The tragic tale of the housebound burglar

The real tragedy is - it was my house he was bound for.

Carry on giving and something's gonna give

It was Benjamin Franklin who once observed that there were only two things certain in life: death and taxes.

Rather than concede that he wasn't 'half right', on the contrary, I assert that he was only half right.

Death becomes us all. Of that, there is no doubt.

But tax?

Take a young girl, just out of school, not yet out of her teens, three kids, no husband - indeed, no man at all.

No job, no hope and probably no desire.

No income tax.

Ah, but surely she pays taxes on pretty well everything she buys, as we all do?

Yes. But there is a difference.

Whatever she buys, she does so with money the taxpayer gave her in the first place.

In essence, she never pays the tax.

She is merely returning some of our tax only for the Government to waste on some other worthy, worthless cause.

Gordon. It's all over bar the shouting.

"HELP! SOMEONE SAVE ME! IT WAS A GLOBAL PROBL............!"

Okay. That's it. It's all over.

Hind sight is a great thing

But not when the bloody hind is eating your favourite shrub at the end of the garden.

Let's launch The Apostrophe Party

It's time for a bit of decisiveness.

Britain's political system is in turmoil.

First of all, we need cuts. And lots of them.

There are letters all over our language that can easily be dispensed with and replaced by the much more efficient apostrophe.

Furthermore, we need to encourage ownership.

The apostrophe in its possessive form can be used to precede an 's'.

For example, Brown's recession, Freddie's pension and Mandy's boys.

But let's not stop there.

We can form a coalition with the Save the Bastardizing of our Language Party.

No more amounts of MP's, no more less seats and, above all, no more Gordon Brown.

(Okay, that last one was grammatically correct, but it's time he went anyway.)

Let's get rid of the punks and bring back punctuation.

Vote for change? Don't waste your time!

I wasn't happy with my bank, so I changed.

I wasn't happy with my telecoms, so I changed.

I wasn't happy with my gas, electricity, broadband, girlfriend, golf swing.........so I changed, changed, changed.

Maybe I just wasn't happy.

And yet every time I changed, I knew beforehand that one bank would be as bad as the next.

Ditto telecoms.

Ditto girlfriends.

Ditto.

Ditto.

Ditto.

I've been there, seen it and done it so often, I've even got the T-shirt.

Why's everyone telling me to change it?

Have you been stooped?

Candidates toady their way up your garden path and ring your bell before telling you how they are going to ring the changes.

And all you want to do is wring their necks.

They are like burglars returning to explain how they propose to spend the booty they nicked from you the day before.

It's a familiar scenario and I call it stooping.

A stoop, as you know, is another name for a doorstep.

So when a prospective MP appear on yours, rest assured, you are about to be stooped.

And there really is no level to which they won't stoop.

Pity, there was I, thinking I was safe in my high-rise flat!

New Ditty!

She was close to the end of her tether

Spending her life wearing nothing but leather.

Though there would come the day

When it was all stripped away -

She should have grazed on lucky white heather.

Nothing comes close to a day by the sea

Like a day inland.

Brown and his scorched earth policy

All going well, Gordon Brown will get out of bed on Friday morning, out of favour, out of luck and out of work.

In fact, he will have out-outed Mandy.

But Gordon is made of sterner stuff than that.

He is a son of the manse, you know.

Some might brand Gordon a liar.

Not me.

I would simply brand him GB and subsequently appoint him to head up the GB 2012 Olympic dream.

Because when it comes to embracing the Olympic ideal of "Faster, Stronger, Higher", Gordon Brown has a track record second to none.

Nobody has taken their country from boom to bust faster than Gordon.

Nobody has created a mountain of debt higher than Gordon.

And when it comes to the distinct whiff of scandal and utter ineptitude, nobody smells stronger than Gordon.

When Gordon gets dumped, Gordon gets angry. Very angry.

And what will be the nearest thing to him?

Yes, the Olympic torch.

We've all had our fingers burnt by Brown. Badly burnt.

Post-election, prepare to be frazzled.

Alex Salmond. The 'consume it' politician.

Alex Salmond is rattled. At least, he would be if he hadn't thrown his rattle out of the pram.

We were all led to believe that his moral outrage was simply because he hadn't been invited to the Leaders' Debates.

