Cold Times
There is a coldness in the air, here in Britain and I am not referring to the freezing winds of May which will cause Shakespeare’s ‘darling buds’ to become frost bitten if it doesn’t warm up soon.
No, I refer to the ongoing furore over our parliamentary members and their astonishing inability to understand the difference between right and wrong.Nothing new you may say, and you are right – politicians are not renowned for their morality but I would suggest that their indifference, indeed their blatant lack of interest in the people who voted them into office has reached a new high.
(Denis the Menance , Beano comics, UK)
Some MPs got caught and some owned up; all of them protested that ‘It was within the rules’
Not good enough.Reclaiming for non-existent mortgages, four thousand pounds worth of electronics, expenses for the wife, the gardener, are not within the rules.
Now it seems, we have to re-educate our politicians in some very basic ethics.
It is not the rule that ‘Thou shalt defraud the taxpayer’ at all times.
Some one ought to point this out to the Prime Minister .
Yep.
Negative Attitudes
There are times, when we need our heroes; this is one of them, not least because we suffer from the officially ‘dullest’ Prime Minister in the last two centuries
We find our heroes as children, and keep them.
I’m sure there are any number of adults who travel to the office, outwardly sober in suit and tie, clutching briefcase.
But in their heads, they are Captain Courageous and they’re gonna save the world in snazzy lycra red underpants and blue tights.
Traditional heroes can be analysed, historically corrected and the myths de-bunked; but it’s too late for you and me, oh yes it is.
The latest casualty of correctness is Robin Hood
(Statue of Robin Hood, Nottingham, UK)
He is now viewed with a….'Negative Attitude’
Bloody Hell, now the academics are telling us that Robin in the Hood , isn’t any good.
A 15C manuscript discovered at Eton College, describes him as ‘infesting parts of England with continuous robberies.’
Dr Luxford, an expert in medieval manuscript studies, said: "Rather than depicting the traditionally well-liked hero, the article suggests that Robin Hood and his merry men may not actually have been 'loved by the good'.
(BBC News Front Page)
Infesting? Heroes don’t infest, they are good and like to help people – or something like that.
I’m torn here; the scholar within admires the academic input, the preciseness of fact. But I still remember the green legged hero who swung through the trees of Sherwood Forest, played by Richard Greene
(Richard Greene in the Adventures of Robin Hood, ATV. 1955 -58)
in the television series produced by ATV and shown every Sunday afternoon. And guess who sat there as Robin Hood, with his Brillcream hair-do and RADA accent put everything to rights and made the Sheriff cry?
Me.
Yup.
For you Saddoes, who want to hear the theme song ‘Robin Hood ’ go to
Adventures of Robin Hood
Take Up Knitting
I’ve come to the conclusion that blokes need something to do with their hands; and if any of you lot are getting the wrong idea…?.
Disappointment is coming your way.
It’s a simple life for the average bloke, and left to their own devices, they go for simple options.
Ferret around under the bonnet of a car, muttering..”Ahhh..” with much intake of breath, followed by trip to B&Q. May return by nightfall.
Watch football on TV.
Watch fishing on TV.
Go to football…. Go…..I’m sure you get the rest.
What blokes need are things to do, you know, stuff like that. Give him something useful to do, and there he is offering to go to IKEA
All by himself.
Just build a fairly elastic time-lapse into the sequence, and I daresay you’ll get results….eventually.
Last point.
Don’t get excited, remember that blokes are one-cell beings who process one thought at a time, multi-tasking is not an option here.
And if you aren’t the patient sort – take up knitting.
Yep.
Snow is for Tossers
It is insane to carry on as though the UK was running a re-enactment of Scott getting lost in the Antarctic. The screams of ‘Chaos and Horror’ are entirely without foundation, and I am pissed off with the media, who have been indulging in hysterics for the past week.
There is no need for journalists to be doing their ‘piece to camera’ from various locations, all suitably covered in snow.
We know what snow looks like, and if you want a reminder, the bloody stuff is all over the place, have a look for yourself.
If it was me, I would keep quiet: weather pundits predicted the snow two weeks ago, so why advertise our stupidity?
The roads could be open, they are not; the schools should be open, they are not.
The kids should be locked up in them, I mean, learning something and giving all the adults some peace.
Adults mutter in chorus, about kids who seem unable to walk anywhere, certainly not to school, hell no.
Remarks about 'wimps 'and 'nannies' abound as snow balls fly through the air and hit us in the face.
Newscasters have forgotten how to use language with intelligence: every night we get treated to prose worthy of the old Penny Dreadful papers.
