Friday, May 30, 2008

World population increases by 100

"George, you prize anus, I told you not to light that fire."

The mass media are reporting a “lost” tribe in Brazil being found. I regret the use of “lost”. I wonder how much their lives will be improved now that they have been “found”. Some twat will teach them English so that they can watch “The Price is Right” or “The Jeremy Kyle Show”. Some twat will try to get them to mortgage the fine dwelling we see in the picture. Some twat will introduce diseases they had never come across. Some twat will make an intrusive documentary about them. There are already queues of double glazing salesmen, Jehovah’s Witnesses and canvassers for New Labour on their way to irritate the crap out of them. Some twat will sign them up for broadband (at least I might get some interested readers here). They are, to use an anthropological term, fucked.

Welcome, brothers and sisters, to the great mass of humanity. Fucking up the planet faster than George Bush can talk bollocks.

I hope those nosy bastards at NASA don’t catch any Martians. They all moved to the other end of the planet when they saw the launch of the latest mission. They all have a morbid fear of that arsehole Frost asking “who lives on a planet like this?”.

Friday, May 23, 2008

What a silly girl I am.

When I lived in Crewe, not much happened. That is the kind of place that it is, and the residents, by and large, are fairly happy with that state of affairs. It is the sort of place to which one goes in order to do nothing. To be inconspicuous, anonymous and not given to displays of public excess.

How things change!
When I was there, not once was there an occasion where the Leader of Her Majesty's Most Loyal Opposition was fellated by a high court judge in the town centre. At least during daylight.

In fact, I do not understand what has become of the good inhabitants of the town. Any suspicion of such behaviour would have resulted in political rejection in my day. I suppose that I must be getting old.

I shall not be watching the news on television or reading newspapers until after the next general election for fear of being presented with a picture of Mr Milliband being buggered by a squirrel or Norman Clegg of the Liberal Democrats being recognised by someone. It is more than my delicate constitution can tolerate.

When I lived there, most of the things that were done to offend the sensibilities of the locals were perpetrated by me or my friends. I did not last long.

I would not like to give the impression that Crewe was some backwater. Tom visited once, and found it much too exciting, and quickly returned to Talke Pits.

Without wishing to be over judgemental or hasty, it appears that Crewe has elected the sort of representative that it deserves.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Countdown to the Royal Divorce - Part 19

You will all have been in sympathy with me these last few days because of the enormous pressure that I have been under to attend today’s event at Windsor. The telephone has turned white with constant ringing, the air has turned blue, and my face is bright red through constant bellowing at various members of the family. “Fuck off, Anne, you daft bint”, I exclaimed, “I am not going, you know why I am not going, and I will not go even if you run out of Union Jacks”.

Some prize tosser gave the idiot father of the groom my number. I had sincerely prayed that I would never have to spend time talking to the buffoon again, but no such luck. The first time he called I affected to be the proprietor of the “Curry Favour” restaurant in Datchet. The twat called back two minutes later to order a beef Jalfreeza and a Peshwari naan. I told him the only meat we served was Welsh lamb – a reference to his ancestry that I have mentioned before, and that did the trick for a couple of days, until those memories had fallen off of the stack. When he called back, I followed dear old Bron’s advice and whistled down the telephone: that worked, “Sorry old chap”, he muttered, “got to go for a pee”.

Autumn joins in the frantic search for the sun-glasses.


Of all of the grand-offspring of Liz, I have always been strangely fond of Pete. He is totally harmless, and is quite good at filling up a room – I always counselled them to get him a career as an item of decorative furniture, but do they listen? Naturally he wanted me to be best man. “Sorry, Pete, my old flower, but haven’t they told you? Protocol demands that you get a professional", and I gave him the number of a gentleman called 'Jeremy Twink', who, apparently not only gives an interesting speech but concludes with an unusual dance.

