15 years

Where i work at the moment, there are many young girls in their early twenties. I often overhear them prattling on about their beau, how wonderful he is, how they can't wait to get married, he's perfect, this that and the other.......I often feel like interjecting, and giving them a reality check, here is the example i would use.......

Your in a new relationship, you have been to the chip shop and are walking along eating your chips together. She stumbles and drops her chips all over the pavement. You run to her aid, "Are you ok? my darling, here have half of my chips, have ALL of my chips."

Fast forward fifteen years.......

For a start, it almost goes without saying that you will both be fatter, and if the truth be told, not as attractive to each other as you were fifteen years ago, but that is by the by........

You are waddling along eating your chips together and she stumbles and falls, spilling her chips all over the pavement.
"TUT...for fuck's sake you clumsy cow, why don't ya pick your feet up?"
"Well, arn't you going to give me some of your chips?" she says
"Fuck off!......you should have been watching where you were going."

Do you stop loving your partner after fifteen years? no. Does it change to a different kind of love? yes. It changes to a tutting under your breath kinda love!

Think on young girls, think on.......

???????

Are we all part of a higher consciousness, even though most of us are blissfully unaware of it?
Do we live in a world which is to all intents and purposes a matrix like facade?
Are the shadowy"powers that be" desperatly clinging onto some great knowledge?
Are we being kept dumbed down to prevent us from discovering the truth?
Could we all be living in a eutopian paradise now, with free and endless amounts of energy that the "powers that be" have supressed?

Or are we, as Franky Boyle suggests, just super evolved monkeys, clinging to a rock hurtling through space?

Fucked if i know!

Faith or fear.......

I have never really in any way understood the notion of giving oneself to an ideology or whatever, without first embarking on at least a minuscule amount of investigation. This is what vast swathes of the population of this planet do of course. Some believe in this, some believe in that, but whatever they believe in, none of them have any actual evidence that what they believe in is indeed real. This is what we call faith.

This to my mind is madness! Ok, I can understand a human being turning to some kind of God in times of great peril for arguments sake, this could be deemed to be natural and fair enough, but that is about as far as I am prepared to give quarter.

I have just watched a documentary on North Korea. It was astounding, sad, depressing, incredible, and at times perversely amusing. I am not going to delve into the history of this country etc. as I am sure McAdam is having to be restrained by his handlers as we speak! I can hear him now "Let me at him, I have got facts and figures that will make his puny head explode. Let me at him!" (Sorry private joke again - how are you Steve?) But all I want to do is discuss the unnerving connection between faith and fear.

The country is ruled by an outright dictator that goes by the name of (Accessing google for correct spelling!) ;) Kim Jong-il. To my mind he is quite clearly mentally ill! and yet he is allowed to swan around the place dictating here, and tyrannising there. I have never understood how one person, and lets be honest, sexism aside, they are usually men, have been able to persuade so many people to follow them to the ends of the earth (Possibly quite literally in this case!) without someone saying "Hang on this bloke is a fruitcake." There are a many examples of this kind of thing, Adolf Hitler and Simon Cowell being just two.

I suppose it is the old "Emperors new clothes" scenario. Many think that he is bonkers, but who dares say it first? Fear, he rules by fear.

The documentary was following a Nepalese doctor who wanted to operate on blind North Koreans who suffered with cataracts, but a film crew was covertly filming as they went on their "Journey." The doctor operated on over a thousand patients in ten days, a feat that should have had the recipients of his skills worshipping him. As the bandages were taken off and people that were previously blind found that they were able to see again, did they thank the doctor?.......no, they fell to their knees in front of a portrait of Kim Jong-il thanking and praising their "Dear leader" as they call him. Tears rolled down their faces and hands were outstretched as they sang the praises of the short arsed little twat that had caused their blindness in the first place. Years of malnutrition etc. had played it's part in causing these people to lose their sight, and this was as a direct result of this little bastard's policies. Yet they praised him for returning their sight to them, incredible.

By the way, Kim Jong-il lives in the lap of luxury. The rulers have a policy that North Korea will be totally self sufficient. They will import nothing, and will be totally self reliant. This of course doesn't stop the poisoned dwarf from importing hundreds of American Cadillacs, and being one of the worlds biggest collectors of fine brandy! As seems to be traditional for all tyrants "We are all equal, but some are more equal than others."

North and South Korea are of course separated by the 38th parallel, and just before I go, let me share with you what must be one of the strangest, saddest and most amusing things I have seen in a very long time. At the main border point, North Korean guards stand one side, and South Korean and American guards stand the other. They basically spend all day sort of staring each other out! There is a sort of hut come porta cabin in the middle where they sometimes hold meetings if there is something important to discuss. This American soldier had something "Important" to tell the North Korean guards, and so went into the hut and phoned them on the special 1960's wind up Russian phone that is in there. The North Koreans wouldn't answer the phone! "Ner ner ne ner ner!"

So in the end the American soldier, with the aid of a megaphone and an interpreter, said "Will you please pick up the phone! To which the North Koreans pretty much said "No shan't" and stuck their metaphorical tongues out! So the American soldier read out the "Important" message while the North Koreans basically wandered about with their metaphorical fingers in their ears going "La la la, can't hear you, la la la!" I love it! Two countries that are almost on the brink of nuclear war, resorting to the playground!

It's utterly crazy, the guards from both sides stand only feet apart. My God I would be so tempted to dip a toe over the line when they weren't looking! "Invading, not invading. Invading, not invading!"

I think I will leave it to Team America to finish this post with the poisoned dwarf wandering around his palace singing "Ronry, yes I'm so ronry!"

Faith or fear?.......

PS. Gotta go, i have just seen McAfam's parachute open.

Food for thought.......

When I re-kick started this blog, i was determined-ish to make it more high brow, more intellectual, more refined, with less cursing and ranting. I don't think that decision should preclude me from the odd rant though. So a subject dear to my heart will be getting "Muled" today.

Food, or more to the point, the cooking of.......

I don't think that anybody who watches television, can deny that over the last decade or so there has been an acceleration in the number of "How to cook stuff" programmes that adorn our screens. On the whole, if you are a sensitive soul like me, I think it would be fair to say that they are maddening.

What's even more maddening, is that I frequently find myself watching them. The event that has inspired me to put fingers to keyboard is the impending 'Masterchef'.

This is a program that I love to hate, this is a program that encompasses just about every bloody irritating, annoying, infuriating, petty, incredulous thing that winds me up about cooking on TV. Don't get me wrong, there are many others, but this one takes the biscuit.

