Tag Archive: Sunday Roast


The Sunday Roast – Sexual Blogging, Prison Breaks and a bit of Leonardo

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April 15, 2012

Sexually addicted to blogging.

Last week, I tried an experiment to see if using sexual terms in my blog and tags increased the number of visitors to my site. Result? Twice as much actually, though I would like to argue they appreciated my wit, opinion and the bit about falling down the lavatory, far more than cheap crudity.

Still, it was on the subject of sex that I blogged my first ever post on Myspace all those years ago. Yes, I have to admit, I was once, a blogging virgin.

No!!! Not that kind of virgin. I was speaking about being a novice in terms of writing, back then. The original post, I can confess now, was only two lines long but you have to understand, it was my first time and it all came out before I knew it.

However, I tried again the next week and I caressed the keyboard a little more tenderly this time. I found taking a bit longer, achieved greater lasting and more satisfying results. Posts were still rare though. In fact, I was only making entries a couple of times a month as my blog-life wasn’t anything to shout about at that point. Still, as I became more experienced, my reputation grew, attracting interest from others. Suddenly, it was not I doing the chasing, people instead, wanted me. I was in demand. The joy I could give by the use of my fingers alone was amazing. This became so much so that I was soon blogging every night. I have to say, it gave me a buzz. Folk commended me on my technique and varying style and soon I branched out into all sorts of diverse ways. Be it words of love or even a bit of hardcore sadism, but I was always in control. Well, you know, I just like to be on top of things.

The trouble was, it all got out of control. I’d say to folk, ‘Sorry, I’m just going to stay and wash my hair tonight.’ However, as soon as I’d got the top off the Head and Shoulders, I’d be back online. I didn’t know how to say no.

I guess you could have called me promiscuous in blogging terms at the time. I was at it every day, sometimes two to three times a night. Occasionally, I was not quite in the mood so I had to look at other peoples blogs, you know, to see if it would arouse and stimulate me. It usually did and then I was well away; my hands having a mind of their own. After that, it was back to my own blog and pleasing the public once more. I’m like it now, always wanting to leave folk satisfied and there is no greater pleasure than being in the knowledge that you have delivered multiple entries and have the reader begging for more.

Still though, I do have a bit of a confession to make on the matter. You see during that time, I occasionally posted on other sites. Gasp! I played away. Was I really being unfaithful? Moreover, it gets worse. One site actually paid me for the pleasure of my services. Oh my God, does this mean I was working as a blogging prostitute? It only paid pennies too. Heavens, I was cheap into the bargain.

In the end, I sought counselling but in my defence, nothing I did was illegal and I wasn’t harming anyone. It was my own body, after all.

I’ve calmed over the years though but I am still always available. Whether it be a tender slow post, or just a little quickie, I am here, ready and willing as always.

And an audacious bid for freedom.

Jailbird, Ronaldo Silva, got out of prison in Penedo, Brazil by swapping clothes with his wife who was there for a visit. Having prepared, shaved his legs and applied lipstick, Silva strode past guards and was only captured when a policeman nearby, noticed the man walking funny.

So this is what fooled the prison guards? I have to say, there must be some fucking ugly women visiting Penedo Jail.

A cure for all ills?

So I see two bigoted organisations, the Core Issues Trust and Anglican Mainstream, have been banned from running an ad campaign that claims homosexuality can be cured. Correct me if I’m wrong, but since when has being gay, meant you are ill? Also, I’ve never herd of any gay people saying they wanted to change.

So once again, we have these religious fanatics, trying to impose their fairy tales onto the minds of rational thinking folk and to an extent, getting away with it.

I agree with Mark Twain. I’m going to start a campaign. I’m offering to cure people of the religion blighting their lives.

Things to do …

I read an article the other day which described a ‘to-do’ list that had been unearthed in some documents belonging to Leonardo da Vinci. Now considering the report came during early April, I was naturally very sceptical. However, it was April 5 when it hit the news, so it must be true, unless they got the timing of the joke wrong.

I digress. I was more intrigued by the list and what Leonardo’s reminders of things to do, might actually be.

Leo’s things to do – Sunday.

1. As it’s Easter, paint a picture depicting The Last Supper. Remember to have Christ being shown as a greedy bastard who ate all the pies before his disciples even got started, then have his men point while saying, ‘I knew we should have got extra fries.’

2. Remember to get back to Pope Julius with that quote for the Sistine Chapel, in case that bastard Michelangelo, undercuts my price.

3. Get another model for that latest painting. The one I’m using, doesn’t quite cut it.

4. Design a helicopter. It’ll catch on in no time at all.

5. Oh yes. Do that trick of standing sideways by a mirror then raising your arm and leg, then incorporate it into a drawing about geometric proportions and see if anybody notices I’m taking the piss.

Well, did the earth move for you with that blog?

