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Thursday, 30 September 2010

Postcard of an AGW future

I despair. I really do.

There’s a competition in the Metro in which you can send in your photo shopped postcard depicting London in the grip of climate change.

Paddy fields in London, Don’t make me laugh.


This is what I’ll send in


Just a sample pic, as I’ll need lots more mobile cranes to hang Greens, Politicians, AGWs’, carbon credit consortia, and all others who are peddling this travesty of science.

Remind me tomorrow to buy shares in caterpillar and other crane manufacturers.

I do have futures in piano wire.

Coming to their senses?



Britain’s leading scientific institution has been forced to rewrite its guide to climate change and admit that there is greater uncertainty about future temperature increases than it had previously suggested.

The Royal Society is publishing a new document today after a rebellion by more than 40 of its fellows who questioned mankind’s contribution to rising temperatures.

Maybe they might let me become a member. I’ve been saying that for years.

And the barbecue summers that the  Met Office warned us about.

The Royal Society even appears to criticise scientists who have made predictions about heat waves and rising sea levels. It now says: “There is little confidence in specific projections of future regional climate change, except at continental scales.”

But of course it’ll take years for the political class to come round to the fact that they’ve been conned by all the vested interests in the “settled science”. They’re still being duped.

Meanwhile, the Government is planning an exercise to test how England and Wales would cope with severe flooding caused by climate change. Exercise Watermark will take place in March and test emergency services and communities on a range of scenarios that could occur.

Of course they are trying to confuse us by just changing the name from AGW to “global climate disruption”, in the hope that their green followers will remain in a state of perpetual panic.


Wednesday, 29 September 2010

No. Medway again.

A tail(sic) of fluffy animals, white lines, and an other department’s incompetence in Medway.

White lines have been painted over a fox as it lay dead in a village.

If you are of a weak or feeble disposition, or a bunny hugger, look away now.

FOX MM 21.9.10_PD1760398_l

I mean really, how could they have missed it? I honestly thought these sort of things were urban myths.

However the council attempted to wriggle out of it’s responsibility (As they do).

A council spokesman said: "This was an unfortunate incident that occurred while private contractors employed by the council were carrying out road marking work.

Note to the Council: He who submits the lowest tender is not always capable of executing that tender.

(Learnt by experience of shiprepairer contracts).

*I don’t know why I keep writing about Medway, I don’t even live there. However I do feel sorry for the inhabitants.*

Tally Ho

I’m sure there’s a great wailing and nashing of teeth by Westminster council, over these boys, doing their civic duty.

Tuesday, 28 September 2010

The saviour cometh.

No. I haven’t turned to religion I’m just feeling thoroughly pissed off over this.

The Bank of England’s deputy governor yesterday urged the country to go on a shopping spree to boost the fragile economy.

In an extraordinary move, Charles Bean said he wanted to see Britons ‘not saving more, but spending more’.


he said: ‘What we’re trying to do by our policy [low interest rates] is encourage more spending. Ideally, we’d like to see that in the form of more business spending but part of the mechanism that might encourage that is having more household spending. So, in the short-term, we want to see households not saving more, but spending more.’

Well Mr Bean, I’ve worked all my life in order to have a comfortable retirement and selfishly I want to keep my money. I’ve paid an extortionate amount of tax over all those years, so you’re not entitled to tell me what to do with my savings. After all with your quantative easing you devalued my savings in order to get you out of the hole you and the previous Government dug as it is.

So no Mr Bean, I shall not obey your orders to spend more for the good of the country. In a nutshell , get stuffed.

After all, when I snuff it, no doubt you’ll be round to my gaff for another sizeable wad.

Monday, 27 September 2010

Pink Pussy reunited with her owner.

I’m not sure about the owner bit. I’m of the firm belief that our two cats think they own us.

The owner of the pink pussy in the news has given herself up to the RSPCA.

Kill her you say for brutally harming this poor defenceless animal.

No says I.

The owner of a pink cat who was tracked down after a nationwide hunt has admitted she dyed her pet to match her hair.

Defiant Natasha Gregory said she was proud of her actions - and would even do it again.

The 22-year-old mother-of-two admitted using food colourant to turn the short-haired cat's fur a vivid shade of pink.

pink cat

I especially like her cats name.

The fluorescent feline, named Oi! Kitty, is now so bright that she glows in the dark.

It would also seem in this case, that even the RSPCA maybe seeing sense over this owner and her actions.

'I have contacted the RSPCA to get her back and the lady I spoke to said she didn't think it would be a problem. But I'm going to have to wait until they go back to work today.'

I’m not sure about the vet though.

Despite being branded cruel by vet Penny Gillespie, who has been caring for the cat since she was found in a back garden,

And a self beclaimed animal behavioural expert.

Claire Guest, an animal behavioural expert, warned of the danger of colouring animals.

'My feeling would be that if she was a very bright colour other animals might react to her differently because anything based on red is an alarm colour in nature,' she said.

If my experience of cats counts for anything. Any creature threatening a cat is in for a nasty shock. 

Lets just wait though to see if the RSPCA are good to their word.

The M25 Motorway

A classic case of redundant design, this motorway actually goes nowhere. It is in some respects verification of Einstein's Theory of General Relativity in that, if you drive along it for long enough, you return to your starting point.

It was designed to divert traffic from driving across London and lorries were banned in the metropolis during the day in an attempt to move them onto this road. This was a brilliant plan apart from one small but significant flaw - there wasn't enough room for the traffic that wanted to use it.

Add to this the activities of the Cone Fairy and the recipe for disaster was complete. However, some planner who is obviously some kind of lateral genius or an abuser of mind-altering substances came up with the idea of lowering the speed limit in order to increase the speed of traffic.

Against all logic, this worked.

There are those who say that, when looked at from above, the shape of the M25 is a demonic sigil. This of course is completely wrong - Satan's just not that clever.

Sunday, 26 September 2010

Smoking on a ship.

RFA Fort George CH

Ten years ago I served on the Royal Fleet Auxiliary (RFA) ship “Fort George”. This type of vessel was configured to carry a cargo of ammunition, fuels which included diesel and aviation spirit (Avcat), and dry stores. There was no smoking allowed on the open decks for the obvious reason that there could be pockets of inflammable gases.

That last bit always had me slightly bemused as the ship’s original fit was to have included a vertical launch anti air, missile system situated in the middle of the ship (The silo is still there, they just ran out of money). Imagine firing a metre long projectile with a white hot tail of incandescent gas smack bang through the ship’s gas envelope. If you were the enemy you’d only need to pretend to attack. Your target would self destruct for you.

I digress.The then smoking rules allowed you to smoke anywhere inside the Accommodation, Office areas, the Bridge and the MCR (Machinery Control Room). 

Slowly but insidiously change happened. Firstly smoking in multiple occupancy offices were banned. Next came a ban on smoking in alleyways, and the MCR and the Bridge. After that smoking in bars was outlawed if food was served. FFS, that was snuck in because we had packets of crisps on sale.

And finally we were not allowed to smoke in our own cabins in case the steward sued over passive smoking. (Yes, Officers still had stewards). That was the final straw for me. I could have worked on, but instead I thought Sod you and retired. (Which I don’t regret as the march of regulation was bordering on the farcical).

The point of this post is, If you remember my first paragraph about no smoking on deck, you’ll be as bemused as me that the only place where smoking is allowed now, is a designated area on the open deck.

What really pisses me off is that in all the conflicts I’ve been involved in, (Aden, the Falklands, Gulf wars one and two and Angola) passive smoking would be the last thing on anyone’s mind.

But Hey, we live in a world of irrational fear.

