confusaneus exasperatio
Or random irritations to you and me. Look, before either of my readers emails, texts, phones or calls round to tell me that the above is not the technically correct translation, i googled it ok. That was the best it came up with.
Random Irritations
(You realise this could go on forever don’t you)
Oh well, take a deep breath, tighten your safety harnesses’ and splice the main brace…….we have lift off.
Davina McCall – Absolutely no explanation needed
Big Brother - See above
Our Tupperware box cupboard – Yes, I have a deep seated hatred for the ‘cupboard form hell’ as I have named it. Even if the diligent Miss Marple has neatly stacked all the bottoms, and all the lids, I am still crushed by an avalanche of plastic every time I open the bloody thing.
Pointless barking – Ronnie and Reggie obviously bark when someone comes to the house, they see this as their job, and I fully support them in this work related exercise. What I can’t abide however, is woofing for no apparent reason.
This almost without fail always occurs just as I am raising a cup of tea to my lips. They wait for the optimum moment, and WOOF. This results in me jumping and twitching like Jack Douglas from the ‘Carry on’ films, smacking myself in the teeth with the cup, and spending the afternoon in casualty with third degree burns. Then they have the audacity to look at me with that . . . . . . . "What?" look on their face.
Unwanted ‘me time’ apparitions – If one is having a little ‘me time’, why at just the wrong moment, do people I don’t want in my head, suddenly appear there? Old Jim next door, a dead grandparent, Hugh Edwards!. . . . . . . Davina McCall. Sigh.
Davina McCall
The failure of scientists to invent the personal jet pack – When I was a small boy (Miss Marple would say that I still am!) Raymond Baxter on ‘Tomorrows World’ promised me, that by the year 2000, we would all be going to work using jet packs. WHY HASN’T THIS HAPPENED? I’ll tell you why, because instead of using their time and funding to invent brilliant things like jet packs, scientists waste it working out that people don’t like Mondays, or that burnt toast gives you cancer. Come on, pull your fingers out!
Having one ear lower than the other – This wouldn’t normally be a huge problem, but I wear glasses. So when I am trying to appear immensely sophisticated, the glasses slewed across my face, at what appears to me to be a forty-five degree angle, just make me look village idiotish.
Always being in someone’s way at social functions – It’s incredible, but wherever I stand at any social gathering, I seem to be in the way. If I’m in a pub, even if I am standing in a corner, somebody will want to get past. For experimental purposes, whilst I was at a wedding once, I took my pint, and went and stood in the field next door. Low and behold, within five minutes, I was hearing the words "excuse me," followed by tutting!
Being invisible at social functions – Why do I seem to be wearing some sort of cloaking device, when standing at a bar? I don’t understand it. I am fourteen and a half stone, not overly short, and I have one ear lower than the other, I’m not that easily miss able! But no, stand at a bar, and I become as "HELLO I’M HERE EVEYBODY" as an F117 stealth fighter.
Social functions
Jamie bloody Oliver – Ooooh can I punch him, can I? I don’t know, he just irritates me. His bloody Sainsbury’s adverts, him banging on and on about bloody school dinners. Shut up Jamie, leave people alone. I salute those mothers that were sticking burgers through the bars of the school playground. Not because I think child obesity is a good thing, but just because it was a two fingers to you Oliver.
Even back in the old days he was fucking annoying. ‘The naked chef’. There he was, a middle class boy pretending to be all ‘street’ and cockney. "smashing, there you go darlin’, pucker" and all that crap. Cooking in his trendy apartment, in his trendy kitchen.
Then all his trendy mates come round. Samantha, Josh, ‘Steevo’, Matt or whatever they are called. Then we have to watch them all tucking in, and saluting the great Oliver, while ‘Top Loader’ plays in the background……."We get it on most every night……." AAAARGGHHHHHH shut up! And then to top it all, not only is he an inspirational cook, the most popular man in Islington, and married to the perfect ‘Jules’, he gets behind his drum kit, for an impromptu jam session with Josh, Matt, and Steevo. Just one bullet God, go on, just one…….
Davina McCall
My own inability to be able to understand anything financial – I don’t know why, but I just can’t comprehend anything to do with money/finances/business etc. Miss Marple and myself like to cosy up and watch ‘Dragon’s Den’ but no matter how many times I have it drummed into me, I still don’t know what "turnover" means. Really, no idea at all. Frightening.
Nettles – No not Bergerac, although ‘Midsommer murders’ is annoying, no the other sort. What was the good Lord thinking of when he invented nettles? Since having Ronnie and Reggie, I have spent countless enjoyable hours roaming and romping through the woods, only to have the whole experience tainted, by inadvertently brushing passed a nettle. Yes brushing past, not falling into, or stumbling upon, just going near them seems to be enough for me to be attacked. I swear they go for me, lash out. To me nettles are the chavs of the botanical world. Irritants, and ultimately bloody pointless.
The contestants on ‘Deal or no deal’ – This is a big one for me. It’s probably totally irrational, but I hate ’em, the whole damn lot of them! Where do they find these bastards? Look you twats, the whole thing is completely random, purely down to chance and luck. This doesn’t stop you though does it, oh no, using ‘systems’ and birthdays. Having a "good feeling" about this box or that box.
What’s even worse than all this "Positive energy" and "Good vibes" bollocks, is their general behavior. ……. FUCKING SIT DOWN!....... For God’s sake stop bloody pacing about. They drive me mad. High fiving everyone when they get a good box, clutching Polaroid’s of their grandchildren, and bursting into tears. Jumping up and down, whooping and hollering.
You don’t get contestants on ‘University challenge’ wandering about do you? No, that’s because Jeremy Paxman has got them on a tight leash. He knows how to command a quiz. He quite frankly won’t stand for any whooping, and certainly wouldn’t put up with a holler. Noel on the other hand has let them get away with murder. No wonder the whole process takes forty-five minutes with all this roaming around, In all honesty, it could all quite easily be done and dusted in ten.
Why do they insist on running over to the box opener, and hugging and kissing them? They have only opened a bloody box. They have no control over what the result is going to be. Then we get the most irritating line in the whole show.
"Thank you Mr. Banker, it’s a very good offer, but no deal" Then the whole studio erupts in to applause, with yet more whooping and hollering. People punching the air, and bearing their teeth. From the carry on you would think that they had just witnessed Nelson Mandela defying apartheid, or a Chinese student facing down a tank in Tiananmen Square. Anyway, it’s not a good offer, you have still got the top three of the ‘Power five’ left, and the mean bastard has only offered you six and a half grand. If I had got the top three left, I would want at least one hundred grand, a night with his wife, and permission to punch Noel right in the gob.
That’s it, Deal or no deal has sent me over the edge. I will have to leave it there for now, but don’t think this is it, you haven’t got off that lightly…….Asta la vista baby.
Monday, 29 September 2008
Thursday, 4 September 2008
The Devil wears Wranglers.......
What is it with this human obsession with clothing? Why is what we are wearing so important? I raise these questions because of an incident at my place of work the other day. Now, I am not an expert on the law, far from it, but I am guessing that mentioning someone’s name, or indeed a corporation’s name in the same sentence as “bunch of fucking wankers”, could possibly be litigious! Not that I care overly, but I suppose it would be better not to have my denim clad arse hauled before the courts! Anyway, I don’t know why I am concerning myself with being sued, nobody reads this. Even Miss Marple can find something that really needs doing, when I proudly announce another publication!
So what was this earth shattering event that has caused me to vent my spleen? We have been told from upon high at my place of work, that the wearing of jeans is now FORBIDDEN. . . . . . . . “Why do you get so hot under the collar about such things Andy?” I can already hear normal people saying. “Why are you undoubtedly raising your blood pressure, and bringing about your early and untimely death, through stressing over such trivia?”.......IT’S THE BLOODY PRINCIPAL - THAT’S WHY!!!.......
As always with me, it’s not the trouble or inconvenience etc etc that things may cause me, that winds me up, it is the moronic, short sighted, narrow minded thinking behind this stuff that gets so far up my arse that I can taste it! Who was it way back in the depths of history, that decided that the wearing of jeans is as close to being the Devil’s lackey as can possibly be?
I am guessing the reasons behind this declaration, is ‘the customers’. They want to present a certain image to the customers, that says professional, efficient, and other such corporate crap. I genuinely believe that the customers where I am unfortunate enough to work, couldn’t care less if I was wearing a fucking tutu, as long as they get what they want. The cretins that come up with this sort of “No jeans” crap, are the same sort of wishy washy tossers, that get all sweaty and sanctimonious about “ba ba BLACK sheep” and whatnot. Just as my customers don’t give a shit about what I am wearing, the local Muslim and black community are in no way offended by “ba ba black sheep”. But still these people take it upon themselves to “Protect” people from stuff, that they don’t need protecting from. Patronising bastards.
Apart from stuff like this being a load of unnecessary nonsense, what difference does it make what someone wears? I couldn’t give a monkey’s arse what the woman behind the hotel reception desk has got on. I would rather be greeted with efficiency, courtesy and a smile, than a crisp blouse, name badge and plastic sincerity. Yes it’s all style over content.
I can already hear some people saying “Andy, you have let your temper run away with you. You have let your frustration cloud your judgment. Sometimes we need people to be wearing a uniform, so that we know who is who, and what is what. When we go in to our local branch of comet, we want to be able to differentiate between the staff and customers.” Trust me, you will know which ones are the staff, they will be the bastards that jump on your back as soon as you take your first step through the door. You will spend the rest of your time in their shop, virtually giving Darren a bloody piggy back! I am going to get a restraining order next time I go in there.
Surely history must have taught us that uniforms generally equal bad things. Roman Centurions stomping across Europe, The Nazi’s Blitzkreig. . . ing the same path, yet we still have the utmost respect for anyone wearing a uniform. Smart, yes you have got to be smart to do certain jobs haven’t you. WHY?.......I personally would love to see a judge sitting up there wearing Ray Bands, and a Hawaiian shirt. Who wouldn’t rather see traffic wardens wearing Speedo’s, flip flops, and a straw boater? Would take some of the pomposity away from them wouldn’t it.
That’s the trouble you see, uniforms give people an over inflated opinion of themselves. Power dressing and all that. If Adolf Hitler hadn’t worn his crisp uniform, and highly polished boots, he probably would have been a lot more chilled out. When I am Prime Minister, I am going to ban ties. Really, what is the bloody point. A more useless garment there can never have been. People realize this, and to try and inject some humour into tie wearing, they buy one’s covered in The Tazmanian Devil, or Homor Simpson. Trust me, you are not being humerous, you are being a tit.
