U.S. AND US .

Theres always been wars, but not many were everybody hasn't a bloody clue as to"What the hell are we doing here?"....But the invasion of Iraq is one. The U.S ofA. Gawd bless their mom's apple pie dragged us in. Blaming a not very nice, but fairly harmless dictator chappie, a certain mr S. Hussein for the terrible 9/11 hijacked aircraft smashing into the New York Trade Towers. The results of which were as big a shock to the bearded madmen planning the strike in a cave in Afghanistan. When the whole structures came crashing down in a city wide cloud of dust and rubble they were probably as amazed as the rest of the world. So, to battle terrorism theU.S. and us. (we have a special relationship with the yanks.) invade Iraq and police Afghanistan. Which didn't end the war against terrorism, probably 'kickstarted' it. Every muslim and his mate are tramping from Leeds or Bradford to train as terrorists in Pakistan.

But much to 'our special partners' disgust ,"The goddamn Brits're pulling out".... As everybody knows the Americans won all the wars when they "Pulled our butts outta the fire of,again!" It's not over yet, tho' as we'll be entrenched in Afghanistan till 'hell freezes over'. The Russians invaded from virtually 'next door' and 'had their arses kicked'. Are we going to have much more luck fighting this gorrilla war, i doubt it. The U.S. may throw their massive resources into Afghanistan ,if they don't blow us up with 'friendly fire', they may even hit some enemy soldiers hidden in the hills. But it didn't work in Vietnam, Korea, or anywhere else so the 'war on terror will carry on and on and on...'

HOW MANY POLITICAL HITS CAN AN AVERAGE BELOW AVERAGE PRIME MINISTER TAKE ?

I have always hated politics and politicians, but they do hold a fascination for me. The whole lot of 'em, are rotten slimey shitheads out for what they can get , using their beliefs, sincerity(when interviewed) and sense of whats right for the people of this country to excuse the total F***k- up' s they cause these days on an almost daily basis. The cash crisis rolls on; Mp's are going to be paid to attend' the house' ,basically getting paid' to go to work', on top of the exorbitant wages they get for doing bugger all, already. The possibility of a flu-pandemic is growing, but the goverment will spend millions on pamphlets telling us all to put our hands over our mouth when we sneeze. Then they wont have to reopen the wards they've closed, as we'll be ok as we've followed their advice. But just in case they'll give 'the suits' that have infected the NHS, a heap of money to get outside contractors in, to supply fresh flowers and tissues in case some sick people brave the queues and go to hospital. If there is a pandemic, like 'the Survivors' telly series, the politicians will be safe in a bunker with their husbands watching their collections of goverment bought porn DVD's. On and on it goes...We had the earnest young tossers and spin doctors with TonyBlair known as 'Blairs Babes'.....Now we've got a similar bunch of tossers getting caught out,for their sins and screwing their system(with the backing of the British people, so they all say.) and resigning almost weekly. But apologising for 'their mistakes', not offences, mistakes ...Blairs Babes are now Browns Boobs. How many political hits can he take, i'd like to try him out a few political 'smacks in the gob;'headbutts on the nose; A knee in the nuts.....It's a dirty rough game politics.

SERGEANT PEPPERS LONEL HEARTS CLUB BAND, AND BENNIE AND THE JETS ARE ALL SKINT.

We live in seriously terrible frightening times. The world survived bird flu, now we're on the virge of a killer dose of pig flu or swine flu which is going to wipe us all out. So that has helped take our mind of the credit crunches; Financial meltdowns ; Broken banking systems . A financial system hit by a disease caused by a similar cause ,Swines, fat pigs, etc, or bankers and politicians, as they are better known. But it has all finally really taken hold. The normal working people ,thats us ,at the bottom of the pile, we dont warrant much sympathy from those who 'run or ruin the show.' But now the news has reached me that the suffering has spread furthur afeild to those who really need their massive amounts of money. Paul McCartney and Elton John are now not as high up in the worlds richest people top 10, as they once were. This is truly a sad state of affairs when these heroes and icons must be forced to take their destinies in their own hands. Sergeant Pepper's lonely hearts club band and Bennie and the jets have joined together to work their way out of this depression. I believe they're playing round the side of the Tesco garage, by the Spar shop on the main pedestrianised precinct in Widnes. The reformed Genesis are playing after the Bingo on the nights when the line dancing club aren't using the church hall in Haverford West. The Who were playing in the tunnel between platform 1-3 and platform 4-5 at Warrington Bank Quay station. But they got thrown out when Townshend broke a guitar and the neck hit an old lady getting her pensioners railcard checked at the ticket desk.
U2 were asked to leave the Asda carpark in Slough, as they were in the way of the trolley collectors. And i've heard that the Indigo2 concerts for Michael Jacksons' come back, 'i need to pay off my debts tour' have been transfferred to Acton working mens club.

BRUCE LEE...THE LUMPS ON HIS HEAD THEY DIDN'T SHOW IN ENTER THE DRAGON.

