West Country Casual Zookeeping

I am always excited when our undomesticated furry friends take control of their own destiny for a while, as in this story of Parker the tree climbing wolf. I gather that he's the Steve McQueen of the lupine world, as he's not too keen of captivity.

Mind you, the Mee Brothers, who run an unlicensed nature park in Devon, (which sounds like fun) don't appear to be too committed to the concept of animal enclosure.

One brother remarked of the animals outings: "I think they are unfortunate incidents. They do happen rather a lot generally"

These guys are in charge of TIGERS for Christ sake!

Mind you, when you consider how stoned the average West Country inhabitant is, they probably take these sightings in their stride. "Oh MAAN, check aht the Lion guy man, he's like totally Metro Goldwyn maan!"

Madonna: Messianic Visionary

Apparently, Madonna wants to be like Gandhi, Martin Luther King and John Lennon.

If that Evening Standard offer below was still on someone could do something about it.

Official: Women Are Dirty

Hey, don't get at me: that's what the The BBC claim.

Apparently "The researchers said women's habit of keeping snacks in their drawers could explain why their desks were more germ-ridden."

That's the last time I accept a Ritz cracker in credit control!

Evening Standard: Killer Guns For Hire

I find they're the best kind, although I was disappointed to discover that it isn't actually another great Evening Standard Offer.

The free magazine wasn't what I was expecting either!

The Mobile Phone Overhear

Actually, sometimes it's good to listen in.
I passed a guy down the road, sat on his scooter with his helmet perched upon his head, shouting into his mobile.
"What? And what then?
The day after tomorrow, or the day after that?
And everything's going to be lovey dovey?
HOW?"

Duped, I Feel Soiled.

I answered the phone at work the other day, and was greeted by a salesman of my aquaintance who claimed to be asking my advice regarding a project he was carrying out with my organisation.

I innocently gave my advice, only to be interrupted down the line by the sound of his mobile phone ringing.

"I'm sorry," he apologised "can I just answer this?".

I consented, and heard the following:

"Hi, Tony! I'm on the land line, I'll phone back just as soon as I come off!"

Can you believe it? The dirty DIRTY little man was just using me as some kind of low-budget sex-line!

That's the last time I tell HIM what kind of underpants I'm wearing!

Down The Line

If you're not listening to Down The Line on Radio 4 you should be. Basically, the Fast Show people doing a phone-in. Fantastic, best thing on the radio.

Gung Ho? "We're in jail dude!"

Who would have thought that any of us would have lived long enough to see The Sun become a campaigning paper?

As the inquest into the death of British squaddie Matty Hull in Iraq at the hands of the American Air Force unfolds, The Sun has proven to be remarkably resourceful in providing the evidence requested.

Following the unprecedented anger of the coroner at the MOD's reluctance to make available an American combat recording from the killer aircraft, (the existance of which the MOD had originally denied) and the Pentagon's refusal to play ball also, Thatcher's favourite tabloid has gone out and procured a copy, available here.

No doubt they sent some teenage nympho into a Washington bar where the military nerds drink, and compromised some poor shit into nicking the tape, but if it let's a little truth escape into the world, who's judging.

If "our boys" are too come home in bodybags, maybe The Sun owes them at least this much.

(I also suspect that this is some kind of turning point in newspaper history, as the line between the press and broadcast media blurs, and such radical action, actually putting the forbidden tapes out there, has a real impact on events)

The Euphamist

(Actually, that give me an idea for a site)

So Monk wants "to paint the front door" adopted as a euphamism.

Well I only hope that you give your brush a good rinse afterwards!

(& Monk, get your comments working; why should I waste my own blog space to provide your punchlines?)

It's the X-Ray Spec State

Thanks to the vigilance of The Sun, bringing us not only news that the police will be seeing us IN THE NUDE, but it has also provided us with an illustration of what the illustrator at The Sun believes that celebrities will look like if viewed by said X-Ray Specs.

No doubt the chaps at the Home Office are cutting out the forms at the back of their comics, before sending off their five shilling postal orders, before the agonising two week wait before delivery.

Which reminds me of one of my favourite pieces of dialogue, from Mr Don & Mr George, as they stand by the front door having just sent away for something:

"How long will it take?"
"It says two weeks!"
"How long is that?"
"Fourteen sleeps!"

Mummy, Mummy, There's a Man at the Door with a Bill!

"Don't be silly Darling; it must be a duck with a hat on!"

Another Great Book, Mr Gum

Just read Andy Stanton's "Mr Gum and the Biscuit Billionaire" , the follow up to You're a Bad Man Mr Gum.

Both a work of genius.

"Summer was almost at an end and the day stretched out long and lazy like a huge glossy panther made of time. The birds chirped in the trees, the rabbits chirped in their burrows, and a fox walked along the railway tracks whistling "Greensleeves" and thinking of a vixen he had once loved".

Lush

Obviously there's loads of really heavy stuff going on around the world, and I'm sure you're not interested in the minutiae of my life, BUT: I walked into the kitchen last night and witnessed my partner reopening the previous evening's red wine with her teeth! She spat the cork into the sink!

And she's supposed to be the posh one.

PC Springer: The Public's Friend

A slow week, so I thought I'd dig out something that I wrote a couple of years ago, pre-blog, that is still relevant in these days of terror.

August 2005:

In his stand up days, writer John Dowie commented that he preferred cats to dogs because you'd never get a cat joining the police force.
This is amusing, but unfair on our canine companions as they don't have too much say in it, as they, like their feline adversaries are just ANYONE'S for tinned food.

The British Police favour two breeds of dog:
The German Shepherd, an all purpose assault dog.
The Springer Spaniel, sniffer dog.

The German Shepherd is the perfect animal for the police mindset, it's ferociously, even  pyschopathically loyal to its handler, and views everyone out of uniform as a target. It doesn't do polite, and sees itself as just getting the job done. Sometimes people get hurt.
All in a days work.

The Springer Spaniel on the other hand seems to be off-message when it comes to its role as Police Dog.
Firstly, the average Springer is permanently in a state of tongue-lolling tail-spinning over-excitement that would give a Sunny Delight imbibed three-year old a run for its money.
Secondly, it loves everybody unconditionally, like a born-again Christian on E.
Discipline? What's that when it's at home?

I make this observation, as there is a considerable visible presence of these furry law-enforcers at the entrances of tube stations across the capital at the moment, as the olfactory arm of the war on terror. They are strategically, yet unsubtly, led by their handlers across the concourse towards all-too-suspecting commuters, to whiff the air on the off-chance that someone may be carrying a compound of the loud stuff.

Actually, like the rest of the police presence, the dogs are there chiefly as a visibility exercise, a warning to those that MAY try it on that they could get caught.
Which brings me to my point regarding the Springer Spaniel as Police Dog.
Last evening, at around 21.00 hrs, I was entering Holborn Underground Station, when my progress was blocked by a fat woman, who was crouching over in order to SMOOTH a highly animated Springer who was standing on his hind legs, tail whirling, with his front paws on her arm; LICKING HER FACE!  And the handler (equally overweight) just stood there making amused small talk!

What sort of message does that throw out to the forces of evil?

(Unless, of course, it is assumed that a real baddie would rebuff the dog's advance with a cruel blow from a leather clad hand, thus identifying him as a wrong 'un.
Hmmm, maybe I've been mistaken, maybe the subtle approach WILL work.)

However, I do not forget the time in 1989, on arrival at Bournemouth v. Manchester Utd, (FA Cup 4th Round) and the huge police presence, typical at football in Thatcher's Eighties. There were a lot of German Shepherds, restlessly lining the streets around the ground. One young lad, clearly impressed at the sight left his father's side and approached a dog, hand-first. There was one of those collective intake of breath moments as the dog leaped viciously at the child, with handler in tow, and there was a palpable CHOP! of the dog's fangs as his jaw closed inches short of the youngsters little outstretched fingers.
As the father bundled the boy away, and fans shouted belated warnings to the frightened kid, the handler merely reigned the frothing animal in to heel, once more standing to attention.
He said nothing, neither apology, nor explanation ("never apologise, never explain" W. Churchill), he just resumed his duties.
Now THAT would give radical islam something to think about. Would it be possible to enter paradise with a domestic wolf attached to your balls?

