For the love of John
so I am having a nice relaxing time in the Spanish city and all of a sudden Bang and then another and another, What the F€$K?
well it seem that it is Spanish midsummer and the festival of St. John the baptist. A time to celebrate the start of the summer, to eat sweet bread products covered with multiple coloured things and to launch and throw fireworks with joyful abandon for all EU health and safety laws and advice. What a joy, a night where children are up and about till sunrise (well that's not so joyful) and everyone joins in with gay abandon. The next day is a public holiday, no matter what day of the week it might be, so who cares if you have one or two absinthes to many, sleep in wake up drunk and take it easy. It is so nice to see a whole city celebrate a pagan festival under the guise of Christianity, to see a whole city celebrate in such a care free way and then once all the celebrating is done to see them recover altogether as well.
This got me to thinking when do we, the British, celebrate in such a way? When do we let ourselves go? When do we get to have collective fun with fireworks that isn't watched from behind a metal barrier? To celebrate midsummer we, those of us who remember, have the time and money, go to Glastonbury, a festival which seems to have now lost all potential for the spontaneity and the sublime through the over commercialisation and over involvement from forces outside of the original idea, that of people in a field celebrating the summer solstice. What do we as a country do to celebrate our national day? I am sure that most countries do more than watch the trooping of the colour on Tv. We seem all to happy to dive into a pint of Guinness on March the 17th but when it come to April the 23rd we just ignore it, it's not even a national holiday, what about diving into shots of ale and pints of gin for once, to don the cross and have some fun all for the sake of being one nation, no matter what your origins, on one small island. Let's not forget that as well as being St. Georges day, April the 23rd is also Shakespeare's birthday and the day he died, it's also my mums birthday if you need another reason to celebrate, hell why not make it king Arthur's and Robin Hoods birthday as well. and when it comes to the celebrations let us not stand behind a fence and Oooohhhhh and Aaaarrrrrr at someone else having all the fun, let's get involved, let's remember to have fun. Last year I had a fantastic fireworks night, friends, alcohol, food, many fireworks and a cardboard screen, because my backyard is very small and we might have been a little close, say 2-3ft. What would have made it better? More friends, a nation full of friends.
so next time there's a reason to celebrate kick out the nanny state, ignore what you are told to do and have fun. I am not saying be silly, don't go sticking fireworks up each others arses but if you live in the country stick them in a cow pat and play chicken ( a childhood reference) just remember that we can do what we want, no harm to others but that does not mean others can't join in. So for the love of John kick down those metal fences get naked and get down. Why? Because we can.
THAT IS ALL
P.s keep you eyes peeled a revamp soon so as to include video and photos. Oooooohh fancy.
Friday, 24 June 2011
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
For your flies only
For your flies only.
So we have set of on holiday, had the wonder of the delayed flight,the school trip at the back of the aircraft and old people who don't seem to understand seat numbers or even English even though they have thick yorkshire accents. Why do we do this kind of thing to ourselves? Why do we, for supposed pleasure, put our feeble squishy bodies inside a metal tube and launch it at a foreign land with the minimum of luxury? Of course I am talking about the wonder of the 'low-cost' airline. The smell infested, uber expensive, cheap form of mass tourist travel. The ticket is cheap, baggage not so much, coffee, bad coffee at that it's like someone drank some good coffee wee'd it out drank the urine rinsed there mouth out with water spat that water into a cup and added hot water and sold it to me at a shockingly over exaggerated price just because I happen to be trapped in this toilet roll tube of an aircraft and don't even get me started on the food.