It is ludicrous beyond words to think that because someone is smartly dressed, they must be an upstanding citizen. The Kray twins, George Bush, all ardent suit wearers…….I rest my case. I may have mentioned in previous blogs, that I spent many years playing in bands. In all those years I only witnessed one fight. Where was that? At a biker’s do, with some of the ‘scruffiest’ scariest looking people you have ever seen in your life, At festivals where people were wearing jeans, shorts, t-shirts, and other such scruffy attire? No, it was at a fucking wine bar, full of people wearing suits.
I think Ben Elton summed it up totally twenty or more years ago, when he was talking about night club dress codes. (Ironically he was always wearing suits, but we will brush over that!) You know how you have to be lined up outside, and “inspected” by the bouncers. Well, the bouncer is walking along the line, casting his authoritative eye over the potential clubbers…….
“Hello Himmler, nice shiny boots, very smart you‘re in. Stalin, look at those creases, pin sharp, go on, in you go. Saddam, very nice uniform, in you go. ……. fuck off Jesus, no sandals!” That say’s it all, so I will leave it there.
So what was this earth shattering event that has caused me to vent my spleen? We have been told from upon high at my place of work, that the wearing of jeans is now FORBIDDEN. . . . . . . . “Why do you get so hot under the collar about such things Andy?” I can already hear normal people saying. “Why are you undoubtedly raising your blood pressure, and bringing about your early and untimely death, through stressing over such trivia?”.......IT’S THE BLOODY PRINCIPAL - THAT’S WHY!!!.......
As always with me, it’s not the trouble or inconvenience etc etc that things may cause me, that winds me up, it is the moronic, short sighted, narrow minded thinking behind this stuff that gets so far up my arse that I can taste it! Who was it way back in the depths of history, that decided that the wearing of jeans is as close to being the Devil’s lackey as can possibly be?
I am guessing the reasons behind this declaration, is ‘the customers’. They want to present a certain image to the customers, that says professional, efficient, and other such corporate crap. I genuinely believe that the customers where I am unfortunate enough to work, couldn’t care less if I was wearing a fucking tutu, as long as they get what they want. The cretins that come up with this sort of “No jeans” crap, are the same sort of wishy washy tossers, that get all sweaty and sanctimonious about “ba ba BLACK sheep” and whatnot. Just as my customers don’t give a shit about what I am wearing, the local Muslim and black community are in no way offended by “ba ba black sheep”. But still these people take it upon themselves to “Protect” people from stuff, that they don’t need protecting from. Patronising bastards.
Apart from stuff like this being a load of unnecessary nonsense, what difference does it make what someone wears? I couldn’t give a monkey’s arse what the woman behind the hotel reception desk has got on. I would rather be greeted with efficiency, courtesy and a smile, than a crisp blouse, name badge and plastic sincerity. Yes it’s all style over content.
I can already hear some people saying “Andy, you have let your temper run away with you. You have let your frustration cloud your judgment. Sometimes we need people to be wearing a uniform, so that we know who is who, and what is what. When we go in to our local branch of comet, we want to be able to differentiate between the staff and customers.” Trust me, you will know which ones are the staff, they will be the bastards that jump on your back as soon as you take your first step through the door. You will spend the rest of your time in their shop, virtually giving Darren a bloody piggy back! I am going to get a restraining order next time I go in there.
Surely history must have taught us that uniforms generally equal bad things. Roman Centurions stomping across Europe, The Nazi’s Blitzkreig. . . ing the same path, yet we still have the utmost respect for anyone wearing a uniform. Smart, yes you have got to be smart to do certain jobs haven’t you. WHY?.......I personally would love to see a judge sitting up there wearing Ray Bands, and a Hawaiian shirt. Who wouldn’t rather see traffic wardens wearing Speedo’s, flip flops, and a straw boater? Would take some of the pomposity away from them wouldn’t it.
That’s the trouble you see, uniforms give people an over inflated opinion of themselves. Power dressing and all that. If Adolf Hitler hadn’t worn his crisp uniform, and highly polished boots, he probably would have been a lot more chilled out. When I am Prime Minister, I am going to ban ties. Really, what is the bloody point. A more useless garment there can never have been. People realize this, and to try and inject some humour into tie wearing, they buy one’s covered in The Tazmanian Devil, or Homor Simpson. Trust me, you are not being humerous, you are being a tit.
It is ludicrous beyond words to think that because someone is smartly dressed, they must be an upstanding citizen. The Kray twins, George Bush, all ardent suit wearers…….I rest my case. I may have mentioned in previous blogs, that I spent many years playing in bands. In all those years I only witnessed one fight. Where was that? At a biker’s do, with some of the ‘scruffiest’ scariest looking people you have ever seen in your life, At festivals where people were wearing jeans, shorts, t-shirts, and other such scruffy attire? No, it was at a fucking wine bar, full of people wearing suits.
I think Ben Elton summed it up totally twenty or more years ago, when he was talking about night club dress codes. (Ironically he was always wearing suits, but we will brush over that!) You know how you have to be lined up outside, and “inspected” by the bouncers. Well, the bouncer is walking along the line, casting his authoritative eye over the potential clubbers…….
“Hello Himmler, nice shiny boots, very smart you‘re in. Stalin, look at those creases, pin sharp, go on, in you go. Saddam, very nice uniform, in you go. ……. fuck off Jesus, no sandals!” That say’s it all, so I will leave it there.
Saturday, 23 August 2008
Would you Adam and Eve it. . . . . . .
On the whole, Miss Marple and myself get on spiffingly. Surprising really, seeing as we have been cohabiting for approximately twelve centuries……..er sorry, years now. There are times however, when we do seem to be speaking in completely different tongues. This brings me neatly onto the theme of today’s lecture.
Men and women, the same but different…….
Yes, men and women, the same but different. A truer phrase could not be uttered. They both have legs, arms, noses, ears etc etc etc, but it seems to be the brain department where the problems start to occur. Women seem to have a huge chip on their shoulder about having smaller brains!.......WAIT WAIT, NO SORRY, THAT WAS A CHEAP SHOT, AND A COMPLETE FALICY. I just couldn’t resist it. No to be serious, men and women’s brains obviously work in exactly the same fashion as far as biology and chemistry and all that goes, but there is something very different about the thoughts that run through them.
To be laughably simplistic, men seem to be much simpler creatures on the whole, more easily satisfied, and less complicated. Women on the other hand, probably due to the fact that by their very nature have more to cope with, seem to over complicate things sometimes. For example…
Man Says – “Are we definitely going to your Mothers for lunch on Sunday?”
Woman thinks – What is he asking that for? I told him we were definitely going. Oh I see, he doesn’t really want to go. He has never liked my Mother, Perhaps he doesn’t like his own mother, perhaps he hates all women. He has probably become a woman hating serial killer. He has been going out a lot these past few evenings. . . . . . .Affair, yes that’s it, he is having an affair…….with my mother. The bastard…….etc etc etc
On the subject of woman hating, I have often wondered if I am a misogynist. If the truth be known, I think most men will go through a period of misogyny from time to time, lets face it, it’s hard not to! I also think that men would actually prefer it, if women were actually men, but with front bottoms! In the interests of balance and fairness, here is an example of a mans simple approach, in direct conflict with a womens complicated approach.
Woman says – “You never listen to a word I say do you? No, it’s just me me me me me. I have to do everything around here, while you just swan around down the pub with your mates, and park your arse in front of that stupidly large TV, and watch fucking Stargate. Well I have just about had enough, things are going to have to change around here. Maybe I will find somebody that does appreciate me, someone who will treat me like a woman, and not just a sexual plaything, someone who will take me out, hold a door open for me, pull my chair out. . . . . . .
Man thinks – I supposse the leg over has bitten the dust tonight, and it looks like i'll be off to the chip shop!
I don’t think the blame can be put squarely at either side’s door. No, I think it was a conspiracy. Way back in the mists of time at the creation of the universe, Old God and Mother Nature were at work one day, and something like this happened…….
(Cue wobbly picture)
The dawn of creation, day 7…….
GOD “Morning”
MN “Oh yeah, morning”
GOD “Oh dear, do I detect an air of dispondency. Has someone got out of bed the wrong side this morning?”
MN “Christ…….”
GOD “Not yet” – laughs.
MN Raises eyebrows, “…….Is it that obvious? Anyway you should know, you're all seeing and all knowing."
GOD “Oooh, clever clogs. Lets just say you do seem a little pre occupied this morning”
MN “Sorry, I think the pressure of work is getting to me. I would go and see the occupational therapist…….if there was such a thing.”
GOD “Don’t worry, that’s next on the list, and yes I know this creation thing is a bind, but we are nearly done now. Now, where were we? Oh yes, mankind.”
MN “Er, mankind, just remind me again”
GOD “You know, those bipeds, we made them quite intelligent, but gave them no morals.”
MN Laughs, “Oh yes I remember, I am feeling a little better already. Now where did we plonk them?”
GOD “Earth”
MN “Earth, just remind me again.”
GOD “You know the one, little green and blue one, on the outskirts.”
MN “Oh yes, pretty little thing, they’re gonna fuck that right up aren’t they?”
GOD “Of course. Anyway, how are we getting on with them? Done all the limbs and that?”
MN “Yes yes.”
GOD “Vital organs, brain and what not?”
MN “Done it.”
GOD “Dangerously inquisitive nature?”
MN Laughs “Oh yes!"
GOD “Interlocking genitalia, sexual attraction, libido etc etc?”
MN “Sorted.”
GOD “You don’t think you have over done the libido thing on the male side then?.......you know, just a tad.”
MN “No, they’ll handle it.”
Both break out in fits of laughter…….
GOD “Oh dear, almost makes coming to work worth while doesn’t it?. Anyway joking aside, that seems to be it then.”
MN “Yes, I suppose so, although, there is something else we could do.”
GOD “Really, what’s that?”
MN “Well, you know how we made them attracted to each other, and gave them interlocking genitalia and all that?”
GOD “Yes, that was quite brilliant of us wasn’t it?”
MN “Brilliant yes, but also a bit boring. Why don’t we make it so that they don’t really get on that well?”
GOD “WHAT!…….we can’t do that can we?...surely…”
MN “Why not, why shouldn’t we have a little fun from time to time?”
GOD “Oh alright then. Hey, why stop there? Lets make it so that some of them fancy the wrong ones?”
MN “Hang on, you’ve lost me”
GOD “Well, let’s make it so that some males fancy other males, and some females fancy other females.”
MN “Whoa…….You’re coming from left field now Godo me old mate.”
