Tag Archive: Richard III Car Park

Horsing around.

I’m so blooming hungry, I could eat a horse. However, if I can’t get hold of a Findus Beef Lasagne, a bacon sandwich will have to do.

Feb 10 - Findus Beef Lasagne

You really have to watch what you eat, these days. I like a lasagne. I do a mean one of my own, all made from scratch. However, if I felt a little lazy, I know I could always put my hands on one of those ready meals. Don’t particularly like them, but they serve a purpose. But things are not as they seem. According to mass hysteria, lasagne ready meals, in addition to containing cheese, peppers, pasta and many other unhealthy substances, now come with added, Champion the Wonder Horse.

Neigh, I kid you not. We’ve apparently been eating horse meat for ages. I never realised the reason until now why every time I trotted to the supermarket, I felt this urge to but a packet of oats.

And of course now we have the veggie brigade sitting all smug saying, ‘I told you so.’ Maybe, but I bet there are a few non-meat things which are dodgy. I don’t care. I’m meat eater and beyond redemption. I have every respect for vegetarians, it’s just not me. Mind you, there is one thing which annoys – those people who claim they are vegetarian but eat fish.

Feb 10 - Question Mark

How the blooming hell is that being a vegetarian?

And now for somebody who couldn’t even find a horse.

Feb 10 - Richard III Portrait

So finally, we know it really is Richard III who’s been issuing spiritual parking tickets in a Leicester car park for years. What I want to know is how on earth did people actually forget he was there? I mean, they know the car park was built on the site of an Abbey and presumably records showed it to be his final resting place otherwise how would they have known where to look for him in the first place.

When they decided to build a car park on top of him, was it just an oversight? You can imagine the surveyors and their checklist.

1. Excavate large hole.

2. Lay tarmac and paint white lines.

3. Remove dead King of England.

4. Install pay-by-foot ticket machines.

And why do they call them pay by foot machines? I’ve never seen anybody pay by foot. You use your hands.

Sorry, I digress, but I still don’t see the need for fuss. They spend all that money and effort excavating the site to dig him up, now they’re talking about burying him again. Make your sodding minds up. And please tell me we’re not going to have the prospect of the taxpayer funding a state funeral. Don’t we spend enough on the royal leeches who are living without throwing money at dead ones.

What I found funny was the programme the other day which showed how a specialist has reconstructed the king’s face using scientific skills and technology.

Feb 10 - Richard III Reconstructed Face

Bollocks. They’ve just looked at the portraits of him. It’s not exactly hard to make an accurate reconstruction when you have a head start, if you forgive the pun.

Poor old Richard. I bet he didn’t envisage spending 500 years in a car park. I hope they gave him a disabled bay, what with having that hump.

“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.” If Richard said that today, somebody would hand him Findus Beef Lasagne. Still, it could have been worse. They might have built a public lavatory on top of him, then rhyming slang term would have taken on a very literal meaning.

The poor dear.

Posh Spice, Victoria Beckham, the girl whose only talent is the ability to make millions without having any actual talent, posted an interesting tweet this week. She’s a little stressed. Referring to New York Fashion Week, she commented that it was the silly season where everybody goes a little crazy, or words to that effect as seen below.

Feb 10 - Victoria Beckham

No, Victoria, it isn’t the most stressful of times. Living in poverty under Tory Government cuts and not knowing if you’ll have a house this time next month … that’s stress.

We’ll fight them on the beaches.

Can’t remember where I read this but apparently, German schoolkids are studying the British seaside resort of Weston-super-Mere.

Yes, the town which has to be the worst seaside town I have ever visited, is being touted as a good indicator of British holiday fun and is now in German school textbooks.

Feb 10 - Weston-super-Mere

Weston-super-Mere? I mean, the fact the town inserts the word, super into its name should be enough for them to be prosecuted under the trades description act. I went there once and that was enough for me. It has one attraction – the pier, and even that burned down and was out of action for a few years.

