Tag Archive: Haren Party

Highlights of 2012

December 30 - 2012

What I thought I’d do this week is what many publications or television programs put out this time of year. We’re going to have a nostalgic look back at some of the pieces which I’ve roasted about during 2012. Or to put it another way – recycle a load of crap because I can’t be arsed to write a proper blog this week.

With that in mind …


Ha! There was no January. I only started this site February 1. However, as I’ve pointed out on a number of occasions, the Sunday Roast ran for three years on Myspace. The decline of that site was the reason I decided to set up my own, but I am always thankful for Myspace,  even if it is now a total bag of shite.

June 10 Myspace


Okay, this has to be one of my favourites, straight from the off.

Poor Roger Medwell. Imagine the scenario. You spend 55 years working for British Aerospace and on retiring as a director, they give you this …

Feb 12 roger-painting

Smile, Roger, smile. Stop gritting those teeth. You didn’t want a new surround sound system, anyway.


If you follow my blogs, you’ll know I have a love/hate relationship with my own Walsall Council. I love to bait them, and they hate me for it. So much so, I’m told my site has been blocked, meaning council workers cannot read it while at work.

Anyway, after one of our spats, I trawled through their Twitter feed and came across this picture of their attempts to promote the town.

March 18 Hooker

What exactly are they trying to attract – prostitution? I think the idea was to display a layout for planned improvement. However, all it seemed to show was a damn good place to pick up hookers.


This was a Titanic month. In fact, it was a theme which went on for quite a while. You see, I’ve always had this beef with the film, Titanic. You know, the fact that Rose is safe in the lifeboat but jumps back on board thus endangering Jack. All that, “I jump, you jump,” nonsense. If she’d stayed on the bloody lifeboat, Jack would have had that piece of wood to himself when the ship went down. Not only that, it was bloody well big enough for the both of them.

April 1 Titanic Water 2

Couldn’t she have given him a turn? And then there was his last words to her. “Don’t let go, Rose, don’t you ever let go.”

So what does she do? She bloody let go. Her may not have been dead, just in cold storage for a bit. What a cow.


It was about this time I had loads of people searching for pictures of the dentally challenged when I did a bit about guests with bad teeth on the Jeremy Kyle Show.

Sorry, no dentures today. That was drilled to death in the summer. Go and search the archives.

My favourite piece this month showed the fine line between humour and tragedy, and that newspapers need to have a bloody good copy editor before they send the thing to print.

A note to anybody in the newspaper industry. Always check for inappropriate advertising placement before you run a story above it.

May 6 Headline


This was it, the month when I took the kids on their annual holiday, only for it to piss down all week. As well as getting rained on, I was kept awake with my caravan being ten feet away from a main road. I also faced financial ruin after spending all my cash in amusement arcades because I couldn’t go anywhere due to  the aforementioned rain.

But did it end there? No! Not only did the machines bankrupt me, they wouldn’t pay out on the few occasions I did win.

June 17 Fruit Machine

Yes, IOU £1. That’s the first time I’ve ever been given an IOU from a machine.


And to celebrate his 94th birthday, Nelson Mandela turns into a chameleon.

July 22 Chameleon Mandela


And I can’t believe after many months, some people were still using their search engines to find Jeremy Kyle Teeth and ending up with me.

No – still not going to show any pics but one thing I did comment on was the evolution of man. You see, scientists reckon in a few million years, the human race will have evolved into a higher and lower species.

Millions of years? It’s already happened. Look!

Aug 11 Evolution of Chav

Ascent of man? I bloody hope not.


Bit of a quiet month over here, but not in Haren – Holland after some silly girl posted on Facebook that she was having a party. 4000 people gatecrashed the event causing riots and thousands of pounds worth of damage.

Sept 30 Haren

4000 people! Imagine. That’s 4000 people without a social life.


I spent much of this month traumatised after a good friend of mine, Rich, pointed out that the picture of the smiling Aquafresh family from the 80s, seemed to suggest the mother and father were siblings and their child could be the result of an incestuous relationship.

Oct 21 - Teeth

I’m still receiving counselling.


November – I saw this strange sight.

Nov 25 - Solo Chair in Wolverhampton © Antony N Britt

A single seat for shoppers to sit on. All the others in Wolverhampton Centre appeared to be of a two or three seat variety. However, this one was on its own. A seat for Nobby No Mates.

Only in Wolverhampton.


Two words to sum up December.

December 23 - Bah Humbug!

So that was 2012.

Not sure how long I’m going to go on roasting. Could be time for a break. Like a jar of pickled onions, there’s only so much you can take before things start to repeat. I mean, how much more can I wring out of the Titanic nonsense, or talk about Gothic Girl while going on about people with bad teeth on Jeremy Kyle.

Yes, I certainly think I should leave the latter, alone.

December 30 - Jeremy Kyle Teeth



Pitching an idea.

Last Saturday, myself and fellow troublemaker, Rich, took the 0830 train to London in order to have a 30-second pitch to an agent, plus useful feedback then question and answer sessions. This was at Foyles Bookshop and the agents were from Curtis Brown – just about as big as you can get in the UK.

