Category: Sunday Roast


The Sunday Roast – Jubilee. Let’s Toast The Royal Family … Literally.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 12 Comments
June 3, 2012

Hip hip, hooray! Let’s all pay homage to the Royal Family.

To be honest, I’d prefer the TV Royle Family to rule the country instead of those out-of-touch idiots at Buckingham Palace. Mind you, perhaps I’m wrong in calling them out of touch. As far as I can see, they’ve never actually been in-touch.

Yes, there they are in days of old but even though most things in life change from time to time, you can be sure the British Royal Family will always remain as far away from the common subject as Andy Murray is of winning a grand slam title.

Go on … Cue for the curly haired twit to win one now, just to shut me up.

I don’t hate the Royal Family. I simply think they’re outdated with no place in modern society. Yes, I know. Some will say that they bring in loads of tourism. Wrong. The tradition and history does that. There is a morbid fascination in the dark history of royal tyranny and long may that continue, if it helps the economy. However, why do we need this lot, apart from their entertainment value? I’ll give you some examples of the ugly side.

Let’s all toast the Queen.

Yes, for sixty years, the Queen has tried to come across as the kindly monarch, always at one with her people. That was until she was totally exposed by her lack of compassion over the death of Diana in 1997. Through gritted teeth and after many days of defiance, she finally gave in and accepted that the population actually liked the former Princess more than they did the rest of the monarchy put together.

This is the monarch, who a couple of years ago, asked for a poverty grant to help with the soaring costs of heating Buckingham Palace. These benefits are meant for low-income families, people on a pension, not for those who already get about £200million in state handouts and revenue from property they claim to own, but is in fact, belonging to the people of Great Britain.

Fortunately, when the Queen applied to get a 2% slice of the entire UK’s poverty grant fund, ministers told her to do one as it is for those in genuine need.

I have this message for the Queen. If you want to reduce your crippling fuel bills – live in a fucking smaller house!

You may have your face on billions of notes, but it doesn’t give you the right to spend as much as you want.

And don’t start me on Phillip …

Okay, you started me. Phillip, the Duke of Hazard, is known to have, shall we say, a history of saying the wrong thing. It may be amusing, yes, but what it also shows is complete ignorance and bigotry on no higher scale.

Take for example, his comments …

To Australian Aborigines in 2002. “Still throwing spears then?”

To a Kenyan woman in 1984. “You are a woman aren’t you?”

To a Briton in Hungary in 1993. “You can’t have been here long, you haven’t got a pot belly.”

To a Cayman Islander in 1994. “Aren’t all of you descended from pirates?”

Commenting on an old fuse box in 2000. “It looks like it was put together by an Indian.”

To an Indian, Mr Patel during a reception at the Palace in 2009. “There’s a lot of your family in tonight.”

To a student who hiked to Papua New Guinea in 1998. “You managed not to get eaten then?”

To a group of deaf children standing near a Jamaican steel band in 1999. “Deaf? If you stand near there, it’s no wonder you’re deaf.”

And the best of all, to a group of British students in China in 1986. “If you stay here much longer, you’ll all be slitty-eyed.”

Nice one Phil, but it’s not just other countries he has it in for. Speaking in 2009 to a boy who said he wanted to be an astronaut, the Duke replied, “You’ll never fly in a rocket, you’re too fat.”

He really shouldn’t be let out in public. The Duke was also famous for being an early chief of the World Wildlife Fund, preaching to the masses about the preservation of species, while on his weekends, going out and shooting them.

Idiot!

Then we have old Charlie-Boy …

His main gaffe was denying a sexual act between himself and a servant, took place. This denial was made without either he or the press, saying exactly what he was accused of. He hadn’t been asked. I do feel sorry for him though, seeing as everybody hates him but at least in his old age, he has finally found a decent horse to ride.

Annie ….

There she is, wearing a pizza base on her head.

The miserable po-faced Princess, who thinks it’s okay to let her dogs bite irritating children, also upset pensioner, Mary Halfpenny on Christmas Day 2000. The 75-year-old spent hours making a flower arrangement to pass onto the Princess Royal only to be scowled at. ‘What a ridiculous thing to do,’ spat the Princess.

Cow!

Rock Steady Eddie?

I have only one thing of note to say about the Earl of Wessex …

Wasn’t he a knockout?

The grand old Duke of York.

Some say he’s an ambassador bringing about loads of business in his role as trade representative. Others may claim he’s an arrogant twat who wastes taxpayers money jetting around the the globe on a world tour of golf courses.

But, isn’t she a diamond?

The Jubilee is all well and good if you think the royals are worth it. What you have to remember is, they are only where they are today as a result of hundreds of years tradition based on foundations of oppression and tyranny. Okay, this lot have as much power as lawnmower trying to win a Formula One Grand Prix, but still thereon their thrones, they bloody well sit.

I’d have more respect for them if they didn’t have a near-recent history of shutting away relatives with disabilities in institutions, then pretending they don’t exist to the point of declaring them dead. All this atrocious behaviour is made worse by the fact that many past members of the Royal Family have been patrons of Mencap. Therefore, instead of spending millions because the Queen fancies a new crown, how about putting a bit more into disability services and give those who struggle through life’s adversity a bit more to boost self-esteem … or are we supposed to follow the royal example, and pretend they don’t exist.

That wraps up the old royals, but what of the next generation; surely they have style?

Okay. Maybe not. But there must be something to look forward to? Some ray of hope for the future of the monarchy. One that means democracy and good taste is the way forward

Hmmm. Maybe the French were right when they revolted. I’ll leave the last word, I think, to the real King in waiting.

Cheers

 

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Cheryl Cole, Cricket and a Cock with a Torch.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 4 Comments
May 27, 2012

Let’s talk about cricket.

No … not that type of cricket. I meant the sport.

Yay! It’s the cricket season and with England currently number one team in the world, I shall take this opportunity to have a rare boast about it.

I know you lot overseas in America and beyond do not understand what cricket is all about. Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Most people in the UK haven’t a clue, either.

Picture the conversation I had some years back when queried as to why a test match of cricket, lasted more than an hour or so.

‘But, why do they play for so long?’

‘It’s just the amount of time needed to come to a successful conclusion,’ I answered. ‘You know, best team over a five-day period.’

‘Five … days?’

‘Er, yes.’

‘But how can they play for so long each day?’

