Tag Archive: Simon Cowell


I’m delving into the old Myspace archives again. Things not been great in old Walsall but I don’t want to go weeks without a roast. Therefore, I’m re-posting more of my now impossible to find roasts from the Myspace days. However, I’m going to go against my OCD and not leave where I left off the last time I re-hashed the old stuff. You see, I was up to December 2008 and I thought, looking today, it would seem silly when the sun is shining to be talking about the perils of Christmas shopping.

June 9 Father Christmas Sunbathing

Yes, not quite the season for Father Christmas.

Therefore …

Britain’s Got Talent Pushy Parents (Originally posted (7 June 2009).

I saw the clip of a little ten year old on Britain’s Got Talent. This is the girl who forced hard man, Simon Cowell, to give her a second chance after she broke down and cried with a hissy fit. Verruca Salt from Willy Wonka would have been proud of the performance. Am I being cruel and heartless, though to say that I found it incredibly funny? At the end of the day, there is a moral here about the pitfalls for our kids if left in the hands of pushy parents. Kids should be kids but some parents just want to bask in the glory.

June 9 Girl cries on Britain's got Talent

There she is, in tears after that cruel pair, Ant and Dec, told her the show hadn’t time to give her a second chance. Cue the tears, enter Simon Cowell … On with the second chance.

Sense of fair play, 0 … Spoiled Brats, 1.

And I hate to say it, even though I don’t watch the show, I catch bits occasionally and it’s still full of tiny tantrums in the making which the audiences go gooey-eyed over.

You have to wonder about the parents. Ahhh, if only they could keep them young forever. They’d milk millions from them.

Also during that week … Britt’s adventures eating out (Originally posted (7 June 2009).

I spoke the other week how us with the Britt name get bad experiences, wherever we go, particularly while eating out. Well, four years ago …

I went out twice this week. The Indian Restaurant was nice, even though I had to avoid having the Travellers on the other table offer to do the guttering on my house. They even tried it on with the old couple on a nearby table and three of the waiters into the bargain.

Normal Nick service was resumed when I went to Pizza Hut the following day. Not the usual one where we get bad service from aggressive staff. We tried that one and were told there was a 25 minute wait for a table. Therefore, myself and companion of the time, went to the other one around the corner in the Shopping Centre. There we were seated straight away … then had to wait 25 minutes for somebody to take our order.

I say seated straight away … that was after this huge lady came into the place and made a beeline for the table we were being showed to without approaching any staff and almost knocked my companion over in the process. The staff allowed this and also served her first because she shouted louder. So it was great fun for us to wait for our order to be taken as she wolfed down her starters. Still, at least we got the bill before her and left with satisfaction when I commented that I hoped she choked on her gateaux.

Bitter, me?

And I still hate Pizza Hut. I always have some bad experience. I don’t even own up to going there any more. And I’m not the only one. Former footballer, Gareth Southgate even wore a paper bag on his head in this Pizza Hut TV commercial.

June 9 Gareth Southgate Pizza Hut Advert

Weird. He has a paper bag on his head, yet it still looks like Gareth Southgate.

Callers who leave me cold. (Originally posted (7 June 2009).

I had a call the other night from a company called Space Designs. I’ve had them before and the woman put the phone down on me as soon as I said I wasn’t interested.

This time, when I said no thank you, the guy from Space Designs got aggressive with me, shouting, ‘What do you mean you aren’t interested? You haven’t heard what I have to say yet.’

WTF? It’s my bloody phone isn’t it? They rang me on my time. I can say what I bloody well like. Therefore, in revenge, I managed to engage this pillock in an argument which lasted over five minutes. That’s five minutes of his sales time when he could have been contacting somebody who actually gave a damn.

Message to all Cold callers, don’t mess with the Empty Souls.

June 9 Blondie hanging on the Telephone

Okay, I couldn’t find a picture which demonstrated dealing with cold callers. Therefore, here’s Blondie singing Hanging on the Telephone.

I will add, Empty Souls was my pseudonym on Myspace.

Let’s talk about sex, baby … (Originally posted (7 June 2009).

Or rather, tantric sex.

I was reading an old article about Sting and his experiences with Tantric Sex. Basically, this practice appears to be where people forego any physical intimacy and instead, do it on a spiritual path. By using their inner eye, they can apparently focus on their partner and reach sexual satisfaction without all that tedious, messy shagging.

My God, you have to admire the invention of the woman who came up with that one. You know, some poor lass who wanted an excuse not to have some fat hairy bloke humping and grunting on top of her for ten minutes while they were more concerned with trying to breathe. I mean, the old I’ve got a headache, darling, must have been wearing a bit thin and they obviously needed a new approach.

