Britain doesn’t need this Merchant Banker…….
Yesterday morning, on Breakfast Tee Vee, a guy from the NHS made an impassioned nation-wide plea.
Alfie, always anxious to rally to the flag – as long as it doesn’t involve killing anyone or invading a third world, oil-rich country; pricked up his ears.
Alfreda noticed something was up. "What you doing?" she asked.
"I’m doing a bit of ear pricking"……
All of a sudden, Lord Kitchener's beady gaze, joke moustache and big pointy leather clad digit hove into my minds eye. Britain needs me. Looks like it’s time to do my ‘bit’ for the good of good old Blighty. The guy on the telly is going on about the national shortage of ‘sperm’….. "Britain needs more sperm" said the man.
Wow – a national sperm shortage … who’d have thought it? I always reckoned we'd cornered the global market. After all, this Country is choc full of Merchant Bankers isn't it? - Mostly working in the Palace of Westminster I reckon!....
The man on the telly – an expert in all things spermological, waxed lyrical about the possible causes….. I haven’t a clue what he was going on about, but I’m sure tight undies, too much Super Strength Lager, live Premier League footy on the telly - and too many ugly birds in pubs and clubs are at least partly responsible for the falling fertility of yer average British male….. – And hence the shortfall of sperm deliveries to fertility clinics.
They need help. They need my help – and lots of it, preferably in little specimen jars.
Well!…… At last, a solo activity I can do pretty damn well – in fact, I’m a bloody expert at it – and now there’s a demand for it…… Serendipity or what!
I resolve to help, well it’s my dooooty isn’t it? Beside which, they are giving out £15 quid for every shot … if you know what I mean. - and in the process (and a lot of stamina) I’ll populate half the Country with little Okayers – what a legacy, what a gift!
I hope everyone appreciates just how much Alfie is about to sacrifice for the good of the Country – I mean, it’s a rotten job – but someone’s got to do it. I’m risking real health problems - repetitive strain injury, blindness and wobbly writing syndrome...….
The Professor of everything spermy reads out an emergency phone number……
I ring.
They don’t want me.
"But I’ve got experience – and a proven track record"
They still don’t want me.
"But I’ve got an entire mountain of ‘product’ – entirely at your disposal"
They really, really don’t want me.
"But I’ve got 4 strapping lads – added together we could make a bloody good five-a-side footy team"
They laugh – and ask if any of my sons are over 25 – because if they are – they’ll take them instead.
"Well they’re not – so you’ll have to make do with me"
They don’t want me and they won’t make do with me – because I’m too bloody old. They want guys between 25 and 40…..
I didn’t realise Merchant Bankering was such an exclusive activity…….. they’ll be taxing it next.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
And they didn’t even say "McThanks"….
I don’t know, you try to help a global multinational – and what happens? You just get McBlanked.
About 25 years ago, ‘Alfie, the eyes of a myopic hawk’ drove into a McDonald’s fast ‘food’ outlet and noticed a real spelling McHowler. Well it wasn’t strictly speaking a ‘howler’, more a bloody irritation as ‘Alfie the defender of the O.E.D.’ – became so choc full of self righteous indignation that he almost choked on his McSlurry with sesame seed bun, gherkins, side salad of grass and cup of fizzy soot.
The problem? I’d driven through a ‘Drive Thru’…..
What the hell does ‘Thru’ mean? What’s happened to ‘o’, ‘g’, and ‘h’? Although Alfie felt powerless to do anything at the time, years of exposure to more McCrap products than you can shake a soggy gherkin at, has left him with a deep resentment of anything McSpelt.
Ire finally got the best of me – so I banged off a helpful letter to McDonald’s McH-McQ – somewhere in McLondon pointing out the error of their ways. The letter had more irony in it than a six-month load of Alfreda’s least favourite creased-clothed Sunday chore.
To: Mr McDonald,
Director of McCustomer McCommunication -
"Blah, blah, blah, I just thought I should point out something to you - I have noticed an error outside a few of your Restaurants.
It concerns the service where a car driver can order a McDonald's meal without getting out of his car. The service in question is the McDonald's 'Drive Thru' ..... Surely, there is a spelling mistake here isn't there?
Shouldn't it be 'Drive Through' ........?"
I’m sure this has been an oversight – and probably happened long ago when a dullard student working in the McSignage department during his Summer McHolidays made a colossal spelling mistake. Perfect and thoughtful employers that McDonald’s are – and anxious to give him some sort of empowerment he was probably tasked with ordering 500 ‘Drive Through’ signs – "to go".
I blame the liberal, LSD fuelled corduroy jacketed goody two shoed education system of the mid seventies – and the disastrous experimentation with ‘phonetic spelling'….Blah, blah, blah"
I’m still waiting for an explanation – and I’m not holding my McBreath. What a bunch of McTossers……
The coming of the lard…….
The most depressing day of the year has just taken a surprising turn. January the 25th, is the day designated by experts in depression as being the most depressing in the whole year!
I can believe it. No money, cold, miserable and devoid of my well-intended intentions to loose a bit of weight – the only thing in an expansive mood today is my much under pressure trouser belt.
Alfie is feeling sadder, fatter and skinter than a big sad, fat, skint man ……. Or at least I was up till I got a spammo email from someone called ‘Verda Martinez’ at 2:15pm this afternoon.
I opened it and read away…..
Become a legally ordained minister within 48 hours
As a minister, you will be authorized to perform the rites and ceremonies of the church!
Perform Weddings, Funerals, Perform Baptisms, Forgiveness of Sins
Visit Correctional Facilities
Want to start your own church?
Hmmmmmm……
Do I want to start my own church?
Do I really want to forgive sinners?
Would I have to wear a long dress?
Would I have to suspend my wild sex life for a life of contemplation and the development of a well-muscled right arm?
On balance, I think I’ll give this too good to be true offer the boot. I just don’t think that the church of Latter Day Lardy Arsed Alfie Atheists will catch on…..
I don’t know, you try to help a global multinational – and what happens? You just get McBlanked.
About 25 years ago, ‘Alfie, the eyes of a myopic hawk’ drove into a McDonald’s fast ‘food’ outlet and noticed a real spelling McHowler. Well it wasn’t strictly speaking a ‘howler’, more a bloody irritation as ‘Alfie the defender of the O.E.D.’ – became so choc full of self righteous indignation that he almost choked on his McSlurry with sesame seed bun, gherkins, side salad of grass and cup of fizzy soot.
The problem? I’d driven through a ‘Drive Thru’…..
What the hell does ‘Thru’ mean? What’s happened to ‘o’, ‘g’, and ‘h’? Although Alfie felt powerless to do anything at the time, years of exposure to more McCrap products than you can shake a soggy gherkin at, has left him with a deep resentment of anything McSpelt.
Ire finally got the best of me – so I banged off a helpful letter to McDonald’s McH-McQ – somewhere in McLondon pointing out the error of their ways. The letter had more irony in it than a six-month load of Alfreda’s least favourite creased-clothed Sunday chore.
To: Mr McDonald,
Director of McCustomer McCommunication -
"Blah, blah, blah, I just thought I should point out something to you - I have noticed an error outside a few of your Restaurants.
It concerns the service where a car driver can order a McDonald's meal without getting out of his car. The service in question is the McDonald's 'Drive Thru' ..... Surely, there is a spelling mistake here isn't there?
Shouldn't it be 'Drive Through' ........?"
I’m sure this has been an oversight – and probably happened long ago when a dullard student working in the McSignage department during his Summer McHolidays made a colossal spelling mistake. Perfect and thoughtful employers that McDonald’s are – and anxious to give him some sort of empowerment he was probably tasked with ordering 500 ‘Drive Through’ signs – "to go".
I blame the liberal, LSD fuelled corduroy jacketed goody two shoed education system of the mid seventies – and the disastrous experimentation with ‘phonetic spelling'….Blah, blah, blah"
I’m still waiting for an explanation – and I’m not holding my McBreath. What a bunch of McTossers……
The coming of the lard…….
The most depressing day of the year has just taken a surprising turn. January the 25th, is the day designated by experts in depression as being the most depressing in the whole year!
I can believe it. No money, cold, miserable and devoid of my well-intended intentions to loose a bit of weight – the only thing in an expansive mood today is my much under pressure trouser belt.
Alfie is feeling sadder, fatter and skinter than a big sad, fat, skint man ……. Or at least I was up till I got a spammo email from someone called ‘Verda Martinez’ at 2:15pm this afternoon.
I opened it and read away…..
