Good evening and this is Huw Welshman with the Fake Fake News News. That's like, well, it's like Fake News about Fake News - the Fake Fake News News.
And tonight's Fake Fake News Alert relates to a groundless story circulating widely, although not here, obviously, at the PBC, where we deal only in facts, facts as defined by the LGBTQ Coalitio Against Anything Normal, by the rump of NewLabour and by Mr Nick Clegg.
Although I must say that he did make a bit of a cunt of himself, yesterday, did Nick, look you, isn't it, having a William Hague moment, he was, in the House of Commons.
T'trouble with you lot, 'ere, at't Tory confrunce, like,
is that you're all right old.
The mutant child and the future Lord Miscarriages speaks his mind.
Christ on a fucking rope, just look a his horrid, spiteful, I-Know-Best little face.
You're all old, you lot, on the front bench.
And we, the young people, we wanna stay wotsanameing, in Europe.
And 73% of young voters - he meant 73% of young people who voted, did Nick - 73% of young people voted to stay in Europe, you should listen to them, proclaimed Nick, before raising the old grandchildren spectre -what will they think of us?
I don't give a fuck, Nick, and nor does anyone in their right minds.
I'll be dead, they can think what they want.
I don't give a fuck, Nick, and nor does anyone in their right minds.
I'll be dead, they can think what they want.
It is an interesting thought, that one, that the younger you are the more important, the more weighted should be your vote - that because a tiny handful of younger people voted to Remain the legislators should ignore the democratically expressed view of seventeen million grown-ups; but then, the man's an utter cunt, Clegg, everybody knows that.
And the other thing about Nick's 73% figure is that actually only 36% of young people - 18-24 years old - bothered to vote at all in the EU referendum, so what Cleggy is saying is that 28% of young people, not 73%, voted to stay in the EU, and the rest of the young people, by default, voted to leave.
Bit of a Fake News story itself, that.
Bit like the pledge not to raise student fees,
not to raise VAT,
not to instigate a top-down fuck-up of the NHS,
bit like the Coalition Govament, in fact,
one big Fake News story -
George Osborne's Fake News strategy of blaming disabled people for the bankers' crimes.
Cunts, all of them.
And since people seem to be marching at the drop of a fucking hat, why aren't they marching about this cunt, Osborne, not even waiting five minutes before showering himself with retrospective bankers' bribes.Makes a changhe from sperm, I suppose
But that Clegg, Jesus fucking wept; I report on some right cunts here, on this show,
but he's in a class of his own.
I tell you what, look you, isn't it, let's just see what he and Susan Farron have to say about the kicking they get off that gay bloke, from UKIP, up in Stoke, see what they say then about young people, and about the dogshooters, all eight of them, being the official opposition.
Dunno about you, viewers, but I saw the apparently brilliant lawyer, Mrs Clegg, or, to give her her proper name Senora Miriam Gonzalez SantaMaria Domingo Teresa Paella Tortillos de los Liberales Democratos Molesteros Des Infantes on the Andy Neil Show and she made a right cunt of herself, too, thick as two short planks, if you ask me, isn't it.
Mrs de los Cleggos, Liz Harpy, Dame Michaela and some showbiz junky waster discuss the issues of the day, what's good for us, and what really needs to happen.
And doing it at our expense.
And while we're on the subject of expense, just how many fucking railway programmes can there be; is there no limit to the number of vehicles which the PBC can create for this useless, gibbering peacock, Portillo? Looks like we're going to be paying him until he drops dead; great railway journeys on the fucking Moon, I shouldn't wonder.
Mrs Clegg, anyway, spoke entitlementista English like a Somali beggar, she did, Miriam.
I mean, I know she's a Dago and everything, but even so.
If we Welsh can manage it then why not her?
Students, disabled people, old people?
Fuck 'em all.
Two efugees from Truth and |Decency,
making better life, no?
But no, Mr Clegg, the right honourable pledge-maker, and his gobby doxy, that isn't the real Fake Fake News Story. No, not by a long way.
This is it, the Fake News that winners of the coveted Best Parents In The World Award,
Gerry and Cilla McCann,
have suffered a setback in the Dago Supreme Court of Justice,
where a bunch of corrupt Portugeezers have ruled,
perversely in the view of MediaMinster,
that it is actually OK to speak the truth
about the brave Gerry and his fragrant partner in sorrow, Cilla.
And isn't she beautiful, even in adversity?
Far too beautiful to be guilty of anything,
if by beautiful you mean repulsive,
ugly as fucking Sin.
The both of them, look you,
one as poisonous looking as the other.
That's right, that's today's real Fake News story which you won't hear about in the Mainstream Media, simply because it cannot possibly be true.
No decent court in the real world could fail to award Gerry and Cilla unlimited damages against anyone who questions their - it must be said, utterly incredible - account of events ten years ago, in Portugal.
The facts of the matter, viewers, are that in 'phoning the PBC's Kirsty Crow,
No, no, by contacting me ii Edinburgh, before contacting the local plods to report their kid missing, Gerry'n'Cilla did entirely the right thing, what any media-savvy arsehole would do; get your retaliation in first.
long before they notified the police about their daughter's apparent disappearance, and by reporting it, without any evidence - as did Kirsty and the PBC - as an abduction, Dr and Dr McCann were only doing what any good parent would do - protecting themselves from honest inquiry. And by failing to cover their recent reversal in the Portuguese Supreme Court, that is exactly what we, responsible journalists at the PBC are also doing.
I mean, doesn't the Portuguese Supreme Court realise that - what with it being the tenth anniversary of their notoriety - the McCanns certainly don't need to be mistreated in this way, having courts rule against them.
And you wouldn't expect anything less from us, would you, isn't it?
But what the Fake News story alleges, is that there was this copper, right, called Alfonso or some shit greaseball name like that,
and what he did, right, isn't it, was write a whole fucking book, actually tormenting the McCanns,
yes, like this, below
Tormented.
by basically saying that he didn't believe a fucking word they'd said, that their
behaviour was shockingly bad and that their story had more holes in it than a bastard colander, look you.
Anyway, first off, they took him to court, like they do everybody, and were awarded half a million pounds in damages, which was all well and good and a piece of Real News.
But now some irresponsible people are saying that he, Alfonso, then took them to the Portugues Supreme Court which overturned the first, proper, decision, and substitued a second, improper one which should not be reported on because it could never happen, even though it has.
The upshot of the Court Ruling That Never Happened is that Gerry'n'Cilla now face a legal bill of over half a million pounds - not to mention becoming open season targets, again - whereas the Fighting Fund, which they set-up to cover their own living and legal expenses, is down, now, to just three hundred thousand pounds. So, as the Fake News story goes, not only has the Court rejected their claim but they might also forfeit their, what would you call it, ill-gotten gains.
So, viewers, you know what needs to happen.
Yes, right first time, the great caring British public needs to put its hand in its pocket in order to help these poor unfortunates, who have never done anything wrong, help them stay in their modest little home, praying for the return of their little girl, Wotsaname, and touring the world telling lies and threatening people with libel actions.
It is true that successive govaments - ie taxpayers - from Snotty through Cameron and Askey, have helped-out the McCanns to the tune of over thirteen fucking million pounds, ten million of it spent by holidaying plods from the Met, pissing about in Portugal. But that doesn't mean we shouildn't have another national whip-round to help these poor people maintain their public profile as cruelly wronged innocents, even though they are not.
