Four plus weeks of little else but work, eat and sleep is not something to be recommended but as it ends with two weeks hoilday I'll try and push it to the back of my mind.
So here we are in the home of the Mouse, where every day should be had nicely and the streets are paved with cholesterol.
Don't think I'm joking. Scotland may have invented the deep fried Mars Bar but America invented the deep fried bit. You're in danger of being run down in any of the theme parks by any number of mobility scooters all carrying someone for no other reason than that they have a waist expansion problem / are corpulently challenged / have an eating disorder. Sorry let's stop being PC for a minute, they're fat and it would take two pounds of Semtex, or at the very least a crowbar to get the fork out of their hand.
Don't for one minute think I'm laying this on too thick I checked the map just yesterday whilst in Magic Kingdom and looking for a rest room. I wondered what the red symbols were, dotted all round the map, Automated External Defibrillators. Human jump starts dotted all over the place and you have to wonder in this litigious society what you'd stand most chance of being sued for, using one and the person dying .
"Sir you willfully killed this person by the application of a completely unecessary massive electric shock"
Or not using one.
"Sir you had the means to save this poor unfortunate by the simple application of a minor electric shock from the equipment already consideratly provided by Walt Disney World"
If I see one of them so much as sigh too deeply I'm running.
Land of the free and home of the brave but the only thing free is the coffee refills and all the braves were banged up on reservations years ago. Just a few being let out every so often when John Wayne or any other of Hollywoods firm jawed and rugged finest needed to shoot a few more and save the ranchers wife, town or state (all three in some cases). Quite how they managed to find the time whilst winning WW2 all on their own I'll never know.
If I'm sounding too bitter about the place I'm not. In oh so many ways they make the UK look like a bunch of cheap skate amateurs. Yes the staff in the parks and restaurants may seem OTT to our reserved eyes but they're smiling and even if they're acting at being "happy to be your server tonight" they're doing a bloody good job of it.
Come on, get up, there's no time for a lie in we've got to have fun. If we rush over to Space Mountain now we'll have time to fit in the Buzz Lightyear ride before the Disney Parade then we can fit in the two shows in the afternoon and get back for the firework display later tonight.
"Oh my god he's having a heart attack, please someone show me how to use this defibrillator"
"Okay Maam, d'you want fries with that"
Monday, 9 August 2010
Thursday, 1 July 2010
The Matrix
ma·trix (mā'trĭks)
A situation or surrounding substance within which something else originates, develops, or is contained:
As in the motorway signs we all know and love.
Obstruction ahead, lane restrictions, reduce speed, the all encompassing "Tiredness kills"
All operated skillfully and concientiously from a central command centre to help and speed us on our way.
Bollocks. This is what really happens.
"Jock have you cleared the signs on the 62"
"No not yet"
"They cleared the accident half an hour ago"
"Aye, I know but look at camera 42"
"What the fuck is he doing"
On camera 42 is an 18 wheeler straddling the middle and outside lane, blocking both, with the drivers arm out of the window giving the finger to a Merc trying to fit itself through a mini sized gap.
Obviously fed up with traffic toeing it down the outside lane despite the lane closed signs he'd had enough and decided to form his own rolling roadblock.
"Watch this"
"Jock what are you doing"
Jock punches a few buttons and the sign just ahead of the entertainment changes from outside lane blocked to inside lane blocked.
The 18 wheeler moves completely to the outside lane and the middle lane immediately closes up, so you can't get a Rizla between the bumpers of any vehicle, to prevent the mass of now indicating traffic in the inside lane from moving over. The Merc driver is turning puce as he's now stuck behind the truck and can't see the sign, the drivers in the inside lane are screaming and shouting at the middle lane occupants who are doing their level best to not notice and the driver of the 18 wheeler goes back to his mobile and cup of coffee, steering with his knees.
The two people in the control room watching this are now pissing themselves laughing.
"Jock. You are going to get the sack"
"Och awa wi'ye, it's only one o' ma tricks"
A situation or surrounding substance within which something else originates, develops, or is contained:
As in the motorway signs we all know and love.
Obstruction ahead, lane restrictions, reduce speed, the all encompassing "Tiredness kills"
All operated skillfully and concientiously from a central command centre to help and speed us on our way.
Bollocks. This is what really happens.
"Jock have you cleared the signs on the 62"
"No not yet"
"They cleared the accident half an hour ago"
"Aye, I know but look at camera 42"
"What the fuck is he doing"
On camera 42 is an 18 wheeler straddling the middle and outside lane, blocking both, with the drivers arm out of the window giving the finger to a Merc trying to fit itself through a mini sized gap.
Obviously fed up with traffic toeing it down the outside lane despite the lane closed signs he'd had enough and decided to form his own rolling roadblock.
