If i only had the nerve.......

Do you ever find yourself in a situation where you wish you had the courage to say a certain thing, or act in a certain way? I do, and I can’t be the only one.

I, like most people, have and still do suffer from bouts of cowardice. Cowardice can take many forms of course, right from refusing to go "Over the top" in the trenches in the first world war (Understandable) right down to deciding not to complain about the toe nail in your carbonara.

I suppose the odd craven moment is understandable really, it’s probably a deep seated psychological response to try and save oneself from a moment of peril, but seeing as most of us in the western world are no longer under threat from marauding sabre toothed tigers in our daily lives, our cowardly bones seem to find other outlets.

We have all been there, ruing the fact that we didn’t complain to that snooty waiter in the restaurant, or wishing we had stood up for ourselves to our boss’ Tyrannical demands. So I thought I would share with you some of the things that I dream of doing, if like the cowardly lion in ‘The Wizard of Oz’…….I only had the nerve.

As I have got older, I have found myself more often than not shying away from social situations. I really don’t like them to be honest, I know it’s a bit of a flaw in my character, but it’s just the way I am. Probably the worst kind of social situation that I would have to endure, would be the awful dinner party. A buffet is not so bad because you are mobile, and it is easier to avoid certain people, but at a dinner party you are metaphorically chained and padlocked to your chair. This means that you are also stuck with whoever you are sitting next to. On the few and distant occasions I have been at a dinner party, this usually meant being Siamese twinned with ‘Justin’ who works in HR, and boy does he wanna tell you about it. Or I’ll be manacled to ‘Wayne’ who has been everywhere, done everything, seen everything and shagged everyone.

In these situations, what do I do? I sit there and suck it all up of course. In my fantasy I would have tourettes syndrome. Wouldn’t that be great eh? Pretending to have tourettes at a social gathering. I’ve got a semi lob on just thinking about it! So instead of listening to Wayne tell me all about his fantastic life, it would be more like this…….Cue wibbly wobblyness…….

Wayne – Hi, I’m Wayne.

Me - Andy.

Wayne – So, who are you here with?

Me – My wife, she is sitting over there, the lady in the purple dress.

Wayne – Oh yeah, hey, I think my fiancée has got the same dress, but her’s is a size ten, your wife’s must be a…….fourteen, right?

Me – Wanker (Twitch)

Wayne – Sorry?

Me – Forgive me, I suffer from tourettes syndrome, I can’t help myself.

Wayne – Oh right, I have never met anyone with tourettes before, how long have you had it?

Me – Your Mother sucks cocks at the back of the bingo hall on Saturday nights (Flinch)…….about fifteen years.

Wayne – Right…….it must be difficult to deal with sometimes?

Me – Yeah it’s not easy, people don’t seem to understand, you know.

Wayne – Well I do mate, don’t worry about it. So what do you do for a living?

Me – Oh I have just got a menial job really, it’s nothing special.

Wayne – I am in banking, I’m a hedge fund banker actually.

Me – Mother fucking cunt…….really, that must be interesting.

Wayne – Yeah it’s cool man, picked up my new Porsche yesterday, you know it does 176 mph, flat out.

Me – Tosser bitch cock face shit head, wow that’s amazing (Twitch, flinch, wink)

Wayne – Got a six figure bonus as well, but don’t tell anybody eh? (Laughs)

Me – Your Father is an arse fucking homo…….nice holiday for you this year then?

Wayne – Yeah, me and Debbie, did I tell you she is a model? Thought we would spend a month in Mauritius.

Me – Ooh that will be lovely…….she’s a slut, she’s a slut…….(Nod wink twitch) we are having a week off to decorate my wife’s disabled Grandmother’s flat.

Wayne – Oh you should really try and get away man, even on a limited income. A break is good for you.

Me – (Big twitch, wink wink)……. I have fucked your sister, bitch (Twitch) Thanks for the advice, I will bear it in mind.

Wayne – Well I’d better go and touch base with the little lady, she misses me ya know.

Me – Of course…….(Twitch and head butt him, wink flinch)…….sorry about that.

Wayne – (Holding nose) er…….no prob mate.

Me – It was an accident…….Your cock is tiny, bollocks mother fucker, your sister liked it up the arse, and so did your dad. Shithead, shithead, wanker wanking gayboy…….Take care.

Oh I am salivating just thinking about it!

How many times have you been in a confrontational situation? Car related strife is a very common thing. We have all had the shouting at each other, whilst doing ninety on the M6 thing, but what about those stationary car related disputes. Say something like a crowded car park on Christmas Eve. There is one space left, and you and Wayne have both gone for it. There is normally a te ta te, a bit of name calling, maybe shouting etc, but in my dreams, it would be more like this.

I would love to have a pre-prepared cassette (Yes I know that is very 1983, but I still haven’t got a cd player in the car!) with a backing track of Harry Connick Junior’s version of ‘It had to be you’ on it. I would leave a blank silent bit at the beginning, about the right sort of amount for a small car park dispute. As I realised that a row was about to start, I would press play. We would both get out of our cars, and take part in the arguing etc etc.

I would know the exact length of the silent part of the track, and a few seconds before the song was about to start, I would suddenly say…….
"Hey, lets not quarrel, this is silly. There really is no need for any of this. May I just say, that you are very attractive."
Wayne would obviously be taken aback at this rapid change of tone.
"Yes, and when your angry, your dimples are really quite cute……."
At this precise pre-planned moment, the track would burst forth from no where, and I would shimmy up to him, take his hand, gaze into his eyes, and sing…….
"It had to be you, it had to be you. I wandered around, and finally found the somebody who……."
By which time, I would imagine the parking slot would be all mine!

I have often wished I had had the courage to make up a job, when somebody asked me the number one question on the list of social event tedious conversation topics list. "So, what do you do for a living?"

Oh God I wish I had got the courage to say "I am a spy."
How would they react? Most people would be too polite to say "Oh fuck off, come on pull the other one." I would carry on with…….
"Yes, only last night I was meeting a man on a bridge in St Petersburg. He had a package for me. I can’t say what was in it, operational reasons you understand, but lets just say the whole thing was a bit hairy old boy. I knew he would have snipers posted at strategic points, but luckily I had my invisibility cloak to hand. Once I had given them the slip, I had a meet in a bar with our Russian connection Miss Tossmeov. Yes yes, I can see by the glint in your eye that you can tell that I slept with her. It’s the best way to get the information you see. Shame I had to garrote her with my dental floss/ garrote wire afterwards, but you can safely say she died a happy woman, know what I mean old chap."

Just once, I would like to phone one of the ladies that reside on the planet ‘Sky 900 channels’ For those of you with lives, that aren’t familiar with this zone, it is the place where pretty ladies (Well mostly, I have witnessed the odd moose, but hey, everyone has got to make a living) sit on beds in drafty studios, and pretend to have sex with you.

Yes you can phone up for the princely sum of £1.50 a minute and wank yourself stupid, while the lady on the screen gyrates provocatively, and pretends that you are the best lover she has ever had. Or if you are shy, you can listen to other blokes wanking, while she tells them that they are the best lover she has ever had. I tend to find myself wandering to these channels during the advert breaks.