It is hosted by an Australian chef and a sort of mockney green grocer! possibly two of the most irritating men on our screens today. For those of you out there with a sense of purpose in life I will sum up the premise of the programme. Members of the public turn up and cook stuff, and the Aussy chef and the green grocer then tell them that they haven't seasoned it properly. Yep, that's about it. It's a knockout competition, and at the end of what seems like a life time, one contestant is crowned 'Masterchef'. Of course as is the way these days, there is a celebrity version as well. This is for celebrities who's careers have faltered, and were not famous enough to get onto 'I am a celebrity, get me out of here'. Then to top it all off, we have 'Masterchef, the professionals' This is where Professional chefs turn up and cook stuff, and the Aussy chef and the green grocer tell them that they haven't seasoned it properly.

I could go on and on and list every little nuance that makes my blood curdle, but what's the point. I am not going to single out 'Masterchef' for a muling, they are all just as bad, and they all know who they are.

I think the best way to do this is just to simply do a list of "Why's"

Why do chefs have to have their nose's 2 inches from the plate when they are assembling their creations?

While i am at it, why does all the food have to piled on top of one another?

Why is it so important that some sort of schedule is adhered to? It's all rush rush rush isn't it, shout shout shout. Ok, people don't want to hang around for hours on end when dining out, but i don't understand why such a strict time line is so critical. A fine example of this is thus: If a contestant on 'Masterchef' reaches the dizzy heights of whatever round it is blah blah blah, they have the "Privilege" of cooking for some food critics. This is a job I have never understood what so ever. It largely entails men that resemble Jabba the Hut sitting around stuffing themselves, and musing about things not being seasoned properly. Anyway, if one of the contestants is failing to adhere to the schedule all hell breaks loose!

The Aussy chef and the grocer cast evil glances at the offender, and sometimes if they're really late (Two minutes seems to be the breaking point) they have to embrace each other for support. The tension becomes so great, that a good hard physical embrace is the only thing that can stop them from crumbling.

Then it happens, the moment that every contestant throughout the history of 'Masterchef' fears, They are told to go and tell the waiting guests that their main course is going to be two minutes late. I say tell them, actually they usually spit the words at them. It's usually the Aussy chef that does the dirty deed. You can see the hatred in his eyes, you can detect that this cardinal sin, this heinous crime has clawed at his chefy soul with such vigour, that the only way to vent his anger is to glare at the perpetrator with a look of pure disgust and tell him or her to "Go and tell them, go and tell them what a disgusting creature you are. Bow down before them, prostrate yourself, and throw yourself upon their mercy. Tell them that their food will be two minutes late. GO!.......GO NOW YOU HIDEOUS FIEND"

So off the poor little soul trots, his head hung in shame. Trembling and sweating he gulps before he enters the sacred chamber of the eating Gods. An uneasy silence falls upon the room as the contestant stands before them head bowed. His mouth dry, his voice cracking, he speaks......."I am so sorry, your main course is going to be two minutes late."

These aresholes look at him as if he has just said "I have cut out your children's livers, and fried them with some fava beans!"

For fuck's sake.......IT'S ONLY COOKING.

I fully expect that one day a hapless contestant will enter the room to find the critics covered in cobwebs, their appearance akin to that of an Auschwitz Jew!

Why is this pedantic punctuality so critical? When real people go out for dinner in the real world, I am pretty confident that they don't sit at the table spitting at their wife "This main course is thirty eight seconds later than I thought it was going to be, what is the world coming to Margeret?"

When did we start accepting huge plates and tiny portions?

Why do chefs bang on about "Pan frying" things? what else are you going to fry it in?

Why do they drizzle and not just pour?

Why do I hate the phrase "Fine dining" so much? Is it because they expect plebs like me to be happy with "Average dining?"

Why does some wine go with some food? This REALLY gets up my arse. On some cooking shows, the God like chef will "Give birth" to a masterful creation, and then a wine "Expert" will be dispatched to find the relevant wine to accompany it. WHAT??? What does this mean? There will be some tweed suit wearing, cravat adorned cock standing in an off license, waxing lyrical about a "Fruity little white, that is just cheeky enough to bring out the best in the dish." I will say it, i will say it now, and i will be bold enough to say it on behalf of the nation......."FUCK RIGHT OFF!"

In the real world real people don't think like this. Yes there will be some pretentious tossers that think they know all there is to know about wine (There is nothing to know. It's grapes!) but on the whole, we all just want a glass of nice tasting plonk that helps the steak go down.

But in TV land, they are all in the pretend kitchen in the studio marvelling at how the lemony zinginess of the white, brings out something blah blah blah in the whatever.......In the real world I don't think George is spitting out wine all over the restaurant floor, coughing and saying "Dear God Margeret, this wine is in no way complimenting my chicken dippers"

Oh look, it's lunch time. Well I'm off to have sausage roll chips and beans. I may even have a glass of wine out of a box! That will show them.

It is at this point in the proceedings that i give the cue to Mr McAdam to enter stage right with a list of facts figures and corrections! I am fully expecting to see my next blog covered in red ink! E- see me boy. (Private joke, sorry ;) )

Bone appetite.

Set phasers on stun.......

Since quitting my job.......what? oh you don't really want to know all the gory details do you?.......oh ok, a quick summary.

Mid life crisis (Reginald Perin Style-Though clothed)

Some appalling management decisions (I can say it now, ah the freedom!)

Dogs

Auditing

Anxiety

stress

Right that about sums it up, back to it.......as I was saying, since quiting my job, I have had some time on my hands. Some of that time has been taken up with household chores, and a great deal of the rest with my ever growing fascination for all things U.F.O!

This really is a tricky one for me, half of me is a weary cynic, and the other half a kind of maybe believer. You see, even the half that believes is half cynical, so what does that make me, you do the maths.

I have actually seen something strange in the sky. One night about eleven pm I was outside trying to encourage our Jack Russells to urinate, when my attention turned to the stars. I often do this as the heavens are a truly wondrous spectacle. It was a semi cloudy night, and out of the corner of my eye something caught my attention. I peered harder, and there, either in or above the clouds, was a light. "So what," you might say, the night sky is full of stars, some of them very bright. But this light was different, it was nearer, it is hard to say how far away it was as there is no point of reference in a cloudy night sky, but it didn't look far away. It was much bigger than the stars I could see, and because of the clouds, it was fuzzy, not clear and concise. Then to my astonishment it divided into four lights spaced at twelve, three, six and nine o'clock, and rotated counter clockwise one hundred and eighty degrees. It stayed like this for a few seconds, then closed to a single light again. It repeated this over and over again.

I rushed in and woke up my wife, so that she could confirm what i was seeing. She agreed that yes it was there, and then declared that she was going in because it was cold! I on the other hand was not going to miss a single second of what might be a close encounter. I dragged a deckchair from the shed, and settled down for what must have been half an hour. The "U.F.O" gradually moved away towards the north west, and eventually faded from view.

