Tag Archive: God

Still harping on about Christmas.

I do hate it. Just for once it would be nice to do something I want instead of having to please other people.

December 23 - Bah Humbug!

Ahh, Christmas. A time when we should all worship our loving God. The same God who slaughters over 2 million of his subjects in the Bible. With friends like him …?

Take the nativity. Jesus is born and God sends a star to guide three wise men to bear gifts. Unfortunately, the star isn’t accurate and the men end up going to King Herod by mistake. So, having been sent the wrong way by God, the wise men blurt out the secret to Herod, thus instigating the massacre of the innocents. Hmm … Doesn’t sound very wise to me.

Dec 29 - Monty Python Wise Men

Sorry, couldn’t resist.

Because of God’s misdirection, dozens of newborn subjects, waiting to be brainwashed into loving God, are murdered.

There is a moral to this story. If ever in life you are lost and in need of direction, don’t trust God, buy a Sat-Nav instead.

Merry Christmas.

And talking of Christmas presents …

Earlier this year I did a piece about a two inch Hex/Allen key which came posted to me in a twelve inch box full of polystyrene shapes to protect the metal object. Well, one of David’s Christmas presents nearly matched that for over zealous packing.

Dec 29 - Big Box for Small Item © Antony N Britt

There it is, a massive three-foot box to send a twelve inch toy train. And no bubble wrap … tut tut. It’s a good job my recycle collection came two days after Christmas.

And while I was shopping for the kids toys …

I’m glad my daughter isn’t into those bland karaoke singers from One Dimension (I mean … One Direction). If she was, she may have wanted me to buy her the replica dolls instead of the Gothic Dead Dolls she normally likes (Yes, I have children with strange tastes). However, while I was shopping for Clawdeen Wolf, Venus Flytrap and Viperine Gorgon, I came across the previously mentioned boy-band dolls.

Dec 29 - One Direction Doll in Shop

Ahh … I’m kind of guessing Liam is the minger of the band who nobody wants. I almost feel sorry for him.

And the picture of the week.

When I used to post on Myspace, I only offered one photograph a week at first. It would always be something I came across while out and about. This one I’m sticking on now reminds me of the ludicrous things I used to see.

As I was climbing the staircase to make my way to a coffee shop, I noticed elsewhere in the building there was a CD and Record fair taking place. However, half way up the stairs, after kicking some puppet frog out of the way, I noticed a directional sign for the CD event.

Dec 29 - Upside Down Sign © Antony N Britt

I’m guessing they hadn’t a sign which catered for the stairs turning to the right so therefore had to put this one upside down.

Only in Walsall.

A short observation.

Also in my Myspace roasts, I would have a piece titled, Knob of the Week. Okay, this knob was a couple of weeks ago but I haven’t posted in that time so I really should give one final award and hand it to Lord Hanningfield.

Dec 29 - Lord Hanningfield

Hanningfield has been in the news over the revelation he claimed £300 allowance for spending 45 minutes in the House of Lords one day.

Yet another example of the over privileged having positions of power in this country. In an interview, the Tory Twit stated he didn’t know what the fuss was about. He called it, “A storm in a teacup.”

Spending under an hour to earn £300, I’m surprised he had time for a cup of tea.

And a Happy New Year.

2013 has been the most difficult year of my life, and it had a knock on effect in my writing. As for the Sunday Roast, I hope throughout, people haven’t been offended by what I say. It really is, tongue-in-cheek.

I don’t actually dislike One Direction. I wouldn’t know their songs if they were blasting my eardrums. I don’t even hate Russel Brand, Sharon Osbourne or any of the other celebrities I’ve lampooned. Even the royals, I’m ambivalent about. So I’m truly okay with all I have a go at and none of the insults are meant. Well, apart from those directed at Iain Duncan Smith. He’s a complete cunt.

Dec 29 - Iain Duncan Smith

Farewell from the Sunday Roast.



Holding a torch

After much deliberation, I thought I’d go and watch the Olympic Torch journey through my little town. Actually, I didn’t go into Walsall as the convoy passed very near to my son’s school fete and I thought, if I’m parked up – why not? Therefore, ignoring all the crowds and celebrations laid on in the town centre, I made camp along the A34 near the corner of Irvine Road by the 22A bus stop.

Uplifting experience? Yes, you guessed it. This miserable bastard was totally underwhelmed. It’s not my fault. I’m not even remotely interested in the Olympics. As I’ve said before, too many small organisations lost funding because of it and had to fold.

New game – Kick five balls through all five rings and you get to keep the Tower of London.

After waiting an inconvenient five minutes, I heard cheering and thought, Hey, here it comes. No. That was the preamble, namely the obligatory and blatant advertising as buses drove by promoting gut-rotting cola and some company that makes Galaxy phones. Ha … No free advertising here.

Well, the commercial break came and went, carrying it’s smiling teen cheerleaders further down the road and then another five minutes, we had the main spectacular event.

