Claim: Aspirin Cures Bowel Cancer

However, scientists are not forthcoming how the aspirin should be "delivered", but I suspect the soluble kind may be the best bet!

Claim: Oral Sex Cause Throat Cancer

GULP!

Sorry

I haven't been bothered lately.

I think I've probably said everything that I could possibly say.

Or otherwise I'm too late to make comment.

For example, last week I'd thought out a piece about how Chelsea, being evil, would win the quadruple of League Cup, FA Cup, European Cup and Premiership, and how this would be a manifestation of the arrival of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, which include other obscenities such as the survival of Leeds Utd.

However, I failed, and here we several days later and the tempest failed to materialise, thank Allah.
So why don't I feel jubilant?

Is it all right to join a punk rock group at 49?

Disaffected, North London

Bloc Party VIP Guy

To the balding middle-aged man on the tube tonight, with the heat rash on his receding pate, wearing his Bloc Party VIP back stage pass on his shirt so that everyone on the train could see that he had indeed been BACKSTAGE at the Bloc Party gig:
It's not cool to wear your backstage pass anywhere else than backstage, otherwise you look like a desperate attention-seeking nobody who needs the world to know that you have just been backstage at a Bloc Party gig.
(PS: wear your glasses: nobody wants to see your eyes rolling around in your head like some kind of one armed bandit)

Incidently, having spent the evening with a Colombian friend who observed that, in London "where I live, the people, they care more about their dogs and their alcohol than their children, or anything!" (to which I replied "welcome to England!").

Subsequently, the ride on the tube home was seen through fresh eyes. The post-pub Vomit Comet was like a contemporary Hogarth etching, crawling with inebriates, geezer birds, sots and after-work overimbibers to confirm that we are a nation in thrawl to the brewers.

Me? Just three glasses of Rioja, thankyou very much.

Missing Bees Explained

It seems that there is an apparent disappearance of Bees world-wide, with the environmental lobby predictably blaming mobile phone technology.

If only they knew!

I know where they are. THEY'RE REGROUPING!

Oh yes, they'll be back EN MASSE, with their psycho friends the hornets and their stupid skinhead cousins the wasps.

And what are we doing about it? Softened by luxury, we're too busy getting brain-washed by our spoon-fed consumer culture to care.

Just you wait.

You'll get more honey, mummy.

Message ends.

Shed: Stop Press

OK everybody listen up!

The guys at Readers Sheds have announced National Shed Week! (Featuring a Shed of the Year Competition!!!)

The first week in July.

Also a useful link to the Shed Working website.

Mr Bean

I think it would be funnier if he was called "Mr Beans".

Too Much to Do, Too Little Time....

OK, a few things quickly before I set off for a evening out in London's famous West End.

Dirty Dentist: Only "cleaning his teeth" or URINATING IN THE SINK? You decide! HERE

Big Brother With a Microphone: Apparently, our surveilance operatives have been given PA systems to address the transgressors: HERE.
It sounds OK, but will it stop at litter louts? Who decides what anti-social is?
Are we going to hear "Oi! You! Yes YOU FATTY! What makes you think you can get away with wearing lycra?"

Keith Richards: Yes I'm a little late to this one, but apparently his dad got right up his nose. (It's actually a pretty good reason to avoid having kids).

Cheese Louise! Live Thrills!

Just in case you didn't listen to the BBC News' blanket coverage the Cheddar Vision website, here is your opportunity to watch a vintage cheese maturing.

In real time. No really.

What will those West Country boys think of next?

Blue Velvet, Brown Sauce

On entering the works canteen (or Staff Restaurant as they like to call it) I caught a glimpse of what I initially thought was entitled the "David Lynch Menu".

It was in fact the Daily Lunch Menu, but for a moment I had to brace myself.

I imagined I was about to enter a grubby, morosely lit dining room, with a defective neon bulb flickering overhead it's few occupants, whilst a pasty woman with impetigo dollops out mince and mash potatoes, accompanied a low, monotonous industrial hum.

No change there then.

Evening Standard: Mayor's Alcoholic Tube Guru

A Statement:

I have never even MET a "Tube Guru", alcoholic or otherwise, let alone had one.

In fact, I don't know what a "Tube Guru" is, and do not wish to know.

What a man gets up to in his free time is his own business, as long as it only concerns concenting adults.

Statement Ends.

Cheese Louise!

OK, I've been lazy, and have neglected the blog.

This will continue as I am off to NYC this weekend.

Meanwhile the BBC have uncovered THE WORLD'S SMELLIEST CHEESE!

It's in France, naturalment.

Elton John: Proselytizing Homosexual

Well, that is according to the Archbishop of Trinidad & Tobago, who wants the queen of pop BANNED before he can cause an outbreak of bum-banditry amongst the islanders. Here

The Archbishop is showing a level of tolerance only equalled by English football fans back in the eighties.

