Cat Drug In.

Spotted near Shudehill this morning. A very post-Bansky pussy. It's probably Felix gone viral.

Up Against The Wall XXIII - Chavs Suck.

Writ large on the wall between the bridle path and the eastern side of Heaton Park: Chavs suck. Chad Sucks may have been more appropriate for such a bonny wall, but that's a very small joke only old twats like myself will get.

I Am Kurious Orange 7'' edit.

Spotted. Another Curious George. This one in Stevenson Square on the side of a traffic bollard thingy. Nice use of the yellow. Off to Northwich Vics now. FCUM.

Pretty Polly.

It's not every day somebody buys you a parrot, but for me today was the day. Meet Angry the Parrot. He was bought for me by Jan who I work with following an off-the-cuff remark that I needed something to protect my now-healing shoulder. Something like a parrot. In retrospect I hope it's not a sign that I'm going to break my leg. Or get poked in the eye.

Up Against The Wall XXII: Furry Bum.

Annoyed by draconian rules that crush what little joy there is in walking the dog? Stick it to The Man with your indelible freezer pen. Then clean up the mess from your shit machine you anti-social twat.

Sweet and Tender Hooligan.

Another game, another pitch invasion. Now that the dust has finally settled on Friday night's pulse-pounding, Earth-shattering, epoch-defining action (thanks to Stan Lee for the superlatives, a top, top red) we can brush ourselves down, stick the highlights DVD back on the shelf and start looking forward to the next round. The second round of the FA Cup. Way back on August 20th 2005, when me and that fella above went to our first FC game, it would have seemed a dream that just over five years later we'd be on the pitch celebrating victory over a team 95 league places above us. And what a victory; hard-fought, skillful, last-minute and, naturally, controversial. All those qualities are coded into the red DNA; some things were not left behind when we left Old Trafford in 2005. Passion, noise and a commitment to attacking football came with us. And thank god they did. You wouldn't expect the underdogs, having surrendered a two-goal lead, to carry on attacking. You'd forgive them for hoofing it into the stands; an additional money-spinning replay only 14 seconds away. But that's not the FC way. That's not the United way. And thank fuck for that.

Bloody Mary Morning.

Sunday Morning Come-down. Or whatever that Willie Nelson song is called. I'll google it later. Out in Heaton Park early doors for a head clearer after last night's mentalism.

Guns before butter.

The rights and wrongs of guns aside (mkay?) it's a pretty sad day when a 200 year-old shop goes to the wall. Farewell then to Stensbys of Shudehill, est. 1810.

I Am Kurious Oranj.

Not sure why Curious George has been spray-painted onto a Tib Street electricity sub-station, but he sure is purdy!

Up Against The Wall XXI: Pete's Got A 2-inch Willy.

From The Haunted Playground in Heaton Park. The only one of many I could publish. All the rest had some poor kid's mobile number attached.