Category: Sunday Roast


The Sunday Roast – Witchcraft, Weird Fetishes, and the End of the World

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March 25, 2012

There be devilment in my vehicle.

I’ve spent this week getting to know the controls and functions of my new car. On collecting it from the showroom, the sales-person explained much but also upset me when she mentioned, ‘Oh, and you do realise you have bluetooth?’

I looked at her, puzzled. ‘No I don’t,’ I said, ‘I’ll have you know, I floss every day.’

She laughed. ‘No, your car comes with bluetooth technology. It’s like a wireless service that you can route devices through and incorporate them into the systems in your car.’

And she’s only blooming well right. I had a play this week and not only can a press of a button bring up my phone contacts onto the car dashboard, if I switch functions, it will pick up what’s on my MP3 player and start playing my favourite music too.

Now don’t ask me how the hell it works. I’m erring on the side of witchcraft at the minute though bearing in mind the accusations on that front aimed at Gothic Girl from the chip shop, I’d welcome a technological explanation any day.

In it together … Are we?

This week, George Osborne delivered his financial budget to the people who voted this lot of “in it for themselves,” service wreckers, into power. Not content with pushing for health reforms that nobody wants, the government have now clobbered just about every soft target they could with this budget.

Pensioners, middle class families – all shafted, but the government’s millionaire chums? They have their 50p rate of tax, cut. Osborne said the previous tax gained from this, never made much difference. Well, not much is better than nothing and he does seem to be helping the ‘well-off’ again. Now, let’s think back to George’s speech of a year or so ago. “All in it together?” Really?

Over in compost corner …

Angiebabe has some seeds and pots so she can grow these little plants. To complete the assignment, I went and got her a bag of compost. However, on purchasing it I did a double-take. You see, I was rather confused by the label.

There we go. Multi-purpose compost, with added, John Innes.

Okay, who is John Innes and what has he done to deserve being made into compost? I remember as a kid, there was a Tom Baker, Doctor Who story where the villain put his enemies into the waste to get rid of them. It also helped his plants grow.

Is this the way ahead, putting unwanted elements into garden produce? It could save the government millions each year if it was. Just think: Murderers, rapists, thieves, bankers, even guests on the Jeremy Kyle show – all of them could be disposed of this way. We would be rid of them and not only that, our radishes might have a bumper crop this year.

Like mother, like daughter.

Awful mother and daughter duo, Kim Ohoro and Katie Scott, were both given anti social behaviour orders recently for terrorising their neighbourhood. It’s nice when family traditions continue.

There they are, sharing the same delightful unwashed looks, matching greasy hair and miserable expressions with added facial studs, or is it just acne?

Bad medicine.

Had to take a little trip to the doctor the other day and came out feeling worse than when I went in. Not the usual reason – catching everybody else’s germs. I left in serious trauma after an hour in the waiting room being forced and having to listen to Heart Radio.

It’s not size that matters.

40-year-old carer, Reighner Deleighnie was in the news this week after opening up about her relationship with a 3ft statue of Adonis. Reighner has given up on real men and craves the marble touch of the statue she has renamed, Hans.

There could be something to be said for it. You see, Hans is never going to argue or answer her back. One major pitfall though; Hans isn’t the most well endowed and she can cover his manhood with her little finger. She’ll have to watch and be careful with the duster too. I’d hate for her to get careless, knock him crashing to the floor and have the relationship end in pieces.

Flying the flag.

Nice looking kit designed by Stella McCartney for the Olympics, but did Stella have to turn up to the photo shoot, still wearing her pajamas?

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

Make the most of your android phones, the fancy game consoles and high performance cars. Come December 21 this year, they will be as useless as Nick Clegg in a loyalty contest. You see, December 21 is the date the world is supposed to end. The main reason for this belief is that it is also the date that the Mayan calender finishes.

Created thousands of years ago, it apparently does stop on this date. So we are doomed, or could it be the Mayans simply ran out of paper?

Have a nice week.

I’m going to make use of my bluetooth apparatus in my car, before the world explodes.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Breakfast with a Health Warning

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March 18, 2012

A good place to tout for business.

If you’ve been a follower of my blogs and twitter feeds before, you may have noticed my liking for having a go at the local (Walsall) council and also in the past, Sandwell, where I used to work. It’s not all negative, I’ll have you know. I’m quite open to dish out praise; just let them do something worthy of it.

