In Which I Note That Moore Is Less

Sir Patrick Moore is no more. Many will mourn his passing, and will say such things as “he was the longest running presenter for any television show ever,” and “he helped map the moon for the Apollo landings” and so on and so on. He was notable for having a monocle and drumming up interest in astronomy by twatting about on a xylophone. I have already heard it said that he was one of a kind, and his like will not be seen again. Good. Sir Patrick Moore was one of those people who seemed to deliberately set out to prove the maxim that “only the good die young”. He was a product of a less enlightened time, and his antiquated views evidence this. Here is a man who was sexist, homophobic and racist. On a totally unrelated note, here is a picture of a baddie from the James Bond film "A View to a Kill" next to a picture of a racist astronomer:

Sir Patrick

Bond Villain

During the previous decade, the Radio Times interviewed Sir Patrick to commemorate the 50th anniversary of his magnum opus, The Sky at Night. He decided to discuss astronomy by taking this less than conventional approach:

“I would like to see two independent wavelengths- one controlled by women, and one for us, controlled by men.”

To be fair, the man's right. There is literally no way that a man and a woman could enjoy the same television programme. To the unenlightened interviewer's horror, he carried on talking.

“I used to watch Doctor Who and Star Trek, but they went PC- making women commanders, that kind of thing. I stopped watching.”

Again, he's right. The very idea that a woman could be in a position of authority is a shocking one, unless its being in charge of a television channel for women or being the leader of a knitting club. We shall assume that no-one told him that the longest serving Prime Minister started HER term back in 1979, a full 28 years before this interview was conducted. To be unaware of this, Sir Patrick would have to have his head far in the past, and far in the past is exactly where it was:

“The trouble is the BBC now is run by women and it shows soap operas, cooking, quizzes, kitchen-sink plays. You wouldn't have had that in the golden days.”

Where to start? Yet again, the man is right. The BBC is run by women, although somewhat subtly as the BBC has yet to take the disgustingly liberal route of appointing a female Director General. Quiz shows are a bastion of the ladies- I can think of nothing more feminine than an episode of University Challenge presented by the physical embodiment of all things female Jeremy Paxman. The BBC showed its first cookery programme in 1936, so we shall assume that these golden days of which Sir Patrick Moore spoke of occurred before he was a teenager (he was born in 1923), and probably before the BBC started showing television programmes at all. It would also be fair to assume that the good old days he pined for included terrible working conditions, capital punishment and none of these johnny foreigner types coming over here. Fair to assume? Actually, there's evidence for it. He was noted for his opposition to the Race Relations Act (essentially a law saying let's not be racist because it's a bit of a dick move), and he openly discussed joining the BNP. It's interesting to note that every time I've typed that Sir Moore is right, the computer has offered to tack a hyphen and another word onto the end. Even a word processing program knows that he's right-wing.

“How dare you! How dare you speak ill of the dead! It's not like he can defend himself now, is it?” Ah, so I shouldn't say that Hitler was a nasty man on account of the fact that he's dead? “Well no, but that's different. You can't say that Sir Patrick Moore and Adolf Hitler were similar...” Actually, I can. And will. Unfortunately, Sir Patrick's wife was killed by a German bomb in 1943. This might explain, but not mitigate his attitude towards the Germans. First of all, he referred to the Germans as krauts, which isn't exactly the most PC of terms nowadays. Nowadays? Yes, he said this as recently as 2012:

“The only good kraut is a dead kraut.”

This seems a little extreme to me. I mean, the Germans have some strange ideas about which species are okay to have sex with, but saying that 80 million people are responsible for an event 69 years ago is a bit unfair. He might as well have said you and I are responsible for the massacre at Amritsar, or the invention of Marmite. I'm sure he didn't really mean it. After all, a man as learned as Sir Patrick would be able to see the irony of calling for the death of an entire people when that's exactly the sort of things the Nazis were known for...

Today's Tune

In Which I Point Out That Political Correctness Can Be Politically Incorrect

Right. Racism. In Britain, someone who is black and British would be classified as black British, and in the U.S, a black American would be classified as African-American. So far, so alliterative. But isn't this second term a bit... silly? Certainly if you trace the genealogy of a black American, you'll get to a point when their ancestors lived in Africa, but isn't that true of everyone? Conventional wisdom is that homo sapiens originated in Africa, and then some migrated. Now let's assume that you have an Arab who's from Egypt, and a white South African. If they become American citizens, and go to, say, Harlem, and start telling one and all that they are African-Americans, they'd get a bit of stick for it, to put it mildly. But aren't they just as much African-Americans as people whose roots are in Cameroon or Senegal? This Afro-American terminology just enforces the idea in American minds that all Africans are black. That's an ignorant and somewhat racist view. Why don't they call all the white people European-Americans? 

Today's Tune 

In Which I... Ugh.

I do like the BBC news website. It's a good source of news, not too up its own arse, not too “The country's gone to the dogs ever since Diana died.” It's about as unbiased as it could be expected to be, and it gives fair attention to events happening outside the country. One of the most startling news stories I've found is this:


http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-20523950


For those of you who are so interminably lazy as to not click on a hyperlink, the gist is this- the current German government is calling for beastiality to be made illegal. That means sticking it in and wiggling about a bit, or having it stuck in you and have it wiggled about a bit, with and by animals. “Hurrah!” the more pleasant of you think, then “Jesus CHRIST, beastiality is currently legal in Germany?!?” I was astonished when I read this. Apparently, West Germany legalised it back in 1969, I do not know why. I'm going to have to assume there was a strong political group lobbying for it, and many people marching until they were given the right to fuck a sheep/cow/slow loris. I can't look into this because I fear I will lose all faith in humanity- I'll certainly never look at bratwurst the same way again. “This meat has been individually tenderised by-” “AHLALALALALALALALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU LALALALALALA!” One crumb of comfort is that for ze Germans, the sex with animals is over if they cause them significant harm. Ron Jeremy wouldn't be allowed to go to Hamburg for a spot of zoophilia, then. Wiki answers says that man possesses a 9.8 inch long sausage stick (and that's only the circumference lololol). I wouldn't normally trust wiki answers as a source of information, but again, I am unwilling to research this further. So yes, people in Germany are permitted to have sex with animals unless it causes the animals “significant harm”. The trouble is, you can't really give an animal therapy lessons. How d'you tell if an animal is suffering flashbacks? Also, its ability to provide testimony in court would be suspect at best- “So, Rover, can you point to where the man touched you on this Scooby Doo doll?”