Thank you to all who’ve consented to share a bed with me in my blogging experience today. I hope it was as good for you as it was for me and we all came to the same conclusions at precisely the right moment. Hope it wasn’t an anticlimax and you’re feeling let down. If you are – sorry, I’m sure you understand. It can happen to anybody.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Easter Eggs and the art of falling down the Lavatory.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 14 Comments
April 8, 2012

Happy Easter, everybody …

Now you may have begun to get the impression from previous posts, I’m not the most religious person around. However, I do respect beliefs and the reasons for celebrating this time of year. Easter – That’s the time we rejoice in the swapping of chocolate and force our kids to make silly crepe-paper hats. Right?

Somebody I know who is dear to me, is going to kill me for that picture but in my defence, it was me who spent all night gluing their fingers together, nearly twenty years ago today.

But back to the chocolate. I recall an incident from a couple of years ago when I bought a load of eggs at a local supermarket. The offer was that they were all half-priced. Great, I needed nine. It was only when I got to the checkout that the cashier said there was a maximum allowance of six per customer.

‘Where does it say that?’ I asked, dumfounded.

‘On the advertising board.’

They were right. On a 6×3 placard, hanging above me, it said, “This offer is limited to 6 per customer.” The thing was, these words of guidance were ten feet high in the air and in a smaller font than the one you’re currently reading.

Undeterred, I smiled at Mrs Unhelpful Jobsworth – Happy to Serve, and promptly separated my eggs into two piles of 5 and 4, dividing them with a next customer please, thingy.

Mrs Jobsworth looked at me, aghast. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m buying five.’ I then pointed behind. ‘And he’s having four.’

‘But … there’s nobody there.’

I looked at her – stern. ‘Don’t you ridicule my paranoia.’

And then she served me, unable to come back from that. I don’t know what troubled her more: the fact I’d challenged her concept of natural order or that I was wearing a t-shirt that spelled, “They don’t let me have sharp knives any more.”

Hah! Jobsworths. Mess with me and you’re messing with an expert.

What a load of rubbish.

Okay, I get it now. I know why my bins are not being emptied until late in the afternoon. The refuse collectors are all hiding and congregating in some kind of refuse collector bonding session.

And what’s more … My bin goes back outside my house and not, on its side in the middle of the road.

Pride comes before a fall.

Okay, I get it now, you girls; I see where you’re coming from. There really is nothing more surprising that lowering yourself onto the lavatory and finding some bastard has left the seat up, meaning you end up falling down the pan.

Optimising your potential.

I’m still getting to grips with this blog-site lark. It was fine on Myspace because everything was done for you but now, I apparently have to optimise my search engine potential. To do this, I need to use keywords and also have them as tags, so that they attract more visitors to my site. With this in mind … sex, masturbate, transsexuals, porn. How about that for starters? Be interesting to see if I get any more hits this week.

Nob of the week.

I reckon this has to be rugby ponce, Gavin Henson. Henson, had the incredibly stupid idea of flying on a plane, then while thousands of feet in the air, endangering everybody on board by having an ice-cube fight.

It’s not the first time he’s courted idiotic publicity and none more so than appearing on his own show, The Bachelor. In the programme, 25 women fought for the right to become Gavin’s girlfriend. Good to know relationships are made from solid foundations.

The Bachelor – The words, barrel, bottom and being scraped spring to mind

The winner, Carianne Barrow, told how they split after she realised Henson had no true feelings for her.

Jaw drops – NO!

With that sort of effect on women, it’s no wonder he has to resort to playing with ice cubes. He should have stuck with former wife, Charlotte Church. He and the Voice of an Angel, divorced a few years back and Henson’s life has gone to pot ever since. Perhaps next, he’ll turn to religion. Well, he did spend most of his married life inside a Church.

Footballers behaving badly.

Manchester City striker (and perennial nob-head), Mario Balotelli, is being quizzed by police after allegedly soaking some teenage girls at a nightclub. What a crime. Does he not realise there’s a hosepipe ban?

Quick Question.

Will somebody please tell me the point of Russell Brand?

Not such a technophobe, now!

I’ve had my Android phone for nearly a year and only just worked out how to alter the size of the font on my texts.

Yay! I’m a happy android and I can ditch those glasses I bought now.

The cold callers are giving up on me.

You may remember my tale of the cold caller who I kept on the phone for half an hour, ending when I put him on standby, listening to Queen. Well, word must have got around if the call I took the other day is anything to go by.

Ring.

I pick up, say hello, hear somebody ask if they’re speaking to Mr Britt – Blah-de-blah-de-blah! Let’s progress.

‘I am ringing about the wrong selling of a PPI,’ the foreign-sounding caller said in an almost unrecognisable accent.

‘Okay,’ I replied, preparing to string him along.

However, the cold caller took me by surprise. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ he said. ‘A nice day to you.’ And then he hung up.

??? I didn’t even get a chance to say I wasn’t interested.

Word really has got out. Either that, or they can sense the word piss-taker, just by the tone of my voice.

And the conversation of the week.

I overheard this one when I was eating out, having breakfast the other day.

Girl smiles across the table to boy. ‘Would you still love me if I was fat?’

Boy smiles. ‘Of course I would.’ Face drops, horror spreads across his cheeks. ‘You’re not going to get fat, are you?’

Classic.

Happy Easter Sunday Roast to you all.

