Category: Sunday Roast


Highlights of 2012

December 30 - 2012

What I thought I’d do this week is what many publications or television programs put out this time of year. We’re going to have a nostalgic look back at some of the pieces which I’ve roasted about during 2012. Or to put it another way – recycle a load of crap because I can’t be arsed to write a proper blog this week.

With that in mind …

January.

Ha! There was no January. I only started this site February 1. However, as I’ve pointed out on a number of occasions, the Sunday Roast ran for three years on Myspace. The decline of that site was the reason I decided to set up my own, but I am always thankful for Myspace,  even if it is now a total bag of shite.

June 10 Myspace

February.

Okay, this has to be one of my favourites, straight from the off.

Poor Roger Medwell. Imagine the scenario. You spend 55 years working for British Aerospace and on retiring as a director, they give you this …

Feb 12 roger-painting

Smile, Roger, smile. Stop gritting those teeth. You didn’t want a new surround sound system, anyway.

March.

If you follow my blogs, you’ll know I have a love/hate relationship with my own Walsall Council. I love to bait them, and they hate me for it. So much so, I’m told my site has been blocked, meaning council workers cannot read it while at work.

Anyway, after one of our spats, I trawled through their Twitter feed and came across this picture of their attempts to promote the town.

March 18 Hooker

What exactly are they trying to attract – prostitution? I think the idea was to display a layout for planned improvement. However, all it seemed to show was a damn good place to pick up hookers.

April.

This was a Titanic month. In fact, it was a theme which went on for quite a while. You see, I’ve always had this beef with the film, Titanic. You know, the fact that Rose is safe in the lifeboat but jumps back on board thus endangering Jack. All that, “I jump, you jump,” nonsense. If she’d stayed on the bloody lifeboat, Jack would have had that piece of wood to himself when the ship went down. Not only that, it was bloody well big enough for the both of them.

April 1 Titanic Water 2

Couldn’t she have given him a turn? And then there was his last words to her. “Don’t let go, Rose, don’t you ever let go.”

So what does she do? She bloody let go. Her may not have been dead, just in cold storage for a bit. What a cow.

May.

It was about this time I had loads of people searching for pictures of the dentally challenged when I did a bit about guests with bad teeth on the Jeremy Kyle Show.

Sorry, no dentures today. That was drilled to death in the summer. Go and search the archives.

My favourite piece this month showed the fine line between humour and tragedy, and that newspapers need to have a bloody good copy editor before they send the thing to print.

A note to anybody in the newspaper industry. Always check for inappropriate advertising placement before you run a story above it.

May 6 Headline

June.

This was it, the month when I took the kids on their annual holiday, only for it to piss down all week. As well as getting rained on, I was kept awake with my caravan being ten feet away from a main road. I also faced financial ruin after spending all my cash in amusement arcades because I couldn’t go anywhere due to  the aforementioned rain.

But did it end there? No! Not only did the machines bankrupt me, they wouldn’t pay out on the few occasions I did win.

June 17 Fruit Machine

Yes, IOU £1. That’s the first time I’ve ever been given an IOU from a machine.

July.

And to celebrate his 94th birthday, Nelson Mandela turns into a chameleon.

July 22 Chameleon Mandela

August.

And I can’t believe after many months, some people were still using their search engines to find Jeremy Kyle Teeth and ending up with me.

No – still not going to show any pics but one thing I did comment on was the evolution of man. You see, scientists reckon in a few million years, the human race will have evolved into a higher and lower species.

Millions of years? It’s already happened. Look!

Aug 11 Evolution of Chav

Ascent of man? I bloody hope not.

September.

Bit of a quiet month over here, but not in Haren – Holland after some silly girl posted on Facebook that she was having a party. 4000 people gatecrashed the event causing riots and thousands of pounds worth of damage.

Sept 30 Haren

4000 people! Imagine. That’s 4000 people without a social life.

October.

I spent much of this month traumatised after a good friend of mine, Rich, pointed out that the picture of the smiling Aquafresh family from the 80s, seemed to suggest the mother and father were siblings and their child could be the result of an incestuous relationship.

Oct 21 - Teeth

I’m still receiving counselling.

November.

November – I saw this strange sight.

Nov 25 - Solo Chair in Wolverhampton © Antony N Britt

A single seat for shoppers to sit on. All the others in Wolverhampton Centre appeared to be of a two or three seat variety. However, this one was on its own. A seat for Nobby No Mates.

Only in Wolverhampton.

December.

Two words to sum up December.

December 23 - Bah Humbug!

So that was 2012.

Not sure how long I’m going to go on roasting. Could be time for a break. Like a jar of pickled onions, there’s only so much you can take before things start to repeat. I mean, how much more can I wring out of the Titanic nonsense, or talk about Gothic Girl while going on about people with bad teeth on Jeremy Kyle.

Yes, I certainly think I should leave the latter, alone.

December 30 - Jeremy Kyle Teeth

Cheers.

Nick

Humbug!

December 23 - Scrooge

And I mean that about Christmas. It’s all a load of nonsense. A marketing ploy by the retailers to get folk to part with cash they haven’t got thus putting them in debt. Having said that, I’m not being a total Scrooge, myself. I do buy presents, but the kids get those of a modest price. Teach them the values of life – right? And for something which is supposed to be a season of goodwill, I see very little of that. People fighting over the must have toys and arguing in the Frozen Foods at Morrisons. I even saw a group of Santa Claus’ engaged in fisticuffs outside a wine bar in the town centre the other day. And for what? No sooner have you wrapped the last present and hid them up the loft, Christmas Day is upon us, then Boxing Day and it’s all over. Months to get ready and the bugger’s over in two shakes of an old man’s beard. I mean, you can spend longer in the queue at Toys Я Us than you can cooking your turkey dinner.

And that’s another thing – Father Christmas. We spend all year educating our children not to talk to strangers and if a funny old man offers them sweets, they are to run and tell an adult. However, on Christmas Eve while Dad is covering himself in sticky tape and Mum’s got her head stuck in the turkey, your kids are upstairs, wide awake and excited. So what do you do? You go and tell them a lie.

‘Son, you know what we always say about not talking to strange people? Well, ignore it tonight. You see, a creepy old man with a beard and wearing a red suit is going to come into your bedroom, mess around, then leave again. If you hear him, don’t make a sound!

