Business going South, as business goes East…

As I mentioned I’m busy – but are we trousering any cash? We’re getting squeezed from all angles, all the time. Last week, we got a very unwelcome email from the Indian sub continent. One I have been dreading.

We design and build web sites amongst other general design stuff. We’re not cheap, or expensive – but we are creative. The spam from India is telling me that they can produce web sites for a fraction of what they cost in ‘the West’ – That’ll be us then. How can we compete? Answer, we can’t.

Sure, our stuff is much more creative, we can do anything, ‘flash’, ASP, PHP, database management….. But do companies want that any more? They all seem to be ruled by the Accountant’s pen and the bottom line nowadays. Cheap is good, Cheaper - better, Cheapest is best. This Global market place is relentless. Everything is being downgraded to a different cost infrastructure and a desperate workforce.

You can here the strain in their voices as some guy from Mumbai rings you just when you are about to start your tea.

"Hello, this is ‘Rob’ from ‘DataStuff’ in London, I just want to…"

"Really? Well Rob, what’s the weather like in London at the moment? What do you think about Chelsea’s latest big money signing? Did you see ‘Corry’ last night?"

"Silence"

"So what’s your real name? And what country are you calling from?

"Sanjay, and I’m calling from India"…….

After that, we get on famously – he’s no longer using his ‘alias’ name, or de facto, lying to me. I listen, he feels more confident because he isn’t trying to live in ‘Rob’s’ alter ego. I obviously don’t buy – but at least Sanjay feels better about it.

To use the modern vernacular, these people are run by Gang Masters in India, who in turn are run by Beemer driving Gang Masters in the West.

They appear to be paid on a results driven commission basis. I sort of get the impression that big bubbles are being inflated on booming Global economies. I’m just wondering where exactly in the World the flaccid skin of recession will start to kick in – and when.


A sad day

I’ve been a bit quiet since Friday. My friend, Joan died that night after a long battle against cancer. I’d known her for over 25 years, had a laugh and some great times at The Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust at Martin Mere where we both used to work.

I will miss her terribly.

iago…....

Met my sister, Princess Matilda, the ‘not too bad in small doses’ on Saturday. She told me that the new BBC Director General (acting) Mark Byford is an old Uni’ class mate of hers. They both went to Leeds, she knew him very well. He was quiet, thoughtful, sensitive, studious – but a bit of an apologist.

"He still is" I said. He must have taken a ‘Masters’ in apologising along with a ‘grovelling’ O.U. course. Ever since he got the job via the untimely resignation of Greg Dyke, Mr Byford’s sweaty hand prints have been on reams and reams of apologies to just about everyone he can think of from his newly created ‘BBC Apologies Unit’.

"Sorry Dick Dastardly, for portraying you in the most negative light during the transmission of ‘Wacky Races’…. I’m sure you are a very sensitive psychotic boy racer"….

"Sorry ‘Wicked Witch of the West’, I’m sure you are a really interesting old crone…. I’ve never had eye of newt and liver of toad, but I’m sure it’s a delightful fusion of flavours for the palette…. I’ll get young Jamie Oliver to rustle some up for the BBC canteen"…..

Anyway, if you want any extra apologies, Mark – here’s some I made up earlier….

"Sorry" (a general ‘fits all sorts’ apology – can be issued when panicked and need to think of something quick)

"Very, very sorry" " (must be said with a sincere countenance – a tear in the eye will help).

"We at the BBC are complete nummers, we don’t deserve to breath the same air as the great omnipotent, the Royal Blairiness" (should only be used whilst on your knees, it is advisable to disengage your mouth from boot leather to make this apology – otherwise his Royal Godliness won’t be able to understand you).

Buzz, buzz, buzzy bee........

Great gobs of sweat, I'm busy. I'm just too busy to even think of a simile as to just how busy I actually am.

I'm up the wall, round the bend and knocking on the door of 'Ulcerdom' busy. And believe me, that's busy! Being busy, is better than being torpid I suppose, except when I'm actually in a state of torpor, then it's just fine. But what 'busy-ness' type am I today?

There's the "I'm so busy, I'm disappearing up my own jacksie and achieving not a lot". Busy.

Or alternatively, the "I'm so busy, Why can't everyone just sod off and leave me alone to get on with my blog". Busy.

Or how about the "I'm so busy, I can't cope. I'm off to join the Foreign Legion". Busy.

And finally, "I'm so busy, that by tonight I will have trousered enough cash today to buy that deluxe villa at Marbella and fabulous two tone 'SunSeeker' motor launch". Busy.

I'll leave it to you to decide which category applies.

Can I have a packet of Old English Spangles please, and what have you got for a penny change?"....

Want to find out what happened to 'Spangles', 'Texan Bar' 'Bliss' 'Pacers' and all the other filling lifters of the '50 and '60's onwards? Then log on this virtual boiled sweet world of a web site. It started from nothing and now has big kids by the thousands peering over its well stocked counter to buy. Excellent!

a quarter of...

Looking at it suddenly transported me back to 'The Candy Box', our local sweety shop of the early '60's. It's where I left most of my tooth enamel - and is the prime reason why I have very strong neck muscles (supporting all the metal in my teeth).

Main reason for this? I was a 'Spearmint Chew' junkie. I was addicted to its pink and sticky bendiness. Mmm, I can still remember the 'hit' as that sugar Oh Dee hit my brain and assaulted my molars......

Self fulfilling prophesy…..

Rampant inebriate, Georgie Best is not a happy bunny. He reckons the reason he got stopped last Friday for drink driving, wasn’t because he was over twice the legal limit, or his bad driving. No, it was more to do with his distinctive personalised number plate.

P155 ART15T

I see what he means….


New tactics…..

I reckon, if there are any Weps o’ Mass Destrux in Iraq they should employ some new tactics in finding them…
I suggest a game. Blindfold a weapons inspector and get Saddam out of jail.

As Jonny Weapons Finder is aimlessly stumbling around, Saddam can shout out "Colder"….. "Getting warmer"……"Scorching" And the ultimate "Absolutely boiling!!" (delivered in a very high voice)…

And if there’s no co-operation from Saddam, then he’ll get no party bag at going home time …..


Cubs…..

Do they still have ‘Cubs’ – the kindergarten for Scouts? Thumb and little pinky clasped together, leaving the three remaining fingers shooting skyward. Reciting, like extras from ‘Children of the Damned’ "Dibb, dibb, dobb…. I prom miss to do my du tee, blah, blah, blah" Did I really do that, say that? Am I dreaming?

What does ‘Dibb, Dibb, Dobb’ mean anyway? Have I ever ‘dibbled’ or ‘dobbled’? I’ve certainly ‘dribbled’ – usually after a few scoops…

I found my old set of badges the other day, fan-bloody-tastic
I have a badge for ‘Drawing’, a badge for ‘Ironing’ a badge for ‘Observation’ and one for ‘field-craft’ …. And one that I think meant I was a really decent chap. 'Yes, you are a really decent chap and all round good egg, well done', badge.

We had ‘Ar-kay-lar’ for our Cub meets. (Is that how you spell it?) She was nice, she looked like Olive Oil. We occasionally shared the church hall with the Scouts. Their leader was ‘Skip’ He was ok, but he had immensely sweaty armpits. His khaki shirt was always two-tone. In the Summer, the tide was in. But in the Winter, the tide was out – leaving two monster white salt marks around his shirt.

Over the weeks, ‘Skip’ and ‘Ar-kay-lar’ got more and more friendly. They would be seen disappearing into the tent room to try out some new knot work, possibly….. Anyway, ‘Ar-kay-lar’ had to leave. She’d obviously been doing some field work – or possibly a bit of dibbing and dobbing with ‘Skip’. He’d shown her some new techniques on keeping warm and conserving body heat. She got a new badge on ‘Bun making’…..

Incompetents ‘R’ us……..

A survey has been released today. Its conclusions are quite startling – apparently, 2.4 million people in Britain today are bloody useless at their job. These no talent wasters are so bad that the rest of us have to subsidise their mistakes and bad judgement through extra costs and inferior services….

I reckon we should start a list, outing all incompetents for the absolute waste of space they are. I’ll get the ball rolling ….

1) Tony Blair
2) John Prescott
3) David Blunkett
4) Posh Spice

Hmmmm, I appear to be 2,399,996 short…..

The ‘RogueNationStatometer is twitching again ….....

"Prime Minister, I’ve only just gone and bloody well found another one. I Alfie, the sexing up weapons inspector has uncovered another viper’s nest for you and your loyal brother in arms to sort out".