Hope you’re all having a good day. I’m off to discover the true meaning of Easter and tuck into a chocolate egg. Mine’s a Crunchie.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Pasties, Petrol and a Queen Singing Parrot

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April 1, 2012

April Fool … anybody?

So it’s April 1, and you’re expecting me to make a fool of people. Well, as I do that most weeks, who am I to disappoint when we have a whole day dedicated to life’s idiots.

First up, we have a follow-on from last week when I spoke of the soft targets being hit as a result of the chancellor’s budget. What I failed to mention was the hike in VAT levied on hot food sold by retail outlets. Now dubbed, “Pastygate,” we have millions of lycra-legged and baseball cap wearing lasses and lads, all outraged because they now have to fork out extra for their daily fix at Greggs.

The government are trying to play it down, of course by not mentioning hot food. Still, they don’t seem to be doing a good job if recent sightings are anything to go by.

The thing is, I can’t actually see why pasties and the rest were exempt in the first place. I know why the government have done it. One, obviously it will bring them more revenue but secretly (and this is where the craftiness comes in), all those who have to maybe eat a banana instead of a pizza slice or sausage roll, will soon be losing weight. You see, Mr Chavvy from Chavtown, will begin to worry that his grey and orange jogging bottoms don’t fit him any more and he’ll have to buy new ones. Even further, Mrs Loudmouth in Leggings, will also be astonished to find that Primark, actually sell lycra garments in sizes under 20.

Wow! I’m amazed. With all these new clothes available smaller sizes, once we have been weaned off a diet of pastry, there will be people queuing up for new stuff. What a boost for a countries economy. I mean, all those sweat shops with children working for 5p a day in third world continents will never have had it so good in terms of turnover.

Still, they produce them – we’ll keep on buying them, just like those God-awful pasties.

Cynical – me?

Mama Mia …

I enjoyed reading about the missing parrot who sings Bohemian Rhapsody. His owner, however, is distraught and wants the bird back after thieves took it.

Hmm, maybe it should have been taught to sing the songs of the Pet Shop Boys instead. If it had, you can guarantee it would have been returned in a day.

Now showing at your local cinema …

Across the land, our multi-screen complexes are showing the latest Hollywood blockbuster – Titanic.

Eh … hang on, didn’t Titanic come out about fifteen years ago?

Yes, Titanic is the latest in a long line of reissues where people are being fleeced in order to watch the same movie again, but this time in 3-D.

For ages, cinemas and audiences feeling ripped off, have gone hand-in-hand. You see, not only have we always paid to get in to see the film, once inside the cinema, we pay more than our original entry fee for bloomin’ popcorn and fizzy drinks. Why? It’s a strange one. We eat popcorn while watching a movie and at no other point in our lives.

Anyway, I digress, so back to Titanic … in 3-D. I have seen Titanic, though never in one go. I always come in at some point when it’s shown but with it being so long, I’ve never had the stamina for the whole motion picture. I actually think the voyage of the real Titanic took less time than watching the silly film. Still, I want to know one thing, and this has puzzled me for years. If it is now in 3-D, with a much better scope of vision, will Kate Winslet finally see that the plank she’s lying on in the freezing water while Leonardo Dicaprio is hanging onto the side … IS BLOODY WELL BIG ENOUGH FOR BOTH OF THEM?

Arrrgghh! Is she stupid? That’s a huge board she’s on. Shift over you idiot and let him snuggle up beside you.

It’s not just that either. Just before the ship sinks, she’s on the lifeboat, heading to safety and then climbs back onto the Titanic to be with Leo. Arrrgghh! “Rose, why did you do that, why?” All that, “You jump, I jump,” nonsense; if she’d stayed on the lifeboat, he’d have jumped on his own and had that piece of wood all to himself.

Stupid mare. She killed Leo.

Quick note to Trevor Mulligan.

Stop sending me bloomin’ emails about sports dates. I have never heard of you, I am NOT in your basketball team or any other kind of team.

The only balls I play with these days, are my own.

And talking of dates …

I used to get loads of spam emails offering me dates with young hotties. Now, they seem to have been replaced by ones suggesting dating the more mature lady. What are they saying, that I’m past it?

I’m quite happy, thank you, with Angiebabe. She’s seven years younger than me and you know what they say? You’re as young as the person you feel.

April Fuel’s Day.

As I have said, there are many contenders today for nob of the week but none more than Tory MP, Francis Maude. This pillock told the nation that they should buy jerry cans and stockpile fuel in case of a potential tanker drivers strike.

Way to go, Maude. Tell all the idiots in the world to buy cans, fill them with flammable substances, then accept the fact that many will go home and store them next to the gas fire.

I got caught up in the panic buying frenzy the other day too. I was in Warwick, then had to drive 30 or so miles and by the time I was home, I needed to fill up. All this talk of queues, I saw none of them until I reached my regular station and had to wait half an hour as every panic buying fool had chosen that one to go to. I had to fill up a full tank; some of them were only at the pumps for thirty seconds. Annoying, or what?

Calm down, Britt.

