Turn Off The Tap.

I turned off Radio 4 today, as I was unwilling to listen to the contributions of people complaining that their property wasn't worth what they wanted it to be and that the government wasn't willing to help them.

People have not only bought into the notion that property will always acrue value, but have allowed themselves to be convinced that the economy will always grow, and that capitalism will always be to their advantage. It has become a belief that profit and credit are a right, and not a luxury or a stroke of luck.

This naivety is evident in attitudes towards the environment. In the Guardian, Juliette Jowit reports on how Britain is using Too Much Water. Like the economy, our natural resources are not only being taken for granted, but are seen to be part of a birthright.

The current recession is about punters discovering that there is a difference between having money (savings) and having access to money (credit). And tomorrow we're going to have the same problem with natural resources.

As long as we have access to water, ie: run the tap and out it comes on demand, we will all assume that it part of an entitlement.

Maybe it is possible to apply the lessons of the current recession to the environment, to prepare ourselves for the inevitable. Maybe we need to begin to address the recent past as a rare period of luxury, abundance and fleeting affluence, and begin to face the future realistically. Don't spend what you haven't got, basically.

I'm not talking about a dystopian future, but an enlightened one, where everybody get's off the fantasy bus and grows up.

Let's get real.

Charles Fox of Covent Garden

Don't you just LOVE theatrical suppliers!

Bark

End Of An Ear

"Did you hear the news?"

Pause

"What ?"

"I said; did you here the news?"

Pause

"No; why, should I have?"

"Well, not exactly, it's just that..."

"Just that WHAT?"

Pause

"It's just that Harold Pinter has died"

Pause

"Harold Pinter?"

"Yes, Harold Pinter. He's dead. On the news. Just Now. Harold Pinter. Dead"

"Harold Pinter?"

"Yes; Harold Pinter."

Long Pause

"He would have liked that! That's what he was like!"

Pause

"Yes"

Pause

Curtain.

Briefs

BBC: When I saw the headline "Five Minutes With James Blunt" I naturally assumed that it was introducing some kind of televised endurance style challenge where hapless would-be's compete to withstand a whole host of torments to win big money. Sadly not; it's just an ill-advised interview with the singing Captain.

TV Tonight: Imagine my surprise to discover the porn sounding Take That Come To Town showing on terrestrial TV before the watershed. Apparently it refers to the former boy-band Take That, and not on what I took to be a noun three words in.

And Finally: On the tube tonight, I saw some graffiti inexpertly scrawl across and advert stating: "Kill All Musums". Someone's either angry about Museums or Muslims, I'm not sure, unless there is a persecuted race of Musums out there that we have yet to hear of. Maybe the Guardian should look into it.

The Gaelic Recumbent Manoeuvre

As I was ascending the hill towards home, I approached the Irish bar which had a group of men huddled outside.

When I say Irish bar, I don't mean a chain pub with bicycles and road signs inside, but a genuine shit-hole where Irishmen drink. To excess.

As I approached the outside drinkers, whom I assumed were smokers taking the air, I noticed one guy leaning over and attending to something on the ground which I took to be a large shapeless holdall of some kind.

On closer inspection, amongst the inebriate elderly West Coast gypsies, with their flat caps, calloused hands and rough hewn impenetrable West Coast accents, lay another elderly man. He was conscious, of sorts, and able to move an arm, but appeared drunk beyond standing. His companions appeared to be comfortable with the situation and continued to discuss whatever they were so animated about. (Horses?)

I'm convinced that the guy I saw leaning over towards the prostrate one was actually asking him what he wanted to drink.

I shan't comment on what I witnessed through the pub window!

Drinking Culture: it's a lifestyle choice.

Van English Usage

Welcome to 2009!

At a wedding this weekend, (the niece got herself married off), we were staying at the Haven Hotel, located on Britain's most over-inflated piece of real estate.

Imagine the irony then, that in the very hotel that Marconi proved the efficacy of his Radio Transmissions over water, it is almost impossible to get a radio signal on the state of the art hifi deviced provided in the extravagently expensive rooms. The Isle of Wight transmitter is practically visable from the room!


The only station available was a local chart dance station with the usual "YOU'RE LISTENING TO LOCAL FM ON 1089; AND WE'RE HERE TO GET YOUR WEEKEND FIRED UP AND RARING TO GO: HERE'S BEYONCE!!"

The bride, however, despite organising the whole thing herself with the tenacity of a D-Day beach commander, was beautiful.

Principality Braces Itself for Rodent Onslaught!

Whilst enduring the Radio 2 phone-in today, and the whinging of Scottish anglers who believe their hobby is about to be torn from them by the reintroduction of a once native species, I at least got to hear of the Welsh Beaver Assessment Initiative!

Yes, a Welsh Beaver Assessment Initiative!

Right To Buy: The Non-Conformity Issue

These Are Small; Those Are Far Away!

It occurred to me many years ago that I would never make it as a stand up comedian, as I didn't know enough about daytime TV, which, for many a performer, was the sole topic of their material.

I've never been one to turn the box on unless there's something worth watching, however indolent I may be. However, this afternoon was an exception, as I sought some background distraction during a post-gardening sandwich, and jabbed the remote towards the TV, only to step through the looking glass.

I was a little surprised that they were showing Father Ted at four in the afternoon, and an episode that I had never seen to boot! I was even further surprised to discover that it wasn't Father Ted at all, and that it was a commercial break featuring an ad for some singing priests, in the style on Craggy Island itself.

Surely some prankster high-jinks; after all, how much does an afternoon slot cost these days?

Imagine my dismay to discover that The Priests are in fact REAL, and just in time for Christmas! (I think the guy on the right may have been in Ultravox).

Yes, truth is more absurd than fiction.

Feck! Arse! Gels!

Please Wash Your Hands!

I forgot to mention an incident at my place of work last week.

I was innocently sat at my desk, I don't know, probably straightening out a paper clip or something, when the phone opposite rang. The woman at that desk answered the call, and engaged in conversation.

After a moment she laughed, and said:

"I'm sorry, it sounded like you said he took the trolley in the toilet!"

After a pause, and having listened to the response she grew agitated and reacted with:

"HE DID TAKE THE TROLLEY IN THE TOILETS! No, no! He shouldn't be taking the food trolley into the toilets! I'll get on to them now. Err, thanks for letting me know!"

Yes, the morning food trolley guy had made a detour to his round and visited the Gents along with the food.

The following few minutes featured a series of frenetic conversations which involved instructing the catering staff to find the food trolley, to isolate it, and to ensure that the goods thereon should be destroyed in front of witnesses.

Basically, my colleague was the first to locate the dirty dealer, and she explained to us how she pulled a packet of sandwiches from a bemused customer, barking at her "I can't explain why, but you can't have 'em"

Once the goods were secured, and returned to base, they had a ritual opening and binning of the stigmatised foodstuffs at the back of the canteen, but it was believed that the deviant vendor had in fact made numerous sales to unsuspecting members of the workforce prior to being apprehended.