So why are we touting Weston as the hotbed of activity? A couple of possibilities. One, is to send the Germans somewhere nobody in the UK wants to go, and if they are there, we won’t have to worry about them nicking our deckchairs on the beaches we do like.

Second reason. They’ve waged war on us twice in the past hundred years. Promote this place as the high spot of summer activity and they’ll turn around and decide it might be better to invade Crete instead.

Just a theory.

Right, enough banter …

I actually write this on a Saturday and having just finished, I realised I need to do a bit of shopping. I’m out of burgers and lasagne. Therefore, I’m going to saddle up, race to the supermarket and gallop along the meat aisle. Fear not, I won’t be there fur-long.

Sorry about the jokes. I admit, they are a bit lame. Hmmm … I think this theme may have run its course.



Things are a little to PCC, over here.

I hardly gave it any notice, I have to admit, but Thursday saw the UK taking part in elections. Who were we voting for? Apparently, police across the UK are now going to get elected chief commissioners to oversee budgets, police priorities and hiring and firing of senior staff.

Sorry … I may need to read that again. No, I wasn’t mistaken, but isn’t that job which the current chief and his half-a-dozen assistants, already employed on around half a million quid a year, are supposed to do?

I find it obscene that in a climate where good, hard working officers are being forced out of their jobs and thousands of civilian workers also face redundancy, this government sees fit to splash out further millions on yet another figurehead for the ivory towers at Police Central.

Take my area in the midlands. Do I want some political ponce who knows fuck all about policing at a cost of £100k a year, or four new recruits at the same price to keep me safe?

What the hell do you think?

Still harping on about the Olympics?

Can’t help it. I saw an advert this week for the official BBC DVD. As you know, I was pretty underwhelmed by the whole thing when it was on. I say well done to all the British who won but still stand by my thought that it was a terrible waste of money, especially as many charities and small arts organisations folded when their lottery funding was removed to pay for the Olympics.

Anyway, the BBC, as well as condoning pedophilia for forty years in the Jimmy Savile case, have now released the DVD of the 2012 games.

That’s it, but if you were hoping for 15 hours of sporting highlights, forget it. Here, you get 7, then another 7 of the ridiculous and irrelevant opening and closing ceremonies.

The BBC never know how to do sport, it’s why they’ve lost to the rights for most of them over the years. Take football. Match of the Day. You get ten minutes of highlights and without fail, two of those minutes are taken up with the commentators droning on as the players warm up and walk on and off the pitch.

I mean. Who wants to see a blooming good goal?

And here’s a blooming good goal.

The latter part of this week, all I have heard about in the media is the wonder goal by Zlatan Ibrahimovic for Sweden against England. Yes, it was a wonderful piece of improvised skill but to call it the best goal ever …? I’m not so sure.

Here we have it, just after calamity keeper, Joe Hart has raced out of his area and made a hash of a headed clearance. Ibrahimovic spins, then does an overhead kick with the ball looping into the empty net to score. As I say, great piece of skill but to me, the best goals occur when there are at least some players and always the goalkeeper, in the penalty area.

A load of junk.

I read the other day that nearly half of the mail delivered in the UK are flyers and leaflets. I can concur with that. My lobby is filled with them. I clear the lot out into the recycling, turn my back and before I know it, there’s bloody more on the floor.

Junk mail – people keep sending it to me. Either that or there is some new breed of genetically engineered beastie which keeps getting into my front porch and shitting paper everywhere.

Send them to the Tower.

I was reading the other day that somebody tried to break into the Tower of London. In true journalistic fashion, The Sun newspaper reported the fact, also telling the tale of Colonel Blood who tried the feat in 1671.

Is it a sign of a writer when all you do is spot grammatical errors? Now I’m still looking for a job and I reckon I could do one for the Sun as a proofreader. Shouldn’t there be a comma in the bottom sentence? Bafflingly isn’t a great word anyway but without a comma, it reads as though King Bafflingly gave the robber a pardon. I never knew we had a King called Bafflingly.