Did I mention that this story is deeply unsettling? I mean, hurrah for cultural identity and vive la différence and all that, but you're fucking animals for God's sake! This is almost like a German discovering that the British had just started to make rape illegal, and rape only being a bit of a no-no previously if the victim was caused “significant harm”. Worse still, it would be like the Germans discovering that we were considering the punishment for rape to be a hefty fine. They're only going to fine people that fuck animals! No, that's not right, they're only CONSIDERING fining people for fucking animals. Fining people for committing this “misdemeanour” would mean that the German people would equate buggering a badger to be in the same area as fly tipping! Ugh. It's going to take a lot of mind floss for me to be able to get over this one...

Today's Tune

In Which I Enjoy Sinking to New Depths

One of the things that you might not know about me, but would square with everything that you DO, is that I like participating in flame wars. That's not to say participating in a war where the Americans try and burn down Canada, and instead have the White House and the Capitol Building and the treasury torched by the British. I mean getting involved when someone says something on the internet and then someone violently disagrees with it. The traditional forum for this discourse is Youtube comments, and my somewhat unique style is engaging people in cogent debate whilst being backed up by facts. There are a few scientific laws which the internet adheres to, and on of them is Godwin's Law:

"As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches 1."

For those of you who are not familiar with this sort of thing, it might take this sort of form: “even tho he isnt doing it th best he cud, Obama is tryng to save the counrty.” “Thats bs obama is hitler.” These are the heights of Elysium of which we can expect discussion to rise. So, I was watching a video of Paul Merton presenting Room 101, a show about celebrities' pet hates that they get to “banish” to the eponymous chamber of hell. Alexei Sayle was the guest for this episode, and one of the things he chose to get rid of was the Cirque Du Soleil, a sort of weird post modern Canadian circus where not a single custard pie is thrown. Please bear in mind that I didn't check back daily to see if someone had replied to my comments, Youtube e-mails me when that happens. With that in mind, I include a transcript of the conversation below:

Anything out of Canada is shit.
Topite 8 months ago

do you like telephones? insulin? electric ovens? or hey if you're a girl the wonderbra is Canadian. Yeh...everything out of Canada is really shit...thank god we have the US eh!
88adamjohn in reply to topite (Show the comment) 5 months ago

Alexander Graham Bell had U.S citizenship as well as Canadian (Scottish too, he was born in Scotland. Most people think of the phone as a Scottish invention, and that even that was stolen off of Elisha Gray, an American) and Canada didn't invent insulin, it's what the body produces and the Wonderbra was trademarked in the States. Come on you Canuck, you can do better than that?
chenkton 4 months ago

You are an illiterate and incorrect in your findings.

Please correct my spelling you pompous jack of nothing because im sure your a troll with no actuall knowledge...
That you can find the time to be so ummm...lets say, "notoriously pathetic pilgrim"- defetes the purpose of any comment you have being held apon this vid...

Go find something informative to spew nonsense at while the rest of us have a laugh.
 Or better yet something simple for you, shut up please you rude under educated wanker.
technicolournaruto in reply to chenkton (Show the comment) 6 hours ago

Deary me. There's you calling me an illiterate, despite being unable to spell defeats, actual, and upon. These are rather basic words that are taught to people who are quite young... Is English your second language? Your punctuation and grammar's a wee bit off too. That I can find the time to write fifty or so words is rather shocking, I must admit, but surely it's even more distressing that you take time out of your busy schedule to do the same? So in conclusion, less hypocrisy please.
chenkton in reply to technicolournaruto (Show the comment)

After this little exchange, technicolournaruto deleted his comments, and most likely felt very bad about himself. Being petty's fun..

Today's Tune

In Which I Hope That's Chocolate Ice-Cream They're Eating!

Today, I went to my local optician instead of going to one of those big chains. It had been seven years since I'd been to that particular one, but it took me rather less time to remember why there had been such a hiatus. Back in the day, they used to have this lens plastic swing on a bracket jobbies that I'm not very good at describing. Apparently they're called refractorheads. The point is, they'd done away with these and got some much cheaper metal glass rim jobbies (ha!) which were somewhat unpleasant, to say the least. They'd actually managed to downgrade this piece of equipment to such a level that it was like an instrument of torture from the past. Or the future:

They didn't go quite as far as to show me two girls and one cup. “Do the women who are doing unmentionable things look clearer with the first?... Or second?...” Still, it made a bad feeling in the guttywuts right horrorshow. Ha! Microsoft spelling and grammar utterly spazzed out with that last sentence- perhaps it's not a fan of A Clockwork Orange. The point remains though that the facilities at this place were more than a little rudimentary. Still, that's all fine. Costs have to be cut somewhere, and I was helping the little guy.

I had gone there because of a persistent ache in my left eye, feels like it's strained or bruised. The optometrist took note of my symptoms and got this suspiciously evil looking contraption out... “Okay, I'm going to use this magic squirty thing to gauge the pressure in your eye... Don't worry if your eye hurts when this shoots into it and takes a reading, that'll just be the asbestos.” “Wha- ARGGHHHH!!!” “The pressure seems normal.” “Why on earth would you put asbestos in there?!?” “You don't want your eye to catch fire, do you?” “Erm... No?” “Well then.” Eventually, he told me that I'd got a little bit blinder but that there's nothing visibly wrong with my eye apart from a tiny allergic reaction to asbestos. “Come back in a couple of weeks if your eye's still feeling dodgy, and we can at least squirt some asbestos in the other one so they look as shit as each other... But now I want you to talk to a woman who might well get commission, which would certainly explain her sneering and unhelpful attitude if you decide to not purchase her wares.” So off I trotted to someone who we shall call Mutton-Dressed-as-Lamb-Bitch. Mutton-Dressed-as-Lamb-Bitch seemed very proud of the 10 glasses that she stocked, and unaware of their astronomical prices. I tried on one or two, and noted with mild surprise that they didn't make me look any more of a twat than usual. Still, I could do better, and cheaper. I said to her that I would go further afield to Colchester to get my spectacles. Mutton-Dressed-as-Lamb-Bitch was not exactly enamoured with that idea. “You fucking what? You're a fucking idiot!” “Eh?” “My fragile little mind simply cannot cope with the idea of someone getting an eyetest at one opticians and then getting glasses from another! That's like cheating, you adulterous little shit! Would you ever go to a different pharmacy or go and see another hairdresser behind your regular one's back?!?” “...Erm...” “You would as well, you little bastard! What if the other opticians have a problem?!? You'd be caught between here and there in some sort of purgatorial netherworld!” “What sort of problem with my eyes could possibly cause a schism between two optician firms?” You know, a problem!" “Well, I'm going to give them my prescription from here and they'll recognise that the optometrist has been to optician's school and trust his judgement. If there is a problem, I'm sure their vast wealth would be able to purchase something or someone to sort it out, or provide me with ample compensation.” I'd just like to say, the above may have been paraphrased an eensy bit, but the following is a direct quote of Mutton-Dressed-as-Lamb-Bitch: “We'd rather you didn't do that in future. It would be better if you don't come here again.” I'm inclined to agree with her.

