I turn to the opposition - the electronic Telegraph - this morning, to find with some dismay but not a great surprise that our lovely prime minister has taken to wearing fancy dress.
I cannot, for the life of me, work out what he is meant to be. An extra for Doctor Who perhaps, but I have not watched that program since the days of Patrick Troughton, so maybe not. Do any of you have suggestions?

More intriguingly is the slogan on his dog-collar. Already showing some reduncancy in the sense that 'forward' automatically rules out 'not back', I wonder in which direction we are going forward? My guess is toward the slimy pit of meaningless drivel that is the product of our current regime. Greasy Dave will have his work cut out to make things worse if he ever gets elected. But they said that Reagan was too stupid to be president.

She's back, she's back! It's the same one!

The snarling old antipodean ratbag is back, spitting venom, devouring children and flatulating in her unique way.
Lovely to have you back, sweetie.

He's back, he's back. It's the same one!

My morning was brightened, not inconsiderably, by the return of our old friend Boris to his blog. He seems to be refreshed by his well-earned and needed 10 week holiday. He wrote a nice little article about education, which those of you who feel a need to improve their minds might enjoy. I posted the following in response. (Please note that it was thrown together quite quickly, and I have not checked it for any typos or factual mistakes. Given the subject matter, there are bound to be some, but please do not mistake me for someone who cares.)

Apart from the advertisement thing that deary old Toxy pointed out, the Davy reference was a clerihew. It was still a poem, but I prefer attention to detail. Also, please do not encourage children to make biscuits with Mrs Sindall. Use flour, water and flavourings of your choice, but not those extracted from members of staff. It is true, that in the kind of civilisation that you are supporting, where the so-called laws of physics hold sway over emotional considerations, that most schoolteachers deserve to be chopped up and used in snacks, but, call me old-fashioned, I believe in a caring and tolerant approach to our psychopaths.
I have to declare a prejudice against the laws of physics. In short, I neither accept nor obey them. They are nonsense. The propaganda of class room Goebbels. (If you want to read more please go over to my web pages to read about this. Advertisement.) This clouds my judgement of the thrust of your argument, which seems to be that some subjects taught in schools are of more use than others. It may well be the case, but I do not have the inclination to put forward my arguments about the fallacies upon which our current theories of education are built. So instead of that, I will embark upon a happy bank holiday skip down the lanes of North East Hampshire, singing merrily and smiling at the rabbits and proposing that the most valuable subjects at A level in these times are Love Studies, Peace Studies and the music of Janis Joplin.

PS. More attention to prep, Johnson (clerihews, advertisements, cookery ingredients), and less time spent staring out of the window dreaming of David Cameron would better prepare you for life in the real world.
C-.
See me.

Countdown to the election

That blithering idiot Blair calls in on his way back from holiday.

He likes these what he refers to as “surprise visits”. I would rather entertain the grim reaper or Cilla Black (I assume they are not one and the same?) anyday. It is bad enough having the world’s press camped on one’s doorstep at the best of times, but when Tone turns up with his entourage of secretaries, advisors (sic) and security staff, the whole road starts to look as residential as Red Square on May 1^st.

He is one of the most insecure people I have ever met, not without cause, I need not add. He is still under the impression that I will lend my influence to his idiotic policies. Quite why no one has told him that I burnt my honorary party membership card when they flung out Mikey Foot for not wearing a tie I will never understand. Unlike Mr Corleone, Mr Blair insists on never being told bad news.

Underlying all of this is his fear that I might back the Tories, so someone must have whispered something to him. His worries are groundless. Cameron has been badgering me, to the extent that my only option was complete honesty. “Fuck off, Dave”, I told him, quite sternly, “I would not back your lot even if you renamed Milton Keynes Milton Guevara, had the royal family shot, appointed Bozza to be Foreign Secretary, introduced an environment tax and declared Britain to be a People’s Republic. If you were to arrange the public execution of Thatcher I might remain neutral, but it will never get better than that.” I suspect that he is incapable of taking no for an answer, and have arranged with BT to have any calls from him to be diverted to the Uri Geller Fanclub hotline.