The other day the telly's normal terrestrial channel was showing a BRUCE LEE film..FISTS OF FURY. I had to laugh , as for years n' years the Bruce Lee films and Kung Fu films would never be shown on the telly. Even after his death and he was a legend, and everybody knew Bruce Lee and wanted to be Bruce Lee. The younger ones had never actually seen him in action as the films were X-rated and the telly would never show any 'kung fu' films.Eventually the video tape was invented and later the films were available to get hold of. And even if you did ,the bits that always got cut were the bits with the 'rice flails', or NUNCHUKAS. You remember them. The clubs with the chain connecting them that Brucie baby was whirling around his body before braining some baddie. Our glorious leaders and betters decided that showing the youthful hooligans of Britain these weapons would cause them all to hit the streets knocking seven bells outta each other with them. I t's simple as that , you walk into your local rice flail shop, buy one and start battering everybody with it, simple.... Oh no it's bloody not. Take it from someone who bought one. Walking home across some playing fields in the dark of the evening. I thought i would have a go with my brand new, chained and engraved hardwood nunchukas. So, i started swinging them around, then CLUNK!!!..I'd whacked myself over the head with the damn things. I fell to my knees clutching my cracked skull, but i managed to stifle my agonised scream to a pained groan, just in case anyone was around to see what a prick i was. Over the years i've been whacked with the damn things a couple of times, still no nearer to mastering the damn things. There, now smartarse politicians, you missed a chance there to get rid of your hooligans by letting them go out, spend their hard stolen money and brain themselves with these deadly weapons. I bet even Bruce Lee had a few good bumps from them, but they cut them from the final cut of the film. Theres only me to expose the truth, again. Where would you be without me, eh?

Actually i was a massive fan of BRUCE LEE..THE LITTLE DRAGON.. When i were' nobbut a lad'.I had posters and a book about him, all treasured possessions and i could tell you all about him, but i'd never seen him even move. As the films were X-Rated, i wasn't able to go. But we were in Ireland to stay with the family in a village called COOTEHILL amongst the bogs of co; Cavan. In a little village about 30 miles away on the pot-holed roads of County Cavan(thats where they invented pot-holes) called OLDCASTLE..They had a little fleapit cinema and they were showing 'ENTER THE DRAGON'. But you only had to be 16 to get in. So, me poor ol' dad was roped in to take me. We got to Oldcastle and in we went. In those days and at that age, the cinema was an event. I can still remember the excitment. The film started with Bruce Lee fighting in shorts and boxing gloves. But it was, "Oh my god, that's Bruce Lee".....I loved it and couldn't come back down to Earth for days. Even now i love that film. It may not be a film classic in the accepted understanding , maybe 2 or 3 stars out of 5 in the telly ratings on the telly page of the paper, but to me . I remember what it meant and still feel a little of that spark from years ago and thats enough for me and my dad quite enjoyed it too, god bless the old sod.

MAN OF STEEL vs TRUMPET OF BRASS

SUPERMAN, THE MAN OF STEEL.....And of course mild mannered Clark Kent. How does it work? I mean , our Superhero can fly through the centres of stars without getting even singed ;He can alter the orbit of a planet with a gentle super nudge; He could melt America with a blast of heat vision and extinguish a supernova with his super breath; Amble through the time and space distorting mindboggling power of your average massive Black hole without even messing his hair. Never mind faster than a speeding bullet or able to leap the tallest building, etc. This guy is seriously SOOPER!.. somebody you'd like on your side.....Or would you?.....I mean you could fire a nuclear missile into his eyeball and he wouldn't blink. He's totally invulnerable and can't be hurt by anything, so he can't be that sensitive to the 'touches' of normal life.. His strength is mindboggling ,so he couldn't weaken down, i wouldn't want to shake hands with him. And how many type writers has Clark Kent smashed up in the Daily Planet? Computer keyboards ! There must be a skipful of the shattered plastic remains from his typing fingers of steel. He could pick his nose of steel ,scoop a lump of snot of steel. Then like anybody, he flicks it with a superfinger of steel....The lump of super snot ricochettes around the world 40 times smashing buildings, causing untold death and destruction. He spits on the pavement , leaving a 30 foot crater where his super'gob' smashed into the ground. Imagine if he passed wind (farted,ok).... Winds would destroy Metropolis and ravage the farmlands of America, possibly affecting climatic conditions around the world. Possibly boosting global warming, i mean when have you ever had a cold fart?.....

Then , what about poor ol' Lois Lane, Supermans girlfriend? It doesn't bear thinking about what a ,superhug, supersnog, and , of course a super leg-over would do to the weak human form of poor old Lois, Other than crushing to a pulp or tearing our 'ace reporter apart.. The only way around this romantic dilema is for Lois to have a lump of Kryptonite to hand to dampen our heroes ardour when needed and some 'toys' from Anne Summers, or someplace for when she's feeling 'up for it. But they should never be'up for it together'...It'll end in.. Well, it'll end in YUK!!!!......Superman needs to get a hobby to take his mind off Lois.....Maybe the trumpet, but then again maybe not.

96...R.I.P......I DON'T BELIEVE IN GHOSTS ,BUT I DO BELIEVE IN SPIRIT.

( I found this drawing from years ago, i can't remember why it was drawn )

but it suddenly seemed right.