December 23 - Santa Claus Conqers the Martians

I don’t know about you, but he scares the shit out of me.

We’re still here.

December 23 - The End of the World

The Mayans got it wrong. As if it was ever going to happen. A lot of fuss about nothing. All those people talking about the end of the world like there was no tomorrow.

But back to Christmas presents.

Now what should I get for folk? A few weeks ago I told of the hideous cuckoo clock in the style of Queen Nefertiti. In fact, it wasn’t a cuckoo clock, it was a Queen Nefertiti clock. This week I had a look on the company website of the firm which sold the Queen Nefertiti clock, just to see if there was anything else which was as hideous and boy, I was not disappointed.

For £149.95 plus £9.99 postage, they are selling a 16” hand-crafted porcelain sculpture of Pippa Middleton

December 23 - Pippa Middleton Statue

That’s right. For an extortionate fee, you too can own a figurine of somebody who isn’t going to be the next Queen of England.

Pippa Middleton … Seriously?

Okay, if I don’t want to spend that much, I could look for a more budget buy.

I saw this in my local supermarket. A three DVD collection of Lance Armstrong’s career.

December 23 - Lance Armstong

That’s three DVDs for £5. Dear me, there’s nothing like a bit of drug taking and disgrace to get you sent to the bargain bin. Lance Armstrong for Christmas? I’d prefer to have Stretch Armstrong.

But talking of cheap and nasty Christmas presents …

The thing I am most grateful for at Christmas time, these days is that I am no longer related or obliged to have any contact with my ex in-laws. For the first ten years of married life, I only received one present off them. Having said that, even though I didn’t apply the same principles, I did try to get even. You see one year I was tasked with the duty of buying the pressies and I made sure I got the in-laws the cheapest, tackiest load of rubbish I could possibly have found. Hideous picture frames, hair curlers which would rip your hair to shreds … You name it, I got it. The thing is, it backfired. The in-laws had no taste. They loved the gifts.

After a while I stopped getting presents for them. Seeing as one half of them stole off me and other half knew about it, I used to think why bother? Just invite them round for Christmas dinner and they’d help themselves.

Christmas is two days away and I am worried about my neighbours friends.

Yes, no Christmas roast would be complete without the Stroods.

This year is the 16th Christmas in my house and without fail in the run-up, I get a wrongly delivered card to Mr & Mrs E Strood. The Stroods live one number higher than myself and are about ten metres down on the other side the road. The card is sent to them from friends, Betty and Bert, but it is always addressed incorrectly to my house. As a result, every year I mount a clandestine operation in the middle of the night to deliver it to the correct address, by hand.

IMAG0268

The view from my window with the Stroods house down the road on the right behind the hedge.

Why don’t I just tell the Stroods and hand it personally? Come on, I’m British. We only speak to our neighbours after spending twenty years nodding at one-another. The one time we communicate with the people around us is the time they move house. Then, and only then will we smile, go over to these total strangers and say, ‘Well, I see you’re moving, then.’

Year after year I mount my mission. One occasion I made a mess of it, set off two security lights, knocked over a wheelie bin and got chased by a dog, ending up in a hedge. Two years ago was really difficult. It had snowed. I left tracks everywhere and had to go out with a brush to sweep them away.

I was expecting to do this again but however, December 23 – No card.

Oh no! I’m worried about Betty and Bert. I hope nothing’s happened to them. I kind of got used to the card turning up. I’m going to be really disappointed if after all these years, the Stroods have finally told them the correct address.

Just done all my shopping and was asked that dreaded question.

‘Are you all ready for Christmas?’

Arrrggghh! Ready for what? I mean, it’s not like the world is going to end, that was last week.

Bloody Christmas. Scrooge got it right. Lot of fuss about nothing. Still, it is a time of joy and many folk are happy this time of year.

Yes … the retailers.

December 23 - Bah Humbug!

Cheers.

Nick

The end of the world is nigh.

Dec 16 End of the World

Well it is if you follow the Mayan calendar. Apparently, next Friday, the world will come to an end because this is the date the Mayans foretold it would. I wouldn’t worry too much, they didn’t stop their own downfall coming so why should they have got this right. If they were that clever all those thousands of years ago, they’d have been working on space flight to get out the place pretty damn quick.

As I have said before, there is a possible explanation why their calendar ends 21 December 2012. Maybe they simply ran out of paper.

And if the world is going to end …

Is there any point in me going to see The Hobbit if I’ll never get a chance to see the other two films?

Dec 16 The Hobbit

Yes, I still can’t get over that one. The Hobbit is being made into three films. I loved Lord of the Rings. I’d waited years for such a fantastic version to be made and I could quite accept it being in three parts. But The Hobbit? Talk about milking an audience. I thought splitting Harry Potter into two was needless but Hobbit is only a couple of hundred pages long.

Am I being a grump when my first reaction to three films over three years was, ‘Oh Christ, do we have to do this again?’

So if I’m not going to watch The Hobbit due to the world ending, I’ll throw a pop concert instead.

And first on the bill will have to be Morrissey, mainly because he’s so blooming dull and pointless, it won’t matter that he’s the opening act. Nobody will mind as they’ll all be in the bar.

Dec 16 Morrissey

Morrissey, former front-man with The Smiths and singer of droning crap lyrics, made an astonishing rant this week. When speaking about the death of nurse Jacintha Salhanda, the woman who killed herself over the backfired Duchess of Cambridge radio prank, Morrissey blamed, not the Aussie DJs, but the Duchess herself. Makes a change. Didn’t the prat always sing we should Hang the DJs?

Morrissey questioned if the Duchess really was ill and it was her fault for being in hospital in the first place. The guy really is a moron. Not only that, he has caused me to defend the bloody royal family for the second time in two weeks. Grrrr!

Oh, let’s get the irritating ones out the way next.

I read this week that there was a plot to kidnap Justin Bieber and castrate him.

Noooooo! Do we need the little twerp to be able to sing in an even higher-pitched squeaky voice?

Dec 16 Justin Bieber

Yes, Justin, you do still have two. Maybe they’ll drop in a few years when you hit puberty.

Okay, so not only in this roast have I stuck up for the royal family again, I have Google-searched Justin Bieber. I’m going to have to delete my browsing history.

Which direction shall we take now?

