Both of you may be wondering how long it would take before I had a proper moan about the Ollyimpics. Well, it's now Day 4 so I reckon I've lasted quite well. Actually I quite like the idea that the world, and no doubt a fair few of the wives too, is watching GB for once. The opening ceremony, bizarre and slightly surreal as it was filled us all with pride in our nation...well, until Macca came on anyway, and luckily the rest of the world could not hear Trevor Nelson. And being a sports fan I can appreciate all the weird and wonderful pastimes we are now being subjected to; it's probably no surprise that Russia won the Freestyle Shaving gold.
So, what's getting my goat you may well ask? It's the BBC, that's wot. OK, it's great that the thing is here but do we really need 715-odd hours of coverage every effin day across three channels (five if you count the two under the red button)? Not content with their completely OTT coverage which has turned BBC 1 into a sports-only channel for the duration, the bloody thing has infiltrated BBC "News" to the extent that any proper current affairs reporting is relegated to the last ten minutes, which at this time of year is usually reserved for tales of cats returning home after seventeen years away on a world tour, or tales of potatoes that look like Boris Johnson. I mean, what is the point of telling the nation as a news headline that Tom Daley and Peter Waterfield (bet you had both already forgetten him!) came fourth in the synchronised water bombing when we had already been subjected to it endlessly for the last two hours on BBC Sprot...sorry, 1? This is then followed by further endless reports from the Ollyimpic Park and elsewhere of "news" we already knew about. How is it that a non-story on empty seats at venues takes precedence over the Syrian war or the Eurozone crisis? Looks like I'll be heading to Channel 4, Britain's most arid news channel or TV's equivalent of The Independent for my daily fix of real news then; as ITN, which used to present a good programme, is now little more than our very own version of Fox News, and Channel 5 News is just some bird with pert tits reading the headlines for 5 seconds. Sky News? No chance, matey!
And another thing....because BBC 1 is wall-to-wall Ollyimpics their evening big ratings programmes are starting to appear on BBC 2. Settling down to be utterly bamboozled by the esoteric and marvy University Challenge last night I was instead confronted with the godawful vision of cockernee dystopia that is East Bleedin' Enders fer chrissakes.
So, yes, I'm already fed up with the BBC but not necessarily the Ollyimpics themselves. From a purely sporting perspective I wonder what odds you could get on Team GB not winning a single gold medal? We have had a bit of an underwhelming start after all the hype about how we were going to eclipse our hitherto unheard of medals tally (modern era) in Beijing. We will no doubt win a few glittering prizes at bicycling and we have some good rowists who will probably add to the tally, and "Blimey, she's big" Rebecca Adlington or Jessica Ennis may yet bring it on home so the odds should be pretty long...just asking!
...
Ollyimpic Footnote - would it not be more entertaining if the Beeb let Trevor Nelson do all the commentating? I can hear it now "...and here comes Usain Bolt
in a nice green and yellow top...I had a top once, when I was a kid...a
spinning top... it wasn't green...or yellow...oh, he's won."
Or perhaps all commentators should be required to drop a few tabs before picking up the microphone: And now, over to Claire Balding at the Horsing About ".....Aaaargggh, they're all riding seahorses...whip me daddy-o..."
...
If you take a Viagra and it gets stuck in your throat, do you get a stiff neck for the next 12 hours?
...
Finally, finally....All I can say in my defence is it was night time, it was covered in a thick layer of green slime that in the dark looked like more lawn. If this confuses you, read the ante-penultimate paragraph of Phill's blog, or the whole lot if you want a really grim tale!
31 Jul 2012
28 Jul 2012
Vacuuming Completely Nude In Stratford
Having sat through all seven years of last night's opening ceremony bash, there were two mildly cringeworthy moments - the first being the use of a German car as an example of British engineering, and Macca.
Just when you thought you'd got through a Brit spectacular without sight of either of those two Establishment pop musos of choice, Sirs Elton & Paul, up pops Macca and his ridiculous hair. I mean, come on, the guy is 70 and while I can just about believe he still has a full head of his own hair (my gramps was the same) the fact that there's not a grey one in sight is frankly undignified. And as for his voice, Christ on a bike, someone tell him to retire, please.