Okay, I didn’t get my novel taken on but I did see a book I have a piece in, smack bang in the window of Foyles.

Me, and you can just about make out Alarmist Magazine above the sign by my hand which says, magazines. It’s the dark cover with The Holy Book, on the cover. I will add, Alarmist isn’t a religious publication, just in case you think I’ve turned towards the light. Nooooo! Happy being a church-fearing atheist, me.

Still, it made my day and how many others pitching could boast being in the window of Foyles. The only way I’d have thought it possible for me was if I took part in a ram-raid which went wrong.

An idiot abroad. Well, in London, anyway.

After we left Foyles, neither of us really knew where we were going but we still had four hours to kill before the panel event later in the day. We were also hungry so we set off to find food, promptly getting lost before coming across this …

Ha! Knew where were, then. So, navigating the streets of London from memory of a Monopoly Board, we took a chance, turned into Leicester Square with me narrowly avoiding jail after an unwise attempt at chatting up a woman young enough to be my daughter.

Okay, there does come a time in life when you realise you’re too old and not going to shag Buffy the Vampire Slayer. For me, this was it. And it was pointed out that having a cute lass on the door, does not constitute a good reason to go inside and eat there.

So we opted for Pizza Hut instead and contrary to my normal eating-out disasters, this particular Hut, hadn’t, as is normally the case with me, run out of Pizza. Believe me – it happens.

So I survived London, and even managed to find my way back to Euston Station, despite it not being on a Monopoly board.

Do the maths, Sir.

These days, I accept the only virgin I’m ever going to get inside, is the express train home from London. Not so, maths teacher, Jeremy Forrest. He failed to learn the ultimate lesson. After being on the run for a week with his 15-year-old lover, 30-year old Forrest is rightly, in custody. Idiot. One career up the spout. Just hope that’s the only thing that is. It’s ironic really. One week, he’s taking the register, next week, he’s on one.

The multi-tasking daughter of the King.

Lisa Marie Presley has been a busy girl.

She was in the papers on Wednesday with the article about her farming exploits. Then, yesterday, she’s in them again but now, apparently, she’s helping out at the local chip shop. I won’t make the Kirsty MacColl song reference. Even I wouldn’t be cruel to stoop that way on down. However, what now? Is she going to be working on the reception of a Heartbreak Hotel next, or will she be a postal worker, returning letters to sender?

Well, there’s a surprise.

Crackhead, Blake Fielder-Civil has finally admitted he was responsible for Amy Winehouse getting into drugs.

No way! Next you’ll be telling me Quentin Crisp was a homosexual.

Plagiarise that … really?

Waiting in a dental reception, I picked up a copy of scummy paper, The Sun. Yes, it was a bit like pulling teeth but I was amused by the leading article, namely the exclusive on pop artist, Tulisa’s, autobiography.

Honest? If she was honest, she’d say which ghost writer really penned the book. Also, how anybody at the age of 24 can have done stuff to warrant a biography, is beyond me. Still, people will buy and read it. I wonder if Tulisa has, yet?

However, the most amusing thing in the Sun’s article was the warning about copyright and that their lawyers are watching, in case anybody wants to plagiarise.

Come on, who’d want to admit to that … apart from Tulisa?

Crash the party.

Apparently, 4,000 people gatecrashed a party in Haren – Holland after some silly girl posted it on Facebook.

Amazing. 4000 people without a social life.

And for his next trick.

Last week, I told about nobhead minister, Andrew Mitchell. He’s the pillock who thinks he runs the government and all under him are plebs. Poor old Andrew, he says he’s being judged unfairly. As well as calling the police, plebs, he has just demanded a £60k Jaguar as a perk of his job while the plebs have to use the bus. He also, apparently, had a mug specially printed with his former job of Secretary of State, written on. Nothing pretentious there, then? How about next week, going the whole hog and having a tattoo? Maybe the word Tosser, written on his forehead would be a good idea.

I have to shout support for the police officers who picketed his constituency office the other day. Brilliant.

Yes, the police. They’re some of the guys who keep the country running, not cretins like Andrew Mitchell.

Night Writing.

I’m writing much of this, full of heavy cold in the hope my nose has stopped running by the time I go to an all-night writing session, Saturday evening. I’m not off to London like last week but am taking part in Birmingham Book Festival’s, Night at the Locksmith’s House. I only hope the locksmith knows there are load of writers descending on him. Still, if my cold gets too bad, I can always rest up here.

Actually, the house is a museum. It is hoped, spending the night there, pen and pad in hand, I can come up with some inspiration for future stories.

Taking the pee.

Back to my trip to London and it was there, I had the usual problem of queueing up for a toilet cubicle. I always feel silly. There’s loads of empty urinals but I have to wait for an enclosed cubicle to empty, just so I can pee. You see, I always seem to wear jeans with about a dozen buttons to undo. Have a zip? Not me. It takes about five minutes struggle to get the buttons undone, then another ten to do them up again. It’s far easier just to pull your trousers down to the ankles. Therefore, I have to use a cubicle. You see, if I dropped my trousers in a public convenience, people would be thinking I was touting for sex. Then I really would be sent to jail on the Monopoly board.



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