Elton spent many a game, sat amongst the dignitaries, whilst supporting his beloved Watford, having to endure the opposition's fans chant of :

Don't Bend Down,
When Eltons Around,
Or You'll Get A Penis Up Your Bum!
(to the tune of My Old Man).

Give Paris One More Chance

Spent a couple of days in Paris via Eurostar. First time since 1984!

I wasn't there long enough to be scientific about this, but the French appear to have improved. Everyone I dealt with was perfectly agreeable. They also seem to be on top of the dog-shit problem. I saw some, but not the excreta-extravanga that France was twenty years ago.

David Lynch Exhibition
Worth a look, although bulked out with too many scrap-pad doodles (I liked the note: "Please keep Sparky in, I've just sprayed the lawn. Back at 7.30")
The only painting of note was "Bob is looking at a world in which he cannot understand" which could hold it's own in any collection.

Also did the Pompidou Centre (partially closed), Cartier-Bresson Foundation & the Musée D'Orsay (Impressionists)

The galleries were abundantly attended by groups of lithe young women, taking time off from their studies, no doubt sent to improve their soles, whilst their male counterparts were given extra PE somewhere else to burn off surplus energy.

Meal: in Montmartre found myself a Bistro of the old-school, with tear-inducing cigarette smoke infused with the overpowering smell of cheese. Onion soup followed by Entrecote poivre & sauted spuds. Listened in as a sanguine French elder listened stoically, as his companion, an incredibly STUPID Canadian blathered stupidly all night. ie: "I'm going to have the duck. The chefs here try really hard to do it well!" And no-one was interested in the exploits of his college rowing team.

I couldn't get into the slower pace, and found the pavements obstructed with meandering pedestrians, but I can forgive them that. Definately not going to wait 23years for a return visit.

Evil Cat Tyrant Gains Domination Of Universe: Picture

Well, not actually true, but imagine what you felt when you first saw that!

I have to wake up to this at 5.00am every morning, now that "we" have agreed to allow the felines into the bedroom overnight, to avoid them beating the door down at all hours.

This one paws me awake, expecting me to get up and go downstairs with him, so that he can finish the food I laid out for the night before.

It's like sharing the house with the kind of PE teacher who, on school trips, would march into your room at dawn, rip the curtains, and shout in their dreadful Welsh accents: "come on now, it's a lovely day out there, shame to waste it when we can go for a hike before breakfast!"

Why, you ask, doesn't SHE take him downstairs in the morning. Because he knows that it's impossible to wake her, that's why!

And the sly little bastard only bites me.

Just wait until I come home with a dog!

Inland Empire: Mere Lapin Din

In anticipation of my visit to David Lynch's exhibition in Paris this week, I thought I'd take a look at Inland Empire.

No film, however good, should be a bladder-rupturing three hours long, and this ain't that good. Only of interest to the Lynch enthusiasts, this is not so much an Art-House film, but an Art-Gallery installation. It would probably work best in that context; you walk into the darkened room, stand watching for 5 minutes and walk away to look at the elephant dung pictures.

They longevity is partly due to the dialogue which features pauses that you could drive a steam train through. Had Lynch had the discipline to lop out seventy minutes of the usual filler wierdness, he may have created a great deconstructionist movie.

Having said that, Lynch does show that he knows what he's doing. Just as you begin to wane he throws in a moment of brilliance which helps get you through to the next.
(Although this was sadly lost on the guy snoring in the cinema less than an hour in; much laughs).

PS: interesting that Lynch's trope featuring the wilderness as THE OTHER has been transposed to Poland for budget purposes. This expediency actually helps the film by adding a tone of anxiety in regard to America's post-soviet uncertainty regarding the import of East-European gangsterism, allowing Lynch lean directly on Kafka.

Liked the rabbits though.

Evening Standard: Football Stars Face Death Charges

From a distance it read: Football Stars Face Depth Charges.

"Hmmm," I thought "That'll make the game more interesting!"

Top Judge Is Flashing Pervert

Apparently, this off-duty Top Judge likes to practice a little sexual assault in his spare time.

I suspect it was the wig that gave him away.

Shoot!

So the FA have decided to punish both Chelsea and Arsenal for the brawl during the Carling Cup Final, under the reasoning that neither club manage to keep control of their players.

How either club should maintain discipline amongst their teams whilst a game is in full throb was not explained; however, I think that it may be possible, and this is how:

Snipers

Yes, each side has a certified marksman in the dug-out, ready at a moments notice to take aim and fire at any player deemed 'out of control', not unlike a rogue elephant.

This would improve discipline, and do much to spice up a game that is fast becoming predictable and over-commercialised.

And does anyone really have sympathy for those 'hot-heads' who consistently act the cunt?

Shoot the fuckers. That'll give the stretcher bearers something to do!

Table Football News

Alejandro Finisterre, the creator of table football, is dead.

Interestingly, like M&Ms, table football was an invention of the Spanish Civil War.

Equally interesting, Finisterre was one of the world's first plane hijackers.