Oh, For Fuck's Sake

Want a glimpse of the future?

Forget muslim terrorism, We're celebrating China having the Olympics, whilst retro 20th Centurists Russia are INVADING their neighbours!

Forget the credit crunch, and global warming, our crazy cousins to the east are going to demonstrate their nihilistic hilarity as we all plunge into the void on their behalf.

Oh, for fuck's sake!

Overheard

I was innocently sitting at my desk, minding my own business when I overheard the following exchange:

Young Man: "Was that brown before?"

Young Woman: "Something's different, OR WRONG!"

I mean: in the workplace, REALLY!

Aussies Spurn Starbucks' Global March

There was a moment a couple of years ago when someone noticed that MacDonalds had REDUCED the amount of their junk food outlets in the UK.

Conclusions were drawn.

Well, it appears that Starbucks have met their match in Australia, where Bruce & Sheila have proven reluctant to abandon their perfectly adequate homegrown local coffee shops according to the BBC

Now all we need is a global recession. Ah! here's one right now!

Live Update: Animal Disrupts Blogger

Reluctant as I am to turn this into an "Animals Say the Stupidest Things" type of blog, production of my project management report has been disrupted by a previously unforeseen risk, in the form of HER CAT lying on my notes. And that thing scratches when disturbed.

In fact, the above image file is actually called 33333333.jpg due to the moggie's paw resting upon the keyboard.

As I write, it has fallen asleep and is now snoring.

This is why I've been held back in life. Did Kafka have this kind of problem? Insects maybe?

Silly Season

Polish Nudist Prompts Icelandic Manhunt

It's not everyday the the Icelandic authorities have to send"120 trackers" out looking for a naturist hiker at altitude.

That would be some shrinkage.

Alternative Therapist is Mass Killer

Yes, is it any surprise?

Not sure about the Archbishop George Carey look either.

Mind you, there will be someone out there arguing that he should be spared as he'd cleared up their impetigo!

Let's Laugh At Foreign Names

Stand up "Christian Knees"!
Yes, "the genuflector" is a german cyclist currently puffing his way around the Tour de France.

Cotswolds: Middle England

Hired a fast car and set about our own enviro-terrorism for the weekend.
Yes, I'm guilty as charged, but I learned to drive in Dorset, and there is nothing as exhilarating as speeding around country lanes.
Anyway, nice to see the locals of tourist hell-hole Bourton on the Water are out and about with the (hopefully stolen) marker pens.

"I Was A Desert Rat, You Know!"

We all been wondering for some time: "just how good is "Find A Grave" dot com?

Well, they've got Derek Guyler!

BEES!!! BEES!!!

As though the Bees of North America have enough to worry about with Colony Collapse Disorder, the Canadians are crashing truckloads on their highways!

Bees on the loose!

Run! Now!

Joey Barton: Commodity.

Well I'm sure everyone's relieved that misunderstood media victim Joey Barton has been allowed to earn his living unhindered.

(Just read the BBC's "see also" reference to the right of this article.)

I know the Shoebox doesn't do football any more, but it missed the opportunity to comment when the Newcastle's fun-luvving Scally was imprisoned just as the last Premier League season drew to a close.

Basically, Barton beat the shit out of someone at Christmas but his case was conveniently held back until the season closed so that Newcastle wouldn't be inconvenienced by his imprisonment during the close season. Thanks to the courts compliance, Barton will be back in a Newcastle shirt in September.

Hence his plea of guilty to the earlier thuggery charge in order to allay any delay to his lucrative return to football.

An FA spokesman explained:

"You have to remember, these boys are like Gods walking amongst us; you only have to watch the adverts to see that. And they have fantastic girlfriends and everything.

Now, that's because there's lot's of money involved. They have lot's of money, and the club's have even more, and it's just common sense that this country's legislature shouldn't be allowed to spoil that.

And they don't, because we pay lawyers —who already have loads of money of their own— to make sure the courts understand that.

Anyway, I have to go now, some disabled ingrate is complaining about John Terry's parking again."

And so the Tory press have unearthed another outrage indicating the state of national decline in the form of modern education, after a disgruntled school pupil scribbled an obscenity on an exam paper and got a mark for it!.

My favourite bit of the BBC account is:

The pupil is reported to have written "fuck off", and would have had another mark for adding an exclamation point.

What sort of moron omits to put at least three exclamation marks after FUCK OFF!!!

Portsmouth Symphonia: Sadly Missed

It annoys me when someone out there owns something and won't let it be re-released. Here is a glimpse of the marvellous Portsmouth Symphonia from the early seventies. Untrained, they released two seminal albums which have never been seen on CD, let alone iTunes. Compulsive.
Same goes for the elusive "Big Knights" which the BBC buried despite its unhinged genius.

