Friday, December 29, 2006
They decided to represent John Lennon's mother being run over and killed (this is the CIRCUS remember).
They did this in spectacular circus fashion by hitting a woman in red with a car and catapulting her into the roof on a trapeze - while pieces of car flew about.
I hope my death will be performed in the CIRCUS someday and in the same exquisite taste.
Go to a shop when you need something you can't do without, buy the thing you can't do without and GO HOME!!
Shopping is shite, don't do it - it really is shite. All the shite people go shopping for shite in shite shiteing centres full of shite that people think they might want -but its all shite.
SHOPPING IS SHITE - DON'T DO IT!!!!
This is them on marine power:
“In 2005 we established a marine team to investigate how wave and tidal technology can help reduce carbon emissions and create a sustainable power supply for the future”
So, exactly what percentage of power does that mean you produce from waves then? – 0% by any chance? Still, never mind though eh, you’ve had a meeting.
Lovely glossy paper too, no expense spared. Bastards
With this in mind I bought some ‘Eco balls’ which wash your clothes without any powder (find out for yourself how they work). They're very clever and you should buy some. So there.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
So, it’s really just like Christmas then.
Hell, on the other hand, is where you're constantly reminded of just how awful your situation is.
So, hell is just like Christmas too – but in Cleethorpes.
- note to the North East Lincs tourist people – you can use that one if you like.
Now, back in the mists of Blog I may have mentioned this before, but not only are death and Hell very similar, holidays these days are all the same. Anyone who ever had relatives with a desire to ‘go away for the weekend’ and a Hoseasons brochure will already know this, but if you decide that you want to do ‘something a bit different’ it’s actually not possible.
So, you decide to stay in ‘a log cabin’. What you get is a static caravan with the wheels taken off and the outside walls covered in plastic panels moulded with fake wood grain in 'half log’ shapes.
‘A tepee’ is the same static caravan with the wheels taken off, only with a plastic triangle erected over it (and forget any idea of it being round, or even square inside. It’s static caravan shaped.
A ‘castle’ meanwhile is a standard industrial unit with some plastic castle bits stuck on the front. A castle with a sloping steel roof and girders everywhere.
They’re all just off a major road, next to a golf course. You can always hear the traffic and there's nowhere to walk to.
These are real examples by the way. The ‘castle’ was called ‘Sherwood Castle Holiday Forest’ no less. You might think it’d be Sherwood Forest Holiday Castle but you’d be wrong. Not even Forest Castle Holiday Sherwood or Sharwood's Mild Castle Holiday in a jar.
As Damien Allbran and his mates once said - modern life is rubbish.
Monday, December 25, 2006
It's great being a top recording artiste.
Here's to the death of organised religion (and a slap for the disorganised ones)
Ho Ho Ho once more.
Well, here’s a short list of my favourite presents:
10 M&S white cotton hankies
1 drawstring laundry bad
1 purple party joke wig
1 turkey basting brush
2 pairs Matalan socks
1 Matalan sweatshirt
1 Matalan jumper (wool cycle, dry flat, re-shape while damp)
and a fucking partridge in a pear tree eh?
Ho Ho Ho!
Sunday, December 24, 2006
A notice at Tescos tells me that a mobile phone is ‘the ideal way to keep in touch at Christmas’. I bought one and moved to a hotel for a week for an ‘ideal’ Christmas.
So, for the benefit of Mr Clayton the driving instructor:
Red means ‘stop’ (that’s when the car isn’t moving any more).
Funnily enough, amber also means stop (that’s that kind of orangey colour on that metal stick next to the road Mr Clayton).
Another driving instructor (forgot to write down the name, damn) let their pupil turn without signalling while I stood there wondering when the law changed.
Now this one needs a bit more explanation….It’s where the road goes almost straight on from one section of Roundhay Road to the next one. It’s a left turn off the A58 and signalling, if I remember rightly is for when you’re turning or changing lanes or changing direction. And guess what – that junction is all three! Oh yes, there’s also the thing about letting other road users know what you’re doing. THE PEDESTRIANS WAITING AT THE CROSSING WHO AREN’T FUCKING PYCHIC NEED TO KNOW WHICH WAY YOU’RE FUCKING GOING YOU MORON!!!
Sunday, December 10, 2006
I also have to report a failure on the part of the Militant Pedestrians. Last time I took a boot-swing at a car I went and missed. No satisfying thunk, just a swinging leg and another maniac on his way to run another light with no consequence - Damn. It was the third one through the green man too. I told the man next to me that I physically attacked cars steaming through the pedestrian crossing and he looked at me like I might be going a bit far. Sort of person who thought that concentration camps were fine but gas chambers were a bit much I suspect. Steaming through red lights and across pedestrian crossings is a completely justifiable attack reason in my book and I'm going to continue to do it.
Well, when it’s a bit blustery it doesn't work - because the phone line to the operations centre breaks up and you can't get through. So, you stand at the gate in bad weather and you can't get the gate open because a man presses a button in some control room somewhere only when you've been able to get through to him by phone - and it doesn't work! - and the gate doesn't work either! People park their cars outside and just climb over it under the security camera.
Oh, and there's a blank space where the phone number of the company should be written so you can phone form your mobile or somewhere - only its blank.
I should point out that it's the same sort of people who will be designing New Labour's nuclear power plants (for peaceful purposes only of course, completely different to the Iranians) and weapons of mass destruction. Again this is a completely different situation to that in Iraq - they didn't have any weapons of mass destruction.
Let me know if we're getting invaded or doing the invading. I guess it depends who's sponsoring terrorism - that's New Yorkers giving money to the IRA isn't it? Was '9/11' (the 9th November) done by the coalition of the willing?
I say screw the pandas, vote for the polar bears. Or was it screw the blue whale, vote rattlesnake? Insect you've never heard of anyone? - nah, it's being turned into CO2 mate.
Maybe the NHS could move to this system - vote people out of hospital and such.
What will I have left to say when the whole world moves beyond parody? - Coming very soon it would appear.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Anyway, it was a bit difficult to open sometimes and a bit of a pain if you left late and the padlock was on. However, if you had the key it was actually possible to open the gate. It kind of works - use key, open gate, get in, use key, close gate...you know the way a normal person would work this kind of system rather than a brainless moron.
But now Brainless Moron Security have taken over and we rehearse in Jurassic Park. This comes complete with a huge great gate on rollers - covered in sensors and flashing lights and control boxes, presumably designed to keep the velociraptors in. Unfortunately, there are only the people who pay rent to use the place to keep in.
So now, instead of just opening the gate you have to press a button on a box and ask to go to the toilet (sorry, ask to be let out). The button calls some bloke up in an office belonging to the security company somewhere. You have to ask him to open the gate and let you out. So what if he’s not there? Because someone isn’t around in Dewsbury or wherever they are I can’t get the gate open. And…with it being covered in sensors and lights and boxes as a normal person might guess - IT DOESN’T FUCKING WORK. The man ignores the phone, then he says he has to check something, then he pushes a button to open the gate (though he doesn’t tell me he’s done this of course, he’s a man of few words) and the GATE DOESN’T FUCKING OPEN. He then says he thinks there's a problem and he might have to send someone over. I'm standing next to the gate I used to be able to open with a key and now it won't fucking open and you think you might have to send someone over???? Excuse me, but are we waiting for the satellite to go over or something?
Pardon me for stating what you would think was obvious but why not let me, the bloke standing at the gate actually open the sodding thing? What if there's a fire or a powercut or no-one in the office or any other technical glitch or human error? Does this make me a Luddite or just NOT A FUCKING MORON!!! How could anyone have thought this system was a good idea? Whatever happened to a) the bullshit detector or b) the reality check. What do I do when I want in on a bank holiday or something?
….and I want a starting handle for the car and I don’t want it controlled by microchips. I want it to be repairable by a man who drives a tractor in Rumania. I want to take stuff to be repaired rather than having to buy a new one and I don’t want to leaf through a New Labour PFI brochure to ‘choose’ the best hospital to stop the bleeding after I’ve started climbing the gate to the T-Rex pen to find it moving underneath me.