"Watch this"
"Jock what are you doing"
Jock punches a few buttons and the sign just ahead of the entertainment changes from outside lane blocked to inside lane blocked.
The 18 wheeler moves completely to the outside lane and the middle lane immediately closes up, so you can't get a Rizla between the bumpers of any vehicle, to prevent the mass of now indicating traffic in the inside lane from moving over. The Merc driver is turning puce as he's now stuck behind the truck and can't see the sign, the drivers in the inside lane are screaming and shouting at the middle lane occupants who are doing their level best to not notice and the driver of the 18 wheeler goes back to his mobile and cup of coffee, steering with his knees.
The two people in the control room watching this are now pissing themselves laughing.
"Jock. You are going to get the sack"
"Och awa wi'ye, it's only one o' ma tricks"
Monday, 28 June 2010
Oh dear!
Well they've all been in the back of my car last night, the whole spectrum. The flag drapped, xenophobic, sweating, overweight bigot who couldn't kick a habit, let alone a football, mouthing obscenties and bile in every alcohol fuelled, spray accompanied word ("thats a fiver mate" now piss off). All the way to the terminally disinterested some 5 hours or so after the game "Oh did we lose?".
There was a bit of considered converstaion with those who hadn't drowned their sorrows completely but were only going down for the first time, surprisingly little 'we were cheated' due to the goal that wasn't given though.
Most of it centred around the overpaid, over pampered couldn't give a toss theme but I don't think it's that simple.
We have, by common agreement, pretty well the best league in the world but we have that because we have a great number of foreign players playing here.
Our problem exists at a grassroots level. My son played in a kids football team for years up until about three years ago and you get sick of hearing well meaning Dads who manage a team but have no coaching qualification screaming things like "get rid of it" and "your out of position". Obviously working out their own frustrations or previous failures on a bunch of 10 year olds.
They're still young, sod position and get rid of it. Play with it, if your not starting to learn that at 10 when are you going to learn it and as for insisting that they play on a full sized pitch at such a young age! Words fail me.
I've seen more than enough stressed out 10 and 11 year olds, because they, can't get a game, get subbed off, the managers screaming at them or just as often their Dad, with the same language they'd use at the club they support.
We all had a laugh at the nutter Maradonna before the World Cup playing half the population of Argentina in the run up and only just qualifying but they are playing with freedom and enjoying themselves. Did anyone see any of our players, in any of the four matches, so much as smile. Thats all just a starting point and this is only a blog post not a book.
It is frankly ludicrous though that you watch a replay of a goal that was a full yard over the line from half a dozen different angles within seconds of the incident and you can't see a huge swathe of grass behind the net as it's lined with cameras from the worlds press. Yet up in the stands is Septic Bladder, a cross between Canute and Nelson, trying not to squirm as the worlds accusing eye focuses on him.
Expect a few sackings, lots of finger pointing, but essentially no change for the Euros.
There was a bit of considered converstaion with those who hadn't drowned their sorrows completely but were only going down for the first time, surprisingly little 'we were cheated' due to the goal that wasn't given though.
Most of it centred around the overpaid, over pampered couldn't give a toss theme but I don't think it's that simple.
We have, by common agreement, pretty well the best league in the world but we have that because we have a great number of foreign players playing here.
Our problem exists at a grassroots level. My son played in a kids football team for years up until about three years ago and you get sick of hearing well meaning Dads who manage a team but have no coaching qualification screaming things like "get rid of it" and "your out of position". Obviously working out their own frustrations or previous failures on a bunch of 10 year olds.
They're still young, sod position and get rid of it. Play with it, if your not starting to learn that at 10 when are you going to learn it and as for insisting that they play on a full sized pitch at such a young age! Words fail me.
I've seen more than enough stressed out 10 and 11 year olds, because they, can't get a game, get subbed off, the managers screaming at them or just as often their Dad, with the same language they'd use at the club they support.
We all had a laugh at the nutter Maradonna before the World Cup playing half the population of Argentina in the run up and only just qualifying but they are playing with freedom and enjoying themselves. Did anyone see any of our players, in any of the four matches, so much as smile. Thats all just a starting point and this is only a blog post not a book.
It is frankly ludicrous though that you watch a replay of a goal that was a full yard over the line from half a dozen different angles within seconds of the incident and you can't see a huge swathe of grass behind the net as it's lined with cameras from the worlds press. Yet up in the stands is Septic Bladder, a cross between Canute and Nelson, trying not to squirm as the worlds accusing eye focuses on him.
Expect a few sackings, lots of finger pointing, but essentially no change for the Euros.
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
World Crap
After our national heros put in that pitiful display against Algeria every reporter, broadcaster, pundit and the woman who brings the tea trolley round at broadcasting house have been banging on about what's gone wrong.
Revolution, mutiny, incompetence? Sixty odd million people in the country and at least that many opinions on the reason.
