This is the Spanish Prime Minister and his two daughters. Updated to the US state department's flickr page, but then hastily removed because the daughters have never been photographed before due to a Spanish law protecting their "privacy" - which we can only assume really exists because of his embarrassment at the state of his daughters.
This is weird on so many levels. Why have them in the picture in the first place? And seriously, look at the state of those girls. I know teenagers have their own ideas about fashion and all, crazy kids, but for fucks sake, you're representing Spain here and by refusing to dress more appropriately you're embarrassing the whole nation. Can you not put a nice frock on just this once? And their posture too. All slumped forward and what not, is that all part of the goth image?
Bloody liberals. This sort of thing really winds me up. Prime Minister Jose obviously does not wear the pantalones in his family. How can he therefore be trusted to run his country? General Franco would have slit his only daughters' throat before he let her dress like that anywhere let alone when posing for a photograph with the most powerful man on the planet.
Is it just me? Am I just an old bastard now? Most of the controversy over this picture is centred around whether their privacy was invaded, not the fact that they're dressed so ridiculously in a photograph with the President of the United States. Is it possible I'm being too judgmental?
I've never understood the whole goth thing anyway. It must be such hard work because you have to dress that way all of the time. Punks too. Even when you just need to go to the Spar for a pink of milk you have to put on all the make-up and the various layers of black clothing and maybe a cloak too if it's cold and the boots and the jewellery - just to get milk. Urgghh. Too much. What do these people wear in bed? Do they have goth pajamas? I find this very depressing.
I give up on the world. When I move house I'm not taking my TV with me and I'm only looking at porn on the internet. Elsewise for entertainment it's books and radio 4 for me from now on.
Four early goals in the 7:45 kick-offs tonight. Lyon 3-0 up; Stuttgart 1-0 up.
My poo has firmed up, but I'm still bored. I'm finding it quite challenging to find things to do until the Pigeon's game on Sunday.
I watched the opening lines of Gordon Brown's speech today, but after he'd mentioned "choice" for the fourth time in the same sentence I must have passed out. I regained consciousness about an hour after it had finished to find a post-it note stuck to my forehead.
It was advise from my chief football statistician badger Ralph, informing me that tonight's champions league fixtures are full of eastern promise.
Eastern Europe is still stereotyped as a block of grey cold miserable communist states where everyone drinks rationed gin and survives on a diet of stale bread and gruel.
Their football standards are therefore as underestimated as their living standards. I was skeptical, but have been won over. Literally badgered if you will into betting on Debrecen beating Lyon (7/1) and Unirea Urziceni beating Stuttgart (11/4).
I thought I'd also put them in a ten fixture accumulator and with the winnings which amount to something like £47,000 I shall buy Euro Millions lottery tickets. This time next week I'll be a miwyanaaaaire.
I'll tell you why I don't like Mondays Bob
Monday, a new week. It hasn't started well. I had a horrible dream last night or early this morning. Someone had broken into my house. I hit him over the head with a baseball bat and his head cracked open like an egg and butter came out of his mouth. It looked like butter, but was probably vomit.
I've also got the shits. Probably a physical manifestation of my disgust at losing the Pigeons pub quiz last night when the Witney inc. Carterton and Ducklington Mob were odds on to win with just two rounds to go and the final round being sport. Silly fucking Prime Ministers. We didn't even win the chocolate round as Andorro was not considered to be a country bordering France. Farce!! Seething.
So anyway yes, see you later.
: Labels: Random Post
An interesting question slipped from Andrew Marr's silly clowns mouth this morning when interviewing Gordon Brown; are you on any medication which can affect your judgment?
By "any medication" he meant anti-depressants as rumour has it the PM is knocking them back like Smarties, but surely you've only got to look at the man to see he's not taking anything. He is pound for pound the most miserable looking man on the planet.
Lord help us if he is taking something. If his prescription runs out over the weekend when he can't get to his GP who knows what he might be capable of doing to us all before topping himself.
Gordon Brown seemed offended by the question. Surely the mental state of the PM is in the public interest. He needs to relax. Calm down a bit. Cheer up. Just see Ronald Reagan's Presidency as evidence of what happens to a nation when you turn a blind eye....er sorry Gordon no pun intended.
I like Victoria Coren. I like her for the superficial reasons, the posh voice, the pretty face and the tits, but also for the deeper more profound reasons; the er.... no,... I've never met her so it's really just the looks and tits and voice.