If only that were true.

A leak from Holyrood has thrown a shade more light on the matter.

(Can you get a shade more light?)

It seems that his real indignation is because he was not invited to the accompanying meals.

As such, the BBC has hatched a plan.

An insider told us "Alex will be allowed to tuck in as soon as he gets to the studio and can then go on to join the debate."

By the time he gets up from the table, I suspect we will have a new Prime Minister.

Gordon Brown. Doctor Heckle and Mr. Chide.

Gordon Brown's plea to savers

I'd walk over burning coals to save our planet

But I'm worried about my carbon footprint.

Is being vetted for a job application the same as being neutered?

The first casualty of war is truth. Ditto elections.

Just ask Sarah!

Imagine waking up on May 7th with Gordon Brown as Prime Minister.

Now imagine how that sentence would sound without "as Prime Minister".

Things could always be worse.

May 6th. Official TwitPic Day.

Pick the twit who you think will do the least damage to our country.

You know when you've been Mangoed

There can be few sights in politics more undignified than an indignant Peter Mandelson.

This week, the Daily Mail captured him at the peak of his pique and, take my advice, a peek is about as much as I would recommend.

The hacks were alerted when his hackles were raised at the alleged Tory Party smearing of Nick Clegg.

While it is quite touching that Mandy was being so protective of the fresh-faced and youthful - some might even suspect useful - Clegg, I wonder which world he has been inhabiting?

They're all at it - including Mandy.

Maybe a good slapping will bring him back down to earth.

Apologies to Tango.

No job too big. No job too small.

In fact, no job at all.

Ah well. A round of golf anyone?

Eruption or corruption? We should all blow our tops.

As the volcanic dust begins to settle, details relating to the non-flying fiasco are becoming clearer. A top secret dossier was found in a pie shop close to Westminster and although no MP has been named, it is understood that the 'Press caught' sight of the file as it was handed over to the police.

The details therein might even trigger another eruption.

It runs like this.

The recession had left the airline industry in a parlous state.

The Government recognised this but were unable to provide financial assistance because of European Law.

A plan was hatched to create a catastrophe such as the one that we have just experienced and the Government would accept complete responsibility.

Who better to blame than the Met. Office who are renowned for their crass incompetence and are roundly reviled in any case?

All that remains now is for the number crunching to be resolved.

The fiasco has cost maybe £500 million in lost revenues. Meanwhile, the airline industry is bandying around figures approaching £2 billion.

Potentially, that leaves £1.5 billion with which to cut a bit of slack.

What would have been construed as a subsidy before can now pass off as compensation and, yet again, the good old taxpayer picks up the tab.

Meanwhile, Ministers can happily continue with their foreign junkets to exotic destinations.

Normal service has been resumed.

My party is full of non-doms and non-denoms

My local MP insists he is non-denominational.

He is willing to accept £10's, £20's, £50's...

Some bloggers are like fencers

Perfect poise. The quick riposte. Skilful in making their points felt.

Some are like that other type of fencer.

They need a sledgehammer to drive home their 'posts'.

Don't tell me that nothing is impossible

I've achieved nothing throughout my entire life.

Nothing is perfectly possible.

Anonymous or eponymous?

Having just luxuriated in every sublime note of Laudate Dominum, it made me think that if Mozart had composed that and nothing else, then surely it would be enough for him to have achieved immortality.

For me, as indeed for most of us, it is unlikely that we will ever be remembered for very much at all.

How depressing.

Or is it?

Some prefer anonymous to eponymous.

Take, as an example, Tim Berners-Lee. Not only did he eschew financial rewards in creating the worldwide web, he didn't even opt for the prefix tbl, giving way instead to his partner Wee Willie Winkie.

And what about the black box found (and sometimes not) in most planes. Was there a Mr. Black? Now that would be unfortunate. (Google informs me that it was actually invented by a Mr. David Warren.)

All of which led me to ponder what I would like to be remembered for.

I think if I can make anyone remember my name, or indeed how to spell it, then that in itself would be an achievement.

Signed: Fred Blogs.

I sent a text to Gordon Brown.....

.....but couldn't get past the first two letters of his name.

I hope he gets the message.

