Blind Man's Bluff

As regular listeners know, I am not an angry man.

However, there are certain circumstances when I am driven to feeling peeved.

Yesterday evening, after a long frustrating day on my way home from work, and having waited four minutes, a train EVENTUALLY arrived, and fortunately a sufficient number of passengers alighted the carriage to provide a choice of seating.

One of those leaving the train was a tall skinny young blind man with a Hoxton Muff, white wayfarer shades and stupid jeans. Like most young men of his age he looked like an idiot, but at least with the visual impairment there were extenuating circumstances.

As I boarded the train, I was looking at the choice of seats when I heard the sartorially challenged blind man on the platform ask "is there a member of staff available?". I turned and noticed that he was being ignored as he asked for a second time.

As the doors bleeped in advance of shutting, I sighed a resigned sigh, stepped back off the train and asked if I could help.

"Yes," he replied, "Can you fetch a member of staff?"

I admit, I felt perfectly qualified to steer the unsighted tramp-boy to the exit, but I dutifully agreed to seek out assistance, and set of on my task.

There was no-one available on that platform, or the other, so I scaled the escalator to the main concourse where the staff like to hang out by the gates. No-one.

I looked across to the new office, where they live. SHUT DOWN! And they've only just OPENED IT!

I swiped myself through the gates and walked around the ticket hall where I finally found the one member of staff working during the rush hour at Kings Cross.

As expected, he was completely indifferent, but at least mumbled into an intercom in response. Whether he was talking to anyone was not my business, and I swiped myself back in.

After berating some tourists for standing on the left of the descending escalator, I eventually made my way back to the platform to inform my ward that help was on its way.

Nowhere to be seen! The pikey little chav had FUCKED OFF out of it! GONE! He didn't even leave a message with the hordes now awaiting the next train, with whom I would now have to compete for my rightful seat!

No doubt some fat ugly tart with a husky voice exploited his impairment and lured him away on a promise, which is frankly unethical and the sort of thing that should be outlawed. They were probably standing on the left of some other escalator at the very moment that I discovered the treachery!

I hereby vow that they haven't heard the end of this!

In Drogba We Trust

Yesterday I was intending to link to this article by Richard Williams in the Guardian, summing up much of what is wrong with the over-blown status of our under-performing Premier League performers. There is a trend, started in France, of reigning in the attitude displayed by the aristocracy of the modern game, starting with the banning of headphones when on club business:

"But in England as much as in France, those headphones are a signal of the increasing distance between the players and the people who, through match tickets and satellite TV subscriptions, pay their grotesquely inflated salaries."

Having looked at the article online, I was drawn to the imbecilic comments made by the readers, in FAVOUR of the players. Nothing unusual there, but it did indicate that Rupert Murdoch's faithful have bought into the programme hook line and sinker.

They have seen the adverts, and our new icons are beyond fault, because the adverts say so, and the game itself is a mere sideshow to the dream being sold.

I wanted to write an enormous tract using phrases like "false conciousness" and "Stockholm Syndrome", but I lack the time.

Behind The Green Door

On walking to the tube this morning, I was hailed across the street by an unkempt working man in a dirty white van. He egressed from his vehicle and asked;

"Is this the only Cumberland Road around here?"*

"Yes" I replied, confidently, although unsure if this was true, as we had not defined the terms of the discussion, particularly in regard to the volume of area regarded within the term "around here".

On hearing this he confided: "I can't find a number three".**

I looked at the house numbers, which were consecutive along the one side of the road. He was parked outside number one, which was next to number two. Number two sat next to an unnumbered house, which sat between number two and number four. Number four was next to number five. There was a clear pattern emerging.

"Number three is the green one!" I deduced, with a Holmesian authority, and pointed at the green house between number two and number four.

The fellow looked at me, looked at the green house, and back at me again. He clearly believed me, but he couldn't quite figure out how I could tell with so little available information.

The words arse and elbow came to mind.


Note: what he actually said was:

*"Ziss sonly Cumbland Row 'rand 'ere?"

**"Ah carn finda numba free!"

"My Neighbour's Girl Is Good At Art!"

Long before clip art deluded computer users into thinking they were creative, there was "talented relative" art.

You know; "don't spend all that money on a commercial artist; our Eileen can do that for a fraction of the price!"

The cheaper press, and budget company brochures tended to sport the poorly executed, and suspiciously remedial depictions that could only feature on Tony Hart's wall if they were doing a mental health special.

Yet here we are in the brave new improved and informed future, yet it still raises its mediocre head. This monstrosity appeared online, for an insurance company that certainly isn't wasting your premium on advertising. (I think the message is; pay up and we'll keep this thing away!)

I'm not a fascist, but there should be a law against this sort of thing. It's the Britain's Got Talent approach to design, and it's wrong.

Eurostar Tea

So you've had a lovely time and you're on your way home, and you fancy a nice cup of tea.

This is EXACTLY what you get on Eurostar for £1.80.

Half a cup.

I have not spilt any, or drunk some, this is ALL you get.

Not only that, but THEY WONT EVEN PUT THE TEA BAG IN FOR YOU!!!

£1.80, you get handed half a cup of hot water and a tea bag!

You have to PUT THE TEA BAG IN YOURSELF!!!

£1.80!

PARIS

Voltaire















Two Chairs















Anyone's Guess

In Brief

Off to Gay Paris (not that there's anything wrong with that).

In short Toy Story 3 v. good, as is the BBC's Sherlock Holmes with Benedict Cumberbatch.

Sky

Lord Nelson SE1 0LR

Yes, it looks like every council estate pub* you've ever driven past. It is in fact a FANTASTIC pub within walking distance of the Old Vic. Trash sixties kitsch, with calypso music and excellent burgers. Barmaid is VERY easy on the eye too. I'm going back, and often.


*Back in the 70s, our nearest rough council estate pub was the Double Six, where I did occasionally visit, but only with locals (sort of native guides).

One evening I was elsewhere at gig, and was introduced by some middle class boys to an old grammar school friend of theirs from who was supplementing his living at the bank by setting himself up as a "mobile discotheque".

He was raving how he'd only just put his advert in the paper, and had already captured a gig, which was paying £5 over the odds, at a pub in Turlin Moor.

"The Double Six?" I enquired.

"Yes!" he enthused.

"Er, you do know that's where the barman had his ear bitten off?"