I am not sure what will happen if and when Blair hands over to Brown. He seems to have a good mind, but is very dull company. No wonder that Tone has kept him in charge of the accounts department all of these years. Brown is a little suspicious of me, stemming from an incident where he blames me for arranging for him to sit next to a very flatulent diplomat from the Philippines at a function some years back.

I sit back and try to concentrate on a repeat of Dallas on the television while Blair attempts to ingratiate himself. By this time, I am hoping that the emetic that I slipped into his Lapsang Souchong is one with a delayed reaction. He asks if I can keep an eye on Denis Healey at the party conference. Den is threatening to sing the Red Flag very loudly throughout Tony’s speech. I say that I will do it, but, of course, will not be party to any such silliness. Watch out for the octogenarian ex-deputy leader being carried out shoulder high by the security staff. You read it here first. I later call Denis, and tell him to hire a small brass band to accompany him, for maximum effect.

Educational television.

My friends at the Press Association carry an article that outlines how Tom and Jerry cartoons are to be edited to remove scenes in which the characters smoke.

My solution would be somewhat different. I would embellish the scenes, building up to a series in which Tom smokes at length, and develops lung cancer. The pictures could show his body slowly wasting away, while his hair falls out, his eyes glaze over and his knob drops off. He would be unable to chase Jerry for more than 10 yards before pausing for a lengthy wheeze. In my version, however, Tom would have the last (somewhat painful) laugh, as Jerry, so convulsed with hilarity at Tom’s predicament, would be rendered helpless, and captured by scientists. He would spend the remainder of his days in a small cage, forced to smoke Benson and Hedges, as his captors search for a cure for cancer.

We now have the situation where democracy prevails on airline flights. My friends at the BBC carry a story about two men of - wait for it - middle eastern extraction, who were removed from a flight to England because other passengers complained about them. It appears that they were speaking in a foreign language: "probably Arabic".

I will be forgoing this particular privilege. I will not be delaying any air travel by several hours while sweaty airline staff rummage through luggage, knicker sniffing on the way just because I don't like the look of one of my fellow passengers.

I very seldom like the look of my fellow passengers. That goes for humanity in general, although I am much too considerate to point this out to them.

Let me tell you now, I have travelled on an aeroplane that also contained Geoffrey Howe. Did I protest that the sound of this man's voice was likely to cause the pilots to doze off? Of course not.

On another occasion, one of my fellow passengers was Desmond Llewellyn, the original 'Q' (where is Pavlov to tell me that there was actually an earlier 'Q'?). Yes, I flew across the Atlantic with the world's leading expert in the design of concealed weapons. It never even occurred to me to risk delaying my flight by drawing this security risk to the attention of the air crew.

As I have been a little lazy in posting these few days, let me send you all over to my new friend realdoc.

Please note that she is a doctor. This does not mean that you should go over there with all of your embarrassing medical problems. She writes her blog in her spare time (or perhaps when she is listening to a particularly boring patient - but she says she is in admin now, so I guess that is not the case). Just get over there, read her stuff, if you leave a comment make sure it is polite.

And do not think that this is licence for you to refer your medical problems to me. I want no more of those photographs (you know who I mean).

A temporary moment of self indulgence

Blogger are updating.
This means that, temporarily at least, I have to choose a new default style for my lovely web pages, and not inflict my hideous customisations on the world.
No, I don't like the style much either, but I can't do much about it at the moment.
In fact, I can't even access the page through my browser. If you have had trouble getting here, it wasn't really worth the effort was it?
Normal crap will be resumed as soon as impossible.

Thank you, Theodore and Evadne

Another in the occasional series about the strange requests of search engines that result in visits to my page.

Kaliyuga anthem
This took me rather by surprise. What can anyone suggest as a suitable tune that sums up the age in which we find ourselves? My first thoughts were something absolutely fucking awful like “Congratulations” or “Mull of Kintyre”. We could fill hundreds of comments with suggestions about music that epitomised the craziness of these times in which we live. (Thank God that Mark is on holiday). I would suggest it would have to be something, like my two initial suggestions, that showed complete ignorance of the lack of sanity around us.