"Get me The President – it looks like another job for ‘The Righteous Brothers’ – Alfie, is there a phone booth handy so I can do a quick change? I also need to don my ‘Most serious and extra grave’ expression for this ‘VideoPhone’ call. So I’ll need extra" ….

"Botox injections? I’ve already anticipated that scenario. The needle and tray is on your desk. Meanwhile, I’ll put the call through"….

"Hi George, Tony here…… Tony Blair…..

"Toaneee Blaugg? Do I know you, Toaneee Blaugg?"

"Yes, yes yes. You know me, I’m ‘Four square, Tony Blair’ You know, Prime Minister of the UK. Faithful friend to the USA in their fight against international terrorism….. You know, I’m known as ‘The Rev’?"

"Ohhh, sure! Sorry Tone. Had a senior moment there. What can I do for you?"

"MI6 have given me a ‘new file’ on a new Country…"

"A new Country?"

"Exactly. Absolutely brimming with Dubbya Emm Deees"

"But how ‘sexy’ is it?"

"It’s as sexy as ‘Jordan’ – and I’m not talking about the Middle Eastern country".

"Hubba, hubba is it as ‘stacked’ as Jordan?

"Well yes, obviously – but I would prefer to say it was very much ‘stacked’ in our favour"

"Tone, that’s what I like to hear. Hot diggiddi, looks like ‘hammer time’ again"

"Damn right, Dubbya – it must be true, I’m coming over all self righteous again"

"Well that settles it, Tone. Send over the checklist on the ‘RighteousFax’

"F. A. B. Georgie boy"

"Good jaab Tony. Hmmmm, interesting……..

Anti Democratic, and Anti West check list

1) Muslim Country Check

2) Military Dictator Check

3) Backed by junta Check

4) Violently seized power Check

5) Undemocratic Check

6) Suppression of political parties Check

7) Weapons of Mass Destruction Check

8) ‘In the field’ testing of WMDs’ Check

9) Unstable Check

10) Violent clashes with neighbouring Countries Check

11) Guerrilla and terrorist training camps Check

"Hello Tony, God damn, it’s dynamite!
Gotta move baby! - To the Self Righteous War Cabinet!"

"Dubbya, wait! Don’t you want to find out just who it is?"

"Well, they have huge reserves of oil, right? – Otherwise, what’s the point of invade…. Liberating them?".

‘I say to you George, - to get rid of the dictator and the WMDs’ – obviously".

"Well OK Tony, what Goddam Country is it".

"Pakistan, it’s Pakistan, Dubbya"

"Pakistan! Ya stooopid limey bastard. Pakistan and ‘The General’ are loyal allies in our fight against those terrorist folks Tony – don’t you know nuttin?"…..

"But George, what about democracy?"

"Geez, Tony baby. Don’t you get it? Not all totalitarian states are our enemies".

"They’re not?" Well, when are they not our enemies?

"When they’re our friends, Tony. When they’re our friends…

"Ohh"

"Condeleeza, Condeleeeeezzza, get me Premeeer Sheerack on the ‘phone – and get me someone who can speak Franccish – we need to find ourselves a nooo ally to replace this stoopid limey asshole"…..

Durrr......

So, one of my kids comes home from school and says "Hey Dad, what is the longest month in the year?"

Hmmmm, I muse away.... 30 days hath September, etc, etc"

"Well, 7 months have 31 days - so there are 7 that are the longest"

"No, no, no. Which is the longest?'

I then started to think that maybe he was talking about the number of letters in each word... "September!" I announced in triumph. "September - it's got 9 letters, it's the longest"

"Naw, wrong again!"

By now he was crowing like Tony Blair after just receiving a favourably stitched up Inquiry.

"O bloody K. I don't bloody know. You'd better bloody tell me"

Answer: October. Why? Because the clocks go back in October by 1 hour, therefore October is 1 hour longer that the other 31 day months.

Well, I never knew that - but I do now.





A Taxing year?...

January 31st 2003 Phew!! Just managed to get my tax return in. What a palaver! Mental note to 'sloth-side' of my head. Get off your arse and make sure that you send in the next tax return pronto - like, before the end of September - then the good old friendly tax people will calculate it for you. How very considerate! I mean, to quote Adam Hart-Davis in his extremely irritating TV tax ads "After all, tax doesn't have to be taxing". (What brilliant wordsmith thought that one up then?)

February. Must keep that receipt, 'n stick it in with my tax return which should be in by September.

March. Hmmmm. This windfall, left me by Great Aunt Mimsie. I should put it to one side - and if I need to pay the taxman anything, I can use that?. How mature of me - sorted! Saved lots more receipts, must find box to put them in.

April. Decide to invest windfall into having a really good holiday, because.. because I bloody well deserve it. And anyway, my return only needs to be in by the end of September - I can easy save whatever I need by then.

May. Take a teeeny-weeny small loan out - just to tide me over for 'spends' on my fab' holiday. Well, it's only someone else's money - and everyone's doing it!! Got even more receipts, God, at this rate, Gordon Brown will owe me money!

June. God it's hot. Sun, sea, sand and sangreeeea! Mental note: must sort out my tax form as soon as I get home "Alfreda, whack a bit more of that Ambre Solaire stuff on me back will you?"

July. Can't find tax form. Where the hell is it? Ring up very understanding man at tax office called 'Gordon' - he's Scottish - and prudent. Understanding Gordon tells me I can submit my form 'online'. Blimey, what am worrying about? I can upload in a matter of moments... I mean, theoretically, I could send it on the last day of September at a quarter of an hour before midnight if I really wanted to...

August. Relax, plenty of time, now I can submit 'on-line'

September 29th Ohhhhkkaaaayyyy. Must sit down and do it. Right after I've read this really interesting article on traditional reindeer farming in the frozen northern wastes of Finland.

October 1st Damn, missed the deadline, never mind, I can still make the end of January deadline - just as long as I give all my 'P' forms to my accountant...

November Where the bloody hell is my 'P 11D' form. I mean, can you believe it, I had it here, just here... and now it's gone... Come to think of it, where's my 'receipts box'?
"What do you mean you've thrown it out! It wasn't just an old shoe box, it was my receipts box.."

Don't you just hate going through sweaty bin bags looking for stuff that's always at the bottom. And don't you just hate it even more when you've chucked the entire contents of your pets cat litter tray in there, not an hour before.

December Christmas is coming, hoorah!! Make entry into brand spanking new 2004 diary... "January 5th, ring Andrew (my Accountant), make appointment." I've put extra bold, black underlined underlinings, just so I don't miss it when I come back from my Christmas holidays.

January 5th Blimey, my first day back. I can't remember a thing! I mean, what the hell was I supposed to be doing today? Best thing is to get back into it, slowly like - then it won't be such a shock. I'll start stuff tomorrow... or maybe the next day... possibly. I'll open my new diary at a brand new page - crisp and virginal - there! January the 7th.

January 30th 2004 Now, I just know I've forgotten something... OHMYBLEEDINGGOD -TAX!

Improbable Similes……

As pure as the driven Blair.

As stitched up as the BBC.

As gobsmacked as a population with smacked gobs

As groggy as a Greg Dyke

As vacant as a ‘Buff’ Hoon.

As infallible as a British Politician.

As iffy a verdict as the stitch up 2,000 years ago.

As impartial as Judge Hutton (apparently)

As crestfallen as a bitter blogger.

The clever money has gone into whitewash......

Oh yes, baby! Alfie the Stag, Bear, Bullfrog, Tadpole or whatever here.

Clever, smug Alfie has made a fortune by investing in 'WHITEWASH CORP PLC'. He saw a potentially huge opportunity in the market, once he realised Lord Hutton was publishing his Report today. So much whitewash would be needed for the Report that a shortage was bound to happen.

Buying at 0.5p and selling, this morning at £28.76p per share means Alfie will never have to work again........

STOP PRESS Panic buying of Whitewash at B&Q Warehouse stores all over the UK. People killed in rush. One disappointed punter said "Oh bloody hell, the whitewash has all gone. Now I'll have to paint our outside bog in 'Alaskan Blue' or 'Magnolia Mist' - but it's a bloody poor substitute for whitewash"....

STOP, STOP PRESS Reaction from around the world on the news that Teflon Tony Blair is innocent .....

Pope John Paul "Isssa miracle. I'ma gonna make him a Saint.... St Tony of Teflonia"

President George W. Bush "Who the God damn is Tony Blair?"

President Chirac "I am very, very 'appy for 'im.... 'Onest"

Chancellor Gordon Brown "Shite!"




The Rev’ skins it again – thanks to his flock…....