‘They go in for lunch and tea.’ I replied, then put hands across my ears to drown out the laughing. I was then asked to explain the rules. Easy.

Cricket, is a straightforward game played by two teams on a field. One team – out, the other one – in. The team that’s out, tries to get the team that’s in … out. When a player of the team who’s in, gets out, then another player comes in. This happens until all of the team who are in – are out. Then the team that was out, goes in and the team that was in, go out and tries to get the team in … out again. This goes on until both sets of players have been in and out twice, including those, not out. Simple really.

You have bowlers who can spin their balls all day long while others prefer to pound them with speed. Some will turn their googlies while slip fielders stand with open legs waiting for the batsmen to give the bowler’s balls a little tickle. There is also a variation on this unorthodox delivery which goes by the name of bowling a Chinaman.

Nooooo! That’s not what I meant. It’s just a phrase which came about due to the ethnicity of the bowler who first used the method. Sorry about that. Anyway, there are boundaries however in cricket, but one must not overstep them while touching the balls. Bowlers can rub and polish their balls, but are not allowed to scratch them to excess or they will face the wrath of an umpire.

The batsmen can use all sorts of stroke play to despatch their balls. This includes hooking them, cutting them past a fine leg or even sending them through the covers. These covers, are in fact, a fielding position and not the covers that are placed on the pitch overnight. You couldn’t have them on the field while play was underway because that would just be silly.

And talking of silly … Silly mid-off and silly mid-on, are in fact fielding positions and not a reference to the assorted headgear worn by the players.

And on the subject of gear, players are advised to wear protection in the form of helmets, pads and a box to protect the nether regions, just in case a delivery gets though and the batsmen get a little bit more than a slight tickle.

Ouch! I felt that.

And this week’s search terms …

Yes. It’s an ongoing theme – the weird things some people are searching for on Google, then ending up with me. Still the most popular is Jeremy Kyle Teeth followed by that bloody film that I wont even mention. You know, the one about some ship sinking. Well it stops … here! No more.

However, in looking at my stats, I found what has to be the number one now in terms of the oddest search used which resulted in somebody getting to me. It was this … روز فى فيلم تايتنك

???

Okay … Strange, and now I was curious. I mean, what could this possibly be in order to lead some folk to me? So … Cut and paste the phrase, do an image search. Let’s see what we’ve got.

Arrrgghh!

Anchorman II?

Dear God! As if the first one wasn’t bad enough, they’ve only gone and made a sequel.

Anchorman was one of the few films this particular OCD guy was not able to see through to the bitter end. My obsessiveness usually means I have to grit my teeth and plod on, no matter how bad. However, even I gave up on the first film. Badly written bilge, with not one funny line.

The legend continues? Not in this household.

Fashion Disaster Alert!

Karaoke singer, Cheryl Cole tried to take centre stage at the Cannes Film festival this week by wearing a dress that matched the red carpet, perfectly.

Yes, very clever, but do you realise it looks as if you are wearing a huge red foot? Also, even though the paparazzi were ejaculating themselves to death at the outfit, you’d look bloody stupid wearing it on a cricket pitch or anything else that’s not red.

Talking of Karaoke singers …

Nob, Will.i.am, invited criticism this week for carrying the Olympic torch all the while, tweeting away to the social networking site.

As ever, full of his own importance, the star tapped away at how excited he was, but failed to notice he’d misspelled the name of the the town, Taunton, he was running through. Silly Billy has also confessed that despite being a superstar in the music business, he can’t actually sing.

Nooooo! Next you’ll be telling me Robert Mugabe is a murderer.

Still. I suppose he’s just a normal guy at the end of the day, caught up in all the passion of the event. An every day Joe. I mean – Will.i.am? Nothing at all pretentious about calling yourself that.

The truce is over.

Last week, I promised my local Walsall Council to leave them alone after they re-tweeted something for me. I said a week, or until they did something stupid. Well, it’s been about twelve days, so they did well in the end.

I read, yesterday, work on the playground lido pool at the local arboretum has been delayed, despite the work being announced last year. It now won’t be ready until the end of August. Does this mean it is going to be a building site all through summer?

I took that photo today and as you can see in this heatwave, it would be really good to have the water pool for the kids to use. As it happens, it is empty but never mind, come September as the summer is over, the council promise it will be rebuilt and working. Not only that, another couple of months later, you’ll be able to ice-skate on it.

Walsall Council … You have excelled yourselves this time.

It’s blooming hot out there.

I don’t know about you, but I’m going to pour myself a glass of juice and settle down to watch the cricket. See you in a week. Literally if I’m watching cricket.

Cheers

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – In Search of Inspiration, While Baiting Local Councillors

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 12 Comments
May 20, 2012

I’m in hiding, and wondering what the hell I’m going to talk about this week.

Had kids here since yesterday evening because we went to the theatre. They have been with me all day too, including a trip to Lichfield in the afternoon (which will become apparent why – a little later). However, it is now Saturday evening and I’m frantically trying to write this roast before I go downstairs to spend quality time with the kids. I’m really running late; I’ve usually got the roast in the oven with it cooked a good few days before now but as I speak, very little comes to mind to tell you about.

Not much at all has happened to me this week and as I’ve milked the old Titanic thingy a bit much recently, I dare not use it again, even if you lot do keep Google searching the subject and ending up with me. But talking of searches …

In search of …

No, it’s not the 70’s TV series with Mr Spock. I’m talking about more search engine terms used by people to reach my blog.

Yeah, we have the usual: Jeremy Kyle teeth, Titanic plank and Britain’s got no talent, etc. However, I noticed a couple of unusual terms and ones that I cannot comprehend how people have got to me as a result.

Fat unwashed fetish was a strange term. Don’t think I’ve written about any grimy sex fetishes but living in Walsall, I suppose there’s always scope.

Evil fish? People actually searched for evil fish and got me.

Ha. I know the reason for that one, though. We’re talking Gothic Girl again and her poisonous fish and chips. That reminds me. I haven’t been to the chip shop to see if Gothic Girl has returned from her Beltane holiday.

Orange fluffy pussy. That was, I have to admit, the weirdest search phrase ever. I can’t for the life of me think how my blog was the end result of that search. However (and I say this was just out of curiosity), I did type orange fluffy pussy into a Google search and came up with one or two, erm … interesting images. But how did they end up with me? Mind you, I have to say, some of those women  were really hairy. Yew!

Below, I have what was the top picture in the search I made for orange fluffy pussy.