They high five
GOD “And what’s more, because men understand men, and women understand women, they are going to get on soooooo much better than the normal ones. That will really piss ‘em off!”
…….and this is how I believe the communication problems between the sexes arose.
Also, have you noticed how a relationship changes as the year’s role by? At the start of it, there is virtually nothing you wouldn’t do to enhance the well being of your new love. Lets pick a scenario at random. . . . . . . a night out at the cinema.
Yes, way back at the dawn of your new found relationship, You would go and see absolutely any film that she wanted to see, just because it meant being with her. Yes the latest God awful sloppy chick flick, or God forbid ‘romantic comedy’ held no repulsion for you, just as long as you were together, holding hands in the dark, thanking God you were no longer single. Now, ten years later, if you were asked if you wanted to go and see ‘Mama Mia’ You would choke on your Carlsberg, and look at her as if she had just asked you to shag a donkey! It is also quite amusing (read sad), how the sharing thing dwindles the further down the relationship road you go. In the first few weeks of your new relationship, there is nothing you wouldn’t share with her.
You would be strolling down the road, each with a bag of chips, and she would stumble slightly, and spill her chips all over the pavement. You would rush to assist her, repeatedly asking after her well being, and offering her Your bag of chips. Fast forward a year or two, and you would be berating her with phrases like “Oh you clumsy cow” and telling her “sod off, you should pick your feet up,” when she enquired about the possibility of you sharing your chips with her!
Anyway, I have taken up far too much of your time as it is, I am sure you have got much more important things to be doing. I’m off to ask Miss Marple something in ancient Latin, and I very much look forward to her reply in Esperanto!
Adios Amigos.
Men and women, the same but different…….
Yes, men and women, the same but different. A truer phrase could not be uttered. They both have legs, arms, noses, ears etc etc etc, but it seems to be the brain department where the problems start to occur. Women seem to have a huge chip on their shoulder about having smaller brains!.......WAIT WAIT, NO SORRY, THAT WAS A CHEAP SHOT, AND A COMPLETE FALICY. I just couldn’t resist it. No to be serious, men and women’s brains obviously work in exactly the same fashion as far as biology and chemistry and all that goes, but there is something very different about the thoughts that run through them.
To be laughably simplistic, men seem to be much simpler creatures on the whole, more easily satisfied, and less complicated. Women on the other hand, probably due to the fact that by their very nature have more to cope with, seem to over complicate things sometimes. For example…
Man Says – “Are we definitely going to your Mothers for lunch on Sunday?”
Woman thinks – What is he asking that for? I told him we were definitely going. Oh I see, he doesn’t really want to go. He has never liked my Mother, Perhaps he doesn’t like his own mother, perhaps he hates all women. He has probably become a woman hating serial killer. He has been going out a lot these past few evenings. . . . . . .Affair, yes that’s it, he is having an affair…….with my mother. The bastard…….etc etc etc
On the subject of woman hating, I have often wondered if I am a misogynist. If the truth be known, I think most men will go through a period of misogyny from time to time, lets face it, it’s hard not to! I also think that men would actually prefer it, if women were actually men, but with front bottoms! In the interests of balance and fairness, here is an example of a mans simple approach, in direct conflict with a womens complicated approach.
Woman says – “You never listen to a word I say do you? No, it’s just me me me me me. I have to do everything around here, while you just swan around down the pub with your mates, and park your arse in front of that stupidly large TV, and watch fucking Stargate. Well I have just about had enough, things are going to have to change around here. Maybe I will find somebody that does appreciate me, someone who will treat me like a woman, and not just a sexual plaything, someone who will take me out, hold a door open for me, pull my chair out. . . . . . .
Man thinks – I supposse the leg over has bitten the dust tonight, and it looks like i'll be off to the chip shop!
I don’t think the blame can be put squarely at either side’s door. No, I think it was a conspiracy. Way back in the mists of time at the creation of the universe, Old God and Mother Nature were at work one day, and something like this happened…….
(Cue wobbly picture)
The dawn of creation, day 7…….
GOD “Morning”
MN “Oh yeah, morning”
GOD “Oh dear, do I detect an air of dispondency. Has someone got out of bed the wrong side this morning?”
MN “Christ…….”
GOD “Not yet” – laughs.
MN Raises eyebrows, “…….Is it that obvious? Anyway you should know, you're all seeing and all knowing."
GOD “Oooh, clever clogs. Lets just say you do seem a little pre occupied this morning”
MN “Sorry, I think the pressure of work is getting to me. I would go and see the occupational therapist…….if there was such a thing.”
GOD “Don’t worry, that’s next on the list, and yes I know this creation thing is a bind, but we are nearly done now. Now, where were we? Oh yes, mankind.”
MN “Er, mankind, just remind me again”
GOD “You know, those bipeds, we made them quite intelligent, but gave them no morals.”
MN Laughs, “Oh yes I remember, I am feeling a little better already. Now where did we plonk them?”
GOD “Earth”
MN “Earth, just remind me again.”
GOD “You know the one, little green and blue one, on the outskirts.”
MN “Oh yes, pretty little thing, they’re gonna fuck that right up aren’t they?”
GOD “Of course. Anyway, how are we getting on with them? Done all the limbs and that?”
MN “Yes yes.”
GOD “Vital organs, brain and what not?”
MN “Done it.”
GOD “Dangerously inquisitive nature?”
MN Laughs “Oh yes!"
GOD “Interlocking genitalia, sexual attraction, libido etc etc?”
MN “Sorted.”
GOD “You don’t think you have over done the libido thing on the male side then?.......you know, just a tad.”
MN “No, they’ll handle it.”
Both break out in fits of laughter…….
GOD “Oh dear, almost makes coming to work worth while doesn’t it?. Anyway joking aside, that seems to be it then.”
MN “Yes, I suppose so, although, there is something else we could do.”
GOD “Really, what’s that?”
MN “Well, you know how we made them attracted to each other, and gave them interlocking genitalia and all that?”
GOD “Yes, that was quite brilliant of us wasn’t it?”
MN “Brilliant yes, but also a bit boring. Why don’t we make it so that they don’t really get on that well?”
GOD “WHAT!…….we can’t do that can we?...surely…”
MN “Why not, why shouldn’t we have a little fun from time to time?”
GOD “Oh alright then. Hey, why stop there? Lets make it so that some of them fancy the wrong ones?”
MN “Hang on, you’ve lost me”
GOD “Well, let’s make it so that some males fancy other males, and some females fancy other females.”
MN “Whoa…….You’re coming from left field now Godo me old mate.”
They high five
GOD “And what’s more, because men understand men, and women understand women, they are going to get on soooooo much better than the normal ones. That will really piss ‘em off!”
…….and this is how I believe the communication problems between the sexes arose.
Also, have you noticed how a relationship changes as the year’s role by? At the start of it, there is virtually nothing you wouldn’t do to enhance the well being of your new love. Lets pick a scenario at random. . . . . . . a night out at the cinema.
Yes, way back at the dawn of your new found relationship, You would go and see absolutely any film that she wanted to see, just because it meant being with her. Yes the latest God awful sloppy chick flick, or God forbid ‘romantic comedy’ held no repulsion for you, just as long as you were together, holding hands in the dark, thanking God you were no longer single. Now, ten years later, if you were asked if you wanted to go and see ‘Mama Mia’ You would choke on your Carlsberg, and look at her as if she had just asked you to shag a donkey! It is also quite amusing (read sad), how the sharing thing dwindles the further down the relationship road you go. In the first few weeks of your new relationship, there is nothing you wouldn’t share with her.
You would be strolling down the road, each with a bag of chips, and she would stumble slightly, and spill her chips all over the pavement. You would rush to assist her, repeatedly asking after her well being, and offering her Your bag of chips. Fast forward a year or two, and you would be berating her with phrases like “Oh you clumsy cow” and telling her “sod off, you should pick your feet up,” when she enquired about the possibility of you sharing your chips with her!
Anyway, I have taken up far too much of your time as it is, I am sure you have got much more important things to be doing. I’m off to ask Miss Marple something in ancient Latin, and I very much look forward to her reply in Esperanto!
Adios Amigos.
Thursday, 14 August 2008
Just another day in paradise.......
My ‘lectures’ normally revolve around one topic, but today I thought we would just have a quick catch up. What’s been happening in the world and so on, and you never know, there may be the odd moan. So here we are.
It’s Thursday the 14th August 2008. . . . . . . ooh I felt a bit like Capt. Kirk then . . . . . . . So, the Olympics are here. Whoopee quite frankly (Oh dear, the moaning has started earlier than I thought) I’m sorry, but I just can’t get enthusiastic about the games what so ever. I’m not particularly sporty, so I suppose that doesn’t entice me to watch any of it. Apparently the Olympics are supposed to represent sort of peace, harmony, sportsmanship, fair play, accord and all that kind of stuff. So I did find it highly amusing seeing the torch bearers surrounded by burly minders, sheepishly jogging along with a fixed smile on their face, as people hurled themselves at them from all directions! Having the symbol of peace and harmony surrounded by huge men in sun glasses carrying M16’s was just priceless. Also all of this “peace and love” was evident when the Chinese authorities demolished loads of peoples homes to make way for stadiums etc etc. What “peace and love” did these poor people get in the way of compensation, or re-housing…….a big fat “piss off”. Splendid. They couldn’t really have picked a worse country to host the Olympics could they, oh yes they could, we have got them next time!
Most of it is just plain boring to watch isn’t it? Yes yes they are all supreme athletes, and yes yes it is all very skillful, and yes yes I admire their dedication, but nobody will ever convince me, that watching the 10,000 meters is ever going to be exciting. Round and round…….zzzzzzz. That weird cycle one, where they follow each other round. . . . .what? Rowing! Oh God rowing, the absolute worst. What oh what oh what is the bloody point in that? Rowing is a good thing, if you are one side of a lake, and you want to get to the other. That’s it, honestly, leave it there. No, we can’t can we. What do we do, we turn it into a race. There are some pointless activities that human beings have come up with, but racing rowing boats is right up there with the worst. Slow, boring, painful, and you can’t see where you are going…….brilliant. I also loved the thing I heard on the news about our hopes for medal success. I heard a bloke saying he was hoping we would come eighth over all. How very British,” No, we don’t want to win it, we will be more than happy with eighth thank you!” I have spent far too long on the Olympics already, but just one last thing. We had all the Dwayne Chambers fiasco. Should he be allowed to go or shouldn’t he. Well, as Frankie Boyle said on ‘Mock the week’ The other day, lets have the drug free Olympics for all the goody two shoes lot, then have the ‘smacked off your tits’ Olympics. Because if there is a man that can run the one hundred meters in two and a half seconds, we want to see it!
