Monday, 31 March 2008

Positively The Last Post of the Month

Hmm, the previous post doesn't really work for me. It's a nice idea but I haven't given it enough to hang off, really. Still, it's better than coughing into bog roll for half an hour.

A final thought, a la Jerry Springer: I don't read Paul Linford as often as I should. He's really excellent (you'll find his link somewhere in the sidebar headed Excellent Blogs and Sites).

England's Victory over New Zealand, by Emmanuel Goldstein

The key thing here is that this victory (note the use of that word again) is designed to make England _appear_ to be a good side. They take an indisputable fact, such as Ryan Sidebottom's 10 wickets in one match, or his hat-trick, and use it to twist people's perceptions of reality such that this equates to England being good. It operates therefore as a synecdoche. Interestingly, _before_ the series, with New Zealand's many injuries and loss of players such as Shane Bond - a geniune paceman, unlike Steve Harmison - the talk was of England winning 3-0. It was only after the disastrous first Test, that the existence of this past was erased and replaced by one in which a determined England team were out to upset the odds. In that sense the ECB have reversed reality in their attempts to make England seem good.

Of course, like all good manipulators of reality, the facts are bare: England _did_ win the series. But if one studies the matches closely, one finds that either or both of the last two tests could easily have been lost at several points. In England cricket, as we know, no-one individual creates the conditions for a Test win, and very few individuals actually play to a high enough standard. Let me elucidate. Andrew Strauss made 177 in the final test. But he was 173* overnight, appearing to be completely uninterested the following morning. His job was done. The same applies to Tim Ambrose in the previous test, and to Ian Bell, whose 110 came when the pressure was off him personally. A quick comparison with the key players in sides such as India or Australia will reveal that they never give up until the match is won. England players are concoting an illusion of effort and of class: we are supposed to be fooled into thinking that this level of play is enough and will do against, say South Africa.

It is plainly the case that it will not.

It is rarely commented on now, for obvious reasons: but in the past (the real one), England players _did_ score over 200 with reasonable regularity. But in the general softening of outlook which set in around 1991 such scores have decreased to a trickle. England _did_ produce successful spin bowlers and they _did_ have consistent pacemen. It is correct that at such times they were also useless, but it is the cynical misrepresentation of how England cricket used to be that enables people to say comfortably in the bars and on the trains: "England are a really good side" when this is not so.

What can be done? Well the leaders of England cricket have no clear ideas beyond the usual setting up of committees and reports. This is designed to foster the illusion of action, and it works, while coincidentally providing worthless jobs. My suggestion is simple: the future lies in the young players. They must be sought, encouraged, retained. A revolution of England cricket will only happen if they can find young players and treat them in the right way, as Australia did in the late 1980s (not that we hear much about this now - the origin of Australia's dominance has been long forgotten,and deliberately so).

This may happen sooner than we expect, if international 20Twenty tournaments explode at the rate they are threatening to. The eternal lure of money will provide more and more spaces for these young players, as their more experienced colleagues decamp to India or South Africa or wherever, until they too succumb, creating the conditions for eternal revolution within England cricket and destroying the power of the management committees and the easily satisfied media for ever.

End of Month Post

*sniff* I've got the man-flu so I've nothing better to do than post. I think it's probably all these apopleptic rages I've been having lately (results below). It's a shame that, despite the widespread and increasing use of CCTV to punish people they can't get the damn things to do anything good - ie identify my sickness and send me lemsips and paracetamol through the post. If they can do it with parking tickets then it can't be impossible and it would surely be an excellent way of boosting the NHS's reputation. Actually now I come to think about it they could do the same with Stella, if they saw that you were a bit thirsty they could send round a 6-pack by courier.

oh, hang on. *blrrrrgh* that's better. A bog-roll is an ill man's best friend, that and his copy of Philip K Dick's collected stories, although some of these are too weird even for me. Especialy the one about the Fnools, though now I come to think about it, that isn't really about a spaced out alien invasion at all: it's a satire of male youth - they grow two feet when they smoke, drink, and finally when they either get their rocks off or feel a woman's tits (it's not made clear exactly which it is). Is a satire of youth or of a youth's perception of youthhood? Oh well, either way it's strange.

