It's worth keeping an eye on the old Soviet rag Pravda once in a while for the occasional "Pathologist cut out dead people's eyes to help children" story.
It worth looking at for the unusual juxtaposition of images.
Like a photo of a cadaver, followed by a mole.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Blair Bypasses Blaine Blunder
Moral leader of the free world, Tony Blair has launched his new publicity stunt sincere religious campaign in New York City.
No doubt Blair considered unveiling his plans in Britain before remembering how fellow celebrity shaman David Blaine was received back in London during a overhyped exercise a few years back.
Yes, better to play it safe where the Americans have far better manners and won't ask questions.
No doubt Blair considered unveiling his plans in Britain before remembering how fellow celebrity shaman David Blaine was received back in London during a overhyped exercise a few years back.
Yes, better to play it safe where the Americans have far better manners and won't ask questions.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Simon Callow: The Man in the Street
I'm sorry to bring you the news that I witness the sight of aging thespian Simon Callow touting for business on a street corner in London's notorious King's Cross yesterday.
He was putting on the old "waiting for a taxi" mien; but I know what I saw.
Not bad for his age though, I'd give him that.
He was putting on the old "waiting for a taxi" mien; but I know what I saw.
Not bad for his age though, I'd give him that.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Mind The Gap
Why is it, that having waited five minutes for the underground train to leave, the eventual bleeping of the doors attracts one last passenger who runs on to the platform at speed and throws themselves at the closing doors?
And, more to the point, why is the human missile is ALWAYS wearing a backpack which inevitably gets stuck OUTSIDE the carriage as the doors clamp around it, forcing the driver to have to stop, open the doors, and then wait whilst a further group of tourist appear and attempt to enter the now crowded train?
If people with backpacks MUST launch themselves at the rapidly closing doors, why can't they adopt some form of Fosbury Flop to ensure that the offending backpack ends up on the inside of the carriage?
Look, it's only an opinion.
And, more to the point, why is the human missile is ALWAYS wearing a backpack which inevitably gets stuck OUTSIDE the carriage as the doors clamp around it, forcing the driver to have to stop, open the doors, and then wait whilst a further group of tourist appear and attempt to enter the now crowded train?
If people with backpacks MUST launch themselves at the rapidly closing doors, why can't they adopt some form of Fosbury Flop to ensure that the offending backpack ends up on the inside of the carriage?
Look, it's only an opinion.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Wogga Wogga Plane Incident Recounted
Posh commentator describes bizarre WWII aviation feat.
Note tragic post script.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Remember The War On Terror?
I have to plead ignorance on this one: but there was a terrorist hit on Jaipur yesterday.
Obviously, with the acts of God impinging elsewhere in Burma* and China, the act of man takes to the back pages; but let us not miss the point: more people were killed and maimed in Jaipur than in the London Bombings of July 2005, so why is the news buried?
(*Curiously, there IS oil in Burma, so I'm not sure why the forces of righteousness in the west (OK: America) aren't prepared to intervene against the Saddam-style military regime there in the face of the savage indifference against the suffering people. )
Anyway, if the human suffering of 9/11 ; Madrid & the London Bombings were supposed to bring humanity closer together, then let's allow the others in; put Jaipur on the front page.
Obviously, with the acts of God impinging elsewhere in Burma* and China, the act of man takes to the back pages; but let us not miss the point: more people were killed and maimed in Jaipur than in the London Bombings of July 2005, so why is the news buried?
(*Curiously, there IS oil in Burma, so I'm not sure why the forces of righteousness in the west (OK: America) aren't prepared to intervene against the Saddam-style military regime there in the face of the savage indifference against the suffering people. )
Anyway, if the human suffering of 9/11 ; Madrid & the London Bombings were supposed to bring humanity closer together, then let's allow the others in; put Jaipur on the front page.
Restructure At Work Time
I have to defend my position.
For my presentation, I have chosen the medium of dance.
Now, where are my lucky tights?
For my presentation, I have chosen the medium of dance.
Now, where are my lucky tights?
Monday, May 12, 2008
Annie Lennox: My Hell
What, with the beautiful weather, it was decided that we would spend Sunday at Kew Gardens.
However, on discovering that public transport to Kew was diminished due to works, it was decided that we would take the car on a rare environment destroying jaunt.
It took an hour and a half. For a fourteen mile journey. In searing heat, facing south on the A406 into the midday sun.
And then, as though the grilled log jam was not frustrating enough, on came "Desert Island Discs" featuring the insufferable Annie Lennox, with her own ludicrous brand of what she believes to be profound, but which the rest of us take to be "common sense".
It was also a revelation to discover that, according to Lennox, the concept of 'the teenager' hadn't been invented yet when she was that age. Annie Lennox turned 13 in 1967. Four years after Beatlemania.
One assumes she missed it as she was probably as sanctimonious at that age as she remained for the rest of her days.
I sat there, dehydrated and agitated by the relentless heat, shouting at the radio, like a car-bound dog tormented by children, shouting in the vain hope that the woman would just go cease to exist. The heatstroke must have taken leave of my senses, as it never occurred to me to turn the radio off!
One of the longest journeys of my life. She was only on for thirty minutes, but I feel like I'll never recover.
And there are no help groups for victims of Annie Lennox's insufferability. Dreadful woman.
However, on discovering that public transport to Kew was diminished due to works, it was decided that we would take the car on a rare environment destroying jaunt.
It took an hour and a half. For a fourteen mile journey. In searing heat, facing south on the A406 into the midday sun.
And then, as though the grilled log jam was not frustrating enough, on came "Desert Island Discs" featuring the insufferable Annie Lennox, with her own ludicrous brand of what she believes to be profound, but which the rest of us take to be "common sense".
It was also a revelation to discover that, according to Lennox, the concept of 'the teenager' hadn't been invented yet when she was that age. Annie Lennox turned 13 in 1967. Four years after Beatlemania.
One assumes she missed it as she was probably as sanctimonious at that age as she remained for the rest of her days.
I sat there, dehydrated and agitated by the relentless heat, shouting at the radio, like a car-bound dog tormented by children, shouting in the vain hope that the woman would just go cease to exist. The heatstroke must have taken leave of my senses, as it never occurred to me to turn the radio off!
One of the longest journeys of my life. She was only on for thirty minutes, but I feel like I'll never recover.
And there are no help groups for victims of Annie Lennox's insufferability. Dreadful woman.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Evening Standard: Police Shoot Barrister
Look, no-one likes it, but it's the only humane way to keep their numbers down.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Boris & the Dog Whistle Genius.
I'm receiving correspondence from the disbelieving colonies about the Boris cock-up.
Actually, the result of the London election is all about our closest colonial rivals The Australians, and their vindictive revenge upon us in the form of Lynton Crosby.
Having placed the Australian right wing in parliament in his home country, he took the Imperial Shilling to come fuck over the pommies by acting as Boris' puppet master's familiar and proving that, with the right degree of cynicism and low cunning, exploiting people's basest prejudices, you can actually get even the village idiot elected.
Crosby is the master of "dog whistle" canvassing; that is, getting your (xenophobic) message across to those inclined, without drawing the attention of decent society.
For further details, check out the earlier profile from The Guardian. I bet John McCain already has.
Actually, the result of the London election is all about our closest colonial rivals The Australians, and their vindictive revenge upon us in the form of Lynton Crosby.
Having placed the Australian right wing in parliament in his home country, he took the Imperial Shilling to come fuck over the pommies by acting as Boris' puppet master's familiar and proving that, with the right degree of cynicism and low cunning, exploiting people's basest prejudices, you can actually get even the village idiot elected.
Crosby is the master of "dog whistle" canvassing; that is, getting your (xenophobic) message across to those inclined, without drawing the attention of decent society.
For further details, check out the earlier profile from The Guardian. I bet John McCain already has.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Saturday Morning 3rd May 2008
Just woken up.
It was not a dream then; Boris is still there.
Oh Bugger!
It was not a dream then; Boris is still there.
Oh Bugger!
Henry William Windle Potts: Election Latest
A bad night all round really.
Our man came forth, with 633 votes.
Never mind: it was spiffing fun just to wear a rosette!
Hoorah!
Our man came forth, with 633 votes.
Never mind: it was spiffing fun just to wear a rosette!
Hoorah!
Friday, May 02, 2008
Nancy Banks Smith: The Point of the Guardian
When I first conceived this blog it was very nearly going to be a rant against the falling standards of the Guardian during the time I've been reading it all my adult life.
My ire has always fallen upon those tedious nobodies who got to write in the Guardian purely because of the networking they achieved at Oxford, or who their parents were.
They know nothing, and have the most vapid opinion on anything. Except for Big Brother, which is apparently " brilliant ".
Anyway, my point is that I was on my way to work this morning, despondent; not just over Boris and my city's awaited embarrassment in electing him, but also issues at work and life in general.
But then, within my paper, I turned to the TV review and was heartened to find a rare appearance from Nancy Banks Smith, which I welcome as though in the presence of one of those benificial angels in Wenders' Wings of Desire.
Nancy's considered too old for the review page these days, and only gets to write when the young thrusting attitudinal "post-modernist" ("Yeh, like, Brother Brother's like, really deep on so many levels actually: have you met my uncle, he's in publishing, give him your number, he'll get you a job, Yah!") wankers are on leave.
When I was a young adult, Nancy, along with Michael White (politics) Geoffrey Beattie (social-psychology in Sheffield) and Terry Coleman, (interviewing grown ups) were the reason one read the Guardian. They made you feel smart for reading them.
The current crop make me feel smart for the wrong reason; they are all well-connected half-wits who are beneath my respect.
Anyway, Nancy lifted my mood with the dismissal of a poorly written comedy, a review which included the following:
You would be looking at a dead horse for some time before you thought you were on to a winner. I used to go riding on a horse called Caesar. One day Caesar just lay down and, with an infinitely weary and, I thought, over-operatic sigh, died. It was terrifying. I thought they would make me pay for him and I only got sixpence a week. I was only a child but even I could see Caesar didn't look a good bet for the Cesarewitch.
You see, there's something about someone who can remember the old money that makes Nancy's view valid, experienced and credible. Bless you Nancy; you wrote about TV when no-one cared for it, and you're still they only one who know's that medium's true value.
My ire has always fallen upon those tedious nobodies who got to write in the Guardian purely because of the networking they achieved at Oxford, or who their parents were.
They know nothing, and have the most vapid opinion on anything. Except for Big Brother, which is apparently " brilliant ".
Anyway, my point is that I was on my way to work this morning, despondent; not just over Boris and my city's awaited embarrassment in electing him, but also issues at work and life in general.