I find it so tiring to fight useless twattery that I think it would be easier to buy Semtex and just blow the fucking gate to pieces. People would call it an over reaction but I'm not going to take it anymore - so plastic explosive it is.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Still, they keep their milk nice and warm at least.
1. How’s your father
2. Slap and tickle
3. Rumpy pumpy
The answer to this is of course quite clear. Slap and tickle is of course less serious than how’s your father (which is quite broad I feel but probably means sexual intercourse). In turn rumpy pumpy surely must mean sexual intercourse.
I’m also interested to know the answer to the following questions:
Why a ‘piece of crackling’ but a ‘bit’ of fluff?
How fancy is a fancy man?
When did the nymphomaniac disappear (my guess is with having ones tonsils out and lumbago - but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong).
What is the percentage decline in the wolf whistle since 1950?
Why did ‘shooting brake’ lose out over ‘estate car’?
There are a million questions where that one came from. I'm afraid I shall die without ever finding the answers to any of them.
Luckily, the mechanism for doing this is being put in place today by New Labour (along with all the other ones I’ll need to maintain my iron grip – hey hey!). Locking people up in case they might do something bad is a good one isn’t it? How about locking up some politicians in case they do bad things eh? – perish the thought! No-one seems to realise that political prisoners were never locked up in the Soviet Union as ‘political prisoners’, they were usually locked up for their own protection and the protection of society. Clearly not wanting to belong to the Party demonstrated they were mentally ill and therefore dangerous. But, hey the Home Secretary is elected here so its all OK – mind you, so was Hitler – but at least one or two people noticed him making things oppressive. How long before they start carting off people suspected of ‘bad things’ to be tortured or put away – whoops, they do that already - only by CIA plane instead of cattle trucks. Still, it’s Britain, it’s New Labour and nobody cares. That makes it OK you know.
Never mind, it’s unlikely to be you…unfortunately for you however, when I’m king of the world it WILL be you! Don’t say you weren’t warned WORMS! HA HA HA – I will be Home Secretary so its an ASBO control and behaviour order and detention without trail – oh yes, and I’ll decide your ‘tariff’ depending on what the Sun says – send in the army!
Nurse, fetch the screens!
Sunday, November 26, 2006
JP Gigs - at a weekend!
It's been a while so it's update time if that's OK with you. If its not, let me know and I'll take your name off the list (and transfer it to my 'little black book of doom' which will ensure that bits of your body will turn black and fall off within the fortnight).
Apart from getting made redundant, finding another job with less hours (and a lot less money to give to beggars on the street) and spending my redundancy money on posh guitars (in the street), I've been recording the 'difficult second album' in a cellar in Armley (where the drugs arrive over the wall in dead birds, you know). It'll be ages before its out because 'when you think I've recorded all I can I'm gonna record you a little bit more' - plus I can't stop fiddling with it / I keep coming up with new songs.
But (and it's a medium sized but quite shapely but), I've decided to patronisingly turn out to play a couple of Leeds gigs just for you - you know, its not that far (for me, not you!), I can go on the bus and be home in time for cocoa and buns.
So, I'll be playing the stuff you all know so well (hey, you - send us £7 and I'll post a copy of the album to you - you can even pay by paypal via www.johnparkes.com ) plus some new stuff.
So, kick out the cows and put these 2 dates in your dairy - it's next weekend though. I don't normally do weekend gigs so who knows who'll be there.
Saturday 2nd December 2006 - Breeze Bar, Wellington Street, Leeds, (opposite Mio Modos)
I searched for this place the other day and couldn't find it. It's actually next to where the Post Office sorting office was before the Post Office got bored with doing post officey things and started doing whatever it is they do now. It's set back from Wellington Street under one of those 'urban living' (i.e. slums of the future) blocks of flats with one of those 'metropolitan' small supermarkets (i.e. like Spar with stupid prices) next door. It's all a bit IKEA in there by the looks of it.
Sunday 3rd December 2006 -Santiago's, Grand Arcade, Leeds, (top of Briggate)
As you can see from the above, I was told this was off the top of Briggate (often thought about throwing myself off the top of Briggate). It's actually at the bottom of the Grand Arcade making it much nearer Vicar Lane opposite the Templar but the Arcade (hey, let's call it an alley!) runs from opposite the Templar up to Al Capone's. So, all in all its a bit more street level - though I expect the drinks prices will still be a laugh anyway.
Both of these are sort of pub times I think. They're probablyfree in too though don't quote me...
So, there you go. For those of you not in Leeds I hope you enjoyed the directions, for those who are I hope I'll see you down there (where I can pretend I don't know you, obviously - actually, if I do that it may be because I haven't actually seen you, come up and buy the album).
Mind how you go
Have also been doing Whole Sky Monitor stuff - there's now a myspace page for WSM - http://www.myspace.com/wholeskymonitor You can download free stuff onto your MPods or whatever - it's like a walkman with loads of tapes you know - but don't say that because you'll just embarrass yourself with the kids. They all want to sleep with me obviously but you, well, you'll just sound old y' know.
Which of these is the rudest piece of fruit / vegetable?
Fig (DH Lawrence only)
Peach / peaches
Of course, for myself I’m partial to a nice pear…funny old world though eh?
At the swimming pool today I saw a young man in the changing room pull on some very pink ladies ‘panties’*
What was the correct procedure and what did I actually do?
1. Stroll up saying ‘Hi, I notice you’re wearing girls underwear, it looks pretty comfortable, I was thinking of getting some for myself, I’d really value your opinion...’
2. Point while shouting ‘hey everyone, laydees underwear alert, 2 o’clock!’
3. Quietly have a word with reception hoping they’ll send security to have him and his panties removed.
4. Shout ‘Oy you, you weirdo, we don’t want your sort in here!’
5. Wink and nudge him in the ribs while whispering conspiratorially ‘took ‘em off her last night did you? Top job mate’
6. Try to ignore it and tell (a small part of the) world by quietly putting it on your blog
(Note: 6 is the right answer, did you guess? - really?!!)
* while I’m on, this is one of those words that can’t be used free of connotation…which of these do you use?
1. Panties – silly and a bit rude
2. Knickers – too rude
3. Bloomers – too comic
4. Smalls – too old fashioned and too comic
5. Pants – too confusing for Americans
6. Strides - too modern and I don't know where it comes from
7. Trolleys - See 6 above
I could've got the old Thesaurus out and got more panting words, but why would I? You'd begin to think I'm strange - and don’t even get me started on the need for a female equivalent of ‘willy’ children, for the use of.
What happened to knobbly knees competitions?
Should one say threppence or thruppence? (and what would my mother say if I lost sixpence on the way to the slipper baths?)
In the doctor’s waiting room, why have I never seen a small boy with a saucepan stuck on his head – or a small boy with a neatly sawn piece of railing round his neck? I feel cheated to be honest - most of the people in there don't even look ill.
Why are there posters up at my work talking about Dobbin the dealer? Are drugs being sold to young people by a horse? Shouldn’t he be relatively easy to spot? Still, if he’s a hoodie maybe not…even then, surely someone would spot the 4 legs. Isn't 'horse' a slang name for heroin? - Perhaps the hip and happnin' dudes as the Council or somewhere got confused - but then a dude ranch is something to do with horses is it not? Perhaps horses are the connection we've all been looking for?
Lummie, it's a rum un - and no mistake.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Strange organic items thrown in the re-cycling wheelie bin and, even madder than that, what appeared to be a thick swatch of grey hair sticking out of the exhaust pipe of the car. It was coming from inside – had to wrench it out. Chucked it in the bin.
Supernatural-ness fully exorcised by rinsing out the wheelie bin with a bucket of water – easy! – And you can shout at poltergeists apparently.
And the Blair Witch Project was the most boring film ever - even the bits of gristle on washing lines. The curse of the ancients will decend, lucky heather anyone?
I’m currently using a bar of soap that was partially eaten by mice – several years ago.