I was only disappointed that they didn't put out a message of the day along the lines of the "Has your snack been in the lavatory this morning?" variety.

As for WHY the trolleyista was in the toilet we don't know. He probably decided to start his round with a quick tinkle, but I prefer the notion that he was serving goods to those too busy to leave their ablutions.

Tap Tap!

"Sandwich sir?"

"Yeh, Cheese and pickle, white bread; just pass it under the door!"

"Thankyou" "Sorry, do you have anything smaller?"

As the man says, It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon

Flying East

Dog Declared "New Gautier"

"Yule Rage" And The Festive Twig

Yes, it's only just December and it's Christmas already. However, according to the Guardian, this is a cut-price Christmas fueling Yule Rage.

However, before you pity the people of Peterlee and their inadequate tree, check out the Peterlee Mail, which not only has the best photo of the pathetic Christmas Tree, but raises the question whether Peterlee has more pressing matters to worry about: check out the "more news" strap to the right.

It appears that Peterlee is amid a epidemic of a local news style crime wave.

Mobile Phone Company Generosity

My Mobile supplier texted me today to inform me that VAT had been reduced to 15% and they are PASSING ON THE BENEFIT TO ME!

Er: isn't that the law?

Must Have

The last word in mobile phone technology HERE. Be patient through the intro, it's worth in when you get there!

Once again, thanks to Arctic Ghetto.

DIY: Hardwoods

Never throw surplus timber away; it will always have a use.

Just keep the curtains closed: she need never know.

Devil Children: Exclusive

As my partner returned from doing good works in Cambodia (although why they couldn't get the kids to paint that school I don't know), I dutifully unloaded the disc onto iPhoto, and noticed something in the corner of a landscape: yes, on closer inspection it's a couple of small demons!

They walk among us!

Meanwhile: now our old-style winter has returned, with sub-zero temperatures and high pressure, I have returned to the old-style sinus inspired migraines. I forgot how important global warming was!

Vegetaria: The Street of No Meat!

I was exploring the backstreets around Euston today, for purely recreational and educational reasons, of course, when I happened across Drummond Street NW1. Apart from the plethora of Asian sweet shops, it appeared to be predominantly Indian vegetarian restaurants.

Naturally, amongst the herbivores, I stood out somewhat, with my demonstrable vigour and florid, robust pallor, and I chose to move on to avoid drawing attention to myself. However, should I ever be asked where to by nuts and leaves, I now have my answer.

(Later, on the tube, I saw a very tall vicar. London's like that)

Alexandra Palace

Metropolitan Police Declare War On Live Entertainment

Bored of shooting innocent people, the Metropolitan Police have hit on a new scheme to effectively make the live music scene in London untenable.

In a clumsily apparent bid to collate a database of all those involved in the creative arts (perceived by the police to be non-conformist weirdos), they have abitrarily created Form 696

Basically, if the landlord of the pub doesn't fill out the form two weeks in advance, providing the personal details of EVERYONE performing at an event, the gig will not be allowed to take place.

No, I'm not making it up: read about it in The Independent

So don't expect to see Eric Clapton spontaneously stepping on stage to jam with anyone: if he hasn't declared his interest 10 days in advance, he ain't going anywhere!

Cromwell anyone?

"I See You Were At Heidleberg!"

Apparently, an article in The Guardian introduces research that men with facial scars, are 5.7% more attractive to women!

Well, Hello Ladies!

Recession: London Transport Concedes Defeat

On ambling through Kings Cross Station this evening, I noticed a sign by the ticket offices proclaiming:

This Ticket Office Now Accepts € Euro Currency

Bonjour!

It's Boris "Six Thousand Bicycles" Johnson!

You'd think that the Mayor of London would have a little too much on his hands to start running a little sideline like this.

Interviewed about "Boris' South Bank Cycle Shack", a hastily assembled shed beside the London Assembly, Johnson explained:

"One of fellows at my club came up with the most wizard wheeze! Apparently, his uncle in the city got a shipload of Chinese bikes in exchange for some rare Tigers or something, er Bears? And er, we thought, what with the economy going tits up and everything, Johnny Foreigner would be coming over here exploiting the weak pound and we'd exploit them!

And by the time I've finished with public transport, and brought congestion back, the old bicycle's going to be the only way to get around London! Look, watch me do a wheelie!"

£5 an hour, apparently, £7 for a bicycle with the tyres inflated.

Low Esteem Marketing Technique

As I entered the supermarket tonight, I was approached by a young woman adjacent a garish sales display, who asked:

"Would you like to take part in a questionaire? IT'S NOTHING SERIOUS!"

Accountancy On The High Seas

The audacious hijacking of the Sirius Star throws up several questions: Where is James Bond when you need him?, and, Should we be re-assessing the dialogue on "Talk Like A Pirate Day"?

Indeed, they don't appear to be saying; "Ahar, Jim lad, me hearty!" anymore. No, it's more like "Give us several million dollars to maintain our opulent lifestyle please", if the BBC's profile of Somalia's Pirate Town is anything to go by.

Yes; they have accountants!

Money Spider Correspondence

Obviously, with the recession on and all that, we're all turning looking for sound advice on how to make ends meet.

I know some of you will be buying self-help books, or even spending money on "financial advisors", but is that really necessary? I'm just looking around on the internet, and I've found LOADS of good ideas.

Take this one for example at geekologie, where the genius David Thorne realised that he could pay a $233.95 bill with a self-created drawing of a spider.

I was particularly inspired by the line:

"Thankyou for contacting me. I am currnetly away on leave, travelling through time and will be returning last week.

Nice to know in these hard times that ingenuity is still in vogue.

Reg Varney: Old Man

Well, I wasn't surprised to hear that On The Buses icon Reg Varney had died, but I was astonished to discover that he was Ninety Two!

That means that when he appeared in On The Buses, playing the "bachelor", living at home with his mum, chasing skirt, he was actually IN HIS FIFTIES. Yes, this icon of the Swinging Sixties had been a full grown 26 year old adult when John Lennon was born!

There was always something uncomfortable about OTB's depiction of ladism, in that both male leads were physically repulsive, and too old for the role: BUT FOR FUCK's SAKE, HE WAS OLD ENOUGH TO BE A GRANDAD!

Artifact

Time for a charity shop run with the clothes, and I've finally surrendered my silk slug tuxedo, (purchased in a long gone used clothes shop in Bournemouth, c. 1982), from which this clothes hanger emerged.

I don't know what sort of hotel the Sunny Cliffs was, but it was tasteful enough not have "Stolen from..." engraved on it's property.

From an age when nicking stuff from hotels was frowned upon and not encouraged as part of a marketing strategy.

Covent Garden

Cildo Meireles: Crunchy Underfoot!

Well, I went to the Tate Modern for the Rothko, chose the double ticket and discovered the Cildo Meireles exhibition, which was far more rewarding.