*sniff* Sigh. I need a lemsip. *sniff*

Saturday, 29 March 2008


Many years ago I co-edited a piss-poor school rag called, in breach of every copyright law in the land, "42". It was a lot crapper than I had previously thought, as I realised when I re-read it last night. Still, at least I now know that I am a twat and have always been a twat. There has never been a time when I haven't been a smug old cunt, even if there were times when I had more hair than now, or less pounds around the middle. I have also always looked like a cunt, as I saw on some recent photos. Some of us have been cursed with this affliction: we could be 7, 14, 18, 21, or 31 and we still look like utter fucking twats. That's because we are. I've also always sounded like a cunt, as my few radio appearances prove. And as all of my acquaintances have always said. Let us modify Orwell and Amis's dictum for the fast moving twenty-first century: At twenty-five, everyone has the face he deserves.

Fucking hell, there really is no hope. None at all.

Fuck Me, That's Harsh

Jeezus, a minimum of 17 years for beating the shit out of a poor innocent fucker and killing him! Fucking hell that is a bit much isn't it? I mean, it's not as if it was a hate crime, eh? I mean, they were just beating one poor cunt to death, weren't they? Not an entire group of society, so it's ok, surely? And they were, er, sort of young, even if they had previous, which only goes to show how, like totally disadvantaged they were. I mean, not like I would have tackled those cunts at the scene, no way, but really, if you kill someone it's not like you should give up all of your rights, because, like, the point of human rights is that they're absolute, yeah? No-one can take them away. Oh, wait, yeah, well some buggers will always take away your rights but nothing gives you the right to take away any of their rights. Why? Because they're absolute. What? Yeah, but that's, like, an accident, so it can't be stopped. Just because you're killed, or some twat like your dad or your grandad, it doesn't mean you've got the right to take away their rights, I mean you just don't know what they've suffered. Plus, their rights are absolute. Yeah, well, so are yours. Yeah, but's it's like, absolute with regard to the state if you're a healthy adult, not absolute with regard to evil cunts. No, we don't really think there's any such thing as evil. It's like, Thatcher and that. So it's kind of, sometimes an excuse. It's complicated: the sort of thing a twat like yourself wouldn't really get. No, obviously, absolute rights can't stop murder and that. So, no, you don't have an absolute right to live. No-one does. But, sort of, the state can't just go taking lives away. Yeah, but that's different, they've consented, or they're not really human anyway. Yeah but that's also different, because that's war, innit? Collateral damage, sort of thing. No-one meant to. Anyway, you can't kill people just because they've killed someone, also you can't lock someone up for life because they'll have nothing to live for and that isn't fair, like. Yeah, but that's a bit simplistic: it's not really their fault, they're disadvantaged, see. Oh, yeah, I know we said that in 1965, but, let's face it, we can't lock someone up for 50 years just because they've beat some poor innocent cunt to death for no reason can we, I mean that just isn't, fucking fair, is it? You don't deserve to lose your chances in life just because you've beat the fucking daylights out of some cunt and left his brains on the pavement, do you? Yeah, but it's an isolated incident, it means nothing, the guy was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yes, I know it was his driveway but it was still the wrong place. He should of locked himself in his bog and called the cops. Yeah but they can't be blamed can they, they're busy people, no-one could blame them if they didn't come to a sort of minor sounding incident sort of thing, yeah? Anyway it just goes to show that alcohol should be loads more expensive, because it's Stella drinkers like you who become murderous bastards. Yeah, you. How much have you had tonight anyway? You stupid old twat. I could have you for that. Yeah, straight up. Go on, you can buy me a pint for that. Or I'll tell the barman you're Alistair Darling.

Friday, 28 March 2008

A Unique Experiment (II)

In December, my reader might recall, I was asked to partake of a truly bizarre experiment - ie to drink an increasing number of "Stella"s - a little known concotion from Belgium, thought to contain alcohol (to a percentage of roughly 5.1). This experiment having gone exceptionally well, and having been successfully repeated many times - thus proving its results beyond doubt, except to the dwindling band of "Stella deniers" who insist that it does nothing for them), I have been asked to undertake a second, dangerous task.

This time I have been asked to "go to work".

I shall try to describe this disturbing experience as best I can - but be warned, it was deeply unpleasant, and readers of a more sensitive disposition might prefer to go to DK or Dizzy now.

Well, it started by my having to "get up" at 7am. My mouth was dry, my head was pounding. No-one told me that Stella-experiments and Work-experiments might not mix! If anyone wants my advice, may I suggest you don't try to partake of "work" if you have been "on the Stella" (as aficianados say, I am told!) the night before. Goodness me, this was painful. I levered myself out of bed and undertook breakfast - a meagre repast of Weetabix and tea. Ugh. It was unutterably ghastly. I tried to shower but I found myself falling asleep under the lukewarm water.

