DON’T WALK…’RUN’, YOU BASTARDS!

no walking

According to the Traffic Enforcement Centre in Northampton,  in 2013 uncollected traffic violation fines were owed by 1,132,776 million motorists. I suspect many of those parking fines were accrued in Westminster, the largest and richest London council. Last year it earned over £29MILLION from parking fees and parking fines alone!

In order to make up for millions of pounds in parking fines the Council have failed to collect, council chiefs are now preparing to target PEDESTRIANS! A pilot scheme is due to be rolled out towards Christmas when the streets around the West End of London traditionally throng with shoppers. Westminster City Council intends installing a MINIMUM SPEED at which pedestrians may travel in and around the West End, starting from Marble Arch, and fanning out in all direction. Once you have emerged from an office, a shop or a department store, you will be expected to walk no slower than 4mph! If you do, expect a £70:00 loitering’ fine. Of course there will be yellow ‘pause’ zones in which the elderly, the sick and the exhausted among you can stop to catch your breath, but you ‘must be in it to win it’. Persistent violators can expect to be foot-clamped. A release fee will be in the region of £140:00. If you ain’t got it, well you can get just one foot released for £70:00. Be assured, mobile speed-camera Nazis are already in training to f**k up your Christmas! Personally, I think this new scheme is outrageous! The minimum pedestrian speed should be increased to at least 7mph.

Really, is there no end to scientific endeavour? In the early stages of development is Westminster City Council’s ‘FARTOMETER’ programme. Any ‘open-air’ fart registering more than 2 decibels on said fartometer will get you a £30:00 fine, rising to £80:00 for louder farts. So if I were you, I’d ‘dumb down’ those infamous bottom burps!

WESTMINSTER CITY COUNCIL…WHERE NO FINE IS TOO LARGE AND NO EVICTION NOTICE IS TOO MUCH TROUBLE!

WHAT’S IN A NAME? APPARENTLY QUITE A LOT!

CoWs 1

Hospital staff at Addenbrooke’s in Cambridge introduced ‘Computers on Wheels’ called ‘CoWs’, machines that are used to review test results at a patient’s bedside. However the machines are being hastily renamed amid concerns staff shouting ‘Bring the cow over here’, might alarm patients. From henceforth these mobile computers will be known as ‘Bright Information Technology Computerized Hostesses’. Good luck with that!

THERE’S ‘GOLD’ IN THEM THERE HILLS…AND ITS ALL MINE!

English: South Crofty Mine. South Crofty had b...

English: South Crofty Mine. South Crofty had been in continuous production for 400 years when it closed in 1999, the last Cornish mine to close. The closure was controversial as there is known to be a lot of tin ore still underground which could be mined. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Queen has struck a deal with Prince Charles, who I am reliably informed is her son, to split the proceeds of gold reserves which have been discovered in Cornwall. After prospectors found ‘commercial  quantities’ of the precious metal, royal advisers have decided to resolve a centuries-old row between the Crown Estate and Charles’s Duchy of Cornwall over who has the right to the profits. The deal came after businessmen reopened an old Cornish tin mine and concluded that there may be millions of pounds of gold there, along with several uneaten Cornish pasties.

The Crown Estate, which until now has claimed proceeds from mining in the area, agreed to hand half of any profits to the  Duchy and all of the Cornish pasties, which will be sold at Charles’s Highgrove Estate farm shop as bespoke Duchy door stops. 

The gold was found at South Crofty mine, near Camborne, which was once the heart of Cornwall’s historic tin industry.  It  remained closed for nearly a decade until Western United Mines was granted permission to search for tin, copper, zinc and other metals in 2006. Two years ago, the firm carried out tests on extracted material and found traces of gold.

Christmas has come early for the first 15 individuals in the line of succession to the English throne, for they will all be offered gold replacement fillings in their royal gobs! As usual, the great British public can expect f**k all, which apparently, is more than we deserve!

I’M ACTIVE…RADIOACTIVE!

A heap of scrap metal.