Imagine the scene. Tired woman wants to relax but there he is, in the bedroom, undressing with expectant grin on face while trying to hold the muffin top belly from exploding over his boxer shorts.

‘Darling,’ she says, ‘I’m going to suggest we try something different tonight.’

At this point, hairy bloke will get excited because he thinks she may be about to abandon all that messing about called, foreplay.

‘I’ve been reading about this thing called Tantric Sex, and I think it would benefit us. What we do is both remove our clothes and sit six feet apart from one another. While we concentrate our energies, our inner eye will focus on our bodies and eventually, we reach sexual satisfaction. Oh and you may find it helpful if you close your eyes while you’re doing it. Plus, I’m going to be glancing at Hello Magazine as it aids my spirituality and hopefully we can both enjoy this fantastic experience.’

Therefore, while he is sitting cross legged with eyes closed and inner eye exploring the contours of her clitoris, her inner eye is pricing up pink sparkly heels.

If I tried something like this, my mind would switch off and I’d be asleep within minutes. Perhaps that’s what the desired effect is.

July 8 Sting Smug Git

Tantric sex, as promoted by Smug Git of the Year, twenty times running, Sting. He wouldn’t be so smug if he worked out wife, Trudie, just wanted a peaceful night when she suggested tantric.

So long, and see you next time.

Okay, hope you enjoyed that. I do aim to re-post more old blogs rather than have them lost in the catacombs of Myspace but hopefully, next week I shall be back to normal.



A brief note to all my readers …

There will be no mention this week of a certain event which occurs on the 25th of this month where the entire world goes mad over some mythical character, and I don’t mean the one in the red suit, either. I’ve had enough already and it’s still sixteen days away. Therefore, the other C-word is banned.

Think of the consequences before you pull a stunt like that.

This is what comes of our celebrity culture. You get knobs like those two Australian radio presenters – Mel Grieg and Michael Christian. They decided it was funny to ring King Edward VII Hospital where the future Queen Kate, Duchess of Wherever, was ill in hospital. Pretending to be the Queen and Prince Charles, they were astonishingly put through by nurse, Jacintha Saldanha. After being given personal details by another nurse, the two presenters hung up. Laughed at how clever they were.

December 9 - Australian Radio Twats, Mel Grieg and Michael Christian

Mel Grieg and Michael Christian – smugly pleased with themselves for pulling their stunt.

The consequence has been widely reported. Nurse Jacintha Saldanha apparently killed herself, reportedly distraught over the mess-up. Now who is to blame? Yes, procedure totally failed. She did wrong putting the call through. However, when you play a prank, it is only okay if everybody else taking part is in on the gag, apart from the victim, and then have the victim give the okay for it to be broadcast. Did these idiots in Australia have the permission of the royals to be stooges in this stunt? No, and I can’t believe I’m actually defending the royal parasites I hate so much, but in this case, I have sympathy.

The knock-on will see the media will whip up a storm against these two fools now and we may not have seen an end to tragedy. It’s done. Hard lessons learned. Leave them alone as they have to live with the fallout.

The presenters may have thought is a harmless joke and wouldn’t have done this in hindsight. However, at the very least, they must have known they’d put staff in a position of facing serious disciplinary action, all for a few laughs at the time. As it turned out, the nurse couldn’t cope.

It is reported Jacintha Saldanha had the full support of her hospital. However, I know, as in most public sector organisations, the majority of hardworking staff are supervised by middle-management tosspots who’d be looking to lay the blame at any door apart from their own. So think on folks before you play a joke. What could be the result from a few minutes of idiotic actions?

And The Sun’s take on this …

Scummy paper, The Sun, commented yesterday that the nurse’s death was heartbreaking and bewildering. They have lashed loads of sympathy. But aren’t they also to blame? It is papers like theirs who create this intrusive culture and obsession with celebrities. If people were more protected from vultures like those at The Sun, then perhaps two planks on an Australian radio show might have thought twice about invading privacy. Instead, they reckoned that as the press do it all the time, why shouldn’t they?

May 6 The Scum

But what else has the Scum been reporting?

I speak about consequences of jokes and how they could backfire, but what about when it backfires on yourself. When premiership footballer, Liam Ridgewell had a snap taken of him wiping his arse with a £20 note in order to wind up a mate who’d lost a bet, he didn’t think it would be passed around and end up in The Sun.

December 9 - Liam Ridgwell £20 notes

No, I don’t want to post a picture of him wiping his arse, he’s already made himself look enough of one anyway. Now the butt of all jokes (sorry, couldn’t resist that one), Liam was branded by The Sun as being the vilest footballer in Britain.

