Play Up, Play Up and Play the Game

Average Age of Facebook Users?

2010-03-01T19:29:00.003Z

Do you constantly have to explain your Facebook usage to people your own age? How many times have you heard people in their early 30s bore others about how they're not on Facebook as it's "childish". As I silently suspected, these Luddites are actually not representative of their peers, as according to this website, the average age of Facebook users is .... 38. As the people at Pingdom state:

Bebo appeals to a much younger audience than the other sites with 44% of its users being aged 17 or less. For MySpace (who the hell still uses Myspace?), this number is also large; 33%.
Classmates.com has the largest share of users being aged 65 or more, 8%, and 78% are 35 or older.
64% of Twitter’s users are aged 35 or older.
61% of Facebook’s users are aged 35 or older.

It all goes to show - these youngsters are late adopters of even everyday tech stuff - or maybe they're too busy having neverending sex (the bastards). In a similar article, Pingdom reveal that, not entirely surprisingly, geek-orientated sites (such as Slashdot.com) are male dominated, whereas twee kiddie sites (Bebo) are female-dominated. Who knew?

Gingervitis Strikes

2009-03-18T22:16:00.001Z

Millions afflicted by Gingervitis

Gingervitis is a serious hereditary disease caused by a recessive gene. It can lay dormant for years and two perfectly healthy parents can have Ginger Babies. Gingervitis affects millions of people world wide. The symptoms of gingervitis include: Red hair, pale skin, and freckles, a “Soulless” feeling. This International Gingervitis Foundation is dedicated to awareness about the red headed defect.

1) What is Gingervitis?
Gingervitis is a serious hereditary disease caused by a recessive gene. It can lay dormant for years and two perfectly healthy parents can have Ginger Babies. Gingervitis affects millions of people world wide. The symptoms of gingervitis include: Red hair, pale skin, and freckles, a “Soulless” feeling. Some Ginger Kids may show symptoms such as violence and depression. Although Gingervitis is not a life threatening disease it can be very serious. There is currently no known cure and very little treatment for Gingervitis.

2) Is Gingervitis contagious?
No, Ginger Kids are born with Gingervitis. It is hereditary and cannot be contracted in any other way.

3) Are Ginger Kids dangerous?
Although some Ginger Kids may be dangerous, many others are not. Ginger Kids do have a genetic predisposition towards anger and depression, but this is caused by there appearance and often times amplified by taunting and harassment. Contrary to popular belief, many Ginger Kids live healthy, happy lives.

4) Do Ginger Kids have Souls?
Unfortunately no, Ginger Kids are born without souls. A common misconception is that you need a soul to survive. This is completely false. Ginger Kids are people just like everyone else, even if they don’t have souls. Many Ginger Kids live happy, healthy, productive lives devoid of any sort of soul.

5) If a Ginger Kid bites me what should I do?
If you have been bitten by a Ginger Kid immediately wash the wound with soap and water. If you have alcohol or peroxide apply it to the wound

A Bit of QI and House

2009-02-14T12:52:00.005Z

I'm always slightly surprised that the sketches of Fry and Laurie aren't repeated on TV and quoted ad nauseam by knowing middle class types, in the same way that Blackadder, Monty Python or similar programmes are. After all, both actors are superbly talented creative genii, and unlike actors/hosts of similar sketch shows of the 1980s, both have proceeded onto greater and better-rewarded "things". But perhaps that is the nub of the matter - would the award winning portrayer of Gregory House MD appreciate his televisual juvenilia being aired on the CBS equivalent of "Before They Were Famous"? Mind you, I'm sure I have seen footage of a young gangly Hugh Laurie climbing into the Cambridge boat at an early 1980s Oxford Cambridge Boat Race...

Anyway, here is one of my favourite Fry and Laurie sketches, the script of which I found at http://www.geocities.com/mmemym/bits1/fal0016.htm:

Prize Poem

 Typical comprehensive school office. Stephen is a
headmaster. He looks worried. There is a knock at the
door. He looks up.


Stephen  Come.

 Enter Hugh.

Ah, Terry, come in, come in.

Hugh  Thank you sir.

Stephen  Well now, do you know why I sent for you?

Hugh  Not really.

Stephen  Not really? Not really? Well, let me see. Firstly,
let me congratulate you on winning the School
Poetry Prize.

Hugh  Thank you sir.

Stephen  Mr Drip tells me that it was the most mature and
exciting poem that he has ever received from a
pupil. Don't suck your thumb boy.

Hugh  I'm not, sir.

Stephen  No, no. It was just a piece of general advice for
the future.

Hugh  Oh I see.

Stephen  Now Terry. Terry, Terry, Terence. I've read your
poem, Terry. I can't pretend to be much of a
judge of poetry, I'm an English teacher, not a
homosexual. But I have to say it worried me.

Hugh  Oh?

Stephen  Yes, worried me. I have it here, um: "Inked Ravens
of Despair Claw Holes In The Arse Of The
World's Mind", I mean what kind of a title is that?

Hugh  It's my title sir.

Stephen  "Arse Of The World's Mind"? What does that
mean? Are you unhappy about something?

Hugh  Well I think that's what the poem explores.

Stephen  Explores? Explores! Oh it explores does it? I see.
"Scrotal threats unhorse a question of flowers", I
mean, what's the matter boy? Are you sickening
for something? Or is it a girl? Is that the root of it?

Hugh  Well, it's not something I can explain, sir, it's all in
the poem.

Stephen  It certainly is all in the poem. "I asked for answers
and got a headful of heroin in return." Now.
Terry. Look at me. Who gave you this heroin? You
must tell me: if this is the problem we must do
something about it. Don't be afraid to speak out.

Hugh  Well no one.

Stephen  Terry. I'm going to ask you again. It's here. "I
asked for answers and got a headful of heroin."
Now Terry, this is a police matter. Speak out.

Hugh  Sir, no one has given me heroin.

Stephen  So this poem is a lie, is it? A fiction, a fantasy?
What's happening?

Hugh  No, it's all true, it's autobiographical.

Stephen  Then, Terry, I must insist. Who has been giving
you heroin? Another boy?

Hugh  Well, sir, you have.

Stephen  I have. I have? What are you talking about, you
diseased boy? This is rank, standing impertinence.
I haven't given anyone heroin. How dare you?

Hugh  No, it's a metaphor.

Stephen  Metaphor, how metaphor?

Hugh  It means I came to school to learn, but I just get
junk instead of answers.

Stephen  Junk? What do you mean, the GCSE syllabus is
rigidly adh -

Hugh  It's just an opinion.

Stephen  Oh is it? And is this an opinion too? "When time
fell wanking to the floor, they kicked his teeth".
Time fell wanking to the floor? Is this just put in
to shock or is there something personal you wish
to discuss with me? Time fell wanking to the floor?
What does that mean?

Hugh  It's a quotation.

Stephen  A quotation? What from? It isn't Milton and I'm
pretty sure it can't be Wordsworth.

Hugh  It's Bowie.

Stephen  Bowie? Bowie?

Hugh  David Bowie.

Stephen  Oh. And is this David Bowie too: "My body
disgusts, damp grease wafts sweat balls from sweat
balls and thigh fungus", I mean do you wash?

Hugh  Of course.

Stephen  Then why does your body disgust you? It seems
alright to me. I mean, why can't you write about
meadows or something?

Hugh  I've never seen a meadow.

Stephen  Well, what do you think the imagination is for? "A
girl strips in my mind, squeezes my last pumping
drop of hope and rolls me over to sleep alone."
You are fifteen, Terry, what is going on inside you?

Hugh  That's what -

Stephen  That's what the poem explores, don't tell me. I
can't understand you, I can't understand you.

Hugh  Well you were young once.

Stephen  Yes, in a sense, of course.

Hugh  Didn't you ever feel like that?

Stephen  You mean did I ever want to "fireball the dead
cities of the mind and watch the skin peel and
warp"? Then, no, thankfully, I can say I did not. I
may have been unhappy from time to time, if I lost
my stamp album or broke a penknife, but I didn't
write it all down like this and show it to people.

Hugh  Perhaps it might have been better for you if
you had.

Stephen  Oh might it, young Terence? I suppose I am one
of the "unhappy bubbles of anal wind popping and
winking in the mortal bath" am I?

Hugh  Well -

Stephen  Your silence tells me everything. I am. I'm an
unhappy bubble of anal wind.

Hugh  That's just how I see it. That's valid.

Stephen  Valid? Valid? You're not talking about a banknote,
you're calling your headmaster an unhappy bubble
of anal wind.

Hugh  Well, I'm one too.

Stephen  Oh well, as long as we're all unhappy bubbles of
anal wind popping and winking in the mortal bath
then of course there's no problem. But I don't
propose to advertise the fact to parents. If this
is poetry then every lavatory wall in Britain is
an anthology. What about The Oxford Book Of English Verse,
where's that gone?

Hugh  Perhaps that's the lavatory paper.

Stephen  Is that clever?

Hugh  I don't know.

Stephen  I suppose it's another quotation from Derek
Bowie is it? I don't understand any more, I don't
understand.

Hugh  Never mind, sir. You're a bit frustrated perhaps,
it's a lonely job.

Stephen  I am frustrated, yes. It is a lonely job. So lonely. I
am assailed by doubts, wracked by fear.

Hugh  Write it down.

Stephen  Eh?

Hugh  Write it down, get it out of your system. "Assailed
by doubts, wracked by fear."

Stephen  Yes, yes - you think? "Assailed by doubts and
wracked by fear, tossed in a wrecked mucus foam
of ... of ..."

Hugh  Hatred?

Stephen  Good, good. What about "steamed loathing"?

Hugh  Better, you're a natural.

 Hugh slips away.

Stephen  "... wrecked mucus foam of steamed loathing.
Snot trails of lust perforate the bowels of my
intent. Put on your red shoes, Major Tom, funk to
flunky ... etc ...

 Fade out

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn

2008-04-21T21:08:00.003Z

Having just read Friday's Guardian, I was intrigued to see that Miss Joan Hunter Dunn (whose married name was the slightly less mellifluous Mrs Joan Jackson) had passed away. I had no idea that she was a real person, but I miss her already. My grandmother (83 not out!), who is a reasonably successful poet herself, adores this poem because of the memories it provokes. I love this poem in the same way I love Vitai Lampada - because it just works. When my brain cells return, I intend to memorise it....

A Subaltern's Love Song

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

-- John Betjeman

The Tragic Tony Bliar

2006-09-29T16:59:00.000Z

Tony Blair was visiting a school and was asked by a teacher if he would like to lead the discussion on what constituted a "tragedy". So the Prime Minister asked the class for an example of a "tragedy".

One little boy stood up and offered, "If my best friend, who lives on a farm, is playing in the field and a tractor runs him over and kills him, that would be a tragedy".

"No," said Blair, "that would be an accident".

A little girl raised her hand: "If a school bus carrying 50 children drove over a cliff, killing everyone inside, that would be a tragedy".

"I'm afraid not." explained the Prime Minister. "That's what we would call a great loss."

The room went silent. No other children volunteered. Blair searched the room. "Isn't there someone here who can give me an example of tragedy?"

Finally, at the back of the room a small boy raised his hand. In a quiet voice he said: "If an aircraft carrying you, Mr. Blair, was struck by a "friendly fire" missile and blown to smithereens that would be a tragedy."

"Fantastic!" exclaimed Blair. "That's right. And can you tell my why that would be a tragedy?"

"Well," says the boy, "it has to be a tragedy, because it certainly wouldn't be a great loss and it probably wouldn't be an accident."

Life in Brighton, and How to Get There

2006-09-29T16:23:00.000Z

Although not anything to do with Brighton, other than the propensity for back door action that occurs there - this photo made me laugh. Well done Nokia cameraphone!

Anyway, onto a loosely related matter - a train journey to ... er ... Brighton. As revealed on the B3TA newsletter this week, the fairly hackneyed concept on rapid footage of a train ride from the driver's perspective has been redone and updated by Robbie Allen of Lobster Pictures - see it here in QuickTime:

http://www.lobsterpictures.tv/movies/lob_bri_web.mov

I can't remember the name of the Black and White version from London to Glasgow (?) that was a cinema release in (I think) the 1950s, but either way, it almost makes you want to be a train driver. Almost.

The Code Duello

2006-09-20T15:29:00.000Z

The Code Duello, covering the practice of dueling and points of honor, was "adopted at the Clonmel Summer Assizes, 1777, for the government of duellists, by the gentlemen of Tipperary, Galway, Mayo, Sligo and Roscommon, and prescribed for general adoption throughout Ireland" . The Code became popular in England and on the Continent with some slight variations (usually where Heidelburg rules took precedence). In America, the principal rules were followed though often with glaring deviations.

The Code Duello

or

THE TWENTY-SIX COMMANDMENTS

I. The first offence requires the first apology, though the retort may have been more offensive than the insult. Example: A tells B he is impertinent, etc. B retorts that he lies; yet A must make the first apology, because he gave the first offence, and (after one fire) B may explain away the retort by subsequent apology.

II. But if the parties would rather fight on, then, after two shots each (but in no case before), B may explain first and A apologize afterwards.

N.B. The above rules apply to all cases of offences in retort not of a stronger class than the example.

III. If a doubt exists who gave the first offence, the decision rests with the seconds. If they will not decide or cannot agree, the matter must proceed to two shots, or to a hit if the challenger requires it.

IV. When the lie direct is the first offence, the agressor must either beg pardon in express terms, exchange two shots previous to apology, or three shots followied by explanation, or fire on till a severe hit be received by one party or the other.

V. As a blow is strictly prohibited under any circumstances among gentlemen, no verbal apology can be received for such an insult. The alternatives, therefore, are: The offender handing a cane to the injured party to be used on his back, at the same time begging pardon, firing until one or both are disabled; or exchanging three shots and then begging pardon without the proffer of the cane.

N.B. If swords are used, the parties engage until one is well blooded, disabled, or disarmed, or until, after receiving a wound and blood being drawn, the aggressor begs pardon.

VI. If A gives B the lie and B retorts by a blow (being the two greatest offences), no reconciliation can take place till after two discharges each or a severe hit, after which B may beg A's pardon for the blow, and then A may explain simply for the lie, because a blow is never allowable, and the offence of the lie, therefore, merges in it. (See preceding rule.)

N.B. Challenges for undivulged causes may be conciliated on the ground after one shot. An explanation or the slightest hit should be sufficient in such cases, because no personal offence transpired.

VII. But no apology can be received in any case after the parties have actually taken their ground without exchange of shots.

VIII. In the above case no challenger is obliged to divulge his cause of challenge (if private) unless required by the challenged so to do before their meeting.

IX. All imputations of cheating at play, races, etc., to be considered equivalent to a blow, but may be reconciled after one shot, on admitting their falsehood and begging pardon publicly.

X. Any insult to a lady under a gentleman's care or protection to be considered as by one degree a greater offence than if given to the gentleman personally, and to be regarded accordingly.

XI. Offences originating or accruing from the support of ladies' reputations to be considered as less unjustifiable than any others of the same class, and as admitting of slighter apologies by the aggressor. This is to be determined by the circumstances of the case, but always favourably to the lady.

XII. No dumb firing or firing in the air is admissable in any case. The challenger ought not to have challenged without receiving offence, and the challenged ought, if he gave offence, to have made an apology before he came on the ground; therefore children's play must be dishonourable on one side or the other, and is accordingly prohibited.

XIII. Seconds to be of equal rank in society with the principals they attend, inasmuch as a second may either choose or chance to become a principal and equality is indispensable.

XIV. Challenges are never to be delivered at night, unless the party to be challenged intends leaving the place of offence before morning; for it is desirable to avoid all hot-headed proceedings.

XV. The challenged has the right to choose his own weapons unless the challenger gives his honour he is no swordsman, after which, however, he cannot decline any second species of weapon proposed by the challenged.

XVI. The challenged chooses his ground, the challnger chooses his distance, the seconds fix the time and terms of firing.

XVII. The seconds load in presence of each other, unless they give their mutual honours that they have charged smooth and single, which shall be held sufficient.

XVIII. Firing may be regulated, first, by signal; secondly by word of command; or, thirdly at pleasure, as may be agreeable to the parties. In the latter case, the parties may fire at their reasonable leisure, but second presents and rests are strictly prohibited.

XIX. In all cases a misfire is equivalent to a shot, and a snap or a non-cock is to be considered a misfire.

XX. Seconds are bound to attempt a reconciliation before the meeting takes place or after sufficieint firing or hits as specified.

XXI. Any wound sufficient to agitate the nerves and necessarily make the hand shake must end the business for that day.

XXII. If the cause of meeting be of such a nature that no apology or explanation can or will be received, the challenged takes his ground and calls on the challenger to proceed as he chooses. In such cases firing at pleasure is the usual practice, but may be varied by agreement.

XXIII. In slight cases the second hands his principal but one pistol, but in gross cases two, holding another case ready charged in reserve.

XXIV. When the second disagree and resolve to exchange shots themselves, it must be at the same time and at right angles with their principals. If with swords, side by side, with five paces' interval.

XXV. No party can be allowed to bend his knee or cover his side with his left hand, but may present at any level from the hip to the eye.

XXVI. None can either advance or retreat if the ground is measured. If no ground be measured, either party may advance at his pleasure, even to the touch of muzzles, but neither can advance on his adversary after the fire, unless the adversary steps forward on him.

N.B. The seconds on both sides stand responsible for this last rule being strictly observed, bad cases having occurred from neglecting it.

---
N.B. All matters and doubts not herein mentioned will be explained and cleared up by application to the Committee, who meet alternately at Clonmel and Galway at the quarter sessions for that purpose.

CROW RYAN, President.

JAMES KEOGH. AMBY BODKIN, Secretaries.

--from The Duel: A History of Duelling, Robert Baldick, Chapman and Hall Ltd., London, 1965; Hamlyn Publishing Group Ltd., London, 1970. ISBN 0 600 32837 6

Lil Chris - Checking It Out

2006-09-15T13:36:00.000Z

I have no idea why, but I quite like this precocious prepubescent's paean to painful puppy love. Despite the bassline being clearly from Blur's Song 2, and it being yet another reality TV spinoff (remember "Rock School" with Gene Kelly? No, neither do I) it's so catchy I am about to inject wallpaper paste into my inner ear to stop the warblings on the little East Anglian...

His website is quite professional as well. Lil Chris? Lil bastard more like - when I was 14 I was masturbating frenetically and planning world domination via the medium of a plywood go cart - not writing great tunes and being fawned over by girls. Oh well.

Check it out (geddit?!) here...

Royal Mail - Legalised Junk Mail Peddlars

2006-08-30T21:51:00.000Z

I hate junk mail. And I hate Royal Mail for making me accept junk mail from my own postman! And since a recent trade union deal, there's no limit to how much "unaddressed mail" I can now receive from Postman Pat (or "Door to Door" material, as the Newspeak robots at the-company-formerly-known as Consignia call it).

But thanks to the Royal Mail's crass suspension of one of its own for daring to publicise the very well hidden system for opting out of this (what a PR blunder that was), we now know that there is an anonymous building in Oxford you can write to and rid yourself of this scourge. But beware, unless you fill in the correct form, this won't be successful, so (as a public service to both of my readers) here is the form to fill in, hosted by a free file share site....

http://www.box.net/public/9ik230dqkf

Print it off, fill it in (and amaze yourself at the expense spared in the form design - well done postie!) and send to:

Door-to-Door Opt-Outs
Royal Mail
Kingsmead House
Oxpens Road
Oxford
OX1 1RX

Tell them the Merkin sent you. The addressed mail is easier to get rid of - just sign up online at the Mailing Preference Service, or write to them at:

Mailing Preference Service
Freepost 29 LON20771
London W1E 0ZT
Tel: 020 7291 3310
Fax: 020 7976 1886

Numa Numa - Gary Brolsma, Net Genius

2006-08-30T20:12:00.000Z

Am I the only person not to have heard of the "Numa Numa" guy, or GMan250, or Gary Brolsma to give him his proper name? He's a genius, and should be on X Factor, not sulking in New Jersey. Originally a Flash Movie hosted on newgrounds.com, there are hundreds of imitators, takeoffs, tributes and mentions on Google Video, You Tube etc, the best version of which is here.