Feb 26 One Direction

It’s going to be One Direction, here looking ridiculous in romper suits. Recently, band member Harry Styles has courted controversy by dating Taylor Swift. Apparently, their relationship has been likened to that of Yoko Ono when she gatecrashed the Beatles.

No. No, no, no, no no!

Difference: Taylor Swift has talent and is gorgeous. Yoko Ono just wailed into a microphone and looked like a … Okay, I won’t say it. Also, the Beatles are the biggest music act in history. One Direction (or 1D as they are trendily called) are a karaoke boy-band and one of a current breed of generic bags of shite whose instruments always appear to play themselves.

Now I mentioned the Beatles just then …

The music world was rocked this week when Paul McCartney teamed up with the remaining members of Nirvana. I’ve never known such an outcry. The horror of it. Saying that, all he did was jam on stage with Dave (God) Grohl, Krist Novoselic and Pat Smear.

Dec 16 Nirvana & McCartney

However for their next collaboration … a fresh recording of Smells Like Teen Spirit.

I feel stupid and contagious. Here we are now, entertain us. Yeah, yeah, yeah!

And the headline act – direct from a train journey to Potters Bar.

80s Pop star, Kim Wilde was a little worse for wear when she boarded a train with brother Ricky after a boozy Christmas party. However, what I wouldn’t have given to have been a passenger and witness her slurring rendition of Kids in America.

Dec 16 Kim Wilde Train

Kim, your other early hit was You Keep Me Hanging On. Back in 1981, you kept this young teen of the time, hanging onto parts of his anatomy while looking at a poster of you taken out of Smash Hits Magazine. And for that, I thank you. Merry Christmas, Kim. Grow old disgracefully, that’s what I say. Rock & Roll.

But back to the impending doom.

So … If the world really is about to end, does that mean I don’t have to struggle with my Christmas tree? Yay! Okay, probably not a good reason to be thankful for the end of the world, but what should I do if it does look like it’s going to go bang? I know, I’ll dig out an old copy of Smash Hits and relive one or two happy childhood memories.

Dec 16 Kim WIlde

Cheers.

Nick

A brief note to all my readers …

There will be no mention this week of a certain event which occurs on the 25th of this month where the entire world goes mad over some mythical character, and I don’t mean the one in the red suit, either. I’ve had enough already and it’s still sixteen days away. Therefore, the other C-word is banned.

Think of the consequences before you pull a stunt like that.

This is what comes of our celebrity culture. You get knobs like those two Australian radio presenters – Mel Grieg and Michael Christian. They decided it was funny to ring King Edward VII Hospital where the future Queen Kate, Duchess of Wherever, was ill in hospital. Pretending to be the Queen and Prince Charles, they were astonishingly put through by nurse, Jacintha Saldanha. After being given personal details by another nurse, the two presenters hung up. Laughed at how clever they were.

December 9 - Australian Radio Twats, Mel Grieg and Michael Christian

Mel Grieg and Michael Christian – smugly pleased with themselves for pulling their stunt.

The consequence has been widely reported. Nurse Jacintha Saldanha apparently killed herself, reportedly distraught over the mess-up. Now who is to blame? Yes, procedure totally failed. She did wrong putting the call through. However, when you play a prank, it is only okay if everybody else taking part is in on the gag, apart from the victim, and then have the victim give the okay for it to be broadcast. Did these idiots in Australia have the permission of the royals to be stooges in this stunt? No, and I can’t believe I’m actually defending the royal parasites I hate so much, but in this case, I have sympathy.

The knock-on will see the media will whip up a storm against these two fools now and we may not have seen an end to tragedy. It’s done. Hard lessons learned. Leave them alone as they have to live with the fallout.

The presenters may have thought is a harmless joke and wouldn’t have done this in hindsight. However, at the very least, they must have known they’d put staff in a position of facing serious disciplinary action, all for a few laughs at the time. As it turned out, the nurse couldn’t cope.

It is reported Jacintha Saldanha had the full support of her hospital. However, I know, as in most public sector organisations, the majority of hardworking staff are supervised by middle-management tosspots who’d be looking to lay the blame at any door apart from their own. So think on folks before you play a joke. What could be the result from a few minutes of idiotic actions?

And The Sun’s take on this …

Scummy paper, The Sun, commented yesterday that the nurse’s death was heartbreaking and bewildering. They have lashed loads of sympathy. But aren’t they also to blame? It is papers like theirs who create this intrusive culture and obsession with celebrities. If people were more protected from vultures like those at The Sun, then perhaps two planks on an Australian radio show might have thought twice about invading privacy. Instead, they reckoned that as the press do it all the time, why shouldn’t they?

May 6 The Scum

But what else has the Scum been reporting?

I speak about consequences of jokes and how they could backfire, but what about when it backfires on yourself. When premiership footballer, Liam Ridgewell had a snap taken of him wiping his arse with a £20 note in order to wind up a mate who’d lost a bet, he didn’t think it would be passed around and end up in The Sun.

December 9 - Liam Ridgwell £20 notes

No, I don’t want to post a picture of him wiping his arse, he’s already made himself look enough of one anyway. Now the butt of all jokes (sorry, couldn’t resist that one), Liam was branded by The Sun as being the vilest footballer in Britain.

Come on, give the man a break. He may have had a perfectly good reason to use a £20 note as toilet paper. Perhaps he hadn’t had his copy of The Sun delivered that day?

Liberal Demolition.

It seems the Lib/Dems are on the verge of extinction after being wiped out in three local elections the other week. Well, you can’t say Nick Clegg and his pathetic party weren’t warned. That’s what you get when you sell-out your own principles for fifteen minutes of power.

December 9 - Nick Clegg

Ah, Nick, no wonder you look glum. Having broken the promises you made after deciding to turn your back on all who voted for you and use their support to prop up the Tory opposition your followers voted against.

I have to admit defeat.

Not often I say that but for only the second time in my life, I gave up on a book after struggling to read 100 pages. We Need to Talk About Kevin, by Lionel Shriver has sold millions and won awards. How? I couldn’t see it. Perhaps it’s just me. After taking ten tedious days of groaning at each page I turned, I thought it deserved no more of my attention. Very passive, lazy style full of needless waffle. 100 pages and bugger all has happened. It’s written in the form of letters from the main character to her estranged ex. If he had to put up with that all the time, no wonder he left and lives the other side of the world. I can imagine him hearing the letterbox and dreading. ‘Oh no, not another bloody one from her.’ Pages of his ex telling him their past. Er … he already knows.