The best musical act was The Arctic Monkeys, a band I've never had a lot of time for, but I have to say they were actually rather good, and carried off their slot with no nerves at all, and gave us a fine cover of Come Together. I also enjoyed Danny Boyle's trawl through Brit pop music. Knowing he is an old punk at heart, it was rather fun seeing the longest snippets given not to The Beatles, but to the Sex Pistols' Pretty Vacant, and The Prodigy's Firestarter. Even better, Coldplay didn't get a look in - marvellous!
I wonder what Liz made of it? Perhaps it explained her stern fizzog that at times resembled a bulldog's slapped arse.
Today hindsight kicks in, and although celebrating the great British institution that is the NHS was a undoubtedly a good thing to do, it seemed a bit hypocritical what with our posh boy PM and his missus in the (very) expensive seats watching this while all the time his government are selling the NHS down the Swanee.
Right, I'm off to watch Russia win the Olympic Shaving competition...
Just when you thought you'd got through a Brit spectacular without sight of either of those two Establishment pop musos of choice, Sirs Elton & Paul, up pops Macca and his ridiculous hair. I mean, come on, the guy is 70 and while I can just about believe he still has a full head of his own hair (my gramps was the same) the fact that there's not a grey one in sight is frankly undignified. And as for his voice, Christ on a bike, someone tell him to retire, please.
The best musical act was The Arctic Monkeys, a band I've never had a lot of time for, but I have to say they were actually rather good, and carried off their slot with no nerves at all, and gave us a fine cover of Come Together. I also enjoyed Danny Boyle's trawl through Brit pop music. Knowing he is an old punk at heart, it was rather fun seeing the longest snippets given not to The Beatles, but to the Sex Pistols' Pretty Vacant, and The Prodigy's Firestarter. Even better, Coldplay didn't get a look in - marvellous!
I wonder what Liz made of it? Perhaps it explained her stern fizzog that at times resembled a bulldog's slapped arse.
Today hindsight kicks in, and although celebrating the great British institution that is the NHS was a undoubtedly a good thing to do, it seemed a bit hypocritical what with our posh boy PM and his missus in the (very) expensive seats watching this while all the time his government are selling the NHS down the Swanee.
Right, I'm off to watch Russia win the Olympic Shaving competition...
14 Jul 2012
"A haaaandbaaaag?"
Perambulatory musing # 748
I carry all kinds of stuff with me on the way to work: wallet, phone, bunch of keys, lunch box, Uzi machine pistol...so I have recently been considering getting one of those "male handbag" things with a shoulder strap to prevent my bulging pockets making me look like I have some kind of bizarre medical condition affecting the groinal region.
Today I saw a bloke of about my age, expanding waistline and similar office garb with one of these manbags or whatever they are called slung over his shoulder. He looked bleedin' ridiculous. I won't be going there.
...
This advert fails...
...
It's Saturday lunchtime...and it's raining. Whoop-de-do! Watching the local news we are told that a car driver near Cambridge got stuck in three feet of water; that's the kind of Earth-shattering events we have round here after all. When asked how he came to be stuck, the motorist offered this as an explanation: "I was following my SatNav". I laughed.
Following this revelation we are transferred to the national weather forecast hosted by some over-cheerful bird with a double-barrelled name. She informs us while smiling inanely that so far July has been "quite wet". FFS, you don't say!
I really want to see a forecaster with a face as gloomy as our weather this miserable "summer" tell it like it is...
"Well folks, I wouldn't bother going out this weekend as it is going to piss down for the duration, much as it has since the end of May. We can see no let up in this fucking awful summer, so you might as well put the BBQ back in storage until next March, as it will then probably be unfeasibly warm for the time of year"
Oh, that reminds me, we're having a Monsoon BBQ pardy next Saturday, fools that we are...
...
I carry all kinds of stuff with me on the way to work: wallet, phone, bunch of keys, lunch box, Uzi machine pistol...so I have recently been considering getting one of those "male handbag" things with a shoulder strap to prevent my bulging pockets making me look like I have some kind of bizarre medical condition affecting the groinal region.