Yes while in the intermission of an episode of ‘Mock the week’ that I have seen eleven times already on ‘Dave’ I will find myself flicking (That is not a euphemism) through the ‘Naughty channels’. I find these channels fascinating. Not just because they are full of scantily clad, and on the whole, attractive young ladies gyrating provocatively, but because Human behaviour fascinates me (And infuriates in equal measures). I have often gazed into the eyes of these young ladies, and the look that confronts you is not dissimilar to the one on the face of a lion in a cage at a zoo.......sad.

It’s genius really if you think about it though (Well apart from the exploitation i suppose). Some bloke (and it will be a bloke) has thought to himself, there is a lot of lonely sexually frustrated blokes out there, I know, I will rent a studio, fill it with some girls, and all these blokes can phone up and have phone sex with them. The difference being, that unlike ordinary phone sex lines, they can actually see the lady they are pretending to copulate with. Unfortunately the experience is sullied somewhat, by the fact that what you hear down the phone, doesn’t match up with what you see her saying on the screen, because for technical reasons, there is a delay…….apparently, cough.

A few months later he is no doubt a bloody millionaire! Anyway, I would love to phone them, and try and engage her in a conversation about the Hadron collider. It would probably go something like this…….

Tiffany – Hello sexy.

Me – Good evening.

Tiffany – So, you feelin’ horny sugar?

Me – Er, well not overly at the moment thanks.

Tiffany – Well I am sure we can change that, do you like my tits? Look I’ll sgueeze them for you…….mmm look how hard my nipples are.

Me – Yes, very pert, tell me, have you any opinion on the outcome of the experiments using the hadron collider?

Tiffany – Eh?.......now listen, we don’t do any of that kinky shit here love, you want channel 969 for that.

Me – Scribbles 969 on the back of an empty crisp packet. - No, the hadron collider, it’s a particle accelerator. They have built it under Geneva.

Tiffany – I don’t know anyfing about that, do you like my shoes? Sexy aren’t they?

Me – There are some people that think that a black hole could be created, that will swallow our planet, and the whole universe that we exist in. Rendering us all just a thing of the past.

Tiffany – Are you gonna come or what? There is a queue you know.

Me – And if we are all gone, it could be argued that we never existed in the first place, as there would be nobody left to confirm our prior existence!

Tiffany – What if I bend over for you, is that getting your motor running?

Me – And if we never existed, how could we have built the Hadron collider, that created the black hole that swallowed the universe, that we existed in where we built the Hadron collider!.......it’s certainly a paradox.

Tiffany – Looking off camera - Dave, we have got a right one ‘ere.

Dave – Have you told him about channel 969…….

I suppose if there is one thing in life that should be learnt at an early age, it's have the courage to do the things that you you want to do, if you at all can. Ok from time to time you are going to make a tit of yourself, so what, don't be like me little one's, don't live in your head, live in the world, run, explore, experience. Don't spend your time trying to relive memories, make new memories.

shall i phone Tiffany tonight and try and engage her in a conversation about the Hadron Collider.......Nah, maybe tomorrow.......

Yaka te yak.......

In the near future, I have got to go to a wedding. This involves just about everything that I find disturbing in life. Getting dressed in clothes that are a tad too small for me, and make me feel as though I am in a straight jacket, prolonged periods of time just standing around while endless photographs are taken by an overly pedantic photographer, who spends ridiculous amounts of time trying to get the bride’s flowers in exactly the right position, some form of horrifically awkward dancing, and the worst of all…….having to talk to people! This brings me nicely onto the subject of today’s lecture, communication.

Human beings seem to be the only members of the animal kingdom that have a bizarre need to communicate on a twenty-four hour basis. I have no idea why this is. Perhaps it’s because we are the only ones that have developed intricate languages, and we are basically showing off! Although I doubt there are any cats anywhere going, "Ooh look at those wordy bastards, constantly showing off with their intricate languages and stuff." And of course they are not doing that, because they haven’t got the language to do so! I am tying myself up in knots a bit here, but I am sure you catch my drift.

I am by no means an expert on animals, but from the various documentaries etc I have watched, I have never seen a pride of lions just roaring at each other for no apparent reason. Animals seem to communicate when it is necessary, which makes sense to me. It seems that they just do the basics. Hello, fuck off, fancy a shag, and although we as humans lead more complex lives than your average lion, we could take a leaf out of their book, and cut down on the bloody jibber jabber!

I don’t know what people find to talk about 24/7? You see people wandering down the street with a mobile phone seemingly welded to their ear. Blah blah tittle tattle blah blah, what the bloody hell are they talking about? I predict that in time, we will naturally evolve to being born with a blue tooth ear piece already installed. I am going to stick my neck out here, and say that I reckon that the vast majority of words spoken every day are completely needless (Those in glass houses!). There must be billions if not trillions of words uttered everyday, and I think that a good ninety-five percent of them could be left unsaid.

But we can’t do it can we? We can’t bare silence. There must never be silence on the radio, or dead air as they call it, people are reprimanded for not filling every nano second with some sort of noise. If there is a guest on a chat show, who when asked a question actually takes a few seconds to consider and compose a coherent answer, doesn’t jump in immediately with a reply, the audience starts to squirm in their seats. The interviewer’s face drains of blood, and the director has a coronary. I remember seeing Terry Wogan interview Anne Bancroft. She basically gave one word answers to his questions, and it was absolutely excruciating. Technically she was answering the questions correctly, but we don’t want that do we, we want people to elongate an answer, embellish it, exaggerate it.

Don’t get me wrong, I think language and communication are marvelous things, and listening to somebody speak who can do it well is very entertaining. It’s just that the vast majority of us are not overly good at communicating, so our answers to people’s questions end up as loooooooooong boring drivel!

There seems to be little in our lives that is more excruciatingly embarrassing than an awkward silence. We would seemingly rather have the air filled with banal blah blah, than say nothing at all. This is partly why the wedding will be a slightly traumatic experience for me. Being in a room with lots of people you don’t know doesn’t fill me with joy.

I really don’t like the first time you meet someone. That awkward thing about not knowing what to say. You’re all guarded because you don’t know them, and you don’t know what you can say, and what you probably shouldn’t. How will they react if you say this, what if they take umbrage if you say that? It’s daft really; we should all just be ourselves and say, within reason, what we bloody well like, and be done with it. If somebody doesn’t like it, tough, you probably won’t have to see them again, but it doesn’t happen does it. No, we all stand around feeling awkward and blushing.

There are many pitfalls when it comes to communicating with our fellow humans. I once witnessed a friend of mine, who in the middle of an awkward silence, asked a rotund woman "When it was due?" only to be told that "She wasn’t pregnant!" that was pretty hellish I can tell you, and there really is no way back from that. The damage is well and truly done, with no hope of repair. All you can do is blush massively, and slide away from the danger zone as quickly as possible.