The following usual suspects I have altered slightly to prevent further recurrences:
How to make tipple nassels.
Barah Seeny
Hick Meathcote.
fublic pefecation
"all doi ng very well" are you b eing se rved
Tit mus ru
Holdie Gawns arse
"an unsol icited fin ger in the an us, while crude, is not criminal".
do gging sites Christchurch
middle aged sha gging
Usually there would be some reference to Raula Padcliffe as well.

Tom Graveney family.
Please do not trouble the greatest living Englishman with needless impertinent questions about his private life.

my.home.page sex fuck my.photo
This one came from Russia. Well, young Sergei or Alexandre, I can assure you that there will not be any pictures of my indulging in intimate acts on these pages, despite the constant requests from gorgeous young blond boys such as yourself.

beach bath Val alta PICTURE
This is a follow up to my posting about the unfortunate gentleman with testicular bench related problems. My innocent attempts to offer him words of kindness have resulted in my being visited by those curious to find illustrations from a Balkan naturist resort. I shall redirected them all to Pamela.

how to get over someone missed opportunity
I see you also missed the opportunity to learn how to construct a sentence.

Malcolm Friend's email address in the United Kingdom
I am pleased you came here. I can help with this. It is the same fucking email address that he used when he was in Tierra del Fuego or wherever the fuck else he was last time you wrote to him.

things that happened march 26, 2005
Yes indeed. Someone here who has clearly understood the capabilities of the search engine. Adam, was it you? Try going to thingsthathappened.com. You will have to learn to be more specific about the sort of things you are curious about. Have you tried to use the word ‘sex’ in your query? That should narrow things down somewhat.

" purpose of the human race"
Congratulations! You have found your answer. Read on.

Further clarification

Someone at my place of employment recently used the word "synergies". I am appalled and saddened by this and, were it the case that I felt any degree of responsibility for this, I would apologise.
The definition of 'synergy' is thus:
The idea, propagated by those with no familiarity with the science of addition or training in the use of a calculator, that two plus two equals five.

I tuned in to my friends at BBC Radio 5 this morning to find that they were discussing the teaching of physics, a subject close to my heart, as regular readers (a Madame Curie of North Wales) will know.

They had unearthed some crazed harpy from a society (sorry – didn’t get the name) that was promoting the teaching of physics. I made a note to trace these people and bring about their downfall. Radio 5, being the democratic friend of the people that it is, would not let this prize loony beat her tuneless drum for too long, and the young lady on the program introduced an anecdote. At her school, the relationship between pressure and weight had been illustrated by the use of snow boots and stiletto heels – sounds like fun doesn’t it, boys and girls?

The CH took this up, “most of us have been trodden on by a stiletto heel” she informed us. Well, no, we haven’t. I have been informed about those areas on the internet where such activities are discussed and demonstrated for sexual gratification (cue next bunch of twats coming here for the wrong reason), and have no objection to any activity where all parties are happy, but I must state here that I have never been trodden on by a stiletto heel, either accidentally or as a result of a commercial transaction. I think this illustrates that the underlying premises of most of the ridiculous theories of physicists are dubious if not total bollocks. I shall be writing to parliament to have the laws of thermodynamics revoked very shortly.

The CH went on to illustrate the usefulness of physics by saying that it was used by those who did the special effects in the Harry Potter films and by writers of computer games. Yes, the reason that there have been no good films made in the last ten years is because of bloody physicists. We are no longer concerned with style, acting ability, clever writing or humour, but are subjected to a bunch of nerds showing off. I do not need to list the benefits that computer games have brought to us, do I?

Countdown to the royal divorce - part 13

There is yet another article in the press about the privacy of the Windsor Mountbatten family.