20 Years ago 96 people were killed at Hillsborough while waiting to watch Liverpool F.C. play a game of 'footy' against Nottingham Forest in the cup. They would never live to see the game.. In an example of ,stupidity, incompetence, madness, insanity that bordered on murder, these people were crushed to death and many more were badly injured. Newspapers claimed the Liverpool crowds caused the disaster; Bodies were robbed and defiled ,etc, etc..... Even today all these years later The Sun newspaper isn't stocked in newsagents around Liverpool and many 'Scousers' refuse to soil their hands with the newsprint. 2Days ago Anfield was filled with family, well wishers , players old and new ,dignitaries, etc to pay respects to those who died and suffered so needlessly all those years ago. Silences were observed and proper respect was given by so many people as the ground and the city ground to a silent halt . Not just Reds ,But Blues ,and not just football supporters, just people, Liverpool people..'Scousers' !

Liverpool has always been a rough ol' town. As many sea ports it has its own character and spirit. It has hard knuckles but also a soft heart. Liverpool is fiercly independant and will take no crap off anybody. It can be vicous and nasty, but it more often is warm and funny. Liverpool knows its faults and must take the blame for many of them, but nowhere near all of them. Liverpool hasn't been given much, compared to what has been taken from it. Liverpool owes nothing to nobody. Liverpools treasure lies in the spirit and honesty of its people. At Anfield all was well until a politician got up to 'give a speech'..... He didn't get far and was drowned right out. Liverpool wants justice for what happened all those years ago, not political bullshit.

Sometimes i get depressed when the place looks like its going to hell in a handcart, but days like the other day, tragic though it is, shows that Liverpool wont forget. And through the 96 the spirit of Liverpool will glow ever brighter.

BOND IS BACK, BUT IS HE OO7, OR OO?

The other night after a few pints with a few mates in the fine city of Liverpool, now uncultured, just as we've always loved it. I returned to the bosom of my beloved, the lovely Lynne, who proved her loveliness by getting a chinese. Not a person on the couch in front of me, that would be silly, after what happened last time!..No, this time she got a take away meal for us to enjoy as we watched the DVD of 'A QUANTUM OF SOLACE'. The new James Bond film, of course. Now i am a confessed lover of everything Bond and always look foreward to the next film and rewatch the old ones again and again. I also think that Danny Craig ,the new boy is very good and thought Casino Royale was very good too. So, when i went to the pictures a few months ago, my spirits were high and there was something approaching excitment in my middleaged (slighty) protruding belly. But watching it, i thought the best word for it is, 'frenetic'. I put it down to sitting too close to the screen. But watching the DVD, it was worse. The film makers,in my considered opinion starting with the BOURNE films got increasingly 'frenetic'. They have decided 'The MTV generation' think that Frenzied and Frenetic means exciting and action-packed. Then this lousy stupid way of filming started turning up all over the place. Spiderman 3, compared to the first two was frenetic; The Dark Knight, frenetic. Now They've decided that 'Frenetic'is what we want. Whereas as far as i'm concerned these 'frenetically edited scenes are just totally baffling and confusing. I think i'll send them the bill for a new remote control, after the hammering it got watching Bond ."What happened there? Wind it back!". This went on for most of the film. So after a dissappointing meet up with my old hero, the lovely Lynne tells me "You stink of garlic!" I wasn't shaken or stirred, i was gutted. This never happens to James Bond.

CHARLES DARWIN & SON ; THE MOON MOVING AWAY FROM THE PLANET OF THE APES AND THE SHREWSBURY CARTOON FESTIVAL....

I'll tell you something those DARWIN fellahs were clever fellahs. Discovering the EVOLUTION OF THE SPECIES and making biology the new physics, and, according to some nutballs ,he 'killed god??'....But ,most important without the great intellect and genius of Charles Darwin we'd never have had the PLANET OF THE APES FILMS( Five of 'em.) And the telly series....

But what isn't generally known, but i shall now reveal to you seekers of knowledge, is that, Good ol' Charlies son, GEORGE DARWIN.Not a great lover of worms plants n' monkeys. Made a lifetime study of the tides. Which must've been a little awkward in Shrewsbury. But he carried on searching high n' low (tides) for the answers to a heap of tidal questions. He clicked onto the fact that the moon had something to do with it. And also calculated that the moon is moving away from the Earth.(celestial objects ,like people just drift apart, i s'pose. But people move apart faster than 3 1/2 cms/ year.).....This Darwinian insight was confirmed much later by a certain Mr NEIL ARMSTRONG and colleagues on the APOLLO missions to our lunar companion. It's sad to think that our friendly 'man in the moon' is in the process of packing his spotted hanky on his stick to start his journey to who knows where in the universe ,boldly going where no moon has gone before, etc,etc.Or just crashing into Jupiter or something.

It is the anniversary of Charles Darwins birth and is being deservedly celebrated in his hometown of SHREWSBURY, at the annual SHREWSBURY CARTOON FESTIVAL,Which is themed on Darwin and the Natural sciences in tribute to the great man. The festival is on in april and well worth a visit(24-26th April, i think.) And also gives me an excuse to use the cartoons i submitted here. See! There's madness behind my method.