Don't get me wrong, I love Emperor Rothko, and have done since I first saw his blurry brushstrokes at the Tate when I was a youth visiting something like the Salvador Dali back in the 1970s, and it was interesting to see the Seagram stuff in a context within which the artist approved of, yet it was the other exhibition that caught my imagination.

I have to admit, that I've never heard of Meireles, and have never been a fan of Latin American art, but this stuff was a great experience. It's tactile and immediate, doesn't require too much thought, which does it for me!

There's one piece, an environment full of fences and barbed wire, where one gets to walk around on sheets of broken glass which was exactly what I would have wanted back when I discovered art back in the 1970s.

I recommend it; go. And do the last exhibit in your bare feet (not broken glass: quite the opposite) it's a sensual treat.

Mr Armstrong, I Presume!

Back in the 1990s, my neice and I were at an exhibition charting the history of Porsche motors at London's Design Museum, when we happened across a prototype Volkswagen Beetle. As we read the blurb, we both stopped; looked at the car; and then looked at each other.

This was Adolf Hitler's VW, and there was the photograph of him sitting in it.

Such proximity to an artifact in which everybody's favourite fuhrer had actually touched was quite daunting. Such links to history are (and should be) daunting to us mortals, and in a folkloric way, a tangible path into the past.

The same neice had another Hitler moment, when told that the irascible old man that she had just served at the bar was actually the former Prime Minister Edward Heath, a man that had attended a Nuremberg Rally, and had at one point stood a few feet away from the forementioned shouty dictator.

I mention this because I had a similar moment this evening whilst cleaning the toilet whilst listening to Radio 2, where Mark Radcliffe was in conversation with LA hipster Sid Griffin, when the ex-Long-Ryder mentioned that he had shaken Neil Armstrong's hand.

Back in my muso days, a mutual friend introduced me to Sid, and we would have no doubt exchanged a hearty firm-but-fair handshake ourselves, and twenty years later I'm a little struck by the simple notion that I shook the hand of a man who shook the hand of the first man on the moon! To a kid of my generation, there is no greater historical totem.

Unless you count an old acquaintance of mine, also a former son of LA, who found himself urinating next to Nelson Mandela in a South London toilet. Yes, they shook hands. In a toilet.

Look, if you're going to meet a historical figure; pick your moment.

(The guy I actually envy the most, yet another LA resident, never met Neil Armstrong or Nelson Mandela—or Hitler—but he DID get to sit in the command capsule of Apollo 11 before it got sent off to the Smithsonian. Now that is cool.)

Oh Lordy! Get The Cash Under The Mattress!

When I was sixteen, I was on a flight home from France when the pilot (hilariously introduced as Captain Pugh and the Crew!), came on the intercom and announced in his crisp authoritative tones that there was a little rough air over the Massif Central, and that this might make the trip a little bit bumpy, but nothing for us to worry about.

An understatement if there ever was one.

The hour that followed gave us all an insight what it was like attempting to nurse a damaged Lancaster over the German skies through flak. How the wings stayed on, no-one will ever know, and I don't know what was more unlikely; that the plane reached it's destination at all, or that any of us dare step onto a plane again.

(Actually, I found it exhilarating, but then, I do).

I only mention this as I have just heard on the news that the government are warning us that "the recession will last into 2009".

Hmmm; that's us all walking around in barrels until 2020 then.

Senior Service Sausage Ship Repels Pirates!

Ahar! According to the BBC, our lovely boys in the Royal Navy have been blowing away Buccaneers on the high seas!

HMS Cumberland —named after the UK's favourite sausage— gave the Somali Captain Pugwash the onion gravy treatment in Yemeni waters.

Banger-tastic lads!

Ouch!

The Shoebox has been soldiering on all week as though it didn't have a wisdom tooth extracted on Saturday morning, and that it hasn't got flu. Therefore my head is not the most hospitable place in the world at the moment.

When does the pain go away exactly? (And I have had enough surgery to know pain, and I'm still in pain.)

However, I suppose it could be worse!

Use Your Imagination Evening Standard!

You know, the Evening Standard could have made this so much more interesting.

For example:

QE2 Runs For Office!

or

QE2 Runs A Marathon!

or (my favourite)

QE2 Runs A Nightclub!

See; if an amateur like me can do it, surely the hacks at the Stannit should be able to.

Recession Proof?

As the recession begins to get traction—ie: the recession that has been with us for over a year that no-one wanted to admit is finally too big to ignore—I finally get to say "I told you so!" about a LOAD of stuff.

I'm not an economist, but the credit bubble that capitalism has encouraged since the deregulation of the 1980s has given our economy the implausibility of a perpetual motion machine. And I have been saying so. Sooner or later, everyone will owe too much to pay back, and we'll all be fucked.

But apparently I was naive about the way the world of capital worked*, and that the bankers and financiers knew what they were doing. Until now. Now I'm being told that no-one could have known!

Anyone who has been plagued by my company in recent years will have experienced the tedium of me pointing to things in the high-street and saying "that's not a recession-proof business!"

One of these "indicators" was the plethora of over-priced coffee shops that have infested our precincts in recent years. I am therefore not surprised by the overdue news from the BBC that Starbucks are running out of profits.

Next will be Premier League football. Too expensive for too little. Bad news for Murdoch.

* Once upon a time, in 1988, after I suggested that Manchester United under Alex Ferguson would dominate the 1990s in the way that the previous decade had been dominated by Liverpool, an Arsenal fan replied "If you think Man U are going to win ANYTHING, you clearly know nothing about football!"

Archie Versus The Overnight Cat

As I dropped off my partner at the airport last week, her parting words were "look after my babies!"

What she meant was "make sure the Tomcat doesn't incur any more injuries".

So what does he do? I let him out just half an hour before the prescribed time (at HIS insistence, and at the expense of MY SLEEP), and he has to go get himself into a ruck with the overnight cat, (ie: the un-neutered Tom who owns the allotments during the dark hours). The thing is, just before she left, my partner was relieved that the cat had just about managed to re-grow the hair back over his LEFT eyelid, from the previous scrap he had the last time I let him out after hours!.

I may try the old boot-polish trick on him before she comes home, but I fear that the Tomcat's feline housemate may lick it and suffer boot-polish poisoning, which would only exacerbate the situation.

"Darling, the cats are fine: the Vet says there's hope for both, we just have to wait and pray!"

Soho

Conspiracy Corner

The great thing about the internet is that anyone can make predictions, and at some point in the future, those speculations can be held to account.

Therefore, the Shoebox, having studied the very same internet, is now able to bring you the most accurate predictions possible following the result of the American Election.

OK, Brace yourselves: the Shoebox predicts the following once that Barny Obamarama gets his communist/terrorist hands on power:

American industry to be nationalised.

The White House to be painted Red.

Tax rate set at 99%.

School day to begin with children singing "The Internationale" whilst the American Flag is burned.

Congress to be suspended and Capital Hill to become the world's largest mosque.

