Sunday, 21 February 2010

Bless you Mr Wallace.......

“They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom” Very noble words there from Mr William Wallace, very noble indeed, load of old idealistic bollocks obviously, but never the less, very noble.
Many an armchair ranter, or a bar stool commentator has said that “The bloody Germans might has well have won the bloody war, for all the freedom we enjoy now.” Truer words could not be spoken could they, for today we enjoy no more freedom, than if fritz had been goose stepping up and down the high street for the last sixty-five years.

Ok ok, our lack of freedom today may be a surreptitious one, rather than an in your face “You vil be shot” kinda one, but in some ways I think that is worse. Churchill and other pontificators gave us lots of speeches about how we must fight the oppressors, and not give in to tyranny, but what bloody good did it do us eh? Because it’s still there, and always will be.

It’s just that today it takes different forms, instead of having an MP40 shoved in your face, and being told in no uncertain terms to comply, today we are dictated to by little clipboard Nazi’s.
Trust me when I tell you, that you are in no way free. Try walking out into the countryside (the very countryside that my grandfathers fought to keep free) and pitching a tent for the night. I can guarantee that some little man will emerge from the bushes, clipboard in hand and issue you with some kind of fixed penalty notice, for “Unauthorised pitching of a temporary abode.” Ask the lady who stood on a street corner in London, holding up a list of names of the soldiers that have been killed in the Iraq/Afghanistan war, if she felt free when she was bundled into the back of a police van.

I suppose what prompted me to write this, was my own gradual realisation that my “Freedom” was not all that it seemed. Just little things, but those little things add up, and one comes to the sorry realisation that we are all just prisoners really. Prisoners of the growing controlling, paranoid, state that we used to believe was the land of the free.

I remember when I was a wee lad, me and my little mates used to go and play in a place that we used to call “The woods.” What happened to them eh? We don’t have “The woods” anymore do we, no, we have ‘Nature reserves’. You know those places that used to be the woods, where anyone could go, and do whatever they pleased. Nothing ever really bad happened there back then, kids would pretend to be soldiers, courting couples would enjoy a moment of innocent bliss. Deer would run free and frolic in the autumn mist, and just occasionally someone would leave a porn mag laying there!
Never did really understand why that would be, especially as they had probably gone to great lengths to acquire it in the first place. You know, hanging around in the news agents until the shop was empty, lurking around until the male assistant was available, all of this to then just go and leave it in the woods? Anyway, I digress. So, the woods were just the woods, nobody really knew who owned them, nobody really cared. Did it matter? No, not one little bit. But somewhere along the line, the woods were taken over by some kind of foliage fascists! And now we have ‘Nature reserves’. sigh.

You know the kind of thing, lots of trees, but even more signs. “DON’T WALK HERE” - DON’T STEP THERE” - “KEEP YOUR DOG ON A LEAD IN THIS AREA” - “DON’T LOOK AT THESE PLANTS” - and my absolute favourite “THIS AREA HAS BEEN CORDENED OFF, TO PROTECT THE TREES FROM DEER MOLESTATION” !!!!!!! What the fuck is going on? This gave me visions of gangs of terrorist deer, all going along, and when nobody was looking, trampling on some bushes, giggling and then running away. Or maybe two deer in the dark of the night, maliciously hacking down trees just out of spite. The poor deer must have wondered what the bloody hell was going on, when the nature Nazi’s turned up and started fencing off great swathes of the forest. I would imagine that deer’s being well, absolute deer’s! Probably tried to reason with them. Told them that they had been living in the woods for centuries, and despite man’s interference, they and the trees had managed to co exist quite nicely thank you. I then imagine them being told by some green fleece wearing little Hitler to “Fuck off.”