“With more snow to come” intones the newscaster “many will be anxiously scanning the horizon...”
No we won’t, look out the window. There you are.
“Silently, in the night…it fell!” hisses our intrepid reporter, as he stands in a field of the white stuff
I would be getting worried if it fell any other way.
So should you
Yep.
Santa is a Bloke
Christmas is over, and we can all stop wondering if Santa will stop by the house this year with his list of ‘Naughty’ and ‘Nice’
Being a bloke I expect his prezzie buying was a short lived affair.
“Two boxes of Assorted, three boxes of Brazils, done!” That’s for the Missus, the kids, and the aunts.
When blokes go shopping, they don’t go looking for things to buy; they have already decided. I don’t know how they do it; have they got X-Ray vision?
Beam me up to the store, Scotty.
Men never say “I’m just looking” Oh no, we just go and buy it Mister.
While I was doing my prezzi shopping, what do I hear as a bloke walks past, nattering on his phone “Yes, I’m shopping, I know what I’m buying.”
Of course he does.
And if anyone is guessing which of Santa’s lists I’m on?
Guess all you want.
Yep.
IKEA...arghhhhh
Why is it that blokes start to scream and howl whenever you suggest that a trip to IKEA would be top of the list?
That’s when blokes start to think of something else that must be done, or suggest that the place will be crowded anyway, and let’s go some other time.
Can’t see what the problem is.
It’s cheerful, does mega-catalogues, numbers everything it sells; even tells you which part of the store you find the packs.
Them Swedes don’t leave anything to chance.
Think of those big yellow arrows. 'Go thissa way, not thatta way’.
The only trouble is I always feel that I can’t defy the arrows, and must carry on even when I know that we have just sailed past the stuff I really came in for.
The last time I went there I heard a woman say very deliberately “This time I will buy a colander.”
She seemed to be alone, I couldn’t see anyone. The secret police of IKEA had got to her.
They must be invisible as well.
I suspect that for most blokes, IKEA means that home improvement tasks are coming their way.
Let me tell you something.
THEY ARE SO RIGHT
For once.
Yep.
It's a Big Black Hole...
Somewhere in this world, there is a big black hole where all the lost things go – my favourite pair of boots, some official documents for example
As you might deduce from this screech of woe I have moved house and by the laws of chaos, cannot find anything that I really need to find.Much to my fury I have found (a) My NHS card (b) My out of date library card
Yipeee
By way of consolation, at least I think it was meant to be consoling, the Kraut suggested that miniature krakens lurked near my new abode, ready to snap my ankles off
"There could be a Kraken...lurking"
Just because I got caught like that on the Christmas Ghost Train in Rostock.All I got by way of sympathy was a very complacent Kraut pointing out that I should have known that trap doors meant grabbing hands would get me.
“You should have drawn your ankles up, just like I did.”
Yes, I should.
And I have to get back to my boxes – so let’s hope no Krakens are nesting in them
Yep.
Long Live Liverpool
‘Cities in northern England such as Liverpool, Sunderland and Bradford are "beyond revival" and residents should move south, a think tank has argued.
Policy Exchange said current regeneration policies were "failing" the people they were supposed to help.
A mass migration to London, Cambridge and Oxford would stop them becoming "trapped" in poorer areas, it said. ‘
The famous ‘Kop’ - Liverpool’s Football Heaven and Holy Ground
Academics should be made to do community service and find out how most of us live - if you live in Liverpool right now, I expect you would deport them. No, shoot them, good idea
Why the hell would Liverpudlians migrate to Oxford? The place is a swarming mass of tourists marching round like ants, and offering bus drivers £20 pound notes (about $40 to you Yanks, for a $5 fare)You should hear what the bus drivers are spitting. ‘Bugger Off My Bus’ is one.
Home of the Beetles - Liverpool celebrates it’s famous sonsOne of the Think Tank bods was hauled on to television to explain himself. The best he could manage was ‘Liverpool is a Port ‘and that was all down the cesspit- so there you are - no hope.
The Port of Liverpool
Even worse, is the fact that the Policy Exchange group are being grossly overpaid to produce a report that has been branded as ‘Insane’ by eminent Tories, including Dear David, who plans on being our next Prime Minister. I tell you, it gives that folk song ‘the Leaving of Liverpool‘, a whole new meaningTrust not in Experts, they live in Tanks -Long live Liverpool, long live the Kop, the home of the Beetles, and a really nutty brand of humour.Yep
Underneath the Blanket
President George W. Bush said that the global economy downturn was due to Wall Street 'getting drunk'.