I read her book yesterday though even though it has no pictures and as anecdotal poker books go it's an interesting enough read. It's not in the same class as Amarillo Slim's book and not as tragic as Stu Ungar's, but absorbing enough to be a better option than watching telly or playing with Lego.
It's essentially two books in one; an autobiography and a sort of abbreviated version of Gus Hansen's book: "Every hand revealed" - with each chapter interlaced with specific hands from her EPT London win in 2006.
She's a good writer and some of her stories are funny, but in essence it's a book anyone who has played poker for a while, read Alice in Wonderland, and is part of their own poker clique, could have written. Apart from the EPT part of course, which is I think, the point of the book.
Despite her relative fame and her now not insignificant bank-roll, her degree from Oxford and all those long words she uses, she's just a poker player - a sponsored poker player who gets to go to all the fancy schmansy locations - but a poker player nonetheless. An engaging, intelligent and funny young miss, as happy in the Tuesday 25p-25p game as the Grand Final of the EPT in Monte Carlo, immune to the chauvinism of a male dominated environment and still down to earth, which is very commendable and refreshing. I think it's still mostly her tits though that I like the most about her.
I'm currently struggling to find reasons to get out of bed. I'm bored. Ennui has overwhelmed me and time has become irrelevant. Neal has given up gambling again so it must be Friday, but I can't be sure. I need a hobby. I'm bored of sports betting. I'm miles away from the nicer poker venues and there's only so long a 35 year old can play with Lego before it's not funny anymore.
Regrets I have a few. I'm with Frank on that one. You know what I saw today people? A brand new Suzuki GSX-R 1000. Gold and black it was - all shiny and Japanese. I do so love motorbikes. We left the BP garage shop in Cartoon Town at the same time. He was in Oxford before I had my seat-belt on though probably.
Let's get one thing perfectly clear; I am by no stretch of the imagination, fit enough to ride two wheeled rockets no more. But I'm not fit to judge politicians on a lack of morals, but I still do that. I should never have gotten rid of my Triumph three or four years ago. I loved that gorgeous British yellow and black beauty.
I sold it because I wanted to own an Italian diablo red Ducati with gold trim and twinkly bits. A tragic moment of extravagant madness. I can't imagine being launched into orbit in the Space Shuttle is anymore uncomfortable than riding a Ducati - I did look good at petrol stations though. It was never worth it in hindsight. All the posing and showing off. I should have stuck with the Trumpet. I could still have it now.
I'm tempted. I'm tempted to start browsing the MCN and the bike trader mags. P'raps it's a good thing we're coming up to winter. I'd be even more tempted if the annual two weeks of OK weather was just around the corner.
No, this is definitely a bad idea. Bad bad bad. Na na na na. Think of something else. I better go and look at some tits. Have a good weekend.
Sinister Pope pictures of the day
A public school music teacher has been sent to prison for 15 months for having an affair with a 15 year old female pupil. The court heard that trumpet mistress Helen Goddard engaged in all manner of sexual indecency over the course of the five month affair, which was initiated by the pupil at the £13,000 a year private school. The court didn't state whether "Trumpet Mistresss" was her job title or a euphemism for lesbian however.
The judge dismissed as "draconian" a request from the prosecution that the 26 year old "flute blower" be banned from contacting the "vulnerable" girl, who will be 16 later this week, for five years and declared that he would be keeping all photographic, textual and audio visual evidence for his own private research.
I don't get this people. Why is this "knicker guitarist" going to jail? Who exactly is the victim here? By my calculations and call me a beastly pervert if you will, but surely it's the teacher? I mean really people, sack her from her job for an abuse of position (ooo-er) but does she really need to go to jail and is she such a threat to our wee ones she needs to be added to the sex offenders register? What exactly is offensive about this? If anything it's mildly arousing.
Your Daily Mail reader will argue that had she been a man we'd find this appalling yet it's no different. But it is different. Of course it's different and if you don't understand why then you shouldn't be having an opinion on this in the first place. Put simply a female is obviously in a more vulnerable position when she's underneath a 14 stone man with an erect cock, than an 8 stone trumpet mistress with erect nipples.
The law needs to have some flexibility here surely. If the argument is that a 15 year old is not mature enough to know for sure whether she wants to handcuff her music teacher to the bed and wickedly flick her tongue repeatedly over her magic button, then how can she be mature enough next week when she's 16 and legal?
