Blame Canada

After a weekend of mulling I have decided what makes me so cross about Fahrenheit 9/11. It's not the sheer bloody idiocy of electing not one but two generations of 'Warning, may be dangerous if exposed to brain' president without knowing that they indulge in pay-as-you-go morality, but the fact that I always thought we'd be safe from America because the people who have to share a continent with them would keep them under control. I mean, after what went on in Europe last century, no one's going to let the world get into that state again are they? Are they?
Now I'm standing here with my hands on my hips (hard to type) looking at Canada like a mother who has returned home to find her younger child has demolished the conservatory and her elder child on the phone to his girlfriend upstairs. What were you doing for so long that your brother managed to do so much damage? You're supposed to be the responsible one. How can I trust you on your own in future? You wait til your father gets home (is it worth ditching the monarchy and voting Lib Dem on the offchance that America would listen to someone called President Kennedy? You know, the Welsh guy. Sorry.).
I sometimes wonder if we have a skewed idea of Americans because of the ones we're exposed to on television or by meeting them. I know there is Michael Moore, there was Bill Hicks, Kurt Cobain, there's Chuck Mead, there's Dolly Parton, Eminem (if you're too old to get it on your own, try thinking of the language he uses as an emerging dialect he's part of shaping, and then try listening to what he actually says in between the bits you don't think you like). But then there's David Blaine (and for my latest 'trick' I will disappear and see how long it takes people to notice...... Oh, bollocks, shouldn't have tried this one in New York..... There's an eye on my hand Eamon....), there's Joe Jackson, with a face like a cruising mako shark, telling us his son is normal- comparatively, Dr. Frankenstein, yes- people like Isaac Hanson, who on last night's Buzzcocks was cruelly paired with Bill Bailey, who knew the fingering to 'Paranoid' where "musician" Isaac didn't even know the song. Sweet of Bill to try to explain rock to him, but as he says, he does actively seek out disappointment. People like Courtney Love -she wants to be governor apparently, I wonder if she know which state she lives in... People like Paris Hilton,
except nobody does. Vanilla Ice.
You might call me skeptical about America, in that I have the same worries about getting in too much with them that some people have about Europe. But given that Mandleson re-defined skepticism as 'being open to persuasion' (bribery) I think that skepticism is not quite the right term. I suppose it's just how you look at it. Most of the things that wind me up so much about Americans are the things the Americans winding me up are so proud of. It's like some ads on TV. Apparently there's more bacteria on a child's high chair tray than on the floor. Sweet, let your kid eat off the floor then. Or my personal favourite "Hit me at 30mph, and there's an 80% chance I'll live." Cheers for the offer, love, but I don't drive.
It may be that it is the land itself that is to blame. Over thousands of years the Chinese discovered America, the Vikings discovered America, a little Irish monk in a leather boat rowed all the way across the Atlantic and discovered America, and all of them took a look around, said "Huh." and went home again. Even Coloumbus stuck mainly to the islands. Then some people who were so annoying that.... Sorry, whose religion was not treated kindly at home got on a boat and sailed across the sea to start a country where people could worship freely without persecution for being different, and not irritate the hell out of the rest of the civilized world. They got to America and thought it was God's chosen country. That may well have been what the estate agent told you, guys, but when a property's been on the market that long the vendor's usually gagging to get rid of it. Or maybe unlike the gunpowder inventing Chinese, the raping and pillaging Vikings and the fire and brimstone missionary, they didn't think 'Oops! Someone already lives here. We'll be off peacefully then'.
But then we're back to Canada. If the land was cursed, would they not be evil to, rather than polite but generally of no practical use? They do seem almost apologetic for being physically attatched to America, when in fact they're civilized Europeans (well, slightly less surly French) really. They do seem to know how we feel, and it probably explains why they have just let them get on with it; one really ought to do something, but where would you start, and where would it stop? I think it's best described as "When you try to scream but it only comes out as a yawn". But I'm sorry, Canada, you're still to blame.

ISTBO update

A GO to Notnowmeg for 'Meg's Theory of Bigotry'. Spend it wisely.