A heap of scrap metal. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

‘FASHION! TURN TO THE LEFT, FASHION! TURN TO THE RIGHT. OOOH FASHION!’ Women’s leather belts sold by the fashion website ASOS (not to be confused with ACAS, the Advisory, Conciliation & Arbitration Service) were recalled last year after the metal studs in them were found to be RADIOACTIVE! Retailing at £28:00, 50 belts are known to have been bought by the fashion company. Made using cheap contaminated scrap metal in India, the belts contain Cobalt-60 which releases gamma rays. An extended exposure is a known risk of cancer. Ladies, certainly buy a belt in order to keep up your slacks, but don’t become a SLAVE to fashion, there could be health risks. Next time ladies try buying something MADE IN BRITAIN, otherwise you may find yourself GLOWING in the dark! Yes, an advantage to a possessive boyfriend, but no good use to you. Now if you want to RADIATE charm in order to standout from the crowd, work on your social skills!

‘HIGH SOCIETY’…THE QUEEN CHARLOTTE’S ‘DEBUTANTES’ BALL!

King George III and Queen Charlotte with their...

King George III and Queen Charlotte with their six eldest children in 1770. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Believe it or not, while you and worry about the cost of feeding ourselves and heating our ‘mortgaged to the hilt’ homes,  debutantes…17 to 20 year-old daughters of the ruling class are still presenting themselves to the aristocracy at the Queen Charlotte’s Ball at the Royal Courts of Justice. Young women…not necessarily virgins…from the richest families are invited to the ball where, after months of careful preparation, which involves etiquette classes and charity fund-raising, the free-range reared young debutantes are able to show off their skills in poise and elegance, the purpose of which is to present themselves to potential aristocratic suitors smelling of champagne, roses and truffle oil. Some critics suggest the ‘social event of the season’ is no more than an upmarket meat market where ‘gene depleted aristocrats’ can refresh their 1000-year-old gene pools by taking in new blood. You see no longer do members of English aristocracy marry first cousins for fear of producing sub-normal specimens. The ball is the only time the phrase ‘coming out’ does not refer to the closet! Naturally taking a selfie is considered de rigueur!

In order to stand any chance of being hailed ‘Deb of the Year’, months of preparation are involved. Charity work, numerous couture dress fittings, diamond studded tiaras and precious jewellery must be picked, etcetera, etcetera, oh, and dieting, after all, no one with a fat ass will stand any chance of being saluted as deb of the year, will she? Debs with backsides the size of a chuck wagons must waddle off to Harley Street in order to undergo rear end maintenance…or liposuction. Here debutants can de-butt themselves on daddy’s credit card.

Queen Charlotte’s Ball was introduced by King George III in 1780 as a way to celebrate his wife’s birthday. Up until 1958, young debutantes used to be  presented to the Queen at Buckingham Palace, but no longer. The white dresses worn by the debutantes are a nod to the virginity that was once required of a bride. They are also a reminder of the outfits worn by Queen Charlotte’s ladies, all single women. The ball was cancelled in 1976 after an outbreak of gonnohorea amongst the upper class, but was resurrected in 2007 when new antibiotics became available.

*I once tried to access and aristocratic vagina, but unfortunately the blue-blood’s dance card was full!

THE ENGLISH ARE A RACE OF PIGS!

professor joao magueijo

…According to Portuguese Joao Magueijo, 47, physics professor at Imperial College, London in his book ‘Bifes Mal Passados’. Presumably having spent 25-years in England he feels amply qualified to denounce all 53million of us as scum? Although professor Magueijo says he appreciates the ‘tolerance, creativity and madness’ of England, he calls my country of birth, ‘One of the most rigid and rotten societies in the world’. Hey, doesn’t that outpouring of bile kinda contradict the man’s appreciation of our ‘tolerance, creativity and madness’ ? In his book that has yet to be translated into English because ‘much would be lost in translation’, he describes Blackpool beach as a good place to spot ‘human whales’. Thank goodness the professor didn’t hold back! He goes on to describe us  as ‘A group of animals’ who are pathologically ‘violent’. Being a Catholic, he may well see England as a Godless place. Perhaps it is, but in any event, we English are ‘Unrestrained wild beasts who eat food so greasy it needs detergent’. Furthermore, we are sexually depraved, and our health & hygiene standards are appalling! Huh, talk about biting the hand that feeds you? If professor Magueijo hates England so much, why has he remained here for so long? Is it that he enjoys the working climate, the standard of living and the exalted position he would not enjoy in Portugal? Perhaps his tenure at Imperial College is coming to an end? How on earth can a supposed ‘intelligent’ man who has spent the majority of the last 25-years on a university campus denounce 53million people, the majority of who he has not met? Sure we breed scum, we always have, but they don’t make up the majority! I know of many individuals who are sophisticated, cultured and scholarly. Mentioning in his book the stark contrast between we English and the poor Portuguese, I wonder if the above named published author has, or intends donating his earnings from past, present and future publications to his own underclass? Disloyalty cannot and should not be forgiven. To bite the hand that feeds you is the action of a thoroughly thoughtless person! We English can do without professor Joao Magueijo, for I have yet to hear of a ‘bitter’ man ever changing the world for the better, have you?