Gor Blimey!

Today, at work, a colleague of mine remarked:

"I ain't never got no paper!"

(She was actually surrounded by the stuff.)

Such is my life.

From The Halls of Montezuma....

It is a rare moment that one finds oneself frightened by a Shoe website, but take a look at THIS!

Stamping on the faces of the third world for two centuries!

Dog Judo

Not much to report: go to Dog Judo instead.

They're Back: Only This Time Their Thirsty!

It appears that Australia is about to be consumed by snakes.

GULP!

No Flush, No Town Hall

Well, due to an unprecedented Third World style power outage, we all sat around in the dark today waiting for the electricity to return.

Obviously, the Town Hall should have swung into it's full contigency procedure, and at least the registrars TRIED to deliver a service, considering that Births, Deaths & Marriages don't really need electricity.

However, as the hours past, and we all waited on standby, it became all too apparent that the adoption of the fully automated toilets would bring an early halt to the proceedings. (We have an old fashioned sink in our place, so at least it was possible to wash one's hands: a luxury denied that rest of the staff and visitors).

I only hope that they'll be sending in a crack troop of cleaning corps over-night to at least go round and wave a hand across all the auto-flush sensors.

Cat Or Borat: You Decide

OK, you'll all complain, and I know that no-one wants to see another Photos Of Amusing Cats Blog, and I promise that it'll be just this once, but this cat looks like Sacha Baron Cohen.
From Cats that look like Hitler (Although this one looks like Sacha Baron Cohen, but there is yet to be a Cats That Look Like Sacha Baron Cohen website).

Would It Be An Aardvark?

Not one for crap TV, and reluctant to applaud appalling behaviour, I have to admit a sneaking admiration for the question compilers on Quizmaster, the late night ITV phone-in for people too stupid, or too desperate, to turn the TV off and go to bed.

It appears that Ofcom, the broadcasting regulator, has ruled against Quizmaster's choice of answers to the question "what would you find in a woman's handbag?".

Dupes had to phone in at premium rates to suggest what they believed to be the hidden items, hoping to win cash prizes.

However, the answers set by Quizmaster not only included the dubious "rubber bands", "dog biscuits" and " false teeth", but the inspired "balaclava" and "Rawlplugs"!

Now I would have LOVED to have sat on the panel that conjured up those, it must have been a hoot! How do you get these jobs?

Mind you, if ever met a woman with Rawlplugs in her handbag, I wouldn't hestitate to ask her around MY shed!*

(*Only kidding; I would NEVER allow a woman in my shed, what sort of man do you take me for? Mind you, I did know a woman once who carried a small hammer in her bag, but she was Glaswegian and borderline criminally insane.)

I Need A Valet

Don't look at me: I'm hideous!

Having arrived at work, breakfasted and abluted, I was finally ready for the day when, looking down, I realised that: I AM WEARING THE WRONG SHOES FOR MY ENSEMBLE!

Wearing dark brown trousers with a prussian blue polo shirt was just about right. They shouldn't work, but to the discerning eye they do! But why oh why oh why did I put on my LIGHT TAN SHOES? You know, the Italian hand-made pair I bought in the store opposite MOMA in New York? Well, they look ORANGE against this outfit, it's just WRONG, and I'm stuck at work for a whole DAY for people to snigger at me behind their hands.

Frankly, I look like I'm attending an interview at the Circus.

I shouldn't be in this position, I certainly should not be allowed to make such important decisions before 10.00am. Christ, even Churchill stayed in bed 'til midday.
I need a valet. I need someone to lay my clothes out for me in the morning whilst I shuffle around the house trying to remember where the bathroom is.
In fact, when I finally get my act together and get that blockbuster in the bookstores, the first thing I'll get is a valet! (Where does one get a valet? Ask a homosexual I suppose,)

Meanwhile, back at work, the obvious thing to do is to stay behind my desk all day with my offending feet out of sight. But I can't! My desk faces the wall! When people come to see me I do a rather fetching swish around on my swivel chair, and address them with my desk at my back. I suppose I could pretend that I was really busy with something really important all day, keeping my back to visitors, but that would be so uncharacteristically RUDE!

Taking the shoes off is out of the question. I'm not an ALBANIAN PEASANT for god's sake. And no-one's going to by the rustic look in January anyway.

I could sneak out and buy some more suitable shoes, but apart from the fact that I can't afford it, and that my partner has threatened to leave if I ever buy any more shoes ("who needs that many shoes? Who are you? Imelda Marcos?), I couldn't bear the expression on the shop assistant's face when they observe that I have committed a grave error of judgement. And we all know that they're the type of person who uses that kind of thing against you.

I had thought of sacrificing my otherwise exquisite tan shoes with the aid of the enormous felt-tip pen we use for the flip charts, but I just can't bring myself to such cruelty.

There's no choice but to forgo lunch, cancel my appointments and close the door to my office with the "Meeting In Progress" sign up.

Sometimes I wonder if people realise who the REAL victims are these days.

Darwin & The T-Shirt of Doom

As the onset of climate change manifests itself this January with the budding of plants and the decline of "the Labour Party are killing pensioners by not providing sufficient heating subsidies" headlines in the Daily Mail, I believe a dilemma has also arisen for a minority amongst us who may feel their whole raison d'etre to be challenged.

They are, of course, the young men who would strut the sub-zero streets of our provincial cities in t-shirts, emphasising their tattooed biceps however low the temperature*. It may be minus 5 in Newcastle, with the North Sea wind-chill dragging it down further, but the lads will be out in nothing less than a football shirt, regardless of the unremitting misery they may be enduring to demonstrate that they are MEN. Every year, in testament to the fact, the north-east produces a series of "drunk man found dead in t-shirt with hypothermia" stories, as the inebriated stalwarts attempt vainly to stagger the last mile home in the snow storm.

What does any of this mean in the new era of the Meditteranean winter? Well not much. In such mild weather, the choice to step out in a t-shirt just looks like you may have left your jacket in the car whilst nipping in the corner shop for a packet of fags. The whole point is lost; it's like karate expert forgoing the breeze blocks and opting to chop through ice cream.
No woman is going to think: "wow, look at that alpha male, he's exhibiting the very virility that I need to ensure that my offspring will not only survive, but thrive in just a t-shirt in the most rugged winter, I will display to him to encourage him to copulate with me!"

Indeed, under the new conditions, and the concomittant semiotic confusion that would arise from the vague new dress codes, such women may well begin to be distracted by other, less rugged, modes, like the duffel coat, or the cardigan. This could have serious consequences for the drinking classes, as the gene would become weakened as their women begin to forego the "knee-trembler" 'round the back of Harry Ramsden's, and elect for the more comfortable wooing of a night at Yate's Wine Lodge followed by some passionate slap & tickle in front of the fire somewhere in the suburbs.

Thus, an entire species of spotty, translucent-skinned herberts, raised on chips and brown ale will wither (not unlike their frozen penises) and die, whilst a less robust "continental" style of youth will emerge, with a penchant for coffee and conversation, in preferrence to the earlier traditions of ram-raiding and tribal street-brawling.

Oh yes, global warming is going to have a wider impact than you may think.

*(Note: these are not to be confused with their distant relation, the inner-city young black male in the woolly hat, worn throughout the extremes of the oppressive heat of the summer. I've no idea what's going on there.)

Thankyou California

If you're looking for a source of entertainment and conversation look no further.

With thanks to Monk.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Those who may have wished for the New Year to herald a time when all religions would settle their differences and come to together in common cause, may be feeling a little uneasy tonight.