But then, within my paper, I turned to the TV review and was heartened to find a rare appearance from Nancy Banks Smith, which I welcome as though in the presence of one of those benificial angels in Wenders' Wings of Desire.
Nancy's considered too old for the review page these days, and only gets to write when the young thrusting attitudinal "post-modernist" ("Yeh, like, Brother Brother's like, really deep on so many levels actually: have you met my uncle, he's in publishing, give him your number, he'll get you a job, Yah!") wankers are on leave.
When I was a young adult, Nancy, along with Michael White (politics) Geoffrey Beattie (social-psychology in Sheffield) and Terry Coleman, (interviewing grown ups) were the reason one read the Guardian. They made you feel smart for reading them.
The current crop make me feel smart for the wrong reason; they are all well-connected half-wits who are beneath my respect.
Anyway, Nancy lifted my mood with the dismissal of a poorly written comedy, a review which included the following:
You see, there's something about someone who can remember the old money that makes Nancy's view valid, experienced and credible. Bless you Nancy; you wrote about TV when no-one cared for it, and you're still they only one who know's that medium's true value.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
London On The Precipice Of Humiliation
Unbelievably, the polls indicate that idiotic candidate Boris Johnson, (seen here walking a three legged dog) is edging it in the Mayoral race.
If the suburbs vote the fool in, then London, and the UK itself, will lose any supposed moral superiority over those ex-colonials across the Atlantic who elected in Bush (twice).
Imagine Johnson reacting to the next terrorist outrage? "I say, rum do, don'cha say, what, what? Excuse me, I ASKED FOR CANAPES!"
The fact that this twit is the only alternative to Ken is a damning indictment of our political system in the capital.
To hell in a handcart, that's where we're heading.
This is the Olympics all over again.
If the suburbs vote the fool in, then London, and the UK itself, will lose any supposed moral superiority over those ex-colonials across the Atlantic who elected in Bush (twice).
Imagine Johnson reacting to the next terrorist outrage? "I say, rum do, don'cha say, what, what? Excuse me, I ASKED FOR CANAPES!"
The fact that this twit is the only alternative to Ken is a damning indictment of our political system in the capital.
To hell in a handcart, that's where we're heading.
This is the Olympics all over again.
David Blaine Holds His Breath For 17 Minutes
Yeh, I know how it feels: I was caught in a lift with the delivery guy from the envelope company once!
Put it this way, he was the kind of guy that never completely leaves a room!
Put it this way, he was the kind of guy that never completely leaves a room!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Henry William Windle Potts!
Yes, it's Henry William Windle Potts!
Who? I hear you ask!
Henry William Windle Potts!
He's real! And you can vote for him this Thursday; but only if you live in Highgate, where he's the Woodhouse candidate for the local election there.
Oh, sorry, he's a Liberal Democrat! Sort of the same thing really.
Wizard wheeze, what?
(Sadly, The London Borough of Camden isn't up to speed enough on this "internet" business to list the candidates online: I'm sure if you phone and leave a message, they'll send you a list next week sometime).
Who? I hear you ask!
Henry William Windle Potts!
He's real! And you can vote for him this Thursday; but only if you live in Highgate, where he's the Woodhouse candidate for the local election there.
Oh, sorry, he's a Liberal Democrat! Sort of the same thing really.
Wizard wheeze, what?
(Sadly, The London Borough of Camden isn't up to speed enough on this "internet" business to list the candidates online: I'm sure if you phone and leave a message, they'll send you a list next week sometime).
Monday, April 28, 2008
Free Tibet: Made In China
I've always been staggered by the gullibilty of all those trogs who drive around during the world cup with their cars sporting plastic England flags, unwilling as they are to question the logic of importing their patriotic symbolism from the far east.
Well, those Chinese flag manufacturers have excelled themselves this time, according to the BBC, as it has been discovered that standards proclaiming a Free Tibet have indeed been manufactured within China itself!
Give us the money now, we'll sort the ethics out later!
Well, those Chinese flag manufacturers have excelled themselves this time, according to the BBC, as it has been discovered that standards proclaiming a Free Tibet have indeed been manufactured within China itself!
Give us the money now, we'll sort the ethics out later!
Evening Standard: 66 Die In China Train Crash
If I told them once, I told them a hundred times: Kaolin is not a suitable material for locomotive manufacture!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Local Incident Makes News
It seems that the "Star Wars" franchise is capable of generating its own publicity, even when it comprises merely of a bunch of Welsh nobodies being attacked by the pisshead nobody down the road.
Check out (if you have nothing else to do with your life) the BBC's Jedi News
Check out (if you have nothing else to do with your life) the BBC's Jedi News
Monday, April 21, 2008
The IT/Gents Toilet Interface
Well, when they moved the Client Services hobbits out of the basement, and moved the IT herberts IN, I was vocal in my reservations about having to share our area with THEM.
Computers, yes they know how to do that; but social skills?
I was poo-pooed by the liberal namby-pambies, but the poo-poo is certainly on them now.
How anyone can get excrement where THAT ANIMAL got excrement beats me, but what I DO KNOW is that this sort of thing didn't happen before IT moved in.
Even with YOU KNOW WHO around.
To put it delicately: you can't flush it from there!
It was also visible from the corridor, as you opened the gents door. I mean; I ask you! Really!
"If there is a cleaner in the vicinity of the basement, we have a CODE BROWN in trap one!"
Computers, yes they know how to do that; but social skills?
I was poo-pooed by the liberal namby-pambies, but the poo-poo is certainly on them now.
How anyone can get excrement where THAT ANIMAL got excrement beats me, but what I DO KNOW is that this sort of thing didn't happen before IT moved in.
Even with YOU KNOW WHO around.
To put it delicately: you can't flush it from there!
It was also visible from the corridor, as you opened the gents door. I mean; I ask you! Really!
"If there is a cleaner in the vicinity of the basement, we have a CODE BROWN in trap one!"
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Latchkey Parents
The smoking ban has had numerous unexpected consequences, but I think one of the most poignant is the reversal of the tradition of leaving the kids outside the pub in the cold with nothing but a lemonade and a bag of crisps for company.
Today I passed Kings Cross's famous Skinners Arms at midday, and witnessed a small boy shivering upon the pavement in the intemperate weather, suffering alongside his parents who were braving the unseasonable chill in order to enjoy a cigarette alongside their drinks.
There you go: the cigarette ban is bringing families closer together again!
Today I passed Kings Cross's famous Skinners Arms at midday, and witnessed a small boy shivering upon the pavement in the intemperate weather, suffering alongside his parents who were braving the unseasonable chill in order to enjoy a cigarette alongside their drinks.
There you go: the cigarette ban is bringing families closer together again!
Monday, April 07, 2008
Incubus
I feature exclusive infra-red evidence that her cat is out to get me.
He lies atop the wardrobe like this all night awaiting me to fall asleep, but I won't. I shall never sleep until he STOPS DOING THIS!
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Ex-Soviet Psycho Squirrels Savage Starving Spaniel Shock
Yeh, post communist Russia is like some kind of lawless nightmare, where even Dog Eating Squirrels are getting in on the act.
According to the BBC:
"When they saw the men, they scattered in different directions, taking pieces of their kill away with them."
Yeh, they scattered, but wait until they lose their fear of the humans; then our children will not be safe!
Cut the trees down NOW!
According to the BBC:
Yeh, they scattered, but wait until they lose their fear of the humans; then our children will not be safe!
Cut the trees down NOW!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Doggone Jumpers
Briefly, a couple that are making clothing from Dead Dog Hair!
Yes, the hair of a dead dog!
It's what Rover would have wanted.
Yes, the hair of a dead dog!
It's what Rover would have wanted.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Really Classy Retail Outlet
There is much guff expounded about how Sandbanks in Poole is now the world's 4th most expensive piece of real estate, behind Singapore; Hong Kong & Manhattan.
As you can see, it's not exactly 5th Avenue as the above shop above attests.
Basically, this store has retained its likeably sand-blown shabbiness; little different since John Lennon bought his fags there 40yrs ago.
Once an English sea-side resort; always and English sea-side resort.
Beverly Hills it aint.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
What Does It All Mean?
On approaching a course assignment, I address the lecture notes scribbled in my notebook.
Then, at the bottom of one page I have written
1968 1984. 1986&rarr 1992 6yrs
I have NO idea why.
(Why has 1984 been underlined and given a full stop?)
Answers on a postcard please.
Then, at the bottom of one page I have written
1968 1984. 1986
I have NO idea why.
(Why has 1984 been underlined and given a full stop?)
Answers on a postcard please.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Balkan Bear Accused in Hive Honey Heist
Remember how, not so long ago the people of the Former Yugoslavia decided to revert to their medieval default position of slaughtering each other because no-one likes the villagers down the road.
Well, get out the flaming torches because there's a bear on the loose, and he's got a sweet tooth.
Some wag has the Bear Faced Cheek to take the furry feller to court!
No; Really!
Well, get out the flaming torches because there's a bear on the loose, and he's got a sweet tooth.
Some wag has the Bear Faced Cheek to take the furry feller to court!
No; Really!
Tesco Robot Dirty Talk Scandal
Now that Tesco are encouraging shoppers to process their own shopping, we have to follow the instructions of the Robot in order to pay for our goods.
They have a least chosen the voice of a passive, well mannered middle class woman.
Earlier today, I had successfully mastered the process when the console next to me announced:
"Unexpected Item In Bagging Area!"
Yes, well, we've all had that dear, but some of us keep it to ourselves!
Really!
They have a least chosen the voice of a passive, well mannered middle class woman.
Earlier today, I had successfully mastered the process when the console next to me announced:
"Unexpected Item In Bagging Area!"
Yes, well, we've all had that dear, but some of us keep it to ourselves!
Really!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Koren Chick Hitches Lift Into Space
And it looks like she's taking her surfboard with her!
Just imagine, there you are at a party, and your eye meets that of Yi So-yeon, and you move towards her, eager to impress her about how you're expecting to collect a ton from selling your old Viz comics on Ebay.
As an opener, you politely ask:
"So what do you do little lady?"
To which she replies:
"Actually, I'm an astronaut!"
Yes, your penis could not be smaller as you make your excuses and hurry to the kitchen before she renders you sterile with a guffaw!
Friday, February 29, 2008
Zoot Alors!: Est Un "Freeloader"!
A few weeks back I heard an interview on the radio, where a naive fantasist/attention-seeking time waster (delete where appropriate) was starting April 1st early in announcing that he was about to walk to India, WITHOUT ANY MONEY , relying upon the kindness of strangers to provide his needs.
