Suppose it must be time for a new blog then… as it is over a month since the last one. Bloody hell.!

Well since then I have gained another year of age, but let us face it, I am still a lady killer. Nothing to do with my looks or charm, just this big knife and blood covered hessian sack.

My birthday was rather fun. Picture, if you will (if you won’t then that is totally up to you but it will make this next bit seem rather boring) myself, Chili, Pouty, Hwang, Mikey and Harrz and their friend (who’s name totally escapes me due to a certain Fluffy Bunny ending up a complete and drunken bastard by 2am) and the regulars of the White Lion and Decades. Now add in stupidly drunk me and lots of dancing to Britpop (just me, alone on the dancefloor to Pulp’s Do You Remember The First Time) and then throwing up having got hiccups. Was a very good night.!

Now then. Or is it then now. Either way, now what has been happening in the world. Oh yes, rather fine Grand Prix trickery involving a Mr Ham and Belgium. Brilliant drive in the moist conditions and also a rare race where I shouted and, for the first time ever I think, swore at the TV (when Vettel managed to wreck the radiator of Button’s McLaren and I responded with the word TWAT said waaaay too loudly). Next weekend is Monza, fuck knows who will win there.!

The world hasn’t changed too much in the past month unless you live in Pakistan where you are probably reading this up to your armpits in cold water and throwing things at your cricket team, might stop you phoning me up when I am in the bath to try and sell me something though. Bastards.

As the current B3ta question of the week is about complaints I was wondering how many times complaining has got me anywhere. First Great Western have had a lot of my complaints to absolutely fuck all resolution (suggesting using a loco hauled set to improve their service levels which ironically were refused by FGW on cost grounds and then started up successfully by Arriva and then passed onto DBS who now run 67s and a mk2 set from Cardiff to Taunton etc, nice one boys). The meatballs thing did get me free meatballs so that was good and a few years ago I got free train travel from Virgin, let me explain…

I had been to York with Pika so she could check out the university there. I fucked off to the National Railway Museum (well I have never been there since or before so it made sense) and we both met back earlier than expected and using our £60 walk on fare tickets we got an earlier return train as it was running a little late. The HST was failed at Sheffield and we were shoved onto the following HST (which was the one we were going to catch anyway). We got home around the same time we expected to anyway having witnessed an old man using a mobile phone like a walkie talkie much to my hysterical amusement and the guard offered round the complaint forms.

Mine came back a week later with a credit note for half my original fare.! I spent it on another trip to Portsmouth uni hunting and a shopping trip to Taunton (oh and whilst in Portsmouth I managed to empty the fruit machine on the platform of £40 and that paid for food, drinks and shopping too. Brilliant). So all in all a worthwhile complaint, although I am totally glad it was in the pre-Voyager era because that would have been fucking awful.!

Bruce Springsteen is currently dancing in the dark in the back ground so I suppose I should dance in to the light (now who sang that.??) Night all.!

I read yesterday that Mary Anne Hobbs is leaving Radio One (hello all, by the way). The last DJ that I actually consider worthy of hosting a radio programme is finally jumping from that anus of the FM bands and finding pastures new.

Now either I am getting old… yes, I know, don’t say it, or Radio 1 has changed to the point where to be a DJ you have to be irritating, full of personality in a bland way or just downright boring. I’ve listened to Radio 1 since the late 80s and people have come and go (in a big way back in the early 1990s when they literally fired two thirds of the DJs such as DLT, Gary Davies, Adrian Juste and even Bruno Brookes and Steve Wright) to be replaced with the newer talent (Chris Evans, Mark and Lard *sigh*, Jo Whiley and Steve Lamacq) which althoughthey  took a while to get used to, they didn’t grind.

Then, at the turn of the millenium it all seemed to fall apart. Mark Goodyear headed off to Classic FM, Simon Mayo left in search of Radio 5live leaving us with Jo Whiley… but on her own without the calming effect of Steve. Fuck. Zoe Ball and Kevin Greening disappeared (the late Mr Greening first, always did seem like an odd couple) to be replaced by Sara Cox, a woman who I would cross motorways to set fire to. Oh and THEN Vernon Bloody Kaye turned up VERNON KAYE. Words cannot adequately express my hatred of that man.