"Oh, they say that about all these places"

"No, but it was on the front page of the Echo. I know people who were there, the Double Six is not a pub to do a disco, that's why it pays so well; no-one else will do it!"

"No, that's just apochrypha! When you go to these places, they're never as bad as it's made out!" he responded with fantastic faith in human nature.

"I take it that you are not familiar with Turlin Moor" I asked.

"Look, you really need look at your own prejudices. This is just a class thing."

I left him to it.

Several weeks later, at another gig I met him again.

"How was the Double Six?" I enquired.

"Oh!" he reacted. "Yes, the Double Six!" as though recalling six months on a pirate ship out of Jamaica.

"I went in there at six (opening time in the 70s) and the landlord was really nice. He fetched me a pint on the house and showed me where to set up in the lounge."

So far so good, but once established, and alone in the lounge he decided to venture into the public bar to seek company, only to experience the traditional bar silencing moment, as the locals turned to glare at the stranger.

"I went to the bar, and the barman had a HUGE wadge of cotton wool taped to the side of his head!" he recounted in horror.

On realising that he faced the recently earless barman, he began to panic.

There was a seemingly harmless old fellow at the bar.

"Excuse me; am I safe in here?" he asked in his best posh lamb for the slaughter tremble.

"Yeh," replied the veteran, "just as long as you don't look at him playing darts; he'll 'ave you!"

Our naif glimpsed across the room at a Neanderthal slamming darts into a dartboard as though into a rival's face.

He concluded "I did the gig, put the kit in the car and drove away shaking!"

"The landlord keeps phoning offering more work, and I'm running out of excuses. I've told my mum to tell him I'm out!"

Bless. They were the days!

Note: The last time I was in the Double Six was August 1976, where Paul Foden, just home from London in his straight tonics and plastic sandals told us tales of "Punk Rock" and the gobbing phenomena that was the Sex Pistols.

C60 Made In England!

Yes, it's back to the analogue files.

This one looks like it should be in the footwell of a Mark III Cortina.

It even features real metal screws at the corners!

Although the text to the left suggests some John Peel show, it actually features some live gig recording from circa 1979!

There is SO much more where this came from: boxes of it!

Gravité By Renaud Hallée

Gravité from Renaud Hallée on Vimeo.

Notradamus Of The Black Lagoon!

Mein Gott: the German's secret weapon appears to have turned on them.

Yes, the Telegraph has gathered intelligence upon the Fatherland's uncannilly accurate molusc Paul the psychic octopus!

Only wrong the once!

Sweepstake Day

Yes it's the big day for my sweepstake teams!

Actually, I've never cared for either of them, but £50 is £50.

Studio 54 All Over Again

On espying this at the hospital the other day I thought "My God, they've got a DISCO!"

On investigation it was no such thing, but one simply HAD to ask!

Greenwich

And to the observatory, which is still free, before the Tories punish us again.

First: Harrison's 4th clock: the one that solved the Longitude problem (as detailed in Dava Sorbel's excellent history of that name) which allowed Britain to become the greatest naval power in the world for two hundred years, and thus build an empire etc.


























Secondly; a rather poignant comment amongst otherwise dross:

Capello To Discuss Future With FA

Apparently, England's Italian supremo is sceptical about the pace of DNA research, believes that it's too early to write off the European Union, and is surprisingly upbeat about the introduction of flying cars by 2050.

Electric Hotel

London's biggest secret at the moment is Sadlers Wells' installation at the back of Kings Cross, where one can sit on wasteland with wireless headphones to watch Requardt & Rosenberg's magnificent installation Electric Hotel.

I went back the next night to photograph it, and was amused by the rubberneckers driving past on Goods Way, slowing down in confusion, unable to see the audience or hear the score, but witnessing what appears to be a real hotel, only with UNUSUAL BEHAVIOUR going on in it.

One such vehicle, full of working class men, paused before one of them bellowed: " That's some weird fucking shit!" before burning rubber as they sped away to avoid contamination.

I took that as an indicator of the event's validity.

Great fun, great art, and now on tour.

The Market v. Common Sense

I have long been jaded re; our Hallmark card culture where the masses are only too complicit in enriching the marketers of anything that can be sold under the guise of social celebration. Birthdays; Valentines; Halloween; Christmas; Easter; Weddings; Pregnancy; Births; Deaths; Graduation; Bank Holidays; Operations; Overthrow of Colonial Oppressors' Day; Your First Recession, whatever. There is now a card (read; sales opportunity) for any occassion, even occassions that didn't exist 30 years ago.

And it's no longer cards; it's wrapping paper; teddy bears; trinkets; t-shirts; mugs, in fact anything that you can screen-print, transfer or stitch onto.

It's not so much the ubiquity that I find so offensive, it's the unthinking obedience to the market that I can't bear.

I mention this, as I have just stood FOREVER behind a stupid woman at a checkout who took an UNFEASIBLY long-time to buy five items with a series of cards, and then tried to open a plastic bag with one hand because in her other she held a silver balloon on which was printed:

Happy Father's Dad!

It wasn't ironic, and the spelling actually didn't matter because she probably never even read it. After all, neither will the recipient, who, after feigning pleasure at the offering, will let it rest against the ceiling until whenever a female of the family will eventually tire of its presence and dispose of it.

No-one actually CARES about this stuff, because they feel nothing; but such is the devotion to the commercial pressures, nobody wants to be seen NOT doing it.

It's not as though anyone asks "Why have you wasted money on this shit? Is that all you think of me? Fuck off with your cheap gestures, get out of my house, I disown you; GO!"

No, the spelling doesn't matter because it's the shallowness of the sentiment and easy profit that counts.

And so our enemies soften us with cheap filigree, and thus weaken our defences for the day that they launch their war machines against our enfeebled race to certain victory; and thus our enslavement is completed!

Be Warned.

They Think It's All Over!

It's odd to be quoting the Radio 4's Today show's Thought for today, but earlier this week, a faith-based commentator rather succinctly linked the England fan's support for their national team with Oscar Wilde's remark about second marriages, in that both are the victory of hope over experience.

Having witnessed last night's debacle v. Algeria, I think is safe for the England team to confirm their status as the Newcastle United of international football.

Language!

I once worked at a reprographics site of corporate photocopier provider (whose name is the generic name for a photocopier), and worked with the most sweary man I ever worked with.

He was one of those fuckin' geazers who couldn't fuckin' get through a fuckin' sentence without fuckin' swearing.