So why have I put myself on such a flight? Well a short nip over the channel is all it really is, two hours at the most, two hours of hell but two hours only. I can avoid the toilet, I won't have to eat and next time I'll remember to stay away from the coffee. The thing is at the airport I saw cheap airlines advertising flights to China! China from Leeds-Bradford airport, the fancy garden shed, the airport with no main road to it, nonsense. Who in their right mind would put themselves through that? Twelve hours maybe, twelve hours of children who have no seat back entertainment, I can't avoid the one toilet onboard for twelve hours, I might not have to poo but there will definitely be liquid, I can't avoid food for twelve hours and I probably can't avoid farting either but then that will just add to the joyless recycled air that I will be forced to breath. I have travelled long haul flights many times before but at least I have attempted to do it in comfort and style. Economic comfort and style but with the big boys. If I fly with the one of the big airlines I don't have to pay extra just to put a bag in the hold, I get given food and drink for "free" I have more room, the seats are more comfortable, there are more toilets and I don't feel like the plane is going to fall apart if I remove the chewing gum from the seat I mean it has obviously been left there by the cleaning crew so must be of great importance to the structural stability of the aircraft fuselage.
I know a cheap ticket to China or New York maybe tempting, I reckon your probably thinking that you can hold on to that wee for twelve hours and who needs food, I know if I just had one of those distilling suits that the fremen have in Dune then I could defiantly survive a budget flight for twelve hours I mean Paul survived in the desert didn't he? And he had those giant worms to contended with.......... Well stop it! If you can't afford to fly for that long in at least a little bit of comfort is it with it? Culturally the answer maybe yes but you will arrive a broken miserable wreck of your former self, it is even questionable if you will recover for the duration of your stay or ever and then if you do recover physically there is still the mental torture not only of your journey to the far flung wonderland but that slow sweaty creeping inevitable fear that how ever bad your journey was on the way the return flight will be twice as nasty. The food twice as sorry for itself and the flight crew twice as tired.
so just don't do it. Pay the extra and arrive rested and entertained and enjoy your holiday from the off, no need to hide in a hotel for two days to recover, just off the plane and have fun in the world.
THAT IS ALL
So we have set of on holiday, had the wonder of the delayed flight,the school trip at the back of the aircraft and old people who don't seem to understand seat numbers or even English even though they have thick yorkshire accents. Why do we do this kind of thing to ourselves? Why do we, for supposed pleasure, put our feeble squishy bodies inside a metal tube and launch it at a foreign land with the minimum of luxury? Of course I am talking about the wonder of the 'low-cost' airline. The smell infested, uber expensive, cheap form of mass tourist travel. The ticket is cheap, baggage not so much, coffee, bad coffee at that it's like someone drank some good coffee wee'd it out drank the urine rinsed there mouth out with water spat that water into a cup and added hot water and sold it to me at a shockingly over exaggerated price just because I happen to be trapped in this toilet roll tube of an aircraft and don't even get me started on the food.
So why have I put myself on such a flight? Well a short nip over the channel is all it really is, two hours at the most, two hours of hell but two hours only. I can avoid the toilet, I won't have to eat and next time I'll remember to stay away from the coffee. The thing is at the airport I saw cheap airlines advertising flights to China! China from Leeds-Bradford airport, the fancy garden shed, the airport with no main road to it, nonsense. Who in their right mind would put themselves through that? Twelve hours maybe, twelve hours of children who have no seat back entertainment, I can't avoid the one toilet onboard for twelve hours, I might not have to poo but there will definitely be liquid, I can't avoid food for twelve hours and I probably can't avoid farting either but then that will just add to the joyless recycled air that I will be forced to breath. I have travelled long haul flights many times before but at least I have attempted to do it in comfort and style. Economic comfort and style but with the big boys. If I fly with the one of the big airlines I don't have to pay extra just to put a bag in the hold, I get given food and drink for "free" I have more room, the seats are more comfortable, there are more toilets and I don't feel like the plane is going to fall apart if I remove the chewing gum from the seat I mean it has obviously been left there by the cleaning crew so must be of great importance to the structural stability of the aircraft fuselage.
I know a cheap ticket to China or New York maybe tempting, I reckon your probably thinking that you can hold on to that wee for twelve hours and who needs food, I know if I just had one of those distilling suits that the fremen have in Dune then I could defiantly survive a budget flight for twelve hours I mean Paul survived in the desert didn't he? And he had those giant worms to contended with.......... Well stop it! If you can't afford to fly for that long in at least a little bit of comfort is it with it? Culturally the answer maybe yes but you will arrive a broken miserable wreck of your former self, it is even questionable if you will recover for the duration of your stay or ever and then if you do recover physically there is still the mental torture not only of your journey to the far flung wonderland but that slow sweaty creeping inevitable fear that how ever bad your journey was on the way the return flight will be twice as nasty. The food twice as sorry for itself and the flight crew twice as tired.
so just don't do it. Pay the extra and arrive rested and entertained and enjoy your holiday from the off, no need to hide in a hotel for two days to recover, just off the plane and have fun in the world.