Now, can I categorically state that this was an alien craft full of little green men, of course not. But I have mused over this on many occasions, and I continually fail to come to a logical earthbound conclusion.

My interest in this subject was not pricked by this event, quite the opposite. I have had a healthy interest in this kind of thing for a while, and it merely added fuel to the fire. I did toy with the idea for a little while that it might mean that I was the second coming, but having failed miserably to turn water in to wine on several attempts, I have put this notion to bed.

So as I was saying earlier, being at home all day, my Sky box is very often tuned to the discovery channels. There are lots of programmes on these channels that deal with the subject of U.F.O's. Some of it is probably hogwash, but can it all be hogwash? Yes there are some accounts of encounters by "Billie Bob" who after downing moonshine all evening, suddenly found himself aboard the mother ship, but others who I think it is far more difficult to poo poo. Airline pilots, military pilots, police officers, and yes even astronauts! is it really fare to call them all liars? Can they really all have been hallucinating?

A lot of these encounters are not just a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of one's eye, but a prolonged and sustained "Hounding" by what appears to be persistent craft, controlled by some kind of intelligence. World war two pilots often reported seeing balls of light. Some may say that they were merely witnessing ball lightening, but these balls of light carried out manoeuvres that ball lightening simply wouldn't do. The pilots of that era coined the phrase "Foo Fighters." It was suspected that the Nazi's were carrying out all kinds of experiments during the war, some of which were on a mind boggling scale. Some believe that these balls of light may have been some kind of Nazi created phenomena, for what purpose nobody really knows, but was it?

Some Ufologists believe in the ancient alien theories. ie: that aliens descended from the skies thousands of years ago, and kick started human technology. It is agreed by a lot of scholars, U.F.O. fans or not, that about ten thousand years ago there seemed to be a big leap in humans mastery of technology. Paintings throughout history have depicted "Things" in the sky that resemble disc like shapes.

There is a tribe of people in Mali region of Africa called the Dogon people. In 1931 two French anthropologists stumbled upon them, and proceeded to befriend them. Over the next thirty years they became privy to some of the Dogon's most devout beliefs. Among others was that they were visited by aliens many centuries ago, and those aliens imparted knowledge upon them. Knowledge of where they came from etc. The Dogon told the anthropologists that they came from a star that we now call Sirius B. The startling thing is, is that not only would a tribe that live in mud huts and can only have minimal access to books at best be unlikely to know about this star, the educated world didn't know about this star! Sirius A is visible to the naked eye, but Sirius B isn't. It can only be seen with powerful telescopes, and was only discovered in 1976, forty years after the Dogon told the anthropologists about it!

There are examples of this kind of thing all over the world, and history is littered with this kind of stuff. Some say that the Nazca lines in southern Peru are a landing strip for alien spacecraft. I roll my eyes at this theory, really, if an alien civilisation has got the technical ability to traverse the mind boggling distances of space to get here, surely they would have a better method of landing than having to lower the undercarriage! I can just imagining the alien pilots of the craft bursting through the clouds and peering out of the window. "Oh bugger, no landing strip, turn it around Dave, we will have to go home!"

This is where my cynical half (Or was it three quarters, I haven't worked it out yet) starts to raise it's ugly head. Take "The Greys" for example. The Greys are the most "Common" type of alien, the one's that inhabit popular culture. We have all seen depictions of them. Large head, large black eyes, short, skinny limbs etc. Now, we are lead to believe that these beings are far more technologically advanced than us puny humans. They have somehow mastered the ability of defying the laws of physics that Albert Einstein toiled so hard over, and also are able to withstand g forces that would vapourise a human being, if some of the manoeuvres that have been "Witnessed" are to be believed. Yet they apparently haven't mastered tailoring! Why are they always naked, and while i am on the subject, where are their genitals? How do they reproduce? They can allegedly create a worm hole in the space time continuum, but can't have babies, or indeed urinate.

I could go on forever, listing examples of "Evidence" then tearing that "Evidence" down with some cold hard cynical logic, but what would be the point?

I am still in two minds about it all, or is that three minds.......or four! Lets just hope that if and when they do land, they don't ask to be "Taken to your leaders" Then we are all buggered!

"Would sir care for an after dinner cigar?......."

Well, what a fiasco eh? A week ago, Raoul Moat, a violent man, was due to be released from prison. He told the warders, parole board and anyone else who would listen, that he had the intention of hurting his ex-girlfriend upon his release. The police (in all their wisdom) decided to bury their heads in the sand and do nothing, after all, they had their hands full trying to catch those dastardly bastards who will insist on eating Kit Kats whilst driving.

So sure as eggs is eggs, out he comes, stomps round the ex-girlfriends gaf, and blows her new boyfriend away, and does a pretty good job on her too. Then he wanders off and shoots a copper in a car at point blank range. Apparently, he had got it in his head, that the ex’s new fella was a copper. Apparently he wasn’t, but hey, he wasn’t going to let the facts hinder his judgement.
The tragic part of this story had just occurred, now we moved onto phase two, the farce. Raoul Moat now took off, and settled in the small Northumbrian town of Rothbury. He didn’t bother paying a visit to the local estate agents, no, he felt he wanted to live alfresco.

So off he meandered into the woods, and managed to give eleven, yes count ‘em ELEVEN police forces the slip for seven days. These are the ELEVEN police forces that have all the latest equipment, helicopters enabled with heat seeking devices etc etc and even the assistance of the SAS. Along the “Journey” the police came into the possession of various letters blaming everybody else for the predicament that Moat now found himself in. This bit stumped me a little. Now obviously I don’t know all the facts, but how did they receive this correspondence? If it was via the Royal Mail, I am surprised they received it at all, or did one of the handful of crims that were undoubtedly assisting Moat in his nocturnal meanderings deliver it to the police station by hand? If this was the case, wouldn’t it have been a good idea to apprehend the messenger, and maybe just ask him where Moat was?…….just a thought.

Well he trundled around taking in the morning air and the July sunshine for seven days, until he was finally corned on a river bank at about six thirty pm. We now enter the part that actually inspired me, nay, incensed me to write this.

Picture the scene if you will. A no doubt dishevelled, dehydrated, disoriented and slightly psychotic Moat is laying on the grass of the river bank with a gun pointed at his own head. He was apparently completely surrounded by police officers, armed to the teeth with all the latest assault rifles and sub machine guns. Some of the officers were only twenty feet away. Now in the good old days, the days where Gene Hunt and the like were on the beat. The days when coppers were proper coppers, you know the one’s that actually wanted to apprehend scum, and took pleasure in doing it, not just float through a career in the police thinking up poncy initiatives and all the rest of it, they would no doubt have shouted something at Moat like “Put the fucking gun down fuckface, or we will shoot your fucking arse off.” At which point Moat realising that the police were proper police, and weren’t going to fuck around, would have given himself up. Either that, or he would have entered such a state of psychosis that he would have pointed the gun at someone, and then been duly shot.