A masterclass in whining and dining

Alex Salmond's nose is out of joint. In fact, there's not a pound on him that hangs in the right direction.

I'm not sure if scientists have ever investigated the link between an expanding waistline and an inflated sense of one's own self-worth, but Alex Salmond would certainly be a good place to start.

First of all, you might need to cajole him from the huff he is in due to not being invited to the Leaders' Debates.

What an ungrateful sod.

By virtue of his absence, the wider population couldn't learn about his abject lack of virtues.

There is also the other issue of whether he would be able to physically stand for long enough.

A more pertinent question might be whether we could stand him for long enough without being physically sick.

I suppose so, we put up with Gordon.

The Tay Bridge disaster

It leads to Dundee.

Here lies Gordon Brown.....

.....and lies.....and lies.....and lies.

It hurts me to say, but my best mate is into sado-masochism

He is a dentist during the week and a football referee at weekends.

The morning-after pill

Keep one free for May 7th.....if you don't want to go into labour.

Whatever!

The fact that a single word has the capacity to annoy me, annoys me.

Whatever!

As I don't subscribe to most of what is now regarded as popular culture, I've no idea where the roots of this word's Modern English Usage lie.

Suffice to say - and at the risk of being accused of using 'more' with a comparative adverb - it is more fouler than Fowler.

But the thing that really annoys me is that it smacks of apathy.

I think you're a tosspot.

Whatever!

You stole my girlfriend.

Whatever!

I hereby charge you with murder. Have you anything to say in your defence?

Whatever!

It has become the ubiquitous response among those who can't engage their brains for long enough to at least try to articulate a coherent riposte.

And what makes it even worse is that they don't seem to care.

Perhaps we should think about editing the final scene from Gone with the Wind.

Whatever!

Red Rum wins 2010 Grand National

Well, he never really won it but he did cross the finishing line for his fourth Grand National.

I note that one of the jockeys had to glue part of his saddle together just prior to the race.

What are the chances of that glue having been made from the old bones of Red Rum?

Let's conduct a DNA test.

The odds are about as remote as me picking the winner.

Solar-powered aeroplane crash lands in Scotland

The Westminster Grand National

And they're off!

Cameron, just ahead by a nose, is still hoping to convert the 'don't knows'.

Brown is hot on his heels, saddled with debt, but ably mounted by Mandelson.

A good distance behind is Clegg who continues to stirrup apathy along the way. The long face doesn't help.

All three are finding it tough going. Especially on the straights.

This is developing into a two horse race with a jackass in tow.

The finishing line seems a long way off - May 6th.

That's when the real horse trading begins.

Don't forget to put your 'X' in the box on May 6th

A night on the tiles

I've always enjoyed the occasional game of Scrabble, so it was with great interest that I read about a variation in the rules.

Proper nouns are now allowed.

The opportunity to use your own name is all very well but, sadly, there are too many who even struggle with that much.

We have an education system that has failed - and continues to fail - certain children.

I know. I went to school with children. Some of them grew up to become teachers.

And although many became very good teachers, there are those who have neither been properly educated themselves nor trained to teach what little they know to anyone else.

A change in the rules of Scrabble won't do anything to remedy that.

What it will do is generate more sales.

So irrespective of how many points your name might accrue, it is only the PR department at Mattel that merits the bonus points.

That should bring a smile to their zygomata (23).

Head of BA sports new haircut

It's a crew cut.

Well, everyone's entitled to a bad 'air day.

Foolproof device to prevent online plagiarism

Write crap copy.

Call me a cynic

But whatever you do, don’t call me a cab until you’ve heard me out.

I always expect the worst from people. That way, I’m never disappointed.

Over the last few years, I’ve never failed to be never disappointed. Back off scholars, I meant that double negative.

From the Royal Family abusing its privileges through to the Catholic Church abusing our children, decadence has spread through every strand of society and it has taken less than a decade to do so.

We can’t trust our Royals, our bankers, our politicians or our clergy.

It’s where we traditionally placed our respect, our money, our votes and our faith.

I ask you, what is the world coming to?

An end, presumably. Or at least, eventually.

I just don’t want to be there when it happens because just when I think that things can’t get any worse, they probably will.

But then again, I’ll be expecting that.

Blessed are the cynics.