THAT IS ALL
Friday, 17 June 2011
The Problem with your penis is....
The Problem with your penis is ........
IT MAKES YOU A F*(&K(*G IDIOT! Either you are a blown up testosterone filled retard who is looking to fight or you are some home seeking mummies boy who can’t fight his way out of a paper bag, which is it? Hey I am all for the gym and being a little bit trimmer but do i really need man pecks like that? I am not a lumber jack! And even If I was I think there might be a song about how I should act!
I mean my penis tells me that it is still possible to fight nazi’s in Egypt and that colonialism was a good thing, but yours, well, it just tells you to do what you want and not think of others. Why is it when I see you in a pub or propping up the bar you are talking with a mouth full of s$%t? What kind of name do you want to give the male side of the species?
Talking about being on the Male Side of the force (yes another penis reference) don’t think that those with a womb will escape my wrath. A womb is also no excuse to act like a total F*(&KW(T. You also have a responsibility to others, you must also act like you care, act like you can function in the everyday world, act like a human being, even if that kind of human is not what you feel like right now. Stand in line, take one for the team, man/women up and become some part of society. This is our world and together we can make it a better place no matter what we have to suffer.
Suffering, well it doesn’t have to be an act of ones self, we can all share and with this act of sharing we can spread the despondency until it becomes one of joy, the joy of sharing, the joy of helping someone else and the joy of friendship. We can help each other and no matter what, unless you listen to your angry penis a bit to much, you are not alone, you are not the first and, by a long way, you will not be the last. Yes my penis might tell me to be Doctor Who, yes someone else’s penis told him he could win the race and these are the times to listen to that bit of sponge like flesh but it also says you are not alone, it also said forgive sins and except the hands of your brother man, it said take one for the team but don’t forget we are a team, fight nazi’s but don’t forget that without Marcus Brodie, a man who once got lost in his own museum, we might as well pack up and go home.
So when I see you next in a pub, propping up the bar or pumping iron down the gym, remember to smile. We are all part of the same humanity, we will all fight for what we think is right and more often than not we will agree. Talk to me my brothers and sisters. I might act like a C*&T at times but that doesn’t mean I am, or even that I want to act in that way. It’s just the dark side of my penis. I make no excuses but don’t forget that I love you all. A handshake is good (especially if I don’t know you) but a hug is better. Embrace old friends and embrace new ones and most of all wear sunscreen.
THAT IS ALL.
IT MAKES YOU A F*(&K(*G IDIOT! Either you are a blown up testosterone filled retard who is looking to fight or you are some home seeking mummies boy who can’t fight his way out of a paper bag, which is it? Hey I am all for the gym and being a little bit trimmer but do i really need man pecks like that? I am not a lumber jack! And even If I was I think there might be a song about how I should act!
I mean my penis tells me that it is still possible to fight nazi’s in Egypt and that colonialism was a good thing, but yours, well, it just tells you to do what you want and not think of others. Why is it when I see you in a pub or propping up the bar you are talking with a mouth full of s$%t? What kind of name do you want to give the male side of the species?
Talking about being on the Male Side of the force (yes another penis reference) don’t think that those with a womb will escape my wrath. A womb is also no excuse to act like a total F*(&KW(T. You also have a responsibility to others, you must also act like you care, act like you can function in the everyday world, act like a human being, even if that kind of human is not what you feel like right now. Stand in line, take one for the team, man/women up and become some part of society. This is our world and together we can make it a better place no matter what we have to suffer.