The Self-Employed, (and that includes Joe the Plumber) to be interned in Oregan concentration camps.

Right to Bear Arms rescinded, with weapons confiscated from the cold dead hands of patriots.

Immigration quotas to be abandoned.

Texas, California and New Mexico surrendered to Mexico with compensation to the Mexican Government!

Disneyland to be invaded and colonised, with Fidel Castro declared President for Life.

O.J Simpson, Osama Bin Laden and the Unabomber guy to be pardoned and given prominence in the new Cabinet.

Terrorism legalised.

Apple Pie banned.

Fox News to fact-check.

Oh, yeh, and that's just the start.

Come back in six months and tell me I'm not wrong!*

*Obviously, if any, or all, of these predictions prove to be untrue, the Shoebox reserves the right to declare that this is not so, and that the failure of any, or all, of these events to actually happen are merely a deception on the part of the powermongers, and EXACTLY WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO BELIEVE!

The Furtive Nudist Exposed!

I was washing my hands in the Gents this morning when M***** G*******, who is known to me, entered the lavatory with a small towel folded over his arm. He simpered in discomfort at our encounter, with his customary blushing self-consciousness, before stepping into a cubicle, where he locked himself in.

Now, who needs a towel in a toilet? What was it for?

Is M******* G******* a compulsive nudist? Does he disrobe, and stand there with a towel draped over his forearm in the style of the practicing naturist?

Why? And for how long?

(Come to think of it: what are the nudists doing with those towels?)

However, M******* G******* has nothing to fear, as, due to a draconian court order (following a minor misunderstanding), my mirror-on-the-end-of-a-stick days are over, so we may never know what he is up to; but I'll never be able to see him in the same light again.

Sordid, the whole thing.

The World Turned Upside Down

First India joins the space race, and then Spain goes and shuts down a church for being TOO NOISY

I thought that the whole point of the Latin world was making as much din as possible. No longer apparently.

According to sources

Some neighbours said that the music was so loud at times their furniture vibrated

Whatever next? Maybe America will vote in a Black Man?

Ray Lowry

On the news of the death of John Peel I felt that a door had shut on a rich part of my past.

I felt the same sense of loss when I read that Ray Lowry had gone.

Inspired by his cartoons, I once turned up at Bournemouth's Midnight Express in 1982 with a rockers quiff and "Too Drunk To Live" on the back of my bikers jacket.

We have lost another one-off from the golden-era before post-modern wank and we are all the poorer.

Family History X

I had a Larry David moment today.

I was in the process of scanning images in from a bundle of old family photos spanning from the 1890s to the 1950s, when I received a visit from a colleague.

This colleague is a shapely young black woman, bright and easy on the eye, for whom I have a "thing", in a grubby older-man-perving-after-young-skirt sort of way.

She knows this, but is charitable enough to go along with it, being the kind of person who enjoys spreading the happiness around.

I only mention her race, as this is pertinent to my imminent dilemma. She was visiting to ask for advice on scanning, and I only too eagerly volunteered my services, and chose to provide a demonstration of the project at hand.

In order to instruct on the cropping function I clicked on a file at random and sat there in horror as an image appeared from circa 1950, featuring my brother, as an infant with his aunt, grandmother, and favourite GOLLY!

She sort of didn't know what to say, and was young enough to be surprised, and I probably didn't to too good a job of explaining how, as a historian, I found the nuances of social context interesting. And yes, there was a voice saying "when you're in a hole, stop digging!"

Naturally, once the news of my embarrassment was out, my colleagues made use the SRA2 sheets to don paper Klan hats, and one, visiting from upstairs, entered the room, and with an uncanny Dougal McGuire impersonation, cried out: "I hear you're a racist now Ted!"

From pervert to Nazi in one click!

Mean Streets

I was amid my lunchtime shuffle around the borough, when I passed a woman mooching around by a zebra crossing adjacent to the hospital. She was in some kind of paramedic/ambulance drivers uniform, but looked a little scruffy, and—in the way she was just stood there—a little bit indolent, like a failed lollipop lady.*

However, as I passed her she proved to be truly rewarding when the radio receiver to which she was listening crackled forth the following:

"Are You Bleeding? What is your physical, er, condition?"

Reluctant to intrude by stopping, I heard no more, and I therefore unable to furnish you with any further details.

Thus my day was brightened.

*I can imagine the ceremony that accomplanies the shaming of a disgraced lollipop lady. The disgracee stands forlornly bereft, witnessed by a group of schoolchildren, as the Head of Zebra Crossings breaks the lollipop over his thigh. I'm sure there's something like this on YouTube somewhere.

Ooer Missus!

You can always trust the Standard to pep up a dull story.

To India, And Beyond!

As a boy, I was preoccupied with the Space Race, and shared the excitement and optimism that came with the moon landings.

However, not everyone shared this enthusiasm for what was a hugely expensive ambition, at a time when America was poring vast sums into either bombing Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia, or blasting a handful of men into deep space.

My youthful self was therefore always disappointed when television discussions of the Lunar landings always had to include someone who opposed the adventure, like the head of Oxfam, or acerbic journalist James Cameron, usually delivering impeccable arguments along the lines of how the West's economic extravagence sat in contrast with the existing, and treatable wrongs in the world like third world poverty.

By the third world, they included places like India and China, where there were thousands dying of starvation and disease, deprived of the resources that the West was seen to fritter away on consumerism and nationalistic follies on a previously unseen scale.

Imagine, then, my unease with the zeitgeist, that I have lived long enough to witness headlines like "Banglore to train astronauts".

Yes, not only do we hear that the world's best hope of surviving the oncoming recession is the ameliorative impact of the burgeoning Indian, Chinese and Brazilian economies, but that these sleeping giants are themselves now establishing their own superpower credentials by putting on superpower displays of their own. And nothing says superpower like a space programme!

Meanwhile, the former Cold War superpowers, no longer reliant on each other to provide an adversary, regress into nineteenth century sphere of influence foreign policies to reassure themselves of that they still count.

Ho Hum!

Shed Latest: New Roof Felt!

Yes, there comes the time in every shed's life when it needs a new layer up top. Lifting twelve square metres of roof isn't that easy, and given the backdrop of impending rain, it was a little touch and go.

However, we did get to witness the sight of her tomcat leaping up to where he assumed a roof to be, only to be surprised at the presence of thin air. He's OK, and managed a recovery manoeuvre just in time and only damaged his pride.

Torrential rain this morning enabled me to test run the new coat which performed to plan.

Excellent job.

Nude Latest: Chute Intruder "Too Big" Scandal

Yes, the North is back in the news, and once more its for all the wrong reasons.

The burley chaps of Wigan's fire brigade were asked to extricate a Naked Man from Tescos last night.

Yes, NAKED, found in the chimney like some kind of Dirty Santa.

Of course, the naturists will disown him. They'll claim that he was one of us normal people who had merely "lost" his clothes in attempting to escape his plight, but we know the truth: he's a nudist who went bad.