Today's Tune

In Which I Give Another Brief History Lesson

Right, I said I was going to write this DAYS ago. It's a little known story about military co-operation between the U.K and France. Back in the day, there was this bloody enormous U.S.S.R armed force ready to come steamrolling through western Europe from Czechoslovakia, Poland, Hungary... The western powers weren't entirely happy about that. They'd just had a nasty little spat with the Nazis, and another dictatorship invading sovereign European territories just wasn't on. The idea that the western powers should form a super happy fun club with which to buck a potential Soviet attack was hit upon- everyone foots the bill, an armed force to which all the members would contribute. This was a new era of co-operation, and though it came out of something negative, it's quite nice there was a group of foreigners working together. Well. Apart from the French of course. They realised they were not super, happy or fun, and as such started to get the hump with everyone else. When everyone else in NATO was trying to pull together, the French insisted on calling it Organisation du traité de l'Atlantique Nord, which spells OTAN, which is, if you haven't spotted it, the palindrome of NATO. I'm not sure that the French could come up with a better demonstration that they are, quite literally, backward people.

In 1958 France's premier was a bloke called Charles de Gaulle, perhaps the most self-interested ungrateful bastard to have an airport named after him. I cannot fully explain what was wrong with him without going into pages of detail, so let's work with the idea he was a tosspot. So. De Gaulle was galled by how involved the Americans were with NATO. How dare they commit loads of men and billions of dollars to defending people who most likely don't speak their language on a continent thousands of miles away. How DARE they?!? I suspect that the real issue de Gaulle may have had is that the Americans speak the same language as the British. De Gaulle never forgave the other Allies for taking the credit for liberating France. The 83,115 British and Canadian troops and the 73,000 U.S troops that landed on D-Day were just faffing about, it was clearly the mammoth 177 French soldiers that turned the tide of the battle.

Another thing of note in World War 2 is that after France surrendered to the Nazis, not all of France was occupied. The Nazis said “Basically, you can run half the country without involvement from us, as long as you round up Jews and send them to death camps.” Some French asked “Is it alright if we fight for the Nazis too? It's just that they're fighting the English, and we hate those beef eating victory monkeys.” “Oh, go on then,” said the Nazis, “as long as your capital city is Vichy.” As you may know, the war didn't end that well for the Vichy French, so when France became France again, she reluctantly put Marshal Pétain on trial. He was the leader who had collaborated with the Nazis. The judges at this trial said something along the lines of “Ah, let him off, we know it's an open and shut case but he didn't REALLY mean it”, yet the jury decided (by only one vote!) to put him to death. De Gaulle decided that this was a little bit too much- after all, Pétain had ensured the deaths of thousands of French Jews, it's not like he did anything really nasty. Pétain's sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. At the time of sentence, he was 89.
Sorry, got sidetracked there. What I was meaning to say is that de Gaulle got all nostalgic for the days when France could bend over backwards for dictatorships, and if the USSR invaded, then the other members of NATO might frown a bit on a fellow member trying to negotiate a separate peace with the Soviets or surrender to them. France dropped out of NATO, but sadly the Russians never invaded so France didn't get the chance to surrender to them. The Soviet Union disbanded in 1991, but all the NATO countries thought that they were all mates now and it would be a shame to break up the party, so NATO carried on. In 2009, the French asked “Are you sure the USSR has been defeated? Really? No?” After being told that they most certainly had, the French finally put their head above the parapet and rejoined NATO, on the grounds that they could be snotty about it and not really get into the spirit of things.

So here's the little known story about the French working with the U.K. The British have an agreement with the Americans that their submarines shouldn't really be in the same place at the same time, because things might get a bit crashy. They have a system called deconfliction, which is a tad like air traffic control- the subs know roughly where each other are (if not exactly) so that they can't be dangerously close to each other. I think this approach is prudent, partially because the damage caused to submarines from being crashy doesn't just buff out like when you ding your Nissan Micra. The reason I most think it's a sensible idea, though, is because it's a teeny bit dangerous to have submarines carrying nuclear warheads not knowing where other submarines carrying nuclear warheads are.

The French disagreed. My command of French is not great, but I shall attempt to translate what I overheard from a drunk French admiral in a London whorehouse:
“I'm sure that we'll be able to see any other submarines coming even though we don't have any windows and our periscope doesn't work underwater, and that a submarine's main point is to be as undetectable as possible simply is not relevant. There is literally no way we can possibly crash into another submarine.”

Sure enough, in the same year that France rejoined NATO, she crashed one of her submarines into HMS Vanguard, and both were carrying nuclear warheads. This could have been a catastrophic encounter- both subs might have sunk and the missile casings could have broken and caused the irradiation of the Atlantic. The French submarine shrugged its shoulders, brushed herself down and said “Well, you should have been lookeeng where you were go-eeng, English.” The British sub had to put back into her home port to try and rid her of the garlicy smell she had inexplicably picked up. Hmm. If it's one thing I've learned from all of this, it would be that the French think that risking poisoning a great big chunk of the food chain is an acceptable price for not having to work with the Royal Navy. Still, they DID make Asterix in Britain, and that's a great film.