I’m going to hope nobody tries to prank me now. I shall settle down, enjoy my Sunday and if I’m feeling peckish … apply to get a mortgage so I can afford the exorbitant price of a Greggs Pasty now the government have levied the VAT on them.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Witchcraft, Weird Fetishes, and the End of the World

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March 25, 2012

There be devilment in my vehicle.

I’ve spent this week getting to know the controls and functions of my new car. On collecting it from the showroom, the sales-person explained much but also upset me when she mentioned, ‘Oh, and you do realise you have bluetooth?’

I looked at her, puzzled. ‘No I don’t,’ I said, ‘I’ll have you know, I floss every day.’

She laughed. ‘No, your car comes with bluetooth technology. It’s like a wireless service that you can route devices through and incorporate them into the systems in your car.’

And she’s only blooming well right. I had a play this week and not only can a press of a button bring up my phone contacts onto the car dashboard, if I switch functions, it will pick up what’s on my MP3 player and start playing my favourite music too.

Now don’t ask me how the hell it works. I’m erring on the side of witchcraft at the minute though bearing in mind the accusations on that front aimed at Gothic Girl from the chip shop, I’d welcome a technological explanation any day.

In it together … Are we?

This week, George Osborne delivered his financial budget to the people who voted this lot of “in it for themselves,” service wreckers, into power. Not content with pushing for health reforms that nobody wants, the government have now clobbered just about every soft target they could with this budget.

Pensioners, middle class families – all shafted, but the government’s millionaire chums? They have their 50p rate of tax, cut. Osborne said the previous tax gained from this, never made much difference. Well, not much is better than nothing and he does seem to be helping the ‘well-off’ again. Now, let’s think back to George’s speech of a year or so ago. “All in it together?” Really?

Over in compost corner …

Angiebabe has some seeds and pots so she can grow these little plants. To complete the assignment, I went and got her a bag of compost. However, on purchasing it I did a double-take. You see, I was rather confused by the label.

There we go. Multi-purpose compost, with added, John Innes.

Okay, who is John Innes and what has he done to deserve being made into compost? I remember as a kid, there was a Tom Baker, Doctor Who story where the villain put his enemies into the waste to get rid of them. It also helped his plants grow.

Is this the way ahead, putting unwanted elements into garden produce? It could save the government millions each year if it was. Just think: Murderers, rapists, thieves, bankers, even guests on the Jeremy Kyle show – all of them could be disposed of this way. We would be rid of them and not only that, our radishes might have a bumper crop this year.

Like mother, like daughter.

Awful mother and daughter duo, Kim Ohoro and Katie Scott, were both given anti social behaviour orders recently for terrorising their neighbourhood. It’s nice when family traditions continue.

There they are, sharing the same delightful unwashed looks, matching greasy hair and miserable expressions with added facial studs, or is it just acne?

Bad medicine.

Had to take a little trip to the doctor the other day and came out feeling worse than when I went in. Not the usual reason – catching everybody else’s germs. I left in serious trauma after an hour in the waiting room being forced and having to listen to Heart Radio.

It’s not size that matters.

40-year-old carer, Reighner Deleighnie was in the news this week after opening up about her relationship with a 3ft statue of Adonis. Reighner has given up on real men and craves the marble touch of the statue she has renamed, Hans.

There could be something to be said for it. You see, Hans is never going to argue or answer her back. One major pitfall though; Hans isn’t the most well endowed and she can cover his manhood with her little finger. She’ll have to watch and be careful with the duster too. I’d hate for her to get careless, knock him crashing to the floor and have the relationship end in pieces.

Flying the flag.

Nice looking kit designed by Stella McCartney for the Olympics, but did Stella have to turn up to the photo shoot, still wearing her pajamas?

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

Make the most of your android phones, the fancy game consoles and high performance cars. Come December 21 this year, they will be as useless as Nick Clegg in a loyalty contest. You see, December 21 is the date the world is supposed to end. The main reason for this belief is that it is also the date that the Mayan calender finishes.

Created thousands of years ago, it apparently does stop on this date. So we are doomed, or could it be the Mayans simply ran out of paper?

Have a nice week.

I’m going to make use of my bluetooth apparatus in my car, before the world explodes.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Breakfast with a Health Warning

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March 18, 2012

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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The Sunday Roast – Food, Fun and Fond Farewells

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March 4, 2012

A busy old week

I cannot believe how much work on the book I’ve achieved this week. The target is to finish the first draft by the end of the month, then let it stew until it’s time to edit with fresh eyes. Once done, I will have two novels, both totally unwanted by agents or publishers.

Angiebabe stayed at my house for over a week but went home on Thursday. She said, “At least you’ll be able to get more writing done.”

That’s not exactly true. While she has been here with me, I’ve done 10,000 words. She’s golden. Doesn’t interrupt me when I’m writing which is a great incentive to do more. You see … it’s the only way to shut her up.

Ouch! How did that pair of shoes hit me from fifteen miles away?

Chip Shop update …

Okay, I’m still confined to a promise not to have a go at Gothic Girl, but I am worried as she looked very … well, orange if I’m to be honest, judging by her appearance while serving me this week’s fish and chip meal.

I think she overdid it with the skin toner. Either that or she’d had a bath in the batter mix.

A great guy, who definitely left his mark.

