Father time has bitten my bum!.......

It’s official. I have been officially diagnosed with ‘old age’. How did I arrive at this fait accompli? I have come to the stunning realisation that I now suffer from one of the many curses of the aged, I can genuinely no longer understand African Americans!

As I am sure I have mentioned in previous blogs, I unfortunately, and regrettably suffer from the odd bout of depression. The symptoms of which consist of a number of elements:- lethargy, de-motivation, slight paranoia, feelings of hopelessness, lack of energy, and undoubtedly the worst of the bunch, rapid, and unpredictable mood swings.

Now those that know me, will no doubt by now be falling off of their chairs, and proclaiming with a hefty dose of sarcasm, that I must suffer from depression 24/7! To all of you, yes I know it can appear that way, but there is the everyday grumpiness, and then there is the real McCoy.

It is the mood swings that I find so alarming, this hints at the condition known as ‘Bipolarity’ or bipolar. In the good old days this was called manic depression, basically big ups, and crushing downs, but progress being what it is, nothing is allowed to stay the same, so it’s now known as bipolarity.

I realise that ever since Stephen Fry “came out” and announced he was a sufferer of this affliction, the whole world has gone bipolar mad. Quite frankly you are nobody these days "Darling" if you are not bipolar, throw in a food intolerance as well, and you have the full gamut. I however, am not a feckless celebrity who solicits attention by feigning the latest mental disorder, or a footballer, who uses it to try to excuse his violence in nightclubs, I do seem to get it for real. Thankfully, it only seems to be mild, and not the massive swings that some sufferers endure. Never the less, it can be most unpleasant for all concerned.

The latest ‘bipolar incident’ occurred just last night, whilst trying to stir fry some noodles in fact. The bastard things kept sticking to the wok (culinary tips greatly received) This would usually cause some annoyance, but would normally only manifest it’s self as ‘tutting’ or scowling, but as I am suffering from the “Black dog” as Sir Winston Churchill called it, the result was a broken wooden spoon, an evening of silence, and a very close brush with divorce! This may sound amusing, but trust me…….it wasn’t.

I have gone off track a little, back to the old age. Yes, the way I discovered that I am old was thus. As I mentioned, one of the other symptoms of depression is a seemingly complete lack of motivation. This usually results in spending brain rotting amounts of time in front of the television. This practice has been made even easier lately, due to the acquisition of ‘Sky Plus’.

This morning thus far, I have watched ‘Superships’ - ‘Airwolf’ - ‘Thunderbirds’ and last but by no means least…….’Ricky Lake’ I’m not proud of it, and quite frankly I feel dirty. The same sort of feeling that you get post, wanking over a wheelchair bound, fourteen year old girl dressed as a nun on the internet! …….That one even made me wince! and let me assure you, that was a joke, and in no way would I ever use nuns for masturbatory purposes!

Phew, did I get away with that one? If I am dragged from my house by the local constabulary with my computer in a plastic bag, then I will have to join Messrs Ross and brand in the icy cold tundra that is “Too far land”! Anyway back to the relative safety of Ricky.

Yes we had the usual suspects, an African American woman, who I found out only after putting the subtitles feature on, was annoyed with her husband for a careless bout of adultery. Pre subtitles it went something like this…….

“Yo dog, yo bin messin’ wit dat two bit ho. Why yoo doo dat, why yoo doo dat?”
It was at this point that I pondered, does your average African American have the memory capacity of a goldfish? They do seem to feel the need to repeat themselves. She went on…….
“Why yoo wanna ride dat fat old asssss, when yo can be wit yor old laydeeeee. Dats a booty bitch, dats a booty.”

She proceeded to shake her posterior at her husband, who was doing that flicking his fingers thing, and laughing. This was a very hazardous exercise, considering the amount of bling he was adorned with. Any piece of that could have shot off at any given moment, and taken someone’s eye out. I am surprised that health and safety allows this practice to continue. She went on…….

“Yo gotta kick dat mudda to da cerb homey, I’m telling’ ya, yo ain’t getting’ back in ma bed still stinkin’ o dat fat assessed bitch.”
At this point in the proceedings, the crowd inexplicably turned on her, and started chanting something or other, to which she retorted with the timeless classic…….
“You don’t know me, you don’t know me”……..Thirty seven times!