Tony Blair, ‘Teflon’ to his mates, ‘Smarmy’ to his enemies and ‘Conniving manipulative ingrate’ to the electorate just managed to get the Top-up fees bill through the lobby by a miserly 5 votes. Alfie the Parliamentary sketch writer has pondered long and hard for a suitably eloquent phrase to sum up this democratic white - knuckle ride…. But he just can’t get past ‘Tony Blair – you totally jammy bastard’

What’s the matter with some of those ‘rebels’ – pathetic! They folded like deflated foldy things in a vacuum…. It reminded me of that great sketch on ‘Spitting Image’. Thatcher and all her sycophantic Cabinet are having a meal in a restaurant. The waiter comes over "I’ll have the Beef" bellows Mrs T.

"And the vegetables?" says the waiter.

"They’ll have the Beef as well"…........


Talk about 'Men or Mice'...... I don't think this Government will be bringing in an extra tax on cheese do you?

Anyway, leading up to the vote, ‘Teflon Tone’ seemed to base most of his argument through this simplistically overworked sound byte illustration of a binman, toiling away …… "Is it fair" asks Tone "Is it fair to expect this binman to fund a medical student through University? I say to you - that it is not fair"…….

Crap argument or what? I mean, I don’t watch Grand Opera - but I’m sure some of my hard earned taxes help fund it – and good luck to them.. However It’s got me thinking a bit. Using the ‘IS IT FAIR’ proposition can be applied to lots and lots of different criteria….

Tone –

Is it fair that I help fund your Prime Ministerial pension scheme of £2.5 million quid – even though I hate your bleeding guts – and the rest of us have to make do with a crumbling, no return nest egg?

Is it fair that I help fund your illegal and imperialistic war adventure to Iraq even though I don’t think you’re mentally competent to be a binman, never mind P.M?

Is it fair that I help fund such brain dead schemes as the Millennium Dome and the new Wembley Stadium, even though I’m vehemently against your South East Centralist agenda?

Is it fair that I help fund vacuous, ill-judged, ‘written on the back of a fag packet’ sound byte initiatives, even though you don’t believe a word you’re saying?

I say to you, "It is not"


STOP PRESS: Latest leak from the Hutton inquiry…..
Shock disclosure – David Kelly linked to ‘ultimate betrayal’.
A government source has confirmed that Kelly – or Mr Iscariot’ as he is now to be known, will be denounced as Pontias Pilot’s chief informer. The source also confirmed that they had found 30 pieces of silver in his piggy bank……

BBBRRRRR

OK, ‘got everything, I think! I’ll just run through the list….

Mega - tog sleeping bag. check

Kendal mint cake (polar icecap quality as endorsed by Chris Bonnington). check

Nanook of the North anorak with specially incorporated blubber membrane. check

Swiss Army penknife with ice axe attachment. check

Red Army Surplus furry hat made from lots of dead Russian furry things. check

‘The Call of the Wild’ by Jack London – to get me in the mood. check

Snow shoes, made from one old squash racquet and….. nothing else – I’ll just have to hop. check

Entire collection of ‘Ray Mears’ survival techniques’ videos (I always knew these would come in handy). check

Scissors – to cut off the perma-frozen snot globules from my moustache and beard. check

'Everest' double glazing - obviously. check

Yep, that’s it, I can take whatever the North wind is going to throw down at me, So come on you great big gay polar bear, bring it on down, I’m ready!

S.A.D……

Grey days. Damp 'n dark, in a Dylan Thomas, bible black sort of way – and wet? As wet as John Major in a power-shower …… Mid January, I bloody hate it. Where is the light? Where is the warmth? Where is the sodding Sun?

Answer? On his flippin’ holibobs, down under by the looks of it. I’ve just been watching some tennis (what a volley!) from the Australian Open in Melbourne. It’s 35 degrees in the shade for God's sake – and you could cut metal with the sharpness of the shadows. Sweaty, sticky tennis players, constantly mopping their leaking brows. You can almost smell the body odour, you can almost feel the glowing, shimmering heat… almost, but not quite.

We couldn’t get out of the house this morning. There is so much damp in the air, the front door had swollen up and jammed us in. I then tried to open the garage door and get out that way. That's when I remembered parking the car right outside the garage the night before to stop any would be burglar breaking in.

Back to the front door. It finally gave up it's resistance with the help of a few smacks with a mallet and chisel...

The garden looks like the Somme, except when it is under water, then it just looks like the Atlantic. And apparently there is a billion tonnes of snow on the way…. Time to dig out a few ‘Smiths’ albums. "Heaven knows I’m miserable nowowwwww…"

The ‘Typhoon’, over-budget, overdue, over sexed up – but not overhead….

The ‘Eurofighter’ or ‘Typhoon’ as it is now known – in a rather sexed up way, is in a right load of trouble.

KABOOOMMM – Marvel, as it smashes through the 2 Billion quid overspend barrier.

WHOOOSH – Cringe, as the British Aerospace Boffins scratch their heads, as it dawns on them that the really big elastic band attached to the propeller isn’t enough to get it airborne – no matter how many times they turn it.

"I know, let’s try using two elastic bands!"….

"But won’t that really chafe our fingers as we wind it up?"

SCREEEECCCHHH – To a halt. Unfortunately, the ‘Typhoon’ can’t. The brakes don’t work, so if you have a house near the end of the runway – sell it, quick. Boffins are reported to be studying the movie ‘The Flintstones’ to glean tips on bringing aircraft to a halt. Pilots are rumoured to be toughening their feet so they can thrust them through the specially cut foot shaped orifices in the plane’s floor.

EEEEEEOWWW – Boffins at British Aerospace announce a breakthrough at the development of an in-built ‘Doppler-effect sound machine for the ‘Typhoon’.

A spokesman said "Quite, quite brilliant, even when the ‘Typhoon’ is travelling at 15 miles an hour – or ‘micro-mach’ as we like to call it, the Doppler kicks in and makes the wave pattern sound like it’s going 1,500 miles per hour"

GAAAASP – at the ineptitude of Minister of Defence, ‘Buff’ Hoon and his assertion that it’s not his fault. "It’s not my fault …… I blame David Kelly for this – or possibly Saddam Hussein" says Geoff….

PHHHEEWWW – Feel safe and secure as Prime Minister Blair asserts that the ‘Typhoon’ can deal with any ‘45 minute threat’.

"Did I say 45 minutes? What I meant to say was 45 months. So to reiterate, I tell you most sincerely that the ‘Typhoon’ can deal with any 45 year threat…….. possibly".

HHHORRRROR – As little Jimmy Atkins from Bolton brings down a mighty ‘Typhoon’ with a deadly strike from a 10 bob Brocks ‘AstroDoom’ Rocket. "I just stuck it in a bottle, lit the blue touch paper and stood well back. It wasn’t my fault, I blame David Kelly" whined Jimmy…

REVEALED – The MoD has released the unsuccessful list of names for the ‘Eurofighter’ – now known as the sexed up ‘Typhoon’

List of unsuccessful names as follows:

‘Stationary White Elephant’

‘Big Pointy, Pointy Thing’

‘Big Pointy, Noisy Thing’

‘Big Wheely Bin’

‘Fast as a Speeding Bullshit’

‘JetSki’ (Russian version)

‘JetWhoosh’ (USA version)

JetJoke (UK version)

SAAD (Sexy as a dossier)

I hope the MoD haven’t yet decommissioned their squadrons of ‘Sopwith Camels’ – otherwise we really will be in trouble….

Perks of the job…….

Sunday was cleaning the car out day. Gosh, I thought, is it that time of the year again? Anyway, amongst the old sandwich wrappers, empy water bottles, dog hairs and sticky parking tickets I was struck by the amount of office detritus dug out of various cockpit nooks and crannies within.

There it was, my ill-gotten booty lined up for all to see. Staples, staplers, pens, pads, selloptape, white out pens, etc, etc and even more etc… A veritable cornucopia of office stuff… a sort of ‘stationery on the move’….

So this was my pile of perks. My perkdom nest-egg, my nice little earner. God knows why I felt this triumphal -especially as I am a joint owner of the business where I work. Must be something to do with hunter gathering….. "Look, post-it notes, by the hundred. Eat, good"……

I’ve done it previously of course, always been a bit of a hamster, storing away useful bits and bobs "Well, that’s what the bosses expect isn’t it?" They build costs in to compensate for the stuff they lose through ‘wastage’ - you'd bee a fool not to take what's rightfully yours.....

During my student vacations, I worked at a very large biscuit factory. Due to legal reasons I cannot divulge the name of this establishment, but I’ll give it a pseudonym ‘Wacobs Chrome Knackers’.