Indeed, he's the one who chose the left-handed path. Not satisfied with the woods and a sun tan, he was no doubt in there with the sole intention of rubbing his grubby nakedness over the merchandise in some sick bid to seek revenge upon the textile world.

I certainly hope Tescos are going to burn the contents of that particular store, just in case.

Thing is, if he WAS a burglar, where was he planning to secrete the loot?

You better do a stock-check on the bananas Tesco!

Bendybus = Damnation

Apparently someone has trumped up some cash to promote Atheism across the capital.

Worth reading for the quote:

"Bendy-buses, like atheism, are a danger to the public at large"

Big Brother's Idiotic Little Cousin

Something that's been on the back burner for some time, regarding the propensity for the younger generation to use the emerging technologies to shop themselves.

I am of a age that can remember our fears in the 70s and 80s that the government was tooling up with its surveillance culture to maintain a close watch on us plebs, in a bid to scrutinise and control our every move. We feared the Big Brother scenario, and imagined that the future augured diminishing rights and rampant paranoia as the authorities would whittle away at our channels of self-expression.

And then the future arrived. There are cameras in the high streets, on public transport and throughout our workplaces. However, it appears that these are operated by private contractors paying poorly skilled staff minimum wages; staff who tend to neglect to replace the aging video tapes, and almost always lose the pertinent coverage whenever a crime gets committed within a monitored area. We're all being watched, but is anyone getting stopped?

In fact, as the Rodney King trial appeared to show, the liberal distribution of video cameras gave the populace the opportunity for redress, as the cameras were turned upon the state itself.

And once again, as that technology becomes even further miniturised, cheaper and easier to use, it appears that anyone and everyone is capable of contributing to the great social experiment, as, assisted by the internet, increasing numbers of petty criminals are incrimating themselves by providing the police with all the necessary irrefutable evidence in the form of mobile phone footage, or indeed YouTube postings. Yes, it's very Darwinian in its significance, and I'm sure this all means something very deep to somebody somewhere, but I've neither the time or the scope to go into it now.

All I know is, the case of the idiotic motorcyclist above indicates that Big Brother may well be reduced to celebrity insignificance, but the thought police are getting all the help they need from his Stupid Little Cousin.

From Our Court Correspondent

Royal news, unfortunately. Our man at the Palace has been scandalised by the claim of the Daily Telegraph that gay men prefer Prince Harry to Prince William, although he is not sure which is which. (If you do need to know look it up on the internet, someone will know).

Anyway, that aside, the regal brothers are in darkest Africa on a charity ride to raise £150,000 to save some poor people apparently. Naturally, it beggars belief why they don't just give over the money without the publicity seeking. It's not like they're short of a bob or two, Prince Charles has probably got that much lying around in old suits!

And one wonders, doesn't one, how much the British taxpayers will be paying for the security presence for the duration? Considerably more than £150,000.

Someone tell them there's a recession on.

Future Furtive

Yes, it looks like litter doesn't it? Urban detritis; consumerist dandruff; whatever one wishes to call it.

However, peer closer! This looks like a glimpse of some dystopian future, where all unhealthy pursuits are outlawed, and thus driven underground.

Look at the culprit's stash, the high-in-fat, low-in-nutrition bag of "crisps", the tar-laden carciogenic cigarettes, and the accompanying lighter; itself a inflamable bio-hazard!

No wonder it has been secreted within the brick-work.

The perpetrator has been careless though, and will be additionally punished as a consequence.

The stash was a mere four feet above the ground, that is; within reach of an average eight-year old child, or a five-year old with a box. Or a three-year old with a stout older brother capable of lifting the little feller up to the deadly hoard.

And whilst we're in that ball-park, let's not ignore the one-year old babe being carried by its negligent mother; a woman no doubt otherwise pre-occupied by the rampant celebrity culture imposed upon our future selves by the oppressive authorities, with the cynical intention to ameliorate the frustrations incurred amongst the populace by the deprivation from the absence of junk food and mild narcotics!

Yes; you assumed it was just a hole in the wall, but the Shoebox sees the truth in EVERYTHING.

Arms Cache Found On London Bus!

As London Mayor "Boris" Johnson claims that he is single-handedly resolving gun crime from the capital, the Shoebox can bring exclusive evidence that things are to the contrary, and are in SPIRALING OUT OF CONTROL!

Our crime correspondence has uncovered evidence that dangers lie within the very public transport that Johnson has so ludicrously declared safe! The arms cache (see photo) was discovered on a No. 47 (Shoreditch - Catford Bus Station) during SCHOOL HOURS!

Our forensics team have identified the haul as an ammunition magazine for a "Spud Gun", a weapon popular amongst the younger end of the criminal epidemic sweeping Johnson's city like a plague.

An expert suggested that, at it's worse, "In the wrong hands, the user could take somebody's eye out!

We showed the evidence to someone at the Home Office, and they dismissed the find as "A Potato". When challenged, they suggested that that it was not possible to prove that the missing parts of the offending potato had been used in committing a crime, and that they thought that it looks like somebody has "too much time on their hands".

We asked if there was anyone else we could talk to, but we had the door closed on our faces.

Fear not, we will not let this rest.

Pump It Up!

OK, it's a new job, and it'll take a little getting used to, but this open-plan thing is REALLY distracting, particularly as I get to listen to the facilities people dealing with whatever they get thrown at them.

I'll try keep this above the waist, but did you know that people use public buildings as lavatories over the weekend? I don't mean the public lavatories, provided for that purpose, I mean the outside of the buildings themselves, and the doorways and niches in particular. Every Monday morning I overhear the "Code Brown" reports coming in, as the dispatcher notifies the cleaners as to where, and specifically what they need to attend to. It's a dirty business.

Anyway, we had a little bit of variety today, as a cleaner informed the team that "someone had been having sex in the seventh floor lavatories". The dispatcher went off to investigate the evidence, and we put it to the back of our minds, as the veterans amongst us can remember when the local prostitutes were using the first floor ladies room to provide an express service some time back. However, today's news was exciting because the seventh floor is NOT A PUBLIC ACCESS AREA! The perpetrator/s had to be EMPLOYEES!

Well, imagine our delight to discover that the "incident" involved a penis enlarger, the box of which was discarded in the soiled cubicle!

Look, I appreciate that the organisation encourages personal growth, but that's taking things a little too far!

My money's on the new guy with the monobrow and the squint.

The ARISTOCRATS!!!

Back in the eighties, there was an Irish comedian (Paul Quinn?) who had the line;

"On my way home from the pub, I stopped at my local kebab place: they had a sign up saying "Sorry, We're Open!"

I was reminded of this quip on reading this feature on the BBC, which describes an Environmental Health Officer's DREAM assignment.

The feature contains the phrase:

A statement of facts, read out to the court, said: "Upon his arrival the officer observed a dead male lying on a sofa at the rear of the main kitchen.
"Sat opposite to him was Mr Singh who was preparing food, making kebabs."