In a nut shell political correctness trumps health and safety.

*Lights up ciggy*

Bill Stickers Will Be Prosecuted

Just defending Bill who had to flee the UK.

A failed attempt to keep Bill Posters at bay.

The scene is quite familiar. A small, non-franchised shop on the high street that was there yesterday suddenly ceases to exist. Any clues as to its previous use are quickly removed, and old, yellowed pages of newspaper spontaneously appear in the window, blocking any view of the interior. You look upwards to see that an 'A1/A3 business to let/buy' sign now juts out from the first floor of the building, but this does little to explain what suddenly seems like the end of an era. Legend has it that this 'A1/A3 business' business is to do with the property's licenses but, since you're not au fait with such things, it doesn't really help. Most people would give up and walk away at this point, but you decide to take a closer look and are rewarded with the cryptic message:

Bill Stickers Will Be Prosecuted.

Has the shop's owner done something particularly dastardly? When will the court hearing be? Did he actually look like a Bill in the first place? Further inspection reveals that someone has scrawled 'Bill Stickers is innocent' underneath. You are intrigued, and head off to tell your friends about it – maybe you can start a campaign to save the poor fellow. Unfortunately, they all laugh at you, and you spend the next fortnight answering enquiries as to the welfare of 'your mate Bill'.

Having endured for more than a century, this sort of confusion was thankfully ended by a move towards using the phrase 'Stick No Bills', though gullible individuals may as a result wonder why anyone would want to attach grown men to a shop window. Alternatives such as 'Post No Bills' may prove even more confusing, and it is likely that an ideal solution to the matter is still a long way off.

Saturday, 25 September 2010

How To Appreciate Solitary Drinking

Carrying on from how to avoid Chuggers, I bring you a further pearl of wisdom.

Mrs F E is working late.

 A solitary glass of chilled white wine on a table outdoors with a beautiful sunset as a backdrop.

Many people like to drink alcohol. Some do it for fun, some do it for social reasons and some even (believe it or not) just use it as an excuse to go down the pub and watch the game on the big screen. But there are some who do it alone. Solitary drinking can be a wonderful experience, and the following steps may inspire you (as a sensible drinker) to appreciate the joys of drinking alone.

The Recommended Schedule of Events

  • When shopping for indulgences or intellectual matter (eg, the latest Salman Rushdie tome, of which you may have no intention of reading) make an impromptu visit to a cheap back street off-licence and buy two of the following recommended alcoholic drinks: wine (red or white, but not the expensive kind, that's just silly), beer (almost any type will do), vodka (and a mixer if you wish) or gin (if you're feeling especially emotional).

  • On returning home, make sure you are alone. This may involve causing a rift between you and your spouse, partner, friends or family so that they leave. All methods are perfectly acceptable, and the resulting self-loathing will benefit you later in the night.

  • Commence drinking at roughly 7pm. Do not commence drinking earlier, as this could result in alcohol abuse. If you need to cook in order to eat, this should be done before 7pm to avoid burns and other injuries, but eating while drinking is perfectly acceptable. In fact, it is highly recommended that you consume something you never normally would from the fridge; a 'nantwich' is perfect. Douglas Adams' The Meaning of Liff explains a nantwich as,

    'a late-night snack, invented by the Earl of Nantwich, which consists of the dampest thing in the fridge, pressed between two of the driest things in the fridge. The Earl, who lived in a flat in Clapham, invented the nantwich to avoid having to go shopping'.
  • Roughly an hour and-a-half into your drinking session, remove an item of clothing. Trousers are the preference for men, but women fluctuate between garments and changing into sparser, more inappropriate clothing. Men can also indulge in this, but do make sure you definitely are alone. People don't want to see all that hair and saggy bits.

  • Watch an educational programme by the BBC. Key presenters of such viewing delights are: Stephen Fry, Richard Attenbourgh, David Attenbourgh, Jeremy Paxman or Michael Palin. Snigger throughout.

  • Watch a romantic comedy (something by Richard Curtis is recommended). All forms are acceptable. Men may have to find suitable material in the film collection of a wife, girlfriend or female friend.

  • By about 10.30pm, return to a bad habit. Smoking, illicit viewing, mild drug habit, flicking to the dirty bits in novels, cross-dressing, or snooping though the wife/husband's, girlfriend/boyfriend's, or female/male friend's possessions are all popular choices.

  • After running out of booze, search for, and consume the bottle of hazelnut liqueur you bought on that French holiday two years ago.

  • Embarrass yourself via mobile phone text, email or online community/social networking website.

  • Collapse in a front of the television. It is vital that it is left on a channel that will later, when a companion returns, be showing pornography or reality TV.

There, that should help you fill an otherwise uneventful night. Bottoms Up!

Surviving in Britain - Clipboard Avoidance Techniques

Anyone who has spent a small amount of time in the more populated areas of the British Isles will be aware of the phenomenon of the clipboard.

The 'clipboarder' - or 'chugger', as in 'charity mugger' - is one who stands in the street and approaches innocent members of the public,forcing them to listen to pleas for your directdebit1 details, an endless series of irrelevant questions preceded by the phrase 'it'll only take a few minutes,' or even loading you up with leaflets you neither understand nor care about, and will only end up in the next bin2.

In the last few years there has been a terrifying increase in the number of attacks on individuals' personal space by people waving clipboards around at them. At first glance, these people seem harmless enough, and if trained to the highest level they may even have acquired the skill of looking just like an ordinary member of the public until they whip their clipboard out and it's all too late... These people are bred especially for the purpose of taking up people's time and asking them for money. They are trained from birth and are only released onto the streets when they have attained high enough 'grades' in areas such as tactical attack and confusing conversational skills.

These clipboarders usually hunt in packs - next time you go into a town or city shopping area, take a look around. It is almost certain that if you look hard enough you will see a scary number of people casually holding clipboards, and you will also notice that they are spread out over the shopping area, each in his or her own tactical position.

Part 1: Reconnaissance

How to spot a clipboarder

'Ha!' you cry, 'That's easy: They're the ones with the clipboards!' Yes, you are correct. The rookie clipboarder will be easy to spot, as he (or she) will have his (or her) clipboard in plain view. But what if, in the case of more experienced clipboarders, they have their clipboard somehow hidden? Under a coat, behind a lamppost, or behind their back - how do you spot one then? Here's a list of tell-tale signs that you have a clipboarder in your midst:

  • Are they wearing a sash or a vest with a logo on it? Clipboarders are usually proud of their sponsors and employers and show them off proudly on a brightly-coloured sash or vest.

  • Do they seem to be gravitationally attracted to anyone that comes within a few feet of them? Clipboarders will advance towards any poor soul who has unwittingly wandered too close.

  • Are there any little old ladies lying dead on the floor near to your suspected clipboard? Clipboarders are ruthless and will talk to people until they hand over their direct debit details or die of confusion and boredom. Little old ladies seem to be particularly susceptible to this, as most of them don't know what direct debit is and they are very easily confused.

  • Do they look like they have a coathanger stuffed in their face? Part of a clipboarder's training includes a large amount of facial exercise in order to affect a perpetual smile - which is supposed to make you feel more comfortable, but strangely only succeeds in making them look like they have wind. As a result, clipboarders are the species with the strongest facial muscles on the planet. Never try to smile back - they will win.

Part 2: How to avoid a clipboarder

Once you have identified a clipboarder and their groupmates, it is important to avoid them at all costs. People have been known to survive a direct clipboard attack, but it is inadvisable to tempt fate. There are clipboard defence classes available at some locations throughout the country if you are interested.