As a job it was good at the Chrome Knacker factory, very tiring though, in fact most days I got home completely chrome knackered….but the perks were fantastic. I was luckily put on their flagship production line. Due to legal reasons I cannot divulge the name of this flagship product, but I’ll give it a pseudonym Glub Friskets. I was in chocolate overload heaven, but I couldn’t eat them all could I?

Pretty soon, Hammy the Hamster became Sammy the Squirrel. I was hiding away caches of ‘Glubs’ all over the place. Boxes and boxes of them. But how do I get them out? After all a gross box of ‘Glubs’ cannot be easily hidden – and I had about 20 boxes of them. That’s nearly 3,000 bars of ‘Glubs’. Wow, if this consignment ever hits the streets then watch out for hyper active sugar o-dees.

"Yeah, tragic, just tragic, the kid never stood a chance, he’s hit a whole bar of the purest ‘Glub’ I ever saw….. fried his brain, rotted his teeth. If I could just get my hands on the dirty scumbag Glub-pusher"…..

Should I stick it down my pants? Would I get odd looks from the ‘girls on the line’? "Ay luv, are you glad to see me or have you got a gross of ‘Glubs’ in your trousers?"

Needles to say Sammy the Squirrel became Bobby the Bottler – 30 years later and I bet they’re still there.

My cousin, Ian used to work in a cake factory. His big idea was to become a chef and he thought, get a job in the food industry and work his way up. Ian - svelte when he started, worked on the strawberry tarts supervising the final dollop of cream at the end of the process. He then did a Q.C. check on them, any that didn’t fit the bill got scrapped.

Svelte Ian developed a habit of digging a digit into a passing tartlet, whilst at the same time saying "That’s not up to standard". – Then shoved the damaged strawberry, cream pastry amalgamation into his gob. Pretty soon, svelteshness gave way (as did his trousers) to lardyness.

Ian left the cake line and got a job as assistant Chef in an unremarkable restaurant but carried on nibbling the mangetout and the hoovers doovers… He got the push.

Someone I knew used to bring home, every day a small bit of off-cut Copper from his work. Every night, when he got home he would, oh so carefully unwrap the hidden bit of metal from his lunchbox and place it under the stairs. This went on for ages, years and years. His wife never went ‘under the stairs’ - that was hubby’s domain.

The cupboard became full. A sort of scale model of Fort Knox - but without the gold or the reinforced floor. This man, whose original aim was to sell the metal to a dealer, became a bit of connoisseur of Copper. Eventually, the floorboards started to creak, Copper overload kicked in and went South, towards China. He used the extra space created to collect even more of the precious metal……

He’s still collecting. After all, you can’t have too much loose Copper can you?

The Sound of Silence by John Cage, 'performed' tonight by the RPO and broadcast on BBC Radio 3... An appraisal by Alfie the critique.....
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Thankyou, but don't just take my word for it - 'hear' it yourself, tune in tonight. Don't worry if you miss it, I'm sure a CD is even now being banged out.




The Mea Culpa Club – membership strictly restricted…….

Just watching Geoff ‘buff’ Hoon donning his tin hat and taking cover, busily reading the Rev’ Blair’s Gideon bible – he’s on the holy chapter ‘Itwasntmeguvidicus’. It looks like they’ll have to prise his hands off the seal of office and his bum off the seat of power to get rid of him – after all, he’s hardly likely to say "OK, fair cop, I’m a complete and utter cretin" – is he?

I mean, I bet Geoff’s a nice bloke, someone you’d trust to pull you a decent pint at your local – but not to organise a delivery 35,000 pairs of desert boots or indeed, flak jackets and stuff….

It got me thinking – when was the last time, the very last time that a British politician jacked it in, declared his innings, called time on his tenure, shouted last orders….. because he had made an unforgivable error of judgement. Completely ‘cocked up’ for want of a better phrase. "I’ve had a meeting with the Prime Minister… after much consultation, both he and I agree that I have made an unforgivable mistake and furthermore that I am an utter, utter prat. I resigned 2 seconds before he would have sacked me, I intend to follow a career in television"…..

So who was it then? What with our terrific crop of noble politicians it can’t be that hard can it? After all they’re all human – ergo, they make mistakes, don’t they? So, if they do make a mistake, you'd expect them to go, right?

Hmmmmmmm, now let me think, who was the last Minister to fall on their sword shaped portfolios for the crime of cock-up?

LET'S LOOK AT THE EVIDENCE

Robin Cook and Clare Short – resigned over Iraq.
Estelle Morris – said she "Didn’t enjoy it any more"
Stephen Byers – sacked by the Rev’
Alan Milburn – wanted to spend more time with his family
Sir Norman Fowler – said he had a young family
Michael Hesteltine – jacked it in over a row about Westland…
Cecil Parkinson – Love child scandal
Lord Lampton – sacked for smoking hash and bedding laidees of the night.
John Profumo – ditto to above, apart from the spliff.

And so it goes on, Government Ministers are sacked for stupidity, seeing the light, smoking the dope, bedding the floozy, realising they have a family or getting all principled ….

I’ve wracked and wracked my grey matter. The last Minister I can think of to say "I’m a divvy, get me out of here" is Lord Carrington in 1982 – that’s 22 years ago for God’s sake!

Note that Carrington was not an elected MP. Perversely he was a very able Minister who took his eye off the ball. The forces of Argentina invaded South Georgia and that was it. Even then he had to insist to Thatcher that she accept his resignation.

When interviewed later, Lord Carrington said "Mea Culpa"… Nuff said.

Working, resting and typing….

Treated myself to a very tasty, Mars bar today. It enabled me to work, rest and play…. great! A real filling lifter if ever there was one, frozen rivulets of milk chocolate, toffee and a light caramel filling subtly interfused with some Beagley bits.

Must contact mutton chopped scientist and part time Wurzel Gummidge extra, Prof’ Colin Pillinger and tell him I’ve found it….. Int’ British Technology brilliant – cutting edge, in a boffiny-Meccano, sticky-backed plastic and Sqeezy bottle kind of way….


The very Rev’ Tony Blair .....

BACKGROUND
The renowned Missionary, the very Rev’ Blair performed his latest meeting with the natives at his Mission today. The Rev’ uttered various zeal laden beliefs from the scriptures on his God given (Rupert Murdoch) path to bring the natives out of The Darkness and into The Busted…..

SCRIPTURES WRITTEN ON TABLETS OF STONE
"Can we just wait until this enquiry, that report and the other whitewash committee publish their findings…"

GOSPEL COMMENT
Yea - verily Tone, just seen you on the telly doing your very informative (not) press conference from 10 Downing Street – you look shit, in a close to death, temperature of 105 degree sort of way. It’s more, much more than the realisation that your smoke and mirrors are about to be blown out of the water. You look positively ill, you look like someone is smiting you down from afar……. "With this instrument I thee smite you most smotily!!!"

Looks like my Christmas stocking filler, a DIY voodoo doll kit is paying dividends then …….. now for the coup de grace, just off to get the blowtorch, pliers and six inch nails…..

Did you just hear that?

Blimey Moses, can you believe it?
Were you listening to Simon Mayo on Radio fivelive today?
The time was about 1:45pm and Simes was grilling 3 Westminster MPs. The pomposity indicator was reaching dangerously high levels as Alan Duncan(Tory), Mathew Taylor(LibDems) and some anonymous slimy toadying Labour geezer who I've never heard of and can't remember... But let's call him 'Gollum' - were all blustering away ad nauseum.

I was vaguely listening, wondering just how they can split 2 brain cells between 3 MPs when Mr Gollum, MP for Mordor South said the words...
THE bloody words that drive me abso-bloody-lutely bananas. Gollum slimed out "Now, let me make this absolutely clear"........ AAAAGGGGGHHHH.

I slapped out an email to Simon..... "Blah, blah, blah, blah outraged, blah, blah, disgusted, blah, blah, pompous Westminster arses, blah, blah, get a proper job blah, blah".

Two minutes later, Simes was reading it out ON AIR in all its pithy, paxmanesque glory. No reaction from Gollum - he was probably hiding under a stone quivering in abject terror. Sorted!

Robin Day's successor is alive and well and living in self delusional isolation....

Are you glad to see me, or is that £160 million quid in your pocket?……

Conrad Black, press mogul and plutocrat businessman is in a bit of a stew. When I say ‘stew’, I mean up to his armpits in a brown, oozing, sticky, gooey, gravy-dumpling gack.

The proprietor of The Telegraph Group of newspapers and head of the international business group ‘Hollinger’ has apparently mislaid 160 million quid….. Just like that – He had it in his hand, put it down on the desk to make a cup of tea – turned round and it was gone!