I always say that when people depart this world, as long as somebody remembers them and all the wonderful things they’ve said, then they are never really dead.

I came across Bob on Myspace a few years back. He was from the States and always commented on my posts, including my ‘Living with David’s,’ where he’d say, “You done good, Son.” I’d subscribed to his writing as soon as I’d found this fascinating and entertaining character. He was blunt, to the point and didn’t suffer fools gladly, but he had one heck of a heart with a tale to tell. When I was going through a real bad patch, Bob wrote, “Nick, I got to be honest, if we were sharing a drink and you started going on like this, I’d get up and leave.” He had a point, and after a cyber-kick in the butt from Bob, I snapped out of my depression.

After desolation hit Myspace and everybody gave up on the site, I lost touch with Bob and only found out the other week he’d passed away. I visited his old Myspace site and fortunately, have been able to read some of his wonderful blogs again, one of which, I have no hesitation in reproducing here.

I MIGHT START GOING TO CHURCH AGAIN – by Bob
I mainly don’t go to church because it is the same damn thing every Sunday. You sit there, sing a few songs, and get your ass chewed out about all the sinning you are doing. While I’m pretty much against over-sinning, I believe a moderate amount of it is good for a body and makes life slide along smooth and easy.
But I drove by a church over there on Barton Chapel Road a couple of hours ago that might appeal to me; they had them a fairly decent free-for-all going on right there in the parking lot. Thirty or forty men and women, whamming the dog crap out of each other, chasing one another around cars and breaking the Golden Rule all to hell.
I’m thinking I may go see the preacher over there. If he can promise me a riot with each sermon I have to sit through, I’ll sign up.
PEACE ON YOU ALL.

When I visited his Myspace site, I discovered that he, like me, had abandoned it long ago. His last status update said, “Ain’t been here in a while. Like going back to a favorite whorehouse and finding a tofu store where it used to be.”

That was … simply – Bob. You done good, Fella!

And another sad loss …

Farewell Davey Jones, singer with the Monkees and the reason David Bowie is called – Bowie. Some nice tributes but nil points to the one I saw on the late night, ‘Sky News look at the next day’s papers.’ They showed a clip of ‘I’m a believer.’ One Monkees song that Jones ‘didn’t’ sing lead vocals on. Shame on you Sky, couldn’t you even try to get it right?

Nob of the week.

John Demmerling, head of Woodlands Primary School in Telford, took a week off work in school term-time to go on holiday with his children. This is despite his own school policy being that if a parent takes their kids out of school, they get hit with a £100 fine.

Now there are always two sides to any story and it transpires, Mr Demmerling worked many extra hours over the Christmas holiday period as the school was in the middle of moving to a new premises. It had been agreed with the school’s governors, that anybody doing the extra work, would have to be allowed time off within the new term, in lieu of hours already done.

Not a problem, if it was kept low key but it’s a huge own goal, don’t you think, to take your own kids out of their education and apply double standards while still trying to enforce your own. Yes, have a week off, but stay at home and save your skiing holiday for when everybody else is off and not going to complain.

Dunce of the week, Mr Demmerling? Go and stand in the corner.

I’m feeling short-changed.

I had a serious lack of judgement and taste yesterday when I purchased a copy of the Sun newspaper. Yes, the rag I’ve lambasted for the past couple of weeks, somehow found it’s way into my shopping bag. All well and good, I suppose, but when I got home, I found half of it was missing. Pages 25-48, appear to have been lifted by somebody else prior to my purchase which makes me beg the question, why?

Insert expression of shocked and stunned – here.

Okay, I’m not too worried as the Sun is hardly at the heart of journalistic excellence and without those missing pages to read, I’ll simply have to get on and write some more of my novel. It does slightly bother me that I paid 50p for half a paper though. I mean, how can I sleep tonight without knowing who Katie Price is shagging or if some reality TV nobody is facing a big fat gypsy tax bill?

Oh my, I’d best shut up. Otherwise I’ll have the sarcasm police after me.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Britt tackles the Brits

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 18 Comments
February 26, 2012

Am I mellowing?

In the months between my last Roast on Myspace and setting up the site here, I posted the odd comment on Facebook. This was mainly for lack of anywhere else to spout off. One of my many observations during this time, was the poor service I got from Gothic Girl at a local chip shop. You see, I have found a really nice fish and chip shop but it seems, good chips come with a price. Every time I go in, I have to wait fifteen minutes as they haven’t got anything cooked. Now listen. It’s called fish – and chips, it’s what they sell but never have any ready to serve.

I digress; you get the gist. Service is poor and last week was no exception. Unfortunately, for this blog, I can’t bring myself to have a go at Gothic Girl today as she was so bloody pleasant to me. I’m going soft, I can’t do it to the poor Corpse Bride.

What am I going to do? I’ve lost my touch. I can see it now. Next time I go into Pizza Hut to be told they’ve run out of dough, I’m going to say, ‘That’s okay, I’ll have pasta instead.’

Arrgghhh! What is happening to me?