THE VIAGRA CAPITAL OF ENGLAND IS…

English: Westminster Palace in London, The Gre...

English: Westminster Palace in London, The Great Westminster Clock; The bell within the clock tower is named ‘Big Ben.’ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The ‘sleepy’ Warwickshire village of Coleshill (population 6,343), where for every 1,000 men, 55 are prescribed the anti-impotency drug. Wait a minute…what do you mean, sleepy…hardly that! Me thinks they are having a high old-time in Coleshill! Bottom of the table is the City of London with only one man in every thousand being prescribed the little blue pills. Presumably, here the men are getting their rocks off trading shares on the Stock Exchange. Last year Westminster was the impotence capital of England. Hardly surprising, when you realise that all the politicians in the Palace of Westminster must defer to Brussels. A power drain would make anyone limp.

THE THOUGHTS OF CHAIRMAN MEOW!

English: Mo Farah during 2011 World championsh...

English: Mo Farah during 2011 World championships Athletics in Daegu (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The world’s oldest man just died at the grand old age of 112. So what? We seem to be too preoccupied with longevity. It’s not how long we spend on Earth that’s important, but how we occupy ourselves during the intervening period between birth and death. There seems to be so many pressures in the West as to how we should act & react, and even what we are expected to like. It is very difficult in today’s media-conscious society to be brave and behave as individuals, and those few who manage it tend to stand out from the crowd. Governments and other influential bodies try so hard to corral our minds. I’m glad I’m not a kid any more!

Why are we so preoccupied with first place? The elevation of sporting stars to almost God-like status is troubling, after all, the athletes compete for themselves, not for you and I. I’m all for celebrating great achievements, but lets not lose sight of reality. Many long-standing records that are broken are done so with the help of technological developments that weren’t around 30 odd years ago.

Consider the incalculable damage American Lance Armstrong has done to the premier cycling event, the Tour De France? He turned The Tour into a mockery. So much so, that it can no longer be taken as seriously as it once was. All it took was one man to destroy the reputation of a world-class event. The next cyclist to break a long-standing time trial record will automatically come under suspicion, even if he passes a drugs test! Individuality in a non-competitive arena is just as important!

Our perception of the very rich, the famous and the talented is completely different to how we perceive one another. Take for example Alexander Thynn, the 7th Marquess of Bath, resident of Longleat House. He lives the life of the eccentric, has numerous girlfriends living on his estate, whom he calls wifelets. If you or I behaved as he does, well, the Press would pillory us. Artist Lucien Freud was said to have fathered 30 children by a coterie of lovers. Isn’t it strange the behavioural latitude society allows a genius…behaviour you and I would not be allowed to get away with. The rich, famous and talented can get away with almost anything because we hold them on a pedestal, a pedestal they don’t deserve. Many of us might choose a hedonistic lifestyle, but it is nothing to be admired. Don’t be so quick to dismiss the harm people do others. Admire those who do no harm. Primum non nocere. “first, do no harm.”

KYRGYZSTAN’S GOT TALENT…’WORLD NOMAD GAMES’!

world nomad gamesFour-hundred athletes from twenty countries are taking part in the inaugural World Nomad Games in Kyrgyzstan. Watched by viewers in 40-countries, the organisers are expecting 20-million people to tune in to watch men participate in Kor Buru (a team that uses a dead goat as a ball), Kyz-Kuumai (chasing girls on horseback), Oodarysh (wrestling on horseback) and Tyin Emmei (picking up a coin while riding at full speed). Survivors are not expected! Simon Cowell can only drool at the viewing figures! The World Nomad Games makes Sunday Night at the London Palladium sound positively tame!