There are a number of ways to avoid a clipboarder, depending on your situation:

  • Turn back

    This is the easiest and is simply effected by performing a simple 180 degree turn and walking in the opposite direction. This is not useful, however, if you were actually trying to get somewhere.

  • Take an alternative route

    This manoeuvre involves taking a route around the outside of the affected area. This removes all danger from the observed group of clipboarders, but opens you to the possibility of running into a different group on your revised route.

  • Make them think twice

    A Clipboarder is less likely to approach you if he or she feels they may either put themselves in danger by doing so, or else just not get any sense out of you. Techniques such as muttering or singing to yourself, talking to someone who isn't there or swatting at invisible flies may achieve the desired result, but with the more experienced clipboarder more imaginative techniques must be implemented.

  • Implement a Corby

    This is the most difficult of avoidance techniques and is of most use when your intended destination is within the affected area. 'Corby' is the name given to a route that follows the rules as outlined in the next section.

  • Combine two or more of these tactics

    Sure to fox even the most dedicated clipboarder, a combination of any number of the tactics listed here is an excellent way to ensure safe passage, particularly the Corby combined with muttering or talking to yourself: this has the added bonus of occupying your mind enough for you to not succumb to the temptation of making eye contact.

The Corby

The route is at all times equidistant from the closest two members of any pack of clipboarders. As anyone who has done up to GCSE geography or mathematics will know, a route which is equidistant from two given points is a straight line. When considering more than two points, only the two closest to you at any given moment should be considered. As a route brings you closer to an additional clipboarder, this person replaces one of the other 'points' and the process is repeated.

The reason for staying equidistant from the two closest clipboarders is simple: Each clipboarder has a certain 'dragnet' area which extends out to his or her nearest partner, and only one clipboarder will attack any one person as it is inefficient to do otherwise. If you are equidistant between the two, then you are on the border of both of their 'dragnets' and the resultant confusion will give you time to pass through to safety. If, however, you make the unfortunate mistake of making eye contact with one of the clipboarders, this will upset the balance and you will probably be caught by the dragnet and reeled in.

Part 3: Counterattack

What to do if you are caught by a clipboarder

Being caught by a clipboarder is most people's worst nightmare, but if the worst comes to the worst there are a number of things you can do to escape:

  • Ignore their pleas and smiles and walk straight past as if you never noticed them. This is surprisingly difficult and can usually only be achieved after months, sometimes even years of brutal training.

  • Bring up a subject which even more boring than the one you are supposed to be parting with your money/soul for. This is possibly even more difficult than the previous tip, unless you are a politician.

  • Pretend that you don't speak English. Pretending to be a foreigner will almost always reward the interviewee. Only the most hardened clipboard-wielder will attempt the foreigner intervention.

There are two methods in the 'feigning a foreigner' counterattack:

  • Learn 'I don't speak English' in a foreign language and shout it loudly at the clipboard-wielder. This is generally effective, but can backfire if the clipboard-wielder is over-enthusiastic and/or speaks the foreign language in question

  • Be an 'interested foreigner.' This involves beating them at their own game. Speak very slowly in heavily-accented English (think about the time when you went on a school trip to Germany and needed to ask where the bathroom was, but couldn't remember the word for toilet). Ask lots of questions, particularly ones unrelated to the subject of the clipboard

The most fun that can be derived from method two is when the clipboard-wielder actually backs off. This may be due to a Latvian demanding that Scottish Power hook up their shack in deepest darkest Latvia with a gas supply cheaper than that of British Gas.

In Conclusion

Armed with the knowledge you've just been given, it should now be possible to conduct your business without fear of a clipboard-based attack. Whether you're going to work or on a shopping trip, either a native of the British Isles or a visitor on holiday, be prepared - the clipboarder is a resourceful and intelligent foe. They are constantly developing new techniques of harassment, and any counterattacks we might use may in turn be countered themselves. Be ever vigilant, be resourceful. Mix and match the methods used above, and in time you may even produce your own.

Most of all, be safe and enjoy hassle-free shopping and commuting.

1 'Direct debit' is a way of enabling you to pay a set amount each month to a given account - usually a charity. This seems to have all but replaced the little shaky-tube of money of the charity collectors of yesteryear
2 Or on the floor, which is partly why the streets of the UK are so grossly littered, but that's another subject...

Friday, 24 September 2010

Friday night trivia


You have 5 seconds to find the phone in the pic.

Extra points if you can identify the make of phone.

Must have been a blond who dyed her hair

Identity theft.


Mrs F.E has been asked if she could occasionally help out with the local beavers. (No sniggering at the back please).  In the past she was an active member of the scouting group for many years.

However due to the law of unintended consequences she is now to undergo a CRB (Criminal Records Bureau) check. I must admit I do find it quite disturbing that she has to prove her innocence. To me this is contrary to what the law used to be. Innocent until proven guilty. But I’m going off track here and I should get back to the point.

Having had a sneak peak at the form, I could instantly see why there are so many cases of Identity theft.

Below is a summary of the information required on the form.

Full Name

Maiden Name

Full Address

Place of Birth

Date of Birth

National Insurance number

Driving Licence Number

Passport Number

Name of first School.

These items are all data that we are constantly being informed that we should keep safe, and not divulge.

Mind you it did give me a little thought.

Start up a playgroup in Belgravia and advertise it as exclusive and only the offspring of  very rich would be eligible to join. £1 million would be a good starting figure. Of course insist that all the parents fill in the CRB form, and Bobs your Uncle, with all that lovely personal detail, my spending spree could begin.

Just a thought.

Oh and don’t mention the data protection act. We all know how well that works. Don’t we?

Wind Turbines


Last night I watched BBC South East and saw that Prat Huhne bragging about how marvellous these new offshore wind turbines are. Apart from writing about them here and here and how they are going to cost a lot more than envisaged due to O & M costs, I noticed that out of the few turbines in shot, one wasn't turning.

Mmm. A 1% failure rate  on the first day.

Just saying.

Thursday, 23 September 2010

I’m slurring my text.


Who pays for these quite useless studies?

Two small drinks a night are enough to make elderly people unsteady on their feet putting them at risk of falls, a study shows.

What a load of Bollocks. This blogger regularly imbibes a few more than that in the evening and hasn’t fallen over yet. (Or trodden on one of those moving trip hazards known as cats).

Oh and just for good measure (No pun intended), they even manage to pull in the drink drive limit into the article.

The moderate amount of alcohol - below the current legal limit for driving - has a dramatic effect on their dexterity.

Then again the researcher is Dutch. Not that it should make any difference. Just thought I’d add that in the interest of EU harmony.

It gets bizarre in my opinion, with this method of testing.

In the study published in BMC Research Notes the volunteers, whose average age was about 62, first started to walk on a treadmill at a steady walking pace

A thin wooden block was placed at the far end of the belt and allowed to move towards the volunteer as Ms Hegeman and her colleagues measured the effects of alcohol on how capable the subjects were of stepping over the obstacle.

I mean come on. How many of you have a treadmill with a little wooden block on it at home? I mean honestly I would be bored shitless after 10 minutes stone cold sober, and would be bound to trip over it.

Oh and look. They’re bringing driving limits back into the equation again.

She said: "We found alcohol levels - considered to be safe for driving - seriously hamper the ability to successfully avoid sudden obstacles in the travel path.

And again.

Ms Hegeman said drinking is a well-established risk factor for traffic accidents so legal limits are set for blood alcohol concentration (BAC) and driving.

I can’t for the life of me think why the drink drive limits should concern me in my home of a night time.

And again. *shakes head*

In general the use of alcohol is primarily seen as a risk factor for driving but one study estimated about 20% of unintentional falls at home in adults may be attributable to the consumption of two or more standard alcoholic drinks in the preceding six hours.