Conrad, mate - it’s easily done – and easily fixed. A similar black hole occurred at the ‘AlfieCorp’ headquarters. Can you believe it? Someone had been raiding the petties tin, no doubt buying Gypsy Creams instead of Malted milk…. It’s a slippery slope alright, due to this over indulgence The AlfieCorp coffers were light to the tune of 160 quid.

Such was the panic, ‘AlfieCorp’s share price hit the deck on the ‘CRAPDAQ’ index faster than Emile Heskey after a bruising encounter with an over stuffed eiderdown pillow.

Creative bookkeeping is the answer, Conrad. Claim on a few pub lunches, fill your car with 8 quids worth of petrol, insist on a written receipt then cunningly write ‘000,000 after the ‘8’. There, you’ve now got a petrol receipt for 8 million quid! Pub receipts can be treated the same way. What was £65 becomes, with a judicious bit of forgery £65,000,000. – or over a third of the missing cash. You only need a few of these to wipe the debt out completely!

In the unlikely event of anyone challenging your receipts, just tell them you filled the tank right up - plus the 2 plastic petrol carriers in the boot….. or that you chose a few really nice bottles of ‘House Red’ to go with your pub lunch rather than a couple of pints of lager.

I can’t see why this wouldn’t work – after all it did the trick for us and our 160 quid.

STOP PRESS
Alfie ‘the Savvy’, CEO of ‘AlfieCorp’ has withdrawn from merger talks with Italian Dairy and Food producing giant - Parmalat. Mr Savvy said "The milk was off".

We wish Kilroy was here……..

In view of the suspension of Robert Kilroy-Silk by the BBC, several other TV stations are reported to be eagerly chasing the signature of the great double-barrelled tour de force.... possibly.

Picture the scene at TVCorp’s executive think tank lounge. Ptolomy Theakston-Willoughby is chairing a meeting of his brightest, youngest creme de la creamiest gurus. The problem on the agenda – how to solve their moribund morning slot……..

"Look luvs, Kilroy is hot, hot, hot! The Beeb has blown him out, more fool them! We can offer him a deal, a great deal! People will flock to his show if…if we can offer him the right package.

"We’re talking controversy….

"We’re talking big, big guests"…

"What, like Vanessa Feltz?"

"We’re talking an a.m. programme of R and J proportions"

"R and J?"

"Richard and Judy!"

"We’re talking a total mega morning revamp situation for our a.m. schedules. We want a title…. Something that keeps Kilroy’s name in it……so people, let’s brain storm, let’s think out of the box, let's salute the flagpole and let’s press that envelope for all its worth!"…

"And let’s do it now!"

"OK, we’ll need something snappy, something to go with his name… something like ’controversial’ - with a k - because Kilroy is ‘Kontroversial’…

"Now we’re getting somewhere…. But we’ll need another word for the title….. Kilroy, what does he do?… he talks, right….. he’s a great ‘communicator’ isn’t he?

"That’s it, we’ve only gone and bloody-well done it!
Kilroy Komminucates……. Bloody brilliant!!

"Gentlemen, I believe we have our title….
Kontroversial Kilroy Kommunicates …. Or K.K.K. for short"………………………........


Hmmmmm, I wonder what Des O’Connor is doing…

Apartheid – alive and well and living in the non-united, United Kingdom.

Alfie’s latest wizard wheeze appears to have been scuppered by a judicious body swerve from those tartan meanies, north of the border.

Skint Alfie, sucked dry by Chancellor Gordon Brown’s severe internal examination of his wallet, thought he had managed to solve the tricky problem of getting his other 3 kids through Uni’ without having to pay for the criminal ‘Top up fee filch’.

Naïve, trusting, skint, John Prescott-worshipping Alfie muses…
"I’ll send them to a Scottish Uni. After all, my centrally collected taxes help to pay for Education for the whole of the UK. Top up fees just apply to England – so to avoid them, I'll send them to Scotland … because I expect Education opportunities to be available UK wide - for citizens of the UK".

Apparently not if this article written by Jason Allardyce from Scotland on Sunday is to be believed. (reproduced in full)

If you've got the time. read it in full - it will surely depress you


ENGLISH STUDENTS FACE FEES AT SCOTS UNIVERSITIES
by JASON ALLARDYCE

ENGLISH students will be charged up to £9,000 more than Scottish undergraduates to study north of the Border under controversial plans drawn up by university chiefs.

Universities Scotland, which represents the country’s higher education sector, says the move is essential to stop universities being swamped by English students trying to escape top-up fees.

The plan - which has been condemned as anti-English and an educational Hadrian’s Wall - would be implemented if Tony Blair won his battle to let universities south of the Border charge up to £3,000 a year in fees.

The proposed Scottish charge on English undergraduates would be applied across the four-year degree course, equalling the top-up fees paid south of the Border over three years.

Scottish educationalists are worried that the introduction of top-up fees in England will spark an exodus north among students looking for a cheaper education, potentially depriving Scots of a university place in their own country.

There are already around 20,000 students from other parts of the UK among the 200,000 who study at Scottish universities.

Universities Scotland has submitted its plan to a Holyrood inquiry into the impact of English top-up fees on Scotland.

Although English students in Scotland would face a financial penalty, those from elsewhere in the European Union would be exempt from the charges.

This is because under European law it is permissible to discriminate against citizens within a member state like the United Kingdom, but not against those from other EU members.

If the funding plan is approved by the Scottish Executive and the level of English students remains broadly as it is now the change could raise around £45m a year for Scottish institutions.

That could help pay for better wages and facilities for the brightest university staff and limit the brain drain to better funded English institutions.

David Caldwell, the director of Universities Scotland, said it was important that Scotland should continue to be perceived as an attractive destination by students from outside its own borders.

But he said it was crucial that Scottish students were not displaced. He said: "There is a broad agreement among principals in Scotland that we want to continue to encourage students to come from every part of the UK, but not at the expense of reducing opportunities for those who live in Scotland.

"We want to attract students from elsewhere but we don’t want them to come to Scotland just because it is cheaper. If they come to Scotland they should pay the same sort of fee they would expect if they were studying in England."

It is understood that an alternative option of capping numbers from England or a quota system to protect Scottish student levels has been ruled out.

Universities Scotland, which is funded by the 21 Scottish universities and colleges of higher education, concedes that charging English students more could lead to a "perverse incentive" where some Scottish institutions increasingly target English students in order to boost their revenue.

Scottish principals are concerned that unless they benefit from similar revenues to their English counterparts they could lose some of their brightest staff who head south for better pay and facilities.

The universities want the Executive to award them over £100m to help close the funding gap they say has opened up between the centres of learning north and south of the Border.

The latest intervention will place added pressure on Jack McConnell to do so.

Last night students and politicians warned against the universities’ proposal which they feared would be perceived as anti-English.

Rami Okashi, the Scottish president of the National Union of Students which opposes top-up fees in any part of the UK, warned that the latest plan could stoke up English resentment against the Scots.

He said: "There is some resentment in England that Scottish people get it so good and that would be emphasised if English people coming to Scotland were charged for being English."

Fiona Hyslop, the shadow enterprise minister, also criticised the idea, saying: "I don’t think their proposed solution is the answer: it’s short term and the wrong reaction."

She said top-up fees in England would not encourage many more English students to head north over the longer term, arguing that a funding gap would lead many to regard English institutions as more attractive places to study.

She also said Scottish universities had a responsibility to treat Scottish students fairly amid concerns that they currently value English qualifications higher than Scottish equivalents.

Murdo Fraser, the Tory lifelong learning spokesman, added: "It’s another example of the Hadrian’s Wall that might be erected. It seems a very perverse situation to penalise English students wishing to come to Scotland on account of an English law forced through by Scottish Labour.

"This sort of reaction shows the mess that further education is getting into all because Tony Blair with Scottish MPs as lobby fodder are hellbent on driving through top up fees for England."

A spokesman for the Executive indicated that it would resist the Universities Scotland idea, saying it has no plans to introduce top-up fees at Scottish universities. The Executive’s approval is required before Universities Scotland can go ahead with the fees.

But the Executive spokesman added that its ongoing higher education review was looking at the potential implications for Scotland of top-up fees in England.

He said: "One group in this review is examining cross-Border flow of students. It would be premature to comment further before the report and evidence from the review goes to ministers in February."

A straw-clutching of postings...