It was at this juncture, that I realised that I had joined the legions of old people that inhabit sofas up and down the land saying…….
“What did he say, what did he say?”…….

Boxing day blues.......

My God i hate Boxing day. What an utterly bloody pointless day it is. It's a nothing day, nothing happens, nothing nothing nothing. So how was your Christmas?.......mine, oh thanks for asking. It was dull. I suppose that is a terrible thing to say really, seeing as we spent it round the outlaws, but hey it's the truth.

Why can't Christmas be like the front of a Christmas card? All snow and open fires, sing songs around the piano, smiles, hope, wonder, excitement. But no it's not is it, it's BORING!. That is my problem with Christmas, you see everybody thinks that i am a miserable git, and that i hate Christmas, well i suppose i am, and i do, but it's more than that. Christmas should be either like the front of a Christmas card, or not at bloody all.

It's that middle ground that the vast majority of us have to fall into that i so despise. That sitting there with a paper hat on, listening to some relative, that you wish you hadn't got, drone on about fuck all. Opening presents that you don't want. It's happened again. Yes the Christmas classic has struck home once more. I received a t-shirt that is at least two sizes too small, and i wouldn't wear if i was a downtown L.A. pimp.

Oh you shouldn't be so ungrateful Andy blah blah blah. I'm not being ungrateful, but i would rather they gave the money straight to charity or something, instead of getting me involved as some sort of reluctant middle man. The bloody thing will end up in a charity shop anyway, BUY IT, AND TAKE IT STRAIGHT THERE!

So here i sit, staring at the monitor with tired eyes, letting it all out. Shall i get a can of beer, i think i will, hang on.......

I'm back. I have had to undo my trousers due to the extreme expansion that has taken place. Yesterdays brussell sprouts are still depleting the ozone, and my gorgeous little girl cat is walking all over the keyboard, so blame her for the typo's, not me.

Why the bloody hell is there such a fuss made about the Christmas dinner? People panicking about turkeys, and fannying about worrying about this and that. For Christ's sake, it's the same fucking meal that most people have most Sundays, but all because it's Christmas, people fret about it. I suppose in days of old, a roast dinner was something special, and hence this was why they had it on Christmas day, but today it's run of the mill, so why don't we have something outlandish? Lets have a Lobster, or Romanian hog's penis. Roasted Golden Eagle on a bed of Nun's Hymens, or boa constrictor with flaked gold or something.......sigh, swig.

I just want to be left alone. Everybody just go away, and let me sit in my pants that i have had on since Dec 10th, and wallow in a pit of Vesta curries, the discovery channel (or dave), computer games, and violent self abuse.

Now of course we are on the slippery slope to New years eve. Without doubt.......swig.......the worst night of the bloody year. Forced fun, that's what it is isn't it, forced fun. I don't really feel like going out tonight thanks, i am feeling a little quiet and reflective, and would rather stay in and get an early night. You can't do that everybody tells you, you have got to be jam packed in a pub (That you have paid to get into , although the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, entry is free) and pour hideous amounts of alcohol down your neck, until you reach twelve o'clock. Then stand in a circle and jump around a bit waving your arms up and down, miming the words to a song that you really should know by now, and shaking hands with people that normally get right on your fucking tits.......sigh, swig

Again, if it was a party to end all parties, then take me there baby, i'm first in the queue. If it was full of dancing girls, and water slides, whooshing around on jet packs, and jamming on stage with the Rolling Stones. Psychodelic trampolines, fireworks, juggling dwarfs, paint ball, foam and water fights, then bloody well let me in! But it never is. Just like everything else, it's another anti-climax. It would be standing listening to some bastard telling me his opinion on everything from the answer to the credit crunch, to the pit falls of Chelsea's back four.......FUCK OFF! .......swig

Christ i could almost start smoking again, i could go a fag right now, but that's another avenue of pleasure barricaded off.......swig.......Well i suppose i'd better go and see what program Miss Marple has fallen asleep infront of, but before i do that, sod it, i am going to go on ebay, and see what i can get for my recently acquired 8 stone pimps t-shirt, my '1001 things to cook with turmeric' book. My 'Garfield' pants, 'Balltic Stalion aftershave', and personalised chamois leather gift set.......Big swig.......

Roll on normality! Lots of love Andy x

Kids stuff.......