I bought some ‘festive' mince pies that had a sell-by date of 19th November.
Until recently it never occurred to me that the name Sandie Shaw was a pun.
Poundstretcher (or whatever they call themselves now) sell Advent calendars - for dogs.
My printer directs everything straight into the bin.
This week I was given £785 in cash by the representative of a toilet cubicle manufacturer.
My local swimming baths has a viewing area - but no place for wanking.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
I thought I’d done this one years ago but I’ve been at the shampoo (or ‘fake shit’ as I call it) bottles again....
I bought a bottle of ‘cleansing’ shampoo from Tescos recently. Presumably they do a ‘dirtying’ version then? Mind you, they do ‘Chinese meal solutions’. I checked the dictionary definition. As I thought, dissolved in water. They must be for people who can only eat by sucking through a straw. I’ve definitely said this before you know…’Parkes’s Perfectly Reasonable Rant Solutions’ it says on the side of my van.
Talking of shampoo though, there are 2 shampoo bottles in the bathroom that aren’t mine. One is Garnier Fructis ‘FRESH fortifying cream conditioner’ ‘with active fruit concentrate’ ‘for normal hair that gets greasy quickly’ ‘with innovation no heaviness formula’ ‘for hair that shines with all its strength’. Mm. I’m surprised the bottle is strong enough to support the weight of such a truckload of dog turd. It really does say all that (and more) on the one bottle. Presumably people read it. Presumably this is meant to make their product sound good in moron land?
Do I really need to say anything or are you pulling on the combat trousers and ringing your dodgiest mate with the temper as we speak?
Sorry, but these are some of the questions I’ll be asking them when they’re all trussed up and begging to be allowed to visit the toilet…
Well, what if I think the fruit concentrate is not ‘active’ enough – how ‘active’ do they promise it is? – does it jog? and what fruit is it then and why would I want said fruit concentrated?
What if I find it stale and not fresh at all?
What if I find the formula still leads to slight heaviness? – and can I question the level of innovation?
What if I find my hair only shines with part of its strength?
The other shampoo ‘Locks in coloured hair vibrancy’. Do I want vibrancy locking into my hair? NO, I WANT THESE ADVERTISING TWATS BEGGING ON THE STREETS AND BEING PISSED ON BY VAGRANTS.
However, the experience represents a metaphor for life and if struggle, frustration, boiling anger and resentment bordering on violence are what you’re looking for on an outing then this could be the place for you.
Please note the queue to reach the counter can reach several hours – sandwiches, flask and toilet tent will be essential.
Have to get direct now...there are only 2 post offices in Leeds city centre now and there's a queue of 35 people waiting to get in each of them in the morning. They closed down the main one (presumably because it was too busy for them). The queues stay at about 35 all day so far as I can see. When I'm paying someone money, what right do they have to keep me waiting for 40 minutes? Try getting to the counter and waiting for 40 minutes. What happens if some poor sod keep the directors waiting 40 minutes....now there's a point.
I get so drained by this combination of shite service and leaflets and websites wanking on about 'our commitment to our customers' that I can't even be bothered to complain anymore.
By the way, when my Dad were a lad he worked with someone who let his wife know if he'd be home for dinner by sending her a postcard.
I expected it to have, well, you know, breakfast type stuff in it. Just to give you the full flavour (ha ha!), this is what it says on the packet –
‘Lincolnshire sausage and hard boiled egg with cheese, sweetcure bacon & sunblush tomato relish in a plain ciabatta'.
OK, let’s break this down…that’s potentially 6 yummy breakfast ingredients…but only potentially…
1. ‘Lincolnshire sausage’ – Hey! Yes! 1 out of 1. I will definitely give you that one. A breakfast ingredient and no mistake.
2. Hard boiled egg’ – So not fried or scrambled or even poached then? However, sure as eggs is eggs I’ll let you have ½ for that one, almost a breakfast ingredient – that’s 1 ½ out of 2.
3. Cheese – Now, you’ve gone way off there I’m afraid – anyone here have cheese for breakfast? Thought not. That’s 1 ½ out of 3 then.
4. ‘Sweetcure bacon’ – Hey, you’re back with us my laughably expensive catering friend. 2 ½ out of 4. I’ve even let you off ‘sweetcure’ (which you didn’t do anything to deserve).
5. ‘Sunblush tomato relish’. Mm, you’re taking the piss again now aren’t you? You lose a point for the fact that ‘sunblush’ is a registered trademark. Rather like registering ‘I am a wanker’ don’t you think? - And certainly no points for putting ‘relish’ in the breakfast thank you. That’s 1 ½ out of 5.
6. ‘Plain ciabatta’ – OK, it’s bread, you can have a point for that – that’s 2 ½ out of 6.
Now then, all you had to do was to PUT BREAKFAST STUFF IN THE BREAKFAST BREAD THING and you could have had 6 out of 6 six no matter what it tasted like. I wouldn’t have thought you were a total waste of tosser. It's a sanDwich - BUT IT'S NOT BREAKFAST YOU SUNBLUSH CHEESE SWEETCURE IDIOTS!!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
So in what way do I want to be surprised when I get them home? This kind of implies that you’re expecting them not to be tasty or succulent in the first place. It also somewhat ruins the surprise if they do turn out to be either 1 - succulent or 2 - tasty. ‘Heaven’s to Betsy’ I’ll exclaim to Morag the cat, ‘these sausages were advertised as surprisingly tasty, now I can taste them and its not really a surprise, what a disappointment, I shall have to take this up with old Mr Tesco or the Quorn brothers when I see them next…unless I bought the ones which were surprisingly succulent; in which case substitute the word succulent for tasty in my last utterance - and would you like some milk?’
One of these kinds of sausages are called ‘bangers’ which is just too matey and old fashioned for words. The other sort are ‘Cumberland’. I’m not sure that Cumberland even exists anymore though for some reason I’m not wound up about the fact. Are these sausages made of hippo or is that the Cumberland herby bed shops?
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Saw a hedge dolphin
Sea trip on a boat called the ‘Gorgeous Gusset’
I knew it was going to be a good week on discovering that the previous residents (self catering)had left tins. Tins of: tomatoes; potatoes; Bigga Processed Marrowfat peas; washing up liquid. The real prize however was a large tin of Pek Chopped Ham with Pork. Checked for injection marks. No trace. It doesn’t get any better than this. Am definitely on holiday.
And on to a ‘Family Funday’ in Llandudno. Mainly unmarked marquees with people sitting at trestle tables. No hint as to what any of them were doing. Signing people up for the gymkhana was a possibility. Didn't ask, just whistled and moved away. Chain smoking man on bouncy castle. Paid for 5 minutes, discretion better thing of velour at 9 minutes. Ironically the length of time taken off his life for each cigarette - Karma or something.
Feeling rather let down recently by the level of entertainment value of the nutter on the bus. Either that or I’m learning that there are no ‘nutters’ but only those with ‘mental health issues’ or ‘learning difficulties’ (and the King of Africa obviously - will tell you about him sometime).
On the bus a man was making a series of statements:
‘How much have you got left to spend?’
‘You can take a picture of me if you like’
I’ve got to get to Rhyll to send my best friend a postcard’
‘They say it’s £6 to get in York Minster. I wouldn’t pay £6 to buy York Minster’
He also explained that he worked as a military advisor to Colin Powell - ‘ It doesn’t pay much, but its something’
I say hats off to the traditional British nutter – long may he sit next to someone else on the bus (but in earshot of me, obviously)
Professor Codman’s Wooden Headed Follies. I demanded sausages as one clearly would. I got them (and a crocodile) but they weren't fully integrated into the story so a bit disappointed. Why doesn't someone apply for a grant to send Mr Punch to an anger management workshop for those defining themselves a violent pychopath? I live too close to Gipton to be scared.
Later on a shopkeeper was offering advice to an elderly nun - purse securing, that kind of thing. Like nuns don't have training in this sort of thing. Everyone knows that muggers go for nuns. Good on you Ms shopkeeper!