Another day, another opportunity to cruise through some of my Christmas books. This one (again bought by Alfreda) is ‘Shite’s Unoriginal Miscellany’ by A.Parody (Ho, ho - geddit!). It's a sort of bargain basement version of the bestseller, 'Schott's Original Miscellany' by Ben Schott

Now I know what you’re thinking … another toilet book for Alfie’s throne room. No, definitely not. This fine volume will be filed under ‘PAP’ (or should that be 'shite'?) in the library – alongside ‘Dale Winton, the sexy stud muffin’ by ‘Hale Minton’, ‘Good Manners Matter’ by Liam Gallagher and the unabridged version of ‘101 Interesting Bridges’ by Scotsman, Ian Girder. (Note and big hint to Alfreda - why did you not get all my pre Christmas hints and prompts and buy me Terry Jones' excellent book - Who murdered Chaucer?)

Anyway, whilst thumbing through a bit of ‘Shite', I came across a couple of interesting pages. ….Let me rephrase that - whilst thumbing through this book, I happened across an interesting couple of pages on collective nouns. I used to love reciting these, indeed back in the black and white days of my education, we used to have weekly tests on them.

Back to ‘Shite’s’ – yes, some of my favourites are in there …. ‘A crash of Rhinoceros’ …. ‘A bloat of Hippopotamuses’ and ‘A pandemonium of Parrots’.

They also have a page on contemporary collectives, for example… ‘An attitude of teenagers’ …. ‘A smarm of sycophants’ and ‘A crash of computers ….. Inspired by these tame efforts, I’ve done a few more…..

Alfie’s collective noun collection


POLITICS

A leech of Royalty

A googly of Spin Doctors

An invertebrate of Politicians

A chaff of Weapons Experts

An absence of WMDs

A flock of Labour MPs

A celt of Party Leaders


JOBS

A plod of Policemen

A quiff of Hairdressers

A fucking useless pile of Estate Agents

A brilliance of graphic designers (obviously)

A luvee of Actors


SPORTS & LEISURE

A jammyness of Lottery Winners

A quaff of beer drinkers

A nandralone of Athletes

A team of footballers (thought long and hard about this one)

A blag of Bloggers

An omnipotence of Victoria Beckham


And finally… a knackeredness of brainwaves.

Fork in the road…….

I’ve been navel gazing recently. I’ve found a few bits and pieces down there amongst the fluffy detritus of belly-buttondom. Looking for old spanners and fondue sets isn’t the main reason for my contemplative melancholia. The introspection imp usually sits on my shoulder every New Year, but it just seems to be a lot more ‘weighty’ this time. So I’ve been wondering, should I go in a new direction – in life – in blogworld – incommunicado - in women’s clothing?

The reason for my disquiet? Channel 4 programmes over Christmas. ‘Relocation, Relocation’ – ‘No turning back’ – ‘Escape to the country’ to name but a few.

I think ‘No turning back’ had a bigger impact than all the others did though. This concentrates on young British couples who sell up and move to a new life in a new Country – usually France, Italy or Spain. This family flogged their poky semi in Welwyn Garden City and headed for Brittany and 30 wooded acres of le God’s own le country – along with a massive carp lake thrown in.

He was a jobbing builder, she did beauty treatment, they had 2 teenage kids and another on the way…. After a sterling amount of work from the builder geezer, he and his family had a really great house, they then shoved 40 grand’s worth of fish into the lake – hey presto! A thriving carp fishing business is born - and enough land potential to get a viable camping holiday business going.

What they had achieved was frontier stuff – and all from the proceeds of the sale of their cruddy semi. The point is – you just couldn’t do that in this Country. How much would a British 30-acre country lake estate with bloody big ancient farmhouse, huge barn and myriad out buildings cost? I doubt you could buy it for a whole street of semis’ – never mind one.

Living the dream costs just too much over here, the only way is if you are willing to go native in France or Spain or wherever…… The land that these people bought was not scrubland, or poor agricultural land, it was prime, mature deciduous woodland – in Brittany.

So, should I start out and live the dream? And if I don’t is there something wrong with me? I’ve said it often enough "I bloody hate this Country" – or rather, thanks to the facile body we call a Government, I hate what it’s become. It’s obvious lots of other people feel the same, a veritable stampede is underway to go east towards the continent and a whole new life.

It’s my second day back and I can only think of Tuscany, Brittany and The Carmargue …. Not web sites, brochures and marketing initiatives.

Steve Irwin – crocodile fears….

What is it with Aussie crocodile worrier Steve Irwin? He takes his 1 month old son with him to feed one of his well pissed off salt water crocs. This thing was massive – and mean ….. There’s old Steve in his mega tight micro short khaki kecks holding a dead chicken in one hand and his young son, Bob in the other. Ever been in the kitchen standing over a gaping swing bin? You’ve got a choccy biscuit in one hand and the freshly peeled silver foil wrapping in the other. You open the bin to accept the discarded packaging - and chuck the biscuit in by mistake……

But to be honest, it’s the crocs and snakes I feel sorry for. I mean, it’s bad enough having one Irwin tormenting reptiles, let alone two.

"Strewth! Bonza Bob, just look at this reptilian bewt."

"Can I poke him dad, can I, can I poke the croc?"

"Sure, Bonza Bob. Let’s dig out our special mahogany/teak mix prodding sticks and give this croc’ a bit of a poke"… Prod, prod, prod, prod "Ohh uur, looks like old lizard breath is getting a bit pissed. Let’s prod him a bit more and see what happens. Crikey, just look at the size of those incisors, They’re each as big as an excited wombat’s willie. While his mouth is open, let’s give his gums a double poke special"... Blimey Bob, with two Irwins poking, prodding and tormenting, it’s double the fun"…..

Best quote of the weekend….

Goes to barmy geordie darts commentator Sid Waddel. He was commenting on the two heavily perspiring PDC World darts finalists, Kevin ’the artist’ Painter and Phil ’the power’ Taylor. How does Sid sum up the sweaty struggle between these two heavyweights? Easy, he says "And these two players are sweating like a couple of stevedores in a sauna"

I couldn't possibly dispute that.

First day back blues.....

It's the first day back after the Christmas break and I am having real trouble thinking. I am having real trouble remembering. I am having real trouble getting enthusiastic about anything....

I need a holiday.

It’s New Years Eve…..

Whatever happened to the ‘White Heather Club’?

Every New Years Eve, there would be old kilted-up Andy Stewart and his balletic Highland flingers hogmanaying for all they were worth….. and live too! So when they said there was 10 seconds to go till midnight – they meant it.

Nowadays, it’s Jonathan Woss and his ilk, doing the countdown, rehearsed to death with fully canned laughter, zed list celebs, including Victoria Beckham flogging (to death) her latest rubbish single. The whole show is pre-recorded, probably in August.

It’s twelve o’clock – so that means "Should auld acquaintance…."

Does anyone know the second verse of ‘Auld Lang Syne’?
First and second lines, no problemo – even if I don’t know what they mean. Chorus? Easy, but what comes next? I’m sure Robbie didn’t write "Tra-la, lala, tra-la, lala, etc. Or maybe he did?…..

This is bad enough, doing an impression of mental miming, but then you have to kiss everyone – well, all the women anyway. I’ve never really been a fan of this bit of the evening. Kissing people you hardly know – and getting kissed by people that have had a few drinks too many along with the words "All the besht, love, now gish a kiss". I’ve always thought a manly handshake quite sufficient.

I remember our old New Years Eve parties when I was a kid – they were massive – and went on for hours. It was in the days before New Years Day was a public holiday, so everyone would be bopping and drinking away, 6.00 am would strike and all the adults would troop out to go to do a full days work.

Anyway, ‘hope everyone has a good night and may I just wish you all a very happy and prosperous new year. (please accept my firmest virtual manly handshake)

Lord of the Rings….

Just got back from watching The Lord of the Rings – The Return of the King. ‘Epic’ is a word that comes to mind. ‘Sore’ and ‘Bum’ are two more words to add to the list.

It gives a whole new perspective to the concept of the space time continuum. Hawking himself would be bemused by the worm-hole that is this film.

It’s very, very, very, very long… and then some, and then some more. Lots and lots of it.

A real marketing opportunity has been missed though, – next to the foyer ice-cream and pop corn stalls, there really does need to be a little stall flogging ‘elastic stocking supports’ to avoid ‘deep vein thrombosis’ whilst watching the film…

Orcs by the ship load, without a brain cell between them. Gandalf, resplendent after his soapy suds makeover, mightily transformed from ‘old underpants grey’ into ‘The White’ (cower in terror folks!) Blimey, I can almost see Shane Ritchie trotting down the path to Gandalf Towers and issuing his ‘Daz’ doorstep challenge…..

When Gandalf was transformed in film 2 to ‘The White’ – I was expecting some real arse-kicking orc-mashing action from the magic man in film 3. Bit of a disappointment then when all the wizard seemed to do was wield his sword around a lot. He always seemed to be a bit hampered having to hold his mighty white staff whilst he’s swathing away. Oi Gandalf mate, ditch the magic staff that does bugger all – invest in an AK-47 instead.