OK, I was wrong in my initial prediction on hearing the claim, and he clearly exceeded my cynical assumption by getting across the channel somehow (although I suspect this was to the intervention of someone known to the publicity eager pedestrian). However, I was reassured when he came unstuck when approaching THE FRENCH!.
Well, what did he expect?
Back to work on Monday then!
OK, I was wrong in my initial prediction on hearing the claim, and he clearly exceeded my cynical assumption by getting across the channel somehow (although I suspect this was to the intervention of someone known to the publicity eager pedestrian). However, I was reassured when he came unstuck when approaching THE FRENCH!.
Well, what did he expect?
Back to work on Monday then!
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Avert Your Eyes!
Free thinking people have been exposing themselves to the fresh experience on Studland, Dorset, since the Bloomsbury Group hung out together there a century ago.However, the nudists obviously feel under threat and have chosen to place this advertisment on the Sandbanks Ferry (or "chain bridge" to give it it's correct definition).
The Shoebox neither condones or condemns, and merely brings you this as a public service; what you do with the information is your own business.
One day I'll tell you about the "Creased Jeans", 1980s Bournemouth's most celebrated naturists. But only if you're good!
Monday, February 25, 2008
The Wisdom of the East
On entering the service lift this morning, I met an Islamist on his way back to work from the new "multi-faith" prayer-room.
I caught him in the act of "primping" his beard in the mirror, and thus manifesting what appeared to be the sin of pride, although it was, I admit, a magnificent beard; raven black, generous in length and with a lustre to die for.
Although strangers, we nodded in courtesy to each other, and then, as a bearded man myself, I ventured the following;
"Do you," I enquired "suffer from beard dandruff?"
(I confess that I myself have recently had reason to be embarrassed by discovering a dusting upon a my shirt-front following a failed attempt to impress an attractive woman.)
"No" he replied with assurance "I shampoo it in Head & Shoulders"
I tacitly nodded my appreciation, and pondered upon the wisdom that he had imparted.
You don't get that sort of thing from a Church of England education.
I caught him in the act of "primping" his beard in the mirror, and thus manifesting what appeared to be the sin of pride, although it was, I admit, a magnificent beard; raven black, generous in length and with a lustre to die for.
Although strangers, we nodded in courtesy to each other, and then, as a bearded man myself, I ventured the following;
"Do you," I enquired "suffer from beard dandruff?"
(I confess that I myself have recently had reason to be embarrassed by discovering a dusting upon a my shirt-front following a failed attempt to impress an attractive woman.)
"No" he replied with assurance "I shampoo it in Head & Shoulders"
I tacitly nodded my appreciation, and pondered upon the wisdom that he had imparted.
You don't get that sort of thing from a Church of England education.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
They Used To Spit In Your Soup
Not anymore.
Check out how staff at Joe Delucci's Italian Restaurant in Staffordshire respond to complaints.
Maybe they assume that no-one reads the receipt.
Remember: don't pay the service charge; leave a tip on the table.
Check out how staff at Joe Delucci's Italian Restaurant in Staffordshire respond to complaints.
Maybe they assume that no-one reads the receipt.
Remember: don't pay the service charge; leave a tip on the table.
Adios Cuba!
And as Fidel's footsteps fade in the distance, an assumption is made.
That assumption is that the United States will now have free reign to move back in to Cuba and to return to ruling the island as an Caribben theme park.
However, they may find that the European Community may already be there, and may have something to say about any incursion by the "Fat People from the Mainland".
During the course of the ill-conceived (and self-defeating) American embargo, Europeans have been enjoying Cuba for 50 years. The Euro is an accepted currency there. The Spanish, who run anything that runs efficiently on the island, know how to pull a third world economy up by the bootstraps using tourism. The British, French and Germans like to visit a caribbean island which isn't overrun with gun toting, drugs-based gangsterism.
But then, that's where the Americans come in. A free-market economy with American participation will see the return of drug-running in Cuba, in a society little-prepared to deal with it. Castro didn't achieve much, but he did keep the island relatively crime-free (apart from political prisoners), in the way that Mussolini kept the trains running on time.
The other thing Mussolini achieved was the suppression of the mafia. This was short-lived however, once the Americans landed in Sicily during WWII, and reintroduced the Mafia by bringing Lucky Luciano with them. They'd rather have an American gangster running things rather than Italians themselves.
Yes, freedom is in the eye of the beholder, and Washington's eye can be somewhat unfocussed when it comes to foreigners. What Cuba actually needs is help, and an understanding of a very unique and potent culture. Such a fragile environment and its value could be so easily destroyed by the very kind of interference that the State Department and its corporate cronies relish.
Considering Washington's previous record, I fear that Castro's revolution will be succeeded by some kind of "Disneyland run by the Taliban" atrocity.
That assumption is that the United States will now have free reign to move back in to Cuba and to return to ruling the island as an Caribben theme park.
However, they may find that the European Community may already be there, and may have something to say about any incursion by the "Fat People from the Mainland".
During the course of the ill-conceived (and self-defeating) American embargo, Europeans have been enjoying Cuba for 50 years. The Euro is an accepted currency there. The Spanish, who run anything that runs efficiently on the island, know how to pull a third world economy up by the bootstraps using tourism. The British, French and Germans like to visit a caribbean island which isn't overrun with gun toting, drugs-based gangsterism.
But then, that's where the Americans come in. A free-market economy with American participation will see the return of drug-running in Cuba, in a society little-prepared to deal with it. Castro didn't achieve much, but he did keep the island relatively crime-free (apart from political prisoners), in the way that Mussolini kept the trains running on time.
The other thing Mussolini achieved was the suppression of the mafia. This was short-lived however, once the Americans landed in Sicily during WWII, and reintroduced the Mafia by bringing Lucky Luciano with them. They'd rather have an American gangster running things rather than Italians themselves.
Yes, freedom is in the eye of the beholder, and Washington's eye can be somewhat unfocussed when it comes to foreigners. What Cuba actually needs is help, and an understanding of a very unique and potent culture. Such a fragile environment and its value could be so easily destroyed by the very kind of interference that the State Department and its corporate cronies relish.
Considering Washington's previous record, I fear that Castro's revolution will be succeeded by some kind of "Disneyland run by the Taliban" atrocity.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Springtime for Hitler
Yes there's No Nazi Like an Old Nazi:
This one is 104 and STILL PERFORMING!
Collaborating Dutch cabaret artiste Johannes Heesters (he steers to the right) has played in Holland for the first time since 1964, much to the disapproval of "dozens" of protesters. There is no account of how the performance went, or what a 104 yr old cabaret artiste sounds like.
I bet he arrived on time though.
This one is 104 and STILL PERFORMING!
Collaborating Dutch cabaret artiste Johannes Heesters (he steers to the right) has played in Holland for the first time since 1964, much to the disapproval of "dozens" of protesters. There is no account of how the performance went, or what a 104 yr old cabaret artiste sounds like.
I bet he arrived on time though.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
My Tesco Sweetheart: Forever
Every once in a while comes a story of some divvy who gets a tattoo in a language that they don't understand which inevitably turns out to mean something (embarrassingly) entirely different.
Well, imagine if your espousal of love turned out to be Chinese for SUPERMARKET. Oh yeh.
Mind you, she's not the first, and she won't be the last, as there is, indeed, one born every minute.
And lest we forget overachieving brand name personality David Beckham and his own hilarious attempt at Hindi sophistication!
Well, imagine if your espousal of love turned out to be Chinese for SUPERMARKET. Oh yeh.
Mind you, she's not the first, and she won't be the last, as there is, indeed, one born every minute.
And lest we forget overachieving brand name personality David Beckham and his own hilarious attempt at Hindi sophistication!
Monday, February 04, 2008
You Are Now Free To Move Around The Cabin Naked
For those that may want to know, it is now possible to partake in a NUDE FLIGHT to a naturist colony.
OK, let's stop tittering and think about why this is such a BAD IDEA:
a) Imagine the scene at the metal detector: "Sir, only take your belt off! Sir, I only asked you to take the belt off!
b) Air Conditioning: flights are COLD! You need to stay warm, and you're not going achieve that in bare skin. Also the gentlemen may want to consider the consequences of prolonged cold on "the down-belows", no-one wants to spend the first three days of their dream holiday attempting to undo "shrinkage"
c) How the hell are they all going to get undressed in the confined space of a airplane fuselage, and where are they going to put their clothes? There aren't exactly WARDROBES on board! Are they going to politely take turns as each undresses in the aisle space? How long will that take exactly? Someone's bound to get to the destination still FULLY CLOTHED (albeit with warm testicles), and having to arrive ashamed of their clothedness.
d) Those with an aisle seat will at some point have someone's privates in their face as the overhead locker is accessed by a nudist. What is the protocol for when some bloke needs to rummage in the over-head above your seat? The clothed crotch adjacent to one's face is unpleasant enough, so imagine the horror of facing some sun-withered member close up, just dangling there like an exhumed squirrel!
e) Have they considered the risks involved during turbulence, with the possibility of the flight attendant inadvertantly pouring scolding coffee into one's lap? And does anyone really want to witness the effect of "turbulent jiggling" on the larger ladies?
f) What if they have to evacuate the aircraft on the runway? Does anybody want to see that on the news? And what about the chafing on the escape chute?
No; I don't think they've thought this through at all!
Let's hope that they all remember to bring their towels; otherwise the airline is going to have to BURN the blankets and pillows.
(I think the flaw in the nudist argument was best put by Bernard Bresslaw in "Carry On Camping", when Sid has suggested that they spend their holidays at a nudist camp. "I don't know." says Bresslaw. "When I go on holiday I like to relax. And when I relax, I like to put my hands in my pocket. How am I going to do that with no pockets to put 'em in?")
OK, let's stop tittering and think about why this is such a BAD IDEA:
a) Imagine the scene at the metal detector: "Sir, only take your belt off! Sir, I only asked you to take the belt off!
b) Air Conditioning: flights are COLD! You need to stay warm, and you're not going achieve that in bare skin. Also the gentlemen may want to consider the consequences of prolonged cold on "the down-belows", no-one wants to spend the first three days of their dream holiday attempting to undo "shrinkage"
c) How the hell are they all going to get undressed in the confined space of a airplane fuselage, and where are they going to put their clothes? There aren't exactly WARDROBES on board! Are they going to politely take turns as each undresses in the aisle space? How long will that take exactly? Someone's bound to get to the destination still FULLY CLOTHED (albeit with warm testicles), and having to arrive ashamed of their clothedness.
d) Those with an aisle seat will at some point have someone's privates in their face as the overhead locker is accessed by a nudist. What is the protocol for when some bloke needs to rummage in the over-head above your seat? The clothed crotch adjacent to one's face is unpleasant enough, so imagine the horror of facing some sun-withered member close up, just dangling there like an exhumed squirrel!
e) Have they considered the risks involved during turbulence, with the possibility of the flight attendant inadvertantly pouring scolding coffee into one's lap? And does anyone really want to witness the effect of "turbulent jiggling" on the larger ladies?
f) What if they have to evacuate the aircraft on the runway? Does anybody want to see that on the news? And what about the chafing on the escape chute?