One night, he came indoors after having a fag and, commenting on a recent delivery of printing consumables, announced: "There's a CUNTIN' load of paper aht there!"

Now that is professional swearing at its best.

I thought of him tonight when I heard an Irish cussing enthusiast at the bar regale his friends with tales of his recent trip to the far east, featuring "that fockin' cockroach in fockin' Koi Sumui!"

Fucking Ada, what a cocksucker!

Fuhrer Is Guru Shock

It's an interesting lunchtime. They're finally sorting out the lavatory blockage, and the useless plumber with the ponytail has managed to make the entire building stink like a seaside gents: with hilarious consequences!

Meanwhile, the BBC reports on the growing popularity of Herr Hitler amongst Indian youth.

Includes the quote:

"The killing of Jews was not good, but everybody has a positive and negative side."

Market v. Democracy

I appreciate that this post is 26 years late, and the arguments have been had, but I think that after all this time we should be able to do something about it.

I'm not a fan of advertising or the commercialisation of society, and I'm reluctant to support any campaign, but I am willling to be amused by ambush marketing, and particularly in the context of our brave new world's willingness to allow Mammon to buy our sporting jamborees.

The Bavaria brewery's low-budget / high impact lager ladies campaign has to be applauded if it highlights the vulgarity of sovereign nations allowing themselves to be bullied by the global corps into legislating on their behalf. Legislating!

According to the Daily Telegraph:

South Africa introduced legislation to provide protection for Fifa's sponsors, who have paid an estimated $1.2billion to be associated with the tournament. With sponsors providing a third of the revenue from the event protection is seen as crucial to maintaining the value of the rights. The UK has introduced similar legislation to protect the 2012 London Olympics.

To think that South African has only recently shaken off the totalitarian hand cuffs, I think it insane that they should be so keen to re-adopt them so freely.

We took our eye off the ball: We think we're fighting Big Brother, but it's Big Mac that's dictating who the dissidents are, and instructing our courts what the charges should be.

Shouldn't we be able to vote against this?

The World Turned Upside Down

I'm a tolerant man, as you know, but.

I've just been downstairs, and, on looking into the living room, witnessed the following:

To my right; an ironing basket, untouched. In ironing board, in place, with an iron in position at readiness.

To my left; my partner on the sofa watching Top Gear.

She didn't even look up.

Top Gear I ask you.

I mean.....

Top Gear!

There was football on the otherside for christs sake!

I'm come back upstairs to compose myself before taking it further.

North London Now

Somewhere
out
there,
is
a
large
black
cat
refusing
to
come
in

Dear Director General

I once worked with a young woman from New Zealand whose accent was so extreme that she actually talked out of the side of mouth, contorting her lips to the right in order to do so. You had to stand next to her to hear what she said.

I remember her solely because of the way she hated Britain. She hated everything about the mother country, but what she hated most of all, she hated the weather. And she felt that the weather was clearly the fault of the Britons.

I am reminded of this on the news that the BBC has received 545 complaints about the vuvuzela, the idiotic and insufferable novelty horn which is ruining the World Cup.

Like the weather, the vuvuzela has to be someone's fault, and who more appropriate than the BBC?

I didn't pay my licence fee to listen to a bunch of hottentots impersonating an oversubscribed moped rally!

Come to think about it, I didn't pay my licence fee!

Mary Whitehouse, where are you when we need you?

World Cup Opinion

Although I am failing to engage in the Brand-fest in South Africa, I have glimpsed from afar.

Two observations; Robert Green has received a pasting for his goalkeeping error, as expected, yet the press seem unable to comment on Gerrard's tendency to pass the ball square to the opposition just outside the England box. He's been doing it for years (and lost us the game against France in Euro2004) but such is his golden boy status, he remains untouched. He did it twice against the USA, who were mercifully unable to capitalise. That won't be the case against the real teams.

And talking of real teams. I've never been a believer in the nonsense that it's OK to scrape through ineffectually in the early rounds, as you have to save yourselves for the big games. The fact that England always scrape through and then FAIL to get further than the quarter finals proves a point.

Now watching the Germans last night: they went three nil up and put another striker on! Then they got a forth and put ANOTHER striker on.

That, gentlemen, is a statement of intent.

Sans Paroles

So we barrel out of the pub and over to the bus stop, where we have a seven minute wait for the next one, and I decide to pop into the offy for a couple of cans.

On the way in I see this, but damn it, I've forgotten my camera. I buy my cider and discuss to the resurgence of Forlan with the offy man who is pre-occupied with the France v. Uruguay. I'm on my way out, when I ask if he minds if I nab the Beaver poster.

Without taking his eyes off the game he laughs and says "Yeh"

Which leader, and which beaver is anyone's guess.

Limbo

Fun and Games from the Danes at Limbo

Now Wash Your Hands

I was at the urinal this morning, when I heard rustling, a flush, the click of a cubical door from which a chap emerged.

So far, so ordinary, but what happened next disturbed me.

At the sink, the man from trap one rolled up his sleeves, filled the sink with hot water, doused his hands in liquid soap and proceded to rigorously 'scrub up' with considerable persistance as though preparing to perform open-heart surgery on an immunity-deficient child.

I don't know what had just happened in that cubicle, and I don't want to know, but I do know that I won't be shaking HIS hand any time soon.

Disgusting

Meanwhile

The Unda Wunda!

Another week, another exhibition.

Greenwich Maritime Museum has a exhibition of Toy Boats , but the use of 'toy' is deceptive.

These are beautifully crafted works of art which a wonderfully evocative of a past era.

Notably, many of the exhibits represent some form of educational value, of how ships were built, or how they functioned. Yes, back when we MADE things rather than just bought things, we taught our children how the world worked.

But who needs that when you've got Britain's Got Talent?

The Trial, and Other Woes.

A rather Kafkaesque moment this afternoon.

Seeking a place to read a tedious document, I found an unoccupied meeting room in the old building. It's a large oak panelled chamber, with a large ovoid table and many chairs, which before the war would have been full of chain-smoking town planners plotting against the tax payers.

It is now actually a pleasantly cool space to work in relative quiet.

Ten minutes into my sojourn, a strident middle-age women with an eton crop marched in around the table and stood opposite me, where she barked out "Hate Crime!"

I was a little taken aback, until it occured to me that the room was probably booked for a meeting, and that I should leave.