Fast forward to 2010 where human rights and health and safety are far more important than arresting scumbags, and the scenario is oh so very different. Now I am no expert on apprehending armed villains, but they were twenty bloody feet away from him for Christ’s sake. Apparently a tazar might have made a muscle spasm and ended up with him unintentionally pulling the trigger, and blowing his own head off (Like that wasn’t go to be the absolute inevitable end result anyway) so that was out of the question.

For years special forces around the world have had things called stun grenades, or ’Flashbangs’ They do what it says on the tin. They make a deafening bang and create a blinding flash, thus disorientating the miscreant for a fraction of a second, which is just enough time to give the assaulters the tactical advantage. So why not chuck half a dozen of those at him (Remember, they are only twenty feet away) and while his ears are still ringing, and he can’t see, rush at him (Remember, they are only twenty feet away!) whack him on the back of the head with a truncheon, and say “Your fucking nicked my son.”

Sigh, this is 2010, so they entered into six hours of debate with him! I could understand the softly softly approach if he was holding a gun to the head of a hostage, but he was holding a gun at his own head! So he had effectively taken himself hostage, and the police were trying to persuade him to let himself go! You could not make it up. “Trained negotiators” were speaking to him. Just how much training does one need to ask someone “If they want tea or coffee” Yes I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, reports were coming in that they were giving him food and drink!!!

Miss Marple and myself were watching all of this unfold on sky news (There was nothing else on, on the nine-hundred channels available!) The inevitable Psychologists were rolled out in front of the camera. Is it just me, or is psychology really just stating the bleedin’ obvious? There they are spouting forth with “Moat is a man that likes to be in control” - really! “He is blaming everyone else for this situation” - really! Well thanks for that insight. Where would we be without you?
So, back to the hotel, sorry siege. Yes he was being offered sustenance. I had visions of a little butler shuffling forward with a pad and pencil taking his order.

“What can I get you sir?”
“Have ye got any lobster?”
“Oh I am sorry sir, the lobster is off. We have some rather nice veal.”
“Yeah all right, I’ll have it medium with some French fries and lightly sautéed wild mushrooms.”
“And to drink sir?”
“Chateaux nerf du pape, ‘85.……obviously.”
“A very good choice sir, perhaps sir would like to listen to our string quartet while he waits for his food?”
“Yeah, that would be reet grand kidda, oh, and have you got a pillow for me heed, this grass is getting damp.”
“Of course sir…….A pillow for Mr Moat, and bring on the string quartet. Perhaps sir would enjoy a massage, I am sure he must be feeling a little tense.”
For fucks sake!!! What is going on in the world???

Apparently drinkers from the local pub had started putting out deck chairs so that they could take in the unfolding drama with a pint! That was until a party pooping health and safety obsessed policeman told them to go back inside.

Just when you thought things could not get any more weird, ridiculous, pathetic or down right silly, a pissed up Paul Gascoigne Arrived!!! He was claiming to be a good buddy of Mr Moat, and was offering to help “Talk him down.”
LOL, every bloody thing today is just Hollywood isn’t it? In the good old days, you didn’t get celebrities turning up at an armed siege. I suppose it is a shame he shot himself really. If only he had given himself up, he would have undoubtedly only got a couple of weeks detention for killing someone, and maiming to others, and he would have been out in time to be the star attraction in “I’m a celebrity, get me out of here”! Jordan would have unquestionably dumped the cage fighter and shacked up with “Moaty” ITV2 would have been hot on their heals for a reality show, and the autobiography would have been in W H Smiths for Christmas.
Stop the world, it’s gone way past my stop!

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.”

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.......

The 7.32 from Oddsville.......

The small rotund man looked over his shoulder, one last check to make sure the coast was clear. The alley way he was walking down was dank and dark, and a scurrying sound from behind one of the bins caught his attention for a second. He approached the door at the end of the alley, its paint peeled away, and the small frosted window was cracked. His heart felt as though it was in his mouth, as he raised his hand, he hesitated for a second. Should he go through with it? he still had time to turn and walk away. Return to the warm bosom of his wife, safe and clean and wholesome, but he simply couldn’t resist, this desire burned away at his very core, his limp attempt at denial was futile, something compelled him to rap three times on the door.

His heart rate quickened even further as he heard footsteps approaching the door. It slowly opened, and from the darkness within, a whispering voice said. "Password please."
"Er…….I’m sorry, I don’t know it, I’m new you see, I have……. er, never done anything like this before."
Even though he couldn’t see the man behind the door, he could somehow tell from his voice that he began to smile. "Ah, new blood, excellent. Come in."
The door opened with a creak, and the man stepped into a long hallway. Small lights struggled to light the length of it, and as he followed the stranger down the hall, he tried to wipe the nervous sweat away from his palms.
"How did you get to hear about us?" said the stranger without looking at the man.
"Er, well, you get to hear, you know."
The stranger laughed and turned to the man. "Well it doesn’t matter how you found us, just that you did, mmm?"
"Yes, I suppose so." Said the man as he giggled nervously.

The stranger opened the door to a large room. Inside men of all ages, sizes and denominations sat facing forward. In front of them was a large white screen, and an almost overwhelming sense of anticipation crackled in the air. The hushed conversations stopped as the two men entered.
"Brothers, a fledgling fly’s among us. Welcome him like he is one of our own. Brother. Your name please……."
The man’s eyes scanned the room nervously; he swallowed hard and said "Derek."
The entire congregation greeted him, and simultaneously did the secret signal. Derek had only heard rumours about this, and now he knew for certain that it was true. At last he had seen it with his own eyes. Everyman in the room clenched his fist, and raised it into the air. Then they all pulled their fists down twice, as if pulling on an imaginary cord.
"The stranger looked at Derek……."Brother?"

Derek felt the pride well up within him. He slowly clenched his fist, and as every set of eyes in the room fell upon him, he raised it into the air, and pulled it down twice.
"Toot toot," was the simultaneous response from the gathering.
The stranger smiled and said "Well done brother Derek, well done."
He ushered Derek towards the front of the assembly, and said, "You can sit with me tonight brother, just until you find your feet."
Derek sat down on a rickety chair, and the stranger walked to the front and stood before the screen.
"Brothers, welcome to one and all, let me just take this opportunity to welcome brother Derek into our little fold, and hope that his time here with us is an enjoyable one. We can deal with the formalities later brother, paper work etc. but now it is time to welcome our glorious leader. Please be upstanding for Brother Stephen, our Grand Master."