Suffering, well it doesn’t have to be an act of ones self, we can all share and with this act of sharing we can spread the despondency until it becomes one of joy, the joy of sharing, the joy of helping someone else and the joy of friendship. We can help each other and no matter what, unless you listen to your angry penis a bit to much, you are not alone, you are not the first and, by a long way, you will not be the last. Yes my penis might tell me to be Doctor Who, yes someone else’s penis told him he could win the race and these are the times to listen to that bit of sponge like flesh but it also says you are not alone, it also said forgive sins and except the hands of your brother man, it said take one for the team but don’t forget we are a team, fight nazi’s but don’t forget that without Marcus Brodie, a man who once got lost in his own museum, we might as well pack up and go home.
So when I see you next in a pub, propping up the bar or pumping iron down the gym, remember to smile. We are all part of the same humanity, we will all fight for what we think is right and more often than not we will agree. Talk to me my brothers and sisters. I might act like a C*&T at times but that doesn’t mean I am, or even that I want to act in that way. It’s just the dark side of my penis. I make no excuses but don’t forget that I love you all. A handshake is good (especially if I don’t know you) but a hug is better. Embrace old friends and embrace new ones and most of all wear sunscreen.
THAT IS ALL.
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
The problem with my penis is.....
The Problem With My Penis Is......
Well for one I think it might be German, it seems to salute at about the right angle! He ( and he will be a ‘he’ during this article’) gets easily distracted and I am not just talking about the usual supposed things, girls, fast cars, guns and the like I mean in fantasy and not the fantasy of girls, fast cars, guns and the like but a different kind of fantasy. If the lights go out in an empty house who is the first to think they heard a noise? If you see a superhero movie who is the first to think I could do that? And one other thing, is the penis part of the, now disproved, collective consciousness or collective ego of the male man or is it the whole?
I see my penis as my inner child. He gets ideas above his station, has dreams that are impossible, there is no way I can never actually be Sherlock Holmes but that doesn’t mean my penis can’t bleed that dream into the rational part of my brain. Is it this inner child/penis that drive the male man forward in his never ending quest to be irrational? to pretend he knows where he’s going without looking at a map? To put together furniture without looking at the instructions? To go to the Moon? When a child all these things seem infinitely possible and if they prove themselves not to be, well we bounce, bones heal quickly, dented egos get panel beaten and in the long summers of our childhoods we try again. So what changes? Does the penis now have a recognisable voice? One that we have learned to consider and then ignore? I hope Not!
In adulthood all must be more considered, we have responsibilities, things hurt more and maybe running round a wood with a stick that although you think it looks like a gun doesn’t really puts you at the centre of ridicule. But should it be this way? On sunday the 12th of June a stunning race took place in Montreal. One of the best grand prix in a long time and what made it exciting......... Thats right the Penis. Should Hamilton have tried to over take, no but his inner penis told him that if he didn’t then dreams might not come true, Buttons penis told him that he could win from twenty-first and not to drive a super conservative race. One of these decisions came good, Button, and the other not so good but they listened and it made it exciting and it drove both of them forward. What makes England think it can win the world cup every time? for sure it is not the current quality of the squad so it must be the collective dreams and wills of millions of English penises.
And I think that is my point. If we stop listening to the irrational, inner child penis what will we become or in some cases what have we become? A scrooge who will never meet his three ghosts, humanity without being human, stuck in a world with well made furniture but nothing to watch on Tv (probably no TV). We would be a world of sheep with no one to follow. So good bless my Penis, even if he is sometimes a bit foolish.
Now come Watson get the bullwhip and head into the tardis.... The game is afoot.
THAT IS ALL.
Well for one I think it might be German, it seems to salute at about the right angle! He ( and he will be a ‘he’ during this article’) gets easily distracted and I am not just talking about the usual supposed things, girls, fast cars, guns and the like I mean in fantasy and not the fantasy of girls, fast cars, guns and the like but a different kind of fantasy. If the lights go out in an empty house who is the first to think they heard a noise? If you see a superhero movie who is the first to think I could do that? And one other thing, is the penis part of the, now disproved, collective consciousness or collective ego of the male man or is it the whole?