He has his own fansite - http://www.garybrolsma.net/ and it appears that he's all a bit overwhelmed by the interest in his rather cool lip-sync dance moves. However, after hiding in Staples for a few months, it appears he's back - or at least about to be - as revealed on http://www.newnuma.com/. I can't wait...

Quiz of the Blindingly Obvious

2006-08-24T09:24:00.000Z

Passing requires only 4 correct answers....a measly 40%. Answers at bottom.

1) How long did the Hundred Years War last?

2) Which country makes Panama hats?

3) From which animal do we get catgut?

4) In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?

5) What is a camel's hair brush made of?

6) The Canary Islands in the Pacific is named after what animal?

7) What was King George VI's first name?

8) What color is a purple finch?

9) Where are Chinese gooseberries from?

10) What is the color of the black box in a commercial aeroplane?

All done? Check your answers below! Scroll Down

¦
¦
¦
V

ANSWERS TO THE QUIZ

1) How long did the Hundred Years War last?

116 years

2) Which country makes Panama hats?

Ecuador

3) From which animal do we get catgut?

Sheep (and Horses)

4) In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?

November

5) What is a camel's hair brush made of?

Squirrel fur

6) The Canary Islands in the Pacific is named after what animal?

Dogs

7) What was King George VI's first name?

Albert

8) What color is a purple finch?

Crimson

9) Where are Chinese gooseberries from?

New Zealand

10) What is the color of the black box in a commercial aeroplane?

Orange, of course.

Breaking News About Dual Penises

2006-08-22T11:09:00.000Z

According to Andrew Neil's organ (ahem), The Scotsman, there is a man with an abundance of phalli. Comments, anyone?

NEW DELHI (Reuters) - An Indian businessman born with two penises wants one of them removed surgically as he wants to marry and lead a normal sexual life, a newspaper report said Saturday. The 24-year-old man from the northern state of Uttar Pradesh admitted himself to a New Delhi hospital this week with an extremely rare medical condition called penile duplication or diphallus, the Times of India said.

"Two fully functional penes is unheard of even in medical literature. In the more common form of diphallus, one organ is rudimentary," the newspaper quoted a surgeon as saying.

The surgery was expected to be challenging as both organs were well-formed and full blood supply to the retained penis had to be ensured to allow it to function normally, he added.
The newspaper did not disclose the identity of the man or the hospital to protect the patient's privacy. There are about 100 such reported cases of diphallus around the world and it is known to occur among one in 5.5 million men, the newspaper said.

It is caused by the failure of the mesodermal bands in the embryo to fuse properly. The mesodermal bands are one of three primary layers of the embryo from which several body parts are formed.

(c) Reuters 2006. All rights reserved. Republication or redistribution of Reuters content, including by caching, framing or similar means, is expressly prohibited without the prior written consent of Reuters. Reuters and the Reuters sphere logo are registered trademarks and trademarks of the Reuters group of companies around the world.

Neil Armstrong is Lance Armstrong's Dad

2006-08-18T15:26:00.000Z

Will Ferrell is consistently the funniest man in the world:

In other news, I can't wait to go and see Snakes on a Plane. I have seen some abysmal movies recently - Stormbreaker (20 year old who can't act pretends to be 15 year old amongst huge continuity errors) and Superman Returns (an annoying chick flick about unrequited Lois Lane love with a few decent special effects) for instance.

But Snakes on a Plane is different. It was the first major film made purely from internet hype (see hilarious reviews here). They knew it was going to be rubbish before they made it, and didn't pretend otherwise. It's going to be brilliantly, enjoyably, awful.

You Must Be Out of Your Brilliant Mind

2006-08-10T16:29:00.000Z

Was this on Now 7? I think it was - did "Furniture" do anything else? Neither iTunes nor Allofmp3.com have heard of them. I WANT IT!

I'm at the stage
Where everything I thought meant something, seems so unappealing
I'm ready for the real thing but nobody's selling none
Except you and you're saying opening up your eyes and ears, and lets me in

You must be out of your brilliant mind
You must be out of your brilliant mind

You're at the stage
You want your empty words said in everybodys writing
I want to know your secrets but you're no telling
You're just gesturing saying open up your arms and hearts, and lets me in

You must be out of your brilliant mind
You must be out of your brilliant mind

And I'm at the stage
Where I want my words said and no one wants to listen though
No one wants to listen 'cause everybody's yelling
About you and yours and how I'd have the answer if only I'd open up up up and let you in

They must be out of their brilliant minds
They must be out of their brilliant minds

I said shame, shame on you
Oh shay-ay-ame, shame on you you you you
Shay-ay-ame, Shame on you you you you you yeah

You must be out of your brilliant mind

And I'm at the stage
Where I want my words said and no one wants to listen
No one wants to listen 'cause everybody's yelling
About you and yours and how I'd have the answer if only I'd open up up up and let in

They must be out of their brilliant minds
They must be out of their brilliant minds

And they must be ou-ou-ou-ou-out of their brilliant minds
Everyone ou-ou-ou-ou-out of their brilliant minds
Oh, I must be out, I must be out, of my brilliant mind
Oooh my brilliant mind

Thanks to a comment by Patroclus about the Hype Machine - I've found a YouTube video of the song on a hitherto undiscovered blog - Indieviduel. The song is even better than I remembered- yay for the interweb. Now all I need is the mp3...

Thanks Miss P!

WE are the Internet

2006-08-07T15:49:00.000Z

As every blogger in the world seems to embed a YouTube video into his blog at least once a week, I thought I'd go one further. This is from the "Fighting for Net Neutrality" website, where all the mad people from the internet (that loopy woman with the outfits, the Tron guy, Peter Pan, and even Joel Veitch's animations) get together to sing about freedom of the web. Enjoy...

The Return of the Wig

2006-08-07T00:20:00.000Z

Now I don't want you all to get all emotional on me, especially as no-one really knows I'm back, but .... I'm back. Just temporariririly, like, but I've missed posting bollocks that no-one reads. 'Twas ever thus....

Blue Plaque

2006-08-05T00:26:00.000Z

Just an idea I had in the pub, which I've since found out has been done before? Subconscious plagiarism, or genius reinvented? You decide. Or don't. See if I care...

Help this man.... NOW!

2006-04-27T16:26:00.000Z

Short but sweet...

http://www.helpwinthisbet.com/

We HAVE to help him win. Spread the word!

Cry God for Harry! England! and St George!

2006-04-23T15:25:00.000Z

Now, I'm as patriotic as the next Englishman, and have always had a slightly uncomfortable feeling about the way that the minor patron Saints of minor Celtic countries (you know who you are - Andrew, Patrick, David) manage to get acres and acres of newsprint, public holidays and loony devotees with vegetables pinned to their lapels, but that poor old St George is pretty comprehensively ignored by everyone. It could be something to do with his murky past, his dodgy ethnicity and the fact that His Toniness has hijacked England's national emblem as a party political logo, but not many people know anything about Andrew either and that doesn't stop grown Scotsmen wearing dresses and showing everyone that, yes, they're not wearing underwear even when performing in front of several thousand pre-teens. It might even be to do with his position in the Beazer Homes League of saints, since his fall from official (ie papal) grace in the late 1960s. But even so - why do we know so little about this chap? He's renowned for being "hard as nails", a bit of a ladies' man and with a neat line in off-the-shoulder chain mail. But, Godammit, who was he?

George appears to have been Turkish (I'll be sure to mention this, next time I'm in Bodrum Kebab Emporium) and was beheaded by the Romans on April 23rd, 303AD for refusing to renounce his Christianity. For various reasons, he is patron saint not only of England but also of Aragon, Catalonia, Georgia, Lithuania, Palestine and Portugal. AND, amongst other fanclubs, he is also patron saint of soldiers, and those suffering from syphilis, and farmers! A fairly busy, and popular man, it seems. But still, the Roman Catholic church downgraded him in 1969 from "Saint" to a much lower category, somewhat akin to "famous mythical pest controller". But what about the English? And the Portuguese? And the soldiers, and syphilitic farmers? If there was ever a demonstration about how little the modern Catholic church cared about .... er .... Palestinian farmers with debilitating sexually-transmitted diseases, this is it. What better sign would there be of the new ecumenical order of modern Christianity if the new pope (bless his ex-Hitler Youth silk socks) pronounced old Georgie boy as a Grade A, premership, 24 carat Super-Saint.

But here's a question. How do you get to be the patron saint of a disease? I can understand 1st century AD martyrs who were, say, garotted becoming patron saint of neck injuries, or those whose ass were "got mediaeval on" by an early version of Marcellus Wallace becoming patron saint of haemmorhoids. But syphilis? Ugh. What happened - did St George actually infect the good Emperor Diocletian with a bit of old Treponema pallidum bacteria? After all, he WAS the only Roman Emperor to ever abdicate - maybe it was after being caught in flagrante delicti after catching a dose from a bit of top Christian dragon-slaying totty. Or perhaps our favourite Turk didn't so much slay the dragon as shag it senseless. I'd always been sceptical of rumours about the possibility of catching a dose from one of our furry friends, but maybe here we have historical proof. Given that I once read at Copenhagen's "Museum Erotica" that the Vatican Library holds the largest collection of erotica and pornography in the world, maybe the Roman Catholic church knew something we didn't when they downgraded George, and it was actually for carnal knowledge of a large lizard.

So there we go. A 1700 year mystery solved by The Merkin - St George was a bona fide herpetophile, caught a dose of VD from his pet dragon (who he then had put down, but invented some chivalrous story to avoid the attentions of the RSPCA) and then infected the one Roman Emperor who had precious little time for Christians in the first place. Head chopped off, cult built up, cool flag, instant hit. Shakespeare was so impressed, he managed the rather impressive feat of both being born on this day and passing away on the same date a few years later. And we thought stalkers were a modern phenomenon. Happy St George's Day.

State of the Union? Jack....

2006-04-13T16:22:00.000Z

It's the 400th anniversary of our national flag, which is (predictably) being ignored by President Blair and his corrupt cronies, so here's one I prepared earlier!

For reasons lost in the mists of time (er... or red wine induced amnesia) I learnt from an early age how to translate the immortal phrase: Azure, the Crosses Saltire of St. Andrew and St. Patrick, quarterly per saltire, counterchanged Argent and Gules, the latter fimbriated of the second, surmounted by the Cross of St. George of the third, fimbriated as the saltire. Or, as most people call it, the Union Jack. You see, unknown to most people, the our semi-official national flag actually has a right way, and a wrong way, of flying it, and once one knows this information, it becomes strangely irritating to see it flying upside down. And I, by an accident of education and curiosity, know which way that is. However, spurred on by a chance riposte to my "predantry" (good word!) about this subject by the incomparable Mr Lupin, I took to wondering why indeed the "flagologists" designed a flag that all but the most bored of ex-public schoolboys cannot tell if it is being flown correctly.

Well... what a can of worms. For a start, the flag perverts of the world (and there are as many of them on t'internet as there are of the more traditional sort of pervert) can't even agree what they are called: vexillogist or vexillologist. I can put that to rest straight away - the answer is the latter (from the Greek vexillos = flag and logos = word). Especially considering the topic of this week's post, I am pleased to report that it is our cousins across the Atlantic who can't spell, but that's hardly a surprise. Anyway, I digress...

According to Wikipedia, the Flag Institute and others, the story of the flag itself is fairly simple. The crowns of England and Scotland (although not the countries themselves) were combined in 1603, and in 1606 King James issued an edict about English and Scottish ships flying a flag at sea to indicate that they were subjects of the same monarch. This flag was the simple combination of the St George's Cross and the St Andrew's Cross, and was called the "Grand Union Flag", and apart from the post civil-war Commonwealth, was adopted as the representative flag of the monarchy and (after 1708) the national flag of the new country of "Great Britain" under Queen Anne. So far, so bleedingly obvious. The difficulty from a vexillological (first time I've ever written THAT word) point of view came in 1801, with the addition of those charming Celts to the nation, so forming the "United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland". Ireland had never had a defined national flag, so the "Cross of St Patrick" (a wishy washy compromise flag that had never been widely used) was added to the old Union Flag (generally nowadays referred to as "Queen Anne's Jack") to form the new Union Flag. Hurrah.

But here's where it get complicated. For some reason, it was decided that the red saltire (diagonal cross, DO keep up) of St Patrick wouldn't look sexy enough centrally superimposed on the white saltire of St Andrew, so they shifted each limb (similar to, but not exactly) clockwise a tad. Unfortunately this meant that for the last 204 years, our national flag has had a "right way up" and a "wrong way up", and hardly anyone knows which is which. Incidentally, the unseen bit in the middle of the flag, where the displaced limbs all meet (but which is hidden under St George's cross) looks a bit swastika like to me. Weird, huh?

So here it is - Merkin's guide to our flag, and how to get it right when you are next flying the thing:

According to Wikipedia, "a mnemonic to remind those flying the flag which end is up is Wide white top - the broad white stripe (composing part of the cross of Saint Andrew) should be above the red stripe (the cross of Saint Patrick) in the upper hoist of the flag (the hoist is the half of the flag near the flagpole). Flying the Union Jack upside-down may be regarded as a distress signal."

That's fine and dandy if the Union Flag is being flown in real life, but traditionally, if a flag is just being displayed (not flown), or hung, or painted without a flagpole, the hoist is considered to be on the left. So, all the images on this page are as if there is an invisible flag pole on the left. However, if a pole is shown , or the strengthening cord that edges the hoist is visible (that runs up the pole), then the broad white stripe is uppermost on whichever side that is. Understood? Good! So, for example, at Labour's 1992 pre-election rally in Sheffield, the Union Flag was flown from the ceiling with the pole on the right, but with that all-important stripe uppermost on the left. So the flag was actually upside down, and Labour lost the election. And it's all the Union Flag's fault. Similarly, at Eurovision that year, the large Union Flag that Michael Ball wore on his suit was also upside down. And he came 2nd.

The motto of this story? Don't mess with Jack!

(Images borrowed from various open source sites, and also Justin Broderick's US Naval Site. Thanks Justin!)

Rum Ration - Unofficial Home of the Royal Navy

2006-04-07T15:36:00.000Z

Just found this marvellous site....

Royal Navy and Royal Marines Unofficial Community - Rum Ration

We'll see if it catches on, seems a slow start at the moment, but who knows.

Information Overload

2006-04-02T12:19:00.000Z

I know I'm meant to be on a break, but this is the most thought provoking thing I've read for years - The Cure for Information Overload.

Goodbyeeeeee (for now)

2006-02-27T18:44:00.000Z

Well, all good things come to an end. In my case, a mediocre but mildly diverting thing has come to an end. To be quite honest, I think I secretly hoped that this blog would be pounced on by international media, and held up as an example for everyone in the English-speaking world as to how to write witty urbane random musings. But, 'twas not to be. Nevermind, I thought, I'll carry on anyway, as it seems to bring at least half a dozen of my fellow bloggers round my pages every now and then. But, I've run out of time and motivation, and henceforth my posts will be rather infrequent, if not actually non-existent.

So, to my dwindling band of blogging "pals", thank you all very much for your visits, comments, feedback and occasional insult, and I absolutely promise I'll regularly pop by your blogs. PLEASE don't forget me, and remember ... Nietzsche's "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger" epithet is complete bollocks.

Yours

The Merkin

Global Warming - The Truth

2006-02-22T02:38:00.000Z

This post was originally a comment left by me at Mark Gamon's excellent blog. Since then, I've revised my figures (I was working of the top of my head) and done some more reading. But the gist is identical.

Global Warming - the Wikipedia article. You know what, regarding global warming, and I hate to agree with idiots like George W and non-scientific capitalists like the International Council for Capital Formation (ICCF) (a summary of their position is here), but people who refuse to spend a fortune in reducing carbon emissions are actually doing the right thing for the wrong reason. Kyoto is nothing to do with Greenhouse gases, and everything to do with reducing hydrocarbon dependency, and almost every climate scientist, geologist, government advisor and president knows it (they have been told the truth). However, the "pee-pul" haven't been getting the message about them forcing companies to find alternatives to oil by-products. So, they invent this propaganda (a big fat lie that they can easily fool the public with) that man made CO2 is the significant cause of global warming. It isn't.

ALL CO2 contributes to (although does not, in itself, cause global warming, and it would happen anyway, about now, whether we were on this planet or not. Anthropogenic (man made) CO2 emissions consist of only 6% of the total put into the atmosphere. The rest is from volcanoes, mid-ocean ridges, natural plant processes and rotting vegetable matter, all of which would occur whether humans were on the planet or not. Even the best case scenario of the much-trumpeted (but poorly understood) Kyoto Treaty is to delay an (agreed) inevitable temperature rise by 30 years - not much in the 4,600,000,000 years of the Earth's history - and certainly not the best way to spend billions of pounds more on "carbon efficiency" than anti-poverty. One unexpected volcano eruption puts more CO2 into the atmosphere than the USA has done in the last 100 years! The reason why the planet is heating up is simple - the last ice age hasn't ended yet.

When news reporters say that "CO2 emissions are causing the greenhouse effect", "the icecaps are melting" and "global warming is a serious reality", they are absolutely correct. But a lot of the temperature rise being experienced is to do with the fact that the Earth does not orbit around the sun at exactly the same distance every year - over a geologically short (but in human terms, very long) timescale this distance fluctuates with 3 very distinct periodicities, measured in tens of thousands of years. Because of these variations (called Milankovitch Cycles ) the glaciers that formed Glen Coe have retreated (which was nowt to do with any caveman) and the glaciers in the Norwegian fjords are still retreating, which is nowt to do with us. When the ice caps have completely melted, and the most recent (of about 40) ice ages has then ended, in about 40,000 years time, the next Milankovitch Cycle will start, and in about 100,000 years, France will be covered in an ice sheet.

As an aside, global warming will cause the UK (on the same Latitude as Newfoundland and Moscow) to be much MUCH colder, not warmer, as the Gulf Stream will be disrupted - even if the Earth's temperature rises by a few degrees Celsius on average. Another little appreciated fact is that if the entire Arctic icecap melts, the sea level will not rise by so much as a millimetre, as that ice floats on water, and displaces its own mass, by volume. Antarctic ice, on a continental landmass, is a different matter.

So, to summarise, human beings had nothing to do with the previous 39 ice ages, or the ones before that, and have precious little to do with this one (either its beginning, or its end). Therefore IMHO, the best way to spend countless billions is not for politicians and single-issue green loonies (who know perfectly well the truth) to spout endless bollocks about carbon-trading and CO2 emissions, but to divert the same sum into urgent R&D into sustainable energy and sustainable raw materials for when the oil runs out. THAT scares me.

EDIT: All the above opinion is mine alone. I have no axe to grind and am not in the pay of anyone who has any agenda whatsoever, and my conclusions are drawn from 4 years at a prestigious university studying this very phenomenon. There is, as Wyndham points out in his comment, stacks of arguments on both sides, but my point is that I NEVER see a balanced opinion from an unbiased source. Just as we would discount Esso's Chief Scientist telling us that oil usage doesn't cause CO2 emissions, we should also discount scientists working for enormous ecocharities financially dependent on tactics that result from scare tactics. One famous account (which I've never read, to my shame) of all the arguments is Bjorn Lomborg's "The Sceptical Environmentalist" , but there are many many others out there from people such as James Lovelock, David Bellamy and various non-partisan institutions.

Just ask yourself, if you disagree with me, who told you? And who told them? And in that chain, how many of them have taken the trouble to look at undisputed primary scientific data? I have, and I was amazed.

Royal Naval Bohemian Rhapsody

2006-02-15T12:58:00.000Z

Just found this on t'interweb - HMS CAMPELTOWN's version of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" - it's OK, but not as good as the Army's "Is this the way to Armadillo" video spoof. The air guitar bit in the middle is brilliant though!

It can also be downloaded, or played at higher resolution, here.

Green Glowing Pubic Wigs

2006-02-13T19:35:00.000Z

It's always Wyndham or Aginoth who find these things, and I can never resist them. So ... here we are again. I'm Green Lantern, apparently, despite the fact I've never heard of him. Anyone care to enlighten me?

My results:
I am Green Lantern

Green Lantern		85%
Iron Man		75%
Spider-Man		70%
Superman		60%
The Flash		60%
Hulk		55%
Supergirl		53%
Robin		50%
Catwoman		45%
Wonder Woman		43%
Batman		35%

Hot-headed. You have strong
will power and a good imagination.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

I always liked Batman, as well. Oh well.