Nighty Knight, Mugabe!

Hey guess what, the Queen has been doing some recycling.

She's taken away a knighthood from "Robert Mugabe" and polished it up for Cat Stevens fan "Salman Rushdie!"

Well done your majesty!

I Feel Your Pain.

My compadre at "Titivil" has trapped his finger in a door!

Let me tell you:

I once caught my finger in a train door.

After a black-nailed sleepless night, and a unremittant day of throbbing, I returned home to my shared house where I relayed my plight to Merial, a newly qualified doctor.

"Oh, you need to go to the hospital to get your nail pierced! "She advised, in her alluring Scottish accent * "That will release the pressure." .

But then she said "Or, I can do it for you now if you want?"

Now, two things:

a) I was in pain, and could not bear the thought of the four-hour wait in casualty with the junkies and the drunks for company.

and

b) Apart from her sultry-yet-authoritive accent, Merial was possibly the most sexual attractive woman I have ever shared a confined space with and we're talking about a very small kitchen here.

"Yes" I heard myself reply only too eagerly, and expected her to go fetch a doctor's bag, although I had never actually seen her with one, I just assumed they were issued with the when they qualified.

Imagine my dismay as she just turned and began to rummage around the adjacent kitchen drawers, searching amongst the accumulated crap until she uttered an "Aha!" and turned towards me holding aloft a paperclip!

"Right!" she enthused, "let me just get the gas on!"

At this she then seemed to sense my apparent dismay, and began to reassure me with a description of the procedure that she had in mind for my finger:

"I'm going to heat the paperclip until it's red hot, and then I'm going to burn a whole through your nail to relieve the pressure!" she purred in her seductive Caledonian brogue.

OK, I know. I should have begun running the moment she produced the paperclip. I should kept running to the nearest phone box and phoned the medical authorities, and then ran some more; but I didn't.

Why not? Like I say, I was in a confined space with the type of lubricious professional female than only James Bond gets to meet. And let's face it, she was offering the only chance of penetration I was ever likely to get to experience with her. And it wasn't just my finger that was throbbing, despite the pain.

"OK!" I stupidly agreed, and placed a trembling digit upon the worktop.
As the paperclip finally glowed a vivid orange she smiled to herself, turned, and approached with the words "Now, this is really going to hurt!"

She grabbed my finger and proceded to push the scorching metal into my fingernail, which began to emit smoke just around the time that I began to feel agonising pain, at which point I had an involuntary spasm and pulled my hand away.

"Oh no!" she cried, ambiguously "I was nearly there!" and appeared to be genuinely disappointed, possibly with my lack of manliness.

"OK," I replied, calming myself, "I'll do it!" and took the cooling paperclip from her beautifully delicate, yet masterful hands.

I reheated the clip, and then, with her leaning over beside me to get a closer view, I found myself grimacing, taking a deep breath, and after pausing for a contemplative second, pushed a burning piece of metal into my own fingernail!

The pain was indescribable, and I let out a sizable "Aaargh!" as the fiery stylus burnt its way through and pierced the blackened nail. Yet then, as the all-consuming agony rapidly accelerated, there was just as suddenly a release, not just of the trapped blood which gushed from my smouldering finger up onto the galley walls, but from the pain itself, accompanied by a shrill scream from my accomplice who threw her hands to her face as the spurt gushed outwards.

The relief was as indescribable as the pain itself. I exhaled, dropped the paperclip, and shook my heamorrhaging hand, as I eased myself back against the cupboard. Merial held her own hand to her chest and said "My! That was exciting!", before asking to inspect the wound, and volunteered to expertly bandage my traumatised limb.

How we laughed as we wiped my emissions from the tiling.

And then, that was it. Me, Merial, a kitchen, and not so black fingernail.

I don't think I got that close to her again until I came home as a stab victim, but that, dear reader, is another bag of plasma!

Oh by the way, my fingernail eventually dropped off, and took an AGE to grow again.

Merial married a balding advertising man.


*Before the invention of the India practioner, all British doctors were Scottish. I think it was the law.

Let's Laugh At Foreign Names

So England's worst manager of the modern era has landed a job at FC Twente in the Netherlands.

Good for him, but the only point of interest in this story is the name of the man who offered the job to Steve McClaren.

Stand up "Joop Munsterman"

Hello DAHLING!

Judging by the sartorial disasters on display this evening, one assumes (doesn't one) that it is Ascot Week.

Yes, I know it's just a bit of expensive fun, but the ridiculous outfit that looks so fetching on the racecourse looks frankly stupid on public transport.