Forgive Me

Although I am in total agreement with Notnowmeg, she has sparked me off on something I've been thinking about for a while, not about people coming in here so much as about people (although I use the term loosely) going about the world with large armies wondering why they're not made universally welcome despite bringing such important things as Democracy, Freedom, Happy Meals, serial murder and so on. A large proportion of the people who get moaned about when they either come here for asylum or jobs so they can eat have come from countries like Afghanistan and Iraq. Does a person have to be in imminent fear of disembowelling to be owed a fair go if you've just blanket bombed their country? Or they're economic migrants from African countries crippled by colonialism, unfair trade rules and the Old World debt trap.
In fact there are very few groups of people who come here whose home land hasn't been negatively affected by Britain and our hulking bastard offspring the United States of Ancephaelia. And usually this has taken the form initially of whitey marching in with big weapons and big ideas to convert the resident population to the belief that they will go to hell if they don't accept the unconditional love of the Lord. By means of beatings, burnings and death if necessary. This is what your teachers may have called "Character building" (interestingly the phrase 'Team building' seems to have the same meaning, but different origins). They did it everywhere for centuries.
So now when the US and British mostly white man lead troops turn up on their massive ships full of planes, tanks and ammunition, knock on the door and say "Hello, have you accepted democracy as your salvation yet?" Are we really really surprised when the response is something along the lines of "Screw it and all who sail in it?" Are we? Are the orphans with HIV in Africa grateful for Catholicism? Were the Incas grateful for the conquistadors? Were people stood in the snow at Auschwitz yesterday feeling grateful for the Nazis? It really is the same thing. When we went with the US to Iraq, we were there to kill people who didn't want to be like US. So when a widow from Baghdad arrived here with her only surviving child, see if you can spare a few quid eh Tony?

America- Don't Go There!

I watched Fahrenheit 9/11 last night. I hadn't seen it before, because I'm not really into cinemas due to the feet like smell of old popcorn and not being able to sit comfortably. Really I'm still in shock. Seriously though? A-are you sure? You take it for granted that these people are fiddling things around the edges for the sake of a smooth finish, but I really hadn't thought it was possible for people of such relatively limited intelligence to play so many sides against the middle at once. You complete bastards. You murdering, machinating all round red neck assholes. I'm almost too shell shocked to be steaming with muderous rage.
But not quite.
The revenge of history can be mighty, but for now, until the weaponry arrives from eBay, ladies and gentlemen, an MO I'm afraid to Michael Moore, with the advisory that I award it to him as a way of punishing America for not knowing. Also, something I noticed through the red haze last night. Separated at birth: George W. Bush and the blond one from Beavis and Butthead.

Old Adage Proved Incorrect

It is often said that the camera adds ten pounds. Imagine my shock yesterday, then, when I walked past Phil Jupitus in the street and he was vastly fatter than he looks on telly. And he's taller than you'd expect too. Well, I suppose that depends on the size of your telly. So the equation must be that sitting down behind a desk shaves more pounds off than the camera can add. And no offense Phil, mate, you're pretty much a widescreen prospect. Or a good arse for radio as one might put it.
This brings me neatly to legend Barry Cryer (not the guy from the Bill), who I saw at a tube station only hours later, who looks much older than he sounds on radio and is tiny short. I heard the woman with him say she'd e-mail him and saw the look of disgust he hid by turning round to buy a paper. Yay Barry, for all you make me cry with the wrongness that you speak on the radio. You are a very bad old man. Superbad.
Fahrenheit 9/11 is on tonight, and I'd just like to take a moment to ask why license payers money isn't being used to put this on where people are apparently not capable of turning over in order not to see it. There. Points to them for the TV Moments awards last night, giving out awards for things we've actually seen and actually care about. You can give Leonardo DiCaprio as many Oscars as you like, I'm still not forgiving him for Titanic. Hooray to Natasha Kaplinsky for making being pretty, clever and talented acceptable, and a GO to Michael Burke for his acceptance speech. Also three cheers to Kelly Holmes for accepting an award and saying "I've been great, and so have you." Well quite.

If you feed a carrot for fun to terrorists...

