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February, 2010:

BBC Bias (Again)

I saw a small bit of a thing on BBC News this morning. OK, this is from memory and I didn’t watch the whole thing because I would have been sedated to prevent me from hurling the cat at the Samsung. And neither Timmy nor the telly deserve that…

I would though chuck an irate ocelot at Harriet Harman’s minge. That is another story though…

It was about “The Rise of Climate Scepticism in Australia”. It described climate sceptics (they’d burn ‘em if that weren’t “polluting”) meetings as being like an “American religious revivalist meetings” (that’s so BBC on so many levels, that’s the sort of thing to get the average Indy reader priapic) and it was just generally horrendous. Despite my inchoate rage I did though clock something which outraged me beyond feline-throwing comprehension.

It opened with a shot of the cracked, dry Australian Desert. You know that thing that Australia has a lot of but also had a lot of when Captain Cook made landfall and even had a lot of during the Dreamtime of the Aboriginals with this soundtrack:

Yup, whilst the BBC now calls us “sceptics” and no longer “deniers” it plays music from a symphony written specifically about the Holocaust.

Where do you think that band is performing? Don’t look much like the Royal Albert Hall to me unless that gaff has really gone downhill very recently.

So the likes of me, PA and Cats wanna disagree with the “consensus” on a scientific issue and we’re ushered to the “naughty-corner” along with that cunt Nick Griffin. Well, some of us, Aunty Beeb actually not only can parse the science but will not fall for cheap tricks like that. Some of us know what an adiabatic lapse rate is and some of us have also been to Auschwitz. Some of us even listen to C20th orchestral music.

Some of us also know what pride comes before.

PS. Fellow bloggers. Take this. I want it known. I want it screamed from the highest parapets.

Comments we get…

Theyre right on top of us, and Savous and Hyle are both on the surface. Salin had accepted that from the time hed first seen his brother as a babe. Eyrhaens inability to control her gifts has brought about changes that should benefit us all. Eyrhaen thought to watch Tykir suck him. She was the one to blame. Be proud of what you just accomplished. But maybe we could eat first? A soothing warmth pulsed within her, her goddesss spell primed. Even after all shed done to push them away, they were still there for her. I realize just saying it isnt enough, but I have to start somewhere. Goddess, the raw physical power of him was intoxicating. Did you mean what you said before? Thoughts rolled over one another in her head. Both Brevin and Tykir burst out laughing. Chuckling, Brevin slid arms around Tykirs chest. She ended up draped over his chest, her cheek resting over his heartbeat. You may be different, but you most certainly belong. I was, for all intents and purposes, dead for an endless time. As shed known she would, she melted. No more magic than whats natural?

WTF! We at Cats have a robustly liberal comments policy. Say what you like as long as it ain’t spam or liable to have the Kitty Kounters becoming bar counters. If it’s the first time you’ve commented your comment may take a while to turn-up. We moderate new commentators. This is for your own enjoyment because it enables us to tell if you have something to say (and say pretty much anything – I do) or whether you want to sell iffy viagra. I only mention this because a coupla days ago I had to approve 6 new comments one morning. All to the point and, folks, please return and sorry it took a while but this is not all we do. A blog without comments is like masturbating over a used jazz-mag you found under a hedge* compared to making love to a beautiful woman. I mean it gets the job done but what is the point?

*Money doesn’t grow on trees (can someone please tell Alistair Darling that) but male-interest “reading” material flourishes under hedges. Leeds is particularly good for it. Bordeaux has it’s grapes, Switzerland has it’s spaghetti but West Yorkshire has it’s Frankie Vaughn harvest. “Come to West Yorkshire and dredge our hedges for left-handed reading material!” It might as well be their tourism slogan because there is fuck-all else to do in Leeds (the “Milan of the North” – I almost choked on a pint of beer when I first saw that and I was with a bloke from Milan at the time) and Bradford is I think rightly styling itself these days as the Mogadishu of the West. My wife knew a bloke when she was a student in Leeds who broke an ankle going to a lecture. He walked out one fine morning and fell because some scrote had half-inched the doorstep during the night. Meanwhile the least said about Huddersfield the soonest mended…


Qamar David, a Christian in the dock on charges of blasphemy, was sentenced to life imprisonment. The basis of the ruling, issued on Feb. 25, the fact that the man "hurt the religious feelings" of Muslims;


Additional District and Sessions Judge found Qamar David guilty of using blasphemous remarks about the Islamic Prophet and Quran and pronounced the verdict after hearing final arguments from both sides, daily Dawn reported yesterday.