So why should I deny myself.
The best yet was Chris Waddle on 5Live. "They're sitting around in their rooms with nothing to do and probably munching on a pack of biscuits"
Brilliant, they've got more money than a politicians got bullshit, they're getting paid that amount for doing something that millions of us would give our left nut to be able to do for nothing just for one half, not even a full match and they're bored and full of biscuits.
Is there a 'Just giving' site where I can donate to assuage the boredom of these poor oppressed sportsmen?
Rooney "probably wants to be back with his new baby" Ah bless'im, so do half the squaddies serving in Afghanistan and they've got a bit more on their mind than whether there's enough ice left for the Bacardi and Coke.
John Terrys obviously upset that the Wags have been left at home as he can't screw anyone else's wife for at least another week so he's mouthing off as the self appointed leader, they may have taken the armband but forgot to pack a muzzle. Ashley Cole's probably working on a complicated spreadsheet working out who's getting more per kick than he is.
David James is looking down his nose at everyone, including Cappello, wondering what makes them think they're worthy of being in the same team. Robert Greens surfing the suicide websites weighing up whether a shot to the temple or throwing himself of a tall building would be preferable but he'll probably miss whichever one he chooses.
The only thing certain about Wednesdays game is that if it's still 0.0 at half time bottles will well and truly have gone and one S. Gerrard will be launching himself over every opposition bootlace within three yards with that pained expression only he can manage.
Go on then you lot, prove me wrong, at least look as though your trying.
Revolution, mutiny, incompetence? Sixty odd million people in the country and at least that many opinions on the reason.
So why should I deny myself.
The best yet was Chris Waddle on 5Live. "They're sitting around in their rooms with nothing to do and probably munching on a pack of biscuits"
Brilliant, they've got more money than a politicians got bullshit, they're getting paid that amount for doing something that millions of us would give our left nut to be able to do for nothing just for one half, not even a full match and they're bored and full of biscuits.
Is there a 'Just giving' site where I can donate to assuage the boredom of these poor oppressed sportsmen?
Rooney "probably wants to be back with his new baby" Ah bless'im, so do half the squaddies serving in Afghanistan and they've got a bit more on their mind than whether there's enough ice left for the Bacardi and Coke.
John Terrys obviously upset that the Wags have been left at home as he can't screw anyone else's wife for at least another week so he's mouthing off as the self appointed leader, they may have taken the armband but forgot to pack a muzzle. Ashley Cole's probably working on a complicated spreadsheet working out who's getting more per kick than he is.
David James is looking down his nose at everyone, including Cappello, wondering what makes them think they're worthy of being in the same team. Robert Greens surfing the suicide websites weighing up whether a shot to the temple or throwing himself of a tall building would be preferable but he'll probably miss whichever one he chooses.
The only thing certain about Wednesdays game is that if it's still 0.0 at half time bottles will well and truly have gone and one S. Gerrard will be launching himself over every opposition bootlace within three yards with that pained expression only he can manage.
Go on then you lot, prove me wrong, at least look as though your trying.
Friday, 18 June 2010
The eyes have it
We don't have enough surveillance. They're missing huge possibilities, cameras on the roads and buildings are all very well but where are the cameras in cars and in houses. An internal camera in every car coupled with a sensor and you can spot a drunk driver before he even sets off, something sniffing the air will pick up drugs. We could even take it further and wire up one of those devices that diabetics use to shove a little needle in your thumb when you grab the steering wheel to take a blood sample. Simplicity itself then to have the car self-lock, contact the police via the ever present mobile phone which will also give them the exact location via GPS.
See we're all instantly much safer on the roads.
All new houses and a 3 year limit for converting existing housing to have Webcams installed in every room. Think of all the domestic violence that would pick up and if your not doing anything wrong what have you got to fear? We could even use them to check when those working for the government we're legitimately sick or just fancy a day off, any doubt and the sensors in the room would breathalyse the individual and automatically dock their pay. I'm sure that for a suitable fee the government would allow certain trusted private companies to access the technology.
We could even track individuals by chipping them at birth much like we do our pets. We would need external visual proof of having been chipped though. Due to the density of population in cities scanning for individuals would be just a bit too difficult at the moment. Maybe we could tattoo people with a number or bar code somewhere visible, like the outside of the forearm.
I'm sorry I have to go now, the phone is ringing and it's probably the government Proctologist arranging the appointment to have the camera installed to track my every movement.
See we're all instantly much safer on the roads.
All new houses and a 3 year limit for converting existing housing to have Webcams installed in every room. Think of all the domestic violence that would pick up and if your not doing anything wrong what have you got to fear? We could even use them to check when those working for the government we're legitimately sick or just fancy a day off, any doubt and the sensors in the room would breathalyse the individual and automatically dock their pay. I'm sure that for a suitable fee the government would allow certain trusted private companies to access the technology.
