Everyone has a blog nowadays don’t they? Well nearly everyone, but not many are as observant or irreverent as Bill’s passionate ramblings, concerning everything from political commentary to his love of real ale. And unlike the ten-a-penny media monkeys he doesn’t talk a load of bloggocks.
Monday 19th May 2008 - I might buy Prezza's book. I know it's just another politician breaking the normal civilised semi-confidences that you assume are safe but I like his brisk attitude. I'll bet if they put him in Tussauds a safety fence will have to be erected around the visitors. Nevertheless the image of smilin' Tone's face when JP called him a little shit has got a hold on me, as has Gordon's as he shuffled around the deputy prime minister fully aware of his intellectual superiority and yet there was nobody else to talk to!
I am beginning to like Prezza. Whether I will feel the same about his distant Turkish clone Boris is not yet certain although I love square pegs and the holes they get into. Boris's problem is his Tory supporters in my local. who are delightfully hypocritical of both the aforementiond. When someone says that Prescot is a clown they smile and say 'Yes'. When I say that Boris is a clown they say ' Ah, yes, but..' Perhaps it's a bigger, dafter circus?
I read that the mayor of a town on the Island of Lesbos wants the female inhabitants to be known as capital 'L' Lesbians and that real Lesbians, having a great time on the Sapphic website, should be lower case lesbians. If this becomes crazy Eurolaw what will the ladies who live on the Isle of Wight choose to be called. Cowes or cows? Whatever they're called don't use the word 'Sweetie' as Obama did. Sweeties are made to be unwrapped, licked and the enjoyment should last a long as possible!
15th April 2008 - Fantastic!
For a start I was separated from my son Nick in the first 100 metre dash so bang went the plan for him to carry me over the finishing line. Then somehow I became sandwiched between two scouse comics who ran on auto pilot while telling jokes non-stop. No joke was told and retold more that forty times but non-stop is not quite correct because every so often I would be expected to add a favourite of my own. Timing and dramatic pauses are hard to sustain when it feels like an Aztec priest has just pulled your lungs out of the chest cavity and I didn’t do too well.
Fortunately as the mass of runners seeped through a park in a huge sluggish gel some joker in a nearby flat started playing ‘Chariots of Fire’ at danger level and it knocked my companions running level back into manual. Helpless and mute they sped off a blistering one mile per hour faster than I, leaving me cursing them for being diverted from replenishing on liquids by their endless ‘ men going to the doctor’ stories.
It was only when I was almost totally dehydrated that some roadside Samaritan reached out to me with a meat pie. Can you imagine entering a pie eating competition four fifths of the way through hell? Nevertheless, the whole thing was fantastic. Oh, mother, that poor word!
After the Liverpool and the London everyone said how fantastic it had been, in fact every runner, commentator and relative said ‘fantastic; at least ten times and this word now covers everything and every event in the universe which is so-so, OK, pretty good and good.. ‘Fantastic’ was appropriated by sports summarisers unaware that they were calling Rooney, using two of the adjective’s meanings, grotesque and quaint although perhaps I don’t give them enough credit. ‘Incredible’, second favourite, is also rendered meaningless by over usage and if you like outsiders put your money on ‘Well.. .’ Every time the news readette swivels in her chair to look at the giant screen where our reporter stands shivering and asks ‘ Any developments, Martin?’ you can put your house on Martin saying ‘ Well, Doreen…”
5 April 08 - What a display of ringcraft and raw courage! Fifteen terrific rounds of heavyweight fighting that left the crowd as exhausted as McGee and Crenshaw. The champ took unbelievable punishment but he would not go down. In the third, seventh and eleventh rounds it looked all over but against all expectations the fight went the distance. The crowd is silent, waiting for the decision that will either give us a new champ or install a new name in boxing history. They’re taking some time to add up the scorecards and we’re just waiting for the ring announcer Bobo Mugabe…
It looked like the much anticipated battle of the giants would end in stalemate, a fitting end to a feast of slick, flowing football with no goals to show when in the second minute of added time the tireless figure of United’s Andy McKay collected a wild clearance from Valencia’s Von Kluge on the half way line. In a breathtaking interchange of passes with Stepova he finally dummied Prink and was rounding ‘keeper Calcio to roll the ball into the empty net when the hapless Italian brought him down. It was the most clear cut penalty of the season but unbelievably referee Roberto Mugabe waved his arms to play on…
Harrington is switching to over the wicket because so far De Kuyper has handled him with ease. 268 for 4 with 20 overs to go before stumps and everything to play for. De Kuyper adopts that peculiar cramped stance as Harrington lopes in. De Kuyper plays cautiously forward- he’s hit on the pad- there’s a loud appeal. Looked absolutely plumb to me but he’s not walking. The umpires are consulting…yes, they want a television replay. They are signing up to the third umpire. Those rain clouds from the east are really piling up overhead and it doesn’t look very promising. We’re just waiting for the third umpire Bob Mugabe…..