As I write, protesters representing Christians, Jews & Muslims are gathered outside parliament, where they are united in demonstrating for their right to discriminate against homosexuality in opposition to the government's proposed Sexual Orientation Regulations, a bill to outlaw the refusal of goods & services to gays.

Quite a dilemma for the right-on touchy feely bleeding hearts who recently wished upon us an inclusive "Happy Festival". For these, there can be no doubt these protesters are merely a front for some right-wing imperialist bourgeois hegemony.

Wait a minute? That's the government!

Lebensraum Revisited

In our enlightened times, and in enjoying Europe's longest ever period of peace—thanks to the EU—it is considered inappropriate for any of us to fall back on the old cliches of portraying the Germans as domineering and land-grabbing, (an image still beloved of British tabloids), and instilled within the younger generations by our parents, who were forced to sacrifice their youth to stopping the Bosch back in 39/45.
It was common to hear phrases like "Let's face it, give 'em a tin of grey paint and a couple of helmets, and they'd be back at it all over again".
Such fears should have been allayed long ago, as Germany became the engine of the EU, not to mention its liberal conscience.
Unfortunately, no-one has told the Prussian Claims Society, a pressure group that are claiming reparations from Poland for the expulsion of Germans at the end of the last war. Yes, they want compensation for the possessions they lost!
A little insensitive, but Tories won't let a little bit of stereotyping stand in the way of them and their property.

The Future Arrived Too Soon

I don't know what's more disturbing, whether living long enough to witness climate change, as London's gardens burst into life with roses during this balmy January, or the fact that David Bowie is 60 years old tomorrow.
Either way, I am unprepared for any of this. Where did the rest of the time go?

Pants Off, It's Pravda!

If you're wondering what happened to Pravda, the Soviet's leading newspaper, it's alive and well, and has the mindset of a fourteen year old boy.

When not marvelling about Japanese innovations (like a car that detects drunkeness: I think it turns itself off and orders a taxi), Pravda is preoccupied with the size of penises, breasts and arses, and things people have done with them. Check out the "funny stories", they're full of it.

Nice to know that Britain has the longest measured penises, (although allegedly it also has the shortest, but what do they know).

George Galloway: Still "Right On"

A year after his elevation to Celebrity Big Brother, attention-seeking MP George Galloway has turned to ripping off the Shoebox by condemning the Saddam's kangaroo court by comparing the lynch mob to Ulster terrorists.

However, whilst delivering his soundbyte to the BBC, George has shown his true colours, and can't bring himself to indict the fun-loving freedom fighters of the IRA, and has instead chosen equate his favourite dictator's hangmen to the protestant, pro-British imperialist lackeys of the UVF.

Keep the red flag flying Mr Galloway!

Madonna's Science is Flawed: Claim

I've never really heard of "Celebrity Science" before, but the good people at Sense About Science are out to do something about it by correcting the mumbo jumbo spawned by our tabloid favourites.
Apparently, according to The Guardian the professional entertainer Madonna has been researching into "neutralising radiation".
Now, I expect that those science types may know a thing or two about atoms and things, but their scepticism marks them out as somewhat unworldly. Surely everybody knows that when Madonna wants something, SHE GETS IT.

Saddam Meets the Provos

Nice to see that the IRA have found work at what they're best at, as Iran continues its tradition of slaughtering the previous regime.

Apparently, Bush was in bed at 9pm, and missed it. 9pm?

Blair Reputation in Tatters: Official

Well, any credibility that Blair had as a consumate politician, a reformer and an election winner appears to have been shot through by now.

The abandonment of the BAE fraud enquiry (and the concomitant sale of large arms to Saudi Arabia) won't go away lightly, hoorah! Ethical Foreign Policy? Let's stop pretending about that one!

And then, the pipe-smoking, leather elbow patched chaps at Chatham House have been examining the effacacity of Blair's post 9/11 pro-Bush foreign policy, and declared it a DISASTER.

Yes, we all KNOW that already; but coming from the people that Blair usually relies on, that must at least bang the nails into the coffin of Blair's political reputation. Never mind, another six months, and then he can dedicate his time to all those lucrative lecture tours of America that he's clearly looking forward to.





Blair reputation in tatters: official

BAE fraud enquiry

Last Week's News

OK, I'm behind.

I will find time to comment on the governments' moral failure to insist on the continuation of the BAE fraud inquiry, considering it to be acceptable to allow corruption, rather than to lose business to the Saudis. (Read more here)

Meantime, I'd like to apologise for not reacting quick enough to the BBC 'newsticker' headline that read:

Gastro Enteritis Forces Duchess of Cornwall to Cancel Pudding Factory Visit.

Now that is a headline!

If You're Drinking This Christmas

Try avoid sleeping it off on the railway.

I think the best bit of this story is the drunk's father attempting to blame his son's predicament on the railway company.

No Service Charge, Thankyou!

We've decided to start refusing to pay the "service charge" at restaurants, (which is basically a surcharge, with fees going to the owners) with the intention of leaving cash tips for the waiters.

Tonight, the cashier came back to our table THREE TIMES to ask why we weren't paying the full bill.

Be nice to waiters, don't pay the service charge!

Walk On The Wild Side

I don't know what's going on south of the river, but it appears that the Bishop of Southwark has elected to do a Kevin Spacey and retract his mugging claim in the light of events.

Spacey got into a spot of bother in Archbishop's Park in Lambeth, land belonging to the Archibishop of Cantebury (who was not involved, however). The Bishop of Southwork appears to have come a cropper following a night 'round at the Irish Embassy.

The BBC has this account of the Drunken Bishop's escapade in the back of a car.

Meanwhile, the Guardian reports that the Bishop appeared without his Mitre at his Sunday Service, claiming the head injury prevented his wearing the headgear.

So what did the Bishop do with, or — heaven forbid — IN his mitre that rendered it unwearable?

Where is The News of the World when you need it?

Beachcomber Returns

Ever since I first saw the internet, I knew it could facilitate a return to the brief, inspired eccentricity that flourished in British newspapers in the early 20th Century, as the titles would find a small space for a number of lone voices, the best of which was JB Morton, aka Beachcomber, who wrote for the Express for about two centuries until the 1950s.

Those that don't know of his work, his flights of fancy were the obvious inspiration for The Goons, The Beatles, The Bonzos, Monty Python, and everyone in between. He was very much the architect of the comic template for all those mad colonels, posh twits and social faux pas that became the staple of British comedy in the post war years, and in particular the concept of the "vexed of Tonbridge Wells" letters.

Imagine my joy therefore to discover this link from the Surrey Comet with thanks to Monk who unearthed it for our delight.

Read the correspondence, there's barely a duff note, and I suspect that it's the work of one hand, and that of a modern Morton.

Meanwhile on the topic of pigeon extermination, I draw you attention to my own previous pigeon post.

Pinochet: One Down, One More To Go

As Margaret Thatcher shamelessly expresses great regret at the death of her old friend, the pyschopathic dictator Pinochet, the rest of the humane world can only hope that the old witch will take the hint and fuck off out of it as well.

Tiverton 1 McDonalds 0

Sadly, McDonalds, like cancer, will probably be always with us, yet in the west of England, the people of Tiverton have exercised consumer choice and opted for the edible alternative, local produce, enough to see off the American tyrant.

Read about it in the Guardian

"Methane Mary" Grounds Jet

Yes, the war on terror took an unsavoury turn when a farting passenger gassed a flight out of the sky over America.

Apparently there was a blue flash, and everybody began screaming.

Look out for a new round of questioning at the check-in counter.

"What did you have for dinner last night?"

"Have you been for a No. 2 this morning?"

"Have you recently consumed large amounts of lager?"

"Was that you?"

Stop This High Street Filth!

On passing Marks & Spencer tonight, I decided it was time to pop inside and stock up on socks and undies, and followed the signs to Menswear.

Suddenly, and without warning, I found myself in the Ladies Lingerie section, amongst the lurid scanty panties and uplift brassieres!