Now when I say spectacular, what I cannot put into this transcript is the immense layers of sarcasm. You see, immediately prior to the passing of the torch, the ecstatic hordes waiting, were not so much lining the road, as encroaching. Still, in the distance, I saw loads of blue flashing lights. The police would sort it – wouldn’t they? However, the solution was not one of controlled health and safety, but an old guy on a pushbike telling everybody to get back on the pavement.

Still, the torch arrived, and I even saw a handover. As it disappeared into the distance, I then heard further clapping as running behind in convoy, were about thirty police officers on foot, joining in the parade. People cheered. Some even jeered, but my main thought was, wouldn’t it have been better for them lot to run in front and move the spilling crowds back and not leave it to some old guy on a bike?

I’m never happy, am I? Seriously, though. Well done to all the officials involved and the people of Walsall for making this a success.

Football’s coming home?

Well, the English team are, yet again – predictably.

Yes, we have the usual hopes, the usual result, and the usual awful penalty misses. Actually, people are slamming England’s poor performance against Italy but they’ve forgotten one thing. Italy were bloody brilliant.

Still, what do the English people expect? Millions of fans glory hunt and share their support between five or six clubs. These clubs, bankrolled by billionaires, are filled with foreign players at the expense of home grown talent so our lads never get a look in. The supporters show passionate loyalty from the comfort of their armchairs and cheer on the same guys who are knocking our national team out of major tournaments on a regular basis. The English vilify our own players yet come September, when the new season starts, they’ll be wetting themselves when the top Euro stars start kicking a ball again on our own turf.

Still, you have to feel sorry for the England lads. It was hard. I mean … kicking a large ball twelve yards into a huge fucking net with only one man in the way. It’s near impossible.

Above we see serial diver, Ashley Young, guilty party for the first miss. Mind you, better than James Milner. He spent the entire tournament crossing the ball to an the invisible man at the other side of the field. A player only he could see.

Anyone for tennis, then?

Andy Murray, apparently plans to spend as much time away from Wimbledon this year in a cunning plan to win the tournament. Funny, I thought that was the usual tactic of us Brits at Wimbledon. We always spend loads of time away from the place. Namely when we’re knocked out in the first week.

Apparently, Murray thinks keeping his distance will make him relax and remove the pressure. No, Andy. The pressure will be off until, as usual, like Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski before you, you get within a shot of actually making the final then bloody bottle it at the last minute when it matters.

There. Gauntlet thrown. Now go and bloody prove me wrong.

What’s that coming over hill, is it a monster?

This has to be the most bizarre and ludicrous thing I have heard in many a year. Children in schools in Louisiana are being taught that God really does exist as dinosaurs still walk the earth. Their proof – The Loch Ness Monster.

Yes, creationist lunatics are getting away with brainwashing folk’s poor unsuspecting offspring by saying Nessie, the massive hoax that Scotland’s tourist industry has lived off for 80 years, is real.

Arrrgghhh! I’ve seen it all now. A mythical creature of fantasy being used to prove another creature of pure fantasy (God) exists.

Teaching kids bullshit like that … It’s not education, it’s child abuse.

What about a winning formula?

Apparently, Formula One chiefs are proposing to stage a Grand Prix through Central London. If plans go ahead, you could soon see Lewis Hamilton, Jensen Button and the rest, all racing through the capital. We are told, roads would be closed, obviously. However, why obviously? Since the advent of congestion charging, nobody can afford to drive through Central London, anyway. You wouldn’t need to close the roads; there’s nothing on them.

That’s about the only mode of transport you see traveling freely through Central London, these days who don’t have to pay congestion charges. Ask them to, and they exterminate you.

Thieves and Looters.

If I cost my company, millions, I’d expect the sack but the likes of Bob Diamond, head of fraudulent bank, Barclays, is adamant he is staying put. I know where I’d like to put him and his ilk of short-selling speculating greedy bastards – on a deserted island. That is after we’d seized back their cars, houses, money and all other ill-gotten gains.

Save our ears.

Apparently, The Voice live tour has been canceled due to lack of interest. The Voice, is yet another banal karaoke style TV talent show, full of generic wannabees singing other peoples songs. They were due to go on tour but poor ticket sales meant the shows had to be called off. Great. Now can we get rid of the TV show too?

Singer Jessie J says scrapping the tour will mean the acts can now “spread their wings” and find their own direction. Yes, Jessie. Straight to oblivion. Actually, I don’t know about finding their own direction … what about finding One Direction. The boy band from The Voice’s rival ITV show, X-Factor, seem to be doing rather well. They could give this lot from The Voice some tips.

But back to that torch …

Well, not the torch, but the day. Boy, was it tiring. That flame event, the fete, shopping in town (twice). No wonder I was knackered. Sitting writing this … do you think it’s safe to say you’ve had a long day when you then spend five minutes trying to locate the source of the steady drip, drip, drip noise you can hear, only to find out after looking, it was just the sound of your own watch ticking?



A cautionary note.

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


And talking of liking something …

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

Poisonous fish … anybody?

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

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

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

‘That would be me.’

‘Was it okay?’

‘Yes, lovely thank you.’

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

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

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

Praise be …

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

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

Talking of football.

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

A bit of a ding dong down in rural Somerset.

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

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

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

Doing my bit for recycling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There we go then.

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

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



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