Actually it doesn’t stop there does it. At night used to be Nicky Campbell… ok bad example… how about Sunday nights then, John Peel followed by Andy Kershaw. If I could only listen to music like that again. So what do we get now.? Westwood, the whitest man to ever grace the personality of a coloured gent. ‘The Dreem Team’, those three dodgy gits who appeared on a Sunday morning when garage music was suddenly big and then vanished into thin air the second it wasn’t. Oh and Zane Lowe. Prick.

I am sure I have forgotten someone… ah of course. Chris. Stinking. Moyles.

The worst thing in the history of Radio One. A man who has caused me to write at least four blogs solely devoted to his smug cunt face. Along with his group of cock sucking twats he turns every morning into a programme about as funny as watching a documentary on the Dunblane massacre. He may have lost weight and rubbed some sandpaper over that Desperate Dan like visog but he still makes me want to punch puppies just at the merest hint of his voice.

Sadly it will never change. I am not clamouring for the old days (unless Mark and Lard return etc etc) I just want to know I can listen to a radio station that is full of decent music and a little chat without resorting to DJs that remind me that the world is populated by men in tracksuits covered in Elizabeth Duke fake gold and holding a Greggs dummy or women who have a flower planted in their fucking hair, teeny weeny shorts and a fucking huge shirt on.

Here endeth the lecture. I am going to go and lie down now. My bile is risen.

PS – Just remembered Scott Mills escaped that list, but as he has all the natural charm of a coconut covered in excrement with a wig on I don’t think much needed to be said, take your drive time show and force it up your backside.

Allow me to be a little on the controversial side… I am actually not sure how I can word this properly but here goes…

As you know I am a big fan of all things mechanical. If it makes noises and is powered by some sort of fuel then I am in. Of late I have been reading an excellent book (for the third time) which I had always avoided in the past. It is called Steam for Scrap and it gives a comprehensive, but not exhaustive, review of the demise of steam on British Railways (no don’t worry this isn’t all about trains, it’s a little deeper than that).

Now the reason I have only recently started to read this book is because the photos of these grand, powerful machines being cut up, thrown into wagons and resmelted has always made me very melancholy. The many yards around the country destroyed the best part of 16,000 once proud locomotives in a little over a decade. Thankfully a certain Mr Dai Woodham of Barry, South Wales, bought lots of them and then left them for years, untouched until the preservation movement got really going and the last loco left in 1990 (a 2-6-2 GWR prairie tank if I remember correctly).

So where does this become a little close to the bone. Well reading the captions for a lot of the photos that show movements of withdrawn and condemned engines heading towards the scrap yards hauled by another of their soon to be extinct sisters (seeing a line of Castle class GWR locos being almost sadly dragged by another of the same class for instance) reminded me of another book I own, Auschwitz by Laurence Rees.

“What the bloody hell.?” I hear you cry. Well when the trains (again) of victims arrived within the walls of Auschwitz-Birkenau they were often hearded into the execution chambers by other inmates, maybe from their own town or even their own family. Looking at the folorn images in both books (and people who don’t recognise an emotional attachment between a human and a machine would never perhaps understand this) then it is such a hard thing to understand how either could happen.

Obviously I am not suggesting the holocaust was anything but a terrible event, nor am I trying to lighten it’s effects, but I just am amazed at the similarities between two such different events.

So strange.

You know what, I saw the video for that Lady Gaga song “Alejandro”. Wasn’t it lovely of Madonna to lend Gaga her back catalogue video collection and say “Here you go big nose, put on so slutty ridiculous outfit and then imitate what I did twenty years ago”. Well done Stefani, another triumph. Oh and the song is wank too, like tATu without the talent… such as it was.

Yes hello and welcome to blog number 650… SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY.?? Bloody hell, where does the time go. Actually if I had been writing these things like I used to it would be nearer a thousand by now easily. But my life is much less busy now, work is the only place I go, and that is a big pile of wank… SOMEONE OFFER ME A NEW JOB PLEEEASE.!

So Raoul Moat shot himself huh… wow. What a man.! he promises a rampage and then lies in a sewer for a week. Prick. Glad that one is dead, definately saved the tax payer a lot of money looking after him in jail. Plus his stupid genes will have died with him. Hurrah.

