Tony Blair’s Smirk Watch

Well, during yesterday’s futile Commons debate on the Butler Report – and Tone’s wizard of the dribble performance, Alfie the Saddo counted 35 self satisfied, self congratulatory "Aren’t I fucking brilliant in a Harry Houdini sort of way" smirks from the Great Leader.

That’s 1.71 smirks per disembowelled, blown apart and hacked to death British Soldier – victim of the Iraqi War.

Or, 1 smirk per 400 innocent Iraqi victims.

The price of smirking has just gone up – official.




Laptop Corn Fly Watch
One corn fly has disappeared from my screen, the other is dead – immortalised forever in the top right of my screen. I started the computer this morning – and there it was – il morte.

Corn fly, I salute you – but not your sense of direction.




It’s a Twilight Zone moment……

So there I am on Monday, strolling about on Blackpool Prom (diddly om, pom, pom) shortly after stumbling out of the very grand Winter Gardens Ballroom. I had just seen my Son awarded his degree in 3-D computer illustration. I was as proud as punch. And when he went to collect his honour - rigged up in his mortar board, gown and colours, he didn’t fall over, he didn’t drop his scroll, he didn’t say "Gizz me scroll, you crusty old bastard" to the Vice Chancellor – that was the upside….. the downside was that he was 8th in line to go up and get his scroll – out of a roll-call of 800. It was about 150 degrees Centigrade in there – and rising. There was nowhere to sit – so a Winter Gardens Pillar was my lean-to buddy….. for about 4 hours.

I was wearing a suitably inappropriate wool mix suit, perfect for basting in my own body fluids and of course I sported, for the very first time my brand new black shiny, non bendy chaff-a-plenty, cripplo-shoes….. throb, throb,throb.

It’s funny – but I always thought at degree presentation ceremonies, they only presented degree certificates. Well, not so in the one I was at on Monday. Oh no. The first 250 people collected degrees, then came HNDs’, followed by HNCs’ then I began to lose the will to live. Were they going to award cycling proficiency certificates? Would I be dead when they did?

Because I was standing, I couldn’t have a doze. I just had to stand there, sweating bricks and cultivating varicose veinage by the mile up my legs.

Eventually, we staggered out. Thinner - a lot thinner, dripping with mucous and mushroom growths - and with feet on throb regulo 10. In spite of my plates of meat agony – I just had to have a bit of a walk. To cool down, however limpily to get a bit of fresh Blackpool air.

Which brings me back to where I came in. There, walking toward me is non other than former world snooker champ, Joe Johnson. I told everyone in our party that was willing to listen, in my best very loud whisper. Most people said "Who?"

I mean, Joe has done nothing since winning the Embassy World Championship, beating Steve Davis in the final in 1986. Most people now have never heard of him, much less what he looks like.

He walked away into the distance. I limped back to the car.

Anyway I got home, had a bath to get rid of the aches and strains and decided to head out to ‘The Ship’ in Lathom for their excellent Monday Night Quiz.

And here is the Twilight Zone bit coming up – first question, "Who beat Steve Davis in the 1986 Embassy World Snooker Final?"

I mean, how scary is that?
(not very scary, really)……….