Wednesday, 28 January 2009


Over the years, from time to time the Lovely Lynne has decided she has to loose some weight , just like every woman since time began. Maybe Adam n' Eve were the only people who never worried about it, and that was only because they never had glossy magazines and 'Goodmorning' with Phillip Schofield and Fern (stomach clamps) Cotton. And because of this and they were the only people in creation they didn't know what a fat person was. Maybe they got a little concerned when their fig leaves started pinching and feeling a bit tight around the sensitive areas they covered for some reason that Adam n' Eve had never been able to figure out. Maybe the human race started when the fig leaves were removed and suddenly stirrings stirred within the souls and lower down of our original couple. But the modern day Eve is convinced that they're fat and from time to time will order from the shopping channel some kind of torture device which goes under the title of excercise machine .These devices are tortourous for the male, as he has to hump the bloody thing about and put it together with the enclosed Alan keys and screws made from the softest most malleable metal that they could find. This makes it impossible to tighten screws fully without destroying the Alan key and the screw. It's not so bad for the woman ,as ,after a 'try out', they never go near it ever again. The Lovely Lynne bought a metal framework thing which was for stomach excercises. Much to the great amusement of other women, friends,family, etc who through the giggling asked me if Lynne'd started hanging her washing on it. "Of course not" i nobly replied."She will!", as they all had. I never mentioned that the washing had been dripping dry from the excercise machine for about a fortnight in the utility room.

In a moment of total madness and insanity we paid an totally insane amount of money to join, as a family(ahhh!) a local gymn. The last time i joined a gymn, was in Liverpool back street ,with rusty dumbells(and that was just the customers) ;No glass in the windows and beaten ,battered and busted punchbags (and that was just the customers). Whereas this one had machines that i ,for the life of me couldn't figure out. People walking ,peddaling, stepping whilst listening to Mp3's, or watching sub-titled coronation street on a telly ,right in front of their face . The sub-titles were there as the sound wouldn't have been heard over the Rap-type music that boomed about the gymn. Lynne, to be fair has piled in there and is powering away on the various machines. The other hiccup, for me is that all the machines have computer type thingey's to do with heart rates , types of excercises ,anaerobic, aerobic ,etc, etc,.....You need a degree in medicine or computer science to kill yourself. Whereas i joined a Karate class and had the shit beaten out of me. Lynne has trained away and is ever so proud to announce to the world that she is now the proud owner of a muscle...Just one, but it's a muscle, a right calf muscle, in fact.

Tuesday, 27 January 2009


Whenever you read a book about Karate, Kung Fu or the martial arts in general you will quite often see those badly drawn deformed looking outline drawings of the human body covered in dots showing, 'Points of ATEMI'.These are the bits if you give them a whack, or a kick, will hurt the unlucky recipient. As anybody who has had a go at Karate knows, you don't have to be in a combat situation to hit or be hit in these officially recognised 'pain points'. All you have to be is a new member in a new club in which unbeknownst to you is filled with WORLD CLASS' fighters and competitors. Now over the years, a little while back now it has to be said 'yours truly' gave and recieved a few smacks in competitions on a much smaller stage than the world stage these guys were used to. I attacked and was blocked hard, then whacked with a counter blow. Then roles were reversed and for some reason i still came off worse. I was reminded where my own personal points of Atemi where. The knowledge along with the pain stayed with me for a few days. Knees ,elbows, neck, and the sternum , which got a good punch and hurt like hell, but only when i breathed in, or out. I also smashed the fingers of my left hand somehow. This uncomfortable condition was exacerbated by The Lovely Lynne, who rolled over in her sleep in bed. Right over my hand! The screams must have been heard far and wide, breaking windows and causing several police murder squads to go on full alert. My sympathetic beloved when she'd come down off the ceiling, yawned, told me i shouldn't've been on her side of the bed, turned away and proceeded to carry on snoring, grunting and farting with a clear conscience,god bless 'er. It's nearly a week and i can just about clutch a pen...I tell you ,Grasshopper, if they start lobbing spears, i'm off !

Monday, 26 January 2009


As i sat with my gallon mug of tea ;Two boiled eggs and very heavily buttered toasted crumpets watching what the rest of the world was up to at this ungodly hour of the morning. I find being shoved out of my nice warm bed by my beloved lovely lady Lynne isn't something i enjoy. I've never been a morning person. Come to that, i've never been an afternoon , evening or night person either. There must be a ten minute period of the day where i'm at my peak.....But it's definitly not the morning ,or this early morning. I'm the only one not going out, but its me getting up to bring them tea n' coffee in bed, if i had the 'bottle' it'd be over the bed ! But, ironically the one thing that eases my misery and foul early morning temper is seeing how bad and miserable the rest of the world is. In maths and physics two negatives make a positive. A positive and a negative form a negative ,so i stay away from cheery programmes and cheerful man and woman double acts on the newsroom settee in the ITV and BBC newsroom until i'm ready and my depression and misery has hit ground zero and bounced back upwards to a level which could be called relatively un-miserable. It was at this point , this morning when i turned the BEEB morning news programme on and they had the wonderful MARTIN ROWSON on talking about being told off for making our beloved leader, Gordon Brown look fat. Martin came out with the best description of our glorious leader when he described his jaw movements as, "Like swallowing a sheep". Nice one Mr Rowson, sir.