Okay, it was about number 783. Did you really think I was going to post porn?

Insect repellant needed.

Note: Will all the ants in my neighbourhood, stop getting into my house and trying to take a bath inside my kettle. A sauna may be nice for human beings but taking a dip at 100º will do you no good.

I wish I knew where the beggars were coming from. At them moment, they seem to want to make for my worktop and have a party.

Harmless bad-lad, or total thug.

Footballer, Joey Barton produced another scintillating display on the pitch last week by trying to take out most of the Manchester City team. Great footballer? Definitely not but low-life thug? His skills are unequalled on the field in that department.

Above is the moment Barton decides to kick Sergio Aguero from behind like the gutless scum he (Barton) is.

Barton – Half your family are in prison for murder and you yourself, have a string of convictions for assault and other matters.

How many more football clubs are going to employ this pond-life? He should never be allowed on a soccer pitch again. As for those who cheer him on each week? Shame on you, too.

Oh deer …

Sorry, couldn’t resist that bad pun and yes, you can just about make them out.

I wrote the other week about a couple who moved next to a hundred year-old church, then complained about the bells ringing. This week, I heard of another family who recently bought a house on the edge of the Wyre Forest in Bewdley and are now complaining the deer are eating their rose bushes.

Arrrgghhh! Don’t buy a house next to a fucking forest then!

Watch out, watch out, there’s a jobsworth about.

Over the last week, I have got involved in a little local council planning argument and surprisingly, it wasn’t my own, Walsall Council, either.

Lichfield is a lovely city, even though the term City is a bit loose just because they have some huge fantasy palace going by the name of a cathedral. Still, nice place and full of character. However, some council officials appear to be too full of themselves.

Recently, hairdressers, DJ & Ward moved into the town and erected what I consider to be a nice, tasteful sign. However, Lichfield Council Planning, appear to want to stop small businesses bringing trade into their area and they have told DJ & Ward to remove their signage. The council say, “It adversely affects the character and appearance of the Grade II Listed Building on which it is displayed.”

This was reported in the excellent Lichfield Live website, so I made a comment. You see although I don’t live there, one thing I cannot stand are bureaucratic tosspots.

I stated that nearby, you had the mighty Tesco superstore and over the road – Poundstretcher. Both hardly adhering to the character of the area. Also, in the same street as DJ & Ward, you have a Chinese takeaway – The Lotus House and a chip shop displaying garish signs with no apparent hostility towards them. DJ & Ward, however, have been lambasted and told to remove this …

Nothing wrong with that as far as I can see but Lichfield Councillor, Alan White defended the council stance. In his response, he quoted all the locations and signage I had highlighted, coming up with lame excuses as to why they were allowed, and DJ & Ward, were not.

Sorry, Mr White, but you and your fellow planners just come across as prats. If you would like to read my creative response to the stance of Lichfield Council, click the link at the bottom of the page … but don’t leave me until you’ve finished the rest and commented. So there.

Now that I’ve pissed off Lichfield Council, I’ll quit while the going’s good.

I’d best push on and finish this off. The kids are downstairs and saying there’s a film they want me to watch.

‘Surprise!’

Arrrgghhh!

Link to take you to my response to a jobsworth councillor’s pathetic argument on Lichfield Live’s website. I’m actually quite proud of this one.

Cheers

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – British Talent has Gone to the Dogs.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 14 Comments
May 13, 2012

Not – Living with David (for a week).

Yippee! David is going away on an outward bound course to Bryntisillio in Wales next week. He’s gone there every year since 2006 and it’s going to be sad with him leaving school in July; this will be his last trip.

Fortunately for me, it is also the last occasion I have to contend with the little extra’s he brings home as a result of his expedition. You see, David is a kleptomaniac in terms of souvenirs picked up from the floor. Check his pockets every day and you will find, combs, pine cones, feathers … I even found a key belonging to some woman called Jane, the other day.

Really sorry, Jane that you can’t get into your house but David has your key and not only that, I don’t know who the hell you are.

The thing with him going to Bryntisilio, as I said, he comes back with far more than I pack in his case, namely pieces of Bryntisilio itself. I’m not sure they notice at the centre that their rear garden wall is missing half of its bricks. If they do and are puzzling over what has happened to them, I can explain. David visits you – regular. Last year, there was an entire carrier full of Welsh rock, and I don’t mean the candy variety either. It’s in my garden now, adorning the rebuilt patio.

It’s not just bits of Brynty he brings home either. I think I have mentioned on Living with David posts in the past, that anywhere he goes, he does the same. This is none more so that at the Black Country Living Museum in Dudley. That museum is one where old houses and buildings from the industrial revolution and the 19th century are restored and you walk around the re-created village. In his last two visits, he’s come home, coat pockets weighted with brick, stone and slate from the said museum. It’s got to stop or one day I’ll come home to find a fully functioning Victorian Chemist shop, standing in my back garden.

Who the hell put that there?

Take notice.

The other week, I reported that it was local election time and that stiletto heels had been banned from the vote count in the event of proceedings getting a little fractious. Well, as far as I know, there was very little bloodshed spilled and Walsall Council, as a result of the election, is in no overall control.

Oh dear. Does this mean our officials will find it harder to push through their intelligently debated and rational decisions.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaa!

Anyway, I jest as you see but the election did get my back up about one thing though. On the campaign trail, candidates come and canvass at peoples houses. However, if they come to mine, they will see this on the door.

Despite the notice, knock on my door, they did. Now please, tell me. If you cannot read a bloody sign, why the hell should I trust you to run a local council?

And talking of local authorities …

This one is Sandwell NHS, but it could easily be any local health authority hospital.

Took my mum to an appointment for a serious condition and despite being 84, she was made to wait over an hour in pretty uncomfortable and squalid conditions. Then, when we got out and tried to leave the car park, we found as usual. you have to pay for the pleasure of waiting.

As you can see, the first 20 minutes is free.

 

Yeah right. Don’t you start again. As if you’d be seen that quick. But anyway, after 20 minutes, you can see the cost starts to jump. We went into the second hour and had to pay more, but only because the hospital kept us waiting. It seems a bit rich when you are charged more due to the fact the hospital itself cannot keep a better schedule for its appointments.

Is there a talent contest going on?

Yes, thank goodness for that. Britain’s Got Talent has finished and I can channel hop once more without fear of confrontation from insipid dross which passes for entertainment.

