Wikipidlings

Did you know that there is a religion Vietnam which venerates Victor Hugo. There is. Also, did you know that Celtic Punk is going through a second golden age in Serbia. You are in for a treat.

Max Mosley Update:
The London Prodigal and myself were tucking into gin backed stouts with ribena tops and sambuca chasers in the Gunsmith's arms, when he leaned in conspiratorially: "In a couple of hours I'm going to meet my dealer". I expressed surprise, as I have never known TLP to take any form of narcotic other than his beloved liquor. "No you fool" he scoffed "I mean my cigar dealer". It transpired that my drinking companion had been paying a fortune to have Cuban cigars shipped to him by a shadowy cabal of tobacco dealers. It was only tentatively that I ventured the information that Cuban cigars were not illegal in Britain. As might be imagined this cast a pall over the evening, and we sunk into a gloomy silence. I would have been grateful for any distraction, so I was nothing less than delighted when disgraced F1 boss Max Mosley walked into the pub. Pausing only to artfully catch the tip of his finger in the door he strode up to the bar and ordered a small sherry. He drained it straight down, and ground the glass into his face. I sidled up to him, and expressed my sympathy for his recent troubles. He thanked me: "as you say, what I do in private is nobody's business". As he spoke he idly lit cigarettes and stubbed them out on his arm. "I don't force my activities in anybody's face" he said as pushed a toothpick into his left nostril. "And these accusations of Nazism are ridiculous. We masochists are a tolerant people, doesn't the name Oberhessischer Verein für Volksbildung mean anything anymore." Unfortunately at this moment the landlord re-entered the bar, and hearing the brief snatch of German clearly leaped to an unfortunate conclusion. He pulled out a heavy iron tent peg from under his apron and advanced threateningly toward the beleaguered whore botherer. "Get out of my pub, you filthy Nazi pervert" he shouted at Mr Mosley, who beat a sadly undignified retreat, crying out with alternate alarm and delight as the tent peg impacted around his buttocks and thighs.