But then again, when I think back to what I was wearing on public transport in 1977 I may need to keep it shut.

(Mind you, in consideration for the sweaty conditions this balmy evening, the street sweeper I saw wearing A BALACLAVA needed a slap!)

Statement Ends.

Not Exactly Blue Monday

It transpires that Manchester was first in the computer music stakes, knocking out a tune back in 1951: that's seven years before IBM.

Hear it on the BBC

Moscow Weather: Rain, Possibly Lumps of Cement

The Russian Airforce have been "seeding" clouds with bags of cement.

No, Honestly!

War On Terror: British Style

As the forces of righteousness lose yet another top secret file, relating to the enemies of the state, conspiracy theorists across the country are thrown into disarray as to how to respond.

"It's a bit difficult" replied one, who wished to remain anonymous, "because our arguments centre upon the notion of a monolithic state driven by an omnipotent bureaucratic structure which is capable of monitoring and manipulating every minute of our waking lives. Instead we get incidents like this that make it look like we're actually being governed by a bunch half-hearted tossers who couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery! And there's only so many times us conspiracy theorists can play the "that's what they WANT us to believe" caveat, and maintain eye-contact. Honestly, maintaining a conspiracy theory isn't easy with tossers like this running the country!"

Meanwhile, the government spokesman has agreed to talk to the press just as soon as he can find where he left the statement.

Put The Scissors Down Uncle Sam!

You'd think that the USAF would have enough to worry about with their pilots killing their allies but they've found time to gripe about the length of an RAF guest's "Handlebar Moustache"

Thankfully, it transpires that the USAF have no jurisdiction in the matter and our man in Afghanistan gets to keep his whiskers.

Hoorah! Let's hope he doesn't prang the old kite before tea!

Put It Away VICAR!

It can't be easy working with a colleague who pathologically feels the need to find innuendo in everything said. And this must be a particularly difficult situation to be in if you're a gay trainee priest.

However, aren't you asking for trouble if you're a gay trainee priest who delivers a talk entitled "Receive My Peace"?

At this rate he'll be cut off by the espiscopalians!

Wie Gehts!

Can I congratulate Düsseldorf on having the most wonderfully laid back airport.

They even have a lounge pianist in the middle of the concourse!

Oh, and excellent Sweinfleischballen en Barbacuesauce.

An odd day on the whole: up at 4 am, back in Blighty for 9pm. The entire time in full daylight like some kind of Lapland thing going on. Unusual disorientation.

Underground Fish Alert

OK, so I'm coming home, it's 11.30pm at Holborn, I get on the tube and it stinks of fish.

Who transports fish on the underground? In the summer?

This is Boris Johnson, I tell you: now that people can't drink on the tube, they're transporting huge quantities of fish.

To hell in a handcart.

It's the Archbishop of York!

And he's a "Daredevil!"

Animator vs Animation

Flash animation for your entertainment:















"Animator vs Animation" by Alan Becker

With thanks to Arctic Ghetto

Caring; But Unsettling

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.

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.

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.

Remember Computer Programmer Humour?

Yeh, they're still out there.

I like xkcd.

Well the one's I understand I like

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.

Wogga Wogga Plane Incident Recounted

Posh commentator describes bizarre WWII aviation feat.
Note tragic post script.

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.

Kew Minka

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?

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.

Metro: Police Used Five Bullets To Kill Lawyer

Apparently the other 250 rounds merely WOUNDED him!

Metro

Evening Standard: Police Shoot Barrister

Look, no-one likes it, but it's the only humane way to keep their numbers down.

Poole Quay Gasworks Crane

Forget David Lynch: This is Poole at it's best.

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.

Saturday Morning 3rd May 2008

Just woken up.

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!

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.

A Cold Wind Will Blow

Boris Johnson: What a fucking shambles.

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.

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!

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).

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!

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!

They Walk Among Us

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

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!"

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!

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!

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!

Starcrossed Young Love: Exclusive!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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!

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!

British Earthquake: Photo Exclusive!

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!

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.

How Could I?

OK, I'm not proud of this.

However, in my own defence, that's one ugly baby!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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?")

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!)

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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!

Sick Leave

Just when the one thinks one has escaped this season's bug, BAM!

The Shoebox will return on recovery.

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.

Pirates Beware!

Now that's what I call an officious looking Dolphin.

Wait until you see the SWAT Sharks!

"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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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

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! 

From  Pheo Guitars as seen
at Destroy All Guitars

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!

Medieval Helpdesk

Yes, it's new technology!

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.

Hello Darryl

And a big hello to all our readers in Scotlandshire in the north of England!

Guam: Party Central!

Or not.

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