Yes, that bit is a bit rich, the Met, with a clear-up rate of less than seven per cent and an enviable record of shooting dead innocent citizens,
that crew of fucking gangsters breezing over to Portugal and lording it over the Dago filth,
like they were all Sherlock fucking Holmes.
But that sort of inversion, if you will, of reality, it's what makes the news, here, at the PBC, what it is. I mean, if the greatest investigative news gathering service in the world can't spot a thirty-year, serial child sex abuser working right in its own building, well,
you must conclude that, actually, it's good for fuck all.
Still, when the dust settled, the Corporation did manage to lay all the blame for thousands of criminal offences, squarely where it rightly belonged, on Tony Blackburn.
So there it is, don't believe any Fake News stories, we, here in Lord Tony Hall's spiritual home of paedophilia, have set the record straight, once again, about Gerry'n'Cilla McCann, who are entirely innocent of everything, ever. It was Donald Trump, working with the Russians and a hard core of Brexiteers and transphobics who abducted little Wostername - I tend to forget the kid's name, because it's not really about her, is it, her parents being the real victims here.
And the other thing about Nick's 73% figure is that actually only 36% of young people - 18-24 years old - bothered to vote at all in the EU referendum, so what Cleggy is saying is that 28% of young people, not 73%, voted to stay in the EU, and the rest of the young people, by default, voted to leave.
Bit of a Fake News story itself, that.
Bit like the pledge not to raise student fees,
not to raise VAT,
not to instigate a top-down fuck-up of the NHS,
bit like the Coalition Govament, in fact,
one big Fake News story -
George Osborne's Fake News strategy of blaming disabled people for the bankers' crimes.
And since people seem to be marching at the drop of a fucking hat, why aren't they marching about this cunt, Osborne, not even waiting five minutes before showering himself with retrospective bankers' bribes.Makes a changhe from sperm, I suppose
But that Clegg, Jesus fucking wept; I report on some right cunts here, on this show,
but he's in a class of his own.
I tell you what, look you, isn't it, let's just see what he and Susan Farron have to say about the kicking they get off that gay bloke, from UKIP, up in Stoke, see what they say then about young people, and about the dogshooters, all eight of them, being the official opposition.
Dunno about you, viewers, but I saw the apparently brilliant lawyer, Mrs Clegg, or, to give her her proper name Senora Miriam Gonzalez SantaMaria Domingo Teresa Paella Tortillos de los Liberales Democratos Molesteros Des Infantes on the Andy Neil Show and she made a right cunt of herself, too, thick as two short planks, if you ask me, isn't it.
And doing it at our expense.
And while we're on the subject of expense, just how many fucking railway programmes can there be; is there no limit to the number of vehicles which the PBC can create for this useless, gibbering peacock, Portillo? Looks like we're going to be paying him until he drops dead; great railway journeys on the fucking Moon, I shouldn't wonder.
Mrs Clegg, anyway, spoke entitlementista English like a Somali beggar, she did, Miriam.
I mean, I know she's a Dago and everything, but even so.
If we Welsh can manage it then why not her?
Students, disabled people, old people?
Fuck 'em all.
Two efugees from Truth and |Decency,
making better life, no?
But no, Mr Clegg, the right honourable pledge-maker, and his gobby doxy, that isn't the real Fake Fake News Story. No, not by a long way.
This is it, the Fake News that winners of the coveted Best Parents In The World Award,
Gerry and Cilla McCann,
have suffered a setback in the Dago Supreme Court of Justice,
where a bunch of corrupt Portugeezers have ruled,
perversely in the view of MediaMinster,
that it is actually OK to speak the truth
about the brave Gerry and his fragrant partner in sorrow, Cilla.
And isn't she beautiful, even in adversity?
Far too beautiful to be guilty of anything,
if by beautiful you mean repulsive,
ugly as fucking Sin.
The both of them, look you,
one as poisonous looking as the other.
That's right, that's today's real Fake News story which you won't hear about in the Mainstream Media, simply because it cannot possibly be true.
No decent court in the real world could fail to award Gerry and Cilla unlimited damages against anyone who questions their - it must be said, utterly incredible - account of events ten years ago, in Portugal.
The facts of the matter, viewers, are that in 'phoning the PBC's Kirsty Crow,
No, no, by contacting me ii Edinburgh, before contacting the local plods to report their kid missing, Gerry'n'Cilla did entirely the right thing, what any media-savvy arsehole would do; get your retaliation in first.
long before they notified the police about their daughter's apparent disappearance, and by reporting it, without any evidence - as did Kirsty and the PBC - as an abduction, Dr and Dr McCann were only doing what any good parent would do - protecting themselves from honest inquiry. And by failing to cover their recent reversal in the Portuguese Supreme Court, that is exactly what we, responsible journalists at the PBC are also doing.
I mean, doesn't the Portuguese Supreme Court realise that - what with it being the tenth anniversary of their notoriety - the McCanns certainly don't need to be mistreated in this way, having courts rule against them.
And you wouldn't expect anything less from us, would you, isn't it?
But what the Fake News story alleges, is that there was this copper, right, called Alfonso or some shit greaseball name like that,
and what he did, right, isn't it, was write a whole fucking book, actually tormenting the McCanns,
yes, like this, below
Tormented.
by basically saying that he didn't believe a fucking word they'd said, that their
behaviour was shockingly bad and that their story had more holes in it than a bastard colander, look you.
Anyway, first off, they took him to court, like they do everybody, and were awarded half a million pounds in damages, which was all well and good and a piece of Real News.
But now some irresponsible people are saying that he, Alfonso, then took them to the Portugues Supreme Court which overturned the first, proper, decision, and substitued a second, improper one which should not be reported on because it could never happen, even though it has.
The upshot of the Court Ruling That Never Happened is that Gerry'n'Cilla now face a legal bill of over half a million pounds - not to mention becoming open season targets, again - whereas the Fighting Fund, which they set-up to cover their own living and legal expenses, is down, now, to just three hundred thousand pounds. So, as the Fake News story goes, not only has the Court rejected their claim but they might also forfeit their, what would you call it, ill-gotten gains.
So, viewers, you know what needs to happen.
Yes, right first time, the great caring British public needs to put its hand in its pocket in order to help these poor unfortunates, who have never done anything wrong, help them stay in their modest little home, praying for the return of their little girl, Wotsaname, and touring the world telling lies and threatening people with libel actions.
It is true that successive govaments - ie taxpayers - from Snotty through Cameron and Askey, have helped-out the McCanns to the tune of over thirteen fucking million pounds, ten million of it spent by holidaying plods from the Met, pissing about in Portugal. But that doesn't mean we shouildn't have another national whip-round to help these poor people maintain their public profile as cruelly wronged innocents, even though they are not.
Yes, that bit is a bit rich, the Met, with a clear-up rate of less than seven per cent and an enviable record of shooting dead innocent citizens,
that crew of fucking gangsters breezing over to Portugal and lording it over the Dago filth,
like they were all Sherlock fucking Holmes.
