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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Biff baff boff. X

JUSTICE!

I would just like to take this opportunity to congratulate Lewis Hamilton, and the McClaren Formula 1 team, on their securing of the drivers championship. Well done and tough luck to Massa. Very magnanimous and sporting in defeat. Shame about the Brazilian crowd. A small amount of banter is ok, Sour grapes is quite something else.

Justice has been done. Up yours to the FIA, despite doing your damndest, the right team still won. Up yours to the incompetent and bias stewards, and a smaller up yours to the ever whingy, teachers pet Farrari.

JUSTICE.......HOORAH!

The day to die

The day I stop standing up for myself, because it would undoubtedly make my life easier, will be the day to die.

The day I stop despising needless bureaucracy, or pander to the pathetic agendas of the ‘Clipboard Nazi brigade’, will be the day to die.

The day I walk past the wheelchair bound man in the street playing his harmonica for pennies, and feel nothing, will be the day to die.

The day I watch a charity appeal on TV, and not feel pangs of guilt, or feel so terribly ashamed at how easily I forget about how much I have got, will be the day to die.

The day I stop driving Miss Marple mad with my "funny voices", will be the day to die.

The day the child in me goes to bed one night, but doesn’t wake up the next morning, will be the day to die.

The day I feel I am too old to daydream about running up and down corridors in the Death Star, shooting storm troopers with my laser blaster, will be the day to die.

The day I take Ronnie and Reggie for a sensible walk, instead of trying to find the German’s base, will be the day to die.

The day I look at Miss Marple, and stop wondering why the fuck she puts up with me, will be the day to die.

The day the tears fail to run down my face, when I see the disgraceful way in which human beings can treat each other, will be the day to die.

The day I don’t want to punch every politician in their smug, self serving, faces, will be the day to die.

The day I buy a cardigan and fall into line with the ‘Margo’s’, will be the day to die.

The day I wear a tie to work!, will be the day to die.

The day I let my sometimes all consuming frustrations and exasperations, turn into genuine bitterness and spitefulness, will be the day to die.

The day I fail to snigger at a really good fart!, will be the day to die.

The day I stop wishing I had the balls to become a vegetarian, will be the day to die.

The day I fail to think that Lara Croft (The computer generated version) is worth a meeting with Mrs. Thumb, and her four delectable daughters! That’ll upset the Margo’s…….Fuck ‘em. Will be the day to die.

The day I am content with a nice family Christmas! Will be the day to die.

The day I find a well placed swear word offensive, will be the day to die.

The day the songs of Stevie Wonder fail to slap me in the face with their genius. The day tears don’t well in my eyes when hearing the beautiful simplicity of Eva Cassidy singing ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’ The day I know longer am able to begrudgingly admit that the Gallagher brothers ‘Wonder Wall’ Is a work of gritty and passionate brilliance. The day that the first few bars of ‘Purple haze’ don’t make me want to turn up the stereo to eleven, pour a huge Jack Daniels, start smoking again, and flamethrower the Margo’s. . . . . . . will be the day to die!

The day I write something to please someone else, instead of myself, will be the day to die…….Unless it was for mega bucks of course, that would just be foolish!

We all have to die. Don’t do it before your heart stops beating.

Anger management - Don't make me angry, you wouldn't like me when i'm angry - When green is not always good!

I just couldn’t decide which of the three titles I liked the best, so I chose all three! You see, that’s the brilliant thing about a democracy, choice. And among millions of others, I have my grandfathers to thank for that. So thank you, and bless you Albert and Douglas, though some might say that your valiant and brave efforts were sadly in vain…….I however, like to think not. X X

I thought as I trudged ever more wearily towards the grave, that the Hulk like rage within me would begin to subside. I foolishly believed that with age, I would adopt a more stoic outlook on life, and things in general would become calmer inside my volcanic like mind.