In the same vein Mr Peter “Yorkshire Ripper” Sutcliffe has been refused parole which is a shame. I think having him out would be fun, we just have to have him retrained to attack the Jeremy Kyle show guests, them with a sweaty giro hanging out their back pockets and velour tracksuits instead of the occasional prostitute.

I do appear to be in a moody today don’t I.!?

Well I have to admit I was a bit worried about how the new layout at Silverstone would affect the race… but it made overtaking possible.! Apart from wet races such as 2008, the circuit was rather processional since they added all the bloomin’ chicanes and such from 1986 onwards. Thankfully it appears to have made it all much more fun and what a race was had.! Unlucky for Vettel but a good recovery… and suck on that Alonso you whinging bastard, either overtake something or fuck off, as Niki Lauda once told Mario Andretti (I think). Well done to Webber and Hamilton for a great race which was full of thrills and spills and bits of Sauber littering the circuit.

Next up is Hockenheim, a circuit ruined by the removal of those loooong straights which made a totally different type of circuit more akin to Monza, Silverstone and Imola (as they were) to the twisty Barcelona or Jerez type thing they have going on there now. Still the racing isn’t bad so hopefully it will be an interesting race.

This on again off again weather is driving me nuts.! The other night it was prime thunderstorm time but there was nothing, nada, nowt going on. Grrrr. Either rain or get off the pot you bastard.

Ok enough. Tis rep run time in Ice Crown and I want to be exalted by tonight. Enjoy your week all.!

Ooops. It would appear that I have broken my rule of at least one post a month by going over two months between posts. Oh well, I am here now so I might as well look like I am staying *takes off coat and shoes* and see what we can come up with. Maybe I should cover a little news…

Firstly Sara Lee, you bastards. I am not sure if you are the same people who make those horrible frozen chocolate gateaux, but what the fuck have you done to my favourite bubble bath.? You see, I am a man who enjoys simple pleasures. I like a warm bed, a comfy hooker and some cheese strings like any other man, but I also enjoy sitting in a nice hot bath that is kind to me (my skin I mean as opposed to offering me sweets and bubble covered titbits). The source of my major complaint against the world.?

Matey. The sailor bottled children’s favourite which I love to soak my smooth skinned buttocks in has been sent the way of Tizer, Smarties and anything else that has been “new and improved”. Gone is the delightful scent that reminds me of many a childhood bath night replaced by the kind of bubble yum fragranced shite that every anus in marketing (a group of people who I consider third in the line of complete cunts behind George W Bush and buyers) assumes the world wants.

Well listen up Marketing peeps. The world isn’t populated by people who think reeking of insipid dog faeces coloured blue and put in a plastic bottle is fun. Nor is it filled with people who like Tizer anymore (because that REALLY tastes awful now). Stop improving things and look what happened to Coca-Cola in the 1970s when they changed their basic flavour. I hope you all go out of business and end up sucking men off in Soho doorways to pay for your next brie and chutney pannini.

Right, what’s next…

Ah yes, the bloody weather. It is bad enough that I have to work where I do, but to be heated beyond lava WITHOUT the benefit of a thunderstorm to relieve the humidity and wash Crazy Ady back into the gutter, well that just isn’t cricket. Can’t someone go and seed some clouds with silver and salt or something just so we get a decent light show maybe.? I know this week is meant to be record temperatures in London so maybe some of the twats you see on the news might die off a bit, but I can’t watch that though can I.?

Talking of things that are shit… I see 23 overpaid retards came back from somehow making it out of the first round of the world cup and then getting the living shit kicked out of them (sadly only on the field) by the Germans. Why on earth do we keep this up. For once I don’t think the manager is to blame. I don’t think any of the managers are to blame, I think it’s just that football teams in this country are so poor at picking up real talent that they don’t think twice about employing some Spanish cunt on a £100k a week salary who struggles to tie his own shoelaces when there might be a hundred far better players from home teams who would like a shot and a chance to become world class. Oh and taking Heskey with you to the World Cup is a bit like taking Peter Stringfellow to a girl’s school… sooner or later you know he’s going to fuck it.