I hate that thing where you are talking to someone that you barely know, and someone he knows much better drifts up, and elbows his way in. From this moment on you are out in the cold. You are out on a limb; you are reduced to nodding here and there, in some pathetic attempt to still feel part of the conversation. Inevitably the time will come when all this nodding is futile, you have been sidelined. Now comes the next awkward bit, do I just slip away, and appear rude, or make some kind of embarrassing waving gesture to indicate my departure?

One of my pet hates on the communicating/social event front, is compulsory mingling. You know those people who are hosting a party, and simply can’t bare it if everybody hasn’t spoken to everybody. Miss Marple and I were at a function once, and the only people we new were the hosts.
We had secreted ourselves into a little corner, and were quite happy thank you very much. But the hostess of the party obviously wasn’t. One second I was merrily shooting the breeze with Miss Marple, and the next I was being dragged across the room by the elbow, by the hostess from hell. She plonked us in front of a rather bemused looking couple, and told me "To talk to them!" Thanks very much I thought. Hence another awkward situation arose. What do we do now? I am not overly fussed about chatting with these strangers, and by the looks on their faces, they weren’t that bothered either. The trouble is we can’t just be honest and say "Please don’t take this personally, you don’t smell or anything, but we were having quite a nice little conversation over there, and we would quite like to carry on with it. So we won’t hang around. Cheers." So we stayed and awkwardly stumbled through a conversation about wine tasting!

A very similar thing to this, is what I call ‘Wedding reception Nazi-ism’! In the past we have been to a few weddings with the old band lot. We all new each other really well, felt comfortable, new we could say or do anything, and generally had a bloody good laugh in each others company. So the wedding bit was done, we had all milled about for seven hours, while the rather pedantic photographer spent more time than was necessary getting the brides train to lay "Just so" and now it was time for the booze and nosh up. So in we trot to the reception, and we are confronted by what I can only describe as SS wedding herders! Those bastards that steer you to your allocated table.

"Can we just sit with those people please, we know them" I would ask. Only to be told, "You vil sit ver you are told, and you vil talk to zose people."
So the next God knows how many hours were spent talking awkwardly about the price of fish with the brides Aunt, and we would all occasionally glance over our shoulders, in the vain hope of catching the eye of one of our comrades.

Of course we don’t just communicate with words apparently. No, according to psychologists and body language experts, most of the communication between human beings is subliminal. A little gesture here, a ruffle of the hair there. Most of the subliminal communicating that goes on, is apparently during courtship rituals (Where else). Over the years, theses ‘experts’ have told us about the signs to look out for. You know the stuff, if the lady is leaning towards you, or playing with her hair. Dilated pupils, mimicking your actions etc etc. I wish I had known all this fucking stuff when I was a younger, timid, scared of my own shadow, little virgin! Would have come in very handy indeed. I never have been a ‘Lady killer’ so to speak, but knowing a few of the signs would have saved me a shit load on opticians bills, and dragged me from the pit of self loathing a lot sooner too!

Having said that, I was so shy and awkward, I think I would still have been in two minds, if the lady had been lying on the bed, legs akimbo, shouting "FUCK ME NOW!" I still would have been peering through the door saying to myself "Oooh, well I don’t know if she really likes me. Damn those women, and their infernal mixed signals!"
Are you beginning to understand why I don’t like social events etc!

I suppose if I am honest, it is easy to blame everybody else, or the event, but I suppose it is my own inadequacies that are to blame. Why do I find it so hard to relax and just jabber away like most people seem to be able to do? Though I suspect I am not alone here. The older you get, and ironically the more you talk to people! The more you come to realize that you are not the only sociaphobe on the planet. Thankfully the woman who’s wedding it is, is apparently of a similar opinion to me, so there will be a buffet, and not an SS wedding herder in sight!

Pencils and socks.......

Last night as I was swinging a 300bhp rally car round a hairpin. I was suddenly confronted by a blank screen, and flashing red lights and various beeping noises from my right hand side. After the shell shock had worn off, the realisation had dawned on me…….My beloved Playstation 3 was dead.

After doing the usual nonsense of unplugging and then re-plugging all the various wires in the back, I tried it again. This is very similar to when your car breaks down. What do we do? We lift the bonnet up, and start wiggling wires. There is a very small part of us, that actually believes that this random wire wiggling will solve the problem! We even have the blind faith to ask the passenger to "Try it now" but as with Playstation 3 wire wiggling, it is futile.

There then followed the usual shameful self pitying, being short tempered with Miss Marple for having the audacity to try and help, and general "Woe is me, God hates me, what do I expect, nothing ever goes right for me." Etc etc etc. Fast forward to this morning. Even though I am desperately trying to be a grown up these days, honest I am, I was still feeling a little sorry for myself.

I wandered through the woods with Ronnie and Reggie, wondering if it is possible to buy a bazooka off of ebay. I mused about how difficult it would be to track down the CEO of SONY, and make him pay for what he had done to me. We got home and I grumpily buttered my toast, which was neither the correct colour, temperature or texture.

As I was doing this, I looked up at the TV through my scowl, and I just caught the end of an item which showed some British troops in Afghanistan. They were at a school, and they were surrounded by little kids of primary school age. These kids had never been to school before this, they had never experienced the joy of reading a book, or writing a story, due to the evil bastards the Taliban. They had forbidden the education of these children, no doubt so that they could indoctrinate them with their twisted and perverse philosophies.

A soldier gave a little boy, who must have been about five, a pencil. The little boy took the pencil, he held it in his little fingers, and twirled it around. He looked at the pencil with wonderment, and then up to the soldier that had given it too him, as if he had just given him all the Playstation 3’s in the world. I felt about two inches tall…….

Miss Marple and I are huge fans of the comedy series ‘Frasier’. We are slowly buying every series on dvd, and spend many a happy hour laughing at the goings on. Many people have said to me that they don’t like Frasier, "’Cause it’s American and therefore rubbish." Frasier may be an American production, but it is far from your average slapstick American twaddle. (That’s not fair, there have been many brilliant American comedy shows…….it’s just that ‘Friends’ taints them all for me)

Frasier is actually very English really. Both the main protagonists, Niles and Frasier, are both extremely English. Pompous, stuffy, aloof, snobbish, condescending etc. and a lot of the situations they end up finding themselves in descend into farce. (The good kind!)

But as we are on the self reflection tack, there was one episode where the sentiment stuck in my mind. I can’t remember the exact details, but as usual something or other hadn’t gone Frasier’s way. he was pacing around in his palatial apartment pontificating about this that and the other, when his much more down to earth father piped up……."Why do you have to analyze everything to death? Why can’t you just be happy with what you’ve got? You see Eddy (His dog) you know what makes him happy?.......a sock."

Frasier dismisses his father’s advice, and at the end of the episode, is sitting in a chair complaining about everything, Eddy runs out and sits on the chair opposite…….with a sock in his mouth. Frasier looked about two inches tall too!

The point to all of this? I don’t know really. I don’t really believe in God, and I am not particularly a fatalist, but just lately every time I sink into one of my "Woe is me" episodes, something from nowhere seems to slap me in the face with a reality check. Every time I feel hard done by, almost without fail something will remind me of how metaphorically rich I am.