Today I saw a bloke of about my age, expanding waistline and similar office garb with one of these manbags or whatever they are called slung over his shoulder. He looked bleedin' ridiculous. I won't be going there.
...
This advert fails...
It's Saturday lunchtime...and it's raining. Whoop-de-do! Watching the local news we are told that a car driver near Cambridge got stuck in three feet of water; that's the kind of Earth-shattering events we have round here after all. When asked how he came to be stuck, the motorist offered this as an explanation: "I was following my SatNav". I laughed.
Following this revelation we are transferred to the national weather forecast hosted by some over-cheerful bird with a double-barrelled name. She informs us while smiling inanely that so far July has been "quite wet". FFS, you don't say!
I really want to see a forecaster with a face as gloomy as our weather this miserable "summer" tell it like it is...
"Well folks, I wouldn't bother going out this weekend as it is going to piss down for the duration, much as it has since the end of May. We can see no let up in this fucking awful summer, so you might as well put the BBQ back in storage until next March, as it will then probably be unfeasibly warm for the time of year"
Oh, that reminds me, we're having a Monsoon BBQ pardy next Saturday, fools that we are...
...
8 Jul 2012
Disappointment & Denial
Disappointment
We have been going to Pooja in Wellingborough, the only authentic Indian restaurant in Northamptonshire, for seven years or thereabouts; Phill will know as he can recall every meal everyone has ever had in any restaurant anywhere for the entire passage of time! In that time we have come to expect somewhat haphazard service, but as the food eventually produced is absolutely bonza, a few disruptions in the service continuum are no problem.
Last night we went over there to spend some of Team Squonk's quiz winnings, and, for the first time ever, I had to leave part of my main course as it was inedible. The service was also of probably the worst standard we have experienced too. The starters came out ok, roughly at the same time, but the first thing I noticed was the over the top fiery heat of Phill and I's trusted starter, the good old Chili Paneer. This wasn't too much of a problem as that dish can be a bit variable depending on the chef; it was ok is about all I can say.
Then our orders for the main courses were taken, and we waited. And we waited. And we waited. In the meantime a family who had come in after us had already been served, not good.
Forty minutes later the mains started to arrive, well partly. Mrs P and Colin had no rice to go with their orders, Phill and I had only one of the two noodle dishes we were going to share, but B did at least get her dhosa. As the food that had arrived was lukewarm at best, obviously having sat in the kitchen waiting to be taken out for some time, we all decided to start eating it rather than wait for the rest. The first noodle dish Phill and I shared was ok, if a tad greasy. After about ten minutes, the rice and our second noodle dish arrived. On taking the first mouthful I was definitely not expecting crunchy noodles! The bloody things had either dried out and been reheated or not cooked; judging by their appearance I'd guess the former.
Added to all this according to B the loos were in a dreadful state. I refused to pay for the second noodle dish, and in hindsight, if B and I had not been with Phill and his missus who are (were?) big fans of the place I probably would have kicked off more and refused to pay the bill at all. As B said, if that had been a first time experience for any of us we would not be going back there again.
This slip in standards seems to have coincided with the departure of manager Majood back to his native country. Come back Majood, we may not ever have understood a word we were saying to one another, but you sure knew how to do your job!
....
Denial
It's Sunday, so let's have a religious rant!
I come from a religious family, my parents and grandparents were all non-conformist Protestants of one kind or another, ranging from Methodists to Baptists to Congregationalists. My sole surviving aunt from my mum's side of the family is a Quaker, and a more lovely right-on person you could not hope to meet. In her eighties, she stayed with the anti-capitalist protestors outside St Pauls for a day last year, good on her! If had I still been persuaded by any form of organised Christian religion, this is the branch I would naturally have gravitated to. For those who do not know anything about Quakerism, suffice to say that since their formation in the mid 17th century they have come across as puritan inclined proto-hippies!
When I turned 14 my dad, obviously sensing my growing detachment from the family church, and the usual grunting teenage resentment at being dragged off to church and Sunday school every week told me that I was old enough to make up my own mind, and if I didn't want to come along any more, then fine. Huzzah for good old British lower middle class liberalism! So I stayed home, playing my obscure prog records on Sunday morning, and the rest as they say, is history.