And the winner is …

Apparently, Robbie Williams has been voted the world’s hottest man. Why, has he been sitting on a radiator all day? I have to admit, I never could see the appeal in terms of good looks for this fella, apart from the obvious “He’s rich and famous,” line. Perhaps it’s me and the fact I don’t understand what sort of looks women go for, in general. What I do know is, I always think Robbie is the spitting image of the stereotypical guy who stands behind news reporters and pulls silly faces. Oh well, at least he didn’t win a Brit award this year.

And speaking of the Brits …

The economy is in crisis, Syria is being bombed to bits but the biggest news in the UK is … that Adele had her Brit Award acceptance speech ruined to allow Blur to perform their set. Yes, Adele, the worldwide singing sensation (or monotonous dirge, depending on your viewpoint), was just about to thank everybody from her mum to the local postman when compere, James Cordon, was told to cut her off in mid-sob as the show had overrun. I have watched it now on You Tube and haven’t a lot of sympathy because if she hadn’t spent an entire minute trying to milk the crowd while fawning about saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she might have got a few words of note into an acceptance.

Still, she was booted off the stage while displaying a disgraceful finger gesture to allow 90s pop band, Blur, onto the stage.

Blur had earlier won a special award for outstanding contribution to music. I’d be more impressed if they hadn’t spent six of their 21 years together, in a hiatus. How the hell is that an outstanding contribution?

At least the fantastic Foo Fighters won an award for best international group; much deserved after the excellent ‘Wasting Light,’ album last year.

The award that amused me was the one for best single, won by teeny group, One Direction. They may have polled more telephone votes, but do their fans realise you should get the bill payer’s permission (their parents) before ringing in.

One Direction – A group of guys who got lost following the leader in Peter Pan, it seems. Ugh! There’s only one direction my volume goes if I hear them on my car radio.

Not the best idea in the world.

Okay, lesson for the future. Don’t watch the Jeremy Kyle Show while you are eating.

Spaghetti bolognese did not taste good after watching her. And yes, the personality was as vile as she looks.

Nob of the week

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday dear tyrant …

Happy birthday to you

Robert Mugabe turned 88 this week, still presiding over a country whose population’s average life expectancy is only 34 years of age. There’s no justice is there? Mugabe says the success of living longer is to give up alcohol, smoking and red meat. Yes Robert, as your country is in poverty, your people don’t do any of that anyway. The real success of living to a ripe old age in Zimbabwe, it seems, is to become a ruthless dictator and live in luxury while the rest of your people starve. Then they too, may live to be 88.

Look at the King, look at the King, look at the … er, Queen?

I’ve never got it – London Fashion Week and any kind of fashion nonsense to be honest. It always shows just how true the theory of the Emperor’s New Clothes, is. All these people fawning about over models dressed in carrier bags held together with safety pins; who are they kidding that they think it’s good?

However, the best was this week when at a show, hats were paraded by models in the nude – apart from the hats, that is. As I say, Emperor’s New Clothes has come full circle now and you’re not telling me that any of the audience were not simply ogling the naked women.

Still, I suppose it was better than looking at the rubbish hats.

The worst leaving present – EVER!

One of the other things I posted on Facebook in my blogging absence was this picture of Roger Medwell and his farewell gift on retiring after 55 years with British Aerospace.

‘Hmmm … I wonder what they’ll get me: some garden furniture, a stereo system? Even an ornamental clock would do. Oh, here it is now …’

‘Bugger!’ Grit’s teeth. ‘Smile Roger, smile.’

Mind you, when I finished with West Midlands Police, the only official thing given to me was a certificate stating that I had worked for them for 17 years.

Yes, thanks for that, but seeing as it was me who worked there, I did actually know this in the first place.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast (19 February 2012)

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 8 Comments
February 19, 2012

So we’ve had Valentine’s Day since the last roast.

Can’t say I’ve been a fan over the years because as I see it, every day should be Valentine’s Day and not just because Clinton’s Cards, tell us we should be spending more money. It’s a rip-off. I mean, you can get some great meal deals at restaurants these days yet come February 14, prices are hiked to fleece us.

Having said all of that, I was aware that I have been going out with Angiebabe for over seven months now and it was out first Valentine’s together. Also, I saw the wrapped presents that she’d bought for me. Therefore, Valentines Day – we did, swapping chocolate hearts, blue-nosed bears and love hearts, plus I had a beautiful card from her. After this, I was then surprised when she said she had one more special present to give, something to keep me company. Yes, for when she isn’t here, she knows I get lonely and has agreed to share me with another woman that she herself, chose.

Okay, not exactly what I was expecting but I will remain true and faithful to Angiebabe. I shall be good and try not to puncture my new friend. Let’s face it, I’d hate her to go down on me.

Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

Don’t know about this Sunday, but last week wasn’t good for the poor soul wearing the wolf costume at the Wolves verses West Bromwich Albion game that day.

Yes, I know he looks full of spirit and hope BEFORE the game, but take a look now … after the fifth goal went in during a 1-5 mauling on their own turf.

You have to feel some sorry for him. Imagine witnessing a humiliating drubbing from your bitterest of rivals … and then having to walk all the way home – in your wolf costume.

Lost in translation.