*Dons Tinfoil hat*

Being of a cynical persuasion it looks to me as a type of subliminal message to reinforce the message being put forth by those who want the drink drive limit halved.

* Takes of tinfoil hat, folds it, and carefully puts it away for another day*

uPdAte. WHo left that large block of wOOd on the fluuur? And wher’s my treaDmill?


Smokey Drinkies under threat

Leg-Iron beware.


TIME has been called on a phoney pub landlord after planning chiefs demanded his shed-cum-pub is demolished.

However he did go a bit over the top.

Dean Goodearl built a timber, Swiss-style chalet in his back garden in Pimpernel Way, Chatham, and turned it into a bar, complete with drinks optics and beer pumps.

He has now been ordered to remove the chalet, and a fence which separates it from the rest of his garden.

Mr Goodearl, 23, kitted out his 8x6m makeshift pub with a dartboard, plasma TV screen, pool table, glitter disco ball and a one-armed bandit.

It has ornately framed Georgian-style windows and double doors opening onto a wooden veranda, which was complete with a bin especially designed for cigarette butts.

Mind you it is my favourite council’s decision. Medway.

Quiet Today

Oh well.

submarine racing

Wednesday, 22 September 2010

Ciggy busters. The hate backlash.

Just received a link from the Ciggy busters trailer.
aureliamatheena is quite upset. The comments are all trying to justify this stupid stunt.
I’m obviously not very popular with the idiot sect in medway.
Anyway WTF.

Update: The hate mail floodeth in. I'm so scared.


So whatever the coalition has said about letting us go about our business is just talk.

A total of 1,343 requests for information on users of Google services including YouTube and email were made from January to June this year – the highest in Europe and the fourth highest in the world.

I’d really like to know what they’re looking for?

Attempts to acquire user data are mainly linked to criminal investigations submitted by police or other agencies. The figures do not cover all government requests and Google said it may add more categories as its tracking methods improve. Google said that ‘data requests’ cover a vast number of circumstances.

Who are those other agencies that are referred to? Is it your local council, the taxman, or one of the myriad of quangos?


Authorities also made 48 separate requests to the search giant to remove content in the first six months of 2010.

Did they succeed, and if so, what was the content? Someone slagging off some faceless bureaucrat (Rachael Noxon of Medway Breathes springs to mind), or just one of the constantly offended brigade?

Another Quango that can go.

The grandly sounding “National Family and Parenting Institute”.

A taxpayer-funded fake charity think-tank said yesterday that instead of offering tax breaks for married couples, the Coalition should pay out billions more in benefits.

Like we can really afford it right now.

Turn away now, if you are of a weak disposition. This ugly cow is it’s chief.

Ugly cow

  Katherine Rake. *shudders*








This is another superfluous body that gets most of it’s funding from you and me via The Department for Children, Schools and families. Last year they received £8,8 million. 96% of their total income.

Reading through their literature, it would appear that all they are is just another lobby group sucking from the taxpayers teat.

There are plenty of genuine charities that could make better use of this money.

and finally.

Jill Kirby, of the Centre for Policy Studies, said: 'This is an organisation which was created by the Labour government and which has had no or negligible impact on the lives of families.

'This report is about protecting vested interests.'

Says it all. I rest my case

Tuesday, 21 September 2010

Quick quiz


Made I larf.

Power “Hungry”

junk food

I see NHS Medway are at it again. This time they want to restrict the building of fast food outlets.

Fast-food outlets could be banned from operating near schools in Medway as part of an effort to cut child obesity.

More meddling from the Righteous. Their justification is..

The obesity rate among Year 6 children for 2008/9 in Medway is 19.4%, above the national average of 18.3%.

Oh dear you might say. Something must be done for the sake of those poor cheeeldren.

But then in the same article this figure is quoted.

The statistics also showed the rate had dropped from 20.4% in 2007/08.


I think this is power for power’s sake, and a desire to protect these Health Fascists professionals’* jobs.

It might be a better idea if they just got on with the job that we pay them for. Healing the sick.

I’m off for a burger.

* I use the term professional loosely here, very loosely.

Monday, 20 September 2010

Ciggy Busters. The follow up.


I missed this article on Friday in ThisisKent.

Angry bloggers and pro-choice campaigners have been setting the internet alight with their disbelief at Ciggy Busters, an anti-smoking film created by pupils at The Hundred of Hoo School.

I admit to being one of those Bloggers that found this stunt offensive and ill conceived. As I’ve said before. If I and like minded people went around pulling Burkhas off Muslims I would expect to be pilloried for it. And more than likely arrested.

And from another Blogger.

Blogger John Buck wrote in a letter to The News: "Smokers have reacted so strongly to these events as they are tired of being treated as third-rate citizens.

"Smoking is still a legal activity, taken by personal choice yet smokers are bombarded daily by the righteous who want to impose more and more restrictions.

"People I have discussed this issue with have compared the actions of these children to that of the Hitler Youth and I do not disagree."


Phil Johnson, chairman of Freedom to Choose, the largest pro-choice organisation in the country, described the project as "highly irresponsible".

He said: "The whole thing was a totally, utterly, ridiculous stunt aimed at a minority faction of 25 per cent and it is sending out the wrong message to kids.

"It is the victimisation of a minority group. Whether we want to smoke or not is a freedom of choice."

And he ends with this.

"The disgusting thing about it is A Better Medway have been part funding the thing. What did they want to fund – civil unrest?"

I would hope that all those who took part. the school, Margherita Gramegna, the Police, and Better Medway all have a long think before they try another stunt like that one.

Oh and I haven’t forgotten you Rachael Noxon. Just because you have locked your webpage away. I’ll still remember your name.



In a previous post I explained about how I dealt with a telephone cold caller. Now as you may know, I’m registered with The Telephone Preference  Service which is supposed to prevent these cold calls.

In this case I’m following Bill’s advice and leaving them to their own devices, whilst I try to quietly type this post. I’ve used the excuse of going to the toilet. Mmmm. I wonder how long he’ll wait before he realises he’s been had.

The sweet smell of success

A knife-wielding thief scarpered after his victim sprayed him in the eyes with air freshener.

Well done that quick thinking man.

The thug, armed with a craft knife, got a shock after knocking on Arthur Whitehouse’s door.

Sensing the danger, the 70-year-old retired dustbin man grabbed the can and sprayed the masked man in the face with his trusty can of Wilkinson's 'Citrus Fresh'.

‘I would have dropped dead if I’d tried to fight him off at my age,’ said Mr Whitehouse, who lives in Cannock, Staffordshire. ‘So I used my air freshener – it was my quickest defence.’

This is the second time Whitehouse has fought off a would-be thief with air freshener, after a similar incident occurred when a hooded man attempted to break in, last year.

Still the downside is that the Police will probably be round shortly and arrest him for assault.

Law and order

I had to laugh when I read this.

Criminals have twice stolen the identity of the head of Interpol via Facebook, it was revealed yesterday.

If he can’t keep his identity secure, what hope have the rest of us?

Fraudsters used fake Facebook accounts in the name of Ronald K Noble to access secret information on the international police agency’s recent Operation Infra Red campaign against murderers, paedophiles, drug dealers and money launderers.

Mind you. Would you buy a used car from this man?


No. Thought not.


Sunday, 19 September 2010

Then and Now revisited.


Home Security

Then: We could leave our houses unlocked.

Now: Double locks, security alarms, gated compounds, and we still get burgled.

Air Travel

Then: Even though we had an active campaign by the IRA, boarding a plane from arrival at the airport to sitting in your seat only took one hour at the most.