This preamble is to illustrate that I do actually know what I'm talking about when it comes to Protestant Christian religion, and I would draw your attention to the debate raging at the National Trust's bizarre decision to include Creationist theory in their exhibits at the museum attached to the 60 million year old Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland. This archaeological wonder is proven to be 60 million years old, that is an indisputable FACT.
Wallace Thompson, Chairman of the National Trust has this to say: "We fully accept the Trust's commitment to its position on how the Causeway was formed, but this new centre both respects and acknowledges an alternative viewpoint and the continuing debate, and that means it will be a welcoming and enriching experience for all who visit." Why must they acknowledge an alternative viewpoint for an established fact, if not about how it was formed, then certainly about its age, the main crux of loony Creationist argument? If we let the NT get away with this woolly-headed political correctness-gone-mad thinking, then there will be calls for Creationist Theory to be taught in schools, God forbid! (I'm an agnostic, so I've every right to say God forbid...heheheh).
I'm sure if my parents were alive today they would have absolutely no truck with this movement of fuckwitted stupendous and downright dangerous ignorance; the latest unwanted import to our bedraggled Isle from across the pond.
The fact that this has is happening in Northern Ireland, a place where loony right wing Protestant extremism still exists only just under the surface of the now perceived normality of the place is no surprise.
If this dangerous chink in the armour of Brit common sense annoys you as much as it does me, join the FB group protesting against it.
...
We have been going to Pooja in Wellingborough, the only authentic Indian restaurant in Northamptonshire, for seven years or thereabouts; Phill will know as he can recall every meal everyone has ever had in any restaurant anywhere for the entire passage of time! In that time we have come to expect somewhat haphazard service, but as the food eventually produced is absolutely bonza, a few disruptions in the service continuum are no problem.
Last night we went over there to spend some of Team Squonk's quiz winnings, and, for the first time ever, I had to leave part of my main course as it was inedible. The service was also of probably the worst standard we have experienced too. The starters came out ok, roughly at the same time, but the first thing I noticed was the over the top fiery heat of Phill and I's trusted starter, the good old Chili Paneer. This wasn't too much of a problem as that dish can be a bit variable depending on the chef; it was ok is about all I can say.
Then our orders for the main courses were taken, and we waited. And we waited. And we waited. In the meantime a family who had come in after us had already been served, not good.
Forty minutes later the mains started to arrive, well partly. Mrs P and Colin had no rice to go with their orders, Phill and I had only one of the two noodle dishes we were going to share, but B did at least get her dhosa. As the food that had arrived was lukewarm at best, obviously having sat in the kitchen waiting to be taken out for some time, we all decided to start eating it rather than wait for the rest. The first noodle dish Phill and I shared was ok, if a tad greasy. After about ten minutes, the rice and our second noodle dish arrived. On taking the first mouthful I was definitely not expecting crunchy noodles! The bloody things had either dried out and been reheated or not cooked; judging by their appearance I'd guess the former.
Added to all this according to B the loos were in a dreadful state. I refused to pay for the second noodle dish, and in hindsight, if B and I had not been with Phill and his missus who are (were?) big fans of the place I probably would have kicked off more and refused to pay the bill at all. As B said, if that had been a first time experience for any of us we would not be going back there again.
This slip in standards seems to have coincided with the departure of manager Majood back to his native country. Come back Majood, we may not ever have understood a word we were saying to one another, but you sure knew how to do your job!
....
Denial
It's Sunday, so let's have a religious rant!
I come from a religious family, my parents and grandparents were all non-conformist Protestants of one kind or another, ranging from Methodists to Baptists to Congregationalists. My sole surviving aunt from my mum's side of the family is a Quaker, and a more lovely right-on person you could not hope to meet. In her eighties, she stayed with the anti-capitalist protestors outside St Pauls for a day last year, good on her! If had I still been persuaded by any form of organised Christian religion, this is the branch I would naturally have gravitated to. For those who do not know anything about Quakerism, suffice to say that since their formation in the mid 17th century they have come across as puritan inclined proto-hippies!
