Because he can
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November 30, 2007
Cacaesthesia, noun
Morbid sensation
"It's like this," said Nipper, unfurling his stethoscope with a furrowed brow and a stern face. "Your heart rate is fine. Your breathing is not laboured. Your cholestrol seems normal. And you don't appear to have the clap."
"So what's up, doc?" asked Zeds.
"Nerves. Now go and have a bloody shave."
November 29, 2007
Not that Ozzzy went to much effort or anything, but this is where our friend will be snoozing her wee self this very eve...
That's Ozzzy in the last one, incidentally.
Oh - lest anyone thinks I did bugger all about any of this, let me assure you that I've been helping Oz test the wines. So there.
November 29, 2007
So, there I am, buggering around on Facebook this afternoon, and what should I come across but this somewhat marvellous picture of our erstwhile blogging chum, Snail.
And she's not a bad singer, either
It's about time she came back to BCUK, don't you think? Feel free to pester her about it via PMs.
In other news, Ozzzy and I are off to pick up She Of International Blog Meet Fame in a couple of hours.
Expect drunken updates later...
November 29, 2007
A London lawyer runs a stop sign and gets pulled over by a Scouse copper.
He thinks that he is smarter than the cop because he is a Fancy London lawyer from That Fancy London and is certain that he has a better education then any Scouse cop.
So he decides to prove this to himself and have some fun at the cop#s expense.
Cop says: "License and registration, please."
TFLL says: "What for?"
Cop says, "You didn't come to a complete stop at the stop sign."
TFLL: "I slowed down, and no one was coming."
Cop: "You still didn't come to a complete stop. License and registration, please."
TTFL: "What's the >difference?"
Cop: "The difference is, you have to come to a complete stop, that's the law. License and registration, please."
TTFL: "If you can show me the legal difference between slow down and stop, I'll give you my license and registration, and you give me the ticket. If not, you let me go and don't give me the ticket."
Cop: "Sounds fair. Exit your vehicle, sir."
TTFL exits his vehicle.
The cop then takes out his baton and starts beating seven shades of shit out of the lawyer, saying: "Do you want me to stop, or just slow down?"
November 29, 2007
In October 2005, a man called Yohan Clarke was jailed for five and a half years for the manslaughter of a man who died after Clarke splashed petrol around a house in Thesiger Street, Penge, South London, and then ignited it.
He was actually convicted of murder, but that was reduced to manslaughter on appeal.
About an hour ago, an email arrived containing the following from the Metropolitan Police press bureau:
We are appealing for information concerning the whereabouts of a 29 year-old man
wanted on recall to prison.
Yohan Clarke (DoB: 24.9.78) was released on licence in late October this
year having been convicted in2005 for murder and arson with intent to
endanger life. This was subsequently successfully appealed to
manslaughter.
Clarke’s recall was generated by Ministry of Justice after he broke the
terms of licence, which was to live at a specified address in SE25.
He has not been seen since Tuesday (20.11.07).
Clarke is primarily associated with the Croydon and south Norwood areas,
although officers believe he could be anywhere within London or the home
counties.
He is a black man, approx 5ft 10in tall and of proportionate build. He also
has extensive scarring on his face from the incident in 2004.
We believe he has no access to money or a change of clothing.
He has previously been convicted for a serious offence and is associated
with violent actions, and therefore we advise members of the public not to
approach him.
If they have information regarding his whereabouts they can contact
Croydon CID on 020 8649 0088. Alternatively the Croydon control room is
available 24hours a day on 020 8649 1386.
Ah, the British justice system. Warms the cockles of your heart, don't it?
November 29, 2007
Zeds: "I had a really weird dream last night."
Redleader: "Yeah, me too."
Zeds: "It was about the bloody blog meet. I was in The Cavern, of all places, I didn't have a clue who anyone was, and someone said my hair was smelling nice because it smelled of exhaust fumes."
Redleader: "Odd."
Zeds: "Indeed."
Redleader: "I dreamt about polishing my shoes. That's how interesting my dreams are these days."
* I'm sure all fans of synthesized pop will agree that I made a very clever OMD reference there in the headline.
November 29, 2007
Merdivorous, adj
Eating dung
"I don't care," said Nipper. "Anything, anything other than Jagermeister."
November 28, 2007
The Dorchester is busy on Friday, so I'm staying at the Premier Inn in Vernon Street instead...
...which is at one end of Dale Street, and Castle Street is at the other...
...with bars and restaurants in the middle...
...and a cheeky vodka bar, too...
...see you Friday.
x
November 28, 2007
Salchow, noun
Ice-skating leap with turns from inner backward edge of one skate to outer backward edge of other
"Make it a triple," slurred Zeds, banging his glass onto the counter very unconvincingly. "And don't forget the ice."
November 27, 2007
(That's me in the white bikini second from the right, btw.)
November 27, 2007
Now, you all know it's not at all like me to be caustic about a fellow professional.
I'm sure the people who write the occasional press release - like our blog friend Rowtheboat, just for instance (who'll kill me for this on Friday, but tough 
) - are at least teetering, however precariously, on the very brink of normality, albeit with the aid of meths, three bottles of San Tropez, a purple Gonk and a retro Take That ringtone (even if that does describe Paddy) .
Usually.
