Blogging…the new frontier

Hello World of Shed devotees


I’m not going to lie, I’ve had a terrible year. Shitty, awful, brutal, miserable.

I’ve not felt very funny or creative in a light hearted sense. I’ve felt dark and dingy and like a sweaty pocket in a pair of jeans that never gets washed.

This does not naturally lend itself to blogging, I realise that. So I haven’t blogged. I have received emails from African princes and even couldn’t be arsed replying to them, which is usually my default. That’s how bad it has been.

I’ve had some health problems which sent me into a really dark time, gone for jobs and not got them and lost to pure idiots, and other stuff which I can’t even tell you about.

I have started a blog about some of this shit I’ve been going through recently. I’m not going to lie, it’s not mirthful but it’s real and raw and shitty.

If you’d like to read the new blog, e-mail me and I will give you the new address. I say this because I don’t want anyone I know in real life to read it. Some things you’re just happier to share with strangers.

Take care Shedders. One day I may return. Until then, stay sexy.

A x

Kowalksi’s Lament, part 2, a Hazard of Parsnips mini story

Goddamit. Damn it.

Kowlaksi had pinned all his hopes on Sherby57 and now he was wondering why he saw fit to do so.

Ever since Kowalski had become conscious of being drawn to DI Ian, he had been in a maelstrom of despair that only Amaranto clothing can abate. Yes. The only thing that Kowalski had found that regulates his emotions is Amaranto/Papaya Clothing, Matalan’s own brands. That and his Daewoo Matiz. Sure, the other police officers in New York and St. Helen’s found it a bit fruity and continental, but there was no telling what Kowalski might do in a fit of road rage. He played it safe and drove the soothing Matiz. Kowalski was certain that a strapping hunk like him could do some serious damage with a Kowalski tongue-lashing  and he wasn’t that much of a loose cannon that the authors previously suggested he was. Chief Inspector Acorah had repeatedly informed Kowalski that he wasn’t too big to be spanked across his knee. CI Acorah’s secretary and guiding light, Sam, would whisper inaudibly that it was no longer appropriate to say those sort of things and remember what happened to Inspector Saville.

Kowalski had ‘rocked’ up to Sherby 57’s late at night to seek his advice. Kowalski had heard that what Sherby57 didn’t know about love, Haddaway could only ask questions about. Sherby 57 had spent a large part of his young manhood under the tutelage of ‘Style’ and ‘Mystery’ the reknown pick up artists (PUA) and had cultivated a PUA character of his own (Casio’)who could pick up a girl before you could say ‘playboy bunny tattoo’.  Style and Mystery had heard that St. Helen’s and Widnes had the most rocking potatoes and hot bitches and had made a bee line for this chick-topia. There they had ‘hooked up’ (not had sex with) Sherby 57 and they had rewarded his knowledge of the area with dark arts in cat-string-theory.

Kowalski began hammering on Sherby57’s door. It had come off the hinges and was beginning to stick within the door frame. Sherby stood there benignly as this hulking Yank began fixing the frame and sanding the edge of the door.

During this spot of spontaneous DIY Kowalski’s story came tumbling out between sobs. Sheila, crude drawings, Der Naughty Kitty, Clarence and Ian. Sherby 57 knew all of this as he had partly written the story in the pub with World of Sheds but he kindly heard out the sobbing man until all that was left was a dried up husk. Sherby had left it there around breakfast time as he couldn’t stand shredded wheat and delighted that it might torment the post man as he was morbidly scared of Donald Trump. Kowalski was still standing next to it with his hammer and sandpaper in hand looking hopeful.

Sherby cocked his head and leg to one side as he listened intently.

“Listen Kowalski”

Kowalski drew near. So near that Sherby could smell Kowalski’s scent. It was ex-clam-ation! which was quite a feminine scent. Sherby liked it so he wasn’t going to judge, but he liked Angel by Thierry Mugler better.

“there’s only one way to turn you back on to women as you hope”

“yes” breathed Kowalski and closed his eyes ready to receive the learned information he craved.

Sherby57 took this to mean that Kowalski was trying to keep flatulence from escaping. So he lit at match and shooed his cats away from the door so Kowalski couldn’t blame them.

“Listen, Kowlaski, you’ve got to read fifty shades of grey. The whole friggin’ trilogy. It’s the most erotic thing ever written. That is your only hope. Either that or ‘Riders’ by Jilly Cooper. It’ll really have you fancying the birds if that’s what you want”.

“yes it is”

“It’s alright to fancy fellas Kowalski. I mean I don’t and wouldn’t, but it’s alright for you to”

Kowalksi glowered at Sherby and stormed off in the Matiz. He drove straight to the Matalan in Wigan and emerged only when the security guards roughly manhandled him out.

To be continued.

Angel Art

Horace *sob* What have you become?

Sometimes people like to send me things. Mostly it’s soiled undergarments, other times it’s artwork they have done in homage to WoS.  Attached herewith is a ‘piece’ by regular contributor to my live spaces blog, Sir Clive ‘Funky’ Sinclair. I may have posted it before, but I can’t remember. Enjoy it again anyway and feel free to add your own artistic interpretation. Here’s my interpretation:

Here we can see that the artist shows Horace with his head slightly bowed in shame to symbolise Angel’s irreverance to the periodic table of elements. Across his ‘head’ an intrusive zx spectrum appears, to symbolise Angel’s intrusive thoughts about the hardware. Behind Horace we see a burnt out tyre that represents the questioning of taken-for-granted truths from a point of constipation. The artist does not ‘deny’ there are certain truths about a world of sheds, just that, it’s a load of made up nonsense, mostly.