Become a legally ordained minister within 48 hours
As a minister, you will be authorized to perform the rites and ceremonies of the church!
Perform Weddings, Funerals, Perform Baptisms, Forgiveness of Sins
Visit Correctional Facilities
Want to start your own church?
Hmmmmmm……
Do I want to start my own church?
Do I really want to forgive sinners?
Would I have to wear a long dress?
Would I have to suspend my wild sex life for a life of contemplation and the development of a well-muscled right arm?
On balance, I think I’ll give this too good to be true offer the boot. I just don’t think that the church of Latter Day Lardy Arsed Alfie Atheists will catch on…..
Monday, January 24, 2005
Times tirade….
I bunged off my first ever letter to ‘The Times’, today. The reason? An article in Saturday’s ‘paper discussing the seats at risk from minority parties at the next election.
Little symbols spread across a map of the UK, illustrated just which seats were at risk from local pressure groups. Scottish Nationals had a little thistle, students were represented by a mortar-board and the hunting lobby had a red coated toff jumping over a fence. I also noticed three or four little fluttering St George’s flags planted around different parts of England.
I looked at the key to the graphic. Next to the fluttery flag was the somewhat derogatory title ‘Little England’……Underneath was a little explanation about where ‘UKIP’ and the ‘BNP’ could win marginal seats.
I went mad. In one fell swoop, I became Mrs Pissed-Off from Tunbridge Wells in all her tweedy finery. I get real sick of so-called intelligent media people constantly linking the flag of my Country to extremist and reactionary views. But especially to extremist and reactionary political parties with extremist and reactionary views. I wouldn’t mind but UKIP and the BNP are both parties with strong Union Jack branding – so why choose the flag of England?
I bet, even now the Editor is falling on his sword – and who knows, my letter might actually get printed – I’ll keep you posted………
24 hour party people…….
I of course refer to the impending relaxed licensing laws for England and Wales. I am definitely in favour of it….. Some of Westminster’s finest are a bit unsure however. Our noble MPs reckon that we may not be able to handle a drink at midnight, or 2 in the morning or whatever.
Some of them reckon that there are health and binge drinking issues to be considered – some are advocating a hike in the cost of buying a drink….
The Government have reacted to the growing hysteria by saying that it won’t actually mean 24 hour licenses – just flexibility. Richard Caborne, Minister for Sport and licensing says that "nowhere in the UK will you be able to have a licence that lasts 24 hours"……
Hmmmm, that statement is, to say the least a bit economical with the truth isn’t it Richard? I think I can find one place that has had a 24 hour license for years and years and years and years ….. and sells its alcohol at heavily subsidised rates.
The answer is obvious isn’t it? – Oh yes, it’s the best club in town, the Palace of Westminster – truly a place for 24-hour Party people….
I bunged off my first ever letter to ‘The Times’, today. The reason? An article in Saturday’s ‘paper discussing the seats at risk from minority parties at the next election.
Little symbols spread across a map of the UK, illustrated just which seats were at risk from local pressure groups. Scottish Nationals had a little thistle, students were represented by a mortar-board and the hunting lobby had a red coated toff jumping over a fence. I also noticed three or four little fluttering St George’s flags planted around different parts of England.
I looked at the key to the graphic. Next to the fluttery flag was the somewhat derogatory title ‘Little England’……Underneath was a little explanation about where ‘UKIP’ and the ‘BNP’ could win marginal seats.
I went mad. In one fell swoop, I became Mrs Pissed-Off from Tunbridge Wells in all her tweedy finery. I get real sick of so-called intelligent media people constantly linking the flag of my Country to extremist and reactionary views. But especially to extremist and reactionary political parties with extremist and reactionary views. I wouldn’t mind but UKIP and the BNP are both parties with strong Union Jack branding – so why choose the flag of England?
I bet, even now the Editor is falling on his sword – and who knows, my letter might actually get printed – I’ll keep you posted………
24 hour party people…….
I of course refer to the impending relaxed licensing laws for England and Wales. I am definitely in favour of it….. Some of Westminster’s finest are a bit unsure however. Our noble MPs reckon that we may not be able to handle a drink at midnight, or 2 in the morning or whatever.
Some of them reckon that there are health and binge drinking issues to be considered – some are advocating a hike in the cost of buying a drink….
The Government have reacted to the growing hysteria by saying that it won’t actually mean 24 hour licenses – just flexibility. Richard Caborne, Minister for Sport and licensing says that "nowhere in the UK will you be able to have a licence that lasts 24 hours"……
Hmmmm, that statement is, to say the least a bit economical with the truth isn’t it Richard? I think I can find one place that has had a 24 hour license for years and years and years and years ….. and sells its alcohol at heavily subsidised rates.
The answer is obvious isn’t it? – Oh yes, it’s the best club in town, the Palace of Westminster – truly a place for 24-hour Party people….
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
A foot in mouth moment…….
The scene: A family celebration at my Mother in Law’s house….
The action: I’m trying to open a big bottle of bubbly, with a stubborn….very stubborn cork. It’s stuck in the neck tighter than the one in a duck’s bum – the one that stops it sinking…
The inertia: It aint bloody moving. No matter how much I huff, puff and chuff.
The embarrassment: Some 7 stone woman offers to do it for me, stating that "It’s all a matter of timing and gentle pressure."
"Grrrrrrrr."
The triumph: Saxon brute force and ignorance triumphs again over another French conspiracy. The cork is actually moving. The gathered crowd of middle aged friends and family begin to cheer ……. Possibly ironically.
The ‘champagne’ moment: The cork flew out, so did the bubbly. I’m knackered, breathless and sweaty due to the exertions of going 10 rounds with a big bottle of fizz. The champers gushes all over the place I scream, right in the face of my 75 year old Mother in Law – "Oh yeah, baby…. It’s a coming!"
I need to ring Sigmund Freud. I think I just had a ‘70’s porn moment…….
The scene: A family celebration at my Mother in Law’s house….
The action: I’m trying to open a big bottle of bubbly, with a stubborn….very stubborn cork. It’s stuck in the neck tighter than the one in a duck’s bum – the one that stops it sinking…
The inertia: It aint bloody moving. No matter how much I huff, puff and chuff.
The embarrassment: Some 7 stone woman offers to do it for me, stating that "It’s all a matter of timing and gentle pressure."
"Grrrrrrrr."
The triumph: Saxon brute force and ignorance triumphs again over another French conspiracy. The cork is actually moving. The gathered crowd of middle aged friends and family begin to cheer ……. Possibly ironically.
The ‘champagne’ moment: The cork flew out, so did the bubbly. I’m knackered, breathless and sweaty due to the exertions of going 10 rounds with a big bottle of fizz. The champers gushes all over the place I scream, right in the face of my 75 year old Mother in Law – "Oh yeah, baby…. It’s a coming!"
I need to ring Sigmund Freud. I think I just had a ‘70’s porn moment…….
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Dragons Den…..
Has anyone seen ‘Dragons Den’ yet on BBC 2, 8.00pm, Tuesday…. Best comedy show since Fawlty Towers – absolutely no doubt.
For sheer embarrassment and for all those "Oh no, where is that cushion" moment – it just cannot be beaten!
The premise of the show is innocent enough – it’s all about ‘enterprise’ .... helping those little guys in garden sheds realise their dreams to invent something fantastic– offering them funding to get their inventions and novel ideas off the ground, and into the shops. The inventors will then be rewarded with millions. Well, why not? James Dyson did it didn’t he?
The show started last week – I tuned in to find out what was the ‘next big thing’……
The Location: An old warehouse, tatty, faded fifties Soviet-chic environment. Painted bricks and wobbly steel staircases. To complete the minimalist tat look – big metal castings for demonic machines of long ago – flanges akimbo, pistons ringing, stainless steeling are liberally sprinkled about – as a monument to the faded grandeur of British manufacturing …..
The ‘Team’: They’re sexy, they’re gobby, they’re pithy, they tell it like it is. These are ‘the dragons’ – entrepreneurs all, five people who together are worth over half a billion quid. They sit, brooding in their sea of smug self-importance. They lounge on IKEA retro-fascist chairs, in front of them are 5 little round tables with a total of 300 grand in cash stacked neatly in £50 pound notes. These geezers mean business!
Unfortunately, that is where the reality finishes. The delusional flotsam that wash up the metal staircase and into the dragon’s den carrying their ‘must invest in’ inventions take the show off into realms of fantasy and fairy story that JRR himself would have been proud of.
