Tag Archive: Sunday Roast


The Sunday Roast – Dodgy Refereeing, DLT and a Dunce Called Duncan Smith

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 4 Comments
June 24, 2012

So, here’s what’s been happening, then.

Last week we had holiday tales. The week before, a filler roast as I was actually on the holiday and before that, a right royal rant. It’s therefore been ages since I had a good old swipe at the news and even longer since I mentioned the film Titanic and the fact they could both fit on the plank.

Yep, that’s the one, but no more, even if it is still what most of you are googling for. I’m not going to mention anybody off the Jeremy Kyle Show who has bad teeth, either.

No you don’t but before I go on, I would like to make one comment about the Jubilee from a few weeks back.

Apparently, on the official day of the Jubilee, there was a 60-gun salute fired from Horse Guard Parade.

Sixty guns … Sixty! And not one of the buggers hit.

Football’s crossed a fine line, it seems.

Ever since England were denied a perfectly good over-the-line goal at the last World Cup, the FA have been advocating the introduction of goal-line technology in matches. However, FIFA major prat – Sepp Blatter, has kept rejecting this idea until now. That would be when a bad decision appeared to benefit England during their Euro 2012 game against host nation, Ukraine.

So what’s all the fuss about? Yes, it crossed the line, but you have to account for human error. I mean, an assistant referee standing a couple of feet away. Surely he’s not expected to notice this?

It’s the same as in the build-up. The debate should never have reached the goal-line as the original ball was offside.

The man running the line didn’t notice that, either.

Not only that, there were other, more blatant incidents in the game that went unnoticed too.

Okay. My initial first reaction said that it was over the line but the UEFA and FIFA chiefs have said no to change until now. Therefore, goal-line technology, or some blind bat who should have gone to Specsavers? Should we, in England say, I told you so?

Perhaps 8 out of 10 celebrities are already doing it?

So, comedian Jimmy Carr got caught out shifting his cash in a tax avoidance scheme. Most would, if they knew they could get away with it. Bono has done it for ages while preaching to the masses how we should use our money to care for the poor nations. Anyway, why lambast some hapless mug like Carr? I mean, there are worse criminals out there every day robbing innocent folk and storing their ill-gotten gains in a display of greed in a manner that is unparallelled. What do we call them again? Oh what is it: Looters, thieves, crooks, robbers? Oh no – now I remember. Bankers.

A punishment worse than death.

Democracy campaigner, Aung San Suu Kyi has told how listening to DJ Dave Lee Travis on the BBC World Service during her imprisonment, kept her spirits high. Is she mad? Kept in prison is one thing, but forced to listen to Dave Lee Travis … that’s torture.

Poor old Cheryl.

Aww … Cheryl Cole says her latest song is about a bully junkie she once dated who left her humiliated and depressed. People forget that Cole, herself, was once a violent thug who beat up toilet attendants.

Hmmm … Maybe not such a saint. Glass houses and all that?

In the air tonight?

Apparently, rock legend Phil Collins has ruled out a comeback. The 61-year-old, quit music some time ago after 40 years of bashing the drums left him with nerve damage and hearing problems.

He thinks he had it bad. How about the millions listening to the radio being forced-fed Phil Collins songs; what about our ears?

Talking of music to insult the eardrums …

Generic boy-band, One Direction apparently went fishing off the coast of California and caught a shark. Pity. Can’t a shark go and catch hold of One Direction?

Boys. You do realise you look ridiculous in those outfits?

One Direction. Proof you can promote bilge and get away with it.

Holding a torch?

Okay, do I abandon my principles and watch the Olympic Torch go through the town next Saturday? One – I’m not remotely interested in the Olympics. Two – I’m very anti Olympics as many good charitable projects lost their funding and had to fold due to money being diverted to this white elephant. However, it is said to be a once in a lifetime experience, so should I go?

Answers please …

I rest my case.

So wise woman of the west, Katie Price was quoted this week as agreeing with serial nob, Iain Duncan Smith. Katie says, “We need more IDS style common sense to lift Britain out of the benefits abyss.”

Well Katie, the thing is, not everybody can make a living by simply getting their tits out, selling their lurid stories and then finally getting somebody else to write books that you then pass off as your own.

However, Katie says Iain Duncan Smith is right so who are we to argue. This would be the same Iain Duncan Smith who the day after huge crippling cuts were heaped upon the nation, told us that there were plenty of jobs to go for and we should all get on a bus to find work. Yes, Iain, that would be the plenty of jobs available after your party slashed budgets meaning that up to half a million loyal public sector workers lost their jobs with most facing years of poverty. Still, you must know what you’re talking about, sitting in a mansion with your estimated £1million fortune.

It is also the same Iain Duncan Smith who likes to have a go at the disabled, saying they don’t really do much work, just make cups of coffee and talk.

Iain Duncan Smith and common sense. The two are incompatible. The same as Katie Price and talent.

Katie Price. Her intellectuality and finger on the pulse of the nation is evident for all to see.

Thank God the Jubilee is over.

I did feel a slight bit of sympathy for the Duke of Hazard, Prince Phillip, though. He had to miss a lot of it as he was taken to hospital with a bladder infection. That’s what comes of spending a lifetime taking the piss.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Takes to the Road

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 2 Comments
June 17, 2012

Feels like I’m back in school.

