Hullo readers, me again, and since I got in moderate trouble for the last column, I thought I'd set the record crooked by saying, THE COLUMN IS SUPPOSED TO MAKE YOU LAUGH… bellends.

A man of conscience and liberal upbringing as you can see from my past writings, an ambition of mine was always to be the best damned protester a peace march ever saw.  Which is why a few of my friends, including Rowlee, who's a hit-man by trade, went on a peace march a couple of weeks back.

The objective was as simple as it was wonderfully complex. 

We were to:

A, Stop the war

B, Stop the slaughter of innocents (see objective A for more details)

C, Stop too much cash being spent on the replacement of Trident nuclear weapons

D, Encourage the trial of Tony Bush for war crimes

5, Stop the war again

All joking aside, I really believed in it and respect immensely the people who bust their arses to get things changed. 

I thought to myself: this will be morally uplifting, I can join millions if not tens of politically responsible people as we all push together to achieve a common goal of peace.  We could exchange ideas, cement our beliefs, encourage each other when times are harsh, and let each other know we are not alone in our struggle for what's right. We can make a difference. We can make the world a better place with our revolutionary brothers and sisters.

Of course, that went out of the window quicker than that time Dom and Timmy were simultaneously sick out of each side of a cab, whilst in transit, forming sort of, go-sicker-stripes.  This is what actually happened:

We turned up to do 'our bit' perhaps with the wrong attitude, well perhaps, I had the wrong attitude.  Because you see, I don't like being around fundamentalist loonopaths.

There was a bunch of people handing out leaflets highlighting the struggle in Kashmir, and how the conflict was ruining the region, whilst dropping crisp packets, burger boxes, empty cans etc. all over London, ruining THIS region and getting belligerent if people didn't take a flier, which to be honest, a Barbary Ape could have designed and printed on used toilet paper, and it would have looked better.  One got pissed off with me because I wouldn't take two of them! Eff off, and pick up your litter you filthy cads.

Then there was the man screaming: "Victory to the Iraqi resistance, death to the capitalist insurgents." I thought, erm, nope, not with you on that one, do you mean death to OUR capitalist insurgents, OUR boys? What are you, American fighter planes? I'm not really for the death of anyone you fascist dickhead. Semolina for brains I tell yer.

Then there was the person selling ball-whistles and anti-war banners, air horns that type of thing, whilst shouting things like "Down with capitalism" he was trying desperately to sell us stuff.  Must have been a wind-up, surely anyone could see the contradiction.  Needless to say he didn't get any of MY hard earned capitalist money. What a bounder!

Then there were the people shouting "war criminal" at the police, who for my money, whatever you think of the rozzers, they were there to protect us… from the nutters in our ranks. Also, not sure how many Iraqi men, women and children your average Met Police PC has murdered, or how many British soldiers they've killed by mistake. So erm, yous can shut your prayer-holes on that one as well.

And a woman, who stripped down to only her very revealing bra and knickers, ran up the Mall shouting:

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. YOU ONLY HAVE ONE CHOICE…. ONE CHOICE…..ONE CHOICE..WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

and like some other people I know, didn't finish her sentence…in the mental institution. 

So I had absolutely no clue what my one choice was.  I mean, PJ or Duncan? Bulldog clips or mountains? Light bulbs or churches? The sky or slide-rules? Dogs or jobs? Wood-chip or candy floss?  Jeans or gravy? Magna Carta or kiwi fruit?

What?

Also honey, if you got it flaunt it, if you don't, don't run up the Mall half-naked screaming "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" I was nearly sick on to the guy next to me's ban the bomb sign. She was nee oil paintin… unless that oil paintin was of a sea monster.

Oooo, I bet a crazy bird now wants to hurt me, because that would make such a difference in my life, that's NEVER happened before! Bring it on Banshee Bird.

There were people dressed in orange overalls with bags on their heads to highlight the mistreatment of the Guantanamo kidnapped, I mean terrorist prisoners, but mysteriously they could all see where they were going, bag over your head MY ARSE, there must have been a hole in it. Cheaters.

I sarcastically suggested how good it would be if by the end of our march, Sky News reported: 

In yet another spectacular U-Turn, Tony Blair today announced he was dead wrong on all of it and that a 100,000  crazy fuck-balls, not counting Dunny off Sevenball and his friends, had changed his mind, deciding finally that he is a war criminal after all. Mister Blair commented: "So awfully sorry guys, y'know, one can see now that God wasn't guiding me, it was a chimp in a big white house, I shall resign forthwith and start my penance." 

In response, Mr. Bush said: "OO-OO-AA-AA-OO-OO-AA-AA" and licked at his own stream of piss.

If only it were true, I mean, if only the announcement was made and it was true, I'm pretty certain Bush does make noises like that and lick at his own stream of piss.

Oslo, after all these years of political protest, can we write and then sing something other than "What do we want?" [pause for response]…."When do we want it?" [pause for completive response, which is ususally "NOW!"]…and begin again?

We got so annoyed and felt so duped by the scenario that the hit-man and I were singing songs about Leeds, and how dirty they are.  One copper joined in and smiled.

Well-in that man.

We also sang slogans aimed at Steve McLaren (Luke, that's the England football manager):

"1, 2, 3, 4, England needs a flat-back four. "

And "Ste Mac listen to me. We don't want no 3-4-3."

"What do we want? Sean Wright-Phillips! Where do we want him? Terrorising people down the wings when Lennon is injured but not until he gets more first-team football with Chelsea, but you can't argue that he has electric pace and a decent touch but his final ball and overall reading of the game needs work, his commitment and passion have never been in question."

Then I probably went too far, yelling:

"Grant Mitchell – Te-ror-rist, Mariah Carey – Ter-or-rist".

"War – Huh – Good God y'all - what is it good for? Kicking people's heads in! Say it again y'all".

By the end of it I was so embarrassed to be on the same Planet (debatable) never mind road as some of these numpties that my face was as red as my feet after walking all bloody day.

I felt like going up to one of the groups of nutters and say something along the lines of:

"What are you talking about? This is FOR the war, right? I mean we support the war? Don't we want to stay till we beat our hi-score?"

Stopped myself doing it, but it was going to be that or "Support Gay Marriage! I thought this was a pride march."

Never again I tells ya.

Sorry.

No really I'm sorry. I don't mean to belittle genuine attempts to make democracy work, it's just that, well, can't we text vote next time? Rather than hanging-out with the mentally inept.

Are you fooligans now getting the picture that this is meant to be incendiary?  You're meant to laugh, or at least be mildly distracted.

Am I going to get in more trouble at the next show, like I did last time?

Woman comes up to me and, in relation to the 'When travelling in France' column I wrote says: "I read your column Dunny, very funny at times, but my Mum's French." 

I said, "Oh, I'm really sorry."

"Sorry for what you said about the French? You should be, young man"

"No, I'd do that again, I mean, I'm sorry your Mum's French."