A quick glance around told me that my presence had gone undetected, so I elected to do what any sensible man would do in the circumstances and turned around immediately, volte face, with the intention of retracing my steps. However, having completed my tergiversation, I was SHOCKED to discover the men's underwear section directly behind me!

Yes, that's right; the men's underwear section was ADJACENT to the ladies' underwear section. Men's and Ladies "you know whats" SHARING THE SAME SPACE! Y-Fronts & Knickers were practically mingling with each other!

For the love of decency, are there no morals anymore? What were they thinking of? This is the permissive society incarnate! Is it any wonder that our society has descend into the cess-pit of debauchery and loose living that it is.

In Marks & Spencer of all people!

Its about time the Daily Mail did a double-page spread on this one.

As you can imagine, unwilling to patronise these pornographers, I made my excuses and left; I have my self-respect to think of you know.

Man Fights Moose With Slipper

According to Norwegian newspaper Aftenposten:

"A Norwegian who thought he'd be spending a quiet weekend at his cabin near Kongsvinger ended up battling an angry moose with the first weapon that came to mind - his slipper"

Read more here

Frankly, I suspect Shiba the dog may not be quite the innocent party portrayed.

Meanwhile, check out the "Related Stories". It seems that Norway has a moose epidemic that they're keeping quiet about.

Casino Royale

At last a film for the Bond purist.

007 as damaged goods.

Joe Queenan: American Patriot

Having seen Borat this weekend I have to say I was impressed. I found some of it unnecessarily cruel, most of it painful to watch, but in all very funny.

Admittedly, taking Americans for a ride is like shooting fish in a barrel, but somebody has to do it. Think of it as getting even in a benign way, as it's surely better to address the inbalance of American power in the world by laughing at them, rather than resorting to mindless terrorism. (In Baron Cohen's case, it's certainly proven to be more lucrative).

This is not appreciated by American "film critic" Joe Queenan in the Guardian, who went all Uncle Sam on behalf of his compatriots, but quite incorrectly, as I will attempt to explain.

Firstly, British humour can be vindictive and cruel. It's part of our sang froid.

Queenan makes the mistake by suggesting Baron Cohen's humour is somehow inspired by a distaste for America, ignoring the fact that it was sharpened on British targets for the previous fifteen years. We've seen all these jokes before.

Yes, it's called taking the piss, and it's what we do, and it's something that's developed into something dark in recent years as Cohen and his contemporaries— Chris Morris, Dom Jolly, Paul Whitehouse, Charlie Higson, and ultimately Cohen's replacement on the Eleven O'Clock Show, Ricky Gervais—have explored as they question the boundaries of humour, blur the lines into tragedy.

I'm sorry Joe, we're not all Michael Palin, who you probably despise as well.

Most troubling is Queenan's patriotic kneejerk reference to the war:

"Baron Cohen is just another English public school boy who hates Americans. It is fine to hate Americans; it is one of Europe's oldest traditions. But the men who flew the bombing raids over Berlin and the men who died at Omaha Beach and the women who built the Flying Fortresses and Sherman tanks that helped defeat Hitler are the very same people that Baron Cohen pisses all over in Borat. A lot of folks named Cohen would not even be here making anti-American movies if it were not for the hayseeds he despises."

American won the war? Tell that to the Red Army. (And by the way, those Americans saw their GDP double as a result of the war: everybody else had rationing: don't ask us to thank you Joe).

Furthermore:

a) Is it really anti-American to make fun of Americans? Isn't the Dubya's line?

b) "Hayseeds" ? No Joe: VOTERS

c) Anti-Americanism a public school thing? Try the working classes: they fucking hate you.

d) Omaha Beach? The British tend to remember Anzio, where the Americans changed their minds and stayed out at sea, stranding the British vanguard on the shore where they were slaughtered unnecessarily. America's status as an untrustworthy ally is as much a staple of Britain's war myth as the cliche of Italian tanks reverse gears. (So much so in fact, that this distrust remains amongst British troops in Iraq (see the end of this report)

Does Queenan really defend those misogynistic fraternity wankers that Cohen meets, those rich kids who will one day run America? Is it not true that your President STILL behaves like that?

I'm sorry, but "Queen Anne" is so far off the mark on this one, that his patriotic little tantrum pisses away any credibility that he had, with his paper-thin sensitivity undermining his pretence of the being the hard-boiled world-weary New Yorker he would so love to be. And I bet he thinks he's Irish!

Cohen IS lazy, and America is an easy target, but don't try to use this film as an opportunity to knock the British, as your prejudices are clearly founded upon your own misunderstanding of what British humour is about.

It's non-aspirational character-based vindictiveness. It's about vulnerability and unfulfilment, whether that's David Brent in the Office or some sad real person who thinks they can get ahead by hiring a "humor coach". Cruel? Yes. Funny? Of course. British comedy is about watching the pompous spiking their own balloon. But I don't have to explain Pomposity to Queenan!

Fly your flag up your ass Joe. We'd probably laugh.

The Guardian Balks at "Nigger", But Repents!

For the past twenty years or so, The Guardian has steadfastly resisted the asteriskisation of the words Fuck and Cunt, and have always spelt them in full whenever citing the use of those words, being the only British newspaper to do so.

It is therefore surprising and disappointing that today's article in G2 by Joseph Harker covering the Michael Richards' outburst chose to bottle it, and therefore placed the asterisks where igger should be.

No doubt the editor believed that the otherwise steely readership would be taking a fit of the vapours should they see the word nigger spelt in full.

However: on the web-site Dan Glaister's article puts the igger back in.

Were there harsh words, one wonders?

The Mohicans: the Monty Python Years

Well, her majesty's been out respecting the ancestors, helped by the remarkably named Bruce "Two Dogs" Bozsum.

Michael Richards Uses the N Bomb: Collateral Damage in Hollywood

Just when Mel Gibson's people thought they could plan ahead, "Seinfeld's Kramer" goes and opens the whole can of worms again, with Mel the jew-bater's name featuring in all the coverage to "add context".

And remember: Castle Rock still have to shift those Seinfeld on DVD units, just before Festivus and all.

I have a sneaky suspicion that the recipient of the "N" word lambasting may well be traumatised by the whole episode and therefore preparing to sue.

Xmas Too Early? Try Bulgaria!

As the western Christmas season get under weigh, there's good news for those in despair of the "season creep" that is the yuletide consumer wave, as it threatens to overlap Halloween and heads for late summer: the Bulgarians have commenced their Advent Fasting Programme.

Read about it HERE

Some even forego a bit of slap n tickle in preparation for the Christ Mass.

I bet they don't have to call it "Happy Festival" either.

Greek Traditions Update: US Embassy Rioting

Apparently, 17th November is the date that Greek students march against the US Embassy in Athens.

Obviously, it degenerates into "unorthodox wrestling"

Beatles Brand Gets Update

So we have a "new" Beatles album.

This is the Stars on 45 debacle all over again!

Why The Guardian is Crap

I suppose I can gauge how old I am by the number of years that I have been bemoaning how the Guardian has gone downhill since it stop being just earnest and chose to be trendy, allowing naive, ill-informed and ill-read nobodies to write twaddle without fact-checking or even questioned by an editor.

Today's niggle—and it is just that and of no more import—is the following comment about U2's court victory in claiming their detritus back from a profiteering former flunkey. The suggestion is made that the tea-cups featured may represent "a revelation that may undermine U2's image as hard living rock stars"

Hard Living? The Milksops of Pop? Does ANYONE think of U2 as anymore than a bunch of sanctimonious parsons, or have I been reading the wrong magazines.

Craig David as a gangster rapper anyone?

Scandal In Soft Toy Department

I happened across this on a Spanish Spanking Blog (I just stumbled across it OK; don't judge me!), but my espanol isn't good enough to establish whether Manola has some kind of "reenactment" fetish.

Let's hope he put them all in for a spin on the wool cycle afterwards.