CLOTHES MAKETH THE MAN,SO WHY WEAR THOSE STUPID F***'IN WOOLY BOBBLE HATS ,'COS THEY DON'T??????......

If you are into clothes and fashion and are of a 'trendy bent', as a lot of chaps n' chapesses are these fashion concious days. In fact it seems that the buying of the' right gear' is more important than buying boring stuff like food for the family, etc. I have never been a victim of fashion, although people might agree that i'm a fashion victim . Or ,even not fashion concious, but more fashion unconcious. I can understand the urge of some people when they see some people wearin 'the next big thing', and want to get in there before everyone and those over 25 start wearing them. But what i can't understand is why people start wearing cloths in a certain way, which catches on. Like wearing jeans with the arse hanging down around their knees. And the length about 2 ft too long so all the water and shit they drag their manky unlaced 'pumps' through is soaked up by the ridiculously flared denim. The fact that some odd sorts look at that and think "cool, i want sooooo much to look like that!"...Very strange. Well, i'm too old to understand whats 'in', 'on the street.'

The other thing of equal bafflement and beffudlement to me is how these odd bods, trendy tho' they may be can look at those ridiculous brightly psychadelically coloured woollen bobble hats with the ear flaps and long bobbled straps hanging from them. Then think "wow! They're soooooo cool, i want to have one and walk around looking like a real cool dude(gobshite)." I hate them .I get this unreasonable urge to grab the wearers bobbled toggles and strangle the stupid moronic prick with them. I'd give them a kick up the arse as well, but the droopy arse look does serve as a defensive mechanism. It looks like they've had an embarrassing accident or a distended rectum, either way it looks like a place you wouldnt like to plant your boot.

REMEMBER WHEN SPORTSMEN BROKE PROPER BONES?

I'm not a great sport fan, i used to watch Liverpool many years ago and had a season ticket for a few years once upon a lifetime ago. I do enjoy watching old games and old boxing on the 'box' from time to time. There's a channel called ESPN on the SKY network and they show old sporting events. I've just been watching a heap of old Liverpool games from the 70's and early 80's. And a series of documentaries on various old time boxers. Things just seemed more real and exciting, as well as 'harder.' There was a documentary about 'Football..The wonderful game'..All about the 70's . It was great all these teams with shocking haircuts;Droopy mustaches; Shorts that were so tight they seperated the blood in the legs from the blood in the rest of the body. Thats probably why the players were always boozing n' shagging all those models, etc...As soon as they took those shorts off and the blood from above and below re-connected in the 'middle-nether reigons'..Well, i'd rather not think about it, it makes you wonder about the team bath. The pitches started the season green and pristine. A few showers of rain and a few games and the bowling green became a bog. This was also the days when tackling was allowed. Players, who wouldn't be allowed in the ground, these days, even if they were allowed out of the solitary padded cell in the psychiatric hospital they were sentanced to spend their life in. In those days they were encouraged, cheered and praised for attempted murder every Saturday afternoon. God bless Tommy Smith! The players used to suffer from proper medical conditions....None of your damaged meta-tarsels, ligament or tendon damage...... It was stuff like "He's done his leg in.... Busted his foot .....Done his knee....Or had his nose busted!!!" All this was cured by the cold wet sponge that had spent the game festering in stagnant water in an old club rusty bucket before being slapped, not placed, but slapped onto the 'sore bit'. 9 times out of 10, the player saw the bucket and sponge coming , muttered 'Sod that!', suddenly found the inner strength to ignore the pain and get back into the battle, it wasn't a game. As the immortal BILL SHANKLEY once said about football being a matter of life or death.."No, son , it's far more important than that".

THE GOOD OLD BRITISH PUB IS DYING, BUT THE GOOD OLD BRITISH HANGOVER IS FIT AND WELL !

I found this cartoon the other day, done a few years ago for an independant Liverpool brewery called Cains. Sadly the, once small, but highly successful brewery, i think has had to close up a while ago now. Which was/is sad, as it needn't have happened it was all down to some red tape involving the gobshites in Brussels;Westminister and Liverpool city council. Some might say that my idea of an ad campaign, focusing on the concept of the hangover wouldn't be something that would help the sales of beer. I would dispute this feverently, as in my considered opinion the hangover is what made the British great. As i have had many experiences of hangovers throughout my formative years, or what i can remember of them. I feel i can speak with some authority on the Great British Hangover. I, of course include my kith n' kin over in Ireland in this. Partly due to the boozy geography aspect, but also , because its 'The black stuff and an Irish wee one, as a chaser' which has been the main cause of my suffering , and as a result personal development through the years.

When Johnny Foreigner hits the bottle, it normally is ,a bottle. Whereas we Brits go all out on quantity rather than quality, after a few pints. There is something inherantly strange about drinking beer. The more you drink the faster it goes down and the more you can drink. You would find it totally impossible to drink 15 pints of ;water, milk, lemonade, etc....But 15 pint of black sludgey Guiness and it doesn't touch the sides. Nobody drinks like as we do. So, that is why our hangovers are like no others. Other countries get hangovers, of course they do, but our hangovers are truly British hangovers.