December 9 - Corner reserved for crap books. © Antony N Britt

We Need to Talk about Kevin. Up the loft, waiting to be filed in the corner of books marked crap.

Back to an author I trust, methinks.

And following on from last week and the Simon Cowell observation …

Simon now says he can’t return to the UK version of the X-Factor without damaging the franchise on both sides of the Atlantic.

Oh, please do, Simon. Come back and destroy the show for good and stop filling our airwaves with bland generic karaoke singers recycling other artist’s crap.

Things that go clink in the night.

A family in Yorkshire had to flee their home after being disturbed by the clinking of cups as an alleged ghost, apparently kept trying to make cups of tea.

May 13 Ghost

The Doherty family left their council house after kettles were switched on and cups shook from their mug stand. Hmm, it’s always a council house in these cases. Looking to be re-housed, Mr Doherty? You think they’d be grateful. Why not leave all the mugs full of tea bags when you go to bed? Then you’ll have a steaming hot drink waiting for you when you got up in the morning.

That about wraps another roast …

And I didn’t mention Christmas, once.

December 9 - D'oh!

Did it, just then. Damn!

Cheers

Nick

A little festive message.

Following my post last week where I spoke about a house full of Christmas lights which Blackpool would be proud of, I can finally say one thing.

Dec 2 - December

Now … it’s okay to stick your decorations up.

So, what’s been happening in the news?

I know it was over a week ago, but the Archbishop of Canterbury said the Church of England has lost credibility after the motion supporting women Bishops was rejected. Credibility? I’m not sure a cult reliant on brainwashing kids from birth and filling their heads full of fairy stories with no factual basis has any credibility.

And talking of Christianity – or any religious nonsense, come to think of it …

I was reading about Two and a Half Men star, Angus T Jones, the other day. Haven’t seen the show for a few years but the once cheeky kid is now approaching 20-years-old. You’d think with the millions he earns (£200,000 an episode), he’d be happy in his life. But no, what does he go and do? He’s only found God and now proclaims the show which made his fortune is nothing but filth.

Dec 2 - Two and a Half Men 2

Angus, having a revelation.

Word from the wise, Angus. Don’t slag off the goose that laid your golden egg. But if you do have the courage of your convictions, are you now going to give all your immorally gotten gains to a church charity? Hmm … probably not. Hypocrite. It’s amazing how religion can make supposedly rational thinking people talk complete tripe.

Dec 2 - Two and a Half Men

Just thought I’d show a picture of the sitcom from a time before one of these actors lost the plot, acted like a complete moron and potentially killed their career. The other guy in the shot is Charlie Sheen.

The fix- factor.

I see Simon Cowell has been trying to contrive a result on his own show. He tweeted about X-Factor, last week.

Dec 2 - Simon Cowell

Smarten your English, Simon. UK should be in capital letters. Isn’t it up to the public to vote for their favourite, not for the ones Simon thinks will be the biggest star and make him the most money? Apparently, Simon fears a situation where he could have a poor result with some cheesy act triumphing. Heaven forbid. The last thing we want is another karaoke singer churning out bland cover versions.

Oh! Just realised. That is the job description of an X-Factor contestant.

And talking of rubbish TV shows …

I hate these celebrity reality shows, and non more than I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!

The hackles of dart player, Eric Bristow’s family have been raised this week. They want to sue the TV show as they say Eric had been badly edited and portrayed as a bully.

Dec 2 - Eric Bristow

What are they trying to imply, that the TV company has planted a double of Eric and ordered him to be mean? It’s a reality show! It doesn’t matter how much you edit something, if the guy’s said it, it has to be true.

Twits.

Mis-match?

Read a story about 72-year-old, Arthur Hughes who has ditched his wife to live with 27-year-old tennis coach, Sarah Douglas. Sarah’s mother isn’t impressed. She called Arthur, a dirty old man.

Rubbish. He’s a lucky old man.

A Christmas present nobody should be without.

Is this the tackiest ornament – ever? It was advertised on the back of a free magazine, and it can be yours in time for Christmas.

Dec 2 - Clock

Yes, the only cuckoo clock inspired by the wonders of Ancient Egypt.

The blurb says it plays an exotic melody (I bet it’s the sand dance). It also boasts Queen Nefertiti’s regal procession which actually (gasp) rotates around the base. And then (wait for it), the jewel in the crown of tat. Yes, on the stoke of every hour, a sculptured bust of Queen Nefertiti emerges from the centre of the mystical cuckoo clock.

Actually, it’s not a cuckoo clock, it’s a bloody Queen Nefertiti clock, but don’t worry, for an extortionate five installments of £25.99 plus £9.99 packing, it can be yours. Yes, that’s only £140 for the most hideous thing you’d ever want on your living room wall.

Seriously, do people actually buy these things? I reckon you’d have to be koo-koo.

And following on from the Jimmy Savile scandal …

It now seems former MP, Cyril Smith was a pedophile who sexually abused boys. He died two years ago yet was investigated in the 70s and the 90s on numerous occasions. Who allowed him to go unpunished and also, if his crimes were widely known before 1988, why was he knighted in that year?

It seems it’s not just the sex offenders who are guilty.

Charming treatment for a prince.

It’s normally The Sun newspaper I have a go at. However, this week, I saw an article on The Mail Online about pop star, Adam Ant’s current tour. Whoever captioned the photos in the article seemed to be full of themselves in the way they wanted to poke fun at how Adam struggles to fit into his costume these days, and that he is not such a Dandy Highwayman any more.

Dec 2 - Adam Ant

So – fucking – what!

Okay, Mr or Ms Mail Online Journalist, did you have three number one singles and an image instantly recognisable thirty years on?

No, I bet you bloody didn’t. Adam’s approaching sixty. Doesn’t mean you have to curl up and start wearing cardigans.

Adam Ant – Don’t you ever stop being a dandy. Ridicule is nothing to be scared of.

Let the festive spirit begin.

My decorations may go up in about two weeks time. I think that’s more than festive for me. I should begin shopping though. Now, who can I give that Egyptian clock to?

Cheers.