Captain Keo

2006-02-09T13:27:00.000Z

As part of my never-ending quest to travel the world on charter airline aircraft and drink local beers with over-tanned expats, this week I have mostly been in ... Cyprus. It's a fantastic place, as long as you keep away from Agia Napa in the east and Paphos in the west, with very friendly locals, dirt cheap food and drink and signs/notices everywhere in English. And, because it was British until 1960 (part of the island still is sovereign British territory - 99 square miles of "Sovereign Base Areas"), they call their currency "Pounds" and all drive on the correct side of the road. All in all, the Lonely Planet guidebook summed it up best ... "A Greece that works".

So - great people, great scenery, more history than you can shake a Minotaur-shaped stick at and a very amenable climate. But the icing on the cake? Captain Keo. Keo beer is the island's only natively-brewed ale and is very nice indeed. Now I'm not a real ale buff (sandals and beard never suited me) - despite the infrequency with which I drink lager - but this stuff is nice. Slightly hoppy, but light and with no aftertaste, I have worked out how I'm going to make my fortune in the UK - importing Limassol's finest export. So, join with me and raise a glass. To the captain!

Anyone care to lend me an import/export business?

Neological Adventures

2006-02-05T15:41:00.000Z

The following was emailed to me last week as "New Words for 2006". A few are old favourites and can be found in the inestimable Roger's Profanisaurus, but as for the rest - edit your dictionaries accordingly, and start testiculating!

TESTICULATING. Waving your arms around and talking Bollocks.

BLAMESTORMING. Sitting around in a group, discussing why a deadline was missed or a project failed, and who was responsible.

SEAGULL MANAGER. A manager who flies in, makes a lot of noise, craps on everything, and then leaves.

ARSEMOSIS. The process by which people seem to absorb success and advancement by sucking up to the boss rather than working hard.

SALMON DAY. The experience of spending an entire day swimming upstream only to get screwed and die.

SITCOMs. Single Income, Two Children, Oppressive Mortgage. What yuppies turn into when they have children and one of them stops working to stay home with the kids or start a "home business".

SINBAD. single working girls. Single income, no boyfriend and desperate.

PERCUSSIVE MAINTENANCE. The fine art of whacking the crap out of an electronic device to get it to work again.

OHNOSECOND. That minuscule fraction of time in which you realize that you've just made a BIG mistake (e.g. you've hit 'reply all')

GOING FOR A McSHIT. Entering a fast food restaurant with no intention of buying food, you're just going to the bog. If challenged by a pimply staff member, your declaration to them that you'll buy their food afterwards is known as a McShit with Lies.

AEROPLANE BLONDE. One who has bleached/dyed her hair but still has a 'black box'.

AUSSIE KISS. Similar to a French Kiss, but given down under.

BEER COAT. The invisible but warm coat worn when walking home at 3am after a booze session.

BEER COMPASS. The invisible device that ensures your safe arrival home after booze session, even though you're too drunk to remember where you live, how you got here, and where you've come from.

BREAKING THE SEAL. Your first pee in the pub, usually after 2 hours of drinking. After breaking the seal of your bladder, repeat visits to the toilet will be required every 10 or 15 minutes for the rest of the night.

GREYHOUND. A very short skirt, only an inch from the hare.

MILLENNIUM DOMES. The contents of a Wonderbra, i.e. extremely impressive when viewed from the outside, but there's actually fuck all in there worth seeing.

MYSTERY BUS. The bus that arrives at the pub on Friday night while you're in the toilet after your 10th pint, and whisks away all the unattractive people so the pub is suddenly packed with stunners when you come back in.

PICASSO BUM. A woman whose knickers are too small for her, so she looks like she's got four buttocks. Similar clothing often seen on the chest of fat girls in Newcastle - the "Picasso Bra".

Think Once, Think Twice, Think .... Never

2006-02-01T13:03:00.000Z

This spoof BBC news page that was emailed to me made me laugh, although it's a week out of date. I actually saw the whale ("Celebrity Big Blubber", apparently) by the Houses of Parliament, and recognised it immediately as I had driven my little ship (inadvertently, I hasten to add) amongst a school (pod?) of pilot whales in Lyme Bay about 5 years ago. Unlike dolphins, who love playing in the bow-wave of boats, the whales gave us a stiff ignoring and went to look for Lib-Dem MPs, I guess. After all, everyone knows, dolphins are gay sharks.

I have lots of friends who ride motorbikes safely and considerately. However, there's also a fair number out there who seem to be on a suicide mission, and who do not exactly help their standing amongst us 4-wheeled types by putting their headlights on full-beam the entire time. I don't doubt how cool you look on a bike (in fact, I'm rather jealous), but every time I'm tempted to take my CBT (Compulsory Basic Training, which you have to do before you even get on a moped, apparently) I can't help but remember the 2 dead biking friends (actually, 1 is still alive, technically, if you get my meaning) and 3 dead sailors of my acquaintance, all of whom were in road accidents that weren't their fault. To say nothing of the fact my mother would be mortified. So good luck to them all, and damn their eyes for not being able to be caught by the new shiny forward-facing 'TruVelo' speed cameras that Hampshire Police have installed everywhere (no number plate on the front of a bike, see). Good luck, and stay alive, you jammy sods.

In other news - buy a tee-shirt with Latin on it. How very cool (I can imagine Patroclus wearing one). Or buy a Liberal Democrat tee-shirt with an amusingly inappropriate slogan. Like "I want a Hughes one". Or "Oaten So Good". As Finbarr Saunders would say - "yuk yuk tee hee".

Cruisin'

2006-01-21T07:34:00.000Z

There's always been gay rumours about diminutive cult-following actor Tom Cruise, as if anyone these days outside of the Leviticus-tastic US Bible Belt (who are hardly avid viewers of his movies anyway) gives a shit about that sort of thing. The odd thing is that they persist in spite of lawsuits, lack of pictures, a couple of children (I think?) and a succession of marriages. If I were a gay Hollywood actor trying to keep my sexuality quiet (and I'm NOT saying he is), the last thing I'd do is threaten a cartoon series with legal action for broadcasting a series of thinly-veiled double entendres about a plotline that involved me hiding in a child's bedroom wardrobe.

But that's apparently exactly what Tom Cruise (an odd choice of surname given the connotations of the word, and the fact that he was born Thomas Mapother) has done with an episode of South Park, allegedly threatening to sue any British TV Channel that broadcasts the latest installment of the scatological Colorado-based cartoon series. In the hilarious offending scene, Tom Cruise locks himself in Stan's closet after his acting "skills" are compared unfavourably with those of Leonardo di Caprio. What follows is that various people, including Nicole Kidman, fellow loony Scientologist John Travolta and a gun-wielding R Kelly, appearing in Stan's bedroom and begging him to "come out of the closet" no fewer than 28 times. It's VERY funny, and thanks to the lovely Smit from www.smithappens.com, you can view a clip from the episode by clicking the dodgy photo above, or just here. Enjoy!

SWM, GSOH, WLTM SWF for N/S fun.

2006-01-20T17:42:00.000Z

It's always been a joke amongst my friends that the personal advertisements in local newspapers and Free-Ads-type publications are a goldmine of blindingly obvious euphemisms and barely disguised descriptions of major personality flaws. I've been compiling a list for a blog post for a while now and, together with a few pointers from the world of the internet, here's what I've come up with. Let me know if you have any additions.

WOMEN SEEKING MEN

Adventurous = Owns strap-on dildo and will use it. On first date.
Athletic = Flat-chested.
Average looking = Fat and very ugly.
Beautiful = Either a) Liar or b) Major personality flaw.
Bubbly = Fat
Cuddly = Fat
Curvaceous = Fat
Educated = Didn't lose her virginity when she was at university.
Feminist = Lesbian.
Forty-ish = Just turned 50.
Free spirit = Hippy on the dole.
Looking for friends = On the rebound and desperate. Has a child.
Fun = Fat and irritating.
Gentle = Men walk all over her
Good Listener = Stupid. Will stalk you when dumped.
Good Sense of Humour = Laughs at Xmas cracker jokes. Normally fat.
Happy = Drunk by lunchtime.
Loving = Desperate for husband.
New-Age = Hairy hippy on the dole.
Old-fashioned = Bad taste in clothes. No sex until 10th date.
Open-minded = Goes like a belt-fed wombat.
Outgoing = Fat, irritating and loud.
Passionate = Cries a lot. Will stalk you when dumped.
Poet = Hippy who works at Starbucks
Professional = Lost her virginity at university. No friends at work.
Reubenesque = Morbidly obese.
Romantic = Owns many teddy bears.
Slim = Flat-chested.
Sociable = Alcoholic. Wants to go dogging.
Voluptuous = Makes "Reubenesque" women look thin.
Wants Soulmate = Will stalk you even before being dumped.
Young at heart = Just turned 55.

MEN SEEKING WOMEN

Athletic = Played sport at school. Subscribes to Sky Sports.
Average looking = Looks hideous in daylight.
Caring = Desperate.
Cuddly = Fat and lives with his mother.
Educated = Will patronise you. Dresses like someone 10 yrs younger.
Free Spirit = Wants to sleep with your best friend. And your sister.
Fun = Wants to take you dogging.
Good looking = Arrogant. And good looking.
Good Sense of Humour = The pub bore.
Very good looking = Very stupid and not very good looking.
Honest = Married and a liar.
Huggable = Fat and hairy
Looking for friends = Will shag you after he's got you drunk.
Mature = Older than your father
Open-minded = Wants to sleep with your best friend. And your sister. At the same time.
Poet = Gay
Sensitive = Virgin
Very sensitive = Gay virgin
Professional = Wanker. Will dump you first time you refuse to have sex.
Rugby build = Very fat.
Sporty = Women a very long way behind his favourite football team in terms of priority.
Spiritual = Felt guilty once after having sex with a nun.
Stable = Arrested for stalking, but not convicted.
Stocky = Fat, hairy and smelly.
Thoughtful = Says "Excuse me" when he farts.
Urban = Chav.
Young at heart = 45 years old. Dresses like a poor 25 year old. Wants to go out with 18 year old.

MEN SEEKING MEN

18 years old = Either a) 15 years old or b) 23 years old.
24 years old = 29 years old.
27 years old = 32 years old.
29 years old = 34 years old.
Active = Angry. Possibly married.
Bisexual = Gay.
Cross-dresser = Married.
Curious = Gay.
Discreet = Married.
Non scene = Ashamed of being gay.
Ready for relationship = Reached the 100 different men stage and wears colostomy bag.
Passive = Quiet. Wants to be Active.
Versatile = Active.
Wants Fun = Wants fumble on the common.
Wants "No Strings" fun = Married and wants fumble on the common.

The Hoff is Hooked On A Feeling.

2006-01-18T15:00:00.000Z

Click on his devil eyes to see the mighty Hoff "hooked on a feeling" (or click here). So THAT's why he's so popular in Germany. It doesn't download anything, it's safe for work, and it's addictive. WHAT posessed him?

RECENT UPDATE: Courtesy of Fuckkit's comment,why not play "Hoff Invaders" as well? Click on the image below. What IS it about him?

Hoff Invaders

R-E-S-P-E-C-T Men Who Hit Women.

2006-01-17T02:02:00.000Z

Came across this little gem in (where else?) The Guardian public sector jobs supplement. This infuriating document contains more than a hundred pages of non-jobs, all of which are highly paid and come with gold-plated pensions and, worse of all, are funded by us.

But this job takes the biscuit. If you fancy being paid twice the salary of a nurse (or 3 times that of a junior soldier, sent to die for his country) in order to "develop a system of accreditation for domestic violence perpetrator programmes and associated support systems", why not apply to work for "Respect"? It seems that George "I salute Saddam's indefatigability" Galloway's political party has a sideline in teaching wife-beaters how to get qualifications in their chosen hobby. Yes yes, I realise that this organisation is probably not the same as the party of choice of Bethnal Green's fundmentalist "community", but with the word "RESPECT" being in the news at the moment thanks to His Toniness' latest soundbite, it seems somehow apposite.

"Me, guv? I've got a GCSE in slapping the missus, and a NVQ in shouting "slaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag" the loudest."

The
world's
gone
madder.

Top of The Pops

2006-01-16T15:45:00.000Z

I was recently sent these scans of old LPs, and am so intrigued by the following albums, I'm off to invest in some fantastic software that "rips" old records to iTunes. I particularly feel sorry for Julie, and can't help wondering if she made it to 17 without committing suicide.

Oh Julie. It's time.

The "Minister Quartet" prove that New Labour ministers aren't the only ones to indulge in a bit of touching.

Don't move, mother, the brown jellyfish has landed on your head.

"HOW many inches, Tino?"

I use my ESP to predict that major dental surgery is needed.

Second man on the right - where is his right hand. Could that explain the facial expression of the second one on the left. And what is the front man saying?

Now for hire in the Sidcup area for £40 per night. No bar mitzvahs.

Joyce shows that for 50c, she'll do anything.

From the days when ensuring that outfits matched was more important that ensuring that they didn't make you vomit.

The shoes, the facial expressions, the anguished cries, the pain of the girl on the left. Classic.

Welcome to Film 2006B

2006-01-16T14:29:00.000Z

*WILD, UNSTOPPABLE, APPLAUSE*

Thank you, thank you. Hello everyone, and welcome to Film 2006B. I'm your host for tonight, Desmond Fagina, and today's presentation has been brought to you by the lovely Miss Patroclus from Quinquireme, in Surrey. Before we review the gay cowboys, big monkeys and barely-disguised-leonine-messiahs, let's get down to business with our first feature - "TAGGED". Here's our special pubic correspondent, The Merkin.

ONE (1) earliest film-related memory: Going to the now-departed Regal Cinema in Henley-on-Thames with my mum and brother, and listening to the amazing organ playing before the film, as this vision of Art Deco neon musically rose up from a hidden pit in front of the screen.

TWO (2) favorite lines from movies: As Patroclus says, anything from Withnail & I has the status of instant classic dialogue, so I'm going to nominate almost any line from there as the best in the universe, especially if Uncle Monty is involved. I shall then nominate 2 lines from other movies, as it's my blog. My favourite non-Monty Withnail line (of many) has to be the following dialogue:

Withnail: Scrubbers.
Schoolgirl: Up yours, grandad.
Withnail: Scrubbers. Scrubbers.
Peter Marwood: Shut up.
Withnail: Little tarts, they love it.

I've always liked Dr Evil's monologue in the therapy scene from the first Austin Powers film, because it's a film as puerile and silly as I have always wanted to be myself. I have always tried to memorise this, but frequently failed:

Dr. Evil: The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.

But the only line from a movie that I've used in a professional capacity is this, from the otherwise dire "The Rock", between Sean Connery (as John Mason) and the fucking awful Nicholas Cage (as Stanley Goodspeed):

John Mason: Are you sure you're ready for this?
Stanley Goodspeed: I'll do my best.
John Mason: Your "best"! Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen.
Stanley Goodspeed: Carla was the prom queen.
John Mason: Really?
Stanley Goodspeed: [cocks his gun] Yeah.

THREE (3) jobs you'd do if you could not work in the industry: Rather obviously, I don't work in "the industry", but my list of aspirations include:

Prime Minister.
Captain of Sir Donald Gosling's motoryacht, the MV LEANDER.
MD of a multi-national adult film import business.

FOUR (4) jobs you actually have held outside the industry:

Mushroom picker in a dark, wet, stinking railway arch, plucking the fungi from pure horse manure slurry, lit only by UV light. And it was cold.
When Danone changed the name of one of their yoghurt product lines from "Baby Danone" to "My First Danone", someone had to go around their refrigerated UK distribution centre and stick a label on every single yoghurt pot in the warehouse (over 100,000 of them) saying "Soon to be known as 'My First Danone'". That someone was me. I very nearly became frostbitten.
Pot washer and occasional checkout monkey at the staff canteen for the lorry drivers who worked at, and delivered to, the Marks & Spencer distribution centre in Thatcham, Berkshire.
A very junior civil servant in the MoD, booking in torn/ripped/damaged fabric stores items from Army depots around the UK to be repaired by the army of lovely, but slightly daunting, seamstresses. This was when I first realised that the military spoke a different language from everyone else. For example, a sleeping bag is known as a "Bag, Sleeping".

THREE (3) book authors I like: Julian Barnes, Patrick O'Brian and Annie Proulx.

TWO (2) movies you'd like to remake or properties you'd like to adapt: I'd like to remake any film with Nicholas Cage in it, replacing him by either a narcoleptic monkey, or a dressmaker's mannequin. Either way, it would be a fantastic improvement.

ONE (1) screenwriter you think is underrated: Whoever wrote the amazing 1997 movie, The Game. One of the best films ever, but it completely failed to register on the public's conscience at the time of it's release. One of the cleverest plots and tightly-wound storylines I've ever seen. According to IMDB, the writers were called John Brancato and Michael Ferris, who always seem to work together. However, looking at their other credits, they haven't exactly troubled the Oscars nomination committee recently.

I'm not going to tag anyone else, as the questionnaire is obviously designed for movie-industry types, but that was fun. Thanks, P!

A Fatwa Lot of Good That's Going to Do

2006-01-11T17:25:00.001Z

Now I try not to get involved with religion very often, as it all seems a bit silly that Free Presbyterians of the Western Isles believe that only they will go to heaven (it'll be very empty then, won't it?!) and that Jews think you should chop bits off your old fella to please God and other such strange supernatural goings on. Besides, there's a TV series on at the moment with Richard Dawkins that rehearses the arguments much better than I could. But I couldn't help notice the following item on a news website:

Naked-marriage-sex ban
From: Agence France-Presse

From correspondents in Cairo
January 11, 2006

AN Egyptian cleric's controversial fatwa claiming that nudity during sexual intercourse invalidates a marriage has uncovered a rift among Islamic scholars.

According to the religious edict issued by Rashad Hassan Khalil, a former dean of Al-Azhar University's faculty of Sharia (or Islamic law), "being completely naked during the act of coitus annuls the marriage". The religious decree sparked a hot debate on the private satellite network Dream's popular religious talk show and on the front page of Al-Masri Al-Yom, Egypt's leading independent daily newspaper.

Suad Saleh, who heads the women's department of Al-Azhar's Islamic studies faculty, pleaded for "anything that can bring spouses closer to each other" and rejected the claim that nudity during intercourse could invalidate a union.

During the live televised debate, Islamic scholar Abdel Muti dismissed the fatwa: "Nothing is prohibited during marital sex, except of course sodomy."

For his part, Al-Azhar's fatwa committee chairman Abdullah Megawar argued that married couples could see each other naked but should not look at each other's genitalia and suggested they cover up with a blanket during sex.

Um. OK. It all seems a bit barmy to me. I don't think that a disputed fatwa from one scholar would stop a devout Muslim from having a sneaky peek at his wife's naughty bits anyway, but the fact that there's a dedicated "fatwa committee" that looks at things like this took me a little by surprise. I can't quite imagine the Church of England doing the same....

PRESS RELEASE (Reuters) - Vicar reluctant to commit himself on the allowed use profanities following Parochial Church Council discussions of forbidden language. During heated scenes in the Bridgewater Village Hall, the Naughtiness (Male Genitalia) Committee of the Gurney Slade Parish Council once again failed to reach a decision on whether the word "willy" is an acceptable alternative to "member" in the monthly 'Thou Shalt Not' section of the Parish Newsletter. The issue has caused controversy since the celebrated 1993 instruction forbidding the use of the word "fanny" to be uttered by non-American citizens within parish boundaries.

The motion from the Somerset WI to only allow the word "penis" to be used was rejected following an impassioned plea from the churchwarden to consider "John Thomas" when used in a humourous context, and the issue was later postponed for further discussions to take place after next month's Village Fete and the subsequent 'Save the Church Roof' Scout Jamboree. The Reverend Baxter Falletio, vicar of St Nicholas the Lesser in the village of Gurney Slade, said afterwards "it's a victory for common sense and those who like to say 'cock' in everyday conversation."

The World's Gone Mad.