Am I being pedantic here?

No energy going that way.

I read this week that former MP and BBC trust chairman, Chris Patten, also receives a salary of £40k from EDF Energy for taking part in a few meetings a year.

Hmmmm … My money isn’t going EDF’s way in the near future, then.

And following on from pieces told in previous weeks …

I’ve spoken recently about the fact Richard III has been found and dug up. I have also spoken about the vile Jimmy Savile, and the subsequent hysteria which blames him for everything from child abuse to being the Yorkshire Ripper.

Well, scientists investigating the Richard III thingy planned to reconstruct the king’s face but scrapped the idea when a trial run of his likeness produced a possible clue as to his descendants.

Okay, I may have made that one up.

Just read this one.

Some textbook has been introduced to schools in India stating that eating meat makes you lie and commit sex crimes.

This load of bull states God didn’t include meat in his plans so why should we need to eat it?

I find it amazing that anybody can write whatever rubbish they like and claim it to be true. It’s no different over here. In schools in the UK, we have bullshit promoted to our young every day through an official and popular book. It’s called the Bible.

But back to our new police chief.

Bob Jones became the West Midlands new head-honcho the other day in an election which cost the nation £75million, nationally. Still, he can sort out the problems on his £100k salary and try to find out why policing isn’t working. The reason being, the other goons in charge, costing hundreds of thousands themselves, have got rid of a huge amount of experienced officers. When was the last time one of the nobs at Police HQ got the chop to save money?




A worse horror than Halloween.

Last week I spoke much about Halloween, witches and the like. Well, that silly state of affairs is over now, but not so the horror in our supermarkets. You see, no sooner have the shelves emptied of vampire costumes and the last pumpkin has been gouged to pieces, a new terror is unleashed upon us.

Yes, I was strolling through my local Morrisons the other day, turned a corner, thus leaving tinned vegetables behind and walked right into it.

Oh no … The Christmas Aisle.

Come on, we’re only just out of October. And no, I wasn’t imagining it. I looked and there they were – rows of mince pies under the banner of Stock up in Time for Christmas. Looking at the boxes, I then saw the use-by date and noticed it said November 29. Now where’s the bloody point in that and how is this stocking up for Christmas? Your mince pies will be green and mouldy come the time you tell the kids about a fat man climbing down the chimney while also warning them not to speak to strangers.

Christmas. The season of goodwill to all retailers is upon us.

And while I was in the supermarket …

I made a fatal mistake the other day. I only had about half a dozen items in my shopping basket and was weak. I gave in to temptation and made a stupid decision in using the automated checkout.

Now I hate these things. I’ve never been the same since the traumatic experience of having an argument with one. It was when they were first introduced and I’d bought two books and a newspaper.

I’d scanned one book, then the other, only the computer checkout didn’t recognise a reduction in price if you bought the two together. Therefore, I called the customer service guy who rectified the fault. Then, before scanning the paper, I made the mistake of placing my hand on the bagging area.

‘Unexpected Item in bagging area’, the computer droned.

‘It was me.’

‘Unexpected item in bagging area.’


‘Please remove item from bagging area.’

‘I have. I’m dancing around the aisle now,’ I banged my fist on the bagging area.

‘Unexpected item in bagging area.’

‘Arrrgggh! IT’S ME!’

Another call to customer services and the guy ambled back with mild resentment and attitude.

Right, I was ready to roll. Scan the newspaper – Blip.

‘Place the item in the bagging area.’

‘I have.’

‘Place the item in the bagging area.’

‘I HAVE.’ Bang of fist – again.

‘Unexpected item in bagging area.’

‘Arrrgghhhh!’ And another call for customer services.

Don’t you just love automated services? But it doesn’t end there. Last week, as this picture will show, I tried again.

Sorry for the poor quality, but it was taken on my phone and at an angle as I didn’t want people staring. I hate to make a scene, you know.