Moving on, the new series of ‘The X Factor’ starts this Saturday, Hoorah! No I am not being sarcastic, I love it. Yes I know it is all contrived, manipulated and so on. Yes I know the producers drum into people they must keep using the phrases “110%” …”This means everything to me” … “It’s been a hell of a journey” so on and so on, but I am more than happy to put up with all that crap, and all the tears, and stories of deprivation, abuse, bullying, people in slow motion phoning their mums, telling them “I am through to boot camp” while “wind beneath my wings” plays in the background, if it means I get to see a disgruntled cross eyed, buck toothed mother of questionable descent batter Simon Cowell over the head with her walking stick, because he “disrespected” her eighteen stone “songbird” of a daughter. I love the way it seems that there are people on this planet, who seem to have completely different hearing apparatus than everyone else. We hear scratchy whining noises, they hear Whitney Houston. Give me more staged squabbling between the judges. Please let louise Walsh stomp off again because “Simon is a big nasty wasty man.” Oh how I want to hear internationally renowned ‘singer’ Danni Minogue criticize people for being off key. Bring on the retards! Let ‘em loose on telly. Exploitation?.......probably! You can ridicule me if you like, that would be fair enough, but I know where I am going to be on Saturday night. Sitting in front of the telly, large kebab, can of beer, and my tongue planted firmly in my cheek. One last thing on ‘The X factor’ I thought it was the best thing in the world, that last years winner, Leon something or other, was the absolute epitome of what the “X Factor” isn’t – Forgettable, uncharismatic, and above all…….average! Lol.
In other news…….I dipped my toe into the pool that is ‘Facebook’ for a few days. This all started because I had an email from my sixty-three year old Father, inviting me to be his friend on ‘Facebook’. Well, I couldn’t believe what I was reading. So I signed up, and bizarrely found that I already had a profile on ‘Facebook’! I have no recollection of doing this at all; perhaps I am a sleep surfer! Anyway, my stay in ‘Facebook’ land didn’t last long. I quickly realized that I am just as unpopular in a virtual world, as I am in the real one! So I made my excuses and left.
There is some kind of war going on down Russia way, because somebody spilt somebody else’s pint in the Balkans. UFO sightings are becoming more prevalent. God I want to see a UFO. I think I might start wandering around outside late at night, that must increase my chances of seeing one.
It’s that time of year again when we have to endure news reports that basically involve teenagers opening envelopes and screaming. Yes folks, it’s exam results time again. Oh goody. Why do news broadcasters presume that we all want to see this? It’s the same every year. I don’t know if it’s true, but apparently it’s virtually impossible to fail, so watching people pass isn’t really news is it? I know it must be almost impossible to find one that has failed, but they never show them do they? There is never one that excitedly opens the envelope, hands all sweaty and shaky, whose eyes then fill with tears, as they realize they have failed an unfailable exam! You never get the camera crew following them to the train station, and capture them buying a one way ticket to Bridge end do you? No, it’s always Joshua, Tom or fucking Emily, who inform us that they have got thirty-seven straight A’s, and will be taking a gap year in the Far East, before taking up their place at Cambridge to study law. Oh yes, and mummy has bought me a brand new Ford Fiesta sport, for being so brilliant…..Haw haw, ya and rarly cool. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aaaaarghhhh!
I’m off to OD on blood pressure tablets, and do a spot of pilates. So it’s goodnight from me, and it’s goodnight from……….Oh, I’m on my own!
It’s Thursday the 14th August 2008. . . . . . . ooh I felt a bit like Capt. Kirk then . . . . . . . So, the Olympics are here. Whoopee quite frankly (Oh dear, the moaning has started earlier than I thought) I’m sorry, but I just can’t get enthusiastic about the games what so ever. I’m not particularly sporty, so I suppose that doesn’t entice me to watch any of it. Apparently the Olympics are supposed to represent sort of peace, harmony, sportsmanship, fair play, accord and all that kind of stuff. So I did find it highly amusing seeing the torch bearers surrounded by burly minders, sheepishly jogging along with a fixed smile on their face, as people hurled themselves at them from all directions! Having the symbol of peace and harmony surrounded by huge men in sun glasses carrying M16’s was just priceless. Also all of this “peace and love” was evident when the Chinese authorities demolished loads of peoples homes to make way for stadiums etc etc. What “peace and love” did these poor people get in the way of compensation, or re-housing…….a big fat “piss off”. Splendid. They couldn’t really have picked a worse country to host the Olympics could they, oh yes they could, we have got them next time!
Most of it is just plain boring to watch isn’t it? Yes yes they are all supreme athletes, and yes yes it is all very skillful, and yes yes I admire their dedication, but nobody will ever convince me, that watching the 10,000 meters is ever going to be exciting. Round and round…….zzzzzzz. That weird cycle one, where they follow each other round. . . . .what? Rowing! Oh God rowing, the absolute worst. What oh what oh what is the bloody point in that? Rowing is a good thing, if you are one side of a lake, and you want to get to the other. That’s it, honestly, leave it there. No, we can’t can we. What do we do, we turn it into a race. There are some pointless activities that human beings have come up with, but racing rowing boats is right up there with the worst. Slow, boring, painful, and you can’t see where you are going…….brilliant. I also loved the thing I heard on the news about our hopes for medal success. I heard a bloke saying he was hoping we would come eighth over all. How very British,” No, we don’t want to win it, we will be more than happy with eighth thank you!” I have spent far too long on the Olympics already, but just one last thing. We had all the Dwayne Chambers fiasco. Should he be allowed to go or shouldn’t he. Well, as Frankie Boyle said on ‘Mock the week’ The other day, lets have the drug free Olympics for all the goody two shoes lot, then have the ‘smacked off your tits’ Olympics. Because if there is a man that can run the one hundred meters in two and a half seconds, we want to see it!
Moving on, the new series of ‘The X Factor’ starts this Saturday, Hoorah! No I am not being sarcastic, I love it. Yes I know it is all contrived, manipulated and so on. Yes I know the producers drum into people they must keep using the phrases “110%” …”This means everything to me” … “It’s been a hell of a journey” so on and so on, but I am more than happy to put up with all that crap, and all the tears, and stories of deprivation, abuse, bullying, people in slow motion phoning their mums, telling them “I am through to boot camp” while “wind beneath my wings” plays in the background, if it means I get to see a disgruntled cross eyed, buck toothed mother of questionable descent batter Simon Cowell over the head with her walking stick, because he “disrespected” her eighteen stone “songbird” of a daughter. I love the way it seems that there are people on this planet, who seem to have completely different hearing apparatus than everyone else. We hear scratchy whining noises, they hear Whitney Houston. Give me more staged squabbling between the judges. Please let louise Walsh stomp off again because “Simon is a big nasty wasty man.” Oh how I want to hear internationally renowned ‘singer’ Danni Minogue criticize people for being off key. Bring on the retards! Let ‘em loose on telly. Exploitation?.......probably! You can ridicule me if you like, that would be fair enough, but I know where I am going to be on Saturday night. Sitting in front of the telly, large kebab, can of beer, and my tongue planted firmly in my cheek. One last thing on ‘The X factor’ I thought it was the best thing in the world, that last years winner, Leon something or other, was the absolute epitome of what the “X Factor” isn’t – Forgettable, uncharismatic, and above all…….average! Lol.
In other news…….I dipped my toe into the pool that is ‘Facebook’ for a few days. This all started because I had an email from my sixty-three year old Father, inviting me to be his friend on ‘Facebook’. Well, I couldn’t believe what I was reading. So I signed up, and bizarrely found that I already had a profile on ‘Facebook’! I have no recollection of doing this at all; perhaps I am a sleep surfer! Anyway, my stay in ‘Facebook’ land didn’t last long. I quickly realized that I am just as unpopular in a virtual world, as I am in the real one! So I made my excuses and left.
There is some kind of war going on down Russia way, because somebody spilt somebody else’s pint in the Balkans. UFO sightings are becoming more prevalent. God I want to see a UFO. I think I might start wandering around outside late at night, that must increase my chances of seeing one.
It’s that time of year again when we have to endure news reports that basically involve teenagers opening envelopes and screaming. Yes folks, it’s exam results time again. Oh goody. Why do news broadcasters presume that we all want to see this? It’s the same every year. I don’t know if it’s true, but apparently it’s virtually impossible to fail, so watching people pass isn’t really news is it? I know it must be almost impossible to find one that has failed, but they never show them do they? There is never one that excitedly opens the envelope, hands all sweaty and shaky, whose eyes then fill with tears, as they realize they have failed an unfailable exam! You never get the camera crew following them to the train station, and capture them buying a one way ticket to Bridge end do you? No, it’s always Joshua, Tom or fucking Emily, who inform us that they have got thirty-seven straight A’s, and will be taking a gap year in the Far East, before taking up their place at Cambridge to study law. Oh yes, and mummy has bought me a brand new Ford Fiesta sport, for being so brilliant…..Haw haw, ya and rarly cool. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aaaaarghhhh!
I’m off to OD on blood pressure tablets, and do a spot of pilates. So it’s goodnight from me, and it’s goodnight from……….Oh, I’m on my own!
Sunday, 25 May 2008
Lower left six
For forty years I have denied the existence of God. Poo pood any form of deity. Laughed at the thought of an all seeing Lord who art in heaven. But no longer my children, oh no, I have seen the light! And how did this road to Damascus moment occur, kick back, and I shall explain…….
Having fallen out with our previous dentist, mainly due to the fact that she was a stroppy, and incompetent bitch, we hadn’t been to the dentist for a couple of years. You know how you hear unbelievable stories about weirdoes masquerading as doctors for years and years, even performing operation etc, well I swear our last dentist was just such a person. I suffered nothing but trouble at the hands of this dentist, and so our connections with this practice were severed. This of course threw up the problem of trying to get another one. Miss Marple, being an extremely diligent and determined woman, spent weeks on the phone and the internet, and finally found one just up the road. For this good work, I made her a medal out of cardboard, and painted it gold. She was over the moon!
So off we trot for our joint first appointment. Having arrived, the usual form filling in ensued, and then we just had to sit back and wait….and wait….and wait. The trouble is, that since reaching forty, I seem to have entered some kind of second childhood. Don’t get me wrong, I am still the king of grumpy land, but a kind of annoying silliness sometimes possesses me, and always at the wrong times. There we are waiting in total silence, and I find myself rocking backwards and forwards on the chair, and humming the theme from ‘The dam busters’ with my arms outstretched. Miss Marple did her best to look unaffected by this, but I could tell by her fidgeting that I was pushing it.