Do you remember the experience of going back to school after summer and being asked to write what you did on holiday? Well, this week’s roast is just that. You see, last week, I was away with the kids and actually, this blog should have been posted then. However, due to certain technical limitations (i.e. my mobile phone modem wasn’t strong enough to upload photos at more than one every century), I had to post my reserve blog instead. Therefore, enjoy now, tales of what I did on my sunny holiday.

Okay, so the weather wasn’t as good as one might have hoped. Still, seeing as that Jubilee bilge was a washout, I suspect the Gods of fate would decree I had it coming after what I said about the sponging royals in a previous roast. Also, nine times out of ten, I get glorious weather on holiday in England, even when I go out of season. Therefore, one little blip, the first for years, I shouldn’t really complain … But I’m going to.

Bloody stupid weather. How dare you piss down and wreck my holiday leaving me cooped up in a caravan with three kids having to listen them playing playstation games. Not only that, we were in the caravan nearest the road so I had cars waking me at regular intervals as they drove past in the night. Grrrrr!

There we are, what was the other side of my head on the pillow. A few feet away from Top Gear’s Hammerhead bend.

I should have known it.

I have this plant at home. It’s the only one I’ve never managed to kill within a few weeks of entering my abode. I’ve had it a few years now and it grows for a month then flowers for about seven days then dies off for another year.

Typical. I go away on holiday and that’s how I left it on setting off on the journey. By the time I got back, the petals had begun to drop off. Now I’ve missed it for a year.

Jesus. That was creepy.

Took the kids to Bygones Museum. Bygones is a place full of old stuff. Things of years gone by – as the name suggests, obviously. With recreated streets and the like, you get a feel of being in the past.

However, one display freaked me out. Below, is a shot I took of a reproduction Anderson Shelter from the Second World War.

Nothing wrong with that until after staring for a minute, the old granny turned her head.

Shit! They should give warnings for things like that. How was I to know it was automated?

Even creepier was the tableau of a parlour scene.

Notice the innocent looking children standing by the table, smiling sweetly while the mother is lying dead with blood running from her mouth. No, this really wasn’t a chamber of horrors which makes it all the more disturbing. Bizarre, or what?

Now, even the sat-nav hates me.

Ahhh … Lovely day planned for a trip to Canonteign Falls. I’ve been to Devon about 15 times but this was my first visit to these falls.

Now in the past, I have utilised my fantastic sense of direction but these days, as more senior years approach, I have started to use the sat-nav on my phone. Therefore, kids in the car, we set out on the journey to the edge of Dartmoor.

Problem one. I forgot it was Friday and we hit all the traffic from the holidaymakers going home after their Monday to Friday breaks. Still, a slight blip, then a bigger one. Eleanor decided to touch my phone.

‘What does this do, Dad?’

Arrrghhh! She only went and messed up the sat-nav and lost the signal. Next thing, I’m lost and the gizmo won’t lock onto anything for a while. When it does, it seems to think I am somewhere totally different to where I actually am.

‘At the bend, continue along Tudor Street,’ it says.

That would be all well and good, if I was actually on Tudor Street in the bloody first place, but I’m not.

This is where we ended up when it said I had reached my final destination.

Got to the falls eventually and it was lovely. Not only that, it knackered out the kids.

New neighbours.

On Friday, as I mentioned, a lot of people go home. That also means fresh folk arrive as was the case with our new neighbours in the next caravan.

Typical. They only had a bloody yapping dog.

Great, though it did have one benefit. The thing drowned out the sound of the Grand Prix track on the other side of my bedroom.

Trying to talk the kids out of using the amusement arcade.

‘Can we go to the arcade? Can we go to the arcade? Can we go to the arcade, Dad? Can we go to the arcade?’

Arrgghh! I hate taking the kids to the arcade. It’s all want want want. I remember last year. Eleanor pestered me for ages to have a go on these machines that dispense tickets when you win. I said, ‘No, you never win.’ What does she bloomin’ go and do? She wins. That wouldn’t have been so bad but after pumping the machine with about £30 to get winning tickets, guess what the biggest prize was to redeem at the booth?

A bottle of blowing bubbles!

So, this year, I was adamant. No rip-off machines. Nothing. However, unbeknown to me, David took his own money to a grab machine then despite me saying you always lose on them, he just had to go and prove me wrong. Typical. Look!

Three Georges and a Peppa Pig.

Worse still, the machines hate me now!

Not content with ripping me off by taking all my money with absolutely no chance of winning, the fruit machine short changed me the one time I actually did win.

You see, I got some minor win via one of the feature trails on this machine. £2 in fact. However, when it came to payout, only £1 was dispensed as winnings. I stood puzzled, thinking where the hell is my second pound coin? Then I saw the display.

What … IOU £1? Now I’ve seen it all. I don’t think I’ve ever had an IOU off a fruit machine before and even the man who worked in the arcade was nonplussed as well.

Could luck get any worse?

No, it got better … Yay!

I played my first ever game of bingo in the small entertainment suite at the caravan park. £1 a bingo strip and the winner took the pot. And that was meeeeee!

Got some really dirty looks. There were people buying loads, all sitting there with their silly special marker pens and there’s me, one strip and a biro-bic.

£144. Almost makes the bad bits worth it. I even thought of walking past the fading Jubilee display and raising a glass.