  • Arrive at the airport three hours before the flight.
  • Questioned at length during check in. “Did you packs these bags yourself” (No it was my Islamic Butler).
  • Passport scanned at passport control whilst facial recognition technology scans your every twitch.
  • Arrive at security and take belt, coat, shoes and just about everything else off.
  • Take everything out of pockets and place everything in a little tray to be x rayed. hand luggage as well.
  • Pass through full body scanner.
  • Asked if I packed my hand luggage. (See above).
  • Numerous announcements incessantly telling us to look out for suspicious packages. (We’re lucky if we can get non suspicious packages through. I.e, our luggage). And what is a suspicious package anyway. Does it have a sticker on it such as, “May contain Bombs”.


Then: You could smoke almost anywhere. Except the lower compartment of a double decker bus for some reason. But fair enough.

Now: Well, I don’t know where to begin. I can still smoke in my own home for now. How long that will continue to be case is unknown. There’s bound to be some faked up study in the near future that will attempt to outlaw that last little essence of freedom.


Then: Every village had a police house and a resident Policeman. Our Policeman was called Kevin, was 6ft 3ins, and built like the proverbial brick shit house. Kevin was by nature a sociable chap and used to wander around the village and chat to all and sundry. He was also very clever, in that he built up a mental database of who the miscreants were, and what was their modus operandi. Crime and antisocial behaviour were no problem.

Now: Kevin was moved on and the police house sold. The village is now awash with litter, vandalism, and no-one has a personal representative of the police to talk to. (Except a useless, brain dead, PCSO). The only police I see are going mach1 in their souped up Skodas.


Then: I was taught the traditional way. In maths you learnt the tables. In English I was taught using synthetic phonics. For writing I had to write each letter over and over again. It worked for me. And all supported by discipline in the classroom.

Now: Teaching is now ruled by a fear of upsetting the cheeeeldren. Maths is a joke. My sister asked me for help with a simultaneous equation (New maths was being taught), and I solved it in six lines of working. Oh no. The new maths needed 2 pages of reasoning.

Spelling is now not taught by assembling words. Oh no, that is too demeaning to those who can’t straight away master the technique, so instead pupils are taught a basic vocabulary instead.


No I’m not going to go there, apart from saying that there are no discernible difference between the parties. Now I can’t get a fag paper between the coalition and labour.


Then: They were the Johnney  foreigners and we seemed to manage without them. In fact we enjoyed thrashing the french when we could.

Now: We’re seriously fucked.

Global warming

Then: No such thing. All the rage was global cooling

Now: This skeptic rages against the machine.


Ok, do I make myself clear? Or do I need to be carted off to an old peoples home, under the mental health act?

Sssh. Now he’s gone.

The pope that is.

One for the Golfers.


A nun walks into Mother Superior's office and plunks down into a chair. She lets out a sigh heavy with frustration. 

'What troubles you, Sister?' asked the Mother Superior.. 'I thought this was the day you spent with your family.'

'It was,' sighed the Sister. 'And I went to play golf with my brother. We try to play golf as often as we can. You know I was quite a talented golfer before I devoted my life to Christ.'

'I seem to recall that,' the Mother Superior agreed. 'So I take it your day of recreation was not relaxing?'

'Far from it,' snorted the Sister. 'In fact, I even took the Lord's name in vain today!'

'Goodness, Sister!' gasped the Mother Superior, astonished. 'You must tell me all about it!'

'Well, we were on the fifth tee...and this hole is a monster, Mother -540 yard Par 5, with a nasty dogleg left and a hidden green...and I hit the drive of my life. I creamed it. The sweetest swing I ever made. 
And it's flying straight and true, right along the line I wanted...and it hits a bird in mid-flight !' 

'Oh my!' commiserated the Mother. 'How unfortunate! But surely that didn't make you blaspheme, Sister!'

'No, that wasn't it,' admitted Sister. 'While I was still trying to fathom what had happened, this squirrel runs out of the woods, grabs my ball and runs off down the fairway!' 

'Oh, that would have made me blaspheme!' sympathized the Mother..

'But I didn't, Mother!' sobbed the Sister. 'And I was so proud of myself! And while I was pondering whether this was a sign from God, this hawk swoops out of the sky and grabs the squirrel and flies off, with my ball still clutched in his paws!'

'So that's when you cursed,' said the Mother with a knowing smile.

'Nope, that wasn't it either,' cried the Sister, anguished, 'because as the hawk started to fly out of sight, the squirrel started struggling, and the hawk dropped him right there on the green, and the ball popped out of his paws and rolled to about 18 inches from the cup!'

Mother Superior sat back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, fixed the Sister with a baleful stare and said... 
'You missed the fucking putt, didn't you?'

Saturday, 18 September 2010

Then and now.

I’ve never had it so good.

I was just musing about what we have now and what I was used to in my Childhood.

So I’ll bore you with a few comparisons.

Breakfast cereals

Then: Half a dozen at the most.

Now: Whole shelves stocked with every texture and flavour that you could possibly imagine.


Then: The wireless. Driven by valve technology and the size of a microwave.

The Television. A minute screen housed in a, usually hideous monstrosity of a cabinet. Black and white picture  and only one channel available (BBC). And they only broadcast for a few hours a day.

Now: You can now receive radio on your mobile phone.

Televisions have now expanded to any size you can afford, are in colour, and have vastly better picture quality. Now I can watch squillions  of channels of utter crap, downloaded from a geosynchronous orbiting satellite. (Here I think my quality of life has taken a nose dive).


Then: My first car was an Austin Cambridge that was underpowered, heavy, and rolled more than a tea clipper in a force 4. It was so bad that when cornering, you turned the steering wheel half a mile before the bend. If you didn’t, you became street furniture.

Now: I have a car that is capable of twice the speed of the cambridge, it is also comfortable, safe and will last a few more years than the cambridge.


Then: Everything was bought from the Butcher, the Baker, and the candlestick maker, (You get my gist) and was a delight, as to the personal service experience.

Now: We have supermarkets where although prices are cheap, this blogger avoids with a fear akin to a stake shown to a vampire. *Shudders*. Luckily the other half likes them.


Then: if you were lucky you had an inefficient gas or electric cooker, a sink with, if you were lucky hot water, and a larder.

Now: Where do I start? Built in oven, fridge freezer, microwave, electric kettle, toaster, sandwich maker. Need I go on and add a “George Foreman grill”.


Then: Letters, postcards, telephone, and telegrams. Letters and postcards were extremely efficient as they actually arrived the next day, Often twice per day post, One post before 8am and the other before midday. Telephones actually had a dial and were sometimes a bit hit or miss, bur they did perform their function. Telegrams were the forerunners of E mail, but cost a fortune for a short message.

Now: My flabber is gasted, in how I can communicate with anyone I want, from anywhere.

Anyway. The point of this post is just to highlight the difference in life and to ask the question “Is our quality of life better”

In a tech sense it is, But in a social interactive sense we are failing.

Answers on a postcard Email

Friday, 17 September 2010

Button in Horrific F1 accident.

Thought that would get your attention.


Button in horrific F1 accident

He’s really scared.

That his funding will dry up.



A killer earthquake could hit London at any time, claiming untold numbers of lives and causing billions of pounds worth of damage, an expert warned.

I know it’s the silly season for news at the moment but this is just scaremongering newsgathering at it’s worst.

The last one was in 1580 and was a real killer. Wasn’t it?

Centred on the Dover Straits, the magnitude 5.5 tremor shook the south-east of England, damaging property and killing two people in London. (My embolden).