We could even track individuals by chipping them at birth much like we do our pets. We would need external visual proof of having been chipped though. Due to the density of population in cities scanning for individuals would be just a bit too difficult at the moment. Maybe we could tattoo people with a number or bar code somewhere visible, like the outside of the forearm.
I'm sorry I have to go now, the phone is ringing and it's probably the government Proctologist arranging the appointment to have the camera installed to track my every movement.
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
The beautiful game
Played by not very beautiful people.
Zimmer rolls it out to Willy waver, a short ball to Shagger, crossfield pass to Bum Knee, forward to Diver no opposition bootlace within five yards so back to Hopalong Barry, Oh a lovely through ball to Grabagranny, he's clear he must score....
"Stopa rowing widda da linesman anda pay attention"
I suspect we may have the rug Yanked out from under us.
Zimmer rolls it out to Willy waver, a short ball to Shagger, crossfield pass to Bum Knee, forward to Diver no opposition bootlace within five yards so back to Hopalong Barry, Oh a lovely through ball to Grabagranny, he's clear he must score....
"Stopa rowing widda da linesman anda pay attention"
I suspect we may have the rug Yanked out from under us.
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Here we go again
I'm trying to get enthuiastic, really I am but so far everytime a presenter or pundit on TV or radio says "World Cup" my response is, for an Englishman, typically Gallic. A shrug of the shoulders and that little expiration through an Elvis shaped mouth denoting why are you even bothering me with that.
I should be champing at the bit not being able to wait to get started and stick it to Johnny Foreigner. Being able to teach all those diving, cheating Argies a lesson, run rings round the pouting, arrogant Spanish or Portugese and don't even get me started on the Germans.
But it's not like that now. Football, more than any other sport, now has increasingly invisible national borders. Club loyalties are still as passionate, maybe even more so. Probably one of the players you would hold up as an example to any child, not just of how to play and behave on the pitch but how to speak and react to the outside world even when being provoked or questioned by obvious idiots is a Spaniard, Cesc Fabregas.
Yes I'm biased, I'm an Arsenal fan, but I can't recall ever having had a discussion with a supporter of any other team that had something bad to say about the guy. There are others, I'm sure you can put forward suggestions from your own teams. We are now exposed to players of all nationalities on a much more intimate basis than ever before. When England won it back in 1966 the only time we ever saw these other players was during the much less frequent European matches or Internationals. Our idols were Moore, Charlton, Hurst etc as they were all we saw or heard from on a regular basis.
My point though is am I liable to be cheering uncontrollably if the unlikely happens and England win it and the likes of John Terry and Ashley Cole are prancing around with smug smiles and winners medals. Or will I have a large satisfied look on my face if Cesc is on my screen wearing a winners medal.
I must admit to feeling ever so slightly more patriotic now the season has ended but only slightly.
So while we're singing Jerusalem I'm afraid I'll only be waving a very small cross of St George, that well know Roman soldier/priest.
I should be champing at the bit not being able to wait to get started and stick it to Johnny Foreigner. Being able to teach all those diving, cheating Argies a lesson, run rings round the pouting, arrogant Spanish or Portugese and don't even get me started on the Germans.
But it's not like that now. Football, more than any other sport, now has increasingly invisible national borders. Club loyalties are still as passionate, maybe even more so. Probably one of the players you would hold up as an example to any child, not just of how to play and behave on the pitch but how to speak and react to the outside world even when being provoked or questioned by obvious idiots is a Spaniard, Cesc Fabregas.
Yes I'm biased, I'm an Arsenal fan, but I can't recall ever having had a discussion with a supporter of any other team that had something bad to say about the guy. There are others, I'm sure you can put forward suggestions from your own teams. We are now exposed to players of all nationalities on a much more intimate basis than ever before. When England won it back in 1966 the only time we ever saw these other players was during the much less frequent European matches or Internationals. Our idols were Moore, Charlton, Hurst etc as they were all we saw or heard from on a regular basis.
My point though is am I liable to be cheering uncontrollably if the unlikely happens and England win it and the likes of John Terry and Ashley Cole are prancing around with smug smiles and winners medals. Or will I have a large satisfied look on my face if Cesc is on my screen wearing a winners medal.
I must admit to feeling ever so slightly more patriotic now the season has ended but only slightly.
So while we're singing Jerusalem I'm afraid I'll only be waving a very small cross of St George, that well know Roman soldier/priest.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Curse or blessing?
Very often in the course of my job I'm going on routes and journeys that I know as well as the way round my own house, no concious thought required. So if a punter is the silent type the Billy Liar in me kicks off and any homework from my writing class gets done or one of several other projects gets thought about and developed, just not written down.
Often though, with my mind essentially out of gear, the curse sets in.