Yeah – right. As if …

Just a couple more gripes.

Before we set off to return home, I took the kids to the Galley Bar and we had a Full English Breakfast. Matthew had one of those yucky Yazoo milkshakes and only half finished it. We went immediately to the shop over the road and I bought similar milkshakes for the journey, though Matthew said he didn’t need one as he still had half a bottle. It didn’t stop Corporal Calamity placing it on the counter though, in a daydream and the stupid woman at the till scanning it. I was only told, on the journey, what had happened and I’d paid twice for the same milkshake. Grrrrr!

Oh yes. And for once … would it be possible to be allocated a caravan where the toilet seat doesn’t fall off?

Still, a good holiday, despite the rain. Not only that, when they returned to school, it gave the kids something to write about what they did on their holiday.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Crappy Myspace, Porn Mags and Life’s Mistakes.

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June 10, 2012

A brief explanation.

The Sunday Roast first appeared on Myspace in October 2008 and ran until September 2011 on that site. All of the posts are still there but unfortunately, in many of the roasts, my pictures appear to have vanished.

Thanks a bloody lot, Myspace. Many of those older posts do not make sense any more – if they ever did. Therefore, I will reproduce some of the best bits that I used to stick as Picture of the Week.

Secondhand porn magazines. Any takers?

This was in the first ever Sunday Roast, though the picture was taken later. It shows the frontage of a bookshop, and not just any old bookshop either. This one specialises in, erm … magazines, books and DVDs of a sexual nature. However, look at the notice above the door.

Book exchange? I don’t want to think about secondhand books from that shop. Imagine reading them all the while knowing where they’ve been? That’s if you could prise the pages apart. Yew!

A bit of a bell-end …

In the UK, we have a term for people who are stupid. In fact, we have many terms: Stupid, prat, twat, nob-head, and so on. All of these could be applicable to many folk I’ve known but there is also another one we use, namely – bell end. A bell end refers, of course, to the end of a man’s private parts and to call one a bell-end, is to say he is a cock, or a dick or even a prick.

Therefore, imagine my juvenile humour at seeing this street sign in Rowley Regis.

You couldn’t make it up. Just think if some guy from Bell End ever writes into the paper and they put the location next to his name.

John Smith – Bell End.

He’d never live it down.

Frosty the Snowman, was a creepy horrible soul.

This was a window display in the local Merry Hill (locally known as Merry Hell) Shopping Centre a few years back. I don’t know what the thought behind the snowman was and if it actually frightened the kids, but it sure scared the hell out of me.

The Full Monty?

Also in the Merry Hell Shopping Centre, around the same time were these fellas.

Not sure what it was they were advertising. The Emperor’s new clothes, maybe? Note the second from the right appears to be scratching his arse.

Now I know what you’re going to say, the staff were probably just dressing them. No. I remember it well. I saw them one day and the next visit, a week later, they were still the same. Perhaps as it was closing down, all the clothes had gone?

A chest of drawers … anybody.

This one is for a good friend of mine, John who originally brought it to my attention. A chest of drawers, obviously is a piece of furniture. However, this shop didn’t quite get the message right.

Chester Draws. Classic.

Gadgets you cannot live without # 1

The effective 2-way shoe stretcher. Ideal for stretching those shoes you buy that don’t fit.

Arrrgghh! Don’t buy the bloody wrong sized shoes, then.

And still on the subject of shoes …

And it’s back to Merry Hell Shopping Centre and another silly window display. This one tells us if you buy two slippers, you get the third free.

Hmmm … Haven’t actually seen many three-legged folk stumbling around recently. Are you going to tell them or shall I? Rolf Harris was only joking when he sung about Jake the Peg.

An effective method of contraception.

I don’t think this one needs any explanation, but it really was on a sign at a UK hospital.

100% safety rate … You reckon?

And while we’re on the subject …

I really can’t recall in what context I posted this picture of N-Dubz, but I can only assume it was as yet another warning for birth control.

Does the editor need an eye test.

I love this one. I think it was the Halesowen News that ran the story of poor old Robert Hadley and the burglary that took place at his home in which his grandfather’s medals were taken. You’d really think the copy editor would take more care of the sizing of pictures on the front page of the newspaper though. Wouldn’t you?

Sore loser?

When John Isner beat Nicolas Mahut, I believe it set a record for the longest tennis game in history. All’s fair in sport but the look on Mahut’s face after losing, is priceless.

Sign of the times?

This was inexplicably on a door at the Shakespeare Library Theatre a few years back.

How can you lock it if there isn’t a key?

And similarly …

This was at Park Hall Community Centre in the room where my writing group took place.

Why bother sticking a notice on the thing to say it’s broken. Just remove the bloody chair!

Quite possibly the worst advert … ever!

When Formula One supremo, Bernie Ecclestone was mugged and had his Hublot watch stolen, Hublot thought it a good move to show Bernie’s injuries to promote the fact on the basis that people will do anything to grab a Hublot.

Had the opposite effect on me. You see, I’d never buy a Hublot watch now. Not if wearing one meant I got mugged.

After the worst advert, the very worst tribute.

In the back yard of some pub in Halesowen. The tackiest tribute to Michael Jackson, ever seen.

And yet again, in Merry Hell once more …

This was also a few years back. You see, Merry Hell is not as big as some of the UKs major shopping centres. With that in mind, the best one shop could offer was for you to have your picture taken with a David Beckham … lookalike.