I've reached the age where I think I need glasses

Drinking from bottles no longer looks cool.

The Goodwin Stack

Sir Fred Goodwin, former head of the bank that he mistook (and took and took and took) for his own piggy bank, has stepped in at the last moment to underwrite the entire cost of the new Olympic tower in London.

Commenting on his new found munificence, Sir Fred told reporters "I've made a stack from the British people, I think it's only right that I give a small stack back. I'd like it to be known as The Goodwin Stack."

In keeping with the spirit of the games, organisers accepted the offer and have suggested a bungee jump to mark the tower's official opening.

Sir Fred embraced the idea almost as enthusiastically as he welcomed his own pension. So much so that he has even volunteered to be the first to make the jump.

He added "I'd like my leap to be a metaphor for the markets. Shares can go up as well as down. But no matter what happens, they usury bounce back. Sorry, usually."

Detailed plans are already being made for the 115 metre leap with tenders invited for an elasticated rope measuring 116 metres.

The project coordinator, a certain Mr. Darling, commented "There is always an element of risk with such jumps. To minimise that risk, I ask everyone to stand well clear and you won't get splattered."

Good luck Freddie. We'll cheer you all the way.....down.

By any other name?

I always understood a conning tower to be the structure on a submarine that contains the periscope.

The new Conning Tower (a.k.a The Orbit Tower) for the 2012 Olympics is estimated to cost upwards of £19 million.

A rose by any other name?

Who's conning who?

Fatten your seat belts. Alex Salmond is on board.

On my flight back from London last week, I experienced great turbulence.

Alex Salmond was on board.

Whether he was already in receipt of his £65,000 Golden Goodbye from Westminster, I don't know.

What I do know, however, is that if you were to kick him firmly in the family allowance, he would still display that smug mien that smacks of the cat that got the cream.

As indeed he did.

The look has become his 'treadmark' and I'm tired of it.

But perhaps I've been too quick to judge.

His aides have let it slip that he plans to make a "substantial donation" to a charitable foundation.

As I understand it, real charity involves the left hand not knowing what the right hand is up to.

With MP's, I think we can venture a pretty good guess at what both hands are up to.

Not to mention their snouts.

Give them the boot!

The present Government has encountered a problem.

Come May 6th, you will need to re-boot.

Try and save what you have not already lost over the last thirteen miserable years.

If you have a recovery disc, dump it. It's an illusion.

Don't patronise me about the correct use of 'there'

Their. Their. Their.

Gordon Brown's leadership was a disaster waiting to happen.

Then he cut the waiting time.

Disaster.

Opinions welcome. Remember, if you sit on the fence...

...the sheep can see you from both fields.

A short sharp sentence

There are two types of people who visit police stations. Those with blankets over their heads and those without.

Happily, on my visit to the local station last week, I was without a blanket.

It seems, however, I was not without a blank expression.

"Can I help you, Sir?"

"Yes, can you tell me where the public meeting room is please?"

"Just go into the lift and press button four."

The Dundee accent is not the easiest to translate into English and so I understood the instruction to be "...go into the lift and press bottom floor".

Hopefully I'll be out by Monday.

Go easy on the greasy pehs!

The whaling industry has returned to Dundee.

Or so you might think when confronted and affronted by the blubber that walks down the High Street each day.

Scotland is in the midst of an obesity epidemic and Dundee is at its heart.

But let’s not lose heart.

Our elected fatheads in Holyrood have at long last recognised the link between education and diet. Just how long it is since Simple Simon met a pieman I do not know, but surely that pastry encrusted clue didn’t take them that long to solve....?

Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with the occasional Dundee peh, as we lovingly call our local delicacy.

It's just that we need to encourage a different school of thought as well as a more svelte school of whales.

Alistair Darling. He gave with one hand...

I warned you.

He's a one-armed bandit.

Don't confuse the palette with my palate

The blurb described my local barista as an "artist".

To me, an artist mixes black and white to get grey.

A barista mixes black and white to get brown.

I don't 'do' grey coffee.

Let's outfox Guy Fawkes and get them one by one

Cast your mind back to the dying days of the last Tory Government.