JOKING before you come and find me again, or your countrymen surround my house with lorries burning cow carcasses.  Let's get in boats and I'll fight you then. 

Doing it again, sorry.

I made a further boo-boo the other day.

I was going through the turny style gatey bits on the Tube, in a queue of people waiting to filter though, when I noticed two Underground workers were stood by the gate I would pass through, watching a large gentleman, directly in front of me, struggling to get through the gates before they closed. 

One Underground guy was saying to the other one: "Watch, watch, watch… ..wait for it….. watch………..BOOM! Ha ha ha!" as the gates abruptly shut on the poor traveller, who didn't get their immense frame with all its baggage, and also luggage through the relatively small aperture in time.

As I was directly behind, the mischievous pair saw me, I saw them, and smiling I exclaimed unintentionally loudly "GOT HIM! Ha ha!".

Just then,  the woman who had just been trapped by the gates, turned round and screamed "I'm not a HIM!".

I nearly shat myself, and so did the two miscreants of the Underground. But they were laughing, pulling faces at me as if to say "Oh, you've done it now…"

I wasn't laughing because I feared for my next breath. 

I didn't mean to offend him, sorry HER! I hate offending people, as you people know very well, particularly someone that big, (S)he would make mincemeat out of me.

Ooops.

Well what was I going to say?

If it looks like a bloke, walks like a bloke, smells like a bloke, it's probably a duck.

Was my thinking.

Now that's definitely earned me a time-share place on Satan's right hand side in Hell.

Jesus, if you are listening, I mean if you're real, and heeding my pathetic word, please forgive me.  I never meant to offend or hurt anyone. Honest Guv, swear to your Dad.

Anyways, news.

Jim still hasn't written his blog studio log thing log – tut tut James, we've been busy as well. 

We got Jonny Turbo back, for a little while.

Martin still wears scarves in-doors. 

Luke's hair gets bigger. 

My tollerance to alcohol goes up whilst my tollerance for people goes down.

There's been games played, Rugger and Footy, that kind of thing, some  people got excited, probably in Wales or somewhere.

Erm, I watched Jaws and Die Hard with William the other day, that was immensely enjoyable.

We got new material on the go.

I'm going in the studio with Bex Colwell and Daisy to do some work with them, also meant to be doing some stuff with the amazing Jessica Grace as well, when I have more than two ticks to rub together, not easy. 

I don't even have time to rub myself together at the moment.  But then, I'm not 14 anymore, I don't MAKE time for that, plus it makes you go blind apparently. 

No offense to anyone who is 14 right now, it's totally natural, it doesn't make you go blind, and I believe you when you say you are just combing your hair in there. Hey, by the way, have you seen that mail-order catalogue, the one with those swimsuits in, it was here a moment ago? Kevin? You in there? What's that noise? Sounds like you're trying to whisk an egg in there.

Er, some Kids news:

More kids have been shot by other kids in my town.

Won't see that on fucking Newsround.

Uhm, what else?

Nope that's it.

SO, WOW.

There you go.  Your little brains are filled up again with ranty rubbish from the only man what can.

I'll be scheming on another one very soon.

Shows to come late April / early May.

Yous can get hold of the album on our websites, and also Amazon.

You can email me, skywrite or use ESP, buying me a drink will make my day, teach me how to make it, and I'll be drunk forever.  Or something like what Oxfam says about fishes.

Only rock can save us now.

Hope to see you all soon.

Bye now.

Dunnoir

THE DUNNY COLUMN IS NOT WRITTEN BY ANYONE EXCEPT DUNNY'S LEFT FOOT.  THOSE WHO TAKE OFFENCE SHOULD PHONE IN TO RICHARD AND JUDY AND TRY AND WIN SOME MONEY.

SEVENBALL DOESN'T JUST BLEACH YOUR EXISTING LIMESCALE, IT REMOVES IT COMPLETELY BY TACKLING THE PROBLEM MICROSCOPICALLY WITH OXY-ACTION, LEAVING A SMOOTH, SURGICALLY CLEAN SHINE.  NOT TO BE TAKEN ORALLY.

DUNNY COLUMN 2007!!!  NO, YOU DIDN'T GET RID OF ME...

BEEEATCH. How d'you like me now?

Alright, I'll be honest.  I don't do this often enough.  But I have an excellent excuse for absence this time. It's here somewhere… I just saw it…just a second ago…oh bollocks, erm…

I was out fishing one day when a massive whale came up and swallowed me whole.  I was in its belly for three years or…

No that was Jonah or something, or was it Pinocchio?

Or both? I get my fiction mixed up.  Much better with fact.

No.

Alien abduction. 

It's true, I abducted a bunch of aliens and took them to Alton Towers…..

No.

I was making a film about a killer shark and had to be at sea for months, my entire fledgling reputation on the line…

No. That was Steven Spielberg, in 1976. And what a masterpiece it was, I get happy thinking about that film. And Die Hard.

Erm.

I was on a Government committee for two years solid, trying to work out what would happen if 6 turned out to be 9, as Jimi Hendrix pondered so philosophically…

No.

I was crucified and then rose again three days later proclaiming that I'd only done it so that you monkeys could be forgiven when you're naughty…

No.

That's not just the Jeez Geez, that's Kurt Cobain as well if you believe some Americans.

In Vietnam, I was part of a crack special-forces team, which was incarcerated for a crime we didn't commit. We broke out of a maximum-security military stockade and were on the run for twelve thousand minutes, at prime-time.  Now if you're in trouble, and you think no one can help, maybe you should call…

No.

Erm,

I've been hiding in a hole in Iraq for a few months until a couple of guys found me, checked my teeth and shaved me before handing me over to 'authorities', who, whilst filming the affair and screaming sectarian abuse at me, brutally hanged me, by way of murder, to prove that the world doesn't approve of murder and that it is wrong to kill, so they killed me to make their point, I hang corrected, my mistake, boy is my face red, or is it purple…

No, that was that nasty-ass, pricksimpleton from the land of terror.  And I don't mean Bush.

I'm going to stop jamming up the information super B-road with this jibba-jabba rubbish.  I have really been busy and like your mum, a bit slack.

JOKING.

As Jimbo Jombo the bass says: Christ on a bike! You need to chill your somethings. Ok he doesn't say that but he does often exclaim things such as 'Christ on a bike!'

And also 'Hell's balloons!'

I've actually been writing a novel, it's about two cities and the tale between them.

I'm shaking my head as well, don't worry.  At least I have a head to shake, jealous are we? Mary Queen of Scots? Eh? (Lel I writ that gag for you, girl).   (If you can call it a gag at all).

Speaking of gags, mine's finally off, so here come da knowledge…

What news, what news? I hear your brains eagerly screaming telepathically!

Whatappnin?

I got flu.

That's what happened.

I handled it like a real man, a steel-willed warrior. After five minutes of feeling a little bit off colour, I did what any real man would do, I made a will, moaned at girls for sympathy, received none, and cried about it.

