Tag Archive: Madonna


Holy Olympians … I just don’t understand it.

Not a great fan of the Olympics, even with Britain hosting the thing. The Olympics is an event which comers around every four years and suddenly, we watch sports we would never normally be interested in and sit glued to our screens, most of the time, not having a clue what is going on. It’s like the gymnastics. They all look bloody good to me but when you see the scores, I can’t tell the difference between crap and excellent.

Have London 2012 done a good job? Maybe, but I still hark on about the fact that hundreds of charity projects were thrown to the lions when their funding was cut to fund this couple of weeks of glory for one or two. And there have been cock-ups along the way.

What about the swimming pool, designed and built costing millions yet some idiot of an architect thinks a sloping roof will look good but fails to fathom that the 5000 yellow seats will not see the diving board as the view is obscured.

Then we have the fiasco of the lucrative contract awarded to G4S who having failed to attract enough people to work for a minimum wage, now have to turn to our police and the army to make up the shortfall. Why wasn’t a decent wage offered? There are some companies making obscene money out of advertising this event, surely the workers deserve good money too.

Also, with all the traffic, London is going to be a no-go zone for cars. Well, no change there then. I hope it goes well though. However, having seen London’s previous attempts, namely the over inflated cost of Wembley Stadium and even worse, the Millennium Dome, can you blame me for not having much faith in them to deliver?

I saw the other day, people are being victimised for wearing Pepsi logos as it offends sponsor, Coca Cola. Give me strength. People can do what they like. It’s a free country. There was also the mix-up over posting the South Korean flag alongside the pictures of the North Korean football team. Way to go. Just go and upset the nation most likely to have their finger on the nuclear button.

Still, London will say that was at Hampden Park, and blame the Scots. They can get bombed instead.

Life’s a beach.

This week, the sun returned to the UK and everybody headed to the beach. Okay, not so where I spent a day, in Rhyl. It was deserted. Described as a poor man’s Blackpool, Rhyl really lowers the bar in terms of sun destinations but there were a number of people taking in the sun. Costa Del Sol … you have nothing on the UK. Why fly out to experience this …

When you can got to Rhyl and come across this?

Come on. No contest, is there?

Getting shirty.

Wore this t-shirt the other day and being bored, started fiddling with the buttons on the collar.

Hang on, now I know what you’re saying. Why has a t-shirt got buttons on the collar? Well, I don’t know the answer. Obviously some stupid poxy fashion designer thought it a good idea at the time. I mean, what do I need them for? Obviously, somewhere along the line, I may find myself in a situation where somebody I know has lost a button and then I can come to the rescue and say, ‘Here you are, I have a one you can borrow.’

Stupid idea. Not only that, I was sitting down and something was digging into my naval. I looked down, turned the underside of the shirt and there it was – a spare button. WTF? So, not only have I got a useless three buttons that don’t do anything, there is also a spare in case I lose one of the other non-functioning buttons.

Crazy.

Careful where you walk with a camera.

I had to take a trip to a graveyard this week. I have a piece going into a non-fiction anthology and was asked for ideas on illustrations. Seeing as the piece is called, The Death of the Struggling Writer, I thought a shot of me writing by a tombstone would be a great image.

Therefore, I shanghaied my brother with his expensive camera and off we trotted to a local church to make use of some crumbling 200-year-old graves which were surrounded by weeds.

That was one of the shots taken before I reached my favoured choice of location at the back of the church. However, this was not available as it was occupied buy a Gothic couple who appeared to be … erm, copulating.

Right, seeing as it was conspicuous playing peeping tom with myself plus photographer with huge Nikon hanging from neck, I had to make do with the front of the church, in full public view of staring passers-by. Took loads of shots and got them off to the editor. Also, managed to escape the graveyard, without getting arrested.

And another close escape …

Having nearly got arrested over the photos, I had another attempt the next day when I took my daughter to her summer school. She starts year seven soon and some in her year are doing a two-week introduction. I tried to drop her off but the school gates were all locked up. Very badly organised. We walked around the back. Open gates but still no sign of life. Then, we came across two more 11-year-old girls who sort of, tagged along. Then, a third came and before I knew it, I had a trail of pre-teen females following me like the Pied Piper of Walsall.

Eventually, I found a side entrance, wandered in, girls in tow and found a member of staff who looked at me as if it was obvious which of the two hundred doors and corridors we should have been aiming for.

‘These girls all with you?’ the woman asked.

I looked to my unintended entourage. ‘No,’ I replied, ‘Just the one. I seem to have collected the others on the way. I must have a talent for picking up young girls.’

I then looked at the wide-eyed expression on the staff member and thought how that must have sounded to her.

I departed, leaving my daughter for day one of her induction, and drove away as the sirens were getting close.

Looking for an argument?

A German company has started a telephone arguing service, inspired by the Monty Python argument sketch.

For £1 a minute, you can shout, swear and let off steam.

I don’t get it, though. Why pay £1 a minute when you can ring Virgin Media to ask why your internet isn’t working and get an argument for nothing?

Prima donna

Madonna fleeced her fans £200 a head for a 45-minute show and then spent 15 minutes of that spouting her uninteresting views on the world. If folk wanted to hear people talk crap, they can watch a politician, not some over-inflated ego full of self-importance. £200 for half hour’s music. If you can’t be professional and give the customer what they want – retire.

Madonna. Some things are well past their sell-by date.

Let’s see how the Olympics are going.

Apparently, Team GB have blown their chance for a gold in the cycling. They are currently trapped in a pelaton behind the breakaway group. A pelaton? It sounds like something out of Doctor Who. Can’t they just say cluster of bike riders and have done with it?

Cheers.

Nick

A good place to tout for business.

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

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

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

Those who really matter?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blogger? There’s hope for me yet then.

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

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

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

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

There. Happy now.

It’s a hard life at times.

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

Nob of the week.

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

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

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

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

And in this week’s fish and chip paper …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a nice day.

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

Cheers.

 

Nick

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