Overheard, Unfortunately

On leaving work, I find myself at the bottom of the escalator at Kings Cross, turning to enter the sweltering Piccadilly Line platform, when I am passed by a tourist couple, the female of which announced:

"I'm going to take my tights off!"

Keep it to yourself sister, and wait until you get back to your hotel, Purleese!

Troops Out!

I was astounded to find how little coverage has been given to events in Northern Ireland, where, after 38 years,British Troops have stepped down .

Maybe its a sign of the success of the "Peace Process" that such a momentous occasion is not considered the headlines.

No doubt the squaddies will return to barracks in Aldershot and other mainland garrison towns, where they will return to their default position, participating in running battles with the local drunks.

BBC: Cat Kills Elderly People

Well, that's how I read this story about a care-home moggy with a "gift" for predicting stiffs.

Has anyone examined how this feline Kevorkian is "cuddling up" to the old folk. Is it, perchance, sleeping on their faces until the foul deed is done?

Are the staff in on the dastardly deed?

I think we need to be told.

Overheard, Unfortunately

As I emerged from Warren Street tube tonight, I passed the hotel at the top of the Tottenham Court Road, and witnessed a snippet of the conversation between the two doormen.

They were both wrought from the caricatures of the 1930s, possibly by a brown-shirted Herges: one character was African, very dark, very tall, but with a head TOO SMALL for his body. The other, middle-aged, rotund, garrulous, middle-eastern in appearance.

The taller man was leaning back away from the too close attention of the Levantan, who was animatedly enthusing about something. All I got, on passing, was to witness a clutching gesture by the raconteur, who was saying "....and then I wrap them in ELASTIC BANDS!"

One shudders to think what he was talking about.

And in the early evening at that!

Put them away sir!

BBC: "Disabled Are Fraudulant Bastards"

Look, we know how difficult it is to criticise the "disabled", with the Political Correctness Police watching over us, but thanks to the usually left-wing BBC, we can now speak out about what those shifty little sods are actually up to: HERE

And they thought we weren't watching! Round them up, intern them in the Isle of Man! That's what I say!

Katastrophen!

On seeking the what the rest of the world thought of Britain's current spate of flooding, (or England Unter Wasser as the Germans would put it: featuring the word Trinkwasserversorgung), I discover that elsewhere abroad there are worse things to worry about.

Yes, America may have mislaid it's bees, but in Iceland the insect kingdom has struck a victory as ANTS have taken control!

Incidently: I notice too that when the Icelanders are not fighting off the ants, they have taken to golf. Mind you, their description of “pink golf tournament” for female golfers seems a little disingenuous. Maybe from a distance they look like female golfers!

Chips Shops in British Town

Nothing to do with the adverse weather, but on seeking a portion of chips in Christchurch, Dorset* last night, I found FOUR chips shops closed. Sunday, apparently.

Note: on my way home through Poole, ALL the chip shops I passed were OPEN!

*historically Hampshire (probably explains the Sunday closure thing).

Thames Floods: Prepare To Flee

Yes, it's the Evening Standard billboard writers again, who put the above message on our London's streets tonight; chosing to bypass the Spirit of the Blitz and encouraging mass hysteria.

Tomorrow in the Evening Standard: how Mayor Ken has summoned the rain gods to hasten middle-class disintergration.

Saturday Morning Swapshop

According to the BBC, Boy gets £44,000 in eBay parcel, a youngster received more he expected for his £95.

I can imagine the sense of wonder on discovering such instant wealth.

However, I'm having a little more difficulty in envisaging the scenario elsewhere, where a disgruntled gangster has no doubt gone to ground with nothing but a Playstation to show for his evil deeds. Does he know yet, or will he find out at the Mercedes showroom when he opens the box?

Ken Assured Victory: Hoorah For Boris!

The champagne corks flew at London Mayor headquarters tonight, as they discovered that the Conservatives had decided not to contend the next Mayoral election, deciding to run Idiot Boris Johnson instead.

Viewers oversees may need to know that Boris is the kind of shambling buffoon who always leaves the lavatory with his shirt protruding through his fly AND with toilet paper trailing from the heal of his shoe.

Go back to panto Boris, where you belong: "he's behind you!"

North Pole Swimming Shrinks Penis

OK, so someone swam at the North Pole: big deal! Anyone who grew up with the English Channel in summer can tell you EXACTLY what it's like to bathe in sub-zero temperatures.

Anyway, I recommend putting a hot water bottle down the front of his pants for a couple of days.

Nudity: Latest

For those that believe that a little liberalism can go too far, check out how Vermont has been over-run by NATURISTS! Apparently, the locals don't mind the neighborhood nudists, they're only opposed to the outsiders bringing their wretched flesh to town!

Put it away Grandad!

Meanwhile, in my native Dorset, the natives are restless over the exploitation of our own naked icon:Homer Go Home

Ulster Says No! To The Environment

Now you may not believe it, but Orangemen of Northern Ireland are going to set fire to this lot as a demonstration of their hatred of Catholicism, or ostensibly, in celebration of the Battle of the Boyne on July 12th.

Some of the saner residents adjacent to this eco-armaggedon are showing concern.

Yes, it appears that having been told to stop fighting with the Catholics, the Protestants of Ballycraigy have decided to declare war on the earth's atmosphere, and it looks like the local authority can do nothing about it.

One local Unionist leader reassured us that they would "to try and ensure the number of tyres on the bonfire is as little as possible". Thank the Lord for that: can you imagine what this thing would look like had they not taken precautions!

So, if you're on the moon tomorrow, you'll clearly be able to see the cloud from there. Let's face, for anyone closer, it's ALL they'll see!