While we are on the subject, I have never really had a good relationship with any of my previous dentists. It’s a very strange job really isn’t it? I have never understood why anyone would want to spend their day fiddling about in people’s horrible old mouths. Another thing that I find peculiar is the way that I am reduced to a ten year old upon entering the dentists. There I am sitting in the chair, and the dentist will say, "Have you been flossing?" I look sheepishly around the room, and reply in a feeble voice "Yes". The dentist will look at me over the top of her glasses, fold her arms and say "I’m going to ask you again, and this time, I want you to consider your answer carefully." Looking even more sheepish I say "A bit". "I don’t think we have, have we?" By this time, I am almost in tears, and with the voice of a mouse say "no". WHY? Why can’t I just say "No I haven’t been flossing. I am a grown up, and it’s my decision to let my teeth fall out, so get over it bitch"! But alas, I cannot. I do remember one quite odd experience at the dentists, when I must have been about fourteen. The school dentist was a middle aged woman, and her nurse was probably a bit younger. There I was laying in the chair, while she was attempting to carry out some procedure. She stopped and said, "You young man, have a very large tongue, and quite frankly it keeps getting in the way". She then glanced over to the nurse and said "I Imagine that you will make some lady very happy with that one day!" Muffled giggling then ensued, while I lay innocently in the chair, trying desperately to fathom what was so funny. In later years, the cause of such mirth obviously dawned on me. I can’t imagine anyone getting away with that sort of comment these days. You would be escorted from your house in the early hours of the morning, with your computer in a plastic bag, toot sweet! Unfortunately the dentist’s predictions came to nothing. I never did become cunnilingus world champion, just the odd largely unappreciated dabble…….sigh.
Anyway, on entering the dentists, I noticed two names. Both female. One was an Asian sounding name, and the other Russian-ish. In between rocking backwards and forwards on my chair etc, I spotted my two potential 'bringers of pain'. The Asian woman was middle aged, squat, and a bit dumpy, and the Ruscky was the things dreams are made of! Imagine Anna Kournikova in a crisp white dentist’s uniform, and you’re some way there. Which one would I get, which of these two women would be leaning over me, breasts only inches away from my face?......".Ah, come in please Mr. Mule", said Mrs. Patel…….Surprise surprise! "RACIST"…….I hear some of you cry, my reply to that. Don’t be so silly.
She did the examination, and found that I had a broken tooth. I knew this, but it was only the corner which had broken off. It was causing no problems at all, but she still insisted on filling it. She came up with some dental jargon as to why it needed to be repaired, but reading between the lines, it was probably that she fancied a new five iron that month, and the pain endured by me and a few other poor souls would help finance this. Oh cynicism, the curse of the mildly intelligent…….sigh. She installed a temporary filling, which as usual, had come out even before I had exited the building! At a later date, she installed the genuine, pucker, real McCoy filling, and off I went on my merry way.
It was shortly after this, that I realized there was a God! One lunchtime whilst at work, I decided to go into the local village for a mooch about. I parked the car, and strolled along the pavement, heading towards the mini supermarket there. I was hoping to sate my magazine addiction, but was distracted on the way. As I walked along, a familiar smell caressed my nostrils, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The local chip shop. It was at this point that a familiar battle then ensued. It’s a battle that is rarely far from my vicinity. Whenever I face a dilemma, the usual two protagonist’s rear up to do battle. On my right shoulder is the ‘Good Angel’, lets call him Gabrielle, and on the left, the ‘Naughty devil’, lets call him Lucifer. The battle went something like this…….
Lucifer "Ooh there’s the chip shop, go on get yourself a bag of chips"
Gabrielle "Are you sure you want to do that, remember your expanding waist line"
Lucifer "Oh fuck off square, don’t listen to him, what the hell difference is one bag of chips going to make".
Gabrielle "I couldn’t agree more, ONE bag of chips would make very little difference. It’s the previous four thousand bags of chips added to this one, that are doing the damage".
Lucifer "Ignore him, he is a party pooper. It’s his fault you haven’t had as much sex or drugs as you would have liked".
Gabrielle "I’m only looking after your interests. If it was left up to him, you would be a pox ridden, morbidly obese smack head by now".
Lucifer "Christ (Irony!) he does exaggerate. He wants to chill out a bit. You need those chips, that’s what he doesn’t understand".
"Gabrielle "Oh Purleeeeese……."
This went on for sometime. The result of this inner turmoil…….
Fishcake and chips, a buttered bread roll, and a can of Pepsi!.......sigh.
I scuttled off to the car like a naughty schoolboy, and headed off to my ‘chip layby’. The chips were just how I like them, soft centered, but with a crispy outside. A half a dozen mouth fulls in, and it happened…….CRACK! The filling that had cost so much money, taken several trips to the dentist, and vast amounts of pain found itself cascading down my esophagus, among a deluge of chips. This ladies and gentlemen is how I know that there is a God. He is indeed omnipotent, and despite what the Pope, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Vicar of Dibley would have you believe, he is a vindictive swine!
God bless you! Mule.
Having fallen out with our previous dentist, mainly due to the fact that she was a stroppy, and incompetent bitch, we hadn’t been to the dentist for a couple of years. You know how you hear unbelievable stories about weirdoes masquerading as doctors for years and years, even performing operation etc, well I swear our last dentist was just such a person. I suffered nothing but trouble at the hands of this dentist, and so our connections with this practice were severed. This of course threw up the problem of trying to get another one. Miss Marple, being an extremely diligent and determined woman, spent weeks on the phone and the internet, and finally found one just up the road. For this good work, I made her a medal out of cardboard, and painted it gold. She was over the moon!
So off we trot for our joint first appointment. Having arrived, the usual form filling in ensued, and then we just had to sit back and wait….and wait….and wait. The trouble is, that since reaching forty, I seem to have entered some kind of second childhood. Don’t get me wrong, I am still the king of grumpy land, but a kind of annoying silliness sometimes possesses me, and always at the wrong times. There we are waiting in total silence, and I find myself rocking backwards and forwards on the chair, and humming the theme from ‘The dam busters’ with my arms outstretched. Miss Marple did her best to look unaffected by this, but I could tell by her fidgeting that I was pushing it.
While we are on the subject, I have never really had a good relationship with any of my previous dentists. It’s a very strange job really isn’t it? I have never understood why anyone would want to spend their day fiddling about in people’s horrible old mouths. Another thing that I find peculiar is the way that I am reduced to a ten year old upon entering the dentists. There I am sitting in the chair, and the dentist will say, "Have you been flossing?" I look sheepishly around the room, and reply in a feeble voice "Yes". The dentist will look at me over the top of her glasses, fold her arms and say "I’m going to ask you again, and this time, I want you to consider your answer carefully." Looking even more sheepish I say "A bit". "I don’t think we have, have we?" By this time, I am almost in tears, and with the voice of a mouse say "no". WHY? Why can’t I just say "No I haven’t been flossing. I am a grown up, and it’s my decision to let my teeth fall out, so get over it bitch"! But alas, I cannot. I do remember one quite odd experience at the dentists, when I must have been about fourteen. The school dentist was a middle aged woman, and her nurse was probably a bit younger. There I was laying in the chair, while she was attempting to carry out some procedure. She stopped and said, "You young man, have a very large tongue, and quite frankly it keeps getting in the way". She then glanced over to the nurse and said "I Imagine that you will make some lady very happy with that one day!" Muffled giggling then ensued, while I lay innocently in the chair, trying desperately to fathom what was so funny. In later years, the cause of such mirth obviously dawned on me. I can’t imagine anyone getting away with that sort of comment these days. You would be escorted from your house in the early hours of the morning, with your computer in a plastic bag, toot sweet! Unfortunately the dentist’s predictions came to nothing. I never did become cunnilingus world champion, just the odd largely unappreciated dabble…….sigh.
Anyway, on entering the dentists, I noticed two names. Both female. One was an Asian sounding name, and the other Russian-ish. In between rocking backwards and forwards on my chair etc, I spotted my two potential 'bringers of pain'. The Asian woman was middle aged, squat, and a bit dumpy, and the Ruscky was the things dreams are made of! Imagine Anna Kournikova in a crisp white dentist’s uniform, and you’re some way there. Which one would I get, which of these two women would be leaning over me, breasts only inches away from my face?......".Ah, come in please Mr. Mule", said Mrs. Patel…….Surprise surprise! "RACIST"…….I hear some of you cry, my reply to that. Don’t be so silly.
She did the examination, and found that I had a broken tooth. I knew this, but it was only the corner which had broken off. It was causing no problems at all, but she still insisted on filling it. She came up with some dental jargon as to why it needed to be repaired, but reading between the lines, it was probably that she fancied a new five iron that month, and the pain endured by me and a few other poor souls would help finance this. Oh cynicism, the curse of the mildly intelligent…….sigh. She installed a temporary filling, which as usual, had come out even before I had exited the building! At a later date, she installed the genuine, pucker, real McCoy filling, and off I went on my merry way.
It was shortly after this, that I realized there was a God! One lunchtime whilst at work, I decided to go into the local village for a mooch about. I parked the car, and strolled along the pavement, heading towards the mini supermarket there. I was hoping to sate my magazine addiction, but was distracted on the way. As I walked along, a familiar smell caressed my nostrils, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The local chip shop. It was at this point that a familiar battle then ensued. It’s a battle that is rarely far from my vicinity. Whenever I face a dilemma, the usual two protagonist’s rear up to do battle. On my right shoulder is the ‘Good Angel’, lets call him Gabrielle, and on the left, the ‘Naughty devil’, lets call him Lucifer. The battle went something like this…….
Lucifer "Ooh there’s the chip shop, go on get yourself a bag of chips"
Gabrielle "Are you sure you want to do that, remember your expanding waist line"
Lucifer "Oh fuck off square, don’t listen to him, what the hell difference is one bag of chips going to make".
Gabrielle "I couldn’t agree more, ONE bag of chips would make very little difference. It’s the previous four thousand bags of chips added to this one, that are doing the damage".
Lucifer "Ignore him, he is a party pooper. It’s his fault you haven’t had as much sex or drugs as you would have liked".
Gabrielle "I’m only looking after your interests. If it was left up to him, you would be a pox ridden, morbidly obese smack head by now".
Lucifer "Christ (Irony!) he does exaggerate. He wants to chill out a bit. You need those chips, that’s what he doesn’t understand".