As I did so, a group of retro-lesbians arrived, enquired "Hate Crime?" then looked me up and down, mentally castrating me, before brushing me aside and slamming the door behind them.

Now that hasn't happened for a long time; I felt almost nostalgic.

Surveillance: British Fauna Fights Back!

We humans may be sleepwalking into a surveillance state, but the animal kingdom is having none of it!

When would-be Stasi recruit Julie Worsley attempted to snoop on her local Badger sett, the resourceful brocks organised, and in an act of collective action, destroyed the machinery of the state in a glorious effort to free themselves from the yolk of oppression.

They then resumed their tradition way of life of steeling clothes and spreading TB to cattle.

Note: there's a fox near us who is often seen out in daylight. As a nocturnal creature, how do we know he's not sleep-walking?

Our Finest Hour?

If the Daily Telegraph web site is to be believed, Dunkirk was some kind of olfactory nightmare.

Didn't tell us about that at school!

And Take Your Paperclip With You!

A week after Microsoft is perceived to have fallen behind Apple on the stockmarket, what could be a body blow is delivered by Google which may (or may not) believe that Microsoft Windows is too flaky to trust!

We all know Windows is shit, but the functionality at those prices has always pursuaded the majority that the crap is worth putting up with.

However, this may not last, as the corporate world may be beginning to realise the long term benefits of using a professional computing solution.

Apple's dominance is based on its lead in must-have products, not on computer sales, but Google's decision may well mark a watershed in Microsoft's domination, as a trend towards more secure operating systems can only undermine the House of Gates.

Fingers crossed, Eh?

Protein Threat: Latest

Took a trip to the revamped Museum of London.

Imagine our joy to see this on display!

For those that don't know, a chap called Stanley Green toted this sign along Oxford Street for decades, handing out pamphlets estolling the virtues of abstinence in the face of proteins. For Mr Green, proteins wrought nothing but a torrent of filth.

I'm sure he'd be pleased to know that his message lives on in public, just next to a Legalise Pot banner from 1967!

Hollywood Babylon:

We've all been suspicious of Peter Pan, and I have no doubts about what HE'S up to these days; but Tinker Bell?

Look at her!

Buy this Belle a drink, and she'll let you Tinker with her alright!

Micky Flanagan

If you can, listen to Flanagan's What Chance Change? one of the funniest and most intelligent programmes currently on Radio 4

Suicide? That's Not In Your Job Description!

There's been discontent at the factory of Taiwan iPhone-maker Foxconn
where the staff have prone to a bit of suicide lately.

Apparently:

"the company has told workers to sign letters promising not to kill themselves"

What measures Foxconn plan to take against employees that renage on this agreement is not stated.

And to think that I work amongst people who think it's a bit much for the management to request that they turn up on time EVERY DAY!

The Man in the Brown Rubber Coat?

I was sifting through CVs today, including one with the claim that the candidate had once been a "Latex Foreman".

I mean, REALLY!

In Sickness and in Health, Until DEATH TO ALL HUMANS!

At a recent wedding, the not-too-happy couple were left wondering if they were actually married after a ceremony in which the vicar appeared to be so hapless that it was unsure if the nuptials were actually followed through correctly.

However, trust the Japanese to do away with any wedding day uncertainties with Robo Registrar

I suppose it alleviates the anxieties during the "and does anyone know of any impediment that would forbid this marriage? Speak now or hold thy peace!" bit of the show, as any potential interruptant would not want to risk being lasered into oblivion by the cyber-priest.

Which reminds me: Lasers are Fifty Years Old!

New Dawn; Latest

Word from the cabinet is that things are settling down, and that sterling work is being done to address the nation's pressing issues.

However, head boy, Osborne, has been complaining about the influx of other boys, and their behaviour in particular.

"This morning" he told us "some of the new boys said they had some special binoculars that could show us a vision of the New Britain"

"When I looked through them I couldn't see anything, and when I said so the others just sat there giggling like there was something funny about it. I told them they were just stupid and they all burst out laughing and ran off!"

When asked about the rings of black ink around his eyes, Osborne appeared to be perplexed, before running off towards the dormitories, cursing.

And The Winner Is....

Things are moving apace in Lord David "Dave" Cameron's new improved cabinet, but there has been some dissent from his new best friend Nick Leg.

Westminster School boy Nick, who won his place in the cabinet on a TV popularity contest, is questioning the set up.

"When I entered the TV contest, I'm sure that the prize was being Prime Minister!" said Leg. "In fact, when I was going on, I was really nervous, but the lady with the clipboard said don't worry, just go out there and tell them why you want to be Prime Minister", so that's what I did."

"Anyway, when I got to number ten, "Dave" told me that he had already been to see the Queen, and that HE was the Prime Minister because the Queen asked him already, which is really unfair because his Mum and Dad already know her, and it's unfair because I won the TV contest!"

However, it does appear that the boys have made up, and are now inseparable, although it is unknown whether they have actually become blood brothers with a rusty pen-knife or something.

Politic experts are yet able to ascertain whether any of this makes sense.

Lord Snooty & His Chums: The Parliament Years

It's taken a week, but Britain's new government has finally sat down and started work with its first cabinet meeting.

However, things got off to an unsteady start this morning, as the gathering proved to be disruptive with the two sides attempting to settle in together.

"It was the boys from the other schools that started it" said Cameron's head boy, Osborne. "They were throwing bread rolls at David's top hat, trying to knock it off, which is just bad form, and certainly not Eton rules!"

Osborne attempted to maintain order but was frustrated.

"I even asked Matron to do something about it, but she just looked at me and said "I'm the Home Secretary you twat!"which was a little uncalled for, and I'll certainly get my parents to write to the Head about her."

"The problem is" Osborne continued "people don't appreciate that Eton chaps are born to lead. It's nothing to do with the fact that our parents are very rich and well connected, it's because we're just superior. I mean, look at how well Boris is getting on in London, and he's just a blithering idiot!"

As Osborne turned to re-enter to the room, which was a riot of paper aeroplanes, it became apparent that someone had attached a "Kick Me" sign to his back.

Political experts are at a loss to explain where this will all lead.

BBC: Tories Are Evil; Fact!

According to the BBC, in a direct consequence of the the Conservative Party's coup Britain Froze Over in May!

OK, they don't quite spell it out like that, but note the dates: the last time it happened was under Tory rule in 1996.

As you know, the Shoebox is not biased, but it knows that it never happened under the thirteen years of labour!

