topic is open once more, as are the celebrated Doofyballs. The all time #1 is still when she was explaining to the car park attendant that a consultant who works here has two cars and needed parking permits for both of them, but that the doctor would “only be driving one of the cars at the same time”. Well, duh.

To inject some practical humour into the situation, when she goes to lunch today I’m going to hide her scissors. This will inevitably lead to her spending at least three hours searching for them (they’ve got her name on them, so it’ll almost be like losing a limb for her), and she’ll probably have a nervous breakdown once she realises they can’t be found. Until I drop them down the back of her desk some time on Thursday.

Hmm. Maybe it's a good thing my revolutionary army has yet to seize power and install me as 'El Presidente'.

As if getting a 42” LCD TV screen wasn’t enough for my father, he bought (or, perhaps more accurately, was sold) this 500w home cinema system:

Considering that if my father was listed in Who’s Who he’d have ‘watching films with large explosions in it’ under his interests, the presence of a subwoofer in the TKK parental household spells d-i-v-o-r-c-e.

But another reasons why my parents are getting a divorce this year is this:

While my father finishes off the job on his hearing that years down the coal mines started, my mother will be surfing the web, internet dating and selling his 500w home cinema system and LCD screen on eBay. And probably filing her divorce papers online while she’s at it.

In any breakdown of a family unit there’s the possibility of emotional distress in some members. My sister and I will cope, but it’s the dog I’m worried about.

After years of stability and undivided attention from my parents, the dog will have a breakdown and resort to hanging around seedy bars, turning tricks for ready-salted peanuts. Eventually, she’ll be found expired in a Scottish flophouse, spending her last moments of life in an extremely undignified position on a tartan cushion.

Further proof of the backwardness of the citizens in my home town in Ye Olde Wales. Everyone knows gay no longer means ‘happy’ but ‘a bit rubbish’.

Or the tag you leave behind might not be your original design...

Let's be honest: Jar Jar Binks was a more realised character than Miles' Asian bride, and at least would have added more comic value. And I bet his sperm count would have been higher than Warren's.

And not just on health grounds.

I've always thought it advisable to check the spelling of the chosen insult before the aerosol gets to work. There's probably one around the corner that says 'Debra has gonawaya'.

Oh. My. God.

Is it just me, or was that complete garbage?

Anna, Warren's sperm and a turkey baster would have made a far more entertaining 80 minutes than that piss-poor excuse for melodrama.

Outstanding...