Last week’s prize for the most useless invention had to go to the guy whose sales pitch went as follows…
"Good day, Dragons. How many times have you been in a restaurant, enjoying a lovely meal, then all of a sudden, you notice that the table wobbles. This is annoying – and will put anyone off their meal……… Well not anymore!
"Let me introduce you to ‘Stable-Table’ the fix all device for the wobbly table!"
The man whips out a little plastic swatch book of plastic strips in different thicknesses.
The Dragons, in their Den quietly vibrated – they looked like they were trying out some silent, hidden sex toys.
The guy with the swatch wanted 80 grand to ‘develop’ his wonder tool. He was as optimistic as anyone could ever be – even when one of the dragons said that whenever he came across wobbly table syndrome, he bunged a folded beer mat underneath the offending leg…..
He didn’t get the cash.......... and I've bought a new cushion for tonight's episode........
Has anyone seen ‘Dragons Den’ yet on BBC 2, 8.00pm, Tuesday…. Best comedy show since Fawlty Towers – absolutely no doubt.
For sheer embarrassment and for all those "Oh no, where is that cushion" moment – it just cannot be beaten!
The premise of the show is innocent enough – it’s all about ‘enterprise’ .... helping those little guys in garden sheds realise their dreams to invent something fantastic– offering them funding to get their inventions and novel ideas off the ground, and into the shops. The inventors will then be rewarded with millions. Well, why not? James Dyson did it didn’t he?
The show started last week – I tuned in to find out what was the ‘next big thing’……
The Location: An old warehouse, tatty, faded fifties Soviet-chic environment. Painted bricks and wobbly steel staircases. To complete the minimalist tat look – big metal castings for demonic machines of long ago – flanges akimbo, pistons ringing, stainless steeling are liberally sprinkled about – as a monument to the faded grandeur of British manufacturing …..
The ‘Team’: They’re sexy, they’re gobby, they’re pithy, they tell it like it is. These are ‘the dragons’ – entrepreneurs all, five people who together are worth over half a billion quid. They sit, brooding in their sea of smug self-importance. They lounge on IKEA retro-fascist chairs, in front of them are 5 little round tables with a total of 300 grand in cash stacked neatly in £50 pound notes. These geezers mean business!
Unfortunately, that is where the reality finishes. The delusional flotsam that wash up the metal staircase and into the dragon’s den carrying their ‘must invest in’ inventions take the show off into realms of fantasy and fairy story that JRR himself would have been proud of.
Last week’s prize for the most useless invention had to go to the guy whose sales pitch went as follows…
"Good day, Dragons. How many times have you been in a restaurant, enjoying a lovely meal, then all of a sudden, you notice that the table wobbles. This is annoying – and will put anyone off their meal……… Well not anymore!
"Let me introduce you to ‘Stable-Table’ the fix all device for the wobbly table!"
The man whips out a little plastic swatch book of plastic strips in different thicknesses.
The Dragons, in their Den quietly vibrated – they looked like they were trying out some silent, hidden sex toys.
The guy with the swatch wanted 80 grand to ‘develop’ his wonder tool. He was as optimistic as anyone could ever be – even when one of the dragons said that whenever he came across wobbly table syndrome, he bunged a folded beer mat underneath the offending leg…..
He didn’t get the cash.......... and I've bought a new cushion for tonight's episode........
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Trivia Corner……. Well I never!
I just thought you should know this. In the 6th Century, a big beardy, Anglo Saxon man founded a little village on the River Trent. The little village thrived and grew – so much so that this speck on the river is now one of the biggest Cities in the Midlands.
The beardy founder was a warrior called ‘Snotta’- (or ‘Snot’ for short?) and his little hamlet he christened ‘Snotta – ing – ham’ – which is a bit better I suppose than ‘Bogeyville’ or ‘Candles City’ (but not much?). Over the years, the good burghers of that fine city have shortened the name to ‘Nottingham’ …. I wonder why?
AlfieCorp Inc
‘AlfieCorp Incorporated’ is up and running. 2005 being the year of the couch potato - it’s now or never to realise my dream and trouser a few bob in the process. My aim is to become a plutocrat within 12 months – and join the bejewelled ranks of the Duke of Westminster, Sir Richard Branson, Rupert Murdoch … and Noel Edmunds.
There are a lot of irons in a lot of fires at the moment – it’s a bit of a ‘full on carpet-bombing’ strategy, in the hope that at least one fantastic idea will do the bizz, and fund my crazy, zany, Keith Moony driving-cars-into-swimming-pools lifestyle……. That I intend to have.
We’ve got around 6 different business ideas to go at this year – and none of them involve selling stuff on ebay, or writing a book, buying cheap properties, doing them up and selling them on …….or winning the lottery. Talking about winning the lottery, it is not all it’s cracked up to be – believe me, I know, I’ve won it ……… and ten quid goes nowhere nowadays.
It’s a really exciting time though, these ideas are all low cost start up options – and all aimed at niche, obsessional markets. My enthusiasm has been rekindled as the prospect of leaving the crappy, penny-pinching world of graphic design way behind. None of them would be possible to contemplate without the diamond geezer that is Tim Berners Lee and his great WWW invention – given to the world for nothing …… what a guy!.
Why hasn’t this Great Briton been given a knighthood or a Life Peerage yet?
Controversy at the Blood Tub quiz…..
Well, we wuz robbed last night….. Beaten by one measly point. Of course, it was the QM’s fault wasn’t it? He’s marked one of our answers wrong – but surely he’s the one that has got it wrong hasn’t he?
The question – in question was "What is the plural of Roof?"
We put ‘Rooves’ – a cinch for one point….. Our relentless march for total quiz domination of the West Lancashire region was assured.
But no! No, no no …. The answer the QM gave was ‘roofs’…. And we lost by one point. Machinations, slagging off and threats to sue followed – the QM’s a berk, right?
I get home – the OED is dug out …. And wouldn’t you just know it – my copy is wrong as well. Just under ‘rood screen I find the definition - ‘roof (n), pl roofs’…..
Looks like humble pie with a pint at next weeks quiz then?
I just thought you should know this. In the 6th Century, a big beardy, Anglo Saxon man founded a little village on the River Trent. The little village thrived and grew – so much so that this speck on the river is now one of the biggest Cities in the Midlands.
The beardy founder was a warrior called ‘Snotta’- (or ‘Snot’ for short?) and his little hamlet he christened ‘Snotta – ing – ham’ – which is a bit better I suppose than ‘Bogeyville’ or ‘Candles City’ (but not much?). Over the years, the good burghers of that fine city have shortened the name to ‘Nottingham’ …. I wonder why?
AlfieCorp Inc
‘AlfieCorp Incorporated’ is up and running. 2005 being the year of the couch potato - it’s now or never to realise my dream and trouser a few bob in the process. My aim is to become a plutocrat within 12 months – and join the bejewelled ranks of the Duke of Westminster, Sir Richard Branson, Rupert Murdoch … and Noel Edmunds.
There are a lot of irons in a lot of fires at the moment – it’s a bit of a ‘full on carpet-bombing’ strategy, in the hope that at least one fantastic idea will do the bizz, and fund my crazy, zany, Keith Moony driving-cars-into-swimming-pools lifestyle……. That I intend to have.
We’ve got around 6 different business ideas to go at this year – and none of them involve selling stuff on ebay, or writing a book, buying cheap properties, doing them up and selling them on …….or winning the lottery. Talking about winning the lottery, it is not all it’s cracked up to be – believe me, I know, I’ve won it ……… and ten quid goes nowhere nowadays.
It’s a really exciting time though, these ideas are all low cost start up options – and all aimed at niche, obsessional markets. My enthusiasm has been rekindled as the prospect of leaving the crappy, penny-pinching world of graphic design way behind. None of them would be possible to contemplate without the diamond geezer that is Tim Berners Lee and his great WWW invention – given to the world for nothing …… what a guy!.
Why hasn’t this Great Briton been given a knighthood or a Life Peerage yet?
Controversy at the Blood Tub quiz…..
Well, we wuz robbed last night….. Beaten by one measly point. Of course, it was the QM’s fault wasn’t it? He’s marked one of our answers wrong – but surely he’s the one that has got it wrong hasn’t he?
The question – in question was "What is the plural of Roof?"
We put ‘Rooves’ – a cinch for one point….. Our relentless march for total quiz domination of the West Lancashire region was assured.
But no! No, no no …. The answer the QM gave was ‘roofs’…. And we lost by one point. Machinations, slagging off and threats to sue followed – the QM’s a berk, right?