Today's Tune

In Which I Cannot Keep Bleeding Love

Disaster! I found out today that I have lost the means of feeling smug and generally thinking of myself as being a better person than most others. Epileptics cannot donate their blood. Now whenever my hero implores me to do something amazing, his words will turn to ash in my ears. To be fair, the nurses were very apologetic. "I'm awfully sorry, but if you give blood that may well result in hypoxia in the brain and cause you to have a stroke and die, and that's here on the check list of "Things we don't want to happen at a blood donation session." After I was told all of this, I was leafing through the compulsory literature (the chosen book for this session of blood donation was The Great Gatsby) and looking at all the things I wasn't going to be screened for- syphilis, HIV (always a favourite), HTLV and the hepatitis alphabet. I had planned to contract those at some point to see if the NHS blood screening system was any good, but the best made plans of mice and men...

The other day, I went to the registrar to request a copy of my birth certificate, because some idiot managed to lose the other one (that idiot may have been me). The certificate not to remind me where I was born, or when my mother's birthday is, but it's the first step in getting a new passport. Whilst it actually says on a birth certificate that it isn't proof of identity, it's the proof of identity that you need to get proof of identity. I was chatting with the registrar (she's from Kendal in Cumbria and thinks that Cockermouth is rough) whilst writing the information on the form. I commented on the fact that it seems a wee bit easy to just find out the names of someone's parents, their birthdays and then get their birth certificate and steal their identity. "Yeah, it's public records for you isn't it. It's a bloody terrible system." There was a point to this story, but it has temporarily escaped the author's mind.

Today's Tune

In Which I Prove I'm Not Unshockable

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In Which I Am Visited by the Ghosts of NHS Past, Present and Future

Yesterday, when S was driving me home, she asked me for a mention in here due to the fact that she is an avid fan of this blog. Someone has to be, I suppose. But I told her in no uncertain terms that if she wasn't going to pull over and show me her tits or do some other noteworthy thing like writing off her car, I wouldn't include her. She did neither, so I won't.


Today I had a couple of NHS encounters. Those guys just can't get enough of me. Recently, my GP had implored me to get a flu jab, saying that he would be crying himself to sleep if I shuffled off this mortal coil due to something as preventable as flu. Popped down to the Health Centre, was ushered very quickly into a room where there was a nurse and a woman who may have been a doctor, but I didn't recognise her. She asked me for my name and my doctor, and I told her my surname. I thought that would be enough as there can't have been that many people with an appointment at 11:47 who have my moniker and GP. “Do you have a first name as well?” “Nah, I'm like Madonna or Cher.” “What, you're a gay icon?” “I'd rather be a gay icon than someone who looks like their face has been on fire and been extinguished by a fork...” “You know, we could inject air into your bloodstream, you little shit, and that'll be game over for you. We'll just say you died from a stroke.” And that's why I didn't get a flu vaccination, and not because I'm afraid of needles.


My second and more accurately disclosed encounter with the NHS (I'm not afraid of needles, I'd be a terrible heroin addict if I was) was through the medium of a letter. What the NHS now tend to do is send a copy of each in-house letter regarding the patient to the patient... Transparency and all that. So today I got such a letter sent to me that was typed by Doctor Bastard, or his secretary. Anyway, whoever it was didn't seem to be willing or capable of operating the spelling and grammar function- I noticed five mistakes. I can get past that. Here are my issues with it. Firstly, it's a copy of a letter sent to a GP at my local surgery. However, it wasn't sent to MY GP. I have no idea why. Secondly, those of you who have been paying attention to this increasingly unhealthy saga will remember that since being diagnosed with probable gluten intolerance back in August, I have stayed clear of the stuff. However, and I quote Dr Bastard exactly; “...I had asked the endoscopy staff to advise him to be on a normal diet.” This never filtered through to me, so either Doctor Bastard never told Endoscopy, or they never told me. I'd prefer to think that Doctor Bastard fucked up, on account of him being a bastard. I'm no doctor, but telling someone who you think is allergic to something and has a lot of exposure to that something to carry on about their daily lives seems to carry the whiff of sadism. “We reckon you're probably allergic to peanuts and will go into anaphylactic shock if you encounter them, Mr Smith.” “Should I pack in my job down at the peanut packing plant then?” “Best not quit that, Mr Smith, as we need to find out whether our diagnosis is correct.” Or; “Hello Mr Bloggs, we think you could be fatally allergic to bees. Could you help us work out if that's the case by having sex with this hive? Sir, what are you doing?!? Please, practise safe sex and put a condom on.” Well, maybe not the second one. Thirdly, Dr Bastard writes that “...had been strictly gluten free at the time of endoscopy on 17th September 2012 which showed some changes of coeliac disease. Never mind the questionable use of “of” there, what does he mean by “some changes”? It's pretty vague for someone who specialises in this field, to say the least. Fourthly, “...we should diagnose definite coeliac disease in his case.” Well that's a suspiciously massive change to what he told me, which was a half-hearted “Pffftttt... Maybe you have it? Heads or tails?” He also spelt dietitian wrong in the letter, but that's fine because it's not like he works very close with them a lot. And finally, at the bottom of the letter he says that he has arranged an appointment with a dietitian for me, which is nice to know. What is slightly less nice is that Doctor Bastard has neglected to furnish me with salient information, such as WHEN THE BLOODY APPOINTMENT IS.



Today's Tune 

In Which I- Shit!!! Did you see that?!? He must have a foot like a traction engine!

Yesterday, I lied. Well, that's a lie. I wrote something I believed to be the case, but it has turned out to be untrue- namely, that I was today to write about co-inkydinks and submarines. However, I have to react to what I saw yesterday. England lost four goals to two against Sweden. Never mind that England lost, never mind that the 50,000 crowd were about as noisy as the cast of The Only Way is Essex explaining Cartesian Dualism whilst in a vacuum. The important thing is that Sweden's Zlatan Ibrahimovic scored a goal of such skill as to instantly be hailed as one of the best goals ever. It was tenacious, it was sublime, it was perfect technique, it was super sexy is what I'm trying to say. Joe Hart tried to clear the ball with his head as he was outside the 18 yard box and he could only head it vertically. Ibrahimovic, who had already scored a hat-trick in this, the national stadium's opening game thought “D'you know what? I know I'm 30 yards out and facing away from goal, but I'm going to score from here with one touch of the ball because I want to be remembered as scoring one of the best goals of all time.” And it was. 

I have been watching football since I can remember, and I have seen many a great goal from before then. Zlatan scoring like this was the first time I'd seen anything like this- for one thing, his foot's 8 feet off the ground when he kicks it. I love how I can still see things that are new in the most popular sport of all time. When the ball went in, I made some sort of noise that I think I will not be able to replicate. I then stood up and started to applaud at the television screen. This isn't a particularly good article, but I had to just say how excellent that goal was. I suspect it's the best goal I've ever seen live. I don't think I may ever see a better one, but I live in hope. 

