Tag Archive: Doctor Who


Dec 15 - Christmas Card

Ahh … now I know Christmas is coming.

Christmas in my house would not be complete without the Stroods.

I imagine puzzled faces on those who have only read my Roasts over the last year. I shall explain. Mr and Mrs E Strood live a few doors down and over the road from me. Their house is one number different to mine.

The view from my window with the Stroods house on the corner and about the hundredth scrap van seen this morning

Since I arrived in 1997, I have had a Christmas card for the Stroods, wrongly delivered to my house from their friends, Betty and Bert. Now, how do I know it’s Betty and Bert? Ahem! I mistakenly thought it was for me and opened it that first year. Stupid, I should have known. I’m a miserable Bah Humbug bastard. Nobody sends me Christmas cards.

Anyway, the situation in my street is you don’t converse with your neighbours until the day they depart to a new house and then only if you’ve spent years nodding good morning at them. Therefore, every year I don the balaclava and mount a clandestine operation in the middle of the night to deliver the card to the correct address.

Now I know what you’re thinking, and it’s the same thing asked every year. Why the hell don’t I tell the Stroods and hand it personally? That’s just it. I don’t. Year after year, I carry out my mission. One occasion I got in trouble and set off two security lights, knocked over a wheelie bin and got chased by the dog. Then there was the year it snowed and I left tracks everywhere and had to go back with a brush to sweep them away.

As I say, I speak of this Christmas card every year as those of you who’ve followed me from Myspace will remember when the Sunday Roast appeared there. For people who can’t remember my roasts on Myspace – tough, you can’t see them any more as Justin Timberlake and his consortium erased all the blogs when they took over.

Back to the Stroods … and Betty and Bert. I always wait with anticipation for this card. You see, I get worried now. What if the Stroods move house and don’t inform Betty and Bert? Come on, in 16 years, they haven’t told them they’ve been sending a card to the wrong address, so it stands a chance. Then again, what if … what if … Betty and Bert … have died?

Nooooooo!

This was the major worry last year as (horror and concern) I didn’t get the card delivered to my house.

I was traumatised. Okay, there could have been the logical explanation that Betty and Bert had finally updated their address books, but come on, we all know that’s not likely.

However, I have the greatest pleasure to announce, yesterday. Saturday December 14, the card to Mr and Mrs E Stood – finally arrived … at my house. Its got glitter in it this year and I can rest in my sleep. At least I will once it’s past midnight and my in the dead of night military operation to deliver the bloody card is well and truly completed.

And a late tribute.

I know Nelson Mandela died over a week ago and he’s being buried as I speak, but I didn’t do a roast last Sunday so couldn’t comment.

I don’t think I have ever seen a person’s passing marked so universally with everybody I know, praising them.

When I see good folk dying young while scumbag tyrants like Pinochet, Mugabe and Thatcher live to a ripe old age, it reinforces my belief that there isn’t a God. However, here is one guy who deserved the long life they received. Below is a picture I posted over a year ago when he met David Cameron while perfecting the art of turning into a chameleon.

July 22 Chameleon Mandela

Yes, it’s a joke, but one I think Nelson would have laughed at as he did seem to have a cracking sense of humour. Must have done to describe meeting the Spice Girls as being one of the greatest moments of his life.

Dec 15 - Nelson Mandela meets the Spice Girls

Stormy Weather.

There has been some terrible weather in the last week or so and much of the East Coast has been badly affected. I saw one piece where David Cameron visited the oddly named coastal town, Wells-Next-The-Sea.

I feel for anybody in a situation where homes are ruined, but feel for the local council. They are now going to have to change all their stationery to read, Wells-In-The-Sea.

Bad pun? I expect to get a flood of complaints now.

More sights you see about town …

Last time out, I posted a picture of a shop window displaying what I can only describe as decapitated heads.

Dec 1 - Head (1024x579)

Well, I saw another one this week which stirred my interest. Monsters from Doctor Who.

Dec 15 - Flower Heads (447x1024)

Don’t believe me? Look at this picture from the 1986 story, Trial of a Time Lord.

Dec 15 - Doctor Who Vervoid

Hey, December 15 and I’ve only said, Bah humbug, once.

Twice, Damn it! Oh well, think of me tonight as I deliver the Stroods card … probably waking the entire neighbourhood in the process.

Cheers.

Nick

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Happy Birthday, Doctor Who.

Dec 1 - Doctor Who 50th. The Day of the Doctor.

I’m actually four weeks older than the time lord. However, that doesn’t make me 1200 years old. I mean I was born a month before the programme began in 1963.