Hello all. My last blog contained quite a lot of stuff relating to my place of work, and so it was printed out, and banded around the place. One colleague, after reading it, remarked that “I certainly couldn’t write anything for children.” I took from this that they meant the fairly frequent use of foul language, and sexual references etc, meant that I was an unsuitable candidate for the author of ‘Children’s book of the year award’

I have of course seen this as a challenge. So coming up are some new adventures for well known characters from children’s fiction. I am pretty certain that this is incredibly litigious, and infringes numerous copyright laws blah blah blah, but quite frankly…….bollocks.
So here we go…….

Noddy was driving along the lane towards the house he shared with Bigears. It was a lovely summers day, and Noddy whistled a chirpy little tune as he drove his little Noddy car along the leafy lane through the lovely warm sunshine. Noddy was feeling especially excited today, due to the fact that he was having ‘Sky television’ installed. Noddy arrived home just as the Sky man was leaving.

“Hello Mr sky man” said Noddy.
“Hello Noddy” said the sky man, “All installed and working tickatee boo. I have left Bigears trying it out.”
“Thank you Mr Sky man” said Noddy, and he raced towards the front door, and excitedly ran indoors.

“BIGEARS!” exclaimed Noddy, “I can’t believe that you are doing that, when there are all manner of educational and informative programs throughout the full range of the nine hundred plus sky channels. ”
“Yes, sorry about the Noddy, but I just couldn’t resist cracking one out, I mean, just look at the top bollocks on that.”
“Well I agree that the young lady does have a fine set of mummy bags, but really Bigears, is that really necessary?”
“Look, there has been a bit of a drought in the lady department lately, needs must, you know.”
“No quite frankly Bigears, I don’t know. I am a children’s character, and therefore completely asexual. Anyway your tea will soon be ready, so hurry up, and…….” Noddy winced slightly, and strode off to the kitchen, wishing he hadn’t left his Noddy hat in such close proximity to Bigears. He remembered the last similar occasion, where he thought he had over starched his hat, but to his horror discovered at a later date, that it wasn’t his starching that was at fault!

“What is for tea Noddy?” shouted Bigears
“Jam sandwiches.”
“Yum yum” said Bigears.
“That’s better” said Bigears, “Better out than in, that’s what I say.”
Noddy Put on his marigolds, hastily fashioned face mask, and protective goggles, and picked up his Noddy hat with a set of BBQ tongs. “I would prefer it if you didn’t use my Noddy hat for sanitation purposes in future Bigears, Thank you.”
Bigears looked a little sheepish and said, “Yes sorry about that Noddy, it’s the first thing that came to hand, now, lets have some scrummy jam sandwiches.”

Noddy and Bigears settled down in front of their 42” plasma, and munched away while watching a very interesting documentary about Swedish lesbian serial killers on the discovery channel.
Soon it was time for bed.
“I’m off to bed now Bigears” said Noddy “I have got a very busy day tomorrow. I am meeting Paddington bear in town for tea and scones.”
“Oh not fucking Paddington, I can’t stand that cunt” replied Bigears. “It’s marmalade sandwiches this, marmalade sandwiches that, have I told you about Peru blah blah blah, just don’t bring him back here alright, especially as I have got Bagpuss coming round, and just between you and me, I am planning to get off with her.”
“Her……Bigears, you do know that Bagpuss is a…….” Noddy stopped mid sentence, and raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. “Night night Bigears.”
“Night night Noddy.”
Noddy toddled off to bed, and stared out of his bedroom window. He gazed at the twinkling stars, and wondered what tomorrow would bring, and more importantly, if Bigears would discover that he was barking up the wrong tree!”

“Cockadoodle doo…….” Crowed cocky the cockerel from cock and bulls farm.
Noddy opened his little Noddy eyes, and stretched and yawned. He washed his face and cleaned his teeth, and skipped down the stairs, to make some toast for his breakfast.
“Oh dear Bigears, did you fall asleep in front of the television?” asked Noddy.
Bigears opened one eye, and lifted his head from the pool of dribble on the sofa. He grunted a reply, and then with some dismay, looked down and discovered that he had spilt his tin of ‘special tobacco’ all over the floor.
“Oh dear, you haven’t been smoking again have you Bigears? I have told you that it’s bad for you.” said Noddy.
Bigears closed his eyes, and laid his weary head back down into the pool of dribble, and started to snore.