WARNING: FOUL-MOUTHED BUT PROBABLY ACCURATE TIRADE TO FOLLOW. NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN OR IDIOTS.

Erm, I do hope you have a few moments...

I don't write short rants, but hopefully you'll smile if not split your sides.  This Column will be on the website www.sevenball.co.uk (where the Column library is, I've done about a hundred of these) as soon as I can figure out how to do that without too much trouble and believe it or not, it HAS been edited already.  The Sevenball censors have not cut much out (as it's me censoring myself).

Right readers.

It has been a lengthy lay off since last we spoke.  How the devil are you? And how do you lucky mofos feel about seeing the new column on MySpace?

I trust all is both boo and at the same time, tickedy.

I begin the latest column, which some people refer to as a blog, which it isn't, it's a goddamn column, with a story I discovered the other day.

This is an epic story with more twists than a turkey twizzler but I'll try to keep it short.  Are you sitting comfortably? Not that I care, I'm starting anyway....

In 1649 there was a group of criminals of the Dick Turpin ilk, who got together as a syndicate.  They were distressed at the way the new civilized law was making it harder for them to make a good dishonest living.  They even came up with a constitution and a great many alternative names for their club, but decided unanimously on 'The Highwaymen' after a text message and web vote. 

They had a plan to draw all 'alternative businessmen' in the country together under one banner, and together they would attempt to control the monarchy, the government and the people.  The leader was elected at the Highwaymen's Annual Meeting (HAM); A celt by birth, cast asunder by his own people as they are not normally like that.  His name was Ratbastardy McFuckyou.  But his friends knew him as Ratty McFuck.

Ratty was clever, but not as clever as the government who promptly made being a Highwayman a criminal offence.  This was the last straw.  Since Highwaymanery was the last bastion of the modern bounder, he decided he would seek to further strengthen his group by looking for more recruits, and regain his place at the very bottom of society.

Now, scattered all over the country, there was a great many nasty people, some had plague or pox as was the fashion, who weren't in business for profit, but to cause chaos.  They united in 1654 under a man known as Bassa-Luigi Tardio, rumoured to be of European descent, it was later discovered that this fatherless Englishman came up with the name to 'get de girls'.  He was known as BassTard, the origin of the term Bastard, which then became Bass for short in the language of the day.

One evening, in a pie shop, Ratty met Bass and they formed an instant alliance.  Following the example of Ratty, Bass drew like-mindless individuals all over the kingdom to come together and form a group, unsurprisingly entitled 'The Bastards'. 

This band of dubious men would be known to steal from old ladies, tell girls there was a spider behind them on the wall when there wasn't really, chase pigeons and put up the V finger sign to babies, that sort of thing.

For ten years they reigned under the underworld until a new breed of slightly likeable criminals came to the scene.  This group started the first warehouse for disposing of stolen merchandise, near the Northumbrian town of Scundrillington-upon-Skerne.  These naughty but charming 'Scoundrels' as they were nicknamed, came to the attention of the Highwaymen and the Bastards.  Having met at the celebrated 'Secret Scumbags Conference', they all instantly went into business together.

The final piece of the famous jigsaw was completed in late spring, 1665 as the uber-syndicate of criminals decided they needed to improve their public image with the consumer (mug).  They had a strategy meeting in a swish London hotel and decided to recruit funny people to distract the people from their real goals and convince the world that their syndicate wasn't that bad after all, really.

They hired their first army of Clowns later that year, taking out adverts in the cheap discos of England advertising for 'Jolly men to help cheer the country up during these dark days of pestilence and famine, Ratty McFuck needs you' with the devil pointing a big finger straight at the viewer.

Many hundreds of years after Ratty McFuck and the boys had since passed on, leaving their legacy for the world, yet more law came into play and the only way for the criminal syndicate to stay in the money was to run a 'legitimate' business.  Hence they incorporated in 1899 forming Highwaymen, Scoundrels, Bastards, and Clowns ltd….

…long for HSBC.

So there you are folks.  HSBC - there's no honour amongst thieves.

I'll be honest, I've not even done a pint of research, but I'm sure the story is similar to this.  No names have been changed to protect the guilty.  And yes, maybe I have something against them.

Speaking of guilt, I do feel a certain amount as it's been so long since I cultivated your lush, growing minds with this verbal compost.

What's been happening?

Well, we've written more tunes, played a few more shows and have basically just lead the rock and roll lifestyle for a while.

Oh, I laughed at a drunken man on the tube.  I dumped Kate off the hit series 'Lost' (too clingy) and erm, I lost a fortune playing the long-loved game from our childhood 'Operation' at PartyOperation.com, where 'you're the doctor, 24 hours a day without sleeping', bit like being a real doctor eh? Know what I mean, you medical professionals out there?

I also had to explain to a friend of mine from accross the water, why we celebrate Guy Fawkes night, then I realised how shtupid it is.  "Yeah, erm, every year about this time, because someone once tried to blow up the houses of parliament thousands of years ago, we light lots of explosives, for I'm guessing ironic reasons, blowing our fingers and hands to bits, turning the streets into a warzone, and then burn an effigy of the ring leader.... every year....for hundreds of years, obsessively".  We don't even burn effigies of Hitler.  Christ sake, am I the only one who thinks selling explosives and torching the guy is completely mental and a bit sick???!"

So it's been a long time since I made it to a computer, or even made it near a computer, actually it's been a long time since I made it, sob sob.  I've been nowhere near any technology what doesn't have strings on it.  In fact, since again beginning to write the column today, I have to say, I am reminded by just how useless computers really are. 

I'm not sure if artificial intelligence will ever exist, but I am certain that artificial stupidity has already been invented and implemented in every computer in the world, Artificial Idiocy (AI) to rival any real-live, modern American political administration, in power at the moment, not naming names.

Let's take spell checkers for example.  For some reason the computer thinks: "Ooh, I recognise that the user is trying to type words, perhaps these words are part of a language.  Hmm, I know, it must be American English, or my second guess is Ancient Sumerian". People keep telling me, it's a default setting; I keep saying yes, out of all of them, that's the fault setting, mine's done it with French and bloody Mandarin in the past.

I mean, only real dunce machines can decide that because you want to be clever and use bullet points, that they should be everywhere in your life.  Let's give it a try now:

• I hate computers
• I think they are pedantic and tiresome

See? Well you can't, because I've just had to remove all the automatic bullets it put fucking everywhere and changed the font.  I've just found bullet points in the pockets of my jeans, up my nose, one has asked me if it can ask my sister out (nee chance) and a gang of three of them have just worked over the off-license round the corner.  Police are looking for two spots and a half-coloured arrow.

Ah screw it.  Little smart arse machine.  I'm sick to death of asking it to do something four or five times before it realises I was talking to it, 'Yes you! You glorified abacus' then it does what you first asked three or four times in a row.