It’s been rather a strange few weeks lately actually. People from my past have been coming out of the woodwork in spades.

First a bloke from my first band twenty years ago hunted me down on Facebook, then the drummer from America. Another old band chum who I haven’t seen for about four years, after my maybe slightly acrimonious leaving the band episode suddenly turns up on the door step. I was flicking through the channels the other night, and did a double take. A woman I used to be in band with was on ‘Come dine with me’! Then on the same day, watching the local news, a singer I once knew is on the news!.......weird.

Or is it just one big fat coincidence, I don’t know, but it makes you think sometimes. Maybe that is the purpose. LOL, I don’t know. Oh, and to top of the weirdness, the other night while waiting outside for Ronnie and Reggie to do their late night wee’s, I looked up to see the stars, and there was a set of four lights moving in a peculiar pattern. Starting off as a ball, splitting into four separate lights, spinning through 180 degrees, reforming into a ball, and so on. I even dragged Miss Marple outside to confirm I wasn’t hallucinating.

The even weirder thing, is a few days later we were outside one evening, and I jokingly said "I wonder where my friends from the sky have gone?" and it started immediately!!! No really. Haven’t seen them since. Well on that weird note, I am going to end this rather weird blog! No doubt I’ll be back to my usual self soon. Calling peoples cunts and such the like, so If I haven’t been whisked off to the planet Zargon, I’ll be back soon.

It's all rock and roll to me.......

The other day whilst flicking around the channels on Sky plus, I came across the BBC 4 channel. It’s a bit of an arty farty channel I suppose, and at the time, they were showing some clips of the great Jimi Hendrix.

I think I have mentioned a few times before that I am a bit of a musician, and up to a few years ago, spent many many years from my late teens onwards playing in bands. Even though I very much fell out of love with the gigging thing, seeing that clip of Jimi working his magic, made me a little wistful and whimsical for a while, and got me thinking about the ‘old days’.

I on the whole enjoyed my time traveling around East Anglia, and sometimes further a field, but I would be lying if I said that towards the end of my ‘career’ I was still enjoying it. Friday and Saturday nights were becoming more and more of a grind. Getting home from work, lifting what seemed to be increasingly heavier pieces of equipment in to the back of the car, and driving to some pub. Trying to set all the gear up, untangling endless lengths of wire, that were rolled up neatly when they were put away after the last gig, and generally having to deal with ‘The public’

This is the part that probably put the final nail in the coffin for me…….’the public’. Trying to set the gear up in a space no bigger than a parking slot, while at the same time some complete twat insisted on playing darts over your head…….no really! You see, primarily, one needs to a ‘people person’ to play in bands, after all, you are aiming to entertain them. I was never really cut out for that if I am honest. I would have been far happier, if we had turned up, set up in peace, locked the doors, and just played for our own amusement, while sinking a few beers. Unfortunately that is not how the world of showbiz works, and so me and it fell out.

Having said all that, some very good times, and some very amusing times were had. I don’t know why it is, but musicians being their own kind of breed, seem to find humour in the unlikeliest of places, and it seems to find them too. So even though I never reached the dizzy heights of throwing TV’s out of hotel bedroom windows, or driving Rolls Royce’s into swimming pools, I thought I would like to share with you, a few of the, what I consider to be, funniest memories of those heady days.

I hope my memories translate ok onto paper (Or screen) and it doesn’t sink into the pit of "You had to be there" I will try my damnedest to recreate the atmospheres etc, and hope you enjoy them. Also, I didn’t know weather to start with the weakest story first and build to a crescendo, or start with a bang, before the rest fizzle out due to lack of interest! I decided upon the latter.
Perhaps a little back story, a brief description of the chaps in the band etc, just to help you along.

Jim – Lead guitar. Jim is about six foot five, bald, lanky, and of erratic Irish/Liverpudlian descent. Despite this, he sounded like he was from Eton…….weird. A pretty full on kind of character, enthusiastic, blinkered, driven etc. The strangest thing about Jim, was that he could play the guitar as good as, if not technically better than Jimi Henrix himself, seriously, I am bloody hard to please in any area of life, but there were times when he blew our minds. Amazing really, seeing as the man had absolutely no natural gift for music what so ever! Technically he didn’t know a minor seventh from a flattened ninth, but somehow, on a good day he was exhilarating. Playing it behind the head and everything! Despite his fiery rock guitar playing, he more often than not wore slacks and brogues to a gig! odd. He was nick named "The swinging accountant."

Dave – Drums and vocals. When I first joined the band in 1792, Dave was about fifty-two. Heavily built (A liking for vindaloos and red wine) bald, and very Northern. Not backwards in coming forwards. Popular, charismatic, centre of attention, but a very good bloke. Viscous sense of humour, took the piss out of Jim constantly. Not the greatest drummer or singer in the world, but a real enthusiast. Many a time we have been sitting in Jim’s front room watching a video of us at a gig, and Dave would say "Christ, do I really sound like that when I sing?" while I cried with laughter behind a cushion.

Me – Keyboards/Guitar (sometimes) Harmonica and vocals. (Big head!) I was a very shy innocent twenty-one year old when I joined the band. Being the way I am (A bit of a perfectionist) Nothing was ever good enough, nothing ever sounded right, "Why aren’t they listening?" etc etc. despite all of this griping, my heart was in the right place, I just wanted us to be great.

Now here we come to a bit of a problem. The bass player. The position of bass player in our band seemed to be a transient one. Very similar to the drummer in ‘Spinal Tap’ Theirs kept dying in bizarre gardening accidents etc, ours died or left……..Ah, Spinal Tap, the second funniest film in cinematic history. If you don’t know what the funniest is, I suggest you stop reading this, and go and watch bloody ‘Friends’ or something. ……Oh don’t get me started on ‘Friends’…….no seriously, don’t…….too late. It’s bollocks isn’t it? People I knew kept rattling on about it, so I forced myself to sit and watch an episode once. I managed five minutes. The studio audience were laughing, but I genuinely didn’t understand why, it simply wasn’t funny…….I mean, at all.

And no it’s not because it’s American, all of ‘Spinal Tap were Americans, playing English characters I grant you, but never the less, American. I love Frasier, that’s American, thinking about it though; the two main characters are quintessentially English. Pompous, stuffy, snobby, aloof, and the episodes quite often end in farce, a very English humour. Anyway, I have gone off track. Back to the bass players.

Steve was the first…….he died. Alcoholism didn’t help. I remember his funeral. We were standing at the grave side, and Dave uttered one of his immortal lines. Now, the name of the band was the ‘JSJ Blues band’ the JSJ being the letters of the first names of the original members of the band.

J (Jim)
S (Steve, the dead bass player)
J (Joe, went to America, bet he liked Friends!)

So there we are standing In the rain, grey skies, weeping family, and in a break in proceedings, Dave say’s in a quite audible northern voice……."I suppose we will have to call it the JJ blues band now will we?"

There was Eddie, Mick, Malcolm, and another Dave on bass over the years, and God knows how many stand ins. Anyway, so to the story…….It’s not going to be worth it now is it! Oh well, you can say, "I suppose you had to be there," at the end can’t you.

