Folks, I recently received yet another rejection from a very well-known literary agency. The turnaround was supposed to be ten weeks, but this particular submission took twenty-weeks. ‘Dear David, although your submission stood head and shoulders above other submissions we received, regrettably none of our literary agents were sufficiently enthused by your work to offer you representation.’ I can imagine my submission went all over the building, to every agent and editor. Really, what must one do to in order to get an agent? Clearly a very good book isn’t good enough! The worst thing that can happen to a writer is…self-doubt!
According to the Manifesto Club (an anti-regulation group), local councils up and down the UK have been using their newly devolved powers under the 2014 Anti-Social Behaviour, Crime and Policing Act to blanket-bomb communities with Community Protection Notices (CPNs) in order to control or so-called anti-social behaviour. According to the Manifesto Club that claim CPNs ‘undermine the privacy and sanctity of the home’, 107 councils have imposed nearly 4,000 CPNs in the year to October 2015. Introduced to prohibit activity that has a detrimental effect on people’s quality of life, the law allows council officers to hand out £100 on-the-spot fines, whilst failure to comply can lead to £2,500 court fine and a criminal conviction.
It can therefore be argued that an Englishman’s home is no long his castle!? On the other hand, 4,000 CPNs issued to a population of 64-million is not a great number. Haven’t we all at one time or another been subjected to anti-social behaviour of a lousy neighbour? I know I have! Shit dumped in a front garden and left there! Loud music! Shouting matches! Dogs that never ever stop barking! Japanese Knotweed growing out of control! Youths congregating in a threatening manner at the end of your street! The fact is, most of the CPNs have almost certainly been issued to trashy people who have been given ample warnings to clean up their acts! Generation of children have had little to no parenting, which accounts to some extent why Society has to a great extent broken down. Action is therefore required, and immediately! Do council enforcement officers sometimes behave like little Hitlers, probably, and that’s unfortunate!
An apple a day may keep the doctor away, but a hypodermic needle in your ass may kill you! Oh dear me, 2,000 nursing associates being introduced into British hospitals will be able to administer controlled medicines and carry out invasive procedures without the direct supervision of a qualified nurse during their 2-year apprenticeships! In this life you get what you pay for, and this cheap alternative to registered nurses doesn’t appeal to me one little bit. So if you happen to find yourself in hospital, and happen to notice an unsupervised, trainee nursing associate approach you holding a hypodermic needle whilst wearing a surgical mask, ruin like hell and hope your own immune system will ward off infection! It really does gall me when the British Government sends abroad nearly £13 billion annually in foreign aid, much of which is ‘misappropriated’, when the once revered National Health Service is permanently short of qualified nurses. And the point of introducing unsupervised nursing associates into NHS hospitals? Saving £3,000-£5,000 per head, the difference between the wages of a nursing associate and a fully registered nurse! I wonder how many patients will end up dying from cerebral brain aneurysms? Hey, would you permit an unqualified, unsupervised, trainee veterinarian to treat your beloved dog?
Oh no, the Donald is not a revolting slug, but a humanitarian! The legion of women who claim Trump stuck his tongue down their throats failed to mention they were all choking on food at the time! All the Donald did was to save them by using his tongue to dislodge masticated food trapping his victims airways. Everyone knows, the tongue treatment is an alternative to using the Heimlich manoeuvre!
Just heard, John Lewis department store has launched a ‘Home For Christmas’ service, where, for £450:00 a ‘tree stylist’ will pick out the perfect specimen plus accessories and deliver them to your door. But wait, there’s more! Your tree stylist will erect your Christmas tree and decorate it too! And the process all starts with a free in-store Christmas consultation appointment. Yea Gods, and they say the Middle Classes have got their backs against the wall? Quite frankly, if you’re too busy to pick out your own tree and decorate it, well you shouldn’t be bloody celebrating Christmas! Grandparents will be turning in their graves!
Do you suffer from coulrophobia (fear of clowns)? Apparently a ‘killer craze’ that started in America has now crossed the pond to Britain, terrifying children and adults. Dressed as clowns, pranksters with fake knives have been spotted chasing people through the streets. I am not at all surprised professional clowns argue the crazy of scaring people out of their skinny-skin-skins is bringing the art of clowning into disrepute! Personally, I never had a problem with clowns until I read Steven King’s novel ‘IT’, about a murderous clown. The 1990 supernatural horror miniseries based upon the novel was equally scary. Frankly it is about time all clowns were neutered!