Apparently, Brummie Debie Roysten had a bout of the flu, then ended up speaking in a French accent as a result. Is she taking the piste?

Nobs of the week.

This would be anybody involved in the case surrounding the failed inheritance of Caroline Barrett. The 28-year-old, lost out on over £200,000 when a High Court agreed with certain members of her family that deceased gran, Bridget Murray, had not wanted Caroline to get a share. The reason for this (wait for it); Mrs Murray, a supposedly devout Catholic, didn’t approve of her granddaughter living in sin for 18 months before she wed, so stated she was not to get a penny.

Yes I know, it was her money to do as she wanted but it doesn’t sound very Christian to me. Hope the rest of the bitter and twisted family are happy now with their 30 pieces of silver, having cast out one of their own.

Every day I hear something new about religion, the less I want to do with it.

And talking of churches …

Okay, the church has done nothing wrong this time, it’s simply an old sign from my local council that never fails to amuse. On the top of Church Hill in Walsall, you will see a sign, pointing the direction to the town’s attractions. Most go one way, but look at the arm pointing to the right that states where to find St Matthew’s Church.

Now take a look at the bigger picture and the sign six foot away and huge building about another twenty beyond that.

Erm, do you not think the huge limestone building in the background with a 170ft spire is a bit of a bloody giveaway that there is indeed a church there?

It was always going to happen.

Last year, Rupert Murdoch’s newspaper, the News of the World, was exposed as having hacked phones. We all know it’s just the tip of the iceberg and that they’re all probably doing it but nevertheless, supremo Murdoch sacrificed his golden lamb and called a halt to the paper’s 168 year history.

Now that was all very well and good, if it was always going to stay that way but as everybody predicted, similarly sleazy paper, the Sun, is soon going to be published on a Sunday. Now as this rag was the weekly sister paper to the News of the World and part of Murdoch’s empire, can anybody see what difference we have apart from a name?

Now we have his trash and gutter-press again, seven days a week to stir up hysteria and hatred like the headline below.

That was the banner on Friday 17, reporting of the arrest of a 26-year-old, accused of the senseless killing of a teenage girl. Yes, she may have been a Goth but whatever the killer’s fashion-sense happens to be, she is simply a killer.

As a result of this idiotic sensationalism, are we going to have some brain-dead morons targeting those who live in a Gothic way, just because some paper brands that particular lifestyle as being weird?

There are some decent people out there after all.

I’m not sure I’d want to brag about this one though, because when Ian Roberts and Pam Curtis found over £21,000 in a bag inside a wicker basket on their doorstep, the police were fairly certain it was as a result of a bungled drug deal. As nobody has come forward to claim the cash, the couple have quite rightly, been able to keep the money as their own. They have since gone public, saying they plan to donate the cash to a regeneration project for a local park. Good for them.

However, if it was me, I’d still be wary of having my smiling face in pictures, gleaming about good fortune when there’s maybe a really pissed-off drug dealer with a gun out there who’s upset that he no longer has his money.

Right … my bath’s ready.

I’m off for a soak with the other woman.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast (12 February 2012)

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 2 Comments
February 12, 2012

I’m back and roasting away on a Sunday.

The furnishings may be different but targets remain the same. Here I take a sideways look at life and have the odd swipe at anything I deem fair game. For those who never saw the old Myspace blog – I hope you stick around now you’ve found me.

I am really happy with the new site but have to admit, it did take me a while with my technophobia, to get to grips with setting it up.

One of the things I found interesting was the WordPress tutorials and the constant references to napkins. Yes … I can see your puzzled expressions but I kept getting advice to write all of my ideas on the back of a napkin. Why? Wouldn’t a word document (seeing as I’m already on the computer) do the job just as well?

Napkins? Do WordPress have stakes in a party supplies firm that went badly wrong and they now need to get rid of all their stock?

Let the bulldozers roll!

It was sad to see pictures of West Bromwich Police Station waiting to be demolished. Sad mainly because of the activity during the preceding twelve months prior to its demise where management authorised decorations to cells, new signs on the front of the building, new shelving in stores, numerous other alterations and just about every department moving from one office to another in a bizarre game of musical chairs. All this in a place imminent to be bulldozed.

For the past three years, staff have worked tirelessly and with great professionalism while under the threat of job losses yet despite huge cuts, money was still wasted on a station with no future.

Organisations like the police need leaders with a vision for the bigger picture in a long term way. Unfortunately we appear to have those in charge who only see as far as the latest office makeover.

Nob of the week.

Quite astonishing has been the rant between comedian Sarah Millican and some of her fans. While performing at the Wolverhampton Civic, Ms Millican engaged in banter with the audience over filming on mobile phones. This seemed to be light-hearted until the row continued on a social networking site with Millican wanting recordings deleted, stating those filming were not welcome at any future concerts.

What planet is she on? Does she not realise without her fans, she is nothing. I will certainly look at her in a different light next time her whining voice is thrust upon me from the television.

She accused those responsible of partaking in nothing short of theft. Hmmmm. Got a new DVD you want to flog Sarah?