Every man in the room stood to attention, Derek followed suit. From the left of the room, a tall silver haired gentleman strode purposefully into the room. He turned and stood before the congregation, and gave the toot toot salute. All the men responded, Derek included. Derek had never felt so excited, he had never felt so at peace with himself, and he had never felt so ‘as one’ with a bunch of human beings as he did right now.
The man that had originally greeted Derek shouted "Gentlemen, SHIRTS OFF." All the men ripped open their shirts, and threw them into the air.

Never before had Derek been greeted with such a sight. It was truly magnificent, something to behold. The men were all different shapes and sizes, some had hairy chests, and some were clean shaven, some fat, some thin, but they all had one glorious thing in common. They all proudly sported bright shiny golden nipple clamps. And hanging between the clamps was a gold chain, and hanging from that gold chain was a guard’s whistle. Tears welled in Derek’s eyes, and even though his chest was clamp free, he still puffed it out, and held his head high.
"Step forward brother Derek," said Master Stephen.

Derek walked proudly to the front, and stood before the Grand Master. Derek looked down, and there laying upon a scarlet velvet cushion edged with gold braid, was his very own clamps. They shone as bright as the brightest star, and he couldn’t wait to feel the cold metal clamped firmly onto his erect nipples.
"With these golden clamps, I bestow upon thee brother Derek, the greatest honour that can be bestowed upon any spotter. We welcome thee into the fellowship that we call the 'Clamptits'. May thy clamps for ever shine, thy chain forever flow freely, and thy whistle forever toot. Look after them brother Derek, and they will serve thee well. Gentlemen, I give you…….Brother Derek."
The congregation all said "Brother Derek" together, then gave the toot toot salute. Derek looked deep into the Grand master’s eyes as he felt the icy cold clamps pinch his erect nipples. He almost felt a stirring in his loins as he felt the chain brush his chest. He felt the whistle swaying to and fro. He held it between thumb and forefinger, and raised it to his lips. With two powerful puffs, he let out a shrill toot toot into the room, the gathering raised their whistles and tooted back in recognition of their new member.
"Please be seated Brother Derek" said the Grand Master, "It is now time for the main event."
From behind him, Derek heard the whir of a projector, and on the large screen in front of him a grainy film of the unmistakable 'Flying Scotsman' burst fourth. Sighs of appreciation could be heard all around the room, and the air of excitement rose to fever pitch. Derek couldn't believe he was now one of them, one of the steam train enthusiasts clan. He had waited for this moment for so long, and now he was finally here.

He looked around him, and could see his fellow spotters were most definitely excited. He had felt a stirring himself, but wondered if there was some kind of etiquette. Just at that moment the Grand Master stood up sporting his own obvious excitement, and bellowed......"ALL ABOARD".......then blew his whistle. All around the room one could hear the sound of release. Tears welled in Derek's eyes once again. For so many years he had had to appreciate steam trains in private, his little guilty secret that he kept from his wife. Stolen moments when she was at her Mother's, those secret password locked folders on the computer, containing thousands of images of beautiful beautiful steam trains. How he would appreciate them, as he watched picture after picture flash before his eyes. The steam bellowing from the funnels, the beautiful lines that shaped every locomotive, the fires that burned deep within their beating hearts, but now he could appreciate them guilt free, here, in this place, he was complete.

"STOKE THE BOILERS GENTLEMEN, STOKE THE BOILERS" shouted the Grand Master, his face ruddy and sweating. Whistles swung violently to and fro, as the appreciation reached a crescendo. As the 'Flying Scotsman pulled into the station, it released a huge plume of steam, at this point, every man in the room raised his whistle to his quivering lips, and with a heavenly synchronicity, tooted as loudly as they could. The release was audible and simultaneous.......
The image on the screen flickered, and eventually ceased. Whistles fell from lips, and swung gently to a halt. The Grand Master slowly stood and removed his nipple clamps, "Same time next week gentlemen?".......

Punch monastery into the sat nav will Ya.......

It’s official, I am allergic to wheat. I have suspected for years that I might be. After eating bread etc I would feel like someone had inserted a bicycle pump up my rectum, and started pumping vigorously! So with all the "New year, new me" …….(It has worn off already. I have welcomed back with open arms, the old "The world is full of cunts" me!) …….cobblers, I took the plunge and decided to get it sorted once and for all.

Instead of going down the traditional route of making an appointment to see my doctor (whoever he or she is), via a Nazi receptionist, I took a wander down the holistic path. At our local "Mega" Tesco’s there is a little cubby hole, and inside is a little Chinese doctor, and his helpful female assistant. For the sum of thirty-five pounds, they can do a test, and it will tell you all the things that you are allergic to. It’s a simple and painless procedure which involves taking a small sample of hair, which they then send off to some laboratory somewhere. They work some voodoo magic on it, and lo and behold a few days later, you have your results.

Now, being somewhat follically challenged, and shaving the remaining hair to a closely cropped no. three, for one un-nerving moment I feared she might say that there was not going to be enough hair for the sample, and she would have to visit little Andy for a donation from his little hat! In the few seconds as we stood there, this whole scenario played out in my head, in a kind of mortifying slow motion. There I am standing in the middle of "Mega" Tesco’s, with my trousers around my knees, shirt pulled up over the protruding beer gut, staring down at a petit Chinese lady, who is kneeling down, and coming at me nervously with a small pair of scissors. All the while my wife, the Chinese doctor, and a rapidly gathering crowd look on with jaw slacking bemusement! Fortunately it never came to this, as the young lady coped admirably with my lack of scalp carpet, and managed to get enough from round the back somewhere.

So off it went in a little plastic bag, and I was told to wait a few days, and she would phone me to tell me it was ready. A few days passed, and she did indeed phone me. She asked if she could "speak to a mista Moo" and proceeded to tell me that my results were back, and to come in to see them on Saturday, and they would analyse them with me. Saturday comes around, and Miss Marple and I toddle off to "Mega" Tesco’s

"Ah Goo afternoo Mr Moo, here are your results."
Yes, there it was in big bright red letters…….ALLERGIC TO WHEAT…….It was even circled in red (Must be serious). There were other things too. Caffeine, citrus fruits, tomatoes, pepper, spices, fortunately these were not in red, and therefore I am not so allergic to them.
So, thank you God. That is not one, but several more avenues of pleasure closed off. I haven’t got much left. Fags when a few years ago, the only things I had left to cling to in an attempt to keep a grip on some kind of sanity was my beer, Jack Daniels, curries, big cups of tea and crusty cheese rolls. If I stick rigidly to what would be the new regime, all that would be gone, and all I would have left would be the XBOX and wanking. Having said that, the latter could be in jeopardy due to an unforeseen, and very unwelcome bout of some kind of ‘Tennis elbow’…….I could practice left handed I suppose, it’s not the same though is it?.......sigh.