Run for the shelters. Run I say. We’re all doomed.

Thursday, 16 September 2010

Cold calling heats up.

I’ve just received a phone call which brightened up my day.

The call was from a claims management company. The type that promise to get all your money back from misselling of Financial products.

Being very polite, as is my wont, I asked him his Name, the Company he worked for,  and other pleasantries.

Before he could take off on his pre-planned spiel I also satisfied myself as to what his charges were. He was just about to launch into his spiel, when I stopped him dead in his tracks with. “I belong to the Telephone Preference service, what you are doing is against the law”.

He proceeded to attempt to explain that he had bought a list from somewhere.

By this time I was getting fed up with the call, so I decided to wind him up with the following:


“So you’re a Fence then?”

Replys he: “What?”

Me: “A receiver of stolen goods”.

Him: “I bought it in good faith”.

Me: “The same as me buying a DVD player in a pub then”.

Well I’ve learnt a few swear words that I hadn’t heard before. Don’t forget I was a sailor which guarantees a broader vocabulary than most. (I can swear in innumerable languages, even Cantonese).

Needless to say I didn’t get any of my non existent claims managed.

I really shouldn’t do it.

*End of snigger*



A school has told its pupils to break with tradition and address their teachers by their first name.

Children have been told they should now informally address teachers as part of a term-long trial.

The pupils at Boughton-under-Blean and Dunkirk Primary school in Faversham, Kent have been ordered to abandon using teachers’ surnames with the title of either ‘Mr’, ‘Ms’ or ‘Mrs’ in front of it.

Oh that’s really going to re-inforce discipline in the classroom. And why are they using Mr, Ms, or Mrs. When I was at school (Alright, the memory is fading into the fog of old age), the correct form of address was “Sir” or “Miss”.

And the very next paragraph

Now school bosses say they hope the trial will “enhance the relationship” between the kids and their mentors.

Are they not proud of the word “Teacher” anymore? And why do you need to “enhance the relationship” anyway.  FFS. You’re paid by the public to Bloody Teach.

In my opinion, there should always be a strict line between the teacher and the child. How else can discipline be maintained? But then this is the era of a failed education system where anything goes, except teaching and discipline.

And trying to keep his options open the Head teacher, Hugh Greenwood adds.

'Obviously we are just trying it out and if it doesn’t work we will refer back to the traditional custom.'

No Hugh. You opened a can of worms. You’ll have great difficulty cramming them back in. I learned as a parent that kids exploit weakness in a way that  would make Attila the Hun look like a Monk.

I hope Hugh reads the comments following the article. If he does he might rethink his policy sharpish.

What is it?

What is it, that is being loaded on the plane?

hard drive

Hint: Alan Turing would have liked this.

Wednesday, 15 September 2010

Union leader wants pensioners to die.

I read that Bob Crow wants pensioners to commit suicide.

‘Why shouldn’t pensioners who are having their pensions attacked be able to sit on the M25 and demonstrate?’

Right Bob, you set us an example and sit down first. Oh, and make it the outside lane please. I like to get a good run up at Prats like you.


That’s the number of bullets it took to kill a horse.

ANGRY villagers have claimed it took 19 shots by a police marksman to kill a stray horse at Dunnington, near York.

FFS. Were the Police wearing blinkers or something?

Pam Frankland claimed the scene as police chased one of the horses was like “cowboys and Indians”, and she was disgusted because 19 shots had to be fired before the animal died.

And as another resident points out.

“They may as well have machine gunned the animal. There is real cruelty and incompetence there.”

And the usual weasel words justifying their barbarity from the Force Spokesman.

He said every effort was made to avoid having to shoot the horses, but said: “Ultimately public safety has to be the over-riding concern of the police. We simply could not risk the very real possibility of the horses causing a serious or even fatal road traffic collision.”

Of course the real story about the sorry tale comes from Commenter kmt1977 at 10:02pm

On the first day that these horses were loose the landowner and various people from the estate including myself contacted the police to inform them of the loose horses, they did not want to know, we contacted the RSPCA who again were not interested and said it was no responisibilty of theirs! (Ed. Not my spelling)

The RSPCA again seen at it’s worst.

And as for the Police….

to the police it was like fun target practice stood on top of their 4x4's like dukes of hazzard, one marksman shot the horses in its rear leg off above the hock, shattering the leg into pieces, the horses leg was hanging off, the horse got up in sheer distress, this horse must have been in absolute agony, then another markman shot its other front leg clean off, the horse still struggling about, then got shot another 19 times, the last shot in the horses head, some 25 mins after its back leg was shot to pieces.

And we let them out in public with guns at our airports, and other public venues?

Whole story HERE

H/T to JuliaM at Ambush Predator for this one

Tuesday, 14 September 2010

My furry friend

From a Cat's Diary


Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending
comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. *******s.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.

cat and bird

For now...............

Tuesday night Poetry

Not really my thing but I thought I’d bore you with some anyway. After all, we do need some culture in the Blogosphere.


I want a man who's handsome, smart and strong
One who loves to listen long.
One who thinks before he speaks
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I want him to be gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, be not annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! For a man who makes love to my mind
And knows how to answer "how big is my behind?"
I want this man to love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend.

I want a deaf-mute nymphomaniac with huge boobs who owns an Off License and a speed boat. I know this doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit.


Climategate and the cover ups.

Andrew Montford has just published his report over the three enquiries into the conduct of business at the University of East Anglia.

Here is a brief summary of his conclusions.

These enquiries were hurried.

The terms of reference were unclear.

Insufficient care was taken with the choice of panel members to ensure balance and independence.

Insufficient care was taken to ensure the process was independent of those being investigated, eg the Royal Society allowed CRU to suggest the papers it should read.

Sir Muir Russell failed to attend the session with the CRU’s Director Professor Jones and only four of fourteen  members of the Science and Technology Select Committee attended the crucial final meeting to sign off their report.

Record keeping was poor.

His report in full is HERE

H/T to the Englishman

U turn. 20 yards ahead

Remember the article yesterday about the council that was going to refer a family to social services for a vicious crime against their seven year old daughter. The crime being, that they allowed her to walk 20 yards to school on her own. And, shock, horror, cross a road alone.

It is a 45-yard walk from school bus stop to front door and seven-year-old Isabelle McCullough’s parents were confident she could handle it alone.

Their home is in a quiet village and Isabelle had already been making the journey across the small 30mph road for the last year.

Unfortunately council officials disagree – and have warned the parents they face being referred to social workers if they do not escort their daughter to and from the school bus every day.

Well it would appear that the council are carrying out a screeching U turn.

Lincolnshire County Council has decided to take no further action over a father allowing his seven-year-old daughter to walk alone to a bus stop.

Of course we have the usual weasel words that it was only for the sake of the children.

Debbie Barnes, assistant director of Lincolnshire County Council's Children's Services, said: "The safety of children is the responsibility of everyone and where a member of staff brings a situation to our attention where the safety of a child or adult is compromised, we must react.

Here’s where it gets interesting though.

"NSPCC guidance states that children under eight should not be out alone; in this instance, a seven-year-old girl has been standing unaccompanied on a roadside and left to cross the road by herself."

What has any guidance from any non governmental body such as the NSPCC in this case, got to do with social services? And where do they get this figure of eight from? My children were quite happily walking a similar distance to school below that arbitrary figure. (I’ve Just walked it).

Of course the law of unintended consequences comes in.

From the Mum

"This has got so much public attention that we will have to be outside with her for the foreseeable future because now everyone knows there is a seven-year-old standing on the side of the road every morning.”

Nanny state at it’s best. Debbie Barnes. You are the weakest link. Goodbye.