We begin this morning with an ISTBO GO Award to Iyad Allawi for his statement that it would be "Futile and dangerous" to start talking about when America can pull their troops out of Iraq to free them up to invade Iran. Yes, Iyad, that's the yanks. As Mr. Allawi is interim president of Iraq, and his opinion is vital in this question, this morning's papers are all over Tony's Teeth and mooted withdrawal plans. He therefore walks right into Mr. Allawi's description and earns himself an ISTBO Grade -8.
With the last of the people we're prepared to accept responsibility for back from Guantanamo (sp?) Bay, I also have to offer up the reason for keeping them in prison for four years without trial: alledged links to Al Quaeda (alledged author's own). Given the principle of six degrees of separation, so does Tony, George (funding them, mainly), everyone. A hostile MO to the US Military for that one.
Some British politicians are openly advocating violence, however, and a big shiny resounding GO and three cheers to Alex Salmond for the proposed target and the mental image: "Let's let the government sit on a thistle and see how like that."
Yes let's.
Scottish independence is one of these issues that given time and the judicious application of thistles Tony is bound to back himself into a corner over eventually, so stick with it Mr. Salmond, and remember, Slowly Slowly Catchy Asshole.

ISTBO

Due to the ever increasing amount of information presented to us as news, the results of enquiries or experiments, or new discoveries that is in fact The Bleeding Obvious with added salt, sugar and artificial colouring and preservatives, I have decided to formally and officially start the Institute for the Statement of The Bleeding Obvious I mentioned yesterday.
ISTBO's purposes are as follows:
To recognize and celebrate The Bleeding Obvious as landmarks in the vast sweep and flow of information.
To expose The Bleeding Obvious as what it is when it is presented as new information.
To State the Bleeding Obvious when it has been missed.
To grade the level of under- or over-statement of The Bleeding Obvious when and where ever it occurs.
To attempt to follow the pattern of The Bleeding Obvious and thus make Obvious Predictions.

This is to be achieved by awarding an ISTBO award on the blog to any statements that strike us as Glorious Obviousness, Martyred Obviousness, or Cleverly Disguised Obviousness, awarding an ISTBO Grade from -10 for total understatement to 10 for total overstatement, and making an ISTBO Statement when we believe something Bleeding Obvious has been left unsaid. On a more spiritual level I recommend The Way of Mrs. Cosmopolite as the philosophical manifestation of the ISTBO philosophy (see Terry Pratchett's Thief of Time), for is it not written 'If you pick at it it will not get better'?

Therefore those engaged in the observation and award giving process are ISTBO Inspectors, and those who slyly conceal obvious information in less obvious forms, or make money from the statement of the obvious are ISTBO Agents. Join today! And please report all incidents of ISTBO related activities to the comments section. I'll be making IDs next time I can get at a decent printer. To get you in the mood, here are a few awards:

To New York Dog magazine: a CDO Award for putting Nicole Richie on the cover.

To the Conservative Party: a CDO for hiding their policy on weaseling out of everything connection us to Europe behind Immigration for two whole days AND a GO Award for "It won't be illegal, because we'll change the law."

To Tony Blair: An ISTBO Grade 10 for: "Education, Education, Education" and "Tough on crime, tough on the causes of crime" etc etc etc and a IG-10 for "we will not oppose an injunction on fox-hunting."

To the US government: a CDO for hiding their foreign policy in a diesel car advert "Hate something, change something......"

For is it not written, "I think, therefore I am thinking"?

Predictive Text

We at the Institute for the Statement Of The Bleeding Obvious (ISTBO) hold these truths to be likely to become self evident.

1)By the end of the year you wont see any old Michael Jackson videos with crotch grabbing in on TV any more.

2) Sooner or later someone will die doing Parkour (sp? That Jump London thing...)

3) The next Bond will be an American no one's heard of. Geri Halliwell will do the theme. It will be the last Bond.

4) Sharon Watts will always Be Back. Laetitia Dean has nowhere else to go unless they want members of staff on Grange Hill.

5) By the end of the year Britney Spears will be pregnant, a full time Kabbalah Centre member, and probably getting a divorce. Once the Bergs meet Kevin, anyway.

6) Unless the La Palma mega tsunami (est 500m waves) hits, the US will start a war with someone as soon as they're at least half out of Iraq.

7) The Tories won't win the election

8) Just like George, Tony won't serve a third term.

9) Condaleeza Rice will prove you don't need to be white, male and a Republican to be a threat to world security.

10) Elvis came back, so Shaky's next.