I get home – the OED is dug out …. And wouldn’t you just know it – my copy is wrong as well. Just under ‘rood screen I find the definition - ‘roof (n), pl roofs’…..
Looks like humble pie with a pint at next weeks quiz then?
Monday, January 10, 2005
Rock on, Emma Block…..
I knew it would happen – and it’s about bloody time.
I knew, sooner or later, the blinkers would be ripped from tunnel vision eyeballs. I knew that some day a Uni’ student would stir, wake up, smell the coffee and cry "Racism"….
Today is that day….. Halle-bloody-lujah
For Glasgow University student, Emma Block is suing the Scottish Executive for discrimination – because she is English.
Because she is English she has to shell out a pile more cash in fees than her Scottish student counterpart – or for that matter, any other E.U. student studying at a Scottish University.
She’s got a big shot lawyer – and he’s packing a big shot Magnum 45 – lots of awkward questions are about to be asked…… His first stop is the Commission for Racial Equality.
I have to say, I’ve already been there – but I didn’t have a big shot lawyer to back me up. Just me, my computer, my lexicon of vicious invective….. and a bloody great dollop of self righteous indignation for good measure.
Pernicious fee charges for my Son’s Uni’ course was the subject of my email. If you go to a Uni’ in England, it costs more than anywhere else in the UK. If you are English (unless your parents fall below an income threshold) you support yourself. If, for example you are a Scottish student attending an English University – then the Scottish Executive pays the fees – and may even give ‘Grants’ to their students to boot.
I cried ‘foul’
Tax rates are the same all over the UK. Tax is collected and counted at the Treasury in London – ergo, everyone should have the same treatment in Health, Public Services and Education…..
Of course, the CRE ‘couldn’t help me’ – basically because "they could not interfere with the education matters within the UK"…… Whatever that meant….. They seemed to admit that ‘it was wrong’ – but because the discrimination was being exercised within the UK, then it was ‘permissible’…….
Maybe, just maybe, with a big shot lawyer holding a big shot Magnum 45 to their collective big backsides, they will take Emma Block’s email a little more seriously.
Maybe, just maybe, this will be ‘the start’ – the start of something big, when the big Country in the Union stops getting kicked around by the little ones – and an equal and mature, mutually beneficial relationship will break out instead….
I knew it would happen – and it’s about bloody time.
I knew, sooner or later, the blinkers would be ripped from tunnel vision eyeballs. I knew that some day a Uni’ student would stir, wake up, smell the coffee and cry "Racism"….
Today is that day….. Halle-bloody-lujah
For Glasgow University student, Emma Block is suing the Scottish Executive for discrimination – because she is English.
Because she is English she has to shell out a pile more cash in fees than her Scottish student counterpart – or for that matter, any other E.U. student studying at a Scottish University.
She’s got a big shot lawyer – and he’s packing a big shot Magnum 45 – lots of awkward questions are about to be asked…… His first stop is the Commission for Racial Equality.
I have to say, I’ve already been there – but I didn’t have a big shot lawyer to back me up. Just me, my computer, my lexicon of vicious invective….. and a bloody great dollop of self righteous indignation for good measure.
Pernicious fee charges for my Son’s Uni’ course was the subject of my email. If you go to a Uni’ in England, it costs more than anywhere else in the UK. If you are English (unless your parents fall below an income threshold) you support yourself. If, for example you are a Scottish student attending an English University – then the Scottish Executive pays the fees – and may even give ‘Grants’ to their students to boot.
I cried ‘foul’
Tax rates are the same all over the UK. Tax is collected and counted at the Treasury in London – ergo, everyone should have the same treatment in Health, Public Services and Education…..
Of course, the CRE ‘couldn’t help me’ – basically because "they could not interfere with the education matters within the UK"…… Whatever that meant….. They seemed to admit that ‘it was wrong’ – but because the discrimination was being exercised within the UK, then it was ‘permissible’…….
Maybe, just maybe, with a big shot lawyer holding a big shot Magnum 45 to their collective big backsides, they will take Emma Block’s email a little more seriously.
Maybe, just maybe, this will be ‘the start’ – the start of something big, when the big Country in the Union stops getting kicked around by the little ones – and an equal and mature, mutually beneficial relationship will break out instead….
Friday, January 07, 2005
Jerree, Jerree, Jerree, Jerree, Jerree, Jerree…….
The BBC is showing – ‘Jerry Springer, the opera’ tomorrow night. It’s going out on BBC 2 - so that’s alright, because it’s intellectual.
I understand that swear words, mostly of the ‘EFFs’, ‘SEEs’ and ‘MudderEFFers’ are the expressions of choice – apparently about 3,500 times during the show.
Predictably, the good residents of Tunbridge Wells have risen in their thousands to protest at this "appalling use of licence payers cash". I understand the plot centres around some geezer on the show, dressed only in a nappy who is convinced he is J.C. himself – so the inevitable accusations of what used to be called ‘blasphemy’ are also being made.
Predictably, the BBC has retorted that it is an important contemporary work, adult, witty and deeply satirical. They say that to take it off air would be a disaster for a democratic and liberal society, a blow against free speech and a victory for censorship.
With this new-found spirit of bravery, I look forward to future BBC schedules showing the following,
‘The Satanic Verses – the Musical’
‘Oh Cnut! - King of England and Dyslexic Dane – the Ballet’
‘Barry Khrishner - Punjab's Private Detective’
‘Buddha, fat, frumpy and in need of a makeover!’
‘Bollox – the funtime quiz show!’
‘Is God Gay? – Or does he just keep Mrs God out of the limelight because he’s a bit of a glory hunter?’
‘St Francis of Assisi – and his unhealthy interest in animals.’
The BBC is showing – ‘Jerry Springer, the opera’ tomorrow night. It’s going out on BBC 2 - so that’s alright, because it’s intellectual.
I understand that swear words, mostly of the ‘EFFs’, ‘SEEs’ and ‘MudderEFFers’ are the expressions of choice – apparently about 3,500 times during the show.
Predictably, the good residents of Tunbridge Wells have risen in their thousands to protest at this "appalling use of licence payers cash". I understand the plot centres around some geezer on the show, dressed only in a nappy who is convinced he is J.C. himself – so the inevitable accusations of what used to be called ‘blasphemy’ are also being made.
Predictably, the BBC has retorted that it is an important contemporary work, adult, witty and deeply satirical. They say that to take it off air would be a disaster for a democratic and liberal society, a blow against free speech and a victory for censorship.
With this new-found spirit of bravery, I look forward to future BBC schedules showing the following,
‘The Satanic Verses – the Musical’
‘Oh Cnut! - King of England and Dyslexic Dane – the Ballet’
‘Barry Khrishner - Punjab's Private Detective’
‘Buddha, fat, frumpy and in need of a makeover!’
‘Bollox – the funtime quiz show!’
‘Is God Gay? – Or does he just keep Mrs God out of the limelight because he’s a bit of a glory hunter?’
‘St Francis of Assisi – and his unhealthy interest in animals.’
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Anyone got any jump leads?………
Having a bit of trouble getting motivated today.
Haven’t quite put my toe into the business firmament, circa 2005 yet.
Doing a lot of thinking.
A lot of chin rubbing.
A bit of doodling, on old Christmas cards – a Groucho type moustache & glasses on the Archangel Gabriel seems appropriate… It gives him a more brooding countenance. Or is Gabe a ‘she’? In which case she now needs a truck load of ‘Immac’ like right away.
I’ve come back to work completely jaded – a result of my long break being cruelly interrupted by a client insisting we complete a project during his factory downtime. So, my relaxing few days was spent in a dark satanic food processing factory erecting ‘employee communication material’ with vim, vigour and sticky tape…..
We finished in the pitch black at 11:00pm on New Years Eve - totally knackered, devoid of alcohol and in no mood to go out partying. I wasn’t really up for it anyway – the Tsunami seems to have washed optimism and hope to hell….
Other stuff at Christmas…
The day before Christmas Eve, my nephew Adam came over from Texas with April, his wife and her parents, Randy and Tammy. He coaches footy to American kids in Dallas.
We had a few scoops to celebrate the visit of our partners in the ‘special relationship’.
Boxing Day saw Adam’s belated Stag Do and a walking pub-crawl through crunchy frozen snow. We started at The Blood Tub and finished via The Ring ‘o’ Bells and Briars Hall at the Railway in Parbold.
The next day they had a blessing at the local church, then off to Wrightington Country Club for a gargantuan alcohol fuelled knees up.