Don’t’ ask me how, it was a long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, but we ended up playing at someone’s house party. The vast majority of the people there were young ladies, around about the age of late teens or early twenties. Bizarrely, seeing as they were relatively young, they seemed to like what we did, and their ‘leader’ tottered up to us, and asked us if we would play at her twenty first birthday party in a few weeks time. It was to be held at a rather well to do pub/restaurant in a local village. We readily agreed, and those few weeks later we turn up at the said venue.

We unloaded all the gear, and proceeded to set it up. It was quite a large room, we were setting up in front of the French windows, a health and safety no no these days I am sure! And the wood paneled walls were lined with paintings. Staff from the pub bustled around, laying the fine looking table. It looked as though it was going to be a very fine banquet indeed. The young lady who’s birthday it was, we will call her Julia, wandered up to us, and said that we didn’t need to start playing till after the meal, so would we like to have a drink at the bar, on the house. She was left coughing and spluttering in a cloud of dust, as we hot footed it to the bar. A pint in one hand, and a Lambert and Butler gold in the other, ah, that was heaven for me in those days. Now it’s a horlicks and an Ibuprofen.

The drink went down very nicely, and another round was bought. It just so happened, that this particular night I was staying at Jim’s house, so no driving for me! Jim, being a bit of a fidgeter, sidled up to Julia when she was at the bar, and asked if she was ready for us yet. She said "Oh no, we are only on the first course."

Another round, another fag, another round…….Then some friends of mine came in (I had friends in those days) And yet more drinking and frivolity ensued. The time by now must have been rolling around to about ten thirty. Jim once again sidled up to Julia, and asked if she was ready for us. "Oh no" said Julia, "We have got the speeches yet.

Once again the barman was busy. Anyway, about eleven thirtyish, Julia informed us that it was now time for the party to really start. I couldn’t tell you how many drinks I had had, but lets put it this way, we had been at the bar from seven-thirty till eleven thirty, and I hadn’t been swilling orange juice. We staggered into the room, I think I sort of bounced into the room, off of various items of furniture, and climbed behind our instruments. Now even though I was pretty smashed, I could still do it. It was like second nature somehow, sort of auto pilot.

Being a bit of a cynic, even in those days, I had been here enough times before, to know that rock bands don’t go down well at family parties. It happened time and time again, somebody would see you in a pub full of heaving sweaty bikers, all would be rockin’ and they would come up to you at the end of the gig, and say "You guysss are fucking Brillliant. Would you come and play at my wedding in a monthssss time?" I would be standing in the background shaking my head furiously, but Jim being Jim would agree anyway. It was always the same, playing ‘Roadhouse blues’ to aunt Maude was never going to work, and here we were again. Sigh.

We had done three or four songs, and each had been greeted with a less than polite smattering of applause. Some of the older folk even had tissue paper sticking out of there ears! I think even Julia was beginning to wonder if this had been one of her better ideas.

Even in my pickled and addled state, I could tell things weren’t going too well. "I know" I thought to myself, "Hit ‘em with sssssome jokessss. Yeah humour, that can’t go wrong can it?"
I was holding onto my keyboards for grim death, it stopped the swaying a little, a leaned forward. I said into the microphone "Wow, I couldn’t help but noticcce, that there are a lot of lovely looking young ladiessss here thissss evening."

Now just try and picture the scene, The whole room was in complete silence, every set of eyes were fixed upon the pissed idiot swaying around behind his keyboards. The oldies had even taken the serviettes out of their ears, to hear what piece of comedy gold was going to come out of this blokes mouth. Little children stopped skidding across the floor, aunt Maude stared in anticipation, grannies and granddads, friends and neighbours, Julia’s very well to do mummy and daddy, all the staff, and all the band behind me.

I could sense the anticipation, I could tell that this master of wit, this Goliath in the world of entertainment, had got them eating out of the palm of his hand. I thought I deserved to milk the situation somewhat, so I reiterated…….
"Yes that’s right ladies and gentlemen, there are some absolutely gorgeousss young ladies here tonight……."
And then I hit them with it, my big punch line. I leaned a little closer to the mic, and said in my deepest voice…….
"I think I’ll have a wank later!"…….

I have never ever before been deafened by such silence. A few jaws slackened, a few eyebrows raised, I can’t be sure, but I think the father was being given the kiss of life at one point, but not one sound was made, that was until I heard Dave the drummer behind me just groan……."Oh God."

I have no memory of how the rest of the evening went. I think the brain has some clever way of wiping out horrific memories. I often wonder how Julia is now. I wonder if she left university with that degree in business studies, and went on to be something big in the city. Or did her parents disown her, and she was left to turn to crack, and a life of prostitution. If you’re reading this, I’m sorry Julia, really sorry!

Kuntz

The world is full of cunts.......a simple statement, a sweeping generalisation as usual, but on the whole, fairly true. I think i would like that on my grave stone actually. "Here lies Andy Mule. The world is full of cunts." I am one line in, and i have already stumbled awkwardly over my first hurdle. The word itself.......cunt.......apparently this is just about the worst swear word there is. No doubt some of you, who haven't already slammed their laptop lids shut, are wincing, and biting their bottom lips.

Personally, i think it is a great word. No, not just because i am a sour and ignorant oaf, but because there is no other swear word that you can so readily get your teeth into. (First of, i am sure many carry onesque puns to come). A good "Fuck" is worth it's weight in gold, as is a damn fine"Bastard," but there surely is nothing quite like a good "C...U...N...T" when some twit has done you wrong.

The word starts way back in the throat, that "Ch" sound, that builds to a venomous crescendo, as it hisses at supersonic speed through your clenched front teeth. I would go as far as to say, that it is in my top five words. My favourite being 'Flapdoodle' which means to talk complete bollocks, rather apt, as this is what the vast majority of my postings are!

Females in particular seem to have trouble accepting the word. I don't really understand why to be honest, if a woman came up to me and said "cock" i would find it quite invigorating, but no, most females having heard the word, will double up in pain, cross themselves, douse themselves in holy water etc.

I have to relent somewhat, and say that i have never quite understood why a word which depicts the female reproductive organs, is used to deride someone. After all, for most heterosexual men, a ladies front bottom is the 'Holy grail', the object of our desire, our ultimate goal, so why it has been chosen to basically say that someone is an idiot, is beyond me. While i am on the subject, there are a few other terms that i can't fathom. Wanker, why is that an insult? Whenever someone aims the insult "You wanker" at me, i never know quite how to react. I normally just shrug my shoulders and say "er.......yes" It's a ridiculous insult. Seeing that the vast majority of the men in the world, have, do, or will masturbate, it's a ludicrous thing to hurl at someone. It's a bit like someone cutting you up at a roundabout, and you shouting "You eater" at them, it's meaningless. Or "you walker" ???

I like the word not for what it depicts, but purely for it's sound, and the enthusiasm with which you can verbally fling it! But, for the more faint hearted among you, i will relent. From this point thus, i will spell it kuntz.