Become An Expert

According to this morning's BBC Breakfast News an electoral expert has told Michael Howard that there is no way the Tories can win the next election. Anyone wishing to shell out huge sums of money being told similarly obvious things can pay by credit card on my new website www.noshitsherlock.co.uk. Here's a freebie: he heard this before he took out the add in the Telegraph. On Saturday I was as puzzled as Tony Blair and Charles Kennedy must have been. In fact if I'd been Charlie I'd have been ringing round my mates to make sure it wasn't someone's idea of a joke. Surely it's too good to be true that he'd hand over every last scrap of chance in hell he had left in such a pretty package? It makes a good argument for party funding to come from the public purse; I'd love to think I'd helped pay for Howard to shoot himself in the foot like that, and maybe not having to rely on donations for favours would encourage him to aim a little higher next time. Or lower depending on which way up he was hanging on the curtain rail at the time.
Now of course it all makes sense. Knowing that even people he's paying to help him win are telling him he can't has meant he's decided to say bollocks to it and muddy the water as much as possible for everyone else. The Telegraph's on an abortion crusade at the moment, so see if he doesn't make a sprightly batlike leap onto that bandwagon by next Sunday (that'll be photo op at his parish church about 10.30am paparatty types). He's trying to raise issues he thinks the others wont have much to say about. This one fell a little flat, because even if there is an argument for a more organized approach to the world refugee problems that come up, it seems a touch more morally acceptable if we agree proportions of the total number that we're prepared to take, rather than a capped total for the year. The devil in this issue is in the detail, because even the finest principles can go for a burton between the podium and the training manual for border controls, so that also takes the wind out of the soundbite sails somewhat.
So Michael, let me sit you down and explain some things to you. Tony and Charles may disagree with you, they may agree with you, but they're not going to make immigration, abortion, stem cell research, the relationship with America, the European constitution et cetera et cetera election issues. They will not rise to it. Tony because he hasn't got anything constructive to say, and Charles because he's not that bloody stupid. There is no way either of them is going to back themselves into another foxhunting situation. Just because a few people who make a lot of noise say something is an issue does not mean the majority, who understand the range of views even if they don't agree with them, will be happy about a definite moral statement from the government, let alone a change in law. These are moral issues, and as such they have very little place in politics, and even less in electioneering. There is no way you will be thanked for raising the temperature on these subjects and scuppering any chance of sensible debate on them.
There, now you owe me £50,000.

Reasons To Be Cheerful

I've got that Friday feeling, I get it every day. You know the one, where you feel like you've been at work all week and there's the washing up to do while the laundry's on when you get home. That being said it is Friday, and although I'm now discovering getting totally ratted last night 'to help me over that final hurdle' wasn't exactly the most logical step (sometimes you gotta do something even if it's wrong), I'm going to serve up my last scraps of optimism in the hopes that being in a good mood may make the day go faster. For what is this life if full of news, we have no time to sit and muse.....

1) Busted split up!

2) Celebrity Big Brother is nearly over

3) Denlet caught Zoe and Daddy at it, so that hideousness should be over.

4) Dub'ya's in his second term, so he definitely can't get in again.

5) L&O: Criminal Intent is on Wednesday, so now there is something on on Nostendersday

6) I've been married for six months tomorrow! (Well it makes me happy!)

7) By the time I found out about Ronnie O'Sullivan and Martine McCutcheon, it was already over. Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie, how could you? You may not be any kind of oil painting, but Godlike Genius ought to get you further than that.

8) There are still BR5-49 records I've yet to hear (antici..........pation!)

9) It's payday (see 8)

10) Brad and Jen split up. I know it's wrong to be pleased, but he's Tyler Durden and she's basically Blossom with a nose job, and it never seemed quite right. Like when Huey Morgan went out with a Corr. Or the Snooker Genius and the Throat Infection.

11) The freedom to be happy about these things, and revel in evil satisfaction in the darkness of my skull.

12) The fact that US Government snooping on the web means that every time I write bomb or Al Quaeda some poor NSA gimp has to read all this chuff. Try it yourself today! If they want to listen, they're going to have to hear what we think.....

Just one thing...

It has come to my attention that there are eddies in the general flow of information, a pattern is emerging from the code, and I have just this to say, George, DO NOT START A WAR WITH IRAN.

