The dominatrix of Miss Takes…..
Miss Pronunciation, Miss Reading and Miss Apprehension – three stern laydees from the wrong side of the tracks that can turn round and slap the unwary on their pvc clad bums ….
Miss Pronunciation
The scene, last week, leaning on the bar at ‘The Blood Tub’ with an old friend. He was telling me all about a programme on the telly showing ex Goody, Bill Oddie handling those magical little animals that can change their skin pigmentation to mimic the environment in which they are sitting in.
"You know, those little animals, the ones that change their skin colour, you know, they’ve got long tongues and bug eyes…. Shammy – lions! Yeah, that’s what they’re called, shammy - lions"
"You mean chameleons?"
"That’s what I said"
Miss Reading
Years ago, we were thinking about getting our first, new fangled facsimile - ‘fax machine. The sales leaflet for it duly arrived and circulated amongst the staff. One of our rep’s came up – and in ever such a loud voice said "What’s a ‘facee - smile’ then?
Miss Apprehension
Another rep was a right dinosaur though. In the late nineties, we started to design and build web sites. We had a dead important client in to have a chat about producing a virtual package for the ‘web-world’. Our man knew absolutely bugger all about the internet, but insisted on seeing the client anyway. The office, was open plan – the idea being that ours was a modern, transparent organisation full to the brim with vital, enthusiastic, cultured staff – and me.
The meeting was to be conducted in the middle of our ‘hot-desk’ area – and was within earshot of everyone in the office.
We’d produced a few web page visuals with click through buttons to throw up on the display Mac. The client was well bloody impressed I’ll tell you. He loved the preliminary designs – and committed there and then to a full blown site.
KERRRRRCCCCCHHHHHIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGG!!!!
You could virtually see the ££££ signs revolving around our dino-rep’s eyes. Clover fields here we come!!
Unfortunately, repisaurus then revealed his Luddite inclinations.. "OK, that’s great. Now, do you want to be on the World Wide Web – or will you be happy to just be on the UK Web?"
"What?"
"Your customer base, is it just in the UK? If it is, then you might as well just go for the UK Web – and not the World Wide one.
"Sorry?" –
Softsoddysaurus failed to pick up on the clients bewilderment – he ploughed on….
"That way, if you have a dot co dot uk address, then only people in this Country will be able to see the site. A dot co dot UK web site cannot be seen, say in France or the USA"........
In spite of frantic ‘cut throat’ signals by some of the more ‘team oriented’ staff members, discernible giggles began to filter through.
Gathering pace, the whole studio descended into laughter – the client suddenly remembered he had a very urgent appointment elsewhere….. and I started to make plans to get another job – urgently.
Thursday, December 18, 2003
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Will lessons ever be learnt?…
It didn’t take long did it? In the wake of Ian Huntley’s guilty verdict, I heard the words "Lessons must be learnt" on the telly. They were interviewing some expert or other, less than an hour after Huntley had been sent down. Then I saw some prat going on about how "New procedures are now in place to prevent it ever happening again"
Then Blunkett gets up and says there must and will be an inquiry into how Huntley managed to get a job working around kids.
So there you have it, the same old trinity of the absurd, the same old diatribe, the same old delusional nonsense. Whenever something like this happens, I get a bit deja vu-sional. Every time a sicko kills a child, those with the power to change systems vow to implement them – then jealously guard information about their ‘clients’ from other agencies, cut personnel and close departments to make everything more efficient, obviously….. until the next tragedy happens.
I am old enough to remember the tragic case of Maria Caldwell – a kid ‘neglected and beaten to death’ in the 1960’s. Then, as now there was great soul searching, "It must never happen again" It did. "Systems are now in place" They weren’t.
"We must learn the lessons" Yeah, well we learned the lessons until the public started to forget, then we unlearned them….
Strange, the way the same stock statements are rolled out. Then, as I suspect now, nobody in Social Services or the Police stood up, admitted they had let Maria down terribly and promptly resigned, they were obviously too busy trying to learn the lessons – and watching their generous pension benefits accrue.
And what of Blunkett’s inquiry? Well, the same old formula will be followed. Some old bloke judge will be appointed, he will never have heard of David Beckham, his finger will not be on any pulse, least of all his own - that atrophied years ago. Old bloke judge will be a member of the establishment obviously – and he will interview Heads of Social Services Departments and Chief Constables concerned with Huntley's history. The judge will probably already know these people – they will all be members of the trouser rolling Masonic Order or Square-Dealers or whatever.