Thai Die Tee-Shirt

2006-01-11T16:15:00.000Z

A double celebration last night, as one of my housemates has just got engaged to his lovely girlfriend (AND I found out that girls don't like the word "fiancee". Nor do they like being called "Beyonce the Fiancee". And they especially do not like being telephoned at 3 o'clock in the morning and called "Beyonce the Fiancee". Some people have NO sense of humour...) and the 3 of us blokes who live in my place went for a fantastic Thai curry to mark the event. After a very nice meal, we went to our new local and drank copious amounts of red wine, one bottle of which was donated by the very nice owner of the pub who listened very politely as we told him how to make his pub better.

ANYWAY, we were soon joined (inadvertently - he stole one of our stools) by Elmer J Chickenshit III - a very thick-skinned, and thick, American who was in the pub on his own. Now I'm a complete lover of the USA, but this guy made me want to nuke the place. After he barged into our circle (and he refused to introduce himself or tell us him name) we had the following surreal conversation:

"So what are you doing here in Portsmouth then?"
"I'm in the US Air Force, on exchange in the UK"
"Really? Are you over here working with the Royal Air Force?"
"No, I'm in the US Air Force"
"But you must be working with the British over here?"
"No, I'm in the US Air Force"
"But you said that you're on exchange here. Are you working with the Navy in Portsmouth?"
"No, I'm in the US Air Force"
"But you must be working with the British Armed Forces if you're on an exchange"
"No, I'm in the US Air Force"
"But .. oh never mind. [At this stage we decided to have some fun with him] So you're in the US Army?"
"No, I'm in the US Air Force"
"Is that part of the US Navy?"
"No, I'm in the US Air Force"
"Oh, I see. Like the US Marine Corps"
"No, I'm in the US Air Force"
"And you're a sailor then. How interesting."
"No, I'm in the US Air Force"
etc

At 12.30am, we stumbled home and it soon became apparent that one of the three of us wasn't as 'pub fit' as the other two. Our suspicions were first aroused when he collapsed on the floor in the hallway and started snoring. He couldn't in fact be woken, so we were about to put a duvet on him (he's 6 ft 4 - and uncarriable up the stairs) when he let out an almighty belch and promptly showed us what his Thai meal looked like 4 hours after being eaten. We thought this was hilarious, and took photos for future blackmailing purposes. We then convinced him to stumble upstairs and left him asleep in the recovery position while we scooped, mopped and disinfected.

Annoyingly the next day (ie this morning), the smug git (with no hangover because his stomach was strangely empty of alcohl overnight) found the pictures on my camera, deleted them, and wiped the camera card clean. BUT he'd forgotten about the "Sent Messages" folder on the PC (didn't you, mate?), so one image remains. Click on the magic 3D button (a pixellated and reblurred close up of the image - ain't technology great?!?) above for the full technicolour glory - WARNING - IMAGE IS (UNCHARACTERISTICALLY FOR ME) NOT VERY PLEASANT. Best you don't look if you have eaten recently. Or even if you don't want to see a not-very-nice image of my lovely marble tiles being defiled. Actually, you'd have to be a bit weird to want to look anyway, only not as strange as you'd have to be to post it!

I did warn you...

BIRD FLU - DANGER DANGER (not)

2006-01-10T11:58:00.000Z

From: Lee Potter[mailto:lee.potter3@fco.gov.uk]
To: Press Release Department
Sent: 10 January 2006 11:48

Subject: Foreign Office Travel Warning - Bird Flu

BIRD FLU - MESSAGE TO ALL TRAVELLERS

With the outbreak of Bird Flu in Turkey, and the usual hysterical headlines in the Daily Mail, the Foreign Office has today issued the following Travel Advisory Notice:

As well as the whole of Turkey, the following specific places are now considered to be Medium Risk areas of Bird Flu, according to The Worldwide Epidemiological Etymological Taskforce (TWEET):

Gander (Newfoundland, Canada)
Partridge (Kansas, USA)
Goose Green (Falklands)
Robin (Manitoba, Canada)
Starlington (Alabama, USA)
Crowborough (Berkshire, UK)
Pigeon Street (CITV)
Sparrow Bush (NY, USA)
Northern Dove (Papua New Guinea)
Ravensdale (Ireland)
Gull Bay (Ontario, Canada)
Blackbird Landing (Delaware, USA)
Finchley, (KwaZulu Natal, South Africa)
Peacock Siding (Queensland, Australia)

and…

Great Tit (Jordan)

Travellers are advised to avoid these areas if at all possible, but if absolutely necessary to visit, then possession of the 2003 Daily Mail “SARS – It Will Kill Us All” Handy Travel Kit (one handkerchief, two “Baby Wet Ones” and a small prophylactic) should provide 100% protection.

Yours

pp Lee Potter

A L Armist-Nonsense CMG LVO

Deputy Permanent Under Secretary
Directorate of Scaremongering and Reaction
Foreign & Commonwealth Office

A Leo in London - HEAR ME ROAR

2006-01-08T00:28:00.000Z

It's late on Sunday night. I've just taken the slow train from London Waterloo to the sunny South Coast, with my head spinning and my speech slurred. You could say I've just been on what-we-used-to-call a "Leo" (as in Sayer - "All Dayer"). My mood on the journey back was worsened by the workshy arseholes at the RMT union deciding to go on strike from 1830 because someone asked them to do some work for a change, but bettered by a couple of hilarious Ricky Gervais podcasts that I listened to in the absence of a newspaper to read (lucky really - I would have struggled to focus).

But it wasn't all a weekend of alcoholic debauchery and romantic dinners in the metropolis - I was doing some serious research as to what, in my occasionally humble opinion, are the top 3 pubs in London. As a non-native, but regular social visitor to our nation's capital, I am fully aware that my overall pubbing experience is limited compared to a born-and-bred Cockney sparrow, but the wonderful thing about my opinions are that they frequently coincide with cold hard fact. Lucky me. So here they are - Merkin's top 3 London pubs - the official list:

The Grenadier, Knightsbridge. Almost impossible to find, used to be the Duke of Wellington's officer's mess. Very old, very haunted, fantastic food and beer. The best Bloody Mary in England. 9.5/10 (as I didn't see the ghost).
The Prince of Wales, Clapham Old Town. A cross between a junk shop and the staff canteen for everyone in Clapham who isn't a Ben Sherman-wearing spikey-haired coke-addict merchant banker. The "POW" has good beer, a great atmosphere, and is an all round eccentric but friendly place. 9/10.
The White Horse, Parson's Green. The "Sloaney Pony" - unofficial HQ of the non-pretentious regiment of the "we don't give a shit about living south of the river you ponce" brigade. Superb outside in the summer, and a perfect layout and arrangement inside all year round. 8/10.

Which brings me on to the game which one does when drunk, and when one's little brother is close enough to be able to inflict pain. Yes, it's the quickly-moving-knife-between-the-fingers game. I'm shit at this game in real life, because I'm completely malcoordinated, and having just played the online version (click the lovely image to play) I realise I'm shit at that as well. Well done me. It's a good game though!

And if that isn't enough excitement for you - check out this amazing (and I mean mind-blowingly amazing) amateur video of Russians jumping across buildings. It's hosted on Google Video, so there's no file to download, it streams in a webpage. (I was sent there by Brock).

Swedish Singing Horses

2006-01-07T01:26:00.000Z

Click here to hear the Swedish singing horses. Touch their noses (muzzles? snouts? help!) and gently drift off to their lullaby. The weirdest post I've ever made. But the best horses I've ever heard sing - and not a rectal foreign body to be seen...

Doctor Proctor's Dilemma

2006-01-06T13:45:00.000Z

There's quite a famous article (supposedly from a 1986 issue of "Surgery" magazine) entitled "Foreign Rectal Bodies". Every few years someone you know emails it out and we can all giggle about people who tell doctors that they were (hoovering naked/drinking wine naked/taking the gerbil for a walk naked) - delete as applicable - and when they slipped over, something became inadvertently wedged up their backside. The poor lambs. There's is (as you might imagine) a huge amount of information about this topic on the internet, but I particularly like the following abstract from "Anal Eroticism: Two Unusual Rectal Foreign Bodies and Their Removal" by Drs. Roy W. Graves, E. Jackson Allison, Jr., Robert R. Bass, and Richard C. Hunt - Southern Medical Journal -- Vol.76 No.5.

"In one review of colorectal foreign bodies and their management, all patients were male and mostly in the fourth and fifth decades of life. Most often the foreign bodies had been self-introduced. All patients had physical examination, biplane abdominal roentgenograms, and proctosigmoidoscopy to determine location, type, and number of foreign bodies. Transanal manipulation and extraction of the foreign bodies were attempted only after regional anesthesia. After removal, a repeat proctosigmoidoscopic examination was done to assess the condition of the bowel wall, and the patients were then observed for 24 hours for possible complications. Sohn and Weinstein reported more than 100 cases of successful removal of foreign objects in the office, with local, perianal, and submucosal anesthesia."

But now - I have proof that these things exist in areas outside of medical journals and sicko websites. Picture the scene - you're an adolescent boy, feeling a bit horny, and your parents have gone out for the evening. You find your sister's small vibrator and decide to do a bit of self-exploration. Unfortunately, in the process you lose your little pink friend - ahem - inside yourself. You try for a long time to remove said item, but only succeed in pushing it further inside. You panic, and embarrassingly make your way to A&E, to be confronted by two junior doctors who (whilst trying not to wet themselves) arrange for surgical removal of the toy.

Now, put yourself in the ethical dilemma of the junior doctor. You take X-Rays, and after a successful operation (a dildectomy?) telephone the poor lad's mum to come and pick him up. Just as worried parents burst into the ward, wondering why their son is in hospital, you choose that moment to return a certain pink item of property back to his possession. Furthermore, you take photographs of the X-Rays to email to all your friends, who then do the same, and so on and so on.

And the ethical dilemma? It' s this: Just how much of an evil bastard do you have to be to be a junior doctor these days? Next time I prepare cucumbers, I'm doing it with my pants on. For a change....

The Queen Escapes From The Police...

2006-01-05T14:05:00.000Z

I don't go to nightclubs very often, and even then it's normally under duress. Over the summer, however, I was forced into quite a few sticky overpriced hellholes in a period of 6 weeks, and forced to dance like my own Dad to music that I should (but didn't) recognise. It was while hiding by the bar in a nightclub in Guernsey, however, that I caught sight of a hilarious music video on the big screen next to the dancefloor. It appeared to be CCTV footage of the Queen herself escaping from Buckingham Palace in full regalia, and going out for a night of debauchery in Soho.

Since then, I asked all my muscially-literate friends about this track, browsed search engines and kept an eye on the satellite music TV channel, but all to no avail. No-one in the world had heard of it, at least that I could find. It is, after all, difficult to discover the track name and artist of a song with no information other than "the video has footage of the Queen in a lap dancing club, honest" (cue pitying looks)! But 6 months later ... I have succeeded thanks to the wonderful world of the new iTunes, where you can browse music videos by "theme", even if you don't own an iPod Video. So, no thanks to the useless teeny-screaming forums at ~~Clipland.com~~ various music video fansites on which I left messages, I now know about this brilliant video (even if the music track is not one of the artists' best).

The track: "U Don't Know Me" (from the 2005 Album - "Singles (XL)")
The artist: Basement Jaxx
The video: Directed by Matt Kirkby, created by XL Recordings, it can be seen (legally and free!) by either clicking the image above, or clicking here (low resolution here).

Answers.com says "The video for "U Don't Know Me" featured a drunken, carousing, and violent Queen Elizabeth II lookalike and was banned from daytime rotation on MTV". Apparently MTV only banned it because of one short clip of the Queen grabbing a lap-dancer's bum. The track itself was released in June 2005, but only reached number 15 in the charts.

I just wonder whether Her Majesty has seen it? If she has, it's unlikely we'll see a Sir Matt Kirkby for a while....

The Bear Necessities for 2006

2006-01-04T22:35:00.000Z

So. It's 2006. Yippee. Another year further away from my childhood. This year, for the first time ever, I held a New Year's Eve party at my house, you know, and all of .... 4 people came. Of those 4, one was me, one is going out with me, one was my housemate and one is going out with my housemate. So, after some nifty arithmetic, you can calculate that no one else actually turned up. I'm not exactly unpopular, I hasten to explain, but once you delete the many people that I didn't invite (some for unfortunate reasons of tactful necessity), the explanations were that my sister and her bloke were ill, lots of my other (richer!) friends were doing exotic things abroad, my housemate's friends were in Scotland and my other half's friends all cancelled on the 30th. Actually, it was a fun party, with far too much booze, food, alcohol, canapes, champagne and (my first ever) lasagne for 4 people (I'd naively assumed 10!) - and weren't those London fireworks amazing? - so it was 100% worthwhile. It was just a bit quieter than I was expecting!

As is traditional for rapidly fattening people like me, I even made a New Year's Resolution at midnight - to try and get back down to the weight I was in the summer (that's actually 13 lbs away - shit). I've been trying for a few days now but am rather hungry all the time (see image above - natch). Just as soon as I've finished all the food from the party, I'll start a diet, I promise....

Anyway, after the hangover had worn off on Sunday ~~morning~~ afternoon, and I'd travelled to London for a few days to relax a bit more (can you tell I'm on leave?), I returned to the blogosphere tonight to try and catch up with my old pals/gurus/role models from the linkstrip on the right. So, after blushing at Aginoth's extensive vocabulary (Roger and his amazing Profanisaurus have a competitor, it seems!), I clicked on LC's place for a read. At the end of his manifesto for becoming the next Withnail, he mentioned - in passing - that the latest Comic Strip had made him laugh.

So I clicked on his link (http://www.scarybear.org/) and that was the rest of my evening gone. The guy from British Colombia that created the strip, Jason Pultz, is clearly a comic genius. Every week since 2001, he creates a cartoon with a collection of characters including Cowboy Rick (drunk cowboy), Scarybear (not very scary bear), Philis (local crack whore) and Bird Boy (a half bird/half boy whose freakish nature is due to his mother's heavy use of crack while she was pregnant). It has plotlines that come from the dark recesses of a mind that only a true Canadian can possess, it is definitely not PC, and Jason even appears in it himself, even if his cartoon character looks considerably more like this male model than his band's photos suggest (sorry Jason)!

Consider me a convert. I'm now a weekly subscriber (after 2 hours of reading the "back issues", I think I know who I want to be), and I've even bought Jason a pint via Paypal to thank him for the laughs. Go on, have a read - you know you want to (and wasn't I right about the JCB Song?!). If you're still not convinced - here are my favourite three issues:

"Allergic Attraction" - Cowboy Rick goes on a date.
"Birds and the Beets" - Jason Pultz pitches book idea.
"Robopicture" - Scarybear and Rick discuss art.

Oh, and as for my other blogging pals - I'll promise I'll read your efforts tomorrow. Probably. Happy New(ish) Year!

Of Lights and Men

2005-12-27T14:26:00.000Z

Merry grazed knuckles to both my readers and a happy MG-Rover-executive ear-Boxing Day. I had a marvellous Christmas back in the family bosom, with lots of "Oh God even my Mum thinks I'm middle aged" presents, and after 3 days of Waltons-type bliss I had planned to drive the 60 miles home from my parents' house yesterday evening (after restorative canapes at my parents' neighbours' house) . Unfortunately, my nearside dipped beam headlight lamp (or "bulb" to you non-pedants out there!) had blown the day before, so it needed replacing before I drove home at night. Being a rejected-but-adherent-to-the-principles Boy Scout, I had purchased a replacement lamp the same day from a local branch of ~~surly-spotty-youth-employment-industries~~ Halfords.

"How difficult can this be?", I thought to myself, so merrily started, at 2.30pm yesterday, on the Owner's-Manual-recommended technique of changing the lamp. So, after swotting up on what I had to do, I removed the access hatch in the wheel arch, reached up inside the engine bay (it can't be done from under the bonnet), removed the rubber headlight unit protector and unclipped the wire lamp-retaining clip. So far, so good (although it was 2.45pm and starting to drizzle).

Unfortunately, just as I removed the duff lamp, the said wire retaining clip sprung off it's hinge and onto the tarmac. "No problem", thought I, and after putting the shiny new lamp in the holder tried to fit the clip back on. And tried. And tried and tried and tried. For 2 hours, as it became pitch black, I tried to get 4 poxy metal prongs into 4 poxy metal prong holders. I went online (to the excellent MG-Rover Enthusiasts Website- as I have a very sexy MG ZT - the last decent British Car ever made) and threw my problem at the merciful hands of the Forum users. The only reply I had said "Quick answer to headlamp clips........ Dont let them fall off ! If they do its a lot lot quicker to remove the front bumper and headlamp assy to refit it, beats scratching your arms to bits and struggling in a place you can't see." Hmmmm.

This was knowledgeable, but not exactly helpful, so I explored further in the interweb. I found (from the same site) an excellent Technical Data Sheet that explained how to do it as long as the clip doesn't fall off. Aaaaaaaaaaaargh. So, in desperation, at about 6pm and with my knees in agony, my hands scratched to pieces and my patience exhausted, I admitted defeat and (slightly guiltily) called the RAC. Two hours later, the super efficient and very nice patrolman arrived, immediately grasped the situation and removed the entire nearside front wheel, fusebox, intake hose and everything in his way, all to get an uninterrupted view and access to the headlight unit in question.

After an hour, he said "It's impossible. Sorry mate, have a good Christmas anyway", fitted all the bits back together (except the f@*%ing headlight lamp, of course) and drove off, reminding me it was illegal to drive on the road with faulty headlights at any time of the day, but I was unlikely to get caught if I did so in daylight. So he disappeared, I went next door, ate my neighbours' canapes, returned to my parents' house, remade the bed and played Yahtzee with the family until 2am. While getting drunk.

No wonder they went bust. Bastards.

EBay Comedy Genius

2005-12-23T14:14:00.000Z

It's a shame that bidding has closed for this item - else I'd be buying it for my brother just for the description. You HAVE to read this...

eBay: DKNY Men's Leather Pants I Unfortunately Own (item 8335653541 end time Sep-23-05 12:50:38 PDT)

The best thing about this item though, is the seller's style of leaving feedback. The guy in question (his user name is bsack, but his real name is Brian Sack, a brilliant US comedy actor) is a comedy genius. Here are some of the feedback comments he has left for others (see the original page here!):

Consider me a lazy, cat-poo hating American happy with my electro-litterbox.
Buyer now owns the first car made solely from pistachio shells and barley. A+
Good transaction, though I'd hoped for $2 Million.
Finally! Someone bought the sweater that cursed my family for 12 generations. A+
Look for an article on the greatness of this transaction in the May issue of GQ.
Choose between Anna Nicole Smith and this transaction? This transaction. A+
I often wake up at night to the fond memories of this transaction. A+
This transaction was classy, unlike the Oscars with Chris Rock. A+
This was the kind of good, well-rounded transaction you can't find in Belarus.
Long after I am gone this transacion will live on. That makes me happy.
A+ with an extra + for good measure. And a smiley face and a thumbs up
Words can not express the greatness of this transaction.

And my favourite 2 comments:

Great transaction. At no time did we discuss Michael Bolton.
A great transaction, which my skrieking baby can attest to.

As from now, my EBay feedback is going to be a lot more like Mr Sack (see also his www.banterist.com) and a lot less of the rubbish "AAAAAAAAAAAAAA+++++++++++" that everyone else leaves. Merry Christmas!

Merkin's South American Adventure

2005-12-19T12:57:00.001Z

Well, I'm back. What a trip! Although I spent the majority of the time acting as a cross between a Butlins Redcoat and a dashing rent-a-dinner-host, it was still an amazing experience, on a vessel that can only be decribed as a floating 5* hotel. My main job was to help that day's selection of several dozen charming, but not-exactly-mobile, septugenarians on and off my allocated coach for their daily excursion, counting them in the process - woe betide the Tour Escort who mislaid a passenger! Anyway, armed with my cheapo digital camera I tried my hardest to capture my favourite parts of my cruise in the artiest way possible. I am fully aware that if I were to sign up to a whizzy photo hosting service like Flickr, I'd probably be booted off for incompetence, but I'm rather pleased with most of the following images as they do, after all, remind me exactly what I saw over the last 3 weeks.