Anyway, I’d scanned my veggies, newspaper and loaf of bread. However, I ran into trouble when it came to my French Bread Stick.

Yes, that’s it. Big, aren’t they, and one of a few items in a supermarket, impossible to bag.

‘Place the item in the bagging area.’

WTF? How the hell can you place a French Stick into a tiny carrier. You can’t. It’s not possible. Regardless, the machine wouldn’t let me move until I did so. Therefore, I touched the bagging area to try to fool it, only to knock my bag onto the floor, scattering all my goods.

Arrrrggh! Fume. Rage. I hate those bloody machines.

Then, the thing wouldn’t let me pay. It still wouldn’t accept that I couldn’t bag my French Stick so it locked the terminal and I had to wait for an assistant.

Christ! I’d have been served quicker if I’d stood in the longest checkout queue behind ten pensioners with full trolleys who all wanted to stay behind for a chat.

A checkout lady came to me, showing all the personality of an auditor on mogadon.

I grinned. Pointed. ‘I really hate these machines.’

She reset it, showing what it must be like to live without a sense of humour.

Automated machines. No wonder people resort to shoplifting.

A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.

A few months ago, I told the tale of a car park in Leicester which is supposedly the final resting place of King Richard III. The car park was built on the site of an old Abbey and it is there, the one-time child murdering, Uncle Dickie, is thought to be buried. I spoke those months ago about the silliness of it but apparently, they think they’ve found him now. Also, once identified by DNA, they are going to bury him again.

What? He was buried. He’d been underground over 500 years. What was the point digging him up only to stick him under the ground again? Have they nothing better to do in Leicester?

No … don’t bother answering that.

Here is the old duffer, being terribly over-acted by Sir Lawrence Olivier during the death scene from the film, Richard III, based on a play by some guy named Shakespeare.

Trying to eradicate history.

I’ve kept quiet about this for weeks but no more.

I’ve watched and read about the Jimmy Saville scandal with interest (God, that sounds like an opening from a letter to my local paper). I know the guy isn’t alive to defend himself but from the testimonies I’ve heard, I’m in no doubt he was a very bad man. Thing is, people are now trying to wipe out all trace he existed by changing street signs, removing plaques, etc. A huge effort, in fact. It’s a pity that effort wasn’t put in over the years bringing him to justice when alive. I don’t blame the girls one bit but I do blame all those who now say they suspected him all along. It’s like everybody knew. In fact, I feel like I’m the only person who didn’t know Jimmy Saville was a paedophile.

It’s a shame though. I’ll never be able to watch those boy scouts on the roller coaster without wondering if Jimmy asked them to promise to do their duty.

Whatever the conclusion, this should always remain one of the best TV moments ever.

Knob of the week.

I haven’t had a knob of the week for ages. I stopped when most of my subjects were all knobs and I just incorporated them into the other stories. However, as a headline for Tory MP, Philip Davies, knob of the week, says it all.

Davies showed himself to be an idiot of the utmost degree by suggesting the disabled and people with learning difficulties should expect to get less pay as they could never be as productive as more able folk.

I did think of arguing the case against his remarks, even coming up with some clever and satirical putdown for such ridiculous comments from an MP. However, I think in this case, basic name-calling insults will suffice.


No spooks in this house.

As I was saying earlier, Halloween has gone and not only that, I didn’t get one kid trick or treating at my door this year. Great. I knew that Jim Fixed it for Me, badge would come in useful one day.



Only one place to begin this week …

And that’s in the Sanctuary of the Mercy Church in Zaragosa, Spain.

Yes, childish, I know, but I can’t stop giggling at the fresco ruined by the 80-year-old woman who thought she was helping by attempting to touch up the image of Christ which has been on the wall of the church over 120 years.

Poor old Christ, he once looked like this …

But damp attacking the plaster, rendered him like this …

Enter Cecilia Giménez and her box of acrylic paints. She thought she’d save the church the bother of forking out to restore it by doing the job herself. However, things got a little out of hand and Christ now looks like this …

I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It’s probably a truer interpretation of Christ than the usual inaccurate westernised image we see everywhere. What do you reckon, post modernist or impressionism?