No; I don't think they've thought this through at all!
Let's hope that they all remember to bring their towels; otherwise the airline is going to have to BURN the blankets and pillows.
(I think the flaw in the nudist argument was best put by Bernard Bresslaw in "Carry On Camping", when Sid has suggested that they spend their holidays at a nudist camp. "I don't know." says Bresslaw. "When I go on holiday I like to relax. And when I relax, I like to put my hands in my pocket. How am I going to do that with no pockets to put 'em in?")
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Polish War Hero Is Actually Bear.
Yes, it's more WWII animal action at the BBC, where they've rediscovered Voytek "the soldier bear", who took on the Wermacht single-pawed!
Voytek, who liked a fag & a pint like any good squaddie, is not to be confused with the Armoured Bears of Phillip Pullman's "His Dark Materials". No "sky-steel" armour for Woytek; the poor sod was basically used as a pack-horse, and then got dumped in a zoo.
(At the end of the war, the British Army constructed cages on the beaches near Dover to house the mass of stray dogs being brought home by troops, adopted during the march into Germany. The canine companions were to serve their statutory 6 months quarantine, before being offered back to the soldiers who had imported them.
Ad Hoc pet adoption appears to have been a past-time in the British Army. My own father's career featured many a grateful "Fritzy", although Dad's crowning glory was a leopard, raised from a cub in India, of which his REME colleagues were terrified. Try bringing that back on the boat!)
Voytek, who liked a fag & a pint like any good squaddie, is not to be confused with the Armoured Bears of Phillip Pullman's "His Dark Materials". No "sky-steel" armour for Woytek; the poor sod was basically used as a pack-horse, and then got dumped in a zoo.
(At the end of the war, the British Army constructed cages on the beaches near Dover to house the mass of stray dogs being brought home by troops, adopted during the march into Germany. The canine companions were to serve their statutory 6 months quarantine, before being offered back to the soldiers who had imported them.
Ad Hoc pet adoption appears to have been a past-time in the British Army. My own father's career featured many a grateful "Fritzy", although Dad's crowning glory was a leopard, raised from a cub in India, of which his REME colleagues were terrified. Try bringing that back on the boat!)
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Pretentious? Moi?
I was on my way home via Covent Garden tube tonight when I found myself among the departing opera crowd.
I had the misfortune of descending the stairs following a fat woman who was wearing a cape.
Naturally, I trod on the cape, and after she recovered from the concomittant choking sensation, she gave me the evil eye.
Apparently, when someone is descending the stairs wearing a cape, everyone else has to walk at least ten steps behind to allow the cape-wearer a full spread on the shitty, pissed-upon and litter-strewn stairwell which is typical of the underground.
I think the correct etiquette is to have dwarfs on the flanks to lift the cape over the offending detritus, but possibly the fat lady wasn't up to speed with the current thinking.
Possibly, however, she loves the smell of stale piss.
I had the misfortune of descending the stairs following a fat woman who was wearing a cape.
Naturally, I trod on the cape, and after she recovered from the concomittant choking sensation, she gave me the evil eye.
Apparently, when someone is descending the stairs wearing a cape, everyone else has to walk at least ten steps behind to allow the cape-wearer a full spread on the shitty, pissed-upon and litter-strewn stairwell which is typical of the underground.
I think the correct etiquette is to have dwarfs on the flanks to lift the cape over the offending detritus, but possibly the fat lady wasn't up to speed with the current thinking.
Possibly, however, she loves the smell of stale piss.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Briefly: Overheard
I was passed by an angry woman passing through Kings Cross, who was in the process of making the following claim to a companion:
"And I knew she was lying like a Donkey!"
Dobbin? Mendacious?
"And I knew she was lying like a Donkey!"
Dobbin? Mendacious?
Monday, January 21, 2008
Underpants: Paxman Enters the Arena
OK; nobody wants this site to descend completely below the waist, but the Underpants issue has become topical.
It appears that BBC Political Rottweiller Jeremy Paxman has thrown in his hat in the debate about Marks & Spencers' Underpants scenario.
Not the quite the Marks & Spencers' Underpants scenario referred to at the Shoebox previously, but I believe its a step forward all the same.
All we're asking for is a little support with no fuss.
It appears that BBC Political Rottweiller Jeremy Paxman has thrown in his hat in the debate about Marks & Spencers' Underpants scenario.
Not the quite the Marks & Spencers' Underpants scenario referred to at the Shoebox previously, but I believe its a step forward all the same.
All we're asking for is a little support with no fuss.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Town Hall Pants/Condoms Update
Re: yesterday's exclusive.
I am able to confirm that the underpants were Man underpants.
Furthermore, there was a development this morning when the Pants/Condoms deviant called in and actually asked if he could come in to collect some "personal effects" that he'd left behind.
His request was steadfastly refused, and he was advised to STAY AWAY!
I can confirm there is considerable doubt as to whether anyone will ever actually remove the Pants/Condoms from the sordid drawer, or even if the drawer will ever be opened again. One suspects that the entire cabinet will have to be removed under the cover of night and "disposed of" discretely, probably by incineration.
I suspect, but can't confirm, that the authority probably has a budget for that kind of thing.
I am able to confirm that the underpants were Man underpants.
Furthermore, there was a development this morning when the Pants/Condoms deviant called in and actually asked if he could come in to collect some "personal effects" that he'd left behind.
His request was steadfastly refused, and he was advised to STAY AWAY!
I can confirm there is considerable doubt as to whether anyone will ever actually remove the Pants/Condoms from the sordid drawer, or even if the drawer will ever be opened again. One suspects that the entire cabinet will have to be removed under the cover of night and "disposed of" discretely, probably by incineration.
I suspect, but can't confirm, that the authority probably has a budget for that kind of thing.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Town Hall Update
OK, briefly; another power-cut, and once more, due to the total automation of the lavatories, the lack of electricity very quickly rendered the building insanitary and pungently 'aromatic'. Put it this way, such was the olfactory 'footprint' , by midday any new-comer could find the ground floor (public access) toilets BLINDFOLD!
Anyway, that is a mere detail. The real news is this: you know that new bloke in XXXXXXXXXX, the incompetent one who everyone thought was a bit weird, and of whom the women staff felt wary of. WELL, he went out Friday lunchtime and NEVER CAME BACK! That afternoon they discovered that he hadn't actually been doing any work for days and that the meetings on Friday night would have NO AGENDAS!
AND THEN THEY CHECKED HIS DESK!!!
They found pants and condoms! Yes! Pants and Condoms! (If you're reading this in America, that means UNDERPANTS). At the time of writing I don't know if that was Man pants or Lady pants, but pants all the same.
Naturally, speculation is rife, but I'd like people to consider this:
Maybe he sat down at his desk, opened the drawer and found out that someone ELSE had filled it with pants and condoms. And maybe he decided that it was not the kind of team that he wanted to work with, and chose to walk!
And if that's the case: it means the REAL pervert is STILL THERE!
Yes, I do have someone in mind, but I am not at liberty to impart such delicate information.
Update Ends.
Anyway, that is a mere detail. The real news is this: you know that new bloke in XXXXXXXXXX, the incompetent one who everyone thought was a bit weird, and of whom the women staff felt wary of. WELL, he went out Friday lunchtime and NEVER CAME BACK! That afternoon they discovered that he hadn't actually been doing any work for days and that the meetings on Friday night would have NO AGENDAS!
AND THEN THEY CHECKED HIS DESK!!!
They found pants and condoms! Yes! Pants and Condoms! (If you're reading this in America, that means UNDERPANTS). At the time of writing I don't know if that was Man pants or Lady pants, but pants all the same.
Naturally, speculation is rife, but I'd like people to consider this:
Maybe he sat down at his desk, opened the drawer and found out that someone ELSE had filled it with pants and condoms. And maybe he decided that it was not the kind of team that he wanted to work with, and chose to walk!
And if that's the case: it means the REAL pervert is STILL THERE!
Yes, I do have someone in mind, but I am not at liberty to impart such delicate information.
Update Ends.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
Evening Standard: Robbie Williams Goes On Strike
And the discerning amongst us breath a palpable sigh of relief!
Here's hoping that the boy bands, with help from the XFactor contestants get to be flying pickets and that this lasts longer than the miner's strike.
Fingers crossed everybody!
Here's hoping that the boy bands, with help from the XFactor contestants get to be flying pickets and that this lasts longer than the miner's strike.
Fingers crossed everybody!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Evening Standard: Ken v Boris Debate Clash
Apparently Boris thinks "White Man in the Hammersmith Palais" has more lasting power than "London Calling".
Ken disagrees, but concedes that they were politically naive, and admitted that he actually prefered Subway Sect.
Ken disagrees, but concedes that they were politically naive, and admitted that he actually prefered Subway Sect.
Did You Know...
That west country singing sensation PJ Harvey was named after Roxy Music's hit single "Pyjamara"?It was her parent's favourite, and PJ was conceived as the couple copulated in rhythm to the tune during Roxy's performance at The Colston Hall, Bristol in 1971.
Another little known fact is that Mr Harvey's underpants still lie unclaimed in the Colston Hall's lost property box.
Imagine that!
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Evening Standard: City Trader Suicide Leap
Imagine my disappointment on discovering that this merely a news story, and not—as hoped—a pay-for-view spectacular!
The recession is here everyone!
The recession is here everyone!
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Sick Leave
Just when the one thinks one has escaped this season's bug, BAM!
The Shoebox will return on recovery.
The Shoebox will return on recovery.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Now That's What I Call Christmas...
An aquaintance of mine, a failed guitarist turned theatre critic, has written in response to the New Year Pheasant On Car Roof sighting;
The pheasant looks a bit gamey but might be OK if they casserole it rather than roasting -- a touching gift from someone. When I worked in the Bournemouth sorting office over the Christmas vacations in 1979 and 1980 dead pheasants used to come through simply with address labels tied to one leg, sent from Dorset squires!