It is said when people, die on an operating theatre, they see a golden light, etc, etc. The hungover, virtual corpse, sees nothing but impeneterable blackness as they lie in 'their pit' like a dead jellyfish on the beach. Eventually as the 'body' becomes aware that, unfortunatly they are still alive and have to wake and face the pain and suffering that is waiting on the other side of those tightly closed eyelids. The hangover incorporates every symptom of every disease virus, bug, injury or bang on the head that you could catch, be infected by, be hit by or inflict upon yourself. It has ;headaches, blindness; Nasal and sinus problems and blockages; Furry tongues; Inflamed throats; Flemmy lungs; Incredibly upset and volatile stomach, gastric and intestinnal problems; Bowel disorders; Nervous disorders causing damage to co-ordination. Even the most simple and natural of tasks become virtually impossible. The body temperature veers madly between raging almost fever like high temperatures to shivering chills.......And we do this to ourselves, for fun and pay (increasingly) large amounts of money to do it . But there is a cure, but it takes a cast iron stomach and courage beyond belief to attempt the cure........... A GOOD GREASY FRY-UP...(As frowned upon by good doctors everywhere.)....Followed by a stumble down the road to the local boozer, if it hasn't closed down, yet for A COUPLE OF PINTS!!!!...(As frowned upon by good politicians everywhere).. It's a case of if it doesn't kill you, it'll cure you. There, y'see, If we can survive and joke about this level of suffering we are indeed a hardy breed, possibly not the most sensible of hardy breeds, but pretty hardy.

RUGBY, A THUGS GAME PLAYED BY GENTLEMEN AND ADVERTISERS...

The other day as i watched the English rugby squad; smash ,slaughter and destroy the French......Excuse me a moment ......"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA !!!!!!........Right, where wuz i?"........ "Oh yep i remember...HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!...Oh sorry about that i shall make an effort to get to the point starting in the very next paragraph...Honest !....(snigger, chortle , cackle...)

In the middle of the pitch was this huge advert for some bank, but its painted in such a way that it's in perspective to the television cameras over in the stands alongside the pitch. Which i find a little disconcerting it makes the pitch look as if its been tipped up on one side, and the pitch is on a 60 degree slope and the ball and the players should be bouncing and rolling down to the nearside touchline. The only way to reach the far side touchline would be with climbing boots; knotted ropes and crampons. And then theres the crowd around and behind the advert. They would see it at very different angles to the pristine bank advert we television armchair supporters see.( after all it is us that matter.) It would be viewed as a variety of distorted shapes, depending where in the ground you are seated. Also, on occassions the paint comes off the company logo, onto the players .Instead of ,grass,mud and blood colours, as one would expect. There is quite often ;Pinks, blues, oranges and a whole spectrum of corporate logo colours plastered over our Butch boys.

Around the pitch where once the advertising hoardings were in front of the crowd. These days there are a number of parrallel hoardings as they are now digital. And now a whole range of clever animated adverts are displayed,then break up into digital dots to advertise something new then change again, or go back to the beginning. During the England game there was a pork pie advert and part of this consisted of a pork pie travelling the length of the pitch. This caused a fantastically surreal vision of an England winger racing down the wing being overtaken by a digital pork pie zipping along the advertising hoarding.......!

The change of ads ,the break up of the digital dots n' stuff , is according to my sister and wife, who suffer from migraine, the oncoming of an attack is not dissimilar to the effects on the screens. I noticed during a recent trip to London, that a lot of Ads , mainly on the tube are digital /video/liveaction/ whatever?.....20 adverts of the same adonis-like man with his 6,7,or 8pack stomach(bastard) having a shave .This is a very boring image and i find it very irritating, especially as the gorgeous gobshite is smiling at his reflection in the mirror....Nobody smiles when they are shaving!..Shaving is a pain in the arse, even as your shaving the chin and if you do smile, the advertised - crappy8 blade dispossable Zoom blade, or whatever it's called will cut chunks out of your face....The pain is then compounded by throwing the stuff in the advert that is fresh and full of Zing, much like the throwing of concenterated sulphuric acid over the mass of open sore that was once your face. Thats the difference between advertising and real life....Real life is pain...Advertising is just a pain.

THE SAMURAI SPIRIT OR JUST BAD LOSERS ?

THE BAD LOSER

I was watching a programme on the telly the other night all about a very odd bunch of chaps indeed. The Samurai warriors of Japan. They would train all their life with the most fantastic weapons ever made, (before atom bombs ,polaris, trident, of course ),but the samurai sword. perfectly balanced and razor sharp. Which, unfortunatly couldnt be said for the weilder of this perfect blade /sword. These noble brave warriors devoted their life to learning to fight and devoted their lives to their emperor , overlord ,or whatever they called the 'bosses in those bygone feudal days. They would march into battle cutting and slashing their opponents ,then if they won, all was well and good and celebrations abound . But, if they lost their fight they would commit a very silly thing indeed. Ritual suicide, or Hari-Kiri..... A very strange way to get over a defeat. Clutching a smaller samurai sword, specially designed for the purpose they would kneel down; Ram the dagger into the lower belly; Pull the blade across to the other side then pull up???..Then as their guts spill out over the deck, their 'second' would take a swipe at their neck with a full sword and decapitate the disembowelled warrior, or ex-warrior. This was the only honorable way to go. One Samurai commited Hari-Kiri and his assistant had to take 3 or 4 swipes at his neck to decapitate him..Just not his day, some days it's not worth a Samurai getting out of bed.