Noddy gobbled up all of his yummy toast, and shouted goodbye to Bigears as he raced out of the door. He got in his Noddy car, and scooted down the road to meet up with Paddington.
Noddy parked his Noddy car in the very reasonably priced multi-storey car park, and went to find his good friend Paddington. He saw Paddington across the street and waved.
“I’ve been fucking clamped.”

“Oh dear Paddington” said Noddy, “I wasn’t even aware that you had passed your test.”
Well, I haven’t officially, but never the less, clamped. Can you fucking believe it?”
Paddington had changed a little since Noddy had last seen him. He was fairly “Blinged up” these days, and he had got a tattoo. Noddy looked closer, and could see it said “Windsor gardens crew” He had obviously fallen in with the wrong crowd, he would have to keep an eye on him.
“Would you like some tea and scones Paddington?” asked Noddy.

“Tea and scones, tea and scones are for woosies, lets go to the pub,” barked Paddington.
Noddy had never been in a pub before, and so with a little trepidation, he followed Paddington into the ‘Fog and duck’
“What you ‘avin geezer?” asked Paddington.
Paddington was talking in a funny way these days Noddy thought to himself, and answered “A diet coke with ice and lemon please.”
“Diet fucking coke…….what are you, some kinda batty boy? You will have a pint and be done with it.” Paddington ordered two pints of ‘Bishop’s ball breaker’ and pushed Noddy towards a table by the gents.

“So, how are you keeping Paddington my old chum.” said Noddy.
“Well can’t complain really I suppose,” said Paddington. “I’m still dossing down with the Brown’s, but quite frankly, I think I’m out growing them. There’s more to life than fucking marmalade sandwiches, and trips to the park. I want more, I want women, and parties, speed, motorbikes, you know how it is Noddo me old china.”

Noddy looked perplexed, he rarely understood a word that Paddington was saying these days, and anyhow, what was so wrong with marmalade sandwiches, and tales of daring do in the park. The world around him was changing, and changing for the worst as far as he was concerned.
Noddy took a tentative sip of his pint…….

Noddy had never been in a police cell before, and he didn’t like it at all. The bed was very hard, and the walls were very bare, except for some writing. It said things about other peoples mothers and sisters, stuff Noddy didn’t understand at all. On top of that, the whole room smelt of other peoples wee. Noddy had the worst headache he had ever had. He had no idea how he got here, and was very frightened. The little window on the door slid open, and a gruff voiced policeman said, “Right piss head, you can go.”
“Thank you Mr policeman, tell me, where is my friend Paddington?”
“He is helping us with our enquiries, now if you know what’s good for you, you'll piss off.”

Noddy ran and ran and ran, until his little lungs were bursting. He drove home down the leafy lane, but for some reason the sun was not quite so shiny today, and the leafy lane wasn’t quite as leafy. Noddy arrived home, and Bigears was sitting on the garden swing.
“Hello Bigears, how are you.”
Bigears looked glum, and without looking up just said, “She…….he is a boy. Bagpuss is a boy.”
Noddy sighed and sat next to Bigears. “I did try to tell you Bigears, but you wouldn’t listen. Are you ok?”
“I suppose so” said Bigears. “Do you know the worst part about it?”
“what‘s that” said Noddy.
“Well, I think I might be bi-curious. It wasn’t all that bad. I mean I know she…….he hasn’t got a front bottom and everything, but there are other things you can do. For example…….”
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT,” shouted Noddy as he ran indoors with his fingers in his ears, la la laring. Noddy watched Bigears as he gingerly got up from the swing, and walked with a bandy gait into the house.

“Tomorrow is another day Bigears. Who knows what will happen tomorrow.”
Noddy and Bigears turned out their nightlights, and pressed their faces into the cosy pillows. The stars up in the sky twinkled, and an owl hooted. What adventures lay in store for Noddy and Bigears tomorrow children, Shall we find out soon? Night night Bigears. Night night Noddy.


They were right you know, I think I have to admit defeat, perhaps the kids stuff is not for me!…….

You can call me Al.......

I am falling apart at the seams. I am forty one, but most of the time (Don’t kid yourself)…….ok, all of the time, I feel like ninety one. What has happened? Have the early years of Burgers, beer, cigarettes, and dare I say it, a light dabbling in the recreational drug scene, really taken this much toll on my body?

