Clue? Do (Tell)

Not sure who is going to do the science on the Madame B questionnaire responses, although I am currently very much with the idea that she/he is actually a he. Too vulgar to be a bird.
(If you are joining us for the first time today, please take a few minutes out to read all the comments to hhn over the last four or five days. It basically involves Colonel Mustard aka The Waunch defending Carlos Santana against Rev Green aka Styx, who has spent many years in cahoots with Mrs Peacock aka blokewhoifihadtochoosefromthecluedoboxwouldbesmrspeacock. And there is this bird called Miss Scarlett aka Madame B. Some househusbandnot readers thought she (Mrs B) was going to be a fox, but - based on the fact she won't send photographic evidence (despite the fact that I sent her a photo of me and mrs househusbandnot in the summer) - are now thinking she might be rather more Mrs White than Miss Scarlet. Or - someone is suggesting, and I am agreeing - even a geezer. And the only one we have left in the box now is Professor Plum. And where's Vinderama aka the Candle Stick? Me? I'm hanging in the Conservatory with the Rev Green and Colonel Mustard watching Mrs Peacock vogueing.)

Anyway, I'm going to leave the Madame B questionnaire thing out there for a few more days. I want some more from you people. Also, Madame B? Be fly, and actually answer the questions dude/dude-ette. Or just send a photo.

Back in the real world, had a good weekend down in Suffolk with Mr And Mrs Bad and their x4 Badettes. Highlights included being told not to be rude about clowns because two of the kids who were over for the day on Saturday had a mother who was actually a clown. (She showed up later in clown stuff to prove the point.) A bunch of people turned up for supper on Saturday: a lawyer, artists x2 (one v drunk), someone I'd met in Ethiopia 10 years ago, her boyfriend who makes cider, a very funny journalist who spent some of the evening trying to get my surname to google me because I confessed that I recently sent an embarrassingly ranty letter to his newspaper, and a really nice bloke who introduced me to Bettye Swann some time ago. mrs hhn was way down the other end of the dinner table. At the end of supper, I went down to see how she was getting on. "No, it has to be double deckers," she was saying earnestly to the journalist. I figured they were having some serious conversation about transport in London. Turned out they were onto their third or fourth round of Is It A Biscuit Or A Chocolate Bar. Suffolk remains a deeply random place.

In other news, blokewholikesvogueing has asked me to share the following site with you, and to sign up to the petition: www.lifeisland.org

Unfortunately, I have to go to the dentist this morning to see the hygienist who really dislikes me and or the world. She is the moodiest person I have ever met - puts the s and the double l back into sullen. Makes Ian Curtis sound like Emma Bunton. Makes...right quite enough of that.