Their feelings were hurt….

What an infantile belief system. Seriously.

I guess it doesn’t help that it is all a load of contradictory twaddle in the first place.

Prohibition & Dancing With The Devil

The last time I was shopping in town I came across a sign for a new bar called “Prohibition”. It is apparently styled after a ’20s speakeasy and at first I thought that sounds fun and then I recalled they’d probably taser you for even looking at a pack of ciggies.

Oh, well that’s progress then!

It got me thinking on the train back (diesel, so I guess I have to plant a shrubbery for that indulgence other wise Al Gore will ass-rape a polar bear cub or something) about why I don’t do drugs and the current “Talk to Frank” ads on the TV by the government against cannabis.

The simple truth is that when I was younger the standard stuff was resin or weed. As Governmentus draconiensess has gained yet more power it’s now all skunk. As far as I can tell this is essentially because there is no point running resin when you can run skunk. It’s bang-for-buck really. It’s exactly the same reason US prohibition-era bootleggers were running whiskey and not lager shandies.

It’s why I don’t touch cannabis anymore. When I was younger a spliff would be fun, make me mellow, and maybe a little randy if shared with a girl who was ready and willing and no, you’re not getting me any more frank than that on that score! Though it was fun. Skunk is way more psychoactive and yes it can easily induce paranoia and stuff that you don’t want to pay good money to a dodgy geezer round the back of the pub for.

So that’s one of Nick’s simple pleasures nixxed. But it’s more than that. The relentless “war on drugs” is self-fulfilling. That “Frank” advert is essentially about and specifically mentions paranoic symptoms from cannabis. This is true but it is true because the repression of cannabis has essentially forced the sort of stuff I used to toke out of the market in the same way alcohol prohibition turned the USA from a nation of beer drinkers into a nation of spirits drinkers. And therein lies the horrendous brilliance of it. For the entirely parasitic bansturbatory industry this is pay-dirt. They make a situation worse with their campaigns and that of course justifies more campaigns and therefore more jobs for the boys and girls.

“Wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set” – Land of Dope And Gory.

I used to think government “Don’t do that!” advertising was the work of the moronic. It isn’t because it is evil rather than stupid. The current anti-cannabis ads are only really possible because of existing government policy having been responsible for skunk displacing good old weed and the current pro-contraception ads put the tin lid on it as far as I’m concerned. This is the set-up. Boy and girl in caff. She: “I’m thinking of getting one of those contraceptive implants”. He: “Urghh!!! Do you really want to do that!”. She: “Do you want to be a dad?”. Stuff like Implanon is not the great sacrifice that the ad implies it to be but a very short procedure involving the upper arm, a nurse and about five minutes. So why do they advertise it like that? Oddly enough the segment singing the praises of the IUD has a very different flavour despite it being a vastly more invasive procedure with potentially a lot more side-effects.

Um? Why?

Because government (in it’s widest sense of fake-charities, quangos and of course Sir Humphreys by the score) has no desire whatsoever to solve problems related to drug abuse or unwanted pregnancy or anything else.

In fact they actually want to create them for it is their primary justification.

And their final salary pension.

Paid for by you.

All of it is dancing with the devil. All of it is an unholy pact. Because unlike a private-sector contractor who does a job and hands over an invoice and goes home to watch the telly the job of government is and can never be completed.

John Donne, we have a problem.

Both Cats and I have recently reffed John Donne’s “To his Mistress Going to Bed”. He reffed it as Donne’s XIXth Elegy and I called it the XXth.

Which is it?

I tried the hypertome of the intermong and found this and this.

And why the confusion?

I’m now going to say something very rarely heard. We need an English Literature graduate urgently!


And strip them of the Nobel Peace prize while they are about it. Make a start on the rehabilitation of that crappy bauble.

Environment and Climate ministers meeting in closed session in Bali last night insisted that an independent review should be carried out following the publicising of mistakes in its last report, and a row surrounding Dr Pachauri’s robust response to his critics. If his management is found to be at fault his position could become untenable.

Participants in the unprecedented meeting – held at the annual assembly of the Governing Council of the United Nations Environment Programme’s (UNEP) Governing Council in Bali – were sworn to secrecy over the decision and it is only expected to be announced after its detaled scope and composition have been worked out by UNEP and the World Meteorological Organisation, the two UN agencies that oversee the IPCC’s work.