It has alway amused me when i watch the politicians, esspecially, look a caricatures of themselves. I don't think i've ever seen one that hasn't grinned broadly with an open mouthed laugh to follow, to show how they can take and appreciate the joke. But this animated appreciation is accompanied by a steely cold glint in their scheming dead fish politicians eyes. Through the years i've caricatured politicians and celebrities, the celebrities are a many and varied lot, but the politicians are a more homogenous lot. They'll tell me how great it is and how i've made them look a little overweight; Use my first name and for a moment or two i think i'm going to be invited to dinner and be friends for life. But that passes, very quickly, and eyecontact which was so intense for a second or two is broken, never to be re-established again.

Even today i meet people who have caricatures i did of them years ago. And, it is true that many of them actually do hang them up on the toilet wall. Now i don't know why, maybe it's a form of artistic criticism, its the place to put it if it's shit. Or, its the opposite , as people spend a lot of time in the 'bog' ,they can sit and shit and admire your mastery of the inky line and almost mystical understanding of the structure and composition of the human face and through this talent and knowledge reveal the true spirit and character that a big head,massive nose ,sticky out ears and smaller, but bloated body can reveal. If the toilet in number 10 has them on the wall. The smallest room would have to be, by far the biggest room. The caricatures would have to be computerised on a wall screen, and while the leader of men is sitting about his buisness the caricature would be of a thumbnail gallery , as on computer websites. Now theres a horrifying thought. Will there ever be a time when people will stop reading books ,papers ,comics and magazines on the 'bog' and sit there with their laptop...Who says technology is a wonerful thing?

Wednesday, 21 January 2009


There wa a time in the not too distant past when diseases were things you caught in places like Africa and India. Us British used to get colds, flu, mumps and measles and various genital infestations. But times they have changed and the places with the crosses painted on the front door are the NHS hospitals, riddled with not just bugs ,but SUPERBUGS! You not only have to survive the disease that you've contracted through your own efforts and endeavours ,but also the home grown diseases that the hospital has to give you. All in all your probably safer having your operation in the carpark than the operating theatre.

Any nurse or doctor will tell you that those lovely politicians who know all about health and curing of those sick voters they have decided that outdated concepts like dedicated qualified staff ,cleanliness and care over periods longer than one day in a hospital bed for the sick and injured. The answer is to bring ergonomically designed bright airey offices for the incredibally paid 'suits', who now run the place. Mostly the places seem to be run badly, but the good thing is that, the 'suits ', who don't know the difference between a lung and a laptop, are trained to concenterate on the all-important 'spin' and so everything can be made to sound okay. And blame is ,of course transfferred elsewhere, nurses and sick people are exspensive and could do with being reduced or got rid of altogether, so theres a good place to start. health is a buiness, and like all buisnesses in these hard times, there must be cut backs.

The goverment, gawd bless 'em, have stepped in to save the sick n' needy voter with.......A CHECKLIST !..This checklist, if followed will lead to the health and salvation of many sick n' dying voters, lives and votes will be saved. The doctors are killing the voters ,so the politicians have to adress the problem and show the doctors what they are doing wrong. Everybody knows all doctors do is walk around telling everybody to take tablets;Drive off in their sports cars to the golf course and refuse to call at sick peoples houses at ungodly hours of the morning. If they knew as much about medicine as they do about golf and bridge we wouldnt need the goverment to save us with a checklist.
The checklist has such medical groundbreaking, inciteful things like ;Name and sex;Occupation; Medical problem; Confirm operation; Enough fluids? Any allergies? Check no equipments left inside; Check the same amount of bloods in there at the end as there was at the beginning; Make sure the patient isn't dead. The death of a patient while of course being tragic, would also constitute a waste of time and money which could be put towards a new pot-plant for the 'suits' office. And so it goes on. I can see it now the NHS rising again like a phoenix from the ashes to save us ,cure us and keep us well until the next change in goverment NHS policy.


As i mentioned a lifetime, or so it seems ago during that interminable debacle the Americans call the Presidential elections. I mentioned that i'd rather sit and hack my leg off than sit and watch the various primaries on the telly as it would be less painful. I was watching a little of the inaugeration ceremony last night and the same urge to hack a limb off overcame me. The ,"God bless America and the rest of the Red ,white n' Blue,bally hoo n' bullshit sort of ooozed from the screen. My leg was only saved at the last moment by a change of channel to the relative sanity of The Simpsons.