Nick

In the name of sanity …

You may remember me talking about Christmas the other week and how we seem to start shopping in October. Well, I was driving home the other evening in the pouring rain, slowed down for a second, and saw it.

Duh, duh, duuuuuurrrr!

I know it’s blurry, but you can just about make it out through a rainy windscreen – the horror. Yes, it wasn’t even late November at the time and some idiot had their Christmas decorations up.

I don’t know why some folk bother to take them down in the first place, they seem to be back up again before you know. I mentioned sanity in the title to this piece but with Christmas, sanity goes out of the window. Why do folk go overboard, spend thousands they can’t afford, all for some superstitious nonsense? Let’s face it, Chico Marx was right.

“There ain’t no Sanity Claus.”

A disturbing revelation.

The other week, I posted a piece about the dentist and to illustrate, used a still from the old Aquafresh advert with the smiling cartoon family. Well, thanks to my good friend, Mr Rich Wiltshir, I have been traumatised since by the image in my mind after an observation he made.

He said, “Am I the first to think the couple in your toothpaste add look like siblings?”

Arrrgghhh! I never thought of it before, but he’s right. The Aquafresh family are brother and sister and the cute Aquafresh child is a result of an incestuous relationship. Either that or Rich and I have far too much time on our hands.

It can’t be true. If they were inbred, they’d have bad teeth, not sparkling ones and they’d be on the Jeremy Kyle Show. As far as I can see, this family are off to Florida.

Bit of a Rolling ripoff …

I like the Rolling Stones. As I said the other week when commenting on a piece, I have some of their albums. However, I keep reading of fans complaining that their big 50th anniversary show in London was being ticketed at over £100 for the cheapest seats to nearly four times that for better ones.

An absolute ripoff. They should be ashamed. It’s not like they need the money. A decent tariff would have rewarded fans.

On another note, I see Bill Wyman has been drafted in to make a reunion appearance. I see everybody has conveniently forgotten he used to be a pedophile.

Yes, I know she was 18 when they married, but she states he’d been shagging her since she was 13. If it happened today, he’d subsequently be shagging a beefy skinhead called, Boris – in prison.

Strange things in a strange town.

Went to a great concert the other night in Wolverhampton by one of my favourites at the minute – Frank Turner. I took Matthew, my 13-year-old and it was on the way back to the car in Wolverhampton Town Centre, he pointed something out to me.

‘Look at that chair on its own.’

In Wolverhampton, seating is provided for shoppers. Most look like this …

However, the one my son pointed out was single and lonely, as is shown below.

I though it rather funny. But why install a single chair? The only thing I can think of is the politically correct brigade in Wolverhampton want to cater for all people so they have several solitary seats for those who have no mates.

Bureaucratic madness.

I read the other day that over 5000 under-aged offenders have received driving bans which have been imposed even though they are not legally old enough to drive. Five kids have had this ban even though they are only 11.

What the hell is the point of that? Yes, fine them and do everything the system allows within the range of common sense but why ban them from doing something they aren’t supposed to do anyway?

The circus comes to Stamford Bridge – again.

I see multimillionaire, Roman Abramovich wielded the axe again this week. Now when Roberto Di Matteo was sacked by West Bromwich Albion nearly two years ago, I thought it harsh. However, they were facing relegation and history shows the right decision was probably made, in hindsight. Still, Roberto went to Chelsea and became manager when the mad Russian sacked the last poor sod after half a season in charge. Robbie took the job, then went onto win the biggest prize in European football.

Not good enough for Abramovich. I mean, after a few games this season, Chelsea are only in 4th so Robbie had to go.

Bollocks. I feel for Chelsea fans … Actually, I don’t. They’ve had all this glory just because some billionaire wants to use them as his plaything. Still, what does Abramovic expect? A manager needs time. Far more than this twat gives them.

What a clown.

He has now installed former Liverpool manager, Rafa Benitez, in the hope he will lead Chelsea to the Premier League title. If past managers are anything to go by, Rafa shouldn’t worry about buying a house in SW6 just yet. Having a long stay in the Premier League? Rafa Benitez should expect a few weeks at a Premier Inn.

Don’t you know there’s a war on?

David Cameron has said that the battle for global prosperity is the same as the one we had when fighting Hitler.

Now there is a thing called Godwin’s Law. This is the idea that as soon as you bring Hitler and the Nazis into an argument, you immediately lose that argument.

Okay, not exactly the same but by using Hitler as a reference in this one, Cameron has proved one thing.

He is a pillock.

No – still not in the festive spirit.

And I won’t be for many weeks to come. I do celebrate Christmas, but as an atheist, I use it as a time to be nice to my family once a year. Other people take it to the extreme, as in the case of the November Christmas lights on that house at the top of this roast. Then you have all the stocking up in case the world ends because the shops shut for one day a year. And don’t get me started on cards. You have all the palaver of sending cards to people you see every day, but it doesn’t end there.

What was it I saw in the shop the other day? One with a greeting – Happy Christmas from the cat.

From the fucking cat????

Yes, sanity has more than gone out the window. It’s now stuck up the chimney with last year’s rotting remains of Father Christmas.

Cheers – and bah humbug!

Nick

Things are a little to PCC, over here.

I hardly gave it any notice, I have to admit, but Thursday saw the UK taking part in elections. Who were we voting for? Apparently, police across the UK are now going to get elected chief commissioners to oversee budgets, police priorities and hiring and firing of senior staff.

Sorry … I may need to read that again. No, I wasn’t mistaken, but isn’t that job which the current chief and his half-a-dozen assistants, already employed on around half a million quid a year, are supposed to do?

I find it obscene that in a climate where good, hard working officers are being forced out of their jobs and thousands of civilian workers also face redundancy, this government sees fit to splash out further millions on yet another figurehead for the ivory towers at Police Central.

Take my area in the midlands. Do I want some political ponce who knows fuck all about policing at a cost of £100k a year, or four new recruits at the same price to keep me safe?

What the hell do you think?

Still harping on about the Olympics?

Can’t help it. I saw an advert this week for the official BBC DVD. As you know, I was pretty underwhelmed by the whole thing when it was on. I say well done to all the British who won but still stand by my thought that it was a terrible waste of money, especially as many charities and small arts organisations folded when their lottery funding was removed to pay for the Olympics.