A major altercation was narrowly avoided as 250 thirsty guests swamped the overpriced bar, demanding a drink from one of two hopelessly overworked bar staff. Swift negotiation and the application of a Chinese burn to the Manager’s wrist persuaded him to increase the bar staff quota by 100%.
I mean, its not as if it’s Christmas is it? The Yanks were appalled – we were embarrassed to say the least as another example of cheapo, no service Britain was on show for all to see.
The do was bloody excellent once the beer supply was sorted - problems arose the next day however. I don’t know what it was really, I must have caught some kind of virus from kissing so many people or something because I woke up with one hell of a headache…..
The yanks were really nice people. Up for anything and everything – which mostly involved drinking in pubs. The only things they struggled to get used to were the dark nights … and the cold….. and the rain.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Stop Press! Menage a trois explained….
Cast of 'Menage'
Kimberly Quinn - Rich, young American bint - quite fit.
Simon Hoggard - Witty columnist and author - pear shaped body, moon shaped boat.
David Blunkett - Former Secretary from Sheffield, choc full of self importance - bolshy.
Brace yourself…. one of these three people is completely blind.
Judging by the state of the two men, my money is on the bird.
What is wrong with wealthy young American, Kimberly Quinn?
Why have affairs with Blunkett and Hoggard?
Doesn’t she have any taste?
Maybe she just likes a bit of rough…..
But let’s be honest, there’s ‘a bit of rough’ – then there’s ‘dog rough, then ‘yikes’ then ‘scraping the barrel’…..
I reckon these 2 ‘ugly sisters’ live somewhere under the barrel…..
I wonder if she’d be interested in a sort of ‘OK’ guy, with GSOH, non smoker. Almost blind, with glasses resembling milk bottle bottoms, can sometimes be mistaken for ‘Plug’ from the Bash Street Kids. Loves power, was seen only this morning bullying an old lady in the M&S food counter…….
Move over Blunkett, Alfie’s pulled!
Anyway, Merry Christmas from me and Kimberly…..
Cast of 'Menage'
Kimberly Quinn - Rich, young American bint - quite fit.
Simon Hoggard - Witty columnist and author - pear shaped body, moon shaped boat.
David Blunkett - Former Secretary from Sheffield, choc full of self importance - bolshy.
Brace yourself…. one of these three people is completely blind.
Judging by the state of the two men, my money is on the bird.
What is wrong with wealthy young American, Kimberly Quinn?
Why have affairs with Blunkett and Hoggard?
Doesn’t she have any taste?
Maybe she just likes a bit of rough…..
But let’s be honest, there’s ‘a bit of rough’ – then there’s ‘dog rough, then ‘yikes’ then ‘scraping the barrel’…..
I reckon these 2 ‘ugly sisters’ live somewhere under the barrel…..
I wonder if she’d be interested in a sort of ‘OK’ guy, with GSOH, non smoker. Almost blind, with glasses resembling milk bottle bottoms, can sometimes be mistaken for ‘Plug’ from the Bash Street Kids. Loves power, was seen only this morning bullying an old lady in the M&S food counter…….
Move over Blunkett, Alfie’s pulled!
Anyway, Merry Christmas from me and Kimberly…..
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Today’s the day….
Go and have a beer to celebrate, because today’s the day!
Seasonally Acquired Disorder (S.A.D.) gives way to ‘H.A.P.P.Y.’ as the big guy in the sky starts to work up a sweat and lightens up a bit.
From now on he’s getting higher up in the firmament and it’s downhill all the way, all the way to those long warm summery days of June, fluttery butterflies and chilled gee and tee’s.
For today is the Winter Solstice. Tomorrow, the daylight will last just a bit longer……… I’m feeling better already.
Outrageous discrimination…..
I thought overt discrimination was a thing of the past - but early evening telly has shaken me right down to my smug, pseudo liberal tree hugging, pc pandering Hush Puppies…..
An advert for the ‘OveGlove’ caught my eye. Coated in ‘Kevlar’ and purest ‘Nomex’ (whatever that is) you could plunge your OveGloved hand straight into the Sun itself and hardly break into a sweat…. Apparently, it’s great for the oven, BBQ and other hot surfaces. So far so good. The problem is, they come in packs of ‘one’ – which is just fine for all you one armed people. But what about all us bi-handers, we’re blessed with a full set of hands. One OveGlove just doesn’t cut the mustard. It only fulfils 50% of my total requirement……..
Solutions for this conundrum? Well, cut one hand off – or buy 2 separate ‘OveGloves’……..
I don’t know about you – but I reckon the manufacturers should have been a bit more even-handed……….
A joke for Christmas…..
I saw this on a message board today –
Two dyslexic blokes outside a cake shop. One says to the other – "Can you smell mince pies?"….
"Smell mince pies? I can’t even smell my own name"….
Go and have a beer to celebrate, because today’s the day!
Seasonally Acquired Disorder (S.A.D.) gives way to ‘H.A.P.P.Y.’ as the big guy in the sky starts to work up a sweat and lightens up a bit.
From now on he’s getting higher up in the firmament and it’s downhill all the way, all the way to those long warm summery days of June, fluttery butterflies and chilled gee and tee’s.
For today is the Winter Solstice. Tomorrow, the daylight will last just a bit longer……… I’m feeling better already.
Outrageous discrimination…..
I thought overt discrimination was a thing of the past - but early evening telly has shaken me right down to my smug, pseudo liberal tree hugging, pc pandering Hush Puppies…..
An advert for the ‘OveGlove’ caught my eye. Coated in ‘Kevlar’ and purest ‘Nomex’ (whatever that is) you could plunge your OveGloved hand straight into the Sun itself and hardly break into a sweat…. Apparently, it’s great for the oven, BBQ and other hot surfaces. So far so good. The problem is, they come in packs of ‘one’ – which is just fine for all you one armed people. But what about all us bi-handers, we’re blessed with a full set of hands. One OveGlove just doesn’t cut the mustard. It only fulfils 50% of my total requirement……..
Solutions for this conundrum? Well, cut one hand off – or buy 2 separate ‘OveGloves’……..
I don’t know about you – but I reckon the manufacturers should have been a bit more even-handed……….
A joke for Christmas…..
I saw this on a message board today –
Two dyslexic blokes outside a cake shop. One says to the other – "Can you smell mince pies?"….
"Smell mince pies? I can’t even smell my own name"….
Monday, December 20, 2004
‘The Court Jester’
- that old fifties film starring Danny Kaye is on Sky Movies on Christmas Day.
A medieval tale given the typical Hollywood treatment, I saw it when I was a kid – and remember laughing my socks off when Kaye was trying to remember advice given to him on which cup had the poison in it – and which was safe to drink…..
Hawkins: I've got it! I've got it!
The pellet with the poison's in the vessel with the pestle;
the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true! Right?
Griselda: Right. But there's been a change:
they broke the chalice from the palace!
Hawkins: They broke the chalice from the palace?
Griselda: And replaced it with a flagon.
Hawkins: A flagon...?
Griselda: With the figure of a dragon.
Hawkins: A flagon with a dragon?
Griselda: Right.
Hawkins: But did you put the pellet with the poison in the vessel with the pestle?
Griselda: No!!! The pellet with the poison's in the flagon with the dragon!
The vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true!
Hawkins: The pellet with the poison's in the flagon with the dragon;
the vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true.
Griselda: Just remember that.
- that old fifties film starring Danny Kaye is on Sky Movies on Christmas Day.
A medieval tale given the typical Hollywood treatment, I saw it when I was a kid – and remember laughing my socks off when Kaye was trying to remember advice given to him on which cup had the poison in it – and which was safe to drink…..
Hawkins: I've got it! I've got it!
The pellet with the poison's in the vessel with the pestle;
the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true! Right?
Griselda: Right. But there's been a change:
they broke the chalice from the palace!
Hawkins: They broke the chalice from the palace?
Griselda: And replaced it with a flagon.
Hawkins: A flagon...?
Griselda: With the figure of a dragon.
Hawkins: A flagon with a dragon?
Griselda: Right.
Hawkins: But did you put the pellet with the poison in the vessel with the pestle?
Griselda: No!!! The pellet with the poison's in the flagon with the dragon!
The vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true!
Hawkins: The pellet with the poison's in the flagon with the dragon;
the vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true.
Griselda: Just remember that.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
On the first day......
Alfie is on his Christmas shop for the next day or two.
I've been to Argos - but they're fresh out partridges in pear trees.....