I see my penis as my inner child. He gets ideas above his station, has dreams that are impossible, there is no way I can never actually be Sherlock Holmes but that doesn’t mean my penis can’t bleed that dream into the rational part of my brain. Is it this inner child/penis that drive the male man forward in his never ending quest to be irrational? to pretend he knows where he’s going without looking at a map? To put together furniture without looking at the instructions? To go to the Moon? When a child all these things seem infinitely possible and if they prove themselves not to be, well we bounce, bones heal quickly, dented egos get panel beaten and in the long summers of our childhoods we try again. So what changes? Does the penis now have a recognisable voice? One that we have learned to consider and then ignore? I hope Not!
In adulthood all must be more considered, we have responsibilities, things hurt more and maybe running round a wood with a stick that although you think it looks like a gun doesn’t really puts you at the centre of ridicule. But should it be this way? On sunday the 12th of June a stunning race took place in Montreal. One of the best grand prix in a long time and what made it exciting......... Thats right the Penis. Should Hamilton have tried to over take, no but his inner penis told him that if he didn’t then dreams might not come true, Buttons penis told him that he could win from twenty-first and not to drive a super conservative race. One of these decisions came good, Button, and the other not so good but they listened and it made it exciting and it drove both of them forward. What makes England think it can win the world cup every time? for sure it is not the current quality of the squad so it must be the collective dreams and wills of millions of English penises.
And I think that is my point. If we stop listening to the irrational, inner child penis what will we become or in some cases what have we become? A scrooge who will never meet his three ghosts, humanity without being human, stuck in a world with well made furniture but nothing to watch on Tv (probably no TV). We would be a world of sheep with no one to follow. So good bless my Penis, even if he is sometimes a bit foolish.
Now come Watson get the bullwhip and head into the tardis.... The game is afoot.
THAT IS ALL.
Saturday, 11 June 2011
And the award goes to....
And the award goes to.
So another day another dollar, or in the correct parlance, another pound. So what could get to me today you wonder! Well I tell you, it's this countries appetite for celebrity stories. Why O why do I give a crap if a certain footballer ( I understand an injunction is still in place) sleeps with some bit of nonsense off of a shitty channel four poop hole of a program. I know this comes kind of late in the day for such a rant but still it is shocking. What is so special about these people that they should be hounded? Where does 'in the public interest' come in? Yes the 'public' maybe interested but is this information important? Is it really in the interest of the public? Is this information for the public good? What difference does It make to my life if a kicker of inflated pigs bladders goes sleeping around? I would more like to kick his inflated ego until it's a bloody pulp!
I'm not saying that I agree with so called super injunctions, not if they get in the way of of something that the public has a right to know. Something like a corruption case involving public officials or public funds but if these injunctions protect a private citizen's rights to a bit of peace and quiet while they try to sort things out then that is a worthy purpose surely. How would you feel if the local rag reported on how many number twos you do in one day. (2)
In the case of this well published case of the urine bag kicker and a Miss something or other it is reported that the injunction was taken out to avoid blackmail. If that was the case why not file a charge of blackmail? The case would not have been allowed to be reported on and the press would have still been gagged but following a correct and fair procedure.
The real reason behind this recent farce is the publics unending need to know all the ins and outs of any semi-famous persons ins and outs. In the case of the footballer it is not as if he choose the limelight, football is what he is good at, it is not his fault that football happens to be the nations favourite sport, even though we are pretty bad at it. If I am good at accountancy ( which I am not) would it be my fault to enter that profession? All I am saying that being a celebrity because of being good at something is not the same as being a celebrity for being a celebrity i.e Jordan or someone else of that ilk. These people need the investigation into their private life in much the same way as I require food to live, without it they will die the torrid death of the forgotten and their natural home is inside the pages of tabloids, the home of the terrible, dull, unintelligent and needy.
So just remember that footballers are footballers and accounts are accounts. They are not role models they do not choose to be stared at and interrogated by plebs who feel they have a right to judge, they just do what they do. If you really are interested in the lives of the famous then read tabloids and read the stories placed by the managers of the 'celebrity celebrity' let them have the limelight they crave and keep all this kind of chatter out of my view.