I’m happy to say, I’ve not watched any on TV but did have to look it up on YouTube when I heard that final included synchronised swimmers.

Like what???

It’s true. Onto the stage, it seems, four women get into swim tanks and try to recreated the image of a 1960’s Butlin’s swimming pool.

Yes, those are the ones. Underwater windows where perverts could sip their milkshakes and peer at the young girls in the pool without getting their goggles steamed.

Anyway, enough sordid stuff and back to the main subject. Just like a Butlin’s talent contest, Britain’s Got Talent champions the ordinary, weird and wonderful, and none more weirder than the winner, a dancing … dog?

No, it’s not Snoopy, but give me strength. Talk about bottom of the barrel being scraped. Thanks a lot, Simon Cowell.

Still, it’s not the first time a dog has done well in Britain’s Got Talent.

Mind you, I shouldn’t be too hard. I have a lot in common with Susan Boyle. Let’s face it, we both look ridiculous in a dress.

Spooky nights ahead.

I’ve only gone and booked myself a place on one of these overnight ghost investigations which will happen in a couple of months. I was also looking to see the various venues the company have on offer and was intrigued by the title of one: The Lost Souls of Smethwick Baths. Why are they lost? Could they not find their way back to the changing rooms?

On the subject of ghosts …

I watched Amityville III, made in 1983, the other night. It was truly awful and before I started, I didn’t think I’d seen it before. However, as each scene appeared, I realised I had but still could not recall any of it until I had experienced it all again. Does that make it the most forgettable film I have ever sat through?

Best get packing then.

With David off to Bryntisilio tomorrow, I have loads of packing to do for him. I have also had a nasty surprise too. Handed to me on Friday, three days before he goes, was a letter. It stated that while away, the kids will have a themed party and he needs a costume.

Right, and the theme is … American Indians.

Are they having a laugh? Where the frig do they expect me to find a Native American costume at this short notice – off the rack at M&S?

Jesus! The things we parents have to cope with.

Cheers.

 

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Jeremy Kyle Teeth … and Other Nonsense.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 10 Comments
May 6, 2012

A case of bad teeth.

I spoke the other week about tag lines for this blog and I was looking at my stats the other day and it actually tells you what phrases people type before ending up on my page as a result.

Top of the charts is not, as you may assume from previous weeks, Titanic, Titanic plank, Rose on the plank or they both fit on the bloody plank. This is of course, in response to my ongoing quibble that the silly cow in the film Titanic, took all the space on that raft and left Leo to freeze his nuts off in the Atlantic.

Yep, that’s the one … again. However, as you can see, I am not alone in my gripe. Below is what others have thought of the subject and if two people could have fitted on that piece of wood.

I rest my case.

As I was saying, that lot I previously mentioned, weren’t the most common phrases. In the last month, over a hundred people have searched using Jeremy Kyle Teeth, or Jeremy Kyle bad teeth and even Jeremy Kyle worst teeth. Typing this, they found me as a result of a picture I posted a few weeks back of this horrendous, scary woman.

Remember her? Anyway, seeing as some of you may have arrived here looking for more of the same from The Jeremy Kyle Show, who am I to disappoint …

There … Happy now?

Hey! I’ve achieved notoriety.

I have in the past, poked fun and sometimes criticised a number of local councils and none more so than my own, Walsall Council. I know somebody who works within the council and I was amused to hear from them this week that this site has been blocked to stop staff accessing it.

Yay! I must have struck a nerve. Well done, Walsall Council. You keep making ridiculous decisions, wasting money and giving poor service to the town, and I’ll keep writing about it.

And talking of Walsall …

An example of the strange folk I encounter as I enjoy a breakfast down town in an arcade coffee shop balcony. Two men sit down on a box, then a friend of theirs carrying a red bag, comes to talk to them. However, he doesn’t simply talk, he stands ten feet away then shouts so loud, the entire arcade, shops and customers of the coffee shop above can hear him.

Why don’t you just go and stand next to them?

And this week’s chip shop episode.

Yes, it was back to the regular chip shop this week for yet another meeting with Gothic Girl, the self-styled corpse bride who tried to poison me a few weeks ago. However, when I walked into the shop, I was taken aback because (wait for it) Gothic Girl … wasn’t there. No, there was another young girl in her place who served me with no hitches whatsoever.

Thing is, I’m worried now. Where is Gothic Girl? I mean – seems silly if she’s spent six months there but left when she finally learned how to wrap a bag of chips and charge the correct money.

What if I never see Gothic Girl again?

Then I had a thought. It was Monday – May 1. The festival of Beltane.

That’s it. Gothic Girl and the rest of the Munsters – They’ve all gone on holiday to celebrate.

It’s all a bit too Munch.

So Munch’s The Scream, sold for $120million. Wow!

It is a lot of money I suppose for a sketch using a pastel set. The big question about The Scream has always been what inspired it. I know the answer. The character has been forced to listen to N Dubz.

Nob of the week.

I’m going to say nothing on the subject of tanning addict, Patricia Krentcil apart from one thing.

You look – fucking ridiculous.

Sinking to an all time low.

No … I’m not going on about the bloody Titanic again. Think again. What I am actually moaning about now is the scummy newspaper The Sun. Not being content with tearing new England manager, Roy Hodgson to shreds before he’s even overseen a game, the paper decided to dedicate their major headline to mocking the guy’s speech impediment.

Way to go, you assholes for reaching the gutter of all gutters in terms of journalism. What’s the matter – a little sore the FA picked Roy and not Harry Redknapp, the guy you’ve been telling us for months was 100% certain to be the next manager?

Mind you, speaking of headlines.

It’s not just The Sun who get it wrong. I saw this on Twitter and couldn’t resist a bit of bad taste myself. Mind you, I didn’t print the thing originally and whoever did, should certainly have checked what advert was going to run underneath the main story.

You couldn’t make it up.

On a more serious note.

I would just like to say a huge get well to Toby Craddock, the two-year-old son of Wolverhampton Wanderers star, Jody Craddock. Toby has been diagnosed with leukemia and this, after Craddock lost his first son ten years ago to a cot death.

It just makes me angry at the injustice and even more of an atheist that any fantasy God could be okay with this. There is a world filled with many deadbeat dads who don’t care about their kids on one hand, then you have people like Jody Craddock who have been dealt the most cruelest of blows. How much more heartache should one family have to take? We wish you well, Toby. Safe recovery.