So I'll just have to make do with getting Alfreda an alternative prezzy.
The problem is, I can't decide whether it should be the deep fat fryer, ironing board/iron combo, or Dyson vacuum cleaner.
I've asked her for a reinforced cricket box protector - I think I'll need it.
Fame is the spur.....
Bloody hell, I've just been listening to Simon Mayo on BBC FiveLive - and he's just read out my email about what a git Tony Blair is - and what a waste of time PMQs are. Guest political analyst, John Peenar in conversation with Mayo even nicked some of my email in his general commentary. He said "MPs were acting in a jokesy, matesy, end of termsy way because it was close to the Christmas recess".....
Look John, jokesy, matesy and end of termsy is all mine, OK?
My advice is to make up your own political invective, or employ me to do it for you....
Alfie is on his Christmas shop for the next day or two.
I've been to Argos - but they're fresh out partridges in pear trees.....
So I'll just have to make do with getting Alfreda an alternative prezzy.
The problem is, I can't decide whether it should be the deep fat fryer, ironing board/iron combo, or Dyson vacuum cleaner.
I've asked her for a reinforced cricket box protector - I think I'll need it.
Fame is the spur.....
Bloody hell, I've just been listening to Simon Mayo on BBC FiveLive - and he's just read out my email about what a git Tony Blair is - and what a waste of time PMQs are. Guest political analyst, John Peenar in conversation with Mayo even nicked some of my email in his general commentary. He said "MPs were acting in a jokesy, matesy, end of termsy way because it was close to the Christmas recess".....
Look John, jokesy, matesy and end of termsy is all mine, OK?
My advice is to make up your own political invective, or employ me to do it for you....
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
A body swerve at the near post…
Over the last few weeks, Alfie has most definitely been feeling it’s time for a change of direction in his life journey. A bit late probably. I mean, the crest of the hill is a faint shadow in the rear view mirror and the old careers officer has found a new occupation inspecting daisy roots from six feet under. Basically, Alfie’s well fed up with having to grind out a living in the whacky world of visual communications.
Amidst an atmosphere of ever shrinking budgets and ever more Scrooge like behaviour from God like clients always expecting something for nothing, Alfie reckons the design game is up sh1t creek without a paddle….. or a lifejacket….. or a jackpot winning lottery ticket.
Thanks to Bill Gates and Steve why don’t you take all our jobs, Jobs, the mystical art of design and creativity has been reduced to nothing more than buying a crappola art package for £49.99 from PC World and banging off your ‘bespoke’ brochure via a £90 quid printer…..
There have been no single straws – more a gross of wire bound bales weighing down and breaking asunder a once optimistic and enthusiastic camel’s back.
So, a new career beckons,
Maybe something on the internet?
Alfie the.co.ok
Or possibly a pugilist?
Alfie the KO.
I can do a pretty good Ned Flanders impression –
Alfie the Oakally Doakally
I’ve always fancied a bit of tree surgery,
Alfie the oak lay…
Matadoring might be an option,
Alfie the ole!
I could do a biography on camp Carry On star, Charles Hawtrey,
Alfie the Ohhh I say.
Although I could become a bit of an expert mentoring type…
Alfie the au fait…
I can but dream……..
Alfie the old’n’grey.
Over the last few weeks, Alfie has most definitely been feeling it’s time for a change of direction in his life journey. A bit late probably. I mean, the crest of the hill is a faint shadow in the rear view mirror and the old careers officer has found a new occupation inspecting daisy roots from six feet under. Basically, Alfie’s well fed up with having to grind out a living in the whacky world of visual communications.
Amidst an atmosphere of ever shrinking budgets and ever more Scrooge like behaviour from God like clients always expecting something for nothing, Alfie reckons the design game is up sh1t creek without a paddle….. or a lifejacket….. or a jackpot winning lottery ticket.
Thanks to Bill Gates and Steve why don’t you take all our jobs, Jobs, the mystical art of design and creativity has been reduced to nothing more than buying a crappola art package for £49.99 from PC World and banging off your ‘bespoke’ brochure via a £90 quid printer…..
There have been no single straws – more a gross of wire bound bales weighing down and breaking asunder a once optimistic and enthusiastic camel’s back.
So, a new career beckons,
Maybe something on the internet?
Alfie the.co.ok
Or possibly a pugilist?
Alfie the KO.
I can do a pretty good Ned Flanders impression –
Alfie the Oakally Doakally
I’ve always fancied a bit of tree surgery,
Alfie the oak lay…
Matadoring might be an option,
Alfie the ole!
I could do a biography on camp Carry On star, Charles Hawtrey,
Alfie the Ohhh I say.
Although I could become a bit of an expert mentoring type…
Alfie the au fait…
I can but dream……..
Alfie the old’n’grey.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Sex, Lies and Videotape……
Sex….
Alfreda and I watched ‘The Sex Inspectors’ on Channel 4 last night. It was all about a couple from Brighton – they were having trouble ‘between the sheets’….
Basically the hubby was a bit of a ‘wham bam man’ ….. in a straight in, furious activity and fast asleep kind of way. His wife was to say the least, a bit frustrated.
The lady Sex Inspector interrogated the hubby. He confessed to the entire nation that he didn’t do foreplay. He wasn’t that bothered about sex at all really.
The lady Sex Inspector chastised him for being so selfish. "You simply must do foreplay" she shrilled.
Alfie the Sexpert suddenly felt all superior.
Alfie the Sexpert with his magic touch and his encyclopaedic knowledge of womanly erogenous zones. His instinctive awareness of the wants, needs and carnal desires of a woman gained through a lifetime of experience. That and taking surreptitious dips into 'The Joy of Sex' from the top shelf of W.H.Smith's adult book section during the 1980's...... is feeling well confident.
Alfie the Sexpert with smug countenance on his boat, turns to Alfreda and says "Goodness me, you’ve got to have foreplay haven’t you…. Fancy not bothering with foreplay, it’s no wonder she’s frustrated!"
Alfreda agrees "Yes, absolutely. I mean without the foreplay, sex would only last a few seconds"……
Women can be very, very cruel.
Lies…..
So, Obergruppenfuhrer Blair has come to rescue of one of his beleaguered Ministers.
The Very Rev’ has declared that David Blunkett was "an honest man of impeccable integrity"…….
Nah, I don’t think that’s right at all really.
A man who conducts an illicit affair and gets his lover twice up the duff in the process. A man that leaks the affair and the question of paternity to that rag of rags ‘The News of the World’ in order to put pressure on his former lover is not an honest man of impeccable integrity.
Blunkett, you are thoughtless, selfish, vacuous, arrogant, self obsessed, power mad and not in control of your trousers....
and Videotape……
So VHS is dead.
As dead as a Dodo.
As dead as David Blunkett’s political career.
As dead as Dubbya’s brain cells.
As dead as BetaMax……..
My bountiful collection of tapes include the entire series episodes of ‘All Creatures Great and Small’, the ‘Winter Olympics of 1992’ - some dodgy 'adult' vids of the '70's with curly-permed female babes and male mullet-haired Germans saying "Hmmm dat isss gut, ja?"... ‘Heartbeat, the early years’ with Nick Berry and Ian McShane’s ‘Lovejoy’… every single episode of it - plus the last ever broadcast that TV-AM made …. What the hell was I thinking of?
Suggestions please on what to do with 536 video cassettes..
Sex….
Alfreda and I watched ‘The Sex Inspectors’ on Channel 4 last night. It was all about a couple from Brighton – they were having trouble ‘between the sheets’….
Basically the hubby was a bit of a ‘wham bam man’ ….. in a straight in, furious activity and fast asleep kind of way. His wife was to say the least, a bit frustrated.
The lady Sex Inspector interrogated the hubby. He confessed to the entire nation that he didn’t do foreplay. He wasn’t that bothered about sex at all really.
The lady Sex Inspector chastised him for being so selfish. "You simply must do foreplay" she shrilled.
Alfie the Sexpert suddenly felt all superior.
Alfie the Sexpert with his magic touch and his encyclopaedic knowledge of womanly erogenous zones. His instinctive awareness of the wants, needs and carnal desires of a woman gained through a lifetime of experience. That and taking surreptitious dips into 'The Joy of Sex' from the top shelf of W.H.Smith's adult book section during the 1980's...... is feeling well confident.
Alfie the Sexpert with smug countenance on his boat, turns to Alfreda and says "Goodness me, you’ve got to have foreplay haven’t you…. Fancy not bothering with foreplay, it’s no wonder she’s frustrated!"
