Monday, 31 August 2009
Wednesday, 26 August 2009
Poetry corner
I was reading the local rag today and found this treasure on the letters page. Prepared to be moved!
Rainy days cut son's stay short
My son came on a visit from Oz
He did not stay long here becoz
it rained and rained,he went off the track
called at Thailand on his way back.
Said it was much better there
said in Thailand rain was rare
he's back in Oz now soon be
No mozzies, no roaches, everything
It hibanates or does not appear
till later on in the Ozzie year
out come the spiders the ones that bite
I drown them in spray they give me a fright
My son swears they saw one in his car
braked with a jolt, and found the spid-ar
set off driving to their abode
saw the spider walking down the middle of the road.
Maureen Taylor, Vicar Lane, Woodhouse
Taken from here
Rainy days cut son's stay short
My son came on a visit from Oz
He did not stay long here becoz
it rained and rained,he went off the track
called at Thailand on his way back.
Said it was much better there
said in Thailand rain was rare
he's back in Oz now soon be
No mozzies, no roaches, everything
It hibanates or does not appear
till later on in the Ozzie year
out come the spiders the ones that bite
I drown them in spray they give me a fright
My son swears they saw one in his car
braked with a jolt, and found the spid-ar
set off driving to their abode
saw the spider walking down the middle of the road.
Maureen Taylor, Vicar Lane, Woodhouse
Taken from here
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
Moronic Dash
I would like to think that I’m a mature and well rounded adult. I pay my taxes, buy boring things such as insurance, take notice of interest rates and I always vote.
However, every now and then it dawns on me that in fact, I haven’t developed as much as my enforced façade displays. Often the mask slips and glimmers of that annoying and quite moronic fool that controlled me for the first twenty years of my life is for all to see.
Today that moronic side forced me into a race.
Walking to work I normally have to stop at some traffic lights at a bottom of a hill. When the green man began flashing today, instead of trudging along with the other clones, I suddenly found myself in a foot face to its summit with a tracksuit clad youth.
He overtook me and something snapped. I wouldn’t and couldn’t let this teen beat me. He got a good start and quickly over took me, I showed great resilience quickly passing him but again the Nike sponsored cretin overtook me.
We didn’t look at each other or acknowledge the fact they we were in a duel but we knew the score.
This stride off continued for a good ten minutes until I got the ultimate advantage and eventually won. I seized the initiative and nipped in front of a car, quite dangerously, and gave him the slip.
Aha! Victory!
A moronic victory.
However, every now and then it dawns on me that in fact, I haven’t developed as much as my enforced façade displays. Often the mask slips and glimmers of that annoying and quite moronic fool that controlled me for the first twenty years of my life is for all to see.
Today that moronic side forced me into a race.
Walking to work I normally have to stop at some traffic lights at a bottom of a hill. When the green man began flashing today, instead of trudging along with the other clones, I suddenly found myself in a foot face to its summit with a tracksuit clad youth.
He overtook me and something snapped. I wouldn’t and couldn’t let this teen beat me. He got a good start and quickly over took me, I showed great resilience quickly passing him but again the Nike sponsored cretin overtook me.
We didn’t look at each other or acknowledge the fact they we were in a duel but we knew the score.
This stride off continued for a good ten minutes until I got the ultimate advantage and eventually won. I seized the initiative and nipped in front of a car, quite dangerously, and gave him the slip.
Aha! Victory!
A moronic victory.
Sunday, 23 August 2009
Thursday, 20 August 2009
Dying in public
I saw a man collapse in Tesco the other night. He had a suitable rabble of helpers staring agog at him, including a nurse, so I thought it was best if I carried on my way.
I would hate to go like that, slumped on a shiny supermarket floor surrounded by morons with my last vision of humanity being a slightly overweight woman trying to work out which final yogurt she should choose to make up the three for a pound offer.
If I had to die in a public place, I would want it to be a massive heart attack at a football match.
Ideally, it would involve me clutching my chest in row Z before rolling down the steps in a dramatic scene just as the ball had gone out of the play. This would lead to the whole stand taking to their feet to witness the drama and a collective murmur of gossip would ring in my ears as I faded away.
Maybe they would name a seat after in my honour. Possibly have a minute’s silence of remembrance before there next home match and a drunk away fan would shout something out and then a chorus of boos would break out in disgust and ruin the moment. Yeah, that would be nice.
I would hate to go like that, slumped on a shiny supermarket floor surrounded by morons with my last vision of humanity being a slightly overweight woman trying to work out which final yogurt she should choose to make up the three for a pound offer.
If I had to die in a public place, I would want it to be a massive heart attack at a football match.
Ideally, it would involve me clutching my chest in row Z before rolling down the steps in a dramatic scene just as the ball had gone out of the play. This would lead to the whole stand taking to their feet to witness the drama and a collective murmur of gossip would ring in my ears as I faded away.
