My neck is a mass of lumps and the speed-variant drug they put in cold and flu medicine just makes my stomach go all tight and I get dizzy. So I’ve stopped having it and breathing through my mouth has made my throat go red with white bits on it. In short, I’m right fucking cheesed off.
I’m going to watch some Mighty Boosh to make it all better.
A tiny spider died in my water glass today. It died all splayed, so I could count its legs and see it was a spider, a tiny spider. Drowned and dead.
Crow’s having his lunch
He eats moss from the gutter
The noisy bastard
I’m blogging this sketch from A Bit of Fry and Laurie, just because I was frustrated to find that Googling “Stephen Fry family heritage funpark vomit” didn’t get any results*. Despite the fact I knew someone had put this sketch online (here).
Ladies and gentlemen, bear with me. Bear with me please. Don’t stop bearing with me for a few moments. I have a vision, a vision of Britain. I see a country peopled by … a country peopled by people who, who … people it with charm, with grace, yes even with greatness. As they people it, they enhance it with their lightness, their amusing accents, their v-neck sweaters and their unusual children. This country shall be free and wide and pretty, and their people shall be free and wide and pretty. And there shall be villages and towns and family amusement theme heritage fun parks which shall smell of urine and vomit. And there shall be twelve water and sewage businesses and leisure dromes and huge edge-of-town crematoriums and day-glo bermuda shorts which are flecked with urine and vomit.
I see “Impact” as a new kind of flexible high-yield convenient cash and care card for the kind of person you are today and I hear the sound of many thousands of miles of motorways, conveniently filled with many hundreds of thousands of cars whose seats are stained with children and urine and vomit. And the interior of the cars shall be sweaty and hot and bad-tempered and the queue for the exit that leads to the family amusement heritage theme fun park shall be hundreds of miles long.
And there shall be shiny magazines out of which will fall many dozens of smaller shiny magazines which shall offer useful electronic golfing equipment and wall safes disguised as three pin sockets and bright security lamps and personal attack alarms and hand freshen-up absorbent pads to soak up the urine and the vomit. And the faces of the people who are peopling this Britain shall be shiny and they shall be flushed and pink for they shall know that they are forging a new Britain of fun and heritage and family leisure amusement and the boot of their car shall easily accommodate the self-assembly fun park that they shall erect in their bathrooms. As yet, it is all only a vision, a vision of family heritage urine and fun leisure amenity vomit. But soon, soon, with luck, sincerity and steadfast voting it may become a reality.
*Edit 11-12-07 – It now does! Hello Google! Mwah
…just put it on a shelf and admire it.
Plastic packaging on gadgets. Vicious bloody stuff – I was just trying free a scart block from its heat-sealed tomb, and a shard of plastic flew in my eye!! I think it bounced back out again though. Hope so. I have teflon eyes, so that I can cry faster.
The number of injuries I have had from this sort of packaging though, it’s evil. I can imagine real gadget freaks might develop a kind of masochism-by-association because of it. You are excited at new piece of tech, but you slice your hand open getting it out of the package. Next thing you know you’re in somebody’s cellar being whipped with a 2m USB cable. It’s a fine line…
In these lovely 2.0 times, there are lots of tools that are useful for people looking to buy a house. Google Earth is one of them. You can view a satellite image of the home you are interested in, zoom in, look at the garden, see if there are any factories nearby with strange brown smoke coming from their chimneys.
It happens to also be true that you can use Google Earth to determine the annoyance levels of a particular neighbourhood, if you happen to find children bouncing up and down on giant trampolines all day annoying. It’s not so much the bouncing as the constant screaming that seems to have to accompany said bouncing. It seems to be impossible for a kid to use a trampoline without shrieking at the top of it’s lungs.
My proposal is to create a website that uses Google Earth to generate a Trampoline Index for residential areas in the UK. It would initially involve someone having to count all the blue circles, carefully filtering for paddling pools and ponds, but I foresee this becoming a kind of therapeutic hobby for people with irritating neighbours. However it might be possible to eventually automate the process. Then you could type in a postcode and get the Trampoline Index for that particular area.
Eventually this would start having an effect on house prices, and people would start burning their trampolines. They’d probably take the children off them first but you can’t have everything.
The Trampoline Index could ultimately be expanded to include the Overgrown Conifer Index, Old Man who Wanders about Naked in the Garden Index and Possibility of Someone Getting Funny about Parking Spaces Forecast.
I’m offering 90% of my business in return for £3.50 to buy a Bounty ice cream and some space raiders.
I found this while searching Amazon a while back.
Hehehehe.
Tanged!
Cut. Round. Bastard.
“For filing circular openings” – eheheheheh.
I can’t remember what I was searching for. Possibly love.
This advert makes me cringe and seethe at the same time. I singe. Or creethe.
The Co-op supermarket (with a THE) have decided having a “the” in front of their name makes them sound old fashionedy and staid. Clearly. Because in their current bout of TV adverts they have done away with it. Everytime I hear the following, it sets my teeth on edge:
“I haven’t got time to cook a meal from scratch because I’m young and hip, so I’m off to Co-op to buy some soup, an’ shit.”*
NO. It’s THE Co-op. THE.
I can’t even begin to explain why this irritates me so much, which is why this blog post is so crap. It’s like they’re trying to make it sound like a trendy nightspot or something, or like a cult or movement of some kind. Or a country. No I’ve already said I can’t explain it so I don’t know why I’m trying.
I bet they suggested calling it “Co-ops” first. To fit in with Sainsbury’s and Tescos. But no. It’ll never work. Neither does dropping the THE.
It’s THE CO-OP and NOTHING ELSE. DEAL WITH IT.
BASTARDS.
Next week my rants on why what we used to call “The Paleolithic era” is now termed “The Paleolithic”. Also “chiropractic”. Aren’t these words adjectives? Why are we using them as nouns? I want to cry.
*Heavily paraphrased
Now I actually agree with this guy in some respects, I can’t stand Hardy and could never understand my English Lit teacher’s reverence for him. His books are dull and artless.
HOWEVER, if you’re going to berate someone for not being able to compose paragraphs, you need to watch your tenses! How embarrassing!
I don’t agree with Naipaul on Dickens at all, I have to say, and he does come across as a total tool in this article. Bitter is the word. His work has probably never been appreciated in England because it’s a load of old arse. But I’ll never know because I don’t think I’ll bother reading it now.