First stop was Buenos Aires, which now is the proud holder of the prestigious title "Merkin's Favourite City". It reminded me of a more laid back (and safer feeling) Barcelona, and the crumbling architecture and non-intimidating bars made me feel like I was wandering through a city just before it is discovered by trendy jet-setters (again!). And as long as no-one mentions the Falklands, then the locals are the friendliest, most pro-British charming individuals then you could hope to meet. The photo above is of "Floralis Generica", which as far as I could tell is an 18 ton sculpture paid entirely by a local power company and their architect (Eduardo Catalano?). Looking like a massive tulip, the best thing about it is that it closes at sunset, and the stamens light up an eery red, until sunrise when it opens up again. Cool!

Sticking in Argentina, this is a shot of an amazing lake called the "Lago Escondido", about an hour north of Ushuaia (the southernmost port in South America). Escondido means "hidden" in Spanish, as until the Argentinians built the 2000 mile long "National Route 3" from the very north of the country to the very south, no-one knew it was there. Possibly the quietest (in terms of noise) place I have ever been anywhere in the world - I sat on that rickety jetty for about an hour just thinking. Very zen.

This was the highlight of my trip - sailing up a fjord off the Beagle Channel (the route through the Tierra del Fuego archipelago discovered by HMS BEAGLE) to see the amazing Garibaldi Glacier. It took my breath away, and although we were only 100m away from it in a 31,000 ton ship, the water beneath us was still 100m deep! You could actually taste the freshness of the air - and after a lump of floating ice was recovered from the water, a select few of us managed to taste the freshness of the glacial melt water. Mmmmmmmm. My favourite photograph.

As a seafarer, one of the great moments of the trip was rounding Cape Horn - the southernmost point of South America (although there are a few islets slightly further offshore) and a notoriously treacherous piece of water. On the chart you can see at least 100 wrecks in no more than 1 square mile area - I hate to think how many thousands of people perished beneath this very spot that I took the photo - but we were incredibly lucky to find a benign day, in a narrow window of current and weather that allowed us to get less than half a mile away. Apparently, according to nautical tradition this now means I can put one foot onto any ship's dining table - the other can be plonked there when I round the Cape of Good Hope.

After 4 different excursions to penguin colonies, I became slightly blase about the little critters - but here are my favourite - the cute little Gentoo Penguins of the Falklands. They actually walk like a 70s comedian doing a bad impression of a penguin walk and are completely fearless of humans so you can get very close to them. The Magellanic Penguins of Tierra del Fuego weren't nearly as sociable - I guess that's British good manners for you....

Our cruise ship was too large to get into Port Stanley, so we spent our few days off the Falklands at anchor in the shadow of 8 Second World War guns. I just liked this photograph for purely immature reasons. Boom!

The final picture of my cruise is of the recreation of the fort (called Fort Buelnes) at the southernmost settlement on mainland South America. However, life wasn't exactly easy at this place and most settlers died of starvation. Eventually the survivors found a different place nearby with better prospects, so they deserted their original location and built a new, slightly northerly city called Punta Arenas instead. Mind you, they could have given themselves a fighting chance by naming their original town something other than "Port Famine"...

Dante's Inferno Test...

2005-11-29T12:22:00.000Z

It seems weeks ago that I wrote this post, but then - in my forgetting-to-pack-my-bags frenzy, forgot to publish it. So, in case any of you are desperate to know how damned I am.... In a recurring theme, I first saw this test on Aginoth's site - and decided to have a go (the last test he pointed me towards had me turn out as Donald Trump!). Anyway, it seems I have a number of rather cool personality traits - although I can't think why I'm "Very High" on "Violent" - I only agreed with "Some people deserve to die". Oh well, it's better than being dull, and I guess I can spend eternity taking the mickey out of Aginoth (also on Level 6 with me) for his bling bling boy racer car accessories....

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished me to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!

Here is how I matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	High

Take the Dante's Divine Comedy Inferno Test

It's too cold - I'm out of here!

2005-11-28T23:02:00.000Z

As I sit in my single-glazed, uninsulated, large Victorian house, with the heating on maximum and my clothing now reaching the magic 5 layers figure (and still I'm cold), I'm frustrated but not at all surprised that my breath forms little clouds, just like when I'm outside. It's not as if I'm not trying to get warmer - over the weekend we burnt £20 of logs to little effect - and to address my shocking heat conductivity problem the council are giving me a token sum towards the long overdue insulation of my loft (they'd pay for the lot if I was a jobless layabout). I've also spent a small fortune at DIY stores on StormGuard draught excluders and under-door brushes (including the supposedly rather impressive Film Glaze - a very budget form of double glazing involving cling film and double sided sticky tape) and I've even sealed all the holes in my cracked windows with Fablon. But the house gets colder and colder, and quite frankly, I've had enough. I thus have invoked a little-known process in my terms of employment, which deals with the opportunity to experience life in a different sector of the maritime world - the Cruise Ship.

And so, after long and difficult minutes wrestling with my conscience, I applied for (and was immediately appointed in) a 2 and a half week posting on board a particularly prestigious merchant vessel, where I will be working as a combination of evening dinner host for the guests on board, and daytime bus monitor for the excursions ashore. These duties cost the taxpayer absolutely nothing, as costs are borne by the very generous company in question, and as a "sweetener" (as if one was needed), I am able to take a companion of my choice absolutely free. So I am taking a sophisticated and erudite friend of mine, whom I shall call "C", and in return for her 17 day holiday and associated flights, all she has to do is "supervise the ship's library"! Oh, and share a luxurious twin cabin with me for a few nights. Tough break, eh?

It's not as cushy as it sounds, actually, as I have to be up by 0630 to meet and greet the guests at breakfast, and I don't get much time to myself in between hosting and escorting duties. But that's not to take away from the fact that it's a marvellous opportunity to do something completely different, in an area of the world that's supposed to be amazing (and where it's summer at the moment). My itinerary means I fly to Buenos Aires tomorrow night (via "Natal", which I was relieved to find out is a Brazilian city, so I'm not taking the world's most indirect route via South Africa) to join the ship, then we sail to Montevideo, before onward journeys to Puerto Madryn (the last true Welsh outpost in Patagonia), the Falkland Islands (I've actually been there before - it's like Wales with penguins), and the area around Tierra del Fuego. I get back to Blighty on 17 December, having been to Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, a piece of Britain (!) and Chile, hopefully returning without the skin cancer of which the good citizens of Ushuaia have the dubious distinction of being the most prevalent sufferers (no ozone layer, you see).

So, wish me luck, and if anyone wants a trinket let me know and I'll see what I can do. Hopefully by the time I return, my house will be a lot bloody warmer, and I'll have a suntan for Christmas! Asta manana, or something....

The JCB Song

2005-11-27T22:40:00.000Z

For reasons explained in my last post, I spent a long time in my car a couple of weeks ago and having forgotten my iPod, I spent most of it listening to the radio whilst driving, and this led me to make a number of drastic decisions. One was the dawning realisation that (with the exception of a couple of their weekend shows and the marvellous Mark Radcliffe) the most popular radio station in the UK - Radio 2 - is now irredeemably shit, and has turned into a parody of "Smashie and Nicey" proportions (especially Steve Wright, who seems to think we all believe him when he claims that every email/letter/text he receives starts "Hi Steve - love the show...."). Anyway after this Damascene anti-Conversion, I found myself on an unfamilar part of the FM spectrum by tuning into Radio 1 for the first time in a while (I boycotted it when they booted off the aforementioned Mr Radcliffe for more "yoof" programming). And do you know what? It's actually rather good! The mainstream daytime DJs are funny without being irritating (ie the opposite of Sara bloody Cox), the music is half decent rather than annoying techno beep and non-stop rap, and the whole setup is actually a quality adult radio station.

So anyway .... while listening to the Jo Whiley show, somewhere near Bridport on the coast road to Plymouth, I catch the rather un-Radio 1 refrain of "I'm Luke, I'm 5, and my dad's Bruce Lee, drives me round in his JCB" sung by a haunting voice and not much instrumentation, and I'm immediately hooked. It is, I now know, the chorus of the fantastic JCB Song, and I reckon that the track will easily get to number 1 once more people have heard it more than once. It is by the (to me) unknown and unsigned band Nizlopi - otherwise known as Luke (singer/guitar) and John (double bass), and from the info on their whizzy Flash-tastic website (spinning pencil - cool!) http://www.jcbsong.co.uk/ is a sort of autobiographical tale of Luke's schooldays, complete with a cool dad and Transformer fantasies. The single isn't released until 12 December (although you can pre-order it via Amazon) but being caring and sharing types, Luke and John let you listen to the whole thing on their website as well as watching the fantastic animated video (click here - mega high speed Broadband recommended) as well. There's also a completely different and endearingly amateur video at this site - possibly it's a homage rather than an official one!

What else can I say? I just love this song - and I'm normally a sort of floppy-haired indie kid - but this heart warming piece of well-written musical whimsy is already my favourite song of December, and that month hasn't even started yet. Other people seem to like them as well (loads of great reviews for the band here and the album here) and I think they're going to be huge. All I can say is that I'm glad Luke's dad didn't allow him to bunk off school too often or he wouldn't have met John on the school bus and formed such a great sound. Go on, have a listen... tell them Merkin sent you.

"I'm Luke, I'm 5, and my dad's Bruce Lee, drives me round in his JCB
I'm Luke, I'm 5, and my dad's Bruce Lee, drives me round in his JCB
I'm Luke, I'm 5, and my dad's Bruce Lee, drives me round in his JCB"

Double uber-genius.

The "Other" White Meat

2005-11-22T18:36:00.001Z

First of all, thank you to all of my 3 readers for caring enough that I'd disappeared from the blogosphere to mention it by comment. It's been a hell of a fortnight, and I've not only not stopped long enough to read/write any blogs, I've also not even had time to check my email, pay my cleaning lady, notice my mortgage discount has finished, realise my car tax had expired AND almost missed my stepfather's birthday - which is difficult, as it's the same as mine. Phew! It's all because I've finally finished my secondment to the University of Stupidity (or "US", as they now call themselves, with no hint of irony!) and have spent the last 2 weeks preparing for my handover, conducting my handover, driving to the West Country to certify that my handover is complete, and then getting blind drunk with my former students to celebrate my handover (oh, and the aforementioned birthday, which was last Saturday). In amongst all of this, I attended Remembrance Day commemorations, had 3 formal dinners (as part of the handover - ie "meet my successor, Sir Ponsonby") and put over 2000 miles on my car. I also went to an Elbow concert (very good gig), where they were supported by a superb Danish band called Mew. And the highlight of all of this activity? The world's best Sunday Roast - as cooked by yours truly - wherein I impressed my mother and stepfather with the best-timed, best-prepared and goddamn tastiest roast pork dinner EVER! The recipe was one of those easy ones from the "Good Housekeeping Basic Cookery" book, that I've used for every bog standard recipe I've ever needed since I was 18 (35 mins per lb, plus 35 mins - you know the formula).

But there was a downside. No one else was there to share my culinary triumph. My other half isn't quite ready to "meet the parents" (it's complicated), my housemate was away on a cycling weekend (camping in minus 8 degrees in Wales - nutter), my friends were either busy, or too hungover, to attend and my sister was so fed up with the A303 that she cancelled en route. So .... the 3 of us sat down to this masterpiece (with enough food for 5) - the first time in my life I have cooked a roast for my parents - on Snday lunhctime and exchanged presents, and ate cake and drunk champagne, and caught up for the first time in a few months. It was a good day. After they had gone, I even thought about blogging again for the first time in 2 weeks, but had to spend the next day (yesterday) doing such fun stuff as:

Remortgaging (I bloody missed the deadline and am now on the painful Standard Variable Rate - ouch).
Booked a tree surgeon to come and chop down the rubbish trees in my back garden - and convince him to chop them into logs which should be ready for next year.
Painted all the doorframes in my house - they've been annoying me.
Made a real effort with my front garden - which is now a vision of semi-completed loveliness (think bamboos, Mahonia, Podocarps and Laurel bushes. Mmmmmmm).
Washed the car.
Applied for a grant to insulate my attic. If I was old, or feckless, I'd get it done for free. Anyone want to lend me a yobbo or granny?
Draught-proofed the front door.
Went to cinema for first time in 3 months. Barry Trotter - good film!

It's amazing what you can do with a day off - what am I going to do with 2 weeks off?!? Oh, did I forget to mention that? God Bless LASS. Or, if I'm feeling expansive in my luxury - "Leave After Sea Service". Now where's that cinema timetable?

Preternatural Portmanteaux in Penisland

2005-11-06T18:22:00.000Z

A friend recently surmised to me that people who take things a little too literally (and by definition have the lateral thinking abilities of a dead squirrel) tend to also be interested in IT. Now this may be a huge generalisation, not to say a slur on the hard working technical types out there, but if you look at the "wacky" ties, unamusing bumper stickers and unfathomable bulletin board discussions displayed by our computer-literate gurus, you rarely see subtle irony or amusing wordplay, so he may just have a point.

A further justification for this theory is the plethora of inadvertent double entendres displayed in web addresses, especially those made up of two words that have been combined into a domain name portmanteau, with no regard to the fine art of proof reading. My favourite example of this law of unintended consequences is the (no doubt very prestigious) online store for fine pens and writing implements, Pen Island. Why not visit their website ... http://www.penisland.net?

I think I actually know where Penisland is on the map, thanks to the Finbarr Saunders who clearly works at the European Central Bank's numismatic department:

Other examples of this phenomenon you could investigate include the incredibly worthy "Who Represents?", an online database for agencies to the rich and famous: http://www.whorepresents.com.

Why not visit Experts Exchange, a knowledge base where programmers can exchange advice and views? Just type in http://www.expertsexchange.com and watch your IT administrator's filtering software light up!

After being sacked for abuse of your company's IT system, you'll probably need a therapist. Try: http://www.therapistfinder.com.

Bored of Neverland? Then why not travel down under and enrol your children at the Mole Station Native Nursery, in New South Wales: http://www.molestationnursery.com.

But my favourite is something which fans of Robot Wars all wanted to type into Google, but never quite got round to. Picture the scene. You're an international electricity generating company. You have a subsidiary in Italy. What you need to do is register a suitable domain name. Yes, that's right - it's http://www.powergenitalia.com! Genius.

Just for the Taste of It...

2005-10-30T15:04:00.000Z

I see here that the corporate juggernaut that is Coca Cola Inc has made an enormous increase in profits. Their income is now more than $6 billion - that's a hell of a lot of syrupy coca juice! But they don't always get it right, do they? When I was in the USA last year, everyone who wanted a drink of bottled water reached for their bottle of Dasani, which appears to be the most popular brand over there. But do you remember what happened when they tried to launch it in the UK? Remind yourself about the story here!

Yes, that's right. As well as the wonderfully delicate taste of illegally-high levels of bromate impurities, it was soon worked out by the tabloids that the newest water brand on the market was not lovingly tapped from a burbling brook in some mountain range, but actually piped directly via Thames Water's water mains, through some fancy filter paper, into a grey factory block in Sidcup. The media had a field day - everyone knows that tap water in the South East has apparently already been through someone's body 7 times already, and Sidcup is hardly anyone's idea of a bucolic mountain village. Even it's name sounds naff, and as soon as late night comedians latched onto "Eau de Sidcup" then the brand in the UK was effectively dead.

There's also a more modern problem with Coca Cola - it's simply too big for the tastes of the tree-hugging Plaths that always shout the loudest and wash the least. Any company that makes over a billion dollars in pure profit must be simply evil, and no amount of whizzy corporate websites will convince them otherwise. Never mind that this profit is then taxed, and the proceeds used for fluffy government spending, and the dividends from the soaring shares prop up the pension funds of their dear old grandmothers. But that's always the case with the age old capitalism vs socialism argument - only those who have benefitted from capitalism can then afford to protest against it, sometimes by the not-particularly subtle use of emotive imagery. If I were a director at Coca Cola, I'd pour myself a commuter-belt-filtered sewage by-product and just reflect that while the hairies protest, their friends just can't get enough of my product range. Except Dasani. Bleugh.

To finish off my all-too-infrequent rant, I also found this list (below) on the internet. It's interesting, but is it true? Does anyone know?

THE GREAT WATER vs COKE DEBATE

WATER

1. 75% of Americans are chronically dehydrated. (Likely applies to half
world population.)

2. In 37% of Americans, the thirst mechanism is so weak that it is often
mistaken for hunger.

3. Even MILD dehydration will slow down one's metabolism as much as 3%.

4. One glass of water will shut down midnight hunger pangs for almost
100% of the dieters studied in a University of Washington study.

5. Lack of water is the #1 trigger of daytime fatigue.

6. Preliminary research indicates that 8-10 glasses of water a day could
significantly ease back and joint pain for up to 80% of sufferers.

7. A mere 2% drop in body water can trigger fuzzy short-term memory,
trouble with basic math, and difficulty focusing on the computer screen or on a printed page.

8. Drinking 5 glasses of water daily decreases the risk of colon cancer
by 45%, plus it can slash the risk of breast cancer by 79%, and one is
50% less likely to develop bladder cancer. Are you drinking the
amount of water you should every day?

COKE

1. In many states (in the USA) the highway patrol carries two gallons of
Coke in the trunk to remove blood from the highway after a car accident.

2. You can put a T-bone steak in a bowl of coke and it will be gone In
two days.

3. To clean a toilet: Pour a can of Coca-Cola into the toilet bowl and
let the "real thing" sit for one hour, then flush clean. The citric acid
in Coke removes stains from vitreous china.

4. To remove rust spots from chrome car bumpers: Rub the bumper with a rumpled-up piece of aluminium foil dipped in Coca-Cola.

5. To clean corrosion from car battery terminals: Pour a can of
Coca-Cola over the terminals to bubble away the corrosion.

6. To loosen a rusted bolt: Applying a cloth soaked in Coca-Cola to the
rusted bolt for several minutes.

7. To bake a moist ham: Empty a can of Coca-Cola into the baking pan,
wrap the ham in aluminium foil, and bake. Thirty minutes before the ham
is finished, remove the foil, allowing the drippings to mix with the Coke
for a sumptuous brown gravy.

8. To remove grease from clothes: Empty a can of coke into a load of
greasy clothes, add detergent, and run through a regular cycle. The
Coca-Cola will help loosen grease stains. It will also clean road haze from your windshield.

My question is.....would you like a glass of water or coke?

The Politics Test

2005-10-22T12:03:00.000Z

You are a
Social Liberal
(60% permissive)

and an...
Economic Conservative
(65% permissive)

You are best described as a:

Centrist

Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid
Also: Get Laid Here

According to the Politics Test that I've just taken (having been sent here by Aginoth), I'm a boring middle-of-the-road cenrist. Damn - I always considered myself on the wilder shores of bourgeois socially-aware libertarian smaller-government free-marketeering arts-subsidising decent healthcare for all. But apparently, I'm Donald Trump. It's the first that I - or my bank manager - have heard about it...

I've always said, and bored my friends, that what we need in the UK is simple. Here goes...

An absolute monarchy, backed up by a military junta, with an aggressive foreign policy advocating the frequent use of tactical nuclear weapons.

Centrist? My arse.

Erm. I'm Slightly Uncomfortable in my Middle Class Guilt Thing...

2005-10-18T20:19:00.000Z

There was a hilarious spat on the mediocre yawnfest that is Radio 4's "Midweek" on Wednesday, when "black rights" campaigner Darcus Howe and "comedienne" Joan Rivers managed to turn what should have been a dull plugging programme for their latest books/tour/photos into a loud shouting match about race. You can listen to the show here - it all kicks off about 17 minutes in. But it reminded me about this site:

OK. Maybe I'm being overly cynical, or breathtakingly naive, but what the hell is the website Black People Love Us all about? It's clearly some sort of joke - but is it taking the mickey out of liberal white Americans? Or out of patronising race relations types? Or is it actually a racist site? Or maybe it's an art project (the domain name is owned by an arts consultancy called Eyebeam) - maybe there's some art gallery in New York specialising in New Media that displays the website next to 50 Chinese people staring at you? I particularly like the line in Eyebeam's mission statement that is a masterpiece of Birtian gobbledygook:

Eyebeam amplifies the flux and hybridity of the art/science intersection by openly fostering the parallel strands of EDUCATION, RESEARCH, PRODUCTION, EXHIBITION with its public and peers.

