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Much to my fury I have found (a) My NHS card (b) My out of date library card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 sons

One 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 meaning

Trust 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 2008


Clunk, clonk, clang… and we all laugh


Most 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