Alfreda agrees "Yes, absolutely. I mean without the foreplay, sex would only last a few seconds"……
Women can be very, very cruel.
Lies…..
So, Obergruppenfuhrer Blair has come to rescue of one of his beleaguered Ministers.
The Very Rev’ has declared that David Blunkett was "an honest man of impeccable integrity"…….
Nah, I don’t think that’s right at all really.
A man who conducts an illicit affair and gets his lover twice up the duff in the process. A man that leaks the affair and the question of paternity to that rag of rags ‘The News of the World’ in order to put pressure on his former lover is not an honest man of impeccable integrity.
Blunkett, you are thoughtless, selfish, vacuous, arrogant, self obsessed, power mad and not in control of your trousers....
and Videotape……
So VHS is dead.
As dead as a Dodo.
As dead as David Blunkett’s political career.
As dead as Dubbya’s brain cells.
As dead as BetaMax……..
My bountiful collection of tapes include the entire series episodes of ‘All Creatures Great and Small’, the ‘Winter Olympics of 1992’ - some dodgy 'adult' vids of the '70's with curly-permed female babes and male mullet-haired Germans saying "Hmmm dat isss gut, ja?"... ‘Heartbeat, the early years’ with Nick Berry and Ian McShane’s ‘Lovejoy’… every single episode of it - plus the last ever broadcast that TV-AM made …. What the hell was I thinking of?
Suggestions please on what to do with 536 video cassettes..
Monday, November 29, 2004
I’ve got IBS – it’s official…..
It’s official - I’ve got it.
Perhaps I’ve always had it.
It could be terminal.
If I have to sit through another night of 'entertainment' like I just have, it definitely will be.
Final confirmation came when ITV’s mega ‘Cadgathon’ of a Saturday evening schedule finally registered ‘red’ on my irritometer.
Four programmes – one after another all asking for the viewers to ‘phone in and vote for their favourites.
6:55 The ‘X-Factor’ – phone in and vote for your favourite egomaniacal pub singer.
8:00 Millionaire – phone in and fund Chris Tarrant’s lavish lifestyle.
9:00 The ‘X-Factor’ again – phone in, forget the pub singers, they’re crap. – Simon Cowell needs a new Ferrari Spyder though.
9:45 to 11:15 I’m a celebrity, get me out of here – phone in and reinvent some Z-list nobody that you’ve never heard of – and couldn’t give a toss if they get rampant widgety willie or not.
That’s over 4 hours solid of people on ITV imploring the viewing public to phone in - at costs of up to £1.50 a call.
By 9:00 I’d had enough and turned it off – before I shoved my size fourteens through the cathode. The bile had risen, the ire had metamorphosed to steam and was venting to atmosphere via my earholes.
Thanks ITV. Thanks very much for my IBS.
But I don’t think I’m alone.
Thanks to ITV, I reckon Irritable Bastard Syndrome has reached epidemic proportions.
I need to phone someone.
.
It’s official - I’ve got it.
Perhaps I’ve always had it.
It could be terminal.
If I have to sit through another night of 'entertainment' like I just have, it definitely will be.
Final confirmation came when ITV’s mega ‘Cadgathon’ of a Saturday evening schedule finally registered ‘red’ on my irritometer.
Four programmes – one after another all asking for the viewers to ‘phone in and vote for their favourites.
6:55 The ‘X-Factor’ – phone in and vote for your favourite egomaniacal pub singer.
8:00 Millionaire – phone in and fund Chris Tarrant’s lavish lifestyle.
9:00 The ‘X-Factor’ again – phone in, forget the pub singers, they’re crap. – Simon Cowell needs a new Ferrari Spyder though.
9:45 to 11:15 I’m a celebrity, get me out of here – phone in and reinvent some Z-list nobody that you’ve never heard of – and couldn’t give a toss if they get rampant widgety willie or not.
That’s over 4 hours solid of people on ITV imploring the viewing public to phone in - at costs of up to £1.50 a call.
By 9:00 I’d had enough and turned it off – before I shoved my size fourteens through the cathode. The bile had risen, the ire had metamorphosed to steam and was venting to atmosphere via my earholes.
Thanks ITV. Thanks very much for my IBS.
But I don’t think I’m alone.
Thanks to ITV, I reckon Irritable Bastard Syndrome has reached epidemic proportions.
I need to phone someone.
.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
The numbers game…..
This morning, that earhole of power and Murdoch’s udderly rubbish cash cow – The supa-dupa-soaraway Sun had a rather interesting headline. They seem to think that the next General Election is going to be on the 5th of May, 2005.
Interesting numbers I think …. The fifth day of the fifth month in the fifth year of the century. Numerically speaking, that’s 5 – 5 – 5.
Alfie, the wizard of the copy line, has come up with a suitably cogent strapline to go with a Labour campaign, Something to sum up St Tony, our gloriously supreme leader. His personality, purity of thought and whiter than white objectivity …..
On 555, vote for 666
There you go Tone, the invoice is in the post….
Chips off the old block…
Last night, one of my sons was doing a bit of homework. A design for a book jacket about the life story of one of the world’s greatest ever civil rights leaders.
He carefully penned out ‘The Life and Times of Martian Luther King’……..
I’m not really sure which world my son imagines ‘Martian’ came from…
And then…..
One of the others trotted over to me to ask if I could get him one of those trendy yellow plastic Nike charidee bracelets, currently being worn by all the beautiful footy and athletic stars.
"Can you get me one? You know, the guy who got Cancer, beat it, then won the Tour de France 6 times for good measure has brought them out……. Louis Armstrong, that’s the guy. The bike racer, Louis Armstrong"….
I’d like to see the bike that could carry old Satchmo to 6 Tour de France bike race victories….
This morning, that earhole of power and Murdoch’s udderly rubbish cash cow – The supa-dupa-soaraway Sun had a rather interesting headline. They seem to think that the next General Election is going to be on the 5th of May, 2005.
Interesting numbers I think …. The fifth day of the fifth month in the fifth year of the century. Numerically speaking, that’s 5 – 5 – 5.
Alfie, the wizard of the copy line, has come up with a suitably cogent strapline to go with a Labour campaign, Something to sum up St Tony, our gloriously supreme leader. His personality, purity of thought and whiter than white objectivity …..
On 555, vote for 666
There you go Tone, the invoice is in the post….
Chips off the old block…
Last night, one of my sons was doing a bit of homework. A design for a book jacket about the life story of one of the world’s greatest ever civil rights leaders.
He carefully penned out ‘The Life and Times of Martian Luther King’……..
I’m not really sure which world my son imagines ‘Martian’ came from…
And then…..
One of the others trotted over to me to ask if I could get him one of those trendy yellow plastic Nike charidee bracelets, currently being worn by all the beautiful footy and athletic stars.
"Can you get me one? You know, the guy who got Cancer, beat it, then won the Tour de France 6 times for good measure has brought them out……. Louis Armstrong, that’s the guy. The bike racer, Louis Armstrong"….
I’d like to see the bike that could carry old Satchmo to 6 Tour de France bike race victories….
Monday, November 22, 2004
And the award for the crappiest film of the century so far goes to …..
‘The Core’ A hideous drama about some hippie scientists, a megalomaniac American General and a mad, arrogant power obsessed fruit-cake. The improbable plot concerns our band of dysfunctional heroes building a ship capable of travelling straight through solid rock to ‘the core’ of the planet. Once there, the crew light the blue touch paper to several thermo-nooclear devices, thereby starting up the Earth’s stalled Electro-magnetic field….. and thus save mankind.
Well that was the plan. The only fun in the film was working out who was going to die – and in which order. The fruit-cake gets it obviously - but discovers a bit of nobility on the way out. Predictably, the young, chisel-jawed hero survives – along with the sexy babe navigator. The best character in the film is the geeky computer nerd, parked at a desk in Mission Control. His role is ….. look suitably nerdy, whilst eating lots of ‘Pop-Tarts.’ And because he is a geek, they made him up to look just like Alfred E. Neuman, star of ‘Mad’ Comics.
Alfie the Barry Norman’s in depth critique has pulled out this gem from a dire script.
Scene synopsis: The ship is breaking up under the huge pressure of Earth’s core. The ever-diminishing crew suddenly discover that the nukes on board just will not do the job. The hero decides he can build a separate H-bomb with a bit of sticky tape, some matches and a can of petrol. He checks his bomb making ingredients list – just to make sure he’s got everything he needs.