Anyway, I bring this up because I had a war of words with a council department on Twitter this week over the regeneration of Walsall Town Centre, which is in fact, dead on its feet. As a result of this argument, I browsed through Walsall Town Centre department’s Twit pic’s (I know … apt or what?) and saw one they are using to promote the town.

So. You decide. What exactly are they trying to attract – prostitution? I think the idea is to display their layout for planned improvement. However, all it seems to be is showing people where there’s a damn good place to pick up hookers.

Those who really matter?

I followed a link this week and found myself, unfortunately, directed to the website of The Tatler magazine and in particular, its famous list.

Apart from the obvious question – namely, ‘Why am I not on there?’ I have to take issue with its subheading: “The People who really matter.”

Really??? I suppose I can’t speak for everybody, but this lot certainly don’t matter to me.

Out of the top 50, I’ve only heard of 18 and six of them are members of the Royal family. It says a lot that the most important person this week is a horse – the one that won the Gold Cup.

There he is and surprisingly, we haven’t had a horse at number one since Camilla. Still, nothing like the UK for placing importance where it’s due. Poor old Prime Minister, David Cameron, comes in at a lowly number 36, underneath his own wife (… I’m not saying it). He is also beaten by Jilly Cooper, Tinie Tempah and comedienne, Sue Perkins.

Sue Perkins??? Tatler describes her as very funny and often seen on ‘Just a minute.’ Just a minute? I think the only thing I’ve ever seen her on are celebrity versions of reality TV shows, therefore making her yet another of those folk who are only celebrities because they get their faces onto such celebrity shows.

The 32 I’ve never heard of include adventurers, fashion groupies, billionaires and their wives, Prince William’s private secretary and a Vogue blogger.

Blogger? There’s hope for me yet then.

A surprise inclusion at 5, is Arthur Wellesley. Name seem familiar? Yes, he shares the same moniker as his ancestor, the Duke of Wellington who thrashed Napoleon at Waterloo. Can’t see what this one’s done to eclipse the more famous Arthur, but Tatler says the current is married to a make-up artist. Standards dropping, I see.

I save the best till last. Standing at a very respectable 15 is Bella Somerset, daughter of Bunty and Tracey Worcester (Come on … you must know them). Bella is described as beautiful, studying at Newcastle University and famous for using obscene language on Facebook, calling everybody a slut. Now if calling people sluts on Facebook is worthy of being on the list, you’re going to have to include everybody in tracksuit and baseball cap who watch Jeremy Kyle.

I did a Google search to find a picture of Bella, but the only one I could see was the one printed in The Tatler. So … important indeed. Oh well, it’s good to know The Tatler have their fingers on the pulse, keeping us informed of the goings on in the lives of really important matters. Are we sure the magazine is not simply The Sun under another name?

Still aggrieved I’m not in it though. Mind you, it does only go up to 500.

There. Happy now.

It’s a hard life at times.

Poor old pop queen, Madonna has been giving interviews recently about the stresses and hardships of being a working parent. I know, it’s bloomin’ difficult. I bet she has such a choice deciding which of the paid staff is going to feed the kids each day.

Nob of the week.

Apprentice supremo, Alan Sugar – the man who proves having millions doesn’t make one happy, carefree and life and soul of the party, was at it again this week with his pompous twaddle.

Apparently, us parents are to blame for the benefit culture. Funny, I thought it was because there weren’t any jobs. He says kids should go to work at 13 and that if they want a PS3, parents should tell them to go to the supermarket, get a job and stack shelves until they have enough money to buy one.

Not a bad idea, Alan – making the kids earn their money. However, you forget one thing. It’s difficult enough to get a job in a supermarket at 30-years of age, let alone 13.

Don’t take it out on today’s kids, Alan, just because your mum and dad never bought you a Johnny Seven One Man Army Gun.

And in this week’s fish and chip paper …

Ha! Thought I was going to have a go at Gothic Girl at the chip shop again, didn’t you? No, I have left Tuesday/Wednesday Adams alone this week, so she’s happy.

Instead, I had a Full English Breakfast the other day. Not even the thought of a visit to the chip shop – what could be nicer?

I did get a bit of stick off Angiebabe over the amount of breakfast items on my plate though. However, when I counted, I had nine pieces to her eight, so we were really close. Not only that, the self-styled ketchup queen had so many sachets of sauce to put on hers, they almost counted as an item themselves.