Monday, 13 September 2010


I see that there has been loads of sabre rattling at the TUC today. Strike Brothers, strike.

Well this blogger has seen it all before in the 1970’s, and remembers it well.

Remember the rubbish piling up in the streets? Well yes, but in fact most sensible people double bagged their rubbish, and left it in neat piles on the pavement.

Firemen’s strike? The armed  forces did a very creditable job with their ancient green goddesses.

Bodies piling up? Well yes, but in temporary mortuaries.

In fact we lived through those strikes with very little real hardship, mainly just a slight inconvenience.

The TUC would have us think that strike action would win this time. Well comrades you must have forgotten the lessons learned. Not only did new legislation,resulting from those strikes emasculate the unions, it kept the labour party out of power until we had the con-trick of New Labour in 1997.

Now that union membership has fallen by 50% since those days, you may, Comrade Crow, and you other Union oligarchs, find that you are fighting a battle that you can’t win.

So I’m laying down the gauntlet. Strike and be damned forever. And of course you’ll take the Labour party with you to the Ninth circle in hell.

Shocking story

danger of death 

A girl aged two escaped death after she touched live wires dangling from an untended electricity box.

Tassya-Leigh Greener received burns to her thumb and fingers after the shock travelled along her arms but missed her heart.

The youngster had strayed into a derelict garden next to her sister’s home in Middlesbrough.

Her mother Sindy, 43, is now demanding answers from the firm that owns the unoccupied house.

'I am still in shock about the whole thing. So many children play round there. It could have happened to any child.' she stated.
'I nearly lost my daughter because they didn’t bother to disconnect the electricity or even cover the box. It’s terrible.

'I went outside and Tassya-Leigh was lying on the ground.
'She had been knocked about three feet back. We were all just in shock.

‘The doctors can’t believe it didn’t kill her,’ she added.

Just a couple of questions.

Why wasn’t the garden fenced properly, seeing that you had a two year old? If not, why weren’t you supervising said two year old?

Who the fuck, calls their child Tassya–Leigh?

Saturday, 11 September 2010

Guess Who?

Saturday Trivia.

 Edward "Ed" Mezvinsky, born January 17, 1937, is a former congressman. A Democrat, he represented Iowa 's 1st congressional district in the United States House of Representatives for two terms, from 1973 to 1977.

In March 2001, Mezvinsky was indicted and later pleaded guilty to 31 of 69 charges of bank fraud, mail fraud, and wire fraud. Nearly $10 million was involved in the crimes. Shortly after his indictment, he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but the judge at his trial disallowed a mental illness defense. After serving five years in federal prison, he was released in April 2008. He is expected to remain on federal probation until 2011, and owes substantial restitution to his victims.

Who, exactly is "Ed" Mezvinsky? He's Chelsea Clinton's new father-in-law.

Nary a mention of this in any of the media. If the man was a Republican, the news would have replaced the oil spill.


Friday, 10 September 2010

Have they something to hide?

Just watch the vid.

You tell me.

Personally I would hound all 650 out of parliament. After all, most of the statutes originate from the EU now.

H/t to Old Holborn

Because I’m a man

Because I'm a man, when I lock my keys in the car, I will fiddle with a coat hanger long after hypothermia has set in. Calling the AA is not an option. I will win.

Because I'm a man, when the car isn't running very well, I will open the bonnet and stare at the engine as if I know what I'm looking at. If another man shows up, one of us will say to the other, "I used to be able to fix these things, but now with all these computers and everything, I wouldn't know where to start." We will then drink a couple of beers, as a form of holy communion.

Because I'm a man, when I catch a cold, I need someone to bring me soup and take care of me while I lie in bed and moan. You're a woman. You never get as sick as I do, so for you, this is no problem.

Because I'm a man, I can be relied upon to purchase basic foodstuffs at the store, like milk or bread. I cannot be expected to find exotic items like "cumin" or "tofu." For all I know, these are the same thing.

Because I'm a man, when one of our appliances stops working, I will insist on taking it apart, despite evidence that this will just cost me twice as much once the repair person gets here and has to put it back together.

Because I'm a man, I must hold the television remote control in my hand while I watch TV. If the thing has been misplaced, I may miss a whole programme looking for it.

Because I'm a man, there is no need to ask me what I'm thinking about. The true answer is always either sex, hunting, sex, cars, sex, tractors, sex, fishing, sex, sports or sex. I have to make up something else when you ask, so don't ask.

Because I'm a man, I do not want to visit your mother, or have your mother come visit us, or talk to her when she calls, or think about her any more than I have to. Whatever you got her for Mother's Day is okay; I don't need to see it. And don't forget to pick up something for my mother, too.

Because I'm a man, you don't have to ask me if I liked the film. Chances are, if you're crying at the end of it, I didn't...and if you are feeling amorous afterwards...then I will certainly at least remember the name and recommend it to others.

Because I'm a man, I think what you're wearing is fine. I thought what you were wearing five minutes ago was fine, too. Either pair of shoes is fine. With the belt or without it, looks fine. Your hair is fine. You look fine. Can we just go now?

Because I'm a man, and this is, after all, the year 2010, I will share equally in the housework. You just do the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, the vacuuming, and the dishes, and I'll do the rest.... like wandering around in the garden with a beer, wondering what to do.

This has been a public service message for women to better understand men.

Accepted uses of the F word

There are only ten times in history when the F-word has been considered acceptable for use. They are as follows:

1. "What the f*ck do you mean, we are Sinking?"
-- Capt. E.J. Smith of RMS Titanic, 1912.

2. "What the f*ck was that?"
-- Mayor Of Hiroshima, 1945.

3. "Where did all those f*cking Indians come from?"
-- Gen. Armstrong Custer, 1877.

4. "Any f*cking idiot could understand that."
-- Einstein, 1938.

5. "It does so f*cking look like her!"
-- Picasso, 1926.

6. "How the f*ck did you work that out?"
-- Pythagoras, 126 B.C.

7. "You want WHAT on the f*cking ceiling?"
-- Michelangelo, 1566.

8. "Where the f*ck am I?"
-- Amelia Earhart, 1937.

9. "Scattered f*cking showers, my ass!"
-- Noah, 4314 B.C.

10. "Geez, I didn't think they'd get this f*cking mad."
-- Saddam Hussein, 2003.

H/T to anything

Click 1…….

A London primary school has become the first to outsource maths teaching to India.

Pupils at Ashmount Primary in Islington who have fallen behind are given one-to-one tuition over the internet.

Pupils are given a headset and log on to a website where they interact with their tutor 4,000 miles away in India. The service, used by
11-year-olds, costs £12 an hour, compared with the £40 an hour a private tutor would cost in London.

I can just imagine.

Page loads

Followed by:

Page 1 for Algebra, Page 2 for Geometry, Page 3 for Arithmetic, Page 4 to text a maths adviser.

*Clicks on page 1*

Cue Message

Our staff are all busy at the moment, please hold on, we will connect you as soon as a Teacher becomes available.

Cue Lift music.

*Sound of keyboard being hurled across the room*

Thursday, 9 September 2010


A lot of screaming from the sitting room. It was the idiot box.

The Queen Vic has blown up.*

Hurrah. Result

* For the benefit of my overseas visitor. It is a pub in a too long running TV soap.

Book burning

Much has been blogged about the Pastor in Florida who is going to burn the Q’uran.


Personally I couldn’t care less if they burnt every religious book in existence. If those of a religious persuasion have to revere layers of processed wood to bolster their faith, then that says a lot for their faith.

I’m off to buy Saint Blair’s book and publish on the web, that I will be burning it on Saturday.