As freedom is taken away by right wing authoritarian governments and corporate rules, I’ve noticed a small niche of comparative freedom being seized by ordinary people. This is in charging for 5 year olds. Never say ‘2 adults and one child please’ because the rules will say everyone gets charged. Say ‘2 adults and a small person please’ The person selling the ticket or whatever will smile and probably not bother charging – hurray. Luckily, there’ll be fingerprinting babies soon and checking them against the database so you won’t be able to get out of it.
Have I mentioned that Birmingham station has a 'revenue protection barrier'. Built by the Israelis to keep rockets out I'll be bound. They check tickets - a bit like at a ticket barrier, though with a ludicrous name obviously.
Spent most of the day avoiding Christians. The tenacity of the needy and deluded eh? The ‘Beach Team’ promise 'games, quizzes, songs, prizes and bible stories' - and an unhealthy dose of irrational medieval belief system I'll bet...Saw them raring to go in red sweatshirts. Was also invited to a ‘Free 20 minute audio visual presentation’ of 'amazing stories from the past' including 'Mary Jones and a long trip to Bala for a Bible' by the 'United Beach Missions'. Sorely tempted obviously. If I became a Christian I’d probably start a mission to lap-dancing clubs where I’d be sorely needed (or sorely kneeded if I found the right club and paid extra).
Given a lift back from a farm by a laughing Czech with a car floor full of bottles swilling round the floor. Close encounter with a gnu.
Have spent the week doing what the Brits do best – reaching for a cardie. This reminds me that in Leeds 6 you can find the Cardigan Centre. Just next door to the Scotch Wool shop I assume.
Went to get my hair cut before coming home. 2 women on. Must be age or something. I make for the older one (as she probably knows how to cut hair) rather than the young pretty one (who is young and pretty). Mind you, the young pretty one turned out to be from Hull so decision well made I guess.
Usually my puns are pretty lame ‘you’re all Toksvig’ (meaning ‘you’re all sandy’ as in 'you've got sand on you' rather than thinking everyone has somehow turned into Sandie Shaw) would be a typical example. However, you could buy a ‘Damsel Costume’ in Conway / ‘Conwy’ castle. This allowed me to pick it up and say to a young female companion: ‘you look like a damsel in dis dress’. Classic.
Parcelforce are taking care of delivery 'this end' which is why they decided to return them to sender rather than actually delivering them to me or telling me they had them. Or telling me anything in fact. In order to check what's going on you need a 17 figure 'Parcel Reference Number'. This appears on the letter they send you which tells you you have to pay import duty etc. If they don't send you this letter you don't have the number. This means that when you call the depot you can't use the phone system because it asks for the number - that you haven't got.
Next stage is a 'Clearance fee' of £8. Did I mention that I've already paid the postage?
So, so far I've waited since May for the package. They wouldn't give it to me, they wouldn't tell me they'd got it, they wouldn't let me speak to them and now they want £8 to release it.
Following a website search and calls to their call centre I now have a letter (which is how I know about the £8). If I call them today (a Thursday) they can deliver it the next day. I won't be in on Friday. Luckily you can get them to deliver on Saturday.
The charge for this is an extra £12.
I'm not making this up. Anyone want to set fire to the depot? My arson fee is £25.56 + VAT.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Once again I need to know - how many cars is it that are allowed through a light once its changed to red? My guess is that it must technically be 3 or 4.
On a related subject, don't driving instructors teach anyone what a yellow hatched area in the road means? Has this gone the way of hand signals and not using the horn as a rebuke? Militant pedestrians say ban the car! When there were pickets of the oil terminals a few years back the quality of life shot up for a couple of days.
- And long live the Mobile Slasher! Just in case you didn't see this - A vigilante, who slashes the tyres of motorists who talk on their mobile telephones while driving, is being hunted by police. The so-called "mobile slasher" leaves an anonymous note made from letterscut from newspapers on the windscreens of the cars. The note reads: "Warning. You have been seen driving while using your mobile phone."YES! YES! YES! Vote Slasher!
When I'm king of the world and Slasher is my right-hand man, flamethrowers will be installed at all pedestrian crossings (which will be on all roads and timed to actually stop the traffic rather than changing just after the traffic has gone and you've crossed the road). When Psychoboy from today (hey, he leapt out of his car! - I could have stolen it!) or any drivers doing the same drive through they'll simply be instantly cremated in the street. The flames will be of such temperature and ferocity that he won't even block the road because he'll be a small pile of ash. His relatives will be sent a large bill for his cremation.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Incidentally, have you noticed how we're losing the word 'shop' in favour (or favor, probably) of the word 'store'. I'm old enough to remember these things you know...which means its time for bed.
While I'm on, I spent the bank holiday in Armley - not the jail, the district of Leeds. If you heard pained shouting it was me fuelling up on Neil the producers ground coffee - and shouting for at least as much as I was worth. New songs, shouty ones...
Neil is old enough to remember when octane was important to motorists - or lawn mower owners (if you had a petrol one of course)....get it wrong and you'd be running in the shooting brake and it'd start pinking on the hills. I got to here from the coffee you see...Cars also had a starting handle and garages had a mechanic as well as actually serving you with petrol. I last saw this a few years back in Holbeck - wondered what the woman was doing grabbing hold, sticking it in and pumping away - then I had to pay her...
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Anyway, this is real…..I saw a display in town for this stuff. I really am not making this up. Laura Mercier Flawless Skin is real, honestly....It says (and I quote)
‘Remarkable skincare based on the anti-ageing properties of Deep Sea Water extracted off the coast of Japan’
Yes that’s right – salty water! I like the word ‘extracted’ too – it all sounds better than dipping a bucket in the sea at Cleethorpes but it’s the same thing. I’m going to market Tracy Pleb's ‘Imperfect Skin’ – based on the salty water properties of a fat bloke with a bucket in Clacton. Could knock it out for a fraction of the price. Same thing but loads cheaper.
While I'm on, have you noticed that loads of shampooey types things have 'aqua' as the first ingredient. They often have 'liquidium parafinium' in too! That'd be water and liquid parafin in cod Latin then would it - faecesium shittinitium then. Soylent Green for these people I think. Oh yes.
The programme is an hour long. Firstly, instead of the programme you get ‘coming up next’ which is an advert for the programme that’s supposed to be on already. Next up, adverts. Then the actual programme starts, sort of…It starts with about 10 minutes about what was in the programme last week followed by another 10 on what’s coming up in this week’s programme - then it goes to adverts again. Then it tells you again what is coming up in this week’s programme before giving you a couple of minutes of what it’s actually about. Then it goes to adverts. After every advert break there’s a summary of what’s was in the programme before the adverts and what’s coming up next. The same after each ad break. Towards the end there’s a summary of what’s going to be on next week.
Content free television really is here. Why not make a 5 minute ‘I’m not a moron’ version of the programme? I guess the answer is that if you’re watching you must be a moron. No more experiments in watching TV for me I’m afraid.
The copy I saw included handy hints - one was to make a cardboard ‘loose cover’ for a standard size tissue box - covered with leftover wallpaper. I mean, try to stop me!
One of the problem page letters concerns a woman who suspects her husband is masturbating. A married man masturbating? How could such a thing happen? The woman is clearly delusional.
There was also a story about a woman from Leeds - ‘I was quacking up as an ugly duckling - but now I can swan about’ - fantastic!
At one point this woman says (or a ‘journalist’ paraphrases) ‘When I was 12 my boobs started growing – and growing….Terri two-bras the girls started chanting’. Then she says ‘I started skipping lessons when I was about 14’.
Well, excuse me but if you’re being teased about having a large bosom, I’d suggest that skipping is probably not the ideal sport for you….Some people!
Chat magazine though eh? Like the Sun, you should read it at least once before you die. More than three times and you’ve got a problem.