What the hell does that mean?! Who knows? What do you think about Black People Love Us? And am I the only one who feels a little uncomfortable while reading it? Pictures such as this one just increase my uneasiness:

I actually enjoy being intellectually challenged by new art, but I have to say I'd rather not have to rationalise this. BUT ... maybe that's the point. In fact, social embarrassment as an art medium - could be the next Turner Prize winner?

In other unrelated but thematically linked news: Jamaican Man Has Hat Hairstyle. Seems like a nice filler story in the Caribbean "Silly Season", but can anyone tell me whether quotations in Jamaica are normally reported in pidgin English? I've never read a news article before that quotes someone as saying:

"When mi jus' know him is a felt hat him did a beat. So, nex ting mi know him change to dis type a hat. Di only ting him do now a colour di front in a yellow or some other colour."

Someone please tell me that this isn't another art project. Please.

The Trunk Monkey

2005-10-18T18:04:00.000Z

I'd never heard of the Suburban Auto Group before today. And I don't know anyone with a "Trunk Monkey" but I now really want one - they appear to be the latest automotive primate related craze. Originally designed for rally-driving Subaru owners, they have since become a must-have luxury option for certain Ford and Chevrolet cars for sale in the USA. You can even buy a selection of assecories (sic) featuring the wee beasties. Click here for a collection of 5 short documentaries .. ahem ... TV commercials that explain all. I particularly like "Bridge" - I'm sure that car thief drinks in my local.

The Bestest Weirdest Song EVER!

2005-10-15T17:02:00.000Z

There is a little known album track on Pink Floyd's 1969 album Ummagumma called Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving With a Pict. Written by Roger Waters, it is 5 minutes and 1 second of the strangest "music" ever. It makes every song by Bonzo Dog, or John Otway, seem like middle of the road musical pop tunes. And I love it. One Pink Floyd tribute band named themselves after it, and I used to play it to psych myself up before a rugby game (school 5th XV, Vice Captain) - although this might explain our season's statistics in the 1993/4 yearbook:

School 5XV. P3 W0 D0 L3 F7 A182

But anyway, I digress. The lyrics for this masterpiece are:

Aye an' a bit of Mackeral settler rack and ruin
ran it doon by the haim, 'ma place
well I slapped me and I slapped it doon in the side
and I cried, cried, cried.

The fear a fallen down taken never back the raize and then Craig Marion,
get out wi' ye Claymore out mi pocket a' ran doon, doon the middin stain
picking the fiery horde that was fallen around ma feet.
Never he cried, never shall it ye get me alive
ye rotten hound of the burnie crew. Well I snatched fer the blade O my
Claymore cut and thrust and I fell doon before him round his feet.

..and the wind cried back.

You can read a review of the album, in Greek, here. Or buy it from Amazon in the USA here. It is lovingly described by one fan (on the Amazon UK website) as "Hours of onanistic drivel for those who have lost the will to live. Featuring LSD on guitar and dope(s) on everything else. Dreadful. Imagine introducing the only person on Earth who hasn't heard of Floyd to them by this - makes me shudder."

So. How can you resist listening to the entire album straight away? At least go and buy this superb track from iTunes (only 78p), or a similar site, and rest assured in the knowledge that some of the animal noises in the background are actually distorted recordings of Roger Waters saying "where's my fucking guitar?". Genius. Och aye the noo.....

Tagged!

2005-10-14T16:30:00.000Z

It's a disease! I've just been tagged by WordWhiz on her marvellous blog (bit too many semi-naked fireman for me, but then I guess American firefighters are different from the workshy, overpaid, underemployed, vain British ones) to do the following:

Find your 23rd post
Repost only the 5th sentence, or the closest thing to it.
Continue the vicious cycle by tagging 5 people...

Erm, so here goes:

The players have been polite to each other, the sport has lost it's public school image, and amazingly even after 5 matches, of 5 days apiece, the entire series was decided in the final afternoon of the final test.

A fine piece of open source Ashes-related journalism (I like to call it 'web-logging', you know) even if I do say so myself. The trouble is, of course, that in my obscure little back alleyway of cyberspace, I feel it would be too presumptious to tag 5 of my occasional readers, especially as I hardly think that any more than that number have ever visited. After all, increasing the numbers makes it more of a chain-blog than a game of tag (if I remember the rules from my playground, one only tags one other player in order to pass "it" on.

So (if WW will forgive my altering* of the rules), I shall pick a recent commentator at random to continue this pointless, but diverting, game. I choose .... Mark. Sorry, Mark!
_________________________________

* A gerund? On a cold Friday afternoon before a black tie dinner? Suit you, Sir!

The Cream of the Nation's Youth?

2005-10-12T08:26:00.000Z

"One of the many fascinating and rewarding facets of my varied and interesting work is that I have the privilege of working with young people on a regular basis, all of whom are students at two of the finest Higher Education establishments in the UK."

Effectively, that is the precis of the testimonial part of the job description that was forwarded to me when I was nominated for my current job, and I was genuinely relieved that my predecessor seemed so satisfied in his work, as it would have been awful to have to take over from a disillusioned short-tempered cynic...

Unfortunately, and I am ashamed to admit such an enormous failing, I had completely missed the sarcasm employed by the disillusioned short-tempered cynic who used to do my job when he wrote those words. What he meant to have written was something along the lines of:

One of the many frustrating aspects of my time-consuming and underpaid compulsory posting is having to tolerate the ever-changing whims of the ungrateful and immature products of a failing education system, as they are processed by one of the worst universities in the world.

Those of you (both of you, I should say) who read my blog have realised that my career is of a nautical persuasion. In keeping with the anonymity that blogs allow, I shall not elaborate any further as to my exact line of work but (unfortunately for me) the truth is slightly more mundane that I would otherwise wish, and I am currently anchored on the campus of a red brick (more "white tile", in places) university. At the beginning of every academic year (ie now) I am called upon to sit on an interview panel convened by the faculty in which I work, assessing new undergraduates' knowledge of current affairs, general knowledge and overall "potential" for future great things.

So, it came to pass that last week I sat behind a desk asking 50 or so fresh-faced (and not so fresh-faced) new students such insightful questions as "Where are the Conservatives holding their conference?", and "Who is Donald Rumsfeld?". Apart from the initial shock that most of my interviewees were born in 1987 (aaaaaaaaargh), the largest surprise to me was the sheer narrow ignorance of the world in general that most of these people displayed. Without giving you an entire run-down of last week, here are some of the comments and answers that supposedly intelligent young people (all of whom were awarded at least ABC at A-Levels in order to be accepted onto the course in the first place) gave to the board:

Q. Who is Walter Wolfgang?
A. Was he the character played by Michael J Fox in Teen Wolf?
Q. How many people are in the UK Armed Forces?
A. About 3 million?
Q. Er - no, you're a little out there.
A. OK then - 3 billion?
Q. What was the last book you read? (Most people replied "The Da Vinci Code". Sigh)
A. FHM
Q. I was thinking more of a novel...
A. Oh. (long pause) Does the Highway Code count?
Q. (Having correctly identified 2005 as being the 200th anniversary) Tell me about the Battle of Trafalgar.
A. OK, so you had a General in the Army, called Nelson Mandela, who fought the French in a big sea battle at Waterloo that was called Trafalgar.
Q. What was the biggest news story that caught your eye this week?
A. Kate Moss taking drugs.
Q. What do you think about that then?
A. It's a bloody disgrace - her dealer will never get any trade now 'cos he'll be followed by the papparazzi. Poor bloke.

And so it went on. I was - in turn - amused, frustrated, saddened and (at the end of 3 days) resigned to it. I don't offer much in the way of social commentary about this, other than - what went wrong? When did young people stop caring about what's going on in the world? And surely half these half wits would be better off doing something vocational and useful, rather than getting horribly into debt for 3 years just so New Labour can meet their arbitrary 50% figure for 6th formers going to University. I need a cheap taxpayer-subsidised drink.

Tip Top Top Tips

2005-10-05T18:01:00.000Z

Yes, I know it's a cop out. But I've been away for a week doing the annual torture that is the only part of my job that I really don't enjoy one bit - interviewing teenagers. So, before I regale you with stories of monumental stupidity, here's the text of the only thing that has made me laugh this week - an emailed list of the best "Top Tips" from the ever-scatalogical and irreverent comic Viz.

In case you aren't aware of this section in this my-favourite-mag-when-I-was-12 publication, this is a monthly column that satirises the inane contributions to Women's Magazines such as "Horse hoof clippings scattered on turnip plants increase the size twofold" and "to remove cat faeces from carpets, sprinkle hundreds-and-thousands over the offending items and invite a labrador into the room". Those of you easily offended (and copyright lawyers) please look away now....

DON'T waste money on expensive iPods. Simply think of your favourite tune and hum it. If you want to "switch tracks", simply think of another song you like and hum that instead.

CINEMA goers: Please have consideration for pirate DVD viewers by taking a leak before the film starts.

RAPPERS: Avoid having to say 'know what I'm sayin' all the time by actually speaking clearly in the first place.

DON'T waste money on expensive paper shredders to avoid having your identity stolen. Simply place a few dog turds in the bin bags along with your old bank statements.

WORRIED that your teeth will be stained after a heavy night drinking red wine? Simply drink a bottle of white wine before going to bed to remove the stains.

SOLDIERS: Invest in a digital camera to avoid all that court martial tomfoolery after a trip to Truprint.

MURDERERS: Need to dispose of a body? Simply parcel it up and post it to yourself via DHL. You will never see it again.

BURGLARS: When fleeing from the police, run with your right arm sticking out at 90 degrees, wrapped in a baby mattress - just in case they set one of their dogs on you.

EMPLOYERS: Avoid hiring unlucky people by immediately tossing half the CVs into the bin.

MEN: When listening to your favourite CD, simply turn up the sound to the volume you desire; then turn it down three notches. This will save your wife from having to do it.

GAMBLERS: For a new gambling opportunity, try sending £50 to yourself by Royal Mail in an envelope marked "Happy Birthday".

BANGING two pistachio nutshells together gives the impression that a very small horse is approaching.

PARTIALLY BLIND PEOPLE: Give yourself at least a chance of seeing something by not wearing heavy dark glasses all the time.

ALCOHOL: makes an ideal substitute for happiness.

DRIVERS: If a car breaks down or stalls in front of you, why not beep your horn and wave your arms frantically? This should help the car start and send them on their way.

PREVENT burglars stealing everything in the house by simply moving everything in the house into your bedroom when you go to bed. In the morning, simply move it all back again.

CAR thieves: Don't be discouraged when nothing is on view. All the valuables may be hidden in the glove box or under a seat.

DEPRESSED people: Instead of attempting suicide as a'cry for help', simply shout 'Help!' thus saving money on paracetamol, etc.

MOTORISTS: Avoid getting prosecuted for using your phone whilst driving. Simply pop your mobile inside a large shell and the police will think you are listening to the sea.

JEREMY Beadle: When selling DVDs on your TV advert, hold the disks in your bigger hand so that they do notappear to be the size of laser disks.

SHOES last twice as long if only worn every other day.

SINGLE men: Convince people that you have a girlfriend by standing outside Etam with several bags of shopping, looking at your watch and occasionally glancing inside.

BOIL an egg to perfection without costly egg timers by popping the egg into boiling water and driving away from your home at exactly 60 mph. After 3 miles, phone your wife and tell her to take the egg out the pan.

ALCOHOLICS: don't worry where the next drink is coming from. Go to the pub, where a large selection is available at retail prices.

McDONALD'S: Make your brown carrier bags green in colour so they blend in with the countryside after they've been thrown out of car windows.

There's lots more on the Viz website - just click on Top Tips - and I've just found one of the all time classics on it:

NISSAN MICRA drivers. The little number 5 on your gearstick refers to what is known as 'fifth gear'. This will allow you to reach speeds of over 25 mph.

Googling the Earth

2005-09-27T16:34:00.001Z

Today is only the 7th anniversary of the founding of Google, that appears to be so succesful because (unlike other search engines), the front page of the website is purely dedicated to ... er .... searching the internet. Unlike Lycos it doesn't try and get you laid (Love at Lycos- what the ranting idiots at the Daily Mail called "Adultery.com"!), unlike Yahoo it doesn't offer pop-up-plagued web hosting, and unlike MSN, it doesn't try and take over your entire computer. However, behind the front page, Google has expanded to now offer email (Gmail), shopping (Froogle - geddit?), news feeds, blogging (er - Blogger), picture sharing (Picasa or Hello) and much more. BUT. There's now a new way to waste hours and hours online that I've just been introduced to. And I'm terribly sorry if you all know about it already. Yes, dear reader, I today found the delight, the wonder, the amazing resource that is... Google Earth.

Although it's only a Beta version at the moment, there's pretty much full functionality of the free version and it provides a half decent coverage of the land (rather than oceanic) parts of the planet. After downloading the program, and connecting to the internet, anywhere you choose (ie your house - as that's where everyone looks at first) can be located, zoomed into and examined. Most parts of the USA are incredibly detailed, as are major cities of the world, and most large European towns. In the bits in between, you can identify roads and groups of houses, although the overall effect is rather blurry (like a drunken airliner passenger looking out of the window). And the residents of Guildford have really drawn the short straw, as it was cloudy on the day when the satellite was allocated that particular patch of Southern England, and all you can see is a 100 square mile expanse of cloud tops!

Nevertheless, it's still a very impressive program, as can be seen from the example in the top image. The picture is of a house in the USA, chosen not-quite-at-random, and you can clearly make out a white car in the driveway, a small swimming pool, balconies, gardens, nearby golf greens etc. And that was taken from miles above the surface, using civilian technology - just IMAGINE what the military versions can see. Google don't specify when exactly any given image was taken other than "within the past year or two", but my cursory examination of the Spinnaker Tower image shows it was taken in the last 6 months - probably around Easter.

Being Google (and therefore very fluffy), anyone can contribute towards the labelling of the various points of interest around the globe, using a bulletin board system (called Keyhole BBS). Completely unregulated and uneditable, unfortunately this can actually be a bit hit and miss, as the two images of Gibraltar (side by side above) demonstrate. In popular and interesting areas, images are completely swamped with information, some of which can be useful, but lots of which are not, and various parts of which are downright misleading. In the Falklands, for example, the islands are swamped with Argentinean propaganda slogans and placenames (Port Stanley is renamed Puerto Argentina, for example), and several random US desert airstrips are "positively" identified as being the mythical Area 51. As if the US Government would allow THAT to be displayed!

As you might imagine, all sorts of obsessives and conspiracy cranks inhabit the BBS discussions about Google Earth, and the "Military" board is particularly fun to read. However, the truth is that although the images of various air stations, naval bases and army camps are militarily useless, they are very interesting to look at if you are into that sort of thing, and it's amazing what you can find if you know where to look. So, in case you give a damn (which I doubt), if you zoom into the picture of Gibraltar, alongside the southern-most breakwater is a British Type 23 Frigate, with generators running (exhaust smoke, so no shore-supplied power connected) but not going anywhere soon (large gangway leading to the Flight Deck at the back). James Bond, eat your heart out!

The Spinnaker Tower

2005-09-22T20:14:00.001Z

Down South, near where I live, is one of the most impressive sights in the country, a civil engineering project that so neatly encapsulates everything that is right about modern Britain, and so much more that is wrong with it, that the building in question could almost be described as the British equivalent of a Francois Mitterand Grand Projet. This particular construction started life named "The Millennium Tower", as it was originally due to open in time for New Year's Eve 1999 (remember then?) but owing to seemingly endless wranglings about cost, construction timetabling, the local council's contribution and contractual negotiations, it still has not yet opened, and had to be renamed the "Spinnaker Tower" sometime in 2002. However, the last builder's crane was dismantled and removed last month and to all intents and purposes, it is now finished and ... despite the farce of its inception, I think it looks stunningly beautiful. But then I would - I paid for the bloody thing through vastly inflated Council Tax bills, so I suppose I have a sort of paternal indulgence towards what the local paper now calls The Tower of Dreams. There's even a Wikipedia entry about it - fame indeed!

Ever since the world's noisiest pile drivers started to pummel enormous metal tubes into the soft mud of the harbour in 2001, thus keeping everyone within 10 miles wide awake in daylight hours (great for wage slaves, not too good for shift workers), it became clear that the tower would dominate the city in more ways than one. Lo, in mid-2003, about half way through construction, the builders apparently pulled off a particularly dirty (but completely legal) trick, by saying to the council "It's costing us more than we thought so pay us more money so we make a profit".

The council, quite properly, replied "Piss off - the cost is in the contract, tough luck".

To which the builders replied "OK then, we'll walk away then. But then you'll have to pay back the National Lottery Millennium Commission the £10 million they gave you to build the thing".

Which, unfortunately, turned out to be correct thanks to a particularly badly written contract. Therefore, because the council had already paid this money up front to the builders, bizarrely it was cheaper to pay the builders' ransom demand, and finish building the tower, rather than doing what you normally do with rogue tradesmen and sacking them halfway through. And where did this extra money come from? That'd be the council-taxpayer then, thus ensuring that the 2004 council tax went up 26% in one year. Nice. I hope the directors and shareholders of Mowlem appreciate my generosity in funding their bonuses last year. But I doubt it...

So, almost 6 years late, £9 million over budget (originally £16.5m, now £25m and rising!), the tower was due to open at a massive August Bank Holiday gala opening this summer. Local "heroes" (you know, 'kidz', local 100 year olds, nurses, lollipop ladies etc) were all invited to the official ceremony (and high rise party afterwards) and 2 days beforehand flunkies were even polishing the railings around the shiny new entrance hall into it. But guess what? No one had invited the Orwellian Thought Police of Tony Blair's New Britain - the all powerful Health & Safety Executive (HSE, not to be confused with BSE, but causing similar symptoms).

In what could be perceived as the ultimate in party pooping - the HSE decided that one of the two lifts wasn't safe as it "goes round a corner" (actually a slight kink) and they had never come across a glass lift that did that. So they couldn't give it a safety certificate. And therefore, despite the fact that there is another lift (with a certificate), and a working stairwell, and with 2 days notice, the council had no choice but to cancel the opening, and keep the tower closed to the public. Which it still is. So the poor 'kidz' have to wait another year. Tower of Dreams my arse.

Still, isn't it pretty?

Now Then, Now Then. How's About That Then? Etc

2005-09-19T09:06:00.000Z

Via a fairly roundabout route (and I don't mean the traffic measures) I recently came across a superb site where - if you are between 23 and 33 - you can indulge in your wildest dreams and fantasies. What?! No no no, not that (besides, she's in her sixties now), what I mean is - thanks to a splendid fellow called Thomas Scott, you can get your own online "Jim'll Fix It" badge by clicking here. I used to be fairly obsessed with Jim'll Fix It, which (for the Americans/young/forgetful) was a long-running TV programme where ever-hopeful pre-teens wrote into an ageing former DJ called Jimmy Saville detailing their deepest held desires, and he would (on Saturday night TV) make them come true in front of an audience of several million jealous other pre-teens. I think I wrote about 3 or 4 letters to the programme asking for such sensible and eminently realistic items as "a million pounds" and "a billion pounds" and even "a puppy". The ungrateful eejit never used these letters on the show, and despite the fact that he would quite happily allow some deprived oik from Yorkshire to experience some inane activity such as 'visit London', or 'eat hot food', he never realised the televisual goldmine that would have resulted from me becoming richer than all my parents' friends put together, live on air.

But the BEST thing about the show was the theme tune. For years I have had random snippets of lyrics going round my head, but thanks to the marvellous people at TV Cream, I have just heard the music for the first time in about 15 years! Wow! As Proust would say, nibbling on a madeleine, lost in an evocative reverie, "Bloody Hell, that brings back memories". So, in order to revert to your childhood, click here for the best 1 minute and 12 seconds you'll have today. Why not do the right-click-'Save Target As' thing and put it on your iPod. In fact, why not make it your mobile ringtone? It beats that fucking frog. In all their songwriting days, I don't think Lennon & McCartney ever came up with such lyrical genius as "Your letter was only the start of it, one letter and now you're a part of it. Now you've done it, Jim has fixed it for you. And you and you". Not even Mozart, in his most creative moments, added a backing line of "ba-de-ba. Ba-de-dah" behind his concertos. How's about that then?