Thankfully the Samurai spirit doesn't abound around here. All sports fixtures would be a blood bath.At the football, after full time as the beaten 11 at the 'match' disembowel themselves in the shower.(bloodbath in the shower, eh?) But on the bright side, the season would be a lot shorter and they'd have to be a lot more flexible with the transfer window, ; The snooker player ruining the green baize with his innards; The defeated darts champion trying to hack his way through his hugh beer belly with his tiny Samurai dart; In golf the 18th hole would be a mess ,all that blood, the green wouldnt be green for long . In my case dissappointment and defeat is something i'm quite used to. But pain, funnily enough is something i never got the hang of. So, i've decided i'm going to be honourbound to stay dishonourable. The only Samurai spirit in the Leatherbarrow's is a bottle of after shave in a cupboard in the bathroom.......Gawd it stinks, too!

THE LONDON UNDERGROUND; SHAKIN' RATTLIN', N' ROLLIN' AND WOMEN PUTTING THEIR MAKE-UP ON ...

Last week i curled up in my missus's suitcase and was smuggled onto a train for a few day in London. Our beloved capital ,where the streets are paved with gold ,or i assume so under the burger wrappers and plastic coffee cups. I do like London and as The Lovely Lynne was about her business ,saving the financial systems of the planet . I had more important things to do . I had a cartoonist meeting to go to. I met my ol buddy and caricaturist(extraordinary or extraordinaire ,i'm not too sure.)..The one ,the only, GUY CARTER, we met in a pub,( funnily enough). As i was following Guys instructions, i had a tour of all the boozers around the area of Liverpool st station. But, eventually we met up and started to drink. After a 'good few' in various hostleries on the way to the CARTOONIST PUB. The Cartoonist pub is near to what was once the cartoonist dream street , where all the newspapers were printed. FLEET ST, and the hundreds of bars where the reporters used to spend their days boozing and swopping 'scoops' at the bar with each other. According to a lot of the barstaff ,some very famous news people renowned for their daredevil news reporting ,never left the pubs of Fleet street...








Ace reporter A would meet ace reporter B at the bar and one would say to the other for a large brandy. "Did you hear some war has started, or somebodies been assassinated?"...."Yer joking !.....Here's your drink...Have you got 10p for the phone ?", and with that our ace reporter would phone in his scoop. Aaahh those were the days. Cartoonists would drag their portfolios from one newspaper ,next door to the next ,maybe stopping for a 'quick one', in a boozer in between. Aaah those were the days....








The ace exuberant SIMON ELLINAS is planning to arrange a cartoon exhibition in London sometime. So that was the main reason that there was a congealing of cartoonists at the pub, as if there ever has to be a reason for cartoonists to congeal at a pub. Some very ugly faces were there, but sentimental ol' sod i am, i was glad to see 'em all. As ever cartoonists are always grumbling n' moaning and i wonder if a collective noun for a group of cartoonists should be a WHINGE OF CARTOONISTS,...or something. But eventually, braced with a few dozen pints of Guinness; A bottle of wine with big hairy ugly SIMON CASSINNI, and the not so big ,just as hairy, but definitly not as ugly SHEBA CASSINNI...(Ohh be still my beating heart.) ; A greasy cheesburger, then getting pissed on in the pouring rain,( i thought it never rained in the cissy south). I eventually arrived in the arms of my beloved as she shoved me over to my side of the bed in a very nice hotel room over by the old east end docks. nowadays all exhibition centres ;hotels; Luxury appartments, etc, etc, now .Non of your boats ,docks ,Jack the Rippers n' stuff there now ,y'know. Very smart n' posh.... I think i preferred it the old way.











The next day i wandered around town and ended up in the Imperial war museum .I'd always meant to go there one day . I'm glad i did , some,sad, amazing, inspiring, and plain impressive and exciting stuff there. A reminder of horrific times, but celebrating the human spirit of those fighting ;Caught up in the fighting ;Left at home; All victims ,in general. But then you come out into today! Again!.... Everybody, absolutly, everybody pushing past each other. Going either from A to B or B to A, for some no doubt, vitally important reason. with bloody mobile phones clamped firmly to their ears having, no doubt, very important world shattering conversations with very important people. If they weren't attached to a mobile phone, they were plugged into MP3's, totally disconnected from the world. I have a MP3, but i couldn't use it 'out and about. I hate not being aware of whats happening around me...Is it my primevil survival instinct ,or just i'm a nosey bastard?