"Gabrielle "Oh Purleeeeese……."
This went on for sometime. The result of this inner turmoil…….
Fishcake and chips, a buttered bread roll, and a can of Pepsi!.......sigh.
I scuttled off to the car like a naughty schoolboy, and headed off to my ‘chip layby’. The chips were just how I like them, soft centered, but with a crispy outside. A half a dozen mouth fulls in, and it happened…….CRACK! The filling that had cost so much money, taken several trips to the dentist, and vast amounts of pain found itself cascading down my esophagus, among a deluge of chips. This ladies and gentlemen is how I know that there is a God. He is indeed omnipotent, and despite what the Pope, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Vicar of Dibley would have you believe, he is a vindictive swine!
God bless you! Mule.
Tuesday, 15 January 2008
If music be the food of love.......
Well, 2008 has arrived. Jim and myself have parted company. The dream that was to be an endless road of partying, sunshine and fun fun fun, simply wasn’t. Being cooped up with Jim for hours on end in a Bedford Rascal, started to grate after a while. You know how it is; it’s the little things that start to get to you first. Jim’s unnerving flatulence became unbearable. I had seen his stand up routine in the internet cafes so many times; I knew it off by heart. Jim also refused to drive, saying that he was used to having a chauffeur, and that was that. So off he has gone, back to Dubai, and me, well I have gone back to Miss Marple, with my tail between my legs, and a lot of explaining to do.
It seems Miss Marple’s brief dalliance with the coroner who faked my death certificate came to nothing. She was found innocent of any wrong doing, and he copped the lot. The Funeral director, who assisted the plot by ‘finding’ a body, and arranging the ‘funeral’, hasn’t been seen since my discovery on Yarmouth beach. It’s rumored that he has set up shop in the Caribbean, but nobody knows for sure. So, all back to normal then. Nothing much has changed at home. Ronnie and Reggie are still chewing stuff, the cats are still sleeping, and Miss Marple is still raising her eyebrows!
So, to today’s topic, music. I can’t remember if I have mentioned in previous ‘lectures’, that I am something of a musician. Yes I can string a few chords together on the old geeeeetar, and croak my way through a tune, but my main instrument is the piano. Up until a couple of years ago, I had played in bands on and off for about twenty years, but just recently, my love affair with music seems to have hit the skids. I don’t know why really, but perhaps the ever growing cynicism within me, has started to see that most stuff in the music biz, is just as much a load of bollocks, as just about everything else in life. Whilst driving around Norfolk in the Rascal, I had plenty of time to listen to the radio. Jim did his best to dampen this experience with his snoring, but never the less, I listened to a lot of stuff. Music really is a double edged sword. It can be the most beautiful, uplifting, sad, inspiring thing that one has ever experienced, but on the other hand, there is one hell of a lot of shit out there, and it’s the shit that I want to talk about today.
Where to start. Lyrics. Yes musicians want to portray their inner most thoughts to a waiting world. They want to get their message across, tell everybody about it. So why is it then, that they seem to forget how to use the English language? "Girl", this is a word that is used time and time again in songs, normally slushy sentimental ones, sung over a soulful slowish backing. But has any man ever called the apple of his eye, "Girl"? I bloody doubt it if he knows what’s good for him. Shouting out across a packed pub, "Hey GIRL, what are you drinking?" yes, that’s going to go down well isn’t it? Probably find yourself back on the old one pound fifty a minute lines, phoning middle aged women, who are doing the ironing, whilst assuring you that they are eighteen and busty, quicker than they might have thought! As we were passing through Fakenham the other day in the Rascal, there was a song on the radio, that actually had the line in it……."When we kiss, it makes me weep"! Oh come on dear, get a grip. Yes, you’ve guessed it; it was a soulful slushy one, with a girl singing. One of those girls that find it very difficult to just stick to the actual tune. You know the ones. Their voice is wobbling about, up and down all over the bloody place. The worst exponent of this is that bloody Mariah Carey. What the hell is she doing? Just sing the bloody tune woman. I once heard it said, that Mariah Carey has a seven octave range. Yes she might have, but five of them resemble whale noises, rather than human vocalization. If I buy a cd, (Listen to me, how old am I? Buy a cd, you should be downloading them for nuffing off the internet geezer. Come on grandad)! If I acquire some music, that consists of a human being singing, I want it to be comprehendible, and bloody audible! Not Twelve tracks by Orca the fucking whale!. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, this song with the line "When we kiss, it makes me weep". Now don’t get me wrong, I like a bit of spit swapping as much as the next man, but I can honestly say, that I have never burst into spontaneous weeping before, during, or after a session of osculation. Do you think you might be exaggerating a bit love?
You see, that’s the trouble with songwriters and such the like, they fall into the same inevitable trap that all other ‘artistes’ stumble into. They end up being pretentious wankers! This brings me nicely onto probably the King of pretentious wankers…….Sting. Christ, (To avoid spiritual imbalance, please insert your relevant God/deity/prophet here. Thank you) even the man’s name is bloody pretentious. "Sting", his proper name is Gordon, what’s wrong with that? I suppose it doesn’t sound rock and roll enough. Should a man who must be approaching sixty, really be having such a tossy name? I wonder if he gets called that at the dentist? "Sting, we are ready for you now". "Excuse me", I can hear him saying, "don’t you know who I am? Mr Sting if you don’t mind". Unfortunately, there is a worse one. Yes, one that even out tosses that tosser Sting……."The edge", for fucks sake. The more benevolent people amongst us, might try to convince me that this was a moniker he awarded himself, when he was but a callow youth. At seventeen, we do these ‘crazy’ things, they would say. . . . . . .er, no. It was wanky then, and it is wanky now. I wonder if he is just ‘The edge’ when he is in Dixons, trying to secure himself some six months interest free credit, for the large LCD telly that is wedged under his arm? I can imagine the sales assistant; pen in hand, reams of forms to be filled in.
"Right then sir, if we could start with your full name please"
"The edge"
"Er…….Is that Mr?"
"What"
"Is that Mr Edge?"
"No, Just the edge"
"Ah, you see, I have to put a name in the Christian name box, and another in the surname box, sorry it’s just company policy"
"Well put ‘The’ in one box, and ‘Edge’ in the other.
Even better, a day in court. "Council for the prosecution calls ‘The edge’ to the stand", it’s ludicrous.
I can just imagine an octogenarian judge peering at him over his glasses, bemused.
"The Edge, what do you mean, the edge? On the edge of what? What is your name laddie, your name?
The clerk of the court leans over the bench and politely whispers to the judge, "No your honour, ‘The edge’, that is his name. He is a musician.
"A Musician you say, what’s he here for then, been caught bumming on Hampstead heath I suppose".
While on the subject of ‘The Edge’ it brings me nicely to U2, which then subsequently segways me beautifully to Bono. This then brings me to my pet hate when it comes to music. Music and politics. Just don’t please. When I listen to some music, I most definitely do not want to be lectured or bullied. I don’t want anyone to try and prick my conscience, and most of all, I don’t want some pretentious git of a pop star, trying to tell me how I should be running my affairs. There is not a lot worse in this world as far as I am concerned, than fucking sting, or bloody bono, preaching to me about rain forests, or starving Africans. We all know it’s going on, and we all think it’s terrible, some of us may even try to do our bit to help, but I certainly don’t want you lecturing me about it. But they just can’t help themselves can they. There’s little Phil Collins, telling us all that we "better think twice, cause it’s another day for you and me in paradise". Is it really Phil, thing is, some peoples paradise is a lot better than other peoples isn’t it, Phil? Yes Phil’s contribution to the cessation of the plight of the homeless. Thanks.
Not only do they lecture us as individuals, once in a while, they will all band together, and lecture us on mass. ‘Live Aid’, ‘Earth Aid’, Get rid of AIDS Aid’ the list goes on. How grateful we should all be, that once in a blue moon, pop stars, celebrities, and their general hangers on, will be flown to a private air field, chauffeur driven to a large venue, snort copious amounts of free cocaine, and then take to the stage to remind us what a load of selfish bastards we are for not giving the vast majority of our paltry salaries to stop people starving, and that the death of the planet is all my fault, because my TV is on standby. Well thank you ‘The pussy cat dolls’ for putting me straight on that. I should imagine your average member of ‘The pussy cat dolls’, thinks that global warming, is a shade of lipstick!
Not content with informing me how I can help everyone else, I am then told how I can help myself. Yes, various pop entities over the years have put themselves forward as a sort of life coach. I have been advised to "Respect myself"; I have been told on numerous occasions, that "I can be who I want to be". "Dreams can come true". If I wanted any form of counseling, I certainly wouldn’t want it from Lee Ryan (ex of blue fame), or any other feckless pop pillock thank you. It’s not just the recent crop of public spirited pop prince and princes’s that offer general life advice. No, way back when, Bob Dylan was telling us that "The times they are a changing". Yeah, thanks for that Bob.
Closing in on sting on the final bend of the pretentious pop stars 1500 metres, is George Michael. I have heard him being interviewed on the radio, and he was telling everyone, that the album he had just made, was the hardest thing he had ever done. A truly traumatic experience, that left him completely emotionally drained. Oh come on George, do you think you may have let your pretentiousness run away with you? What, standing in a studio, singing a bit. It really isn’t that hard George.
Anyway, before I go, a list of some styles of music, and my opinion (Which is obviously correct!) on them.
Rock – Generally good, unless your trousers are too tight for your age.
Pop – Just there to make rich people (Simon Cowell) even richer.
Folk – Middle class people standing around in fields, with their fingers in their ears, wearing shorts, and drinking flat beer. Peace loving until Monday, when it’s back to work to screw everyone that they can.
Jazz – Can range from the sublime, to the ridiculous. Oscar Peterson, sublime. Bohemian Scandinavians throwing fish at a piano keyboard, fucking ridiculous!
Opera – Despite what toffs tell you, a form of entertainment that is aimed at the upper classes. Specifically those that have nothing better to do, than swan around pretending they know what the hell is going on in your average opera. Same sort of twats that go to the Tate, and make out that they "Can see where the artist is coming from", as they stare intently at half a shark, with a human cock in its mouth. . . . . . . sigh.
Musicals – Fairly similar to opera, but for the middle to upper working classes. Will insist on singing everything. Just tell me what you have got to say, I’ll understand without the grinning, leaping about, and singing…honest.
Hip hop – Middle class white boys pretending to be black. They rap about the harshness of life in the ghetto of Chipping Norton! Speak/rap/sing in a peculiar waya strange dialect that seems to be a mish mash of downtown Los Angeles, and Reading!
