...fye-orrrr!
Oh yeah, blogging.
Because I'm an gi-normous dag, and like Leela from Futurama once said, "My life isn't as glamorous as my webpage makes it look", I can cheerfully admit to be thoroughly enjoying the complete series of Hornblower DVDs I borrowed off my mother-in-law.
Bally, big, boy's own adventures, smashing those damned Froggies, Wops and Dagos and blowing over Boney whilst running around with pistols down your trousers yelling "A-hoy!" "Aye Sir" and my favourite "FIRE!" (pronounced FYE-ORR!).
Labels: telly
6 Comments:
I watched a few episodes for different reason but (blush) have no idea how to spell his name - Ioun Gruffud or somesuch (you know how the Welsh hate their aeious....)
blimey!
it's the trouser-frontage, Kath.
just admit it.
wow. do they have to roger the cabin boy?
Just promise me you don't leave the house wearing one of those tortellini style hats.
'scuse me . . .I love a man in tights! (prefer one in a kilt)
Ball-tearingly good. Holy Lord :)
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