I'm no child psychologist but if I hark back retrospectively to my teenage age years I have to say the vast majority of the time I was quite able to judge which things I wanted to have a bash at. I may have miscalculated with the pooh bear incident, but for the most part I got it spot on.
If the argument is that the law is the law and that's it, then let's lock up about half of the teenagers in this country who can't keep their filthy mitts of each other. Surely the law exists to protect not persecute the innocent? Do we even know who was on top?
This is all very depressing if you ask me and just an extension of the hysterical obsession we and our Government seem to have in this country with paedophilia - meanwhile the Government if it had its way would be teaching five year olds how to put a Jonny on a banana!?
This is the same hysteria that has bourne that nonsense vetting register thingy we'll all have to sign if we want to have any social interaction with children.
A register which essentially identifies every adult in the country as a paedophile unless we pay for the privilege of proving otherwise.
A register which will not save a single child from being abused but will deprive them of sports clubs and social clubs and will put children in danger because we've created a culture of such paranoia that no grown man in his right mind would go near a child he felt might be in trouble in case someone accuses him of being a nonce. If you saw a wee one on this side of the road on his own and crying, would you stop to help? I know I wouldn't.
Really people, we all want to protect the vulnerable, but this isn't the way is it? This is counter-productive, emotional and silly.
This whole disproportionate fear that has engendered the nation seems to have something more to it than just protecting the wee ones though. There's some hidden component which causes people to engage in vigilante campaigns and run after police vans shepherding suspected child molesters to court. A wide reaching case of "me thinks thou dost protest too much" or just an over-enthusiastic attempt to make it absolutely clear to everyone that they don't find children in anyway sexually arousing?
Registers and campaigns and newspaper witch-hunts are not the way. Newspapers have a lot to answer for here. They know they can sell papers with these kinds of stories, but the consequences are that children are still abused but now no one can go near a child for fear of being labeled a beastly predator.
You can't walk through a park if you're a grown man on your own for example. You can't take photographs at your childs sports day, if you're even allowed to go to your childs sports day. True you never know who might be watching, but that argument applies to anything.
Just as a dirty old man might be watching the sack race - anything else can happen to anyone else at any time. Everything can happen everywhere - life is full of risks, why just focus so obsessively on one of them? There isn't a register for example for convicted knife stabbing bastards - arguably a greater threat than a grubby sexual deviant. You can't remove risk entirely from our daily lives and nor should you even try.
Apart from anything else and I'll say this quietly...you know what...don't shoot the messenger, but if a child is actually abused, apparently, it doesn't have to be the end of the world for him or her. There are exceptions of course, but the child psychology boffins say that the wee ones are quite robust enough mentally to cope with such an encounter - and for the most part they see it as silly, but are not traumatised by it as it very rarely involves force or violence.
It's the hysteria that parents and the authorities create when they hear about it these cases that causes the trauma because they then feel like something absolutely hideous has occurred even though they haven't perceived it in this way. So really if your kid is molested just tell him to go right ahead and molest the dude back, that's what I always say.
No no, I take that last bit back, just let's try and chill the fuck out is all, because this has become just another entry on the lengthy list of things that have developed in this country over the past decade or so that has made life so needlessly unpleasant. Sigh. Can't we all just get along? Well not get along hump each other - get along friends? Not like playing nice with Uncle Peter friends - just old fashioned friends friends you know? It's easy if we try.
Only at Old Trafford could a winning goal for the home side come in the sixth minute of four minutes of injury time. Any other stadium the equalising goal from diminutive racist Craig Bellamy on 89 minutes would have been the last goal - not at Old Trafford. Ooooh no.
It's funny cause it's Mark Hughes on the end of it, but it's also utter bullshit. Anyone with an ounce of conscience would be ashamed to celebrate a goal like that. I told you Michael Owen was Satan. It'll end in tears for Ferguson though. Poisonous tears. Eternal tears. He can dance because he has no soul, but in the end, when the music stops everyone pays the piper.
The Bulgarian National lottery has seen the same numbers - 4, 15, 23, 24, 35 and 42 - drawn twice in a row people!!! The maths boffins are saying the odds of this are 4 million to 1. Now, you'd think that given the odds of actually picking the six numbers correctly are an even worse 14 million to 1 that the good people of Bulgaria would now have some sort of perspective on how utterly unlikely it is to win. But no. Everyone's playing now and they're all probably choosing those same six numbers.