Phonetically it sounds the same, but as it doesn't actually say the "C" word, perhaps it will be slightly more palatable. Anyway, I have gone off subject somewhat. The idea of this blog was not to discuss swear words, but to give some examples of my 'Kuntz of the week'! so here goes.

First off, the moronic twat of a police officer, that left his or her German Sheppard's in the car on a blisteringly hot day. Subsequently, the poor things died. Miss Marple and myself are dog fanatics, and i think we could both quite happily, and gleefully strangle the twat involved. What's more, he/she was a DOG HANDLER, if anyone should know.......need i say more. So to you, whoever you are, i hope the public discover your address, and dish out the relevant punishment. It's a sure thing your colleagues or the courts wont, so lets hope people power can do the job. So to you, whoever you are.....YOU ARE A KUNT.

Jordan/Katie Price/Big tittied waste of oxygen, carries on indulging in copious amounts of kuntish behaviour with gay abandon. So to her.......YOU ARE A KUNT.

Sir Fred Goodwin. Here is another one that has, and will continue to evade justice. Is it illegal to buy sniper rifles off of ebay? I know this is an old story, but fuck does it still grate with me, so Freddie boy.......YOU ARE A KUNT.

T-Mobile. Thirty pounds a month each, Miss Marple and i pay. For this exorbitant amount of money, you are supposed to provide us with a mobile phone service. Quite simply, you don't! Yes we live in the country, but we are not talking some remote region of the outback here, we are within spitting distance of a city, and a large town, but can we get a signal where we are?.......no. I have had to erect, what can only be described as a crows nest in the back garden. Only when at the top of this, can we get the faintest of signals, which will invariably cut out mid sentence. So to you lot.......YOU ARE KUNTZ.

British Telecom. Very similar reasons really. Broadband, ha ha.......Do you know, there are parts of South Korea, where 100mbs is the standard phone line speed. We invented bloody telecommunications, and what have we got, a fucking Dickensian antiquated two cans and a bit of string phone system. I also find it wonderfully ironic, that the BT website is about the slowest i have ever been on. This from a company that deals primarily in the field of telecommunications!
So to you BT.......YOU ARE KUNTZ.

The presenters and members of the public that participate in those bloody programs like 'Location location location' or 'Escape to the country' or whatever. You know the ones', some snobby couple want to up sticks, and buy a residence in the Cotswold's or something. It's not the program, or the concept of the program, it's the bloody people themselves. For a start the presenters are usually annoying. "Ya" this, and "Ya" that. "Light and airy" here, and a "Great potential" there. But worse than them are the fucking punters. They are never fucking satisfied are they?

They have just been shown round a half million pound abode, with nothing but green fields and rolling hills to interrupt their serenity, but it's not good enough is it. The grass is the wrong colour, or one of the taps in the fifty thousand pound kitchen is a little hard to turn on. They are not sure that the seventy foot dining room is going to be big enough to house their seventy-two seater dining table. Because they have got so many friends, and do so much entertaining. Aaaarghhhhhh.......F U C K O F F!.......YOU ARE ALL KUNTZ.

Next up is the man in the blue Ford Focus, on the road between Wood Walton and Alconbury on the hill last Wednesday lunchtime. I was a little late setting off back to work last Wednesday. I was following this bloke along what is a moderately bendy bit of road, and he was doing, without exaggeration, twenty-five to thirty miles per hour. So, i waited for a suitable overtaking spot, and overtook him.

Can i just say at this point, i in no way indulged in any finger gestures, or shouting of any kind what so ever. I felt like it, but i didn't. So what does he do, proceeds to sit up my arse, flash lights, weave around behind me etc etc, you have all been there.

The next straight bit of road, he flies past, engine screaming, and shouts some inaudible nonsense through the window! WHY??????? He was the one dawdling along. I would imagine that he is phallically challenged or something. Perhaps he is in dire need of female company, or perhaps it was 'National don't over take a man that still lives with his domineering mother day' .......or something! So to you.......YOU ARE A KUNT.

This could of course go on all night, and i feel that there will no doubt be many sequels, but i am going to finish tonight with this one. Lastly, me. Yes, i am a kunt. There are probably many reasons why, but i will high light this one in particular. I killed Michael Jackson. Yes you read that right, it was all my fault.

I wasn't aware of this until i read an article by the Sun's columnist Jane Moore. Now Jayne Moore (Journalist/TV personality/Celebrity/grumpy old woman/MILF etc) is someone, who's column i like. I quite often have a chuckle at her humorous, and often poignant musings, but now she has accused me of having a hand in the death of 'The king of pop'! Her whole column last week, was dedicated to Michael Jackson. She was lamenting about how there were lots of people that helped, inadvertently or otherwise, to kill off, what was a talented, but greatly floored entertainer. It was every one's fault, from his managers, to his doctors. His aides, the hangers on, the wives, the blah blah blah.

Then it came to me. Yes apparently, i nailed one of the nails into his coffin, because i had an unquenchable thirst for juicy titbits about every facet of his life. This must have of course have been a contributing factor to his increased stress levels etc, that led him to swallow copious amounts of medication etc, which led to his early demise.

I wasn't aware that flicking through a newspaper, reading the first few lines of an article about some aspect of his life or other, equalled stalkerism, with selfish murderous intent! but apparently, according to Jane, it does. So if that is the case, i would like 378 other victims to be taken into consideration. I once read a bit about Elvis, oh my God, i killed Elvis. Kurt Cobain, Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, dear God i killed them all! I read a little bit about Amy Winehouse the other day. Am i killing her as we speak? I seem to be turning into a celebrity serial killer!

Christ, i am off to hide in the cupboard under the stairs until the heat is off. You won't tell anyone where i am will you?.......

That was another week that was.......

I say I say I say. What do you call a bloke who doesn't know his arse from his elbow, has an over inflated ego, and has no need for the BT friends and family package?.......(Please fill in your own punch line/name/etc here. Thank you)

First rule of showbiz, open with a gag, close with a song. You have got the song to look forward to, ooh you lucky bastards.

So, what's been happening recently? What has caught my eye, tugged at my heart strings, or rattled my cage?

I very much liked the story about Irish people harassing Romanian immigrants in Belfast. An absolutely stunning example of double standards. Irish travellers (Or thieving, littering, anti social free loading scourge of the planet, as they are known everywhere else, except in the recycled, dolphin friendly, Ex Cambridge University, lentil eating pages of the Guardian) seem to have no problem at all landing themselves over here. Destroying everything in their wake, stealing from the local community, completely disregarding the law in every way possible, leaving our green and pleasant land looking like a shit hole, but when the shoe is on the other foot, they are up in arms arn't they!

My favourite bit of the whole sorry saga, was when Martin McGuiness, who is the minister for something or other, and who is an alleged ex member of the IRA (He was) and has been rumoured to have actually taken part in some of the murdering etc (He prob did) chirped up in defence of the Romanians. I was driving at the time and listening to Radio 4 (Fucking intellectual me guv) when i heard him say "These people are being terrorised."

I had to pull over as i was gasping for breath. A quite outstanding display of 'pot and kettle' The words "That's rich" couldn't find their way to my lips quick enough. A memorising display of irony.
I for one, will not stand for any disrespect aimed at James T Kirk's misunderstood nemesis.