Also that hourglass symbol comes up, which tells you 'I, robot, have no idea what's happening, I'll show you this hourglass to represent the hours you are wasting waiting for me, hours of your life which you'll never, EVER, get back again so ner and ner again….oh, I think he swore at me, that's it, freeze then crash to blue screen, that'll learn him'.  

Fuckers.  Erm, I mean what lovely machines (I think it can hear us talking right now).

There are people at gigs who come up to me, normally of the older generation, saying "You're dead clever with this newfangled blogging and that".  

First, it's not a blog I'm calling it a COLUMN and I bloody-well write it (you're right, it is a blog really),

and second, you wouldn't be saying that if you watched me trying to upload one of these things, sitting for hours and hours, screaming at the monitor, cursing God for creating man who created these infernal machines, smashing everything up EXCEPT the bastard computer and then realising when it posts on the tinternet, there's fucking bullets everywhere and messed up paragraphs, some letters bigger than others, some the same colour as the background and then eventually getting Luke to do it for me because I would injure myself if I kept going.

Anyway.

We played a show last week, invite only so sorry if any of you didn't get in, we played at Fortress Studios, as guests of Pinna Productions, Sonny et Kev, and a jolly good pair of guys they are too.  

We had a top class time so thanks for all involved, and we showcased a new song, which went down better than Monica Lewinski!  

We played with a young lady by the name of Jessica Grace, who you HAVE TO CHECK OUT, as she was a bit special.  She's wandering around MySpace right now so have a look. 

I have a serious announcement to make:

SEVENBALL PLAYS THE FLY BAR ON NEW OXFORD STREET ON 9^TH DECEMBER.

So you have literally no excuse for missing this one.  What's special is that this is our show.  We are doing it with the lovely people of the Fly bar (featuring our great old friend 'borderline' Matt and Alex, the king of cocktails) and so want to make as good a night as has ever been enjoyed by a person who's not married to all the Dallas Cowboys' cheerleaders.

We play with the double-lovely Miss Bex Colwell.  A singer-songstress and much loved member of our little collective.  She is on first and must not be missed goddamnit.  That's you telled.

Then, there is, for any veterans out there from our Turnmills show, the Sunshine Law, featuring the nicer than average Duncan.  Obvioulsy I call him Uncle Dunkle but you can just call him whatever he responds to. 

The night will complete with a little rock by us (plus new tunes) and some DJs to play the absolute nuts of various music.

If you ask for Oasis, I'll kill you myself, then you'll be sorry.

Anways, get yourselves involved.

Hope to see you there.

Be good, oh and visit www.sevenball.co.uk.

All ma love

Dunnoir

DO ANY OF YOU EVER READ THE DISCLAIMER AT THE BOTTOM OF THESE COLUMNS? THE COLUMN IS NOT A FICTITIOUS WRINKLY LITTLE BALD MAN WHO LIVED IN A CAVE WITH A RING FOR YEARS, THAT'S A GOLLEM, THIS RAPPING DOES NOT CONSTITUTE THE THOUGHTS OR BELIEFS OF ANYONE AT ALL LIVING OR DEAD. ANY SIMILARITIES TO THE CORPORATION HSBC ARE DESIGNED TO PISS THEM OFF FOR BEING NOT VERY NICE, BUT DOES AT NO STAGE REPRESENT ANYTHING AT ALL LET ALONE REAL HISTORY, I WAS ONLY JOKING. 

SEVENBALL CAN CONSOLIDATE ALL YOUR MONTHLY REPAYMENTS INTO ONE MANAGEABLE LUMP OF ROCK AND ROLL.  YOU WON'T BE OUT OF DEBT BUT YOU WON'T CARE BECAUSE ROCK IS THE WAY. 

Hallo

It is I Mister Dunn, the slide-giver in Sevenball and also I write a column on our website at www.sevenball.co.uk which tends to get a few giggles, as well as many peoples backs up.  So this is just a little holding note to say that the COLUMN IS COMING, You can run (if you're not me) but you can't hide (like George Bush's IQ does exceptionally well, in fact, it's listed as a missing person!).

So keep peeiling both your eyes in the right combination and the column will be there to entertain, annoy or represent naught but a scorching wind of zany rant upon your faces.

Yous been warned innit.

Keep with it, keep on truckin, don't lose your blues, and don't erm, fountry your country (ok, nothing rhymes with it, I give myself an 'A' for effort thoughbut. I reckon my mate GT will understand).

Aye Gan Canny and Gan to a Sevemball shur.

Big love to all and may the wind at your back never be your own.

Dunnoir

17.07.06

I know, I know, like an underground train, this has been a long time coming. WARNING: Immature adult content

But it HAS arrived. 

Yes the column returns after much busyness from me and a lot of harassment from you to get it done.

So, good morning. Or if you're lazy: good afternoon.  Or if you're a student: good evening and please try and eat some fruit today.

It is I again, Dunn, to report on our brand spanking new WEBSITE!!! Yes!!! It has been a very lot of time coming but here it is.  What do you think?

I reckon it needs more pictures of Lord Nelson on it, sharks and football but other than that, it fancies my tickle.

Speaking of pictures, I'm going to make it me raisin detre (French for 'the sultana of life' loosely translated, means 'my favourite dried fruit') to bring more pictures to this site and the column and the whole world.  So keep your eyes peeled and they will be a coming.  Mark my words.

So as you saw from the above paragraph, mon Francais c'est tres bon, comme (my French is really very good, like). If you don't believe me, here's my guide to French and France:

Phrases to help on a visit to Franceland, I may have some grammatical errors:

J'lapelle Dunny, j'habit do Londres, j'ai douze ans – My name is Dunny, I have a habit in London, that's how old I am

Allez! Le voiture c'est tres firee, il fait bon – Quick, the car is very on fire, it's getting hot in here

Bonjour mariner! -  Hello sailor!

Mon eldes pappa von la bin garcon – My old man's a dustman

Il weh la bin garcon chapeaux – He wears a dustman's hat

Jai voudrais deux biers la femme de smackup – Can I have two large measures of Stella Artios my good man

Jai weh sae dae une o'clock – I will say this only once

Il mae c'est nes pas du hairee, Zizou c'est la Napolean de Futbol – He might be totally bald, but Zidane is the King of football

Jai bombast tous derrier du sange moi sexin moi – I will kick your monkey's arse my f*^king self

Sacre Bleu –Hell's Bells

ATTAQUE – Run away or hide

Zoot alors! Hadn't not 10 things you didn't not know about France: 

FACT:  France got it's name after it's founder, Francis Lee, the former Derby County footballer whose wife found it when walking at the bottom of the extensive garden of their midlands home

FACT:  France rhymes with prance

FACT:  And trance

FACT: Renee off Allo Allo was constantly surrounded by French harlots and was himself gay in real life

FACT:  If you're Frenchish, books say you might go on holiday to places like La Rochelle.  Unless you live there in which case you might go somewhere else

FACT:  In France they pronounce the word 'pound' as 'euro' – Almost other worldly isn't it?