Do The Right Thing

And log into Trev's site (to the right) and congratulate him on twenty years in London.

Well Done That Man

Evening Standard: Baby For Lesbian TV Chief

Sounds like a straight swop to me.

Ain't Nothing Like A Dame

I love the fact that the Head of our intelligence service is called Dame Eliza Manningham Buller.

It's like having Lady Penelope back.

I can imagine her preparing for a dinner party. "Let's see; Canapes; Foie Gras; Petit Pois; Gratin Dauphinoise; Glock, extra rounds, all seems OK here. That cheese wire may come in handy."

The Usual "Firework In Anus" Story

I'm disappointed that the BBC, of all people, have stooped to cover this story:

' Backside firework prank backfires'

Just the sort of thing that gains popularity on the internet.

Evening Standard Billboard: Free Knorr Stir Fry Packet

It's heartening to see that the Standard is prepared to combat injustice in the world.

Although I know nothing about Mr Free Knorr Stir Fry Packet's case, or even where he's been brutally incarcerated, I'd like the Evening Standard know that I'm quite prepared to offer my services as a petition organiser who will not rest until Mr Free Knorr Stir Fry Packet takes that long walk to freedom.

If only I had Jerry Dammer's number.

Saddam's Friend Stands Down

I'm sure Rumsfeld's cause was not helped by all those "Life of Saddam" profiles featured on all the news features which followed the the Baghdad Gopher's death sentence.

They ALL included footage from the 1980s of the eager Rumsfeld shaking hands with Saddam, desperate to gain arms sales from the dictator.

Not the kind of publicity one would want in election week.

Al Qaeda© Accused Outstrips Actual Murderer

I think it's about time Al Qaeda© start to issue ID cards, because I'm finding it difficult to believe that they actually exist.

Is Dhiren Barot REALLY an 'Al Qaeda© operative'? Is he REALLY "a professional terrorist"? That's some CV!

Well, according to the authorities, who handed out a 40 year sentence, this over-ambitious would-be's conspiracy is considered to be a greater crime than that of a real killer, who only got 29 years.

Obviously Borat, sorry, BAROT (he'll have to get used to that in prison), is a shitty little man, who, given the opportunity, would invoke harm, but let's not buy into the scale of this fantasy.

Anyway, make your own mind up, here's the evidence as presented by the MET.

A Photograph That I Like

Picture
by
Goran
Tomasevic

Reuters.




An Israeli policeman seen through the shattered window of a bus hit by a hizbullah rocket.

I really liked this image in today's Guardian; although this web-site version is unfortunately cropped and spoils it's impact.

No big theorising on WHY it's a great photo, it just is.

Holy Cow! Scientist Just Has To Play God.

According the BBC, "UK scientists have applied for permission to create embryos by fusing human DNA with cow eggs."

COW EGGS?

Hey, even I know cows don't lay eggs; I think these guys may be working in the wrong field.

Or helping themselves to the proscribed chemicals cabinet.

Bang! Bang! You're Under Arrest!

So the trigger happy copper who blasted the innocent Jean Charles de Menezes on London's tube has killed again.

In an exclusive interview, our modern day Wyatt Earp spoke briefly to the Shoebox. "I don't know what it is" he told us "but when I see an unarmed man, a red mist descends and I just start blasting away like a crazy feller! I'm not sure if it's the noise, or the smell of cordite I like the most"

Our sources inside the Metropolitan Police inform us that PC "Six-Gun" should have been decommissioned following the tube incident, but no-one wants to be the one to tell him.

"He's ARMED for fuck's sake" confided a colleague.

Britain Tops Again: Youth Crime

In a week when the behaviour of Britain's youth gets declared 'the worst in Europe', the focus turns upon the Anti Social Behaviour Orders (or ASBO) handed out by the authorities to miscreants, and how some youth consider it to be 'a badge of honour' .

I think it's an acronym issue. ASBO has caught on as it has the right amount impact, with its long opening vowel, followed by the aspirant consonant, closing with the impact of that B at the end.

a) it's one of the few words our street urchins can pronounce, (most of whom struggle with their own names: what with the spelling their mothers have thought up)

and

b) it sounds a bit rough, in a council, down-market sort of way.

Now would a ne'erdwell be so keen to boast if he/she had been given a "WANKER", "TWAT", or "ARSE"? (I'll leave you to spend time thinking up some clever and amusing words to fit the initials).

Or "BOOBIE".

I doubt it. Especially if the had to wear a big badge (I suggest 5" diameter, bright dayglo yellow) with "Boobie" on it.

Hmmm, I quite like this law enforcement game.

The Autumnal Menopause Incident

Work has been a bit frustrating recently, whilst at home the constant decoration has been really getting me down as I come to terms with what seems like a touch of mid-life crisis.

Hence I found myself in Russell Square at lunchtime, enjoying the last of the real sunshine for the year, just walking, contemplating upon my life, when I chanced upon a falling leaf from a London Plane, which fluttered past me, the first fall of the autumn.

As the leaf gently descended, lilting upon a zephyr down to the lush grass, I paused, and taking in its rich colour I realised that this simple event, in all its autumnal significance, was presenting to me a poignant allegory for my time of life in some kind of poetic unveiling.

Then, as I gazed up, I was passed by this foxy young student chick in a skimpy, tight top, with her excellent cleavage presented for inspection, a sight that instantly erased every rational thought in my aging head.

What's my name again?

Ding Dong!

Property Prices Resist Climate Change

Yes, on the day that Sir Nicholas Stern published his audit on the economic impact of climate change—with the conclusion that any future government will have to consider implementing levies based upon the environmental impact of goods & services, including petrol and air travel—The Times chose to lead with a spread on property prices, whilst cheerfully offering their readers an opportunity for cheap flights.

The Tory press, taking the "LALALALALALALA! Can't Hear You!" approach to climate change are taking the easy route by screaming "Taxes; the Labour party are going to tax you for the environment, and will take away your four wheel drive, putting your children at risk!"

One informed commentator, ask to put affairs in perspective, proposed that the economic impact of climate change could destabilise the world in comparison with the disruption on the scale of the world wars of the last century.

May I remind you that back then it was the Tory press (and the Daily Mail in particular) that sided with Hitler in the 1930s.

Zombie Drugs Tried On Troops

According to to the header in this morning's Metro, the London freesheet.

However, I was reading this over someone's shoulder on the tube, and failed to read the small print, so I can't tell you if the Zombie drugs were actually tried on DEAD soldiers.

Oh yeh, wait until the insurgents have to face the Haitian Brigade! That's what I call a corps!

Bend Your Knees Ma'am!

So the Queen was unable to attend her visit to the Emirates Stadium (Arsenal's humiliatingly named new ground) due to "a back problem".

What could "the Queen" possibly have done that would cause her to get a back problem?

Has she ever lifted ANYTHING in her life?

One suspects that the thought of meeting a bunch of French oiks was too much for the old girl, and who can blame her?

Pelican Swallows Pigeon in Park

That's what it says here

The Harris Hawks aren't too pleased about it, they say that's their job!

Of Cabbages & Queens

I don't want to get a reputation for being some kind of court correspondent, what with two royal comments in a row, but I've had my attention drawn to this.

It's a portrait of Queen Elizabeth of the Britons, now at the Tate Modern, by American cartoonist George Condo, which the press are calling 'the cabbage patch queen'. This appellation is somewhat erroneous in my book, as anyone can spot that the resemblance is actually that of Captain Pugwash!

(Place gratuitous innuendo here).

Twenty years ago, when the Bank of England updated our five pound note with a controversial new portrait of a chubbier queen than that previously seen, my pal Tim commented that it looked like "the queen, but someone's stuck a cabbage to the front of her face!"

There has to be SOMETHING going on.

Hussars Survive Royal Visit

Apparently, the Duke of Edinburgh gas has paid a "surprise visit" to the cavalry in Basra today.