23 Jul 2008Clunk, clonk, clang… and we all laughMost presidents get their brains fried - I think the Shrub must have started life that way. But, no cause to be so happy for us Brits.
We have Grunps Gordon, who exhorted us to “Stop wasting Food!” last week.Bloody Hell, last heard that one when I was a nipper in School as we chewed our way through leather sausages and soggy vegs.
The Grump definitely belongs to the department of ’ Exhort and all will be well’
In translation: ‘Nag, and believe all will be well’In spirit and intent, Gordon Browne belongs to the 19C , when moralistic urgings towards the lowly and immoral populace were common practice.
The trouble is that our Prime Minister is full of good intentions, and shit, when it comes to understanding the century he lives in.Knife killings in Britain? No problem, everyone who carries a knife will be sent to jail. How simple can you be?
We have a generation growing up who are detached, antagonistic, and live outside the perimeters.The knife carrying is a result, not the cause, of the violence in our streets. Browne doesn’t comprehend the need to lift the blanket and look underneath; George Bush spends all his time wrapped up in one.
We laugh at our politicians, snigger at the Shrub’s bon- mots and ignore Browne’s pontifications.
In reality, we have leaders who fail us all.
Yep
Poke a Parkie
Us Brits like to queue, it’s a national pastime; for you Yanks, that’s standing in line. I like to offer help to the needful.Foreign students to Oxford are actually warned not to jump the queue It’s a pity they don’t heed the warning, but there we are.
Let me explain; the bus is late, the queue is long. But we stood in line, and we shuffled on, keeping to our allotted places. No one pushed and no one shoved, and we all felt loved.
Until that is, a bunch of ‘parkies ‘ moved to board the bus, ‘ahead of the queue’.
(Parkies’ are traffic wardens, whose job it is to go round inflicting pain on hapless motorists who can’t find anywhere to bloody park.)
As I was saying, the Parkies decided to get themselves on the bus, without ‘waiting their turn’.
That did it.
A large man in a bright green sweater told ‘em to wait, but one toe-rag decided he was getting on, no matter what. Mutters all round, and he got prodded in the ribs – by yours truly.
“Go and queue like the rest of us have to” I snarled but he scuttled past, regardless. It didn’t end there “Heard of queues have you?” I hissed at him.
The rest of the Parkies had begun a retreat, pretending that the bus wasn’t there and they couldn’t see it.
The battle went on; several passengers complained loudly about ‘people who didn’t have to pay either’ with pointed glares at the criminal who was still on board.
His chums, very wisely stayed on the pavement.
So next time any of you bluebottles think it’s all right to jump in, think again. It ain’t.
And I’ll be happy to remind you.
Yep.
Bah Bah Bus
One of these days I’ll get on that bus and go ‘Baahhh’ at the driver. Like sheep, we herd ourselves into a tin can every morning
No one but no one asks why is the bloody thing late , or where was the last service?
Just get on
I have rules about what folks can do when I’m on the bus.
You may not stand too near me, or swing around with your bags, so that I get biffed in the face.
Go eat your breakfast somewhere else.
Us Brits like to stew in silence: it’s a tradition that anyone standing, does not move down the gangway. Nope.
The blokes like to lean against the rail, being macho and a bloody nuisance, as no one can get past them and their cruddy backpacks..
Of course when a Yank got on, and found no standing room, all that changed.
“Will you guys all move down the bus?”
There was a sort of multiple shuffle and lots of unspoken resentment.
Blokes are the worst, they have to talk loudly, spread themselves over several places, and they like to rest their size 12’s on the opposite seat
Not when I get on, they don’t.
And to the lady who sat behind me, talking for the entire journey about the delights of meditation and lavender oil
Drink the stuff , meditate, whatever.
Either way, we all get some peace.
Yep
Bore Me Some More
I have always found our current Prime Minister to be the most boring man in politics ; as his career has teetered on, my sense of boredom has increased to a comatose state, if not corpse like. But we’re getting there
Most politicians are venal, self seeking and deceitful, I accept that - par for the course, and why should we expect anything else?
But they don’t bloody bore me to tears: Gordon Brown does, and always has. He reminds me of William Gladstone who bored Queen Victoria to tears (I expect)
Most politicians are basically nuts - they are actors, they assume a persona, and indulge in theatrical stunts. Depending on which part a politician thinks he or she, is playing, the script changes.
It varies from ‘I’m your best buddy’ and ‘Depend on Me’ or ‘I am a caring sharing erk, who likes the bars in the House of Commons.’
Gordon is too boring to be nuts, and fails to entertain, big time. His recent bid for sainthood provoked understandable fury from the food chain bosses.