Tuesday 25th March - It took me a few minutes to calm down and a week to write the following. Ghurkhas refused permission to take advantage of the what the UK has to offer it’s subjects in repayment for what they have put on line namely their lives! How can the grey faces in the civil services deny these excellent soldiers what is theirs by right of courage and duty? I can remember years ago coming home on a troopship from Korea when the same offhand treatment was given to first class soldiers by some prat of a wavy navy purser who treated them like children and wouldn’t change their local scrip for real money to use on the journey ahead.
I, who had been brought up on Ghurkha legend, genuine folklore not make believe told the little Nepalese sergeant that I would look after their money problems and advised the nobody behind the desk to get into money changing mode or I would stiff him.( I was tough in those far off days). I did the business and the sergeant said to me “Father..” I was 22 years old at the time and a sergeant like he was. ”Father, you are in charge of our troop deck. You have no need to concern yourself with how it will clean and conduct its business. It will win the shooting, boxing, weapon handling, gymnastics, drill and any other type of competition in which it is invited to compete. Thank you for looking after us!” They did and if I could find the miserable worm who denied the sons of men that I knew just for a short while I might for get the years and knee him in the nuts.
This week the government, that huge mob of gurkha haters, has lifted the ban on flying flags from public buildings. I am reasonably confident that you did not know that such a proscription existed. Well, it does. Or at least it DID! Now, as a token of Britain’s greatness, Job Centres may fly the Union Jack. Hooray! This outburst of forbidden patriotism started me thinking about which other public buildings could run a banner up a flag pole and what would the flag portray?
Banks would be obliged to stream the skull and crossbones, Job Centres the emblems of Poland, Rumania and the Gipsy Kingdom, Estate Agents flags would be totally misleading , the homes of footballers would have big, big disrespectful Two Fingers motifs and… it could go on forever so think of a couple of flags of convenience for yourself!
The church is working itself into a lather about cloning of embryos and the word “Frankenstein” cropped up during last week’s debate. As far as I can remember Frankenstein, the monster seemed a decent sort of bloke who just wanted to walk off into the arctic. He never burned anyone at the stake, broke them on the wheel or made any comment regarding what you should and shouldn’t believe in. He didn’t judge anyone which brings me at an angle to Heather Mills - McCartney.
Everyone hates Heather and makes jokes about her having one leg which I think is a bit, literally, below the belt. Nevertheless, without representation other than herself in court she won her case. Okay, she lost forty million but she won which is really hurting the lawyers. Now they’ve started a forum saying how appalled they are that the pain and distress caused by divorce cases and it sets one wondering why the pain and distress of divorce cases was never apparent to them before? Will they have to wear Sou’Westers in front of the beak in case another Heather appears water jug in hand? It is hard not to believe that the lady and Mohamed Al Fayed have introduced a little blast of playfulness into court proceedings and that the theatre of justice which so baffled me ( another story another time) may soon be burlesque!