But what of the man himself? Now knighted (there's a fact to make the original founders of the great Orders of Chivalry rotate in their ornate graves) , Sir Jimmy Saville OBE is, I'm slightly amazed to hear, still actually alive. Looking a bit like Rod Stewart, I saw a fly-on-the wall documentary about him once when he claimed he hated all children, but that was originally a ruse recommended by his mother only to avoid any possible accusations of "interfering" with the kids. But in fact, over the ages, he did in fact learn to genuinely hate children. What a heartwarming story! He also lived with his mother his entire life until she died, and even to this day, keeps her bedroom exactly as it was when she passed away. And the only thing anyone ever remembers him doing (other than Jim'll Fix It, and your Dad claiming he was once a DJ on Radio 1) is that he advertised going everywhere by British Rail trains at the one time when they were truly the worst mode of transport in Britain (and that includes Austin Maxis). Oh, and he smoked huge cigars.

So here's to you, Sir Jimmy. Eccentric, cigar-smoking, dead-mother-worshipping train spokesman. Who never gave me that bloody money, but was resolutely not a kiddy fiddler. Cheers.

Jones! Bowden!

2005-09-12T18:05:00.000Z

Well, I'm knackered. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off the TV. I've neglected my job, social life, healthy eating drive and bank balance - but it's all been worth it because at 6.14pm, after a farcical 13 minutes of "bad light", England finally regained the Ashes. Ignoring the slightly regrettable, but eminently refreshing tabloidisation of the sport for one moment, I honestly think that this has been one of the best-natured, spellbinding sporting spectacles ever seen in my lifetime. The players have been polite to each other, the sport has lost it's public school image, and amazingly even after 5 matches, of 5 days apiece, the entire series was decided in the final afternoon of the final test. There were heart stopping moments, displays of amazing sporting brilliance, more twists and turns than a snake's orgy, and entire matches resting on quirks of fate, rain clouds, umpiring irregularities and dropped catches. And it was fantastic.

And what a memorable end to the series. Warne and McGrath playing their last match against England. Pietersen (who actually applied for Australian citizenship but was turned down, so he came to the UK) scoring his maiden century to draw the game. Richie Benaud commentating for the final time in the UK (what is Billy Birmingham going to do now?!). The Ashes being in English hands for the first time in 16 years. And, unfortunately, the greedy money churners at Sky TV winning the television rights until 2008.

I'm not a sporting journalist. Or even a journalist. But well done England, and well done Australia. And thank you, Her Majesty's Meteorological Office.

Viz. Childish. Not as Funny as it Used to Be.

2005-09-08T13:58:00.000Z

I am in no state to write about anything. I tried, but Desktop Richie kept on telling me that the cricket was even more nail-biting than the last time. So, with apologies for the "cut and paste" nature of this post, and the crude childish humour contained within, here are the best ever letters to the scatological, puerile rag that is Viz. Sorry, if you're civilized....

Top 15 letters to Viz

1. Could the Home Secretary explain to me how biometric checks on iris patterns and fingerprints are going to help keep tabs on Muslim cleric Abu Hamza?
Les Barnsley, Barnsley

2. "One pound a week will supply water for an entire village in Tanzania" says Oxfam. So how come United Utilities charge me twenty pounds a month for my three bedroom semi? The fleecing b@st@rds!!!
Tracey Cusick, Cumbria

3. How come rap artist Dr. Dre can use the 'N' word on his multi-million selling albums and win a MOBO award, yet when I used it at my son's football match I was asked to leave the park? Once again, it's one law for the rich and another for the poor.
Reg Ashcroft, Bradford

4. So HMV consider Andy Williams and Dean Martin to be "easy listening" do they? Try telling that to my mate Andy. He's been deaf for 20 years.
Tim

5. They say "you can't judge a book by its cover". What nonsense. The last edition of High School An@l that I bought featured a young lady stuffing a big one up her bomb-bay on the front page, and this turned out to be an excellent indication of the contents.
Mark Roberts

6. According to Nietzsche, "That which does not kill me makes me stronger". I'm sure my grandad would not agree. He suffered a series of massive strokes in the early '90s which have left him an incontinent vegetable for the past 12 years.

A Thorne, Sandbach

7. It's uncanny how some of these old sayings are true. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder", said my wife as she waved goodbye to me on the way to spend a month with her mother.Since then I have grown
quite fond of my next door neighbour. I actually gave her one on the living room carpet this morning.
Christopher Hampshire, Bristol

8. The recent suicide of Harold Shipman has thrown up some interesting questions. For a start, does Shipman killing himself take his official tally up to 216, or does it count as an own goal? Where does this final score place our national champ in the world league table?
Magnus, Sheffield

9. The government says that there are nearly 50,000 people with HIV in Britain, a third of who do not even know that they have it. Is it just me, or is it a bit harsh that the government know and haven't told the poor sods?

John Campbell, e-mail

10. Never mind ventriloquists like Keith Harris and Roger DeCourcey. What about Professor Stephen Hawking? I saw him on telly blathering on about galaxies for hours and I never saw his lips move once. Genius.
Mike Woods, e-mail

11. With reference to that series "Manhunt" where a group of soldiers try to hunt down Andy McNab. Why don't the producers include a couple of Iraqis in the hunting team? They found the tw@t quickly enough the last time he played hide and seek with them.
Shuggie, Email

12. It's all very well Meg Ryan getting her kit off for her new film, but why wasn't she doing it twenty years ago before her puppies hit the pan?
Alan Pick, Kingston-upon-Toast

13. I would like to thank Darren of Chelsea for not coming to Australia with Jenny. She is a great sh@g.
Thanks again.
Baz, Bondi

14. Hats off to the witty burglars who stole my entire CD collection with the exception of "There is Nothing Left to Lose" by the Foo Fighters. I hope that when sentencing, the judge takes into account their splendid sense of humour.
Chris Scaife, Jesmond

15. Hats off to the American police. They arrive at Michael Jackson's Neverland ranch to arrest him a mere six months after he admits climbing into bed with young boys on worldwide TV. Perhaps they should get some faster cars.
Gary Illinois, California

Advice From The Young (at) Heart

2005-09-02T11:00:00.000Z

Last week, as part of my road trip, I popped in to my old university college and noticed the Domestic Bursar, an old friend, wandering across the Quad, although he appeared to be a lot older than I last remembered him looking. Catching up quickly on our mutual news of the last 5 years, he told me that he had recently had 3 heart attacks, had married his third wife (who was 30 years younger than him) and was imminently retiring to a cottage in Dorset.

He also told me a story about when he was lying in his hospital bed, having had his 2nd heart attack, with tubes and wires emerging everywhere from his body, surrounded by "machines that go ping". His son, a sportsman of some note, had flown back to his bedside from some foreign competition and arrived late at night to see his possibly-dying father. Gently waking his dad, the son knelt down close to his bed and leant forward to say something. Dad's malfunctioning heart filled with pride and loving anticipation, as he wondered what caring thoughts his eldest would whisper in his ear.

"Dad. Do you want me to wipe your computer's hard drive?"

As they used to say in Rome, patris est filius. He is his father's son.

An Interesting Week

2005-08-30T17:25:00.000Z

Well, it's been an interesting week. In fact, I don't think that I've experienced such a wide range of emotions in such a brief period, at any time in my life, ever. When I started blogging, only a few months ago, I thought I'd stick to the big picture stuff, telling both my readers the sort of lucid (albeit familiar 6th form debating society style) opinions on random subjects that would have otherwise passed them by - unless they sat near me in the pub on a Monday between the rounds of the bizarre weekly "Meat Raffle-cum-Quiz" thing that is amazingly popular (standing room only yesterday!). In other words, I'd leave off from discussing my personal life, my day-to-day happenings, almost entirely on the grounds that others do it more regularily, and much more entertainingly, than I could ever manage. But that's before I went on a holiday/road trip, during the course of which England played the most nail-bitingly tense game of cricket ever, a friend of mine let slip a particularly-sensitive secret, and I visited some stunning areas of the country that I never knew existed.

So, from the Ashes I had nervousness, tension, anticipation and addiction - all the while trying to remember that I was on holiday and supposed to be "seeing the sites" and being sociable. From my friend's indiscretion, I experienced the dubious "gifts" of incredulity, anger, and a slight fear about being the source of gossip for evermore. And all of this, played out in areas of Oxfordshire, Gloucestershire, Wiltshire, Herefordshire, Worcestershire, Shropshire, Monmouthshire, Powys, Somerset and Wiltshire (again) whose beauty quite literally took my breath away. A wander around the student-less colleges in Oxford in the evening sunshine, a pint in (IMHO) the best pub in England (Falkland Arms, Great Tew since you ask) a walk up to the highest point of the Malvern Beacon that started dry and ended torrentially wet, a boozy night in the ancient Saracen's Head pub at the base of the stunning Symonds Yat on the River Wye, and 10 minutes on a waterbed in a gorgeous B&B (top room in a converted windmill) before the landlady kicked me out onto the streets because she'd double-booked and there was a couple "who were regular" coming and they therefore who took priority. I assume by "regular", she meant a repeat-visitor, rather than they had quotidian bowel movements.

But for me, the weirdest emotion was going back to my old school, in Bristol, for the first time since I left at 18. The buildings were exactly as I remembered them - I even found my name scratched in the stone in the smokers' corner at the back of one building (my only graffito - I'm so proud), the streets were weirdly unfamiliar because they were empty (I've never been there in school holidays before) and with no teachers/staff around it was like a walk into a ghost town recreation of my childhood. But then I went to Clifton Suspension Bridge - world's number 3 suicide spot and scene of my most embarrassing schoolboy
moment ever. My school's playing fields were (are) the other side of Clifton Gorge from the city of Bristol (where the school is), and children from my school (and a few others) were allowed to walk across for free to get there on sports afternoons, rather than pay the 20p everyone else had to. Most of the time, this was unnecessary as there were buses that ferried you directly to/from school the longer way round via a much stronger bridge further downstream the river. However, if you were late for the bus, or were banned from the bus as punishment, you HAD to walk to the playing fields. The first time I did this, when I was 12, I got about a third of the way over the bridge, chatting away with my pals, when I glanced over the side. All of a sudden, it felt like my stomach had exploded with fear, my head started swimming and (worst of all) the bridge started twisting over - threatening to topple us over the side. I dropped to the pavement, in floods of tears and vomit, knowing the end was nigh for me, barely noticing the amazed gasps of my friends, who didn't seem to notice the bridge's imminent collapse.

The awful realisation that this was something that affected me alone rapidly dawned, and to guffaws of pre-pubescent glee, I rolled into the road (ie vehicle) carriageway and crawled to the other side of the bridge, terrified, and accompanied by the horns of irate drivers stuck behind a slowly moving schoolboy. From that moment, I never set foot on that bridge again, convinced that it was my Kryptonite, my Picture of Dorian Gray, my Albatross. That is ... never until last Saturday, when I (having taken several deep breaths) walked to the other side, unaided, neither crying, vomiting, nor crawling on the way. Admittedly it took some encouragement, but I did it. And took the photo to prove it! So ... that's one particular demon buried, and one that gave me a very rare emotion indeed. Complete relief that I'm not a wuss. On Clifton Suspension Bridge, anyway!

For my next trick - I'm going to try and watch the last Ashes test without having a heart attack. But I don't hold out much hope.

Your (sic) Not Me

2005-08-20T14:02:00.001Z

By which, the dribbling loonies at the Daily Express mean, of course, "Our deranged and incontinent readers are backing Kilroy". Ah, Kilroy. Crap MEP (I read this week that he has the worst attendance record of any British MEP), non-party political member (he left his own piss-poor creation - Veritarse - only months after founding it, probably because the other member refused to retitle the leader "Lord High Overking of the Universe" or something) and all round permatanned daytime TV exile. After my paean of praise to his Borisness (below), I thought I'd stay off politicians for a while and I don't actually intend to blog about Kilroy today. After all, he's a ridiculously easy target for a semi-anonymous blogger like myself, and many people have done the job better and earlier than me. And no-one has done any better than the superb "Will Flash for Cash" gurus at eclectech - whom I came across today whilst reading Jonny B's latest efforts to save his (non-threatened) Post Office. So, for several minutes worth of fantastic entertainment - click on the grinning idiot above (or here) and prepare to giggle like a girl!

Actually, let me say this one thing about his ex-party - they're quite good at not wanting to give me any money. You see, in a fit of cyber-squatting entrepreneurship earlier in the year, I bought the domain www.veritas.net.uk (or something very similar, thus avoiding all you WHOIS aficionados!) in order to sell onto the fledgling neo-UKIP-type party with (at-the-time) no website. Unfortunately, they weren't remotely interested, and neither were any EBay buyers I subsequently tried to tempt, so now I'm bloody lumbered with ownership of an unwanted crap domain for another 18 months. And less lumbered with the extortionate £65 it cost me. So, despite what Gordon Gecko says, let alone Richard Branson, greed is not good. In fact, if you're crap at being an entrepreneur (i.e. me), it's slightly expensive.

Anyway, I digress. I was recently told about this amusing website called (in a way to irritate apostrophic pedants the world over) "Your Not Me". This fun-for-5-minutes diversion has the 2001 Electoral Roll within its database, and you can search for how many people in the UK (who were 18 in 2001, so I guess now are at least 22) share the same full name as you. Or surname only. Or first name. Or in fact any random words. So, here are some stats for you:

There are 6 Kilroy-Silks in the UK*
There are 55 people with the surname Merkin, but none with it as a first name (except me, of course)*
There are 222 James Bonds*
And 34 Margaret Thatchers* (can you imagine being taken seriously on the phone? "Name?" "Margaret Thatcher" CLICK...brrrrrrrrr)
But only 1 Boris Johnson* (that could be a football chant)
14 people have the surname Lupin* (yes I know it's not your real surname, Willie)

and

Only 1 person has the surname Bum.

Now, when I was about 12, I remember reading about a CND protestor who was arrested outside the Houses of Parliament wrapped in nothing but an anti-nuclear flag, singing protest songs about Pershing or some other burning 1980s issue that no-one remembers these days. And his name was so memorable that I (and my friend Jon - where are you these days Chappers?) decided to commit it to memory. The man, who (if my pre-adolescent memory still serves) was born with the rather conventional moniker of "Martin Felix Smith", but had changed it by Deed Poll, was actually named (drumroll please) ....

Martin Felix Oddsocks McWeirdo El-Tooty Fruity Farto Hello
Hippopotamus Bum

And the beauty of it all is that Mr Bum is civic-minded enough to register to vote. Good on yer, Martin! Rock the vote! And Yanks Go Home. It's a bit of a pity that his wife (I know, I know, never assume) - if he has one - never took his name officially, though. I wonder if he has any children?

____________
* Who are 22 and over. Who dared risk endless junk mail and told the council who they were 4 years ago. Etc.

The Honourable Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson MP

2005-08-15T10:34:00.000Z

What is it about that media darling and all-round randy magazine proprietor, Boris Johnson MP? A seemingly charming chap who would have been my MP had I stayed in the rather poncy village of my upbringing (blast those property prices), he is somewhat of a phenomenon in the grey faceless world of modern politics, being simultaneously witty, urbane, scruffy and (most importantly) interesting. While popping into a branch of Morrisons last week (for the first and last time, I must point out) I actually saw a middle-aged portly chap wearing some ill-advised tight shorts, a pair of flip-flops, and a ... "Boris" tee-shirt, complete with a cartoon caricature of the ex-Shadow Minister for the Arts. I was gobsmacked, and for a change it was not in a literal sense by the group of feral youths hanging around the car park looking for abandoned £1-laden shopping trolleys. What other MP (especially a Conservative & Unionist MP) could inspire someone, especially someone so obviously familiar with the lower rungs of the socio-economic ladder, to wear a fanclub-type garment? So I decided to do some intensive (ie Google) research and soon found that should one wish to emulate my rotund shopper, one can easily buy the tee-shirt from TeeMarto, here! But there's more....

People do seem slightly obsessed with young "Bozza". He has his own "Boris Watch" website, which I can't decide whether is a sign of celebrity or the function of a slightly obsessed mind. He is regularily the subject of gossip columns, satirical TV and radio shows, Private Eye articles/cartoons and he's one of the few Conservatives about whom even rabid lefties chuckle about and talk approvingly. The BBC News website wrote this very affectionate article about him on his recent 40th birthday (a rare occurrence for any MP, let alone a Tory), and is one of the few politicians of any hue (save "Shagger" Norris) who has easily shrugged off a sex scandal with no damage to his reputation.

We already know that Boris has his own official website-cum-blog that appears to be run by the slightly predictably-monikered "Melissa" and "Simon", and the less conventionally-named "Olly Researcher" (a very appropriate surname, young Olly). On which we can find the MP's rather well-argued and well-written thoughts on hot topics of the day, recent news stories and (occasionally) random subjects. What I like about the site is the opportunity to post comments thereon, in a 21st century equivalent of a permanent village hall meeting. A sort of "cyber-hustings", if you will. As well as the normal reactionary drivel from bearded vegetarians, and the insightful contributions of the rather marvellous Vicus Scurra, quite a lot of reasoned discussion goes on here, which occasionally spills over on to other blogs. In fact on one blog, only last week, the as-yet-unnamed humble "@" symbol was renamed in honour of the media-watching contribution of the mellifluous Melissa, and henceforth people will be describing their email addresses as "joedotbloggsmelissahotmaildotcom". It is written.

But I digress. Many years ago, whilst walking through St James' Park with a politically-minded friend, I caught my only 'in the flesh' glimpse of the then newly-elected MP for Henley-on-Thames, and my companion said:

"There goes the next Conservative Prime Minister".
"Hang on", I interjected, "It's 1998. He's only just turned up. What about Hague?" (I'm not a Tory. Just an argumentative sod).
"Just you wait and see. The Tories are done for, for at least 10 years. He's the only one of the lot of them with a personality".

And do you know what? I think he might be right.

[Thank you to Bill Mundy RMS for the Boris Portrait]

What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor?

2005-08-12T11:40:00.000Z

So. I'm back. It's been a long old 6 weeks, almost continually at sea, with the end result of having no money left, severely damaged kidneys, some cracking photographs and the new skill of managing to function on only 5 hours semi-drunken sleep a night. Despite rumours to the contrary, it's my job, rather than an extended aquatic holiday, and it's brief periods away like this that actually confirm to me that I'm (sort of) in the right business. Every job has it's pros and cons, and I'm at the stage now when I get itchy feet and mentally write them out on a fairly regular basis...

Pros

Good money(ish), lots of travel, seeing fantastic sunrises, sexy uniform (every nice girl/boy (delete as applicable) loves a sailor), the "not being in an office" factor and the opportunity to be out of mobile phone range for days at a time.

Cons

Could be (a lot) more money, travel is limited by ship programme and luck-of-the-draw job allocations, British weather at sea tends to lead to more multi-coloured yawns than multi-coloured skies, uniform makes you look like a Securicor Guard, the paperwork is never ending (and at least offices don't throw books/papers/computers half way across the room in bad weather) and it's actually rather annoying to be out of mobile phone range for days at a time.

But, nevertheless, I shall probably remain where I am. In what other profession can you travel to ports such as Ramsgate, where you are given a fairly clear municipal instruction on the behaviour expected (see photo left), and thence to Amsterdam, where a location is provided for that very purpose (see photo below right)?! I have seen, in the last month, a cornucopia of dockside red light districts (no, I most definitely did not partake), many dangerous varieties of Belgian Beer (never drink "Kwak" Beer - it's 11% alcohol!), the most incredible assortment of tall ships (plus many warships, small ships and old ships), the inside of a Dutch police wagon at 5am(long story, not nice), some of the worst nightclubs in Europe (generally those to be found near the seafront of small British ports) and a lot of alcohol-fuelled roistering, with the occasional episode of good-natured nudity. But it's over now. And I can't pretend I'm not relieved!