Today's Tune 

In Which I Quote a Footballing Statistic

"Scotland's worst ever ranking came in March 2005 when they were in 88th position, but their latest drop puts them below Gabon (52nd), Cape Verde Islands (63rd) and Uzbekistan (69th)." This is a monumental achievement, and as such should be applauded by one and all.

Tomorrow I write about coincidences and submarines.


Today's Tune

In Which I Abhor Swan Lake

On Saturday, I went out with D for a few lunchtime drinkies. Nothing too much interesting there, the usual conversation- D telling me how he was struggling to overcome his Mini Cheddar addiction, me telling him my plans for when I become king of the world. However, we'd decided to meet each other en route at a super sexy secret location, and, as ever, he was an ickle bit late. I stood by the boating lake where about 30 swans were, well, swanning about. As soon as I sat down on an adjacent bench, approximately 30 swans stopped swanning about and headed towards me. Now I haven't read the book “The Birds” or seen the film either, but I think I can safely say that a swarm of swans bearing down on you is more terrifying than a bunch of seagulls or crows. When D came along, he saw me running away from them with a tell-tale trickle of wee-wee following my footsteps. “Scared of the birds?” “Yes I fucking am! Those things want my flesh!” “No they don't, they just want a bit of bread. “Do I look like a fucking baguette? That's not hunger in their beady little eyes, it's murder.


But I managed to avoid being ended by wannabe albatrosses. One thing that was ended recently was C's PS3. He invited me around on Sunday, only to find out that his Playstation had developed a terminal condition known in the medical world as the YLOD (or yellow light of death in layman's terms). This is where the machine switches on with its green light indicating fucntionality resplendently and then changes its mind in an actually-I'd-rather-not-do-what-I'm-supposed-to-do-if-it's-all-the-same-to-you manner. So we made the 20 mile round trip to get another one. Alas, this was not as simple as it should have been, as C's bank card had been blocked by Barclays because C had the temerity to buy items from outside the U.K. Apparently that sets off the red light at Barclays HQ, the one that signifies that A TERRORIST MUST HAVE TAKEN OVER THIS ACCOUNT. Either that or they're rather xenophobic. Anyroad, C managed to swear enough to get them to unblock his account, he bought a new PS3 and back we trotted to his. It was only a couple of minutes after the new PS3 had been switched on that it too suffered the YLOD. The odds against this happening were somewhat slim. The odds against C's reaction were not.

Today's Tune

In Which I Question the Methods of a Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual Rights Charity

I saw a double decker yesterday with an advertisement on emblazoned on, saying "Some people are gay. Get over it." When I say double decker I mean the bus, not the chocolate bar. I think inviting bigots to stop being arses is a little too socio-political for the advertising bods of Cadbury. But whilst I agree with the sentiment of this (people are dicks), I disagree with putting it on a bus. Think about it, it's a bit inflammatory isn't it? Let's say that someone is angry/upset about something, like a death in the family or Hugh Dallas giving every single decision against your team unfairly. I don't think the best way to console them is to go up to them and tell them to "get over it". This would surely only make them more angry/upset. I actually remember when D (nickname "The Bitch") split up with D, and he was heartbroken. She had cheated on him with M, which was doubly soul-destroying as he was an ugg with no neck. Anyway, once when he was looking sad, sitting on the concourse, she went up to him and aggressively said "For fuck's sake D, get over it!" The rest of us took a vote and the motion that she was an utter cunt was unanimously carried. So yes. Don't tell people to get over things. It's not productive.

Some ads are counter-productive. Get over it.

And who are these adverts trying to convince? I know there are gay people, but I can't get over it as there is nothing for me to get over. This campaign isn't really useful for those that don't have a problem with homosexuality. And what of the bigots? I know they don't tend to be the most intelligent of people, but I doubt this will affect their opinions. "What's that? People are gay? And I should go from disapproval to acceptance because I saw an ad on a bus? Okay then..." I mean, really. This is worse than not being productive, it's inflammatory, needling for needlings sake. A bit like football fans when they sing one of their many chants like "Look at us, we're in the lead and you are not and you smell of wee-wee." Actually, whilst researching for this blog, I found that this had actually encouraged some people who aren't particularly keen on those who are attracted to the same, erm, genital hoop, to set up a counter campaign. Their adverts were due to say: "Not gay! Post-gay, ex-gay and proud. Get over it!" Fortunately, Boris Jonson poured water on this flame war before it could ignite and prevented these from ever seeing the light of day. He justified this arguable breach of freedom of expression by pointing out that people who think that you can "undo" being gay, and that being gay is a problem to be solved, are fuckheads.


Still, I suppose I'm not the right person to tell Stonewall, the company responsible for Some People Are Gay campaign, how to spend their funds. Actually, they're superb at spending their cash. I don't mean they spend it on good things, rather that they're very good at funspunking money away at a rapid rate. Here's a quote from their website:

"After the launch, 600 billboard panels, kindly donated by Titan Outdoor Advertising Ltd, depicted this legend in giant, tabloid-style capital letters, on a bright red background at sights in England, Scotland and Wales. In September 2009 the simple, striking poster campaign appeared on 20 major railway stations advertising screens and on 3,500 interior bus panels in November 2009 for Anti-Bullying week."

And seeing as it's 2012 and they're STILL about, it means there are one or two stubborn bastards in the organisation who refuse to see sense (and are STILL funspunking money). Like I say, I suppose I'm not the right person to tell Stonewall how to spend their money, but if I were, I would say this... Wouldn't it be a bit more productive to spend the money on something like a banner saying "Gay? Getting picked on by bigots? Here's a dedicated advice line."

Today's Tune

In Which I Fail to Impart Interesting Titbits

Right. Just a note for today. Did you know that Stanley Kubrick wanted Pink Floyd to do the soundtrack to A Clockwork Orange? He also wanted the rights to edit the music how he pleased, so they told him to jog on. Here's how the beginning of the film ended up after Pink Floyd's refusal, and here's how it could have ended up, had they come to an agreement.