Great. Queue for hours to have a photo standing alongside a guy who isn’t David Beckham.

Gadgets you cannot live without # 2

A cat sleeping bag?

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, cat owners. As if …

What a load of bollards.

These bollards in the shape of children, were erected a few years back in Leicester to stop motorists driving on the pavements.

I don’t know about you, but if I’d seen one of these out the corner of my eye, I’d have left the driver seat, hit the roof of the car, swerved the vehicle and probably crashed into a shop.

And that could happen …

And finally Esther … I am indebted to some newspaper or other, for alerting me to this which I then blatantly stole and posted on a roast.

Say no more.

Cheers

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Jubilee. Let’s Toast The Royal Family … Literally.

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June 3, 2012

Hip hip, hooray! Let’s all pay homage to the Royal Family.

To be honest, I’d prefer the TV Royle Family to rule the country instead of those out-of-touch idiots at Buckingham Palace. Mind you, perhaps I’m wrong in calling them out of touch. As far as I can see, they’ve never actually been in-touch.

Yes, there they are in days of old but even though most things in life change from time to time, you can be sure the British Royal Family will always remain as far away from the common subject as Andy Murray is of winning a grand slam title.

Go on … Cue for the curly haired twit to win one now, just to shut me up.

I don’t hate the Royal Family. I simply think they’re outdated with no place in modern society. Yes, I know. Some will say that they bring in loads of tourism. Wrong. The tradition and history does that. There is a morbid fascination in the dark history of royal tyranny and long may that continue, if it helps the economy. However, why do we need this lot, apart from their entertainment value? I’ll give you some examples of the ugly side.

Let’s all toast the Queen.

Yes, for sixty years, the Queen has tried to come across as the kindly monarch, always at one with her people. That was until she was totally exposed by her lack of compassion over the death of Diana in 1997. Through gritted teeth and after many days of defiance, she finally gave in and accepted that the population actually liked the former Princess more than they did the rest of the monarchy put together.

This is the monarch, who a couple of years ago, asked for a poverty grant to help with the soaring costs of heating Buckingham Palace. These benefits are meant for low-income families, people on a pension, not for those who already get about £200million in state handouts and revenue from property they claim to own, but is in fact, belonging to the people of Great Britain.

Fortunately, when the Queen applied to get a 2% slice of the entire UK’s poverty grant fund, ministers told her to do one as it is for those in genuine need.

I have this message for the Queen. If you want to reduce your crippling fuel bills – live in a fucking smaller house!

You may have your face on billions of notes, but it doesn’t give you the right to spend as much as you want.

And don’t start me on Phillip …

Okay, you started me. Phillip, the Duke of Hazard, is known to have, shall we say, a history of saying the wrong thing. It may be amusing, yes, but what it also shows is complete ignorance and bigotry on no higher scale.

Take for example, his comments …

To Australian Aborigines in 2002. “Still throwing spears then?”

To a Kenyan woman in 1984. “You are a woman aren’t you?”

To a Briton in Hungary in 1993. “You can’t have been here long, you haven’t got a pot belly.”

To a Cayman Islander in 1994. “Aren’t all of you descended from pirates?”

Commenting on an old fuse box in 2000. “It looks like it was put together by an Indian.”

To an Indian, Mr Patel during a reception at the Palace in 2009. “There’s a lot of your family in tonight.”

To a student who hiked to Papua New Guinea in 1998. “You managed not to get eaten then?”

To a group of deaf children standing near a Jamaican steel band in 1999. “Deaf? If you stand near there, it’s no wonder you’re deaf.”

And the best of all, to a group of British students in China in 1986. “If you stay here much longer, you’ll all be slitty-eyed.”

Nice one Phil, but it’s not just other countries he has it in for. Speaking in 2009 to a boy who said he wanted to be an astronaut, the Duke replied, “You’ll never fly in a rocket, you’re too fat.”

He really shouldn’t be let out in public. The Duke was also famous for being an early chief of the World Wildlife Fund, preaching to the masses about the preservation of species, while on his weekends, going out and shooting them.

Idiot!

Then we have old Charlie-Boy …

His main gaffe was denying a sexual act between himself and a servant, took place. This denial was made without either he or the press, saying exactly what he was accused of. He hadn’t been asked. I do feel sorry for him though, seeing as everybody hates him but at least in his old age, he has finally found a decent horse to ride.

Annie ….

There she is, wearing a pizza base on her head.

The miserable po-faced Princess, who thinks it’s okay to let her dogs bite irritating children, also upset pensioner, Mary Halfpenny on Christmas Day 2000. The 75-year-old spent hours making a flower arrangement to pass onto the Princess Royal only to be scowled at. ‘What a ridiculous thing to do,’ spat the Princess.

Cow!

Rock Steady Eddie?

I have only one thing of note to say about the Earl of Wessex …

Wasn’t he a knockout?

The grand old Duke of York.

Some say he’s an ambassador bringing about loads of business in his role as trade representative. Others may claim he’s an arrogant twat who wastes taxpayers money jetting around the the globe on a world tour of golf courses.

But, isn’t she a diamond?

The Jubilee is all well and good if you think the royals are worth it. What you have to remember is, they are only where they are today as a result of hundreds of years tradition based on foundations of oppression and tyranny. Okay, this lot have as much power as lawnmower trying to win a Formula One Grand Prix, but still thereon their thrones, they bloody well sit.