These days, I’m jealous. You get all sorts of lovely toys to play with. Look …

Dec 1 - Doctor Who Figures

During my childhood, I had no such luxury. Do you know what I had to use my imagination on? The free cardboard figures you got off the back of a Wheetabix packet.

Dec 1 - Doctor Who Wheetabix

Yes, those. And I collected the lot. Wish I still had them.

And the same feeling of being short-changed is applicable to DVDs. I didn’t have a VHS video recorder until I was 20 so as a kid, the only way I could relive the adventures was by reading the classic Target novelizations (Yes … I do still have those).

Dec 1 - Doctor Who Target Novels

Ahh, the memory of my childhood, trying to picture how the Tardis materialising looked on TV simply from Terrance Dick’s description of a blue box appearing to the sound of wheezing and groaning. He actually coined that phrase which has stuck down the years. These days, the only wheezing and groaning I come across is the old couple up the road having sex with the windows open.

And talking of Doctor Who merchandise …

You can’t half get ripped off. There are now limited edition replicas of props from the series you can buy. The latest is a cube from the Series 7 episode, The Power of Three. It retails at about £40.

Dec 1 - Doctor Who The Power of Three Cube

Come on, it’s a frigging lump of plastic. The words rip and off come to mind, as does the the term, sucker … and I don’t mean the things which the Daleks use as an arm, either.

Dec 1 - Doctor Who Dalek

You wouldn’t catch me wasting money on something like that. Well, apart from my genuine Tardis key, that is.

Dec 1 - Tardis Key

Okay, so if I had the money, I’d get a cube.

Not mush-room left on the plate today.

A couple of times recently I have moaned about mushrooms, or the lack of them, especially when requesting extra.

Dec 1 - Mushrooms at St Paul's The Crossing

Ahhh … The St Paul’s Crossing Restaurant, the only place in Walsall who know the true meaning of the words, more mushrooms.

The morbid sights you see about town …

Dec 1 - Head

Fascinating. Decapitated heads in a shop window. Enough to give you nightmares.

What a load of plebs.

Sept 22 Andrew Mitchell

The case of MP Andrew Mitchell (or pleb-gate) has been in the news again this week. Mitchell is the politician who was accused of having a run-in with police officers guarding Downing Street when he tried to cycle through a security entrance. He quite rightly, lost his job for his disrespect but has always maintained he never used the word, pleb.

There is no evidence either way what was spoken by Mitchell, or the plebs, but the MP does admit to arguing and swearing at them. Following investigations into whether officers lied about this, there have been calls for Mitchell to be reinstated in his job.

Now then, he denies calling them plebs, but he did swear at them. Hmmm … I call swearing at a police officer who is trying to guard your life, ten times worse an offence than referring to them as plebs. The enquiry team presiding over this seem to have conveniently forgotten that.

Poor old Andrew Mitchell, you have to feel sorry for him. I mean, he’s not done that much wrong in his career … apart from insulting hard working policemen … and lobbying to lift trade embargoes on foreign companies who gave donations to his parliamentary office … and investing funds into firms involved in tax avoidance. Yes, just the sort of person we want running this country, or rather one we should send on a holiday abroad and politely ask if they’d leave their passport at the door.

And here’s a man who should be called more than a pleb …

Dec 1 - Assem Allam

Hull City owner, Assem Allam is the latest in a long line of tosspot millionaires coming into the game and trying to rewrite history. He wants to change the name, Hull City to Hull Tigers. Now fans have complained to which the knobhead has responded by telling them to die. Hate to say this, Assem, these fans were there many years before you were, and they’ll be there long time after you have departed.

It’s like Cardiff City with a pillock of equal proportions in Vincent Tan. Using the football club as his personal plaything, the Malaysian businessman raised anger by changing the long traditional blue kit to his favourite colour. So, we now have a team nicknamed, The Bluebirds, playing in red.

Note to this and any other investor who believe in their own God Complex mentality. If you want to treat football clubs like toys, go and play with this.

Dec 1 - Undertones My Perfect Cousin Subbuteo

Right, enough ranting …

I start two weeks of very long shifts tomorrow so probably won’t be a Sunday Roast next week. I’m going to watch Doctor Who … and maybe play with my sonic screwdriver.

February 24 - Toy Sonic Screwdriver © Antony N Britt

Cheers.

Nick

A weather report.

Hello, and welcome to a bright sunny day, as it was the other morning. Although, not according to my new phone.