Air Rage

I spent yesterday evening swinging between my Rage and an attack of the screaming heebie jeebies both bought on by the same thing: Airbus' Mothership. Every fiber of my body screams out with the noness of it. I don't like the feeling of flying at the best of times (those being when the thing I'm sitting in is actually attatched to the ground), but you can wedge a ticket on that thing into my cold dead hand. I know it's meant to be more fuel efficient per passenger, and theoretically meant to cut airport noise because you 'll need less flights, but even if those things weren't obviously going to get cancelled out by the lower fare costs if it is more fuel efficient, meaning that we'll end up with the same number of flights as we have now, but all in these behemoths, these planes are not a good thing.
There absolutely must be such a thing as too big a plane. My own dislike of flying stems from the total lack of belief I have that it is possible for a plane to fly. This is really disturbing if you're on one. The problem is that all the physics flying is based on is still officially theory, has big enormous holes in it (well actually it's one big hole with lots of stuff in, but I'll save that for another time), and doesn't add up right in the extreme cases. Scientists have to keep making things up like antimatter to make their sums work. It's like ancient people believing in gods not because that's How Things Are but How Things Must Be, a way of understanding the bits the facts don't cover yet. There are all sorts of mathematical formulae that only work for powers of something or don't work if the power is raised above something, like Fermat's last theorem. So it Must Be that there comes a point where the size of the plane is a value to big for the equation to work. Or perhaps where the weight of the thing causes it to shake itself apart in heavy turbulence...
Richard Branson wants his Flying Death Bringers to have gyms, bars, and beauty parlors. Drinking, lifting weights and applying makeup all being things you want to do on vibrating floors that may at any point tilt to improbable angles or buck like angry goats in the turbulence. And all things you really want to be on a plane with other people doing. This gives at least his, if not all of them, a really heavy Titanic Factor. It's like being at the beginning of a scifi movie, looking at the featured technological impossibility and knowing the final reel of the film centres around it crashing down in flames. From a great height. Then there's the Concord Factor. It's an absolutely outrages project in a world where people starve to death and don't rate higher on the news than England losing the cricket, it's an untried extreme with no peers, and one crash or near crash and converted decomissioned planes will be turning up on Location, Location, Location.
It is a truth: Giant Planes Are A Bad Idea. It is a thing that I will have told them so about. It is part of the great march of horribly stupid mistakes mankind have made. It is an argument against the existence of God as the megaphone man would have him, because as Gordon said to Tony, if you loved me, you'd stop. It has inspired me to start either a Lists section on this blog, or a new blog just for my Lists. As someday it may happen that a victim must be found, suggestions for Lists and entries to lists are Welcome. I will start with Things We Will Have Told You So About, and People Who Deserved It. That will cheer me up. Lets see: Blunkett, Harry, Zoe.....

Power To The People!

Black and white scarf wearers of the world unite! (Readers please note this does not include fans of Grimsby Town football team. You can all stay in your corners) Dig out your berets and Che t-shirts! Physically chastise yourself or get on with your homework if you don't get the references! As the sales figures for Xmas come out, it seems we won. The stores started Xmas in August, so we all pretended we hadn't noticed and weren't going to buy anything until right up to the very last moment, so the stores dropped their prices and we jumped out wielding cards going "Ha ha!" and bought the stuff we would have bought anyway. Or we spent it in small, new shops, or at the supermarket. We said no to matching out party frocks with an even covering of bruises from the Oxford St scrum for overpriced crap, we said a box from Lush for grandma, we said "Ten-for-that-you-must-be-mad!" And the shops said "OK, sir and madam. We are worms, you are the gods of fate and doom."
We'll have to wait for next year to find out if the shops respond by playing down the excessive glutton baiting out of respect for the rest of us, or if they just start with even higher prices so they don't lose too much in the sales. It was this thought that made me wonder: if we all clubbed together in the same way, could we pull the same coup off with the General Election? There are similarities. The build up to the election has already begun, so that's a five month run up, the political parties roll out the celebrities for new special advertising campaigns, and everyone is promised plenty and joy and satisfaction that will never be lived up to by either the moment of opening the shiny red box to find a freakish collection of very limited motion action figures inside, especially as it seems you always get the bad guys, or the subsequent reality of playing with them.
So this year, if you are asked who you will be voting for, focus on a point just above the questioner's right ear and muse as convincingly as possible about possibly voting Green, Natural Law, or if your sense of humour stretches to it, UKIP. Skirt around the idea that you may not vote at all, or "Will probably vote Lib Dem just to be on the safe side." (This being the equivalent of shopping at Tescos, which now that they "really do do just about everything", apparently lots of us did..... Loony Results Prediction Tool #1). Make it clear that you wont go for Labour or the Tories unless you really really have to, especially not at this time of year. You don't have to mean a word of it, of course. But if we put the wind up House of Fraiser and Self.... Labour and the Tories, sorry, might raise their offers. This would either give us what we want, or expose them, giving Tescos the opportunity to get a foot in in the, say, policies market.
Just don't forget to actually vote in the end. Come on, you apes! You want to live forever?