Also, did you know what the BBC decided to do when broadcasting the most momentous event in humankind's history- the Apollo 11 mission to land on the moon? They decided to bung Pink Floyd into a studio and have them make up some music as they went along. I love this. There are a bunch of scientists watching the proceedings on a big screen, occasionally saying what they think is going on, then next to them are Pink Floyd, playing live to millions of British viewers as they watch Buzz and Neil on a soundstage in Los Angeles in the Sea of Tranquillity. I have been listening to more than a bit of Pink Floyd lately. They're cool.

Today's Tune

In Which I Meet a Dictionary Definition of Brusque

So yesterday I had a chat with my gut Doctor. I asked him whether they'd had my results all along and simply lied to me. Or I would have done if I could have gotten a word in edgeways.

Dr Bastard: Right, here are your results. The gut digging and cutting came back with nothing.

Me: So I don't-

Dr Bastard: Based on your symptoms, you maybe are intolerant to gluten.

Me: Maybe? But what about the-

Dr Bastard: The reaction your blood had with the antibodies in the other test mean nothing.

*Those were his actual words. Considering that it was the results of those which necessitated a gastroscopy, this seems like horseshit.*

Me: So w-

Dr Bastard: Seeing as you maybe have Coeliac's I will maybe refer you to a dietician. Now fuck off, I've got other inconveniences to see.

Me: Look! I'm going to get at least one sentence in edgeways, Dr Bastard!

Dr Bastard: My name's not Dr Bastard!

Me: I know, but otherwise, in the unlikely event you read this blog, you might sue me for being completely and utterly accurate. So. Could my epilepsy have anything to do with the symptoms that you say could maybe be gluten intolerance? Could it be that my epilepsy is responsible for those symptoms?

Dr Bastard: I dunno, what d'you think I am, a doctor? Now off you fuck.

Seeing as I may or may not have Coeliac's disease, I think I will have to find out. What I am going to do is eat pasta and cake and shredded wheat and pork pies and sausages and... Basically, it will either be a last hurrah or a surprise confirmation that for the last few months I have been avoiding bagels for no good reason.

Today's Tune

In Which I Congratulate President Obama Without Gritted Teeth

A historic vote yesterday. With a record turnout, and a barrage of polls being unable to separate the two sides beforehand, the people finally decided. With a majority larger than predicted, the states of Colorado and Washington voted to legalise the sale of marijuana. That's right, completely legal, none of this having to pretend you've got sciatica or gout for the people of CL and WN to get a Turkish cigarette or two. Also President Obama got elected for a second term. This is despite American peep show style voting booths doing their damndest to change votes for a black guy into votes for a white guy.

Some of the voters were queuing for hours and hours, and some of them in pretty nippy conditions. It can get a wee bit nippy Chicago way in November time. We can learn several things from all of this- firstly, the American who wants to vote is determined to do so, regardless of weather and how much time it may take. I am not sure if I could say the same about the British voter. That is neither here nor there, however, as that sort of scenario wouldn't happen to a British voter. It would be highly unusual over here for voters to be queing for ages, and even more unusual if they were doing it in sleet, as we tend to have our general elections at a more sensible time of year. But the Americans HAVE to have theirs in November, and the reason is this: __________________________. 

Find me a country that wanted Romney to win over Obama and I will be quite surprised. I know that the political figures of the world would compliment whoever won and say they were the best candidate, but one gets the feeling that if Romney had won, they'd have had to congratulate him through gritted teeth. I myself didn't have a chuckle at the Republicans crying (literally) at the result, because I am not human. By the way, that's a bit of a lie, I laughed long and hard, due to having a beating heart. I've never cared for the Republicans. Any political party who has put forward a candidate for Senator that says things like "I think even when life begins in that horrible situation of rape, that it is something that God intended to happen," is more than a little suspect. So I always knew that President Obama would win, and anyone who says that I binned a cake with "Fuck you President Romney" iced onto it is a damned liar.

Today's Tune

In Which I Predict the Future

The Billy Ocean campaign was aborted before it began- I realised I have a lot of Pink Floyd albums I still have to get through as a result of losing a bet with Dave Gilmour.

On Wednesday I have an appointment with the gastroenterologist to discuss the results of putting what felt like a JCB down my digestive tract. The conversation may well go something like this:

Me: Hullo, have I got Coeliac's Disease, then?

Gastroenterologist: We don't know, the results are still pending.

Me: So what the fuck am I doing here at the hospital?

Gastroenterologist: Well, I thought you were good company, so-

Me: Hang on a second, hold the fucking phone here, chum. I had my endoscopy on the seventeenth of September.

Gastroenterologist: Right.

Me: And I was promised my results within 14 days.

Gastroenterologist: Mm. 

Me: And it's been 51 days and still nothing.

Gastroenterologist: Yup.

Me: And for me to be referred to a dietitian so I can get gluten free prescription stuff, I need you to look at my results.

Gastroenterologist: Ahuh.

Me: Which you don't have.

Gastroenterologist: That's right.

Me: Any idea WHEN you'll have them?

Gastroenterologist: Impossible to say.

Me: Well, it didn't seem so impossible to say 51 days ago.  

Gastroenterologist: Ah, but that was the standard it'll take a couple of weeks answer. Once it takes longer than 14 days, your guess is as good as mine.

Me: I'm not entirely heartened by a doctor telling me that his guess is as good as mine. You didn't go to medical school for years to become as good/bad as me at guessing, did you?

Gastroenterologist: ...

Me: Is there any particular reason why you haven't got my results? Is there any particular reason why you haven't cancelled this appointment which is pointless for the both of us seeing as its sole purpose is for us to discuss the test results, results which you don't have?

Gastroenterologist: Because we hate you and we think you're a prick?

I went down to the surgery the other day and asked them if they had the results in- sometimes the results go to the GP and they don't tell you because it amuses them. However, they said that the results were pending, and as for when I'd get them, "your guess is as good as mine." But I remain hopeful that my results might rear their ugly head within the next three days. The clock is ticking.

Today's Tune

In Which I Make My Excuses

I have very little to say except I won't be blogging much over the next week. I have also decided I need to listen to the entire back catalogue of Billy Ocean- the two might not be entirely unconnected. Mm, so I heard a song by him, and I thought, d'you know, I love every Billy Ocean song I've ever heard and it would make sense if I listened to every studio album that he's ever done. In fact, if I could be great at singing one artist at karaoke, it'd be him as his music is just so damn happy. But I can't. Annoyingly, R can do it beautifully, and even more annoyingly, he refuses to. And now he's in Canada. What an arse.