I heard the bride-to-be in the background during several of these calls. She is a colonial management consultant. I had always hoped that Canada was populated by citizens too intelligent to allow this sort of role to be adopted. It probably cost them a fortune to find some gullible foreigner on whom they could dump her. “We need to synchronise our synergies”, I overheard on one occasion. “She’s really good with hors d’oeuvres” was Peter’s explanation. Daft sod.

Autumn continues to wear her portable satellite dish, so that she can keep up with the hockey scores. Today, the Moose Knob Sealclubbers are playing the Calgary Mincers.


Out of kindness, I finally managed to persuade Peter that he should record the Cup Final and watch it later, rather than listening on an earpiece during the ceremony. His team, Cardiff City, are the underdogs, and he is prone to join in with the chanting of the crowd particularly when things are not going well. I told him that the exclamation “Who’s the wanker in the black?” would not be taken well by the Right Reverend Fortescue, and nor would “You’re not singing any more” be viewed kindly as the Windsor Mountbattens struggled through remembering the words of the National Anthem.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Ronnie and Mildred

After a somewhat tiring journey into London today – and Boris has made bugger all difference – I was delighted to return to a nice present from my dear friends, Mr and Mrs Ginn. It was a copy of their delightful book based upon their blog, describing their trip around the world, which I have told you about before (pay attention at the back, that boy, and put that away). To read the blog, I think that you have to be a member of myspace. You certainly do have to belong in order to comment. I realise that the majority of the readers (aMToNW) are too sophisticated for that particular network, but the Ginns have some nice stories to tell.

Anyway, in short, they spent several months circumnavigating the world, sponging off of some of the world’s poorest communities, taking unsavoury diseases to new places, gate-crashing some private functions and setting back international relations by several millennia. They have, wisely, chosen to include the comments made by those caring individuals, such as Tom, Donn and a Mr Scurra of North East Hampshire, to help them through the most trying times.

None of you (apart from Tom who shares my woeful lack of discrimination when it comes to selecting friends) will be able to read it and see the lovely pictures, because it is not for sale.

So many of you seem to be in print, that I feel strangely moved to produce a book of my own. But I won’t, being bone idle.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Open your wallets and repeat after me: "Help Yourself"

For those of you who would like to contribute to the latest disaster appeals, then the site in the UK to get your funds converted most quickly to the appropriate place is the Disasters Emergency Committee.
They concentrate on the latest appeals, and quickly get a specific fund set up within hours of a disaster. Having said that, there is nothing on line for China at the moment, but I expect that they have a fund if you want to pay over the telephone.
They work with all of the leading relief charities.
I made the mistake of donating through my favoured charity last week, and my credit card has still not yet been charged.
DEC accepts on line donations, is a registered charity so that you can add gift aid to your donation if you are a UK taxpayer. My guess is that is fine for non UK donators as well - you will need to quote a sterling amount - and may be the best international collection point.
Happy donating.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

I've fallen off of my chair again, Brian.

A quick sporting note, while it is still the weekend when no bugger reads this.
A heartwarming end to the football league season here, where the team with most flair, skill, entertainment and vastly improved sporting behaviour won. The current Manchester United team are among the best teams I have ever seen, and quite possibly the best club team. It would be silly to try to be objective about it.
It may not be very sporting to deride the runners up, but it was very heartwarming to see Chelsea fail. Never can a man have wasted so much money as Roman Abramovich, no matter how many trophies Chelsea go on to win. They are dull, unadventurous and mechanical. Never can so much talent have been assembled with the result being such a highly forgettable team. I wish they would bugger off and play in Italy where their style would fit in. To borrow from Mr Shankly, if they were playing in my back garden, I would close the curtains.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Phew! What a scorcher!

I am feeling remarkably sanguine, against all the odds you may say. I look at it this way, one of the bastards is going to be the death of me, so I am wasting my time concerning myself about the identity of the specific individuals.

I am likely to die of heart failure, brought on chiefly by those caring people who have offered me work during my adult life, and included stress as part of the package. Their insistence that I work at a desk with a computer screen on it for long hours, instead of gaily skipping down the lanes of North East Hampshire, further compounds their guilt.