FACT:  Almost no one in France can say the word 'phenomenon'

FACT: Pornography was invented by a Frenchman called Jean-Pierre Harcourt Pornot, who was born in the village of Coitus, on the outskirts of a region called Readers Wives 7

FACT:  Joan of Arc was an accomplished architect as well as Queen of the French revolution.  She single handedly built the self titled "Arc de Triomphe" in Rome

FACT:  Luis Pasteur, inventor of fruit pastels was born near France

FACT:  The Eiffel Tower looks like the Blackpool one, a bit

FACT:  In France no one can hear you scream, or is that space?

FACT:  In France they drive on the wrong side of the road and al trains go backwards by law

FACT:  The French Revolution was invented by a guy called Robespeare, father of the famous English playwrite Shakespeare

FACT:  Despite common and ignorant stereotypes, most French people are allergic to garlic, as well as rainbows, prams and trout

FACT:  They are not bothered that we won the right to host the Olympics, they didn't want them anyway, and now they get to sit back with the rest of the world and watch the British Government f*&k it right up

FACT:  Nicole off the Renault adverts is still gorgeous, look:

FACT:  The new Pink Panther film starring long-time funny-man turned participant in embarrassing cynically money-grabbing rubbish films, is probably absolute toilet, look:

FACT:  France has the biggest allotment in the world, called Canada, cultivating some 5 billion tonnes of potatoes, urchins, and flowers, weekly

FACT;  The word 'pain' actually means 'bread' not 'ayazzz that knacks' 

FACT:  Their boys' names sound like girls' names

FACT:  In Franceland, only people called Garcon are allowed to work in restaurants, whereas if your name is Concierge, you have to work in a hotel, that's law as well

FACT:  Water, Beetroot, Winkles, Red Wine, and Coq go into the ubiquitous traditional Soup de Jour

FACT:  The French have trouble with gradients, which is why if you're being chased you should run down or upstairs to foil the pursuit.  If you keep totally still they will still see you

FACT:  The French are the most water-repellent nation in the world, winning the Royal Navy's 'Best floater' award after their navy spent more time in the water than they did on boats in 1805

FACT:  Queen Mum of pop, Elton John has big house in France, in a big pink house on the hill, it's not the only pink house for miles but it's effing massive, you can see it from the beach, I've seen it so I am not making this fact up, or the next one

FACT:  It's quite nice there actually

So, the next time you think of crossing the Dover Straits to see our Gaulish cousins, you are now totally prepared and will blend into society seamlessly.

Say thank you.

By email.

Or send money.

Right, on behalf of the charity Research Autism, we put on a show at Turnmills a couple of days ago, and I have to thank Lynsey, my good good pal, for helping me to put it all together and not loose my marble (some already escaped the bag I'm afraid, once when I was 4 and again when I was 19…). 

We had a lot of friends help out throughout the event.  Thanks to the kind, good-natured, and daring squad from Redleaf Communications, Impressive PR and Turnmills, they are all, how you say? the dogs' janglies.

The show was an absolute stonker, the venue was as full as a sumo wrestler's thong.  And they crowd were excellent and generous to the cause and it was just as my mate Duncan and I would say: "Naaaarce".

The amazing Ed Koerber laid his Flamenco guitar thang down to open.

The Sunshine Law, featuring the aforementioned Duncan gave us a big, big set.

The Needles offered up the gift of Rock, they came all the way from Scotland and their bus broke down and it was hell and high water they crossed to get to play with us.  For acting above and beyond the call of duty, The Needles, we salute you.

And we finished the evening off with a full-band, full-tilt new theory blues assault, which we enjoyed tremendously.

There are some other shows coming up, like Pop on 26th July, and Standon and a couple of other ones, so we are rolling up on you over the next couple of weeks.  You can find all of the information on this in the unremarkably titled 'Gigs' section of our website. 

Congrats to the Dog of Bob, Bobdog our bass provider, the sections about how stuff is written and recorded, should provide balanced comment and opinion as well as riveting editorial, hmm, yes, high-brow, intelligent, hmm yes, just what the site needs otherwise it's just all dates, pictures and total nonsense from this Dunny-column-writing nuisance.

I have put a thank you thing about the Research Autism event after the usual legal disclaimers found at the bottom of this column, because I do owe a lot of thanks.

Now I as got to go.  You have had enough of me erroneous tongue for one day.

I'll keep writing the column when I have time, as I know it has fans, but I'll doubly keep writing it because I know it intensely annoys some people.  

So ner!

Write in, join MySpace, visit this website, post comments, knit some booties, slowly fold in two egg whites and join the Sevenball movement.  That way you won't be forgotten by Jeebus come results day.

The righteous listen to Sevenball.

Oh yeah, and I was supposed to say hello to a lady with serious elbows, called army Catherine, army because her arms are very hard.  She likes rugby players and isn't shy, so if you're a rugby player, send in a post card, make your case and we'll decide the winner by telepathy.  She'd be over the moon to hear from no-necked men.

Anyways big love to al ma people and speak soon.

Take care of your selves.  Keep it Rock.

Dunnoir

THE PROVOCATIVE VIEWS PRESENTED IN THE DUNNY COLUMN REPRESENT GOOD-NATURED AND MIRTHSOME HOGWASH AND DO NOT REPRESENT THE VIEWS OF ANYONE ELSE, IN OR CONNECTED TO THE BAND IN ANY WAY. SEVEBALL'S PRO-VITAMIN SOLUTION WORKS WITH YOUR HAIR'S NATURAL TONES TO GIVE YOU A VIBRANT AND NATURAL SHINE.  VOTED DUNNY COLUMN LIFESTYLE PRODUCT OF THE HOUR.  WARNING: CAN HELP KEEP YOUR HAIR HEALTHY BUT WILL NOT LUBRICATE YOUR CAMSHAFT.  NOT TO BE USED AS A LONG TERM REPLACEMENT FOR AFFECTION.

Turnmills, Research Autism thank yous:

Chief co-organiser Lynsey Cowan, Linda Ransome and Turnmills Staff,Gary the Engineer, Redleafers: Nadeen, Maha, Anastasia, Claire, Alex, Nathan, John, Rob and Emma.  Bex and Ben of Impressive PR, Scott and The Needles, Lel, Ed Koerber, Duncan and the Sunshine Law.  Richard at Onepom, Emma and Richard of Research Autism, Gary and FX Rentals, the rest of my wonderful band and the crowd.

And special thanks to everyone who supported the event by turning up.

19.04.06

Hey readers, been a long time. Hope you are well.

Hear me now.

They (them) have been talking again.

They say "Every dog has its day".

Every dog has its day? Maybe, it's debatable.

