Frood Is 50

I spent the weekend in Valencia contemplating the romance of these coastal towns.  Taking in the seafood and jamon. And beers sold in iced glasses, even while the Valencians themselves wore winter coats to protect against the balmy February air.

As ever I fell for the clear skies and clear complexions of the slender inhabitants of this quiet, sleepy town. I fell for the palm trees and local landmarks.  I fell over in the sea.

Frood has hit a landmark of his own with this the 50th post.  Roughly 50,000 words worth of interminable, mangled filth, aka halfway to a Jeffrey Archer novel.  More puns than are acceptable among functioning human beings, and jokes worse than your average American primetime sitcom.

Those of you who are familiar with American primetime sitcoms know that there is a tradition in the US for the clip show, recap affairs made to alleviate the strain on writers, cast and crew.  With a plagiaristic glint in Frood’s rheumy eye, then, here’s what newish readers may have missed from the plumby depths:

Punch Me In The Face

My account of avoiding reading EL James’ Fifty Shades Of Grey.

I Wish I Were A Was

Damned if I know.

Paris, Je Voudrais Brainnnzzz

The zombie movie adaptation of World War Z that I wanted to see.

I hope you enjoy…

50 Froodian posts and counting; readers, your trials have only just begun.  But thank you, I love you all the same.

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