Moonbats

Dmitri’s younger brother sent me an e-mail last week. This is not a particularly common event, but I put it down to him missing the wife and kids. He’s a sentimental sort.

Anyway, the message went as follows:

Waiting on your views on Lord Stern’s lets all become Veggies to save the planet.

Why would he need to wait? You don’t have to be Derek Acorah (ha ha) to know that this sort of utter fuckwittery is just what those of us who aren’t in hock to cult of climate change need. If you spew out enough ridiculous bollocks to last a lifetime, all you are going to do is laugh at it. If people laugh at it, the thing lacks credibility. Then the mock science can be put to rest and the powers that be can just do what they really want us to do – pay tax and allow them to control us. Debunking climate change really will only be a Pyrrhic victory. It isn’t as if when the planet doesn’t provide the apocalypse and we all do live much the same as we do now that the twats who sold it to us are going to say “ooops sorry” and then proceed to drop their “green taxes”.

Nope, brother. I don’t really think there is any mileage in commenting on such utter nonsense as Lord Stern’s assertion that if we were all vegetarian, it would be better for the planet. What good does it do? Just as it doesn’t really play well to comment on the ridiculous nonsense that keeping a pet is as unenvironmentally sound as running an SUV. I knew that border collie was a problem.

What’s irresponsible behaviour anyhow? Is it me going to see the wife’s family for which I’ll be royally fucked in taxes for my one flight – let alone Transatlantic, it is my only flight – this year; or is it President Obama, wife, kith and kin going to Copenhagen to bid for the Olympics using all manner of aviational means to get there, and all paid for by the US taxpayer (and as I have a Tax Identification Number, I am now in that bracket! Well, I need to pay a cent or two first, but hey, I can comment). Or am I the danger, or all those thousands of tax enthusiasts joining together in Copenhagen next month to tell me to cut out things from my life, while they don’t give a shit because they still live the life of the lord?

You can’t parody it any more. Al Gore can still stick a hurricane on the front of his latest work of fiction, and because this has been the quietest Atlantic hurricane season in many a year, it is stuck in the Pacific this year, and they’ve had a few, he can keep to his yarn about destructive storms blah blah blah. He certainly hasn’t got poor on the back of his powerpoint presentation, even though his hockey stick graph as been shown up to be pretty crap, frankly.

So no, bro. No more on this for now. Well, not until my blood pressure rises due to the next item of moonbattery.

 

On The Edge Of Purgatory

As soon as tonight the worst could happen. The New York Yankees, who somehow have branded themselves as some sort of underdog upstarts, battling against adversity and impediments, with a loose playing staff you could just love, are now one game away from the World Series championship.

Let me get some facts straight. OK, not strictly facts, but certainly admissions.

The Yankees have the best batting line-up in baseball. On any given night they can take anything other than stellar pitching apart. The line-up is very good. The best in baseball by a fair way.

The Yankees have one of the elite starters in the league, a very decent number two man, and a more than decent number three pitcher. That they have over 100 wins in the regular season was down to point 1 above. That, and the best closer in the history of the game.

The Yankees pay more money, can buy more players of quality than anyone else. It is a fact. Imagine Manchester United beating Aston Villa in a best of seven series. Then imagine Manchester United branding themselves as the underdogs. It is that laughable.

To me, ever since the Red Sox went out, it has been inevitable in my mind that the Yankees would win it all. They got a lucky Game 2 win against the Twins, which saw them through the series comfortably, rather than squeaky bum time. They then got another fortunate Game 2 win against the Angels, who seemed content to field like bumbling amateurs happy to have got the Red Sox monkey off their back. I’m not saying the Red Sox would have won, but I’ll bet it would have gone 7. I had hoped the Phillies would do it, but this isn’t the 2008 version, and they are not playing the Rays. That they got (and wasted) such a great start by Pedro, and managed to keep the Blanton / Sabathia game close emphasises that Cole Hamels has gone backwards, and Brad Lidge is a liability.

So the richest team in all of sports will today buck its underdog status and win the main prize. If not tonight, then Wednesday when Pedro may be asked to repeat his luck again. The first win since 2009, and the sight of Joe Girardi as a World Series winning manager will only go to prove that money can pretty much buy you anything if you have the most of it.

Still, it will please the wife.

The “S” Word

Question – In a previous life your humble blogger railed against the use of which “s” word?

If you are struggling, then the first line of this e-mail I received today gives you a clue.

We Need A Strategy. At this point someone has affixed a vice on my head, is squeezing it as hard as it can, in order to extract the remnants of my brain through any facial orifice that puts up the least resistance. 

For my take on the use of this word, I would refer you to an old friend…

There are more details behind today’s nonsense that of course I cannot put online, but Jesus, there really are some people who wouldn’t have a clue about strategy…..

 

Driven To Distraction

I am a worker in the father-feed ‘em all that is the UK public service. As such I am paid a salary akin to my job security (relative) and try to do a decent job. I don’t see that I should be the focus of public rage because the banks were slipshod and a bit like a gambler who had a big win and started to lump its money on worse outsiders. I know we attract the ire of a population suffering at the moment, but we are just like you. We just took the lower risk route. You didn’t listen to our bleats in the good times, did you? (My department cut by over a half in the “good times).

But I tell you what does get my ire. Fucking consultants, that’s who. Where I work I have two people who have been brought in from outside behind me. One is quiet and very softly spoken. I hardly know he is there. The other is as noisy as hell, a real sloanie, trying to sell houses when she is charging the public purse a fortune, talking about her property portfolio, and generally getting on my nerves as she talks about her life loudly. Add to that, and I can’t really say the nature of her work, but it isn’t rocket science, they are making the task sound like the Labours of Hercules. I see ker-farking-ching as they continue to conceptualise, talk about what is stopping them from moving on, doing memoranda and business cases, scoping and Quality-reviewing talks, but as yet, no sign of any, you know, product.

I’ll bet it over-runs. I’ll bet it comes in over-budget. And I’ll bet it is fucking awful.

It isn’t all the public sector’s fault. You know the private contractors see them as a soft touch, get themselves in, place themselves in the department’s bloodstream like a Herpes virus, and continue to infect us on certain occasions. They also charge a lot of money to cure the illness, and like bloody coldsores, none of them fucking work.

And if that fucking mobile goes off again….

The Voice of Sanity…

I recommend this website to my readers, limited as they are.

www.abd.org.uk

I found myself nodding my head so often, I could be Churchill in the next ever so annoying insurance advert.