Old bloke judge will publish his report. ‘Institutional stupidity’ will be blamed, everyone from the Home Secretary downward will handwring for all they’re worth. Because the blame is ‘institutional’ then no one person or persons are to blame – ‘the system’ takes another kick in the gonads and everyone feels better……
In the tragic Soham case – it would be staggeringly revolutionary if someone in authority got up and said "Mea Culpa, therefore I will resign"….
But I’m not holding my breath.
It didn’t take long did it? In the wake of Ian Huntley’s guilty verdict, I heard the words "Lessons must be learnt" on the telly. They were interviewing some expert or other, less than an hour after Huntley had been sent down. Then I saw some prat going on about how "New procedures are now in place to prevent it ever happening again"
Then Blunkett gets up and says there must and will be an inquiry into how Huntley managed to get a job working around kids.
So there you have it, the same old trinity of the absurd, the same old diatribe, the same old delusional nonsense. Whenever something like this happens, I get a bit deja vu-sional. Every time a sicko kills a child, those with the power to change systems vow to implement them – then jealously guard information about their ‘clients’ from other agencies, cut personnel and close departments to make everything more efficient, obviously….. until the next tragedy happens.
I am old enough to remember the tragic case of Maria Caldwell – a kid ‘neglected and beaten to death’ in the 1960’s. Then, as now there was great soul searching, "It must never happen again" It did. "Systems are now in place" They weren’t.
"We must learn the lessons" Yeah, well we learned the lessons until the public started to forget, then we unlearned them….
Strange, the way the same stock statements are rolled out. Then, as I suspect now, nobody in Social Services or the Police stood up, admitted they had let Maria down terribly and promptly resigned, they were obviously too busy trying to learn the lessons – and watching their generous pension benefits accrue.
And what of Blunkett’s inquiry? Well, the same old formula will be followed. Some old bloke judge will be appointed, he will never have heard of David Beckham, his finger will not be on any pulse, least of all his own - that atrophied years ago. Old bloke judge will be a member of the establishment obviously – and he will interview Heads of Social Services Departments and Chief Constables concerned with Huntley's history. The judge will probably already know these people – they will all be members of the trouser rolling Masonic Order or Square-Dealers or whatever.
Old bloke judge will publish his report. ‘Institutional stupidity’ will be blamed, everyone from the Home Secretary downward will handwring for all they’re worth. Because the blame is ‘institutional’ then no one person or persons are to blame – ‘the system’ takes another kick in the gonads and everyone feels better……
In the tragic Soham case – it would be staggeringly revolutionary if someone in authority got up and said "Mea Culpa, therefore I will resign"….
But I’m not holding my breath.
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Campo meets his nemesis, but no one knows about it…
‘ Just about saw David Campese’s ‘walk of shame’ along Oxford Street. I think, I saw him, in the murky, inky black darkness with his Ladbrokes – sponsored sandwich board. What did the writing say on the board? "I was wrong….. England are fab…. I couldn’t give a xxxx for Clive Woodward…. I’ll have Jonny Wilkinson’s babies"…….. Who knows, it was too dark to see.
Yes, Rugby Union’s own version of a supergobbed yawn-bore was supposedly humbled as his pre World Cup punditary, consisting almost entirely of ill considered Anglo-biled vitriol came back to bite him on the bum.
Dave’s solitary walk of shame was met by mass indifference as he picked his way amongst rush hour traffic.
It spoke volumes.
Tony Blair, drama queen…
Is it just me, or is our esteemed leader taking even longer to deliver a speech. Have you seen him lately? On Sunday, the PM delivered a ‘brief’ televised statement about the capture of the great despot in Iraq.
I use the word ‘brief’ loosely. What should have been a straight to the point, no nonsense, matter of fact discourse on what had actually happened the night before - degenerated into yet another sermon from the very Rev. Blair. Does he have shares in ‘Pregnant-Pause Corp’* or what? Virtually every speech is not so much punctuated, but GBH assaulted by silences, dramatic f/x and blank – sorry, ‘trust me, I’m a politician’ stares so intense, he could curdle milk from 50 yards.
If Tony Blair hadn’t discovered politics, I reckon he could have founded a religious sect by now. The staccato sect of the non conformist, non joined up sentence. Life is good in the sect, but anyone caught uttering a sentence that makes sense and takes less than a minute to get from beginning to end is for the high jump. The punishment is harsh – taking the blame from a guy called ‘Hutton’……
I mean, does he talk like that to Cherie? Has Leo learned to talk yet - or has he become ‘MiniTone’? Imagine the scene, Tone and Chezza are reading in bed, when ‘the great one’ is suddenly enthused by a thought that takes his mind off how to get rid of Gordon Brown…..