Hero to heroine "Christ it’s no good! We need 8 pounds of weapons grade plooooootonium to make the bomb"
Well there you go, you should’ve nipped into Spar to stock up before you left, shouldn’t you? They’ve got a wide range of plutonium enriched goods for the discerning savers of mankind to buy. You’ll find them on aisle B, just underneath the bags of botulism cultures, cunningly disguised as packs of faggots in gravy.
Talking about Electro-magnetic fields…..
Last week, whilst watching a programme about a supposed tour of the Planets by a crew of virtual space people, I was amazed to learn that Jupiter’s EMF is the biggest thing in the Solar System by miles. It far outstrips the size of the Sun, This fact has now been stored on the back burner of my brain, to be brought out at a suitably appropriate time in the future. The Christmas day trip to the pub seems favourite.
Talking about thick Divas…..
Rod Liddle’s column in yesterday’s Sunday Times, quotes Mariah Carey’s bleeding heart outburst about all the poor children starving to death in Africa…..
"Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the World, I can’t help but cry. I mean, I’d love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff"….
I really do need to send Mariah something through the post – I’ve got some sticky tape, matches and some petrol – I’m just nipping down to Spar to buy some faggots and a couple of pounds of weapons grade……
‘The Core’ A hideous drama about some hippie scientists, a megalomaniac American General and a mad, arrogant power obsessed fruit-cake. The improbable plot concerns our band of dysfunctional heroes building a ship capable of travelling straight through solid rock to ‘the core’ of the planet. Once there, the crew light the blue touch paper to several thermo-nooclear devices, thereby starting up the Earth’s stalled Electro-magnetic field….. and thus save mankind.
Well that was the plan. The only fun in the film was working out who was going to die – and in which order. The fruit-cake gets it obviously - but discovers a bit of nobility on the way out. Predictably, the young, chisel-jawed hero survives – along with the sexy babe navigator. The best character in the film is the geeky computer nerd, parked at a desk in Mission Control. His role is ….. look suitably nerdy, whilst eating lots of ‘Pop-Tarts.’ And because he is a geek, they made him up to look just like Alfred E. Neuman, star of ‘Mad’ Comics.
Alfie the Barry Norman’s in depth critique has pulled out this gem from a dire script.
Scene synopsis: The ship is breaking up under the huge pressure of Earth’s core. The ever-diminishing crew suddenly discover that the nukes on board just will not do the job. The hero decides he can build a separate H-bomb with a bit of sticky tape, some matches and a can of petrol. He checks his bomb making ingredients list – just to make sure he’s got everything he needs.
Hero to heroine "Christ it’s no good! We need 8 pounds of weapons grade plooooootonium to make the bomb"
Well there you go, you should’ve nipped into Spar to stock up before you left, shouldn’t you? They’ve got a wide range of plutonium enriched goods for the discerning savers of mankind to buy. You’ll find them on aisle B, just underneath the bags of botulism cultures, cunningly disguised as packs of faggots in gravy.
Talking about Electro-magnetic fields…..
Last week, whilst watching a programme about a supposed tour of the Planets by a crew of virtual space people, I was amazed to learn that Jupiter’s EMF is the biggest thing in the Solar System by miles. It far outstrips the size of the Sun, This fact has now been stored on the back burner of my brain, to be brought out at a suitably appropriate time in the future. The Christmas day trip to the pub seems favourite.
Talking about thick Divas…..
Rod Liddle’s column in yesterday’s Sunday Times, quotes Mariah Carey’s bleeding heart outburst about all the poor children starving to death in Africa…..
"Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the World, I can’t help but cry. I mean, I’d love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff"….
I really do need to send Mariah something through the post – I’ve got some sticky tape, matches and some petrol – I’m just nipping down to Spar to buy some faggots and a couple of pounds of weapons grade……
Friday, November 19, 2004
Update.....
Alfie had left the building for a few days.
Stuff, fluff, bluff and dandruff have all conspired to lay the OK low.
I've been completely blog free over the last week, I don't know why - I just didn't have any bloggin urges.
However, blog sap is rising - I can feel it coursing onwards and upwards.
Normal blogging will be resumed on Monday....... (Hopefully).
Thanks,
AtOK.
Alfie had left the building for a few days.
Stuff, fluff, bluff and dandruff have all conspired to lay the OK low.
I've been completely blog free over the last week, I don't know why - I just didn't have any bloggin urges.
However, blog sap is rising - I can feel it coursing onwards and upwards.
Normal blogging will be resumed on Monday....... (Hopefully).
Thanks,
AtOK.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Living History….
Today, I’m off to Yorkie-world to see my ailing Dad. His name is Albert, but he is known to everyone as ‘Matty’ – which is short for ‘Matelot’ – another word for ‘Able Seaman’
My Dad comes from a seafaring family. His father, George served on the ‘Mauretania’ one of those sexy big Edwardian ocean going jobs that didn’t do a Titanic. When the ship was about to be decommissioned and eventually broken up, my Granddad, faithfully following the tradition of scally scousers robbed one of the nicely carved state room mahogany tables and plonked it in his front room. Apparently, you could hardly move around this carved leviathan – proudly residing in ‘the parlour’ for the favoured invited few to drool over….
Unfortunately, its demise was assured via an axe when hard times, cold weather and no coal conspired to seal its fate…..
My Granddad was a bit of a lad. He ran away from home aged 15, stowed away on a ship and ended up in South America…… Eventually he became a Gaucho on the Pampas….. How cool is that then - My Granddad, the South American Cowboy.
He then went up to the U.S. to work along the Eastern Seaboard and even found time to do a bit of acting on Broadway.
He found Communism, became a Marxist and a sailor and came back to Blighty to do some agitating. He became mates with George Orwell and other bohemian types of a left leaning persuasion. In his spare time he wrote plays under the pseudonym of ‘Matt Lowe’ – mostly about the degradations of the recession hit ‘30’s……
My Dad, joined the senior service before the war started – and saw action on the Atlantic & Russian Convoys – and in the relief of Malta. He was the Royal Navy Heavweight Boxing Champion – a man who was generally reckoned to be as hard as nails. He once beat up George Kelly and one of his henchmen to stop them slapping a couple of girls around in a city centre pub. Kelly was a nasty piece of work – a Liverpool gangster, eventually hung for the murder of two employees at the Cameo Cinema.
So that’s why I’m going over today to Dronfield - a rather drab suburb of Sheffield to see him. I’m taking with me a big pad of paper and a pen. I want him to write all the stuff he can remember about his early exploits and wartime experiences. It seems the appropriate thing to do today.
Today, I’m off to Yorkie-world to see my ailing Dad. His name is Albert, but he is known to everyone as ‘Matty’ – which is short for ‘Matelot’ – another word for ‘Able Seaman’
My Dad comes from a seafaring family. His father, George served on the ‘Mauretania’ one of those sexy big Edwardian ocean going jobs that didn’t do a Titanic. When the ship was about to be decommissioned and eventually broken up, my Granddad, faithfully following the tradition of scally scousers robbed one of the nicely carved state room mahogany tables and plonked it in his front room. Apparently, you could hardly move around this carved leviathan – proudly residing in ‘the parlour’ for the favoured invited few to drool over….
Unfortunately, its demise was assured via an axe when hard times, cold weather and no coal conspired to seal its fate…..
My Granddad was a bit of a lad. He ran away from home aged 15, stowed away on a ship and ended up in South America…… Eventually he became a Gaucho on the Pampas….. How cool is that then - My Granddad, the South American Cowboy.
He then went up to the U.S. to work along the Eastern Seaboard and even found time to do a bit of acting on Broadway.
He found Communism, became a Marxist and a sailor and came back to Blighty to do some agitating. He became mates with George Orwell and other bohemian types of a left leaning persuasion. In his spare time he wrote plays under the pseudonym of ‘Matt Lowe’ – mostly about the degradations of the recession hit ‘30’s……
My Dad, joined the senior service before the war started – and saw action on the Atlantic & Russian Convoys – and in the relief of Malta. He was the Royal Navy Heavweight Boxing Champion – a man who was generally reckoned to be as hard as nails. He once beat up George Kelly and one of his henchmen to stop them slapping a couple of girls around in a city centre pub. Kelly was a nasty piece of work – a Liverpool gangster, eventually hung for the murder of two employees at the Cameo Cinema.
So that’s why I’m going over today to Dronfield - a rather drab suburb of Sheffield to see him. I’m taking with me a big pad of paper and a pen. I want him to write all the stuff he can remember about his early exploits and wartime experiences. It seems the appropriate thing to do today.