The ministers – led by Hillary Benn, the Environment Secretary,and his counterparts from Germany,. Norway, Algeria and Antigua and Barbuda – refused to allow Dr Pachauri to decide who would carry out the review, insisting it must be completely and demonstrably independent of the IPCC.

Pachauri wanted to choose who should investigate his agency? Really? Why am I not surprised?

The mind boggles at the very thought.

Regardless, the UN is still in charge of the investigation. Given the dishonesty, deceit and corruption seen so far anyone out there trust this to be anything but a whitewash?

Will heads roll? Or will the good Doctor and railway man be the only token casualty?


Ya know, thinking about my posting on Timbuktu below, I am sometimes gobsmacked at the range of crap Nick, myself and Pa are capable of commenting on.

I showed this poem to a friend a couple of days ago, and found myself explaining the meaning and history of tyrian hue (to me the term is instantly obvious), and the reasons it is the colour of imperial and royal authority. Did you know that in Rome and Byzantium the term ‘assuming the purple’ was a euphemism for becoming Emperor?

Anyway, who are we that we, all of us, possess such deep hoards of trivia across so many disciplines? And more to the point, how the hell did we get it?

Don’t expect an answer from me, I dunno.

Well, anyway, back to the poem. Have a look at it. Superficially it is turgid to the point of unreadability, or so it seems to me, but if you actually read it, and concentrate on every line, it is a work of shining beauty. Even if it is about some poor kitty cat drowning in a tub of goldfishes*.

This has to be a pair of my favourite lines ever penned:

What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?

Two lines when joined together creating multi levelled words of genius, but you gotta laugh.

And we all know that all that glistens is not gold, don’t we?

Well, how about the original:

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Nor all, that glisters, gold.

*Similar to one of Nick’s (and mine) favourite poems right here. The language is gorgeous, the allusions span time, continents and philosophies, but all he is really saying is – get your kit off love, spread your legs and gis a look.

But the words he uses to say it justify his immortality.

I’m going to bed. Good night.


Up until the age of twenty two I always knew who was in the top-ten in the music charts.

I no longer have any idea. I’ve discussed this with my rough contemporaries and I am not alone.

It is the misfits parade of boy-bands, girl-bands and X-factor wannabes that’s done that. The last great hurrah of the British music industry chart-wise was in the mid-90s with the likes of Suede, Portishead, Massive Attack, St Etienne and Pulp and now it’s primarily just stuff Otis would reject. And I don’t mean Otis Redding. I mean the lift manufacturer.

But do not be down-hearted! There is more to popular music than that drivel. I suppose if it oils your skidoo runners there is always the Cold-Playing Arctic Monkeys on Snow Patrol. Or, if you’re like me you could listen to something a little warmer.

Goldfrapp have a new album coming out and Alison Goldfrapp has also just been outed as having a girlfriend. This is The Pledge you see. This apparently was big news over the weekend. The lesbian relationship that is. Not the album. Now call me… I dunno what but I like Goldfrapp and Gregory’s electro-pop and who Ms Goldfrapp sleeps with is a mature of such supernatural irrelevance to me I’m having to type this one-handed whilst texting Derek Acorah.

Cheryl Cole is still gripping the headlines for no reason at all obvious to me. She truly is a veritable a Large Hadron Collider of a hard vacuum when it comes to matters of intellect, personability, coolness, musical talent or sex-appeal. I mean Alison Goldfrapp once played a Theremin with her groin live on stage. Now that’s rock and roll. I would have paid good money to see that. I wouldn’t cross the street to see Cheryl Cole’s off-key caterwauling of songs of such mediocrity that the play of track one of a sample CD put a Muzak producer into a catatonic state. To be fair mind she doesn’t do too much of that these days being mainly pre-occupied with giving toilet attendants black eyes, being married (or not*) to a scrote, blubbing on ITV1 and revealing all to the Daily Mirror. She’s not going to do an interview with Piers Morgan is she? That would be a televisual singularity that would blow the whole of spacetime to kibbles and bits. I could cheerfully, whilst whistling a medley of songs from the shows, torture Piers Morgan to death with a runcible spoon. I have looked through a microscope at nematodes that deserve more rights than that profoundly cunticulated fuckbastarding shitemonging veritable pugwash of a prolapsed rectum of an excuse for a proto-simian.