I kind of go with the thinking that if people are willing to shell out £20 to come and see you perform, it’s a bit of an own-goal to start slagging them off afterward.

An interesting phone call I took just now.

‘Could I speak to Mr Bright?’ a man with a very hard-to-follow accent, asked from the other end the line.

‘It’s Britt,’ I said.

‘Mr Bright?’

‘BRITT!’

A long pause ensued until finally, the caller spoke again. ‘Mr Bright … I am ringing about a threat to your computer?’

‘Oh yes; go on.’

‘We have been monitoring and it seems your system has become infected.’

Oh Christ, it’s a Sunday, I don’t want cold-callers on a Sunday. ‘Let me stop you right there. There are no threats on my system, I am fully protected and there is no way, unless you have my IP address, that you could know about my system. In fact, the only threat to my system at the present, would appear to be you.’

Cold Caller was undeterred and continued with his spiel until I said I wasn’t interested in anything he was trying to sell.

‘I am not trying to sell you anything,’ Cold Caller said.

‘Then why are you ringing about an infection on my computer?’

‘I haven’t said anything about your computer.’

‘Yes you have, it was your opening line.’

He tried to continue but I’d entered “rant mode” by now. ‘Look, I’m not interested. You’re a scam trying to hack into my computer and if you are a genuine company, give me your business name.’

He did. He said it was ‘Pitt.com.’ I thought I’d check them up later so I asked for his phone number too and he gave me a number that despite him claiming to be calling from America, coincidentally matched my own home line apart from the last digit.

‘You think I’m stupid don’t you,’ I stated. I asked for his name.

‘It’s Pitt,’ he says. ‘P-I-T-T.’

‘And your first name?’

‘Brad. B-R-A-D.’

‘Brad Pitt? You are having a laugh now.’

He claimed he wasn’t but I’d lost it by then. I said as it happened, it was me who was making the joke. I had no intention of doing business and I was just keeping him talking to pump his company phone bill higher and as long as he wouldn’t hang up, I wouldn’t either.

‘You are very funny,’ he said. ‘Ha ha haaa!. Ha ha ha ha haaa! Can you hear me laughing? Ha ha ha ha haaa! Ha ha haaa! Ha ha haaa! Ha ha ha ha haaa …’

Five minutes later.

‘Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha …’

‘Look, I’m going to stop you there,’ I said. ‘Bored now. I don’t know why you won’t go away but it’s your phone bill. However, I need to go somewhere for a minute, therefore I’m going to have to put you on hold.’

I stuck the phone by my computer speaker, clicked the media player and started playing Queen. And I left him. I’ve made a cup of tea and he’s halfway through ‘Headlong’ now. Think I should see if he’s still there?

Load of scrap.

There they go again. ‘Scrap Ironnnnn!’

There wasn’t any here when you passed half an hour ago so why do you think they’ll be some when you come round again now? The amount of time your dulcet tones invade my ears these days, I’m guessing the scrap reserves will be all tied up in the next few days.

Anyway …

That wraps up my first Roast in the new home so I hope you’ll join me again. I’m off to see if Cold Caller wants to listen to ‘Night at the Opera’ next.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Death of Myspace

Filed under: Writing Stuff — 22 Comments
February 1, 2012

Antony N Britt (Nick) used to blog on Myspace.

‘What?’ I hear you ask. ‘Myspace allows you to blog?’

Yes, it’s true, though these days you’d be hard-pressed to recognise such an outlet for writers ever existed. If you hook up to the once great social network site now, you’ll see a front page loaded with music, music and … erm, more music. Do not despair though, it’s not all filled with tiny tempered dappy rappers. Somewhere at the bottom of the screen, hidden among the small print and the report abuse control, are functions directing you to celebrities, fashion, games and so on, if you like that sort of thing. What you won’t see these days is any clue that you can actually blog on the site as millions used to do in the Myspace glory days of old. Instead, you are more likely to be encouraged to click the links which will tell you ‘what’s trending,’ instead.

Trending? Give me strength.

Well, I can see from today’s notifications that Taylor Swift, Ghost Rider 2 and Rhianna’s reality TV show are trending, but one thing isn’t at the moment – blogging.

Myspace was once a fantastic, ready-built website for the casual blogger and it certainly served me well with my ‘Empty Souls’ blog. Built up over a number of years, ‘The Sunday Roast’ column regularly topped the popularity charts the day following being posted. I could get anything up to 500 page views and 100 comments and it wasn’t just me either. At its height, half a million blogs went online each day on Myspace. Now, as it stated this morning – 11,952.

The Sunday Roast, along with hundreds of thousands of other blogs vanished as users deserted Myspace on a scale not seen since Gary Glitter sent out annual renewal slips for people to be a member of his fan club. Many Myspace bloggers found new homes in refugee camps such as Friendburst and My Boomer Place. Some, like this writer here, decided to develop their own blogs on Blogger or WordPress where we can now do what the hell we like, which suits me fine as I usually do anyway. You see sites like Myspace might think they know what the user wants. They might also try to disregard our opinions and remove us, but they can’t stop us writing.

I have been quiet for too long. Myspace is dead. This … is MY space

The potential latest Myspace logo

Nick

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