I drove to work. This was interesting, as it provided a chance for me to test my use of language, especially words we often call "inappropriate", when I was stuck behind slow lorries! I did enjoy doing that, although I even surprised myself at times!

Some time later I arrived at work. Upon arriving there I immediately engaged myself in "tasks". These are activities, not freely chosen, but attributed to an individual by another individual, which the former needs to undertake for, I believe, a largely indeterminate length of time. The latter is generally spoken to with respect, as I learned the hard way, when I accidentally told them to "fuck off"!

On occasion I was called upon to deal with "problems". These are events which are not controlled by an individual but which the individual is nonetheless called to resolve. I found this logic strange, but managed to undertake a few of these anyway. I think my "boss" was impressed - at least, that's how I interpreted their telling me to "get out of my sight" - I guessed I was no longer needed to solve problems!

I was struck by the logic of "breaks". These are moments of non-work: but, while my "boss" was largely able to identify and isolate such moments for herself, I was repeatedly told that I was unable to avail myself of these until I had completed whatever it was that anybody else had given me to do. Often another "task" appeared at just the moment I was to take a "break". Just my luck! Strangely, though, the person who had given me the task was often to be seen smoking or on Facebook while I was performing this duty. I wondered what appalling tasks they had been set that required them to inhale noxious gases!

Later it was time to go home. How can I sum up my impressions of this wholly bizarre activity? Well, I was very tired, quite angry, rather annoyed, somewhat disheartened and completely disillusioned. I was hungry, physically aching, and looking forward to tonight's "Stella" experiment. But I was missing something. I had been told that one received renumeration in return for work: ie, money. Coins. Notes. The things, which, I believe, one uses to pay for Stella. But I was told as my boss helpfully handed me my briefcase - although rather too rapidly for my liking! - that such compensation would not appear for over six weeks. Apparently, as well as being "at work", it was also called "being on supply" for " a bunch of cynical and money grabbing bastards in an old Cathedral city which also happens to have ancient docks and is not that far from Wales" -and so you don't get your "money" for weeks!

What a day!!

But I don't think I'll be "working" again any time soon!

A Child Can Cry/To Anything You Say

Late news: Child Cries During Drummer Drama Lesson

A child today burst into tears during a Friday afternoon drama lesson taught by a balding individual known only as "the tin drummer". The child was reported as saying "it's really scary, I'm scared," to which the "tin drummer" responded by giving the child a cuddle and telling them "it's only a bit of make-believe". The child was, however, dissatisfied by this response and immediately called for a report from OFDRAM, the regulatory company in charge of drama lessons. The report, we think, will not be published until 2042, by which time it is thought that the teacher might be dead. The child also said, "His response was laughable. Of course it was "make believe" - hence, I was made to believe. This is wholly unacceptable. I was forced through a traumatising experience - ie I was made to pretend that a wizard had prevented the sun from setting. This teacher wholly neglected his responsbilities in attempting to make an engaging lesson, and he should be made to pay." A spokesarse from the group FART (families against real teaching) said: "We deplore this latest example of a teacher overstepping the mark and terrifying children. It shows how out of touch these people are. The teacher should come to our re-training classes, which we'll provide for him at minimal cost." The "tin drummer" has so far refused to comment, telling our reporter to four letter shocker off, he was "going down the inapppropriate leisure activity centre for an unacceptable number of outdated imperialistically measured alcoholic beverages."

The tin drummer is pissed.

Wednesday, 26 March 2008

President Sar-Cosy

Well, helloooo. Is that La Marseillaise in your pocket or are you just frankly totally uninspired by seeing me?

According to Yahoo news:

French President Nicolas Sarkozy has addressed both Houses of Parliament and hailed Westminster as a "touchstone" for democracies around the world.

Damn straight. Life peers, hereditary peers, the whip system, a dual party system of left and a bit less left parties, fudged votes, whips on matters of personal conscience, attempts to stop bastard taxpayers finding anything out about the parasites' expenses in courts of law, a long and sorry history of doing fuck all except feathering their own stinking nests: damn right it's a "touchstone" - the sort of stone I wouldn't touch with a ten foot bargepole that's been sterilised in a mixture of boiling water, hydrochloric acid and piss. In fact it's a stone I wouldn't even take a shit on, if I were utterly desperate. I'd probably go by the roadside and have motorists give me the v signs and everything instead.