Photos: Daily Mail

Mujahideen Also-Ran Seeks Attention

I wonder just how pissed-off Ayman al-Zawahiri must get, being constantly referred to as the Al Qaeda© "second in command".

As the original Jihadi MD seeks to gain a little limelight one must wonder when the good doctor will finally admit that Bin Laden© pegged it yonks ago, the money has gone and that the Al Qaeda© now consists of no more than himself, an AK47 wielding nephew and the bloke holding the camera.

It also calls one to ask when the first break away group will arrive to usurp the claims of Al Qaeda© and declare the glory for themselves. Let's call them the "I Can't Believe It's Not Al Qaeda©" for now. They'll think of something more glamorous I'm sure.

I Saw My Agent This Morning....

He said "I've got some good news, and some bad news".
"The good news," he continued, "is that I've got you four weeks at Christmas; Guilford Variety Theatre; Goldilocks and the Three Bears with Lionel Blair and Cilla!"
"The bad news is they're using real bears!"

For Better or For..OOOF!

Imagine how pissed off David Cameron's people were, having to watch their bribes for brides gambit being upstaged in the news by this happy couple.

Married and arrested in the same day; I bet the mugshot looked all the better for the wedding dress!

Utopian Future Postponed, Again

Fans of perpetual motion will be disappointed to learn that even the work of genius is no match for museum lighting.

Yes, a demonstration of working perpetual motion machine, harnessing the earth's magnetic field has been "CANCELLED" due to a minor technical hitch.

It seems that the serious eggheads behind the comically named Orbo —having out-thought all other physicists— haven't calculated the impact of room illumination.

Had they spent less time in the Lab, and dedicated a little downtime in amateur dramatics, or maybe in a Blues Brothers tribute band, they'd already know that them lamps can make you sweat!

Try Halogen next time!

(Only joking, I'm sure the chaps behind Steorn are actually just pranksters building up a stunt to promote their new show: possibly showing at the Assembly Rooms during the Edinburgh festival. Oh you rascals!)

Bodybag On Platform One

Waiting to board the tube this evening, an announcement was made informing us that there were disruptions due to "a person under a train at Wood Green".

And indeed, as we eventually arrived at that station, it became only too apparent that there lay, just outside our carriage, the bodybag containing (one assumes) the "person", with a sole policewoman in attendance.

It's at times like this that the throwbacks amongst us let themselves be known, stepping forward with necks craned in order to gawp at the macabre scene.

Some even diverted from their route to the exit and walked back along the platform to have a closer look, no doubt entering into discourse with the guard of honour.

It's reassuring to know, should we reintroduce public executions, that there exists an eager audience no doubt prepared to to pay for the grotesque spectacle.

Remember to bring your own knitting.

Run Scooter! Run Free!

It looks like Freedom Loving President Bush has practiced just what he preaches by letting his old chum Scooter Libby off the hook.

Was this wise in an election year? Will anyone trust the Republicans on law and order after this?

Does this mean that the only way a Republican can now run for office is by promising to lock Scooter up again?

American: Plutocracy at its best!

Dog Ends; Sugar Cubes & Bullets: A Life

Over the last couple of weeks, following the death of my brother, I found myself volunteering to sift through his belongings, particularly that in the workshop/attic at his home. For a non-materialistic man of few possessions, he certainly left a lot of stuff.

It was like Tom Waits' 'Soldiers Things', and not a little daunting.

The problem with engineers (and George was an electrician, electronics specialist, mechanic and a navy weapons technician), is that nothing gets thrown away. Switches; plugs; connectors; elements; dial pots; diodes; resistors; capacitors; valves; servo motors; batteries; pumps; springs; letraset; hinges; catches; handles; cables; wires; string; screws; car mirrors: bluetac.
Not to mention eight vcr recorders. At least fourteen remote controls, and countless more discarded power units.

And computers, and not just the ones he built; it was like a PC museum.

And knots: as an ex-sailor his talent with knots was comprehensive and effortless, and I admit that I desecrated a few in opening the numerous bags that contained his worldly belongings. Unable to replicate his handiwork, I could only re-tie them with an inadequately utilitarian half-hitch.

And containers. Anything that could hold components; jam jars, film cartons, canisters: and of course, the shed-dwellers' staple, tobacco tins, full of screws; nails; nuts; bolts; fuses; rawlplugs; washers; scalpel blades; chalk; ad infinitum.
Two tobacco tins feature in the photo: one with dog-ends, the other sugar cubes. I didn't understand the sugar cubes, it took my mother to explain that he had a sweet tooth, and often didn't get enough in his tea whilst on the road.

And used rounds. George was target shooter, who had surrendered in his firearms and live ammo when handguns and automatic weapons were outlawed following Dunblain. Didn't throw out the spent cartridges though. (As I waded through the accumulated wealth of spare parts, I half-dreaded unearthing a revolver or some live ammunition, long forgotten beneath the "shed strata". What would I do? Refuse to touch it and call the police? Or enact my Travis Bickle fantasy in front of a mirror before taking it home to show my mates in the pub?)

No, George wasn't the kind of bloke who left firearms lying around. Just stuff, and lots of it.

Touchingly he had kept the collar of his long-deceased dog Bruce (a dog chosen from the rescue centre because he was the ugliest and least friendly animal there, and George knew no-one else would take him) and Christmas cards from his niece Kelly, which she had hand-made at infant school. And his diaries from his teenage years include the week in 1964 in which each day is marked "nothing to do".

I didn't know George well, he was nine years older and left home for the sea when I was small, but after sharing his workspace for a few days I feel that I did a little catching up.

Yes, for a man of few possessions he left a lot of stuff, and it was all the product of an active life spent making things work, and you can't knock that.