Come on, give the man a break. He may have had a perfectly good reason to use a £20 note as toilet paper. Perhaps he hadn’t had his copy of The Sun delivered that day?

Liberal Demolition.

It seems the Lib/Dems are on the verge of extinction after being wiped out in three local elections the other week. Well, you can’t say Nick Clegg and his pathetic party weren’t warned. That’s what you get when you sell-out your own principles for fifteen minutes of power.

December 9 - Nick Clegg

Ah, Nick, no wonder you look glum. Having broken the promises you made after deciding to turn your back on all who voted for you and use their support to prop up the Tory opposition your followers voted against.

I have to admit defeat.

Not often I say that but for only the second time in my life, I gave up on a book after struggling to read 100 pages. We Need to Talk About Kevin, by Lionel Shriver has sold millions and won awards. How? I couldn’t see it. Perhaps it’s just me. After taking ten tedious days of groaning at each page I turned, I thought it deserved no more of my attention. Very passive, lazy style full of needless waffle. 100 pages and bugger all has happened. It’s written in the form of letters from the main character to her estranged ex. If he had to put up with that all the time, no wonder he left and lives the other side of the world. I can imagine him hearing the letterbox and dreading. ‘Oh no, not another bloody one from her.’ Pages of his ex telling him their past. Er … he already knows.

December 9 - Corner reserved for crap books. © Antony N Britt

We Need to Talk about Kevin. Up the loft, waiting to be filed in the corner of books marked crap.

Back to an author I trust, methinks.

And following on from last week and the Simon Cowell observation …

Simon now says he can’t return to the UK version of the X-Factor without damaging the franchise on both sides of the Atlantic.

Oh, please do, Simon. Come back and destroy the show for good and stop filling our airwaves with bland generic karaoke singers recycling other artist’s crap.

Things that go clink in the night.

A family in Yorkshire had to flee their home after being disturbed by the clinking of cups as an alleged ghost, apparently kept trying to make cups of tea.

May 13 Ghost

The Doherty family left their council house after kettles were switched on and cups shook from their mug stand. Hmm, it’s always a council house in these cases. Looking to be re-housed, Mr Doherty? You think they’d be grateful. Why not leave all the mugs full of tea bags when you go to bed? Then you’ll have a steaming hot drink waiting for you when you got up in the morning.

That about wraps another roast …

And I didn’t mention Christmas, once.

December 9 - D'oh!

Did it, just then. Damn!



A little festive message.

Following my post last week where I spoke about a house full of Christmas lights which Blackpool would be proud of, I can finally say one thing.

Dec 2 - December

Now … it’s okay to stick your decorations up.

So, what’s been happening in the news?

I know it was over a week ago, but the Archbishop of Canterbury said the Church of England has lost credibility after the motion supporting women Bishops was rejected. Credibility? I’m not sure a cult reliant on brainwashing kids from birth and filling their heads full of fairy stories with no factual basis has any credibility.

And talking of Christianity – or any religious nonsense, come to think of it …

I was reading about Two and a Half Men star, Angus T Jones, the other day. Haven’t seen the show for a few years but the once cheeky kid is now approaching 20-years-old. You’d think with the millions he earns (£200,000 an episode), he’d be happy in his life. But no, what does he go and do? He’s only found God and now proclaims the show which made his fortune is nothing but filth.

Dec 2 - Two and a Half Men 2

Angus, having a revelation.

Word from the wise, Angus. Don’t slag off the goose that laid your golden egg. But if you do have the courage of your convictions, are you now going to give all your immorally gotten gains to a church charity? Hmm … probably not. Hypocrite. It’s amazing how religion can make supposedly rational thinking people talk complete tripe.

Dec 2 - Two and a Half Men

Just thought I’d show a picture of the sitcom from a time before one of these actors lost the plot, acted like a complete moron and potentially killed their career. The other guy in the shot is Charlie Sheen.

The fix- factor.

I see Simon Cowell has been trying to contrive a result on his own show. He tweeted about X-Factor, last week.

Dec 2 - Simon Cowell

Smarten your English, Simon. UK should be in capital letters. Isn’t it up to the public to vote for their favourite, not for the ones Simon thinks will be the biggest star and make him the most money? Apparently, Simon fears a situation where he could have a poor result with some cheesy act triumphing. Heaven forbid. The last thing we want is another karaoke singer churning out bland cover versions.

Oh! Just realised. That is the job description of an X-Factor contestant.

And talking of rubbish TV shows …

I hate these celebrity reality shows, and non more than I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!