But that sort of inversion, if you will, of reality, it's what makes the news, here, at the PBC, what it is. I mean, if the greatest investigative news gathering service in the world can't spot a thirty-year, serial child sex abuser working right in its own building, well,
Still, when the dust settled, the Corporation did manage to lay all the blame for thousands of criminal offences, squarely where it rightly belonged, on Tony Blackburn.
So there it is, don't believe any Fake News stories, we, here in Lord Tony Hall's spiritual home of paedophilia, have set the record straight, once again, about Gerry'n'Cilla McCann, who are entirely innocent of everything, ever. It was Donald Trump, working with the Russians and a hard core of Brexiteers and transphobics who abducted little Wostername - I tend to forget the kid's name, because it's not really about her, is it, her parents being the real victims here.
Later, on Newsnight, Evan Giggler will be examining the new movement which has arisen after the terrible events at the Louvre, in Paris, as thousands of people march through London's streets, wearing tee-shirts with le motto de jour:
Je Suis Un Musee.
and former chancellor, Junky George Osborne will be explaining why museums, art galleries and libraries everywhere should be closed down and their contents given to rich people.
On Fake News stations you can learn how Romanians have taken to the streets and overturned their government's plans to go easy on corrupt public officials,
yes, plans to do what happened here, at the time of the MPs' widespread expenses frauds. Seems like the Gippo govament wanted to pardon everybody - ie themselves - and let them keep the money and probably give them a thirty per cent pay rise, as happened here, in MediaMinster.
The people, though, weren't having it and promised their govament a Caesescu moment
unless it backed down.
Fancy that viewers, a nation holding its govament to account, pure fantasy, eh?
It's Jayne Tits now for you, with the sport
or maybe the weather,
or maybe all the latest news and gossip from Hollywood.
Real News.
It's what we do.
yes, plans to do what happened here, at the time of the MPs' widespread expenses frauds. Seems like the Gippo govament wanted to pardon everybody - ie themselves - and let them keep the money and probably give them a thirty per cent pay rise, as happened here, in MediaMinster.
The people, though, weren't having it and promised their govament a Caesescu moment
unless it backed down.
Fancy that viewers, a nation holding its govament to account, pure fantasy, eh?
It's Jayne Tits now for you, with the sport
or maybe the weather,
or maybe all the latest news and gossip from Hollywood.
Real News.
It's what we do.
Accept nothing less.
80 comments:
Whatever else this new era might be, it is certainly fun.
There is much to be questioned in the entire pantomime of the young girl's disappearance.
I think that Tony Blair should be brought in to sort it out. He seems to be a past master in "managing the unknown".
I'm starting to think the Ceaușescu's got a rough deal, compared to some of the cunts who need hosing with lead.
Fake news is the dying of the light, mr ishmael - the comedian explaining his joke. Reduced to this, it's over. They're never going to laugh again. Never going to trust again that what you say is the truth. I do fear though that we may be back among the tyrants, and of whom The Trumpster may be the palest and least effective. Either he has balls of steel or he is very badly, very naively, advised. One imagines that they know what they are about but just as no battle plan survives contact with the enemy, perhaps they do not.
Le Pen has made her move, much helped by the Welsh spongeress. (Perhaps she has a bit of Kinnock blood in her. Poor lass.) It is a two horse race in France now and Le Pen has torn up right and left. Let's see if it sticks under the test to come.
And one would have thought that the Romanian fuckers would be a little cautious given that the Caeucescu's Christmas Party was but a heartbeat away historically.
Mrs. Clegg's little boy raked in a tad over £2.52m whilst flogging his orris around the corridors of the EU in the 10 years he was used/employed there. Since then, he will have been in receipt of some sort of pension from them - conditional upon his utter loyalty and support. If he speaks out against the useless heap of ordure he loses the pension. Same as Lord Windbag and his appalling wife who seem to have been raking it in splendidly over the years, and Lady Mandelbum about whom the least said the better. Yet still the villeins flock to their banners ...
However, my spirits have been lifted by the song of a thrush who has been serenading one and all this morning atthe top of his voice. I think of one of DH Lawrence's better lines, "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself".
Depends, Mr tdg. I have put the telly on for some unfathomable reason and it has got Sunday Night at the London Palladium on. It is in colour so I know it is later than 1970 something, but otherwise it is the traditional recipe of desperately unfunny men trying to link disparate (?) acts together. They had just told a gag about dustmen seeking tips at Christmas, which has not happened this past 25 years to my certain knowledge. They are going to have to stop to explain it to the younger viewers.
I am watching it mesmerized by the awfulness. I can hear a ghostly Tristram saying 'What about that old Palladium show? They are ready to lap up any old rubbish; dance shows, talent(less) shows, baking shows - we can get the content for free because the musicals will send down a number as a promotional item. And the comic is not going to be paid much since he will get his pay by being invited to promote gash insurance policies.
Even the entertainment is fake.
Anyone dragged-out and machine-gunned has had a rough deal, mr mike, and I must say I was particularly chilled, in that instance, by man and wife being so shockingly despatched, together. I guess, though, that in this recent event, the bloody corpses of those two preached a cautionary sermon. Why is it that no-one here marched over the failure to chastise our own House of Thieves?
Mr I: I've said many times that the English gene pool was fatefully degraded by two world wars, and all that has happened since to dilute it. I truly don't believe that the man on the Clapham omnibus has it in him any more to stand up and fight. Its why I emigrated and became a born again Aussie.
I agree, at the time, I was a little shocked by the shooting, and its availability for viewing. Though now, machinegunning some of the great and good would be on my bookmarks for morning viewing to cheer me up before golf. I have a sort list, but not that short, of potentials.
Me, too, mr mike, like yourself and Gilbert and Sullivan, I have a list, although that, what would you call it, Anglo-Norman Christian civilisation, such as it was, whose passing we lament, has at its core Thou Shalt Not Kill and I have mentioned previously that Blair, Campbell, Straw, Brown and Prescott - especially Prescott - are the more despised by me for having diluted my lifelong opposition to the death penalty; I only have to see Alastair Campbell to wish him - and all who succour him - hanged.
mrs woar's comment, about what we tolerate from the national broadcaster as light entertainment shows the contempt in which the Oxbridgers hold us, pushing a vile caricaturisation of working class society - Eastenders - as though was Chaucer and inventing an entire priestly caste of earnest gardeners, tossers like simpering Monty Don, home improvers like that ghastly fucking baggage, Kirsty Alsop and Lord help us, Swiss Roll impresarios, like pissawful Sue Perkins. There was a move, wasn't there, headed by among others Charlie Moore of the Filth-O-Graph, to stop paying the TeeVee license, seems we can't even manage that, let alone evict the money changers from the Temple.
He does have about him the look of an upmarket rentboy, doesn't he, Clegg, maybe your metaphor, king caratacus, about him flogging his arse in Brussels is apter than you know.
I dunno about a continuous flocking to the banners. If UKIP takes Stoke, that will indicate at least a faltering in the march of obedience.
That Lawrence line is heart-rending, isn't it.
That a repulsive slug like Gerry McCann can bamboozle and intimidate so many, m. alphons, it is one of the most telling signs of the times.