What the hell is my computer doing?

My computer has been running slow all day and making whirring noises. I checked the task manager to see why and found out that 98% of the usage was down to the system idle process.

How can it be idle? I’ve never heard it make so much blooming noise.

Nice weather for ducks?

Or maybe swans?

Apparently, we in Britain are in the middle of a drought and have been warned not to waste water.

Drought? Tell that to those living near the River Severn in Worcester the other day.

Well, I made it in the end.

I managed to the finish the blog without mentioning the film, Titanic again. I feel good for that. In fact, I could describe myself as feeling like I’m the king of the world.

Arrrggghh!

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – A Titanic-Free Zone

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 12 Comments
April 29, 2012

A cautionary note.

Okay. This week, I promise. No more stuff about the Titanic. I know it was trending, but look at it from my point of view. If I keep going on about the film, Titanic, you’ll start to get bored and the readership of this blog will start to sink faster than …

Oops!

And talking of liking something …

At the bottom of this post, you will see a like button. It’s the same sort of thing you have on Facebook. However, on Facebook, I have often wondered if people realise what they are doing with this function. You see, on more than one occasion, I’ve witnessed people posting bad news only to have loads of their friends like it. I know what they are doing, they are just saying, “Hi, I have read and was here.” Thing is, it must be a bit depressing for the user to post that he has six months to live then find all his friends apparently like the fact.

Poisonous fish … anybody?

You may recall many weeks back, my ongoing saga of the chip shop and in particular, Gothic Girl who worked there. I was convinced that Gothic Girl was in ecstatic rapture after her having poisoned me when I didn’t so much get fish in batter – more like fish in hairspray.

So, it’s been weeks since I had fish and chips but the other day, I went out for lunch with my good friends, Rich and Mikee and ordered the fish and chips at a local pub. The staff bought me my meal, and two different lunches for my friends. All was well, apart from the bones until I had an empty plate and the bar staff came to clear the table.

‘Which of you had the fish?’ one of them asked.

‘That would be me.’

‘Was it okay?’

‘Yes, lovely thank you.’

They smiled, took my plate and departed. It was then I had the thought. Hang on, there are three of us here. Why are they only asking me if the fish was okay? What’s wrong with the fish?

Is it just my paranoia, or has Gothic Girl got an more evil, older sister?

I think I shall stick to home-cooked meals from now.

Praise be …

So, Fabrice Muamba’s recovery after being dead for over an hour after collapsing on the football pitch, is being claimed to be the result of a miracle from God. Funny, I thought it was down to the paramedics, doctors and other professional medical staff who busted a gut trying to save Fabrice’s life.

Wishing you back to full fitness, Fella, and I can understand you looking in terms of a miracle, but God? The almighty wasn’t in evidence much when the player collapsed in the first place, or as the medics did the job they delicate their lives to doing. Bet they’re grateful all the kudos has gone to God and that all the religious nuts assume the medics were just pissing about pretending to work their own wonders by way of learning, technology and good training.

Talking of football.

It seems a soccer ball, lost in the Japanese Tsunami has been washed up 3,000 miles away, making it the second greatest distance a ball has ever travelled after Sergio Ramos’ appalling penalty miss for Real Madrid against Bayern Munich the other night. That ball still hasn’t come to ground, I believe.

A bit of a ding dong down in rural Somerset.

After chiming their merry way each hour for the past hundred or so years, it seems that the church bells have been silenced in the village of Wrington (I know … apt or what?). The reason for this, it seems is that new neighbour, Jonathan App and his partner Christine Hallet, claimed the noise was a nuisance.

Well. Little piece of advice. Don’t buy a house next to a fucking big church which has a huge bell in it then. Pillocks. It’s like people that move near an airport then complain about the bloody planes.

Note to Mr App. Instead of complaining and moaning about tradition – try a pair of these.

Doing my bit for recycling.

I have been trying to clear out some of my clutter and as a hoarder, I am finding this a long process. In my loft, I have about 800+ VHS video tapes, most of which I can’t be bothered with any more or I have since, replaced with DVDs. Therefore, over the past few weeks, I have been going through all those I no longer want with the intent of dumping them.

One thing my local council is good at (credit at last where it’s due) is recycling and after making enquiries, found they have these recycling banks for tapes.

Off I travelled, two full boxes of plastic and magnetic tape and found my emptying point.

Thing is, no sooner had I begun to pile my unwanted tapes inside the receptacle, I noticed what some other people must have done prior to my arrival and I stared at the titles of the tapes already inside.

‘Hang on,’ I said, ‘I’ve never seen that one … or that.’

Before I knew it, I was head down and arse in the air, deep into the recycling bin, weeding through and picking out some of the films I haven’t got.

Hmm … Clearing the clutter for the environment? Not going to plan – obviously.

There we go then.

A fine Sunday Roast and apart from that word at the beginning, not a mention of Titanic – apart from just then when I said the word, Titanic. And there … where I did it again … Oh Bloody hell. Okay, just for you lot then …

Don’t you love a happy ending? Even if she did keep him waiting 80 years after taking all the space on that raft then letting him drop to the bottom of the ocean after promising she’d never let go.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – An Event of Titanic Proportions.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 6 Comments
April 22, 2012

Titanic, Titanic, Titanic!

Leonardo Dicaprio, Rose, sinking ship, floating on wood, plank and freezing water. There, I’ve done it – got all the tag-lines in to boost my search engine potential.

I was speaking of this the other week and about how using certain words, actually worked. However, I noticed some other traffic too. You see on this blog, I get a lovely load of stat-counts which tell me what tools are good, and what are not. When I talked of sex, I got loads more hits. I also noticed this week, my most viewed blog was not a current one, but a roast from a few weeks back: The Sunday Roast – Pasties, Petrol and a Queen Singing Parrot. I wondered why this was and after investigation, I saw all the searches were based on my piece about the Titanic; the skit I did about Rose floating on the wood and her selfishly, not shoving across to let poor old Leo get on board, thus condemning him to a icy death.

There, a blatant and shameless reprint, partly to remind you but really, to get everybody looking again and boost this week’s traffic. It was the same with the sex talk. God, it works. And while we’re on the subject … Titanic, Rose, naked.

What, you thought I was going to show full nudity? There may be children reading this.