I’m certain the Sanctuary of the Mercy Church will survive this one. I’m not so sure about Cecilia Giménez, though. With all the furore over this, she looks like she needs a little sanctuary, herself but there doesn’t seem to be much mercy shown by this church. Poor Cecilia, she’s now having to run the gauntlet of hate and she was only trying to help. She’s in her 80s. Leave the woman alone before she has a heart attack.

Is Richard III buried under a car park in Leicester?

Do we bloody well care? What the hell is the point of this? It’s taken over 500 years for scholars to come up with the theory that he was taken to a Friary where the Greyfriars Car Park now stands. So what if he was buried there. You going to dig the whole lot up just to prove a point? It ain’t going to bring him back to life so if you want to find out if he really did kill the princes in the tower, you’re not going to find out this way.

Leave him be. It’s bad enough trying to find a parking space in Leicester without ruining a perfectly good car park just to do a bit of grave robbing.

That’s right, Richard. You stay hidden in a car park, or some 80-year-old woman will come along and paint a hump on your back.

Meanwhile, talking of Cecilia Giménez …

Our little old dear escapes the limelight in Zaragosa by taking a trip to Norway and visiting the National Gallery, there.

Shall I scream or will you?

So … what’s the Royal Knob been up to this week?

Now from previous posts, you may have gathered I am not a huge royalist but all this fuss about Harry being photographed unclothed is pathetic.

I mean … Do we really care? And if we do, then there must be little else in our sad lives if this is of public interest.

So Harry is naked. We all are at some point of the day. Also, he was romping with some lass. Big deal.

Sleazy paper, The Sun, decided it was their duty to splash the pic on the front cover the other day. That was after posting a fake version in their previous edition.

There you go. The two side by side. Obviously a mock-up wasn’t enough so they had to come all moral obligation on us. And just to avoid any legal comeback, they explain in very big letters, that people have already seen it on the internet, anyway.

The Sun, News International and all you other Murdoch slimeballs … go and crawl under a stone.

And on the next stage of Cecilia’s road trip …

She takes a trip to The Hauge and the Mauritshuisg Gallery.

Girl with the Very Tacky Earring?

Pot Kettle Black – Iain Duncan Smith

Tory twit – Iain Duncan Smith, this week spouted more of his bullshit when he claimed the BBC were biased against the Conservative party. He says the corporation portrays the news in a gloomy way and it makes his party look bad when all they are trying to do, is make the country better.

No. The BBC don’t make the Conservatives look bad, the politicians make a good job of doing that themselves.

Iain Duncan Smith goes on to say the BBC economics editor had peed over the Tories.

Hmmm … Makes a change from the Tories peeing over the rest of the country.

Shit … Cecilia’s reached Paris now.

Oh No. Poor Mona. Leonardo will be livid.

Can’t see the App-eal, myself.

Two new apps (see … look how with it I am in terms of technology) are being launched soon.

The first will tell your sat-nav, when exactly traffic lights are about to change so you can adjust your speed accordingly. The selling point is, you will never be held up by traffic lights again.

WTF? Yes you will. Whatever speed you go, you’re still not going to get across those lights any quicker, so what’s the point? Also, if you reduce to 5mph and drive like Miss Daisy, I give it two minutes before some plonker doesn’t realise you’re going that slow and rams into the back of you. Ridiculous.

The second device is a text speak translator. Now some might think this a GR8 but I don’t. Instead of a device to get you to understand what it is teenagers are talking about, how about one that lets you understand teenagers – in general.

OMG! OMG! Cecilia’s in New York.

Surely she wouldn’t … Not Starry Night?

Noooooooo! She’s given it cloud cover.

Cecelia. Go back to Zaragosa. All is forgiven. They want you to have another go at Jesus.




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