It doesn't augur well. It'll be raining frogs next.

Election Latest

For our foreign readers, regarding our exciting new coallition government, a brief explanation may be necessary.

Basically, David Cameron, from elite boys school Eton, has pursuaded Nicholas Clegg, from elite boys school Westminster to be his Fag.

Expect High Jinks!

Nude Latest: Turkey

First it was Volcanic Ash shutting the airports, now the leisure killjoy police want to stop us enjoying the first Nude Hotel in Turkey!

Admittedly, the hirsute Turkish nude is probably not to everybody's taste but come on, loosen up!

Notorious

On the day that Britain welcomes its first Green Party member of parliament, we alos get to read about the UK's Gay Marriage to End in Murder

Apparently, the convicted man;

admitted often beating up or trying to strangle John, 35, as a "means of relieving stress".

Come on, what's wrong with a glass of wine and a massage?

Goodnight, And Goodluck

Nigeria's president has died, so meet their new leader:

Goodluck Jonathan

And in Nigerian politics, he'll need it.

Kings College

PM: Stating the Bleedin' Obvious

Yes, Mr Brown, you've got that about right.

Vote Wisely

A chilling warning from the Evening Standard, spelling out the possible consequences of voting Eton on Thursday.

The sight of Mayor Johnson cycling around London in a body-hugging "action-tunic", able to evaporate the poorer citizens with nothing more than a haughty, disdainful squint would possibly be a step too far!

Mind you, I'm not sure that dispensing preternatural gifts is actually in the Prime Minister's gift?

Or have I got the wrong sort of Superpowers?

Maybe Dave has the post-war Soviet Union in mind?

Or 16th Century Spain?

Yes, that sounds about right; Boris in a doublet and hose, sending the poor to certain death as doomed mariners vainly searching for El Dorado.

Be careful where you put your tick.

Dear Diary

Despite the damp and cold, the Shoebox has enjoyed an extended weekend.

On Friday, my partner and I visited the Quilt exhibition at the V&A.

On telling a colleague as I left work the evening before, he looked concerned and kindly suggested that, at a pre-arranged signal, he could call me, claiming a "Civil Emergency " to get me out of there.

There was, however, no need for this, as the exhibition is rather excellent. However, as one of the few males present, and walking around separated from my partner, I believe that there was an assumption amongst the women folk that I may be a little "light on my feet".

Anyway, just to balance things out, on my way home I caught Kick Ass at the cinema. Rather wonderful, in a dodgy violence-porn kind of way.

Then home to watch UP. I have been told that unlike Disney, who test everything to death, Pixar like to trust their own judgement. UP justifies this stance totally, and should be considered a surrealist masterpiece, although the fact that it is animation and Hollywood it will certainly never be given the credit it deserves.

On saturday it was Ricky Gervais' Cemetery Junction.

A nice piece of verisimiltitude, if a little unfocussed, although Gervais' ear for a good soundtrack is found to be flawless.

Sunday: Pet food run, via Garden Centre.

Monday: to the tip, where the staff were flying a kite tied to one of the bigger bins. Wonderful.

This Island Breed

As we yet endure the winter that just won't leave, I wonder just who the swimmers were that the coastguard were rescuing in Devon yesterday?

According to my research, Devon had a temperature of 10° C, (50°F), with a Northerly blowing to add the appropriate level of wind-chill to suggest that it was not a day for the beach.

Can I reassure readers that I grew up next to the English Channel, and I can reassure them that it offers a cold swim even in July/August.

Therefore, May 3rd would not be my choice to start the summer. It would not surprise me to see some of those rescued were clutching on to ice-floes.

Yes, it's the Bank Holiday mindset: it's sunny, therefore it's summer. Shorts, sunglasses, short-sleeves and hypothermia.

It's the British Way.

Last Night's Task

Have you ever tried to put a sock on a cat's tail?

It's not just more difficult than it looks, it is actually impossible, like eating more than three cream crackers without water, or watching Simon Cowell without wanting to take a brick to his face.

Basically, the cat will not comply.

Mascara On The Move: Latest

My work's intranet site is advertising the services of a

"Mobile False Eyelashes Technician"

I'm not sure what mobile false eyelashes do exactly, but I imagine that a technician would be essential to keep them under control.

Or maybe some shady character was stopped and asked what they do for a living, and they just shouted out the first four words that came into their head?

Next thing you know, someone in comms has said "that sounds exciting; let's run a feature!"

Sometimes, a sit com writes itself.

What The.......!

On reading the Guardian this morning, I turned the sports pages and did a double take.

Father Dougal McGuire playing cricket in a skirt? Well, it's the kind of thing they'd have him doing.

However, this is not the case. Apparently a lady cricketer called Claire Taylor. Not a good look.

2011: The End of an Era

Did you know that Sony still make Floppy Disks?

Well they do, but not for much longer!

Who knew that the old format had so much life in it? Who knew that anybody still had the facility to USE them?

At the Institute for Historical Research, there used to be a 5.5" disk, proudly displayed at the front of the software cabinet and entitled "Ye Olde Floppe Diske" written expertly in gothic copperplate.

Ah the old technology; these kids these days don't know they're born!

Reclaiming Adult Space

A long overdue initiative from the Science Museum: Late Openings for adults where children are BANNED.

They've even roped in one of the greatest astrophysicists of all time!

I hope this idea catches on at all museums and public spaces; hopefully to the point where "children's hours" will be squeezed into the weekends and the breeders will have to cede territory to the rest of us.

Now I can walk around the exhibits without tripping over somebody's idiot brat, and I can openly shout out "Fucking Hell, look at that Fucker! Fuck Me!" whilst pointing at the wonders of the modern age.

Yes, I like the idea of Lates very much.

History Today

I'm disappointed to say that the shaming of Orlando Figes did not totally surprise me.

It is not unusual for our more talented academics to be vain, self-serving, and subsequently bitchy to their colleagues. If you're born clever, you can end up mistaken that it makes you superior to others.

Figes, despite a successful career, a marriage and kids, has never shaken off the air of a cocky teenager who wants to show off.

And now he has to sit on the naughty step. Bad boy, naughty boy! In your basket!

UK Welcomes Pope With Suitable Distain

I was delighted that the Home Office are planning lots of japes ahead of the The Pope's Visit.