As a photographer all my life, pro, semi pro and currently resting, I tend to view life as a collection of still images. Stationary at lights I'll be unconciously moving my eyeline slightly so that the traffic light isn't in line with the lamppost, or the wing mirrors of the cars in front form a nice visual stack with a reflection repeated in each. Noticing that I'm just about at the right position to get a long shot of a building via the reflection in some office windows. I've even found myself rolling the car forward slightly to achieve the desired effect.
Driving past derelict buildings I'll wonder if I could get a shot of that broken window with a pigeon or two sitting in the right place. I have a thing about derelict buildings. Don't ask.
The curse doesn't stop there though, my own peculiar form of dyslexia kicks in and words have different meanings. A 'Baby on Board' sticker in the car in front and I'll be wondering why they've got a San Fransciscan honey making insect in the car. 'Exit'? I'll be waiting for the hen to move so I can watch it hatch.
'School'. No it's not, s'never been cool.
It's endless.
I've managed to make the visual curse pay in the past but it remains to be seen if I can do the same playing with words.
A piece of writing accepted by a publisher or having my collar felt because "That daft bugger over there keeps dodging his head about and staring straight through me".
Could be a close run thing.
Often though, with my mind essentially out of gear, the curse sets in.
As a photographer all my life, pro, semi pro and currently resting, I tend to view life as a collection of still images. Stationary at lights I'll be unconciously moving my eyeline slightly so that the traffic light isn't in line with the lamppost, or the wing mirrors of the cars in front form a nice visual stack with a reflection repeated in each. Noticing that I'm just about at the right position to get a long shot of a building via the reflection in some office windows. I've even found myself rolling the car forward slightly to achieve the desired effect.
Driving past derelict buildings I'll wonder if I could get a shot of that broken window with a pigeon or two sitting in the right place. I have a thing about derelict buildings. Don't ask.
The curse doesn't stop there though, my own peculiar form of dyslexia kicks in and words have different meanings. A 'Baby on Board' sticker in the car in front and I'll be wondering why they've got a San Fransciscan honey making insect in the car. 'Exit'? I'll be waiting for the hen to move so I can watch it hatch.
'School'. No it's not, s'never been cool.
It's endless.
I've managed to make the visual curse pay in the past but it remains to be seen if I can do the same playing with words.
A piece of writing accepted by a publisher or having my collar felt because "That daft bugger over there keeps dodging his head about and staring straight through me".
Could be a close run thing.
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
A New Hope
Sorry I can't resist one more polly tickle post.
We have a Conservative Prime Minister ruling a Conservative government. Er? no we don't we have a Conservative government with the Lib Dems holding the choke chain in case it attacks the weak and defenceless. No we don't, what do we have? The humourists amongst us wil have spotted that what we have is a ConDem government, let's hope they don't live up to the name.
I think we can ignore the opening speech from Digital Dave. Opening speeches have little relevance to what comes after. Thatcher quoting Saint Francis of Assissi, given the following years of her rule, now seems almost obscene.
Cleggie's Deputy Prime Minister and I'm sure he feels well chuffed at the prospect but I'd suggest just a backward glance to the fat fool who held the title before him and then realise that sticking a ticket on something stating 'organic manure in an ethically produced container' on something doesn't change the fact that its still a sack of shit. Deputy Prime Minister is nothing more than a lable. Whether there's a useful quality product behind that lable or a remaindered, end of line, please take it off our hands remains to be seen.
We've had the officially required admiring speeches about Dear Prudence who now shuffles of, nearly tearful, into political retirement to a chorus of cooing admiration but he can't fail to have heard the popping of champagne corks and raucous cheering before he was even out of sight.
Someone else is now out of power, though I'm sure he's been working on a way back in even before we knew he was out. Mandlebrot, no matter how many layers you peel away you still end up with the same oily git. The bastard love child of Vader and Voldemort, with none of the redeeming features of either, will have been brown nosing anyone, with even a hint of influence, who has been foolish enough to drop the soap whilst he's in the same building. I'd suggest Cameron tries to find a position in his cabinet for Luke and young Harry as the evil one will find a way back in where one doesn't even exist.
Dave's got what he wants and Nick's got influence beyond his wildest dreams and even Labour have got what they want, given the election result. Large numbers of them ran round from pillar to post telling any Tory who would listen "Don't worry we wont be backing any deals"
The Lib Dems couldn't afford another election financially, Labour couldn't afford one politically and the Conservatives are in anyway. If they can make it work until the vote for fixed parliaments goes through and keep it together until Labour feel strong enough to start the "Come and have a go if you think your hard enough" we may just see a permanent change in a corrupt and out dated political system.
We just need a wedding planner now to shuffle the seating plan in the Commons so prissy, abstemious aunt Maude has to sit next to uncle Fred the alcy gambling addict for a bit less 'Yah Boo' in the house.
