Welcome gentle readers (both of you). You know ever since we put Google Analytics on the blog, we’ve been amazed to discover that we’re not just pissing idly out into the void as we long suspected. Hurrah!So it’s Friday or POETS day (Piss Off Early Tomorrow’s Saturday) as it's fondly known in the slave mines where we hand over pieces of our soul on a daily basis and as you’ll no doubt gather from the brevity of today’s post, we’re already looking forward to sleeping through this afternoon’s tedious meeting, then getting outside of a swift pint and inside of a Mrs Spurt.
But one thing that occurred during this long lazy lunchtime is: what is it about Fridays? Why does no worthwhile sporting contest ever take place on a Friday? Is it because everyone is saving it up for a spurting weekend or did we miss that particular memo? Anyway. Discuss.
Or rather email, as in a frenzy of interactivity you can now email us at this handy address World of Spurt . Email us tips, topics, things to write about or perhaps even some goat p0rn. Just like Britain’s spurtingest tabloid, we love it (especially the goat pr0n).
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