It's the battle of the physically repulsive today at Old Trafford. I couldn't give a monkey's who wins, a draw would be preferable I suppose, I just hope it's incredibly violent. Tevez surprise surprise is fit after all, but it'll be his slightly uglier opposite number who'll be grabbing the headlines.
I've bet on there being a penalty at 5/2 in 90mins - including injury time obviously. Manchester United always get penalties in these games. Just playing at Old Trafford is worth a goal to them in these high profile games because they're always awarded a penalty by which ever spineless Fergiephile is in charge. I would have taken 6/4. Standard Rooney dive and penalty conversion. 
I may just also have a few shillings on Craig Bellamy and Rooney to both score at 8/1.
The 4pm game is equally as repulsive. I doubt I'll be well enough to watch it after the horrorshow Manchester derby, but if I can keep my roast dinner down I'll hope for a similar result; hope for a draw, but can't see how Chelsea don't win here. Violence though, let's hope violence - pools of blood all over the place, snapped limbs, burst arteries, ripped tendons that sort of thing. Marvelous.
In other news, nothing's happened.
So this evening I was having a snooze and dreaming of something which I don't mind telling you was a little kinky yet arousing and there's a knock at my door. I awake with a start. Was that my door I ask myself? Another knock. Yes, yes it was. Why are people not using my bell these days I wonder. Note to self, check bell.
It's 8pm I'm not expecting anyone and I pray it's not the person I was just dreaming about because I'm wearing my pajamas and she has been dead for many years. I also don't have any celery. It's the postman! The postman I tells ya. At 8pm it's the postman. He has a parcel for me. Special delivery. Awesome.
I love tits and biscuits as much as the next man, but I'm with Julie Andrews when it comes to brown paper packages tied up with string. Definitely one of my favourite things, even during the height of the IRA's bombing campaign.
I know instantly what it is. It's my Lego. A thirty year old classic Space Lego set. A special delivery indeed. Now the coolest and oldest thing I own. It's the closest thing to an antique as I'm ever likely to own. She's a beauty. Her box is a wee bit worn and ragged, but she's in great shape for her age. Just like Felicity Kendall.
I was five years old the last time I hand my hands on such an awesome bit of kit. Pink Floyd were the Christmas Number 1. with Another brick in the wall and Arsenal were third in Division one and would beat Tottenham 1-0 on boxing day. Why did they ever stop the Boxing Day derby games? So anyway, my Dad didn't feel I had the skills to put it together and he was right. I had only just learnt how to piss without pulling my trousers right down to my ankles.
He built it for me while I sourced the parts. I ate my breakfast and watched it taking shape. So in awe I lacked the concentration to prevent my dog taking a crafty lick at my Ready-Brek. The fucker. An hour later and it was built. My Dad proudly displayed the thing by lifting it up with one hand high into the air. Then dropped it. Smashing it into many many pieces. Oh how we laughed. All in all it was just many bricks on the floor. Happy days.
Oooh you've, you've thrown it away. How funny. I'm so happy. Oh how I love you. I'm so glad I didn't bother reaching into the drawer for a condom that night I was pissed as a fart and knocked your mother up.
Current mood via the medium of puppy pictures
Irked
Now that I've taken the first baby steps into a more eccentric world what with the pajama wearing and all, I'm really looking forward to where it may lead me. I aspire to reach a level of utter indifference to public opinion. For example, when I can bollock around in the woods in a red frock like Kate Bush without even a modicum of shame I'll know I've made it. This is the good stuff. Real surreal Wickerman pagan opium oblivion. An ouroboros wholeness too, from the bush back into the Bush. Awesome.
Amusing item found in my garden # 135
Very big plastic football - how big?
THIS BIG!!
Not suitable for under 3's because of small parts!? Small parts you say? It's the size of a freakin elephant's bollock!Don't hate the player hate the game man
You know why players dive, I know why players dive, everyone knows why players dive. Even my Mum knows. They dive because a penalty is the most disproportionate reward for foul play in any sport. A penalty is pound for pound possibly the most significant and unfair event in any sport really.
Let's loooooooook at the evidence. A wicket in cricket won't settle the game, a home-run in baseball won't settle that game and so on for most other sports; a touch-down in Mercan football, a basket in basketball, a goal in ice hockey etc etc. A goal in football however, can settle the game because it's a low scoring game, so diving to win a penalty becomes almost common sense. We'd all rob banks if the punishment was 20 hours community service no?