I suppose it does if you're Deputy Dawg, that mangy dog what found the world cup when it went missing, those Andrex puppies who sound remarkably like Rick off the young ones when they talk, Mutley (my friend's gay dog), Queen's corgi, Lassie (when you have a day off saving dick-head children stuck in mineshafts (Where were your parents at? How child welfare gets left to a fucking dog is beyond me, mind I suppose it is the states, shit! I'm thinking out loud again)), Hooch off Turner and Hooch, Brian off Family Guy, Hong Kong Fooey off Hong Kong Fooey etc…

….but does every day have its dog?

After careful consideration, I worked out that every day does indeed have its dog. And for us in the UK, that dog's name is Jade Goody.

Relentlessly, mercilessly every day, her name or god-forsaken face comes to my attention for reasons which exceed my understanding.

Rest assured readers, I don't go looking for it, but I can't even buy my copy of New Scientist* without seeing the frumpy cretin's deformed presence across the news stand, normally in a pink tracksuit, eating pie and mash with her unfortunate child in tow, or grotesquely spilling out of some bikini on some unhallowed beach somewhere. I know this is not entirely her fault, but she makes money out of being a nobody sub-Z-list celebrity. Why? Why? And thrice, why? Fuck knows, and he aint telling.

If the media really does give the people what they want, then give us an end to Jade coverage forever, if not an end to Jade. Until she saves someone's life, cancels third world debt, finds a cure for cancer, sells a million albums, or gets the Nobel prize for Chemistry, let's leave her off the front pages eh? Even if she won 'Idiot of the Year' or 'Biggest achievement by a blatant chav' it would be worthy of some mention, but she doesn't even excel at being dumb, or at being a chav. She is mediocre across the board.

As our bass player is fond of saying: "Christ on a bike!".

What with Jade, and Chantelle marrying the love of her life, Oh My God, PRESTON! And Kelly whatever her name is who used to be married to the slopey faced one out of Boyzone or Westlife or whatever, I'm looking forward to a time when the public isn't obsessed with this lengthy freight-trainful of trash & turd.

My kingdom for a time machine, a spot in every big brother house to date, and a box of max-frag hand grenades, I have a brilliant plan…

I'm trying, but I literally couldn't care less. Not to sound defeatist but this is the shape of things to come; it's only going to get much worse.

Speaking of going to get, I went to the doctors recently to get an opinion on why my stomach was so bad. I've not been well, (dirtying out of both ends) and having had serious food poisoning before, I thought I'd better get it all checked out as I don't intend to go through that hell again.

Me: "Is it campylobacter again?".

"No, if you had campylobacter you'd know about it".

That really, really, REALLY pisses me off. Like when they say: "If your ankle was broken son, you'd know about it".

Really? If that's true, why do you always send me for a fucking x-ray then? If I'd know, why don't you just take my word for it since I'm now an expert in medicine?

I go in there and say "You there! Nurse! OY! [condescending whistle] I need this setting and casting, my leg's broken, STAT, chop chop!".

The A&E triage specialist would retort "How do you know? Have you had an X-Ray? MRI? Preliminary examination by your GP?".

"Err thank you smart arse, I'd know if my leg was broken, the doctor and my mother says so, so just do what I say OK?.......well get the fuck ON with it, oh and I'll have three pints of the strongest anaesthetic what yuz dee".

Like people from Sunderland, that'll never wash.

Anyway, I quite obviously DON'T know when I have campylobacter again or a broken bone otherwise I wouldn't need to go to the doctor's would I? Everyone has different pain thresholds, I don't even HAVE a pain threshold. I don't like knocking on doors because it hurts my knuckles! I keep a toffee hammer in my pocket for such occasions. Everything hurts to distraction.

What about if I go in and demand to get a paper cut stitched, "You there, Nurse!..."

Nurse: "That doesn't need stitching".

"I'd know if I needed stitches THANKYOU! Everyone's a bleedin expert" (making a joke which only I truly appreciate, about A&E doctors dealing with bloody wounds a lot of the time, but laughing annoyingly anyway).

For Jeebus' sake, pack this in, medics! You didn't study for a squillion years so you could get to examine someone and shirk all responsibilities by saying: "You'd know if you blah blah…" and then go on University Challenge and know FUCK ALL about art history of art or whatever that slacker's course is called. How do you sleep at night? Oh, I know, hard, legal, drugs.

EXAMINE ME! Do some fucking work,(muttering) stupid respectable profession, stupid clever noble people, stupid cornerstone of the community…

Or I'll stay at home and examine myself (which I do quite often and thoroughly… when I'm alone) diagnose myself (probably with a condition that prevents me doing any physical work, actually while I'm at it, any work of any un-carnal kind) and prescribe myself drugs. YES DRUGS!

I, Doctor Clowny McMagicroundabout, [purple haze playing in the background loudly] prescribe pethadine four times daily for the rest of my life, on NHS prescription and stop this floor from moving like turquoise paisley waves, man.

Hang on, that sounds class actually.

Now I realise I can be a doctor too, it's true!

Because anything they come in with, I'll simply say: "If you'd hurt your blah blah whatever, You'd bloody-well know about it".

I could also work on the NHS advice line:

"What's the problem sir?.......well take two paracetemol and if it's no better by the morning, go to A&E".

WHAT GENIUS! REALLY? YOU THINK? Why would I waste the cost of my phone call on that totally useless advice line, NHS Direct.

NHS: "What's the problem".

Me: "I think I've died, I can't move, my heart's stopped beating, there's flies hatching out of my face and I've got rigor setting in, I'm just not flaccid anymore, and I'm telling you all this from beyond the grave by telepathy, I think I'm dead".

NHS: "Well take two paracetemol and if it's no better by morning……… If you'd died, you'd know about it".

Anyways, the doctor noticed I had an unusually low pulse rate. He asked what it goes up to when I exercise.

"WHEN?" says I. "WHEN?...IF I ever do any exercise I'll let you know". Fnarr fnarr.

Turns out, I have an athlete's pulse. My heart is fitter than everyone else's so doesn't need to beat as fast. An athlete's pulse! Who'd have thunk it. Hang on, I hope that athlete isn't Paula Radcliffe, other wise I'd be crying whilst shitting myself in the street, on telly.

What if it's Ben Johnson? That would be class, I could just take drugs all day and then get disqualified for being a cheating sonofabastard.

Hey, I could break the five-hour mile! I could invent the Dunny-flop in the high jump, which would involve sitting around drinking beer watching eastern European eighteen-year old gymnast girls being flexible. OO. So flexible. Or I could sit on a stretched limo-boat while I am driven through the water, my idea of 100m Freestyle.

I also have another idea for an event, not THROW the javelin, CATCH the javelin, we can make traffic wardens do it. You know, isn't it time we had an overhaul, the javelin was an ancient greek weapon, I mean, how out of date? who needs to spear giant minataurs today? They're extinct you morons!

We could have Pete Doherty representing England in CRACK AND FIELD events. HA HA, sorry shouldn't laugh at my own jokes.

Sorry, again, like Scotland's international football team, I've made no points here.