I took a trip out to one of our local “Nature reserves” the other day with Ronnie and Reggie. I got all the way there, only to be greeted by hoards of green fleece wearers. All the entrances had “Police keep out” tape wrapped around them, and there was a sign saying “KEEP OUT - DO NOT ENTER. THESE WOODS ARE CLOSED DUE TO DEER MAINTANENCE. DO NOT ENTER.” What in the name of Christ is deer maintenance? I imagine the deer are asking the very same question. Perhaps it’s more sinister than I imagine. Are there lines of deer, all trudging slowly towards a gas chamber, while green fleece wearers spit at them. Male and female deer being separated, the males being driven away never to be seen again, while the young one’s sob uncontrollably. I have a message for the green fleece wearers…….”FUCK RIGHT OFF AND LEAVE THEM AND US A FUCKING LONE.”

Some bastard tried to recruit me once you know. Miss Marple and I were in ‘Pets at home’ and some green fleece wearer sidled up to us, and basically tried to persuade us to join her cause. She had a little stand and everything. Full of leaflets and brochures, explaining all of the “Good work” they did. She was very persuasive, I was starting to be sucked in, she started filling my head with all sorts of “Anti deer propaganda” explaining how they were “Running riot” in the reserves, and how they had to be stopped, thankfully the sun glinted off of her swastika necklace, and I came to my senses…….phew!

Just one more example before I go ( I am on a roll). About three or so years ago, after many what can only be described as pathetic attempts to stop smoking, I finally did it. I don’t know how really, but by some miracle, I did. I contacted our life insurance company to tell them that I was now a good boy, and ask them if that would mean that my monthly premiums would be reduced. The person on the end off the phone sounded very disappointed, and told me that I would have to be a very good boy for a year, not smoke at all, and at the end of that year a Nazi would come to my house and do all sorts of ghastly tests on me, to see if I was telling the truth.

I didn’t smoke for a year, and a Nazi did indeed come to my house. She made me do a wee into a bottle, tested this, tested that, blindfolded me, held a dagger to my throat, and made me swear on the bible that I would never ever smoke again as long as I shall live. After she failed to “Break me” she informed the insurance company that I was now a good boy, and the insurers begrudgingly reduced my premium from £4000 pounds a month to £3999. Thanks.

Now, my point is this. Let’s say for example that in seven years time, on Christmas day, by some miracle I am enjoying myself. There I am, swigging away, laughing, joking (I know it’s far fetched, but work with me will ya) and generally having a jolly good time. Somebody say’s ”Do you fancy a fag?” and I, caught up in the moment, agree. I smoke the fag, and then the next day I kick the bucket. Now we all know that that one fag didn’t kill me, anyone with an ounce of common sense knows that one fag in ten years won’t kill you. but what do you think Mr Insurance Nazi is going to say when the tests show that I had smoked. That’s right, insurance policy null and void, big smiles all round at Nazi insurance headquarters, and no dosh for poor old Miss Marple.
Again, where is my freedom? I am being dictated to by a fucking insurance company. I can’t even have one fag in ten years, because some little clipboard wielding, pedantic Nazi say’s I cant.
Mr Wallace, I think you need to revise your little speech somewhat, how about this…….”They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom…….oh they have, sorry.”

Friday, 12 February 2010

It's all arse really.......

My general existence seems to become more and more bizarre day by day. Take this morning for example. Miss Marple had gone to work, and Ronnie Reggie, and myself had just returned from trudging around in the dark and the mud for an hour.......Joy! There i am standing in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a sweaty t-shirt, and yesterdays boxers. I don't always have breakfast, but felt a little peckish this morning, so decided to treat myself to one of last nights sausages, and a spoonful of beans. So, i am standing bare foot at the kitchen worktop, munching away (Classy!) while at the same time getting irritated with GMTV. Gradually i became aware that my bare feet were starting to become wet. I looked down, and there forming around my feet was a puddle.

I couldn't work out quite what was happening, but it did cross my mind that the unthinkable had finally happened. I had started to wet myself without knowing it! I gingerly patted around the crotch area, but to my great relief, all was dry. So i decided to investigate. If anyone had seen me at that moment, i would surely have been whisked away without any argument what so ever in an unmarked van, never to be seen again. Picture the scene. A 40 something, overweight, balding, bleary eyed man, wearing only a t-shirt, and a pair of "Used" boxers hanging off his arse, on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor, with a fork still in his hand, with half a sausage on the end, dripping baked bean juice, sniffing a puddle on the floor!