Very risky nehaviour, the Romanian elite's, but they wised-up, in the nick of time; maybe the Frog elite will revisit July 14th and either evacuate or shut the fuck up
The truth is always the child of the victors, mr mongoose; trouble is, now, that cyberspace permits, indeed ancourages, a host of truths and interpretations which are beyond effective comtrol; furthermore, what were once eternal, scientific truths are now regularly undermined by quantum mechanics, by black holes and by the notional polyverse - even the scientific bible is not worth swearing on. Maybe there are no more truths, just uncertainties to be negotiated by suchever alliances as emerge.
The will of Power, of course, will be to censor the inconvenient, the new heretic, and burn him at the stake of exclusion but with the Rise of the Geek, in a time when a fucked-up Momma'sBoy autistic teenager can hack the Pentagon, that is impossible. They simply cannot cone-off the Information Super Highway, it is an unbottled genie, the internet. Mrs Askey wants to police our searching but she can just go and fuck herself, can't she, people will find a way and share it with others, while press baron competes with press baron for a declining and sceptical audience. The truth will be, already is, whatever its believers believe it to be, it's like a joyous resurrection of the Flat Earth Society. There are men who really do believe they can be women, Hallelujah, as long as they say it loudly and bittery enough.
I'll let you be in my dream, if I can be in yours.
I have just heard on the news that the Cousins are upset that a Donny-supporting American footballer, a Mr Brady, has ruined everyone's Sunday by engineering the greatest shock result since November. I couldn't quite grasp whether they were joking because one or two of them were crying and yelling like their mums hadn't made their eggy soldiers properly.
But then all that is trumped somewhat by it being Fake News Week on Channel 4. Po-faced and completely without self-awareness. What larks we'll have if the telly makes it unsmashed through to Friday.
Dunno about fun, mr tdg but it is hugely entertaining to see so many cages rattled; yes, thouigh, on reflection, it is fun; the Clintons denied and by association all their fans, it's a bit like the Beatles not getting to Number One.
The BBC and SKY compete to outdo each in shit/fake news. The news is written the night before by a committee is it not? Same crowd that write Eastenders..middle class, middle aged, middle of the road middle brow, never did a days work, never put a smile on anyone’s face, never stepped outside in the rain never did anything of worth.
You’d be hard pushed to find anything worse than the Good old Days Mrs WOAR. Surely the audience would have to have been gassed to sit through a half hour of that dirge.
There is, it seems, some kind of de-ballification going on. It could be, as Mike says, that all the tough characters were sent to the front and machine-gunned leaving a gene-pool of non-heroes but it might be something else.
Here in Belfast, for thirty-odd years the people either stood up to the British Army or else against illegal paramilitaries, depending on, more or less, which street they were born in. Now everyone is shit-scared of three old ladies and a ticket machine who issue fines for driving in the bus lanes, so they sit in virtually immobile queues every morning and evening beside empty lanes. Twenty years ago, like the smoking ban in pubs, it would have been ignored and attempted enforcement would have resulted in a punch-up.
It's either the TV or something in the water or both. I remember, honest not invent, some technical hitch during a rugby match which froze transmission for a second or two, and there on the screen was "God is green". Who, twenty years ago, would have meekly sorted their rubbish into different bins for the goddamn council?
(I don't, but then again if rebellion has been reduced to putting stuff in the wrong bin then maybe that's the plan).
So perhaps we're being subliminally modified to take shit because it never used to happen to the same extent.
As for the water supply being messed with, there's an increase in transgender types. Seems a bit strange. There's a natural percentage of homosexuals and it's always been so. But a geezer believing he's a girl and chopping off the old chap? Not normal, and nor is it's acceptance and celebration. If I thought I was a pirate and sawed off my leg to fit a peg-leg and poked out an eye for an eyepatch they'd put me away, the swabs. It wouldn't be a case of adding another letter ie. the LGBTQP community.
Pirate Drangement Syndrome-inspired body modification, if it existed, would not be as bad as mutilation caused by removal of the virile organs. A soldier who steps on a mine instinctively utters the question "Are my balls OK?" before he worries about his vapourised leg.
Why aren't these transgender people classed as delusional instead of brave? And why is it becoming a mainstream "good thing" when it's tragic because 40% of these tormented souls end up trying to top themselves?
-richard
There is a kind of arch knowingness, mr doug, about the participants of TGOD to which I have warmed during the odd few minutes I have watched it, stunned and bewildered, something surreal. Eastenders, though, I usually watch the Christmas omnibus and its portrayal of ordinary people is utterly disgraceful, a bunch of smirking degenerates, I should think, scribbling and sneering. They are all the same, the soap opera gang, that Scouse cunt, Redmond, from Brookside, and then there was its mutant spawn, Shameless, council house tenants as freaks, criminals and perverts; Murdoch, the BBC and Channel Four, they must be so pleased with themselves. Still, at least one of them'll be dead soon, his arse twirling on Satan's poker.
Thank you, mr richard, and Bravo, I lolled out-loud. And yes, your final point cannot be made too often, although anyone who had a heart woukd anticipate such outcomes without being told.
I had not understood your Welsh point, mr mongoose, but I do now. We must hope that the Frogs conduct their enquiry with the same vigour as we, here, covered up the similar behaviours of Mr and Mrs Ian Duncan Smith, who, like Fillon, would never do anything wrong, ever.
Apologies for repeating myself, but whenever I see little Willie Hague, Baron Hague of Richmond, I think of this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=29Mg6Gfh9Co
When did it happen that we watch Saturday night telly for sadness and the news for hilarity?
Around the time that politics became showbusiness, mr bob, and when public service and duty became a career; the rise of the intercessionary commentariat - Robin Day, Brian Waldren - and their installation as rigid marshals of the public debate, those cuntish Dimblebys, Frost and the sewer hustlers on Newsnight, Paxman, Wark and now the giggling rentboy, Davies. There is no business like showbusiness. The whole of MediaMinster a narcissistic, poxed-up, arse-fucking daisy chain, a vision from 120 Days of Sodom, Mr Tiny Speaker and his greedy gangbanging slapper Mrs perfectly emblematic of British parliamentary democracy.
Showbiz it is and they are doing it to the Trumpster. Even Bercow now raising himself to his full 5'2" and goading the giant. I had thought at the start that Donny was going to be wise and remain above it all. The blizzard of exec orders one after the other moving the caravan on and leaving the little people shouting and arguing over yesterday's news. And he held the line for maybe a week. Now they are enmeshed in arguing and that is what the establishment wants. They'll wreck anything that engages with them and call it victory. His point is that he is not a proper politician. That's a strength to be emphasised not a weakness to try to bluster away. They are bringing him to battle on their terms. He should resist.
Compare and contrast, as Mr Mayhill, was it, used to say - Theresa and Donald. One is indeed a proper politician who may be good for fuck all but she is not as actively repulsive as the last few and she at least knows an open political goal when she sees one. The tide ebbs before it rises again and she knows it. "This pesky will-of-the-people shit must be paid a decent amount of lip service, and maybe if the EU does burn down, I'll be in the history books as Little Miss Winnie. In any event, every opponent I have is dead or dying. Let us bayonet the wounded and secure our position." (I think that what happens is that Tories are very well advised to start with and then they get delusions of insight and the trumpets start to sound in their lugs at night and they go tonto. We've a couple of years before Theresa starts going Maggie-bonkers on us.)