I suppose it doesn’t help that I am overweight. Weight is one of those funny things that creeps up on you. The two or three stones heavier that I am now, as apposed to when I was, twenty-five say, have sneaked on. I think of fat molecules as like commandos, or the SAS, it’s not a full on frontal assault, more an under the cover of darkness, camouflaged pincer movement. Have the saturated fats from a burger that I ate in 1992, really been lying dormant in their fox hole for all this time? Just waiting for the right moment to strike. "Alright lads, he’s looking the other way…….wait for it, wait for it (or should that be weight for it, weight for it!) Standby…….GO GO GO!.......sigh.

Although I am no where near gargantuan or even dart player status, I do still have to psyche myself up when it comes to doing the old shoe laces up. When you have got a couple of extra stones knocking around, you can’t just lunge down and go for it you know, no it takes a bit of planning. Do I bend down to tie them? risking the rosy cheeks and spinning head hellishness, or place the foot onto something.

It’s a tricky one. Both methods can end in tears. If one spends too long bending down to tie the laces, in a valiant, but ultimately vain effort to "ride out" the dizziness, it can lead to a semi conscious state, and then a gentle but ungainly roll forward, until the forehead is resting on the ground, leaving you in a semi feotal position. This state can normally only be recovered from, by a swift kick from an embarrassed spouse, which tips you over onto your side, and you gently rock backwards and forwards, not unlike a spinning coin coming to rest, until consciousness is regained.

Alternatively, the raising of the foot is just as perilous. One can raise one leg and successfully tie the lace, but that’s only the half of it. This is the time that the knee usually locks, and one is left balancing precariously on one leg. The options are thus; hopping up and down until the raised leg releases itself, or biting the bullet and volunteering for the ungracious Del boyesque sideways crash to the floor.

Hopping about is not a recommended activity for any forty one year old, overweight or otherwise, but probably preferable to a dislocated shoulder, and having to desperately try to convince the A&E staff that you were not pissed.

My body seems to be racked with all sorts of aches and pains now. Dodgy knees that take it in turns to "Play up," to sciatica, which results in me waddling about like some sort of bandy constipated duck.

The hearing certainly isn’t what it used to be, and my spectacle lenses seem to become thicker every time I visit the opticians. Instead of diving into a tin of quality street, and munching down on one of those round toffees in the gold wrappers with gay abandon, I now have to be much more cautious. These days, it is all about weighing up how much I fancy one, against weather I can be arsed to spend the evening at the emergency dentists.

Of course it is not just the physical side of things that starts to slide, mental abilities start to take a bashing as well. It is getting beyond a joke the number of times I have gone to the fridge recently, and after opening the door, have absolutely no idea what I went there for. The other day I went to the fridge, opened the door, and wasn’t totally sure what the fridge was for.

I can’t remember where I’ve left any bloody thing either. The other day I took my phone out of my pocket, and placed it on my desk. Went to the fridge to forget what I went there for, and then went back upstairs. In this short length of time, I couldn’t remember where my phone was.

Miss Marple obviously immediately got the blame, or one of the dogs must have eaten it. "I know" I thought, "I will ring it, and follow the sound…….What’s the bloody number? …….shit." The only number I could remember was our landline (The one I was dialing form) so in desperation I phoned that."Bollocks it’s engaged, what bastard is ringing me at this time? Fancy ringing me when I can’t find my phone." And so it goes on and on and on.

The upshot of all this, is that Miss Marple and myself will be embarking on a healthy eating, and get fit campaign next year. Needless to say this has been attempted a million times before, resulting in varying degrees of hopelessness. Monday is normally good, or as we now call it…….

Must succeed Monday.
We are enthusiastic, "This is the new me" and all that bollocks, starving but determined. This is followed by…….

Trying hard Tuesday.
Really hungry, but still hanging in there. Might even attempt a sit up. Then we have…….

Weak willed Wednesday.
"Fucking hell I’m hungry" Start hallucinating, think I can smell chips frying all the time, stuff like that. Onto…….

Tearful Thursday.
Mild sobbing, and irritation ensue, as things start to get really tough. Minor arguments may occur, usually when Miss Marple or myself accuse the other of having one more pea than the other one, or "Bollocks to the sit ups, it’s all a waste of time anyway." May very well be heard. This is followed by…….

Oh fuck it Friday.
All resistance is broken, enthusiasm has been drained, and will power depleted. Sit ups are but a distant memory, and the only exercise taking place, is the clamour to the phone to call the take away. Gorging ensues. Sadly onto…….