I can't remember what I was going to…YES. MYspace. You all need to go on it, register as one of Sevenball's friends, and get access to new material, chats, erm, events and such goodies.

Also, MAY 2ND, 93 Feet East, Brick Lane, London, be there or be forsaken, sorry I don't make the rules, but them's them. We are launching a small EP and the gig is going to sell-out pretty quick, so get yourselves involved big style. Hope to see you all adoring us there.

For anyone who wants to find out all the secrets and know the end of hit series LOST… WHY? It's shite.

To all readership, post a fucking comment, or have I not yanked some part of your chain here?

I'm going to say something controversial now: IRAN!

Right that's it, more controversy: John Lennon was SHIT, sorry, SHOT. I am the second coming of the messiah! I killed Bambi! I Did, and mufasa off lion king! Do something about it, come on, have a comment if you think you're bored enough. You fancy the Queen, Urrrrgh! Dogs are better than people, I'd rather shoot a person because you can't reason with animals. Eating is wrong! COME ON! I got to say something that makes you all want to write. Someone I know very well farts a lot. OO. Newsflash!

Ner.

I miss my Mam.

Come to the show on 2nd May or be forever cast as a new member of the community who works in the market, and looks like a goodie by covering his mate's stall and raises money for charity when he first joins the square, but turns out to be a baddie as he rapes the bride at his sister's wedding in the BBC's misery-fest, 'Eastenders' after the neighbour's new, bundle-of-joy-baby is kidnapped after being slapped about by it's evil Dad, cos that's a happy Christmas special on that piece-of-shit-programme.

I mean, lovely to talk to you, hope to speak with you again soon.

Gan canny (mind how you go).

Dunnoir

THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN TODAY'S COLUMN ARE NOT AT ALL REASONABLE AND ARE DESIGNED TO PISS YOU OFF. DON'T SINK TO HIS LEVEL, WATER OFF A DUCK'S BACK, BE THE BIGGER PERSON, HE'S NOT DOING HIMSELF ANY FAVOURS IS HE?

IF YOU'RE OFFENDED BY THE LANGUAGE OR CONTENT OF THE DUNNY COLUMN, PLEASE TELL A PRIEST BECAUSE NOBODY ELSE WILL GIVE A FUCK.

DUNNY'S VIEWS DO NOT REFLECT ANY OTHER VIEWS OF THE BAND OR ITS REALLY EXTENSIVE ENTERAGE. SEVENBALL CAN PROTECT YOUR WALLS FROM LIMESCALE BUT CAN CAUSE A CHOKING HAZARD TO IDIOTS, LIKE PEN LIDS AND THAT.

* Honest, with no copies of the sport hidden inside neither!

10.02.06

Hello Readers, sorry it's been such a long time since I wrote last, and it's not that I didn't have anything entertaining to say, it's just that the website was being re-done, we had Christmas, then New Years, then a hectic start to the year, filled with the usual colloidal emulsion of new recordings, rehearsals, tube rage, re-stringing of some thirty-odd guitars, erm, cleaning, pavement/tourist rage, cooking, bit of romancing, beer, smoking, more tube rage, and all of that wonderful Londoner-type stuff, so the column has been de-prioritised. But now I am here to blue-sky some coal-face thinking and drill-down on key points which could be curve-ball-deal-breakers.

I was approached by the Oxford English Dictionary last week. They had a request for me

Dunnoir - "Hello?"

OED: - "Hi, Is that Dunny out of Sevenball?"

"Yes"

"Hi, this is Dave of the Oxford English Dictionary, do you have a minute?"

"Dave?"

"Yeah"

"Sure, I'm a big fan of your book, read it several times"

"Really? Would you say a multitude of times?"

"I'd say a plethora of times, a veritable myriad"

"You certainly, indubitably have indeed"

"What can I assist you with?"

"We wondered if you'd agree to a favour for us"

"What is it?"

"We need you to agree to appear in the dictionary as a definition"

"Of what?"

"Definition of 'Cool'?"

"You're joking"

"No, I'm afraid not sir, you see, it'd really help us"

"To agree to this would be not cool"

"How about 'Genius'?"

"Nope, don't you get it do you?"

"Oo, oo, what about 'Manhood'?"

"All these things may be true, but to agree to be listed as a definition, just wouldn't be cricket, I'm sorry I just can't help you with this, I have to sleep at night, anyway, I don't have time, 'have to go and erm… wash my teeth"

"Oh fine, whatever you say"

"Bye th.."

"BYE!" ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Then they hung up. How rude!

Anyways, I looked at the latest version, and I'm not happy to see this, and I quote directly:

"Mod·es·ty n.

1. The state or quality of being modest.
2. Reserve or propriety in speech, dress, or behaviour.
3. Lack of pretentiousness; simplicity. Modesty:
4. Dunny out of Sevenball after refusing to appear as a definition of the words: 'Cool', 'Genius' or 'Manhood' on moral grounds."

NOOOOOOOOOO, BASTARDS.!

I guess if I had agreed to their requests, I wouldn't have been placed where I thought, it would be something like:

Pre·ten·tious adj.

1. Claiming or demanding a position of distinction or merit, especially when unjustified.
2. Making or marked by an extravagant outward show; ostentatious. See Synonyms at 'Showy' and 'Arrogant Bastard'.
3. Dunny out of Sevenball after agreeing to appear as a definition for the words: 'Cool', 'Genius' and 'Manhood'.

None of this actually happened, obviously. But it did get me thinking.

I considered yet another piece of total crap in the English language:

"They say these things happen in threes". Ok, 'they' are at it again, talking tosh, also, what happens in threes? Eh?

I resent the superstitious and ill-educated view that bad things happen in threes. I can confirm in a Dunny Column exclusive that this statement is ca-ca.

"Well that's what my Mum used to say" I can hear your misguided brains screaming, well who's your Mum? Albert Einstein? Johnny Ball? Ich don't ssink so. Let's suppose for a minute that things DO happen in threes, like what? The Second World War? The felling of the twin towers? The crusades? Lockerbie? Exactly what bad things happen in threes? You'll say 'disasters'. Sure, so the Tsunami happened in threes? Earthquakes happen in threes? NO THEY FUCKING DON'T, that is a giant rusty old copper-bottomed bucket-full of wrong.

Car accidents?

According to the Department for Transport's statistics, the number KSI (Killed or seriously injured) on Britain's roads in 2004, show that car accidents happen in 38,256s. Although, I might have just defeated my own argument as that number is 12,752 lots of three exactly. So maybe it does happen in threes then. Oh bollocks.

So anyroad, I thought of some things which do definitely happen in threes:

• Legs on a Chernobyl chicken (how do they taste? Dunno, I can't fucking catch one!)
• Number of questions got right by George Bush in his entire life:

- Is your name George?

- But isn't that your Dad's name too?

- Really?