Embroiled in sleaze, my lasting image is one of Neil Hamilton clinging on for dear life to the greasy pole of power. Whenever he did slip down a tad, there was his faithful wife Christine armed with a hat pin, ready to give him an encouraging prod.

Wind the clock forward to the present debauched administration.

It's not a hat pin they need up their jacksies so much as a stick of dynamite. And yet somehow, I still don't think they will 'get it'.

But that shouldn't stop us trying.

Who's first?

King Harold - the Patron Saint of Politics?

At least he got the point.

I've just been accused of always wanting the 'last' word

Cobblers!

The crude facts of life

How often is the US accused of ‘only being interested in oil’?

Of course they are.

Why else would they concern themselves with Iraq and not Zimbabwe?

But before you join the chorus of disapproval and park your tank (petrol) down that particular one way street, why don’t you #*CK OFF?

We all have cars, fly abroad and centrally heat our homes.

We all buy food and other products that are shipped and flown in from every corner of the globe.

We all live oil-fuelled lives.

Well, most of us do.

So let’s not get hypocritical about it.

Instead, here’s a little analogy.

A hunter sees a big grizzly bear about to maul a poor defenceless man.

The hunter, who is after the bear’s skin, shoots the grizzly dead.

Does it really matter what the hunter’s motives are?

Surely the crucial point is that the man is saved from almost certain death.

Yes, the US is interested in oil.

We all are.

What’s more, we are all prone to making incorrect assumptions.

When I told you above to #*CK OFF, I meant BACK OFF!

What did you think I meant?

If I should fly think only this of me

BA is not the quickest way from A to B.

Fortune telling

Is the worry of all that money beginning to tell on Sir Fred?

Dis.

Cuss.

Is organised crime the neatest way to make a tidy sum?

I’ve made a fortune in life

But I’ve also lost two.
Ah well.

Affluence or effluence? You decide.

I’ve often had my suspicions as to why GB (the country, not Gordon Brown) is in such a mess, but now I know.
The truly gifted and talented are either writing newspaper columns or are busy blogging.
In truth, everyone has an opinion.
We all know what needs to be done – where and when and how.
Don’t ask why. Just trust us.
However, it takes untold arrogance to believe that you are the best man for the job.
Insecurity has a much more restraining influence than delusions of competence.
Meet Gordon Brown.
He has screwed things up so badly we are now completely threadbare.
And yet he still believes he is the best man for the job.
I believe that what matters to Brown is brown matter to the rest of us.
That's why I'm voting Green.

Our dumdum Prime Minister

Instead of biting the bullet and properly equipping our troops, it seems that Gordon Brown is more intent on providing extra ammunition for the opposition.
Never mind inflation and "in real terms".
In real terms, lives are being lost.

It's a horrible spectre

Having to choose between ghosting Mandy's memoirs or poofreading his manuscript.

BA. HUMBUG.

BA BA blackleg,
Have you lost your cool?
No Sir, no Sir,
I'm on a work to rule.

5 years - it's what you get for rape, manslaughter, serious fraud.....

.....or voting Tory.

I didn't mean to call Gordon Brown a 'bloody buffoon'

It just came out as a spoonerism.

Apostasy

Ive given up believing in apostrophe's.

Michael Foot. Spinless. Gordon Brown. Spineless.

AC/DC

I learn from today's Times that Alastair Campbell is playing the part of David Cameron as Gordon Brown rehearses for the leadership debates.
AC as understudy to DC should be an easy switch.
We always suspected he was a Tory at heart.

Labour ahead by a nose

Carry on lying and they’ll win by a landslide.

Should we really give a duck?

There is a small tract of land on the east coast of Scotland just outside Aberdeen that a duck once waddled across.
That land is now sacred.
So when an American billionaire berthed his corporate ‘warship’ alongside this hallowed place of worship, hackles were raised and the locals got agitated.
To achieve this in Aberdeen, it helps if you are either cloven-hoofed or heavy-handed.
In this case, let’s go for the latter.
Donald Trump (no relation to Donald Duck) wants to invest over £1 billion of his own money in creating a world class golf course with accompanying hotel and luxury homes.
So far, so good.
At least, so you would think.
But let’s not forget about the duck.
This duck has a lot of followers and I’m not referring to its cute little ducklings.
I allude to those hobby-less members of society desperately seeking a hobby horse to mount.
Had Donald Trump known all those years ago just how much grief this innocent little duck would bring, I’m sure he would have eaten it there and then, feathers and all.
Instead, he has had to wait until now to get ‘down’ in the mouth.
The rest of the world must think we are quackers.