Moving on.

The house of commons has got a new speaker.......whoopee do shit.

Jordan (or Katy Price as she now likes to be called, since she has stopped being a thick, self centered, balloon titted ego maniac) continues to be all of the above. It's just now she has gone solo, instead of being one half (wit) of a double act.

This hot weather is doing my head in. I have to admit to spending the entirety of the winter months moaning about the cold, the grey skies and the drizzle, and then once we hit June, i am a sweating, melting wreck. I just don't do heat.

I suppose being half a stone overweight doesn't help, but i find the most affected area is my gonads. As we all know from our science lessons, things in general swell when hot. This means that i have to adopt a mild bandiness in the severest of temperatures. I try my best to disguise my bandy gate, but i don't think i am fooling anyone.

I am thinking of investing in some kilts. I can't wait to feel the breeze caressing my testicles, oh to feel them swaying gently will be sheer bliss. It is also a great way of pursuing my new hobby of exposing myself to single mothers on public transport! "It's not my fault your honour, it was a gust of wind."

The subject of the wearing of jeans at work has reared up again. The wearing of jeans at work has been forbidden. Well about bloomin' time I say. I welcome this directive. I must admit in the past, i have had a certain amount of hostility to what i once thought was a draconian, and ill conceived notion, but thanks to Father time, and a management style that is second to none, i have seen the error of my ways.

How could i have been so short sighted? Quite frankly, i don't mind admitting that i feel deeply ashamed. Ashamed of my denim addiction, ashamed of my insolence, ashamed of my blatant and disgraceful disregard for those that know better than me.

I can see now, that i have spent years that cannot be regained, wearing the filth that is denim. I will go as far as to say, that this is tantamount to self abuse. Yes ladies and gentleman, i am going to get this off of my chest, no matter how ugly it may be, no matter how hard it is going to be for those close to me to accept. Here goes.......I have been abusing myself for years.

My God that feels better. That lung full of air that i just inhaled is the sweetest lung full of oxygen that i have experienced for years. I feel clean, sanitised, chaste, i am a new man. These rather fetching beige slacks that i am wearing as i type this, feel damn good next to my skin i can tell you.

So can i just say from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Thank you to all of you (and you know who you are, you unsung hero's) that have saved me from myself. These tears i shed, are tears of joy, tears of relief, tears of gratitude. God bless you.

I think my favourite amusing/irritating experience of the past week, has to be this.

I called into The Co-op on the way home from work the other evening after work. I had to pick up a few provisions, and so parked the car and entered the shop. Now partly because i was in a bit of a hurry, and partly because i am a middle aged, absent minded old twat, who will no doubt soon be being pushed in a wheelchair rapidly towards Switzerland, on a one way trip of a lifetime, I forgot to take my sunglasses off.

As i am sure i have mentioned before, i wear glasses, and so my sunglasses are prescription one's, and so necessary for seeing. I couldn't be arsed to turn tail and swap them, so i carried on wandering up and down the aisles.

Can i just state here and now for the record, i was in no way trying to be cool, pretentious, hip, rockstarish at all, it was purely forgetfulness, and idleness.

I did briefly consider pretending i was blind, so as not to court any unfavourable bitchy comments, or tutting, or "Who does he think he is, wearing sunglasses indoors - wanker." type comments, but i thought to hell with it.

I was meandering down the frozen veg aisle, when the inevitable happened. I wasn't paying any attention to the people walking towards, and then passed me, all i heard was something along the lines of "Tut, i can't stand pretentious twats that wear sunglasses indoors."

I spun round, preparing the tirade of abuse that i was going doll out, but i was stunned into silence. My jaw hung slack, as i gazed at my verbal assailant. The, what must have been sixteen or seventeen year old youth, that had aimed the word "pretentious" at me, was wearing a FEZ!.......Yes that's right, a Tommy Cooperesque, one hundred percent fucking FEZ!

Sigh.......

Bollocks, i am too exhausted for the song, sing it yerself.......

Mount Sinai, Tuesday afternoon, about tea time.......

The other day whilst driving home from work to see Ronnie and Reggie at lunchtime, I was listening to the Jeremy Vine show. This is a show that can very often get me hot under the collar, and it was the inspiration for today’s lecture.

It was a story about a bloke, we will call him Dave, who was a born again Christian. He was at work on night shift, and he and a colleague were sitting having a cup of tea, and talking about this and that. She was aware that he was a born again Christian, and the subject inevitably got around to all things religious. As part of this discussion, he announced that he disagreed with homosexuality, because it was against the word of God blah blah blah. The next morning, she promptly went to her bosses and complained that he had made derogatory remarks about homosexuals. The company suspended him, pending an enquiry.

First things first, having the opinion that homosexuality is intrinsically wrong, and ungodly is of course extremely old fashioned, bigoted, ignorant, and quite frankly bloody pathetic. On the other side of the coin, why was the bloody woman making such a big deal about it? she should have taken it with a pinch of salt and called him a prat or something, and lastly, their employer undoubtedly over reacted somewhat. Obviously shit scared that if they didn’t follow the politically correct procedures, blah blah blah and all that.

All that was needed, was a “Dave, in future for the sake of peace and harmony at work, it might be an idea if you kept your rather antiquainted thoughts to yourself, ok.”

So, which part of the above am I going to single out for scrutiny? Why religion of course! Mainly because, even though I think the reactions of the woman and the employer were heavy handed, and overly politically correct etc, born again Christians get on my nerves more! (They are on a par with back packers. Yes I have an irrational hatred of back packers…….I know, I know)

Obviously religion is a huge, and some may say dangerous subject to tackle. There are all sorts of historical facts and figures that one ought to get right. So, let me just put your mind at rest straight away. Let me just assure you, that this posting will be produced with the usual complete lack of fore thought, planning and research as usual. There will undoubtedly be huge sweeping generalizations, and copious amounts of stereotyping! So let the games begin…….

So, religion, Christ where do you start? Well start with what you know I suppose.

Christianity

Two thousand odd years ago, the bible tells us that God impregnated a woman called Mary with his son. He didn’t actually get down off of his cloud or whatever, and come down to do the business, no, he did it remotely. (Three lines in, and it already sounds ridiculous doesn’t it?) Her fella Joseph seemed to readily accept this, and off they went to have the baby in a stable. Three blokes on camels followed a star (An early version of sat nav one presumes) and turned up at the stable baring gifts. The baby Jesus was born in a manger, and school children made up songs about Shepard’s washing their socks etc.

Anyway, a bit more blah blah blah, and he basically spent the next thirty odd years wandering around telling everyone that he was the son of God, and that he could perform miracles etc. Two thousand years later, and with the benefit of science and medicine, he would be known as a schizophrenic with a touch or narcissism thrown in, who had an unhealthy interest in magic tricks. Or to put it another way…….

Son of God + 2000 years = nutter.

It just shows you how times have changed, two thousand years ago, Jesus is wandering around telling everyone he is the son of God. His legacy has lasted for two thousand years, he is probably the most famous bloke in the world, People have died for him, fought wars over him, and worshipped him.