Donald should issue his EOs and then move on. Leave the droids to argue about politicisation of the courts and the musings of hippie judges out smoking weed in frontier country. As if US judhges have ever been anything else but politicised. If a Supreme Court (US) pick's likely leanings can be debated then the idea of justice lies dead on the doormat, does it not? So quit as they say whining and get on with getting on. The will of the US people is that the "swamp is drained", US jobs are protected and that their borders are strengthened. Do that then, you silly old sod. ANd Bercow is very much the monkey and not the organ-grinder. Don't pay him no never mind.
Mr Tiny Speaker is the living embodiment of honourable and right honourable members' will, mr mongoose, and Mrs Tiny Scrubber, I mean Speaker, the favoured slut of his male relations, not a man to be trifled with, the Rt. Hon. John Cuckold, MP. I must say, though, that one of the bleakest, most poignant parliamentary moments I have ever seen was Old Dennis Skinner, leaping to support Bercow, almost tugging his forelock in gratitude to his Tory better. He will die in harness, won't he, Skinner, drawing his salary and expenses to the last, the hollowed-out corpse of workers' Labour, poisonius old cunt; he's a useful pantomime act, Beast of Bolsover, my arse.
I haven't seen what the Lords' Speaker, Nasty Norman Fowler, has had to say about Wee Bercow in the House of Retired Filth but I hope it fanned the flames of another smouldering constitutional crisis.
As to President Trump, you are correct, thank you, he should be more Olympian and if that doesn't work he should arrest the judges and shoot them. They have been happy to convict and jail comedians, civil rights activists, environmental activists and exhonerate Klansmen'n'sherrifs and failed to indict Mafiosi and financial terrorists. And that's not to mention old William Zanzinger. They are, as you say, bought and paid-for political appointees, who cares what they say?
The day seemed to turn earlier and I couldn't work it out. And then the offhand line surfaced from the Orange One when asked about Putin's slaughter - "There are a lot of killers. We've got a lot of killers. What, do you think our country's so innocent?" That sort of stuff will concentrate a lot of minds over the next few days. And some proper shit-kicking generals installed about the place too. SO still plenty of shouting but look for the big players to be a little more guarded. The Press don't know shit and will still bray and shout a while though.
How hard would you like your Brexit, Sir? Looks like granite to me. "Be nice and we'll help you with Greece. Be nasty and France and Spain will go too. And if Le Pen wins, we'll walk. It might be easier, Angela, if you contrived to be beaten in your own election."
He looks increasingly like Hillary Trousers, does M'sieu Fillon, shouting the odds, shackled to a spouse who is a liability. I guess that like Duncan Smith, scourge of the Weak, he believes that his old lady should receive public funds merely for being his old lady, knocking-on for a million Euros for invisible work will prove, I feel, a perq too far, and of a different order to le Pen's alleged diversion of funds to her party workers. The hysteria, Stateside, about a relatively minor and temporary adjustment to immigration rules - incomparable to the anti-Muslim actions of Obama-Clinton-Bush - will only affirm the Fronte Nationale in the view of the French electorate, already raging about immigration and already congenitally racist. The antics of Labour and the SNP, also worshippers of Clinton-Bush-Obama global terror and domestic surveillance, will only serve the Tories and their offshoot, UKIP, making hard-Brexit more desirable whilst assuring Tory and UKIP advances, South and North. The screechings of those who hijacked the Left, be they US Democrats, UK Labour, Tribesmen, LibDems or the ghadtly, cock-waving Hollande, in France, will have incubated and will suckle a new, harder Right which will dismantle what remains of the post-war welfare state. Roll on the Stoke by-election, although, mr mongoose, we don't need a weatherman, to know which way the wind blows.
If Le Pen wins the EU might leave us before we leave it. Bercow`s cock must be in proportion with the rest of his runtish body for his streak of piss wife to make the beast with two backs with his cousin, a man with all the physical presence of the town flasher. They had his mug shot in the rags and he looked like a Yewtree suspect.
Clegg should face the fact that he took his party from the high point of 63 MPs it achieved under a piss artist (Kennedy) to a level lower than under Jeremy Thorpe. Clegg worked for the EU back in the nineties under Leon Brittan; for Leon Brittan ? No, probably under. His wife is just a puffed up ambulance chasing clerk. The arrogance of these people.
Re the McCanns - you don't leave your kids! They should have been in court for neglect at the least.
Dear Mr Smith
I don't mind Bercow after this, in a way. People who spectacularly and egregiously fuck up in public life, over reach their authority and have their conceit flayed and desiccated in full glare of public opprobrium is simply how civic life functions.
I think Bercow's a cunt for a whole load of reasons but it's been chronicled in Private Eye how his main work has been about strengthening committees to the chagrin of ministers and that urgent question thing. Also, he's been doing guest lectures on stuff and generally calling Tories cunts. Seems a bit churlish to sack someone because they called Trump a cunt - fucks sake, where would it end? I dunno - it was almost political suicide by ego, very Vazzish or Alan Duncan. Or perhaps someone so smug with themselves they'd be likened to the cat that got the cream - Mr Galloway.
Both brought down by wanking in front of mirrors. There's a vote of no confidence going on into the Splasher tonight, set to gather names over half-term. I think that he's married an oaf is ridicule enough. As a Speaker, he's a cunt, but considering they're all cunts and this is so spectacularly gonna cuckold him in front of the nation. Hmmm...maybe he should go for his own health.
Anyway - on that minor postcard. I hope all's well with you Mr Smith and you haven't died in a corridor in some random A&E like the news has been telling me all week. Polyclinics are the way forward. Been banging on about it for 15 years, I guess I can keep gibbering.
News down here is my best chum has asked me to be Godfather to his 2 wonderful nibletesses. Asked me in the Hudds Oirsih club in the middle of a frikkin' rugby match - cried like a sea lion. Just about got away with it. Other than that, steady as she goes.
As always
DtP
Late here, mr ishmael, but some evensong for you... Tom Paine's Bones. It seems apposite.
Re Le Pen: I asked my French friend whether I should put a few euros on Le Pen - she is currently second favorite with the bookies. (His brother is a left wing politician).
He said:
"marine le pen is given at the first place for the first turn of the election. actually there's an affair with francois fillon, candidate of the right side. he employed wife and children for years... now the polls give him the third place behind the new french politic product emmanuel macron. as the independant said, in french politic, fraud is business as usual. sometimes i think we should get out our guillotine again: there is a lot a work! maybe we will have to change the blade. so the next presidential election in france is so open! there is only one thing you must consider; frenchs electors are stupid. If the second round is macron against le pen, i think she will have a real chance: the right side won't go vote macron easily."
Worth a few euros, I think.
Yes, Le Pen will beat the Left but probably not the Centre-Right. Plus ca change as they say in Quebec. How fitting if one more casual dip into the public purse were to be the end of the EU.
Interesting articles out there about why Trump is losing his grip. "Ego is making him get involved with the immigration thing instead of just signing his EO and moving on." "Every hairy hippie tantrum damages him politically to no substantive purpose." "But he is just being unpredictable and the big stuff is getting by under the radar." All of the above, I think.
And it snows! Excellent.
Ah, Dick Gaughan, the sound of my Marxist heyday and introduced to me by one of the comrades as we used to call each other. The World Turned Upside Down, the old Leon Rosselson piece, he sang well: " You poor take courage, you rich take care". It can still, in the right light and after drink, cause a flutter. Never more true than now although it has always, of course, been true.