Anyway, I then had three lots of pills plonked in front of me, and told that a good session of acupuncture would do me the world of good. I declined the opportunity. They seemed very keen; the little Chinese doctor’s assistant had to virtually wrestle the little Chinese doctor to the floor to stop him from jabbing me with hundreds of needles.

So, there you have it. I might as well join a monastery. I virtually have no avenues of pleasure left, and I have a head start…….(Eh!, see what I did there, eh!) on the monks hair cut thing. Or I could just say fuck it, and carry on regardless. What is worse, a clean living life of salad, fruit, and abject misery, or having an imaginary man thrust an imaginary bicycle pump up my bottom?
PS. I wonder what the monastic stance on self abuse is?.......

Where is Michael Fish?.......

I think it would be fair to say, that I do indeed spend a more than healthy amount of time in a state of irritability. I don’t really want to, I would genuinely much rather be ‘Happy go lucky’ but there is something deep down in my core, that just finds something irritating about most things.
What is worse, is that I seem to have been even more tetchy than normal just recently. I don’t have any concrete evidence as to why this is, but maybe it has something to do with the onset of winter, the cold, the grey skies as far as the eye can see, what seems to be constant drizzle, and probably worst of all, the darkness.

Anyway, putting all that to one side, I thought I would just do a quick review of what has been occurring recently in this mad mad mad mad world.

I read today that scientists now tell us that the hole in the ozone layer is protecting the Antarctic from global warming. For God’s sake make your minds up chaps will you. In fact a message to the whole scientific community, until you have something that is actually interesting, relevant, meaningful and useful to say, please shut the fuck up. It wouldn’t be so bad if they stuck to their guns, but eating toast last week prolonged your life by a decade, this week it gives you cancer!

Scientists do get on my nerves actually. They can be so bloody arrogant. "If I haven’t seen it through my electron microscope, or if it hasn’t happened under laboratory conditions, it doesn’t exist." Brilliant, that is about as blinkered and narrow minded as any religious zealot.

The bloody mindedness of science, can be just as silly as any religious fundamentalism. The big bang theory thing always gets me. If you ask them what was"there" before the big bang, their reply is……."Er, nothing." Brilliant, that’s it is it? Just nothing eh?, years at Harvard for that.

I am of course being a bit silly, science has given us some truly wondrous products and discoveries, I think my bitterness towards them stems from their reluctance to invent a useable personal jet pack…….I want one.......really really want one.

Liverpudlians. I can’t bare them. Yes every one of them, yes I know that is a ridiculous sweeping statement, but arse to it, let’s sweep away. My God they have a high opinion of themselves don’t they? "Salt of the earth this", "salt of the earth that," a sense of humour second to none. Really? let me just say Stan Boardman and Tom O’Conner, I don’t think so.
That bloody accent, in my opinion the worst accent of the British Isles. A whiney, lilting, phlegm inducing noise. Thank God the vast majority of them can’t string more than a few words together. "You know what I meeeeeeean likcccccccccckkkkkkkkke." Arghh, please make it stop.

Horrible human beings stomp around the planet, culling defenceless baby seals, killing elephants for their ivory, to make into obscene trinkets for other disgraceful human beings to buy. Pointlessly slaughter whales, and wipe out entire species. What the fuck are we doing? Let all of those beautiful creatures live, and turn your hateful vengeance on to Liverpudlians! YES, lets cull scousers. Your average baseball cap wearing, smelly tracksuit donning, stolen mobile phone using, dangerous dog wielding, benefit scrounging feckless scouser is a much more deserving target for your blood lust.

Leave the gorillas alone, Let that tiger be. Instead turn your attention to the council estates of Liverpool! Animal welfare people should be sent in to collect all of the "Dangerous dogs" (They can all come and live with Miss Marple and me, we will see how "dangerous" they are, once they have been festooned with love, care and proper attention) and then teams of ‘Purifiers’ should March through scumsville, flamethrowring any pointless chavs they find. Flush them out of their stinking pits. Let’s see how much ‘Darren’ liccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkes it with an arse full of machine gun fire! Hitler wasn’t all bad ya know, he just got carried away!

While we are on the subject of animals, a week or so ago, what can only be described as a "fucking stupid cunt" scaled the twenty foot high wall of a bear enclosure at some zoo or other. He wanted to get up close and personal with the bear, to get some better photographs! Because he was a complete dolt, he had failed to realize that this bear, although in captivity, was to all intents and purposes a wild animal. The bear proceeded to maul him, until the authorities shot it. Why didn’t they shoot the moronic cretin instead?

Our plasmas are plastered with reality TV at the moment, it is that time of year. I still cry with frustration and despair on a daily basis, due to the fact that vast swathes of the "Great" British public are still under the illusion that the ‘X FACTOR’ is a singing competition.

‘I’m a non entity, get me out of here’ rots the fabric of society this time of year as well. Thankfully I can resist being sucked into this one, but one can’t help catching the odd snippet from newspapers and TV. I will never cease to be amazed at how spoilt and precious your average fucking celebrity is. Some woman (I have no idea who she is) Left the "Jungle" after a couple of days, due to exhaustion, depression, and mal nutrition or something. FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!..................Can a human being possibly get anymore pathetic than that? If they had genuinely been dropped into a real jungle, two hundred miles from civilization, and if they really had to catch their own food, fend for themselves etc, you could possibly understand it. But we all know it’s about as much a "real" jungle as my fucking potting shed. Just out of camera shot there are doctors, councilors, manicurists, agents, lawyers, life coaches, assistants, dietitians etc etc etc. If you can’t hack sitting round in a glorified greenhouse surrounded by all that little lot for a couple of weeks, then quite frankly you deserve to be left in the fucking jungle…….for real!

I think the thing (And I mean "Thing") that sums it all up, is Jordan, or Katie Price or whatever she is fucking called this week. The producers of the show, realizing that nobody knew who any of the ‘celebrities’ were, decided to make "it" an offer that "it" couldn’t refuse, in order to try and boost the all important ratings. So for the obscene figure of three hundred and fifty thousand pounds, "It" swanned into the jungle to "save" the show.

After seven days of being voted by the public to do the ‘Bush tucker trials’ "It" announced that "it" would be leaving. "It" apparently said "I can’t understand why the public keep picking on me!" ……. No amount of slack jaws, raised eyebrows, or exclamation marks would ever be enough to cope with that quote. But with extreme grace, "it" agreed to knock off one hundred thousand pounds of "it’s" fee for quitting early. Bless.