Anyway, the BBC, as well as condoning pedophilia for forty years in the Jimmy Savile case, have now released the DVD of the 2012 games.

That’s it, but if you were hoping for 15 hours of sporting highlights, forget it. Here, you get 7, then another 7 of the ridiculous and irrelevant opening and closing ceremonies.

The BBC never know how to do sport, it’s why they’ve lost to the rights for most of them over the years. Take football. Match of the Day. You get ten minutes of highlights and without fail, two of those minutes are taken up with the commentators droning on as the players warm up and walk on and off the pitch.

I mean. Who wants to see a blooming good goal?

And here’s a blooming good goal.

The latter part of this week, all I have heard about in the media is the wonder goal by Zlatan Ibrahimovic for Sweden against England. Yes, it was a wonderful piece of improvised skill but to call it the best goal ever …? I’m not so sure.

Here we have it, just after calamity keeper, Joe Hart has raced out of his area and made a hash of a headed clearance. Ibrahimovic spins, then does an overhead kick with the ball looping into the empty net to score. As I say, great piece of skill but to me, the best goals occur when there are at least some players and always the goalkeeper, in the penalty area.

A load of junk.

I read the other day that nearly half of the mail delivered in the UK are flyers and leaflets. I can concur with that. My lobby is filled with them. I clear the lot out into the recycling, turn my back and before I know it, there’s bloody more on the floor.

Junk mail – people keep sending it to me. Either that or there is some new breed of genetically engineered beastie which keeps getting into my front porch and shitting paper everywhere.

Send them to the Tower.

I was reading the other day that somebody tried to break into the Tower of London. In true journalistic fashion, The Sun newspaper reported the fact, also telling the tale of Colonel Blood who tried the feat in 1671.

Is it a sign of a writer when all you do is spot grammatical errors? Now I’m still looking for a job and I reckon I could do one for the Sun as a proofreader. Shouldn’t there be a comma in the bottom sentence? Bafflingly isn’t a great word anyway but without a comma, it reads as though King Bafflingly gave the robber a pardon. I never knew we had a King called Bafflingly.

Am I being pedantic here?

No energy going that way.

I read this week that former MP and BBC trust chairman, Chris Patten, also receives a salary of £40k from EDF Energy for taking part in a few meetings a year.

Hmmmm … My money isn’t going EDF’s way in the near future, then.

And following on from pieces told in previous weeks …

I’ve spoken recently about the fact Richard III has been found and dug up. I have also spoken about the vile Jimmy Savile, and the subsequent hysteria which blames him for everything from child abuse to being the Yorkshire Ripper.

Well, scientists investigating the Richard III thingy planned to reconstruct the king’s face but scrapped the idea when a trial run of his likeness produced a possible clue as to his descendants.

Okay, I may have made that one up.

Just read this one.

Some textbook has been introduced to schools in India stating that eating meat makes you lie and commit sex crimes.

This load of bull states God didn’t include meat in his plans so why should we need to eat it?

I find it amazing that anybody can write whatever rubbish they like and claim it to be true. It’s no different over here. In schools in the UK, we have bullshit promoted to our young every day through an official and popular book. It’s called the Bible.

But back to our new police chief.

Bob Jones became the West Midlands new head-honcho the other day in an election which cost the nation £75million, nationally. Still, he can sort out the problems on his £100k salary and try to find out why policing isn’t working. The reason being, the other goons in charge, costing hundreds of thousands themselves, have got rid of a huge amount of experienced officers. When was the last time one of the nobs at Police HQ got the chop to save money?

Idiots.

Cheers.

Nick

Okay, let’s catch up a little with what’s been happening in the world.

These past few weeks, I’ve been going on about my own personal calamities so much I’ve neglected what’s currently happening in the news.

Apparently the other day, several billion people woke with the same horrific image in their heads.

Thankfully, Barack Obama won another term and the vision of Mitt Romney in the Whitehouse, was just a mass neurotic nightmare.

And talking of hysteria.

As I said last week, I’m pretty convinced as to some of the allegations concerning Jimmy Savile. However, each day in the paper, some new accusation is leveled against him. If you were to believe papers like The Sun and Daily Star, Jimmy Savile sexually abused every boy and girl under the age of sixteen in the UK for a thirty-year period. Yes, there is hard evidence but let the authorities sort it out – belatedly. All it seems now is these sleazy papers are digging for any sordid story they can with little fact behind them. It’s a pity they didn’t show such journalistic fervour when kids were getting abused all those years ago. The latest scummy headline can be seen here …

Savile was apparently suspected of being the Yorkshire Ripper. What next? I suppose he has Shergar buried alongside him, was also Hitler and Eva Braun’s love child and secretly lead a double life as Lord Lucan.

Come on, let’s just have the truth. Finally.

Cook a proper meal for once, Sir.

Zany TV chef, Heston Blumenthal admitted recently that he puts tampons in his mouth to cleanse his palate.

Could it simply be the case that Heston’s food tastes like body waste?

Whose having a pay-day?

When is our government going to step in and wipe out these legalised loan sharks who offer payday loans? You know the ones. 4,000%APR and up to your eyes in debt after borrowing £10 for a few days. I know each of us is responsible for managing our affairs but these crooks prey on the desperate. They will dish out cash to anybody who asks, regardless of ability to pay back.

Let’s take a look at one as I type.

Wonga …

There you have it. As I write this at 1431 on Saturday, I could have £400 in my bank within 20 minutes. However, one month from now I would be expected to pay the lot back and more with Wonga making £125.48 in 30 days for very little effort.

People – don’t do it. What happens if you cannot repay in time? Late fees, interest … You could end up owing thousands. Did you really need the money that much? Don’t put yourself into debt while making these greedy sharks even richer.

Wonga have now moved into the football market and are current sponsors of Newcastle United. The deal is worth £24million. Unfortunately, Newcastle have to repay £38million in thirty days time.

Only in Birmingham.

Birmingham City Council is having problems because their new £11million automated phone service does not understand Brummie (local accent for those of you who don’t know). The machines cannot recognise some words spoken in the dialect leaving thousands of callers frustrated. The irony is, the system speaks with a Newcastle Geordie accent. Huge own goal for Birmingham Council. But hang on, have you thought of it like this? Perhaps it isn’t the fact the machines cannot understand Brummie; maybe the callers cannot understand the Geordie accent and are therefore saying the wrong things in response.