I understand that his request to burst out of a cake was refused, due to the state of tension in the region which has left some of the troops either shell-shocked, trigger-happy, or both.

It seems that senior officers were keen to avoid a repeat of the "Belfast Incident" of 1978, when, at the height of the troubles, the Duke—a keen amateur illusionist—arrived unexpectedly in the middle of the bomb disposal unit's Christmas dinner via a trapdoor, with a simultaneous "Flash & Bang" whilst shouting Ahah! with arms outstretched, holding his cape aloft. As the smoke cleared, the impact of the inappropriate gesture became only too apparent.

Fortunately for the Hussars today, the Queen's consort was introduced slowly and in full view, and the whole affair passed without incident.

British Intelligence Hedges Bets on Al Qaeda©

So our seniors continue to perpetuate the notion of a monolithic, centralised, Hollywood-style, terror network.

Obviously, to our sound-byte media, the Al Qaeda© concept helps to save time, avoiding the complications of explain the myriad versions of islamic fundamentalism.

This helps them dodge the possibility that the little pricks who committed the atrocities on 7th July 2005, may have been a bunch of home grown losers who, although inspired by world events, chose to revenge their own inability to fit in by gaining the (posthumous) approval of the Al Qaeda© types they'd been led to believe in.

What concerns me about this nonsense is that a British government and its civil service could allow itself to be so heavily influenced by the dictates of Washington; and particularly a Washington currently led by half-wits.

Yes of course there's going to be terror, and most of it in the coming years will come from islamic fundamentalists, some of whom will be British, and possibly inspired by the great terror scare of the early Twenty First Century (as historians will record it.) But will it be Al Qaeda©? No, they're only saying that because that's what Washington wants them to say.

Remember, for every Bin Laden would-be, there's an equally ambitious police chief eager to make his name too.

Daily Mail: "McCartney Hit Me"

Surely the newsworthy line would be "McCartney hit me WITH MY OWN LEG!"
Have these people no imagination?

Journalist is Enviro-idiot shock

Check out this wanker.
Apparently it's beyond him to seperate his waste, and it's society's fault.

Animal Round Up

So on the day scientists call for further measures to curb Cod trawling (fish update) Iceland decides to stick two fingers up to decency and sets off to start killing whales.

Meanwhile the British response is to open a statue to a dog with a nice line in hats.

Bort

Apparently

Iraq: Not Over

So according to the coroner, US troops slaughtered a British TV reporter and his crew, at the start of the war. Apparently his crime was to be independent, unlike the drip-fed embedded journos.

Even the head of the British Army has had enough: Troops Out!, although I suspect his choice to go public is more about being a Tory undermining a Labour government (he spoke to the Daily Mail), than being a man of the people.

Fantasy Terrorist Admits Everything

The forces of righteousness have made another gesture in the propaganda war

So the authorities have given some attention-seeking tit the opportunity to act Dr Evil in the "war on terror"
Apparently, this tosser has admitted to megalomaniacal plans to wreak havoc upon the western world, although the detail is a little thin on how he was to obtain the means by which this havoc was to be effected.
How, for example, was he to obtain the radioactive materials for the "dirty bomb".

Why would he admit to something he couldn't achieve? Why not? If you're going nowhere, a little delusion goes a long way.

I, for example, have admitted to writing a novel for the last 25 years; it doesn't mean I will ever get round to doing so!

Any prat can play the bad guy and gain notoriety the easy way, without killing yourself, or even taking any risks. Now he's a master terrorist. A bit like the nobody in Take The Money And Run, where Woody Allen's loser gets to be public enemy No.1 purely because he keeps getting arrested for being so crap.

By all means, lock him away, we're better off without him cluttering the pavements, but please don't paint this as feasible, as the logistics don't add up.

Back On Line

Theatre seen in the last 5 days:

Rock n Roll: good night out.
Moon for the Misbegotten: great work of art; Eve Best is superb. Spacey redeemed.
24hr Plays: curates egg; with two really good efforts (& two stinkers).
The Alchemist: really good romp, Jennings & Russel Beale make brilliant double act.

The Caped Invader

Now I don't think human trafficking is anything to poke fun at, and I'd be the first to condemn the inhumanity of man's inhumanity to manity.
However, it has to be said that news rooms have to be particularly careful with image selection when the picture editor having the day off, as this BBC feature illustrates.
At first glance, I thought he was some kind of low budget super-hero: by day Abdul Malik is a downtrodden victim of the white slave trade, but at night he becomes the Pink Crusader, sworn enemy of Turkish men with moustaches.

(Those Turkish joints are just down the road from here)

Or, ignore the above:

Take Two:
Hey everybody, take a look at this BBC feature!
It must be bad enough being cooped up like that, to have someone play the old inky binocular trick on you is TOO CRUEL!
Maybe he's the Turkish Michael Stipe!

Genetically Modified Crap

On October 20th, the British government will receive the report of the committee looking into GM crops, and the feasibility of "co-existence" with healthier forms of farming.

They're probably going to go along with it, however 'limited' initially, allowing the thin end of the wedge.
However, it is possible to lobby the Department of Environment, Food and Rural Affairs and tell them that you disapprove of this state of affairs.

Write to

GMcoexistence@defra.gsi.gov.uk

You need to say that you are responding to the 'Consultation on proposals for managing the coexistence of GM, conventional and organic crops', and explain your concerns.

Do it, even if just to piss off the multi-nationals.

The School Shootings

America: caught between the devil and the NRA

America's Most Trusted

So Tom Hanks is America's most trusted celebrity according to Forbes magazine. Who cares? Where is the questionnaire regarding America's most untrustworthy celebrity? That's the result we the people want to see!

I Am Not Underground Arse Pervert

I had no choice but to take a packed tube on my way home tonight, and like my fellow passengers, I just had to grin and bear it in trying to keep my dignity in difficult circumstances.

However, the stupid cow next to me kept bending over to attend to something in her bag, which resulted in her sticking her fat arse into me, then looking around at me with disdain as though I was trying it on!

What was she expecting? Did she think I could evaporate? Anyway, technically it wasn't even ME she was crashing into, as I strategically kept my bag between me and her huge arse to AVOID making contact. Urggh!

My advice: don't bend over on the tube at rush hour if you have a big arse, as NO-ONE wants to make contact with it.

Equestrian Drug Busters!

This morning, on awakening, I misheard the news as the BBC were reporting that police had launched raids on the nation's cannabis farmers using twenty forces.

I heard it as "twenty horses", and subsequently conjured up images of the skunk growers of Britain having their precious harvest trampled in this novel, if unorthodox, method of law enforcement.

clipclopclipclopClipClopClipClopCLIPCLOPCLIPCLOP: CRASH!!!TRAMPLE!!!STAMP!!!NEIGH!!HIGHHOSILVER!!!

"Oh Maaan! Me weed's bin totally wasted by them horse cats man!

Fanciful, I know, as anyone who ever been near a horse will know that our hoofed friends would be far more likely to shuffle about eating the illicit crop, before standing around asleep for the next 23 hours.

I wonder if they sent in surveillance sniffer spaniels beforehand? They could have posed as strays, hanging around the bins whilst casing the joint. ("dammit Rover, take that collar off for God's sake, this is undercover work! Quick, they're coming out; Start Scratching!").

Beware: Drumming

Spent the weekend in Liverpool, where the afternoon was marred by the ever-presence of a group of drummers—some sort of Brazilian Tinitus collective—who were maurading around the Albert Dock pounding incesantly for hour on end.

Any crap busker can be forgotten with yards once they're out of earshot, but a drummers are impossible to shake off due to the acoustic menace that they create, with the tedius rhythm penetrating the thickest walls. This qualifies as cruel and inhuman treatment to my mind and should be stopped now.

If Liverpool thinks its going to have visitors when they become the City of Culture in 2008, they're going to have to get this lot out of town.

Anyway, nice to see the guy shuffling past my mum's old home on his way to the shop in his pyjamas. Class.