I’d have more respect for them if they didn’t have a near-recent history of shutting away relatives with disabilities in institutions, then pretending they don’t exist to the point of declaring them dead. All this atrocious behaviour is made worse by the fact that many past members of the Royal Family have been patrons of Mencap. Therefore, instead of spending millions because the Queen fancies a new crown, how about putting a bit more into disability services and give those who struggle through life’s adversity a bit more to boost self-esteem … or are we supposed to follow the royal example, and pretend they don’t exist.

That wraps up the old royals, but what of the next generation; surely they have style?

Okay. Maybe not. But there must be something to look forward to? Some ray of hope for the future of the monarchy. One that means democracy and good taste is the way forward

Hmmm. Maybe the French were right when they revolted. I’ll leave the last word, I think, to the real King in waiting.

Cheers

 

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Cheryl Cole, Cricket and a Cock with a Torch.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 4 Comments
May 27, 2012

Let’s talk about cricket.

No … not that type of cricket. I meant the sport.

Yay! It’s the cricket season and with England currently number one team in the world, I shall take this opportunity to have a rare boast about it.

I know you lot overseas in America and beyond do not understand what cricket is all about. Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Most people in the UK haven’t a clue, either.

Picture the conversation I had some years back when queried as to why a test match of cricket, lasted more than an hour or so.

‘But, why do they play for so long?’

‘It’s just the amount of time needed to come to a successful conclusion,’ I answered. ‘You know, best team over a five-day period.’

‘Five … days?’

‘Er, yes.’

‘But how can they play for so long each day?’

‘They go in for lunch and tea.’ I replied, then put hands across my ears to drown out the laughing. I was then asked to explain the rules. Easy.

Cricket, is a straightforward game played by two teams on a field. One team – out, the other one – in. The team that’s out, tries to get the team that’s in … out. When a player of the team who’s in, gets out, then another player comes in. This happens until all of the team who are in – are out. Then the team that was out, goes in and the team that was in, go out and tries to get the team in … out again. This goes on until both sets of players have been in and out twice, including those, not out. Simple really.

You have bowlers who can spin their balls all day long while others prefer to pound them with speed. Some will turn their googlies while slip fielders stand with open legs waiting for the batsmen to give the bowler’s balls a little tickle. There is also a variation on this unorthodox delivery which goes by the name of bowling a Chinaman.

Nooooo! That’s not what I meant. It’s just a phrase which came about due to the ethnicity of the bowler who first used the method. Sorry about that. Anyway, there are boundaries however in cricket, but one must not overstep them while touching the balls. Bowlers can rub and polish their balls, but are not allowed to scratch them to excess or they will face the wrath of an umpire.

The batsmen can use all sorts of stroke play to despatch their balls. This includes hooking them, cutting them past a fine leg or even sending them through the covers. These covers, are in fact, a fielding position and not the covers that are placed on the pitch overnight. You couldn’t have them on the field while play was underway because that would just be silly.

And talking of silly … Silly mid-off and silly mid-on, are in fact fielding positions and not a reference to the assorted headgear worn by the players.

And on the subject of gear, players are advised to wear protection in the form of helmets, pads and a box to protect the nether regions, just in case a delivery gets though and the batsmen get a little bit more than a slight tickle.

Ouch! I felt that.

And this week’s search terms …

Yes. It’s an ongoing theme – the weird things some people are searching for on Google, then ending up with me. Still the most popular is Jeremy Kyle Teeth followed by that bloody film that I wont even mention. You know, the one about some ship sinking. Well it stops … here! No more.

However, in looking at my stats, I found what has to be the number one now in terms of the oddest search used which resulted in somebody getting to me. It was this … روز فى فيلم تايتنك

???

Okay … Strange, and now I was curious. I mean, what could this possibly be in order to lead some folk to me? So … Cut and paste the phrase, do an image search. Let’s see what we’ve got.

Arrrgghh!

Anchorman II?

Dear God! As if the first one wasn’t bad enough, they’ve only gone and made a sequel.

Anchorman was one of the few films this particular OCD guy was not able to see through to the bitter end. My obsessiveness usually means I have to grit my teeth and plod on, no matter how bad. However, even I gave up on the first film. Badly written bilge, with not one funny line.

The legend continues? Not in this household.

Fashion Disaster Alert!

Karaoke singer, Cheryl Cole tried to take centre stage at the Cannes Film festival this week by wearing a dress that matched the red carpet, perfectly.

Yes, very clever, but do you realise it looks as if you are wearing a huge red foot? Also, even though the paparazzi were ejaculating themselves to death at the outfit, you’d look bloody stupid wearing it on a cricket pitch or anything else that’s not red.

Talking of Karaoke singers …

Nob, Will.i.am, invited criticism this week for carrying the Olympic torch all the while, tweeting away to the social networking site.

As ever, full of his own importance, the star tapped away at how excited he was, but failed to notice he’d misspelled the name of the the town, Taunton, he was running through. Silly Billy has also confessed that despite being a superstar in the music business, he can’t actually sing.

Nooooo! Next you’ll be telling me Robert Mugabe is a murderer.