Speaking in French, Mr Sarkozy said: "For the President of the French Republic, it is a signal honour indeed to address both Houses of the British Parliament.

Well, yes, but not enough of an honour to speak to it in its native language, eh? But then again it's a barbarous tongue, the bastard offspring of some northern abomination and a hick dialect of Old French so who gives a toss anyway.

"It is indeed in these walls which house your chambers that modern political life was born. Without your Parliament, parliamentary democracy would never have existed in this shape anywhere in the world."

ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho. I love it (wipes tears from eyes)! Yes: we'd never have speakers lining up with governments, governments defending speakers as one of their own, we'd never have empty chambers for 90% of the time debating issues no-one gives a toss about in ways no-one gives a toss about, we'd never have laws passed by foreign secret chambers that our own parliament has to approve, we'd never have hundreds of laws passed every year, every one restricting our range of thought, opinion and action.

Mr Sarkozy called for a new "Franco-British brotherhood for the 21st century" in which the two countries can take a lead in shaping the forces of globalisation.

Fuck me it sounds like a ghastly late 70s pop group. One whose top hit was a No.34.

Mr Sarkozy emphasised that while Europe needed Britain, Britain was stronger for being in Europe. "We cannot build a prosperous, democratic, effective, efficient Europe without the the United Kingdom," he said.

Look, Sarko, Britain is in the continent of Europe whether or not it wants to drink the piss of your stupid federalist ideas. We all know the EU will be shit without Britain but Britain will not be shit without the EU, despite your old chum keeping us out with his paranoid delusions for twenty years. Britain has global trading interests, right? It wants global trading interests, yes? It doesn't want you telling us, "er, actually, you need to pay for our farmers, despite the fact that we're more or less the same size economy as you". It wants you all to piss off and enact your little ruling fantasies elsewhere, while the rest of us get on with making and losing money as God himself intended. Now its rulers may for the last 50 years have wanted to sneak us in, all the while lying to us about what it entails, but that only goes to prove that we don't actually want it:

we want money.

That's what we want.

Money is, after all, tremendously stylish.

Anyway, back to work. Any change, guv? Price of a cup of tea, sire? Oi, I can hear the stuff rattling in your pocket you lying git. No need for that attitude, sir. Change, guv? Cup of tea?

Tuesday, 25 March 2008

National Union of Twats

Right. They can just fuck off. Fortunately I am not a member of this not-so-august institution, but for what it's worth, they can have my little resolutions and they can stick them up their own arses:

1. I will never, ever, allow a representative of Respect, the SWP, the RCP, or any other type of nutjob leftism into my classroom.
2. I will never, ever, allow any appeal for Cuba to be made in any school I teach in.
3. I will never, ever, teach that socialism is anything other than a crock of shit.
4. I will never, ever, allow any green groups to promote their hate-filled envy driven alarmism in my classroom.
5. I will always believe of the NUT that they want their own ideologies, rigorously enforced, in all classrooms.
6. I will never, ever, join the NUT nor support anyone who does.
7. I will leave my own union if it takes up this bullshit.

A quick question for NUTjobs: who the fuck gave you this free, democratic society? I suppose you think it was the fucking socialist workers' party, don't you, you dickheads.

And a quick point for the not at all biased BBC, who give some Respect twat a very long quote but never identify him as such - the NUT conference is NOT "teachers", you ARSEHOLES, it is the conference of a bunch of old lefty nobheads, who should all fuck right off. Hannah Goff doesn't seem to know much about the Respect/SWP people at the conference - luckily Biased BBC does. Or their commenters do.