Self loathing Saturday.
"What have I done?"…….Yes it’s all turned to shit. Another attempt at bettering one’s self has ended in ruins. The Davina Macall fitness video is on ebay, and the size 32" jeans are nothing but a pipe dream…….

So what Sunday.
"Hey, I’m not that fat, in fact in the right light, I’m sure you can almost see muscle definition lines on my stomach, if I suck it in a bit." Yes the self deluding process has begun. "I know these jeans are a 36, but look, they’re quite baggy really." Oh dear. "It’s not the right time, you have got to want to do it." Anymore?....... "Women in general prefer the heavier boned man." And on and on and on…….

Before I go, may I just share with you a few examples of how the aging process has "Done me up like a kipper" in recent weeks. It might not make for pretty reading, but let this be a lesson to all youngsters out there who may be reading this. Take head my young padawans, take good care of your minds and your bodies, for if thou doesn’t, they WILL let you down in the future!

In the gents toilets at work, the urinal had become blocked. Hence it became unusable. I was tasked with making a sign, to inform potential urinators of this problem, and to instruct them to use the cubicle instead. Due to the fact that the buffoons that have got the maintenance contract at work are beyond useless, what should have taken half an hour to rectify, dragged on for weeks.

In I go one day to pass water, and as I am doing thus, whilst staring at the sign THAT I HAD MADE, it very rapidly occured to me, that there is a dampness in the foot area. Now either I had forgotten to release my penis from my trousers before starting the urination process, or as I am beginning to suspect, I have not taken head of my own handiwork.

Yes, my old friend Al Zheimers had struck again. My pee was cascading all over the floor, via the broken U-bend. Have you any idea what a feeling of sheer and utter helplessness that is? I can’t stop mid flow, it’s either carry on, or attempt a quick spin and dash to the cubicle. I was praying to the heavens that an unsuspecting colleague would not enter at that moment, and catch me, in the midst of whichever decision I had made. I mean, how does one explain either situation? Trying to explain why one is peeing down what is clearly an unserviceable urinal is hard enough, let alone trying to explain why one is sprinting across the toilets, mid pee!

I chose the former, and then had to quickly mop up as best I could…….sigh.

If I haven’t already ostricised myself at work, here is example number two, to really put the icing on the cake.

Quite rightly we take it in turns to make the tea at tea breaks. I thought I had got away with not making it for long enough, and so sauntered into our little tea room one morning. All of us drink tea, apart from one of my colleagues who drinks coffee. Now don’t ask me why I do this, but when making coffee with milk, I like to shake the milk before pouring it into the cup, so it goes frothy, like a proper cappuccino type thing. Yes I know it’s the sort of thing that a twelve year old would do, but there you go.

So, I pour the milk into the teas, and then give the milk (A four pinter) a hefty shake. Now it’s at this point that I very quickly realized, that I had failed to adhere to my usual routine, of reacquainting the lid with the bottle first! To say I was covered from head to toe would be an understatement. I don’t know if you have seen either of the first two ‘Alien’ films, but there is a scene in both, where a synthetic person (robot/android thing) is cut up, and the whole place is covered in white stuff, including the android. Well that was the scene. Again more hurried cleaning was in order, and I just hoped that nobody noticed that I appeared to have been standing out in the rain, or that I smelt like a dairy!.
Well that’s all the time we have left for today, so this is Frazier Crane wishing you a very good day, and good mental health…….sigh.

That was the month that was.......

Good evening/morning/afternoon or whatever, depending on what part of the globe you are currently presiding in. I have to do this due to the fact that my readership is such an international affair…….oh alright, some bloke in South Korea got drunk, and stumbled upon my blog by accident, and then had to have counselling, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pretend that I am globally adored, thank you!

So, talking of the globe, what has been happening in this crazy old world of ours eh? Well I suppose the biggest news of the recent weeks, is that one of the ’Detroit spinners’ is now the president! My anus actually clenched slightly as a tapped that bit out, due to the fact that that could so easily be misconstrued as being racist. It is of course not racist, but Guardian readers would very much like it to be.

Why can’t a Caucasian person make a joke about someone who is of a different racial background to themselves, without being condemned as being a white sheet wearing, cross burning, ‘Jerry Springer show’ frequenting bigot? It is quite ludicrous. We all have to tip toe around each other, apologising for potentially being unintentionally a little bit racist, lets all relax about it, and not let the Guardian readers bully us into submission.