Fast forward two thousand years, David Ike tries the same ruse, and gets nothing but a load of shit for his efforts. Not fair is it? Bless him. That isn’t to say that Jesus had an easy time of it either. No, he got quite a few people's backs up. He apparently used to run around tipping over tables and spouting his weird ideas. Or to put it another way…….

Son of god trying to enlighten the masses with his offbeat meanderings + 2000 years = terrorist.

Anyway, he started really getting on peoples tits, and eventually the Romans, along with some Jewish toadying collaborators, crucified him. A particularly nasty way to die. You would have thought being the son of God and all that, he would have been able to call in the big guns, but it seems God was out that afternoon. Tut, bloody typical. It is said that while on the cross, Jesus looked down at the people that had perpetrated such brutality upon him, and uttered the words “Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.” I bet God was a bit rueful when he got home that evening, and found that message on his answer phone. Yes, that will teach him to go off swanning around for the afternoon.

For years the mainstay of Christianity was Catholicism. This was the method by which one worshiped God, and a general guide line to how one should behave etc. Now Catholicism came from Rome, i.e. the Roman Catholics. This is something that I have never understood. I thought it was the Romans that strung him up, are we to believe that some years later they had a change of heart, and decided he was right after all? Before the Romans, how can I put it, "switched energy provider," they had a very much different method of worship. They had Gods for this, and Gods for that. I like this idea, instead of lumping all your eggs in one basket; you could have loads of Gods. I would have a curry God, a reality TV show God (oh we have already, Lord Cowell) a wanking God, it would be brilliant, but no, they threw all that away, and changed to just boring old God God. What a shame.

All was trundling along quite nicely, until an upstart called Henry the VIII came along. Now one of the Catholic rules, was that once you had got married, that was it, there was no changing your mind. Well Henry wasn’t happy about this one little bit, no sir ree bob. He had got married, and decided she wasn’t the girl for him, but what was he going to do? He couldn’t trade her in for a new one, the Catholics wouldn’t let him. So he thought “Bollocks, I’ll make my own religion up, where I can trade in my old wives as many times as I bloody well like.” And so The Church of England was born.

To be honest, it wasn’t a whole lot different to the old Catholic lot. It wasn’t what you would call a complete re-think. He hadn’t gone back to the drawing board, Basically it was the same, but you could trade your old wife in, and you were allowed to wank.

And that’s just about it for Christianity. Over the years certain groups have branched off, and created slightly different versions of the same thing. For example there are the Amish. Same God and everything, except they don’t have Sky Plus. Then there are the Mormons. Again same God, but they like forming popular beat combos. The Quakers don’t know much about these; think they are heavily into porridge.

Islam

Just bare with me while I adorn my bulletproof vest.......there, that's better. Phew, er, well, basically this lot need to lighten up a little. That may sound harsh, but lets be honest, brutally may be, but here goes.......when was the last time you saw somebody from Pakistan have a bloody good belly laugh.......eh?

Yes these guys do seem to take themselves and everything all very seriously. Some history.

Muslims worship God, but do not acknowledge Christ. They have a prophet called Mohamed. I of course thus far have been very unfair in the name of a cheap laugh, but Islam is on the whole a pretty peaceful religion. They worship five times a day, respect their neighbours etc, and are generally good people. We will over look the disgraceful chauvinistic treatment of women for now (I am in enough trouble as it is) and move on.

Unfortunately, the religion has been hijacked by fundamentalists, and is now seen around the world as another name for terrorism, sad. Yes some Muslims have read the Koran, put two and two together, and come up with four thousand, seven hundred and twenty-nine! It's a bit like me reading the 'Windows Vista user's guide', and coming to the conclusion that all apple mac users should be exterminated! Calm down guys, there is room for all operating systems.......relax.

The fundamentalist side of the religion is pretty farcical though. Young disciples are told, that if they are martyred in the name of Allah, they will arrive in paradise, and be tended to by seventy-two virgins! Really? I am truly amazed, that even with the eye watering amount of brain washing these poor souls are subjected to, not one of them has, just for a second, looked at their commander and thought "Hang on a minute, If it's so bloody brilliant, why am I going, and not you?"

Muslims are not allowed to partake in alcohol or tobacco (Maybe something to do with the lack of humour in general) but this doesn't seem to trouble Mr Khan down our local wonderful curry house!

Judaism

You say tomarrrto, I say tomaaaato, you say patarrrrto, I say potaaato, tomarrrto, tomaaaato, patarrrrto, pataaato, let's blow each other up!

This pretty much sums up the relationship between the Jews, and the Palestinians. Sigh.......

The Jewish religion has always confused me. The Romans called Christ 'The king of the Jews' and yet they think he was an impostor. Was this an attempt at Roman sarcasm? I don't know. It's something like this i think.......

The Jews seemed to be scattered all over the globe. Then in 1948 it was decided that the Jews should have their own homeland. Fair enoughski you might think, but the bigwigs that decide these things, put the cat among the pigeons by creating Israel smack bang in the middle of the 'Holy Lands' Fair enough I suppose, but it didn't really help matters did it? If they had put them somewhere just outside Milton keynes, maybe a lot of bloodshed could have been spared.

The Palestinians (Quite justly really) got the hump. It's a bit like somebody barging through your front door, and declaring that your spare bedroom is now theirs! You would have the hump wouldn't you? and so ever since, it's been tomarrrrto, tomaaaaato.......

Jehovah's Witness

I have absolutely no bloody idea at all what this is all about. I suppose they believe in God, but again, think Jesus was just some kinda wide boy. No Christ means no Christmas (Maybe i'll become one!) They also have this undying urge to tell you all about their beliefs etc. Very strange indeed. It's a bit like me being really heavily into CSI (I'm not) and knocking on people's doors, and telling them about it. Sounds crazy doesn't it? They seem to love it.

They wear suits a lot, and let their relatives die because they disagree with blood transfusions! This really is mentalness of the highest caliber. I am probably being issued with the Jehovah's Witness version of a fatwa as we speak! Bollocks.

There are all manner of religions that I haven't touched upon. Hinduism, Jedi, but when it comes down to it, it all seems to add up to the same thing. Control. How can we keep the plebs under control? I know, make up some load of old tosh, and tell them that if they don't adhere to this code of conduct, they will burn in hell for eternity, and do you know what?.......it's worked for thousands of years! amazing.

So Mule, you have spouted forth thus far, had a go at just about everyone and not told us your own beliefs.

Well, do i believe there is a God that sits on some kind of thrown when we die, and tots up all our misdemeanors, and sends us north or south accordingly?.......No.

Do I believe that Jesus was the son of God.......No.

Do I believe that there is some kind of consciousness or force that is surreptitiously present throughout the entire universe, that somehow links us all together?.......N.......well maybe, just maybe.

So we come to the end of this lecture. As the great Dave Allan used to say, "May your God go with you."

PS. I look forward (with some trepidation) to the lever arch file I am sure I will be receiving from 'oblogotory reading man' tomorrow. Full to the brim with corrections, alterations, .......