The hackles of dart player, Eric Bristow’s family have been raised this week. They want to sue the TV show as they say Eric had been badly edited and portrayed as a bully.

Dec 2 - Eric Bristow

What are they trying to imply, that the TV company has planted a double of Eric and ordered him to be mean? It’s a reality show! It doesn’t matter how much you edit something, if the guy’s said it, it has to be true.



Read a story about 72-year-old, Arthur Hughes who has ditched his wife to live with 27-year-old tennis coach, Sarah Douglas. Sarah’s mother isn’t impressed. She called Arthur, a dirty old man.

Rubbish. He’s a lucky old man.

A Christmas present nobody should be without.

Is this the tackiest ornament – ever? It was advertised on the back of a free magazine, and it can be yours in time for Christmas.

Dec 2 - Clock

Yes, the only cuckoo clock inspired by the wonders of Ancient Egypt.

The blurb says it plays an exotic melody (I bet it’s the sand dance). It also boasts Queen Nefertiti’s regal procession which actually (gasp) rotates around the base. And then (wait for it), the jewel in the crown of tat. Yes, on the stoke of every hour, a sculptured bust of Queen Nefertiti emerges from the centre of the mystical cuckoo clock.

Actually, it’s not a cuckoo clock, it’s a bloody Queen Nefertiti clock, but don’t worry, for an extortionate five installments of £25.99 plus £9.99 packing, it can be yours. Yes, that’s only £140 for the most hideous thing you’d ever want on your living room wall.

Seriously, do people actually buy these things? I reckon you’d have to be koo-koo.

And following on from the Jimmy Savile scandal …

It now seems former MP, Cyril Smith was a pedophile who sexually abused boys. He died two years ago yet was investigated in the 70s and the 90s on numerous occasions. Who allowed him to go unpunished and also, if his crimes were widely known before 1988, why was he knighted in that year?

It seems it’s not just the sex offenders who are guilty.

Charming treatment for a prince.

It’s normally The Sun newspaper I have a go at. However, this week, I saw an article on The Mail Online about pop star, Adam Ant’s current tour. Whoever captioned the photos in the article seemed to be full of themselves in the way they wanted to poke fun at how Adam struggles to fit into his costume these days, and that he is not such a Dandy Highwayman any more.

Dec 2 - Adam Ant

So – fucking – what!

Okay, Mr or Ms Mail Online Journalist, did you have three number one singles and an image instantly recognisable thirty years on?

No, I bet you bloody didn’t. Adam’s approaching sixty. Doesn’t mean you have to curl up and start wearing cardigans.

Adam Ant – Don’t you ever stop being a dandy. Ridicule is nothing to be scared of.

Let the festive spirit begin.

My decorations may go up in about two weeks time. I think that’s more than festive for me. I should begin shopping though. Now, who can I give that Egyptian clock to?



Still scaling the lofty heights.

You may recall last week, I told you I was tackling a 10 years in the waiting job of clearing the clutter in the loft. I’m happy to say, it’s about halfway completed after about six hours work during the week. Can’t do much in one go as it’s so hot up there.

Another stint this week ahead and it should be done. Still got clutter all over the floor up there but at least it’s sorted into perfectly ordered piles of clutter. It’s amazing what you find, though.

Okay. So I have Cybermen and Daleks hiding in my loft, but at least there is one positive. I now know why I’ve not had any rats during the past year. I wondered why that poison hadn’t been touched. The bigger monsters exterminated the rodents.

Back at Olympic Park …

It’s nearly over and GB have done fantastic. As I type, Mo Farah is in the background, going for gold. Now you will know from previous roasts, I know nothing of athletics and have to be honest, I’d not even heard of Mo Farah until this week. Still, he’s GB so let’s give him our support. Now you go and watch the kiss of death from Britt land on Mo Farah. It normally does when I big somebody up.

One of the strangest things I saw this week was when a rider made her horse do the foxtrot and win a Gold for it. Some of these events do stretch the definition of the word, sport. Whatever next – a dancing dog called Pudsey, winning a Gold?

Well, there would be if Simon Cowell ran the Olympics.

Oh … Hang on. Go – Mo!

Yeeeeeesssss! Another Gold.

Breakfast’s gone a bit cold.

Coldplay’s Chris Martin said this week that he plays his new songs to his kids at breakfast to gauge how good the music is. If children, Moses and Apple (Yeah … I know) start singing, then Chris knows he’s onto a winner.

Come on, Chris, you’re playing safe testing it out at breakfast. Kids are wide awake that time in the morning. Test it out just before bedtime, then if the kids fall asleep, you’ll know they think it’s the same load of monotonous dirge the rest of us do.

Chris Martin and Coldplay – Possibly the best cure for insomnia ever created.