Sexy Names Part Deux: The Origins

Cast your mind far far back, to the dirty, filthy, sick and twisted, almost perverted, mists of olde father time.  Far, far, back, further, left…no that’s too far, your hand is on it, NO THERE…phew, yes. all the way back to the start of the week when I told you about sexy names.  I offered you the unique opportunity to sexify your own moniker, to possibly make you more attractive to the opposite sex/object of your affections.

I have been overwhelmed by the three responses that I have received declaring the excitement of this opportunity. Shadowsans on Twitter was drawn to ‘Porgy Mc Yaya’ but feared for his personal safety as to the heights of excitement this could bring, and whether he could sustain it.  My pal, Sherby 57 informed me, via telegram (he’s so modern) that he had been ‘Lord Sexathon Freakington’ but would forced to renounce his peerage as it was deemed ‘too sexy’.

I’m afraid, this position is no stranger to me.  You see, Dr. Angel is not my real name. Yes. I know. Really. Sure, I’m a real doctor, but my real name is not Angel.  I’m afraid my real name is too sexy to even say out loud.  The Angel Institute conducted a series of randomized control trials that revealed that my name being spoken aloud, or even thought silently in someone’s head, is sexy enough to permanently damage the temporal lobes of the hippocamper in the brainium vesicle.  You can see the results of this just by watching Hollyoaks.  They’ve all been told my name by evil Nick Picard aka Tony. This results in symptoms such as GCSE drama style acting, overemphasis of syllables, over use of stock phrases “at the end of the day” and other hackneyed turns of phrase such as ‘to be fair’ and not to mention ‘fair play’.

You see Gordon Ramsay’s chin?  Yeah.  Weird isn’t it?  Someone wrote my name on a piece of paper and passed it under his chin, much like the playful children’s game with a buttercup, but with heinous and chin wrinkling consequences.

In 1979 the European Court of Human Rights ruled that I was not allowed the human right of retaining my real name. I fought against this, tooth and nail, as you can imagine. The European court then responded by dealing the killer blow of passing the 1979 Right Said Fred convention which stated that any persons who may be too sexy for clothing, or their own name, that it inflicts harm on others, thereby compromising their own human rights, must be renamed a name of the court’s choosing. And so ‘Dr. Angel’ came into being. 

Stay safe, report any high levels of sexiness to:

European Court o’ Human Rights

Right Said Fred Department

Sleeveless Shirt Tower


Syndicat D’initative

Yabbie Creek

Making a house a home

A house just sin’t a home until you’ve installed your Ken Dodd shrine in your engine room. Seriously. Some people think it’s the addition of an OWL in a BOX in the anti gravity chamber, but this is factually incorrect. Owl in box in gravity chamber=cosy, but not homely. When will you people learn?

This only strenghtens my belief than you should continue reading this blog for continued diktats about how to live your life. Right, I’m off, I need to clean the bog.

Love and light

Dr. Angel’s computer game compendium

Tease me tease me tease me baby. Oh, that was too much, you’ve spoilt it.
Anyway, when I’m not teasing or being teased, channelling universal energy in the form of argos catelogues or writing in the dirt on the back of vans ‘dirt=hurt’, I oft find myself thinking about computer games. 
Now, some of you might have seen one of my regular contributors to the blog is Sir Clive ‘Funky’ Sinclair (his slogan is ‘say YES to PolYESter’) and I have fond childhood memories of zx spectrums.  This led to me and Sir Clive devleoping a new wave of zx speccy games that are more pertinent to today’s socio-cultural climate.  Ecce (look-non latin speakers) at the extensive selection available to own for only £4656585.99 in 79.999999 irregular installments.
  • Horace Goes Weeing: The latest zx spectrum game about urine dilemmas. Horace is Drunk in Skelmersdale and all the pubs have now shut. Can you help him find somewhere to relieve his bladder and avoid capture by the ‘Bizzies’ (the Police)?
  • Horace goes Keying. the latest zx spectrum game about anti social behaviour towards vehicles. Can you help Horace evade an ASBO?
  • Horace Goes E-ing: Horace starts university and finds it hard to fit in.  He starts to take drugs in order to endear himself to the ‘cool’ crowd and go to super clubs like Cream and Ministry of Sound and the Roxy in Sheffield.  Can you help him score some genuine pills? Help him steal £6 bottles of water and try to stop him throwing his sweaty body onto strangers, proclaiming “man, this is just, like, totally amazing.  I can tell we’re like, gonna be friends for ever.  I feel so much love for you”.  Help him beat end of level bosses such as the crap dealer,  the night club bouncers, and the club dj (make him play Josh Wink-Higher state of consciousness) and the university halls of residence cleaning ladies.
  • Horace Goes Me-ing: Horace starts to develop an inflated sense of self as one of his mates was in Hollyoaks once or something. Stop Horace developing narcissistic personality disorder by dodging mirrors, attending psychiatry appointments and stopping him from talking about himelf. 
  • Horace goes Being: Horace contemplates is own existance.  Help Horace with his existential dread by collecting and chain smoking Marlboro Reds and standing in slanty doorways, wearing a black polo neck.
  • Horace goes kneeing: Horace has low self esteem and joins a taekwondo club.  He proves his worth as a man by kicking women and children at his dojang. 

I hope you enjoy these excellent, contemporary games.

And so World of Sheds came to WordPress


Welcome to World of Sheds in it’s current incarnation.  Some of you poor swine will be familiar with me already, having followed my link from my old blog.  Some of you will be new to my whiles. Ssssh, don’t cry.  It’ll be alright. 

Learn more about me at and stay tuned for my exciting new epistolary novel that I will be serialising from the start: A Hazard of Parsnips.

Do you know, even though I’ve been blogging for years, it feels hard starting afresh.  Be gentle, as if cradling a new born otter with a skeleton made from the inside of malteasers, and ye will reap your reward in Heaven.

Yours, afresh


Dr. Angel