There is a black bloke who sometimes does the weather on the BBC in the mornings, who is getting on my nerves. I am not a morning person, sometimes I am barely a person at all, but in the mornings I am usually bleary eyed, sometimes a bit hung over, but always grumpy. That bloody Carol Kirkwood is bad enough with her overly cheery "Morning" but this guy is curdling the milk on my sugar puffs. He bounces around in front of the map, and he has started doing those hand gestures, you know the one’s that hip hoppers do. Throwing his hand out towards the camera as he tells me "it’s gonna rain in da east today." All the while bouncing. His other hand reaches up and moves down across his body as he says "You guys in da West r gonna ‘av it fine." Still bouncing. "Up in Scoterlannnnnnnd you mudders gonna get one bitch load a snow…….mmm mmm."

Look BBC, if I wanted ‘Huggy Bear’ forecasting the weather, I would go to channel five ok. Because the BBC pride themselves on being "Right on" and "Down wi da kids" and all that, they are letting this guy have a free reign. What is he going to do next? I am fully expecting to be wearily munching on my burnt toast one morning soon, and ‘anchor man’ bloke will say "And now the weather."

A kicking hip hop groove will strike up, and ‘MC Wedder boy’ will slide into shot doing a bit of ‘beat boxing’. At the same time a couple of bootilicious soul sisters will funk their way onto the set. Standing one either side of him, they will thrust their leopard skinned booties towards the camera, as ‘MC’ starts to rap the weather!.......

Yo yo all yo mudders out there, is it gonna rain, or will it be fair.

I’m MC Wedder boy at yo service, wit da aid of ma bitches and young
Curtis (Cut to shot of kid spinning on his head)

Rainin’ in da east, snowing in da west, I’m da wedder boy dat you love da best.

(Soul sisters) – Heeeeeeeeeee’s da man, mmm what a man – (bit of booty shaking)

Scoterland wales and norten Ireland, will start off dull, but then will brighten.

All my homies in da home counties, yo rely on me, I put ma money where ma mout is.

Sunshine beaming like ma wedder boy bling, come on sisters let me hear you sing…….boooyakasha!

(Soul sisters) – Heeeeeeeeee’s da man, oh wat a wedder man –(Booty shaking and pouting)

If the BBC has now entered a period of "Non Traditional Weather forecasting" lets have some more examples shall we? Let’s have Mustafa the Muslim Fundamentalist forecaster……

Many London residents will wake to find a plague of locusts descending upon the capital city today – HOME OF THE INFADELS! - God’s divine wind will sweep in from the east, and cleanse the land of the impurities of the west. Looking forward to the long term forecast, I predict rain for forty days and for forty nights, followed by an upsurge of hot air from the Middle East. Goodnight.

Perhaps a Rastafarian weather forecast.

Anchor man – So Winston, what does the weather have in store for us today?

Winston – long pause…….cool man.

Perhaps our weather forecasters aren’t gay enough. Perhaps we should have Justin doing the weather. I would like to see him mince on to the weather girls "It’s raining men."

"Ooh ‘ello. Ooh my lovelies it’s going to be wet today. Plenty of showers, but not golden one’s we ‘ope, eh? (cackles) ooh take no notice of me. If I am to believe what my fellow forecaster Julian tells me, I’ll need to prepare myself for a severe stiff one from the south tonight…….eh! Oh and don’t talk to me about the snow up north, I could be up to my eyeballs in soggy white stuff before I know it, nothing new there love, eh! Oooooh. Well that’s all from me, ill catch you later, I can feel a breeze around the Urals.

What was wrong with Michael Fish? He may not have got the weather forecast right, but there was a certain stiff upper lip about it all. Having said that, I notice that he has made a bit of a comeback on GMTV and even he is being a bit off hand, flippant, and down wid da kids! Where will it all end?.......

Mr Nobody.......

Do you know who I am Ladies and Gentlemen? I am the most unimportant man in the world, that’s who. Do you know why I am the least favoured man on the planet? …….well I will tell you.

I am Male, I am Caucasian, I have no children, I am not a homosexual, I have a full time job, I claim nothing from the state, I am not an ethnic minority, I am not disabled, I am not a criminal, I am not a drug addict,
(Sorry, I mean I am not addicted to any form of barbiturate, through no fault of my own. In fact it simply has to be someone else’s fault that I am hooked on a class A drug. Even though it was completely my decision to take the drug in the first place, I am blaming my parents for not cuddling me enough, my school for not recognising my ‘special needs’, the police for not being understanding enough, Jimmy Cartwright at school for calling me a name when I was five, that very much hurt my feelings, Grandad for taking me fishing, when I really didn’t want to go, and the whole world for generally being beastly. There, that’s much more politically correct isn’t it? We can’t go round upsetting the poor little drug addicts can we)
and last but no means least, I tend to play by the rules. That is why I am completely irrelevant.

I am often tempted to cut a leg off, Have a sex change, cover myself in gravy browning, adopt a child, join an Islamist sect, live in a caravan, quit my job and live on handouts, indulge in petty crime, and start lifting shirts, just to get some fucking attention!

You see, probably up until about fifty or so years ago, all of these people were persecuted, ridiculed and abused, and it was almost seen as the "norm" for it to be that way. Of course that is completely and utterly wrong, and thank goodness that, in general, this country has become a much more liberally minded and tolerant place. But you see where it all falls down (As usual) is that us bloody human beings just can’t leave things alone. We couldn’t just change things so that the persecution of these people became unlawful and morally irreprehensible, we had to keep going and keep going, until they were put on a pedestal. They were now the special ones, and everybody that tried their best to put them there, became lower class citizens! After all, "We are all equal, but some are more equal than others."

So the inevitable outcome of this, is that I am completely invisible! I am not "special" you see. I am not in a minority. I am Mr. Nobody.

There are millions of me about though, yes literally millions of me. Getting up at the crack of dawn, going to work, paying taxes, paying bills, going through the rigmarole and expense of acquiring all of the relevant legal documentation to enable me to drive a vehicle on the public highway. Claiming nothing, and not being eligible to claim anything from the state, being criminalized for petty trivial misdemeanors, (Feeding the ducks…….no really!) and generally slogging my guts out.
Oh what a fool am I. What I really should be doing, is…….