I recommend this article to you as well.

On the ABD site, read some of the submissions by highly trained traffic police officers. They show up the vindictiveness, the craven surrender of councillors to the politically convenient line, and the collaboration in attempting to make us all “offenders” in this brave new world. They persecute the car driver using the twin hydra of “road safety / less people killed” and “climate change”. There is an article on there about the closure of the tidal flow at the Blackwall Tunnel that finally got their objective from me, to pack in the car to work and take public transport.

It is an excellent site, and I would urge anyone to have a look around.

Ice Ice Baby

Readers will know that I am a teeny, itsy witsy bit sceptical about global warming, sorry climate change. You see I was always taught to look at both sides of an argument before making a decision based on information from both sides of the fence and then drawing what conclusions I can.

One factor I always like to bring in to any particular “decision” is that if it benefits a tax-levying government, and at the same time allow them more control levers over all our lives, then I have what is called a “don’t take the piss” warning alarm. Tax flights even more, tax petrol even more, use our money for gut wrenching adverts involving the “cheeeeldren” – please, won’t we think of their future – and when you add in to that Al Gore getting richer Nobel Peace Prizes on the back of it, then the attenae are bleeping off the chart.

Anyway, on to the subject of the day. The BBC raised the hopes of a number of us who have a hard time working out why those who believe in climate change think the only thing to do to continue their unfettered taking over of our lives is to silence, when they published an article which put forward scepticism to the tiniest degree. The leftie / greenie alliance (when they are about, I reach for my wallet and keep it shut) reacted with outrage. “You are giving these loonie deniers (we are akin to Holocaust deniers, you know) a platform. You are treating them as equals”. Call me a fool, but when someone wants to shut me up, I think, naturally that they have something to hide. It is called “natural cynicism” if you like.

Anyway, the BBC decided to run a story about an Ice-Free Arctic.

I won’t offer much comment as yet, except I will link you to the original article, and the utterly brilliant riposte from Anthony Watts’ “Watts Up With That Site”. I followed the Pen Hadow circus on WUTW (it is linked on the right) and you will know how scientifically inept this crap was if you read it. Please wonder how the BBC, an institution we fund, falls for such cobblers. Ask yourself, and then weep. All right, I couldn’t stop myself commenting….

The BBC Article.

Arctic To Be “Ice-Free In Summer”

The Watts Up With That’s comments

The Top Ten Reasons Why I Think The Catlin Arctic Ice Survey Data Can’t Be Trusted

Make your own minds up. Please. Don’t be told. Do your research. Look up the debunking of the Mann Hockey Stick graph and the Yamal Tree surveys. Question why the Times says a shipping passage has become navigable for the first time in history when patently it is an untruth. Ask why the Guardian deletes comments from sceptical people who think we might be being lied to.

Don’t trust a politician with an idea that gives them more control over you – make your own mind up. Dig about, ask why the sceptics are denied any airtime worthy of the name, while Al Gore’s discredited powerpoint presentation is treated as a latter day Biblical text. Ask why, as happened at a recent “press conference” why Phelime McAleer had his microphone switched off rather than ask a hostile question to the great Gore. No, the autocracy want you in their pockets, and what way to do this than by controlling us by tax and restricition of movements.  

In the words of Thomas Jefferson..

“When the people fear their government, there is tyranny; when the government fears the people, there is liberty.”

Let me state, for the record, that I don’t believe in using up the earth’s resources irresponsibly. I don’t believe that people shouldn’t recyclye. I am using public transport at the moment because it benefits me (it wasn’t cost, it was opportunity cost that changed my mind). I have a love of our countryside and scenery and love seeing the world when I get a chance as it is educational and enlightening. Yet we seek to deny that opportunity on the altar of guilt. What do you want us to do, freeze? Stay where we are? Cut our standard of living on this gaia nonsense. I believe we should be responsible. I don’t believe we should believe we are guilty.

And While I Am On The Subject…

Re that EastEnders article. Look down the side for some of the “entertainment” headlines.

Sky TV to screen Michael Jackson seance.

Cheryl Cole to mime on X-Factor.

Edison gave up so much to discover electricity. John Logie Baird pioneered the TV. Mozart and the classicists produced music of complexity and depth. All would probably look down now and say “why the hell did we bother”.

A few years ago there was a fantastic comedy series called Hot Metal. It parodied the workings of a newspaper with ludicrous stories, ridiculous headlines and stupid stunts. That seance headline would have been right up their strasse. Parody has become fact.

Let us look at the first story. No lets. It is Derek Acorah who is going to try to contact him, which stretches credibility, such as there was any, to breaking point. It is this particular piece of bilge that had me reaching for the pins to commence eye gouging…

“Speaking about the show, presenter June Sarpong said: “I’ve always been a huge Michael Jackson fan, he truly was the King of Pop, and I was shocked and saddened by his sudden death. I think viewers will find this programme intriguing and will want to tune in to see what happens.

“It’s the first time I’ve done anything like this but I’m open-minded and can’t wait to see what Derek uncovers,” she added.”

June Sarpong has obviously been offered a fair deal of money to front this buffoonery. I must confess I’ve never heard of her before, so she obviously doesn’t have a stellar career to kill off by appearing in this must-see TV!

Sky’s official line is no less bile-inducing…

“There is an insatiable appetite to find out more about Michael Jackson. He was an extraordinary figure and the curiosity surrounding his life – and his death – stretches well beyond fans of his music.”

And if they can lure enough of the suckers in, we can sell more advertising! To paraphrase their nauseatingly insulting football promo…”We know how you feel about Michael Jackson, because we feel the same.” You dumb fucks!

Personally, I’d rather them get up Glenn Miller and ask him what happened to his plane. But then, it is the King of Pop and there are enough freaks out there to eat this nonsense up. It makes me worry for the world…

As for the second story…

What? You mean she has sung live? Really?

I thought the world at large could not be taken more for fools, but on a show where the contestants have to perform live and are then subject to comments by c***s of various orders of c***itude about the quality or otherwise of their choons, and to then have one of those stand up and mime some pop-tripe of some lamentable quality is a bit like being taken the piss out of. “Hey you, if you have talent, you can lip-synch just like me.” Providing some deranged numpty doesn’t punch you in the face first, eh Leona?

And so to the patronising, insult-your-intelligence, take you for the c*** you are statement from an “insider”.