If you can con the referee and win the game, the only cost will be some retrospective tutting from the analysts in the studio and some verbal abuse from the opposing fans. Serial offenders are labeled with a diving tag - but footballers are subjected to so much abuse from opposing fans, sometimes their own fans, that abuse is just abuse, the specifics become irrelevant.
I think they should do away with penalties. I can't imagine what sort of a person thought they were a good idea in the first place. Probably the grandfather of whoever thought up todays incarnation of the off-side rule.
Why should a player who is fouled on the goal line in the corner of the penalty area, which at the time probably has 13 players in it, then get a free shot from 12 yards out in the middle of the goal with only the goal-keeper to beat? Nonsense.
A direct free-kick is all you should get. If the foul took place 4 yards out then so be it. The wall lines up on the goal line. There were probably five defenders on the goal line anyway when the foul took place - that's a far more realistic continuation of the play than clearing everyone out and letting the fella have a free shot at an enormous goal 12 yards out.
Simples. If you want to rid the game of diving, rid the game of the rewards for diving. Easy. Players may still dive to win free-kicks, but far less games will be settled as a direct consequence. Dives will just be seen as irritating and silly, but they'll very rarely have a significant impact on the result of the game. That's what I always say.
I shall be seated on a silly chair without a back today, eating couscous while wearing curly shoes in support of Besiktas who I feel will somehow give Manchester United a jolly good thrashing this evening. I don't care what anyone says, I refuse to accept that Manchester United are any good and a price of 6/1 for a Besiktas win in front of 25,000 lunatic Turks must surely be value? Surely?
I've heard tell from my rabid monkey in Istanbul that Besiktas have been bloody awful so far this season, but I feel their hatred for the English will fuel an awesome performance and leave Ferguson filling his old mans nappy pants with runny poo in frustration. I shall also be backing Wolfsburg and Barcelona.
Update: I forgot to take into account Besiktas are the worst team possibly ever.
Lemme at 'im, lemme at 'im
Confusion of the day - Rooney Nike advert
What ze hell? Wayne Rooney stood in front of a mirror shaving off the middle part of his hair with some clippers then for no reason screaming at himself? Has it suddenly become apparent to him just what an ugly fucker he is? See what you make of it..
Nurses uniforms for me lost a huge percentage of their sauciness when they no longer included those little hats. A sad time indeed.
Derren Brown's lotto thingy may have been a waste of everyone's time, but I have stolen the whole 'wisdom of the crowd' concept for to help me with today's wagering.
I identified four Premier League fixtures this morning which I felt simply had to be placed in a Yankee and have spent simply ages this morning surfing various newspaper, footballing and wagering websites for score predictions for these four games. Oui?
In the time it took me to drink my tea and eat my bacon sammich I had accumulated the opinions of many many ex professionals, random punters and newspaper columnists alike.
The results were not at all intriguing. They conformed to my original thoughts so I could have saved myself about 30 minutes nonsense and just trusted my own instincts. I feel only 12% more confident that my selections conform to the wisdom of the crowd, particularly when said crowd includes Mark Lawrenson.
My selections are as follows people; Tottenham win; West Ham win; Blackburn win and finally a draw between Pompey and Bolton. This will pay £999 and I should be very happy if it comes in as I want to fill my freezer with those new salmon fish fingers.
Finally - it's the St Ledger today and of course it goes without saying that Father Time will be your winner, by approximately half a length. Ha ha I said length.
That's an hour of my life I could have spent eating fish fingers. I liked Derren Brown's act before this lottery nonsense. I've gone off him now. I feel utterly embarrassed for those 24 people who genuinely believed they had correctly collectively predicted the lottery numbers. I'm also ashamed and unnerved that I belong to the same species. That they would take the word of a magician over the outcome of a 14 million to one shot is really quite alarming.
Just how gullible can any one person be? It's because of people like this that the Hitler's of the world come to power. Believe anything they will. I bet the Third Reich came about when Hitler got 24 pissed off German's into a room and persuaded them that the Jews were responsible for all their woes and to go out and spread the word.
Simon Singh's Derren Brown article I find agreeable; here Quite right Mr Singh.
Fish FangersWhat ze hell has been occurring in ze skies? 