Still, we settled down to a lovely, relaxing, delicious breakfast. Unfortunately, we chose to sit at a table next to two women who I never want to nibble a mushroom near again. Talk about being force-fed a horrible conversation.

First of all, as I tucked into my bacon, was the tale of the poor cat. Tiddles, it seems, had to be castrated and there was blood all over the floor when it didn’t heal properly. This made Angiebabe really appreciate her sausage, complete with one whole sachet of ketchup. Next we had the tale of getting yellowy pus out of the dog’s ear. I don’t think I’ll have a fried egg again for years now. Finally, the conversation turned to dead skin and foot infections.

Bluurrrggghhh! Perhaps that coffee bar should come with a warning.

So, after a … different sort breakfast of beans on toes, do you reckon I should play safe and give Gothic Girl another chance? At least she only poisoned me.

Have a nice day.

Hope you all have a lovely Sunday, particularly any place where it’s Mother’s Day. I’m off to take a present to mine just now, then I’m off to plan more subversion against my local council.

Cheers.

 

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Psychics, Stupid Research and Dodgy Fish

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 12 Comments
March 11, 2012

No clairvoyants at this door, thank you

I’ve spoken at length about my falling out with Myspace and the various reasons my roasts, er … lapsed. One I used towards the end of my days on the site was that since I finished work to be a full-time carer, I wasn’t getting out enough to witness life’s stupid occurrences. Okay, it was a poor excuse but it’s mine and I’m sticking to it.

However, I needn’t have worried. You see now, the weird and the wonderful come to me instead. Despite having a sign above my door saying, “No canvassers, callers or junk mail,” I had a little white card left the other day by Mr Sillah.

Mr Sillah, as you can see, is the answer to all problems. Great. Can he find a cure for David’s autism?

Mr Sillah also claims to be able to help anybody overcome shyness and make people attractive to members of the opposite sex.

Go on then – Have a try with this one.

It’s frightening that some people may be taken in by this on the basis of a slip of paper which bears no credentials for what it claims. However, if you are the sort of person to be taken in by Mr Sillah, drop me an email as I have a very large palace just off Constitution Hill in London that I want to sell for a ridiculous knock-down price.

Come off it, Mr Sillah. If you really were that good a clairvoyant, you’d have known I wasn’t interested before you put your card through my door.

Meanwhile, back at the chip shop

I don’t believe it. Gothic Girl – is trying to poison me.

You may recall the ongoing saga of a chip shop I really like and its downside, namely the bride of Frankenstein who serves behind the counter.

I have the feeling I may have been rumbled for writing about her because not only was Gothic Girl indifferent to me the other day, my Cod tasted … funny. Chips – fine. Well they’d have to be as they cook them in a job-lot but fish …? They do that on request as yes, the bloody shop never have any ready and this week, my particular fish didn’t have so much of a cod taste, more like … hair perm solution.

Oh my God, that’s it, she’s found out hasn’t she. She’s read my Sunday Roast in-between practicing necrophilia and has now laced my battered cod with hair chemicals.

Okay, I survived, but my intestines are a little more curly than they used to be.

Virgin on the ridiculous

You want to know what advert really irritates me at the minute? That stupid one with Usain Bolt advertising Virgin Media.

“Hi, I’m Richard Branson,’ he says, before rolling off the delights of the extra fast broadband. Yes, it would be great if Virgin didn’t have a fault every week, resulting in me losing my connection.

But back to that stupid ad. How the hell is an athlete in a fake beard supposed to entice people to sign up for broadband? I’m with Virgin and am more likely to ditch them after being force-fed this tripe.

Listen – You are not Richard Branson, you are Usain Bolt with a stupid grey beard.

Nob of the week

While I have every sympathy with Bee Gee, Robin Gibb for his recent fight against cancer, trying to blame his health problems on bad karma and payback for all the success he’s had, is a bit insensitive.

So you reckon you get famous, earn multi-millions and as a result, think life levels out for what you’ve gained? Okay, how about those who live a good, honest life, help others and are still blighted by the disease; what the heck are they receiving retribution for, you pillock?

Robin, I wish you well with recovery and hope you continue stayin’ alive, but try to be a bit less of a prat.