And talking of falling asleep …

Fishing enthusiast, Phil Hunt was in the news as it was reported he needs someone to look after him when he partakes in his favourite sport.

Fishing – Sport? Yeah – right. Surprised it’s not an Olympic event. Anyway, Phil suffers from narcolepsy which means he could fall asleep and fall in the river.

There’s a little gift for you, Phil but narcolepsy, come on! Fishing is the most boring pastime ever invented. It’s enough to send anybody to sleep. Has there been in-depth research into the condition? A bit of digging may find most of the sufferers were found to be sitting by the river with a rod in their hands. Either that or they were just listening to Coldplay.

In an unrelated news report, chef Gurpareet Bains has developed a curry which gets people to sleep better. His Insomnia Masala, produces effects similar to sleeping pills.

All well and good, but drifting into a sound sleep after eating a curry is only solving half the problem and very risky. What about when you wake up in the middle of the night and have to rush to the loo due to the volcanic eruption at the other end of the body when said curry, recycles itself to the tune of Ring of Fire?

And then you wake up …

Kay Delany from Cambridgeshire, slipped and banged her head. She was knocked out and when she woke up, found she’d lost twenty years and still thought it was 1990.

Blimey. Can you imagine if that happened? If it was me, I’d still think I was married to my ex-wife and therefore hiding the Kit-Kat bars while dodging flying crockery. Not only that, I’d still have the recent memory of having to listen to the bloody Pet Shop Boys.

Terms of the divorce. I got the house, she got the Pet Shop Boys. Now there’s another musical brand to send you to sleep.

But still … 1990? It took me years to get over the trauma of the Chris Waddle penalty miss during the World Cup in Italy that year. I’d be facing the prospect of waking in a cold sweat again, screaming, ‘Noooooo!’

Yes, Chris. Twenty-two years later, I still close my eyes and wonder … if the ball you put over the bar has come to land, yet?

Probably the sickest stunt I’ve heard in a while.

It was in the news this week that Take That’s Gary Barlow and wife, lost a child in a still-birth. As a father, I can only imagine the hurt and nobody – ever, deserves that. Now you can guess, I’m not a fan of Take That, neither would I know a Gary Barlow song if it was blasted into my ears. However, what little I do know of the man is that he comes across as a decent enough guy. Decent, on the other hand, is not a word which could ever in a million years, be attributed to former Big Brother contestant, Kenneth Tong.

Kenneth thought it really big to jump on the bandwagon and tweet hate-filled jokes, poking fun at the Barlow’s loss. I’m not going to repeat them or even suggest you check them out. Take my word, they come from a sick mind.

Kenneth Tong, as I said, was on Big Brother a few years back and in his six days in the house, showed himself to be the useless excuse for a human being we still know him to be. He once boasted money can buy you anything. Really? Not respect and the only thing it seems to have bought Kenneth is the tag of being a useless low-life scumbag of the highest degree. A complete wanker.

Kenneth stands by his evil tweets and says he only did it for fun and to get noticed.

I wonder, when he dies and nobody attends his funeral for him being the worst kind of slug from beneath a slimy stone, will anybody notice then? Will they care that he’s gone?

Is it safe to venture up the loft now?

Okay, creatures of mass extermination have been obliterated, and there’s still no sign of rats. Therefore, this time next week, I think my work in the loft will be done and I’ll have loads of space. Great, then I can bung all the crap from every other part of the house, up there. Result.

Now then, what’s this lying in the corner? Oh my God! The worst horror of all. Is it rats, or even dead rats? No … worse.

Arrrggghhh! Bloody Pet Shop Boys. How did that get there?

I need therapy.



Katie opts out of Cruise control.

It was always going to be a matter of time before Top-Gun movie darling Tom Cruise, said farewell to his latest wife. Anybody that spouts religious bullshit on a regular basis is always walking a fine line but to promote Scientology, you have to wonder how he has any credibility left.

Scientology is an oddball cult which appears to be little more than pyramid selling on a religious level. In other words – a con. Scientology was created by L Ron Hubbard and his profession as a writer of science pulp fiction, says it all. Scientology tells us that we are but astral energy, trapped in human form. In fact, when Hubbard died, his followers told us he’d abandoned his body to carry on important work in another part of the universe. Hmmm … I reckon there are many involved in this nonsense of a cult whose minds have long departed this planet, but ironically, still appear to be active here.

Above we see Mr Cruise practising in his spacesuit for the day he ascends to that astral plane. However, it is no joke for wife, Kate and daughter, Suri. Can you not blame a mother in fearing for her child’s well-being? She has serious fears. I mean, she should know, after five years being married to Cruise.