Politic Drumming

I thought I would update my reader on the essenses of my political views, since I have been hanging out and reading (though not really commenting) on the Libertarian Party's forums. I agree with a lot of their policies, as I mentioned before, though not with all of their philosophies: I do think government should let people live their lives and, wherever possible, not attempt to dictate what they should think or say (and I would include hate crime legislation in that - I wouldn't want to say to an old lady who's been mugged "you see it's not that bad, it was just an attack on you, personally, and not an attack on all old ladies, so it's not as serious as hate crimes..."), and while I don't myself have any possessions except for an old Fiesta and a few books, and very little money, I applaud cash and its pursual. I particularly respect people who create work and trade, and do not respect those who claim that this is based on "exploitation", while demanding higher taxes at the point of a prison cell. I do think that quangos, commissions and committees, foundations, trusts and political charities, have too much influence over government (especially this one) and I think we've moved away from democracy and towards a sort of technocracy. The people are further removed from the makers of laws than since about 1800 and have only limited ability to change the people who make them. I'd like Britain to exist, or, if not, then England, and I don't think that those who've recently invented the concept of Europe as a single political and cultural entity have any superior claim on right, whatever they say, however much they accuse their opponents of bigotry. I don't see any better government than one elected by a people with some kind of coherence - history, language, society - a demos, if you like - just as we have at Westminster. It needs change (ho ho) obviously, but bypassing it for 27 old men in a secret smoke filled chamber isn't the way. Claiming that "Europe" is exactly the same sort of society as Britain isn't it. Giving the people no right to repeal or amend or reject laws not made or initiated by anyone representing them is not the way either.

I do have more authoritarian views but I'm happy to not have them enforced on everyone else, if that makes any kind of sense at all: unlike many I don't see the need for everyone to agree with me on x issue or for my moral panics to inform legislation on, say, smoking, computer games, alcohol, sex, or anything else. I do see how everyone's behaviour affects us all, blah blah but that is an appeal for responsibility, not a justification to legislate or regulate everything that could affect other people. In a complex, somewhat dislocated world, we need to find other people as individuals, not be told how to approach them by law (outside of a few laws on assault, etc). I think it is corrosive to assume that half the country (more or less) is seething with hate and will destroy, hurt, discriminate and terrorise others unless controlled by ever more repressive laws. I am not saying that all equalities legislation is bad, but that some of it works on the basis of mistrust and, even, a kind of hatred itself.

I don't really care whether the police want me to make their lives easier: I do not exist for their comfort and I am not a suspect in a crime unless there is reason to treat me as such - hence: no DNA database, no ID cards providing pretexts for agents of the state to demand you to account for yourself; many fewer CCTV and speed cameras; some of the 300 odd reasons for state agents to enter your home must be abolished; habeas corpus and the right to silence should exist: the police must be made accountable to the people, especially if they are going to use the media to promote their views, as they seem to do more and more. I am not a "male", nor a "suspect", nor an "offender". I am a citizen and I would thank the state to treat me as such.

The above isn't a manifesto or a thesis, just a ramble, intended to provoke thought - thought in myself, of course. I am well aware of the gaps and inconsistencies in my views, and the above, as well as feeding my narcissism is supposed to help me think some of it through.


Browsing for children's books yesterday I find that I am in Iain Dale's guide to political blogging 2007-8. How cool is that. I remember in 2006 I was No 99 on his list of top 100 tory blogs! considering I have almost no readers these days it's quite impressive.

Well done to me.

Change, Pt II

I've just gone and done it, changed the blog. For a couple of days it was immutable and perfect, in the sense of being unchanged or not requiring change, now it is mutating again. Nothing ever stays the same, except for damnfool controlling governments.

I thought I'd pick up on one or two things my wonderful commenters have said but I wanted to write a new post because I wanted to blah and meander and stuff about it.

Regardless of whether any of my atoms from 1981 (say) are extant today (unlikely), I am a continuous being, of some coherence. If I am physically, objectively (ie as an object) something else, something different, the memories and the personality and the construction are the same. I am like a cathedral (though a crap one, with really rubbish stained glass and a wonky spire) with its stones replaced one by one. Same design, same object: actually the analogy breaks down a little because such cathedral is only the same space as the one which saw (say) the murder of a saint, or the crowing of monarchs. But I am the same person and I feel twinges when I hear the music of my childhood (like now -I've put Tears for Fears back on!) because of what I experienced then. Because I am I, despite being something, or some-things, else. My coherence is both a consequence of change, a process of becoming, and a state of order that has obtained despite all the possible breakings-down or victories of entropy that could have happened in the last 31 years.

Things sometimes only need to change because people in power want them to: to demonstrate their power, or their competence (funny how competence so often seems, especially in management to be defined by one's willingness change stuff); things sometimes change because they don't want you to get too comfortable. Also things change because of entropy. Bastard tendency to equilibrium. I wonder if the ethic of Logopolis is visiting itself upon our society (more power would simply speed the collapse). More money, more energy, more determination, more "vision" - more fuck ups, more laws, more enforcement, more atomisation.