THAT IS All.
So another day another dollar, or in the correct parlance, another pound. So what could get to me today you wonder! Well I tell you, it's this countries appetite for celebrity stories. Why O why do I give a crap if a certain footballer ( I understand an injunction is still in place) sleeps with some bit of nonsense off of a shitty channel four poop hole of a program. I know this comes kind of late in the day for such a rant but still it is shocking. What is so special about these people that they should be hounded? Where does 'in the public interest' come in? Yes the 'public' maybe interested but is this information important? Is it really in the interest of the public? Is this information for the public good? What difference does It make to my life if a kicker of inflated pigs bladders goes sleeping around? I would more like to kick his inflated ego until it's a bloody pulp!
I'm not saying that I agree with so called super injunctions, not if they get in the way of of something that the public has a right to know. Something like a corruption case involving public officials or public funds but if these injunctions protect a private citizen's rights to a bit of peace and quiet while they try to sort things out then that is a worthy purpose surely. How would you feel if the local rag reported on how many number twos you do in one day. (2)
In the case of this well published case of the urine bag kicker and a Miss something or other it is reported that the injunction was taken out to avoid blackmail. If that was the case why not file a charge of blackmail? The case would not have been allowed to be reported on and the press would have still been gagged but following a correct and fair procedure.
The real reason behind this recent farce is the publics unending need to know all the ins and outs of any semi-famous persons ins and outs. In the case of the footballer it is not as if he choose the limelight, football is what he is good at, it is not his fault that football happens to be the nations favourite sport, even though we are pretty bad at it. If I am good at accountancy ( which I am not) would it be my fault to enter that profession? All I am saying that being a celebrity because of being good at something is not the same as being a celebrity for being a celebrity i.e Jordan or someone else of that ilk. These people need the investigation into their private life in much the same way as I require food to live, without it they will die the torrid death of the forgotten and their natural home is inside the pages of tabloids, the home of the terrible, dull, unintelligent and needy.
So just remember that footballers are footballers and accounts are accounts. They are not role models they do not choose to be stared at and interrogated by plebs who feel they have a right to judge, they just do what they do. If you really are interested in the lives of the famous then read tabloids and read the stories placed by the managers of the 'celebrity celebrity' let them have the limelight they crave and keep all this kind of chatter out of my view.
THAT IS All.
Friday, 10 June 2011
Big British Castle
The Big British Castle
So the first thing is.... Thank the lord for the BBC the way TV was meant to be. O’ and some of the radio stations aren’t bad either. The problem with Tv is the fact that there are so many god damn adverts and yes you could say that some of these adverts are more intelligent than the programs that they are interrupting and maybe thats the crux of the problem. It may not be so much the quantity of the adverts but the quality. After a morning discussion with an old friend it came to my mind that some of my greatest Tv moments have been adverts, but also some of my worst. How many times do I need to be told that DFS has a sale on, I mean after all you are the Discount Furniture Store after all. How many times at 3 O’clock in the morning, watching some ridiculous program on some ridiculous channel, do I need to be told about the Dolphin Bath lift, seriously it would be better to advertise a machine that could lift my final glass of absinthe to my lips to help obliterate the shame that these kind of adverts puts on my soul.
So it seems that the best adverts can leave a lasting memory. who remembers the secret lemonade drinker of the R Whites adverts (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLBi06j8pjc) or the smash robots, the OXO family, gravy with a smattering of cheese. There is a good mix of these on you tube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dc-Bk11xWug) and for you young’ens that can’t remember that far back heres another selection http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAMwriy2OAI . There not all great but you get the idea. At the moment we probably all have a favorite advert and there is nothing wrong with that but what I’m asking is that can’t the Advertising Standards Agency have a bit more of a standard? Can’t we impose some kind of minimum spend to stop such awful adverts appearing on Tv? And please please please can we shoot meerkats?
I understand that advertising is what funds most Tv stations but can’t we think of something better? Or even just better adverts? Isn’t advertising where soaps come from and I understand that some people even watch those out of choice! So we come full circle to the BBC a haven of commercial escapism even if it’s just to flick to while other channels show the market traders. So once again God Bless The BBC.