Scientology is not officially recognised as a religion but is exempt from UK tax as it alleges it is a non-profit organisation. However, for something supposedly not in it to make money, there are an awful lot of properties owned by the cult and some very rich people – at the top.

Mind you, it’s the same as any other religion. Promises eternal existence, but is simply after your mortally-gained wealth.

Yes Katie. I’d keep her very close to your chest – and don’t bloody let go.

Boy. I must stop forgetting what I’ve left in my living room.

The other week, David came home with a puppet he made in school. Now when I say puppet, this one is about three feet high with a head that’s real-sized, as you can see below.

It’s really good and he did, apparently do a lot of the stitching himself. However, the first night it came home, I placed it in the far corner of the living room, went to bed, forgot it was there. Next morning in the gloom at six, I walk bleary-eyed into the room, turn and … Arrrgghhh! My God. I wasn’t expecting to see that out the corner of my eye. It’s the most frightening thing since David left the home video of 2001, on pause and I walked in to see the face of my ex-wife grinning back at me on a 32” screen.

Mind you, David’s puppet reminds me of a sight we saw on holiday. This was at the other end of the road away from our caravan.

Imagine walking past that every day to get a packet of cornflakes. Simon Cowell in a grass skirt. Yew!

She’s a bit Gaga …

So we have a storm in a teacup about Lady Gaga doing a song about the death of Princess Diana. I was amazed when I heard. I mean, has she only just found out the princess is dead? You can imagine the Gaga comeback tour of 2028. Opening number – Wacko about Jacko.

Lady Gaga – Keep up with the times, Dear.

Crime scene? Some of that music is criminal. I tell you.

On the menu last night …

Ugh! I spent a lovely couple of minutes clearing up what can only be described as congealed badger vomit after suffering the stench beforehand. The residue, also more commonly know as Pot Noodle, belonged to David, and he’d spilled it on the carpet.

Is this child abuse?

Chantal Marshall, having persuaded four of her daughters to follow her example and have excessive breast enhancement, now wants youngest daughter Britney, 14, to also have boob surgery.

Seriously, Britney. Do you really want to look like that? Ugh! They are horrific. Cinderella never needed to be the same as her sisters, and neither do you.

Every minute on the internet …

I read this week that each sixty seconds online, people send 200million emails. They also post and share over 700million items on Facebook. In addition, they load nearly 4000 poor quality retro-style photos on Instantgram followed by tapping in 100,000 tweets on Twitter.

I don’t know about that lot, but according to my statistics on this site, most of the world is searching for pictures of Rose from Titanic on a blooming raft.

Arrrgghhh! It – was – a – joke! And for the record, it probably would have sunk.

A bit of madness with a sting in the tail.

Madness singer, Suggs, allegedly got drunk at a posh bash the other day and gatecrashed Sting while the former Police singer was on stage.

Sting ought to be grateful. Maybe seeing an artist with a bit of oomph might remind him what it’s like to perform energetic rock. It’s what Sting did best, not this solo artistic stuff, or as it’s also known – semi-pretentious crap.

Sting – Winner of the Smug Git of the Year Award – near thirty years running.

I don’t want to contribute to their air miles.

Apparently, Prince William and Kate splashed out £52k on a one-way flight recently. This is in addition to regular member of the mile-high club, Prince Andrew, who fleeced the country nearly £400k over a short period in his role as trade envoy. Trade envoy? That’s a new name for playing golf I haven’t heard before. Also, the Prince of Wales and Camilla, spent nigh-on half a million on their tour of the Middle East and Africa. All on private jets.

Have any of these leeches ever heard of using a bus? I’m told that the £32 million the UK taxpayer gives to fund these useless load of ferret droppings each year, amounts to 52p a head. It may not sound much to you, but I want to opt out.

The royal family. They live on a different planet. Maybe they should become Scientologists.



Not – Living with David (for a week).

Yippee! David is going away on an outward bound course to Bryntisillio in Wales next week. He’s gone there every year since 2006 and it’s going to be sad with him leaving school in July; this will be his last trip.

Fortunately for me, it is also the last occasion I have to contend with the little extra’s he brings home as a result of his expedition. You see, David is a kleptomaniac in terms of souvenirs picked up from the floor. Check his pockets every day and you will find, combs, pine cones, feathers … I even found a key belonging to some woman called Jane, the other day.

Really sorry, Jane that you can’t get into your house but David has your key and not only that, I don’t know who the hell you are.