Anyway, he is not black at all is he. He is of mixed race. It’s funny how he is most definitely black now that he has won. If he had lost, he would probably have been of mixed race, and probably mostly white! Don’t get me wrong, I think he is definitely the best choice of the two candidates, and even cynical old me was becoming carried away on the sea of euphoria. It’s just a shame that even though he is now bordering on Messiah status, inevitably in a years time when nothing has changed, he will be deemed to be a wanker like all other politicians. Sad but true.

Thank God John McCain didn’t win. Not that I had anything against him or his policies particularly (barring Sarah Palin of course, Jesus she is frightening), no, but could the leader of the free world really be a man with arms that short? Did you see them? My God they were short. It was like he couldn’t be bothered with forearms, and just stuck his hands directly on to his elbows.

He didn’t help himself by keep flapping them about when he was speaking. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I have know idea what he was talking about, as all I could think, was that he looked like an uncharismatic penguin in a suit, squawking and flapping away…….”Stand up, stand up and fight”…….fight, I thought to myself, you would be in trouble trying to land a right hook with such miniscule arms mate.

I did to some extent enjoy watching the coverage of the election, and the build up etc. It was a shining example of what seems to be the two extremes of America. Americans seem to fall into two distinct camps. Intelligent, quick witted, creative, productive etc etc on the one hand, and on the other, people who as Jeremy Clarkson put it, will insist on mating with vegetables!

Dear God there are some lonely brain cells rattling around in vast hanger like heads over that side of the pond aren’t there? I saw one bloke from way down in Dixieheadville, or where ever the bloody hell he came from, looking like something from the ‘Duke’s of Hazard’ Saying something like…….”Of course that Obama guy, he’s a socialist, in fact I think he is actually a communist.” He then spat a wad of chewing tobacco into an empty metal bucket, and went off to procreate with his sister, or a marrow if she....... “Had the decorators in”!

In the other camp, I witnessed some McCain fans standing in the street in a circle, hands raised to the heavens, proclaiming that “The good Lord will perform a miracle, and make McCain win.” Of course the miracle was not forthcoming. Even “The good Lord” knows a dead horse when he sees one.

Lets move on, what else caught my eye? Well a woman has divorced her husband, for having a virtual affair, in a virtual world. Yes a couple who spent far too much time in an internet game world called ’Second life’ have gone their separate ways, because she caught him “canoodeling” with a woman made of pixels, on a sofa made of pixels, in a pretend place…….yep, you guessed it, made of pixels! You just couldn’t make this stuff up. There was a picture of the couple in the paper, and boy did they look like you would expect them to! They didn’t disappoint. Not only did he look like the winner of ’Internet nerd 2008’, but I swear he was only six months away from fully fledged membership to the serial killers guild!

Things I am unwittingly paying for this week
Apart from owning most of the banks (But never seeing a penny for it) I am now paying for flip flops that I will never wear.
Yes some police force, I can’t remember where exactly, have decided that I should fork out for thousands of pairs of flip flops, for pissed up bints when they leave night clubs! Apparently when young ladies leave night clubs, they find it painful to walk home if they are wearing six inch heals. It might also have something to do with trying to balance on six inch heals after consuming an unwanted pregnancy inducing twenty-two bottles of ‘Smirnoff ice’ as well, but that seems to have been brushed over.

So ‘PC twat’ has decided that issuing them with a nice comfy pair of flip flops will make their life a lot easier. Why stop there, I don’t think it would be unreasonable to ask me to cough up for a doner kebab as well. As we all know, alcohol reduces blood sugar levels, and therefore tricks your body into thinking it’s hungry, so the doner kebab could therefore be classed as a medical requirement, and so in the interests of public safety, should be paid for by the public…….or ME again.

Fuck it, lets not mess about, lets not do a half hearted job, I tell you what ‘PC cock for a brain’, I’ll remortgage the house, and at great expense to myself will undertake driving lessons, and learn to drive a bus. I will then prostitute myself to be able to raise enough money (Why not ‘PC Wet lettuce’, you seem to be fucking me up the arse already anyway), to buy a big shiny double decker. I will then drive them all home personally, and even cook them a full English in the morning, I can’t say fairer than that can I?