Monday 10th March - The Equality and Human Rights Commission has launched an inquiry into comments made by the captain of a P and O cruise liner about ‘Germanic behaviour’ on the ship. This was to do with the traditional German custom of reserving deckchairs with a towel. Now, even those with half a brain should have realised that the Master was making a point with a recognisable hook on it so that the message would register. Right? Well, here’s a question. Would the E and HR C have stirred if he had complained of ‘Yorkshire behaviour’?
Not a chance yet it is from Headingly, Leeds some years ago that the accepted legal definition of seat occupancy comes. Test match v Australia. Surrey visitor exits in the direction of the gents leaving his hat on his seat. Returns to find set occupied by burly Yorkie and no sign of panama. “I say, that’s my seat. I left my hat on it to keep it for me!” “Nay, lad” came the answer “Bums keep seats, not ‘ats!”
Sadly the captain’s case is just the sort that the Equality crowd would take up so perhaps I can interest them in my experience of Germanic behaviour. Some years ago in Frankfurt I was one of a group of European Cartoonists on a jolly hosted by the Frankfurt ‘Come over and have a great time’ Arts Council. A man, slightly older than I and with a very badly burned face approached me, shook hand and offered me a drink. “Halloo, Tommy! Where are you from in England?” I was born there so I always say “Liverpool!” His angry reddened scars creaked in to a smile and he roared “Liverpool? I bombed it many times!” We had a great night.
Tuesday 4th March 2008 - In WW11 the Special Operations Executive employed an Astrologer because he told them that Hitler used one and our chap could work out what their chap was telling the fuehrer about good and bad times to take over the Isle of Man for instance.
Eventually we dumped ours ( theirs probably ended up on gardening leave in Stalingrad ) for being a lazy fraud! . Fraud maybe but are Charlatan’s Athletic?
Misheard on the radio this week
‘Roads update. The lights on the A999 at Grisleigh aren’t working and they are waiting for the police to arrive. Traffic is moving smoothly.’
Posh military voice; ‘ It’s wonderful to have Prince Hairy home!’
A footballer scored a goal in the premier last week and did nothing except run back to the centre circle. The club issued this statement; ‘Goalscorer’s celebrations are a matter of personal choice and if a player does not want to perform a ridiculous dance, rock an imaginary baby or enjoy having his back broken by the rest of the team, that is up to him. On reflection however he now realises that his reaction could be considered inappropriate and apologises to any mindless morons who may have been offended.’
Friday 29th February 2008 - I watched BBC4’s ‘The worst job in politics-Leader of the Opposition’ Excuse me! In politics there’s a ‘WORST’ job? In the political pleasureland of perks, privileges, non-accountable expenses, overseas fact-finding jollies and pert researchers? They must be joking! I’ve stretched my limited intelligence to its absolute limit to winkle out an occupation in the House that is truly, seriously, disgustingly, appallingly awful and…nothing. The best (worst) that I could come up with is the person who enters the chamber carrying a canary in a cage and an air freshener after the House has risen. But on reflection, that is not a valid choice because cleaners aren’t in politics. They’re in taxis.
Amygdala. Arsenals’ latest signing? A corrupt country receiving vast amounts of foreign aid en route to a Swiss bank? No, it is that part of the brain in certain types of youngsters who are given to prolonged and aggressive arguments. At the exact moment that this became known to me, alarming news was released concerning the dangerous Invasive Garden Ant. It is heading towards the UK! Up to 3.5 mm long this stroppy little monster is given to prolonged and aggressive arguments with whatever stands in its way. Isn’t it amazing how everything in nature melds sweetly together? The Mother of all battles! Hoodies shouting ‘it isn’t fair, nobody understands us!’ bravely throwing themselves on the countless armies of IGA blackening our croquet lawns! Casualties would be horrific with millions of hoodies and ants killed but ay least it would keep them out of my garden. I’ve got ‘Antdoom’ for the others.
© Bill Tidy 2008 All Rights Reserved