The thing with him going to Bryntisilio, as I said, he comes back with far more than I pack in his case, namely pieces of Bryntisilio itself. I’m not sure they notice at the centre that their rear garden wall is missing half of its bricks. If they do and are puzzling over what has happened to them, I can explain. David visits you – regular. Last year, there was an entire carrier full of Welsh rock, and I don’t mean the candy variety either. It’s in my garden now, adorning the rebuilt patio.

It’s not just bits of Brynty he brings home either. I think I have mentioned on Living with David posts in the past, that anywhere he goes, he does the same. This is none more so that at the Black Country Living Museum in Dudley. That museum is one where old houses and buildings from the industrial revolution and the 19th century are restored and you walk around the re-created village. In his last two visits, he’s come home, coat pockets weighted with brick, stone and slate from the said museum. It’s got to stop or one day I’ll come home to find a fully functioning Victorian Chemist shop, standing in my back garden.

Who the hell put that there?

Take notice.

The other week, I reported that it was local election time and that stiletto heels had been banned from the vote count in the event of proceedings getting a little fractious. Well, as far as I know, there was very little bloodshed spilled and Walsall Council, as a result of the election, is in no overall control.

Oh dear. Does this mean our officials will find it harder to push through their intelligently debated and rational decisions.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaa!

Anyway, I jest as you see but the election did get my back up about one thing though. On the campaign trail, candidates come and canvass at peoples houses. However, if they come to mine, they will see this on the door.

Despite the notice, knock on my door, they did. Now please, tell me. If you cannot read a bloody sign, why the hell should I trust you to run a local council?

And talking of local authorities …

This one is Sandwell NHS, but it could easily be any local health authority hospital.

Took my mum to an appointment for a serious condition and despite being 84, she was made to wait over an hour in pretty uncomfortable and squalid conditions. Then, when we got out and tried to leave the car park, we found as usual. you have to pay for the pleasure of waiting.

As you can see, the first 20 minutes is free.


Yeah right. Don’t you start again. As if you’d be seen that quick. But anyway, after 20 minutes, you can see the cost starts to jump. We went into the second hour and had to pay more, but only because the hospital kept us waiting. It seems a bit rich when you are charged more due to the fact the hospital itself cannot keep a better schedule for its appointments.

Is there a talent contest going on?

Yes, thank goodness for that. Britain’s Got Talent has finished and I can channel hop once more without fear of confrontation from insipid dross which passes for entertainment.

I’m happy to say, I’ve not watched any on TV but did have to look it up on YouTube when I heard that final included synchronised swimmers.

Like what???

It’s true. Onto the stage, it seems, four women get into swim tanks and try to recreated the image of a 1960’s Butlin’s swimming pool.

Yes, those are the ones. Underwater windows where perverts could sip their milkshakes and peer at the young girls in the pool without getting their goggles steamed.

Anyway, enough sordid stuff and back to the main subject. Just like a Butlin’s talent contest, Britain’s Got Talent champions the ordinary, weird and wonderful, and none more weirder than the winner, a dancing … dog?

No, it’s not Snoopy, but give me strength. Talk about bottom of the barrel being scraped. Thanks a lot, Simon Cowell.

Still, it’s not the first time a dog has done well in Britain’s Got Talent.

Mind you, I shouldn’t be too hard. I have a lot in common with Susan Boyle. Let’s face it, we both look ridiculous in a dress.

Spooky nights ahead.

I’ve only gone and booked myself a place on one of these overnight ghost investigations which will happen in a couple of months. I was also looking to see the various venues the company have on offer and was intrigued by the title of one: The Lost Souls of Smethwick Baths. Why are they lost? Could they not find their way back to the changing rooms?

On the subject of ghosts …

I watched Amityville III, made in 1983, the other night. It was truly awful and before I started, I didn’t think I’d seen it before. However, as each scene appeared, I realised I had but still could not recall any of it until I had experienced it all again. Does that make it the most forgettable film I have ever sat through?

Best get packing then.

With David off to Bryntisilio tomorrow, I have loads of packing to do for him. I have also had a nasty surprise too. Handed to me on Friday, three days before he goes, was a letter. It stated that while away, the kids will have a themed party and he needs a costume.

Right, and the theme is … American Indians.

Are they having a laugh? Where the frig do they expect me to find a Native American costume at this short notice – off the rack at M&S?

Jesus! The things we parents have to cope with.




Titanic, Titanic, Titanic!

Leonardo Dicaprio, Rose, sinking ship, floating on wood, plank and freezing water. There, I’ve done it – got all the tag-lines in to boost my search engine potential.