Who was I kidding? No, it’s getting worse day by day. I suppose I have fallen into the ‘Grumpy old man’ trap. The thing is you see, despite what everyone probably thinks, I don’t want to be like this, it’s sort of quite fashionable nowadays to be a ‘Grumpy old man’ but I have never been fashionable, and have no intention of starting now. I would very much like to be normal! I would much rather be Bruce Banner, than his big green counterpart.

But as the sub heading of this blog says, Ignorance is bliss, until one is surrounded by it! And boy there are some areas of my existence that are positively awash with it!

Bob Geldof, who is usually quite irritating, actually pretty much summed it up on the program ‘Grumpy old men’. When asked by the interviewer, why he was grumpy he replied…….
"If you’re not grumpy, it implies that you’re ok with the world…….and who the fuck is that!"

I can wake up in the morning, and after recovering from the shock of making it through another night, can sometimes be (I am going to say it) cheerful! (ouch that smarts), but it only takes some inane utterance from Fiona Phillips on GMTV, or some news report about some bizarre decision by some council or other, and I am off! And that’s pretty much me for the rest of the day.
I am afraid that my killing spree has had to be postponed due to the credit crunch! Yes we are all having to tighten our belts, even us homicidal maniacs!

Can I just interject here, and say that I am aware that there is a section of my readers who were not blessed with any kind of sense of humour, or commen sense at all, and to those I must point out that this is a joke. Maybe on a Ross and Brand level, but never the less, a joke…….Bless them.
Yes the recession has meant that the purchase of firearms and ammo has had to be delayed. I was fortunate enough to have secured the floor length black leather Matrix style coat before my hedge fund collapsed, and my Great Aunt Agnes said she would sort out the bandana for me. Oh come on, every self respecting, gun totting, inadequate, friendless sociopath with a grudge and an Uzi should have a bandana, its part of the uniform.

Oh the times I have sat day dreaming of that fateful day, when I don all my gear. The coat, the boots, the sunglasses…….THE BANADANA! Cock my Uzi, ready my bazooka, and march purposefully into action, in slow motion of course. A wall of fire rages behind me, as I run amok to the sound of Nickleback at one hundred and forty decibels.
Taking out councilors, traffic wardens, politicians, benefit scroungers, caravaners, illegal immigrants, cyclists (only the road traffic law disobeying ones, and the one’s without lights in winter of course), the vast majority of Americans, GMTV, Big brother, Paris Hilton, Most TV chefs (especially Oliver), all twenty-seven thousand Ross/Brand complainers…….you get the picture!
It’s normally only the sound of the car horn, the screeching of tyres and the swerving of the on-coming car that snaps me out of my fantasy!

Can I just reiterate for any over zealous MI5 operatives, or a hot headed (That’s rich!) over enthusiastic CIA agent, that this is just my idea of a rather unpalatable (Maybe) joke. If any of you MI5 or CIA people have stumbled upon this blog by accident, or indeed specifically targeted it, especially as I now seem to be public enemy number one! Lol, yes I seem to have become a kind of blogging Che Guevara character, except my berry is not black with a red star motive, it’s more creamy with a hint of lilac, and a sequined crescent moon insignia, then please don’t waste valuable time, effort, and resources getting me out of bed at five o’clock in the morning, and dragging me, and my computer (in the obligatory plastic bag) into Paddington Green anti terrorist ‘Suite’ for questioning. There are far bigger fish to fry. There is that Bin Laden bloke for a start, you have quite frankly made a complete arse of that so far, so pick on him, not me!
THIS IS A JOKE! …….

Thinking about it, I wonder if that is how old Bin Laden has got away with it so far? Maybe one morning in the Tora Bora Mountains, members of America’s elite ‘Delta force’ dragged old Binny baby out of his cave, and told him he was nicked (Or whatever the Americans say). To which he replied,
"You what, I was only joking guv’ner, I’m just a cheeky chappie." To which the Americans replied
"Well why didn’t you say sooner, we wouldn’t have got you out of bed at such an early hour sir. Sorry about that pal, hope I didn’t offend you in any way as I cuffed you and threw you to the ground. Here, fill in this compensation form, and send it to this address. It’s no win, no fee, so you can’t lose. Have a nice day."

