Nil points….
Terry Wogan says that the Eurovision song contest is full of cheats, ne’er-do-wells and ‘creeping to their neighbour’ obsessives. Well that is a surprise not!
I must admit to watching it on Saturday – up to start of the voting marathon – well you’ve got to haven’t you? I mean, it’s great comedy, some of the acts look like they’re on Class A drugs – the sort of stimulant that takes away all sense of rhythm, timing and co-ordination. The gyrating men with their mullet haircuts, flared sparkly cat suits and stuck on chest hair seem to be styled courtesy of RETRO ‘70’s.com Then there’s the totty. The crapper the song, the skimpier the outfit – and there were lots of skimpy outfits on show….
Entertainment over, the voting begins – "Come in Berlin, can I have the totally political and biased voting please?"….
Eventually, I gave in and decided to watch Russel Crowe playing Lucius Maximus Jolly Jack Tarrius in the Napoleonic sailing epic, Master and Commander. instead.
I don’t like watching the voting bit for ‘EuroViz’ – too political.
I haven’t watched that part for years …. It sort of dawned on me that the Greeks never seemed to vote for the Turks, the Scandinavians always gave each other heaps of votes and the French adopted an ‘Anyone but the British’ attitude…… It’s not a song contest – more a series of diplomatic political alliances.
However….. I understand Blighty came somewhere just behind Nowheresvania in Saturdays contest, with some bird from the Ukraine dressed in a skimpy ensemble of leather, fur and sticky tape – and a bag full of talent (obviously), winning the top prize. It just aint good enough – we should be creaming the opposition shouldn’t we? Cliff, Sandy, Bucks Fizz, Lulu, Katrina, Gemini where are you when your Country needs you?
Well, maybe not Gemini – they should be playing for Norway-nil-points in the right out of tune position shouldn’t they?
It’s about time we started winning the damn thing again.
With this in mind, I thought Blog world could come to the rescue for next years comp’. We could write a song, a line here, a line there, with a boom-bangy, bangy inserted for good measure….
I’ll start the ball rolling, with the opening couple of lines….
I went tooooooo the park toooooo-day,
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,
I met my babe by the bowling green – I was late, she was mean,
Vented spleen, vented spleen, vented spleen, vented spleeeeeen,
Mike Batt, make way for a surefire winner!
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Application of the mind ….….
Last Sunday morning, Head gently throbbing, stomach on the spin cycle, I patiently wait my turn for my drug of choice at Safeway Chemist shop. The woman in front is collecting a prescription. She’s nervous and twitchy. The pharmacist gives her an emergency bag of stuff, to see her through to the Monday – when she can get a really big, bumper big pack.
Chemist queues are great places aren’t they? – I long for the day when the nervous, spotty youth hands over a packet of jonnies along with a bottle of Lucozade and a fiver – only for the very loud assistant to shout to the chemist …"Mr Jones, how much are these Durex Supa-Snug – Extra Sensitives?"
Anyway, back to the furtive drama unfolding in front of me.
Miss nervy twitcher looks into the bag and seems a bit confused.
"There’s no applicator" she whispered.
The pharmacist looked at her in surprise
"They’re suppositories – they don’t come with an applicator."
"I’m sure they used to have to have an applicator."
"No Madam, they’ve never had an applicator."
"Well, what do I use for an applicator then?"
It was a bit like that old joke about the fishmonger and the customer who will not be told that there is no haddock.... He takes his customer onto a spelling lesson, eventually arriving at the last question "Now, take the letter 'F' out of the word HADDOCK".
"But there is no 'F' in Haddock"
"Precisely Madam"...
Back to the Pharmacist - "You know......... you use your own 'applicator'
"I don't think I have one do I?"
"Yes you do - you have 10 of them"
With that, the pharmacist holds up her middle finger right in front of the customer’s face and drives it skyward.
Bit much, I thought… she was only asking. Mental note to me, don’t ask a fed up Pharmacist who would rather be somewhere else on a fine Sunday morning, bloody stupid questions ….
Last Sunday morning, Head gently throbbing, stomach on the spin cycle, I patiently wait my turn for my drug of choice at Safeway Chemist shop. The woman in front is collecting a prescription. She’s nervous and twitchy. The pharmacist gives her an emergency bag of stuff, to see her through to the Monday – when she can get a really big, bumper big pack.
Chemist queues are great places aren’t they? – I long for the day when the nervous, spotty youth hands over a packet of jonnies along with a bottle of Lucozade and a fiver – only for the very loud assistant to shout to the chemist …"Mr Jones, how much are these Durex Supa-Snug – Extra Sensitives?"