Highlights? The Trafalgar 200 celebrations (see my previous post) were superb and a real honour to attend, especially as the tabloid-predicted "Red Fleet" vs "Blue Fleet" sensibilities proved to be complete rubbish and the entire day was about the plucky British against the evil French. Five days in and around the Channel Islands were also very enjoyable, and in a "tweak the nose of neo-feudal plutocracy" move, we anchored off the private island of Brecqhou. This beautiful place, home to the secretive millionaire Barclay twins, is notorious for gun-toting thugs in speedboats ordering sightseers and bathers to "get orff my land", but (un)fortunately we were left in peace to have a dip in the glorious sunshine. If one didn't require £5,000,000 in liquid assets to reside there, I think the Channel Islands would be quite a nice place to live. Maybe I'll buy the Spectator or something - non-stop orgies, informed soft-right-wing opinions, and the opportunity to own a large neo-classical palace on a rock near Sark. Sounds like a life I could get used to.

Lowlights? Erm, probably the end of my long term relationship. But that's a separate (and rather private) matter entirely. I now have a few weeks off to regroup, recharge, and replenish my funds. And then I'm going to try and work out how to get people reading my blog occasionally! Happy August...

Trafalgar 200 - or "My Big Day Out"

2005-06-28T22:57:00.000Z

International Fleet Review - Solent 28 Jun 05

I haven't got much time this wek - or indeed this month, as I go away until the beginning of August tomorrow - but I thought I'd share these photographs that I took today (one about 30 mins ago!). It was a great honour to witness the Fleet Review, from a warship at sea, about 100 yards from the "Main Woman" (Her Majesty) and the entire occasion was an absolute credit to the navies of the world. Especially our one.

Son et Lumiere - Southsea 28 Jun 05

The culmination of the day's events was an absolutely spectacular son et lumiere fireworks-cum-music-cum-reenactment-cum-cum thing, which was quite simply the most impressive (and free!) public event I've ever been to. Huzzah for Nelson. And all that. So here I am: tipsy, sun burnt and on a computer when I should be in bed. See you in August....

The International Symbol of Bad Driving

2005-06-20T17:30:00.000Z

Over the blisteringly hot weekend, I drove 100 miles north to my old university city for a boozy reunion with some friends, and then back again (avec hangover) the next day. Maybe it was the heat - maybe it was the lack of air conditioning in every car sold in the UK until 1999 (including mine) - maybe it was my throbbing temples - but most of the drivers on the roads seemed to be incompetent idiots. Changing lanes violently, without indicating, and directly in front of other vehicles was a typical symptom, as was that almost-always-in-a-Volvo refusal to move to the left hand lane. But probably the most irritating habit of the sub-standard drivers I experienced was the refusal to go anywhere near the envelope of the speed limit.

Now I don't, as a rule, speed. Much. OK, I have 3 points (34mph in a 30 zone, by mobile camera, your honour, I thought he was a surveyor) from 2 years ago and on empty motorways I cruise at 80mph. In fact, I'd go faster if I wasn't so much of a coward about losing my licence, especially as modern cars are orders of magnitude safer, more maneouvrable and stoppable than those around when "70mph" was plucked out of the air as the limit. But I cannot see the point of driving at 15mph in a 30mph limit, when it's an empty wide road, with no pedestrians, in bright sunlight. And, funny old thing, the car that first did this to me had that Christian fish symbol on the boot. And the next one. AND THE NEXT ONE! Now, I always thought that the point of the little fishy thing was to show the world that you belived in Jesus and all that. I fail to see why sticking it on the back of your Morris Ital (immaculate, British Leyland brown) means you have to then mentally halve all the published speed limits and keep to "fish" speed. Or maybe the Christian sect that issues these stickers (I'm pretty sure it's not the C of E) only believes in kilometres an hour. Either way, here's a message to all of those drivers with little fishies - "Jesus wants you to change into 3rd gear".

Mind you, there are so many speed cameras around these says, they could just be obeying one of the little known prophecies in the Book of Galadriekial about "the carriage with the fish shall be flashed and verily, will receive a triumvirate of points of penalty". I'm not going to rehearse all the well-worn arguments against (many) and for (none) speed cameras vice Traffic Cops but I'd love to know how many of the little cheats you read about online to avoid tickets actually work. You can get super-reflective number plate spray, buy real spray-on mud in an aerosol can (recommended for 4x4s only), refuse to sign the speeding summons, claim the car is for sale and on a test drive with a mysterious "Mr Galloway" etc, but do any actually work? I've even heard the ludicrous suggestion that you shouldn't break the speed limit - what a lark! Or, alternatively, you could stick your bum at the camera and rest assured that your backside will make its way onto the internet eventually. Nice bum, mate.

Cock Shot

2005-06-12T15:12:00.000Z

Wandering through the streets of my home town, I found this brass plate embedded in the pavement. Of course, I am fully aware of its purpose in the grand "water main/fireman" scheme of life, but it started me thinking - municipal double entendres - are there many more of them?

So, I spent the day with my camera phone (actually, it's the first photo I've ever downloaded from my phone - remarkable quality for a piece of add-on Nokia rubbish) stalking my picturesque metropolis, looking for rude words, in official typefaces. And here are my results:

I'm afraid that's it. A picture of someone's house with a not-very funny name plate, entirely based on the occupant's profession in the medical sector (I'm guessing). Maybe the City Council don't actually have Finbarr Saunders working for their signwriting department, but it would be nice if they could make more of an effort. When I was at school in Bristol, the local scaffolding company was called "Avon Erections", which always made us giggle. And there's a tool hire firm on the A27 called "Beaver Tool Hire". But c'est tout. Can either of my readers find an original (ie not from an email circular - I have loads of them!) example to appeal to my puerile mind?

Ding ding - de - ding ding ding. Brrrrrr. Etc

2005-06-05T14:29:00.000Z

I hate that bloody frog. Number 1 in the charts, for pity's sake, a sacred position that should be rightfully the preserve of ... er .. St Winifred's School Choir, Benny Hill and Mr Blobby. Personally I was delighted that downloads became included in the official charts a few weeks ago as I assumed that low-selling dance music tracks and teenage-targeted cheese would stop infiltrating my ears on the rare occasions that I listened to Radio 1. I had even heard rumours that the baby-faced child that used to present the Top 40 (Wesley "Wes" Butters) was sacked for being too immature in this mature new world of Noughties music (and nothing to do with how close he allegedly was to the rather nasal ageing DJ Paul Gambaccini (I think Honeytom first told me that)).

But that frog. You know the story - 17 year old Swede, internet chat rooms, Jamster blah blah blah. You have even read about his shrivelled genitalia being censored on the TV ads. But never did I suspect that enough idiots were out their to actually pay for him to "ding ding" out of their stolen Nokias. Forget world poverty, global warming, soaring crime rates or National Naturism Day (today, since you ask, which is why I am typing this in the buff) - the real issue is why there are enough people out there with the spare cash, inclination and selfish streak to download such an annoying noise, purely to be able to inflict it on others in the vicinity every time their phone rings. Personally, I blame Big Brother.

So, if you fancy a bit of revenge, click on the picture above and play a diverting and rather satisfying little game that makes you feel that little bit better. Ding ding ding-de-ding ... BANG.

Challenge Vader...

2005-05-30T16:16:00.000Z

This guy is good. In fact, I only defeated him on the fifth go with a "cow skin rug". Where's my bank holiday gone?

PS I love the cameos from someone who I assume is "The Burger King". Looks fat enough...

Oh Lordy Lord Lord Lord...

2005-05-27T13:24:00.000Z

Recently, I've found myself getting very angry with the bunch of self-important arrogant types who dare to call themselves the representatives of all British Christians. Humourless, confused, very single-minded and completely intolerant of anyone who doesn't fit into their idea of repressed pseudo-1950s lower middle class Britain, Christian Voice seem to think that they have the makings of a modern day political party, aiming to create a Britain in which a sort of Anglo-Saxon Sharia law will apply. I can't help thinking of Eddie Izzard's sketch about a Fundamentalist Church of England (the cry of "Cake or Death"!).

In fact, in their "alternative" Queen's Speech", Stephen Green and his cronies want to base the entire criminal justice system on the dodgy mediaeval translation of a 3000 year old Arab book (a handy guide here), including all those frankly incomprehensible bits in Leviticus (you know the book that is often quoted as where God forbids homosexuality, although the bit about sending a woman to the desert for a week during her monthly "unclean" period isn't often sermonised from C of E pulpits). Thank heavens for the 99.6% of the British population (most of whom are nominally Christian, such as myself) who feel that tolerance, live-and-let-live and free speech are still important in this country. It's good to see that most people (and these lovely people) treat them with the disdain they deserve, and so far not a single showing of the harmless (and tasteless, and mildly amusing) Jerry Springer opera has been cancelled by their "threat" of mass "hymn singing" outside theatres.

So as a special mediaeval treat, Merkin brings you the bits of the bible that you'll soon have to stop ignoring (feel free to visit the "National Campaign HQ" of Christian Voice for a bijou picket-ette if you disagree) and start obeying:

Stop eating prawns. And oysters. And those yummy snail-type things you get in France. As it makes very clear in both Leviticus (Lev 11:10) and Deuteronomy, if you eat any sea food without fins or scales, you're committing an awful sin. The Jews are big on this one, but as they're going straight to Stephen Green's hell for not believing in Jesus, it's too little too late. Spread the word on the evil shrimp....
And pigs and other cloven-footed beast. STOP IT. Again, Jews do this, but the big JC sort of never forgave them for not believing in him, apparently.
Lev 21:20 states that you may not approach the altar of God if you have a defect in your sight. Confusing whether reading glasses count, or even if you're a bit bleary-eyed after a night out stoning blasphemous people (Lev 24:10-16).
Lev 19:19 says that you must not wear clothes made of two different types of fibre. I hope "Dr" Green in his woollen suits is also wearing woollen pants, and socks, and shirt and tie. Else he'll get stoned. Probably.
Don't even think about having the hair around your temples cut next time you're at the barber. Leviticus 19:27 says no.
Here's a good thing though - no more having to pay for Char to clean the dishes after your pork- and shellfish-free dinner party. You see, Lev 25:44 says you can own a pair of slaves from neighbouring nations as long as they're male and female. I'm thinking of getting a male French chef and a female Scottish gardener, myself. Where's that Dimmock lady from, exactly?

I could go on, but you get the idea. A very funny letter called "Dear Dr Laura" did the email rounds a few years ago, which makes very similar points. In fact, Christain Voice even devote a lot of web space to a point-by-point rebuttal of it , which makes them look even more ridiculous. One (unintentionally) hilarious bit:

Q. My friend tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone him as commanded in Leviticus 24:10-16 ?
A. Yes, because it is all a matter of due process.

So there you go. Dennis Thatcher's famous phrase comes to mind - "Better to stay silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and prove it". But what do YOU think? Tell them (info@christianvoice.org.uk) or my other reader via the comments thing. Bacon sarnie, anyone?

The Camberwell Courgette

2005-05-23T23:47:00.000Z

Without a hint of irony (or any obvious reference to Withnail), hark at a Mr Mark McGowan, who could very well be one of the most pretentious people in Christendom. As it states, with some pride, on the Camberwell College of Arts Live Art Shows website, from the 1st to the 11th of June:

"Mark McGowan, Camberwell College graduate, is planning to cartwheel the 57 miles from Brighton to London protesting against people who bring home pebbles from the beach as they are diminishing the Sussex coastline. He will have courgettes strapped around his head as most of the perpetrators are vegetarian."

Pseuds Corner, here we come (could it be my first ever £10?)...

The List - Episode 4 (A New Hope?)

2005-05-22T13:01:00.000Z

Is this "Gorgeous" George Galloway, giving the forces of neocon darkness at the Senate the unexpurgated truth? I read an article in the Sunday Telegraph today (who's sister paper recently lost a £150,000 libel suit to him, but who are appealing) saying that he may be a bastard, but he's our bastard and we should be proud of him (or words to that effect). I beg to differ...

Yes, it was a very impressive rhetorical performance from the former garden centre worker, but I've never been much of a supporter of the "My enemy's enemy is my friend" theory of politics, and just because he gave a well-rehearsed anti-war speech in the heart of Washington DC, it doesn't (or shouldn't, at least) make him a folk hero all of a sudden. American bloggers, "comment-lite" commentators and peace activists have seized on this previously-unknown, telegenic, eloquent MP as a new standard bearer for democracy and the anti-war movement, but caveat emptor applies just as much to speaking engagements as it does to washing machines, and this particular speaker comes with a closet so full of outspoken skeletons it makes Michael Moore look like a director of Halliburton.

Here are some of George Galloway's words of wisdom over the years.

In 1987, after a visit to the Greek resort of Mykonos, he (a married man) told a journalist, “I travelled and spent lots of time with people in Greece, many of whom were women, some of whom were known carnally to me. I actually had sexual intercourse with some of the people in Greece.”

In 1994, at his first (of two) meetings with Saddam Hussein he is on the record (and on camera) as saying "Sir, I salute your courage, your strength, your indefatigability”. This, and many other episodes of shameless brown-nosing to the dictator, earned him the nickname in Parliament of the 'Honourable Member for Baghdad South'.

In 2002, in an interview with the Guardian, he stated "If you are asking did I support the Soviet Union, yes I did. Yes, I did support the Soviet Union, and I think the disappearance of the Soviet Union is the biggest catastrophe of my life."

In the 2005 election campaign, when accused of 'carpetbagging' a constituency with the highest Muslim population in the UK, represented by one of the very few female black MPs, he replied that she (Oona King, the sitting MP) was responsible for "the deaths of many people in Iraq with blacker faces than hers". A nice touch, considering that she was not a minister (therefore not a member of government), and had not exactly pulled any triggers on the ground in the Middle East.

Last week, as he arrived in Washington, he announced "I have no expectation of justice from a group of Christian fundamentalist and Zionist activists under the chairmanship of a neocon George Bush." Is this a shade of religious intolerance, or at least a lack of RESPECT for other religious viewpoints?

Combined with his suspiciously-large expense account when General Secretary of the soon-to-be insolvent homeless charity War on Want (£21,000 in 1985/6), his call on British servicemen to disobey orders (an offence under the 1934 Incitement to Disaffection Act), his repeated naming on Iraqi "Oil for Food" documents (that he admits, but claims are all forgeries), and his terrier-like litigious streak, it appears to me that he may be considered a rather shifty character. Thus, in my humble opinion, George Galloway should be added to The List.

Gide - Not a Daily Mail fan

2005-05-16T14:06:00.000Z

Now here's a well dressed rake-about-town. Not so much Beau Geste as Beau Chapeau - this bearded chap is (or was, as he died in 1951) Andre Gide, a French author, aesthete, opinion-former and ... er ... paederast.

He was born in 1869, to a well off family, and with a substantial income from his family wealth, was a profilic writer from childhood onwards. He was an interesting character actually, for a number of reasons:

He was married for 43 years, but it was never consummated. This, apparently, is a record.
He won the Nobel Prize for Literature, but his entire body of work was placed on the Vatican's Index Librorum Prohibitorum ("List of Prohibited Books", that all Roman Catholics are forbidden to read) - one of only 2 laureates to be so treated.
Was a fan of the odd catamite, especially those of Arabian extraction. It seems that in late 19th century France this was not considered a bad thing.
On the other hand, despite receiving universal condemnation from the Parisian literati for his 1924 book Corydon, in which he defended homosexuality in general, and Oscar Wilde in particular, he conducted a vigorous extra-marital affair with one Maria Van Rysselberghe, and had even conceived a daughter in 1923.
He didn't believe in the first person pronoun "I", and referred to himself as "it".

So, all in all, not the sort of person to appeal to the readers of the Daily Mail. With such unconventional views on life, and some eminently pithy quotations, I may just buy some of the old devil's collected works for some light reading over the summer. My favourite comments of his are:

Know thyself! A maxim as pernicious as it is ugly. Whoever observes himself arrests his own development. A caterpillar who wanted to know itself well would never become a butterfly.
I owe much to my friends; but, all things considered, it strikes me that I owe even more to my enemies. The real person springs to life under a sting even better than under a caress.
One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.

It appears to be that we'd all be a lot happier if we had Andre's outlook on life.

Just keep your hands off those boys....

"Vitae Lampada" by Sir Henry Newbolt

2005-05-12T17:45:00.000Z

Now THIS is a cracking poem. Old fashioned, it rhymes and bangs on about honour, patriotism and stuff. AND it provides the title to this Blog.

There's a breathless hush in The Close tonight
Ten to make and the match to win
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play, and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat.
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red-
Red with the wreck of the square that broke
The gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed its banks,
And England's far and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks-
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the school is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with joyful mind
And bear through life like a torch in flame,
falling fling to the host behind-
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

That's it. No commentary, no 'lit crit', just an exhortation for all my readers (both of them) to memorise it. And then recite it, loudly, when drunk.

_____________________________
Another blow against ... er ... self-absorption.

Wales Win the Grand Slam

2005-04-23T15:12:00.000Z

I just found this picture of a Welsh Grand Slammer rather funny.

Although a bit disgusting at the same time. Ho hum.

The Quince Effect: A Beginner's Guide

2005-04-17T11:52:00.000Z

There's an interesting phenomenon sweeping the South at the moment (and Nottingham, I hear) called ... the Quince Effect. This dastardly dating technique preys on the vulnerability of straight women when they're in their "handbag" comfort zone - the homosexual establishment. Effectively, a small group of well-dressed and well-groomed straight men enter a gay bar or club and spend half an hour rousing no suspicion as they sashay across the dance floor, stand camply at the bar and make exaggerated movements with their hands. To all onlookers, they appear as incongruous as John Inman in Old Compton St, and being an obviously 'closed' group of friends, attract no attention from predatory lads on the pull. But ladies ... beware.

You see, these devious pseudomoxuals are taking their time to spot what they dismissively call "fag hags", dancing away with their non-threatening new best friend from the office, a slightly camp chap called Jeremy. In fact the only reason these fabulous girls are here at all is that they are delighted to find a venue in which they can relax, without the presure of fending off drunken wideboys in Umbro polo shirts. To use the banal, but descriptive, language of Science Fiction - their "shields are lowered". And so, these carefree ladies dance away shamelessly, with anyone they want, showing the world (and our boys) that they are single, straight and slightly drunk. Thus, the scene is set. After 30 minutes of furtive target reconnaisance, our group of sexuality quislings move onto the dance floor themselves, position themselves next to their intended victims and start to dance with each other, gradually widening their "boogie circle" to include the girls. Within minutes, at least one of the chaps has "dirty-danced" with a woman in a way that is frankly impossible in the local Chicago Rock Cafe before at least 1.30am.

And then, the killer move. After the dancing, the (to her, harmless) flirting and the inane semi-shouted conversation, the (again, to her, harmless) man asks in his campest whisper if he can buy his new dance partner a drink. She readily agrees, follows him to the bar and prepares herself for the usual catty denunciations of ex-boyfriends. He, having caught his prey, then gently, carefully and subtly reels her in. Comments such as "Oooh, he's nice", "Wow, look at the pecs on him!" and "This is the first night I've been out for months, you know" set the scene, and keep her convinced that she's drinking with someone who she could possibly set up with Jeremy from accounts. He even asks sensitive and caring questions such as "Oooh, are you in a relationship", and "it's SUCH a nice club, isn't it?".

And then, out of the blue, "Do you know, recently, I feel myself attracted to women for the first time in years, if ever. I'm so confused, and terrified, I don't know what to do..."

He's got her, hook line and feather-covered sinker. Before she realises what's happening, they're snogging (after all, everyone does in these sort of establishments) and within the hour, they're back at his suspiciously-untidy batchelor pad "exploring his masculine side". Using a condom.

That, my friends, is the Quince Effect.

Home Thoughts From Home

2005-04-08T12:29:00.000Z

Well, here it is. Were I a betting man (note the use of the subjunctive, a rare delight on the interweb, methinks), I would wager several shillings that this site will be visited by no one other than me, a select band of anarchosyndicalist geeks, and someone looking for an intimate hairpiece after an unfortunate drinking incident involving hair clippers.

My intention is to post random musings on anything that takes my fancy, as (Goddammit) my thoughts are far too important to remain shackled in the rather sordid dungeon of my mind. I cannot promise that the content, style or even HTML coding will be a match for the frankly superb blogs out there (my current favourite, is Honeytom) but I shall have a damn good go.

So, watch this space for yet another blow against ... er ... self-absorption. Or, as I am actually addressing myself, 'Get a move on, Merkin.'

2005-04-07T14:47:00.000Z

I'm not ginger. So I must be the other one. Cute, eh?