Imagine that! At a time when unemployment was on the rise, British Industry in terminal decline and the Black and White Minstrels were Saturday Night Prime Time, the aristocracy were still hanging on to the traditions that made them great!
One wonders though, doesn't one, what state the bird was in by the time the Royal Mail staff had enjoyed the inevitable round of 'three and in' with it.
Imagine that! At a time when unemployment was on the rise, British Industry in terminal decline and the Black and White Minstrels were Saturday Night Prime Time, the aristocracy were still hanging on to the traditions that made them great!
One wonders though, doesn't one, what state the bird was in by the time the Royal Mail staff had enjoyed the inevitable round of 'three and in' with it.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Pirates Beware!
Now that's what I call an officious looking Dolphin.
Wait until you see the SWAT Sharks!
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
"Christmas Cheer" Hits Rail Lines
I've always found it curious that the Thatcherite press that so vociferously backed the Tory's dismantling of the nationalised rail industry, (thus destroying public transport) has spent the last ten years blaming the succeeding Labour government for every subsequent failure on the Railways in this country.
I am therefore reluctant to join in the Daily Mail-ish hectoring over the current over-running of track-work following the Christmas shut-down.
However, my suspicions were aroused when the official apologist at National Rail suggested that
"the 'critical issue' was a shortage of specialist engineering staff"
Specialist Engineering Staff? What is that exactly?
Or does he mean that this year's Winter Rail Chaos was a result of "sick leave", where the staff employed to do the work have actually been out getting pissed off their faces over Christmas, and failed to turn up for work in the morning, in the traditional British fashion?
Yes, it's the euphamistic mid-winter lurgy that everyone gets around this time of year.
I am therefore reluctant to join in the Daily Mail-ish hectoring over the current over-running of track-work following the Christmas shut-down.
However, my suspicions were aroused when the official apologist at National Rail suggested that
Specialist Engineering Staff? What is that exactly?
Or does he mean that this year's Winter Rail Chaos was a result of "sick leave", where the staff employed to do the work have actually been out getting pissed off their faces over Christmas, and failed to turn up for work in the morning, in the traditional British fashion?
Yes, it's the euphamistic mid-winter lurgy that everyone gets around this time of year.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Omens for 2008
Spent midnight on Ally Pally overlooking London's fireworks amongst the Eastern European contingent, whose idea of a good time is to drink huge quantities of vodka and launch huge rockets FROM THEIR HANDS! Yeh, not that safe.
Anyway, RE: the images, no-one wants to find a dead bird on their car roof first thing in the new year.
As for the shoebox coffin, one wonders who little zig zag was?
Good Luck!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Pacific Rim Old Year Road Action
I was trying to find how the New Year was going, as it arrived out east, but their obviously too busy enjoying themselves to update their news sites.
However, Papua New Guinea has narrowly averted mourning the Great Potato Avalanche of 2007!
Meanwhile, down under nothing gets past the Australian Police Force, certainly not a Bridal Drag Racing Vehicle! I guess that couple were REALLY eager to get on with the conjugal rights!
HNY! We'll be watching London's celebrations from high-ground, away from the crowds.
However, Papua New Guinea has narrowly averted mourning the Great Potato Avalanche of 2007!
Meanwhile, down under nothing gets past the Australian Police Force, certainly not a Bridal Drag Racing Vehicle! I guess that couple were REALLY eager to get on with the conjugal rights!
HNY! We'll be watching London's celebrations from high-ground, away from the crowds.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Revenge Is Dish Best Served Cold
And so, in the globally warmed mildness which is now the English winter, we walk to Highgate Woods, and I have my usual regret in not having a dog to walk. (It would also sort out the cat problem at home).
As we walked by the park benches, we casually glanced upon the plaques mounted upon each, commemorating the deceased loved ones who had once frequented the woods, and apparently enjoyed their time there.
This set me thinking. Why just commemorate the loved?
Why can't we use the dog-shit containers to berate the loathed?
"Sid Guts: an odious little sod who never threw the ball back over the fence, unless he'd punctured it first"
"Cynthia Sudbury: an appauling snob, and hypocrite; rest in hell bitch"
"Vince Wilkins: the local burgular and all-round prick: I'm glad you fell off the ladder, you git!".
That sort of thing.
As we walked by the park benches, we casually glanced upon the plaques mounted upon each, commemorating the deceased loved ones who had once frequented the woods, and apparently enjoyed their time there.
This set me thinking. Why just commemorate the loved?
Why can't we use the dog-shit containers to berate the loathed?
"Cynthia Sudbury: an appauling snob, and hypocrite; rest in hell bitch"
"Vince Wilkins: the local burgular and all-round prick: I'm glad you fell off the ladder, you git!".
That sort of thing.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Cat In Vinyl Disruption Incident.
So she says, "They'll be alright on their own over Christmas, it's only one night, what could possibly happen?"
My examination has reached the conclusion that a large, male feline, entered the case via the Albums (between Phil Manzenera's Lagrima and -pre Roxy- Quiet Sun) , and eventually exited via the Singles (mainly 1976 to 1978). Fortunately, my mint Teenage Kicks (original pressing on Good Vibrations including newspaper wrap) survives.
The prime subject has demonstrated a typical indifference. At least a dog would KNOW it's guilt.
Friday, December 21, 2007
De Hitler Hond!
Ya! Tonight we're reading Dutch!
I can't actually find the button to convert the Dutch into English, but it looks intriguing all the same.
Check out Adolf de hond in De Telegraaf
I can't actually find the button to convert the Dutch into English, but it looks intriguing all the same.
Check out Adolf de hond in De Telegraaf
Monday, December 17, 2007
What I Want For Christmas
If I was young and rich,
I'd have a rock 'n' roll band,
and stand at the front playing this!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Perfidous Pigeonry!
Well, it seems that after all the bad press, those pigeons are going for respectability by taking part in the reopening of an East London cemetery dedicated to the animal kingdom's war dead.
As part of the ceremony, the pigeons have wangled themselves a role by providing a Pigeon Fly Past!
Ah! But what's this? On the same day, the BBC reports on a seemingly affable dog story, and how a voracious pooch almost ruined a Northern Pie Eating contest. However, on closer inspection, it transpires that the dog was in cahoots with a Decoy Pigeon!
Oh yes, no medal for those two!
As part of the ceremony, the pigeons have wangled themselves a role by providing a Pigeon Fly Past!
Ah! But what's this? On the same day, the BBC reports on a seemingly affable dog story, and how a voracious pooch almost ruined a Northern Pie Eating contest. However, on closer inspection, it transpires that the dog was in cahoots with a Decoy Pigeon!
Oh yes, no medal for those two!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Tornado Warning
Sorry to bring this to the table, but the news that an elderly man has been censured from farting in his local club is a lazy blogger's golddust.
I Feel Like A Gnu Man
If the British Press is to believed, the country is obsessed with the reappearance of the "Canoe Man", who, having faked his own death, has apparently been off around the world with his conniving wife spending other people's money. And now he has chosen to return home, only to face arrest. This is almost certainly because, as a debtor, a) he has spent all the ill-gotten gains, and b) he probably needs free health care unavailable in Panama.
My only opinion is that it would be a better story had he been known as the Gnu Man, who was last seen alive going out on his Gnu, never to be seen again, with his Gnu turning up unaccompanied several days later, found nibbling the hard shoulder of the Doncaster by-pass.
Or, if the Press would take a more robust approach to relating the tale. Try this:
"Mr Darwin, having settled in South America, managed to keep his guilty secret to himself. He had always enjoyed the company of sailors, and liked to hang around the quayside, where he purchased a new canoe.
"There was only one thing he loved more than that canoe" confessed a friend "and that was to take it up the Orinoco!".
You see, you want to know more already.
My only opinion is that it would be a better story had he been known as the Gnu Man, who was last seen alive going out on his Gnu, never to be seen again, with his Gnu turning up unaccompanied several days later, found nibbling the hard shoulder of the Doncaster by-pass.
Or, if the Press would take a more robust approach to relating the tale. Try this:
"There was only one thing he loved more than that canoe" confessed a friend "and that was to take it up the Orinoco!".
You see, you want to know more already.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Barbados: School of Scamps, or Satanists?
Remember back at school when you'd get everybody together and co-ordinate high-jinks, usually to start at a given signal?
I bet your actions were received by little more than raised eyebrows from the teachers, or possibly some shouting from the permanently irate PE teacher.
Not in Barbados, where the schools REALLY take action. See "School uproar work of devil"
Dig this quote:
He said the amount of Valium administered to the students "would have put most of us to sleep immediately and some of these children delayed and even became more active after [receiving] Valium"
Yeh: Valium, on kids!
I bet your actions were received by little more than raised eyebrows from the teachers, or possibly some shouting from the permanently irate PE teacher.
Not in Barbados, where the schools REALLY take action. See "School uproar work of devil"
Dig this quote:
Yeh: Valium, on kids!
Monday, November 26, 2007
Polly's Gone Crackers
Having purchased—and listened to— PJ Harvey's latest album, I have to make an appeal.
Dear Polly,
We love you, and could forgive you almost anything, but PLEASE: your new persona as "local madwoman at back of congregation" doesn't work. We all want the barriers pushed back, but attempting to reach dogs twenty miles away is not easy for the rest of us to listen to.
Dear Polly,
We love you, and could forgive you almost anything, but PLEASE: your new persona as "local madwoman at back of congregation" doesn't work. We all want the barriers pushed back, but attempting to reach dogs twenty miles away is not easy for the rest of us to listen to.
Pigeon Latest: Taxation
Was it not Pere Ubu that said "You don't need a cure; You need a fiscal solution"?
Well, the inland revenue have found a way of warding off the pigeon threat by taxing those in thrall to the flying wizards of satan, namely, the pigeon racing fraternity.
Apparently, pigeon racing is not a sport!
But not if they get The Queen on their side; she's already got Prince Harry on the job of killing their natural predators, the hen harriers. Mind you, look how pigeon-biased Daily Mail buried the news in this trite!.
Forget the Diana inquiry: what about the pigeons?
Well, the inland revenue have found a way of warding off the pigeon threat by taxing those in thrall to the flying wizards of satan, namely, the pigeon racing fraternity.
Apparently, pigeon racing is not a sport!
But not if they get The Queen on their side; she's already got Prince Harry on the job of killing their natural predators, the hen harriers. Mind you, look how pigeon-biased Daily Mail buried the news in this trite!.
Forget the Diana inquiry: what about the pigeons?
Friday, November 23, 2007
"My Penis is a Mountain" Singer Apologises
And we all thought that England lost because they were overpaid and rubbish. Not according to The BBC!