The penny dropped…..

You know that stupifyingly banal advert for the new Toyota Avensis, the one that has 3 complete and utter arses and one decent chap all getting dressed in the changing room of a squash club. Arse number 1 says to arse audience "I’m being head-hunted you know….."

Bespectacled arse says to sweaty, slimey, non-trustworthy arse "I’ve increased my turnover 4 fold"…… Slimey guy retorts that he is being groomed for the board…..

They all troop out and stop aghast, gazing adoringly at decent bloke’s brand new Toyota Avensis…. "Anyone want a lift?" Grateful arses pile in – because they are all the most successful high-rollers that still catch the bus, obviously.

Slimey arse enquires to decent chap as to what he did for a living …. "What did you say you did?"

"I didn’t" … cue smug grin from decent chap and twisted, envious screwed up arses all round.

Well, I know what decent chap does for a living – it’s bleeding obvious innit?

Answer: Toyota Avensis salesman.

The Alfie Awards – pure unadulterated self opinion….

Haven’t been able to post since the 17th, just too busy, then too busy shopping, then too busy eating, drinking being merry, then being sick…… I just love Christmas!

Anyway, it’s the time of year when we all reflect on the past 12 months. Well, I’m not doing that, I’ll just stick with the last 12 days – and the subsequent awards that the Alfie Academy has decided to bestow.

The award for the crappiest toy of Christmas goes to ……

For the 44th year running, any one of the myriad plaster of Paris ‘make your own characters’ craft sets. They are complete and utter rubbish.

When I was a kid, I got given the ‘Supercar’ set to make. Red, sticky moulds, in a kinky prophylactic sort of way, a bag of plaster - small, in an inadequate sort of way and a set of rock hard tablet paints in a non-dissolvable sort of way.

Method –
(1) Carefully mix plaster of Paris to desired consistency.
(2) Carefully, pour mixture into tactile red mould of ‘Supercar’ driver ‘Mike Mercury’
(3) Carefully tap side of mould to remove any trapped air bubbles. Tap, tap, tap, tap.
(4) Carefully while away a couple of hours until mixture hardens.
(5) Carefully, peel back ‘Mike Mercury’ mould (very carefully).
(6) There, revealed in all its white alabaster-like glory is ace ‘Supercar’ driver Mike Mercury (minus his head and half of his left arm due to unexpurgated air bubbles).
(7) Carefully chuck deformed Mike, the mould, plus all his other mouldy chums (Dr Beaker, Mitch and Prof’) into a carefully prepared bin bag. Seal and leave out for the binman.
(8) Play with something else.


The award for the most hyped book of this Christmas goes to ……

‘Eats shoots and leaves’ by Lynne Truss. Well, what can I say? Alfreda got me this book as part of my stocking fillers, she thought it would help avoid too many split infinitives and comma dramas in my blog. I must say it is very interesting, but is it really necessary to have the typesetting within so big and the leading between each line so expanded? I suppose so, if you want to make the book thicker and by definition, more weightier. And that’s the problem, the info within the book could have been fitted into a little leaflet and sold for less than half the existing retail cost. New suggested title - ‘Rips off punters and leaves’ (with the cash).


The award for the most wayward sense of direction goes to …..

Air New Zealand. Apparently, to coincide with the December 17th Worldwide launch of the final ‘Lord of the Rings’ movie, they have decided to welcome all visitors to their Country (as the plane is touching down at Wellington) with the words "Welcome to the land of Middle Earth".

Sorry NZ, but it’s another case of culture filching. Nicking our culture and transplanting it somewhere else. Tolkien’s ‘Middle Earth’ was not based in New Zealand or in the Southern Hemisphere at all – but 14,000 miles away around where J.R.R. was brought up – and that was to the west of Birmingham, England. Maybe they should have got Jasper Carrot to play Gandalf the Brummie. Timothy Spall could’ve done a more than passable imitation of a Hobbit. Orcs supplied courtesy of West Bromwich Albion supporters club…..
Note to the Midlands tourist board – Wake up, get a Tolkien trail going….

Even Peter Jackson, undoubted genius director of the trilogy got it totally wrong when talking about the inspiration for the original story. This is a man that has supposedly grown up with J.R.R. and all his stories. Jackson recently described Tolkien’s inspiration as being "Viking or Scandinavian based" …. Er wrong Pete, absolutely and completely wrong. If you were as obsessed with all things Tolkien as you profess, then you will know that J.R.R. was a professor of Anglo Saxon at Oxford. Tolkien was completely and utterly obsessed with everything Anglo Saxon – and was immensely proud of his Saxon roots. Tolkien translated the epic Anglo Saxon poem ‘Beowulf’ – and that was his inspiration for ‘Tree and Leaf’, ‘The Hobbit’, ‘Tom Bombadil’ and ‘Lord of the Rings’ to name but a few….. It’s got bugger all to do with ‘the Vikings’.

To the rest of the World, Tolkien and all of his creations are now irrevocably intertwined with New Zealand – and sadly could join other casualties of this Country’s literature including Winnie the Pooh……. Or ‘Disney’s Winnie the Pooh’ as we now have to call him.

Just a thought, but how many kids, or adults for that matter, think that Winnie the Pooh was created by Walt Disney and not by A.A. Milne? To those that say it doesn’t matter, would the Yanks allow Huckleberry Finn to transport from the Mississippi to the Mersey? Nuff said.


The award for the thickest politician to appear on ‘Mastermind’ goes to ….

Home Secretary, David (thickie) Blunkett. Unbelievably, Blunkett scored only 2 points on his general knowledge round. He came last amongst a motley crew of dullards that included Anthony Worral-Braindead and Barry, the dodgy car dealer from Eastenders. Dave’s most popular answer, delivered with monotonous regularity during the round was ‘Pass’.

This would have been just fine if he had got any questions like "Complete this sentence ‘Afghanistan and Pakistan are linked by the Khyber _____"

Blunkett’s probable answer to that? "I don’t know".

Note to Dave: If you are as thick as pig shit, don’t expose yourself to unbridled ridicule by volunteering to go on ‘Mastermind’. Just be satisfied with bossing 55 million people around, you prat.


The award for the best TV programme screened over the festive season goes to…..

Bugger all – it’s all been bloody rubbish.


The award for my best prezzie goes to……

‘Stripped’ – the fab, sexy CD by Christina Aguilera. Magic.
(If only I was 20 years younger, had the looks of Brad Pitt, the money of Bill Gates and the intellect of Steven Hawking …….)

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.

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.

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.

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).

A few plinths short of a square…..

Red Ken, Dom Perignon loving John Mortimer and a full supporting cast of the arty farty glitteratti have, in their wisdom put forward 6 different sculptures to stick on the final 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square.

The public, that’s you and me, have been invited to vote for one of these ‘six of the best’ – the winner being voted ‘plinth-worthy’. The rest, presumably will be consigned to an area marked ‘not-plinth-worthy’ and carefully, very carefully placed into a purpose built receptacle. This will be big and yellow. The public – that’s you and me, will then be invited to offer our condolences to the unworthies.

After a suitable period of mourning, the big yellow receptacle – or ‘skip’ for short, will be loaded onto a lorry and taken to a new viewing area. This viewing area – known as the ‘municipal rubbish dump’, will then witness another art ‘happening’ as the 5 second placers are bulldozed into the ground. This act, heavy on symbolism, but more so on realism as 15 tonnes of functional full metalled fury re-categorise the pieces from 3 dimensions into 2 – and finally into the 5th dimension.

The winner? Well, the winner will get plaudits – by the lorry load. They’ll have so many plaudits – there is sure to be a worldwide plaudit shortage. Take Alfie the bear’s advice, dump gold, platinum and whatever - and buy big in plaudits!

The successful sculpture will be plinth bound - placed on some of the most photographed square footage in the entire World. The whole globe will wonder, they’ll gaze in awe as the crème de la crème of the 3-D BritArt movement is reverently hoisted upon plinth 4.

Visitors will be as gob smacked as Michelangelo was when the Pope called him over having just finished the Sistine Chapel ceiling. "Very nice, Mr Michelangelo, but I’ve always had a hankering for a nice bit of Artex on the ceiling of this room"…..

Alfie the art critic has managed to blag his way in to view the six finalists….. I must say, the talent is certainly spread out – in a 'nowhere to be seen' kind of way. Anyway, in order for all of you budding art critics to have a full flavour of the pieces, I have, rather thoughtfully, I think, put together a little info’ pack, detailed below.

You can view the pieces, take in the cadence emanating from the artists – and then see what I reckon……..