Some may say that the idea of the pontiff opening an abortion clinic, or starting a brand of eponymous condoms would be inappropriate. However, given his church's record, and their inability to fess up, I think they should be grateful for every offer they can get.

Hoorah for the Civil Service! Keep up the good work!

Look, No Hands!

You'd think that the sight of a working man setting out to better himself would bring encouragement. The notion that a common artisan should seek self improvement through book learning has long been a fundamental tenet of egalitarian thinking , and I think all decent people would agree with this.

Well, you'd think so wouldn't you? Then you need to think again!

Yes, it's the Health & Safety police with their heavy handed rules and regulations!

They've found a bus driver who likes to read, and now they want to put a stop to it.

OK, admittedly he likes to read whilst driving the bus, "steering with his elbows while holding a small book." but is that really so bad. I bet it gets really boring doing the same old route every day, and at least reading a good page turner gives you a decent excuse to ignore the passengers.

I don't think the H&S people have thought this through. I mean, what possible harm could come from it?

Crazy bureaucracy!

At Last: Time For The Caspian Sea Monster

As Europe grinds to a halt due to the flight ban, maybe we can consider an alternative from our Soviet chums back in the 1970s. Let's bring back the Ekranoplan!

Yes, it's a plane that flys JUST ABOVE THE WATER! Brill!

Meanwhile, I was surprised that our rail union comrades at the RMT haven't taken strike action in response to the volcanic ash threat on the usual "Health and Safety" grounds. However, I was reassured to hear that the French railway workers were resorting to type, and that in Europe's hour of need SNCF staff have walked out disprupting the repatriation of hundreds of thousands!

Meanwhile, at Calais Dan Snow's Dunkirk inspired publicity stunt has been stifled by the Gallic lackies. Note: this link may contain bias which does not necessarily represent the views of the Shoebox.

Vive la republique!

Dick of the Day

On exiting the platform at Belsize Park tube today, there was some delay on the steps and passengers were stalled on the steps.

Was it a young mother, struggling with a buggy? Perhaps a disbled person desperately dragging their withered, enfeebled limps up each torturous step? Or possibly even an elderly couple, out enjoying their free travel entitlement at our expense?

No, it was a dick reading a newspaper. Not even a newspaper really, it was one of the free sheets that litter the tube like some daily environmental catastrophy. So there we were waiting as some DICK took his time up the stairs whilst he read a paper he hadn't even paid for.

I was all for taking it off him, rolling it up and beating him about the head with it until he snapped out of his arseholery, apologised and got himself a job.

However, I was too busy and settled for pushing him out of the way, French style, and got on with my day.

PAH!

I'm Dead; Fly Me

You know how your grandad was always going on about how the only good German was a dead one?

Anyone who has had to endure the wonders that pass for Scouse company will know that on Merseyside they're keen on a good fat story, usually involving Liverpool and some exclusively ridiculous circumstances unknown elsewhere.

It is therefore appropriate that this story from the BBC took place at Liverpool John Lennon Airport (better known as Speke), where two German ladies have been caught in attempting to smuggle a cadaver out of the country.

Apparently:

Staff became suspicious when the women tried to check in the man, who was wearing sunglasses, for a flight to Berlin on Saturday.

No doubt security were concerned that the stiff may have been stuffed full of explosives. Fortunately the "Corpse Bombers" were apprehended in the nick of time.

Seriously though, the authorities should have at least had some sport from whole affair and let them past, just to see how they fared in getting Das Toten Fritzen onto the plane and into a seat. I imagine that the rigor mortis may have required that breaking off limbs in the execution; with hilarious consequences!

To your typewriters; your screenplay starts: NOW!

Mercury Rising

A moment of wonder tonight.

On looking west from the spare room, just after sunset I thought I saw an aircraft light, but not moving, a lone star in the early evening sky. Actually Venus, which tends to be bright.

Anyway, I fetched the binoculars (which I keep on hand just in case the lady over the way is 'displaying'*) and had a look at the bright planet. Then I notice a smaller light just to the right, also not flickering (therefore a planet). Intrigued I do a quick search to realised I've just spotted Mercury!

The heavens continue to give me a childlike thrill, and I always amazed to look at an actual planet.

*How do we know that Galileo wasn't just the local perv, who had invented the telescope for voyeuristic opportunism?

Thump Thump! "let us in Galileo, we know you're in there! We had complaints from the nuns!"

"Er, I can explain everything!"

"My God, what's this for?"

"It's , er, it's for looking at the sky!

"Eh?"

"Yeh, it's, er, it's a 'telescope', it's for looking at stars and planets and stuff, honest!"

"Oh, yeh, and what does the church think of this?"

"Oh, Bugger!"

Great Names of Sport:

Meet Charlie Sharples!

As in "Bugger Me! It's Charlie Sharples!"

Don't know if he's any good; he's a rugby player, and according to Wikipedia, he was born in Hong Kong!

Disaster Scenario? Make Mine A Large One

Nice to know that our men at London Transport have their priorities right when faced by adversity.

Avian Wang Bar Demo

Goodnight, and Sleep Tight

When I was a lad, there was a local factory, known for its low standards, that offered work to even the most unlikely candidates. In those days it was the dole, or XXXXXX (they're still in business, and have foodstuffs in a supermarket near you.)

I always thought about XXXXXX whenever I read a theatre programme, and saw The Bill listed in an actor's credits.

Even the hammiest of thesps could guaranteed work on the police soap, turning up as victims or wrong'uns, often as both in the longer careers, but for not much longer.

Call me a snob, but I'm quite proud to admit I have never seen a single episode of The Bill, and therefore won't miss it, but I do feel for those struggling actors who are now having to turn even more to historical enactment roles within our more ill-conceived themed museum exhibits around the country.

Alex Chilton

I saw Chilton at Dingwalls in 1980, and I'd never seen anyone detune a guitar before, and I thought "I'm having some of that!"

Actually, I so wanted great things from him, and was ultimately disappointed. But that's smackheads for you.

Julian Temple: Detroit

If you didn't see it, go to BBC iPlayer and watch it.

Post - Industrial American heritage being reclaimed by the wilderness. A city too expensive to demolish that it is being left to collapse as a symbol of distopia.

A city with 47% illiteracy rates. That is: a city in a first world country with 47% illiteracy.

A hopeful ending though, as residents are returning to the land and are farming the wasteland.

Awesome.

Winchester

Harry "Administration" Redknapp!