Anyway, I also had this other nagging thought about the film, Titanic. Not only was dear old Rose spiteful for not letting her lover onto the raft, she also carried her evil ways on right up until her death. You see, the film comes about by the adventurer, Brock Lovett, trying to recover the diamond that Rose has been wearing all her life, but he thinks is still in the Titanic. In the end, the aging lady stands on the deck of Lovett’s craft and hurls the stone to the bottom of the ocean.

How poignant. Or as I was thinking. ‘You bloody selfish woman! You did it again.’ Not only did she doom poor Leo to reside on the bottom of the Atlantic, she now wastes that guy, Lovett’s time by having his crew spend thousands trying to find the diamond and when he is within touching distance, she chucks it overboard. What a cow! I mean, Brock’s even given her an all-expenses paid passage on his boat in order for her to tell him that long-winded story, and how does she repay him? She does that!

And speaking of Titanic – still …

There does seem to be a massive hoo-ha at the minute over the Titanic because of its 100-year anniversary. This was none more evident than the bizarre cruise taken by those on the MS Balmoral. Here, people booked five years in advance to party, buy t-shirts saying ‘I survived the wreck,’ and then spend many hours listening to tales of how 1500 people died in the freezing cold of the Atlantic Ocean.

Tacky … or what?

A case of sore heels.

My barmy local council are at it again. They have chosen not to have the election count in the town hall but at a college campus instead. They have also banned women from wearing high-heels in case it damages the floor.

Yes, I know, this is Walsall we’re talking about and most women here wear trainers and tracksuit leggings. However, there are a few that still have a little style and we now have the prospect of them standing on the podium waiting for results to be announced, all wearing their croc shoes.

An idea of what your average politician should be wearing this year.

It’s all bull. I know the real reason and it’s not to do with protecting the floor, either. These local government events can get a little feisty and it doesn’t look good for the results to be announced with the Conservative Party Candidate, standing smiling with a six-inch stiletto sticking out his ear.

Exhibit number one, Your Honour …

Headline of the week.

So … Sharon Explodes. Why, did her artificial implants spontaneously combust?

Apparently, Mrs Ozzy Osbourne is a bit miffed that pop mogul and promoter of all things banal, Simon Cowell, has a book out which apparently, drags Sharon into his seedy and debauched world. How dare he? I mean, talking gutter stuff and all things catty and full of sleaze? That’s Sharon’s job – surely?

Sharon Osbourne. Proof that you can have absolutely no talent and still earn millions from the entertainment business.

And speaking of Simon Cowell …

Do we really want to know all of your dirty little secrets? Funny timing though. Bring out a warts and all book when your TV show isn’t going too well while it’s up against new rival, The Voice. Mind you, that’s just what we need, another freakin’ talent show, thrusting more generic and insipid tripe into our ears. I remember when music had passion.

It’s Sunday, but at least Titanic has finished on TV.

No, I don’t mean the James Cameron version, not the one I’ve spent this entire blog talking about. The Cameron epic is the one that has had a few little gimmickry tricks superimposed and is now being flogged to gullible audiences in our cinemas as a new film. The Titanic I’m talking about is the ITV dramatisation that finished last week. I’ve been watching it with my daughter who sadly, seems to be becoming obsessed with the Titanic. She keeps looking it up on the internet, reading about it and searching for clips on YouTube – and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Sorry … couldn’t resist.

Now this new version of the tragedy was shown over four weeks and apart from being tediously dull, had an irritating style of plot. Each of the first three episodes kept going back to before the voyage started. You see, the action (Coughs – Yeah, I know) is interwoven with bits of the story you have already seen in previous weeks. All three episodes before the final one, ended on a cliffhanger, meaning yes, we have to see the bloody thing go down over and over again. It was confusing. There was one good thing though. At no point did I see some useless girl on a raft taking up all the space while her young lover freezes his bollocks off in the icy waters before joining the great refrigeration department under the sea.

There. Had to get it in again, didn’t I?

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Sexual Blogging, Prison Breaks and a bit of Leonardo

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 10 Comments
April 15, 2012

Sexually addicted to blogging.

Last week, I tried an experiment to see if using sexual terms in my blog and tags increased the number of visitors to my site. Result? Twice as much actually, though I would like to argue they appreciated my wit, opinion and the bit about falling down the lavatory, far more than cheap crudity.

Still, it was on the subject of sex that I blogged my first ever post on Myspace all those years ago. Yes, I have to admit, I was once, a blogging virgin.

No!!! Not that kind of virgin. I was speaking about being a novice in terms of writing, back then. The original post, I can confess now, was only two lines long but you have to understand, it was my first time and it all came out before I knew it.

However, I tried again the next week and I caressed the keyboard a little more tenderly this time. I found taking a bit longer, achieved greater lasting and more satisfying results. Posts were still rare though. In fact, I was only making entries a couple of times a month as my blog-life wasn’t anything to shout about at that point. Still, as I became more experienced, my reputation grew, attracting interest from others. Suddenly, it was not I doing the chasing, people instead, wanted me. I was in demand. The joy I could give by the use of my fingers alone was amazing. This became so much so that I was soon blogging every night. I have to say, it gave me a buzz. Folk commended me on my technique and varying style and soon I branched out into all sorts of diverse ways. Be it words of love or even a bit of hardcore sadism, but I was always in control. Well, you know, I just like to be on top of things.

The trouble was, it all got out of control. I’d say to folk, ‘Sorry, I’m just going to stay and wash my hair tonight.’ However, as soon as I’d got the top off the Head and Shoulders, I’d be back online. I didn’t know how to say no.

I guess you could have called me promiscuous in blogging terms at the time. I was at it every day, sometimes two to three times a night. Occasionally, I was not quite in the mood so I had to look at other peoples blogs, you know, to see if it would arouse and stimulate me. It usually did and then I was well away; my hands having a mind of their own. After that, it was back to my own blog and pleasing the public once more. I’m like it now, always wanting to leave folk satisfied and there is no greater pleasure than being in the knowledge that you have delivered multiple entries and have the reader begging for more.

Still though, I do have a bit of a confession to make on the matter. You see during that time, I occasionally posted on other sites. Gasp! I played away. Was I really being unfaithful? Moreover, it gets worse. One site actually paid me for the pleasure of my services. Oh my God, does this mean I was working as a blogging prostitute? It only paid pennies too. Heavens, I was cheap into the bargain.

In the end, I sought counselling but in my defence, nothing I did was illegal and I wasn’t harming anyone. It was my own body, after all.