They'll probably screw it up but at least let's enjoy a few days of hope.
We have a Conservative Prime Minister ruling a Conservative government. Er? no we don't we have a Conservative government with the Lib Dems holding the choke chain in case it attacks the weak and defenceless. No we don't, what do we have? The humourists amongst us wil have spotted that what we have is a ConDem government, let's hope they don't live up to the name.
I think we can ignore the opening speech from Digital Dave. Opening speeches have little relevance to what comes after. Thatcher quoting Saint Francis of Assissi, given the following years of her rule, now seems almost obscene.
Cleggie's Deputy Prime Minister and I'm sure he feels well chuffed at the prospect but I'd suggest just a backward glance to the fat fool who held the title before him and then realise that sticking a ticket on something stating 'organic manure in an ethically produced container' on something doesn't change the fact that its still a sack of shit. Deputy Prime Minister is nothing more than a lable. Whether there's a useful quality product behind that lable or a remaindered, end of line, please take it off our hands remains to be seen.
We've had the officially required admiring speeches about Dear Prudence who now shuffles of, nearly tearful, into political retirement to a chorus of cooing admiration but he can't fail to have heard the popping of champagne corks and raucous cheering before he was even out of sight.
Someone else is now out of power, though I'm sure he's been working on a way back in even before we knew he was out. Mandlebrot, no matter how many layers you peel away you still end up with the same oily git. The bastard love child of Vader and Voldemort, with none of the redeeming features of either, will have been brown nosing anyone, with even a hint of influence, who has been foolish enough to drop the soap whilst he's in the same building. I'd suggest Cameron tries to find a position in his cabinet for Luke and young Harry as the evil one will find a way back in where one doesn't even exist.
Dave's got what he wants and Nick's got influence beyond his wildest dreams and even Labour have got what they want, given the election result. Large numbers of them ran round from pillar to post telling any Tory who would listen "Don't worry we wont be backing any deals"
The Lib Dems couldn't afford another election financially, Labour couldn't afford one politically and the Conservatives are in anyway. If they can make it work until the vote for fixed parliaments goes through and keep it together until Labour feel strong enough to start the "Come and have a go if you think your hard enough" we may just see a permanent change in a corrupt and out dated political system.
We just need a wedding planner now to shuffle the seating plan in the Commons so prissy, abstemious aunt Maude has to sit next to uncle Fred the alcy gambling addict for a bit less 'Yah Boo' in the house.
They'll probably screw it up but at least let's enjoy a few days of hope.
Friday, 7 May 2010
Here we see the species at it's most active. The herd shuffles nervously while the dominant animals try and assemble the maximum number of breeding opportunities.
Ultimately some of the Alphas will go head to head in a bloody competition in which the loser will either die or spend the rest of its life as a spent force unable to gain any support unless with the accession of the winner.
Those new to the habitat can be seen running around like excited new borns gently bumping, nuzzling and arse sniffing any creature that already has the scent of the herd well established in a desperate attempt for acceptance.
Whilst this activity looks frenetic it pales into comparison when we look at the flocks of chatterers picking and cleaning at every creature available with no regard to their rank in the herd. Such is their desperation that when there is no place visible on any animal close to them they even turn their attention to other species merely watching the activity and even their droppings.
As this political rutting season proceeds and the pecking order is established we can expect each individual in turn to be seen bowing it's head and lowing constantly in satisfaction as the chatterers can now carry out their work on a less mobile subject.
Then ultimately the whole extrordinary display is over and silence descends once more.
Apart from the gentle clicking of closing doors and the muttered enquiry "Where do you keep the expense claims forms".
Ultimately some of the Alphas will go head to head in a bloody competition in which the loser will either die or spend the rest of its life as a spent force unable to gain any support unless with the accession of the winner.
Those new to the habitat can be seen running around like excited new borns gently bumping, nuzzling and arse sniffing any creature that already has the scent of the herd well established in a desperate attempt for acceptance.
Whilst this activity looks frenetic it pales into comparison when we look at the flocks of chatterers picking and cleaning at every creature available with no regard to their rank in the herd. Such is their desperation that when there is no place visible on any animal close to them they even turn their attention to other species merely watching the activity and even their droppings.
As this political rutting season proceeds and the pecking order is established we can expect each individual in turn to be seen bowing it's head and lowing constantly in satisfaction as the chatterers can now carry out their work on a less mobile subject.
Then ultimately the whole extrordinary display is over and silence descends once more.
Apart from the gentle clicking of closing doors and the muttered enquiry "Where do you keep the expense claims forms".
Saturday, 1 May 2010
The Importance of Being Earnest
Three debates done and dusted so who's going to be President, sorry Prime Minister.
All three of them looking directly into the camera imploring a sceptical public to pleeease believe them, they really are telling the truth this time.