Plinth wars, the sexy six

Au revoir to the Pogo dude?.......

'Alfred the Well Gutted' here. No sense of humour today. The pogoster has gone. One of the wittiest geezers in the blogosphere has jacked it in. His blog on how he blagged a first class trip to America had me wetting myself.

In his place is a no-mark pranny called 'Max Arsehole' or something. Apparently to bask in the reflected glory of Pogo's mega good blog site ....... how sad is that?

Is Max, 'Salieri' to Pogo's 'Amadeus'? ......... Probably.

It's a bible-black bad day for blogging.

Rupert the Bear….

‘Great news, Rupert’s back!
The 2004 Bumper Annual is in the shops right now!
Rupert, Algy, Cuthbert and all the rest of the chums will no doubt be having even more exciting adventures in Nutwood.

Obviously, I will have to get it.

Obviously, I will carefully (very carefully) read it.

Obviously, I will put it next to all the other Rupert books I have…… All 40 of them.

Obviously, they are safely tucked away on Rupert’s special shelf, high above any grasping kiddies jammily encrusted hands.

Why do I get them?
To view visual representations of the English countryside – as it was before the Euro nazis gave grants to have all the hedges ripped up and flood monster fields the size of small towns with oil seed rape - into a ‘yellow and very unpleasant land’.

Oh yes – plus a really good script, character consolidation and mega realistic plot lines. Although the stories about Rupert’s gay kiss with Bertie the Bear and Ferdinand the Frog being found, buried under Simon the psycho snake’s patio was, I think just a bit too far fetched.

(I mean, Simon doesn’t have any arms – so how could he build a patio over Ferdy’s body?) Duhr.


Deep and meaningful conversation…..

Whilst working late at the office last night, I got into conversation with the cleaner. She was telling me how she was intending to go back to church and start worshipping again.

"Ohh yeah, I said – are you lapsed or what?"

"Yes, a Catholic." she said. "Years ago - without fail every single Sunday, I would go to church, religiously…."

A thought…….

People that work for ‘NASA’ – have my unreserved admiration. Their job is really complicated and is really hard to do.

After all, it is rocket science…..


Naming names…

A few years ago, a guy from Yorkshire had his 15 minutes of fame. He was featured in lots of magazine articles and a few alternative, late-night TV programmes - ‘what did he think’…. ‘how was he coping’ etc, etc. There wasn’t great interest in him – more his name. He had been christened ‘Wayne’. A bit ‘nouveau’ maybe. But in the World of ‘Jason’, ‘Brent’ and ‘Troy’ - ’Wayne’ should hardly have raised any eyebrows.

Apart from the fact that his surname was ‘Carr’.

So there they are, Mr and Mrs Carr trying to decide which name to give their newly born son. "How about Wayne?"
"Oooooh yes, I love that name, Wayne"
"So that’s decided then …… Wayne Carr, perfect"
"I bet people won’t forget that name in a hurry"

True, very, very true……..

What the hell where they thinking of? What kind of life did they think little Wayne would have in school? ‘Picked on’ probably.

But what about those (and I include myself in this category) that have had an ordinary, no nonsense type name since the day they were born – only for Hollywood or TV to suddenly make it a by-word for catch phrases or well known mannerisms….

Believe it or not, my name isn’t really ‘Alfie’. That’s just a pseudonym. My name is bog standard. No, not ‘Bog Standard’ as in "The name's 'Standard', 'Bog Standard' and these are my kids, 'Royal', 'High' and 'London Evening"– no, no, no, it's just everyday ordinary.

Well, it was until a certain TV show hit the screen in the mid ‘70’s. My name is real similar to the principal character’s moniker, so for the next 15 years, whenever I’d give my name to anyone, they would wittily do the theme music … "Na na na na na naaaaaaaaaa, na na na na na naaaaaaa". If I was really lucky, they would do an impersonation of riding on a surf board with arms outstretched...

This was usually followed by them saying "Book him Danno"…..

Ho, Hum.

Gobbin’ off …..

Footy players, chiselled athletes, fit as butchers dogs and packed full of skill. I mean, have you ever tried to do what they do as second nature?

I tried it once, and only once. I was playing a fairly low grade crunchie, aggro-packed match against some suppliers to our Company. They were dead, dead fit… I’ll rephrase that, they were extremely quick, had boundless energy and generally played us off the park. I suppose it was their licensed way of getting back at us, of turning the tables and wreaking a bit of revenge for all the nagging and moaning that we, as master clients did on a day to day basis.

Tackles were flying in. The pace was frantic, in an elderly pedestrian struggling along a street kind of way. Soon, my bloated, blubbery body began to react. I looked down to my thighs, marbled like a well slapped slice of corned beef, knees buckling under the strain, heart and lungs in danger of packing up forever.

My mouth began to flood with gob. I felt sick, the riptide within my throat was in full spate – and rising by the second. I must get rid of this stuff flooding into my mouth – no problem there then, I’ll just do what every footy player does as second nature and spew it out, onto the grass.

I ball. I masticate. I manoeuvre. I tongue the gobbette to the front of my mouth and ffffffttttthhhhhhuuuummmpppppphhh. It’s gone…… and oh my God it’s coming right back at me. The orb has just assumed poly-elastomic properties - I didn’t fully expunge the mass. It does a full 180 …… one end lands straight onto my chin and the other flops right down onto my nice shiny, sponsored shirt.

Have you ever tried to wipe sloppy white stuff from your front? I’ll rephrase that, have you ever tried to get magnetic gob off the front of your chin and footy shirt whilst making a fantastic last gasp tackle to save a certain goal?

No, neither have I. I was so preoccupied with trying to wipe sticky bile from my front, chin, hands and sleeves that their number 10 nipped round me and slotted home from 18 inches.

So how do the Pro’s do it? They ‘vent’ like a turbo thrusted jet engine – from every facial orifice. Nothing ever lands on them does it? That is until one of them scores a crucial goal – then does a 20 yard knee slide, lubricated by onerous cobs of ductile gob. Sometimes, it’s a wonder they can get up from the floor, such are the adhesive qualities of ‘GobStick’.

How did I cure my inability to yocker successfully? Every time I trotted out onto the green sward I would take a nice crisp ironed ‘kerchief with me. When I felt the need to ‘gob’ – I simply whipped it out of my pocket and pressed it to my mouth ……… civilised and stylish.

A wamm bamm alluuma, awam bam bam….

Whilst watching ‘Pop Idol’ on the box on Saturday, Gareth Gates made a guest appearance. My 12 year old son reckoned that he would be able to beat him in a combative game of ‘Snap’……..

Talking about ‘Pop Idol’ – who the hell is voting for old ‘twitchy face boy’ - or indeed, the big boned Scottish lass?

I mean, in the last couple of weeks, 2 drop dead gorgeous and talented contestants (Roxy – grrrrr and Suzanne) have got the order of the Cowell – unbelievable!

Chris, the bespectacled blinky, twitchy warbler, somehow, somehow survives every week. Dr Fox reckons he looks a ‘tad’ too much like a Vicar. I think he looks several tads too much like an ostrich – and a whole lorry load of tads like a crap singer.

The word ‘key’ clearly does not register with Chris. Why use one - when several, both ‘on’ and ‘off’ (but mostly ‘off’) can be inserted at will.

Then there is Michelle, the Scottish mama – a good, competent ‘club circuit’ singer ….. but in a shallow, vacuous competition were image is everything, she’s no pop idol. Dr Fox reckons she looks a ‘tad’ out of place, and a ‘tad’ tattily dressed. I think by that he meant she was a few ‘tads’ too heavy – but was just a ‘tad’ too cute to say it out loud.

I reckon Simon Cowell has had a little bet to himself that he can get her to at least the last three – just to prove to himself how ‘svengallian’ he can be. I really do believe he likes manipulating an entire nation. Maybe he should become a politician.



All new, the all new spanking brand bloody newness that is the ‘All New Top of the Pops’

Talking about pop svengallii – Andi Peters has been brought in by the Beeb to vamp up Top of the Pops by kicking some arse, and ringing the changes.

Memo:-
To all those 40 something, balding, pony-tailed, open toed sandal wearing production people currently inhabiting the Top of the Pops office – start emptying your desks guys, you’re history. My new broom is sweeping clean the inertia and smug brained sameness that currently infests the show.

Regards,

TOTP Executive New Broom Meister - Andi Peters.

Andi’s ‘brave new world’ headliner for the second ‘All new TOTP’ show is……. ‘All pout, Posh Spice, Victoria Beckham’ …… "Whoopp, whoooop, whoooop."

Abso-bloody-lutely all-new revolutionary… not