Gaughan has become a wheezy pub-singing parody, but there was a time.
ref. Mrs. Bercow’s little boy. This would be the diminutive twerp who maintained that Mandela should have been hanged back in the day. Or that all immigrants should be forcibly repatriated, surpassing even dear old Enoch in the scope of his snarling rhetoric as a member of the old Monday Club. He really does manage to display all of the unloveliness of politicians in one disreputable little package … apparently with so little effort too. Such a lovely wife too ... I did wonder if there had been any harvest from that union (she being a furrow so regularly ploughed and all) and am informed that three unfortunate souls bear witness to some pretty raw goings on in the recent past.
It is the little, silent, fakenesses that grate more, perhaps because they are both numerous and insidious, covertly warping the cultural fabric in a way no overt political move could iron out.
Take our latest object of focus group mourning: poor little TPT. I am sure she was no different from many other girls with borderline personality disorder, bringing refreshing chaos into the tediously predictable lives of the psychologically humdrum. But we know about her for reason of pure snobbery: her connection with the royal family. And though as disastrous an example of cocaine addiction as any, a slave so devoted she was happy to destroy her face for it, the one public lesson here -- what cocaine can do to a life -- is relegated to paragraph nine. The sharp eyed may have noticed mention of her "battling" ANCA associated vasculitis. Yet not a single line of print that this was very likely cocaine induced too. And of course nothing about the criminality cocaine consumption ultimately supports.
I know these pages take a liberal view of drugs, as they qualifiedly should. But cocaine is different.
Mr TDG - we might add a bit to Updike's apercu:
"Celebrity is a mask that eats into the face"...like the coke that so often goes with it.
v./
Sorry, up and down, here, in the hospital for an hour or two, then home again, and then a lengthy teleconsultation and then back again for an hour, trying, in short, to figure out an intravenous antibiotics regime which doesn't require hospitalisation. I have been urging this for months but the local consulfants have resisted, only when my GP returned from maternity leave and contacted the infection specialists in Aberdeen has the anti-microbial ball started to roll, hope to get things sorted this morning, after which, like General McArthur, Tamer of the Nips, I shall return.
Not so much pro- or anti- drugs, mr tdg, just against the pernicious overreach of the criminal law; I guess that is liberal, although these days I shrink from the word. Never had any cocaine but if it produced Fleetwood Mac's Rumours or, indeed, the Elton John Songbook, well, I don't want any. A bientot.
I knew only his name, Gaughan, thank you, mr mongoose, until now, but it's a good song, lost, now, and withering, whilst the Inkies and Bumsters repair to Adele, whoever she may be. Like the Hymns, Ancient and Modern, who will sing these songs, or even listen, when Ii am dead and gone?
I fancy a bet, mr mike. I tried to get one on Trump but failed. Maybe an accumulator, is that it, or a double, on Nuttall and Marine.
Seems you are all lit up, again, Down Under, although if the OzDocs on show here, truckers and bush pilots and coppers are anything to go by, the whole fucking place is in a permanent, last-minute-rush, conspiring-cruel-fates crisis, only narrowly avoided by good ole boys workin' their fuckin' balls off. Strewth, the TeeVee fair paints a grim picture of ordinary life.
A heart-warming story about the Kiwis, though, trying to refloat the whales; the Japs'd have been eating slices of them before they were even dead.
Yes, indeed, miss juliet, at the very least. I said at the time, if you don't recognise Ruin, just look at this case, cruel Neglect made Virtue, by the dogs of MediaMinster.
I don't think that there needs to be a big picture or a discernible agenda, regarding Trump, mr mongoose. Just the fact that he is None Of The Above is excellent. Had the crow been elected she would by now have explained to us why the banks needed some more public money and the public needed less public money; why it was that America had to bomb some other niggers abroad and jail a few more at home, and Hey, but look, isn't it great that I'm a woman president? I live in hope that he will appoint a Special Prosecutor, maybe one for Richie's Boy, too, Obama. Always somebody's teaboy, eh?
Them's mighty fine words, mr verge, mighty fine. They should put 'em on a banknote.
Thank you, mr dick, godparenting is serious and Godly business but any of the Gospels should help you, or even On Children, from Gilbran's The Way of The Prophet, or maybe just find Sweet Honey In The Rock's "Your Children," on youtube: Your children/are not your children/they are the sons and the daughters of Life's longing for itself/they come through you/but they are not from you/and tnough they ate with you. they belong not to you.....
I daresay you are correct about the storm in Mr Tiny Speaker's teacup but I would like to see him ousted purely as admonition of Vanity for he is a man wantonly overfond of the sound of his own voice and by extension overproud of his own thoughts, thoughts which are no more than second rate managerialiste. Up all night, leaning on the windowsill, I watch hours of the committees, all of them, and it is all just showbiz, deadbeat hacks and poseurs playing at Simon Cowell or Dragons Den, fucking rubbish. And as for the lectures, well, I watched Bercow's introduction to David Boy Steel of Cyril Smith fame and nearly puked. No, off with his tiny head, any excuse will do.
Yes, me too, I'd bulldoze Oxbridge and build some good technical colleges, shipwrighting and blacksmithing, cabinet-making and saddlery. How many the fuck PPEs can we support or tolerate?
And if we need the abstract and esoteric then let us revive the WEA, I 'd teach a course or two, wouldn't be the first time.
Stay well, mr dick.
Gram positive bugs only, but linezolid is an option when you need something heavy duty and intravenous access is a pain. Few physicians think of it without prompting; I suppose they worry their relatively new toy will become shopworn too soon. But from the patient perspective it is great.
I saw that Bradley Walsh doing Wednesday Night At The London Palladium, mrs woar, and I wanted to murder his children.
Right, thanks, mr tdg, I am seeing her again at teatime, after she has made some calls, she is approachable and thorough, I will mention that.
Well, we have settled, for now, on a large oral dose of flucloxicillin and she is keeping linezolid and some others in reserve, I don't think it is a whim on her part, she has spent the day consulting Scotland-wide, with surgeons and microbiologists, as well as reading my War and Peace scale notes. I did quickly read a couple of US studies which bore out your recommendation and I can always purchase some online if I come to think it necessary. Thank you, mr tdg, for your kind consideration.
Microbiologists know they are in an arms race they cannot win, against an opponent indifferent to the possibility of mutually assured destruction. So they always try to match the weapon to the specific enemy, escalating the firepower only when the battle starts to turn against them. Resistance is certainly commoner on the continent where prescribing is more liberal, so the logic is borne out by reality even if the human cost is hard to know. The cost goes both ways, of course: the newer drugs are not always better, and their risk of collateral damage can be higher. In any event, it sounds as if your doctor has it all in hand.
Thanks and get well soon, you old septic sceptic.
-richard
Mr I: bushfires are not a big deal down here; only occasionally they cause a problem because the greenies don't like periodic backburning of scrub, and people build houses in fire prone areas. Burning of trees and other flora is essential for them to germinate - its why gum trees exude inflammable gum. The Abbos knew that fire was essential to renew the land thousands of years ago. It does make for good telly, though, with hearty country blokes and fat sheilas braving the flames.
You should not watch anything to do with the Palladium as it will do you a mischief. Get well soon.