Incidentally, The 'Thomas Kinkade Faith Mountain - illuminated Masterpiece Edition' advert (only £149.94) was beyond parody.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
It was about 1991 and I was with the Wedding Present staying at the Columbia hotel, England's closest equivalent to the Chelsea hotel (though I never got a blowjob off Janis Joplin or even anything near equivalent to be honest). I went to check the van hadn't been towed away and to put some money in the meter. Who should be there at the meter than (Sir) George Martin. He said 'I don't think this one's working'. Quick as a flash I replied 'No, I don't think this one is working either!'
The time I met Sir George there, great days....
I remembered this story after mentioning putting top rock stars straight in dreams. I don't do this often....I also have to remind myself that a blog reads kind of backwards so it doesn't really work properly.
On the way back I had a nice long time at Widnes railway station (by the way, why does everyone use the phrase 'train station' these days when 'railway station' is much nicer) . There's a plaque there that says that Paul Simon wrote 'Homeward Bound' there in 1965. Well, on the surface all very interesting and rock and roll and all that. However, I have to ask what kind of twonk actually gets out his guitar and starts playing in front of people on the railway platform? I had a guitar with me but if I'd have got it out and started calling myself a 'poet and a one-man band' I'd have been laughed at (by a teenager who hasn't been bummed among others). I reckon that's where he had the IDEA which he wrote about later. Next time I bump into Paul I'll ask him. I've told Paul McCartney a thing or two in dreams but never Paul Simon.
Highlights of the day included:
After dinner mints on the platform
A man drooling over himself – who wasn’t sitting next to me!
A packet of golf tees (and a bottle of White Lightning) in the toilet
A teenager announcing to friends that she had ‘never been bummed’
A man attempting to remove his legs with a train
Jack the baboon and his signalman owner (with false legs)
I just discovered a letter I sent to Yorkshire Water. I think I may have mentioned them before. I was responding to an advert they use to scare old people. I'm quite proud of this...here's what I said.
Dear Sir or Madam
Thank you for your undated and un-addressed letter REF YWDP41K
Thanks for implying that we’re in terrible danger of being flooded and that we can buy ‘protection’ from you. No doubt lots of elderly and other vulnerable people will be giving you their money after you’ve scared them into thinking they’re going to suffer an emergency and that they’ll never get a plumber.
I object to your advertising, and come to that also to the fact that it’s delivered by the post office as if it was real post. I’d normally bin it but I think this despicable shite deserves a reply.
The solution to the plumber shortage is to train more plumbers and not for you to buy them up and extort money out of people for services they’re probably not going to need.
We won’t be taking up your ‘protection’. If you weren’t a monopoly supplier we’d go somewhere else for the water.
We got a plumber within about half an hour recently by the way and it wasn’t that expensive.
So, rip us all off, don’t bother giving us a name, deliver more stuff to us and we’ll bin it – and I guess we’ll have to keep paying whatever bills you send us – hurray for advertising, insurance scams and corporate capitalism!
Yours with the arsey attitude you deserve.
Friday, July 21, 2006
So, my assertion is that Ram by ‘Paul & Linda McCartney’ is a great album. So there. It’s got some slightly embarrassing bits and some slightly twee bits – and its still great. Effectively Paul McCartney’s second solo album (and not credited to Wings – the band the Beatles could have been according to Alan Partridge of course…), it doesn’t set out to change the world but it’s a whole log less self important than John Lennon’s stuff around the same time.
It’s haunting in places, evocative of something I can’t put my finger on and sounds kind of sad and upbeat and playful…it sounds like the sun is out in the late afternoon and has family photos on it. I bought it on CD for £6 though I’ve lived with it since I was about 14 when I went through all the Beatles albums followed by most of their solo albums. I just love it. All music should speak to 14 year olds if possible (none of my own music does as far as I know).
I’ve known loads about the Beatles for years and it only occurred to me a few weeks ago that it’s probably called Ram (featuring the song Ram On) because Paul Ramon was the name he used in the early Beatles as a stage name. Let’s admit that John Lennon made a total arse of himself at times (though I’ll tell you about the John Lennon Plastic Ono band album at some point). Incidentally, for someone who likes puns, I only realised that the name Sandie Shaw was a pun a couple of years back - how stupid is that? Mind you, I live with someone who thought that Gilbert O'Sullivan might be the man's real name - let's not do Gilbert tonight...
Back to being 14. My bible was a book called ‘The Beatles – An Illustrated Record’ by Roy Carr and Tony Tyler. It was LP size and featured full size colour pictures of all the Beatles LP covers (so, so much better than CDs which as far as artwork goes are really a bit rubbish), biographical stuff and comments / reviews of all the singles and LPs including the solo stuff up until1974. Just think, on one day in 1965 you could go into a shop and buy 16(!) brand new Beatles songs – Rubber Soul for 14 and the Day Tripper / We Can Work It Out single. Two minutes silence needed or something.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Shea butter is of course very difficult to get hold of, being seasonal seat guano drippings from the famous Shea Stadium - harvested by Mexicans. My hands became so well ‘nourished’ they grew several inches and now have big square teeth, an obesity problem and very little knowledge of foreign affairs.
It's getting increasingly difficult to buy soap that's actually called 'soap'. I even washed my face with 'handwash' the other day and I'm getting a bit smelly because no-one seems to make 'willy wash' or 'arse wash' with Shea butter or otherwise. Similarly, it's now impossible to buy margarine - 'Speciality spreads' made with goat kidneys yes, margarine, no. I hate Tescos. Since they have 'Indian meal solutions' I assume they dissolve curry in water and you suck it through a straw. If not they can't speak English and should be sent back where they came from. B*stard marketing Tw*ts all I'm afraid.
1. Chipmunk passport 2. Evergreen convulse 3. Your cash paint drier 4. Flowerpot mumps
5. Your cash muse descended
My favourite ‘senders' were:
Riboflavin G Soddy (long time, no see Ribe!) and Damon Coit (Hi Damon!) - and you thought Disraeli Gears was cool!
Friday, July 14, 2006
Dear reader, when I was eighteen years old I ironed something. The Sweeney was probably still on telly (and not a repeat - lets talk about that later....) A shirt, a t-shirt, a pair of gold lame underpants, whatever, I ironed something. It was possibly the worst 10 minutes of my life. I resolved never to iron again. I haven’t. Haven’t wanted to, haven’t needed to, haven’t been asked to, haven’t asked anyone to, just simply haven’t done it because it’s like being dead.
Occasionally someone will assume this is because someone irons for me. This is not true. If I catch anyone ironing for me I will tell them to stop immediately. It’s a filthy waste of time and you shouldn’t do it. Think of the sort of person who irons a shirt – not pretty is it? Think of the sort of person who wears an ironed shirt – disgusting isn’t it?
It’s simple – don’t iron, ever. It’s easier than giving up television because not all television is shit whereas all ironing is shit.
So imagine the humiliation, the sheer pain angst and screaming agony of being forced to iron a shirt – by your own band! Imagine when you’d done the desperate deed the drummer of the band shouting ‘who ironed that shirt? There are creases all up the front’. Well dear reader, the humiliee was me, Whole Sky Monitor were the humiliators. They dressed me up, criticised, made me wear other people’s clothes and generally pushed me about. They didn’t even do this for base sexual reasons apparently. They just have no sense, taste, decency, manners or nous. Set of ****s, I really hate them.
I had a wonder up there. It was during a performance, weird how quiet it was from the outside – a sound-proof big top? Anyway, I fondly imagined that the ticket office would be staffed by the Strong Man and the Bearded Lady between shows. I expected it to be closed during the show. It wasn’t. Nor was it staffed by the Bearded Lady or Strong Man understudies. In fact it was a girl from Gipton trained to do a Russian accent (possibly). Might have just been a Russian woman. Whatever.
Bought tickets, saw a man run over by a truck. Well worth £20, you could wait ages on the A58. It’s £32 in at Elland Road and you’re unlikely to see a man in leopard skin being run over by a truck. Unfortunately, he wasn’t actually dressed in leopard skin. He did have sparkly foil trunks though. I think that’s as good. Willy like garlic bread at the end of the show though I imagine - French rather than Italian. Men - don't think about that metaphor for too long.