I’ve calmed over the years though but I am still always available. Whether it be a tender slow post, or just a little quickie, I am here, ready and willing as always.

And an audacious bid for freedom.

Jailbird, Ronaldo Silva, got out of prison in Penedo, Brazil by swapping clothes with his wife who was there for a visit. Having prepared, shaved his legs and applied lipstick, Silva strode past guards and was only captured when a policeman nearby, noticed the man walking funny.

So this is what fooled the prison guards? I have to say, there must be some fucking ugly women visiting Penedo Jail.

A cure for all ills?

So I see two bigoted organisations, the Core Issues Trust and Anglican Mainstream, have been banned from running an ad campaign that claims homosexuality can be cured. Correct me if I’m wrong, but since when has being gay, meant you are ill? Also, I’ve never herd of any gay people saying they wanted to change.

So once again, we have these religious fanatics, trying to impose their fairy tales onto the minds of rational thinking folk and to an extent, getting away with it.

I agree with Mark Twain. I’m going to start a campaign. I’m offering to cure people of the religion blighting their lives.

Things to do …

I read an article the other day which described a ‘to-do’ list that had been unearthed in some documents belonging to Leonardo da Vinci. Now considering the report came during early April, I was naturally very sceptical. However, it was April 5 when it hit the news, so it must be true, unless they got the timing of the joke wrong.

I digress. I was more intrigued by the list and what Leonardo’s reminders of things to do, might actually be.

Leo’s things to do – Sunday.

1. As it’s Easter, paint a picture depicting The Last Supper. Remember to have Christ being shown as a greedy bastard who ate all the pies before his disciples even got started, then have his men point while saying, ‘I knew we should have got extra fries.’

2. Remember to get back to Pope Julius with that quote for the Sistine Chapel, in case that bastard Michelangelo, undercuts my price.

3. Get another model for that latest painting. The one I’m using, doesn’t quite cut it.

4. Design a helicopter. It’ll catch on in no time at all.

5. Oh yes. Do that trick of standing sideways by a mirror then raising your arm and leg, then incorporate it into a drawing about geometric proportions and see if anybody notices I’m taking the piss.

Well, did the earth move for you with that blog?

Thank you to all who’ve consented to share a bed with me in my blogging experience today. I hope it was as good for you as it was for me and we all came to the same conclusions at precisely the right moment. Hope it wasn’t an anticlimax and you’re feeling let down. If you are – sorry, I’m sure you understand. It can happen to anybody.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Easter Eggs and the art of falling down the Lavatory.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 14 Comments
April 8, 2012

Happy Easter, everybody …

Now you may have begun to get the impression from previous posts, I’m not the most religious person around. However, I do respect beliefs and the reasons for celebrating this time of year. Easter – That’s the time we rejoice in the swapping of chocolate and force our kids to make silly crepe-paper hats. Right?

Somebody I know who is dear to me, is going to kill me for that picture but in my defence, it was me who spent all night gluing their fingers together, nearly twenty years ago today.

But back to the chocolate. I recall an incident from a couple of years ago when I bought a load of eggs at a local supermarket. The offer was that they were all half-priced. Great, I needed nine. It was only when I got to the checkout that the cashier said there was a maximum allowance of six per customer.

‘Where does it say that?’ I asked, dumfounded.

‘On the advertising board.’

They were right. On a 6×3 placard, hanging above me, it said, “This offer is limited to 6 per customer.” The thing was, these words of guidance were ten feet high in the air and in a smaller font than the one you’re currently reading.

Undeterred, I smiled at Mrs Unhelpful Jobsworth – Happy to Serve, and promptly separated my eggs into two piles of 5 and 4, dividing them with a next customer please, thingy.

Mrs Jobsworth looked at me, aghast. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m buying five.’ I then pointed behind. ‘And he’s having four.’

‘But … there’s nobody there.’

I looked at her – stern. ‘Don’t you ridicule my paranoia.’

And then she served me, unable to come back from that. I don’t know what troubled her more: the fact I’d challenged her concept of natural order or that I was wearing a t-shirt that spelled, “They don’t let me have sharp knives any more.”

Hah! Jobsworths. Mess with me and you’re messing with an expert.

What a load of rubbish.

Okay, I get it now. I know why my bins are not being emptied until late in the afternoon. The refuse collectors are all hiding and congregating in some kind of refuse collector bonding session.

And what’s more … My bin goes back outside my house and not, on its side in the middle of the road.

Pride comes before a fall.

Okay, I get it now, you girls; I see where you’re coming from. There really is nothing more surprising that lowering yourself onto the lavatory and finding some bastard has left the seat up, meaning you end up falling down the pan.

Optimising your potential.

I’m still getting to grips with this blog-site lark. It was fine on Myspace because everything was done for you but now, I apparently have to optimise my search engine potential. To do this, I need to use keywords and also have them as tags, so that they attract more visitors to my site. With this in mind … sex, masturbate, transsexuals, porn. How about that for starters? Be interesting to see if I get any more hits this week.

Nob of the week.

I reckon this has to be rugby ponce, Gavin Henson. Henson, had the incredibly stupid idea of flying on a plane, then while thousands of feet in the air, endangering everybody on board by having an ice-cube fight.

It’s not the first time he’s courted idiotic publicity and none more so than appearing on his own show, The Bachelor. In the programme, 25 women fought for the right to become Gavin’s girlfriend. Good to know relationships are made from solid foundations.

The Bachelor – The words, barrel, bottom and being scraped spring to mind

The winner, Carianne Barrow, told how they split after she realised Henson had no true feelings for her.

Jaw drops – NO!

With that sort of effect on women, it’s no wonder he has to resort to playing with ice cubes. He should have stuck with former wife, Charlotte Church. He and the Voice of an Angel, divorced a few years back and Henson’s life has gone to pot ever since. Perhaps next, he’ll turn to religion. Well, he did spend most of his married life inside a Church.

Footballers behaving badly.

Manchester City striker (and perennial nob-head), Mario Balotelli, is being quizzed by police after allegedly soaking some teenage girls at a nightclub. What a crime. Does he not realise there’s a hosepipe ban?

Quick Question.

Will somebody please tell me the point of Russell Brand?

Not such a technophobe, now!

I’ve had my Android phone for nearly a year and only just worked out how to alter the size of the font on my texts.

Yay! I’m a happy android and I can ditch those glasses I bought now.

