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