The tube ,ahh the 'tube'. I amble along, getting knocked and battered by people rushing for trains in case they miss one and have to wait three minutes for the next. It is a point of fascination to me, coming from a part of the world where the gap between trains can, quite often be measured in hours, not minutes. Now, thats a good reason to rush. But as the train shakes, rattles, clatters and bounces along, everybody being slung from side to side much like the crew in the T.V. classic ;VOYAGE TO THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA. Getting slung from side to side as the submarine SEAVIEW took a hammering for some totally mad reason.... But even though the passengers hang on for dear life, lots wearing wooly hats so their MP3 ear phones wont fall out during the bodily shaking. But amazingly, seemingly unaffected by the shaking and bouncing about are the young girls who sit there applying make up to their face, using the lipstick with the precision of an electron microscope writing words on a human hair, but on a London tube train !!!!!

TERRY WOGAN AND KEN BRUCE NEEDN'T BE PUT OUT TO GRASS WHEN THEY CAN GROW THEIR OWN IN THE STUDIOS OF RADIO 2

Whilst keeping in touch with whats going on ,and whats cool n' groovin' out there on the streets by tuning into Sir Terry Wogan and Laird Kenneth MacBruce on Radio 2 the other morning. It struck me as a little odd that during the news there was an item relating to how the number of successful police cannabis raids had increased. The item always started with the line,"The B.B.C. has recently become aware of an increase in successful police seizeures of cannabis". Then listening to the wild celtic ramblings of the aforementioned aged hippies, it struck me. SIR TERRY WOGAN and KEN BRUCE(untitled).. ARE GROWING THEIR OWN CANNABIS!!!.... I can see it now the once respectable studios of once respectable radio 2 are hidden in a fog of high quality unrespectable 'wacky 'baccy'.... Thats why the two once respected broadcasters are always making mistakes ,they're blind and stoned. Just listen to Terry Wogan reading one of the 'Janet and John'stories from time to time...I rest my case. The Beeb have become aware of the increase in police raids and seizeures as it it is broadcasting house that the boys in blue and black bullet-proof kevlar are storming through on their almost daily drug raids. C'mon kids get with it, tune into Sir Tel and The Brucemeister.








And in the spirit of grooviness and 'with it ness'. These drug raids on the Beeb are helping the envoironment by keeping the metropolitan polices 'carbon footprint' to a minimum . New Scotland yard is only 'up the road from the Beeb. So exhaust gas emissions are kept down , drug and sea levels are kept down. Thank you Sir Tel ,and Ken for saving the world......

FREE SPEECH CAN COST YOU AND YOU CAN BE CHARGED FOR SPEAKING FREELY !!

There are billions of people on this planet of ours and we are told that everyone is different. There are different ;Races, creeds, colours of skin, shapes of faces;preferences of footy teams ;Eastenders, Emmerdale or Corrie; Political leanings, etc, etc .So it is almost impossible to say something about anybody without offending somebody somewhere somehow or way. This has rendered the noble concept of Free speech, totally unworkable. In many places people who speak out are quite simply shot. In our enlightened side of the world people write to the BBC, to complain or specialist goverment departments who are highly trained to spot the various 'ist',or 'ism' remarks and constantly invent new ones; Racism, sexism were once the old favourites, once there was only a few ,but with advances in abusive technology we have ,ageism ,sizeism,spotism ,stupidism,stinkism,and on it goes. Once it was;"Sticks and stones may break my bones(which seems reasonable enough)..But names will never hurt me..(But they'll crucify you!)"..Theres no escape, they'll have you wherever n' whenever you open your mouth. And because we are so decent and understanding and liberal in our noble beliefs,or is it so quick and eager to take offence, quite often it isn't the people being referred to that are offended .They may take a comment in the possible well meant spirit in which its delivered, but its other people who take offense on their behalf...



The wonderful Jezza Clarkson was caught over the other side of the world in the wilds of Australia during a Top Gear stage show..(I wonder how 'The Stig' roadtests the latest Ferrarri on a stage in a theatre/)...Jezza, the pot-bellied ,frizzy- haired idiot ,i'm sure wouldn't accuse me of being; Pot-belly'ist ; Frizzy-hairist, or idiot ist, as he is

(1) Pot bellied......................................... CHECK !



(2) Frizzy- haired (albeit a little less frizzier, but greyer, these days)..........CHECK !



(3) Idiotic (In a funny way, of course)..............................CHECK !



So that seems reasonable description of our favourite motoring celebrity. But when he tried to give an inciteful geneological,physical and psychological profile of our beloved prime minister to these ignorant Aussies who know as much about Gordon Brown as we do about their glorious leader. He described as :A one-eyed, Scottish idiot.He was in trouble. The reasons for this description:



(1) One-eyed..................................... CHECK !

(2) Scottish......................................Ohh, och aye CHECK the noo!

(3) A total f**'in' idiot......................CHECK n' double CHECK !



But from the far side of the world Jezza was adjudged to have been found guilty of being;



(1) Mono-visualist'ist...............................GUILTY !

(2) Racist...................................................GUILTY !(Sasenach swine !)

(3) Idiotistical'ist.....................................GILTEE !!



It sounds like a perfect description of the P.M. to me ,but i can say what i like as talk is cheap as long as its not free.