Meanwhile, back in Wolverhampton

A few roasts back, I told the sorry tale of Wolverhampton Wanderers and their current footballing troubles after losing 1-5 to bitter rivals, West Bromwich Albion. Subsequently, they sacked their manager and replaced him with his deputy, hoping for an improvement.

Well, after last week’s 0-5 drubbing at the hands of Fulham, supporters are now turning on chief executive Jez Moxey for creating the mess in the first place. A protest took place before their latest defeat yesterday where fans displayed banners calling for the resignation of Mr Moxey.

Protest not going too well then?

All in the name of research

Apparently, Texas State University have been conducting research into the sinking of the Titanic. Yes, in an age of global warming and carbon footprints, scientists are busy working out how a ship sank 100 years ago.

The results of their findings are that the Titanic disaster may have occurred due to the moon at the time, being closest to the earth than it had been for over 1,400 years, causing tides to rise and dislodge the ice.

So it’s the moon’s fault then? Funny, I thought it was because someone couldn’t spot a hundred-foot high iceberg in clear weather.

And another complete waste of research time …

If you thought working out the sinking of the Titanic was useless enough, listen to what Lehigh University, Pennsylvania have been spending their research grants on.

Apparently, building Star Wars’ Death Star, would have cost its makers £541,870 trillion and taken 833,000 years to complete.

Wow! I’m so glad I learned that nugget of information. Can you find out next, how many trees I need to chop down in order to re-build Noah’s Ark?

Terms and conditions may apply …

Birmingham’s twenty-year-old, National Indoor Arena (NIA), is undergoing a revamp.

I have to admit, it looks pretty good but the downside is, as with most things, it is now part of a sponsorship deal – this one with Barclaycard. Therefore, the NIA is now to be renamed, ‘NIA – A Barclaycard Unwind Experience.’

Hope the entertainment remains the same and you don’t have to pay 29.9% APR on any ticket you buy? Still, if I’m due to watch ‘Riverdance’ at the Hippodrome (Yeah … as if), maybe they’ll offer me a balance transfer of discounted tickets for the NIA if I see a concert I’d prefer to see instead?

Right. It’s a wrap

Thanks for stopping by once more, I’m off to see if there are any more conmen banging on my door. Hark! I can hear it now … Let’s look out the window.

Jehovah Witnesses. I think I’ll go and give ’em a flash.

Cheers.

 

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Food, Fun and Fond Farewells

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March 4, 2012

A busy old week

I cannot believe how much work on the book I’ve achieved this week. The target is to finish the first draft by the end of the month, then let it stew until it’s time to edit with fresh eyes. Once done, I will have two novels, both totally unwanted by agents or publishers.

Angiebabe stayed at my house for over a week but went home on Thursday. She said, “At least you’ll be able to get more writing done.”

That’s not exactly true. While she has been here with me, I’ve done 10,000 words. She’s golden. Doesn’t interrupt me when I’m writing which is a great incentive to do more. You see … it’s the only way to shut her up.

Ouch! How did that pair of shoes hit me from fifteen miles away?

Chip Shop update …

Okay, I’m still confined to a promise not to have a go at Gothic Girl, but I am worried as she looked very … well, orange if I’m to be honest, judging by her appearance while serving me this week’s fish and chip meal.

I think she overdid it with the skin toner. Either that or she’d had a bath in the batter mix.

A great guy, who definitely left his mark.

I always say that when people depart this world, as long as somebody remembers them and all the wonderful things they’ve said, then they are never really dead.

I came across Bob on Myspace a few years back. He was from the States and always commented on my posts, including my ‘Living with David’s,’ where he’d say, “You done good, Son.” I’d subscribed to his writing as soon as I’d found this fascinating and entertaining character. He was blunt, to the point and didn’t suffer fools gladly, but he had one heck of a heart with a tale to tell. When I was going through a real bad patch, Bob wrote, “Nick, I got to be honest, if we were sharing a drink and you started going on like this, I’d get up and leave.” He had a point, and after a cyber-kick in the butt from Bob, I snapped out of my depression.

After desolation hit Myspace and everybody gave up on the site, I lost touch with Bob and only found out the other week he’d passed away. I visited his old Myspace site and fortunately, have been able to read some of his wonderful blogs again, one of which, I have no hesitation in reproducing here.