Country – These poor chaps seem to have a hell of a time. Their dogs are always dying, their wives seem to be constantly running off with their best friends, and their horses are lame. People in East Anglia seem to have a strange affinity with this style of music. When John Denver sung "Rocky mountain high" they seemed to think he was referring to somewhere just outside Pidley!
As I write this, ironically ‘That’s entertainment’ by ‘The Jam’ has just come on the radio. Did a good job of reminding me that not all songs are about some bloke wittering on about how much he loves his ‘girl’, or that she has left him, or she’s coming back, or blah blah blah. No, some songs are about real everyday things, that we all suffer or endure, or love. Maybe one day my love affair with music will be rekindled, until then, I think I will retune the wireless to ‘Radio 4’!
It seems Miss Marple’s brief dalliance with the coroner who faked my death certificate came to nothing. She was found innocent of any wrong doing, and he copped the lot. The Funeral director, who assisted the plot by ‘finding’ a body, and arranging the ‘funeral’, hasn’t been seen since my discovery on Yarmouth beach. It’s rumored that he has set up shop in the Caribbean, but nobody knows for sure. So, all back to normal then. Nothing much has changed at home. Ronnie and Reggie are still chewing stuff, the cats are still sleeping, and Miss Marple is still raising her eyebrows!
So, to today’s topic, music. I can’t remember if I have mentioned in previous ‘lectures’, that I am something of a musician. Yes I can string a few chords together on the old geeeeetar, and croak my way through a tune, but my main instrument is the piano. Up until a couple of years ago, I had played in bands on and off for about twenty years, but just recently, my love affair with music seems to have hit the skids. I don’t know why really, but perhaps the ever growing cynicism within me, has started to see that most stuff in the music biz, is just as much a load of bollocks, as just about everything else in life. Whilst driving around Norfolk in the Rascal, I had plenty of time to listen to the radio. Jim did his best to dampen this experience with his snoring, but never the less, I listened to a lot of stuff. Music really is a double edged sword. It can be the most beautiful, uplifting, sad, inspiring thing that one has ever experienced, but on the other hand, there is one hell of a lot of shit out there, and it’s the shit that I want to talk about today.
Where to start. Lyrics. Yes musicians want to portray their inner most thoughts to a waiting world. They want to get their message across, tell everybody about it. So why is it then, that they seem to forget how to use the English language? "Girl", this is a word that is used time and time again in songs, normally slushy sentimental ones, sung over a soulful slowish backing. But has any man ever called the apple of his eye, "Girl"? I bloody doubt it if he knows what’s good for him. Shouting out across a packed pub, "Hey GIRL, what are you drinking?" yes, that’s going to go down well isn’t it? Probably find yourself back on the old one pound fifty a minute lines, phoning middle aged women, who are doing the ironing, whilst assuring you that they are eighteen and busty, quicker than they might have thought! As we were passing through Fakenham the other day in the Rascal, there was a song on the radio, that actually had the line in it……."When we kiss, it makes me weep"! Oh come on dear, get a grip. Yes, you’ve guessed it; it was a soulful slushy one, with a girl singing. One of those girls that find it very difficult to just stick to the actual tune. You know the ones. Their voice is wobbling about, up and down all over the bloody place. The worst exponent of this is that bloody Mariah Carey. What the hell is she doing? Just sing the bloody tune woman. I once heard it said, that Mariah Carey has a seven octave range. Yes she might have, but five of them resemble whale noises, rather than human vocalization. If I buy a cd, (Listen to me, how old am I? Buy a cd, you should be downloading them for nuffing off the internet geezer. Come on grandad)! If I acquire some music, that consists of a human being singing, I want it to be comprehendible, and bloody audible! Not Twelve tracks by Orca the fucking whale!. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, this song with the line "When we kiss, it makes me weep". Now don’t get me wrong, I like a bit of spit swapping as much as the next man, but I can honestly say, that I have never burst into spontaneous weeping before, during, or after a session of osculation. Do you think you might be exaggerating a bit love?
You see, that’s the trouble with songwriters and such the like, they fall into the same inevitable trap that all other ‘artistes’ stumble into. They end up being pretentious wankers! This brings me nicely onto probably the King of pretentious wankers…….Sting. Christ, (To avoid spiritual imbalance, please insert your relevant God/deity/prophet here. Thank you) even the man’s name is bloody pretentious. "Sting", his proper name is Gordon, what’s wrong with that? I suppose it doesn’t sound rock and roll enough. Should a man who must be approaching sixty, really be having such a tossy name? I wonder if he gets called that at the dentist? "Sting, we are ready for you now". "Excuse me", I can hear him saying, "don’t you know who I am? Mr Sting if you don’t mind". Unfortunately, there is a worse one. Yes, one that even out tosses that tosser Sting……."The edge", for fucks sake. The more benevolent people amongst us, might try to convince me that this was a moniker he awarded himself, when he was but a callow youth. At seventeen, we do these ‘crazy’ things, they would say. . . . . . .er, no. It was wanky then, and it is wanky now. I wonder if he is just ‘The edge’ when he is in Dixons, trying to secure himself some six months interest free credit, for the large LCD telly that is wedged under his arm? I can imagine the sales assistant; pen in hand, reams of forms to be filled in.
"Right then sir, if we could start with your full name please"
"The edge"
"Er…….Is that Mr?"
"What"
"Is that Mr Edge?"
"No, Just the edge"
"Ah, you see, I have to put a name in the Christian name box, and another in the surname box, sorry it’s just company policy"
"Well put ‘The’ in one box, and ‘Edge’ in the other.
Even better, a day in court. "Council for the prosecution calls ‘The edge’ to the stand", it’s ludicrous.
I can just imagine an octogenarian judge peering at him over his glasses, bemused.
"The Edge, what do you mean, the edge? On the edge of what? What is your name laddie, your name?
The clerk of the court leans over the bench and politely whispers to the judge, "No your honour, ‘The edge’, that is his name. He is a musician.
"A Musician you say, what’s he here for then, been caught bumming on Hampstead heath I suppose".
While on the subject of ‘The Edge’ it brings me nicely to U2, which then subsequently segways me beautifully to Bono. This then brings me to my pet hate when it comes to music. Music and politics. Just don’t please. When I listen to some music, I most definitely do not want to be lectured or bullied. I don’t want anyone to try and prick my conscience, and most of all, I don’t want some pretentious git of a pop star, trying to tell me how I should be running my affairs. There is not a lot worse in this world as far as I am concerned, than fucking sting, or bloody bono, preaching to me about rain forests, or starving Africans. We all know it’s going on, and we all think it’s terrible, some of us may even try to do our bit to help, but I certainly don’t want you lecturing me about it. But they just can’t help themselves can they. There’s little Phil Collins, telling us all that we "better think twice, cause it’s another day for you and me in paradise". Is it really Phil, thing is, some peoples paradise is a lot better than other peoples isn’t it, Phil? Yes Phil’s contribution to the cessation of the plight of the homeless. Thanks.
Not only do they lecture us as individuals, once in a while, they will all band together, and lecture us on mass. ‘Live Aid’, ‘Earth Aid’, Get rid of AIDS Aid’ the list goes on. How grateful we should all be, that once in a blue moon, pop stars, celebrities, and their general hangers on, will be flown to a private air field, chauffeur driven to a large venue, snort copious amounts of free cocaine, and then take to the stage to remind us what a load of selfish bastards we are for not giving the vast majority of our paltry salaries to stop people starving, and that the death of the planet is all my fault, because my TV is on standby. Well thank you ‘The pussy cat dolls’ for putting me straight on that. I should imagine your average member of ‘The pussy cat dolls’, thinks that global warming, is a shade of lipstick!
Not content with informing me how I can help everyone else, I am then told how I can help myself. Yes, various pop entities over the years have put themselves forward as a sort of life coach. I have been advised to "Respect myself"; I have been told on numerous occasions, that "I can be who I want to be". "Dreams can come true". If I wanted any form of counseling, I certainly wouldn’t want it from Lee Ryan (ex of blue fame), or any other feckless pop pillock thank you. It’s not just the recent crop of public spirited pop prince and princes’s that offer general life advice. No, way back when, Bob Dylan was telling us that "The times they are a changing". Yeah, thanks for that Bob.
Closing in on sting on the final bend of the pretentious pop stars 1500 metres, is George Michael. I have heard him being interviewed on the radio, and he was telling everyone, that the album he had just made, was the hardest thing he had ever done. A truly traumatic experience, that left him completely emotionally drained. Oh come on George, do you think you may have let your pretentiousness run away with you? What, standing in a studio, singing a bit. It really isn’t that hard George.
Anyway, before I go, a list of some styles of music, and my opinion (Which is obviously correct!) on them.
Rock – Generally good, unless your trousers are too tight for your age.
Pop – Just there to make rich people (Simon Cowell) even richer.
Folk – Middle class people standing around in fields, with their fingers in their ears, wearing shorts, and drinking flat beer. Peace loving until Monday, when it’s back to work to screw everyone that they can.
Jazz – Can range from the sublime, to the ridiculous. Oscar Peterson, sublime. Bohemian Scandinavians throwing fish at a piano keyboard, fucking ridiculous!
Opera – Despite what toffs tell you, a form of entertainment that is aimed at the upper classes. Specifically those that have nothing better to do, than swan around pretending they know what the hell is going on in your average opera. Same sort of twats that go to the Tate, and make out that they "Can see where the artist is coming from", as they stare intently at half a shark, with a human cock in its mouth. . . . . . . sigh.
Musicals – Fairly similar to opera, but for the middle to upper working classes. Will insist on singing everything. Just tell me what you have got to say, I’ll understand without the grinning, leaping about, and singing…honest.
Hip hop – Middle class white boys pretending to be black. They rap about the harshness of life in the ghetto of Chipping Norton! Speak/rap/sing in a peculiar waya strange dialect that seems to be a mish mash of downtown Los Angeles, and Reading!
Country – These poor chaps seem to have a hell of a time. Their dogs are always dying, their wives seem to be constantly running off with their best friends, and their horses are lame. People in East Anglia seem to have a strange affinity with this style of music. When John Denver sung "Rocky mountain high" they seemed to think he was referring to somewhere just outside Pidley!
As I write this, ironically ‘That’s entertainment’ by ‘The Jam’ has just come on the radio. Did a good job of reminding me that not all songs are about some bloke wittering on about how much he loves his ‘girl’, or that she has left him, or she’s coming back, or blah blah blah. No, some songs are about real everyday things, that we all suffer or endure, or love. Maybe one day my love affair with music will be rekindled, until then, I think I will retune the wireless to ‘Radio 4’!