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Blazer Warning!
Yes, it has been confirmed that Brian Barwick, the man who selected Steve McClaren for the England job, will be also choosing the next England manager.
Someone with a nice short back and sides, and a tidy line in ironed ties then.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
England 2 Croatia 3
Any commentary on why England were so bad tonight would be to miss the point. Tonight's victory was a basically a statement of intent by Croatia.
They understand that the qualifiers are the place to start the campaign to actually win the tournament, and they certainly emphasised that at Wembley.
Congratulations, they deserved it.
And it's nice to know that the England chumps will be missing out on the advertising millions for once.
They understand that the qualifiers are the place to start the campaign to actually win the tournament, and they certainly emphasised that at Wembley.
Congratulations, they deserved it.
And it's nice to know that the England chumps will be missing out on the advertising millions for once.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
When World's Collide
Imagine my despair this week as my favourite TV programme Ugly Betty despoils itself with Victoria Beckham as guest. I admit, a programme focussed upon the complete shallowness of celebrity culture could do no wrong by incorporating the epitomy of pointless celebrity, but I can't bear the fact that they've opened the door for the wretched former Spice to fulfill her American dream.
Why couldn't she feature in the Soprano's, preferably being driven in the trunk of Paulie's car to an "intervention" in the New Jersey woods. I'm not a misogynist, but I'd go Pay TV for that.
And thinking about it, was not Pia Zadora ahead of her time? Her sugar daddy paid a fortune to attempt to make her famous, because that's what it took back then. Had she been around now, well being married to a rich guy would suffice.
This equally applies to dreadful old shagged-out Rolling Stones parasite Marianne Faithful, who was one of the first pointless "famous for being famous" celebrities, who is sadly still treading the circuit doing her hackneyed old act on Britain's lesser radio stations, aware as she is that the attention span of the average up and coming radio producer is about three years, and that the mention of a drugged up old rock groupie who had photographic evidence of knowing some of the sixties movers and shakers is actually suffice to get yourself on air. And often.
Please make it stop.
Why couldn't she feature in the Soprano's, preferably being driven in the trunk of Paulie's car to an "intervention" in the New Jersey woods. I'm not a misogynist, but I'd go Pay TV for that.
And thinking about it, was not Pia Zadora ahead of her time? Her sugar daddy paid a fortune to attempt to make her famous, because that's what it took back then. Had she been around now, well being married to a rich guy would suffice.
This equally applies to dreadful old shagged-out Rolling Stones parasite Marianne Faithful, who was one of the first pointless "famous for being famous" celebrities, who is sadly still treading the circuit doing her hackneyed old act on Britain's lesser radio stations, aware as she is that the attention span of the average up and coming radio producer is about three years, and that the mention of a drugged up old rock groupie who had photographic evidence of knowing some of the sixties movers and shakers is actually suffice to get yourself on air. And often.
Please make it stop.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Here We Go, Here We Go: Again!
Since last year's World Cup debacle, I've resisted passing comment on the state of football, basically because I haven't seen the point in falling into the tired old "told you so" blogging that serves little purpose.
However, following the events at the weekend when Israel gifted a lifeline to England, I'm already bracing myself for the pointless jingoism ahead. Surely, Israel's win against the clueless Russians merely illustrates how poorly England performed in Moscow in aiding the Russians back into the game. Yet this point will be glossed over as McClaren's hapless millionaires ponce around against Croatia on Wednesday.
Prepare for the worst as England go one down, and struggle for the rest of the game before scraping a desperate equalizer just before full-time and thus qualifying for Euro08. This will be the cue for over-optimistic national pride, and the launch of an eight-month media campaign of hyping the England team as potential tournament winners, and very lucrative it will be for this venal shower of mediocrities.
Heard it all before? Yes, every tournament. Remember Japan 2002? England fuck up in the qualifiers (in the belief that beating Germany 5-1 gave them instant qualification), and THEN fucked up against their last game against Greece AT HOME. Yes, Beckham earned a fortune from that last-minute equalizing free kick, but it was Germany's failure to beat lowly Finland that actually helped England avoid playoffs. This has been written out of English football history. Incidently, the apaulingly weak German side that suffered that 5-1 defeat went on to reach the final.
(England went out attempting to play Brazil with Danny Mills at right back!)
And already, prior to them Croatia game on Wednesday, "Stevie" Gerrard is in front of the microphone blathering on about how they're all going to try extra especially hard this time. Like last time. And the time before.
Somebody tell them to shut up, and just play. Wouldn't it be nice even, if they admitted that it was probably better to forego the sponsorship, and the concomittant glossy high-profile that goes with it in order to concentrate on getting the job done. I'm sure that John Terry would argue that his £100,000+ a week (that's sterling, not dollars) isn't enough to live on, but I'm he could make ends meet if he tried.
Failure to qualify may do English football a favour. Denied the advertising riches that qualifying would guarantee, this over-paid bunch of under-performers, excluded from the honeypot, may question what happened, and some may realise that it was something to do with them!
Oh, by the way. England are world football's Newcastle. Big reputation, little to show for it, an the rest of the world knows it.
However, following the events at the weekend when Israel gifted a lifeline to England, I'm already bracing myself for the pointless jingoism ahead. Surely, Israel's win against the clueless Russians merely illustrates how poorly England performed in Moscow in aiding the Russians back into the game. Yet this point will be glossed over as McClaren's hapless millionaires ponce around against Croatia on Wednesday.
Prepare for the worst as England go one down, and struggle for the rest of the game before scraping a desperate equalizer just before full-time and thus qualifying for Euro08. This will be the cue for over-optimistic national pride, and the launch of an eight-month media campaign of hyping the England team as potential tournament winners, and very lucrative it will be for this venal shower of mediocrities.
Heard it all before? Yes, every tournament. Remember Japan 2002? England fuck up in the qualifiers (in the belief that beating Germany 5-1 gave them instant qualification), and THEN fucked up against their last game against Greece AT HOME. Yes, Beckham earned a fortune from that last-minute equalizing free kick, but it was Germany's failure to beat lowly Finland that actually helped England avoid playoffs. This has been written out of English football history. Incidently, the apaulingly weak German side that suffered that 5-1 defeat went on to reach the final.
(England went out attempting to play Brazil with Danny Mills at right back!)
And already, prior to them Croatia game on Wednesday, "Stevie" Gerrard is in front of the microphone blathering on about how they're all going to try extra especially hard this time. Like last time. And the time before.
Somebody tell them to shut up, and just play. Wouldn't it be nice even, if they admitted that it was probably better to forego the sponsorship, and the concomittant glossy high-profile that goes with it in order to concentrate on getting the job done. I'm sure that John Terry would argue that his £100,000+ a week (that's sterling, not dollars) isn't enough to live on, but I'm he could make ends meet if he tried.
Failure to qualify may do English football a favour. Denied the advertising riches that qualifying would guarantee, this over-paid bunch of under-performers, excluded from the honeypot, may question what happened, and some may realise that it was something to do with them!
Oh, by the way. England are world football's Newcastle. Big reputation, little to show for it, an the rest of the world knows it.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Pump It Up!
I've always been led to believe that what a man gets up to in his own time behind closed doors is his own business.
Apparently, the Scots disagree, and have disturbed a Bicycle Sex Fiend to prove it.
There is no indication that the bicycle ever complained, but that's the Hibernian Puritans for you.
(Note: I like it that the BBC have helpfully provided a photograph of a bicycle to illustrate the point, although one assumes that this is not THE bicycle that had received the 'servicing'. Obviously, the molested bicycle would have appeared only in pixilated form).
Make a mental note: if the caretaker knocks on the door, DON'T IGNORE HIM, HE'S GOT KEYS!
Apparently, the Scots disagree, and have disturbed a Bicycle Sex Fiend to prove it.
There is no indication that the bicycle ever complained, but that's the Hibernian Puritans for you.
(Note: I like it that the BBC have helpfully provided a photograph of a bicycle to illustrate the point, although one assumes that this is not THE bicycle that had received the 'servicing'. Obviously, the molested bicycle would have appeared only in pixilated form).
Make a mental note: if the caretaker knocks on the door, DON'T IGNORE HIM, HE'S GOT KEYS!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Animal Magic
OK, lazy blogging I know:
1) Crazy Indian Dog related story: Here
2) Crazy English Cat related story: Here
Note: on story 2. I know Talbot Woods well, and remember staggering across them home to a bedsit at Cemetary Junction back in 1981 during a Nouveau Ted phase in drainpipes & brothel creepers, with the best sidies known to man, at 5.00am after a party in the Triangle, where I so nearly got off with a buxom sculptress. Sadly, she passed out before I could make my move, and I was too much of a gentlemen, even at that age, to take advantage. Thinking back, that may have been a mistake: she was magnificent.
1) Crazy Indian Dog related story: Here
2) Crazy English Cat related story: Here
Note: on story 2. I know Talbot Woods well, and remember staggering across them home to a bedsit at Cemetary Junction back in 1981 during a Nouveau Ted phase in drainpipes & brothel creepers, with the best sidies known to man, at 5.00am after a party in the Triangle, where I so nearly got off with a buxom sculptress. Sadly, she passed out before I could make my move, and I was too much of a gentlemen, even at that age, to take advantage. Thinking back, that may have been a mistake: she was magnificent.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Night Losers - Dragostea e ca si-o riie
A little over long, and little too arch, but evidence of camp irony from Romania.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
At Your Convenience
OK, everybody, I'll try keep this above the waist:
I've just heard of the sterling working carried out by the British Toilet Association, who are campaigning steadfastly against the closure of public lavatories.
I'm pleased to read that their awards are sponsored by Dyson Airblades, the Rolls Royce of hand-dryers. And if you haven't experienced the joy of the Airblade, get yourself down to the toilets in John Lewis, where you'll enjoy the experience of drying your hands within seconds, and you'll never want to dry them on the back of your jeans ever again.
And that's as far as I go on this one.
I've just heard of the sterling working carried out by the British Toilet Association, who are campaigning steadfastly against the closure of public lavatories.
I'm pleased to read that their awards are sponsored by Dyson Airblades, the Rolls Royce of hand-dryers. And if you haven't experienced the joy of the Airblade, get yourself down to the toilets in John Lewis, where you'll enjoy the experience of drying your hands within seconds, and you'll never want to dry them on the back of your jeans ever again.
And that's as far as I go on this one.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Menezes: Police "Guilty", But Not To Blame
Shortly after beginning employment as a local government officer, nearly ten years ago, I witnessed the approach taken by my new employer, a Council, in imposing a "no blame" culture.
