Sunday, August 28, 2005
Please note that I am not a supporter of British imperialism, nor the sorry record of those dim-witted fascists who typically have statues erected to them for the criminal invasion of less developed parts of the world.
Neither is this article anti-American. America has given much to the world – Janis Joplin, the Modern Jazz Quartet and Weird Al Yankovic to name but a selected few. It would be churlish to mention George Bush, Barry Manilow or the Waltons in an attempt to invoke anti-US sentiment.
However, I think I can shed some clarity on this particular period of history, and for once support British policy in the handling of the invasion of North America.
Firstly, the British took the sane view that there were too many religious bigots around, and selected a cross section of the most deranged, put them on a flimsy boat and headed them in the direction of the east coast of America.
Americans celebrate their arrival in the New World annually, in a holiday called ‘Thanksgiving’, which involves the ritual slaughter of turkeys. In Britain, we celebrate the despatch of these unwanted residents every day, and only have to look at Pat Robertson to realise how wise our ancestors were to have dealt so effectively with them. Their legacy has been to give rise to countless generations of a sub-species called ‘rednecks’, who have caused the average IQ of the United States population to remain in double figures, or slightly below that in parts of the south.
Secondly, wise King George, seeing which way the wind was blowing, enacted an elaborate campaign to free Britain from the responsibility for a region that was beyond control. The holiday that marks ‘Independence Day’ in the US is secretly called ‘You’re fucking welcome to it’ Day in the UK.
So it remains to this day. Readers (AMToNW) should draw their own conclusions:
Malibu or Skegness, Manhattan or Milton Keynes, Yellowstone or Hyde Park – I think the decisions will not be difficult to make.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
The fact is that the unleashing of the power of the internet onto the world has meant that everything that has ever been written, or could be written has now been published. The limits of human invention and art have been exhausted, and there is nothing more to say. In a freaky parallel with the monkeys and typewriters story, we have arrived at the end of creativity and must now scratch our heads about what is left to do.
Personally, I am going to force a spot of breakfast down, watch the tri-nations game, the Trent Bridge test match while coming to terms with the endless dull hours that await me until the great sub-editor in the void applies the final full stop.
Monday, August 22, 2005
The words bolt, stable door and horse come to mind.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
However, I am considering a course of action based upon this little episode.
As regular readers are aware, I am constantly being badgered by that fool Blair to accept an honour. Earlier this summer I had the distinctly unpleasant experience of having the idiot hammering on my door early one morning, while I was trying to watch a super 12 game on Sky sports. I had to let the bugger in eventually, as he was disturbing the neighbours. I was expecting Mrs Arbuckle at no 29 to get the air rifle out again at any minute. There is nothing worse than having to scrape an injured first lord of the treasury off of the drive on a Saturday morning. I told him in no uncertain terms that unless he stopped pestering me I would be forced to reveal to the world the secret of his scouse accent, and the eighteen months he spent at her majesty’s pleasure in the 70s.
I am now minded to reconsider the whole business, if I can choose my own name and title. I have drawn up a short list. What do you think?
Along the lines of young Adonis:
Lord Gorgeous of Ample Proportions
But I am more inclined to one from the following list:
Lord Trellis of North Wales
Lord Syrup of Figs
Lord Nothing of Interest
Lord Oneradishshort of Asalad
Lord Full of Crap
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Today's entry is written to the usual high standard, but lacks the usual unpleasant scatological detail that is typical of his work. I can find only one reference to a practice about which I would rather not know, so this may be a turning point.
This young man seems to be able to compose several journal entries per week based upon his own experiences. Were I to emulate that, my pages would remain blank (pause for applause). Perhaps I should discuss with my wife the possibility of starting a family, in order to give me material that is based on activities in that sphere of existence which is laughingly referred to as 'the real world'.
Friday, August 12, 2005
I am indebted to a correspondent on the site of the bizarre and wayward politician, Boris Johnson, for the following insight:
PS Vicus Scarra. Bog off, will you? I've read better stuff in sixth form magazines. At least they don't recycle Mrs Trellis.
This person uses the name ‘Howard’. It would be too much to be hoped for that this is the lovely Michael. To think that someone as humble as I could prove to be an irritant is a thought too delicious ever to come true.
I suspect that Howard is just another Tory attempting to gain favour by changing his name to ingratiate himself with the party leader. If this is the case, he will have spent quite a fortune in legal fees and stationery by the end of the decade.
I will take Howard’s criticism to heart, and from now on will attempt to raise the quality of this journal to that of a sixth-form magazine. In order to achieve this, I will need the help of all of the regular commentators (a Mrs Trellis of
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
A good friend, a Mr Trellis of
I had not heard of this particular narcotic either, and had to look it up.
The first website that I came to suggested that it was commonly known as “blind squid”. I choose not to believe this nonsense, too reminiscent of Mr Morris’s “Cake”.
This internet thingy is very misleading. Being a trusting sort, I am inclined to believe what I read. I now find myself, somewhat like Raja Janaka, questioning which of my perceptions is real and which is illusory. I would welcome advice on this matter. If Messrs Google, Gates and Yahoo are perpetrating an elaborate hoax, then I think that we should all be told.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
In a thread below, Mr Trellis of
I did a cursory search to find the answer to this question, and found the following sample of the prof’s work.
'The problem is you can only have a "Diana monarchy" if you have a monarch who is a celebrity or at least a bit sensational', says constitutional historian professor David Starkey. 'But do we really want a head of state or a consort like Diana who was reported as having her head stuck down the lavatory one minute and having an upper colonic lavage the next? Is that really an appropriate image? I don't think we are going to get the Queen talking openly about her battle with thrush, although it's hard to know; news is breaking all the time.'
This in turn caused me to pursue the question of Liz’s battles with feathered vertebrates, and I asked her what her position was with regard to being candid in this area. “I am quite ambivalent about it, sweetie,” she confided, “it is well known to students of the monarchy that I have not always enjoyed cordial relations with the airborne visitors to my gardens ever since one of the corgis was lifted from the Pyotr Kropotkin garden at Windsor by an overfed starling, but I really don’t think that these tales are of great interest to the general public, even the most fawning of them”. What might be of passing interest is the fact that since his television career declined, Noel Edmonds has been employed as the royal bird-scarer at
So that answers the question about the queen and the quails. As for the professor, I think I will let you draw your own conclusions. I am rather taken by his style, but am disappointed by his lack of imagination. If he thinks that the most inappropriate image of Di is that of her poncing about St James palace with a rubber tube protruding from her arse, then he is no match for me.