I am pretty sure nobody could see me, unless of course my whole life is the subject of a reality tv show, and has been since the day i was born, and everybody in my life are nothing but actors, and the whole of my existence so far has been watched by millions upon millions of voyeurs around the globe, all while i am blissfully unaware. You know, watching 'The Truman show' was one of the worst things i ever did!

Anyway, i still haven't got to the bottom of the mysterious puddle, investigations continue. Moving on, what has been occurring on this rock of ours while i have been sniffing floors? I suppose the "Big" news of last week, was that of John Terry knobbing around. I really fail to see why this is news on two fronts. Firstly, is it a surprise to hear that an overpaid, arrogant, spoilt, uneducated oaf of a footballer has been dipping it where he shouldn't? and secondly, just why the hell is it news anyway? Bloody hell the media couldn't get enough of it could they? It was in danger of reaching the dizzy heights of 'Tiger gate' but seems to have stalled at the last minute.

Do you know, i didn't even know that he was the captain of our national side. Should he have lost that captaincy, for things that occurred in his private life? A very small part of me says no, not really. But the overwhelming part of me can't help but be elated, when any kind of misfortune occurs to any obscenely overpaid, ignorant, arrogant, swaggering, loud mouthed, cock of a footballer! ....... Hurrah!

On a similar vein, was there anybody else on the planet, who couldn't fight off a small but satisfying little grin, when it was revealed that four trillion, or whatever it was, Toyota's have had to be recalled? For one thing, they are probably the most tedious car manufacturer there has ever been. Boring, average, mediocre, tin boxes. Passionless, gutless, and artless on the whole.
Oh how we have all been bored at one time or another, by some smug fucking eco warrior cockhead, rattling on about how he is single handedly saving the planet from all of us planet rapers, because he drives a Prius. Well, my clapped out old Daganum dustbin manages to accelerate and brake when i require it to thanks, so stick that in your herbal tea.

I heard yesterday that Alexander McQueen had died. I had never heard of him. But the usual thing happened. When anyone in the limelight dies, words like "Talented" and "Genius" are banded about willy nilly. I understand he was something big in the fashion world, well can the word genius really be applied to somebody who makes frocks? Now don't get me wrong, there is as much skill involved in tailoring as there is in brick laying and carpentry, but it's just a job really isn't it?
I understand that apart from making clothes that people might actually wear, he also "designed" clothes for cat walk shows. I genuinely fail to see where the talent is, in getting some six stone, Malboro light chain smoking, anorexic model, and making her parade up and down in a pair of hot pants made from tin foil and a string vest, whilst balancing the front offside coil spring from a 1982 Ford Fiesta on her head! BY calling him a genius, they are lumping him in the same club as Einstein, Brunel, and daVinci.......Oh Purleeeeeeeeese!

I have mentioned before about my reluctance to partake in public urination. Well the other is without doubt much much worse. I will go to great lengths to avoid any form of having to defecate anywhere that is not my own toilet! I think it could be said, that i am very wary of any kind of public waste disposal, i even wait till it's dark to put the bins out! Now, by now regular readers must have come to the conclusion that i am not backwards in coming forwards when it comes to discussing anything which may be perceived as being embarrassing subject matters. Sex, urination, masturbation, making an arse of myself in public etc, i have not shy ed away from any of them, but even I feel that a certain amount of decorum is required when discussing back door evacuations, so bearing that in mind, i will honestly try my hardest to avoid being too scatological. Here we go.......

As i have already mentioned, if at all possible, i will avoid using any form of public lavatory to do my number two's. "I'll wait" i think to myself, wait till i get home, but sometimes that just isn't possible is it? I have put it off on occasion, until i have started to experience pain, and broken out into a sweat etc, but there are times when one simply just has to go. One such occurrence happened whilst at work the other day. This is not my usual place of work i hasten to add, this is while i was "Behind enemy lines" so to speak.