As I pointed out before, entropy is winning its battle over my hair, if not my muscles, which, owing to substantial gym use, are now loci of construction, design and order. Design in the sense that I am ordering them out of flesh through my use of weights. I suppose you could argue that entropy is increasing anyway but until I "buy the farm" then I remain a source of order, even increasing order. Yes it's change, but it's also change to stay the same. To increase the order in response to decay to maintain a single existence.

fake consultant wrote apropos of my last post:

change happens, like it or not.

Yes. I did kind of deny that, but only for effect. I don't _really_ believe it. I _do_ think people use that fact in order to change stuff for their own purposes, and to destabilise and dislocate others.

CBI wrote:

In fact, the child who saw those streets WASN'T you...

You've changed

Yes, frightening isn't it. On the other hand I still exist. Kind of. TD doesn't of course. I liked your post CBI about the identity of yourself and of Crushed. I wonder how much if at all TD has changed me, or my style of writing, or my thinking. Or how much those things have changed TD. Not much probably. I think TD, for all of his drunken sweary bloggertarianism is really still the same as me, because he will always back away from a fight. His mouth is bigger than it should be, really.

Thursday, 20 March 2008


Too Many Short Sentences - Straw says the BBC today.

I couldn't agree more. They're one of our greatest problems right now and it all comes from crap use of commas.

Oh, I see.


Funny old thing, change.

It's a good song by Tears for Fears (there aren't any bad ones); although my mis-hearing of the lyrics inadvertently make it more interesting than it actually is. I thought the refrain was "you can't change", which gives it a refreshing negativist spin, but it's actually "you can change" (zzzzz). Also I thought they had been incredibly clever and written "and something on your mind/became a part of you" whereas it only says "became a point of view" - much less intruiging.

I'm not saying change is impossible or bad but I think that the progressive view that it is always a good thing should be challenged: as if progressives themselves didn't object to change anyway, wanting the clock to remain at 1974 in perpetuity. Change is primarily the means by which rulers, especially the progressive type, keep people on their toes: you prevent anyone becoming too familiar or comfortable with the law/ethics/their local street/the price of a pint - you keep them dependent on you to help them navigate the morass of increasing difference. When the means of running your life keep updating themselves you never feel as though you truly know what's going on. When the buildings of your childhood, the streets and yes, even the trees are gone, it's like a part of you has already been consigned to the grave -what made you no longer exists, some of you is hanging by a thread from the scarce reel of memory. Then doubt seeps in; disagreement and forgetting and anyone could tell you anything about your own past. So you shrug and try not to think too much about the destruction of your own history. No-one's history can keep useless buildings up of course: I mention it not for public policy reasons but rather to suggest that a shifting built environment is not always good for psychic health. I know I risk sounding like an ignorant mix of Oliver Sacks and some twat in a tent with a ouija board but we are part of where we are as much as we are discrete entities. Melting away the ground we walk on creates problems for every opportunity it brings.

I am a mere 31: yet I feel very, very old sometimes. Many of the places I once knew no longer exist: I cannot buy my favourite music in shops and the space in shops for my favourite books is now small as to say, effectively, "we don't want your sort here, so fuck off". So many laws are different from even 10 years ago that things I used to enjoy (an occasional cigar over a few jars in the local, say) are illegal. I literally do not understand quite a lot of what the children I teach say.

And my bald patch is absolutely fucking massive. Jeeezus.

I remember reading a lot in the 90s and you still see it today in some lefty novels (Noughts and Crosses by Malorie Blackman springs to mind) about the "true" motivations of the opponents of change: that they were in power, they were the establishment, they were privileged, they were always wrong. But of course reformers of all kinds want to change the stuff they don't like and preserve the stuff they do in amber. No-one actually likes the idea of change. Ask Ken Livingstone if he wants change in London right now. I'm sure he'll say "Yes, but only through keeping things the same - ie me in power."

Hey ho. Time for a change, eh? Oh how I laughed.

Thursday, 13 March 2008

The Famous Mr Major Tom

This is a *genuine* Alan Freeman line, circa September 1990. I still have it on tape: the magnificent "30 Years of Number Ones" radio 1 programme that lifted me out of the desert of early 90s pop-shit and in one hour gave me The Jam, David Bowie and the Police and told me that 3 minute tracks could be amazing. Fuck me I was never the same again. Thank fuck.