A few weeks ago, I watched a program with Griff Rhys Jones……. (When I say with, I mean he was presenting it, not sitting next to me on the sofa), about anger. It wasn’t very good quite frankly, and didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know…….I was livid!

Maybe I should book myself onto an ‘Anger management course’, but I would probably find all the other people there really bloody annoying. Anyway, I don’t think I really want my anger ‘managed’, I don’t want it there in the first place. But that is a bit like saying, I want to breathe, but I’m not keen on the oxygen bit. So I suppose I’m stuck with it.

People have told me to take a deep breath, and count to ten. It’s just delaying the eruption really. In all honesty, it’s just building up a bigger head of steam. Sigh…….

It’s poor Miss Marple who is the victim in all of this really. It’s funny, because she is the complete opposite. Very very rarely does she lose it, and is more prone to tears than homicide! I have been so mad in the past, that I have on occasion, asked her to slap me, to see if it would alleviate the pressure. (Much like Basil asking Polly to slap him in Fawlty towers), but Miss Marple is such a sweetheart; she just can’t work up enough gusto to give it the relevant oomph! So I have done it myself! Lol. I often think what I must look like, bouncing round the kitchen or whatever, slapping myself about the face!

Well I suppose I’d better sign off now. Off to watch the news to see how many more suburban, moronic, Daily Mail reading, ignorant, know nothing, tedious, caravan holidaying, cretinous……(Deep breath)…….bandwagon jumping, knee jerk reactionary, "safe", traditional, mediocre, meat and two veg, "What’s happened to standards", …….(inhale)……."Back in the good old days", cardigan wearing, "I vote Tory, just cause I always have", ‘Allo Allo’ watching, Royalist twats!.......(Bows, and wallows in the applause). Have complained about Ross and Brand now.

Just for future ref. Instead of going through all that rigmarole every time I want to mention these "types" of people. To make it easier, I will call them "Margo’s" from now on. As in Margo from the good life. (She was actually a wonderful comic creation, but sums up nicely what I am talking about).
So if a Margo ever tells you that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, just tell them that "The only way is up then"!
Keep strong brothers and sisters, and may the force be with you.

I have a couple of PS’s

PS1 I would like to welcome any new readers, and hope that their stay here is a pleasant one. To save new disciples from having to trawl through wads of previous tosh, I am thinking of doing a special ‘HIGHLIGHTS’ Blog.

PS2 If the ‘Margo’s’ were "Appalled" by Jonathan and Russell, stick this one up your twin set. With kind regards from the acerbic genius that is Frankie Boyle…….
The Queen is now so old, her pussy is haunted!

Peace and love to those who deserve it, and big fat bollocks to the rest.

Agent X

May I offer my humble support to messers Brand and Ross. Yes they have been silly boys, but this is a shining beacon of an example of how the inhabitants of this planet today, like to blow things out of all proportion. (There is a lot of it about). Mr Sachs has been wonderfully magnanimous in his acceptance of their apologies, and probably wants nothing more to do with the whole overblown, over publicised load of old nonsense.
May I also offer a humble metaphoric two fingers, to all the 18,000, yes that's right 18,000 morons with nothing better to do, who decided to complain. The vast majority of whom, i am sure didn't listen to the broadcast, and probably don't have a clue who Russell Brand is.
But they saw a bandwagon, and boy did they run hard to jump right on board!
We all know who they are. Dialy Mail reading, Caravan holidaying, small minded, Antiques Roadshow watching, Mr & Mrs Suburbia.
But the real Villian of the piece, is I am sure taking her clothes off somewhere, as a member of the 'Satanic sluts' or whatever they are called. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but what i do find offensive, is her blatant self promotion. Plastered all over the papers, telling us all how terrible it all is for her poor old grandfather, but failing to mention how wonderful it all is for her "career". I am sure she will find this a huge leg over, oops sorry, a freudian slip of the fingers there! leg up the celebrity ladder.

Confusaneus exasperatio

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.

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.