And unlike the murphy’s I am Bitter
THAT IS ALL.
So the first thing is.... Thank the lord for the BBC the way TV was meant to be. O’ and some of the radio stations aren’t bad either. The problem with Tv is the fact that there are so many god damn adverts and yes you could say that some of these adverts are more intelligent than the programs that they are interrupting and maybe thats the crux of the problem. It may not be so much the quantity of the adverts but the quality. After a morning discussion with an old friend it came to my mind that some of my greatest Tv moments have been adverts, but also some of my worst. How many times do I need to be told that DFS has a sale on, I mean after all you are the Discount Furniture Store after all. How many times at 3 O’clock in the morning, watching some ridiculous program on some ridiculous channel, do I need to be told about the Dolphin Bath lift, seriously it would be better to advertise a machine that could lift my final glass of absinthe to my lips to help obliterate the shame that these kind of adverts puts on my soul.
So it seems that the best adverts can leave a lasting memory. who remembers the secret lemonade drinker of the R Whites adverts (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLBi06j8pjc) or the smash robots, the OXO family, gravy with a smattering of cheese. There is a good mix of these on you tube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dc-Bk11xWug) and for you young’ens that can’t remember that far back heres another selection http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAMwriy2OAI . There not all great but you get the idea. At the moment we probably all have a favorite advert and there is nothing wrong with that but what I’m asking is that can’t the Advertising Standards Agency have a bit more of a standard? Can’t we impose some kind of minimum spend to stop such awful adverts appearing on Tv? And please please please can we shoot meerkats?
I understand that advertising is what funds most Tv stations but can’t we think of something better? Or even just better adverts? Isn’t advertising where soaps come from and I understand that some people even watch those out of choice! So we come full circle to the BBC a haven of commercial escapism even if it’s just to flick to while other channels show the market traders. So once again God Bless The BBC.
And unlike the murphy’s I am Bitter
THAT IS ALL.
Thursday, 9 June 2011
Set Phasers To Stun
Set phasers to stun, Life to disintegrate!
So been away a while, done my exams and written my ever so shoddy essays and gotten another year older, and there in lies the problem......
They, whomever they may be, have now started to say that instead of just a ‘midlife crisis’ we can now have quarter-life crisis, a midlife crisis, a three quarter-life crisis and if logic is working in this ‘they’ world a delightful just-before-death crisis, although this may just be death itself. Now I have always thought to myself that I will shuffle off this mortal coil at around thirty-six, something like that so my 1st crisis should have been when I was 9, my 2nd at 18 my 3rd at 27 and my final is rapidly approaching. So lets have a look.
When I was 9 it was errrmmmmm along time ago, 1988 I think, I mean I should know right? What kind of crisis could I have at 9? I’m thinking that a friend moved away, no real problem I’m at school so more friends there, maybe I lost my first girlfriend but even at 9 you must realise that there will be more. Or is the length of the crisis related to your age, so maybe that momentary loss of a friend or the disenchantment of seeing that girl kiss another boy was my first crisis, my first taste of pain that can’t be solved by an aspirin or a little plaster and a hug.
So 18 was in 1997, by all accounts a year of hope, D-ream where telling us things can only get better, the bright rising star of politics, Mr Tony Blair, is going to close the years of rule under the Tories and I am Living the dream of a student at music college in Cambridge, playing gigs and getting high. To tell the truth I don’t really remember that year so no point in going on.
27 so that would be 2008 and i most definitely had a crisis of confidence, i switched jobs, possibly twice and ended up in a lower paid position but in a much better place. I guess this was much longer than the fleeting moment of childhood all those years ago.
And then its to the future and whatever that may hold but supposedly at least this one will have an end! and i’ve got four years till that gets here. it seems to pan out about right.
So thats it my allowance of four crisis set out by ‘They’, increasing in length until there is no longer any length left, but hang on I have had far more crisis than that. We all have, we have all had time where we just wish we could just sleep until it all goes away. How many times can we take a severe bludgeoning of spirit? How many times can we listen to the same melody of melancholy? How many times can we climb the mountain to find that we have reached a false top and that the Boers hold a higher position and are firing down upon us while we lie in uncovered ground?