An X Factor insider told the paper: “Cheryl is the break-out star of Girls Aloud and there are big plans for her. Nobody – either on the X Factor nor her record label Polydor – wants to see her fail, which is why we thought it was better for Cheryl to mime her performance.”

Can’t take a chance on her fucking it up, eh?

If you fear for the future of this country, I would seriously advise you not to read the comments section. This lot couldn’t care less about recessions, the EU superstate or war in Afghanistan. It’s all about the X Factor innit.

For the love of Christ. Someone shoot me.

A Traditional Happy Christmas!

As per bloody usual, the BBC seeks to celebrate Christmas with an uplifting and optimistic schedule of programmes, to bring out the best in everyone and elicit a warm glow in every household.

Christmas Murder in EastEnders

I may be a moany old git (you moany old git) but for the love of fucking God, can the BBC can this load of unmitigated old wank for one day? I don’t know who Alfie Mitchell is. I don’t care who Alfie Mitchell is. Why, on what is our holiest celebration, do we have to have yet another unremittingly depressing, criminal-infested episode of this cack.

We’ve had divorces, deaths, failed marriages (I know all this because my Mum watched this nonsense) and famously in our household the Mitchell Christmas re-enacted a famous Christmas in the related-Dmitri Old family (involving a 9-iron and a car windscreen in our case) but the schtick went from a little dark to just totally depressing nearly year on year (Shane Richie once got married in a sort of uplifting one I seem to recall).

No. Back to murder. It is a ratings winner.

Announcement – Problems

I am not sure why, but while working on the blog last night on my laptop while being literally spellbound by the England v Belarus game, I discovered that WordPress would not allow me to upload pictures onto the blog. So unless I can find out why I am getting an IO error, anything that is uploaded will be from other sources and much more limited in scope.

Other than that, I’ll try other avenues and link to them from this blog. I already have a livejournal and blogspot account (and the old place won’t be revived, before you think it will) so there are other areas if it is a wordpress only problem or if it is permanent.

Watch this space.

50 People Who Fouled Up Football…

I came across a book with this title somehow or other today. I wondered who Michael Henderson had decided would be in his pantheon of horrors, and if some of my bete noires were in there.

If I had to pick the 50 people to foul up football, here are some of my contenders.

David Evans. A Weapons grade c*** who did Maggie’s bidding. When the WindyBricks kicked off at his shithole, the folly of that muppet not making the game all ticket came home to roost. So he became a Tory MP, banned away fans, had a plastic pitch and was the odious cretin who instead of being a loud mouth, was Thatcher’s toady.

Lord Justice Taylor. He might have meant well, but all seater stadium were his legacy. Do you know, if Liverpool had been the team killed in the Munich Air Disaster, I doubt any of us would be allowed to fly any more.

Rick Parry – The architect of the Premier League. In 1992-3 that behemoth was created. In the 19 years of the league we have had FOUR teams win it. Manchester United, Chelsea, Arsenal and Blackburn. In the previous 19 years Liverpool, Arsenal, Leeds United, Everton, Aston Villa, Nottingham Forest and Derby County won it. Not only did Manchester United fail to win it, but provincial teams had a shout. QPR and Watford and Ipswich finished 2nd. That’s a pipe dream. Parry was the salesman and while the rich clubs have benefited f*** all else has. And the biggest beneficiaries have been the really big clubs. Stupendous.

Whoever was responsible for the Champions League – I hate it. You don’t have to be champions to get in (Liverpool’s last league title was 18 years ago) and yet… The clubs moan about too many fixtures but at one stage you played 12 games just to get to the quarter finals! You also destroyed the Cup Winners Cup, the UEFA Cup, and in England it is part of the reason the FA Cup is a relic.

Andy Gray – Who proved to all and sundry, when he bottled taking the Everton job and chose to stay in the comfort zone of criticising everyone else when he feels like it in the Sky box as some sort of fucking guru, that he is a prick. He is the epitome of the Premier League. Overblown, overexposed and full of its own self importance.

OK – I’ll take a break and look at some of Henderson’s list. Some small comments where appropriate…
Alan Green (fair enough – self important cock);

Alan Hansen (harsh – seems harmless to me.)

Alan Hardaker – FA administrator (before my time, but legends are that he was a bit of a tosser);

Alan Sugar (confused at this one. Should be sanctified for Carlos Kickaball in my eyes);

Alf Ramsey (rubbish – manager of a World Cup winning team. What’s he on about);

Ashley Cole (no argument here. The epitome of the Premier League’s vapidity);

Bill Shankley (erm….eh?)

Bob Shennan (no idea who this is)

Charles Hughes (oh dear. He was an arse, he did like direct football, but he wouldn’t be on my list);

Cristiano Ronaldo (Indeed. Again no argument. It was the constant “he’s the best player in the world” shit that got me);

David Baddiel (For a song? Oh come on);

David and Victoria Beckham (5 years ago the former was a lock for this list. His attitude to playing for England has gone a long way to rehabilitating himself in my eyes, but yes, you can’t leave him out for the pop star nonsense);

Denis Wise (A Grade A C***);

Derek Hatton (Jesus? What on earth has this got to do with anything?);

Don Revie (Some people never forgive);

Garry Cook (Who?);

George Best (Another who was best in the world just because he happened to be Man Utd’s best player);

George Graham (For bungs? Like no-one else was. WindyBricks will never forget what he did for us);

Golden Generation (which one, or is it fifty titles?);

Gordon Taylor (no argument);

Graham Poll (no argument);

Graham Taylor (A bit harsh. Out of his depth as an England manager, but fouled up football?);

Harold Thompson (need to look him up);

Hooligans (Easy target);

Hunter Davies (Er….why?);

Ian Wright (No argument – and another who encourages people to think they can be TV stars on the back of the sport);

Joey Barton (Plenty of other scumbags around);

John Hall/Freddie Shepherd (The latter, yes, but why Sir John. He gave Newcastle a buzz);

Jonathan Barnett &; Mel Stein (And any other fucking leech – can I add Sky Andrew please);

José Mourinho (You have him and not Sir Alex?);

Ken Bates (Cheap, easy, spot on);

Lord Kinnaird (who?);

Nick Love (I am reminded of the Public Enemy lyric – You singers are spineless, as you sing your senseless songs to the mindless. Love’s films hit the spot);

Paul Gascoigne (I think football fouled him up) ;

Paul Ince (No argument. Not really);

Peter Kenyon (Weapons grade bell-end);

Peter Ridsdale (He fouled up Leeds rather than football. So no enemy of mine);

Peter Swales (No argument);

Piers Morgan (I hate the bloke, but what the hell has he done to foul up football);

Pini Zahavi (Eh?);

Richard Keys (A stooge. An annoying stooge, but a stooge nonetheless. Far less odious than Gray or Jamie Redknapp);

Richard Scudamore (A lock – Rick Parry’s successor as the c*** behind the abomination of current football);

Robinho (Why?);

Roman Abramovich (Why not Jack Walker then? Or the Glazers? Or David Dein?);

Sam Allardyce (Nonsense);

Sepp Blatter (Why no Joao Havelange? I ain’t arguing, but you can’t have one without the other);

Steve McLaren (He was a tool. He never fouled up football);

Terry Venables (I don’t know why. He did a great job with Goldberg at Palace in my eyes);

Tony Banks (For supporting Chelsea?).