Still. I suppose he’s just a normal guy at the end of the day, caught up in all the passion of the event. An every day Joe. I mean – Will.i.am? Nothing at all pretentious about calling yourself that.

The truce is over.

Last week, I promised my local Walsall Council to leave them alone after they re-tweeted something for me. I said a week, or until they did something stupid. Well, it’s been about twelve days, so they did well in the end.

I read, yesterday, work on the playground lido pool at the local arboretum has been delayed, despite the work being announced last year. It now won’t be ready until the end of August. Does this mean it is going to be a building site all through summer?

I took that photo today and as you can see in this heatwave, it would be really good to have the water pool for the kids to use. As it happens, it is empty but never mind, come September as the summer is over, the council promise it will be rebuilt and working. Not only that, another couple of months later, you’ll be able to ice-skate on it.

Walsall Council … You have excelled yourselves this time.

It’s blooming hot out there.

I don’t know about you, but I’m going to pour myself a glass of juice and settle down to watch the cricket. See you in a week. Literally if I’m watching cricket.

Cheers

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – In Search of Inspiration, While Baiting Local Councillors

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 12 Comments
May 20, 2012

I’m in hiding, and wondering what the hell I’m going to talk about this week.

Had kids here since yesterday evening because we went to the theatre. They have been with me all day too, including a trip to Lichfield in the afternoon (which will become apparent why – a little later). However, it is now Saturday evening and I’m frantically trying to write this roast before I go downstairs to spend quality time with the kids. I’m really running late; I’ve usually got the roast in the oven with it cooked a good few days before now but as I speak, very little comes to mind to tell you about.

Not much at all has happened to me this week and as I’ve milked the old Titanic thingy a bit much recently, I dare not use it again, even if you lot do keep Google searching the subject and ending up with me. But talking of searches …

In search of …

No, it’s not the 70’s TV series with Mr Spock. I’m talking about more search engine terms used by people to reach my blog.

Yeah, we have the usual: Jeremy Kyle teeth, Titanic plank and Britain’s got no talent, etc. However, I noticed a couple of unusual terms and ones that I cannot comprehend how people have got to me as a result.

Fat unwashed fetish was a strange term. Don’t think I’ve written about any grimy sex fetishes but living in Walsall, I suppose there’s always scope.

Evil fish? People actually searched for evil fish and got me.

Ha. I know the reason for that one, though. We’re talking Gothic Girl again and her poisonous fish and chips. That reminds me. I haven’t been to the chip shop to see if Gothic Girl has returned from her Beltane holiday.

Orange fluffy pussy. That was, I have to admit, the weirdest search phrase ever. I can’t for the life of me think how my blog was the end result of that search. However (and I say this was just out of curiosity), I did type orange fluffy pussy into a Google search and came up with one or two, erm … interesting images. But how did they end up with me? Mind you, I have to say, some of those women  were really hairy. Yew!

Below, I have what was the top picture in the search I made for orange fluffy pussy.

Okay, it was about number 783. Did you really think I was going to post porn?

Insect repellant needed.

Note: Will all the ants in my neighbourhood, stop getting into my house and trying to take a bath inside my kettle. A sauna may be nice for human beings but taking a dip at 100º will do you no good.

I wish I knew where the beggars were coming from. At them moment, they seem to want to make for my worktop and have a party.

Harmless bad-lad, or total thug.

Footballer, Joey Barton produced another scintillating display on the pitch last week by trying to take out most of the Manchester City team. Great footballer? Definitely not but low-life thug? His skills are unequalled on the field in that department.

Above is the moment Barton decides to kick Sergio Aguero from behind like the gutless scum he (Barton) is.

Barton – Half your family are in prison for murder and you yourself, have a string of convictions for assault and other matters.

How many more football clubs are going to employ this pond-life? He should never be allowed on a soccer pitch again. As for those who cheer him on each week? Shame on you, too.

Oh deer …

Sorry, couldn’t resist that bad pun and yes, you can just about make them out.

I wrote the other week about a couple who moved next to a hundred year-old church, then complained about the bells ringing. This week, I heard of another family who recently bought a house on the edge of the Wyre Forest in Bewdley and are now complaining the deer are eating their rose bushes.

Arrrgghhh! Don’t buy a house next to a fucking forest then!

Watch out, watch out, there’s a jobsworth about.

Over the last week, I have got involved in a little local council planning argument and surprisingly, it wasn’t my own, Walsall Council, either.

Lichfield is a lovely city, even though the term City is a bit loose just because they have some huge fantasy palace going by the name of a cathedral. Still, nice place and full of character. However, some council officials appear to be too full of themselves.

Recently, hairdressers, DJ & Ward moved into the town and erected what I consider to be a nice, tasteful sign. However, Lichfield Council Planning, appear to want to stop small businesses bringing trade into their area and they have told DJ & Ward to remove their signage. The council say, “It adversely affects the character and appearance of the Grade II Listed Building on which it is displayed.”

This was reported in the excellent Lichfield Live website, so I made a comment. You see although I don’t live there, one thing I cannot stand are bureaucratic tosspots.

I stated that nearby, you had the mighty Tesco superstore and over the road – Poundstretcher. Both hardly adhering to the character of the area. Also, in the same street as DJ & Ward, you have a Chinese takeaway – The Lotus House and a chip shop displaying garish signs with no apparent hostility towards them. DJ & Ward, however, have been lambasted and told to remove this …

Nothing wrong with that as far as I can see but Lichfield Councillor, Alan White defended the council stance. In his response, he quoted all the locations and signage I had highlighted, coming up with lame excuses as to why they were allowed, and DJ & Ward, were not.