Sept 29 - Weather on HTC One Mini

That’s a screen shot of the weather report which said it was foggy. In fact, I had the same every day for a week, even when the weather was bright. I’m not up on all these technical things, it took me half hour setting it up to get past Language = English. Therefore, I’m sure  something is going wrong when calibrating these weather settings. You see, whatever I’ve done, my smart new phone now believes it exists in Victorian London.

Living doll.

Mannequins, dolls, they freak me out. Ever since Doctor Who.

Sept 29 - Doctor Who - Spearhead From Space Shop Dummies.

Plastic dolls, I hate them. Pure evil. I mean, who could not be scared by this?

Sept 29 - Plastic Doll Scary

Brrrr. So, imagine my horror when I saw the new adverts for Swedish flat-pack furniture store, Ikea.

Sept 29 - Ikea Doll Advert

Arrggghhh! What are the Scandinavians trying to do, freak me out? This doesn’t belong in a furniture ad, it should be in a horror film.

Some people should not be allowed to run a football club.

Paolo Di Canio, say what you like about him: Total fascist, or the lesser charge of simply being obnoxious. Whatever you decide, I think he had a raw deal at the hands of Sunderland Football Club’s incompetent owners.

Sept 29 - Paolo Di Canio

So we have the scenario a few months ago. Sunderland in huge trouble. They sack their previous manager and bring in a guy (Di Canio) who has had modest success. An unpopular decision with many but over the past few months, the Sunderland board allow him to sell their best player and buy a dozen or so new ones which were to his liking and style of play. Then, when things are going wrong after five games, the idiotic board sack the man they lavished all this cash on, leaving them with the prospect of a new manager having to work with a load of players he doesn’t want.

Football chairmen … Most should stick to playing this.

Sept 29 - Football Manager 2013

Still, not a lot of sympathy for Paolo. He doesn’t seem a very nice person.

Beliefs … Sometimes I can’t believe them.

I watch the news about the surgeon who lost his entire family in a house fire … and I want to cry. I then hear the grieving man draws comfort from his faith and religion … and I want to scream.

Meanwhile, in a land down under …

Sept 29 - PrisonerCell Block H

So they have brought back Prisoner and renamed it Wentworth. I have to admit, I used to watch a few of those Cell Block H’s late at night. Vinegar Tits and the Freak … right?

However, it wasn’t my favourite Aussie soap. If you wanted the bizarre, who remembers this?

Sept 29 - Sons and Daughters

Yes, Sons and Daughters, the show where I think in five years, every character had fathered, given birth or married every other member of the cast. Confusing? I needed to write the permutations on an A1 flip chart to keep track. Talk about ridiculous. I do miss it, though.

And talking about re-inventing old stuff. …

It could be you …

Remember the slogan when the National Lottery first launched?

Sept 29 - National Lottery

Yes, the magic finger pointing to the lucky winner. Well, Lotto is being given a facelift and launched as a new game next week. I’ve had a look and it seems to me … same game, new double the price of a ticket, and not only that, less money for some of the higher paying prizes, too. Still, for three numbers, you now get £25 instead of £10. Hmmmm … somebody will be rich as a result of this redeveloped prize fund, and it won’t be the people buying the tickets.

Note to my lottery syndicate members … We need to talk.

Wow!

I actually wrote this on a Sunday for once, about half hour before posting. I wonder what I should do for the rest of the day. Shall I check the weather on my phone and see if it’s worth going out?

Partly sunny. At least it’s not fog.

Cheers.

Nick

An explanation.

Last October, I marked the 4th anniversary edition of the Sunday Roast by reposting some older pieces which are now, unfortunately, lost in the depths of Myspace. I said, when reposting that I would make it a regular occurrence. Well, I think the time is right to do so again. Most of those posts are impossible to find on the now-useless Myspace and if you did, you’d find my pictures have been wiped by the techno-cretins who administer the thing.

Therefore, I shall keep to my promise of bringing to life once more, those roasts of the past. Or, to put it another way, I have bugger all to write about this week so decided to recycle a load of 4-year-old junk.

February 24 - Recycle Logo

The day after I hit 45 … (Originally Posted 26 October 2008)

I wrote the following pieces the day after my forty-fifth birthday. Now, what wouldn’t I give to be 45 again and not, as is currently the case, approaching a rather more daunting landmark. Looking back, I appear to have had a good time.

I had loads of nice stuff for my birthday, the most amusing being a Doctor Who, toy sonic screwdriver. Look, I am Doctor Who crazy and have been since I was a kid. They never had things like toy sonic screwdrivers in those days, I had to make do with a broken tyre pressure gauge and pretend. Still, all ends well. I have one now. The irony is, I spent over half an hour looking for a tiny screwdriver so that I could put the batteries into the sonic one.