I MIGHT START GOING TO CHURCH AGAIN – by Bob
I mainly don’t go to church because it is the same damn thing every Sunday. You sit there, sing a few songs, and get your ass chewed out about all the sinning you are doing. While I’m pretty much against over-sinning, I believe a moderate amount of it is good for a body and makes life slide along smooth and easy.
But I drove by a church over there on Barton Chapel Road a couple of hours ago that might appeal to me; they had them a fairly decent free-for-all going on right there in the parking lot. Thirty or forty men and women, whamming the dog crap out of each other, chasing one another around cars and breaking the Golden Rule all to hell.
I’m thinking I may go see the preacher over there. If he can promise me a riot with each sermon I have to sit through, I’ll sign up.
PEACE ON YOU ALL.

When I visited his Myspace site, I discovered that he, like me, had abandoned it long ago. His last status update said, “Ain’t been here in a while. Like going back to a favorite whorehouse and finding a tofu store where it used to be.”

That was … simply – Bob. You done good, Fella!

And another sad loss …

Farewell Davey Jones, singer with the Monkees and the reason David Bowie is called – Bowie. Some nice tributes but nil points to the one I saw on the late night, ‘Sky News look at the next day’s papers.’ They showed a clip of ‘I’m a believer.’ One Monkees song that Jones ‘didn’t’ sing lead vocals on. Shame on you Sky, couldn’t you even try to get it right?

Nob of the week.

John Demmerling, head of Woodlands Primary School in Telford, took a week off work in school term-time to go on holiday with his children. This is despite his own school policy being that if a parent takes their kids out of school, they get hit with a £100 fine.

Now there are always two sides to any story and it transpires, Mr Demmerling worked many extra hours over the Christmas holiday period as the school was in the middle of moving to a new premises. It had been agreed with the school’s governors, that anybody doing the extra work, would have to be allowed time off within the new term, in lieu of hours already done.

Not a problem, if it was kept low key but it’s a huge own goal, don’t you think, to take your own kids out of their education and apply double standards while still trying to enforce your own. Yes, have a week off, but stay at home and save your skiing holiday for when everybody else is off and not going to complain.

Dunce of the week, Mr Demmerling? Go and stand in the corner.

I’m feeling short-changed.

I had a serious lack of judgement and taste yesterday when I purchased a copy of the Sun newspaper. Yes, the rag I’ve lambasted for the past couple of weeks, somehow found it’s way into my shopping bag. All well and good, I suppose, but when I got home, I found half of it was missing. Pages 25-48, appear to have been lifted by somebody else prior to my purchase which makes me beg the question, why?

Insert expression of shocked and stunned – here.

Okay, I’m not too worried as the Sun is hardly at the heart of journalistic excellence and without those missing pages to read, I’ll simply have to get on and write some more of my novel. It does slightly bother me that I paid 50p for half a paper though. I mean, how can I sleep tonight without knowing who Katie Price is shagging or if some reality TV nobody is facing a big fat gypsy tax bill?

Oh my, I’d best shut up. Otherwise I’ll have the sarcasm police after me.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Britt tackles the Brits

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February 26, 2012

Am I mellowing?

In the months between my last Roast on Myspace and setting up the site here, I posted the odd comment on Facebook. This was mainly for lack of anywhere else to spout off. One of my many observations during this time, was the poor service I got from Gothic Girl at a local chip shop. You see, I have found a really nice fish and chip shop but it seems, good chips come with a price. Every time I go in, I have to wait fifteen minutes as they haven’t got anything cooked. Now listen. It’s called fish – and chips, it’s what they sell but never have any ready to serve.

I digress; you get the gist. Service is poor and last week was no exception. Unfortunately, for this blog, I can’t bring myself to have a go at Gothic Girl today as she was so bloody pleasant to me. I’m going soft, I can’t do it to the poor Corpse Bride.

What am I going to do? I’ve lost my touch. I can see it now. Next time I go into Pizza Hut to be told they’ve run out of dough, I’m going to say, ‘That’s okay, I’ll have pasta instead.’

Arrgghhh! What is happening to me?

And the winner is …

Apparently, Robbie Williams has been voted the world’s hottest man. Why, has he been sitting on a radiator all day? I have to admit, I never could see the appeal in terms of good looks for this fella, apart from the obvious “He’s rich and famous,” line. Perhaps it’s me and the fact I don’t understand what sort of looks women go for, in general. What I do know is, I always think Robbie is the spitting image of the stereotypical guy who stands behind news reporters and pulls silly faces. Oh well, at least he didn’t win a Brit award this year.