PREFAB SPROUT!

Wiki-House Why is there a housing crisis in Britain? There are too many people in the UK. Property is too expensive, and thus out of reach of the average earner. Not enough new, affordable homes are being built. Available plots of land are few and far between, and go for a premium. Banks are not lending. The answer to the housing crisis may be the launch of a 2-bedroom home that anyone can put together in a few days. The prototype of the 2-storey, Wiki-House 4.0, which can be built for less than £50,000 stands outside the Building Centre, London as part of this year’s London Design Festival. Made from blueprints that can be downloaded from the internet for free, the 68 square metre, wood-framed home is a ‘self-assembly’ project. Sounds good in theory, however, where are you going to erect your Wiki-House? You still need to purchase a small plot of land and obtain planning permission! If you don’t have £50,000 plus the cost of the land, which could be £50,000 to £100,000, who is going to lend you the money? What insurance company is going to insure your self-assembly home without relevant building certificates? In my humble opinion the project is doomed to failure!

BOOB JOB LITE!

breast implantTwo Israeli brothers, a plastic surgeon and a biomedical engineer, believe they’ve invented the most lightweight silicone implant ever, B-Lite weighing 30% less than the standard breast implant due to the patented technology. Of the 1.5 million implant operations performed worldwide every year, most are performed on heterosexuals, but don’t dismiss the transsexual market, which is ever-growing! So ‘ladies’, no more discomfort, skin stretching and back pain…hopefully! And if you are worried about ‘safety’ and ‘quality’, following the French PIP breast implant scandal, B-Lite is manufactured in a German factory that has been producing breast implants for 25 years. Herr Klinkenmeister has a ‘solid’ rep! So I guess its Vorsprung durch Technik (Advancement through technology) all the way! Now if only the inventors can link up with Phillips, they might eventually produce a really lightweight breast implant with built-in, coloured LED lights that could double as emergency airport landing lights. That would offer recipients of B-Lite the opportunity to earn a little extra cash. Hey, breast implants may eventually pay for themselves? Here’s hoping!

 

 

 

 

SCOTTISH INDEPENDENCE…A ‘DIRTY TRICKS’ CAMPAIGN!

loch ness monsterPro-independent Scottish First Minister Alex ‘Smoke’ Salmond has intimated that should Scottish residents vote to secede from the United Kingdom and go solo, he might ask the Royal Navy to bugger offski from its Clyde Nuclear Submarine base at Faslane if the British Government doesn’t allow Scotland to retain the Pound! It’s either piss-off, or pay increased mooring fees of 3000%! Interestingly, it is during the current Scot-Inde campaign that there has been a significant increase in the number of sightings of the Loch Ness Monster! In an obvious ploy to boost Scottish tourism, it would appear Nessie has been drafted in to play an important part in the debate! F**king sea monsters…when you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all! Why in the latest photo-shopping scandal, the Loch Ness Monster has appeared with a sign around its neck, ‘Vote YES to Independence and come and take a selfie with me!’

Rich in reserves of oil, fishing grounds and renewable energy, Mr Salmond has also suggested that should an independent Scotland be allowed to reapply to join the European Union, the country would contribute more than it would take out in subsidies. In other words, Scotland would be a net contributor. Can we get that in writing please!!

WHAT’S UP WITH THE CATWALK?

English: A Cirque du Soleil clown at the Mirag...

English: A Cirque du Soleil clown at the Mirage Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As a non-functioning catwalk model, I often wonder who buys…and more importantly, who wears those ridiculous dresses…no, costumes that appear on the international runways. They are not so much…clothing, as installations, and sometimes constructed of well, bubble wrap and metal? Surely they require planning permission? Can you imagine the average woman sitting in one of them, driving in one of them, walking down the supermarket aisle in one of the creations? Some of the creations wouldn’t be out-of-place in a production of Phantom of the Opera, or in a Cirque du Soleil show. Oh how utterly absurd some of the dresses are! I’m all for encouraging creativity, but sometimes there’s something to be said for stifling it too! In the words of David Bowie, ‘Fashion! Turn to the left. Fashion! Turn to the right. Oooh, fashion!’ Frankly, I doubt models can!