Would you like onions with that?

Now THAT my friends is CLASS!

Bic Crystal Ballpoint Pen, Medium Point, Black

OK, yesterday we looked at how the general public treat online newspapers when given the opportunity to contribute their own content.

Today, we're going to look at that old perennial, the Amazon customer review, for example: the Bic Crystal Ballpoint Pen, Medium Point, Black. Find yourself a spare half an hour, and read all 166, it's worth it.

On the eve of the Booker Prize award, I think it's time that someone countenanced the inevitability of accepting that some of our best fiction is to be found amongst the medium of online retail.

I'm sorry if I'm the last person in the world to discover this thread, but I'm assuming that my readership is as out of touch as I am.

Bungee Disaster Sparks Online Ribaldry

Back in the heyday of Radio 1, the DJs were incessantly asking listeners to write in and tell them what they thought.

One evening, John Peel remarked that this was because the management had no other way of gauging a DJs success than measuring the weight of the mail received by each show.

No doubt there is a similar logic behind the current day trend for "comment on this story" options adjacent to each feature on newspaper web sites.

However, I'm sure that no-one anticipated, or welcome, the kind of remarks that accompany any news item, such as those displayed in the Hull and East Riding News.

Hull Fair Bungee Ride Snaps is worth a read, if just for the line:

"Every man and his dog crowded round the ride. They were worried for the girls and everyone was looking and taking videos and pictures on their phones"

However, it's the discourse that follows that is most telling. The online community of Hull and East Riding clearly have too much time on their hands.

File under "Chavs in space"

Bullseye!

Darlings, the must have cocktail accessory this season? Has to be the AK47 Bullet Ice Cube Tray!

Mindbender!

When I saw the BBC headline Banjo Used in Brain Surgery, my first thought was to assume that there's a neurologist out there helping himself to the pharmacy cabinet.

Actually, that still maybe, but this is not the misconduct case you may think.

Yes there was pandemonium at the RNIB yesterday, as the financial news broke, leaving the visually impaired disconcerted and vulnerable. Although unable to see very well, they are surprisingly adept at investing on the Stock Market, and were startled at the events.

RNIB spokesperson, Belinda Pugh, explained the chaos:

"It took us a little while to cotton on, as it takes a little longer to read the trading pages in braille, obviously, but once we realised that the lot had gone down the toilet, things went a little hectic. In fact, I haven't witnessed such confusion since the time that some moron hired Marcel Marceau to entertain us at the Christmas Party!"

When asked about rumours regarding the Bursor's attempted suicide, Ms Pugh played it down:

"Well, I saw nothing, naturally, but I have heard that he stepped out onto the ledge on the eigth floor, possibly by accident, but fortunately, Minty, his guide dog, stepped in front of him and prevented his endangering himself. It's sounds heroic, but its the kind of thing she's trained to do actually. In fact she's the sort of dog that is always getting in the way around here, it's a bit of a nuisance really; that's how I broke my wrist last year! I make do with this white stick, and don't know why the rest of 'em can't."

However, when pressed on how much the sightless had lost in the previous week, Ms Pugh was unforthcoming:

"And no-one admits it, but Minty has a bit of a flatulence problem, which is unpleasant in an open plan environment, although I believe that some people in here rely on it as a navigation aid when delivering their expense returns!"

Unfortunately, the Shoebox was unable to find anyone else available for comment on this story.

Steam Portrait

To Hell in a Handbag

I've been thinking about the corollary of the current recession and the war.

Whilst we in the west are struggling to come to terms with the end of cheap loans, there is the emergence of the "New" Russia, which is completely neurotic, revivalist and spoiling for a fight, and the increasing global dominance of China, which may have already realised that the sun has, indeed, set in the west.

And what chance do we stand should either have a go?

Well, from what I saw tonight: not much.

On my way home, entering the tube at Kings Cross, I was passed by a young chap carrying a MANBAG! Yes, actually carrying one in REAL LIFE, and not just seen in some daring fashion feature.

Oddly enough, elsewhere, he was going for the retro 70s manly look, not unlike the chap in "The Joy of Sex", but I'm afraid the MANBAG said it all. No doubt it was full of moisturiser, and personal grooming tools. I can't imagine any other use for it.

Yes, no need to invade with an army, just a couple of stout women armed with table tennis bats would send the new menfolk of our nation screaming to their solariums, leaving the rest of us resigned to a life of manumission.

Yes, maybe the new depression is just what we need to wean the younger generation off of the pandering lifestyle, and to start over, raising a more rugged breed.

Maybe we need a little less David Beckham, and a bit more Bert Trautmann (who played most of the 1956 cup final with a broken neck!)

Eton Boy Boris Shows Oiks Who's Boss

It transpires that London Mayor Boris Johnson has chosen to forsake the democratic process and is trusting on his own "judgement" in running one of the largest capital cities in the world.

This morning's Guardian carried an account of how the Mayor had to answer for his arbitrary notions to the London Assembly, with particular regard to the sacking of the Chief of the Metropolitan Police last week:

Asked how widely he had consulted about the move, the mayor insisted that the consultations had been widespread. A quick round of hands showed a majority of members had not been consulted. "This is becoming undignified," said Johnson. After two hours it was over.

The Tories may find Johnson's adventure to be a wizard wheeze, but the consequences of this dunce's actions will be felt by many who cannot defend themselves. This is not funny.

Swords to Ploughshares

So now that our governments are bailing out capitalism by spending taxpayers' money on big city bonuses, at what point do they tell us that they can't afford the war in Iraq?

Surely, war is a luxury in these trying times? And remember; WWII could not have taken place ten years earlier than it did because none of the protagonists could have afforded it.

It's not as though the war in Iraq is getting any headlines anymore!

Half-Baked Alaskan

OK, Sarah Palin doesn't appear to be so bright (and let's face it, she's the kind of person who prefers the odds of the multiple choice questionnaire) but I think the cynics need to think this through.

The way America's economy is going, they're going to need as many people capable of killing wildlife as they can muster. A moose will feed a lot of people, and when those food riots get going, you'll need the White House staffed with an administration that can keep the mob at a safe range with a variety of firearms.

Oh, yeh, SOMEBODY's thinking this through!

The Man in Black

You know when you get on the tube, and you do the double-take at the person sat there in the sunglasses?

Well, this evening, it was a tall guy, dressed all in black, with big black framed wrap-arounds, sitting forward, over by the door. Yeh, pretentious, and I did the usual tutting. That is, until I saw him leave the carriage.

What I missed was the large jet-black guide dog, magnificently lustrous despite the flourescent bib, and they cut a pretty cool image as the sidled along the platform cutting quite a dash. Blind AND stylish.

Nice!

London Mayor: Latest!

Yes, it's true! Boris is on the lam, after the Metropolitan Police, angered at his dismissal of nation's favourite "Sir" Anthony Blair, sent the Flying Squad in to give his poncy Eton arse a right kickin'.