On the morning that Pompey are declared insolvent, and thus condemned to relegation and the probable plunge into the depths of the lower leagues, it is worth noting that Portsmouth, like their south coast rivals Southampton and Bournemouth, have gone under following the stewardship of Harry Redknapp.

West Ham, the other club managed by the ex used car salesman, are potentially in a similar situation.

Will Spurs survive Harry's love of a big squad with extravagant wages?

Will this recession have a second dip? Do you feel lucky?

Animals v. Humans

So the lady got killed by her captive?

The clue is in the name: KILLER Whale.

If you're going to encase an animal (that should swim hundreds of miles amongst its fellow creatures) in a tank, you have to accept that it has plenty of time to wait for the opportunity to get its own back.

Meanwhile, outside my office, I've just witnessed a blind man, guided by a dog, waiting to cross the road. A car pulled up, and to indicate that it was safe to cross the driver FLASHED HIS LIGHTS!

Maybe they teach the dogs optical semiotics at guide school?

Dark Arts Corner

Learn to make a Microsoft Voodoo Doll at ChiGarden

Once more, thanks to Curved White

Oh My God; We're All Going To DIE!

And probably at the hands of a disorientated motorist as the Sun takes it's revenge upon us puny humans.

Yes, our nearest star is about to wreak vengeance as it wakes up after a bit of a nap, and throws out a shed-load of radioactive solar flares, which will tamper with our orbiting communication satellites.

Down here on Earth, this will cause Sat Nav Chaos which will lead to anybody aged under thirty being totally unable to drive anywhere because they have no sense of direction and don't understand how to read a map.

Eco-warriors; this is our moment!

Objet Trouvé

Bold statement at Wood Green tube.

Not only does this work reduce the traditional view of the Madonna and child to an elemental state, but it goes further to present us with a representation of that child, hypertrophic with precocity, prepared to challenge us by competing with it's own mother for the available space in a boldness that is not so much oedipal, than cannibal.

My New Catchphrase

I've been trying out the use of "Is that a euphemism for something, disgusting?"

So far this has been to little effect.

However; the Republican party of American are declaring themselves to be Tea Baggers.

"Tea Bagging? Is that a euphemism for something, disgusting?"

Dirty Sarah Palin, Dirty Dirty Girl.

When In Rome

As the Paul Gascoigne tragedy slowly continues towards its inevitable alcoholic conclusion, the BBC offers us his latest arrest here

I only feature this because it contains the sentence:

In December, Gascoigne was given a fixed penalty notice for being drunk and disorderly in Newcastle

Which begs the question: Just how drunk do you have to get to be "drunk and disorderly" in Newcastle? How do they know?

Cat / Coffee Table Interface

Yes, and it's available from Here

Spotted on the too cool for its own good Curved White

Ortery Photosimile 5000

3D Photo Device £17,000

Connotations for:

a) On-Line Retail

b) Internet Porn

Motorcycle + Exploding Cigarette = Dental Work

On a slow news day one can always rely on the thread: third world; health & safety; comedy fag; and teeth, to present a fantastically usable piece of copy.

This story here at the BBC contains the phrase:

"We do not put any strange materials in the cigarettes, so we think that this is a weird case"

Orphaned? You Are Now: Praise The Lord!

What is it about distaster zones that attract fundamentalist christians?

As the native population takes to the streets in an orgy of looting whilst the world looks the other way, those evangelists fly in and round up the local kids like god-bothered child-catchers, intent in whisking them away to a life of hygienic torpor in the bible belt.

I imagine the scene on the border:

Border Guard: "Anything to declare?"

Missionaries (posing as tourists)"Er; No?"

Border Guard: "What about these 30 children?"

Missionaries: "Oh My? Where did THEY come from? They must of followed us, the little monkeys! SHOO SHOO! It's our overwhelming goodness that attracts them!"

Every distaster presents an opportunity; to some it's a free toaster, to others it's the chance to impose one's values upon the helpless. Seemingly inevitable, but both equally unpalettable.

One Of Those Art Gallery Moments

Letting Daylight In On Magic

Deep inside my cynical thick-skinned shell exists a simpler character that feeds on life's brief heart-warming moments; usually involving the animal kingdom.

When the fairy-tale wolf photo won the Wildlife Photograph of the Year award thing, I so wanted it to be true, however unlikely it looked.

Sadly it is not to be so. The cheating Spaniard used aStunt Wolf and is thus disqualified.

Mind you, anyone who has ever attempted to train a DOG to do ANYTHING will realise what a magnificent achievement this photo actually is. So hoorah for that instead!

How Great Empires Fall

Meanwhile, at the British Museum, we gain an insight into how the Aztecs declined.

Ultimately, it didn't work for Charlie Parker ; didn't work for Jim Morrison; or even Bez from Happy Mondays. What was the Mexican Boy thinking?

The Future: Flying Car Latest

I don't know how you get to be a professional future predictor, but according to the BBC there's a group of government people who get paid to do just that!

According to this Government Thinktank some lucky people will be able to cite their occupation as "space pilot"!

However, there appears to be no news about the flying car. We put a man on the moon FORTY YEARS AGO for christ sake, like; before computers and moisturiser for men were available, so what's the delay?

Apparently policemen are going to be arresting people for meteoroligical crimes.

Big deal! What's the use of that if they can't chase the climate criminals in flying cars? What a Swizz!

Vindaloo Revisited

Well, I got to midday and had to concede that I was not fit enough to stay at work, what with having this cold and all.

I therefore set the Out of Office reply and made my way home via the local curry house.

I haven't had a vindaloo for probably 25 years, since I reached a stage where I finally felt that I had proven my point, and elected to taste my food from then on.

Well, having decided to try one out in order to go nuclear on this damn cold , and being way beyond the need to show what I can do in the bad lad stakes, I can confirm that there is little point in a vindaloo APART from clearing one's ague. Why else would anyone elect to eat it?

And to think that it's what I ate EVERY time we went into the Indian.

Of course I was young and idiotic back then, and at least it was less stupid than getting a tattoo.

Or doing those stuntman japes for laughs which have probably contributed to my chronic back problem.

Got some great laughs though.

Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport

As my viewers know, the Shoebox neither approves of, nor suffers, illness.

However, once in a while one finds oneself inadvertantly dipping into the illness experience, and although irritating, it can often be interesting.

For example; I began my day yesterday with 'a bit of a temperature' and due to the adverse weather conditions, and the failure of my employer's heating systems, I fell low yesterday evening and had a night of ague.