SO WHAT’S ‘REALLY’ IN A WOMAN’S HANDBAG?

English: A model with no name recognition, who...

English: A model with no name recognition, who many photographers started to photograph outside the 2009 Spring collection Mercedes-Benz New York Fashion Week. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What links a woman’s handbag, a standard size vagina and Dr Who’s Tardis? Well, they are all larger on the inside than the outside!

Men, a word of caution before you place your fingers inside your girlfriend’s handbag. According to new research by Mentos Gum, E.coli, poisonous bacteria and even traces of faeces have been found lurking at the bottom of women’s handbags. Faecal Streptococcus can cause bloody stools, stomach cramps, diarrhoea, pneumonia and bacterial meningitis. 33% of women never clean their bags, and many admit to carrying dirty underwear in them, along with half chewed, saliva-covered gum. I’m not afraid, I like to live life to the max!

If you have ever wondered what Her Most gracious Majesty Queen Elizabeth 2nd carries in her handbag, you need wonder no further. I have it on good authority my monarch has in her handbag…house keys, a Taser gun and business cards made from the dried skin of flayed British peasants. “Hi, I’m the Queen of England, f**k you!” So, no traces of faeces there then!

SEX IN A CEMETERY!

cemetery 5

Well it’s not for everyone. I mean dogging in the ‘great outdoors’ can I suppose rejuvenate an ailing relationship, unless of course it’s the dead of winter and you end up with frostbite to the extremities, but a planned ‘military’ campaign to frolic among the headstones can lead to all sorts of problems, least of all, chaffing!

Anyway, Julia came straight out with it. “David, you’re boring.” I was too. Ever since I got that new hard drive recorder all I wanted to do was sit in front of the television and watch old episodes of M.A.S.H. Mind you, adding a ‘laughter’ track was a big mistake. It sounded so fake! Where was I? Yes, Julia! We’d made love in every room in the house, including the utility cupboard. If we ever do it again I’ll remember to tie down the ironing board before it has a chance to dislodge itself from the wall and clunk me on the head again. Frankly, I saw stars, and it wasn’t a constellation I recognised!

“How about a cemetery,” Julia said. “Thanks,” I replied, “But I’m not quite ready for that. Darling, I’ve got a lot of living left in me!” Julia elbowed me in the ribs and got barbecue sauce all over her cardigan sleeve. “Hey,” I said, “I was eating that!” Anyway, the long and short of it was, she who must be obeyed for a quiet life ‘insisted’ we make love in a graveyard. “Have you any denomination in mind,” I asked, hoping for time to talk Julia out of it. Unfortunately the ‘lady’ wasn’t for turning! “Well actually, I was hoping to do it on my grandmother’s grave!” Apparently grandma Ethel was a proper bitch. “Well I hope there’s not going to be any climbing involved, because a lot of the cemeteries are locked up tight at night!”

Row 72, plot 346, West Herts Municipal Cemetery, 11pm. “Hey,” I said, shining a torch. “What are all those pebbles doing on the grave?” Julia replied, “Visitors place them there.” Something flew past my ear. “But I thought you said your granny was ‘not’ well thought of?” Julia smirked. “Ethel was well liked in some quarters. She was a longstanding member of a witch’s coven.” I broke wind and disturbed a nestling owl. “Fuck me! Julia, please tell me Granny Ethel was at least a white witch!” My partner in crime gleefully shook her head. “So,” I said, “Did you at least remember the sandwiches and thermos of coffee?” I shall never forget the look of disgust on Julia’s face. “It’s cunnilingus and a jolly good fuck we’re here for, not a teddy bear’s picnic! David, now would be the time to take our clothes off!” Engrossed as I was reading the gravestone epitaph, Julia suggestion to disrobe and assume the position had fallen on deaf ears. ‘Here lies Ethel Bradshaw, 92-years young. If anyone can rise again, she can!’ It was then that I spotted the broomstick lying beside the grave! “Julia,” I said, “I really don’t think our relationship is going anywhere!”