Where is the Crimson Snide? Where is Eric Cantona? Where is Arsene Wenger (for myopia as a convenient excuse for bad behaviour)? Where is Roy Keane (a much more evil version of Paul Ince)? Where is Dwight Yorke? Where is David Murray? Where is the man / men who allowed Manchester United to opt out of the FA Cup? Where is David Mellor? Where is Harry Redknapp? Where is Didier Drogba? Where, if we are doing collectives, are “Liverpool fans” who are the biggest bleeding heart, myopic, maudlin, self-righteous, self-obsessed collective around? Where are TV football schedulers who think that Friday night is an acceptable time to hold a football match? Where is Irving Scholar?  Where is the c*** who believed that a grey strip was appropriate for England? Where is Harry Harris? Where are the members of the England “band”? I would add anyone who thinks that a penalty shootout is a better to way to settle a football match than golden goals. I would add the twat who banned additional replays in the FA Cup.

The book obviously sparked debated, judging by the comments on the web. This Liverpool thread is an example (and I see I’ve missed off Wayne Rooney (hmmm), Sven (try Adam Crozier instead), Martin Edwards (why?), Freddie Mercury (eh?), Charles Reep (que?), Nigel Kennedy (for fuck’s sake), Geordie Blubber (jesus), Antonio Rattin (but not Diego, eh?), The fans (whatever), Didier Drogba (he was there), Sid and Doris Bonker (what is he on about), Mike Ashley (why?).

What went wrong with football can be laid at the door of three things. Hillsborough priced people out of the game and ruined clubs who had to renovate or die. Then came the Premier League that put survival to earn money as a higher priority than achievement and focussed more of the money on those that are at the top. The league is utterly uncompetitive – when was the last time Arsenal, Chelsea, Liverpool and Manchester United weren’t our representatives in the Champions League. Then Euro 96 watered down the atmosphere and made football occasions rather than a sport. We had bands, face paint the fucking works. Those that stuck with the game were increasinglt disenfranchised. Every day had football on TV. The special occasion became more scarce. Now football is an increasing irrelevance in my life.

It May Amuse Only Me…

But I will conduct an experiment. I paid £21.40 for a Zone 2-4 travelcard for this week. I will outline how many times someone has wanted to see this card this week as I commute to work.

Monday 12 October…

Train – Walked to the station. No-one there at Grove Park to check, as usual. In all my time using that station since I started commuting even occasionally, I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times there are people there in the morning. No-one checks when I get out at Lewisham.

DLR @ 9:35 – the Passenger Liasion Officer, or whatever it is they are called did not bother with a check.

DLR @ 18:05 – Always crowded, the Passenger Liaison Officer never, ever bothers. Want to jump a fare? I’ve never ever seen the inspectors at Lewisham.

Lewisham to Grove Park – No-one checks you in, and again, since I started commuting, no-one has checked you out.

I could have walked home but a bus turned up, and of course, showed my ticket. However, if I had no ticket I could have used my Oyster for a pound or walked home.

Checked Usage = £1

Tuesday 13 October -

Walked to station. No-one at Grove Park as usual. Got off at Lewisham. No-one checks at Lewisham.

DLR @ 9:35 – Passenger Liaison Officer looked like he was hungover, he was slouching so much. Certainly in no mood to check tickets. No-one at my get off station as usual.

You get my drift here? What’s the fine if you get caught? If you did a cost benefit analysis, I’m sure you would make a packet jumping fares and pleading guilty to the offence… Not that I could condone this in any way. You wonder why public transport isn’t as revenue generating as it should be? You think the criminals and the slackers don’t know this?

UPDATE 1 – Tuesday night. 6 pm DLR to Lewisham – no checks. Once off at Lewisham, no checks. Got on 6:30 to Grove Park, no checks getting on or leaving GP station. Again, only had to show pass to bus driver.

Checked Usage – £1 (total £2)

Wednesday 14 October -

Dynamic changed a bit as I got up early. On bus to Mottingham at 7:15 so pass obviously checked then. Arrived at Mottingham and walked through the unguarded door. No check. Got off at Lewisham at 7:55 and although two police officers were standing at the top of the stairs, they weren’t there to check tickets.

No-one checked the tickets either entering Lewisham DLR station, on the DLR itself, or getting off at my appointed station. Halfway through the week and my checked usage is £3, for a ticket value of £10.70. As I said, you think the criminals don’t know this?

Some Monday Thoughts…

All totally at random, but here goes…

While on holiday I managed to watch all 8 parts of Michael Palin’s Pole to Pole. The only thing I would say is that it got a PG certificate but at one point, Mr Palin’s appendage is clearly visible. Excuse me. He also gets his arse out too! I could get all Daily Mail here, but who cares. Actually if you read his diary extracts on line, you get a much better feel for the journey he took. I thoroughly enjoyed it and will look for the others on sale to take up a few more hours of my time.

The next book being read is by Colin Thubron and is called “Shadow of the Silk Road”. Lord knows why, because I read his book “In Siberia” and although he wasn’t as tiresome as the author of Mirrors of the Unseen (Jason Elliot – and I’ll explain why sometime but it revolves around a charicature American, his moaning about tourists, and then an incident with a camera – clue…you were a tourist too, mate) that book plodded. I am wading through it like I would a lake of treacle. Don’t expect a book review for a month.