Oh yes, and the woman doing the splits had the narrowest gusset you’re likely to see. Not that I’d be interested in a thin white gusset on a slim attractive blonde young lady suspended from the ceiling by wires and spinning, doing the splits.
No-one asked me to join. Felt a little affronted. I'm not answering their e-mails.
So how come they taste sort of oniony too – and what holds them together? If they were 100% beef they'd just be beef wouldn't they?
What proportion of a 100% beef burger is beef? I suggest the answer is around 64% - such is the modern world.
Having said all that, a Ric (as us guitar people call ‘em) for sale on ebay recently was referred to as ‘she’ throughout and it all seemed a bit, well, odd. This is not a sex thing, OK? I would never hit a woman with a plectrum to make her sing. Unless she asked. Nicely! Best to stop there I think.
Curvy Wooden Minxes - They make you want them. Then they're too expensive - Dang! (or drat, or perhaps Bother).
Yup, I've had 2 1/2 months not blogging but now I'm on again. Thought I'd start off with a good story. Then I though nah, a couple of small rubbish ones.
First - I found a banana. In the street. At a bus stop. On the floor. What did I do? - I ate it, that's what. It was fully skinned (or not skinned at all depending on your definition I guess). I searched for needle marks, found none - just ate it. Willy Nilly! Crazy guy! The pageantry of roll eh?
Second - I'm attemping to spend £3,400 on guitars. I had a job, they got rid of me, they raided the pension fund, they gave me money - I've now broken a legal agreement to only tell 'close members of my family'. If it goes to court I'll explain that you're all close members of my extended family and it's all part of my religion. So there.
Better stories in future I'll bet. For now I got fired by e-mail, got another job, got addicted to ebay and stopped doing gigs because I'm lazy. Ate a banana from a bus stop.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
They know me so well. We just kind of clicked almost instantly. They say ‘When you bake at home, you take it out of the oven and cool it on a wire rack’ – I DO! How did they know? Then they say ‘Then you eat a large slice (as a reward) and keep the rest in a flowery cake tin, like your Grandma used to!’ Amazing, she DID! I DO!
I’m using daffodils in my cake tins at the moment. Those guys just, like KNOW ME SO WELL!
This uncannily accurate information is ‘Passion Fact no. 47’.
The cake provides 2 yummy mouthfuls and represents excellent value at £1.30 – and I HAVE NEW FRIENDS!!!
Incidentally, my passion fact no.13 is to think about Margaret Thatcher to stop myself from coming too soon! – But then there’s those pretty ankles!
Sunday, April 09, 2006
One entry which not so many people will need (though it has to be there to ensure comprehensive coverage) will be ‘Snot – how not to deal with it’. This particular entry doesn’t pretend to be a complete snot guide but it does give examples of what not to do (for stupid people, as usual). The guide doesn’t wish to offend so there’s only so far I’m prepared to go, snot wise. However, in case you need this advice now and really can't wait, here’s a sample:-
Do, not, EVER, press one nostril down with a finger, loudly snort snot onto the fingers of ones other hand and throw it on the floor of the shower - even if you are aiming for the drain. It is offensive in my sight – and that is enough – and yes, I did see this happen – in real life.
I am indeed 'the Brian Sewell of the changing room' (the Manchester Guardian).
*The editors of the US edition will no doubt use the phrase ‘locker room’ liberally – it’ll be good to see Americans being liberal for a change. However, I will not allow anyone to use the phrase ‘snot what you do’….
The bloke stopped his car. Maybe he was going to remonstrate; maybe he thought he’d hit someone and wanted to be sure he hadn’t hurt anyone – the BIG BABY! – If you’re going to drive like a raving maniac (who can’t drive) you’ve got to live with the consequences without regret, you know. If you want to kill, then kill, if you don’t want to kill then DON’T DRIVE THROUGH THE RED LIGHT YOU MORON! Incidentally, if you remonstrate you leave your car open to further attack. If I run away you’ll have to leave your car in the road. I might run in a circle, steal your car and drive it into an insurance company call centre (if there’s enough petrol to get to Jodpur).
So, there you go kids. Attack the lawbreakers physically. The real law won’t touch ‘em. Militant Pedestrians have done it – and it was GOOD!
Monday, April 03, 2006
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Leaving that aside for a minute, I bought some bacon the other day. The packet proudly announced that it contained '85% bacon'. If I complained, no doubt some twat would explain that this is what the modern consumer wants. Some things really are beyond parody. Of course when you cook it it boils in it's own injected water.
Can I boil the manufacturers in their own injected water and if not, why not? Does this mean they're doing well if I pay with my pounds worth of change which is actually 85p?
I'll have 100% bacon please you 100% twats.
PS, OK I do realise that you probably have to add some preservative or something. I'll give you 2% max.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
The Band by the Band
Led Zeppelin III
The Very Best of Slade
Once in a while you hear a song that just knocks you over with its sheer brilliance and you just can’t stop playing it. Years ago ‘Down in the Tube Station at Midnight’ by the Jam and ‘Young Savage’ by Ultravox (no, not the Midge Ure version – check out the three albums when John Foxx was the singer) did it for me and ‘Break on Through’ by the Doors – and well, thousands more.
However, this week it’s ‘How Does it Feel?’ by Slade! Sounds like the best song Paul McCartney never wrote for Abbey Road – if he’d been a bit harder. It is that good. It’s in my top 100 songs of all time. I know Noel Gallagher has said something similar. Have to admit I have this on vinyl though I hadn’t heard it for a while. ‘The Very Best of Slade’ turns out to be a COLLOSSAL album!
‘My Oh My’ should have been played by Queen at Live Aid and ‘Far Far Away’ is awesome too - Then there’s ‘Get Down and Get With It’ – and all the other ones you must’ve heard. Worth £7 even if you only love ½ a dozen tracks – and doesn’t the strutting man from Led Zep have a very silly voice?
OK, OK, compilations are evil and I should just track down every album Slade ever made but I remain unapologetic. I'm not completely mad and this will do for me thank you.
Thing is that if you buy a rubber horse (or dinosaur or lizard – it’s quite a long list. I could do this but it’s a research job and it’ll cost, you understand?) these days it’s endlessly and alarmingly stretchy. You can stretch a 2 inch rubber horse to about 2 feet - I'm not joking!
Was this announced in the papers? (Not really the) cure for cancer drugs make the headlines. Well, at sometime in the eighties or nineties (or who knows when?) I missed the ‘Rubber Horse Flexibility Breakthrough’ headline. How come? Why didn’t you let me know? - We all have to cope you know. I'm disappointed in you once again. Ah well, time heals I guess.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
What happens is this. I / we (the AAZ Records marketing sales force) send out review copies to all the ‘proper’ music monthlies (you know, the ones with 8 page dad rock retrospectives – incidentally, I LOVE dad rock!) Then the scum sucker who isn’t going to review it puts it in a bag with a load of other CDs he’s not going to review and takes it down the second hand CD shop. He gets not very much for each one but he gets money for the JP CD (that he hasn’t reviewed) nonetheless.
This is the way the world works. It’s like wondering why Christian countries sell arms to third world dictators; thinking of how it should be just doesn’t get you anywhere. This is an area where for once I’m not that worked up. It’d be nice if they listened to the record (that’s reviewers by the way, I don’t suppose many third world, sorry, ‘developing world’ dictators are listening) or even decide to review it or keep it, but hey, the complete victory of Thatcherism means that in the real world you can get 50p for it down the second hand shop to spend on coke or at IKEA or whatever music journalists spend money on. Luckily, the chances of anyone making more than 50p from the JP album are quite slim (or as Loudon Wainwright III once said, the chances aren’t slim, the chances are fat…’)
Anyway….this all means you can get the JP album ‘second hand’ on Amazon starting at about £3. If you see a picture of one it says ‘promotional copy, not for resale’ which means ‘re-sell immediately’, obviously. You can also pay up to about £17 if you want. I know this because of ‘Google Alerts’ which also tells me that the album is for sale on e-bay too (apparently connected with the Wedding Present, which is another story).