Stop This High Street Freak Show NOW!

An Expert Writes

I was in the bookshop by the University today, eruditely checking the latest titles, when I happened to notice the new influx of undergraduates, pert with their slim young limbs, enjoying the prolonged good weather in their scanty summer clothes.

Oh how I envy them, what with all their life ahead of them, full of youthful optimism, making new friends, discovering new places and opening up to new experiences—possibly with a older man they've met in a bookstore—and enjoying the beautiful things in life.

Anyway, I was enjoying this vista of nubility, when my gaze shuddered to a halt at the sight of an obese ginger-haired woman wearing....No, I can't bring myself to describe the scene. Anyway this optical assault was no less than visual pollution to someone gifted with such a discerning eye.

And yet this sideshow exhibit was not alone: you would not BELIEVE some of the people I saw walking about today. Some were even unaccompanied and in full view! I saw one man with a balding head that was too large for his body. Wearing cheap spectacles. Carrying his belongings in a carrier bag.

Now whenever I raise this subject people throw up their hands with opprobrium, and start raving on about human rights, diversity and the right to life, etc, so before you JUMP to conclusions, hear me out!

Obviously, I'm not talking about licensing for ugly/unusual people, don't get me wrong. Well actually, yes I am, but it would be purely consensual.

Basically, a local government officer would interview those put forward and discuss why they had been referred (the office would be equipped with a choice of mirrors, and weighing scales as an aid to this process), and the plugs/weirdos, would be persuaded to do the socially decent thing, and accept a generous set of conditions dictating the hours which they would be recommended to be out. Obviously, there would be no right to appeal, as some may be too stupid to know what's good for them, and we don't want to waste tax-payers' money in the courts.

It's not like they don't know why they've been referred, and most of them, when alone at night, probably pray for someone to do something about it. (Like that werewolf chap who insists on being locked in the room). Take that ginger lard-arse lady for example: what is her appearance in public other than a cry for help?

Is this too much? Let's face it, it's their well-being that I'm thinking of. It can't be easy going through life being pointed-at and making milk go sour, when all they probably want to do is a twelve hour shift at a call centre. And with 24hr shopping there's no reason they can't gather with their own kind overnight, which is probably the way they like it. They're certainly more likely to find their own kind on the tills at that hour anyway.

Obviously, I'm not going to address the issue of sterilisation because that belongs to a whole other debate, but I think it worth putting in the public debate.

Look, life has been cruel enough to these people, who are we to prolong the misery. Write to your MP today, and make them see sense.

If that doesn't work, we'll burn cars, invade the TV studios and declare parliament void until we get our way.

Dust Off The Barricades

Congratulations to Hungary and Thailand for ignoring the trends of history, and taking a definately retro approach to politics.
It's like the millenium never happened.
I'm going to avoid the coverage on the rolling news, and rely on dispatches sent by telegraph. That is if those pesky rebels haven't cut the wires!
Hmm, nostalgia.

Philip Morris: The Environmental Cortez

As a smoker, I always had the problem of rationalising my choice to smoke, against my conscience that otherwise led me to the moral choice when providing consumer support to the forces of evil.

I wouldn't buy apartheid flavoured Outspan oranges, or Pinochet's Chilean wine, or use supermarkets that were bank-rolling the Thatcher government. So why should I give my money to the bastards in the tobacco industry who were beyond contempt?

Did I crave tobacco THAT much?

It seems that I'd underestimated the tobacco bastards. They're responsible for more than the average wrong-doing as environmentalist George Monbiot's Guardian article explains.

Want to know where those "scientific" refutations of global warming/climate change originated? Step forward Philip Morris, who shoved the whole tanker of doubt away from the quayside and out into the ocean of disinformation. Much of the unqualified lies perpetuated are still being cited as genuine research contradicting evidence of environmental decay.

It seems Philip Morris and Exxon were made for each other, and it's the Oil/Tobacco alliance that may win the political debate, at the cost of the earth.

I think the old analogy of cigarettes and coffin nails is a little bit more real after this.

Jean Charles De Menezes

Not surprisingly the Metropolitan Police are unwilling to take responsibility for the slaughter of Jean Charles De Menezes last July. I was appalled to hear the police defence, which runs along the lines of:

(I have to paraphrase as I can't find it in text)

"The police did not set out on that day to kill Jean Charles De Menezes, they set out to protect the citizens of London"

Dear Metropolitan Police, Jean Charles De Menezes did not set out that day to get shot in the head seven times, or, for all we know, to commit any crime that would lead him to be shot in the head seven times. Jean Charles De Menezes was a citizen of London who should have been protected by the individuals who shot him seven times in the head.

This is not the time to take the "policing's a difficult job" approach. Someone cocked up and an innocent man died. That someone must take responsibility for their actions, or we cannot trust those paid to defend us.

Infallible or Infidel?

Well, I'm getting a bit sick of all this religion crap, and it's distressing that the World Political Climate—which isn't ALL the west's fault—continues to be dominated by it.

The Pope was doing nothing different from all the other Popes, identifying heresy, only we live in an age of instant communication where there are enough opportunists in the islamic world who have enough time on their hands to sit around waiting to get angry at "anti-islamic" sentiments, before telling the guys out in the street who have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE TO DO to go burn flags.

And the longer we obsess about it (ie: the fear of the Fatwa; the inability to balance the right of freedom of speech, with the right of the fundamentalists to threaten death on their critics), then the less able we will be to concentrate on what really counts down here on Earth, things like Poverty, Human Rights, Environmental Decay, Universal Education etc.

Let's start by winding down any belief in al-Qaeda.
If it ever did exist, it probably perished with Bin-Laden, who probably pegged it some time ago around the time the access to his money ran out. Let's face it, all we're left with is al-Zawahiri with a video camera.
Admittedly, those fellow Saudis that perpetrated 9/11 were almost certainly bank-rolled by Bin-Laden, but that was about it. That was the big one, the place in history, but it's downhill after that. Think big night out with the stolen credit card.

The idea that all muslim fundamentalism is part of a monolithic structure with Bin-Laden at its head is erroneous and owes too much to the Dr Evil school of thought favoured by the Bush administration because a) it's easier to imagine for anyone who has been to the movies, and b) it's easier to frighten people with.

Fundamentalism, popular with young men with messianic fantasies, has many shades, coloured by national, cultural and ethnic origins. And even if some of these kids have trained in Pakistani training camps in Afghanistan, they owe their leanings to the Mujahideen concept of the Jihad, not Bin-Laden, however much they may admire him.
Yes, al-Qaeda gets cited by the new wave of subversives, but only like a form of branding, like a global franchise. They want to be associated with the 9/11 phenomena, they like the fear that the brand evokes. It's a shortcut to notoriety.

However, if you put all these groups in one place for a week and they'd develop enough animosity on national, cultural and ethnic grounds to forget the infidel and start killing each other. And that's before they start on their religious differences.

Obviously, the al-Qaeda concept is attractive because it carries the hope of a cure. America kills the bad guys at the top and the little people at the bottom run like cowards into the shadows.
But it isn't like that. Islamic fundamentalist terror is amorphous and with us for a generation. Individuals will conspire to make big statements with atrocities, as that will bring them greater glory than a lifetime of political struggle and human endevour. What the rest of us have to do is learn to live with it without it undermining our values, or sense of perspective, whilst doing everything we can to undermine the folly that is religious fervour.

Religion won't get us out of this, any more than armies will.

BMW Bargain

Yes, a Red BMW for only £350!
Up on the A10 on the way to Edmonton, on the left by the abandoned shops next to the bus stop.
I reckon you could probably haggle him down to £320.
Imagine the envy of your friends.

Control

I forgot to mention the woman in Starbucks (don't judge me) a couple of weeks ago who handed back her cappuccino and insisted on "more froth", despite the queue behind her.
I can't imagine a more perfect specimen of a naked gesture.