A quick restaurant review or two. I went to the East Quay fish restaurant on Saturday in Whitstable. Jolly nice, if a little pricey. In Cornwall I had lunch in the Wellington Hotel in Boscastle, and thought the fish left a lot to be desired, but then again, I was a bit grouchy that day. At the Godolphin Hotel in Marazion, the burger was fine, but the staff need hearing aids (the mother-in-law went meal-less). The Norway Inn, on the main road between Truro and Falmouth did an excellent baguette – but lets face it, that’s tough to cock up. Harvey’s Wharf in Falmouth got good reviews from the beloved and m-i-l but I thought my whitebait was cack, and the crippling soullessness of the place probably accentuated by malaise. The sandwich and smoothie at Polzeach (near Rock) was absolutely magnificent – especially the smoothie. Although expensive, I wanted another. That’s the end of food critic corner.

I listened to the radio when the boss of the refs union suggested the Crimson Snide should be suspended. I sometimes wonder if football can get any more up its own arse, and then something comes along to banish those wonderments. Crimson Snide is a law unto himself, he does what he wants, he knows he is untouchable, and yet you feed it. If he thinks Alan Wiley is bad, then my mate Henry VIII would point him in the direction of Phil Dowd!

Hey ho. Rio Ferdinand made a dozy mistake. Why is anyone surprised? Ashley Cole makes an error trying to do too much. Why is anyone surprised? I swear, football can’t parody itself enough.

On the way home from Whitstable I had Charlton v Oldham on the radio. A League One game on Radio Five Live. It may well have been a bad game, but fuck me blind, if that had been Liverpool v Man Utd, frequently a turgid affair, I’ll bet the moans wouldn’t have formed the basis of the commentary. Have a pop at the lower leagues, twats. No-one cares.

The NFL game in London is two weeks away and my tickets haven’t shown up. Worried. Not yet. Ticketmaster said they had been despatched and we were away all last week, but there is no record of them trying to deliver the things.

I will avoid politics for the time being, except to say that Ben Bradshaw must be having a laugh. In general.

Barack Obama won the Nobel Peace prize. According to those that know about this sort of thing, he was nominated just 10 days or so into office. Hope wins you millions. I must confess I laughed. Still, Al Gore won it a couple of year’s back for a powerpoint presentation so credibility is always going to be a problem.

Nice to see Rio win the Olympics – it really needed to go there. If they can afford it, and the infrastructure is there, then it should go there, and wasn’t it amusing to see Chicago go out first depsite the Messiah making their case. Change I could believe in.

Congratulations to the Eden Project for having helpful stewards and attendants – and not utter utter jobsworths. You still couldn’t pay me to actually go in there, but at least I dropped off and picked up the beloved and m-i-l with help from the high visibility jacket brigade.

I have several beers to consume, but will say at the outset that Skinners Cornish Lager is a most acceptable beverage. I have Sharps, St Austell, Skinners, Keltek, Lizard and Wooden Hand to drink – yes, I am getting more into bitters.

It would be nice to see the Dolphins beat the Jets and pop that awful team’s bubble. It won’t happen though. A shame also that Favre and the Vikings are 5-0. The beloved’s Giants are also 5-0 and look the best of the bunch at the moment.

I know the Yankees are the best team in the MLB, but did they really need to be helped by playing Minnesota less than 24 hours after they clinched their place in the postseason and having had to go 12 innings to do so? Why didn’t they just make it clear and ask them to play with one hand tied behind their back while they were at it?

Think it easy to do without Sky Sports (or ESPN America)? I had a whole week without it and it was very bad. With nothing major on the terrestrial channels, it was a case of Sky News or those god awful channels with home auctions and what not. No wonder I watched the DVDs on the laptop (see internet problems).

Nice to see Terminal 4 has had a polish up. However, you get the feeling that the airline industry is in a really bad way at the moment, and it wasn’t exactly a hive of activity there. Maybe it was a false impression.

Now the Sox are out, at least I can sleep without looking up their score on the mobile. The beloved will be happy about that, I am sure.

WindyBricks drew 1-1 with Willie Carson and Julian Wilson’s Magic Roundabout Town, which according to the cognoscenti was a good result. Some bloke on loan scored for us, and Comes Alive got sent off. I missed a 5-0 win over the team managed by “You’ve got to have the gift, but use it at the right time.” Clearly he didn’t and he couldn’t. Not Thierry got a hat-trick, and all of them were from outside the area, and none of them bust the net. The Plassie Scousers soon got rid of “Liverpool FC is Hard As Hell”.

Enough random musings. I will return.

Sleepwalking

There’s a lot to love about the UK – yes, really there is. It is a beautiful country, and I will be sampling some of its pleasures soon with a trip down to Cornwall. As I have a wife relatively new to the country, I’ve got out of my suburban bolt-hole and seen parts of the country outside the cities and their football grounds. Driving through the Cotswolds to Worcester in May, strolling around Whitstable, a weekend break in Dorset a couple of years back and our fantastic week away in the Highlands of Scotland.

But this country has a lot to worry about. The increasing pervasiveness of the state and local authorities in our lives, telling us how to live, banning us when the state believes we are doing wrong. You know I am a climate change sceptic, seeing less as “save the planet” but “fleece the public” in the eyes of politicians while the great unwashed and the students see it as the new cause celebre now everyone is fed up with “ban the bomb”. We see a government straining every sinew to stay in power, and we see a populace equally straining every sinew to avoid anything to do with politics. We see the rise of the BNP, and the politician / liberal cognoscenti sniff and believe the only way to stop them is to ban them instead of trying to work out just why their support is increasing – it isn’t rocket science. We see economic woes that we know will hit us, but we just seem oblivious…

I don’t / can’t do a political diatribe here, but what does get me with this country, and the serious issues we face, is how we let trivialities dominate. When I see charities, funded by public money through government departments, that is, by the taxes you and I pay telling me how to live my life and suggesting all manner of banning, deprivation, denegration and degeneration of the individual, I get mad. I get angry. It seems other people are oblivious and care only that Arlene Phillips has been replaced on the panel of Strictly Come Dancing by Alesha Dixon. It isn’t a show I watch, nor one I particularly care about. However, this article in the epitome of this country the Daily Mail, sums it all up. At the time of writing 187 people have cared enough to write something on this. It is bollocks. So what? How has your life changed for the good or for the worse over this change? So what if she does things differently to her predecessor? It is trivial.

Fuck me. People are sleepwalking. Truly they are.

Ah…Rage Welling Inside…I’m Back…

I knew it. I had been too calm, serene, peaceful etc. etc. So what has made me angry, I hear none of you ask…

THIS.