After an 8mph car chase, (road works on Borough High Street 'til Feb), Boris Johnson, riding a bicycle WITHOUT a helmet went to ground in a disused warehouse in Bermondsey.


There, he taunted officers with cries of "Yah boo sucks! Can't catch me, you riff-raff!"

After the customary stand-off, Detective Inspector Jack Regan, (back by public demand) crouched behind a shit-coloured Ford Consul GT, addressed the Mayor via a megaphone and the following exchange was recorded:

Regan "Come aht Johnson, you TOILET, if ye don't want none of the rough stuff"

Johnson "No way matey! You won't take me, err, alive!

Regan "Don't be a fool man! Ye've overstepped the mark this time, and ye've got it comin' "

Johnson "Stay back! I'm armed! I've got a blunderbuss which has been in my family for nine generations! So there! Actually, err, there's a rather amusing story how my great-great-great grandpapa came across this very, err, weapon, in a game of cards with the Duke of Devonshire! Or was it the Marquis of Salisbury?"

Regan "Cut the crap Johnson! Are comin' aht like a good boy, or are we comin' in te get ye?"

However, as the Flying Squad attempted their daring move, Johnson caught sight of the armed-response unit approaching, and with a cry of "Crikey!"made safe his escape through a crease in his trousers, and hasn't been seen since.


Viewing the scene later, Regan was heard to mutter, "E's a wrong-un, and there's no mistake!"

The police are now staking out Gentlemen's Clubs and Grand Balls awaiting Johnson's inevitable return. "Let's face it," commented a spokesperson "he's a toff, he can't keep away from the Champagne and Canapes for that long; they always revert to type, it's in the blood!"

The Shoebox crime desk have a reporter permanently seconded to this story, and we will provide round the clock coverage in anticipation of Johnson's capture.

Boris Versus The Labour Government: Round One

Don't you hate it when life messes with your head?

Obviously I'm please to hear of the long overdue resignation of Met Police chief "Sir" Ian Blair, and giggled listening to his speech as he subtly dug at London Mayor Boris Johnson who had just sacked him.

It's the Boris Johnson role that irritates me. The Labour government have been lenient with Blair, as was former Mayor Ken Livingstone. They obviously liked something about the teflon police chief.

Has Boris seen through the deceit? Is Boris a single-minded politician who is not going to tolerate Ian Blair's self-styled impunity ? Does this mean that Boris is a shrewd, no-nonsense type of chap that is going to lead London to an era of social responsibility in it's public figures? If so hoorah!

Or is it Tory Boris delivering a blow at the Labour government by picking away at their establishment on behalf of his party, during Tory party conference week?

Naturally, I'm inclined to believe the latter, but I'm grateful for small mercies, and it's important to let the "Sir" Ian Blair's of this world know that they can't play fast and loose with other people's lives in pursuit of personal glory.

Is There A Doctor In The House?

As you know, I don't like to discuss my work as a first-aider. It's a selfless task I know, and one that needs dedication, empathy, and a strong stomach, but most of all modesty and deference.

And, yes, there are times that a first-aider has to forget the first rule of first-aid and step into harm's way when someone needs help. "Establish that it is safe to approach!" goes the mantra, but sometimes needs must, and the brave amongst us have to step up and be counted.

For example, this evening, as I was minding my own business in preparing the end of month returns, adjusting the accruals and falsifying the projected yearly outgoings, I heard a colleague cry-out.

Injured, with a pretty nasty paper cut, what he actually cried-out was: "Why is the First Aid box locked?"

Naturally, I didn't think twice; I rushed to the scene! I have no idea who locked the First Aid box*. I cannot imagine why anyone would want to lock a First Aid box? It's not as though it contains Morphine; and even if it did it's the size of a lunch box: the junkies would just carry it with them to somewhere where they could break into it in privacy.

Anyway, I had no time to question why or how, I just had to get the thing open. As the wounded party gripped his superficially lacerated finger, I went out back, got the tool kit, got the biggest screwdriver in it and a hammer, and set about the latches on that First Aid box without a thought.

Had I been paying a little more attention, I may not have missed the screwdriver with the first blow, I would certainly not have sustained the subsequent injury to my index finger, which took the full force of the ball-pein.

Like: OUCH!!!

Imagine the entry in the First Aid book:

Describe circumstances of injury: Finger broken by hammer blow whilst attempting to break into First Aid box whilst assisting colleague injured with paper cut.

On second thoughts, maybe not. Stalin wasn't the only one who knew when to airbrush out the truth!

*(I do, however, have an inkling who may have locked the box—knowing the nature of the woman in charge of H&S—and how that person MAY have crept in on a secret mission after hours to spy on the expiration date on our bandages.)

Oh, The Irony

Having watched Griff Rhys Jones' programme on anger this evening, my partner, who is AN INTELLECTUAL DUNCE and I began discussing several of the show's notions, which led to what could only be described as AN ARGUMENT as I struggled to GET MY POINT ACROSS.

NO; I DO NOT NEED ANGER MANAGEMENT!

Funny, thing anger. Never really goes away does it?

(Speaking as someone, who, in adolescence would beat the upright piano with the piano stool in frustration at my failing to sight read)

Car Free Day: North London Style

Yesterday was Car Free Day in my high street: Hoorah!

However, the organisers chose to balance out the reduction in pollution by erecting a stage outside the library for local Ragga artists to deafen everybody with a demoralising bludgeoning of drum and bass heavy oppression. This was no doubt organised by some young marketing woman with a belly button piercing and a clipboard who thought that the event needed some kind of urban credibility to get with the kids.

The sight of shoppers scurrying past the area in front of the stage frowning and ensuring that they move away from the assault ASAP should have indicated that the "performance" may have been ill-considered.

Well, now let us imagine a Pollution Free Day, where all variants of unwanted disruption, be it fumes, litter, fly tipping, musak, or noise are banished; just to see what life could be like? Yes, not trendy, but refreshing.

Bacon

Yes, it's time for another Francis Bacon exhibit at the Tate Britain, which ages me as I can remember the last one like it was yesterday. Last time, the Nazi on the door wouldn't allow me in with my guitar and wouldn't entertain the idea of me leaving it in the cloakroom. I had to stay outside whilst my friends went in without me, and waited for them to come out to do guitar sitting whilst I went in alone (with one of their tickets, thus cheating a system that had cheated me!)

Anyway, it's a Bacon exhibition. I think he's wonderful, but I don't think I felt anything new looking at it.

However, I was musing on the notion of the "work of art" / "observer" symbiosis, only with the twist of "irritating other observer getting in the way for the sake of it".

I was looking at one of the crucifixion triptychs, when this irritating arsehole decided that he wanted to inspect the canvas really closely!. Yes, really closely for a long time! and I realised that the longer I waited for him to fuck off, the longer he would stay there. Had I turned and walked away the moment he arrived, he'd have seen that the canvas was canvas with paint on it, and moved on. Because I wanted to look at the triptych, then his interest became paramount. The act of me observing him being pretentious drove him to persist being so. Once my gaze was averted, his act became futile.