I refer to his crusade to..yes….Banish Plastic Bags!
Gordon thundered in the House, he waxed lyrical about a land free from the dreadful bags. The evil evil supermarkets would be made to pay, oh yeah.
To give the food business some credit, they passed the post well before the boring Gordon; the promotion of bags for life got started over a year ago, and to be trendy over here, you gotta have a store bag.
John Lewis do the best ones, lined , you know with a rather tasteful logo.
(I have a Tesco’s bag as well, decorated with strawberries. Uh Huh.)
By the time we get round to the next General Election, I shall be a political Zombie - and if boring Gordon wins?
Don’t wake me up.
Yep.
Keep the Tourists Happy
In these days of political nannies, the gloom has been punctured by reactions to the Government’s call for a ‘oath of allegiance’ to the Queen and her collection of expensive and time-wasting kids.
Scotland was quick to announce unswerving hostility to the idea.
Scottish enterprise minister Jim Mather said it would not be supported north of the border. He told BBC Radio Scotland's Good Morning Scotland: "We don't support it and neither do the vast majority of parents, teachers and children in Scotland".
Oh good.
One thing about the Scots, they are blissfully keen to kick the English Establishment in the bollocks. The first hint of ‘Thou shalt’ and it’s ‘Scots wae hae’ and the bannocks start flying.
The Scots minister who is certainly enterprising, went on to say “People are hanging together, their loyalty is to each other here in Scotland. Sovereignty still lies with the Scottish people."
That cheered me up so much, I nearly packed my bags for Scotland straight away.
I refuse to swear ‘allegiance’ to a family of royals who are overpaid, overstuffed, and over here: and doing bugger all for us peasants.
I wanted to send the royals back to Hanover, but the Kraut refused the offer. We don't need 'em.
We can have lots of parades, (so very good for tourism) without them.
Think about it; keep the guards changing horses and have a coach driving up and down the Mall, with a card cut-out figure flapping a hand in a regal sort of way.
Keep the tourists happy won’t it?
On state occasions we can have card figures on the Palace balcony, with a flunky pulling strings, (lots of hand flapping)
I don’t suppose anyone will be able to tell the difference.
If any reader has the Gaelic for ‘I’ll do you in the bollocks, you Sassenach gits’ post it here.
Yep.
Doghouse Day
February 15th is ‘Doghouse Day’ and dedicated to all those thick ‘eads that forgot to deliver the required chocs/flowers/ gifts, and The Card, to the love of their life.
Note: ‘The Card’ and if you have got to this stage of your life, without understanding the importance of ‘The Card’ go live in the desert or something.
Only got yourselves to blame when war breaks out.
Once a year, Blokes are expected to present these tokens to their loved one.
The flowers from the local garage don’t fit the bill – they have ‘Desperation’ written all over their faded petals.
She told you it didn’t matter? Believe that and you are dead, really, truly, deeply ‘Dead’
Think about it: anything with a big red heart on it does the trick, so do your stuff and reap the rewards until next year.
If you get yourself into the shit like this again, you don’t deserve a sodding kiss.
Or anything else.
Yep.
'Get 'Em Off!"
Every time I go through the airport, they freak over my Boots – they are only Boots, for heaven’s sake. At Luton the people go bananas.‘Off’ they yell, ‘Boots off!’
My Boots are nice, sturdy things, but they sure upset Luton where Easy Jet becomes ‘Total Freak Jet'.
Once I have removed my offending footwear, all the staff become ‘Jolly Jet’ and beam away.
No such carry on at the Berlin end – ‘Kommer!!’ The Frau waves a laser stick over my dangerous boots.
”Beepity beep beep”…and it’s over.
The train from Rostock to Berlin was empty, so I rested my booted feet on the seat (they were clean you know.) The Kraut says she has a plastic bag for such occasions, she would.
It was all right until the Frau Controller appeared, ‘Schuhen, Schuhen!’ In other words ‘Get ‘em off’
Next time I go through Berlin Schonefeld, I’ll try out this costume. The Kraut dragged me into this shop run by a charming lady from Morocco. For some reason, she and the Kraut wanted to dress me up in this green stuff.
I shall wear it with my Boots - that should do it.
Enough to get me arrested.Yep
(The nice lady from Morocco)
Lookin' for the Good Stuff
I must say, how surprising it is to find that the world of work still exists - in the post-Holiday phase, that word had no meaning or credit (just like the Kraken)
On reflection, the words 'Time for a cup of tea, and/or, tot of whisky?' certainly did.
