Kids stuff.......

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Biff baff boff. X

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.