Sorry, Mr White, but you and your fellow planners just come across as prats. If you would like to read my creative response to the stance of Lichfield Council, click the link at the bottom of the page … but don’t leave me until you’ve finished the rest and commented. So there.

Now that I’ve pissed off Lichfield Council, I’ll quit while the going’s good.

I’d best push on and finish this off. The kids are downstairs and saying there’s a film they want me to watch.

‘Surprise!’

Arrrgghhh!

Link to take you to my response to a jobsworth councillor’s pathetic argument on Lichfield Live’s website. I’m actually quite proud of this one.

Cheers

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – British Talent has Gone to the Dogs.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 14 Comments
May 13, 2012

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.

Cheers.

 

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Jeremy Kyle Teeth … and Other Nonsense.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 10 Comments
May 6, 2012

A case of bad teeth.

I spoke the other week about tag lines for this blog and I was looking at my stats the other day and it actually tells you what phrases people type before ending up on my page as a result.

Top of the charts is not, as you may assume from previous weeks, Titanic, Titanic plank, Rose on the plank or they both fit on the bloody plank. This is of course, in response to my ongoing quibble that the silly cow in the film Titanic, took all the space on that raft and left Leo to freeze his nuts off in the Atlantic.

Yep, that’s the one … again. However, as you can see, I am not alone in my gripe. Below is what others have thought of the subject and if two people could have fitted on that piece of wood.

I rest my case.

As I was saying, that lot I previously mentioned, weren’t the most common phrases. In the last month, over a hundred people have searched using Jeremy Kyle Teeth, or Jeremy Kyle bad teeth and even Jeremy Kyle worst teeth. Typing this, they found me as a result of a picture I posted a few weeks back of this horrendous, scary woman.

Remember her? Anyway, seeing as some of you may have arrived here looking for more of the same from The Jeremy Kyle Show, who am I to disappoint …

There … Happy now?

Hey! I’ve achieved notoriety.

I have in the past, poked fun and sometimes criticised a number of local councils and none more so than my own, Walsall Council. I know somebody who works within the council and I was amused to hear from them this week that this site has been blocked to stop staff accessing it.

Yay! I must have struck a nerve. Well done, Walsall Council. You keep making ridiculous decisions, wasting money and giving poor service to the town, and I’ll keep writing about it.

And talking of Walsall …

An example of the strange folk I encounter as I enjoy a breakfast down town in an arcade coffee shop balcony. Two men sit down on a box, then a friend of theirs carrying a red bag, comes to talk to them. However, he doesn’t simply talk, he stands ten feet away then shouts so loud, the entire arcade, shops and customers of the coffee shop above can hear him.

Why don’t you just go and stand next to them?

And this week’s chip shop episode.

Yes, it was back to the regular chip shop this week for yet another meeting with Gothic Girl, the self-styled corpse bride who tried to poison me a few weeks ago. However, when I walked into the shop, I was taken aback because (wait for it) Gothic Girl … wasn’t there. No, there was another young girl in her place who served me with no hitches whatsoever.

Thing is, I’m worried now. Where is Gothic Girl? I mean – seems silly if she’s spent six months there but left when she finally learned how to wrap a bag of chips and charge the correct money.

What if I never see Gothic Girl again?

Then I had a thought. It was Monday – May 1. The festival of Beltane.

That’s it. Gothic Girl and the rest of the Munsters – They’ve all gone on holiday to celebrate.

It’s all a bit too Munch.

So Munch’s The Scream, sold for $120million. Wow!

It is a lot of money I suppose for a sketch using a pastel set. The big question about The Scream has always been what inspired it. I know the answer. The character has been forced to listen to N Dubz.

Nob of the week.

I’m going to say nothing on the subject of tanning addict, Patricia Krentcil apart from one thing.

You look – fucking ridiculous.

Sinking to an all time low.

No … I’m not going on about the bloody Titanic again. Think again. What I am actually moaning about now is the scummy newspaper The Sun. Not being content with tearing new England manager, Roy Hodgson to shreds before he’s even overseen a game, the paper decided to dedicate their major headline to mocking the guy’s speech impediment.

Way to go, you assholes for reaching the gutter of all gutters in terms of journalism. What’s the matter – a little sore the FA picked Roy and not Harry Redknapp, the guy you’ve been telling us for months was 100% certain to be the next manager?

Mind you, speaking of headlines.

It’s not just The Sun who get it wrong. I saw this on Twitter and couldn’t resist a bit of bad taste myself. Mind you, I didn’t print the thing originally and whoever did, should certainly have checked what advert was going to run underneath the main story.

You couldn’t make it up.

On a more serious note.

I would just like to say a huge get well to Toby Craddock, the two-year-old son of Wolverhampton Wanderers star, Jody Craddock. Toby has been diagnosed with leukemia and this, after Craddock lost his first son ten years ago to a cot death.

It just makes me angry at the injustice and even more of an atheist that any fantasy God could be okay with this. There is a world filled with many deadbeat dads who don’t care about their kids on one hand, then you have people like Jody Craddock who have been dealt the most cruelest of blows. How much more heartache should one family have to take? We wish you well, Toby. Safe recovery.