Whatever happened to Tony Blair?

Saw this one tucked away in the far corner of a paper this week. Tony Blair (aka Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire) is trying to claim the Iraq economy is booming and military intervention got the country back on track.

Yes, you can hide behind that cheesy grin all you like. Iraq really looks like it’s back on track, what with its 100,000+ dead and the place blown to smithereens.

On yer bike!

My God, we know how to treat our heroes in the UK. Good old Bradley Wiggins – Tour de France winner and Olympic gold medalist. How do we repay him for bringing a bit of glory back to this beleaguered land? We go and run him over in a car.

Tattoo You.

No, I’m not talking about the Rolling Stones album of 1981 (In fact, the only Stones on vinyl I ever bought). The headline refers to HMV Music Stores and the news they have banned staff from having long hair and tattoos.

Come on, for years I thought having a tattoo was part of the job description in working for HMV. Now I’ve never been a great fan of body art. I leave that to guests on Jeremy Kyle.

Who … Me?

Yes, you. But as for those working in HMV – leave them alone. It’s what we expect when you walk in the shop. Let’s face it, it’s only rock and roll (and we like it).

Elm Disease?

A woman in Cardiff claims to have cured herself of Crohn’s disease by eating trees.

Yes, after chewing away at chippings, Marlene Barnes says she’s on the mend.

I’ve heard of alternative bullshitting medicine, but this is barking mad (sorry couldn’t resist). I feel like a sap now after that bad joke.

What does the future have in store?

So USA doesn’t have an idiot in charge of their country. I suppose the same could be said over here, even if I don’t agree with Tory policy. Still, it could be worse. What was that nightmare I had the other night, the one about our next PM?

Noooooooooooooooo!

Cheers.

Nick

A worse horror than Halloween.

Last week I spoke much about Halloween, witches and the like. Well, that silly state of affairs is over now, but not so the horror in our supermarkets. You see, no sooner have the shelves emptied of vampire costumes and the last pumpkin has been gouged to pieces, a new terror is unleashed upon us.

Yes, I was strolling through my local Morrisons the other day, turned a corner, thus leaving tinned vegetables behind and walked right into it.

Oh no … The Christmas Aisle.

Come on, we’re only just out of October. And no, I wasn’t imagining it. I looked and there they were – rows of mince pies under the banner of Stock up in Time for Christmas. Looking at the boxes, I then saw the use-by date and noticed it said November 29. Now where’s the bloody point in that and how is this stocking up for Christmas? Your mince pies will be green and mouldy come the time you tell the kids about a fat man climbing down the chimney while also warning them not to speak to strangers.

Christmas. The season of goodwill to all retailers is upon us.

And while I was in the supermarket …

I made a fatal mistake the other day. I only had about half a dozen items in my shopping basket and was weak. I gave in to temptation and made a stupid decision in using the automated checkout.

Now I hate these things. I’ve never been the same since the traumatic experience of having an argument with one. It was when they were first introduced and I’d bought two books and a newspaper.

I’d scanned one book, then the other, only the computer checkout didn’t recognise a reduction in price if you bought the two together. Therefore, I called the customer service guy who rectified the fault. Then, before scanning the paper, I made the mistake of placing my hand on the bagging area.

‘Unexpected Item in bagging area’, the computer droned.

‘It was me.’

‘Unexpected item in bagging area.’

‘IT WAS ME!’

‘Please remove item from bagging area.’

‘I have. I’m dancing around the aisle now,’ I banged my fist on the bagging area.

‘Unexpected item in bagging area.’

‘Arrrgggh! IT’S ME!’

Another call to customer services and the guy ambled back with mild resentment and attitude.

Right, I was ready to roll. Scan the newspaper – Blip.

‘Place the item in the bagging area.’

‘I have.’

‘Place the item in the bagging area.’

‘I HAVE.’ Bang of fist – again.

‘Unexpected item in bagging area.’

‘Arrrgghhhh!’ And another call for customer services.

Don’t you just love automated services? But it doesn’t end there. Last week, as this picture will show, I tried again.

Sorry for the poor quality, but it was taken on my phone and at an angle as I didn’t want people staring. I hate to make a scene, you know.

Anyway, I’d scanned my veggies, newspaper and loaf of bread. However, I ran into trouble when it came to my French Bread Stick.

Yes, that’s it. Big, aren’t they, and one of a few items in a supermarket, impossible to bag.

‘Place the item in the bagging area.’

WTF? How the hell can you place a French Stick into a tiny carrier. You can’t. It’s not possible. Regardless, the machine wouldn’t let me move until I did so. Therefore, I touched the bagging area to try to fool it, only to knock my bag onto the floor, scattering all my goods.

Arrrrggh! Fume. Rage. I hate those bloody machines.

Then, the thing wouldn’t let me pay. It still wouldn’t accept that I couldn’t bag my French Stick so it locked the terminal and I had to wait for an assistant.

Christ! I’d have been served quicker if I’d stood in the longest checkout queue behind ten pensioners with full trolleys who all wanted to stay behind for a chat.

A checkout lady came to me, showing all the personality of an auditor on mogadon.

I grinned. Pointed. ‘I really hate these machines.’

She reset it, showing what it must be like to live without a sense of humour.

Automated machines. No wonder people resort to shoplifting.

A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.

A few months ago, I told the tale of a car park in Leicester which is supposedly the final resting place of King Richard III. The car park was built on the site of an old Abbey and it is there, the one-time child murdering, Uncle Dickie, is thought to be buried. I spoke those months ago about the silliness of it but apparently, they think they’ve found him now. Also, once identified by DNA, they are going to bury him again.

What? He was buried. He’d been underground over 500 years. What was the point digging him up only to stick him under the ground again? Have they nothing better to do in Leicester?

No … don’t bother answering that.

Here is the old duffer, being terribly over-acted by Sir Lawrence Olivier during the death scene from the film, Richard III, based on a play by some guy named Shakespeare.

Trying to eradicate history.

I’ve kept quiet about this for weeks but no more.