AN EXPERT IS SOMEBODY VERY CLEVER WHO WARNS AND ADVISES US ABOUT THINGS THAT WE'VE KNOWN ABOUT FOR AGES !

Everything is run by bosses and experts ,the experts tell the bosses whats happenin' on the streets and markets in their considered opinion. Bosses need to know these things as being big bosses , unlike the rest of us who work 8 hours a day with an hour for lunch, they have an hour for work and the rest for lunches and dinners. They just aren't able to involve themselves with the 'nuts and bolts 'and people involved in the business that pays their incredible incomes and mind boggling bonuses. Ironically the less you do the more you can 'rake in.'


When an aircraft is about to crash ,you don't need to be an expert in aerodynamics or aviation to understand what is going on. Everything that isn't strapped down slides down to the front of the airplane ;The ground seems to be getting nearer, as can be divined by the houses and cars getting bigger by the second; The attendants want you to ram your head between your legs???...I'm sure it's not ,as has been hinted at , to kiss your arse goodbye.But it would be a more enjoyable last few minutes if you could stick your head between somebody elses legs and kiss their arse goodbye, but i'll move on thats for another blog and 'The Lovely Lynne may read this.. In the cockpit ( this is nothing to do with heads between legs , this is where the pilot sits you twisted swines..). The pilot will realise that the day isn't going to be one of his better ones as the screaming of the jets; The spinning dials and altimeters spinning in all directions rather than hovering over where they should be. This all points to passengers and crew that the plane is in deep shit. Whereas the head of the airline authority on his extended lunch will have no knowledge of whats happening and would probably deny it was and insist that flying was still safer than crossing the road.


When fighting on the front line in a war the soldiers know when things aren't going their way. Bullets whistling past their heads ;Artillery shells exploding ;Arms ,legs, heads, guts flying everywhere. The mate you where shouting to suddenly his face and head dissapears and his helmet falls to the empty space between his collar bones. All these subtle signs would be a dead giveaway to the 'Tommies in the trenches'that they were in deep shit. But again way, way, back in a beautifully maintained country house the bosses or the 'brass' were pouring over maps and pouring the port from the well stocked cellar. oblivious to the slaughter, messages arrive from the front eventually, but the 'brass' would never go to the business end of their schemes and plans. Miss dinner and muddy their riding boots.



Like the beaten armies and crashing aircraft , all those in businesses and banks across the land knew that a hugh glob of S*H*1*T* was about to hit the fan. All except our glorious leaders the bosses holding out for the bonusses or is that bonii ? Ignore anything long enough and it will go away, so when a chap called a whistleblower ,whistles an unhappy tune of troubles ahead if we carry on down this bumpy track,which interupts the blissful ignorance of the blissfully ignorant, they must be sacked and got rid of. ...So the army gets battered and slaughterd ;The aircraft falls from the sky, Destruction ,mayhem and confussion reign......So, our heroes apologise, almost jokingly ,pick up their payoff and claim their bonus and live happily ever after ......I apologise , i take my hat off to these experts they are brilliant ,how do they get away with it?

WITH JUST ONE FLUTTERING FLECK OF SNOW THE GREAT BRITISH WORK 'EFF-IC' BECOMES THE GREAT BRITISH 'EFF-IT' TO WORK !

The Great British work ethic is famous ,copied and admired the world over. A small rough island race, never afraid to roll up our sleeves to get our hands dirty and dig the earth and till the soil, thriving on pain, sweat and low wages and fight and win World Wars at the same time. This is part of what made us great and gave us one of the greatest empires ,ever. Nothing ,except for goverment benefits, daytime sattelite t.v and extended pub opening hours could douse that fire and indomitable spirit of the British worker.
Every body has heard of that famous equation E=MC2...Basically it means Energy equals mass ,as mass equals energy. Energy is the ability to do work. A negative energy would be the ability to stop work. It could be understood how an Asteroid weighing thousands of tons streaking through interstellar space at speeds going into fractions of millions of miles per hour would strike the Earth with such speed and mass causing such a release of energy that would explode around the planet wiping out the dinosaurs and most of the neighbours. Now negative energy from such an event would cause an amount of disruption to work, transport and the running of the country ,in general. But, thankfully we aren't going to be walloped by the incredible E and M of an asteroid impact ,not with Bruce Willis and Clint Eastwood around to save us, anyhow. But we do have something with that equivalent amount of negative energy, able to bring the whole country to a dead stop within seconds .It defies the laws of physics, because although it has all this incredible energy ,it has almost NO MASS WHATSOEVER ! This wonder is the simple flake of snow !... It flutters down on the breeze from low thick clouds and as soon as itgently touches down on a main line rail with an almighty KLANG, which reverbarates throughout the rail network ,cancellations abound Nobodies going nowhere. The arrival of this snow drop is reported by Radio " and all across the land the hardy indomitable spirit of the never say die brit says "EFF-IT ! I'm not going in today" and turns over to go back to sleep.

AFTER ALL HER NON-STOP TRAINING THE LOVELY LYNNE HAS A MUSCLE.....JUST ONE !

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.

KARATE :THE KNOWLEDGE OF HOW MANY PARTS OF THE BODY CAN REALLY HURT....

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 !