He didn't do particularly well in the first leg but we seem to have had the second Caming and Digital Dave looks to be in front having largely ignored Dear Prudence during the whole third leg.
Gordon really is a marvel of physical dexterity. How one man can manage to shoot himself in both feet while having them wedged in his mouth is quite astonishing, he may actually pick up a few sympathy votes as he takes on, more and more, the look of an old dog that's finally had a kicking and been thrown out for crapping on the carpet.
Cleggie continues to win the charm offensive and prances about on any broadcast media available fluttering his eyelashes at the other two with an inviting "Well I might" dangling the mouth watering possibilities of sharing a red box or two. Gordon is positively gagging at the prospect as no one else will even look at him and is still trying to pull Clegg but Cleggie keeps pushing him off though it may end up that he's the only date not taken for the prom.
Dave is playing hard to get and says he wont share power at all, it's his ball and he's going home. So we can write that school report already......
Doesn't play well with others
...and so it goes on, all three of them dancing around telling us via the drooling hacks whatever they think will get them the most votes. Of course it has to be the truth but we are talking political truth here.
"Whatever I tell you three times is true"
They, collectively, are the Bellman and Mr and Mrs Voter are the mythical Snark.
Listen out for the phrases like, we have no plans to, we fully intend, it's a problem that needs addressing etc etc and then realise how many lobby correspondents and political hacks there are in relation to the number of MP's. All there to expain what they actually mean when they're truthfully lying through their teeth.
They will continue to be all over us like a cheap suit until 10pm on the 6th then, when all the votes are counted and we can have no further effect on the next 5 years, we will be chucked out of the window to be swept away with the Maccy's boxes, squashed kebabs and alcopop bottles.
Then we can all go back to what we usually do which is to survive by going round, through or under the obstacles they place in our way.
All three of them looking directly into the camera imploring a sceptical public to pleeease believe them, they really are telling the truth this time.
He didn't do particularly well in the first leg but we seem to have had the second Caming and Digital Dave looks to be in front having largely ignored Dear Prudence during the whole third leg.
Gordon really is a marvel of physical dexterity. How one man can manage to shoot himself in both feet while having them wedged in his mouth is quite astonishing, he may actually pick up a few sympathy votes as he takes on, more and more, the look of an old dog that's finally had a kicking and been thrown out for crapping on the carpet.
Cleggie continues to win the charm offensive and prances about on any broadcast media available fluttering his eyelashes at the other two with an inviting "Well I might" dangling the mouth watering possibilities of sharing a red box or two. Gordon is positively gagging at the prospect as no one else will even look at him and is still trying to pull Clegg but Cleggie keeps pushing him off though it may end up that he's the only date not taken for the prom.
Dave is playing hard to get and says he wont share power at all, it's his ball and he's going home. So we can write that school report already......
Doesn't play well with others
...and so it goes on, all three of them dancing around telling us via the drooling hacks whatever they think will get them the most votes. Of course it has to be the truth but we are talking political truth here.
"Whatever I tell you three times is true"
They, collectively, are the Bellman and Mr and Mrs Voter are the mythical Snark.
Listen out for the phrases like, we have no plans to, we fully intend, it's a problem that needs addressing etc etc and then realise how many lobby correspondents and political hacks there are in relation to the number of MP's. All there to expain what they actually mean when they're truthfully lying through their teeth.
They will continue to be all over us like a cheap suit until 10pm on the 6th then, when all the votes are counted and we can have no further effect on the next 5 years, we will be chucked out of the window to be swept away with the Maccy's boxes, squashed kebabs and alcopop bottles.
Then we can all go back to what we usually do which is to survive by going round, through or under the obstacles they place in our way.
Friday, 16 April 2010
The leaders debased
I listened to the leaders debate on the radio this evening and I waited for it to take off, and I waited, and then I waited some more.
Ninety minutes of listening to what sounded, and may well have looked, like three products of Jim Hensons creature shop. I could hear in every breath and syllable the workings and coachings of a multitude of advisors and spin doctors, much as every muscle twitch and eye movement of Jim Hensons creatures are controlled by an unseen operator.
The lack of any audience response being allowed made the squeaking of buzz words and phrases being shoe horned in almost deafening. If you've told me your constituency is Sheffield I've got that I don't need it repeating every time you refer to it. "Bring in the personal anecdotes it'll make you seem human" No it didn't, you could hear the beginning and end of every learnt paragraph.
I know soldiers are brave you do not need to constantly preface 'soldier' with brave every single sodding time it's mentioned. As for the Mr Memory act of listing every questioners name, was anyone else half listening for Eric Morecambe coughing "Arsenal"
Gordon Browns pursuit of Nick Clegg like an oversexed student on Freshers night determined to get laid was frankly embarrasing, apparently to Nick Clegg as well.
