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ICONOCLAST

I issued a challenge to my smartie-pants UK readers to guess which of my regular papier-based reading has an editorial that includes the name of Frank Zappa and the word 'iconoclast' in the opening sentence, all under the headline "Boilerplate schmoilerplate."

No, Terry, *not* the 'Asian Babes' Fender advertorial insert in 'Rolling Stone'.

Our very own Bainbridge Review.

When I scoop that that "Up Yours" £ win on the Lotto, I had plans of retiring to a Greek island and editing some seditious rag of infuriatingly out-dated literacy in between cosying up to my Hefneresque coterie of delightful young things round the pool.

Sod the editing grind: I'll kidnap the editor of our Review, keep him chained to the 'puter on gruel and water, and take all the credit from my deck chair.

The man's wasted here.

Splendid piece on the obvious idiots who can't even vary their headings or text when spamming a cause - and didn't you just shove messrs Hands, Lisagor and Tolliver's letters under the microscope to detect duplicate phrases on the Council's HR decision?

FastCompany's Aug issue on 'Why We Hate HR'  spoke with straight tongue on the matter, particularly the 'ouch' question of those companies whose HR supremo reports to the CFO. Dead giveaway.

Burglary Rash: Baurick on form, and he's right to alert us to the holidays as being a time for chummie to come burglarizing.

I once sold a totally fictional story to 'Punch' about a team who planted a temp in a travel agency and another villain offering to look after pets during owners' absence.

This mapped empty homes and the rest was gravy.

I set it in my granny's suburban setting of dear old Kenton because I knew the Harrow-on-the-Hill environs and it was perfect for that sort of robbery.

All the details right, precise geography of how they handled the raids from the park side and where they joined the A4 north or south.

Fuzz contacted the ed who contacted me and I had a right old audit of my movements. Luckily, I kept a diary that proved I was busy committing mischief in various Soho boozers, so they cleared me, but not without considerable hassle including checking all my possessions and some very awkward questions of certain young ladies who'd told mum n dad they were bedding with best friends. Ulp.

Iconoclast: Impossible to get the children to share homework, largely because the history of this country is unknown to me and the upper slopes of calculus a total mystery. So we read the Review and I test 'em on that.

Iconoclast? Not one of the words in common ghetto parlance, but a good try by the younger. "Elastic Icon"? Near enough.

Police Blotter: Regular favorite and a known bastion of literacy, inviting the complaint that it should have included the gem from Four nabbed in meth bust about there being "a little bit of a struggle ... he didn't want to be arrested ... but there were four cops. so he eventually got with the program." Our emphases.

Henceforth in this household, it'll be the euphemistic "getting with the program", tho' I'm not sure how programmed I can be with a daughter who's been clinically trained to walk with death in both mitts..

Dull Reading: Interesting observation by younger spitfire: she shuns coffee so we don't bother with the latte assessor section, but you never know what these creatures read.

We have a 'pal' who crams on the adverjectives and can't spout three sentences without some cloying joke as if to plead 'Not boring you, 'm I? ... Hey, I'm not heavy, I'm just being witty. Say you like me, you really like me."

Junior Heinkel put me on the spot: "Dad, in the "Dull Reading" piece ... he's like Bill A.

Like 'crucible' and 'hypothetical' are by way of what 'legal term' meaning what?"

Out of the mouths of.

Finalement, *doesn't* Tina Liu's write-up of Greg Epstein's BBQ set-up sound lip-smackin' good?