Now then...what to make of this footballing conundrum this evening. I have a murder of econometric crows in my laboratory who are assuring me this is an easy win for Eng**nd. Not that I want Eng**nd to win, but purely from a punting point of view they've recommended that England -1 goal at 13/8 represents value.
Something within me is preventing me from placing such a wager though. It does on paper look like a comfortable win for Eng**nd, what with Croatia missing one of their most influential players, the game being played at Wembley and with Rooney flinging himself to the ground in the penalty area with such regularity one has to assume Eng**nd will be awarded a penalty at some point...but still I remain unconvinced.
P'raps it's Eng**nd's predictable premature optimism regarding their chances of winning the World Cup. They're bound to become complacent. It's what they do. I'm not convinced Capello has righted all of McClaren's wrongs. Emile Heskey is still in the team for example. His inclusion in any professional football team I find baffling and remarkable - proof if proof were needed that conventional wisdom is rarely correct.
Statistically too, Eng**nd win something like 65% of their games. They're due a loss or a draw. Also, it's 09/09/09 today and Eduardo wears number 9 so surely that's an omen?
I'll have further meetings with my crows later this afternoon, until then I feel it's safer just to leave this one alone and have a few shillings on Robin van Persie to score against the Jocks tonight in 90 minutes at 7/4.
After the football I plan to watch young Derren Brown predict the lottery results. I imagine he's just written down all the combinations and will magically produce the correct one once the draw has been made. How gay, anyone can do that. All you need is 14 million bits of paper and a silly beard.
I hope it's something more impressive than that and by Friday we will all know how to pick the winning numbers so on Saturday we can all hit the jackpot and receive about £1.57 for our troubles.
In other news, I feel I'm old enough now to introduce some eccentricities into my lifestyle. I recognise I'm not necessarily wealthy enough to be considered eccentric, but I'm going to give it a go. I'll start with something small. I think I'll borrow Hugh Hefner's trademark fashion statement and only wear pajamas, regardless of where I am or who I'm with. Not silk ones though as we don't have the climate for that. Mark's and Spencer's ones with my nice thick blue dressing gown.
Once I've become comfortable with this I plan to learn German and adopt the persona of a bitter World War II SS officer pining for the Fatherland and what might have been. Should be fun.
I'm fixing to move. I've had enough of urchins attacking my vee-hick-ul and drug dealing neighbours being awake at the same time as me in the wee small hours of the morning. My current home looks reasonably presentable, not the sort of place you'd expect to feature on one of those Street Wars type police shows, but nonetheless I've grown tired of scratched car doors, slashed tyres and finding strange items in my garden, so I'm moving to a place where this sort of thing IS excepted. I'm moving back to the hood - South Central Cartoon Town.
That's where I grew up. I'm from the streets, you didn't know that about me did you. Yeah man, I was playing conkers on the mean streets of Cartoon Town when I was 7 years old. You can take the chap out South Central, but you can't take South Central out of the chap. Peace out.
Can't an otter have some privacy?
Bugger orf: An indignant sea otter disturbed bya photographer while wanking on Thursday
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Am I seriously the only one exposed to the true level of cheating cuntishness of this hypocrite? This is an Emperors new clothes moment and Rich is getting angry!
A Bangladeshi newspaper has had to apologise to it's readers for running a story about Neil Armstrong confessing to reporters that he had been persuaded by conspiracy theorists that his moon landing was a hoax. See here: Armstrong: Moon landing a fake
The Daily Manab Zamin read the story on The Onion website, but didn't realise it was satirical and obviously hadn't bothered to check any other sources to reassure themselves it was accurate. Tee hee, I'm laughing as I write this.
Some of the responses from various players and managers have been jaw droppingly hypocritical for a change. Ferguson and Rooney, dear lord, they must have wet their pants after giving their respective opinions on the matter. Ferguson wets his pants after any interview of course, but on this occasion he would have even with a robust pelvic floor.
Wayne Rooney has built a career out of diving and Ferguson taught him how and yet our footballing media have let them sit there and applaud the ban handed out to Eduardo who isn't even in the same class as Rooney or Steven Gerrard. They get a free ride of course because the newspaper dudes won't get to have their cosy little chats with them and be all chummy if they slate them, so it's just a crusade against all the unscrupulous cheating Jonny Foreigners who all play for Arsenal.