Anyway. You can read the interview with Alison Goldfrapp here and if you want to go mad and tear out your eyes with an allen key from an IKEA flat-pack coffee table you can read about Cheryl Cole pretty much everywhere else.

Or just judge from these videos…

This is a daft slag who is a complete charisma-free zone trogging out lyrics that make Dr Seuss read like Jorge Luis Borges…

God almighty! That’s absolutely fucking awful for even embedding it here I expect the SAS to kick down the door any moment and drag me off to the Hague for a trial for crimes against humanity. If they fitted Reaper drones with speakers and played that over the ‘stan bin Laden would emerge from his cave and beg to surrender.


Which do you reckon is better? And also – and this is a factor – Cheryl Cole is perhaps more classically physically beautiful (though the obvious fact that behind her eyes she has a 1K Sinclair ZX-81 rather than a brain does count against) but which of the two do you reckon you’d find more attractive (a different thing) or have more fun in bed with. That (obviously now) applies to both male and female readers.

Alison clearly rocks and Cheryl clearly sucks (but doesn’t swallow**)

*On the back of Cheryl Cole’s neck is a tattoo declaring she is “Mrs C”. Cue Nelson Muntz – Ha Ha!
**In my book the sign of an utter slag who doesn’t view sex in terms of passion, love or desire but in demented terms of power and cash and control.


Here is one for Biased BBC. I was driving home this evening, listening to ABC News radio who were broadcasting a BBC World Service segment.

Now, you will have to forgive me, I am working from memory here. I have been over the BBC World Service site and I guess nothing has been posted yet, although there is this from the main site.

Anyway, in discussing a fatal crush at a celebration at a mosque, Big Mo’s birthday apparently, someone in the studio started rabbiting on about Timbuktu’s history as a great trading centre. Apparently, the city made its wealth by trading salt and such like.

Salt and “such like”?

“Such like”?

Such like what?

You think there is any reason that they failed to refer to Timbuktu’s centuries as one of the great Islamic slave markets? Bringing in both European and black slaves and exporting them throughout North Africa and the middle east?

You think that if the British had been involved the BBC would have shown such forbearance?

He Of The Many Spellings…

Muammar Gaddafi (for that is one of them) has really jumped the shark this time…

He’s declared jihad on Switzerland. Apparently over the minaret-ban. Well, I’m sure there are certain aspects of Ukrainian planning law I would find obnoxious so I’m calling for Her Majesty’s forces to plan an all out assault on Kiev because it is the inalienable right of every true-born Englishman to build a mock-tudor mansion in Dnipropetrovsk. Not that I wish to particularly but it is the principle and we must fight for our principles! Churchill knew that, Thatcher knew that and now you know that. I’m also annoyed about not getting my Subway franchise in Pyongyang so North Korea – you’re havin’ it too! Me and Ross Kemp are going to kick your Great Leader quite hard up the arse ’till he cries like a girl. Well, when Mr Kemp is free from his filming schedule with Sky anyway.

It is the low point in a relationship that has been deteriorating since 2008 when Colonel Gaddafi’s son Hannibal was briefly detained in Geneva after allegedly beating his servants.

Hannibal Gaddafi! In anycase your son being “briefly detained in Geneva” is one hell of a slim justication for war. I mean when we declared war on Germany in 1939 it was to prevent a mono-testiculated lunatic from enslaving an entire continent. It’s a question of proportionality really.

“Any Muslim in any part of the world who works with Switzerland is an apostate, is against (the Prophet) Muhammad, God and the Koran,” Colonel Gaddafi said at a rally broadcast on television.

Has Gaddafi thought that one through? At a very vague guess I would suspect that a great many of the potentates, despots, kings, princes, sultans and Mohammed Al-Fayed’s of the Muslim world have very important dealings in Switzerland. He’s going to be about as popular as a rug-burn with that lot over this.

It was not clear how he wanted Muslims to target Switzerland. “The masses of Muslims must go to all airports in the Islamic world and prevent any Swiss plane landing, to all harbours and prevent any Swiss ships docking,” he said, apparently unaware that Switzerland does not have a merchant navy, or coast.

He’s flipped his lid completely here. Clearly Gaddafi has seen aeroplanes. Big, enormously powerful things. Trying to prevent a couple of hundred tons of metal moving at high speed from landing is… Well you’re gonna come-off a lot worse than the jet. There is a word for trying to stop an Airbus or Boeing from landing by standing in front of it – it’s suicide. I mean if you tried it with my wife’s Vauxhall Corsa it’s A&E or the morgue. Try it with an A330 and it’s a DNA job. Especially if one of those big tubofans ingests you. Let’s not dwell on that possibility.

