Tag Archive: Antony N Britt


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

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
Comment

The Green Plastic Brain on the Bed

Filed under: Poetry — 7 Comments
April 18, 2012
Small, green,
rubber in texture,
lying in wait.
Tubes of potions
and other worrying liquids
fester away
in the corners of doom.
Disturbingly,
two sharpened stakes and a wooden hammer
rest concealed
within a brown holdall under the bed.
And then
the worst horror of all.
Congealed milk,
left for three days
beside a pink fluffy cat
and a scrapyard of toy cars.
Vacuum bag too small to repel these grimy hordes
advancing at speed.
I sit and sigh.
‘Don’t you just love having kids.’

 

© Antony N Britt

Tags: , , , ,
Comment

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

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Comment

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

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Comment

Middlefield

Filed under: Poetry — 8 Comments
April 2, 2012
Summer of ’85.
Middlefield.
A home meant for people in poor mental health.
I called it an institution,
somewhere to put the unwanted.
Hide the embarrassment.
“There is no place in polite company
for people such as these,”
so spoke the message of the day.

Disabled,
epileptic,
autistic,
downs.
Spelled dead to society
along with unmarried mothers,
labelled insane,
then shut away,
their children
torn from the breast.
Unruly youngsters,
uncontrollable,
removed from circulation.

I remember one such a man,
Albert, we’ll call him,
because after all this time
I’m not even sure of his name.
Incarcerated at twelve,
unfathomable,
too difficult to handle.
Then, seventy five,
a gentle old soul.
He spoke about cricket
and the big wartime bands.
Always a cheery smile,
a precursor to the request.
Could I check if there was a letter?
One from his mum and dad.
“It’s been such a long time,” he sighed.
There was never any mail.

An uncaring world, back then;
maybe it is now.
I’m ashamed I do not remember his name
and I always wonder
if his family ever did.

 

© Antony N Britt

Tags: , , , , , ,
Comment

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

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
Comment

The Sunday Roast – Breakfast with a Health Warning

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 4 Comments
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

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
Comment

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

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
Comment

The Sunday Roast – Food, Fun and Fond Farewells

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 16 Comments
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

Tags: , , , , ,
Comment

The Sunday Roast – Britt tackles the Brits

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 18 Comments
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

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
Comment