The new boy in the most powerful padded seat in the world is Barrack O'Barnpot, the first Afro-American, and ,apparently Irish president of the U.S of A. Celebrations exploded all over the place as people overjoyed at this, apparently world changing event took place. I've nothing against the fellah. He is just another American politician whose bullshitted his way into the 'Big Job' like politicians everywhere. The difference is the American politicians have more self interest and a lot of power to help their interests and schemes along and boost that power up even more. In fact they make our bunch of scheming fiddling arseholes look like innocent schoolboys who haven't a clue.

I thought it a little odd that on his first day ,he cancelled a pile of terrorist trials for crimes including 9/11. The finances of the country ,etc are turning to shit and he helps a few terrorists out, but i'm not a politician so what do i know.

When Good ol' George Dubya,was inaugerated into the job there was no celebrations and parties to celebrate the first naturally stupid fuckin' idiot to become president. I can't remember celebrations for the first senile movie star to become president when Reagan became president. I'll celebrate when Homer Simpson becomes the first yellow president. And i admire his policies, they don't make any sense ,but like all politicians policies and promises they'll be somehow forgotten and bunged to the bottom of the pile when they get their foot through the door . It doesn't matter about race colour creed, they're all tossers and gobshites...They are politicians !

Friday, 9 January 2009


My beloved Lovely lady Lynne filled a questionnaire on the facebook thingey on the computer for me the other day. One of the questions was about favourite telly programmes and she tapped out basically everything a certain Mr GERRY ANDERSON has put out over the years...Supercar, Fireball XL5, Stingray, Thunderbirds, Captain Scarlet, UFO. She asked me to deny my love for these fonts of nostalgia for all us middle aged oldish farts, and i couldn't. What my beloved doesn't understand is that all human life is there, with strings! In the beginning it was simple. Supercar was in a garage in the desert with Proffessor Beaker, Mike Mercury and Supercar, never any women to cloud and confuse the issues addressed in the drama of SUPERCAR.

But, this was to change when the puppet sculptors managed to work out how to do women. So, in FIREBALL XL5 ,Our dashing hero STEVE ZODIAC had a thing going with the lovely VENUS. It was all very innocent, except Venus seemed to spend a lot of time with a monkey like alien ZOONY! But, Steve spent an unhealthy amount of time with a robot who always wanted to be "Going home!"

Next came STINGRAY. Now things started to get a little spicey Gerry and Sylvia Anderson introduced a 'menage et trois' situation into the breath-taking underwater adventures. The hero of the(half) hour was the James Garner look-a-like, TROY TEMPEST, beloved by the lovely ATLANTA. She was voiced by LOIS MAXWELL the lady who became beloved of JAMES BOND, as MONEYPENNY. The problem arose when Troy and his co-pilot in the supersub, STINGRAY, PHONES, Where out fighting Aquanaut baddies who spoke like they were gargling mouthwash. They met an underwater beautiful woman called MARINA.Marina couldn't speak, god, i love her already! Poor ol' Phones never got a look in all the women seemed to have only eyes for that two-timing bastard Troy Tempest.

Then things got really complicated with THUNDERBIRDS. There was a much bigger cast in this one hour extravaganza and as a result things happened which caused eyebrows to raise even without the aid of strings. The whole of INTERNATIONAL RESCUE lived on an island in the middle of the ocean unknown to the rest of the world who depended so strongly on the hi-tech equipment built by a strange character with speech and visual impediments, called BRAINS. He had no sex life as he wa in his lab building thing and mixing chemicals. GEOFF TRACEY, was the daddy of the family and somehow with his bespectacled stuttering friend built a house on top of a series of rocket pads and silo's. I think health n' safety would have had something to say about it all, so i suppose thats one good reason for keeping it all very quiet. Geoff was very friendly with an English Lady, the lovely LADY PENELOPE.She ,with her machine gunning, rocket fireing,flying, sailing bright pink Rolls Royce, driven by her faithful sidekick PARKER, were International Rescue's British agents. Now, the fine ladyP', i could never figure out if she was up to something with Geoff, or The eldest son SCOTT. ALAN(Thunderbird3-spaceship),the youngest fancied his chances. But he was having a fling wih a girl who lived on the island ,TIN TIN.Now, was she being seen too by Alan or being 'gangbanged' by the the Tracey brothers with all this time on their hands between missions?

One of the brothers JOHN, was in a satellite listening to the radio all the time picking up people in trouble. He must've been a sad lonely fellah, what did he do to pass the time? The poor fellah didn't seem to have a chair to sit on, even. The rest back down on Earth, on the paradise that is Tracey island, sat around drinkink, painting and swimming. Normally it was THUNDERBIRDS 1+2 that went on the jobs. Scott(T1) would land and tell VIRGIL(T2) what to do. It was poor ol' Virge who got his hands dirty and his arse scorched while Scott(T1) sat drinking coffee telling him what to do, and once he's doing it, hurry it up.

T1 blasted off out of the swimming pool which could put you off your breaststroke. T3 blasted off through a gap in the cicular living room, their window cleaning bills for scraping the equivalent of 3 SATURN 5 rockets blasting off every weeks carbon deposits off the living room window must've been suitably astronomical. And just be careful if you want to climb some palm tree's when T2 is readying to launch.,