Local authorities, reservoirs of mediocrity, are ever awash with "new initiatives" and will buy into any trend going, in the belief that they'll be able to spin any perceived benefits as "progress".
The No Blame initive that I witnessed was being employed during a team meeting, where a problem was being discussed. Basically, the team's Fuckwit had Fucked Up, as usual, and the Fuck Up had to be addressed.
As it was a No Blame meeting, the Fuck Up was being discussed in general terms, without naming the Fuckwit concerned, or his culpability for the Fuck Up.
This generalisation meant that the whole team was being addressed in regard to the Fuck Up, addressing what they could do to avoid doing the Fuck Up again by using a few simple, easy to follow, quality control procedures.
In consequence, and not surprisingly, the team grew resentful because they believed that they were collectively being held responsible for the Fuck Up, whilst accordingly, the Fuckwit sat there grinning to himself because the Fuck Up clearly had nothing to do with him.
I was reminded of this nonsense by today's news regarding the verdict against the Metropolitan Police in the Menezes case, where a the innocent Brazilian was murdered in cold blood by armed officers.
The Met's response is very much that of the Fuckwit above, in that they don't appear to think this has anything to do with them. Commissioner Ian Blair's response (that they didn't kill anyone else!) is to reduce the issue to a Health & Safety non-conformance, on par with a poorly stored ladder, or a bulb that needs replacing.
The Met has never shown any sense that they understand the gravity of the fact that the Metropolitan Police killed an innocent man, and did so on public transport during the rush hour.
They continue to tread out the tedious spin of how they're attempting to protect the public in difficult times, yet they have proved to be a far more effective killing machine than the "terrorist cell" that they were attempting to pursue on that day.
Local authorities, reservoirs of mediocrity, are ever awash with "new initiatives" and will buy into any trend going, in the belief that they'll be able to spin any perceived benefits as "progress".
The No Blame initive that I witnessed was being employed during a team meeting, where a problem was being discussed. Basically, the team's Fuckwit had Fucked Up, as usual, and the Fuck Up had to be addressed.
As it was a No Blame meeting, the Fuck Up was being discussed in general terms, without naming the Fuckwit concerned, or his culpability for the Fuck Up.
This generalisation meant that the whole team was being addressed in regard to the Fuck Up, addressing what they could do to avoid doing the Fuck Up again by using a few simple, easy to follow, quality control procedures.
In consequence, and not surprisingly, the team grew resentful because they believed that they were collectively being held responsible for the Fuck Up, whilst accordingly, the Fuckwit sat there grinning to himself because the Fuck Up clearly had nothing to do with him.
I was reminded of this nonsense by today's news regarding the verdict against the Metropolitan Police in the Menezes case, where a the innocent Brazilian was murdered in cold blood by armed officers.
The Met's response is very much that of the Fuckwit above, in that they don't appear to think this has anything to do with them. Commissioner Ian Blair's response (that they didn't kill anyone else!) is to reduce the issue to a Health & Safety non-conformance, on par with a poorly stored ladder, or a bulb that needs replacing.
The Met has never shown any sense that they understand the gravity of the fact that the Metropolitan Police killed an innocent man, and did so on public transport during the rush hour.
They continue to tread out the tedious spin of how they're attempting to protect the public in difficult times, yet they have proved to be a far more effective killing machine than the "terrorist cell" that they were attempting to pursue on that day.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
And The Empire Continues To Sink
It was Dean Acheson, President Truman's Secretary of State, who coined the phrase that Britain had lost an empire, yet had failed to find a role in the world. And that this phrase persists indicates it's continuing vervacity.
I think it's pertinant this week as our masters cowtow to the former colonists from Saudi Arabia. And watch how those venal old Saudi's are rubbing Britain's nose in it . They know just how much Whitehall and their lackies are willing to grovel to get their hands on some of that soiled old oil-money, and they're going to see just how low Britain's prepared to stoop.
The phrase also cropped in the BBC's No Plan, No Peace, the documentary addressing Britain's culpability in America's failure to plan for the aftermath of the Iraq debacle.
I enjoyed two moments of the programme in particular.
On my travels in recent years, I've often been asked why Blair allowed himself to be embroiled in such stupidity as that eminating from the Whitehouse. My response was that Blair was vain, wanted a role on the world stage, and believed he could influence Washington.
The programme put forward another, more geo-political, notion. Prior to the war, as Washington set up exercises in preparation for the pre-war diplomacy, the CIA operative given the job of role-playing Britain at the negotiation table, elected to agree to anything, just to remain at the top-table. Somewhat prescient.
In regard to the aftermath of the war in Iraq, there was the experience of a British economist, who, on reading American's "reconstruction plan", found a section stipulating the agreed currencies to be permitted during reconstruction. The American Dollar, unsurprisingly, was there. But so too was the German Reichmark, a currency abandoned in 1948. The document had clearly been hastily cut and pasted from reconstruction documentation from the Second World War. Equally disturbing was the documentation in regard to the restoration of electricity to the nation. It consisted of one sheet of A4, only half-covered, and comprised merely of a list of addresses of power stations.
Iraq didn't stand a chance.
I think it's pertinant this week as our masters cowtow to the former colonists from Saudi Arabia. And watch how those venal old Saudi's are rubbing Britain's nose in it . They know just how much Whitehall and their lackies are willing to grovel to get their hands on some of that soiled old oil-money, and they're going to see just how low Britain's prepared to stoop.
The phrase also cropped in the BBC's No Plan, No Peace, the documentary addressing Britain's culpability in America's failure to plan for the aftermath of the Iraq debacle.
I enjoyed two moments of the programme in particular.
On my travels in recent years, I've often been asked why Blair allowed himself to be embroiled in such stupidity as that eminating from the Whitehouse. My response was that Blair was vain, wanted a role on the world stage, and believed he could influence Washington.
The programme put forward another, more geo-political, notion. Prior to the war, as Washington set up exercises in preparation for the pre-war diplomacy, the CIA operative given the job of role-playing Britain at the negotiation table, elected to agree to anything, just to remain at the top-table. Somewhat prescient.
In regard to the aftermath of the war in Iraq, there was the experience of a British economist, who, on reading American's "reconstruction plan", found a section stipulating the agreed currencies to be permitted during reconstruction. The American Dollar, unsurprisingly, was there. But so too was the German Reichmark, a currency abandoned in 1948. The document had clearly been hastily cut and pasted from reconstruction documentation from the Second World War. Equally disturbing was the documentation in regard to the restoration of electricity to the nation. It consisted of one sheet of A4, only half-covered, and comprised merely of a list of addresses of power stations.
Iraq didn't stand a chance.
Charity? I'll Drink To That!
On discovering London in my youth, (I mean that reflexively, in that I discovered for myself; I make no claim to being the man who DISCOVERED London, as there were already 8.5 million people here before me. Not unlike the American continent when Columbus "discovered" that.) I was appauled to discovered that most of the charities that you'd ever heard of had located themselves in Belgravia, the capital's most expensive piece of real estate. Obviously, the aristocrats who had inviegled their way into running these affairs weren't going to lower their standards however the extortionate rents were undermining the concept of giving.
It comes as no surprise therefore that our posh chums in the world of Rugby have been upbraided for their cavalier attitude to charity, as their own effort to raise funds for children has been criticised, as they've been spending two thirds of the donations on entertaining themselves!
"I say chaps, we've taken 2 million quid!"
"Spiffing! Bugger the orphans; let's buy more bubbly!"
"No champers for me old boy, I'll just bugger the orphans!"
"Hoorah!"
It comes as no surprise therefore that our posh chums in the world of Rugby have been upbraided for their cavalier attitude to charity, as their own effort to raise funds for children has been criticised, as they've been spending two thirds of the donations on entertaining themselves!
"I say chaps, we've taken 2 million quid!"
"Spiffing! Bugger the orphans; let's buy more bubbly!"
"No champers for me old boy, I'll just bugger the orphans!"
"Hoorah!"
Go Global
Imagine the moment on your flight as the person next to enthuses about how they're on their way to The World Toilet Conference!
Important stuff I agree, but let's try keep this above the waist please.
Important stuff I agree, but let's try keep this above the waist please.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Underpants: My Struggle
It may be out of fashion these days, but I think discretion is one of the finer human virtues, and I have to admit that I'm disappointed to be trapped in an income bracket that prevents me from enjoying the benefits of the level of salesmanship available to higher economic groups.
I am aware that the gentleman of the upper crust who shop in such thoroughfares as Jermyn Street, or amongst the merchants of Mayfair, are afforded the utmost of dignity in their transactions. I understand that the service available there is always polite, ever obliging, yet never intrusive, or dare I say it: over-familiar.
No. Due to my relative penury, I am forced to shop amongst the hoi-polloi.
For example: some time back, in a chemists near London's King's Cross, I steeled myself to procure some condoms. Yes, dear reader: Condoms. I followed the age-old protocol familiar to all men in this situation, and stepped forward to the counter, pointed to the "items" I wished to procure and curtly proffered a ten pounds note towards the lady attendant as remuneration.
The moment could not pass quick enough as she took her time noisily shoving my purchase into an unnecessarily rustly bag. Then, as though she wanted to drag the process out a little further, she paused, looked up, and asked in an East End accent broader that the Mile End Road:
"Do you want a receipt with that?" (Or "jew wan' a resee' wiv 'at?")
Naturally, I coughed, and through a dry throat uttered a curt "no!"
She appeared to expect this reply and added:
"Nah, it's not as though you're gonna bring' em back, eh!"
I shudder at the very recollection.
Anyway, to my point.
This very afternoon, whilst underpant-shopping in Marks & Spencers (and can I add that, apart from the occasional luxury ready meal, underpants & socks are ALL I buy at M&S), I queued up to pay for my "garments", and finally made it to the till.
The young man behind the counter was initially polite, and appeared efficient as he scanned the bar code and stated the price in clear tones. (£7.50 for ten: not bad). But then, and to my utter ASTONISHMENT, he then OPENED THE PACKET AND TOOK A PAIR OUT! Brazenly! With his own hands! I could only look on in dismay as he casually admitted that he was just "checking to see if they're the size on the packet!"
Like that was anybody's business: my pants. He was handling MY UNDERPANTS for God's sake!. In front of EVERYBODY. I mean, I ASK YOU.
A Statement:
Look, Mr. "Marks & Spencers" whatever your name is, leave my pants alone! I'm pleased you care about actual pant-sizes matching the packaging, but kindly not whilst I am undergoing the indignity that underpant-shopping represents. What if I'd gone for the old-man's pants this time? (And let's face it, the day will come). Do I want everyone in the queue behind me to know? Will you hold them aloft and announce to the assembled throng "Blimey! He's gone for the old man's pants, and they're the wrong size!".