The toilet in question has only two cubicles, i did the usual necessary recce before actually committing to the mission. You know what i mean, making various cloak and dagger visits to the toilets to see if the coast is clear, but on several occasions one of the" traps" was occupied, or there would be a bloke standing at the urinal. It must have looked odd, me making several trips to the toilet, only to see me dash out again within seconds. It's even worse when you go to have a look and one bloke is washing his hands, and another is standing at the urinal. The one washing his hands will undoubtedly see you, so you can't make a sharp exit. What are the options? Well, i could go and stand at the urinal and not be able to go because there is a bloke standing next to me, or i could plump for option two. That is to enter the vacant cubicle, and just stand there like a lemon, until the coast is clear! Who would have thought someone could turn defecating into such an absurdly complicated process! Option two it was then!

This fiasco went on for sometime, but eventually i hit the sweet spot, and discovered a completely vacant toilet facility. Eureka i thought. Quite frankly, it was a bloody good job it was vacant, because by now i was dripping with sweat, and i was pretty certain i was "Touching cloth".......Oh bugger, you see, i was trying my hardest, honestly i was, i was doing pretty well, then an "Ugly" popped out.......sorry, lets carry on.

So, I get myself into position, so to speak, and proceed with the mission. Then it happened. Foot steps, and the creaking of a door, some bastard had entered the toilets, oh no, where was he going to go, urinal, or trap two, footsteps, oh Christ it's trap two, all of my nightmares had come to life. It was no good, i was committed, there was no abandoning the mission now, i didn't have the comfort of a "Mission controller" saying "abort abort abort" in my special forces earpiece, i was here, and i was in for the long haul.

I will never cease to be amazed at how brazen some men can be, when it comes to their back door business. I go to extreme lengths to avoid any form of embarrassment, this could involve laying a protective layer of toilet paper in the bowl to avoid anyone hear me "Land!" and generally trying to remain as quiet and dignified as possible. Well the bloke next to me had obviously not been to the same finishing school as me. Christ, grunting, sighing, moaning, various unspeakable noises, what the hell was he doing in there? He even answered his bloody phone at one stage! I had to sit there and endure him having a conversation with his wife or whoever about shopping!

Why can't we have a bit of privacy when in a public toilet? why can't they make toilets with proper floor to ceiling walls, sound proofed etc, no, we have to sit there with just a bit of MDF between us. Or alternatively, why can't the scientific community come up with some kind of muffling device, to combat unwanted bottom sounds. Sort of like a silencer on a gun. Think i might have a go myself, perhaps even take it on 'Dragon's den'. Anyway, loads of blokes started entering and exiting the toilets, and in all the commotion and noise, i lost track of who was in and who was not, including matey boy next door. I hadn't heard the toilet flush, but some disgusting blokes don't.
There was definitely nobody at the urinals, or washing their hands, but what about next door. I listened intently for any sign that might give away the enemies position, nothing. But i couldn't be sure, there was nothing else for it, i was going to have to try and surreptitiously take a sneaky peek under the MDF. Sometimes you will be lucky, and get one of those guys that likes the "wide stance" so it's easy to ascertain the occupancy of the cubicle next door, but this guy was either not there at all, or he was a fan of the narrower feet position. I was going to have to lean further forward. No still nothing, bit more, bit more, starting to black out now, bit more. Now, i normally without fail, keep all of my loose change in my trouser pockets, but i had just been to the shop, and i had dumped it in my top pocket. You are ahead of me aren't you?.......Like a cascading silver and bronze waterfall, out it poured all over the floor, chink chink, tinkle tinkle, a cacophony of sound, and on top of that, i nearly headbutted the floor, due to almost blacking out from my now near totally upended position.

I hurriedly finished up the best i could, and exited the cubicle. Needless to say next door was vacant, and probably had been for some time. No doubt all of my efforts to check the occupancy of next door had been sadly pointless. Think i must just invest in some nappies and be bloody done with it.
Oh well, best be off.......

About Me

Smileville, Smileshire, United Kingdom
Don't let the bastards grind you down! peace and love x