The Freedom Loving Killing Machine

Those freedom hating lefties at the Guardian have produced some statistics regarding the "War On Terror".

Apparently, since 9/11, globally there have been 4,319 deaths at the hands of terrorists, and 92,469 deaths at the hands of the freedom loving "allies". Imagine, 92,469 terrorists! How many more could there possibly be?
I make that Terrorists 1, Freedom 23, so we're doing pretty good.

Sadly, 9/11, America's second "Day of Infamy" has been followed by a war that has now taken longer than the war that followed the first back in 1942.

America saw off the Japanese within four years, although they took the short cut in the end (and 215,000 civilian lives) with those atom bombs. Now the war in Afghanistan is approaching five years old, and still those pesky Talibans haven't got the message. What is it about free trade that they don't understand?

And isn't it about time Osama stopped delegating to his No. 2 and started doing some real work? And I mean videos, not those crappy cassette efforts. What's the point of being a world villain if you're not going to go for vainglory?

Where is Ian Fleming when we need him?

Man Weds Goat

Check out this human interest story from the BBC.

Why I Hate The Tories

Reluctant to turn this post into a long list of grievances, I'll concentrate on the point at hand, which was highlighted by this story about the perilous state of British wildlife at the hands of the landowning rich.

Now I appreciate that ornithology may not be the grooviest topic on the agenda, but I think that the plight of the hen harrier is a pertinent reminder of how vulnerable the environment is in Tory hands; and most of it in this country is.

The rural landowners are constantly bleating about how they should be just left alone to run the countryside without urban interference, and how their diligent care of the land over the centuries has produced England's peerless landscape. Yet in practice, they prove to be narrow-minded and cash-grabbing, in their constant striving for short-term gain.

Grouse are raised in their thousands to be killed by those rich-enough to attend a shoot. Thus the event serves both purposes of the Tory life-style: a profit is made and it perpetuates an elitist ritual. The hen-harrier is therefore a nuisance, and may nibble into their profits, therefore it has to be eradicated.

When the landowners pledge their love of the countryside, they merely mean their love of living commodities, that which exists to create profit. Their love fails to extend beyond this, and converts very quickly to hatred when faced with the non-commodity that is the rest of nature: ie; the vast majority of the environment, which the Tories believe to be in direct competition with them, setting out to deprive them of their heritage, like some chaotic saboteur.

The Tory landowning class will never rest until every un-commodifiable animal and plant is extinguished, even if it meant that their own future was doomed. Money in the bank now and the social status that that brings, that's what counts, not some scraggy wild vermin and weeds favoured by the communist Townies. And the rest of us can only sit by and watch our world shrink as a result.

Ten years ago, around the time of the Frankenstein-like BSE crisis, the farmers of Dorset seemed to be united against the EC (who were reluctant to contaminate Europe with British Beef) and everywhere one looked there were large hand-made signs disparaging Brussels. The basic message was "hands of the British countryside". In one picture-book village, there was a classic 17th century pub, displaying its loyalty with a "keep Britain British" sign at the gate to the beer-garden.
I say picture-book village, but it wasn't quite, as the verdant beauty of the surrounding countryside was marred by the horror that was that pub's beer-garden, decked out as it was by a sea of gaudy scarlet sunshades advertising Coca-Cola.

Nationalise the land NOW!

Evening Standard: Jamie Oliver Attacks Parents

Well, if he's the result of their efforts, Mr & Mrs Oliver were probably asking for it.

They Think It's Moldova....

Well, I came downstairs and sat down in front of the TV, only to discover that the Macedonia v. England wasn't on!

I listened to the first half on 5Live, before setting off to the pub for the second half.

Due to the queue at the cash machine by Wood Green Tube (some stupid woman using a teddy bear to obscure her key strokes), I missed the start of the second half; which means I missed the only goal. Which I still haven't seen, as Sky failed to show it again, despite the mediocrity of the game.

Anyway, I'm not a fan of watching England games in the pub because:
a) the boorishness of the drunken English fan,
&
b) the recent trend of "face-painters" that have adopted England as one of their brands, despite their complete lack of football experience. (You know, the guys in Beckham jerseys who look around the room in confusion as England struggle against the nobodies: Why can't England display the superhero skills exhibited in the adverts? ).

But, it was actually quite interesting. Not only was there little bigotry on display— only one loudmouth Londoner to whom the game was his chance to shine as "the people's commentator" (Thanks, but no thanks)—and the face-painters were subdued (including the "Tottenham Fan" in front of me with a Rooney shirt—how does that work?) so it was actually quite bearable.

So the highlight was actually the pub's reaction to the scores elsewhere:

San Marino 0-10 Germany got a cheer, but then France 3-1 Italy got a round of applause. When it got to San Marino 0-13, the cheers contained the Whey Hey! quality that England lost years ago.

I like the current Germany squad: they have that Keegan's Newcastle quality of aspiring to overcome their shortcomings by outscoring the opposition, however many goals that takes. So when it comes to San Marino they don't know when to stop: which puts England's five against Andorra into perspective.

Remember: I qualify as a German by birth! Come on yooo krauts.

And well done Northern Ireland against the perenially overrated Spanish lightweights. Fantastic result which shows just how overrated modern footballers at the top level are.

Post-Modern Ironing

Older readers in the UK will remember those blissful days before FM radio when evenings were spent trying to listen to chart music on Radio Luxembourg, as "All The Young Dudes" would fade in and out of the wall of static that was European broadcasting. That and those Peter Stuyvesant ads. And Clearasil! Hey Kids, don't let acne get you down: have another fag!

If you do remember, you'll also recall the little fanfare identification signal from Tirana that would rise and fade morbidly in the background. A mystery to us teenagers, the signal was there to locate the Albanian National Radio Service whilst it was off the air, and to stop anyone using the wavelength in their absence.

I mention this purely because I feel that is what this post is about.

I have nothing to say tonight, but if I don't post anything people will give up looking, which would impair the moment when I DO have that shrewd insight, or inspired wit to impart, and no-one's looking.

Please keep this channel open; I'm sure SOMETHING will turn up.

And check out The Shed

What would Thatcher think?

As the tabloids warn us of the dangers of the Eastern European influx, now that we have one million Poles amongst us, I see conflicting messages.

Whilst the Daily Mail readers quake in their beds, the captains of industry they revere seem to quite like the Poles. Apparently, the Poles are industrious and good time-keepers who are willing to put the hours in. Also, the Eastern Europeans tend to share the right wing, racist instincts of those Daily Mail readers, and they are definitely a lot whiter than the previous wave of immigrants.

And anecdotal evidence tends to suggest that employers' inclination towards the Eastern Europeans is creating pressure on the employment prospects of the Black immigration that has been the back-bone of our low-paid ancillary industries.

So are this lot going to suppress the opportunity for the previous wave to climb the ladder? Are black employees going to be sidelined, and held in an employment ghetto where opportunities to advance are restricted? Could be.


In the same vein, one wonders (doesn't one?) if there are parallels in our national game, where the foreign-owned big clubs are now relying on imports in order to avoid the Tommy Atkins school of hard-work and tough-tackling football that has brought the national side fuck-all over the decades.
Who wants a bunch of criminal class piss-artists when you can pay over the odds for a dedicated athlete who has been coached in the art of looking after himself, on and off the pitch.
The reality is that the average Johnny Foreigner is only here for the ridiculous wages, and couldn't give a shit about the club; but as long as the perception amongst the club owners of overseas players as being more professional, more RELIABLE than the home-grown players, then the British product will be continually second-rate.

Not unlike a clapped out Rover, choking out blue smoke, in the wake of the Mercedes and Ferraris on the road to success.

A German Joke: What's the difference between a Jehovas Witness and a British Car?
You can always shut the door on a Jehovas Witness!

Evening Standard: Huge Car Gang Smashed

Yeh, apparently these criminal guys were driving around in this really big motor vehicle, yet on being apprehended, they proved to be quite brittle.