Get into Country

Due to a serious lack of inspiration, today's blog is bought to you by the wonderful BR5-49 (www.br5-49.com) and www.cowboylyrics.com. Remember: you only think you don't like country.

Uneasy Rider

I was takin' a trip out to L.A.
Toolin' along in my Chevrolet
Tokin' on a number and diggin' on the radio
Just as I crossed the Mississippi line
I heard that highway start to whine
And I knew that left rear tire was about to go.

Well, the spare was flat and I got uptight'
Cause there wasn't a fillin' station in sight
So I just limped on down the shoulder on the rim
I went as far as I could and when I stopped the car
It was right in front of this little bar
Kind of redneck lookin' joint, called the Dew Drop Inn.

Well, I stuffed my hair up under my hat
And told the bartender that I had a flat
And would he be kind enough to give me change for a one
There was one thing I was sure proud to see
There wasn't a soul in the place, 'cept for him and me
And he just looked disgusted and pointed toward the telephone.

I called up the station down the road a ways
And he said he wasn't very busy today
And he could have somebody there in just 'bout ten minutes or so
He said now you just stay right where you're at
And I didn't bother tellin' the durn fool
I sure as hell didn't have anyplace else to go.

I just ordered up a beer and sat down at the bar
When some guy walked in and said;
"Who owns this car?With the peace sign, the mag wheels and four on the floor?"
Well, he looked at me and I damn near died
And I decided that I'd just wait outside
So I layed a dollar on the bar and headed for the door.

Just when I thought I'd get outta there with my skin
These five big dudes come strollin' in
With this one old drunk chick and some fella with green teeth
And I was almost to the door when the biggest one
Said; "You tip your hat to this lady, son."
And when I did all that goofy hair fell out from underneath.

Now the last thing I wanted was to get into a fight
In Jackson, Mississippi on a Saturday night
'Specially when there was three of them and only one of me
They all started laughin' and I felt kinda sick
And I knew I'd better think of somethin' pretty quick
So I just reached out and kicked old green-teeth right in the knee.

He let out a yell that'd curl your hair
But before he could move, I grabbed me a chair
And said; "Watch him folks, 'cause he's a thouroughly dangerous man."
"Well, you may not know it, but this man's a spy
He's an undercover agent for the FBI
And he's been sent down here to infiltrate the Ku Klux Klan."

He was still bent over, holdin' on to his knee
But everyone else was lookin' and listenin' to me
And I layed it on thicker and heavier as I went
I said; "Would you beleive this man has gone as far
As tearin' Bush stickers off the bumpers of cars
And he voted for Bill Clinton for president."

"He's a friend of them long-haired, hippie type, pinko fags
I betcha he's even got a Commie flag
Tacked up on the wall, inside of his garage
He's a snake in the grass, I tell ya guys
He may look dumb, but that's just a disguise
He's a mastermind in the ways of espionage."

They all started lookin' real suspicious at him
And he jumped up an' said; "Now, just wait a minute, Jim
You know he's lyin' I've been livin' here all of my life."
"I'm a faithfull follower of Brother John Birch
And I belong to the Antioch Baptist Church
Hell I ain't even got a garage, you can call home and ask my wife."

Then he started sayin' somethin' 'bout the way I was dressed
But I didn't wait around to hear the rest
I was too busy movin' and hopin' I didn't run outta luck
And when I hit the ground, I was makin' tracks
And they were just takin' my car down off the jacks
So I threw the man a twenty an' jumped in an' fired that mother up.

Dale Earnheart woulda sure been proud
Of the way I was movin' when I passed that crowd
Comin' out the door and headin' toward me in a trot
And I guess I should-a gone ahead and run
But somehow I couldn't resist the fun
Of chasin' them all just once around the parkin' lot.

Well, they're headin' for their car, but I hit the gas
And spun around and headed them off at the pass
I was slingin' gravel and puttin' a ton of dust in the air
Well, I had 'em all out there steppin' and fetchin'
Like their heads were on fire and their asses was catchin'
But I figured I oughta go ahead an split before the cops got there.