Tony stirs from reading and says:
"Darling,
do
you
fancy
a
cocoa?
Cherie: "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
Tony: "I
suppose
a
shag
is
out
of
the
question
then?"
*NOTE: Pregnant Pause Corp is an entirely fictional entity, rather tackily ‘imagineered’ by the author and should not under any circumstances be confused with ‘Pregnant Paws Crop’ – the highly esteemed feline artificial insemination company of North America.
‘ Just about saw David Campese’s ‘walk of shame’ along Oxford Street. I think, I saw him, in the murky, inky black darkness with his Ladbrokes – sponsored sandwich board. What did the writing say on the board? "I was wrong….. England are fab…. I couldn’t give a xxxx for Clive Woodward…. I’ll have Jonny Wilkinson’s babies"…….. Who knows, it was too dark to see.
Yes, Rugby Union’s own version of a supergobbed yawn-bore was supposedly humbled as his pre World Cup punditary, consisting almost entirely of ill considered Anglo-biled vitriol came back to bite him on the bum.
Dave’s solitary walk of shame was met by mass indifference as he picked his way amongst rush hour traffic.
It spoke volumes.
Tony Blair, drama queen…
Is it just me, or is our esteemed leader taking even longer to deliver a speech. Have you seen him lately? On Sunday, the PM delivered a ‘brief’ televised statement about the capture of the great despot in Iraq.
I use the word ‘brief’ loosely. What should have been a straight to the point, no nonsense, matter of fact discourse on what had actually happened the night before - degenerated into yet another sermon from the very Rev. Blair. Does he have shares in ‘Pregnant-Pause Corp’* or what? Virtually every speech is not so much punctuated, but GBH assaulted by silences, dramatic f/x and blank – sorry, ‘trust me, I’m a politician’ stares so intense, he could curdle milk from 50 yards.
If Tony Blair hadn’t discovered politics, I reckon he could have founded a religious sect by now. The staccato sect of the non conformist, non joined up sentence. Life is good in the sect, but anyone caught uttering a sentence that makes sense and takes less than a minute to get from beginning to end is for the high jump. The punishment is harsh – taking the blame from a guy called ‘Hutton’……
I mean, does he talk like that to Cherie? Has Leo learned to talk yet - or has he become ‘MiniTone’? Imagine the scene, Tone and Chezza are reading in bed, when ‘the great one’ is suddenly enthused by a thought that takes his mind off how to get rid of Gordon Brown…..
Tony stirs from reading and says:
"Darling,
do
you
fancy
a
cocoa?
Cherie: "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
Tony: "I
suppose
a
shag
is
out
of
the
question
then?"
*NOTE: Pregnant Pause Corp is an entirely fictional entity, rather tackily ‘imagineered’ by the author and should not under any circumstances be confused with ‘Pregnant Paws Crop’ – the highly esteemed feline artificial insemination company of North America.
Monday, December 15, 2003
You are Saddam Hussein and I claim my crisp £5 note……
It’s been a bad day for despots…… the midfield general, the moustachioed one, the ace in the pack has finally hung up his boots and called it a day. Well, to be more accurate he had his boots, 2 AK-47s, a pistol, $750,000 in single dollar bills and a partly used pack of ‘Grecian 2000 hung up for him.
Not much of a hiding place though, was it? A hole in the ground, pathetic – especially when you consider the power he once wielded. I sort of imagined that he would be living in some sort of mega-magna-bunker with marble halls and marble guards and satellite phones made of marble and bog rolls made from rolls of honour…..
This guy is supposed to be cunning – as cunning as ……. Well, not a fox, obviously. Maybe he was only as cunning as a sad, old ex dictator …. Which isn’t cunning at all.
If, ‘Sad’ had been cunning, he might have thought of a cast iron hiding place, a place were no-one but no-one would ever have found him. Indeed, they would, en masse, go out of their way, cross the other side of the street to avoid him. All he would need is a few props, a ‘pleading expression and a woolly hat.
My tip for cunning anonymity would have been for him to (quite openly) stand on a street corner in downtown Baghdad. He’d have a pile of magazines in his hand and he would be shouting, very, very loudly "BIG ISSUE, get your BIG ISSUE here"……
"Christ, a ‘Big Issue’ seller. If I DON’T make eye contact, I haven’t seen him …… and if I haven’t seen him, then, he doesn’t exist, therefore, he can’t be selling ‘The Big Issue – therefore, I don’t have to buy one"……..
They’d never have found him……
David Beckham – Groundsman to Godsman ….