Changing my name to Mohamed/Polovski/O’reilly, becoming a woman and having three kids, not bothering with any of that silly vehicle documentation stuff, it doesn’t matter if I get caught, the fine for having no tax, insurance or MOT is less than it costs to obtain it all in the first place anyway, and I shouldn’t bother with a license either, if I haven’t got one, they can’t take it away can they, tee hee. I should be slipping over on a recently mopped floor. The benefits of this are amazing apparently, compo, and state benefits for the rest of my life, ‘cause I will have a pretend bad back. While I am at it, I should buy/steal some sort of mobile home, plonk it where I like, build what I like around it……. planning permission, rules, what’s that?....... Don’t you pick on me with your tyrannical rules and stuff, I will be an ethnic minority you know, that’s persecution that is. I should develop a drug habit, steal from Mr. Nobody to fund it, blame it on my childhood, my parents, my teachers……. the boogie! Whatever, get Mr. Nobody to pay for my "Rehabilitation" in the Maldives, Come back, develop a drug habit……. Meanwhile, allow my feral feckless brats to run amok terrorising the local community, blame it on the boogie! Get Mr. Nobody to pay for councilling and cuddling sessions for them, pick up a load of leaflets from Chief Constable Hopeless about parenting skills, (They are excellent for making roaches for spliffs) Get Mr. Nobody to buy me a nice new shiny 42" plasma (a bit like the one I stole off him a few weeks back) sit on my ever expanding arse, and play on-line fucking bingo all day!.......I can’t wait. (Deep breath)…….

The liberals have taken over, and completely fucked up the asylum Ladies and Gentlemen. We now live in a country where the Government, the police, teachers, and all the Mr. Nobody’s are scared shitless of upsetting anyone whose name isn’t Smith/Jones/Mule etc. We have made all of the above people so "Special" they have started to believe the hype. They must wake up in the morning, look in their state funded mirrors, and say to themselves, "Hello gorgeous, you really are special."

We don’t live in that equality driven society that we all dreamed of, we exist in a world where the "Special ones" are the ruling class. Why is there the NBPA? (National black police officers association). Why do we have the MOBO’s? (Music of black origin awards). I know I sound like the bastard love child of Richard Littlejohn of the Daily Mail, and BNP leader Nick Griffin, but there is a serious point here, if the equivalent "White" versions of these were set up, arrests would be being made as we speak.

It’s not just black and ethnic areas where blatant favoritism is shown, (I’m really going to get it in the neck now!) but women have much more "Equality" than me. Women’s rights this, and women’s rights that, Women against this, women against that. Feminism, womenism, vaginaism.

Lets just be done with shall we, and massacre all men. They can have a few kept in cages for reproductory requirements, although the levels of man hating and man bashing are so astronomical now, that all women will probably be lesbians in a couple of hundred years anyway, so the caged men will just be sperm donors. Will they kill all male infants at birth, just keeping the healthier specimens back as "Donors?" Dear God, sends a shiver down the spine. (Is it safe to stick my head above the parapet yet?.......)

Our new found "Equality" has even wriggled its way into sexuality. Now look, I absolutely, honestly, really couldn’t give a shit (Please forgive that very much unintended pun) where any man lodges his willy, but do gay men have to push it in my face (Pun very much intended, couldn’t resist it) Gay pride for example, it’s not that I have anything against Gay pride as an organization, but if I was to set up ‘Straight and proud’ and go on marches proclaiming "Its great to be straight!" I would be accused of being homophobic, and Chief Constable Hopeless would be round mine handing out leaflets on ‘Sexual diversity and you’ quicker than you could say "Are you free Mr. Humphries."

We have gone too far with it all, I don’t mind how far it goes really, but why can’t us Mr. Nobodys come along for the ride too? Why do we have to be left behind?

As I have been tapping this out, something has slowly been dawning on me. For centuries, "White" man has been stomping around the globe, pushing people about. Nicking land off them, tyrannizing, enslaving, and generally lording it up at other people’s expense. For as long as we can remember, men have looked down on "The little woman," seen anyone with a skin darker than their own as second class citizens. Persecuted Homosexuals, and turned disabled people into freak show exhibits.
Perhaps we are finally getting our come uppance. Perhaps we are finally getting what we deserve. Am I paying for the activities and attitudes of my fore fathers? Could be, Mother nature seems to have a way of redressing the balance one way or another.
But hey, Mother nature, can’t you slow down with the change a bit, maybe even swing it back in my favour a little…….no? Karma i suppose.

As an end to this rant…….er I mean lecture, I would just like to share with you an example of Karma that I witnessed the other day. It seems that it is not only Ethnic minorities, feckless chavs, women and homosexuals that see me as Mr. Nobody. Drivers of big cars seem to see me that way too. For years I have been slowly coming to the boil about drivers of such cars as BMW’s and such the like. Their arrogance, selfishness, their complete lack of willingness to concede that other road users have as much right to be on the roads as them. To the story…….

Part of my journey to work, involves traveling along a straight piece of road, that has another road joining it at a very acute angle. The road joining "mine", is a junction, and the users of it are expected to give way. Having used it myself, I will concede that it is bloody awkward to see if anything is coming. The wing mirror just doesn’t cut it, and a severe craning of the neck is required to spot somebody coming. Of course a good hefty glance over to the right when one is half way down the road can help immensely as one approaches the junction, but this is obviously far too taxing for most people.

One car out of a hundred can be forgiven for genuinely not seeing me coming, but the other ninety-nine are just arrogant bastards. These are people that also see me as Mr. Nobody. They are far more important than I am, Their time is far more precious. The place they have to be is far more crucial than mine, and their business far more pressing. I have honestly lost count of the number of times that I have had to slam the brakes on, as they gaily bowl out of the junction, with not a second thought for my existence.

Just the other morning I was traveling along said bit of road. Foot twitching, ready to jump to the brake pedal, I saw one of the most beautiful pieces of karma I will probably ever see. BMW boy was approaching the junction behind a council truck, and I have to give him is due, (to a small extent); I did see him glance over his shoulder. Never the less, even though he saw me coming (I know he did, we made eye contact) he decided to arrogantly press ahead anyway, after all bollocks to me, I am Mr. nobody. Unfortunately for him (Fortunately for the rest of mankind) the guys in the council truck weren’t arrogant bastards, and they had courteously and rightfully stopped. As I drove past and glanced left, I almost became erect as I witnessed a very crumpled bonnet, and a beautiful plume of steam rising gently to the heavens. The added bonus is, is that the hefty truck he ran into had not a scratch on it! I wish I had had the courage to stop, and dance around his steaming pile of dented arrogant metal, like a Morris man around a Maypole! It’s funny where little instances of Karma can arise…….isn’t it!

You know that there is an old Chinese proverb that says……."If a man sits on…….Sigh, hang on, sorry....... if a man/woman/hermaphrodite/individual caught in the thorny dilemma of undecided gender alignment, sits on a…….HANG ON HANG ON!!! Bollocks to it. Political correctness can really fuck up a proverb can’t it!

.......If a man sits on the river bank long enough, he will eventually see the bodies of his enemies float by.