I’ve watched and read about the Jimmy Saville scandal with interest (God, that sounds like an opening from a letter to my local paper). I know the guy isn’t alive to defend himself but from the testimonies I’ve heard, I’m in no doubt he was a very bad man. Thing is, people are now trying to wipe out all trace he existed by changing street signs, removing plaques, etc. A huge effort, in fact. It’s a pity that effort wasn’t put in over the years bringing him to justice when alive. I don’t blame the girls one bit but I do blame all those who now say they suspected him all along. It’s like everybody knew. In fact, I feel like I’m the only person who didn’t know Jimmy Saville was a paedophile.

It’s a shame though. I’ll never be able to watch those boy scouts on the roller coaster without wondering if Jimmy asked them to promise to do their duty.

Whatever the conclusion, this should always remain one of the best TV moments ever.

Knob of the week.

I haven’t had a knob of the week for ages. I stopped when most of my subjects were all knobs and I just incorporated them into the other stories. However, as a headline for Tory MP, Philip Davies, knob of the week, says it all.

Davies showed himself to be an idiot of the utmost degree by suggesting the disabled and people with learning difficulties should expect to get less pay as they could never be as productive as more able folk.

I did think of arguing the case against his remarks, even coming up with some clever and satirical putdown for such ridiculous comments from an MP. However, I think in this case, basic name-calling insults will suffice.

CRETIN!

No spooks in this house.

As I was saying earlier, Halloween has gone and not only that, I didn’t get one kid trick or treating at my door this year. Great. I knew that Jim Fixed it for Me, badge would come in useful one day.

Cheers.

Nick

Happy Halloween.

Boo!

It’s Halloween this week, or as paedophiles call it – Christmas. Halloween is a night in the past when Evil Ex-Wife saying “I’m going to get dressed up,” took on a whole new meaning. I have to admit, I never got the fuss about Halloween, though back in the days of Myspace, I did get loads of Halloween greetings come October 31. Don’t know why. Maybe I simply had more than your average count of witches and worshippers of Satan amongst my friends in the cyber-world.

And now, thinking of witches, I was suddenly struck by a thought …

Whatever happened to Gothic Girl?

You may remember my disastrous trips to a local chip shop where Gothic Girl used to serve/poison me. I’ve only been there twice in the past six months and on both occasions, she wasn’t there. The first occasion could be explained. It was early May – Beltane. She’d most likely be celebrating but once again when I visited in the summer, she was absent.

Oh no. What if she was rumbled as a witch? I’d best go and check the local ponds. If I see a stool with a young woman head down in the water while strapped to a chair, I’ll know for certain.

I need to see her. I want to know if she has a cure for grey hair in one of those potions of hers.

On the subject of grey hair …

It was my birthday the other day. Yes, I’m now forty-nine. One away from a major milestone or as some would call it – two-thirds of the way through life. Still, I shouldn’t complain. I don’t think I do too bad for my age and maybe I should be grateful about how I look. You see, my hair is still mostly brown and more important – there. I have, however, noticed over the last year that it is taking slightly longer to grow at the same time more ends up stuck to the bath. The thatch is not as thick and more noticeably, receding at the temples. This I can get away with as the wild abandon style I adopt, covers that up. Even so, I noticed when looking in the mirror just now, more white hairs than I’m used to. Arrgghhh! Therefore, I spent about ten minutes pulling each white hair I could see. That was until I pulled one then looked and saw it was still there. Double Arrggghhh! You have white hairs, then go and pull out a good one by mistake. Not only that, it was around the thinning area I spoke of earlier. Oh no. I’ll soon look like Doctor Who did when the Master zapped him, ageing him to over 100.

Calm, calm, calmer. Deep breaths – and relax.

Ahhh … the ageing process. Isn’t it wonderful.

I remember birthdays when I was a child. You’d be up at the crack of dawn and then relish every magic moment. It meant so much back then but only in reality because you got lots of presents. As the years passed and you grew older, the special nature seemed to disappear a little bit every year until you reach where I am now and couldn’t give a toss. God, I’m a miserable bastard sometimes. These days I think birthdays just turn into something you are obligated to do, and that’s not because nobody threw me an 18th, 21st or even 40th birthday party, either. But at least when you are young, birthdays are supposed to be something to look forward to. Then you reach 30 and for some reason, it’s dreaded in a way like your life is almost over. Then you get to 40 and that seems even worse. Why? I didn’t feel any different to when I was 18.

So now, I’m one off the 50. Blimey, life is now going to feel like the holiday which seems to go much quicker once you reach the second half of the week. But at least at 50, I still have 20-30 years left, so it’s nothing to worry about. Or is it?

Hang on a minute … I remember 30 years ago as if it were yesterday. For example, I still think of Ultravox as a contemporary pop group. What do you mean, who the fucking hell are Ultravox? They’re a sort of contemporary group … from about 30 contemporary years ago.

There they are, still touring. But hang on. Even they look ancient now.

But, I digress. Another 15 years on top of 50 and I’m drawing a pension. This is when I’m supposed to do all the things I want to do, but am unfortunately too old and knackered to do so. Look, I hate bloody gardening, so don’t even suggest it. And after 65, you have a few years of all that, ‘I never know how I had time to go to work,’ crap. Then 70 arrives. Oh. – My – God! By then I’ll have rediscovered religion before it’s too late and just be praying, ‘Please God, for pity’s sake, give me another ten and I’ll be good. I’ll go to church, I won’t swear … often. Just leave me for a little bit longer, just so I can have my allotted time. Okay? Thanks.’

80 arrives. Shit, bugger, balls and blast! Now what am I going to do? Should I sell my soul to the Devil? No I flogged that years ago for a cheap thrill with a girl in the cake shop. Just give me a couple more years. PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I carry on going and just about make it to 85 then realise what the term, borrowed time, means. 90 plus and it’s a case of ‘Look, I’m not being greedy, but I’d really like to make it to a hundred. I never managed to get one in cricket, so this would be adequate compensation. I think you’d agree. I wont get into trouble. I’ll try not to piss myself, dribble over people or even molest that nice nurse who looks after me (Look, she sat on my hand. Okay?). I won’t even ask for a telegram from the Queen (I never send her one, anyway). Just let me go about my business quietly and I won’t go bothering anybody. Honest, honest, hon… Croak!!!!!!!!!

Only Joking … I’m still here.

What do you mean … unfortunately? Hah!

Anyway, I’m off to prepare for Halloween and look for Gothic Girl. See … I’m all dressed up and ready.

Cheers.

Nick