So, here’s an offer for you. I’ll beat the cheapest price. Send me a cheque (made out to John Parkes) for £3 and I’ll send you the album. Oh, because it’s my album and my blog and I can do what the f*ck I want, you also have to send me proof of a donation of at least £5 to the Campaign Against the Arms Trade, Amnesty or a similar organisation that sticks in the craw of civilised (i.e. uncivilised) governments. Can’t say fairer than that as ‘they’ apparently say.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Anyway, that locker room...
First up, an obvious one - what are you going to gain from standing on your towel when you’re still wet? This may seem obvious but you're just going to get your towel wet and dirty - is this your first time at the pool or are you nine years old? If it is, or if you are, apologies. If not, sort yourself out eh?I've previously advised against aggressive scrotal towelling as an aesthetically poor choice of drying technique. I'd also like to add from today's experience that 'legs apart, knees bent forward, thrusting motion' is surely not to be countenanced from a willy drying perspective (or during combined willy and scrotal drying which I believe was the object of the action). The force applied to willy washing should surely also be closely monitored. Now, men are programmed from an early age (at least most of us are) to avoid over aggressive willy washing, at least in public. In private anything goes of course. However, today a man was apparently lovingly stroking a new born kitten. In the shower. Except HE DIDN’T HAVE A KITTEN! (which, come to think of it could actually have been worse but we’ll leave that for now). That’s right, the sharper ones amongst you are already there – washing his bleedin’ willy like it was George Galloway in top acting mode.
So, I took the only course of action available to me - I slapped his hand away, went nose to nose and shouted at the top of my voice – ‘DON’T WASH IT LIKE THAT, IT’S JUST NOT RIGHT!’ Actually, I discovered a second choice of action was available: I sashayed over hissing ‘word in your shell like’ conspiratorially and carefully explained ‘aggressive towelling, no. Stroking new born kitten, no.’ ‘Find a middle way’ I suggested politely but firmly, with a playful smack on the bell end.
Some people eh?
As I approached, I had nearly finished a stolen apple (well, it was offered the day before, I’d said ‘no’ then but I guessed the offer was probably still open and there were 5 on the desk…moral relativism is my bag y’know…)
Anyway, the lights turned red, the green man came out and bleeped his forlorn bleep and 2 cars sped through the crossing (only two I know, must’ve been a quiet day). I launched the apple core at the second car – GOTCHA! – middle of the passenger window. I half hoped the car would skid to a halt and the driver appear for a shouting match (‘possibly more’ as the small ads say). I stole the apple from someone at work. Unbeknownst to her, she is my unwitting accomplice.
Incidentally, when I Googled militant pedestrians I got 666 suggestions! If I have time, www.militantpedestrians.com will be mine! Apple cores, paint guns, insulting notes and loud voices at the ready people. Got to learn to fight back - and any car on the pavement will be torched by a hired (and well paid) blind (make that 'member of the partially sighted community') person with a buggy and an army surplus WWII flamethrower...'oh, my beautiful wanky car, it's just exploded!' - Learn to park moron!
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Anyway, I heard a counter argument from someone I know. She explained that when one goes on a night to the cinema one doesn’t want to skimp, one wants to enjoy oneself. After stuffing oneself, one wants to enjoy the luxury of leaving the rest in the cinema. Oddly enough, the person referred to runs out on money before payday.
Unfortunately, I think this is also why the human race always lays waste to its environment and moves on before killing itself off.
Actually, I wrote a letter of complaint and they sent me a £5 voucher. Unfortunately, my local Pizza Hut is out of my area….
Incidentally, why is Pizza Hut full when it's twice the price of every other pizza shop and 5 times the cost of other fast food from the freezer?
…oh, and ‘Quality Carpets’ of course. Unfortunately around 50% of the time (according to a survey of whoever was in the office that afternoon at Heat magazine) they mean ‘shit quality’ carpets or ‘poor quality’ carpets. They may even mean 'average quality' or even 'good quality' but there is no such thing as a 'quality carpet', only a moron who can't speak English. If you buy one, they may use ‘logistics’ or ‘logistical solutions’. This is shite for ‘we’ve got a van and we will deliver your carpet in it’. If you're in and if they can find you.
For historical and security reasons, my house isn't on all of the A-Zs. Maybe my house is a deliberate mistake to foil the roaming mobs of swarthy and foreign looking map counterfeiters. However, this does illustrate a point. Have you ever tried giving directions to a delivery van driver (or taxi or pizza delivery firm) before they've got lost? And will they concede, when they have got lost, that actually you do know where your house is at least as well as they do - if not better?
As I constantly and consistently advise, best not to buy anything ever - unless advertised, of course.
Yorkshire Water won a ‘Utility of the Year’ Award in the ‘2005 Utility Industry Achievement Awards’. Only a cynic would suggest that this is an award awarded by a small group of firms to themselves. Well, what about this Yorkshire ‘can’t be arsed fixing the pipes when we can blame customers for using too much water’ Water. I’ve won the FR Records 'Songwriter of the Year' award for 8 years running and been in the top three in the AAZ Records 'Record Industry Awards' for the last 3.
I say hats off to the 'Vitreous Enamel Development Council'
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Just a few snails; save a bit of money on grass cutting; just a tiny thing – but that’s how it goes. The Council has a green ‘strategy’; where I work had a green ‘policy’; everyone has f*ckin’ good intentions and tells the kids to take the bottles to the bank in the 4x4. In the real world it’s OK to park on the verges, to churn them up with delivery lorries delivering hardwood kitchens and sweatshop DVD players for £30. It’s OK to dig ‘em up and replace them with tarmac, it makes sense to replace hedges with fences and the cars can park halfway on the pavement and it’s OK - and if I object I’m just a strange idiot person who’s badly adjusted (so if I walk down the middle of the road it’s OK – actually not for some reason) the snails and grass verges can f*ck off. ‘Green’ and ‘biodiversity’ is something for the nasty Brazilian loggers to worry about eh?
A few months back bunch of private tree destroyers with a bad attitude chopped down a row of mature poplars (that’s the proper ones, not the spindly ones – check a book if you need, I haven’t got one, I just know how brilliant they were) at the bottom of our road. Interfered with television reception or something - ‘people’ had complained. Well they didn’t ask me. The Council had power to get someone to chop the trees down but not to plant any new ones because it isn’t their land – because they don’t understand ‘green’ the big ignorant fatheads.
If I win the lottery I’m going to hire a bunch of meatheads with big lorries to block off both ends of the street. Then I’m going to get another bunch of meatheads to dig up the road and throw the bits of tarmac through the windows of those that wanted rid of the trees. Then I’m going to grass over the road and guard it with guns until the grass is a foot high. At each end of the road there’ll be 2 cars for sharing and the severed head of the boss of Firstbus will be displayed on a plate (with an inflatable facsimile at the other end – I have thought this through you know). In his mouth will be a piece of reused (hey, not recycled, reused – don’t get me started on that one) card. This will say ‘I’m sorry I robbed you by putting up fares by a thousand per cent in 2 years because now I’ve been tortured by meatheads (from a private contractor with a bad attitude) and I’m dead and I regret my actions’. Then I’ll start on the next road and the next and the next and I won't stop until they build the tram, enforce car sharing schemes, take pedestrians seriously and cure all the kids of asthma. All the local councillors and MPs will have something very green stuck up their arses by private meathead contractors with a bad attitude.
Monday, February 20, 2006
So, he needs to be challenged by proper historians and by anyone who knows anything about history, by you and me and anyone who knows the status of truth among Nazis (i.e. it doesn’t matter to them). He should be despised and vilified. But is the right way to deal with someone who distorts the truth to send them to jail for something they said 20 years ago? Answers on a postcard...
On a slightly different note, when I was at college, Irving was invited to speak by the Union of Conservative Students (or whatever they were called). I think I joined the 'no platform for Fascists' people (I really loathe Nazis by the way) and he never got to speak (not because of me you understand but because of everyone). Interesting to note though that the lovely YCs raised funds by selling badges among other merchandise.