Subsequently I lie downstairs in a bit of a sweat and fell into a hallucinatory state where I had some unusual experiences, including the belief that my being had fallen down the back of all of the appliances in the room.*

I think my atoms were confused.

Much better today though and back to work.

* Many years ago, when suffering from an allergic reaction to penicillin following surgery, and having been awake for over 36 hours due to the itching, I procured sleeping pills and expected a night of rest.

However, this was not the result.

I just became very very tired, but found sleep impossible due to the skin irritation.
As a result, I had a series of hallucinations, including one where I was an Australian stand-up comedian delivering a set in a night club.

When I recounted this experience to a friend who had recently recovered from a broken leg, he retorted: "Interesting; when I was on those odd pain-killers I thought I was Australia!"

Big Chill: Latest

I appreciate that the weather conditions out there are going to have a detrimental impact upon our infrastructure, and that there will be disruption. Ditto, the temperatures are making life difficult, and things FEEL more unpleasant, but can everybody just GROW UP.

My journey was delay twice this morning due to passengers demanding attention at Finsbury Park, and then Kings Cross. The last couple of mornings, the platforms have exhibited "ailing" passengers with their hands held to their wan brows in self-pity whilst the rest of flow around them just GETTING ON WITH IT.

Why the upsurge? Obviously, the stop-start nature of tube travel this week has delayed journeys, and for some the extra 5 minutes is all too much. I think the exacerbating factor centres upon the 'special conditions' being experienced by all of us, but for some, it's a chance to grasp at that all elusive attention.

I'm not going down the National Service route, but I do fear how our nation will fare in a war.

So why have I just wasted two minutes writing about this? I myself can't bear my irritation at the woman, who on encountering the ticket barrier at the station exit, stopped in front of me in order to TURN THE PAGE OF HER NEWSPAPER!

All I'm saying is that there should be by-laws against this kind of thing.

Postman In Hammersmith Palais

Back in the late 70s, we'd amuse ourselves in the pub by imagining the KTEL compilations of the future, and the TV advert that would ask:

"Do you remember 'Anarchy in the UK' by THE SEX PISTOLS? What about 'Love Comes in Spurts by RICHARD HELL AND THE VOIDOIDS?. How could we forget 'Orgasm Addict' by THE BUZZCOCKS?

Well, guess what?

They're all here with 20 other fantastic punk hits on one GREAT album; KTEL's great new 'Fuck Me; It's The 1970s!

Yes for only £2.99! you can remember those gob-spattered years all over again!

Remember, this record is only available by phone, and is not available in the shops!"

That the counter-culture could be imagined as mainstream in the future was so remote that such a joke was actually funny at the time. It took Post-Modernism to wipe the smile off of our spotty anti-authoritarian faces.

And just when you think that the barrel has been scraped dry, and every scintilla of our radical heritage has been appropriated by the man, the Royal Mail goes and issues stamps based upon "Great Album Covers".

Now had they chosen any of Ray Lowry's Nazi cartoons instead of his Clash cover, then THAT would impress me.

London Grocery Failure

As Jack Frost increases his savage grip upon the nation, I have to say that there is one particular issue that is being ignored by the British media.

Those that know me know that I like to start the day with a banana inside me, however, I'm concerned about the quality of the capital's supply!

Unfortunately, none of the grocers in my neighbourhood understand the need to keep their bananas indoors in the warm during the cold snap. Instead they're left out front where they cease to ripen, go green/grey and end up manky.

I haven't enjoyed a decent banana for weeks, but I haven't seen or heard a word about this in the media ANYWHERE.

Fortunately we have the internet, and the truth is now out there; so let's see some banana action!

School's Out

Spent the weekend revisiting my home neighbourhood.

The apocalyptic site above is actually my old primary school, or rather, what remains of it.

They tore down what they were allowed to tear down, but never got to build the flats intended due to the economic downturn. Subsequently, the remaining building, a listed 1867 Education Act primary school, is being neglected, no doubt with the hope that it will deteriorate and become a dangerous liability which can be demolished to make way for more profit, home-buying opportunities.

Meanwhile, I went to football to see the mighty Cherries, who are second in League Two (the old division 4). Well I say I went to see football, it actually resembled an audition for A Chorus Line. What a bunch of nancies! How that team has sustained it's elevated status so far is a mystery.

Mind you, despite the cold, and the miserable 0-2 humiliation, we received a lift in spirits towards the end. One "surprisingly overweight for a professional sportsman" member of the opposition was being substituted, giving the home crowd a little comfort in cruelty. As he wound the clock down by waddling off slowly, a wag in the crowd suggested that he "Have A Salad!". How we laughed!

Economy Latest

The disgruntled bankrupt remarked;

"We were able to see out the economic depression and believed that we were relatively strong in the face of consumer defection to internet commerce, but in the end we were totally unprepard for this year's penchant for slip-ons! Who would have thought that elastication held such appeal? God Damn Casual Wear!"

North London Tool Mystery

The population of an entire London Borough were shamefaced on having to admit that they had misplaced an essential component from the Metalwork cupboard.

The Shoebox eventually found a resident willing to speak anonymously:

"We can't find the Bastard!" he explained from his shed.

After waiting for the snickering to subside, he continued:

"That's the name of it, it's a Bastard file. Admittedly, it's a bit big for most work, but if you're going to restrict yourself to one all-purpose file, it'll do most things. However, I've argued for some time now that a half-round double-cut would prove to be far more versatile, but no-one listens to me around here."

When pressed on the impact of the missing tool, our man would only say

"The whole neighbourhood is strewn with burred edges, and there's only so much you achieve with emery cloth! One could suffer a rather nasty skin abrasion if you accidently rubbed up against an unfinished extrusion!"

Asked who lost it, our man was willing to speculate.

"I can't name him, but put it this way; the chisels always come back blunt, he never recharges the drill before returning it, and God knows how he broke the strimmer. I'm sure he's letting his wife use them; and that's strictly against regulations!"

Asked, why he didn't just buy his own tools, our man in the shed just looked confused.

"What do you mean, like private ownership? In Haringey? No, that could never be. This isn't Brent!"

Pushing it's luck, the Shoebox then asked the anonymous shed person if he had greased any nipples lately, only to be expelled with some force.

Blue Moon

That is: two full moons in the same month, 13 in one year.

Not another until 2018.