I am travelling to the US with my beloved in November. If it isn’t bad enough that BA are going to start charging for the extra bag you take to the States (although they don’t make it crystal clear, because we booked before the 7th October we are “grandfathered” into the two bag clause) then they take the next step in the Ryanliar business model by charging you to pre-book seats. This isn’t aimed at the solo traveller, but at the couples (families with kids look like they are still free) or mates. It also appears to be targetted at those who read seatguru and look to book some of the better seats that have more room (I benefitted from one of those coming from and going to Singapore en route to Australia). I know the airlines are having a tough time, victimised as they are by specious climate taxes by governments who seem hell bent on making travel the preserve of the rich once more, and by the tiresome climate lobby… so you respond by what? Pissing what customers you have off even more than you already have to.

If that isn’t bad enough, then this takes the biscuit

British Airways last night defended its new seat reservation charges.

‘British Airways is launching a new service to give customers more control over their seating options.

You see, the only thing that pisses me off more than being taken the piss out of, is being taken the piss out of in an even more patronising way than you usually do. How the fuck is this giving me “more control”? At the moment, I am in charge, even total control, of £80 of my (hard) earned cash. Because, reasonably, I would quite like to sit with my wife on the flight out and back, BA would like to give me more control of the seating arrangements, that have never been a problem before, by charging me £80 to guarantee I sit next to my wife. That’s the element of my control….

‘Customers will now be able to select their seats when booking and secure exit row seats.’

Only you won’t be able to get the emergency exit seats until 10 days before, and you have to pay £50 per seat for them. Not that they are any use to me, as I’m wider than the average bear. I prefer a window seat if at all possible, but I suppose they’ll go..

Mark Hassell, BA’s head of customer experience, said: “There are various seats within the aircraft that we frequently receive requests for from our customers.

Yes. And those you are charging extra for. How does this square with the couples who’d like to sit together and are now faced with an £80 gamble? Do we shell that out to guarantee a seat together, or risk it and pray we can still do so? How pissed off would you be to pay £80 and find, as I frequently do, the flight half-empty?

This quote, though, is the one that makes the blood boil..

‘The move is in line with the airline’s response to surviving the economic downturn, by listening to customers’ requests and looking for innovative revenue streams.

Every customer I know wants to pay more. Every customer I know wants to pay for something they previously got for nothing. Every customer welcomes such innovations.

BA, well done. I despise Virgin, but you’ve made it much more likely that I’ll be flying with them next time around. Have you the fucking foggiest idea what you are doing? People despise Ryanliar, but realise it is just an hour or two hindrance rather than 7 or 8 hours flying back and forwards to the States. We all know Ryanliar to be a bunch of thieving deceptive bastards, but they are the cheapest source of travel and we use the rules the best we can. No-one loves Ryanliar. Now, in the name of customer innovation, as you call it, you are charging for seats, you are charging for bags. What next? I know when you are trying to fleece me. You utter, utter fuckwits. You can fuck off.

Always Leave ‘Em Laughing…

Always got to love those prophets… This one, according to the people what know this stuff, made this list of prophecies in 1958. I suppose he’s keeping his reputation intact on the Iraqi war thingamy (or predicting the plot of Capricorn One), but I defy anyone to get to number 30 and have the will to live.

Mr Meier’s Laugh In

Let no-one ever call me a misery-guts again. Never.

The Commuter Chronicles

How does this work?

I walked to the station this morning – this chunkster needs the exercise – and as it was a Monday morning, I thought I’d have a lie in compared to the 7 o’clock rise and shine. This time I would walk to the nearer station, Grove Park, for the 9:24.

I huffed and puffed my lumbering frame up the hill, got to the top of Chinbrook Road and headed into the station. There, on the board, it said. 09:24 Cannon Street – Expected 09:33.

A large “oh fuck off” was spoken, probably audibly, as this happy commuter pondered whether to phone the office to explain how this lump couldn’t be arsed to get out of bed this morning and hence was going to be late. And I do put the ponder into ponderous, by the way…

So I walked onto the platform, and decided to take a seat and ponder some more. I took out Walk In The Woods, my first Bryson read, and he is in the Delaware Water Gap (been there!) at this point of the book. I have the Ipod on, and oblivious to the world.

Suddenly, a train, pulls up in front of me. Well bless me, if it wasn’t the 09:24 on time. The miracle of Grove Park indeed.

Does this happen all the time?

Stupid People…

In relation to the story below about the new vetting service, I saw a comment from someone in Kent on a newspaper site..

“I am a school voluntary worker, a school governor and a church children’s worker and I and my co workers have been required to have police checks for the last 6 or 7 years. Why would anyone with nothing to hide not be willing to have checks done?”

People like this deserve to be ruled by fascist dictatorships. Really they do…. Just because you are holier than thou, sir/madam, don’t come running to us when you are (a) falsely accused; (b) slandered; (c) the victim of a mistake or (d) misunderstood. You think they are going to care about you. After all, it truly is better to be safe than sorry.

If you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear. You fucking naive fool.

For The Love of Sanity…

I read today a story about volunteers who regularly drive minibuses for sports clubs or social events will need to be criminally checked before they are able to do so to make sure the person concerned isn’t a paedophile. You know, as always, the line is “it is for the children” and sure enough out the line gets trotted..

It is about ensuring that people in a position of trust that work frequently and intensively with children are safe to do so.

“Ultimately safeguarding children is the government’s priority.”

Of course it is. It is most assuredly not about getting 11 million on a database for this state obsessed with knowing what its subjects are up to. As you may have noted from the story about Adrian, which was recounted a couple of months ago on this blog, even if he had been found innocent of the things he’d been accused of, he would probably have fallen foul of this register on the premise that there is “no smoke without fire”. So don’t just assume it is the kiddy fiddler alone who is being brought up by this. Got drunk and had a fight? You may well be on this list as unsuitable… who knows how you pass these checks.

So the BBC carries this story. In a world where men are finding it increasingly difficult to get work with children because the assumption is now being drip fed into the public psyche that it is women’s work and that men who want to teach, run the scouts, help kids to develop all secretly want to molest them and are all potential paedophiles, we need a balanced, even-handed approach. I’ll tell you, in my own small way, how this affects me. When I walk my border collie, a load of the local kids, who absolutely love Jake, all want to come up and stroke him. He loves the attention and lays down for them. If I am on my own, I am concious that if a number of adults see me do this regularly, they are going to think I am a potential peadophile. Yes, it is that fucking stupid. But when you have the approach “you can’t be too careful” and the small number of menaces to society are blown up to represent us all in the male world, that’s what happens. I don’t want a parent to think I am using a dog to get kid’s attention. So sometimes I just try to walk on as quickly as I can. Without being rude…

So, this BBC story. Who do you think the BBC has a photo of on the attached article. Baden Powell? A Blue Peter presenter? Today’s equivalent of Philip Schofield.