When I turned 14 my dad, obviously sensing my growing detachment from the family church, and the usual grunting teenage resentment at being dragged off to church and Sunday school every week told me that I was old enough to make up my own mind, and if I didn't want to come along any more, then fine. Huzzah for good old British lower middle class liberalism! So I stayed home, playing my obscure prog records on Sunday morning, and the rest as they say, is history.
This preamble is to illustrate that I do actually know what I'm talking about when it comes to Protestant Christian religion, and I would draw your attention to the debate raging at the National Trust's bizarre decision to include Creationist theory in their exhibits at the museum attached to the 60 million year old Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland. This archaeological wonder is proven to be 60 million years old, that is an indisputable FACT.
Wallace Thompson, Chairman of the National Trust has this to say: "We fully accept the Trust's commitment to its position on how the Causeway was formed, but this new centre both respects and acknowledges an alternative viewpoint and the continuing debate, and that means it will be a welcoming and enriching experience for all who visit." Why must they acknowledge an alternative viewpoint for an established fact, if not about how it was formed, then certainly about its age, the main crux of loony Creationist argument? If we let the NT get away with this woolly-headed political correctness-gone-mad thinking, then there will be calls for Creationist Theory to be taught in schools, God forbid! (I'm an agnostic, so I've every right to say God forbid...heheheh).
I'm sure if my parents were alive today they would have absolutely no truck with this movement of fuckwitted stupendous and downright dangerous ignorance; the latest unwanted import to our bedraggled Isle from across the pond.
The fact that this has is happening in Northern Ireland, a place where loony right wing Protestant extremism still exists only just under the surface of the now perceived normality of the place is no surprise.
If this dangerous chink in the armour of Brit common sense annoys you as much as it does me, join the FB group protesting against it.
...
6 Jul 2012
Don't Drive My Piles
I've been on my tod this week as B has been away visiting friends oop Narth. Picture the scene last Sunday:
Arise from pit about 9:45am, breakfast fry-up....11am to about 2pm England vs Australia one day cricket international on the laptop, followed by a quick burst of e-flurrying. 2pm - 4pm Le Tour on the TV. Then dinner - a reheated portion of previously cooked crushed spangle curry (ask Phill) accompanied by very loud music of the "right bloody racket" variety. 7pm - 9:45pm the final of Euro 2012 with a beer or three, supplemented by crisps and Crunchies. Molly watched it all with me, or rather slept on me for the duration. After that lot the lounge had a nostalgic aura that transported me back to the 1980s. All that was missing was the prevalent aroma of jazz cigarettes. Marvellous!
...
Apparently that British institution of musical mediocrity Status Quo, whose name simply could not be more appropriate, are to make an action movie! Francis Rossi reckons "The one thing Quo fans know is to expect the unexpected", which shows that either he of the vanishing hairline has an incredibly well developed sense of irony, or..........the "or" doesn't bear thinking about. Down down, deeper and down indeed!
Keeping in mind the Quo's timeless quest for musical adventure, methinks they should call the impending biopic "In Search Of The Thirteenth Bar".
...
A friend and moi have been ruminating on a cunning plan to become rich beyond our imaginings (not beyond Diamond Bob's imaginings, but even Roman Ambramovich fails on that score) by jumping on the current prog nostalgia charabanc by forming a Genesis tribute band. Nothing new there, but the fortune cookie is that the usual Peter Gabriel clone will be replaced by two lesbian porn stars. We'll call it Labia Of The Pool, and it will be not leave a dry seat in the house, as 1500 lust-crazed upmarket car dealers go ape! Sounds just the ticket after a round of golf methinks. No ocelots were harmed during this burst of surreality.
....
That king Del Boy amongst shysters, the cunningly named Bob Diamond, who by rights with a name like that should be a gameshow host, made his inevitably obfuscating appearance before a Parliamentary Committee earlier this week drawing the attention of these two satirists outside the venue...