A good one was the ‘Hang Nelson Mandela’ badge. He was a ‘terrorist’ after all – careful not to glorify him or the British government will put you away for it. That same generation of Conservatives are the new smiley new Labour new liberal types in charge of the party – just thought I'd let you know! More depression.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
I say bring back traditional flavours such as Oxtail, Mulligatawny and Mock Turtle.
The only exercise I ever get is about half an hour’s worth of swimming a week. Obviously I go in the men’s changing room (note Americanism in the title, sorry chaps – not folks note – but chappesses can’t be right). Anyway, I can’t work out the conventions of these places and why I’m mildly disturbed by the various ‘behaviours’ that go on there. Leaving aside aggressive scrotal towelling, tell me why this lot seem just wrong somehow....
A naked man standing at the urinal holding a swimming hat in his right hand and a pair of goggles in his left. Why do I feel he should have saved a hand to point or ‘guide’ as it were? Why does having a wee completely naked also seem wrong?
A fully clothed man at the same urinal. No offences of the hand to start with. However this man is overdressed for urination. Now if he was outside then maybe. But no, he’s inside - stood at the urinal in a big puffa jacket with big puffa sleeves nearly covering his big puffa hands. Should I insist he takes his coat off to wee? Mind you, he didn’t wash his hands so its smeggy doorknobs all the way home then?
A man standing weeing in the shower. It goes down the same hole so why don’t I like it? Has anyone written the Etiquette of Weeing? or is there a gap in the market? Can men go to Swiss finishing schools to learn how to walk with books on their head and how to get into a Mini without gusset glimpsing embarrassment? – and how to wee in a manful but respectable way? I suspect not, unfortunately we live in a fallen world. Do women still get to go?
This is an ‘incidentally’ but provides secret information for women and advice for some men: Obviously men really shouldn’t wear shorts, but if one does and one uses one of those big flat stainless steel urinals (as opposed to the individual pot sorts) one gets ones legs sprayed with (primarily) ones own urine. This means that when you don’t wear shorts you’re spraying your trousers! Yewch!
This is of course only a small glimpse into the world of weeing. If only I had more time....I'm wasted here.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
- The JP album is now orderable from Amazon - OK, not that strange I guess but somehow it seems strange and exotic to me.
- 1% of the hits (or visits, they're different somehow, just shut up and listen for a minute) to the JP webiste are from Argentina. Perhaps that explains the Amazon connection? - See, I don't just make this stuff up you know.
- OK, this is the strange one - Jon McGill (Chris's brother in law, you must have heard of him) reckons he once visited the Queens Hall in Leeds (which no longer exists) to see 1. the Cadillac Hank Williams died in and 2. Elvis's wart. I mentioned this at work. They'd heard of Elvis's wart. How can I have remained in ignorance for so long? Is Elvis's wart still touring?
- Maybe this isn't that strange either but I have to link thoughts together somehow or they'd just run off into the road and get knocked over....I really can't help being a fan of the Moody Blues stuff from the 70s. Despite flutes, pomposity and some unforgivable lyrical dreadfulness they're are so, so good. Loads going on, great tunes and the best advert for the Mellotron and the Gainsborough (early synthy thingies, Strawberry Fields uses the Mellotron - and I may have spelt Gainsborough wrong) you're ever likely to hear - 'and he took to himself an orange and tasted it - and it was good' - see told you! They're playing in Manchester in the autumn - see you there?
Sunday, January 29, 2006
First up was ‘Intimate Invasions – The Erotic Ins and Outs of Enema Play’. Do you reckon this would do?
Saturday, January 28, 2006
It would appear that Americans have white teeth and the Brits don’t. The Americans think the Brits don’t clean their teeth. Fact is that American toothpaste just has more bleach in. This destroys teeth. Luckily, many Americans can afford to buy new teeth. My teeth have never been fantastic - except as a miracle of 'intelligent design' obviously. Might do a new Blog(or a book?) entitled 'Musings On Teeth'. It's my idea but you can have it if you like. Bye.
So, I was on my way to an otherwise uneventful day at work today (see, you know all about it now, thanks to rigorous explanating) and I had to walk over a broken Muppet mug in the middle of the footpath. So who strolls along a city centre street drinking coffee from a Muppet mug and not one of those sinister cardboard baby cup things Starbucks et al sell? No sign of any spillage mind, just the mug - most of it anyway, sufficient to retrieve, glue and prove a point - the point being that this was (or until quite recently had been) a Muppet mug. But I bet you can’t buy a Muppet mug just anywhere these days can you? And why not kick it into the gutter or something after you’ve dropped it. It was an apport I reckon. You know, falls of fish, vaginal cheescloth, Victorian Houdini trumpets, lifting the veil (hence the V word possibly). All that stuff.
On arriving at work there’s a pink heart shaped post-it note on the entryphone. It says to ring Sara (she’s so much posher than Sarah you know – or should that be ‘more posh?) and adds a list of items to buy from a chemist, ‘drug store’ or other purveyor of face cleaner, razors etc. I though of an acronym or whatever the word is for 'the thing to help remember a list' – SWALK or something. I forgot it. It was a good one, rest assured.
Obviously I called Sara and there was the expected casual relationship and bottom photocopying in the office (careful, that glass isn’t made for that you know). Clearly the post-it was meant for me. Unfortunately, being based on the purchase of miscellaneous personal care items our relationship was doomed to fail when I forgot to resupply the shower gel and didn’t stock rotate the boxes of tooth whitening paste. Que Sara Sara.
This is the first Blog where not every tiny bit is necessarily completely true by the way.
Friday, January 27, 2006
I paid extra for the time travel. I’m miffed that DMs are not made in Northampton anymore but they still sell them in Bradford. Years ago Bradford was were you went to buy DMs – from working men’s boot shops rather than shoe shops before they realised they were fashionable and doubled the price.
Anyway, Mister Boot is a shop on the Leeds Road Bradford. There’s hardly room to get in, there’s a single wooden chair (which takes up most of the standing room) and a calor gas fire (sorry, I guess that’s Calor Gas “TM” or something with a royalty cheque in the post – One Queen Mum, dead but visited East End in Blitz, 10 guineas, no pence). A man in a blue sweatshirt and thick glasses works there. There’s a back room full of clocks. Obviously some kind of portal to the 70’s, stuff hanging from the ceilings, ladders, stuff to stand on, you know.
The idea here is that these DMs were going to be so damned cheap that I’d be laughing all the way to the betting shop to put 50 pee on the day the soles should split on two pairs. Thereby no need to shop for 2 years (did Matalan a few months ago for £3 trousers, underpants, socks – going up! Ba, ba ba ba ba etc.)
Unfortunately they were £55 which is a biggie for a budget shopper – and more expensive that t’internet. So, what do I do? Say “that’s far too much old fashioned man in old fashioned shop that smells of old fashioned hardware shop (with some stress on leather goods and shoes in particular, if not shoes and boots exclusively)”, “I will not pay that much”, “why they’re not even made in Northampton and you are not, repeat not in a fashionable town, nor even the more fashionable part of a non-fashionable town, I’m leaving, good day rapscallion won’t-be-here-for-long retailer man”?
So anyway, I bought these DMs. Bit steep.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
However, Genevieve Tudor played Hippy Dad from the album on her ‘Folk on Sunday’ prog (Jimmy Young!) on BBC Shropshire – goes out in Stoke, Hereford and Worcester too. This is the first ever play I’ve had on a folk show.
If you want to check it out here’s the link: BBC - Shropshire - Music, Gigs and Clubs - Folk Playlist
However, I can’t help noticing the other songs on the show included these titles:
The Arran Boat
The Busker’s Song
Hurdy Gurdy Man
Flop Eared Mule
La Belle Jig
Adieu Sweet Lovely Nancy
Have I infiltrated? Is this like the Pistols on Radio One? I’ve always said I must write songs about canal tunnel disasters – or maybe I should just drop my prejudices? Wasn’t sure if I would incur the wrath of folk types – seems not.