Apparently, there was a football match today, but I haven't let it spoil my day. Scotland isn't letting it spoil its day, either - why would it? It's England and women - two reasons for your whoreson Central Belter to dismiss it out of hand. The antipathy of your average Glaswegian towards England is rivalled only by his bone-deep misogyny.
I was out having lunch with a colleague of the Scottish persuasion and the talk turned to some area of welfare legislation that Orkney has failed to implement - incompetence, ignorance or stinginess - and my colleague declared indignantly: "but its national legislation". Some dreadful demon of wilful mischief made me declare: "no, its Scottish legislation, not national, Scottish." My colleague looked at me as if I had turned into an alien on the spot and hasn't invited me out for lunch since. I hadn't realised my colleague was pro-independence and she had, through long familiarity, considered me almost-Scottish. The scales mutually clattered from our eyes. I suppose we are both right, in a way. I consider myself to be British but it is increasingly becoming clear that this is a somewhat dated view, that devolution has fragmented the British identity and that it is only a matter of time before there are four nations, not a United Kingdom. My colleague's sense of a Scottish identity has been fostered by tribal football loyalties, by a devolved administration that calls itself a Government and by the whole kilt, tartan and shortbread schtick. This identity thing - starts in the family, chunked up to the village, to the county, to the country - and is deeply, intentionally, divisive.
Anyway, they lost, the English footballing females. Much to the delight of their Scottish neighbours.
Talking of misogyny, have you come across a performer whose stage name is Cheryl Hole? When not performing as a drag artist, his name is Luke Underwood-Bleach. He will be 30 in October. He earns his living by dressing up, wearing a lot of make-up and making television appearances, which now includes Celebrity Master Chef.
The appalling thing is that real young women (the ones with wombs and vaginas) now dress and apply make-up to ape the drag queens, who are themselves parodying some preposterous version of femininity. And round and round it goes. Luke Underwood-Bleach (now there's a name to conjure with) states that his name is a take on Cheryl Cole, and is not intended to reference women as nothing but holes.
Is this some peculiarly British obsession, originating with pantomime dames, or is it widespread Western decadence? One can't escape the thought that Putin maybe has the right idea about Western so-called values.
Here's another instance of art: the arse-chair, designed by Fabio Novembre, Italian architect and designer. Quite witty, but you'd have to throw a loose cover over it when the vicar comes round for his cucumber sandwiches. Or maybe not.
Just Another Air Begorrah story
 |
| Michael O'Loony, CEO of Air Begorrah |
Where Ruth (aged 79) and Peter (aged 80) Jaffe went wrong was:
- Deciding to leave their home in Ealing to travel to France
- Booking with Air Begorrah
- Just being too old.
They rocked up at Stansted airport without tickets as Ruth had not been able to successfully negotiate Air Begorrah's website and she printed their return tickets instead of their outgoing tickets. They were then charged £110 to print their tickets at the airport. They should have expected trouble. I had a look at the website just - and I could fly from Stansted to Bergerac, 489 miles, on the 29th August for £29. Now that's plain wrong. It costs £107 to fly from Inverness to Kirkwall, 155 miles. No wonder the planet's going up in flames, what with the weather being a bit hot, and all these cheap buggers jumping on planes at the drop of a hat.
Mr. O'Loony said:
"beJasus, it's committed we are, so it is, to cheap flights and even cheaper wages. Air Begorrah is dedicated, by the holy fuckin' Jesus, Mary and Joseph, to running the cheapest, most shoestring business operation in the history of Mammon, so we are. Pile 'em high an crash 'em in flames, that's our motto. Any fancy extras, like printed tickets, sitting next to your disabled partner or getting a drink of tap water will cost you - how else do you think we can get you from Stansted to Bergerac for less than £30?
And if anyone asks me for the 110 quid back it'll be me boot up their arses, so it will.
Just fuck off an die, old buggers - yer'll no be bringing me any repeat business, so you won't, what with being at death's door, so you are.
It's all in small print, on page 363 of our terms and conditions."
If you would like to catch up with some old news served hot, fresh and dripping in satire, look no further than the four volumes of the Call Me Ishmael oeuvre.
Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.
Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :
please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.
Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr
Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux
At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.
With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.
4 comments:
The gospel of Mr Ammoniac Panties reveals itself as both "cloaked unlubed whore" (or "lubed whore uncloaked") and "we debauch our Ken-doll".
v./
Now that, mr verge, is uncanny - I have little doubt that the lovely Cheryl debauched his Ken-doll.
It isn't the miles, mrs i, that is the primary multiplier. Mostly it's bums on seats, airport costs, and a fast turnaround. I used to fly around a little bit and for a non-standard buisness flyer like me, Ryanair was perfect. I wish to go place A for one day and then to come back. The nearest provincial airport is place B, so I'll need a cheap little car for a hundred miles or so. One overnight bag or similar and job done. Total cost - often a hundred quid or 150. It costs me a hundred to go to London and back these days, and I can throw a stone to it.
I missed the footie, I am afrid. A tax on the daft. But i did watch some highlights. England have a good goalie. When our goalie is your best player, you are in trouble. But it was a kids' game out of a park. Not without skill but completely without strength. Distressingly, as the Spaniards "professionally" wasted time and eked out the clock at the end, the commentator praised them. The senoritas have learned to cheat already. Well done, ladies.
Yep, yep, yep, mr mongoose - it is how many sardines can you squeeze into the flying tin can is a primary determinant of the cost - you can't pile 'em high and sell 'em cheap on those little 33-seater Orkney planes that have been battling their way in and out of Kirkwall for decades.
I didn't see the footie, either - essentially because I have no interest whatsoever in it. It's ok for school children to run about in the fresh air, getting some exercise by kicking a ball about, but grown-ups should be doing something useful and productive with their time. Cultivating their allotments, for example. Picking up litter. Cleaning off graffiti. Keeping the elderly company. Of course, it is no longer fashionable to grow up in our society, and adults cling on to their childish pursuits - like riding bicycles.
Post a Comment