It is not as if the problem is unknown. For several years I have only communicated with them via mobile telephone, as the land lines are notoriously insecure. It is impossible to have a conversation with any of the official residences without Special Branch, MI5, the News of the Screws, the Daily Mail, Al Fayed and sundry seedy lawyers (tautology, I know) listening. There is so much noise in the background that both parties have to shout to be heard, which then causes, at least at that end, other people to start yelling about shutting the fuck up. This is not to mention the fact that there are so many extensions on all of the lines that the chances of some idiot not picking one up and starting to dial somewhere else are remote.

They are all in Scotland just now. It is impossible to venture outside without being eaten by midges or getting drenched, so they sit around playing Scrabble or some such. I have employed a lady to act as dictionary umpire for them, so that my days are not spent on the telephone telling Camilla how many ‘f’s there are in philistine or whether ‘Beckham’ is allowed. You will be surprised that they choose Scrabble, but I suspect that the counters in those games more intellectually suited such as Ludo have long since been mistaken for smarties by Philip. It is amazing how patient they are. Edward once spent 37 hours on his move, and scored 8 points. You will understand why I regard the many hours in May and June each year turning down invitations as well spent. At least it keeps them out of trouble, although in the days of Diana she would often be on the point of physically assaulting them, usually Philip, who would never tire of asking here how to spell ‘yo-yo knickers’, ‘Carling’ or ‘squidgy’.

They never learn, do they?

TCM at BBC science report a strange astronomical phenomenon. Here are a couple of extracts:

• A pair of strange new worlds that blur the boundaries between planets and stars have been discovered beyond our Solar System
• Their existence challenges current theories about the formation of planets and stars, astronomers report in the journal Science.

Let us all be very clear about this. God created, in human beings, the desire for scientific knowledge for the sole reason of being able to mess with our heads. Adam was the original hippy, just doing his thing, until he began to think about the laws of nature, bought himself a chemistry set, and before he could write “method, result, conclusion” suddenly his missus was twatting about with snakes.

We are not equipped to understand existence. We can speculate, theorise and argue about all of that shit, and if we enjoy that pursuit, then fine; but we should never forget that the rules can be changed at any time.

I shall continue to advocate an agnostic approach to the so-called laws of physics. If there are any young people reading this, then I suggest that you erase from your timetables the double Chemistry on Thursday afternoon, and instead familiarise yourselves with the works of Jerry Garcia. Look at your physics teacher. Do you want to finish up like that? He or she, too, was once an innocent adolescent about to be led astray by the bizarre notions of the ignorant. The choice is yours.

My friends at the BBC report that some hidden texts containing works by Archimedes have been discovered.

I say that those who hid them knew what they were doing.

Archimedes was a famous mathematician (that really should be an oxymoron). His contributions to humanity were:

• To use mathematics to develop weaponry
• To foist his inane ramblings on generations of oppressed school students who should have been doing something more interesting, probably behind the bikesheds.

He is also apocryphally famous for being too stupid to realise that there was too much water in his bath.

Can humanity really benefit from learning more of the theories of this fascist?

I think that he has foisted enough of his tripe on us, and his ramblings should be left to rot. What will they discover next? Lost episodes of Family Fortunes? Three volumes of “The Wit and Wisdom of Iain Duncan Smith”? Turner prize winners from 1900 to 1920? “Grateful Dead – Just the Drum Solos”?

There is enough crap in the world already, stop looking for more

What happened next?

This competition is devoid of prizes. Other than experiencing the sheer joy of living in these times.

This story comes from my friends at Ananova (the Press Association).

What do you think happened next?

A Croatian man got a nasty surprise when he tried to get out of his deck chair and found his testicles had got stuck.
Mario Visnjic had gone swimming naked in the sea at the Valalta beach in western Croatia.
His testicles had shrunk while in the cool sea and slipped through the wooden slats when he sat back down on his wooden deckchair.
But as he lay in the sun they expanded back to normal size and got stuck between the slats.
He was eventually freed after he called beach maintenance services on his mobile phone and they sent a member of staff to.....

• Remove the offending items?
  
• Cut the deck chair in half?
  
• Have a bloody good laugh?
  
• Tickle his gonads?

Have your genitals ever got stuck anywhere? Did you ever get them back? Can this journal slide further down the poor taste league?