The only person who did return to the UK with anything appears to have been Cheryl Tweedy (if you don’t include probably a couple of hundred guys with the clap and other nasty things they found over there). She picked up a marvellous little thing called malaria, which is fantastic. Hopefully next time Simon Cowell can go too and take Louis Walsh with him… go get yourself AIDS boys. Go on… you might just enjoy it.

The British Grand Prix takes over my life on Sunday afternoon… should be interesting at the very least. Not only have they changed Silverstone (annoyingly by adding a bit rather than removing all the chicanes and letting the drivers get on with it), but with The Ham and Mr Button out front in revised cars, it may be all or nothing.! It is awfully nice to see Alonso getting on so well the everyone again too, miserable bastard. You lost mate, unlucky. The Ham got enough drive through penalties etc in 2007 to last a lifetime even when it was obvious he didn’t deserve it. Thankfully they seem to have proper stewards now. Good.

Anyone who is reading this on an iphone4, if you want the rest to load then put the thing down and it will work… sooner or later.

A large cache of roman coins was found recently near Frome… Italy has pleaded that they need it back to cover the bills for new scooters and haircuts.

Right I am off to Kerry Katona’s house to dress her up as a policewoman and invite Raoul Moat round for a night cap. Actually I wonder if Davina McCall is home too.?

If this was 1987 I would be dressed in a brightly coloured suit, sleeves rolled up, permed hair flopping over my eyes like a Vidal Sassoon avalanche. But it isn’t. It is in fact the end of the fourth month of 2010 already. Are we really A THIRD of the way through the year? Frightening.

I do hope you have planted your chilli seeds by now, gardening tips,marvellous, I certainly have and I am looking forward to a rare crop of large hot things with which I can tickle my taste buds and disgust my workmates the morning after. I have also got around to plumbing in the two end of siding lights on the old layout (I better start thinking of a name soon). They do look good especially with the signals all lit up at the other end. Maybe I should recreate the model of MacDonalds I helped Cuddly Badger create back in the mists of time, that would be awesome.

I had one of my thoughts the other day. One of those that makes people moan at me for saying odd things. You see a black estate car passed my eye this week. It was one of those Mercedes hearses followed by a small convoy of stretched limos. I always think this is the worst way to present death. A slow sad procession wheeling itself off to the nearest graveyard or church on a final journey. It always seems very, well, depressing. I understand there is a certain tradition in England to be down on death but think about other countries. Marching brass swing bands, African tribes dancing around like loons up to their eyes on catnip.

It is a mournful occasion but surely it should be more of a celebration of life, that we are given this chance to exist, no matter how brief. I am not suggesting brightly colour Mercs and a fleet of party buses with built in bars for the wake, just a little lightening up of the situation. I hate funerals, it is solemn but let us be joyous, no matter what the religion, and celebrate that someone has lived, that they laughed with us and enjoyed their time (no matter how miserable they may have appeared) because life is short.

All I could think about when I was writing this blog was someone driving a hearse with the classic Kulashaker song “Grateful when you’re dead” playing in the background. Weird.

Saturday night I am out to party for the first time in ages.! I hope to see some of you buggers out, drunken and letchworthy. Do enjoy yourselves, I bloody will.!!!

So I wander in from work… sit down at my desk and open google news to check out the latest happenings in the world. Now what is it that catches my eye first.? Keane’s song “Everybody’s Changing” being used by the Conservative party as their election theme song. What a total piss take.!!! Keane have said they are horrified by it’s use by the Tories and I have to say I totally agree.

If the Conservatives win then I would have expected them to put Keane to death rather than use their fucking awful dirge music as a blue version of “Things can only get better”. Keane were put on this earth to hate along with James Blunt, the Ting Tings and 98.97% of anything played on Kiss FM. Why Mr Cameron et al have decided that the best way to win the voters is to use the lyrical equivalent of soiled toilet paper is beyond me. Perhaps they could have used the old Chelsea song… “Blue is the Colour” or even “You’re going home in a fucking ambulance”.

…and then I see Fanta has been using the song “Shut up and let me go” by the aforementioned Ting Tings… great, now that’s ANOTHER turd I have to put in the post. Sigh.