*and it goes like this, very hauntingly* is how the great man introduced "Don't Stand So Close to Me" by the Police. Amen, brother, amen to that.

The line quoted in the title of this post refers, of course, to AshestoAshes,and is how Freeman concluded his airing of the song on that show. The tv show of the same name I have _not_ seen, out of aesthetic purity; nonetheless: the tin drummer's personality is expressed perfectly by the synth wailings from 3:04 to 3:34 of that track. In case you were interested.

Surfing the Libertarian Tide

My regular reader will probably know that I am a sort of "bloggertarian": a ranter and raver at government excesses (not that there's anything wrong with this, of course) but someone who's happy enough to endorse authoritarian regimes when it suits him (ie Rome).

Actually, now I come to think of it, this government's attempts to nationalise everything from opinions on human reproduction to crappy banks are _worth_ getting fucking angry about.


Anyhow, I have just joined the Libertarian Party's _website_ though not the LP itself. I don't think I can, in all honesty: but for the record, I agree with them 100% on lauranorder, education (especially), the constitution (and the EU - not Europe) and welfare. Their forum is interesting but could probably do with a few socialists to liven up the debate: I hope it becomes a real centre for debate on these key issues, while the main parties carve it all up between their smug snouts in the trough fat faces.

If that makes me a right wing bigot then so what*, fuck you.

If it makes me a hypocrite, then fair enough.

*Sorry, sorry. I meant "so weak".**

**in fact that is what I _did_ say, and anyone who says otherwise is a cunt.***

***if you don't get the reference, google it under "Ed Balls" + "twat" + "arrogant cunt" + "faux class warrior" + "dickhead" + " oh fuck I've been fucked better change Hansard before anyone gets hold of the video oh fuck Guido already did".

Budget Fails to Curb Binge Drinking

The Tin Drummer today had 4 pints of Stella.

He did not buy them, cheaply, off a supermarket, but opted to pay the vastly marked up prices at a no-way-suffering-from-the-positive-smoking-ban-pub.

It was alright. A bit dear, mind.

Wednesday, 12 March 2008

Mortal Sins

According the blogosphere, The Pope should of said : "1. Being a Catholic" and then anything else would have come as a bonus. I find it a bit odd that the church has such immense influence in countries where hardly anyone is Catholic but anyhow. Plus that people listen to the pope on condoms but _not_ on the rest of sexual doctrine (ie keep it in your pants unless you're married), which in my not inconsiderable experience of being one of these cunts, weighs rather more heavily on the individual, seems a bit strange. Plus also the church must be actively stopping deliveries of condoms, like by hijacking vans and torching them or summat. I guess it's all true though, because unbiased commentators like St Polly of Toynbee and St George of Moonbat have frequently asserted it as fact. Ergo it must obtain.

Still, I can reassure my readers that on absolutely no account will I be immensely rich any time soon: nor, indeed, am I about to perform fiendish experiments on embryos, nor defile the environment (oh no actually I tell a lie: my little Fiesta was caning the A420 and A34 this evening in 2nd and 3rd. How much emissions is that). Nor will I be acting against fundamental human dignity, unless you count having my pants sticking out a bit.

Also as a pisshead I will be contributing far more to schoolsnospitals than any of those NewLabour twats: the fuckers are putting my taxes up again. So you can fuck off if you are one of those puritans who think that you're not puritans because it's a made up rightwing concept and all you're doing is trying to make people more respectful/better citizens/think the right thoughts - I'm making the schoolsnosptials even better with every Stella I buy. Plus I've never gone to A&E or owt like that.

Oi! Pint of Stella! and a packet of cheese&onion! Come on John, I'm thirsty!

Saturday, 8 March 2008

It's Always The Same/ It's Just A Shame That's All

Can't remember who did this - Genesis probably, in fact I think it was them.

I drew a picture of it for my dad, so much did I like it in 1982 or 1983 or whenever.

He was, like, not getting out of bed until 12.15 for Grandstand and I was like watching Saturday Superstore or something and listening to this somehow, somewhere, and so I drew this cartoon strip with me listening to this track and trying to get him up or whatever. Don't really recall. Don't suppose it matters. Long time ago. Now I'm a long way grown up and it clearly has no relevance to my life....

Still. It's got a point, though, hasn't it?