I have watched the Lego Movie. At first I thought it was just a very long advert but by the end I was impressed that the complexity of the concepts it was juggling for an audience not yet at secondary school.
I read a piece a few years ago, mr tdg,m suggesting that the superbug epicentre is India, where researchers are terrified of the bugs' eventual triumph, first there and then globally. Clever - entrepreneurial - Indians, it said, were not only pirating computer software and flogging it for pennies but also, driven by the squalor of much of India, copying and selling antibiotics cheaply to people who dwelt in shit, forcing the bugs ever onwards and upwards, growing stronger.
It may be that a temporary humanitarian - in the widest sense - respite may only lie in conflagration, such as mr mike refers to in Australasia, or even here, in the Highlands. I overheard a woman recently braying about her time in Mumbai - and darling, there are eighteen million people living there, in that one city, just so vibrant, so dynamic. Geve me the horrors, she did, me, a man who buys Spirigel hand antiseptic by the case.
Four years ago I had a serious infection and after hospital treatment instigated just a fairly rudimentary antisepsis regime at home, as should everyone. But Oh, cried some visiting friends, this can't apply to us, can it, and certainly not to our darling, precious, gifted and beautiful little GodEmpress daughter, SweetiePie, can it, I mean we couldn't possibly be carrying germs, that's just ridiculous, I mean, not someone as perfect as her, or us for that matter, we shower regularly. These, mind, were the business graduates who believed that Tesco made coal in a factory, somewhere, and were bewildered by my description of it as Sunshine, stored-up for millions of years. The idea that their little precious was potentially lethal to me, as were they, sounded to them like mediaeval superstition. Coal? Trees? But trees are made of wood......
Thanks, mr richard, no worries, if you saw me on the street you wouldn't know there was anything wrong. It's just thirty years of Type 1 diabetes, chronic illness. I must look-up the composer, it wasn't any of the Blind Mississippeans, maybe one of the Chicagoan Lightnings, Slim or Hopkins, who sang DeathBed Blues - Well, they sent for the doctor, and he said soft and low, well, yeah, he might get better, but he'll never be well no mo' . That's incurable disease, right there, you might get better but you'll never be well. But fuck it, there're people with no arms or legs, no sight nor hearing and no love.
I'm still lolling out loud at your condemnation of the council and it has inspired me to take them on over a number of issues, selecially now that Gnasher has singled us out for extra payments in exchange for services we do not receive.
Who will triumph, over there, will it be King Billy's loyal men, my uncles and cousins or the Republicans? They all look ghastly to me, Marty Kneecapses successor especially and I can't help but wonder if this profusion of provincial female leaders - Mrs Askey, Gnasher, the skriking nonentity from Plaid Cymru and the two murderous harpies in Ulster, I can't help but wonder if that is all just cynical, political cosmetics.
Thanks, mrs woar, but I'm OK, it's alright, Ma, it's life and life only. I just happened on the Palladium show as I was reflecting on mr bob doney's comment and Bradley Walsh, in some melancholic way, fascinates me, he's like the Des O Connor who never was, some fretful Redcoat type, who has, most improbably, hit the Small Bigtime - budget cop drama, quiz show host and now singing and dancing compere of the horrorshow which you so painfully describe, all that show needs is a ventriloquist, a magician, one of those plate-spinners and a somersaulting dog or two and we'll be properly back in the early sixties, or in some nightmare realisation of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Arthur Askey, he'd be good, too.
Lego is, indeed, a very lucrative, indulgent grandparent marketing opportunity.
I am sorry to hear of your continuing battle, mr ishmael, but glad to see that the McNHS is on top of the job. I think that polite articulate peope tend to get an inadvertent better service - even if all of our outcomes are eventually the same. It's an uncomfortable thought though. I accompanied one of mine to a check-up - at our very pretty teaching hospital - a couple of weeks ago and a good half of the blighters would be there still if I'd been the other side of the counter. "Talk to me like that again, you bastard, and you'll grow old and die in this waiting room. And btw if your child has spilled his drink on the floor, clean the fuckeer up instead of looking at it with your gob drooping in wonder."
Lego? The world is full of grown up children who sell their lego collections by the kilo on ebay. Put it in an old pillow case, whack it through the washing machine and you are good to go. A wheelbarrow can be filled for the price of a couple of dinky so-called sets. And they are supposed to be using their imaginations to create stuff. Those tedious instructions sheets are for their autistic dads. Oops.
mrs ishmael's grandson is a Lego whiz, he just takes it out of the box and assembles it, Ah so desu ka, like it was written in his soul. Taking him South, a while ago, I bought some blue suede shoes, not for him, for me, but I taught him the song, in the car, and he learnt it, melody, lyrics, timing, all just like that, just like ringing a bell. I have managed to persuade his mother to enrol him in a choir and he loves it. A good thing because he struggles with school learning, he learns quickly in one-to-ones with mrs ishmael and I when he's here but that's only once or twice a year and the schools can't do that, even if the teachers were capable. By osmosis, in board games, he has learned to say Do you have? instead of Have you got? A tiny victory for my primary school teacher, Miss Boulter, down all these years, such an ugly word, got, ishmael, she used to say, find an alternative. She'd go fucking apeshit watching the House of Commons, with their Gots and
Reasons Why and Hopefullys and the Government Ares.
My late brother had an aching, almost courtly politeness which his sons now - unknowingly - deploy although they would deny his influence in any such thing and if little Jack should choose his words more carefully than do his peers - probably the waiting room wretched whom you describe - then he will never know the true author of his consideration, my dear old, frightening old, thoughtful old primary school teacher.
As well as an irritating but useful curiosity about le mot propre, Miss Boulter gifted me the social lubricant which you mention, so necessary to negotiate the valves and pistons of NHS bureacracy, a contraption in which one false move could prove fatal.
I have been trying to blog about my new nailer, a topic which I am sure you will relish, I must return to it, must do better, try harder, pass my 11-plus and go to King Edward's. And wind-up nailing boards to the fucking wall.
I wouldn’t be too down on nailing boards to a wall. I’d rather be doing that (Again) than any sit down job.
Better way to make a living than coming out of “Uni” with a half arsed degree in baking science or some such shit.
I happened upon a rerun of Bullesye the other day. Untidy looking bloke in a checked shirt and jeans job was Humanities. Just barely perceptible flinch from Bowen.
I was praying for him to say..Now for ten pounds Bill…for ten pounds…What the flying fuck is humanities?
I was just being wry, mr doug; I have been filling and sanding, cramping and screwing all day, today, bits of wood which I made look old a decade ago, and now they are old, going around again; some new stuff I bought yesterday, kiln-dried, will have to be braced with strips of oak at each end, as it's curling up like a banana. I dunno how people do this stuff with the radio on, it takes me all my time and thought, and I still fuck up, new wood warps and shrinks and the few really good old boards which I own, well, I hate to use them even though some shitbrain fuckwit bastard'll burn them, one day. I cut into some pitch pine, the other day, over two hundred years old, and the smell, the spirit of the forest, filled the room. They never taught me about that at school, about the Creation.