In the glorious history of “political correctness gone mad”, Liverpool City Cuntcil are considering banning a certain word from the language we call English. The word in question is the word ‘obese’ when used in connection with chunky  nine to eleven year old children. Now I can understand the implications of being ‘labelled’ as a child, I know the feeling (and seeing photos of me at that age with legs like two cheese straws makes me actually understand the names I picked up at school) but I also see the benefit of kids seeing what they are and perhaps showing their parents how they look and just how impressively dangerous their situation is…….

…… WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG FOR THIS IMPORTANT BIT OF INFO…….

I have just watched the Weston episode of Come Dine With Me. For Fuck Sake. Ok, four essential things to remember from now on:
1, We have a national, nay international duty, to seal off Clevedon and burn everything that is there, people, animals, buildings EVERYTHING if Claire is an indication of the shite holed up in that place.
2, The blonde piece from Weston (anyone want to know the reg of her Range Rover because I have seen her driving it badly often enough around town)  was described as ‘Weston’s version of Victoria Beckham’. More like Victoria fucking Station.! Concrete faced and it looks like half of London has been through her.
3, It is impressive that they managed to find David, a guy who appears to have a drink problem… in WESTON, rehab capital of the world.!! (Ok it isn’t impressive, I was being sarky).
4, Graham, you live in Clevedon. You do not live in Paris. Plus you have a red kettle in a green kitchen.!

….. and now we return to the schedule shown in your blog guides…..

Where was I.? Oh, yes, fat kids. Call a spade a spade. If they are ginger they will be called ging’ers or the Weasleys. If they are thin then they will be called Bone, skinny, lanky. If they have a face like a bedtime smoker’s duvet cover then call them, well something. If they are obese then call them obese because kids will call kids whatever the fuck they want. Why not spend time and money solving the problem and preventing underage/underprivilged mothers and fathers from stuffing their kids with McDs and processed shit from 8am to 10pm every day. Get Jaime Oliver in there and this time if their parents turn up at the school fence with buckets of chips and burgers then let the dogs loose and break out the grenades.

But please stop pissing around with our language.!!!

Thank you… oh dear goodness thank you to Webber Bus. As I peered wearily out of the window earlier I noticed that amongst their many anonymous (so far) white Optare Solos there is at least one painted in a new livery for our town, such as it is. The colours.? Well Badgerline green and yellow of course and bloody lovely it looks too. The corporate ‘Barbie’ livery that First ruins every object it touches with certainly did bland out the place. ACL and their vivid orange had a slight tendancy to make everything look like it had caught fire. Hurrah for Webberbus.!

On the subject of iffy colours on modes of transport, is it ‘green’ to have a Honda Civic Type R and put wheels on it that are the same colour as Kermit the Frog.? Just I saw one earlier and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Not even touring cars have green wheels.!

What’s with this new fashion among the ladies for wearing hoodies with their names emblazoned across the back. I know some are the college “hair/health therapy” classes and obviously need some way of remembering what their name is at various times of the day, but not all the lasses I have seen with them on were of that age. I certainly take my name badge off when I walk around town because there are some funny fuckers amongst us who think calling me by my first name when I am wandering around town is hilarious (plus for some reason the elderly seem to assume that if you have a name badge on when stood in a shop then it automatically means you work there no matter what company name you badge provides).! I do recall sending people in the wrong direction frequently in ASDA years ago when they asked me for help as I had a suit on (I also had a name badge on that did not say ASDA by any means but that is not important clearly).

It did make me wonder though. Does make chatting up women easier if they are advertising their names. Far easier than using a line such as “what’s a nice fourteen year old like you doing in a lap dancing club like this”.

And finally tonight, I wish to cover the importance of wearing the correct lights for riding your bike at night, that is to say, red to the back and yellowy white to the front. However, having your brightly glowing red face showing at the front and the shining like a night sky moon to the rear may confuse people, little Miss Ginger-haired lady I saw earlier. You certainly did not need that reflective jacket.!

Good morrow fair children.!