Gentlemen if you want my vote assemble all your voice coaches, body language experts, sociologists, sephologists and any other ologists lurking under a desk or behind a curtain and in the immortal words of Norman Stanley Fletcher tell them all to Naff Off.
Because all three of you had what I believe Golfers call the Yips, you were so bloody scared of getting it wrong you never even hit the ball.
For the next one can we please have a debate and not another well rehearsed and choreographed Political Come Dancing.
Ninety minutes of listening to what sounded, and may well have looked, like three products of Jim Hensons creature shop. I could hear in every breath and syllable the workings and coachings of a multitude of advisors and spin doctors, much as every muscle twitch and eye movement of Jim Hensons creatures are controlled by an unseen operator.
The lack of any audience response being allowed made the squeaking of buzz words and phrases being shoe horned in almost deafening. If you've told me your constituency is Sheffield I've got that I don't need it repeating every time you refer to it. "Bring in the personal anecdotes it'll make you seem human" No it didn't, you could hear the beginning and end of every learnt paragraph.
I know soldiers are brave you do not need to constantly preface 'soldier' with brave every single sodding time it's mentioned. As for the Mr Memory act of listing every questioners name, was anyone else half listening for Eric Morecambe coughing "Arsenal"
Gordon Browns pursuit of Nick Clegg like an oversexed student on Freshers night determined to get laid was frankly embarrasing, apparently to Nick Clegg as well.
Gentlemen if you want my vote assemble all your voice coaches, body language experts, sociologists, sephologists and any other ologists lurking under a desk or behind a curtain and in the immortal words of Norman Stanley Fletcher tell them all to Naff Off.
Because all three of you had what I believe Golfers call the Yips, you were so bloody scared of getting it wrong you never even hit the ball.
For the next one can we please have a debate and not another well rehearsed and choreographed Political Come Dancing.
Thursday, 15 April 2010
A three hoarse race
Well, in the words of Fast Eddie Felson "Hey, I'm back"
Just a brief where have I been. I haven't actually been anywhere but I found I didn't really have enough time to blog as well as concentrate on a creative writing course. Will I actually ever complete writing anything for publication or performance? Not certain but I'm a lot closer than I was before the course.
Well we're nearing the end, will they perform well on the day or will the competition prove too much. Just one misplaced step or stumble and the oposition will score and then only the return legs to try and pull it back.
No not football but who gets to wreck, (sorry run) our country for the next 5 years. Who are you backing, Charisma Bypass, Posh Boy or The Cleggie.
Make no mistake as that's what it's mostly about. The media have made sure that now more than ever before it's a presidential election.
So it's a choice between a dour Scot who seems happier the worst things get and for all the world I can't get John Laurie out of my head whenever I see him, "Doomed, we're all doomed I tell ee"
Or the digitally botoxed posh boy who constantly does his damnedest to be one of the lads and fails miserably on most occasions. No matter how often he rolls his sleeves up and loosens his tie he still oozes Eton from every pore.
Cleggie, who seems to push Uncle Vince forward on numerous occasions with that sort of "My uncle will sort you out" attitude of the bullied schoolboy is frankly going to be, as always an also ran.
But wait just a moment, coming last in this race may just be the best option. The power broker in a hung parliament. Sitting on the bar like the midget Mordecai in High Plains Drifter relishing the power and influence after years of ridicule.
I don't suppose there's any small chance I can vote SNP is there?
Just a brief where have I been. I haven't actually been anywhere but I found I didn't really have enough time to blog as well as concentrate on a creative writing course. Will I actually ever complete writing anything for publication or performance? Not certain but I'm a lot closer than I was before the course.
Well we're nearing the end, will they perform well on the day or will the competition prove too much. Just one misplaced step or stumble and the oposition will score and then only the return legs to try and pull it back.
No not football but who gets to wreck, (sorry run) our country for the next 5 years. Who are you backing, Charisma Bypass, Posh Boy or The Cleggie.
Make no mistake as that's what it's mostly about. The media have made sure that now more than ever before it's a presidential election.
So it's a choice between a dour Scot who seems happier the worst things get and for all the world I can't get John Laurie out of my head whenever I see him, "Doomed, we're all doomed I tell ee"
Or the digitally botoxed posh boy who constantly does his damnedest to be one of the lads and fails miserably on most occasions. No matter how often he rolls his sleeves up and loosens his tie he still oozes Eton from every pore.
Cleggie, who seems to push Uncle Vince forward on numerous occasions with that sort of "My uncle will sort you out" attitude of the bullied schoolboy is frankly going to be, as always an also ran.
But wait just a moment, coming last in this race may just be the best option. The power broker in a hung parliament. Sitting on the bar like the midget Mordecai in High Plains Drifter relishing the power and influence after years of ridicule.
I don't suppose there's any small chance I can vote SNP is there?
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