Today's Tune

In Which I Lambast a Frightful Practice

Several things before the main theme for today. I bought a tub of waffle and caramel ice cream that was on offer- apparently my thrift blinded me to the fact that I can't eat them. I'm still learning. The thrift in me suggests I should use the ice cream as betting credit with D, if he'll accept it- the nominal value is £1.75, and our stake is usually a pound. Also, I watched Revolutionary Road on iPlayer the other day. The leads, Leo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet (and in fact the rest of the cast) were acting the shit out of that film, but it was rather depressing. For one thing, American men of the 1950's apparently couldn't have sex for more than forty seconds before they orgasmed.

Right then. Halloween. Originally an Irish/Scottish tradition, I rather imagine it was an excuse to get pissed. However, due to the potato and deep fried mars bar famines, a lot of the Irish and Scottish emigrated for the United States and they brought the tradition of Halloween with them. Now tradition and America are words that don't sit very easily with one another. The main U.S tradition that we don't have here is probably Thanksgiving. They have one in Canada too, but we'll ignore that because I don't want to drag bacon or maple syrup into this, eh? Now Thanksgiving is a celebration whereupon the populace give thanks (to whom is unclear) that they have a surplus of food. They then proceed to gather all of the family to eat the surplus of food. I couldn't help but be reminded of this:

Anyway, this is essentially a dry run for Christmas, where they do exactly the same thing, but with presents. D'you know that Father Christmas used to dress in green? Well, that didn't really suit Coca Cola, who wanted to bung adverts of him everywhere wearing red, for that is the same colour as the Coca Cola labels. Anyway they couldn't get into contact with Father Christmas to talk about his image rights for some reason, so they just went ahead with the advertising campaign. He hasn't sued them- yet. Anyway, we've had it brainwashed into us that he was a crimson-wearing Christmas. I seem to have gone off topic here. Right.

Back in the day, Halloween was a little bit about having a laugh about spirits coming to visit because the next day is All Saints Day. I don't understand the link myself. As L.P. Hartley once said, the past is a foreign country- they do things differently there. I don't have a problem with people dressing like twats and having fun- Halloween to me is essentially a rather limiting fancy dress party in that you can only dress as something supernatural. But at some point in the 80's British children picked up the idea that they could get sweets and money by being utter arses. I blame this on E.T: The Extra Terrestrial. Extra Terrestrial: The Extra Terrestrial was an incredibly popular film, seen by millions of impressionable British children who saw other kids dress up in ghost and ghoul related garb, and decided to do likewise.

You know the Easter bunny? That time when Christ died and then the biblical bunny came and hid egg shaped chocolate outside in Judea because he was a sadist and liked the idea of children finding that their lovely Easter chocolate has melted into the sand? And why was the chocolate egg shaped? As far as I know, Jesus wasn't a lizard. My point is that Americans seem to warp traditions. Halloween used to be about dressing up as something supernatural, but it seems that now you can dress as whatever you want, because fuck, we never really believed in that ghost shit anyway so let's abandon what shred of integrity this stolen celebration might have had. I wouldn't be surprised to be trick or treated by a couple of kids dressed as Captain Planet and George Formby. So these kids dress like something they're not and go around door to door demanding sweets and cash from adults with the old favourite "trick or treat." This is despite the kids dressing like this being no advantage to the grown ups- I mean, what's in it for them (unless they're a nonce)? The equivalent of this would be me going to a butcher's dressed as a croupier and demanding free meat, and threatening to do them some unspecified harm if they failed to give me any. This is teaching kids that they can acquire goods through two things which aren't causally linked (dressing up should not equal profit) essentially that through some butterfly effect, chaos theory will make these chiddlers better off. Teaching kids to live their lives according to chaos theory is not the best route.

X= Dressing like a twat, Y=Profit?

Perhaps even worse, trick or treating is teaching kids that blackmail is alright. Essentially, trick or treat means "Give us the goods, or we will fuck your shit up." At the very best, trick or treaters consist of expendable children sent out to forage by their families that are below the breadline- despite the not inconsiderable danger of this being Christmas for paedophiles. At the very worst, this is basically extortion. On any day of the year, this would be criminal, but for the reasons of tradition, it's perfectly fine on one day of the year. Because of religious freedom? I may well go out on the second of June and celebrate the feast day of Erasmus of Formiae. This would manifest itself as launching rockets at people, burning things and blowing shit up, because Erasmus is the patron saint of pyrotechnics. If the police told me to tone it down a bit, I'd explain to them that I'm exercising my freedom of expression/religion and for them to grow up as it's only once a year. So yes, trick or treating is literally daylight robbery. Or it would be, if it didn't happen at night.

Today's Tune

In Which I Recall the CSA

I like being from a country that led the way in banning the slave trade without finding the need to have a war about it. In fact, here's a little thing you might not know (and shamelessly ripped off of Wikipedia). Great Britain established a Royal Naval squadron to patrol off the west coast of Africa purely to intercept slave ships and emancipate slaves. At one point, the West Africa squadron used a sixth of the Royal Navy fleet and Marines. Considering the British Empire had the largest navy in the world then, that's a hell of a commitment to getting rid of slavery, and for no financial gain (a massive financial loss, actually). The humanitarian gains were huge, however- between 1808 and 1860 the West Africa Squadron captured 1,600 slave ships and freed 150,000 Africans.

I'm going somewhere with this. Anyway, the Confederacy was a doomed movement of 11 states that decided to break away from the United States and form their own country. A certain trend amongst these states is that the white folks in charge liked (still might like, but there's some legislation that's put a stop to this) making people with a darker skin tone form the base of their economy. They weren't so keen on doing things like giving them rights or paying them, however. This lot didn't exactly have the moral high ground. Regardless, three of the states which rebelled and are now somewhat sulkily in the Union still have flags that are based on Confederacy flags. This is not exactly friendly looking to anyone who has African origins. The European equivalent of this would be how a Jew felt if  Bavaria or Rheinland-Pfalz had swastikas on their state flags.

Imagine my displeasure, then, as I have seen in my locality a Confederate battle flag being constantly flown from a flagpole. Now I know that they do this a lot in America in the southern states, but you'd expect that of some of them on account of not having so much going on in the cerebral department, but over here? That's depressing. I don't know if they simply don't know what it means and think they're being rock and roll (flown from outside a bungalow, so probably not) or they're a white supremacist. Either way, I feel like setting fire to the damn thing. No, strike that. I feel like paying someone to do it. No, strike that. I feel like kidnapping someone from their native land, forcing them into a life of servitude and having them do it for free.