And speaking of the Brits …

The economy is in crisis, Syria is being bombed to bits but the biggest news in the UK is … that Adele had her Brit Award acceptance speech ruined to allow Blur to perform their set. Yes, Adele, the worldwide singing sensation (or monotonous dirge, depending on your viewpoint), was just about to thank everybody from her mum to the local postman when compere, James Cordon, was told to cut her off in mid-sob as the show had overrun. I have watched it now on You Tube and haven’t a lot of sympathy because if she hadn’t spent an entire minute trying to milk the crowd while fawning about saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she might have got a few words of note into an acceptance.

Still, she was booted off the stage while displaying a disgraceful finger gesture to allow 90s pop band, Blur, onto the stage.

Blur had earlier won a special award for outstanding contribution to music. I’d be more impressed if they hadn’t spent six of their 21 years together, in a hiatus. How the hell is that an outstanding contribution?

At least the fantastic Foo Fighters won an award for best international group; much deserved after the excellent ‘Wasting Light,’ album last year.

The award that amused me was the one for best single, won by teeny group, One Direction. They may have polled more telephone votes, but do their fans realise you should get the bill payer’s permission (their parents) before ringing in.

One Direction – A group of guys who got lost following the leader in Peter Pan, it seems. Ugh! There’s only one direction my volume goes if I hear them on my car radio.

Not the best idea in the world.

Okay, lesson for the future. Don’t watch the Jeremy Kyle Show while you are eating.

Spaghetti bolognese did not taste good after watching her. And yes, the personality was as vile as she looks.

Nob of the week

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday dear tyrant …

Happy birthday to you

Robert Mugabe turned 88 this week, still presiding over a country whose population’s average life expectancy is only 34 years of age. There’s no justice is there? Mugabe says the success of living longer is to give up alcohol, smoking and red meat. Yes Robert, as your country is in poverty, your people don’t do any of that anyway. The real success of living to a ripe old age in Zimbabwe, it seems, is to become a ruthless dictator and live in luxury while the rest of your people starve. Then they too, may live to be 88.

Look at the King, look at the King, look at the … er, Queen?

I’ve never got it – London Fashion Week and any kind of fashion nonsense to be honest. It always shows just how true the theory of the Emperor’s New Clothes, is. All these people fawning about over models dressed in carrier bags held together with safety pins; who are they kidding that they think it’s good?

However, the best was this week when at a show, hats were paraded by models in the nude – apart from the hats, that is. As I say, Emperor’s New Clothes has come full circle now and you’re not telling me that any of the audience were not simply ogling the naked women.

Still, I suppose it was better than looking at the rubbish hats.

The worst leaving present – EVER!

One of the other things I posted on Facebook in my blogging absence was this picture of Roger Medwell and his farewell gift on retiring after 55 years with British Aerospace.

‘Hmmm … I wonder what they’ll get me: some garden furniture, a stereo system? Even an ornamental clock would do. Oh, here it is now …’

‘Bugger!’ Grit’s teeth. ‘Smile Roger, smile.’

Mind you, when I finished with West Midlands Police, the only official thing given to me was a certificate stating that I had worked for them for 17 years.

Yes, thanks for that, but seeing as it was me who worked there, I did actually know this in the first place.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast (19 February 2012)

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February 19, 2012

So we’ve had Valentine’s Day since the last roast.

Can’t say I’ve been a fan over the years because as I see it, every day should be Valentine’s Day and not just because Clinton’s Cards, tell us we should be spending more money. It’s a rip-off. I mean, you can get some great meal deals at restaurants these days yet come February 14, prices are hiked to fleece us.

Having said all of that, I was aware that I have been going out with Angiebabe for over seven months now and it was out first Valentine’s together. Also, I saw the wrapped presents that she’d bought for me. Therefore, Valentines Day – we did, swapping chocolate hearts, blue-nosed bears and love hearts, plus I had a beautiful card from her. After this, I was then surprised when she said she had one more special present to give, something to keep me company. Yes, for when she isn’t here, she knows I get lonely and has agreed to share me with another woman that she herself, chose.

Okay, not exactly what I was expecting but I will remain true and faithful to Angiebabe. I shall be good and try not to puncture my new friend. Let’s face it, I’d hate her to go down on me.

Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

Don’t know about this Sunday, but last week wasn’t good for the poor soul wearing the wolf costume at the Wolves verses West Bromwich Albion game that day.

Yes, I know he looks full of spirit and hope BEFORE the game, but take a look now … after the fifth goal went in during a 1-5 mauling on their own turf.

You have to feel some sorry for him. Imagine witnessing a humiliating drubbing from your bitterest of rivals … and then having to walk all the way home – in your wolf costume.

Lost in translation.

Apparently, Brummie Debie Roysten had a bout of the flu, then ended up speaking in a French accent as a result. Is she taking the piste?

Nobs of the week.

This would be anybody involved in the case surrounding the failed inheritance of Caroline Barrett. The 28-year-old, lost out on over £200,000 when a High Court agreed with certain members of her family that deceased gran, Bridget Murray, had not wanted Caroline to get a share. The reason for this (wait for it); Mrs Murray, a supposedly devout Catholic, didn’t approve of her granddaughter living in sin for 18 months before she wed, so stated she was not to get a penny.

Yes I know, it was her money to do as she wanted but it doesn’t sound very Christian to me. Hope the rest of the bitter and twisted family are happy now with their 30 pieces of silver, having cast out one of their own.

Every day I hear something new about religion, the less I want to do with it.

And talking of churches …

Okay, the church has done nothing wrong this time, it’s simply an old sign from my local council that never fails to amuse. On the top of Church Hill in Walsall, you will see a sign, pointing the direction to the town’s attractions. Most go one way, but look at the arm pointing to the right that states where to find St Matthew’s Church.

Now take a look at the bigger picture and the sign six foot away and huge building about another twenty beyond that.

Erm, do you not think the huge limestone building in the background with a 170ft spire is a bit of a bloody giveaway that there is indeed a church there?

It was always going to happen.

Last year, Rupert Murdoch’s newspaper, the News of the World, was exposed as having hacked phones. We all know it’s just the tip of the iceberg and that they’re all probably doing it but nevertheless, supremo Murdoch sacrificed his golden lamb and called a halt to the paper’s 168 year history.

Now that was all very well and good, if it was always going to stay that way but as everybody predicted, similarly sleazy paper, the Sun, is soon going to be published on a Sunday. Now as this rag was the weekly sister paper to the News of the World and part of Murdoch’s empire, can anybody see what difference we have apart from a name?

Now we have his trash and gutter-press again, seven days a week to stir up hysteria and hatred like the headline below.

That was the banner on Friday 17, reporting of the arrest of a 26-year-old, accused of the senseless killing of a teenage girl. Yes, she may have been a Goth but whatever the killer’s fashion-sense happens to be, she is simply a killer.

As a result of this idiotic sensationalism, are we going to have some brain-dead morons targeting those who live in a Gothic way, just because some paper brands that particular lifestyle as being weird?

There are some decent people out there after all.

I’m not sure I’d want to brag about this one though, because when Ian Roberts and Pam Curtis found over £21,000 in a bag inside a wicker basket on their doorstep, the police were fairly certain it was as a result of a bungled drug deal. As nobody has come forward to claim the cash, the couple have quite rightly, been able to keep the money as their own. They have since gone public, saying they plan to donate the cash to a regeneration project for a local park. Good for them.

However, if it was me, I’d still be wary of having my smiling face in pictures, gleaming about good fortune when there’s maybe a really pissed-off drug dealer with a gun out there who’s upset that he no longer has his money.

Right … my bath’s ready.

I’m off for a soak with the other woman.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast (12 February 2012)

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 2 Comments
February 12, 2012

I’m back and roasting away on a Sunday.

The furnishings may be different but targets remain the same. Here I take a sideways look at life and have the odd swipe at anything I deem fair game. For those who never saw the old Myspace blog – I hope you stick around now you’ve found me.

I am really happy with the new site but have to admit, it did take me a while with my technophobia, to get to grips with setting it up.

One of the things I found interesting was the WordPress tutorials and the constant references to napkins. Yes … I can see your puzzled expressions but I kept getting advice to write all of my ideas on the back of a napkin. Why? Wouldn’t a word document (seeing as I’m already on the computer) do the job just as well?

Napkins? Do WordPress have stakes in a party supplies firm that went badly wrong and they now need to get rid of all their stock?

Let the bulldozers roll!