As to the action against the Swiss merchant marine… I almost soiled myself. You know what’s gonna happen don’t you? At the height of the Motoons of Doom “protests” I espied a number of hot-heads burning Swiss flags because they couldn’t tell the difference between them and Danish ones. The same arseholes are now going to be “protesting” Danish shipping docking. Well an ISO container on your bonce is gonna smart.

He made clear that Switzerland, “an infidel, obscene state which is destroying mosques”, was at the very least an ideological enemy.

Gaddafi has clearly not just completely lost the plot but the plot has been shredded, burned and filed in HMRC, Longbenton in an underground toilet cubicle behind a sign saying, “beware of the cameleopard”. He really is upping the ante in the “utterly mad bastard” division. Mugabe, Charvez, Dinnerjacket and Comrade Kim are just going to have to seriously up their games if they are to remain contenders. I mean that’s champagne lunacy. That’s true exhibition stuff. That’s up there with Idi Amin at the height of his powers. It’s good to see that after a spell on the bench following a minor infection of common-sense that the North African is back on World class form delivering the utter insanity that was always his trademark. Truly the come-back kid!

Barack Obama – Thanks From Your Pals In Britain!

I dunno about you lot but with the Royal Navy fuckulated by Messrs Brown and Blair, the RAF reduced to winding elastic bands and the Army chasing rag-heads in the ‘stan and a community organiser in The White House this was bound to happen.

The Falklands are British. The international legal position here is very clear. This need not go to the UN. This is no business of Ban Ki Moon or Hugo-bastarding-Charvez.

We don’t have the Norwegians trying to lay claim to the Shetlands or the French making a play for Jersey do we? Our case is pure titanium here.

So The Argentinians want to cut-up rough by imposing an Imperial rule over our stuff. And yes, folks this is about imperialism and it’s coming from Latin America and not these shores. We didn’t grab those islands from the Argentinians – the only bipedal thing there when we pitched-up were penguins: the population speak English and think of themselves as British and any oil-drilling within our territorial waters is a matter for the Falkland Island’s government and the companies involved.

And that has fuck all to do with Argentina, Latin America, Ban Ki Moon, the UN or Hugo-fucking-Chavez.

So Barackkk won’t back-us up? Hardly surprising seeing as he clearly despises even his own country let alone ours. And we’ll get fuck-all help from our current official “best-pals” of the EU will we? So why are we palling-up with them then? A new strategic alliance with the French has recently been mooted. Oh, behave! Because otherwise I shall have to visit the patent office with my idea for a chocolate teapot.

If I am not very much mistaken we are gonna see a national embarrassment on the scale of Suez. Is Gordoom loving it I wonder? Well if the actual humiliation happened under the early days of the rule of iDave with a small majority…

Think of it as the inverse of the “Falklands Factor” that aided Maggie in ’83.

And if you think I’m being unduly cynical then consider this. It is probably too late this year for Argentina to launch a military operation so we are looking at 2011 with a Tory government and would you put it past Mandelson to have not considered the utility of this possibility in propelling Labour back to power in short order?

We lost the Falklands under the Tories, vote Labour.

The Difference

Thou hast committed fornication — but that was in another country: and besides, the wench is dead.

- Christopher Marlowe, The Jew of Malta.

Guess what? This isn’t a post about the adventures of Ashley, Cheryl or Tiger. I recall my solemn pledge. Nope, this is about blogging and the media and a theory I have so, dear reader, grab your duralumin titfer and read on!

Marlowe might have written those words many moons ago but they contain an essential truth that still applies. It is the essential truth that people can behave badly whilst away from home and feel they can get away with it. Why do you think stag and hen nights are carried out out of town? Hell’s teeth when I flew into Prague last year the Airbus was packed to the rafters with Mancs who were already pissed. My wife and I wanted to tour that fine city’s cultural and historic monuments, they just wanted to get lashed, engage in a drunken and probably flopulent attempt at sexual intercourse with a Bulgarian prozzie and, more to the point, do it where they weren’t going to bump into their mother or boss.