When I hit the road I was really wheelin'
Had gravel flyin' and rubber squeelin'
And I didn't slow down 'til I was almost to Arkansas
Well, I think I'm gonna re-route my trip
I wonder if anybody'd think I'd flipped
If I went to L.A. - via Omaha.

Rough Rough Rough Rough Rough

There has been a lot of debate over the last week about the rights and wrongs of the BBC showing the Jerry Springer Opera. I did tune in, just because anything the sort of people who bother complaining about a program rather than just turning over don't like, I am automatically on the side of. However I fell asleep halfway through the first half, so it obviously wasn't that sensational. By contrast my chance of a good night's sleep last night was utterly destroyed at about two minutes to eight when Zoe started unbuttoning her shirt for Den. Words cannot describe the feelings of nausea which overcame me, nor could my husband's shouts of "Uuuuuuhhhhhhhh! NOOOOOOOO! That's HORRIBLE" drown out the similar noises comin from the other three flats in our house.
Now to this I really must object. The people who wanted Jerry Springer cancelled said it was one thing to put this show on where you have to pay to see it, and quite another to use license payers' money to put it on a public service broadcasting channel. I would argue that it is one thing to save interested people the price of West End theatre tickets after the watershed on BBC2 on a Saturday night- when most people are out, wathing a murder mystery vehicle for a middle aged British TV stalwart, or watching something good on digital- and quite another to insert such offensive material as the prospect of Mr World of Leather Seconds Sale and a slip of a lass with all the moisture content and personality of the contents of a five year old's hanky getting it on into a program which we do all have to watch, at just about thetime when everyone's finishing their tea.
Even if we are ultimately spared the visuals, the old horror movie truth of what you imagine being worse than what you see holds true here. It's enough to suggest it. More than enough. It's not like we could not watch, because something important might have happened with Mo and Alfie (don't go there Casey, it'll kill your career!No one could forgive Mo for that after all this.... Sorry...), there was no warning that this would be in this episode before it was aired, there was no program putting it in context (thank heavens)- although those photos last year did quite a good job- it was before the watershed, and unlike Jerry Springer the Opera it wasn't helping challenge taboos or raise important issues for discussion. It was just rank. And this was just Thursday. I fear for tonight's episode.
I am very disappointed with the BBC, and can only suggest one way for them to remedy the situation. I hear they're killing Den off again, so I absolutely insist that Zoe gets pregnant, has the baby, Den tells weasel faced Dennis it's his, Dennis leaves to be with Miss Piggy, and Zoe beats Den to death in the Vic with the baby. Then Chrissie gets a coat made of Den's skin, sells the Vic to Alfie (who will discover an antique working on the junk stall and become a millionaire, see if he doesn't) and everything can get back to normal. All the most annoying characters gone.
Or I'm afraid this means war.
And they can stop swearing on the Archers, too.

Demand an Enquiry!

As enquiries have replaced spin doctors as the government's favorite way of getting out of sticky situations, it is my opinion that we the general public should be able to call enquiries about things we are interested in purely out of malicious amusement. Like Prince Harry. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...
Firstly there's the issue of whether he's really our problem or not. As far as I remember the last ginger royal was Elizabeth I, and I'm pretty sure the throne's passed through the hands of several royal families not exactly directly related to the current one since then. This is not to say I think daddy's a certain toff prone to getting himself in the tabloids for drugs, outrageous behavior in public, inappropriate comments and generally richly degrading himself on a regular basis, although obviously there are similarities. I think the slight resemblance between Harry and Charles in profile is a coincidence; most rich, inbred men look like that. Lets just say there's a touch of the "milkman" in evidence, and you get a nice class of milkmen in that neck of the woods. Hem.
Secondly there's this idea that it's a good idea for him to go into the military, because it might (to quote a royal correspondent on ITV this morning) "knock some of the stupidity out of him". It's easier to just list why not:
1) Ginger prince. He'll get killed before he's even got the uniform on.
2)If he's really as stupid as he seems, don't give him a gun.
3)That soldiers can be said to have had some of the stupidity knocked out of them speaks only to the sort of people who join the army in the first place.
4)If that was true it would have worked on his uncle.
5)Surely he's enough of a nob already?
6)Given 5), surely he should be kept away from anywhere he can do real harm?
7)Don't people usually join daddy's regiment? Oh, is he?
Thirdly there's the issue of his behavior. The issue is that we know about it. Smoke a spliff by all means, and if you can land one on a paparazzi no one could expect you not to, and if you must get ratted and embarrass yourself, fine BUT DON'T GET CAUGHT. How dumb do you have to be? It's not like his family is short of space to lose yourself in if you fancy a sly whatever, and that's without leaving whichever building you're in. If you're a member of the royal family, you know people are trying to catch you out, and you're ginger so you stick out like a sore thumb, get a bobble hat and GAP hoodie on and skulk in the woods with a peace sign tin from Camden and a three liter bottle of cider like normal children. Don't go to a 'Natives and Colonials' themed party in a Nazi uniform (any comments from historians as to whether Nazis as opposed to Germans count as colonials or just occupiers welcome). Don't go to a 'Natives and Colonials' party at all. Even if it is grandad's birthday. It comes to something when William can get away with being at the same party in leopard skin (actual money to not see that photo) without anyone noticing just by going with his brother.
And we're paying for all this. I demand an enquiry to address the following issues: Harry, what are you doing, where's your brain, and who's ya daddy?

