Mostly Bollogs, I'm afraid

But occasionally, a glimmer of truth.
If you find one, please let me know.

Monday, 24 January 2011


I don't do skiing. It's dangerous. To be honest, I'm not sure I really like my kids doing it. They're 9 and 11 and built like lollysticks. I've seen the odd kid come back, when I've been waiting for mine at the airport, in a chair, leg in plaster. Mine have been lucky, so far.

But they love it, so they're going. They'll be all dressed up in their winter coats (pink, of course), scarves, hats, gloves. Big, big smiles. They'll both take their favourite soft toy - one a leopard, one a panda, because they're not too old for that, yet. They'll have wine gums in their bags, which I've planted in them, and they'll take a handful of Euros with them to spend on overpriced rubbish. They usually bring me back an ashtray or something, which I always treasure.

But mainly they're really excited, because it's something a bit different from getting up, having breakfast, going to school, having their tea, and telling me all about what they've done all day, though it's the same as most days.

One plays the piano, the other one sings. They don't know what they're going to do when they grow up. I never did. I still don't. But they have ambitions, of sorts. Tomorrow is another day.

There will have been people like these kids at that airport in Russia, I expect. And someone, who had different aspirations, someone who has been brainwashed by somebody's religion, or something, who thought that he was fulfilling the prophesy of some godforsaken cause, by blowing himself into a lot of pieces, in the name of shit, and taking with him people like my girls.

I have a message for him, and people like him.

If you are unlucky enough to take mine with you, I will pursue your family, your animals, and as many generations of your miserable offspring as I outlive, and I will make them suffer in a way you cannot begin to imagine. There will be no parts left recognisable by your alleged god. I know that society will judge me to be insane, because society today is a shapeless lump of unimaginable shit. But I think the way I do, because that's how I am. And, I believe, I am not alone.

I would probably go to jail for this at some point. Because that's the fucking world we live in.

Be lucky. Please be lucky.

Thanks for listening.

Tuesday, 11 January 2011


Student Edward Woollard is jailed for 2 years 8 months for "committing violent disorder".

Now, I know you baying mob are screaming that it isn't enough. But think.

Yes, he LOOKS like a cunt. That isn't his fault. What he did was to get on the roof of some Tory gaff and lob a fire extinguisher off it. He nearly topped some Plod, protester or innocent bystander in the process.

He did something stupid. He could have hurt someone quite badly or worse, killed them.

People do stupid things. I know I do. I STILL do. I have nearly killed myself twice last year alone.

I don't agree with the student riots. I don't agree with degrees in Wayne Rooney, and I don't see why I should pay for them.

But civil disobedience is important. Protest is important. And what happens is that people get caught up in the heat of the moment, and there's always one who wants to go the extra mile.

Edward Woollard behaved like a twat. I have behaved equally twattishly and I suspect I'm not the only one. Had he killed someone, or hurt someone, he'd have to live with it. I expect that, on reflection, he wishes he hadn't done it - and not just because of the jail sentence. I often feel like that when I realise what a cunt I've just been.

But this sentence is the government making an example of someone. It would have been lower, or just been a warning and a bollocking, had it been a university or pub roof.

I have a huge problem with that. The state doesn't like it up them.

Monday, 10 January 2011


I am having trouble explaining myself in 140 characters. Being fair, if I wrote what I meant in a tome the size of War and Peace I'd still have trouble explaining myself.

There can only two reasons for this. One is that I am thick, the other is that you are. Read this and convince me that it is me, not you.

Now, this is all about robbery. Robbery by our esteemed State.

I work. I do this in order to get a thing called money. Money can be used to buy beer and so it is good.

The money that I get is used to pay for things like petrol/diesel, so I can get to this thing called "work". I am robbed each time I buy this fuel. I am robbed constantly. I cannot get out of bed without being robbed.

The money which is stolen from me is used to pay people who for reasons of disability, uselessness, bone-idleness or just sheer bloody-mindedness do not do very much in the grand scheme of things.

I have no problem with the first case, the vast majority of disabled people are unable to work because either they can't get there or simply can't do any sort of job. This is sad, but I guess unavoidable.

I have a huge problem with the other cases, because it is a situation in which society has managed to manoeuvre itself, aided and abetted by the whingeing left.

I personally think that those who do not work from choice or because they are unable to find work should be given work to do, and they shouldn't be paid unless they do it. I can't see anyone in their right mind arguing with that.

But I also think, putting myself in the position of someone who CAN'T work, that I'd go mad if I didn't. I'd WANT to do something.

Some clown has suggested that people would not want to work without getting any extra money. The way I see it is that the money is being paid anyway. And if work can be done, and that work is useful to someone, then that someone should pay at least the nominal  value of the work.

And stop robbing me.

That's what I think.

Now start bleating.

Tuesday, 4 January 2011


It is cold. Bitterly cold. It is midnight. In the dark, a child cries, softly. His mother, dressed in traditional Muslim costume tries to keep him warm. His father looks on, helpless.

The child is a boy, around 9 months to a year old. He is shivering. He does not understand why he is so cold.

The guards have linked arms and are refusing sanctuary. Many people are pushing, trying to get inside. The guards are pushing back, because the place inside is strictly off-limits.

I talk to the family. They are from far away and do not speak English. I do not speak their language. Eventually, we find that we can communicate in pidgin French.

The woman explains that they have nowhere to go. They are cold. They are tired. They are hungry. They do not understand why they are being treated like this, when they have done nothing wrong.

I approach the guard. I ask him if it is his policy to deny sanctuary to a small child. "No." he replies. I tell him that he needs to let them in. I explain that his actions are inhuman. He tells me that he is only doing his job.

I lose my temper.

"Let these people in. This is crazy!" I exclaim. "If you don't, there's going to be trouble."

"Are you threatening me?" the guard asks.

"Sir, I am not threatening anyone. But if this woman and her family are not inside by the time I finish this cigarette, I will make it my life's work to ensure that you never work again, here or anywhere else." The guard looks at me, menacingly.

A couple of burly chaps standing close by see what is happening. I explain the situation to them. They push the crowd apart and make a way through. The guard stands to the side, helpless, and unsure of his position. I beckon the woman and her family.

"Allons-y!" I cry. They understand.

"Come on! Kids, come on! Allons-y! Kommen auf! Vamanos!"

About 50 more small children and their families follow. The guard has lost authority. Nobody tries to stop them.

Must be a scary place when you've come from foreign lands to Heathrow Airport on a winter's day.

Welcome to England.


I went to the corner shop this morning.

A young girl was sitting behind the counter, with her feet on the table, txting.

YG "Excuse me."
UM "Yes?"
YG "How do you spell Schizophrenic?"
UM [duly spells schizophrenic] "There's a word I don't use most days!"
YG "I live with it constantly."
UM [goes to find Red Bull, returns to counter]
YG "It's not too bad though, being schizophrenic."
UM "Well, at least you've always got a friend."
YG [missing point entirely] "I have lots of friends. Just that I've also got ADHD, Asperger's and I have learning difficulties."
UM [attempting to escape] "Oh."
YG "I'll never get a decent job. I got offered a job at £9 an hour working three days on and three days off and I'm qualified and everyfink but they don't want me because of my disabilities."
UM "Well, keep smiling."

How The Actual Fuck did we gets here? Which tossbag told this girl that she had all of these things?

Because I've seen her once, for about a minute, and I can assure you that she not only doesn't have at least most of them, but that she wears them proudly, like bloody sporting trophies.

I think I may revisit tomorrow and slap her arse most mightily. And find out who told her all this and do the same to them.