Today's Tune

In Which I Show You Excuses I Made Up Yesterday

Yesterday was the day of The Village Cricket Quiz. Yesterday was the day when I was awoken at half past ungodly hour by N, imploring me to recognise the fact that I am more interesting (or less dull) than those around her. Yesterday was the day in which I could not get to sleep after N's communique due to the environment trying to do its best impression of a hurricane. Yesterday was the day when I walked from the station to C+C's in a typhoon. It was ridiculous, I was walking against the wind and I had to tack from left to right like a sailing ship- one mile became three. Yesterday was the day that I developed mild pneumonia from this Marcel Marceau inspired sponsored swim. Yesterday was the day that when I got to C+C's, I was met with a cloud of narcotics more heady and toxic than if an opium field had spontaneously combusted in his house. Yesterday was the day that I just said no, but unlike the cast of Grange Hill, I did inadvertently inhale a storm cloud's worth of PCP (despite the pneumonia). Yesterday was the day when H designated herself the Writer of the Answers at The Village Cricket Quiz. Yesterday was the day that H didn't actually get any answers right that no one else knew. Yesterday was the day that H actually ended up with negative equity as she overruled three of my answers which turned out to be correct. Yesterday was the day that the quiz masters took out the James Bond Themes round (which I would have aced) because of "technical difficulties".  Yesterday is the day where I spent the last round of the quiz making up excuses for this blog as to why we hadn't won. Yesterday is the day when I did NOT take The Village Cricket Quiz too seriously. Yesterday is the day when we won The Village Cricket Quiz.

Today's Tune

In Which I Celebrate a Beautiful (albeit brief) Sentence

I wasn't going to write a blog entry today, but then Silvio Berlusconi got sentenced to four years in jail. Granted, it got reduced to one because in Italy if the court cases are a little slow (and Berlusconi is renowned for drowning Italian prosecutors in syrup), then the cases are nullified, or the sentences are slashed. This is known as the statute of limitations. Berlusconi's been tried for so many crimes that have simply disappeared because of the legal red tape he tied the prosecutors up in. I find it utterly bizarre that a (ex) world leader could close his eyes, put his fingers in his ears and say lalalalalalalalala and his problems melt away. If I'm ever in the dock, I may try that myself. And here's a thing. He actively changed the law to exaggerate this effect because the bastard knew he'd finally get done sooner or later. So now he's in jail for a quarter of the time that he should be. Well, for this particular crime. Berlusconi won't live long enough to have served the sentences for all the crimes that he's guilty for. What I'm trying to say is that I'm very happy that this man will finally go to jail, and that I'm going to recycle something that was in another blog that in any case I wrote last year because it's just so damn relevant. Ciao, bella!

Burlesque only? No, huge amounts of corruption too.

These articles are meant to comprise of events that are unfolding, or have unfolded recently, but I could write about the 74th richest man in the world (according to Forbes) at any time, because he’s always in the news. This man holds amongst his possessions the football club A.C Milan. He is a politician, and all the palaver that went on in Britain with MPs claiming expenses for duck houses and love seats simply pales in comparison with what this man is alleged to have done. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you the Prime Minister of Italy and Archduke of Demons, Silvio Berlusconi.
 
It’s difficult to know where to start with the man- the word limit on this article means it’s utterly impossible to cover every “indiscretion” he has been involved in, or has been alleged to be party to. We’ll start with the press. He owns it. That is to say, he owns 3 of 7 channels nationally broadcast on terrestrial television, and let’s say that the Leader of the Italian Opposition doesn’t get much chance to appear in party political broadcasts on them. Coupled with the power he has as Prime Minister, being able to “strongly suggest” the choice of the management bodies of the other channels, he effectively has control of 90% of all national television. He also owns the largest publishers in Italy, which gives him the option to print sycophantic magazines and the like, and his brother Paulo owns a newspaper. This is not right. Imagine the uproar if Rupert Murdoch became an M.P and used his affluence and influence to weasel his way to becoming the Prime Minister. Berlusconi of course disagrees, explaining that if he is looking out for everyone's interests as well as his own that there can't be a conflict of interests.
    
Berlusconi has an uncanny ability to be called to court, but he has hit upon a rather handy way to make his legal problems go away. He has passed much self-serving legislation, most key of which is shortening the amount of time that crimes can be prosecuted for. He employs a cabal of lawyers to make damn well sure that by the time the dust has settled and everyone has stopped squabbling that by the time any of his cases come to trial, the infringement was so long ago he is immune to prosecution- by his own admission he has paid around 200,000,000 euros. However, he said that he had spent this money over the years on consultants and judges, before correcting himself to say consultants and lawyers. An easy mistake-a to make-a, I'm sure.
 
We'll gloss over his mafia involvement and his hiding behind political immunity and move straight onto what I like to call “Things Berlusconi has said which make Prince Philip seem like a diplomat.” On the father of fascism, Mussolini, he said "Mussolini never killed anyone. Mussolini used to send people on vacation in internal exile.” This is the equivalent of Angela Merkel saying that the invasion of Poland was actually a goodwill visit. He offered to act as a broker in ushering in better relations with the U.S and the new Russian President, commenting “I don't see problems for Medvedev to establish good relations with Obama because he is young, handsome and even tanned.” Perhaps best known is his bucking up of the population of the Abruzo region that he toured after a devastating earthquake that killed over 300 and made around 65,000 homeless. He asked those communities who had lost their homes to think of it as a camping trip, and asked a local councillor if he could fondle her. I wonder if even he would think that's crass in retrospect.
 
So what is it that people are actually starting to believe could topple the man with the impossibly low political centre of gravity? It's too depressing and detailed to fully chronicle here, but essentially it involves lying to the police, abusing his position of power by having sex with an underage prostitute. No doubt Signor Berlusconi will say that this is just another example of the left trying  to besmirch his good name as they so often have before. One last quote from the great man himself:
 
"I am without doubt the person who's been the most persecuted in the entire history of the world and the history of man."
 
To Silvio’s many characteristics we must also add dyslexia. He obviously was trying to say prosecuted.

Today's Tune