My entire world has been turned upside down

I think I was a bat in my last life.

Don’t let Alex Salmond off the leash

With Alex Salmond behaving like a pug with an attitude, never has it been more important for dog owners to take out dangerous dogs' insurance.
What has really got him straining at the leash is his desire to be included in the impending leadership debates on television.
Such rabidity would not be particularly nice to watch.
Neither before the watershed nor behind the bike shed.
As Scottish taxpayers, we have duty to pay and a duty to perform.
Does anyone have a scoop-a-poop?

Vote Conservative. Just because.

It’s becoming more embarrassing by the day - witnessing the Tory press groping for reasons to vote Conservative.
There ain’t any.
The hacks are beginning to take on the guise of pimps trying to procure some business for a couple of old slappers.
The only difference is, at least the slappers have a bit of experience under their belts, if you can forgive me that last metaphor.

Taken for a ride

Ballathie House Hotel is always a decent place for lunch and today was no different. More than a few visits back it was very different.
Britain was different.
The banks had just collapsed. No, not the beautiful banks of the River Tay upon which Ballathie sits. Instead, I refer to the financial leviathans that were the pension powerhouses for certain bankers.
I allude to those at the FAG end of society. (Okay, Frederick Anderson Goodwin.)
Such was the concern of our inveterate bankers, circumstances obviously weren’t bad enough for them to cancel their company day at Ballathie hosted by Ferrari and Maserati.
Looking back, I don’t know which was worse – my drooling over the cars, my salivating over lunch or my foaming at the mouth as I witnessed my overdraft heading into ‘overdrive’.
But that’s not my point.
“Have you booked, Sir?”
“Yes, Baruffati.”
The phonetics of Baruffati and Maserati are not too discordant.
For one day at least, I discovered how the other half live. And, believe me, they don’t half live.
I also discovered where our money goes.
If only they had been driving Toyotas.

Most extravagant costume. And the winner is.....

Sir Fred Goodwin.
Cost, u, me.
Billions.

Best make-up. And the winner is.....

Sir Fred Goodwin.
Could you make up a better story?

If there's one thing worse than being told you have OCD...

...then that's believing that you are a dyslexic fish.

"Suicide family did not face deportation"

Three asylum seeking members of a Russian family committed suicide by leaping from the 15th floor balcony of a tower block in Glasgow.
And as if all this wasn't tragic enough, it now transpires that, in more than one sense, they jumped to a conclusion.

Glasgow City Council Leader resigns because of 'a diction' problem

Applicashuns welcome. Call quoting Ref. geezajoab.

Has Fred the Shred been given a new identity?

He may be stinking rich but there has not been a sniff of Sir Fred Goodwin for months.
And yet there's not a plastic surgeon alive who could wipe the smile off his face.
There are, however, one or two RBS customers and shareholders who would like to give it a go.

At long last, David Cameron reveals his spending plans

"I'd like to spend more time with my family."

M.T. promises

I understand that Mark Thompson, Director-General of the BBC, signs off his memos with his initials.
Lots of empty promises there, I don't doubt.

Blackmale

Is this racial and gender profiling?

Steven Purcell. Former Leader of Glasgow City Council. Not able.

Enough space?

Steven Purcell. Notable Leader of Glasgow City Council.

I need more space.

Shucks and aah!

Gordon Brown's appearance at the Chilcot Inquiry in which he expressed his heartfelt sympathy for those who lost their lives in Iraq plumbed new depths - or should that be scaled new heights? - in cynicism. And as if to 'shock and awe' us still further, he now has the chutzpah to enunciate that when it came to the post-war planning, he "wasn't able to be more successful on pushing the Americans further on this issue".
Surely that makes him doubly guilty. To be party to prosecuting a war without having made provision for the consequences of your actions is inexcusable, especially when you are fully aware beforehand of the potential aftermath.
The only thing missing from his virtuoso performance was the plaintive sound of a violin playing in the background.
I'm convinced, however, I heard a lyre.