No, well I have! My younger brother Brian, 29, has successfully blackened my family name. Having been prosecuted 4 times for indecent exposure, and having spent in total, eleven months in prison, no one believed Brian could blacken our once good name still further, yet my brother managed it! Oh what a waste of a supernatural gift! You see Brian was born a precog, in that he possesses precognition as a form of extra-sensory perception. Has he used it to enrich the family coffers by playing the financial markets, no! Has Brian aided the police in catching murderers and rapists, no! Over the past eighteen months, my degenerate brother preoccupied himself by attending premiers and other celebrity haunts in order to feed his fascination with...gas! Using, or should I say, misusing the supernatural gift of precognition, wayward Brian is able to tell which celebrity about to fart, or as he so eloquently puts it, de-gas. Aided by preserve jars with lids, he creeps up behind famous, female celebrities and places an open jar adjacent to a derriere, and, well you can guess the rest! Brian has literary hundreds of fart-filled jars at his home. Although he doesn’t object vegan or vegetarian scented farts, he does tend to go positively ga-ga over female celebrities on the Atkins diet! Having let myself into his house, I recently caught Brian masturbating on his bed whilst surrounded by dozens of opened preserve jars. As it turned out, Brian’s ludicrous predilection for the farts of the famous has become a money-spinner. Selling fart-filled preserve jars online, degenerate Brian has amassed £40,000 in one month. Apparently the Japanese can’t get enough of Western hemisphere farts. Go figure? Apparently there’s no upper limit the Japs won’t pay for a complete set of fart-filled jars belonging to Western girl band members. Well, if that’s true, my advice to the members of Little Mix is…’register your back-end emissions as intellectual property’!
Not much has been mentioned in the media about future EU farming subsidies to Britain’s farmers. I suspect once PM Theresa May invokes Article 50, they’re gone! Will the British Government pick up the multi-million pound bill? Only time will tell!
American Satanists have won permission to start a children’s club at a primary school. The After-School Satan club will meet once a month at Sacramento Elementary in Portland, Oregon. A spokesperson for the city’s Satanic Temple, said the club would provide an alternative to the school’s Bible-centred Good News Club. Now I wonder who the After-School Satan club’s first guest speaker will be? “Gee Satan…nice hooves, great horns, but your breath ain’t cutting it!” How about a selfie? America: ‘Land of the free, home of the brave’. Lunatics welcomed!
Chopped Liver (Photo credit: @MSG)
“Darling, if you’ve run out of chocolate icing to put on the cake, well you can always use chopped liver!”
Over the years I have suffered from several skin ailments, from eczema to psoriasis to second-degree burns. No balm or ointment worked. Even Dead Sea minerals wouldn’t clear my complexion. As a last resort I tried rubbing chopped liver all over my skin. Wow! I’ve lost count of the number of people who comment on my beautiful complexion. When I mention that I moisturise using chopped liver people stare at me in disbelief. Of course there are certain times of the year when I find it hard to come by the stuff. Passover is one of them! Hoarding should be a crime!
Truly, the benefits of using chopped liver as a moisturiser cannot be underestimated. What follows is also a general feeling of well-being associated with an enhanced state of physical fitness. I run everywhere…I have to, if only to prevent the pack of wild cats and dogs catching up to me.
The Ambassador for chopped liver.
Wow, an exiting time for bibliophiles! An early draft of D. H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover has just been unearthed in Nottinghamshire. In it, Constance Chatterley is portrayed as a local gossip and alcoholic, who in later life succumbs to liver failure. Presumably ‘Lady Chatterley’s Liver’ didn’t have the same appeal as ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’?
Nah, me neither! I was in love once, and frankly, once was enough! Responsibility, expectations, compromises…who needs it? Let us not forget the painful break-up! I’m definitely out of love with love! People say, ” But what are you going to do when you get old?” “David, who’s going to look after you?” I’ll source a monkey on the internet and train it to act as my valet. Perhaps it’ll even nosh me off? Is that illegal?
Like many people, I like visiting grand historical houses and castles across the length and breadth of Britain. I particularly like visiting historical old Catholic homes that once belonged to historical old Catholics, for I have developed a particular interest in priest holes. Now as I’m sure you are aware, a priest hole is the term given to a hiding place for a priest built into many of the principal Catholic houses of England during the period when Catholics were persecuted by law in England. Many great houses had a priest hole built so that the presence of a priest could be concealed when searches were made of the building. They were cunningly concealed in walls, under floors, behind false fireplaces and behind water closets. The principle architect of said holes was Jesuit lay brother Nicholas Owen who was canonised as a martyr by Pope Paul VI in 1970, long after the man was tortured to death in the Tower of London.
Anyway, having entered Ripley Castle in North Yorkshire, I happened to approach a gentleman vicar and asked him if I could visit the priest hole. Later that night, having enjoyed an Italian meal washed down with two bottles of Chianti, conversation returned to the priest’s hole. “Mini cab!” It turned out I didn’t have Catholic tastes after all! I might be liberal in nature, but I’m no libertine!
When I ingesting food via an umbilical cord, one could only buy fragrant roses in two or three different colours. Thanks to horticultural genetic manipulation, roses now come in a multitude of different colours, but none possess any scent. Is not this development an example of insanity? Now we are in the 21st century and planning a mission to Mars, surely North Korea shouldn’t exist? If China doesn’t completely deconstruct its attack dog once and for all, eventually (20-years) North Korea will be bombed from the air by another Western allied coalition? I keep myself to myself because most people out there are plum crazy!
She forced me to rub garlic and herb-infused butter all over her naked body!