The cold callers are giving up on me.

You may remember my tale of the cold caller who I kept on the phone for half an hour, ending when I put him on standby, listening to Queen. Well, word must have got around if the call I took the other day is anything to go by.

Ring.

I pick up, say hello, hear somebody ask if they’re speaking to Mr Britt – Blah-de-blah-de-blah! Let’s progress.

‘I am ringing about the wrong selling of a PPI,’ the foreign-sounding caller said in an almost unrecognisable accent.

‘Okay,’ I replied, preparing to string him along.

However, the cold caller took me by surprise. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ he said. ‘A nice day to you.’ And then he hung up.

??? I didn’t even get a chance to say I wasn’t interested.

Word really has got out. Either that, or they can sense the word piss-taker, just by the tone of my voice.

And the conversation of the week.

I overheard this one when I was eating out, having breakfast the other day.

Girl smiles across the table to boy. ‘Would you still love me if I was fat?’

Boy smiles. ‘Of course I would.’ Face drops, horror spreads across his cheeks. ‘You’re not going to get fat, are you?’

Classic.

Happy Easter Sunday Roast to you all.

Hope you’re all having a good day. I’m off to discover the true meaning of Easter and tuck into a chocolate egg. Mine’s a Crunchie.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Pasties, Petrol and a Queen Singing Parrot

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 12 Comments
April 1, 2012

April Fool … anybody?

So it’s April 1, and you’re expecting me to make a fool of people. Well, as I do that most weeks, who am I to disappoint when we have a whole day dedicated to life’s idiots.

First up, we have a follow-on from last week when I spoke of the soft targets being hit as a result of the chancellor’s budget. What I failed to mention was the hike in VAT levied on hot food sold by retail outlets. Now dubbed, “Pastygate,” we have millions of lycra-legged and baseball cap wearing lasses and lads, all outraged because they now have to fork out extra for their daily fix at Greggs.

The government are trying to play it down, of course by not mentioning hot food. Still, they don’t seem to be doing a good job if recent sightings are anything to go by.

The thing is, I can’t actually see why pasties and the rest were exempt in the first place. I know why the government have done it. One, obviously it will bring them more revenue but secretly (and this is where the craftiness comes in), all those who have to maybe eat a banana instead of a pizza slice or sausage roll, will soon be losing weight. You see, Mr Chavvy from Chavtown, will begin to worry that his grey and orange jogging bottoms don’t fit him any more and he’ll have to buy new ones. Even further, Mrs Loudmouth in Leggings, will also be astonished to find that Primark, actually sell lycra garments in sizes under 20.

Wow! I’m amazed. With all these new clothes available smaller sizes, once we have been weaned off a diet of pastry, there will be people queuing up for new stuff. What a boost for a countries economy. I mean, all those sweat shops with children working for 5p a day in third world continents will never have had it so good in terms of turnover.

Still, they produce them – we’ll keep on buying them, just like those God-awful pasties.

Cynical – me?

Mama Mia …

I enjoyed reading about the missing parrot who sings Bohemian Rhapsody. His owner, however, is distraught and wants the bird back after thieves took it.

Hmm, maybe it should have been taught to sing the songs of the Pet Shop Boys instead. If it had, you can guarantee it would have been returned in a day.

Now showing at your local cinema …

Across the land, our multi-screen complexes are showing the latest Hollywood blockbuster – Titanic.

Eh … hang on, didn’t Titanic come out about fifteen years ago?

Yes, Titanic is the latest in a long line of reissues where people are being fleeced in order to watch the same movie again, but this time in 3-D.

For ages, cinemas and audiences feeling ripped off, have gone hand-in-hand. You see, not only have we always paid to get in to see the film, once inside the cinema, we pay more than our original entry fee for bloomin’ popcorn and fizzy drinks. Why? It’s a strange one. We eat popcorn while watching a movie and at no other point in our lives.

Anyway, I digress, so back to Titanic … in 3-D. I have seen Titanic, though never in one go. I always come in at some point when it’s shown but with it being so long, I’ve never had the stamina for the whole motion picture. I actually think the voyage of the real Titanic took less time than watching the silly film. Still, I want to know one thing, and this has puzzled me for years. If it is now in 3-D, with a much better scope of vision, will Kate Winslet finally see that the plank she’s lying on in the freezing water while Leonardo Dicaprio is hanging onto the side … IS BLOODY WELL BIG ENOUGH FOR BOTH OF THEM?

Arrrgghh! Is she stupid? That’s a huge board she’s on. Shift over you idiot and let him snuggle up beside you.

It’s not just that either. Just before the ship sinks, she’s on the lifeboat, heading to safety and then climbs back onto the Titanic to be with Leo. Arrrgghh! “Rose, why did you do that, why?” All that, “You jump, I jump,” nonsense; if she’d stayed on the lifeboat, he’d have jumped on his own and had that piece of wood all to himself.

Stupid mare. She killed Leo.

Quick note to Trevor Mulligan.

Stop sending me bloomin’ emails about sports dates. I have never heard of you, I am NOT in your basketball team or any other kind of team.

The only balls I play with these days, are my own.

And talking of dates …

I used to get loads of spam emails offering me dates with young hotties. Now, they seem to have been replaced by ones suggesting dating the more mature lady. What are they saying, that I’m past it?

I’m quite happy, thank you, with Angiebabe. She’s seven years younger than me and you know what they say? You’re as young as the person you feel.

April Fuel’s Day.

As I have said, there are many contenders today for nob of the week but none more than Tory MP, Francis Maude. This pillock told the nation that they should buy jerry cans and stockpile fuel in case of a potential tanker drivers strike.

Way to go, Maude. Tell all the idiots in the world to buy cans, fill them with flammable substances, then accept the fact that many will go home and store them next to the gas fire.

I got caught up in the panic buying frenzy the other day too. I was in Warwick, then had to drive 30 or so miles and by the time I was home, I needed to fill up. All this talk of queues, I saw none of them until I reached my regular station and had to wait half an hour as every panic buying fool had chosen that one to go to. I had to fill up a full tank; some of them were only at the pumps for thirty seconds. Annoying, or what?

Calm down, Britt.

I’m going to hope nobody tries to prank me now. I shall settle down, enjoy my Sunday and if I’m feeling peckish … apply to get a mortgage so I can afford the exorbitant price of a Greggs Pasty now the government have levied the VAT on them.

Cheers.

Nick

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