Real(ity) politics

Over the last few days I have enjoyed the spectacle of MPs running around Westminster, dashing into restaurants and shouting "A fight! A real fight!". Yes, the Tony's finally encountered a leader of the opposition who's a real threat to him: Gordon Brown (...texture like sun...) He's yet to violently offend anyone but Tony that anyone remembers, unlike David 'In the kingdom of the blind, the one eyed man is king' Blunkett (who managed to offend virtually everyone whilst still in charge of Education), he's not surgically attatched to any part of George Bush, and he's not a gurning orange Spitting Image puppet version of himself who we're all utterly sick of the sight of, so apparently most of us would prefer him as prime minister to Tony.
Like any totally secure grown up, Tony has responded to this by scheduling press conferences on top of his, spreading rumors, bumping him off the general election team, and generally refusing to stay in the same continent as Gordon if at all possible. Gordon has stuck to getting other people to spread rumors for him, and trying to maintain a dignified barrage of on party platitudes. You might mistake this for confidence, but bear in mind that if he hasn't worked it out for himself some wise old hand has probably pointed out to him that people would probably prefer a small pot plant as prime minister to Tony, as long as it wasn't a member of the conservative party.
Which brings me to Charles Kennedy. It would be nice to think, wouldn't it, that this might finally be the year that the Lib Dems get in. The only substantial thing in their way is the fact that even the people who want them to win don't think they can. Just for a moment imagine that it happened, and that lined up along the opposition benches were a bunch of Labour and Tory MPs, distinguishable only by the colour of their ties, sulking their boots off and trying to find something to disagree about, and canceling each other out in votes by taking the opposite sides just because. That's probably the image the fifteen MPs that gave them a talking to last night: "You two have not only let yourselves down, you've let the school down too. If you don't show a remarkable improvement I shall make the Lower Sixth the prefects, and you will have to sit at the front with the first years."
Ah.... The happiest days of their lives.

Sincerely Bored of London

Today I begin another week of working in London. The cash machines are empty, the bus fares have gone up over twenty percent, the streets stink, there are gimps in plastic tops handing out 'free magazines' full of adverts for jobs no one wants, similar bodies asking for "three minutes of your time" (three quid a month and your bank account details in the street...), and Big Issue sellers jumping out at you just to make sure you're thoroughly wound up before you even get to work. And when I leave this afternoon I'll have to walk past the scouser with the megaphone telling me I'm a bad person if I don't "Have Jesus" without punching him. If he wants people to live by Christian principles he could start with "Judge not, lest ye be judged" and I'll think about following my principles and being careful what I wish for..... I've asked the police, and there's no way of moving him. Apparently telling people they're a bad person and going to hell if they're not Christian, apparently he's not breaking any religious discrimination laws...
So now I'm at work and listening to Americana by The Offspring. The combination of rage, despair and 'Pretty Fly For a White Guy' is makin me nostalgic... Yes, school was the last time I was this pissed off.
So this is the beginning of Project-I'm a Human Being Get Me Out Of Here. As someone who lived here before it got so bad, back in the glory days of unbreathable air and sewage flowing down the streets (oh, hang on...), said "If you're tired of London, you're tired of life." This is because only London can induce thoughts of murder/self-harm all on its own. I'm going to move to the country and get some cows. Or I may start a shop selling T-shirts with pictures of Mary Magdalene on that say "You may have Jesus, but I've Had Him!"