All of the above pastimes can easily be catered for in Manchester. Indeed you can even do all of that in Stockport according to what I’ve heard. So why go to a great big city where nobody knows your name? Answered my own question. It’s anonymity that is sought.

And that is why the blogosphere matters. It matters because it isn’t anonymous. We at Cats have our regulars. Even the big boys like Harry and Samizdata have their regulars and it’s a bit like your local boozer. You don’t dare get pissed as a fart and attempt to shag the landlord’s daughter over the pool table. Well, not more than once anyway. Now this is because blogs are relatively low circulation. They are like your local pub. If I were to venture into my local boozer tonight I’d see the usual suspects holding-up the bar. When I fired-up the computer this morning I saw the usual suspects commenting. This does not apply to the online incarnations of the MSM. I have read comments on articles in the “quality press” which are as wildly pignorantly offensive and ill-conceived as a bunch of Brit lads engaged in formation pissing onto a war memorial in some foreign land. And BTW this is universal. The Germans in Germany are polite, ordered and very dull. Send them to Spain or Greece and they are (the young ones at least) fucking appalling. It was the student drinking songs ’till dawn that got me in Greece. A Japanese flatmate of mine in London was the most polite guy you’d ever meet. Two weeks of London turned him into an absolute beer monster who was well prepared to dump his bird back in Tokyo for, and I quote, “a big-breasted English blonde”. The “big-breasted” was conveyed through the medium of mime whilst he was Stella-ed (with Drambuie chasers) beyond human comprehension. He ended-up in the bath having let go at both ends that night.

My point is this disgraceful behaviour away from home occurs for exactly the same reason the major organs of the press get disgraceful comments on their web-sites and bloggers don’t tend to. It is quite simply because the commentators can get away with stuff due to the perceived anonymity. And that is why, when the MSM slag-off the blogosphere, in terms of individual blog’s small readerships as irrelevant they miss the point. The reason the blogosphere matters is that we are like the saloon bar of the Dog and Duck. I got into this game via reading Samizdata. I read it for quite some time before I dared even comment. And that’s because I didn’t want to make a tit of myself in a place where I’d be remembered. I could on the otherhand go to The Times website and say something that would make Alf Garnett cringe and feeling nothing about it. It would truly be fornication in another country with a wench who, alas, is now dead. So… We matter because we’re small but you might be thinking because we’re small we don’t make a difference? Wrong – because there are millions of us. Because anyone can do this for very little money and doesn’t the veritable Jurassic Park of the MSM hate that?

For example. Let’s assume I got under the skin of a BBC or Times or Guardian staffer who dismissed CCinZ as some cockamamie “blog” (and they’d probs use the scare quotes) read by next to no one. That misses the point entirely. Our small size and agility is our strength and we are legion. We are the army of ants chewing the fat of the dying hippo that is the MSM. Our power is due to our small size which promotes genuine debate and the fact that there are hordes of us. It is no coincidence that blogs are the fortress of libertarians. Small but many suits us for that is what we are.

My wife buys Private Eye. It has a regular feature, “Message boards” which is a parody of MSM web comment threads written by the likes of Broken_Britain and Justice4Maddie. It is so well done that me and the missus discussed whether it was an invention of the Eye or actually lifted from the likes of the Daily Mail website. We all know of Godwin’s Law. Well, I have a new version. Any online discussion of an even vaguely religious or moral issue in the MSM always descends by comment number 8 into a wholesale slanging-match (creating vastly more heat than light) between people despairing that the decline in religious belief means we’re on a one-way road to eating-your-own-children-barbarism and the other lot misquoting Dawkins and railing against “sky fairies”. It’s pathetic because it isn’t debate and the only reason people post that nonsense is because it’s in The Times so it’s anonymous and nobody is going to call them on it in a meaningful way. Well, ages back (so don’t expect a link) I posted here on a subject vaguely related to abortion and we got into double figures in comments that were actually talking sense, not shouting spite. I was very proud of that.

Back to the local pub anaolgy. It’s the locals that make CCinZ what it is, not the bar tender or the carpet or the fruit machine. This is something that mega-media just can’t do but you can and you do. Thank you for that.

The Pledge

I am sick to the back teeth of hearing who did or didn’t screw Ashley or Cheryl Cole.

It is a matter of such supernatural irrelevance to me that I should be communicating this fact to you by the medium (not large) of Derek Acorah and not via the internet.