• Number of chins on Vanessa Feltz
• Height in feet of pop-star, Prince, who's out of his depth in the shallow end
• Number of titties on Scaramanga, the man with the golden gun
• Number of teeth on a Chav Mum
• Wise men what saw baby Jesus in the popular fictional work, The New Testament
• Number of times the disciple John went: "What? Jees-who? Nah, sandals? Beard? Doesn't narrow it down round here… Big fella? Talked a lot? Son of God you say? erm, no, sorry never heard of him, what did he do? Knob Pilate's missus or summick?" when he denied Christ in the best-selling psychedelic wizard's tale: The New Testament
• Number of heads on Cerberus the evil and probably foul-smelling dog
• Number of faces Tony Blair has
• Population of happy people in Middlesbrough
• Triplicate
• Blind Mice
• Tenors
• Legs on a tripod
• Trimesters in pregnancy
• Number of times British people say 'sorry' every twenty seconds whilst walking along the isle of a moving train.
• Hat-tricks
• Number of times footballers say "Obviously" per second during interviews
• Number of times I have to playfully slap my Dad before he loses it
• Amount of time in seconds I have for pop music and those who 'make' it
• Number of shandys smelled before southerners feel drunk
• Number of proud gay people in the whole of Jamaica
• Number of proud straight people in the whole of San Francisco
• Amount of eyes on that strange willy-coloured alien at the bar that said 'wanga wanga' or something in Star Wars (the first one and Return of the Jedi)
• Square root of 9
• Tricolore -The flag not the rubbish text books in French class, in which Pierre and Stephanie always go to La Rochelle on holiday and every kid in the class drew, in blue biro, penises on the heads of every man and boobs on every woman in the pictures, needless to say, quite anatomically inaccurately in my view
• Number of times my housemate and good friend Dom offers to make you tea before he actually remembers to do it
• Number of good ideas ever had by religious people in the history of man
• Number of honest football players in Argentina
• Number of cigarette lighters I lose in a week
• Number of keyholes to aim your key at whilst trying to get in the house, completely pissed
• Number of real terrorists brought to justice in popular fictional made-for-TV conflict 'The War on Terror'
• Number of intelligent people who watch big brother
• Number of times happy slappers should be executed
• Number of letters in 'the', 'end' and 'and'
• I am bored of this now
• And so are you

But if any of you readers know of any more things which definitely occur in threes, please post them as comments or email dunny@sevenball.co.uk unless you got something better to do which doesn't involve ruining your eyesight.

So, news.

Sevenball played its first gig back after a break. We played the Carling Bar Academy in Islington last Tuesday night and it was fantastic. Peoples came from all across the kingdom to see us and we appreciated the support. You guys knew the lyrics and that, which was more than I could say, I was singing backing vocals. Just loved catching up with all my friends who showed up. For your patience and what seems to be unconditional love, Sevenball salutes you people of exceptional taste, and goes "Ha ha you tw@s" at peoples who are dumb or like rubbish music (like Dead or Alive, Texas, Blue or Babyshambles etc. I Put these artists in a category I like to call 'equi-shite').

In fact, speaking of all this, I have a great idea for an annual compilation album entitled: "Now that's what I call Bollocks, Volume 1". How's about this for the first volume of Now 1:

Doop by Doop

Pray by MC Hammer

Why does it always rain on me? By Travis, (incidentally, to answer the question directly: it's because you live in Scotland)

Spin me round by Dead or Alive, (incidentally to answer your question directly: Dead, preferably)

Anything by Mariah Carey (Aww, she wants to save the world, bless)

My heart will go on by Celine Dion (your heart may go on, but your talent knows all bounds)

Slave 4 U by Britney and later by William Shattner

Do you suffer from long-term memory loss? by Chumba Wumba (to answer the question directly: I wish I did after hearing that steaming heap of turd)

You're gorgeous by Baby Bird

Stay another day by East 17

This is how you remind me by Stickleback

American Pie by Madonna

Are you ready for love by Elton John

Gotta get through this by Daniel Beddingfield

This is Limited Edition by Biz

Rollin Rollin by Limp Bizkit

The girl is mine by Michael Jackson and Paul MCcartney

Oo Stick you by Daphne and Celeste

Senza una donna by Paul Young

Barbie Girl by Aqua

Saturday Night by Whigfield

Dance the Night Away by the Mavericks

Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Virus

Once in a lifetime by Texas

Golden Brown by The Stranglers

I feel like a woman by Shania Twain

It aint what you do, it's the way that you do it by Bananarama

Everything I do, I do it for you by Bryan Adams

Axel-F (Clusterfuck cut-my-ears-off-I-beg-of-you, mix) by Crazy Frog (a plague on its creator)

Never gonna give you up by pRick Astley

Jenny from the block by Jennifer Lopez

Believe by Cher

I would do anything for love (but I won't do that) by Meatloaf (won't do what big fella?)

It must have been love (but it's over now) by Roxette

The lord's prayer by Cliff Richard

You agree? Disagree? Not Bovvad? FUCK YOU! Post a comment.

Sorry, I digress…

We have been away in the studio, re-doing some classics and trying to get a consistent sound to a few tunes – Technical tip of the month: To make a recording sound like all the songs were recorded in one studio, record them all in one studio. Where would you be without my insight eh? Nobody, that's where.

We have been looking at all kinds of gigs, different website designs, photographs etc, pieces of artwork, innovations in whoopee cushion design, possible tattoos, clouds, the inside of delayed tube carriages, Panini stickers, TV, that kind of thing, and we are looking forward to the upcoming changes to the website, the posting of new photographs and upcoming programme of gigs, still being organised by our boss Charlie. As soon as we know, you'll know, and by the time you know, I'll have forgotten.

All joking aside, like a Lib Dem MPs thong string, what else has happened since I spoke to you last? Erm, there was a whale in the Thames, and I don't mean a really fat swimmer. George Galloway sold what's left of his soul to the Demon of shitey TV and shameless publicity, cheaply. Denmark annoyed some easily annoyable people. Erm, the tube worked for a couple of hours. I hurt my elbow and got into drinking Bloody Marys. Simon assessed a few things as being Rock. That's it.

Please do get in touch, I'd love to hear from you and your people.

If you guys want to bollock or commend,

send me a message, you bell-end.

HA! The master lyricist's satirical prose graces you once again.

There are gigs coming up, more columns, more Rock mayhem.

Be excellent to each other and,

PARTY ON DUDES.

What movie?

Love Dunnoir

THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN THIS COLUMN ARE DUNNY'S AND DEISIGNED TO BE OBTUSE AND HOPEFULLY GIGGLESOME BUT ARE NOT EVEN TRULY HIS SO CAN NOT BE BLAMED ON ANYONE ELSE IN THE BAND LET ALONE THE MAN HIMSELF.

SEVENBALL EXPANDS WHEN EXPOSED TO AIR AND CAN BE DENGEROUS WHEN WET. TEACH YOUR CHILDREN TO FEAR AND RESPECT ITS POWER