Febriary 24 - Toy Sonic Screwdriver © Antony N Britt

Over four years later, I still have the sonic device.

Also on that birthday …

I went to see one of my favourite groups, The Stranglers at the Carling Academy in Birmingham. I go every time they are in town, which is usually once a year and I really enjoyed myself. I like to go as you never know how long they will keep going before one of them dies. It is quite amusing, however, watching a band which has been around for over thirty years and seeing the ageing audience rock the night away. It used to be that the fans all had hideous comb-overs. Now they go for the shaved look as it seems more trendy. I was there, in the mix, enjoying myself in the centre of the crowd doing the old man’s dance routine of rocking about without moving your legs. Still, I couldn’t help myself. No … you don’t understand. I really couldn’t help myself not being able to move my legs. You see, there was so much spilled beer about the place, my Dr Martens had stuck to the floor.

As the evening wore on, a crowded arena became more spacious as the majority of larger members of the audience tried to find what few seats there were in order to gasp for breath as they searched for an oxygen tank.

Still, it all went off well and even my vehicle was still there when I returned to the car park. I had unfortunately, made the mistake of leaving it in possibly the most frightening and decrepit car park I can ever remember using. However, it was cheap (for Birmingham) and it was really nice of those bums to light a bonfire next to my car so I could find it in the dark.

Bedroom Mess … (Originally posted 26 October 2008).

I got one task out of the way – The horror of cleaning the kids bedroom. This is the one my other kids who live elsewhere, stay in during the nights they are with me. Unfortunately, it had been a while since cleaning and I found some right horrors under the bed. One particular item, and I am not quite sure what it, is now in a cage and I’m feeding it.

Feb 24 - Poltergeist Clown

The possibility of what you might find underneath the bed.

Time management … (Originally posted 2 November 2008)

Arrrgggh! There is so much I want to do these days and I just haven’t got the time. And do you know why? Bloody Spider Solitaire. You know, the cheap free game which comes with windows on the PC. It is the most addictive thing I have ever played. Seven hours the other week I was bloody well on the thing. I could still see cards in my sleep. In fact, I am playing it now while typing, for Christ’s sake. King, Queen, Jack, Ten, Seven … Bugger!

Feb 24 - Spider Solitaire

Anyway, will somebody please come over to my house and remove it from my PC as soon as possible SO I CAN GET SOME FRIGGIN WORK DONE! Six, Five, Four, Ace … Damn!

Let’s abbreviate this … (Originally posted 9 November 2008)

I have been a bit down and tired this week. I found things a struggle and at times, ill as if I was coming down with something. However, it never transpired into a full illness. My nan used to talk about winter weariness and when I was young, I used to make fun of how she constantly went on about it. However, these days, I think I know what she was talking about.

At least two people have actually said to me that I may have SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). What this basically means, in the winter months, I turn into a right miserable bastard.

What do you mean, just in the winter months?

Great. Now I have SAD on top of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). What is this, a case of AB (Abbreviation Syndrome)? Next thing, it’ll be POWGTW (Pissed Off With Going To Work), or even OCIBTCA (Oh Christ, I Burnt The Chips Again). I’ll shut up, before I develop BYTTS (Boring You To Tears Syndrome)

Talking about OCD, I was having a meal recently and was picked up over my peculiar habits. You know the sort of thing … like the fact you there is a method to what order you should eat things off a plate. Look, if I’ve eaten all my vegetables then find one solitary pea under my rump steak, the world will end – okay!

I never actually realised how bad my OCD was until I started talking about it. However, the stupid thing is, I deliberately start doing things which aren’t OCD, just to disprove the theory. I guess what it all boils down to is that it has taken me a number of decades to finally realise, yes, I am strange.

February 24 - CD Collection © Antony N Britt

Look, arranging your CDs in artist order, then sub-sorting them into date of release, is the only way to achieve perfect karma.

That’s all folks, for now, from the best of the Myspace Blogs.

It’s interesting for me to delve into them, if I’m honest. And a bit frightening. It’s been years since I wrote them and now reading back, I’m kind of thinking … this guys on another planet.

Feb 24 - Saturn

Cheers.

Nick

Happy Halloween.

Boo!

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

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

Whatever happened to Gothic Girl?

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

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

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

On the subject of grey hair …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only Joking … I’m still here.

What do you mean … unfortunately? Hah!

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

Cheers.

Nick

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