It was sad to see pictures of West Bromwich Police Station waiting to be demolished. Sad mainly because of the activity during the preceding twelve months prior to its demise where management authorised decorations to cells, new signs on the front of the building, new shelving in stores, numerous other alterations and just about every department moving from one office to another in a bizarre game of musical chairs. All this in a place imminent to be bulldozed.

For the past three years, staff have worked tirelessly and with great professionalism while under the threat of job losses yet despite huge cuts, money was still wasted on a station with no future.

Organisations like the police need leaders with a vision for the bigger picture in a long term way. Unfortunately we appear to have those in charge who only see as far as the latest office makeover.

Nob of the week.

Quite astonishing has been the rant between comedian Sarah Millican and some of her fans. While performing at the Wolverhampton Civic, Ms Millican engaged in banter with the audience over filming on mobile phones. This seemed to be light-hearted until the row continued on a social networking site with Millican wanting recordings deleted, stating those filming were not welcome at any future concerts.

What planet is she on? Does she not realise without her fans, she is nothing. I will certainly look at her in a different light next time her whining voice is thrust upon me from the television.

She accused those responsible of partaking in nothing short of theft. Hmmmm. Got a new DVD you want to flog Sarah?

I kind of go with the thinking that if people are willing to shell out £20 to come and see you perform, it’s a bit of an own-goal to start slagging them off afterward.

An interesting phone call I took just now.

‘Could I speak to Mr Bright?’ a man with a very hard-to-follow accent, asked from the other end the line.

‘It’s Britt,’ I said.

‘Mr Bright?’

‘BRITT!’

A long pause ensued until finally, the caller spoke again. ‘Mr Bright … I am ringing about a threat to your computer?’

‘Oh yes; go on.’

‘We have been monitoring and it seems your system has become infected.’

Oh Christ, it’s a Sunday, I don’t want cold-callers on a Sunday. ‘Let me stop you right there. There are no threats on my system, I am fully protected and there is no way, unless you have my IP address, that you could know about my system. In fact, the only threat to my system at the present, would appear to be you.’

Cold Caller was undeterred and continued with his spiel until I said I wasn’t interested in anything he was trying to sell.

‘I am not trying to sell you anything,’ Cold Caller said.

‘Then why are you ringing about an infection on my computer?’

‘I haven’t said anything about your computer.’

‘Yes you have, it was your opening line.’

He tried to continue but I’d entered “rant mode” by now. ‘Look, I’m not interested. You’re a scam trying to hack into my computer and if you are a genuine company, give me your business name.’

He did. He said it was ‘Pitt.com.’ I thought I’d check them up later so I asked for his phone number too and he gave me a number that despite him claiming to be calling from America, coincidentally matched my own home line apart from the last digit.

‘You think I’m stupid don’t you,’ I stated. I asked for his name.

‘It’s Pitt,’ he says. ‘P-I-T-T.’

‘And your first name?’

‘Brad. B-R-A-D.’

‘Brad Pitt? You are having a laugh now.’

He claimed he wasn’t but I’d lost it by then. I said as it happened, it was me who was making the joke. I had no intention of doing business and I was just keeping him talking to pump his company phone bill higher and as long as he wouldn’t hang up, I wouldn’t either.

‘You are very funny,’ he said. ‘Ha ha haaa!. Ha ha ha ha haaa! Can you hear me laughing? Ha ha ha ha haaa! Ha ha haaa! Ha ha haaa! Ha ha ha ha haaa …’

Five minutes later.

‘Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha …’

‘Look, I’m going to stop you there,’ I said. ‘Bored now. I don’t know why you won’t go away but it’s your phone bill. However, I need to go somewhere for a minute, therefore I’m going to have to put you on hold.’

I stuck the phone by my computer speaker, clicked the media player and started playing Queen. And I left him. I’ve made a cup of tea and he’s halfway through ‘Headlong’ now. Think I should see if he’s still there?

Load of scrap.

There they go again. ‘Scrap Ironnnnn!’

There wasn’t any here when you passed half an hour ago so why do you think they’ll be some when you come round again now? The amount of time your dulcet tones invade my ears these days, I’m guessing the scrap reserves will be all tied up in the next few days.

Anyway …

That wraps up my first Roast in the new home so I hope you’ll join me again. I’m off to see if Cold Caller wants to listen to ‘Night at the Opera’ next.

Cheers.

Nick

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