What the hell is my computer doing?

My computer has been running slow all day and making whirring noises. I checked the task manager to see why and found out that 98% of the usage was down to the system idle process.

How can it be idle? I’ve never heard it make so much blooming noise.

Nice weather for ducks?

Or maybe swans?

Apparently, we in Britain are in the middle of a drought and have been warned not to waste water.

Drought? Tell that to those living near the River Severn in Worcester the other day.

Well, I made it in the end.

I managed to the finish the blog without mentioning the film, Titanic again. I feel good for that. In fact, I could describe myself as feeling like I’m the king of the world.

Arrrggghh!

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – A Titanic-Free Zone

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 12 Comments
April 29, 2012

A cautionary note.

Okay. This week, I promise. No more stuff about the Titanic. I know it was trending, but look at it from my point of view. If I keep going on about the film, Titanic, you’ll start to get bored and the readership of this blog will start to sink faster than …

Oops!

And talking of liking something …

At the bottom of this post, you will see a like button. It’s the same sort of thing you have on Facebook. However, on Facebook, I have often wondered if people realise what they are doing with this function. You see, on more than one occasion, I’ve witnessed people posting bad news only to have loads of their friends like it. I know what they are doing, they are just saying, “Hi, I have read and was here.” Thing is, it must be a bit depressing for the user to post that he has six months to live then find all his friends apparently like the fact.

Poisonous fish … anybody?

You may recall many weeks back, my ongoing saga of the chip shop and in particular, Gothic Girl who worked there. I was convinced that Gothic Girl was in ecstatic rapture after her having poisoned me when I didn’t so much get fish in batter – more like fish in hairspray.

So, it’s been weeks since I had fish and chips but the other day, I went out for lunch with my good friends, Rich and Mikee and ordered the fish and chips at a local pub. The staff bought me my meal, and two different lunches for my friends. All was well, apart from the bones until I had an empty plate and the bar staff came to clear the table.

‘Which of you had the fish?’ one of them asked.

‘That would be me.’

‘Was it okay?’

‘Yes, lovely thank you.’

They smiled, took my plate and departed. It was then I had the thought. Hang on, there are three of us here. Why are they only asking me if the fish was okay? What’s wrong with the fish?

Is it just my paranoia, or has Gothic Girl got an more evil, older sister?

I think I shall stick to home-cooked meals from now.

Praise be …

So, Fabrice Muamba’s recovery after being dead for over an hour after collapsing on the football pitch, is being claimed to be the result of a miracle from God. Funny, I thought it was down to the paramedics, doctors and other professional medical staff who busted a gut trying to save Fabrice’s life.

Wishing you back to full fitness, Fella, and I can understand you looking in terms of a miracle, but God? The almighty wasn’t in evidence much when the player collapsed in the first place, or as the medics did the job they delicate their lives to doing. Bet they’re grateful all the kudos has gone to God and that all the religious nuts assume the medics were just pissing about pretending to work their own wonders by way of learning, technology and good training.

Talking of football.

It seems a soccer ball, lost in the Japanese Tsunami has been washed up 3,000 miles away, making it the second greatest distance a ball has ever travelled after Sergio Ramos’ appalling penalty miss for Real Madrid against Bayern Munich the other night. That ball still hasn’t come to ground, I believe.

A bit of a ding dong down in rural Somerset.

After chiming their merry way each hour for the past hundred or so years, it seems that the church bells have been silenced in the village of Wrington (I know … apt or what?). The reason for this, it seems is that new neighbour, Jonathan App and his partner Christine Hallet, claimed the noise was a nuisance.

Well. Little piece of advice. Don’t buy a house next to a fucking big church which has a huge bell in it then. Pillocks. It’s like people that move near an airport then complain about the bloody planes.

Note to Mr App. Instead of complaining and moaning about tradition – try a pair of these.

Doing my bit for recycling.

I have been trying to clear out some of my clutter and as a hoarder, I am finding this a long process. In my loft, I have about 800+ VHS video tapes, most of which I can’t be bothered with any more or I have since, replaced with DVDs. Therefore, over the past few weeks, I have been going through all those I no longer want with the intent of dumping them.

One thing my local council is good at (credit at last where it’s due) is recycling and after making enquiries, found they have these recycling banks for tapes.

Off I travelled, two full boxes of plastic and magnetic tape and found my emptying point.

Thing is, no sooner had I begun to pile my unwanted tapes inside the receptacle, I noticed what some other people must have done prior to my arrival and I stared at the titles of the tapes already inside.

‘Hang on,’ I said, ‘I’ve never seen that one … or that.’

Before I knew it, I was head down and arse in the air, deep into the recycling bin, weeding through and picking out some of the films I haven’t got.

Hmm … Clearing the clutter for the environment? Not going to plan – obviously.

There we go then.

A fine Sunday Roast and apart from that word at the beginning, not a mention of Titanic – apart from just then when I said the word, Titanic. And there … where I did it again … Oh Bloody hell. Okay, just for you lot then …

Don’t you love a happy ending? Even if she did keep him waiting 80 years after taking all the space on that raft then letting him drop to the bottom of the ocean after promising she’d never let go.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – An Event of Titanic Proportions.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 6 Comments
April 22, 2012

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?

Cheers.

Nick

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