Anybody noticed? Dave Goldenballs has discovered the mysticism that is ‘God is on our side, coz he is a Real Madrid supporter - , obviously’*. Now, when the great Becks hits the field for Real Madrid behind Zee-Zee, Ronaldo, Figo et al, he bends down, takes his turn to grasp a bit of grass (probably a bit that someone has previously gobbed on) and kisses it. He then makes the sign of a cross on his chest.
Dave, for God’s sake, give it up you pretentious prat. I didn’t recall you doing that when you were playing for Preston North End at Deepdale or even for Man U at Old Trafford …….. or has ‘Posh’ set your sights on becoming Pope – or Jesus – or God?…..
How many times, how many times have you ever seen a player of rugby, tennis, cricket or crown green bowling do an homage to grass and the Almighty by kissing it and doing a quick crucifix on the chezzy? – Exactly none, zilch, nil, bugger all.
Becks, a bit of advice – just do the manly hand shake, God is not a fashion accessory – and I don’t think he’s interested in Spanish footy, or Posh, or P.R. - so don’t ‘suddenly’ crack on you have been doing this all your life.
*Note, God does not support Real Madrid, because he’s a one-team omnipotent Super-creator. He has a season ticket for the Kop at Anfield and by God, we really do need some divine intervention – or a miracle or two.
Talking about Spanish footy, I am reminded of that great joke that Salvador Dali told to Picasso (possibly)……
And here is a late Spanish premier league football result –
Real Madrid 2, Surreal Madrid, fish
(after extra time).
It’s been a bad day for despots…… the midfield general, the moustachioed one, the ace in the pack has finally hung up his boots and called it a day. Well, to be more accurate he had his boots, 2 AK-47s, a pistol, $750,000 in single dollar bills and a partly used pack of ‘Grecian 2000 hung up for him.
Not much of a hiding place though, was it? A hole in the ground, pathetic – especially when you consider the power he once wielded. I sort of imagined that he would be living in some sort of mega-magna-bunker with marble halls and marble guards and satellite phones made of marble and bog rolls made from rolls of honour…..
This guy is supposed to be cunning – as cunning as ……. Well, not a fox, obviously. Maybe he was only as cunning as a sad, old ex dictator …. Which isn’t cunning at all.
If, ‘Sad’ had been cunning, he might have thought of a cast iron hiding place, a place were no-one but no-one would ever have found him. Indeed, they would, en masse, go out of their way, cross the other side of the street to avoid him. All he would need is a few props, a ‘pleading expression and a woolly hat.
My tip for cunning anonymity would have been for him to (quite openly) stand on a street corner in downtown Baghdad. He’d have a pile of magazines in his hand and he would be shouting, very, very loudly "BIG ISSUE, get your BIG ISSUE here"……
"Christ, a ‘Big Issue’ seller. If I DON’T make eye contact, I haven’t seen him …… and if I haven’t seen him, then, he doesn’t exist, therefore, he can’t be selling ‘The Big Issue – therefore, I don’t have to buy one"……..
They’d never have found him……
David Beckham – Groundsman to Godsman ….
Anybody noticed? Dave Goldenballs has discovered the mysticism that is ‘God is on our side, coz he is a Real Madrid supporter - , obviously’*. Now, when the great Becks hits the field for Real Madrid behind Zee-Zee, Ronaldo, Figo et al, he bends down, takes his turn to grasp a bit of grass (probably a bit that someone has previously gobbed on) and kisses it. He then makes the sign of a cross on his chest.
Dave, for God’s sake, give it up you pretentious prat. I didn’t recall you doing that when you were playing for Preston North End at Deepdale or even for Man U at Old Trafford …….. or has ‘Posh’ set your sights on becoming Pope – or Jesus – or God?…..
How many times, how many times have you ever seen a player of rugby, tennis, cricket or crown green bowling do an homage to grass and the Almighty by kissing it and doing a quick crucifix on the chezzy? – Exactly none, zilch, nil, bugger all.
Becks, a bit of advice – just do the manly hand shake, God is not a fashion accessory – and I don’t think he’s interested in Spanish footy, or Posh, or P.R. - so don’t ‘suddenly’ crack on you have been doing this all your life.
*Note, God does not support Real Madrid, because he’s a one-team omnipotent Super-creator. He has a season ticket for the Kop at Anfield and by God, we really do need some divine intervention – or a miracle or two.
Talking about Spanish footy, I am reminded of that great joke that Salvador Dali told to Picasso (possibly)……
And here is a late Spanish premier league football result –
Real Madrid 2, Surreal Madrid, fish
(after extra time).