I was speaking of this the other week and about how using certain words, actually worked. However, I noticed some other traffic too. You see on this blog, I get a lovely load of stat-counts which tell me what tools are good, and what are not. When I talked of sex, I got loads more hits. I also noticed this week, my most viewed blog was not a current one, but a roast from a few weeks back: The Sunday Roast – Pasties, Petrol and a Queen Singing Parrot. I wondered why this was and after investigation, I saw all the searches were based on my piece about the Titanic; the skit I did about Rose floating on the wood and her selfishly, not shoving across to let poor old Leo get on board, thus condemning him to a icy death.

There, a blatant and shameless reprint, partly to remind you but really, to get everybody looking again and boost this week’s traffic. It was the same with the sex talk. God, it works. And while we’re on the subject … Titanic, Rose, naked.

What, you thought I was going to show full nudity? There may be children reading this.

Anyway, I also had this other nagging thought about the film, Titanic. Not only was dear old Rose spiteful for not letting her lover onto the raft, she also carried her evil ways on right up until her death. You see, the film comes about by the adventurer, Brock Lovett, trying to recover the diamond that Rose has been wearing all her life, but he thinks is still in the Titanic. In the end, the aging lady stands on the deck of Lovett’s craft and hurls the stone to the bottom of the ocean.

How poignant. Or as I was thinking. ‘You bloody selfish woman! You did it again.’ Not only did she doom poor Leo to reside on the bottom of the Atlantic, she now wastes that guy, Lovett’s time by having his crew spend thousands trying to find the diamond and when he is within touching distance, she chucks it overboard. What a cow! I mean, Brock’s even given her an all-expenses paid passage on his boat in order for her to tell him that long-winded story, and how does she repay him? She does that!

And speaking of Titanic – still …

There does seem to be a massive hoo-ha at the minute over the Titanic because of its 100-year anniversary. This was none more evident than the bizarre cruise taken by those on the MS Balmoral. Here, people booked five years in advance to party, buy t-shirts saying ‘I survived the wreck,’ and then spend many hours listening to tales of how 1500 people died in the freezing cold of the Atlantic Ocean.

Tacky … or what?

A case of sore heels.

My barmy local council are at it again. They have chosen not to have the election count in the town hall but at a college campus instead. They have also banned women from wearing high-heels in case it damages the floor.

Yes, I know, this is Walsall we’re talking about and most women here wear trainers and tracksuit leggings. However, there are a few that still have a little style and we now have the prospect of them standing on the podium waiting for results to be announced, all wearing their croc shoes.

An idea of what your average politician should be wearing this year.

It’s all bull. I know the real reason and it’s not to do with protecting the floor, either. These local government events can get a little feisty and it doesn’t look good for the results to be announced with the Conservative Party Candidate, standing smiling with a six-inch stiletto sticking out his ear.

Exhibit number one, Your Honour …

Headline of the week.

So … Sharon Explodes. Why, did her artificial implants spontaneously combust?

Apparently, Mrs Ozzy Osbourne is a bit miffed that pop mogul and promoter of all things banal, Simon Cowell, has a book out which apparently, drags Sharon into his seedy and debauched world. How dare he? I mean, talking gutter stuff and all things catty and full of sleaze? That’s Sharon’s job – surely?

Sharon Osbourne. Proof that you can have absolutely no talent and still earn millions from the entertainment business.

And speaking of Simon Cowell …

Do we really want to know all of your dirty little secrets? Funny timing though. Bring out a warts and all book when your TV show isn’t going too well while it’s up against new rival, The Voice. Mind you, that’s just what we need, another freakin’ talent show, thrusting more generic and insipid tripe into our ears. I remember when music had passion.

It’s Sunday, but at least Titanic has finished on TV.

No, I don’t mean the James Cameron version, not the one I’ve spent this entire blog talking about. The Cameron epic is the one that has had a few little gimmickry tricks superimposed and is now being flogged to gullible audiences in our cinemas as a new film. The Titanic I’m talking about is the ITV dramatisation that finished last week. I’ve been watching it with my daughter who sadly, seems to be becoming obsessed with the Titanic. She keeps looking it up on the internet, reading about it and searching for clips on YouTube – and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Sorry … couldn’t resist.

Now this new version of the tragedy was shown over four weeks and apart from being tediously dull, had an irritating style of plot. Each of the first three episodes kept going back to before the voyage started. You see, the action (Coughs – Yeah, I know) is interwoven with bits of the story you have already seen in previous weeks. All three episodes before the final one, ended on a cliffhanger, meaning yes, we have to see the bloody thing go down over and over again. It was confusing. There was one good thing though. At no point did I see some useless girl on a raft taking up all the space while her young lover freezes his bollocks off in the icy waters before joining the great refrigeration department under the sea.

There. Had to get it in again, didn’t I?



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