Whilst buying cheese in the Co-Op I had an epiphany – as many do – it’s frankly amazing to me that my local Co-Op is not the foundation of numerous religions. You see you have to queue by the newspapers. Now, the Argies are kicking-off about the Falklands (again) and the Prime Monster is throwing cell-phones (again) but most of the papers are obsessed with the marriage of a dim-witted tart to a passable defender. Well, it made me think. It also enabled me time to think because the staff at my local Co-Op are generally out the back having a fag.

A few years ago I took the oath. I decided I would not watch Eastenders anymore. I have stuck to this for that show is shite. The tipping point was the Bradley, his missus and his Dad’s love triangle though looking back the earlier realisation that I would cheerfully unleash an Avenger Cannon on the entire inhabitants of Albert Square with the possible exception of Dot Cotton was the real point of victory if not actual triumph over my addiction. When the likes of me finds that the only person he can even begin to identify with in a show is an elderly extremely Christian lady despite being a 30-ish male agnostic then questions have to be asked…

Anyway. I have a new pledge and I ask you to honour it. Whilst standing with my (as yet) unbought mature cheddar (that might have made me complete) I saw the papers yesterday. It was this headline (possibly on the front of the Daily Mail) that pushed me over the edge. It went like this… “What was Derek doing in Cheryl’s room at 4AM”. There is only one rational answer to such a question and it is: I don’t fucking care! Although, obviously, it was implying sexual intercourse of some form I couldn’t give a toss. They could have been playing gin-rummy or discussing Hegelian Metaphysics for all I give a flying one.

Thus was born the “Nick Pledge”…

Repeat after me…

I (insert name) do solemnly swear that I will not give a toss about any “news” about “celebs” now or for the rest of my three score years and ten (or the duration). I do not care about Pete Doherty being scrobbled by the rozzers for having crystal-meth, I don’t give a fig about whoever any member of a girl-band sleeps with or whoever any boy-band member had a fight with. I just don’t care and I seriously don’t care a flying-fuck about anything Cheryl Cole does or doesn’t do with the admittedly unlikely caveat of her inventing time-travel.

Now if you think this is needlessly draconian then note I use “celebs” in scare quotes. This does not apply to the genuinely famous. Don’t feel bad if you recall where you were when you heard Elvis died or Lennon was shot or Kylie was diagnosed with cancer (that later one got even my obsidian heart). For there is a difference between stars and celebs. There is in short a difference between Cheryl Cole (pointless Geordie alleged songstress, professional WAG, utter racist (that has been conveniently forgotten has it not since she married a black man who then wronged her?)) and in general the most useless transaction my native city conducted since they started importing coals) and, say, Sir Elton John who is a star. Say what you like about him he’s a trouper and can play the old Joanna (though he’d rather play the old Jeff) and write and sing songs. Don’t get me wrong here. I personally don’t like the tunes of the short, be-rugged, queer Watford fan but… Fair play to the fella! He has brought pleasure to millions in a way Ms Cole’s off-key caterwauling for Girls Aloud quite simply hasn’t unless your definition of pleasure involves listening to tapes of cats being spayed. And when she blubs on X-Factor (as she always does) I wish to summon the fires of hell – alas I can’t… The dismal binticule she really is.

So honour the pledge. We have had enough of celebrities. I have anyway. I shall celebrate the great, the good, the genuinely famous but celebrities can go fuck themselves with furled copies of the News of The World which is frankly what they do to themselves anyway.

Just last week I read every single one of the 255 names on the war memorial to our dead from the Falklands in 1982 in St Paul’s Cathedral, London. Kinda puts stuff in perspective, really.


My wife is upset with NatWest.

They cancelled her credit card. Why? She was using it “suspiciously”. Was it a wire transfer to a shady drug-baron in Colomobia? Nope. It was a 20 quid top-up to Vodafone. Send for Mr Sherlock Holmes because Inspector Lestrade surely can’t cope with such a veritable Napolean of Crime! Now the reason she used her credit rather than debit card is that the Vodafone webshite requires an issue number which NatWest debit cards don’t have anymore and haven’t had for years. The NatWest geezer was also rather snotty about the whole matter and whilst the card has been re-activated he warned that if she behaves in such a reckless manner again they’ll do the same. How shoddy is that? I mean me and the missus are educated, bright folks and if we are going to attempt a fraud it will be of truly Madoffian proportions and not a twenty quid top-up on Voda-fucking-fone. Which reminds me… NatWest is part of RBS and getting a ticking-off from them over “suspicious transactions” is like being lectured by Adolf Eichmann on the evils of genocide. I mean how very dare they? They are so far down in the hole they are about to surprise some sheep in New Zealand. And yes, all at our expense. I don’t recall exactly how much Gordoom bunged them to keep the reckless fuckers in the game because if I did I’d have to quantitively ease a traffic cone into Captain Darling’s rectumnal passageway. And what I’d do to Ed Balls doesn’t bear contemplating though he’d wind-up Balls by name but not by nature at the very least. Although that might be a blessing for him considering the horrendous NeuArbeit bint he is married to.