Maybe they would name a seat after in my honour. Possibly have a minute’s silence of remembrance before there next home match and a drunk away fan would shout something out and then a chorus of boos would break out in disgust and ruin the moment. Yeah, that would be nice.
Tuesday, 18 August 2009
Sunday, 16 August 2009
Saturday, 15 August 2009
Friday, 14 August 2009
Silly season has begun
It's that old tale.
You set up your camera for a nice picture of you and your loved one next to a scenic landscape and only a ruddy squirrel goes and steals the shot.
You set up your camera for a nice picture of you and your loved one next to a scenic landscape and only a ruddy squirrel goes and steals the shot.
Thursday, 13 August 2009
I Wanna Be Your Dog
I can't freaking move for posters showing Iggy Pop selling me insurance or Johnny Rotten trying to convince me to buy sodding butter. What on earth is going through their minds?
Iggy why are you chocking on corporate cock for a few quid? Surely you have a few bob put to the side by now?
I thought it was bad when Pele was splashed onto TV screens in-between football matches to remind its mainly testosterone heavy viewing audience that having a limp dick was fine but I didn't expect Iggy, not Iggy!
What next?
Will Morrissey appear on the advert break of loose women advertising a cock ring or will I be flicking through a newspaper only to find Yoko Ono was sick of humanity and was instead taking a job with BAE systems as a sales rep.
This kind of shitty contradiction is every where these days.
Last week I saw a heavily tattooed punk wearing a Rage Against the Machine T- Shirt. My heart filled with admiration as I walked towards him in my cheap office wear.
Here was a man who had principles, who wasn't part of this unfair capitalist system. This rotten system which will leave my children paying for the mistakes of some greedy bankers. My admiration quickly withered and died however, when he got closer I noticed he was gleefully slurping a Starbucks cappuccino.
I'm not saying I'm any better.
I eat whatever food looks good regardless if some farmer in a country I can't pronounce is getting a good deal or not. I don't spend the time to research if my jeans were made by people on 1p a day and I couldn't give shit if the battery in my Playstation was made from recyclable materials.
But I do demand that my favourite rock stars do not try and sell me sodding insurance.
Iggy why are you chocking on corporate cock for a few quid? Surely you have a few bob put to the side by now?
I thought it was bad when Pele was splashed onto TV screens in-between football matches to remind its mainly testosterone heavy viewing audience that having a limp dick was fine but I didn't expect Iggy, not Iggy!
What next?
Will Morrissey appear on the advert break of loose women advertising a cock ring or will I be flicking through a newspaper only to find Yoko Ono was sick of humanity and was instead taking a job with BAE systems as a sales rep.
This kind of shitty contradiction is every where these days.
Last week I saw a heavily tattooed punk wearing a Rage Against the Machine T- Shirt. My heart filled with admiration as I walked towards him in my cheap office wear.
Here was a man who had principles, who wasn't part of this unfair capitalist system. This rotten system which will leave my children paying for the mistakes of some greedy bankers. My admiration quickly withered and died however, when he got closer I noticed he was gleefully slurping a Starbucks cappuccino.
I'm not saying I'm any better.
I eat whatever food looks good regardless if some farmer in a country I can't pronounce is getting a good deal or not. I don't spend the time to research if my jeans were made by people on 1p a day and I couldn't give shit if the battery in my Playstation was made from recyclable materials.
But I do demand that my favourite rock stars do not try and sell me sodding insurance.
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Monday, 10 August 2009
A Sunny Apology
I freaking love it when you read the apologies that newspapers have to issue after someone actually challenges their report. This is a recent treasure from The Sun.
In an article published on The Sun website on January 27 under the headline 'Gollum joker killed in live rail horror’ we incorrectly stated that Julian Brooker, 23, of Brighton, was blown 15ft into the air after accidentally touching a live railway line.
His parents have asked us to make clear he was not turned into a fireball, was not obsessed with the number 23 and didn’t go drinking on that date every month.
Julian’s mother did not say, during or after the inquest, her son often got on all fours creeping around their house pretending to be Gollum.
Also, quotes from a witness should have been attributed to Gemma Costin not Eva Natasha. We apologise for the distress this has caused Julian’s family and friends.
Its an easy mistake to make. Maybe the reporter just misread his shorthand, we have all been there.
In an article published on The Sun website on January 27 under the headline 'Gollum joker killed in live rail horror’ we incorrectly stated that Julian Brooker, 23, of Brighton, was blown 15ft into the air after accidentally touching a live railway line.
His parents have asked us to make clear he was not turned into a fireball, was not obsessed with the number 23 and didn’t go drinking on that date every month.
Julian’s mother did not say, during or after the inquest, her son often got on all fours creeping around their house pretending to be Gollum.
Also, quotes from a witness should have been attributed to Gemma Costin not Eva Natasha. We apologise for the distress this has caused Julian’s family and friends.
Its an easy mistake to make. Maybe the reporter just misread his shorthand, we have all been there.
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