No, I don't like this development at all. Basically, I just want to pay for the pants and leave. If they're the wrong size, I'll just throw them away, and then visit ANOTHER branch to buy more, and to keep doing so until I get the right size. That's the way it is with underpant-shopping.
I've probably said enough, but I just think that this is some kind of training issue. I really do.
I am aware that the gentleman of the upper crust who shop in such thoroughfares as Jermyn Street, or amongst the merchants of Mayfair, are afforded the utmost of dignity in their transactions. I understand that the service available there is always polite, ever obliging, yet never intrusive, or dare I say it: over-familiar.
No. Due to my relative penury, I am forced to shop amongst the hoi-polloi.
For example: some time back, in a chemists near London's King's Cross, I steeled myself to procure some condoms. Yes, dear reader: Condoms. I followed the age-old protocol familiar to all men in this situation, and stepped forward to the counter, pointed to the "items" I wished to procure and curtly proffered a ten pounds note towards the lady attendant as remuneration.
The moment could not pass quick enough as she took her time noisily shoving my purchase into an unnecessarily rustly bag. Then, as though she wanted to drag the process out a little further, she paused, looked up, and asked in an East End accent broader that the Mile End Road:
"Do you want a receipt with that?" (Or "jew wan' a resee' wiv 'at?")
Naturally, I coughed, and through a dry throat uttered a curt "no!"
She appeared to expect this reply and added:
"Nah, it's not as though you're gonna bring' em back, eh!"
I shudder at the very recollection.
Anyway, to my point.
This very afternoon, whilst underpant-shopping in Marks & Spencers (and can I add that, apart from the occasional luxury ready meal, underpants & socks are ALL I buy at M&S), I queued up to pay for my "garments", and finally made it to the till.
The young man behind the counter was initially polite, and appeared efficient as he scanned the bar code and stated the price in clear tones. (£7.50 for ten: not bad). But then, and to my utter ASTONISHMENT, he then OPENED THE PACKET AND TOOK A PAIR OUT! Brazenly! With his own hands! I could only look on in dismay as he casually admitted that he was just "checking to see if they're the size on the packet!"
Like that was anybody's business: my pants. He was handling MY UNDERPANTS for God's sake!. In front of EVERYBODY. I mean, I ASK YOU.
A Statement:
Look, Mr. "Marks & Spencers" whatever your name is, leave my pants alone! I'm pleased you care about actual pant-sizes matching the packaging, but kindly not whilst I am undergoing the indignity that underpant-shopping represents. What if I'd gone for the old-man's pants this time? (And let's face it, the day will come). Do I want everyone in the queue behind me to know? Will you hold them aloft and announce to the assembled throng "Blimey! He's gone for the old man's pants, and they're the wrong size!".
No, I don't like this development at all. Basically, I just want to pay for the pants and leave. If they're the wrong size, I'll just throw them away, and then visit ANOTHER branch to buy more, and to keep doing so until I get the right size. That's the way it is with underpant-shopping.
I've probably said enough, but I just think that this is some kind of training issue. I really do.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Exit, Pursued By A Pigeon
Theatre-goers in Bristol, England, got more than they paid for during a performance of the Snow Queen.
It appears that the Hippodrome has been sub-letting the rafters to members of the local
pigeon population
and this is causing tension between punters and the potential pie-fillings above.
Note that the unfortunate Mr Poulter is bald.
Looks like they need a revival of Kes, and quick!
It appears that the Hippodrome has been sub-letting the rafters to members of the local
pigeon population
and this is causing tension between punters and the potential pie-fillings above.
Note that the unfortunate Mr Poulter is bald.
Looks like they need a revival of Kes, and quick!
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Get Your Oats Every Morning!
I was wheeling my trolley through the breakfast section whilst shopping in Sainsburys earlier today, when I noticed a sign locating the "adult cereals".
Adult? What could that mean?
Kellogg's Ladyshapes?
Dick Krispies?
And I hope that's only yoghurt on that muesli!
Can you IMAGINE what the free gift would be! I ask you!.
And all targetted towards the sort of people who like to start the day with some nice warm porridge inside them.
Disgusting!
Mind you, now I think of it, Kellogg's Corn Flakes have always had a cock on the box.
Adult? What could that mean?
Kellogg's Ladyshapes?
Dick Krispies?
And I hope that's only yoghurt on that muesli!
Can you IMAGINE what the free gift would be! I ask you!.
And all targetted towards the sort of people who like to start the day with some nice warm porridge inside them.
Disgusting!
Mind you, now I think of it, Kellogg's Corn Flakes have always had a cock on the box.
Monday, October 15, 2007
BBC: Donations To Tories "Symptom of Madness"
Well, actually that's not really what they said, but read here how the Conservative Party set out to disinherit the son of a crazed businessman, who had left his fortune to the Tories because:
Mrs Thatcher would save the world from "satanic monsters"
Shameless, as always, the Tories were relying on the "You don't have to be mad to fund the Tories, but it helps" defence.
Shameless, as always, the Tories were relying on the "You don't have to be mad to fund the Tories, but it helps" defence.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Thankyou Mr Cadman, After All These Years
On attending my first French Language class, aged eleven, the teacher asserted that "everyone of you will be able to speak French on leaving this school!" It was an idle boast, and proven to be so by the fact that no-one left our school speaking ENGLISH, let alone French.
Other idle boasts included the Maths teacher's optimism that one day we would find a need for Algebra, or the PE teacher's claim that we would eventually come to appreciate the rules of Cricket.
Yes, I am a cynic, and probably atypical of the sterling generation produced by my Secondary Modern back in the early 70s, unlike those high-achieving others who, to this day, know doubt calculate the Test Scores in French using Algebra on a daily basis. And maybe, had I spent more time listening, and a little less time sneering at my betters, then maybe I'd be an internet millionaire by now, rather than an insignificant ten-a-penny blogger that no-reads.
However, there is yet hope.
In the Guardian Quick Crossword today:
Question 9 Down "Abrasive Sheet"
The answer (which I actually knew) : "Emery Paper".
At Last! That's five years of Metalwork finally justified!
Thankyou Mr Cadman, I clearly remembered more than the fact that your fingernails were permanently ingrained with industrial grime!
Other idle boasts included the Maths teacher's optimism that one day we would find a need for Algebra, or the PE teacher's claim that we would eventually come to appreciate the rules of Cricket.
Yes, I am a cynic, and probably atypical of the sterling generation produced by my Secondary Modern back in the early 70s, unlike those high-achieving others who, to this day, know doubt calculate the Test Scores in French using Algebra on a daily basis. And maybe, had I spent more time listening, and a little less time sneering at my betters, then maybe I'd be an internet millionaire by now, rather than an insignificant ten-a-penny blogger that no-reads.
However, there is yet hope.
In the Guardian Quick Crossword today:
Question 9 Down "Abrasive Sheet"
The answer (which I actually knew) : "Emery Paper".
At Last! That's five years of Metalwork finally justified!
Thankyou Mr Cadman, I clearly remembered more than the fact that your fingernails were permanently ingrained with industrial grime!
Evening Standard: BBC Boss Gags Stars
I'm glad to see that the apparently well-endowed Head of Light Entertainment still insists on the casting couch, regardless of reputation.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Put On Your Bowler: Let's Hit The Shops!
Back at the tail-end of the Thatcher era, an associate opined that "there is no democracy anymore, just The Market".
He went on to make a lot of money in Marketing, and although I still believe that he was wrong, I often remember this remark when observing the grip that unrestricted capitalism has taken upon the world, particularly in territories which had previous been denied it.
Northern Ireland had never been denied capitalism, but they had it hard, what with all that bombing and all. However, check out what they get up to these days as the people of Antrim go shopping: with a vengeance!
(Mind you, if you want opening-night mob-rule, no-one does it world-wide like IKEA: click on the tabs HERE to see how the Swedish retailers have turned it into an artform)
He went on to make a lot of money in Marketing, and although I still believe that he was wrong, I often remember this remark when observing the grip that unrestricted capitalism has taken upon the world, particularly in territories which had previous been denied it.
Northern Ireland had never been denied capitalism, but they had it hard, what with all that bombing and all. However, check out what they get up to these days as the people of Antrim go shopping: with a vengeance!
(Mind you, if you want opening-night mob-rule, no-one does it world-wide like IKEA: click on the tabs HERE to see how the Swedish retailers have turned it into an artform)
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Mortgages: "The House of Horror" Option
However many times you tell them, there's always someone who signs off the copy without proof-reading it as instructed.
Either that, or Mortgage Advice UK contract out their debt-recovery to The Other Side.
Check the last sentence of Cons where it claims:
"Your home may be possessed if you do not keep up repayments on your mortgage"
Either that, or Mortgage Advice UK contract out their debt-recovery to The Other Side.
Check the last sentence of Cons where it claims:
Alderman Cripples Tomato Lady
Just when you thought that the situation in Northern Ireland had improved, then THIS had to happen.
Surely "Tomato Lady Vaulting" has to be a considered cruel and unusual punishment, even by Ulster standards!
(I'm not sure as to which side the Mayor dresses, but would he have attacked her if she'd been dressed as an orange?)
Surely "Tomato Lady Vaulting" has to be a considered cruel and unusual punishment, even by Ulster standards!
(I'm not sure as to which side the Mayor dresses, but would he have attacked her if she'd been dressed as an orange?)
New Terror Threat: Thai Food Mary
The War on Terror took an ugly turn this week, as the streets of London's Soho were evacuated as the forces of good were sent in to investigate a mystery smell.
It transpires that those little yellow perishers at the Thai Cottage were plotting to concoct a "burned chilli dip", although our sources have yet to unveil the level of harm intended, or just how the evil-doers had planned to deploy this "condiment".
You thought smuggling water onto a plane at Heathrow was depraved: imagine what this could do within the confined space of an innocent airliner.
Be vigilant, and don't pay the "service charge" unless you know the proceeds will be distributed amongst the staff.
It transpires that those little yellow perishers at the Thai Cottage were plotting to concoct a "burned chilli dip", although our sources have yet to unveil the level of harm intended, or just how the evil-doers had planned to deploy this "condiment".
You thought smuggling water onto a plane at Heathrow was depraved: imagine what this could do within the confined space of an innocent airliner.
Be vigilant, and don't pay the "service charge" unless you know the proceeds will be distributed amongst the staff.
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