PS…

Here’s an addition I should have seen coming…

Katie Price has been quoted as saying “When I die, it will be a Diana moment”. Hmmm. How exactly.? Will the good ol’ folks of fair London town, gawd bless ‘em, line the streets waving flags with pictures of your ugly mug on them. Silently they will sob as your humped front coffin is drawn along by six strapping young men with g-strings on, a procession of pink limos following along behind and that shit single you released playing over the top of it all like some kind of audio strawberry mousse. And there at the end as they lower the plastic princess of pointlessness into a hole in the ground lined with the heads of seven million Barbie dolls I shall stand with a mallet and a very long piece of metal to hammer through that silicone embossed chest of her’s juuuuust to make sure she is actually no longer in the land of the living.

So how, Miss Price, will it be a Diana moment.? Is it that you will be vigourously splashed across the driving console of a German built car.? Perhaps you final seconds will be a parade of thick headed jouralists hell bent on taking just one more photo of that chillingly gormless face before you plough nips first into the first underpass your driver can find to a salute of 50cc moped engines. Or is it more simple than that.? Is it that Alex and Peter will be straight around your gaff clearing out all the valubles a la Paul Burrell.?

Either way I know I will be far more impressed than September 1997.

(and as for the rumours that Andre is shacking up with Kerry fucking Katona… I don’t have the time to actually comment on that without using the rest of my natural life). Satan help us all.!!!

You know when you are a kid… and you have all those people on TV who you get used to and see every day or every weekend.? Like Phillip Schofield and Sarah Green, or Timmy Mallett, well from my younger years at least. They always seem almost like invincible gods who will never change. In the case of the aforementioned three, they haven’t really (apart from Mr Schofield’s hair colour). I have been burnt by this way of thinking before. Back in 1999 ish, I was channel hopping and stumbled across a channel Five programme about iffy porn, like Eurotrash, but it was hosted by none other than Trevor and Simon.! The classic two fill in comedians from Going Live (”We don’t do duvets”).

Now weird as that was, imagine my utter horror whilst watching cheap shitarama Sky channel ‘bidupTV’ to see a man who looked remarkably like Peter Simon who used to present ‘Double Dare’ (also on Going Live) trying to flog the nation a range of horrible looking watches and cameras that not even Lidl would stock. Sadly it did indeed turn out to be Peter Simon. The voice was impossible to ignore. My how the mighty have fallen.

Actually, looking back over all those childhood memories another person pops up who has changed very little. He was THE voice of Camberwick Green, Chigley and Trumpton. Mr Brian Cant. He also presented Playschool and Bric-a-Brac, some of the most diverse bits of kids television we had back in the 1980s. Certainly one of the kings of children’s entertainment.

…and so the world continues turning…

Or does it. Without saying too much, something has occured in my work life that has upset the balance of my mind. It all relates to music.

How many of us enjoy music as much as we can, different genres, ages, speeds, beats all sorts of wild and wonderful aural numbers. Now imagine that that sound track to your life is taken away by half of the time you are awake. What a terrible thought. Well that is what has happened to me. My working life has now changed for the worst and I no longer want to continue working where I currently am.

Time to check out jobsgopublic.com again I guess.!

PS… my Facebook account has problems hence why it has disappeared. It will hopefully be up again soon, thank you Mr Nigerian, in the meantime email me through this site if you need me.

PPS… can someone put this site up as a link on their FB page please… Miss Rodgers, Mr Hwang for instance .

Oooooh I am just sliding in under the two week deadline I try and set myself to stick up a new blog. One week, six days is none to shabby considering… well not considering anything, but it would appear World of Warcraft and building small things gets in the way sometimes.

Am I the only one enjoying this current weather trend of nice and sunny in the morning to wake me up and then rainy afternoons to wash the filth from the streets…  especially today as it is giro day.

The first Grand Prix of the year has been and gone and it was interesting. Sadly it wasn’t interesting in the way I would have liked it. I don’t remember the pre-1994 races without refueling being so lacklustre and rather bland. I know the Bahrain track is one of those tracks that doesn’t lend itself to overtaking, even less so with the new midfield section (fuck knows what Silverstone will be like now they have added a huge bit in the middle and further ruined one of the classic circuits, bastards). So it was race, in to the pits for those new boots and then out again and dear goodness don’t race, push the tyres too hard or try to overtake anything.

They probably could have drawn the winners from a hat and left it at that. Sunday is Adelaide and I do hope they manage to race this time rather than drive around showing the world that their sponsors have a lot of money.