Thursday, 6 December 2007
Filthy Lucre.......
Hello again amigos, Davidson and Mule here…..Hey that sounds a bit like a cop show doesn’t it? I could be onto something here. I mean there is obviously room in the TV schedules for a cop show isn’t there? Practically crying out for one! Yes I am starting to envisage it. Jim would obviously be the brash, hard, tough talking, no nonsense one, and I would be the smooth suited, good with computers, ladies man. I think the Rascal would have to go out the window though, we would have to have something a lot flashier. Nothing modern, no, a classic. An E-type jag, yes that’s it. The opening titles could have some funky jazz/ hip hop track playing in the background, and you would see Jim dive in through the passenger window, while I casually slide over the bonnet, to get to the drivers side. There would be some shots of us careering through some cardboard boxes, and diving through the air in slow motion, while duel wielding a couple of magnums. Then a man with an unfeasibly low and gravely voice would say "Davidson and Mule, they’ve got zero tolerance, they’ve got a mission, they’ve got each other…….Davidson and Mule, tonight only on itv1". Oh well, I seem to have let my imagination run away with me…..now there’s a thing!
Well what exotic places have we reached, what dizzy heights have we scaled. Well, Hunstanton actually. I don’t think the rascal is quite up to touring Europe yet. It won’t actually go any faster than forty miles an hour. I am relieved to report that the clothing situation has improved a little. The leggings were starting to chaff, and a crop top really doesn’t keep you warm this time of year. I managed to wear an elderly sales assistant down in a charity shop. I bought a pair of flared jeans (the one’s with the added triangular bits at the bottom, that make them extra flared), and an anorak. I got her down from five pounds for the lot, to two pounds, although if the truth be known, I think I just got her down! I said to Jim why doesn’t he treat himself to some new clobber, but I think he has grown quite fond of the shell suit. Money is obviously tight, but we are managing to make a little. Jim does a bit of stand up in the internet cafes, while I alternate between doing this stuff, and passing the hat round.
Money really is a problem, and a mystery to me, and always has been. I have never been able to get my head around anything financial at all. I don’t know why it is, but as soon as anybody starts talking finances, I slip into a sort of coma. I remember when Miss Marple and myself had to go and see some man about our mortgage. We followed him up to this little room, and we all sat down. Then to my astonishment, Miss Marple and this man started talking in a language I had never heard before. They both seemed to be fluent in it, but I was lost. Variable rats, index kinked, fixed roots, cash back, unit trusses, double overhead cam…….What the bloody hell were they talking about?.
Of course I understand the basic principles of money, but it’s all this high brow stuff that leaves me bamboozled. Does it all need to be this complicated I ask myself? Like everything human beings get involved in, we have to twist it, turn it, and generally bugger it up beyond all comprehension. I mean I understand that way back in cave man days and such the like, one caveman would start to covert his neighbours ox…..and things. So I suppose at first there was a lot of bashing each other on the head, and running off with each others oxen…..and stuff. So I suppose somebody woke up one morning and called a meeting. I should imagine he or she, said something like, "Look, you know how we all keep wanting each others stuff and that, and we keep bashing each other on the head to get it, well surly there must be an easier, and less painful way of getting the stuff". All the cavemen and women looked around at each other, and nodded in agreement. Financial caveman carried on, "Why don’t we have a system where if any of us wants something that someone else has got, we have to swap it with them, for something we have got". All the cavemen and women looked at each other in amazement, and agreed this was a brilliant idea. Thus our financial system was born. Of course as time went by, people realized that it could take ages to come to an agreement about swapping, I mean who is to say if one man’s ox is worth another man’s wheelbarrow, or something. Is a jug worth one or two loaves of bread? It was all very tricky indeed, and fights would regularly break out. This was of course what was trying to be avoided in the first place! So somebody eventually discovered gold, and they decided amongst themselves that a wheelbarrow was worth this amount of gold, or a loaf was worth that amount of gold etc etc.
It is at this point in our history, that it starts to become tricky for me. It was after some time, that someone had the bright idea of making coins and notes. These were to represent the amount of gold one had, but made it much more portable. I understand that it is a lot easier to carry around a few sheets of paper, than it is to have a pocket full of heavy gold, but I think this is where it all started to go awry. For a start, If I am correct (and there is a high chance that I’m not!) I believe a country has to have the exact amount of paper money and coinage in circulation, as it does have gold in it's vaults. This is all very well, but does anyone ever check? Are there little men with clip boards, beards, and corduroy jackets, that go round from country to country, checking the amount of gold a country has is correct, and above board? What’s to stop a country just running off notes willy nilly? America is apparently the richest country in the world…..who says? They could just be printing off dollar bills like there is no tomorrow.
The thing that really blows my head off, is stocks and shares and all that malarkey. What are all those people doing in there? All in multicolored jackets, waving their arms about, shouting a lot, thrusting bits of paper in the air. Bloody hell, it’s madness. "What did you do today at work dear"? Asks Mrs. Stockbroker. "Did you have your purple and orange jacket on?"
"Yes I did" says Mr. Stockbroker.
"Did you wave your bit of paper in the air"?
"Oh yes, and I got it really high. I was stretching really hard like a good boy, and got it higher than anyone else’s"
"Oh well done dear, what a good boy you are, tell me, how was the shouting"?
"Well, I had to send out for some strepsils, I was shouting louder than anybody else"
"That’s my boy"
What a load of bollocks quite frankly. Do you know, I sometimes think it would be better if we went back to bashing each other over the head again.
Anyway, Jim is coming to the end of his stand up routine now. He is finishing off with the one about the two lesbian Nuns, a large candle, and a red faced Bishop. That one gets em every time. Hopefully be somewhere a little more exotic next time around.
Cheerio for now. Andy and Jim.
Ps. Can anyone tell me what a bloody Hedge fund is?.......
Well what exotic places have we reached, what dizzy heights have we scaled. Well, Hunstanton actually. I don’t think the rascal is quite up to touring Europe yet. It won’t actually go any faster than forty miles an hour. I am relieved to report that the clothing situation has improved a little. The leggings were starting to chaff, and a crop top really doesn’t keep you warm this time of year. I managed to wear an elderly sales assistant down in a charity shop. I bought a pair of flared jeans (the one’s with the added triangular bits at the bottom, that make them extra flared), and an anorak. I got her down from five pounds for the lot, to two pounds, although if the truth be known, I think I just got her down! I said to Jim why doesn’t he treat himself to some new clobber, but I think he has grown quite fond of the shell suit. Money is obviously tight, but we are managing to make a little. Jim does a bit of stand up in the internet cafes, while I alternate between doing this stuff, and passing the hat round.
Money really is a problem, and a mystery to me, and always has been. I have never been able to get my head around anything financial at all. I don’t know why it is, but as soon as anybody starts talking finances, I slip into a sort of coma. I remember when Miss Marple and myself had to go and see some man about our mortgage. We followed him up to this little room, and we all sat down. Then to my astonishment, Miss Marple and this man started talking in a language I had never heard before. They both seemed to be fluent in it, but I was lost. Variable rats, index kinked, fixed roots, cash back, unit trusses, double overhead cam…….What the bloody hell were they talking about?.
Of course I understand the basic principles of money, but it’s all this high brow stuff that leaves me bamboozled. Does it all need to be this complicated I ask myself? Like everything human beings get involved in, we have to twist it, turn it, and generally bugger it up beyond all comprehension. I mean I understand that way back in cave man days and such the like, one caveman would start to covert his neighbours ox…..and things. So I suppose at first there was a lot of bashing each other on the head, and running off with each others oxen…..and stuff. So I suppose somebody woke up one morning and called a meeting. I should imagine he or she, said something like, "Look, you know how we all keep wanting each others stuff and that, and we keep bashing each other on the head to get it, well surly there must be an easier, and less painful way of getting the stuff". All the cavemen and women looked around at each other, and nodded in agreement. Financial caveman carried on, "Why don’t we have a system where if any of us wants something that someone else has got, we have to swap it with them, for something we have got". All the cavemen and women looked at each other in amazement, and agreed this was a brilliant idea. Thus our financial system was born. Of course as time went by, people realized that it could take ages to come to an agreement about swapping, I mean who is to say if one man’s ox is worth another man’s wheelbarrow, or something. Is a jug worth one or two loaves of bread? It was all very tricky indeed, and fights would regularly break out. This was of course what was trying to be avoided in the first place! So somebody eventually discovered gold, and they decided amongst themselves that a wheelbarrow was worth this amount of gold, or a loaf was worth that amount of gold etc etc.
It is at this point in our history, that it starts to become tricky for me. It was after some time, that someone had the bright idea of making coins and notes. These were to represent the amount of gold one had, but made it much more portable. I understand that it is a lot easier to carry around a few sheets of paper, than it is to have a pocket full of heavy gold, but I think this is where it all started to go awry. For a start, If I am correct (and there is a high chance that I’m not!) I believe a country has to have the exact amount of paper money and coinage in circulation, as it does have gold in it's vaults. This is all very well, but does anyone ever check? Are there little men with clip boards, beards, and corduroy jackets, that go round from country to country, checking the amount of gold a country has is correct, and above board? What’s to stop a country just running off notes willy nilly? America is apparently the richest country in the world…..who says? They could just be printing off dollar bills like there is no tomorrow.
The thing that really blows my head off, is stocks and shares and all that malarkey. What are all those people doing in there? All in multicolored jackets, waving their arms about, shouting a lot, thrusting bits of paper in the air. Bloody hell, it’s madness. "What did you do today at work dear"? Asks Mrs. Stockbroker. "Did you have your purple and orange jacket on?"
"Yes I did" says Mr. Stockbroker.
"Did you wave your bit of paper in the air"?
"Oh yes, and I got it really high. I was stretching really hard like a good boy, and got it higher than anyone else’s"
"Oh well done dear, what a good boy you are, tell me, how was the shouting"?
"Well, I had to send out for some strepsils, I was shouting louder than anybody else"
"That’s my boy"
What a load of bollocks quite frankly. Do you know, I sometimes think it would be better if we went back to bashing each other over the head again.
Anyway, Jim is coming to the end of his stand up routine now. He is finishing off with the one about the two lesbian Nuns, a large candle, and a red faced Bishop. That one gets em every time. Hopefully be somewhere a little more exotic next time around.
Cheerio for now. Andy and Jim.
Ps. Can anyone tell me what a bloody Hedge fund is?.......
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