Tag Archive: West Midlands Events


The Sunday Roast – Breakfast with a Health Warning

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 4 Comments
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 (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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Read Me

Filed under: Poetry — 10 Comments
February 2, 2012
Read me,
read me,
don’t turn the page and leave me.
I desperately crave
your undying attention.
Welcome gratification,
too good to even mention.
Daubing my soul
across an empty wall.
Many inane, unread words
in semi-literate scrawl.
Adulation
with frustration,
always wanting so much more.
Another daily offering
from a mad poetic whore.
So please come along
and join in with the party.
Plain speaking,
bullshit free
and nothing too damn arty.
Release on me some feedback
and comments full of cheer.
Or if it’s just not good enough,
a sign to say you’re here.
Kudos to all the poets then
and words with a such a bite.
I trust I always entertain,
for that is why I write.

© Antony N Britt

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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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