Anyway, back to the furtive drama unfolding in front of me.
Miss nervy twitcher looks into the bag and seems a bit confused.
"There’s no applicator" she whispered.
The pharmacist looked at her in surprise
"They’re suppositories – they don’t come with an applicator."
"I’m sure they used to have to have an applicator."
"No Madam, they’ve never had an applicator."
"Well, what do I use for an applicator then?"
It was a bit like that old joke about the fishmonger and the customer who will not be told that there is no haddock.... He takes his customer onto a spelling lesson, eventually arriving at the last question "Now, take the letter 'F' out of the word HADDOCK".
"But there is no 'F' in Haddock"
"Precisely Madam"...
Back to the Pharmacist - "You know......... you use your own 'applicator'
"I don't think I have one do I?"
"Yes you do - you have 10 of them"
With that, the pharmacist holds up her middle finger right in front of the customer’s face and drives it skyward.
Bit much, I thought… she was only asking. Mental note to me, don’t ask a fed up Pharmacist who would rather be somewhere else on a fine Sunday morning, bloody stupid questions ….
Sunday, May 16, 2004
What a great day Saturday was, hot and sunny, all was well with the world…. – but of course, that means the bad news is….. ‘Betty’s’ back……
Global warming, a result of industrial process, farting cows, racing starts at traffic lights and generally burning lots and lots of things has a lot to answer for alright. The Americans failure to ratify Kyoto hasn’t helped either. The planet’s mean temperature is going up, season on season, year on year – and things, nasty things are beginning to happen. Hotter, dryer summers, stiflingly clammy nights follow burning hot days……. Something’s got to give – and for us, usually cool, usually relaxed, well-adjusted guys it really does….. down in the trouser department.
I’m talking hot, I’m talking sweaty, I’m talking male dangly bits.
It’s a lethal combination for us guys - in short (long in my case, obviously), it’s the male curse known as ‘Betty Swallocks’….
Amble down any street in high summer and you’ll see men suffering in silence from Betty’s Bane. Things are getting so clammy in the nether regions lately that us guys are beginning to dread summer. It’s one hot season’s worth of discomfort – 12 whole weeks! Showers relieve the agony for an hour or two, boxers help – and kilts are great…. But the bettyness and swallockins soon starts up again. Gently sautéed sweet meats and infertility follows…..
I was thinking about a fab’ invention I had dreamt up to solve the problem. A small, but powerful fan mounted to the front of the underpants - thereby flooding the affected area with circulated air and cooling waves of fresh, fresh cooliness – Unfortunately, field trials have not gone well – I’d forgotten the ‘bonk-on enigma of the average male. Next time, I’ll have to leave at least a good 10 inch clearance. (I've taken mine as a guide and added an extra inch for good luck - honest!).
Oh, if only it was just a few days at the end of each month, getting past ‘the time of inconvienence' would be a piece of cake….
Do we moan, do we go on and on about our 3 monthly curse?
Of course we do…..
Global warming, a result of industrial process, farting cows, racing starts at traffic lights and generally burning lots and lots of things has a lot to answer for alright. The Americans failure to ratify Kyoto hasn’t helped either. The planet’s mean temperature is going up, season on season, year on year – and things, nasty things are beginning to happen. Hotter, dryer summers, stiflingly clammy nights follow burning hot days……. Something’s got to give – and for us, usually cool, usually relaxed, well-adjusted guys it really does….. down in the trouser department.
I’m talking hot, I’m talking sweaty, I’m talking male dangly bits.
It’s a lethal combination for us guys - in short (long in my case, obviously), it’s the male curse known as ‘Betty Swallocks’….
Amble down any street in high summer and you’ll see men suffering in silence from Betty’s Bane. Things are getting so clammy in the nether regions lately that us guys are beginning to dread summer. It’s one hot season’s worth of discomfort – 12 whole weeks! Showers relieve the agony for an hour or two, boxers help – and kilts are great…. But the bettyness and swallockins soon starts up again. Gently sautéed sweet meats and infertility follows…..
I was thinking about a fab’ invention I had dreamt up to solve the problem. A small, but powerful fan mounted to the front of the underpants - thereby flooding the affected area with circulated air and cooling waves of fresh, fresh cooliness – Unfortunately, field trials have not gone well – I’d forgotten the ‘bonk-on enigma of the average male. Next time, I’ll have to leave at least a good 10 inch clearance. (I've taken mine as a guide and added an extra inch for good luck - honest!).
Oh, if only it was just a few days at the end of each month, getting past ‘the time of inconvienence' would be a piece of cake….
Do we moan, do we go on and on about our 3 monthly curse?
Of course we do…..