No.

This is the picture to accompany the story. Representative of what this is trying to stop.. The sort of man that 40000 names registering them to be unsuitable to be around kids will include..

The tag beneath the photo reads “The rules aim to stop those like Soham killer Ian Huntley accessing children.”

For christ’s sake. “Thos like Soham killer Ian Huntley.” You must be joking. How many similar cases to the Soham murders have their been? And in any case, would him not being permitted to work with children stop him from having contact with kids and stop him from being a murderer? Er, no. And as a representative of this load of government interfering twaddle – brilliant. Before you work with kids, you have to prove you are not like Ian Huntley.

I despair. It is fucking insane.

What next. You can’t work in a bank if you have had a drink with Kenneth Noye? Can’t be allowed into B&Q in case you are like Peter Sutcliffe? Not allowed to build my patio if your name is a point of the compass?

Evil is evil. They don’t generally sign registers.

And no. I don’t have kids. I have three lovely nieces on my brother’s side, and four nieces (1) and nephews (3) through my wife. I know how I feel about them. I would not like to see them in harm’s way, but realise, sometimes, they will be. Evil is evil, risk is risk. This is trojan horse stuff, and embeds, once again in the public psyche that paedophiles are rife and waiting to get your kids. Only the state, the great state, can stop them. And if you get demonised due to a conviction for a bit of a kick up when you were younger, then bad luck. You can have your own kids, but don’t think you can look after others. And if you are on the watchlist through error, or found innocent of spurious charges? Well, we are doing it for the children.

For the children.

Ian Huntley indeed. Wankers.

Livingstone’s Folly, Boris is a Wally…

I am, despite everything, a car driver. It has entered into the public, Guardian-reading liberalistas that I am one up from Adolf Hitler. At various times I am a mass murderer of cyclists, I am poisoning the children and their frail lungs (and please God, won’t someone think of the children) and, of course, I am now the sort of person who is condemning millions to a life of famine and shortage through “climate change” because by me, little old fatboy me, decided he could get to work in 30 minutes (20 on a good day, 40 on a bad) rather than an hour door-to-door by public transport (all those off to Climate Change junkets around the world – their emissions don’t count you know)…. An hour a day saved, means an hour more with my wife, my border collie and to relax ready for the next day…

This week is the worst for traffic as the kids go back to school, mums hop into Chelsea Tractors and clog up the roads, the rush hour lasts longer and is worse, and the queue for the Blackwall Tunnel is never shorter than Woolwich Flyover, is more likely to be Sun-in-the-Sands, and more regularly Kidbrooke. For those of you who do not know this London thoroughfare, let me explain to you the meaning of this terminology.

Blackwall Lane – Short queue, usually caused by the narrowing in the road from 3 to 2 lanes, and a slip road coming onto the main road. During the Summer the queue can be shorter even this and, heaven forfend, you don’t stop on some occasions.

The North Greenwich Footbridge – Middling queue, normal length for summer and Fridays at all times of the year. Very acceptable. 5/10 minute wait.

The Woolwich Road Flyover – Two scales to this one. If the queue is at the top of the bridge then it is an average day, and a 15 minute wait will be the result. The wait is caused, even though it is a relatively short distance to the Footbridge, by inconsiderate twats who cut you up without so much as a thank you. The correlation between these ignorant c***s and their ownership of German cars is absolutely uncanny. Scientists would have a field day. The second scale is on the south side of the bridge, quite often as a result of the queue to get off the A102 and onto Trafalgar Road. That queue in the inside lane can go back as far as Sun-in-the-Sands, but even though that is obvious to the most rational, sentient beings, those in possession of Deutschland Uber Autos still drive up the middle lane and then block off two lanes of traffic as they try to cut in at the top. If the queue is on the south side, 20 minutes is the usual non-overheight vehicle/broken down in the tunnel wait.

Sun-in-the-Sands – the name of a pub where the roundabout to Blackheath/Shooters Hill looms over the top of the A102. If the queue is back to here, and there are no further accidents / foreign ignoramus lorry drivers / wankers then you can reckon on 30/35 minutes to reach the tunnel. During peak times, with no tidal flow any more, and kids at school, between 8 nd 10 you can reckon on the queue being back here. In the days of the Tidal Flow it was extraordinary that it reached back that far. Still, we are told, because we are taken for fucking morons, that congestion has not got worse. There is technical term for this sort of statement. It is called “BOLLOCKS”. The fun really starts if people see this queue and decide to get off the A102 and go onto the A2 over Blackheath. If that queue for the roundabout stretches back onto the A102 itself, you get…

Kidbrooke – This is where I used to get on the A102. A stupid set of lights, now more of a problem coming home as some two bod idiot numpty has them phased all wrong with the lights by the station, so making drivers home take a chance as to whether they’ll get across the northbound carriageway or not. Where do we get these clowns from. If the queue is back this far, and I’ve heard it on the news, I am taking the train in. More often than not, travel news from the BBC focuses on the M25, North-West London and the North Circular. Many is the time I have been in a 40 minute queue and it has never warranted a mention on BBC London, as they are more concerned at a lorry broken down on the hard shoulder on the A40 or whatever…. Reckon on an hour from here – and a phone call to work saying “sorry, I am going to be late….”

Eltham – Can I just turn around and go home please. This is where I get on. When I get to the lights at the bottom of the A2 (as it is there) I look up and get a sense of relief if I see a lorry (can’t see the cars) moving freely past. If you see one stationary, it is going to be a long morning….

Anyway, this week, after a Sun-in-the-Sands Monday, and a day being tortured by Hatchet Harriet (physio) and an apprentice spiv washing machine deliverer (ooooh, can’t install that today, sir – you need a plumber. His colleague fitted it today with no drama), I made a decision to come in by public transport for a week. Now I know this isn’t exactly Pole to Pole with Michael Palin, but for me, it is a step forward into the world of public transport by “choice”. I am going to get fitter walking to stations. I am going to be able to read books on the trains. I am going to get home earlier because, like it or not, leaving the Isle of Dogs between 4:30 and 6:30 is for those who willingly subject themselves to abuse. I am leaving the office at 5:25 to get the 17:52 from Lewisham, and all being well, be home by 6:15-:6:20.

