Thursday, 28 April 2011
NORMAL SERVICE
The holiday cottage has wifi, said mrs ishmael, so you'll be ok, only it hasn't, it has the idea of wifi. The owners are aware of he concept of wifi, it's just that it doesn't work and the Yorkshire libraries' broadband is more like slenderband. Had really hoped to cybercelebrate the nuptials, especially since the Met's Commander Christine Dyke has warned us that "people have three hundred and sixty four other days in which to protest, so we will take appropriate action against people seeking to spoil the celebration" - honest, not invent, step this way for Ruritania, or Bolshevik Russia. Nest stop Leek in Staffs, from where we might be able discuss the Benefits cheats big fat gipsy wedding. Oh ,happy day.
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11 comments:
Bit of a mini tour? C'est tres bonn.
As regards this royal wedding malarky and the vetting of guests with whingers stating 'oh noes, Syria, no no, they canny be invited' when err..Blighty has killed up to a million civilians in Iraquistan. Is the blithering hypocrisy, the abject disproportionality of their actions as to the British government's. have we just whitewashed all sociocide as if Blighty killing civilians is fine 'n' dandy but any other cunt tries it on - Syria with a mere fucking 500, is to be irredemably condemned and scorned?
Have I fucking missed something? utter utter cunts.
Hope you're having a jolly tour and the new motor is keeping you comfy.
Leek is where I walked in to a newsagent and enquired if they had a map of the town for sale.
"Yes, we have, but it's not a proper one"
?
Leek is where you can't get a taxi on a Saturday afternoon.
Leek is dangerously near to Wales.
Mr. Ishmael is obviously Missing in Action. Having strayed out of his comfort zone - "Scotland, best part of England, Honest, not invent",he was last heard of in Yorkshire, one desperate message to his Followers relayed from the Yorkshire Slenderband system. Perhaps he never reached Leek - a place with a highly-improbable name and a dam' uncomfortable one at that, according to Lilith, Woman and Mongoose.
Shame. I was eagerly anticipating Ishmaelian thoughts on the fragile and fragrant Duchess and her right Royal groom.
Anyone ever seen Mr.Ish and Terrist formerly known as Osama in the same room?
Oddly, I always get Shropshire and Staffordshire mixed up. I always want Staffordshire to be in the west but it keeps moving back to the middle. And Northampton should be in the North - like Southampton is in the South - but it isn't. And I always turn the wrong way on the M18 because Goole should be south of Doncaster but it isn't. It's all very confusing.
Send out a search party or just a party and hope he turns up?
Mr Ishmael is such a sentimental old fucker. He probably saw Kate and Will and Harry having a fucking good time on Friday and his heart melted.
And then, when Bin Laden got his brain air-conditioned, it must have fair brought tears to his eyes. It certainly did mine.
And, to top it all, today I watched my son clip a perfect leg-side four off his hips in a losing cause. Pure fucking poetry it was. I almost wept.
What a week.
What's a legside four for, off the hips in a losing cause? I mean, losing causes are the only ones worth supporting - unless, of course, they are connected to Mr Nick Clegg, looking gimpier by the day - but I suspect that this refers to the game of cricket, a pastime of which I understand only the mystique, the ennui, the zen of nothing happening in a very complicated way; good luck to the boy, just as long as he turns not into that oaf Botham, walking still, up and down the land, to purge his adultery, for charity.
Their have been cyber gremlins, mr gone but not forgotten, and all at the time of an avalanche of ruinous doings, events so disappointing as to almost freeze the blood in the typing fingers - Marr, Tomlinson, Prince Gormless and his wretched, poison kin, the Emperor Obama and Libya. We must all try to get on an even,sceptical keel again, me, especially, home again in the best part of England, preparing to spoil my paper in tomorrow's pretend election and to add my offering to the torrent of turds enfilading poor Mr Clegg.
I hope that you enjoyed a pleasant and restful holiday, Mr. Ishmael, freed from the cares of the cyber world and spared, by the intervention of gremlins,from the requirement to comment on the caperings of the motley crew set to rule o'er us at our great and abiding expense.
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