I may suffer an aneurism of some sort by venting my ire on those fellow beings who annoy me. There are not many of them, and they have no lasting impact, so that is unlikely.

I am perhaps likely to contract some tumour or other brought about by pollution created by the running dogs of capitalism whose greed outranks all concern about humanity and the future of the planet.

None of these options are particularly attractive. There is little chance of my dying peacefully while caressing the buttocks of Goldie Hawn, and even less while watching Tom Graveney compile a beautiful not out 120 at Worcester, as the saintly man’s playing days are almost certainly over.

There is an element of irony, however, in the possibility that we will all perish together when Professor Gonadwit and his team of nerds in Geneva put a shilling in the meter and activate the Large Hadron Collider this summer.

To digress briefly. I do not know whether it is the Hadron or the Collider that is large. I don’t know how big a typical Hadron is, nor a Collider for that matter, so have no clue how to distinguish a large one from an average one. I do not know what a Hadron is, what colour it is, what it likes for dinner or whether it supports Arsenal rather than Spurs. I understand the concept of collision. Collisions are things that, all things being equal, I prefer to avoid. Some twat has spent several fuckillion dollars building a device to encourage collisions. Obviously not acquainted with the concepts of love and peace.

They continue to reassure us that the creation of a black hole that will consume all matter with which it comes into contact is a very small risk. That’s OK then.

What still, kind of, baffles me, is why someone has given all of this money to these people. (I used the qualification “kind of” there because it does not really baffle me. The propensity of our race to act with the utmost stupidity is so obvious that only a very na├»ve person would be baffled.) These are physicists. They are revered because they speak of things that no one else understands. When I was young, speaking of things that no one else understands was called 'being mental'. Would you give a physicist limitless amounts of money for experimentation? Think back to your physics teacher at school. Try to form some idea of how much you would trust him/her/it. Would you allow them to run the country? No? How about being head of a large business? No? Would you let them teach physics in your Alma Mater? No? Would you lock them in a room and never let them out?

We had one chap at school (there may have been more, who knows?) who showed an aptitude for science. I will call him “G”. He was very bright, and was suspended from school for a time because he had “borrowed” some equipment for an experiment. This experiment (and I am very hazy about the details) involved a very loud noise (heard a mile away perhaps), a garden shed, and a hole in the roof thereof. Or something like that. I am happy to report that G is no longer a physicist but a computer professional. Those of us who belong to the group (loosely, in my case) of IT professionals, have a deep common understanding that what we do is of very little consequence and mostly harmless.

So, how shall we celebrate the end of the world? We have already elected Boris to be Mayor of London. We are celebrating the epitome of sporting fairness by staging the Olympic Games in the back garden of one of the world’s most totalitarian regimes. We are quibbling about what we should do about our poisoning the planet, and will do anything to stop that process as long as we can drive there to do it.

I shall continue to record all of this in Kaliyuga Kronicles. I expect that, in several billion of our years, another civilisation will find my writings, introduce them to the school curriculum, and use them to educate their young, but also to provide endless hours of bowel emptying laughter at the antics of homo sapiens.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Bozza up and running

It had been some time since Boris had used public transport, and was puzzled to find that there were now conductors on the underground. WPC Golightly tried hard to suppress her delight - she had bet £10 that PC Williams would break at least 2 of Boris's fingers.


*****

The Torygraph reports that Boris is taking advice from the LA Police Commissioner on how to cut down on crime. Excellent! No doubt he will be taking advice from the mayor of Delhi on how to cut down on poverty and homelessness, the mayor of Mexico City on how to reduce pollution and the mayor of Tehran about equal opportunities.

Saturday, May 03, 2008

Another kick in the testes for progress

I have been quick to congratulate our old friend on his wonderful success, at his web site.
Bugger me, Boris, it wasn’t a joke after all! That’ll show the Americans eh? They’re not the only ones able to voter bunglers into high office. As a regular reader do I get a free tube pass or will the handouts only be for the rich, corrupt and Tory voters?
For a more measured political analysis go and see Reg. He seems very cross for some reason.