Rug pulled from under Lord Ashcroft's feet

Easy!
There was no tacks.
(Which was worse, the grammar or the pun?)

Gordon Brown or a front line soldier. Who is the more ill-equipped for his job?

Forget Twitter. Flutter.

Every picture tells a story, so don’t Twitter, Flutter.
Flutter a foto.
Instead of 140 characters, choose just one.
You.
Flutter your eyelashes. Frown. Smile. Scowl. Grimace. Gurn.
You choose.
Choose a clutter-free, flutter-for-free future.
It’s feature-friendly and fun.

Vote for the Stuff the Younger Generation Party

You've never had it.
So good!

The world is your oyster...and yours alone

According to the Catholic Church, Britain has become a shellfish society.
I guess that places us all in pearl.

Sometimes it's hard to be a woman

Yeah, life can be a 'drag'.

Sharonfreude

Fortunately, that feckless fashion of lovey-dovey couples displaying their names at the top of car windscreens has gone by the wayside.
The reason I mention it is that yesterday I was parked facing one such old banger. I refer to the car and not the female at the wheel whom I assumed was called “Sharon”. At least, that's what I read on the label above her frightening fizzog. I’d no idea where “Fred” was. Maybe he had blazed a trail for the car and had already been dumped.
It got me to thinking how appropriate it would be if their names had been “Jill” and “Ted”.
I smiled at the thought.
Sharon smiled back.
I’m not smiling now.

Lord Ashcroft. Non-Domocratic.

Local Anaesthetic

I’ve just returned from my daily fix. A three shot latte.
With my caffeine intake, I remain turbocharged all day.....sometimes all night. Although it was a brisk walk back, I never sweat. I merely percolate.
Coffee pours out every pore.
This morning, however, was different.
I had just settled down to my favourite coffee with my favourite paper when my favourite person to avoid walked in.
I know him as the local anaesthetic.
There isn’t enough coffee in Brazil to keep me awake when he gets in full flow.
And when he is in full flow, I also know him as our local authority.
There is scarcely a subject that exists (and I include existentialism) that he can’t teach you a thing or three about.
But as verbose as he is, he has no understanding of body language.
I’ve tried removing subtlety and even introduced subtitles, all to no avail.
In fact, it would not surprise me if he is still talking to the seat that I vacated twenty minutes ago.
To paraphrase Mark Antony: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your years.

The Disturbing Truth or Disturbing The Truth?

So all records of UFO sightings are to be destroyed.
Either there is a conspiracy going on or, yet again, the Gods are conspiring against me.
I had long pinned my hopes on meeting some alien being.
A lass. No more.
Now I will need to focus my attention on recording another sighting of that other UFO.
Yes, that Useless F#!*&@* Oaf Sir Fred Goodwin.

“I don’t get angry. I’m just very passionate.”

Gordon: “Did the earth move for you Darling?”
Darling: “Move? It was a veritable landslide!”
Gordon: “Oooh! Don’t use that word. You know I lose all self-control.”
Darling: “Landslide! Landslide! Landslide!”
Gordon: “You certainly know which buttons to push Darling. Would you like the Defence job?”
Darling: “What, no more screwing?”
Gordon: “We are talking the ekonomy here, aren’t we….?”
Darling: “It’s the economy, stupid. I think we need another ‘spell’ in office."
Gordon: “You’re right. We need an election. I’ll write to Her Majesty.”
Darling: “Well just be careful how you spell it. But tell me, what do you need to write to Mandy for anyway?”

Mirror, mirror on the wall...hang on...is there anyone there?

I’ve just read an article about Lord Mandelson entitled “Reflections of a Life in Politics”.
Mandelson? Reflections?
Come on.

Bland Leaders

The name Google has been all over the news recently for reasons too boring to detail.
Surprisingly, for such an innovative and go-ahead company, their corporate line is no more aspirational than “Don’t be evil”.
And while Google have obviously gone for the blandishment, others prefer the bland.
Last week, the Labour Party announced their new slogan.
Surprisingly, for such a bunch of bully boy thugs, it is the perfectly anodyne “A future fair for all”.
We now await the Tory line.
Might I suggest: "Trust us to get it trite"?
Unsurprisingly, it seems to reflect exactly what they stand for.