The populist political group 38 Degrees put this pic up on their FB page with the caption "A couple of "bankers" making their point outside parliament as Bob
Diamond arrives for questioning. The champagne is vintage Bollinger,
naturally...." Note the inverted commas. Unfortunately well over 75% of the earlier commenters actually thought this was for real. Here are some of the more priceless:
I bet they love old Bonus Bob..............
Bankers? was that a deliberate typo?
makes me want to puke
it should be legal to punch some people
Complete tossers, but unfortunately there are so many of them...
Even after over 150 comments, most of the latter part of which were screaming "IT'S SATIRE YOU FOOLS" or similar at the earlier posters there were still some idiots posting comments like "We love our Sugar Daddy!". There is no hope, we are all doomed...
Is it any wonder that those cunts (let not mince words, eh) who have plummeted the world into recession by stealing all the loot yet still expect us to pay for it, all the while continuing a lifestyle that makes that of yer average Premier League footballer look impoverished, are probably guffawing all the way to their tax haven villas when there are folk like these who are so fuckwitted they can't appreciate satire when they see it? How easy are they going to be to rip off some more? Some people deserve what they get...not the bankers obviously.
Those two noobs even got their grinning fizzogs on the 6 O'Clock News too. You just had to chuckle.
...
Arise from pit about 9:45am, breakfast fry-up....11am to about 2pm England vs Australia one day cricket international on the laptop, followed by a quick burst of e-flurrying. 2pm - 4pm Le Tour on the TV. Then dinner - a reheated portion of previously cooked crushed spangle curry (ask Phill) accompanied by very loud music of the "right bloody racket" variety. 7pm - 9:45pm the final of Euro 2012 with a beer or three, supplemented by crisps and Crunchies. Molly watched it all with me, or rather slept on me for the duration. After that lot the lounge had a nostalgic aura that transported me back to the 1980s. All that was missing was the prevalent aroma of jazz cigarettes. Marvellous!
...
Apparently that British institution of musical mediocrity Status Quo, whose name simply could not be more appropriate, are to make an action movie! Francis Rossi reckons "The one thing Quo fans know is to expect the unexpected", which shows that either he of the vanishing hairline has an incredibly well developed sense of irony, or..........the "or" doesn't bear thinking about. Down down, deeper and down indeed!
Keeping in mind the Quo's timeless quest for musical adventure, methinks they should call the impending biopic "In Search Of The Thirteenth Bar".
...
A friend and moi have been ruminating on a cunning plan to become rich beyond our imaginings (not beyond Diamond Bob's imaginings, but even Roman Ambramovich fails on that score) by jumping on the current prog nostalgia charabanc by forming a Genesis tribute band. Nothing new there, but the fortune cookie is that the usual Peter Gabriel clone will be replaced by two lesbian porn stars. We'll call it Labia Of The Pool, and it will be not leave a dry seat in the house, as 1500 lust-crazed upmarket car dealers go ape! Sounds just the ticket after a round of golf methinks. No ocelots were harmed during this burst of surreality.
....
That king Del Boy amongst shysters, the cunningly named Bob Diamond, who by rights with a name like that should be a gameshow host, made his inevitably obfuscating appearance before a Parliamentary Committee earlier this week drawing the attention of these two satirists outside the venue...
 |
| Knobs impersonating wankers |
I bet they love old Bonus Bob..............
Bankers? was that a deliberate typo?
makes me want to puke
it should be legal to punch some people
Complete tossers, but unfortunately there are so many of them...
Even after over 150 comments, most of the latter part of which were screaming "IT'S SATIRE YOU FOOLS" or similar at the earlier posters there were still some idiots posting comments like "We love our Sugar Daddy!". There is no hope, we are all doomed...
Is it any wonder that those cunts (let not mince words, eh) who have plummeted the world into recession by stealing all the loot yet still expect us to pay for it, all the while continuing a lifestyle that makes that of yer average Premier League footballer look impoverished, are probably guffawing all the way to their tax haven villas when there are folk like these who are so fuckwitted they can't appreciate satire when they see it? How easy are they going to be to rip off some more? Some people deserve what they get...not the bankers obviously.
Those two noobs even got their grinning fizzogs on the 6 O'Clock News too. You just had to chuckle.
...
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