Sometimes, I find myself looking round for the whisky - like the song sez
'It's not there'
Let's begin this year as we intend to go on - like this squirrel, looking for 'The Good Stuff'
Photo by Red Fred - January 2008
Looking for his Nuts, I guess
Photo by Red Fred - January 2008
I'm sure we can understand his feelings
Yep
Santa's embers
Before Santa climbs down your chimney this Yuletide, I suggest you dampen the embers – a red hot arse is no way to impress the old man.
List of prezzis should be neatly typed, none of your spidery writing with ink blots, the result of too many whiskeys, and keep it short.
You try lugging round a sack, filled with Ipods and laptops, see how you feel.
My tip for successful Sants grovelling, is – forget the bloody milk, a decent glass of malt, and some nice cold grouse with game chips (to the hoi polloi, that’s crisps)
Oh yeah, keep the fearsome hound locked up in the coalhouse.Father Nicholas will be making some very unholy remarks if ‘Fluffy’ sinks canine choppers round his private parts, or anywhere else.
This cold weather can make a chap remember his bladder – post clear signs to the bathroom, or you might find Santa putting out the embers, all by himself.
I’m orff to find the whiskey, I mean pour some out for SantaHappy Christmas to everyone, (and with gritted teeth) that includes the Kraken groupies.
Yep.
Off to see the Kraut
Right, I'm orff to see the Kraut
While I am gone, there is no need for anyone to think they can let rip with Krakens, slimy sucker-pads, or anything else of that 'ilk'
And a word of warning, to the personage who asked if I was catching the Trans-Siberian train - he will regret that little quip (right where the sucker-plates go)
Yep
Can you hear the weather?
I don’t think the weather bods in this country have got it right; at one time our television broadcasts were bespattered by a clutch of toothsome young women, who beseeched us ‘to wrap up warmly’ and ‘take care out there’.
Not everyone cared for these sweetie-pies, and comments about ‘unwanted Nannies’ were rife: there were nostalgic longings for the weather forecasts of yesteryear.
I mean no one could imagine Michal Fish exhorting you to ‘Have a warm scarf’ or look terribly anxious at the thought of rain pattering down on your little head.
He might have assured us that the gales which flattened this country (1987) did not exist
I quote:
"Earlier on today apparently a lady rang the BBC and said she heard that there was a hurricane on the way. Well don't worry if you're watching, there isn't."
But he wore a tweedy jacket with a tie, and looked like everyone’s class teacher.
Fine, that’s how I like it – it’s going to rain, and the isobars do their thing.
(Mr Fish now says he was talking about Florida- I never heard him say anything about Florida)
Never mind
They’ve lost the plot, them at the BBC. The current trend is for the presenter to stand out in the rain, cold and miserable, telling you that....wait for it hombres....
‘It’s going to rain.’ Gosh.
I can’t see that having the poor sod stand in their Blue Peter garden improves it either.
(for you Yanks , BP is a kid’s programme where they make things out of cartons, and borrow the kiddies from a stage school, to make it look good)
What’s wrong with the studio format, where a person, in this case, a nice young lady, stands in front of a chart and points?
Nothing at all
I think the Yanks have got it right – cheerful person, in nice warm studio, and however bloody awful the weather is, beams at you anyway.
I guess the Beeb are into reality TV. Let’s be happy they don’t ask the presenter to add sound effects, when it’s windy.
Yep.
The Contraction of Gonads
Some folks might think that I gloat over the misfortunes of blokes
If anyone is murmuring ‘No no, of course not’ all I can say is they haven’t been paying attention.
If any of you red-blooded males want to improve your chances of getting laid, all you have to do is leap into an icy stretch of water, do a few metres, and hey presto, there you are.
Pumping with testosterone, the idea is that you leap out of the water, beat your chest, Tarzan style and I guess the females find you irresistible. So says Tom de Castella, writing in the New Statesman.
Sold on the idea that leaping into cold water is good for you, Mr de Castella writes
‘Suddenly the leaves on the surface become icebergs, the swan on the far side is a Russian warship guiding me home, and the jetty is the Siberian shore full of waving Inuits….’
I find the spectre of a dripping wet, pimple- skinned male, quite resistible but then, Brad Pitt & co., don’t do it for me either
The icy water contracts the gonads, you know, and the testosterone...er...’pumps’
Quite so.
The enthusiastic Castella assure us that it works for women as well, but I’m not about to try it.
Check it out, do – without Me.
Yep.
Notes
‘Cold water, hot blood’
Tom de Castella. New Statesman 8 November 2007
Read the article online
Cold water, hot bloodRed Fred's Pics