It goes without saying I'll be taking on temporary Croatian citizenship this week. I became a Mexican in 2006, but for this week I'm Croatian. I will be meeting with the devil himself later on this evening to barter for an Eduardo hat-trick on Wednesday. I'm prepared to offer anything except my new Lego set.I thought I'd prepared myself adequately for the inconsistencies of football, but I'd forgotten that Arsenal are subjected to 15% more injustices and silly bollocks on average than any other team and my need to believe in a just world is breaking under the strain as a consequence.
* * *
It could have been written by Tony Blair or George W. Bush. Swap Berlin for Baghdad andi t's Blair's and Bush's speeches prior to their invasion of Iraq almost verbatim. Where have you heard this kind of nonsense before?:
I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany. You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more, or anything different, that I could have done, and that would have been more successful.
Erm...except of course to stay out of it. Seventy years ago we could have just sort of carried on just having an Empire that covered a quarter of the globe and you know, not surrendering it all to America and then not having to hand over our independence to an EU that wouldn't exist. That sort of thing.
The choice on both occasions to keep our noses out would have worked just fine thank you very much indeedy. Certainly there's little doubt it wouldn't have created a worse future for us than the one we got. Had the German's just been left to it I can see no reason why the world today would be any less of a dung pile. Yeah I said it, I said that shit.
Hitler was never interested in us or our Empire. Nothing he ever did suggested he had any interests at all in invading our fair land until we declared war on him at a time when our armed forces consisted of a really angry man in Kent with his own rifle and veterans from the first world war who if you pieced them together made four whole soldiers.
Sigh! That's depressed me. I might watch some more Grange Hill.
Mine miiiiiiiiiiiiineIf I'm to win one of these Lego auctions I'm going to need to place a few shrewd wagers, but before I do that I'm going to have a bet on women's football. Haha yes seriously, women are playing football now. They even have their own European Championships bless them. It's being played right now as we speak in Finland.
It's really a lesbian pride parade, but under Finnish law, parades cannot discriminate on grounds of sexual preference so they've had to masquerade their deviant sexual exhibition as a football tournament. They're kidding no one of course, but as long as the Dutch team are still involved, who cares is what I always say?
On a serious note, I'm all for these little exercises in solidarity sisters, but what concerns me is that there are over 300 women from all over Europe involved in this thing. That's 300 offices and hospitals deprived of secretaries and nurses for a ten day period simply because of egocentric feminist posturing. Well if letters don't get typed up and patients die I hope it was worth it lesbians, I hope it was worth it.
An empty secretary's chair yesterday
A Dutch nurse yesterdayGrange Hill series 12 - Episode 9
Oh my gah he's killed Kendall!!
I've come to the end of my trip down memory lane. Danny Kendall has been found dead in Bronson's car. Bronson who by now has morphed into Adolf Hitler (did you know in fact that Michael Sheard played Hitler many many times during his career including the sequal to the Dirty Dozen) has bullied poor Danny Kendall remorselessly despite him only being back at Grange Hill for a short time following treatment for a brain tumour!
What sort of teacher bullies a kid with a funny head? It's no wonder he ended up working for the evil Empire. Series 12 was about the time I abandoned Grange Hill as a child. I'd found that wanking was more fun when you got a girl to do it for you and I was also trying to adjust to the Arsenal having a decent side for once.
I was also put off the show by Mauler McCaul's Gridiron Crew which was an idea surely born out of afternoon highs induced by writers sniffing their toxic marker pens with the windows closed. Next to the Gripper Stepson racism story line and Zammo's heroine addiction, a bunch of tubby 14 year olds running round in NFL helmets with their socks tucked into their trousers seemed rather pitiful by comparison and as edgy as a boiled egg.
This nostalgia trip has been fun, but four days of listening to cockney urchins bastardising the Queen's English has left me in a weak state intellectually. I must now spend and equal amount of time bulking-up as it were on heavy Russian literature to renew my ferocious intellect. But first one more attempt at buying Lego.
Grange Hill series 10 - Episode 19
Oh my Gaaaaaah, I've definitely gone off Laura Regan now. Banksy is doing his work experience at a school for the handicapped, but she won't help him or meet him there cause she hates retards!
OK I'm paraphrasing, she didn't use those exact words, but she said she can't bare to look at them! That's what she said!! What a snobby cow. What I want to know right, is how comes she won't look at them, but will go out with Banksy? Fucking hypocrite. I bet Julia Glover likes retards.
They might dribble on me or something