A few weeks ago a bloke offered "some pallets" to burn on the fire and so I accepted. The best part of a bloody hundred turned up. It was a week's work to cut them up and turn them into foot-long bricks for burning but we managed it. Though I've kindling left that'll do for a decade. One of these could barely be lifted off the ground and is some redwood with heiroglyphs stamped on it, rough-sawn one way and split the other it seemed to be. I have harvested the bugger and it sits drying, an inch-and-a-half thick most of it and looking at me. Maybe it's a base for that coffee table top - the one the old man died of before getting it finished.
Be careful with those pallets, Mr mongoose. I once burned some railway sleepers and nearly gassed myself.
That wood is treated with noxious chemicals.
I never imagined the day I’d be walking the shore collecting driftwood for kindling, but will do as soon as the stuff in the coal shed runs out. It’s nice for burning smooth and bleached.
Sawed up a couple of pallets the other day into lengths of exactly two inches too long. Makes a bit of a mess of the hearth when the end bit falls off.
In a factory where I used to work we got the engines delivered from Japan contained in mahogany crates. One of the blokes that worked on the assembly line would use the wood to make grandmother clocks and other small items of furniture.
Thanks, Mr Mike, yes, I had an adventure once burning some foot long end bits of sleepers. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Most of the pallets were use-once plain-and-crap softwood from Buildbase. The red one is pretty though. And it looks as if Donald Trump went out one morning with a saw and a splitter - in his lumberjack shirt, doubtless - and won it from the virgin forest.
I have a cubic inch of wood (or thereabouts) which the museum assures me is from the Discovery. They cut up the old bits which have to be replaced and sell them to finance the refurbishment. It does smell like it remembers being a forest which went round the world. OTOH, it could be an old fishbox and I would probably not know the difference.
I watched the mast being taken down and sent off to the rigging yard. I fancy that the crew appreciated an audience; the gaffer made a point of coming to me and explaining what was going on. Why don't they have groups of students gawking at them?
It was in the rain, which made it dangerous, but they still had to move long, heavy beams from the vertical to the horizontal and anchor them down safely for transport. It is slithery and great weights are swung around by the crane driver, under advice from radio but it was the man waving which seemed to be giving the main instructions. Huge chains and hooks were swinging in the air, guided by men catching hold of guide ropes without fouling them or being injured - or putting them through the nearby plate glass windows. It was giant surgery in a confined space.
Mrs WoaR: Imagine how they handled those masts and spars when those ships were first built. A few fingers would have been lost, I imagine.
On a similar vain, I recently climbed over the Sydney harbour bridge - Its highly regulated, proper gear issued, and wired on in safety harnesses, but still bloody high up there on a narrow walkway in blustery wind. Quite eye watering old black & white photos of the workers and stories of when it was originally built. Recommended for anyone travelling Down Under.
A question for us: why is Russia all at once the enemy?
It becomes more like '1984' every day.
Mr mongoose: Russia is one of the few white Christian countries remaining. Should be a natural ally, but let us put that to one side for a moment.
The ol' US of A is constantly looking for wars to assert its hegemony. The septics haven't figured it out yet, but at some point soon they will have to choose between Russia or China as allies. Because they cannot win against Russia+China. Actually, I don't think they could defeat either Russia OR China. If I were China, I would wait for the Yanks to wear themselves out against the Ruskies, then step in. The same gambit works for the Ruskies.
Dangerous times, I reckon. The two sides in the US usually pull together behind their flag. There being but a couple of fag-papers between the two main parties, you can undersstand it. Not this time. The left and the media are going to take down everybody they can. Yon gay Milo gone today. El Trumpo should think on and play above the game above the fray with his artless trap firmly shut. Pick five important things to do and do them. A proper energy policy, slash government idiocy, manage the EU's death throes, hang the bankers and get the last decade's other misdoers into jail. That should be enough for any man.
Russian, the US and China inhabit almost different worlds, mr mike, and as long as that continues all will be well. The country that should worry is the young one with all the straight lines on its map. But the by the way islamo-madness is going to get out of hand if they don't watch out. Perhaps with awful slaughter in the nearer east. Poor people as ever paying the blood bill.
Where is our host? Playing hooky again. Off nailing shit together with his fuck-off mail-gun perhaps. I do hope so.
As I cautioned, Stoke Central was unable to get past its distrust of Liverpuddlians.
The media dwellers are busy saying that Labour won it by listening to the people. Oh do leave orf, Labour has never listened to them - certainly not in Stoke.
Putting the new UKIP leader up may have seemed like a good idea but they'd have stood more chance if they had picked a local candidate. Nuttall moving in to comply with election law was always going to annoy them. UKIP were gulled by the media in to making it a test of the party rather than accepting that for reasons based on FPTP, the leader representing a body of opinion about 5m strong might have to wait for a seat to come up, and instead concentrate on winning the seat for a candidate who could take it.
Hope all is well with you and the carpentry Mr I. I came across this vignette and you sprang to mind given your longstanding coverage of this issue:
http://www.lbc.co.uk/radio/presenters/katie-hopkins/katie-hopkins-madeleine-mccann/
I suspect that Katie ain't exactly your 'cup of tea' but interesting that she should pick this up in the MSM in way she does (rather more circumspect than usual I would say - I reckon she will have, wisely, taken advice on how far to go with this without attracting litigious attention). Very risky area to probe even under cover of a 'nom de plum,' as with your good self, of which I am sure you are only too well aware. I wonder what Katie would say in private?
I would also like to add Melvyn Bragg to the gallows list, please. If it has not already gone to the printers.
In other news, Phillip Green has "voluntarily" stumped up a whole third of a fucking billion pounds towards that pension embarrassment. Now call me crazy, but who has 1/3rd of a billion in the (corporate) bedside draw? So it is yet more electric money, from somewhere, to somewhere, sometime, maybe. I bet the bastard actually makes money on the deal. Is everyone asleep?
Maybe someone nudged him on the arm one day and whispered "Maxwell".
A fine gesture to be sure...give that man a medal or an OBE or something.
I gather the new (today) Stabat Mater by James MacMillan is worth the effort, Mr I - The Sixteen are obliging. Especially if you're feeling jaded, this might be lovely. Magnificent, Macmilllan, in his contempt for most contemporary bollocks though he believes fervently, as some of us cannot.
If you're in retreat, then try also the new Goldberg Variations by Beatrice Rana, just out and incredible. There is nothing that can be said, 24 she is, about the same age as Glenn's first visit. His 1981 version is one of the great death works, of course. This young woman fills me, absurdly, with some sort of joy.
Or see this one about the abilities of dogs - which turn out to be brighter than some great apes.
topdocumentaryfilms.com/secret-life-dog
Looks like you were right about dogblokes.
And the diabolical Blair is lobbying for a few extra millions,he wishes to be Trumpers' Middle East Peace envoy. That'll be more sandpeople turned to glass then.
Sometimes Satan comes as a man of peace.
Mr inmate: the only way Trump will send Blair to the ME is strapped to a rocket (a la Strangelove).
Oh good, another Referendum. The move to Perthshire is off again.
Fingers crossed that a second referendum and failure again will see the demise of the SNP
If Brexit happens, the SNP fox is shot.
It's all kicking off like crazy out here Mr I.
We need your razor-sharp take on all the shenanigans.
And today Georgie-boy has parked his Bullingdon bum in the Editor's chair at the sub-Standard. Surely you can't let that pass?
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