One of the reasons for there being a month between blogs, is that my Victorian PC broke down. There is also the fact that I just couldn’t be arsed lately, but don’t tell anyone that. Yes my five year old computer finally whirred to a halt, and exuded a little puff of smoke as its terminal breath.

When Miss Marple and I wandered into ‘PC World’ all those moons ago, as well as getting the shiny new computer, we were persuaded/hoodwinked/forced/cajoled/ into taking out one of those supa dupa extended warranty things. You know, those bloody things that they try to push on you with everything these days. Pay seventeen quid for a toaster, and twenty-five for a five year warranty, madness. Anyway, for once it came good. Yes, three months before the warranty thing was up, it dies. The right way round for the first time in forty one years.

So off we go to take it back to ‘PC World’. Well as the fork lift truck that I had hired, slowly inched its way towards the doors, the sun was temporarily blocked out by the tower block sized behemoth that is my computer. Things have come along way in five years (apparently), and our arrival was met by shouts of “Where do you put the coal in Grandad”, and “The antiques roadshow is next door.” Ha bleedin’ ha.

So once we had got passed all the hilarity, pointing, nudging and smirking, the little man behind the counter took my ‘Stephenson’s Rocket’ of a PC, and hid it out of view.
Miss Marple and myself decided to have a look round the shop, in case I ever decided to “Upgrade”. After a little browsing, I came to the worrying discovery that none of the computers had an ordinary phone port thing for the internet, just the broadband sized ones. As we are the only house left in the world that cannot get broadband, this was starting to concern me. So I caught the eye of a girl with a ‘PC World’ badge on, and asked her if they still made computers with the old fashioned internet port things on.

She looked at me as if I had asked her where I could purchase some leeches, to try to sort out a bout of herpes, and said “No, it’s all broadband these days.” I explained that we couldn’t get broadband, to which she replied, “My God, where do you live then?” I was tempted to say, “half way up a mountain in the brecon beacons,” when I remembered that Miss Marple has an uncle that does live half way up a mountain in the brecon beacons, and he can get bloody broadband! So I didn’t bother.

We live about eight miles from a city, and the same from a large town, and yet we still can’t get bloody broadband. In fact we can’t get anything. Freeview, mobile broadband, a phone signal, mains sewerage, electricity! I’m thinking of saying to hell with it, and becoming Amish. Bollocks, sell the car, and get a horse and cart, a goatee beard, straw hat, and waistcoat. There are worse looks, my present one in fact. Five foot eight, and rocketing towards fifteen stone. Even Gok Wan would have his work cut out. Perhaps he could do a one off Christmas special just for me…….’How to make people recoil with repulsion when naked’.
Oh well I had better go and blog some more blogs, before Anvilman beats me up (Private joke), so I will annoy you all again soon.
Peace and love, and easy on the mince pies.
Ps. Just before I go, a few quickies…….
Word of the week.
I read this in a magazine, I am assuming it is an amalgamation of “Fuckwit,” and “Retard.” Hence…….”Fucktard.” I like it, and will be trying to shoehorn this little gem into as many sentences as I can in the coming weeks!

Favourite unintentional (I think!) segway from one sentence to another of the week
I heard this one this morning on the BBC breakfast program. Cliff Richard has said that he will be taking his secrets to the grave with him (soon hopefully!) including the main attraction, namely his sexuality. This was followed by the next item which was started by the word “HOMEOWNERS”…….think about it. Perhaps only purile minds like mine will get that.
And lastly…….

Favourite overestimation of the power of a game show moment of the week.
I was watching ‘Golden balls’ (They really needn’t bother with the first fifty-five minutes of the show need they) the other day, and heard a brilliant example of blind optimism. The last two contestants had done all the “I promise I am going to split”, and “Don’t let me down, we have been on such a long journey together!” crap as usual, when it finally came to the crunch. Both swore to split, and Jasper couldn’t drag it out any longer.

He did the 3-2-1 countdown, and low and behold, they both split. For their rare honesty, they both received the princely some of one hundred and seventeen pounds or something, and went away smiling. Then they went to the bit right at the end, where as the credits are rolling up, they say what they think of each other, and the decisions they made. Well the bloke said something like…….”When Amanda revealed her ‘split’ ball, my faith in human nature was restored, and from that moment on, I knew everything was going to be alright with the world!!!” .................Fuck me!


Biff baff boff. X