The plan is – up at 7 am, out at about 7:50. Bus to Mottingham to get the 8:22. Arrive at Lewisham at 8:35, DLR to the office, get in at around 8:55 – 9 am.

Day 1 – Walk up to bus stop. As I ascend the small rise, I see the bus go past. No worry it is 7:55, and it is ten minutes between buses, and I have two routes to get me to Mottingham – law of averages suggest it will be 5 minutes as an average, 10 at worst. Bus turns up at 8:08. Same number as the first (126). 124 follows 2 minutes behind that. Miss 8:22 which pulls out just as I reach the station (needed to buy a travelcard so always pushing it). Wait 20 minutes for next train – arrive at work at 9:18. No dramas going home.

Day 2 – Leave 5 minutes earlier – at 7:51 on my watch. As I ascend the small rise away from my house, I see the bus go past. No worries it is 7:51 and it is 10 minutes between buses, and I have two routes to get me to Mottingham – law of averages suggest it will be 5 minutes as an average, 10 at worst. Bus turns up at 8:13. Same number as the first (126). Another 126 follows behind that, as does a 124. These wankers are taking the piss. Get off bus early to beat it to Mottingham Station. (you get off the stop before, because the queue to get across the A20 at Court Road going towards Eltham is appalling, and if you walk, you get to the station before the bus). Turn up at Mottingham at 8:24. Wait nearly 20 minutes for the next train. Get into work at 9:18. Going home the 17:52 is cancelled, I miss the 17:48 to Eltham as I can’t walk quick enough. Get the next train (17:54) to Eltham. Get off there. Wait ten minutes for 161 (one left as I came out of the station). Get off 161 at Mottingham as I know a 126 is following it. As I get to Mottingham, the 18:12 (the Mottingham to Lewisham train I could have waited for) pulls in. They all pile onto the 161. 126 delayed a little but two minutes later it shows up. The wait did have some aesthetic benefits, but the wife might be reading this, as does the sister-in-law, and my wife is the greatest! Got home at 18:40.

Day 3 – Leave at 7:50. No bus goes past as I ascend the small rise. But see a 124 approaching as I round the top of the hill. Packed. With annoying schoolkids. Get on and stand all the way. Get to Mottingham, fighting past appalling, ignorant, rude fucking schoolkids to get off as others at Mottingham try to pile on. Break free of the skirmish and into the light. Get the 8:22. No seats, so stand all the way. Gets packed as we go through Lee and Hither Green. Arrive at Lewisham the same time as an Eltham train. Go down to DLR. Train is packed solid. DLR stops at Cutty Sark. Doesn’t move for 10/15 minutes. The “short delay” was due to (a) a train in front not able to shut its doors; (b) that train being stuck at Mudchute; (c) the train needing to be moved up the line and then back into a siding; and (d) the failed train actually being moved. Bloke next to me in the DLR is obviously a heavy smoker. Another one has obviously had garlice with their breakfast. Can’t stare anywhere else or I could be arrested. Finally get to my stop, and fight my way out of the train, into the light, like a very fat chick breaking through its eggshell. Get into work at 9:13.

So – bad traffic will mean a journey of 45 minutes, and really bad an hour. A good day on public transport means an hour being pressed up against glass doors and smelling other people’s breath and last night’s food (and hey, I am not saying I smell like ashes of roses, by the way – especially that morning when I psychadelic yodelled at Greenwich) and getting sore feet.

So Livingstone, you car hating c***. So Johnson, who is warning us we are going to pay much more for the “privilege” of playing sardines every morning. You think this is an attractive alternative to car travel. How about improving things, making things, like, more reliable, before forcing us poor people, on a limited budget, to pay more to drive (and that goes for the taxation policy on all things driving) and making us do this. The only positives I can think of at the moment are that “Walk In The Woods” has been a damn good read, and I am getting marginally fitter with the walking I am doing. The negatives are I reckon my blood pressure has gone up markedly, and that is saying something.

When I get home, I am knackered. It coincides, neatly, with the time to take Jake for a walk.

Tell me…in the words of Neil Tennant. “What Have I Done To Deserve This?”

Sorry Mum, Sorry Dad – You Brought Me Up Better Than This

But I am afraid I am going to have to let you down again…

Because when I see this sort of utter bollocks, I am afraid the swear words have to be out in fucking force.

Shitty name, dreamed up by some fucking gimmicky advertising guru – CHECK

Promulgated for a “newspaper” so pious about climate change that it doesn’t mind us being taxed to fuckery, but is a little bit more parsimonious with its own finances – CHECK

Backed by the Cabinet – A surefire sign of its appeal – CHECK

Launched at a trendy spot, occupied principally by Guardianistas – CHECK

Accompanied by quotes from utter, utter fuckwits – CHECK

Refusal to countenance any other view on a complex subject other than to treat them akin to holocaust deniers – CHECK

Widely ignored – CHECK.

Want to know what I am raving on about.

Click here.

What? Are the people wising up after another pretty woeful summer? Hey look, the Atlantic hurricane season, so prominent in the evidence provided by the guru of climate change, a Mr Al Gore (he of the “science is settled”) has been relatively peaceful this year. But weather isn’t climate, except when extreme weather can be used as evidence of course.

I could go on, and I probably will when I digest the full horror of this utter tripe, but it was the quote on a blog called Mr Eugenides that caught my eye…

“Unfortunately, the 10:10 campaign highlights the petty moralism behind environmentalism. At the launch at the Tate Modern last night, the artist Bob and Roberta Smith suggested that people who own a 4×4 should spend a “night in the cells”. Another attendee said “it’s immoral to be wasteful”.”

Words cannot adequately express the rage building inside me at this absolute weapons grade fuckmong. For the love of fucking all on this earth, what is this absolute cock wittering on about? He’s a fucking artist. They are all fucking wasteful – no-one “needs” art. I dread to think what this twat does in the name of art, but this pretty much sums up the cock. Glad there is no wastefulness in this utter shite.

Oh my God. I need a lie down.

To be utterly fair to the Guardian, there is a reasonable riposte article by Brendan O’Neill but still, the paper is backing this cut 10% of emissions by 2010 cobblers for all it is worth. Given that one of my large sources of emissions, namely travelling across the Atlantic to see my wife (and now for my wife to see her family) has been made prohibitively expensive by additional taxes and the obstacles placed in the way of my wife to seek work, we’ll be cutting more than our 10%. Don’t think for one minute I am signing up to this bollocks in any way.

Cocks.