And THIS is worth reading at Catosays

I didn’t expect anything else

I’ve just received a reply from Medway plod concerning the letter I wrote concerning the Hitler Youth students from the Hundreds of Hoo school in Medway, about their “Ciggy busters” stunt.

It’s what I was expecting. Absolutely nothing. If the students had been ripping burkhas of muslims, I expect dear Margherita would be in the dock in the Old Bailey by now.

As received, below.


Dear Mr. Filthy Engineer

The Medway Hate crime unit have spoken to Margherita Gramegan at length about the issues that you have outlined. It has been explained that the project has offended several people.

She has taken on board what has been said, and will be more mindful in the future.

Should you have any further queries then please don't hesitate to contact me.

Yours Sincerely

Sallie Baisley

DS 10142 Baisley


They really should proof read their mail before sending.

From the original reply. "A Betty* Medway, should read, “A better Medway”. (I wonder who Betty is?).

Sallie can’t even spell the miscreant’s name right. It’s Gramegna, not Gramegan.


Wednesday, 8 September 2010

It’s now a fact. I am an idiot.

Test for Idiocy

Below are four (4 ) questions and a bonus question. You have to answer them instantly. You can't take your time, answer all of them immediately . OK?
Let's find out just how clever you really are....

Ready? GO!!!

First Question:
You are participating in a race. You overtake the second person. What position are you in?

Answer: If you answered that you are first, then you are
Absolutely wrong!

If you overtake the second person, you take his place, so you are second! Try not to screw up next time.

Now answer the second question,
But don't take as much time as you took for the first one, OK ?
Second Question:
If you overtake the last person, then you are...?

Answer: If you answered that you are second to last, then you are wrong again. Tell me, how can you overtake the LAST Person?

You're not very good at this, are you?
Third Question:
Very tricky arithmetic! Note: This must be done in your head only. Do NOT use paper and pencil or a calculator. Try it.

Take 1000 and add 40 to it.. Now add another 1000. Now add 30.  Add another 1000. Now add 20. Now add another 1000. Now add 10. What is the total?

Did you get 5000?
The correct answer is actually 4100.

If you don't believe it, check it with a calculator!
Today is definitely not your day, is it?
Maybe you'll get the last question right....


Fourth Question:
Mary's father has five daughters: 1. Nana, 2. Nene, 3. Nini, 4. Nono. What is the ! Name of the fifth daughter?

Did you Answer Nunu?
Of course it isn't.
Her name is Mary. Read the question again!

Okay, now the bonus round:

A mute person goes into a shop and wants to buy a toothbrush. By imitating the action of brushing his teeth he successfully expresses himself to the shopkeeper and the purchase is done.

Next, a blind man comes into the shop who wants to buy a pair of sunglasses; how does HE indicate what he wants?

He just has to open his mouth and ask...
It's really very simple.... Like you!

Multi Quangocrat fired over Election Fiasco.

It’s about time they fired this lefty “Quangoqueen”.

Jenny watson

Jenny Watson is to be told by ministers her tenure as a board member of the Audit Commission, the local authority spending watchdog, will not be renewed.

Mind you they should have sacked her from her day job as well.

The 46-year-old, who was dubbed the 'Modern Militant' thanks to her work at a string of quangos under Labour, earns £100,000 a year as head of the elections watchdog, the Electoral Commission.

It would seem that she is a a leader in her field at sucking on the public teat. She certainly has it down to a fine art.

Electoral Commission

Audit Commission

Bin quango “Wrap”

Equal opportunity’s commission.

Victim Support

The Fawcett Society.

She’s certainly got around.

A song for Bob Crow

Slightly very sweary

Makes the point though.

H/T to Angry Teen

Tuesday, 7 September 2010

Taking the cat to the vet

Yearly booster time for the furry killing machine that I call a cat.

Joy. So.

cat u missed

  • Find the cat.
  • Find the catbox.
  • Find the cat again.
  • Introduce cat to catbox.
  • Cat goes in the cat box quietly (this should have been a warning to me)
  • Open door and place catbox in passenger footwell.
  • Shut door.
  • Run around to drivers side, jump in and start engine.
  • Cat mieows.
  • Select reverse.
  • Cat explodes from catbox like that thing from Alien.
  • Cat runs around car shedding fur.
  • Open door.
  • Cat escapes.
  • Go into house and find parcel tape.
  • Tape box up securely.
  • Find the cat again.
  • Catch cat.
  • Introduce cat to catbox.
  • Cat goes in the cat box with a hell of a struggle.
  • Tape up wounds in hands.
  • Open door and place catbox in passenger footwell.
  • Shut door.
  • Run around to drivers side, jump in (engine is still running).
  • Select reverse and get the car off the drive.
  • Cat rips through parcel tape like the hulk, scaring the crap out off me.
  • Car runs around the car in a panic drooling and shedding fur.
  • Open door.
  • Cat escapes. Again.
  • Go into house and find elephant tape. (I’ve used this stuff to stop kayaks leaking on white water)
  • Tape box up securely. Then use more tape.
  • Then think "sod it" and use the whole roll.
  • Find cat again.
  • Tempt cat using favorite treats.
  • Pretty much have to saw the cats legs off in an attempt to get him into the accursed box.
  • Take off gardening gloves (learning from my mistakes)
  • Open door and place catbox in passenger footwell.
  • Shut door.
  • Run around to drivers side, jump in (engine has now burnt half a tank of fuel).
  • Get the car turned around.
  • Cat still in box, meiowing pathetically.
  • Comfort cat while driving.
  • Get halfway to vet.
  • Pointy eared escape artist does it again. This time at 40mph.
  • Cat runs around the car in a blind panic drooling and shedding fur.
  • Avoid crashing the car by about 3mm. This is not good.
  • Options. Stop, open door to get out and lose cat.
  • Or, keep driving and risk cat scratching eyes out.
  • Elect to take the eye scratching option. Glasses should prevent serious injury.
  • Cat runs around car shedding unbelieveable amounts of fur.
  • People giving me really funny looks.
  • Furry Fangio ends up sitting on my lap with two paws on the steering wheel looking out of the front window.
  • I’d have taken pictures, but I was rather busy at the time.
  • People now giving me *really* funny looks.
  • 5 minutes pass.
  • Get to the vet.
  • Park the car.
  • Somehow get the car back into the box.
  • Get into vets rather harassed.
  • Nice vet takes 2 minutes to check and inject the cat.
  • She then spends 5 minutes helping me reinforce the cat box to get home again.
  • Takes 2 of us to get the cat back in the box.
  • Get the bill.
  • Stop laughing and ask for the real bill.
  • Get the same bill.
  • Pick myself up from the floor.
  • Pay a ton of cash for the privilege of the cat being injected. Return to car.
  • Open door and place catbox in passenger footwell.
  • Shut door.
  • Run around to drivers side, jump in and start engine.
  • Cat is silent.
  • Think uh-oh.
  • Leave vet.
  • Cat is silent.
  • Get halfway home.
  • Cat is silent.
  • Worry that cat is dead.
  • Get home safely.
  • Cat is silent.
  • Now really worried. Has cat escaped silently? Is cat plotting revenge?
  • Get catbox out of car.
  • Open cat box.
  • Cat saunters out, give me a "What?" look and wanders off.
  • I stand there like a gibbering idiot.
  • Cat lies in sun.
  • Open beer.
  • Drink.
  • Open second beer.
  • Get vacuum cleaner out.
  • Open third beer.
  • Clean cat hair out of car……

He’s now next to me on the sofa with his feet in the air snoring contentedly.

As much as I love him, sometimes I wish he was a goldfish.