Fed Up With Your Indigestion

That track makes me laugh, it's by "the fuckwits" or something. Can't remember their proper name but it ain't dissimilar.*

Anyhoo. Today's Times carries an interview with Sir Bernard Lovell, unbelievably still alive at the real and not piss-taken age of 94. Unfortunately, all I could think of was how Telly Twatteron out of the National Secular Society will respond in Monday's Times:

Dear Sir,

The interview with "Sir" Bernard Lovell was nothing short of a disgrace. It is, surely, an anomaly that in this pluralistic, multicultural, secular society, an important figure in the public sphere - and a scientist to boot - should admit to not being an atheist. My taxes - the taxes of a rational man - have supported this charlatan for fifty years, which is an affront to all right thinking atheists (although, clearly, the term "bright" is more appropriate and any other term is, in fact, an insult - and recent research shows that atheists are the most discriminated against group in the USA).
More than that, his disclosure that he has - appallingly- played the organ in his local church all this time shows that his scientific judgement has to be called into question. If such an apparently rational man could believe in the the "flying spaghetti monster" (a most amusing and very clever satire, on religion, published against the machinations of the all powerful religious conspiracy thingy) then surely all of his theories and thoughts must be discounted. This is a man who believes in other stuff. Stuff I have never seen. This means that when he talks about other stuff I have never seen, but that I am usually happy to take on trust from experts, he cannot be believed.
Accordingly, the 50 year history of Jodrell Bank must be called into immediate question. I mean - since his mindset is so clearly askew, any views he takes must, logically, be ignored. I ask readers of this newspaper a simple question: if you were in a car driven by someone who told you he was an excellent driver, but who also said that a lovely fluffy bunny would meet you at the end of the journey, wouldn't you jump out, regardless of the speed of the car? I am not saying I disbelieve Jodrell Bank on pulsars, just that..well, you know.
And I _keep_ coming back to the central point: how dare my taxes be spent on anything that does not reflect my worldview?

Yours, Tervy Narcisseron

ps Do not attempt to reply to my letter: I have gone into hiding because I will surely be targeted by religious extremists following my exceptionally brave letter, and also interview in the Catholic Herald a couple of weeks ago aren't I brave after all it was a right hatchet job ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha (ad infinitum, or rather ad finitum ha ha ha ha)


Besides of this crap, life goes on. Or rather it doesn't for a number of people, whose names I do not intend to list here. It came as something of a surprise to me to wake up this morning, although I had not drunk anything except mathematics last night. Perhaps that was the reason. I still thought: "fuck me, what do you know?"

Any Catholic readers I still have (and I have reason to believe that Crushed By Ingsoc still reads me) will understand this: when I was 12, I had no-one, literally no-one, to pray for during Eucharistic Prayer 1 when the priest says "Now we pray for those who have died...". Now-a-days my list goes on almost until the end of the prayer. Fuck me: friends, chums, aquaintances, favourite pop stars, family, teachers, tutors, not lovers yet thank fuck - it just pours out like a stream of mortal diarrhoea. I estimate it finishes around "on earth as it is on heaven".

for any well read atheist readers, yes I know it goes on to say "..marked with the sign of faith". So what. We're all fucking dead in the long run. All fucking dead.

For any bastard tenacious atheist readers yes I know I don't sound very positive for a Catholic. So the fuck what. Christ came for the tossers, the wankers and the fuckwits. Not for the people who had it all sorted. Hence Nietzsche calls it a slave religion, and hence now we've told him to fuck off we're still obsessed with victimhood. Nietsche would laugh then he'd fuck off down the pub. For a quick flirt with the Swedish barmaid and a boast about how when he's not in the pub he's really something quite important. Then he'd get into a fight with some twat who thought he was mad and he'd say "Oi who are you calling mad you ignorant cunt" and he'd glass the twat then he'd say "had enough have you you fuckwitted arsehole, had enough eh, you fucking cunt" and he'd kick the tosser in the bollocks when he was down then he'd say "think god isn't dead do you you fucking twat, you cocksucker, think the will to power means nothing do you you stupid fucker" then he'd punch the semi-conscious face of his opponent and say "jesus fucking christ a weak thing would fucking hide itself in a sturdy fucking barrel" and then he'd tell the fucker to get up then he'd say "fuck me you dickhead you English are all the fucking same; you lose the religion but you don't lose the fucking ethic".

Or something. [breathes in and out like Harry Enfield character c.1991]

the drums...the drums...the drums...the drums...the drums....

*=They are "The TingTings", or so I am told.