This is not what I went there for, and certainly not for £12.50!

I would however recommend the BP free exhibition of the Tate's collection of drawings, and in particular that of Tacita Dean's chalk on blackboard work.

Also recommend viewing Martin Creed's running exhibit, which is and excellent use of the space available, and surprisingly potent close up. They're obviously using some real athletes in there: I passed one lad as he started off with a skip and a jump and then BLASTED away up the hall at blistering pace. And they don't stop for anyone! I'd love to know the attrition rate in downed artlovers who had been looking the other way when this lot roar through!

The End of the World as We Know It

Unlike his failure to deal with Hurricane Katrina, President Bush has just shown that he can act swiftly and assertively when it concerns him. What concerns him is bailing out his chums in Wall Street, proving that capitalism CAN offer a risk-free environment where those that got the WHOLE WORLD into this shit get to keep their jobs.

It's a curiously different approach than that the Bush camp took in Iraq. There, they chose to isolate and eradicate anybody associated with the Baath party, however insignificant. In Wall Street, there is to be no guilt by association, and everybody gets a second chance however incompetent!

As a presidential leaving gift, it's a little like Gerald Ford's pardoning of Nixon. Unforgivable, but only too predictable.

"I Didn't Realise The Strength Of A Pig!"

Fantastic feature from the BBC

Angry Pig moves in an holds Australian woman hostage in her own home!

Watch the video and then listen to the radio interview link afterwards.

Oh, and whilst you're around that part of the world, check out the Japanese Air Bags For Elderly People. It deploys within a tenth of a second of detecting an unplanned fall towards the ground!

Chimney Sweep Is Anticlimax Shock

We've just have our first ever visit from a chimney sweep, and frankly, I'm disappointed.

He did a lovely job, I've nothing to complain about in regard to issues of quality, it was an otherwise excellent service, but it wasn't what I was expecting.

My suspicions were aroused when I called the number and heard a polite and posh, middle-class lady reply, and not the gruff matter-of fact bloke I imagined.

When the sweep arrived, he wasn't a short, aging, cap-doffing duffer at all, rather, he was a young man in his early twenties which a huge vacuum cleaner!

However, in his defence, he was incredibly dirty and he had brought his brushes. After a period of vacuuming, there was moment of quiet industry after which stepped outside for a moment, before returning and asking if I wanted to "see the brush out"!

Cautiously, I stepped outside to witness the brushed proudly exposed from the top of our chimney!

Ten minutes after that, it was all over and done with, and not a small boy in sight!

Modern times eh?

1968: Retail Opportunity

On watching a BBC documentary on the "revolutionary" events of 1968, I was struck by footage of the black panthers, yet not of their zeal or cause, but in wondering who got the contract to kit them out.

Was there a Cohen & Sons; Outfitters to the Revolution: Oakland, Detroit, Chicago & Baltimore?

"First for Leather Sports Jackets, Berets and Sunglasses! Beware imitators!"

Somebody cleaned up in the apparel department.

Charivari? Sadly Not

No, there was no happy couple strolling hand-in-hand along the beach.

In fact the post-it notes were actually written upon, with disparaging messages relating to the driver and his vehicle. Shortly after this image was taken I witnessed the disgruntled driver of this vehicle removing the offending correspondence with barely disguised rage.

Incidently, on the way to the shore, I negotiated my car beneath the small railway bridge with the poor sight lines by the usual practice of leaning over to the left, checking the route was clear, and then gunning it though the narrow apeture.

As I emerged on the other side I was met by an Audi driver (a Chav Audi driver) who had accelerated out of the bend opposite, assuming that the path beneath the bridge would be clear. His assumption was wrong, and as the nose of the Audi went down under heavy braking, I simultaneously observed the outrage of the driver, pissed off at my right of way, and the sight of his small daughter leaving the seat next to him and bouncing off the windscreen face first!

Next time sweetheart, ignore daddy when he tells you that seatbelts are for tossers.

37 Years On: Village Still Silent

It's been almost four decades now, yet the residents of Wolvercote are still unable, or unwilling, to talk about the events that occurred on the day of the 1971 Village Carnival, or indeed of the fate of the 1971 Carnival Queen.

However, one villager, an elderly inebriate and possibly unreliable, told us:

"If you know what's good for you you'll stop askin' them questions, and whatever you do, don't cross that Kathleen Fitzgerald!

Our reporter then found a potato jammed into the exhaust pipe of the Shoebox van.

The mystery continues.

The Runt of the Litter

At the leaving do of a colleague tonight, and was left conversing with her partner, a man of fascinating antecedents.

Tragically, none of this excitement rubbed off, and I was left with a dullard who even lacked the ability to convey what was clearly a rich and noble lineage. A conversation better written down.

McCarthyism was never rendered so hollow.

Bought me a packet of crisps though, which ain't bad for a dullard.

Well Colour Me Pink!

If you've got five minutes to waste, and no colour blindness, test your colour IQ at: xrite

Radio 4: The End of the World is Nigh!

Having a couple of weeks leave (our American readers will enjoy the knowledge that I'm entitled to 28 days per annum), and setting about the manly pursuits of DIY and gardening whilst listening to the BBCs Radio 4.

Wonderful analysis of the current economic fiasco: basically a disaster laid down by the Thatcher government City reforms in the late eighties, which enable the economy to grow exponentially, but equally encouraged systemic recklessness for which the world is about to pay, (without the participation of most of the protaganists who have long since stashed their ill-gotten gains in anticipation of this very scenario).

Then, following the collapse of XL and the imminent demise of Air Italia, there is the warning that a number of minor airlines are about the go out of business due to the cost of aviation fuel, and thus auger the end of an era for cheap flights.

Which segues to a wonderful piece on Peak Oil, the notion that the world has passed it's watershed on oil production, and that cheap oil is no longer possible. Yes, there are untapped resources available, but at a price. The extraction costs are so high that the oil barons have to wait for prices to hit an extreme before the new resources become feasible.

And this has always been the case. On reading The Oil Drum, a peak oil site, this was the motivation for the exploitation of Britain's North Sea fields following the OPEC embargo:

It was known that oil was available in the North Sea prior to the oil embargo. It was not until the price run-up related to the embargo that it was economically feasible to drill there

Which means that all that deep water oil off of Brazil, or even that under the arctic, may be feasible, but only at huge costs. The notion of Peak Oil doesn't necessarily concentrate on the decline of oil as a comodity, rather that the notion of cheap oil is a thing of the past.

Basically that four-wheel drive school run will soon cost more than the school fees!

Make the fat little fuckers walk!

Mr Doppler Would Be So Proud....

Evidence that the guys in my home town have found something to do.

Now you know why I had to leave.

I blame the internet.