I’m upset with my alma mater. Or at least what it has been reduced to which is pan-handling.

I got a letter today from Nottingham University. Apparently they are going to have an undergrad phoning me “in the next few weeks” so I can set-up a direct debit of a tenner a month. This is one of the world’s top 100 universities and it’s clearly on it’s uppers. WTF went wrong? Nottingham has huge numbers of foreign students paying top-whack. Seeing as the King of Malaysia got his LLB there is even has a campus in Malaysia as well as one in China* in addition to the three in the East Midlands. The only reason I can think of why they are so desperate is this dreadful government cutting science funding and Nottingham is essentially a science-based university. Sapientia urbs conditur and all that. God almighty! The fuckeration that has been made of UK education by these morons is beyond endurance. It’s worse than that, it’s beyond parody. They are going to force the Russell Group to go fully private and that’s the end of any realistic chance anyone but rich kids have to get a top-notch university education. Magic! And that will be entirely the fault of the deranged twin ideas that everyone needs a degree and any degree will do. Oh, and do click over on the link to the Wikipedia article on the Russell Group. It is the cut in science funding is it not? It’s gotta be. Bastards. And this from a government which claims to be obsessed with “equality”. Cunts. Bear in mind these fuckers have pitched us out of the Cassini mission to Saturn to “invest” the cash on five-a-day co-ordinators and associated wankers. Yeah, the same twatulent fuckrings that nearly closed Jodrell Bank ‘scope for the want of three million quid (aka a nanobailout) a couple of years ago. If they had done that I would have personally done something of Afghan cruelty and Chinese inventiveness to a dishonourable member. And I do mean member. Gordoom would never smile again. Seeing as he never has smiled it would, alas, be no great loss to him and possibly a blessed relief for Sarah.

It’s not just that the country is as broke as a Grecian Urn chucked from Blackpool tower. This is distinctly politically motivated. This is an attempt to break the Russell Group and it’s terrible “eliteism”. It’s because these universities haven’t played nice and let in the unwashed masses regardless of their A-level results in the name of a faux-equality of uniform mediocrity and media studies (the last I heard – and this was a while back – so I guess it’s got worse – this nation produces four times as many graduates in media studies as physics). The Labour Party just can’t cope with the fact that they have bollocksed (or Ed Ballsed-up if you prefer) state education to the extent that a very large proportion of the intake into the Russell Group are foreign, privately educated or went to the few remaining grammar schools. It really boils their piss. The flaw is not with the Russell Group, it’s with the schools but this government is so deep in denial about that that it’s currently scuba-diving through Cairo.

Read this and weep tears of blood. One in four schools in this country can’t “do” A-Level Physics. In the land of Newton, Maxwell and Dirac! I agree with the IOP – GCSE dual award in “science” was the thin-end of the slippery slope. They’ve done the same with languages. For the same reason. They is hard innit? Cunticulatedbastardingarseholingfucktards that they really are. Come the revolution there will be so many fuckers up against the wall we’re going to have to ship ‘em to a certain wall in China.

*I’ve seen pictures and it’s odd because it’s a copy of the University Park, Nottingham campus which is just bizarre in the context.

Rolling Thunder

I will do such things -
What they are, yet I know not: but they shall be
The terrors of the earth!

- William Shakespeare, King Lear Act 2, scene 4.

BUFFs parked up in the boneyard at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, AZ.

The devilment I could make with them does not bear thinking about. And I have a cat you know. The Mao suit, extinct volcano and improbably monikered but very fit birds in lab-coats with clip-boards are alas on back-order. As is the monorail and I’m going to have to chuck Bob Crow into the shark tank over that.

You are of course aware that the venerable B-52 is now being flown by the grandchildren of the original pilots. Yes, some of those magnificent machines have been flown by three generations of the same family. It’s almost Tolkienesque.

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