I’ll tell you. Innumerable. If we fall down we get back up again, no matter how long we have been on the floor. If the music gets to much we stick on a different CD and get on with the boogie. If we are in an unattainable position and all seems hopeless we listen for the bugle to sound the charge of the cavalry as your friend come in the nick of time and get you to the top. Never let anyone tell you how many times you must endure the lows just remember to celebrate the highs. Hold on to friendship, family and the spirit of the human race. Remember that taxi driver who waved goodbye to the fair because you lost your wallet. Remember the kind person who helped you pick up the money you had just dropped getting on the bus and smile. In the words of someone (the name escapes me) “if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one your with”. Smile at everyone and everyone will smile. Most importantly:
DO A LITTLE DANCE, MAKE A LITTLE LOVE AND GET DOWN TONIGHT.
THAT IS ALL.
Back to my angry self next blog i promise. ;)
So been away a while, done my exams and written my ever so shoddy essays and gotten another year older, and there in lies the problem......
They, whomever they may be, have now started to say that instead of just a ‘midlife crisis’ we can now have quarter-life crisis, a midlife crisis, a three quarter-life crisis and if logic is working in this ‘they’ world a delightful just-before-death crisis, although this may just be death itself. Now I have always thought to myself that I will shuffle off this mortal coil at around thirty-six, something like that so my 1st crisis should have been when I was 9, my 2nd at 18 my 3rd at 27 and my final is rapidly approaching. So lets have a look.
When I was 9 it was errrmmmmm along time ago, 1988 I think, I mean I should know right? What kind of crisis could I have at 9? I’m thinking that a friend moved away, no real problem I’m at school so more friends there, maybe I lost my first girlfriend but even at 9 you must realise that there will be more. Or is the length of the crisis related to your age, so maybe that momentary loss of a friend or the disenchantment of seeing that girl kiss another boy was my first crisis, my first taste of pain that can’t be solved by an aspirin or a little plaster and a hug.
So 18 was in 1997, by all accounts a year of hope, D-ream where telling us things can only get better, the bright rising star of politics, Mr Tony Blair, is going to close the years of rule under the Tories and I am Living the dream of a student at music college in Cambridge, playing gigs and getting high. To tell the truth I don’t really remember that year so no point in going on.
27 so that would be 2008 and i most definitely had a crisis of confidence, i switched jobs, possibly twice and ended up in a lower paid position but in a much better place. I guess this was much longer than the fleeting moment of childhood all those years ago.
And then its to the future and whatever that may hold but supposedly at least this one will have an end! and i’ve got four years till that gets here. it seems to pan out about right.
So thats it my allowance of four crisis set out by ‘They’, increasing in length until there is no longer any length left, but hang on I have had far more crisis than that. We all have, we have all had time where we just wish we could just sleep until it all goes away. How many times can we take a severe bludgeoning of spirit? How many times can we listen to the same melody of melancholy? How many times can we climb the mountain to find that we have reached a false top and that the Boers hold a higher position and are firing down upon us while we lie in uncovered ground?
I’ll tell you. Innumerable. If we fall down we get back up again, no matter how long we have been on the floor. If the music gets to much we stick on a different CD and get on with the boogie. If we are in an unattainable position and all seems hopeless we listen for the bugle to sound the charge of the cavalry as your friend come in the nick of time and get you to the top. Never let anyone tell you how many times you must endure the lows just remember to celebrate the highs. Hold on to friendship, family and the spirit of the human race. Remember that taxi driver who waved goodbye to the fair because you lost your wallet. Remember the kind person who helped you pick up the money you had just dropped getting on the bus and smile. In the words of someone (the name escapes me) “if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one your with”. Smile at everyone and everyone will smile. Most importantly:
DO A LITTLE DANCE, MAKE A LITTLE LOVE AND GET DOWN TONIGHT.
THAT IS ALL.
Back to my angry self next blog i promise. ;)
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