What else has amused me recently…

Oh yes, the mini bus full of “special needs” children who were being lovingly chaffeured past me by a driver with a sense of humour… who kept tapping the brake/throttle and making a knodder effect on the entire group of passengers.

One thing that has been getting on my tits more and more recently is this plague of girls who seem to have had trouble deciding what to wear. I am not talking about those classy slappers you see with a belt barely covering their massive vagina and a top that would barely qualify as a tissue to most of us, I mean those scene ladies who appear to have stood in front of their wardrobe, selected three outfits and then absentmindedly put the whole lot on. It’s a bit like using the Mr Bean method of painting, place a large, lit firework in a pile of random clothes and stand ready…

…seconds later… BOOOOOOM and there you go. Leggings AND skinnies AND tights AND four different tops in four colours that would look clashy on a pizza.! Maybe I am just getting old… but I like a well dressed woman and that doesn’t mean they can’t look casual as well.

There is a new entry in the “bad advertising slogan” listing that I happened across earlier on. The JML Miracle Blade knife set, courtesy of “Chef Tony”, the guy who advertises it and possibly appears in the Go fucking Compare advert too (same stupid ‘tache) comes with the serial killer friendly catch line… “This is the last set of knives you will ever need”. Well I assume that is because you will soon be arrested having butchered that girl you saw through the curtains of her lonely farmhouse as well as her family, the pizza delivery dude, three policeman and a prostitute called Cheryl.

As the general election approaches there are rumours that if the Tories cannot get a big enough majority there could be a hung parliament. I can only assume both Mark Speight and Kristian Digby were both budding politicians.

British Airways are finally settling down to normal after their thieving overpaid, underworked cabin staff went on strike for more money. Again. Well done people. You make me defend a company I detest in an industry I hate. Ok so BA make a fair bit of money, but these money grabbing bastards aren’t exactly paid a pittance.! The AVERAGE wage packet is around THIRTY THOUSAND POUNDS A YEAR. I’ll tell you what Mr and Mrs BA Cabin crew member, come and do my job for half that and then see how lucky you are. Or you could just fuck off and drown quietly somewhere.

Bloody unions (although in the case of the planned rail strikes, I do back them, thanks to Network Rail cutting work when there is SO much that needs doing, Labour really know how to run the country).

And finally tonight (as the girl who was one hundred squagillion percent sure that her ex was the father and who is now sobbing as she finds out someone else chucked one up her pipe) The Now Show revealed to me that the Americans, such as they are, have created a robot.

Now this is no ordinary robot. It doesn’t automatically buy doughnuts or turn over the Tivo box to another episode of bloody Lost, it is a battlefield robot that regenerates automnously through organic matter. In other words, they have developed a flesh eating android. The bot, called EATR, can devour grass, trees, shrubs etc to repair itself in a war situation. But it can also be programmed to eat flesh, be it human or otherwise. What do you normally find in a large quantity on the field of battle though… yup, bodies. Dead bodies which can be chewed up and used to create more dead bodies.

Oh joy. Well if I don’t compose another blog within the next two weeks, consider my vitals have been scoffed by a 2010 version of Jonny Five. Lovely.!

*****LATE NEWS *****

Actually can I add a side note on the whole clothing thing… Why is it that the same girls who appear “bomb dressed” are the ones who have a folder on facebook that is populated by the same webcam photo repeated 78 times of her and her mate looking at the camera and occasionally laughing, sometimes a pout, sometimes a grimace. Why.??? I don’t sit here and take a hundred photos of me looking at the screen whilst I play WoW or stuff a pizza down my neck, maybe I should.!? Imagine if you had to put that sort of thing on a CV when applying for a job…

“Oh and here are some photos. In this one I blinked. Then my friend did in this one. Then my cat came in and I waved at it. Then my friend found a biscuit. Then we decided to fill my entire 320Gb hard drive with the SAME FUCKING PHOTO”.

It’s a good job Steven Spielberg didn’t get involved with that sort of caper otherwise Star Wars would be one long set of pics of him and Chewy spaffing their pants because the webcam just moved two millimetres on it’s own and then someone said the word “toast” in a funny voice.