But then Nin Nanny No (or someone) of Fig 'N' Flambe Infused Hog PR Solutions (or something) sent this shite to me, this very afternoon, on behalf of a very cheap dog food company.
It is a tenuous attempt to draft together dogs, Christmas, health and safety and the stench of dead horse into one desperate attempt at getting free newspaper space.
And, needless to say, it is a plan that is going to work in much the manner as my reproductive system after an eight-hour discussion with Admiral Optic and his fleet of drink-sodden buccaneers.
Anyhoo, without further ado:
According to recent research made up commissioned by Butcher’s Dog Food, 53% of dogs are involved in Christmas related accidents and one in ten have had a trip to the vet as a result. Knocking over Christmas trees (32%), eating decorations (19%), being electrocuted on the fairy lights and eating more turkey, trimmings and chocolate than is good for them (21%) are amongst some of the commonest mishaps. To help dog owners, Butcher’s Dog Food has put together a guide on dog-proofing your house at Christmas to ensure this festive season you have a happy home and not a war zone.
So, to stop your dog barking up the wrong tree, here are Butcher’s Dog Food’s 12 top tips for dog–proofing your home this Christmas:
1. If you have a real tree, make sure the needles are cleaned up regularly to prevent them getting stuck in paws and throats.
2. Avoid having flashing lights on your tree, or your dog may go in for the attack or get frightened off!
3. Decorate with unbreakable baubles and keep any tinsel and ribbon high up on the tree. DON’T put white Angel hair on the tree – this is spun glass and can shred your dogs insides if digested.
4. When putting up decorative lights, make sure the electric cords are not dangling and if possible tack them down to stop them being chewed or tripped over by a curious dog.
5. Anchor the tree in place so no inquisitive pooches end up knocking it over when they are nosing around underneath it.
6. Alcohol may make you merry but if drunk your four legged friend will be as sick as a dog. After Xmas parties tip away dregs so your dog doesn’t help clear up and end up with a hangover himself.
7. Make sure any burning candles are well out of the way – a wagging tail can knock things over or catch fire!
8. Festive blooms can be poisonous – don’t let your dog chew on any Poinsettias, Holly or Mistletoe or they could get a very uncomfortable stomach.
9. No-one expects Christmas to be a Silent Night, but all that festive cheer, balloons, poppers, crackers can drive your dog potty. Make sure they have a safe haven to escape to for an undisturbed relax.
10. Try not to over-indulge your dog with human food treats. Avoid giving them chocolate, which can potentially be poisonous or meat with bones as these can splinter and get lodged in small throats.
11. Instead your four legged friend will appreciate a naturally nutritious meal packed with tasty meat. This will insure he is as Fit As A Butcher’s Dog all Christmas long! So go on crack open a can of Butcher’s Dog Food!
12. Last but not least…just because you are outside it doesn’t mean your dog is out of Christmas danger! If you’re going for a Christmas drive but your car is frozen keep dogs away from the anti freeze. They love the sweet taste but it is lethal if swallowed. If your dog is affected then seek immediate veterinary advice.
Yes, folks. The world of PR. Read it and weep.
If anyone needs me, I'll be whimpering in the corner as I shove Butcher's Dog Food into my every crevice.
If anyone needs Row, she'll be writing about it you can find her at the usual address.
Hehe.
November 27, 2007
Barbigerous, adj
Having beard
"But you are going to shave it off before Friday, aren't you?" asked Nipper.
"Why? Don't you think I look debonair?"
"More like a helpful male assistant in the changing rooms at Debenhams, mate."
November 26, 2007
The young lady who lives in our house is 11 today. Hence the reason I'm avoiding the house tonight.
What, then, to do?
"Well," said my friend. "How about some beef bourguignon?"
"Don't you mean," I asked, both quizzically and knowledgably (especially considering my vast repertoire of both languages and their accents, dialects included - as several people can attest), "bouef bourguignon? Dot.com? Cava?"
"Oui," he replied. "But I've made it with fillet steak, if that's all right?"
"Mon dieu!" declared I, twiddling my moustache. "Let battle commonce."
November 26, 2007
Xertz, verb
To gulp down something quickly
"I'm not apologising - not for a moment," said Zeds. "The sun is very much past the yardarm."
"Burp," agreed Nipper.
November 25, 2007
From November 7.
"I am NOT going to blog about the fact that I am currently walking along the road discreetly yet desperately clutching my knickers because the elastic has gone and I'm wearing a skirt."
Phew. And neither am I.
Oh...
November 25, 2007
I'm rather looking forward to taking him on his first skydive.
November 25, 2007
Whatever you're doing, stop it.
Even if you're wildly drunk, about to go on holiday, on the verge of giving birth, or about to bury a loved one.
Stop it.
Take a deep breath.
And then make your way to the nearest confectionary emporium, and demand that the shopkeeper sells you a large, delicious bar of Green and Black's dark chocolate with cherries*.
You can knight me later.
You know it makes sense.
* Goes very well with red wine, if you're into balanced diets.
November 25, 2007
Ideopraxist, noun
One who puts ideas into practice
"One question," declared Nipper.
"What?" snapped Zeds, exasperated.
"What, exactly, will you do with a house made of peas?"
November 24, 2007
Orange water face.
Odd, eh?
But that's what "som naam naa" means. It's a mildly rude Thai way of saying "serves you right" - like, erm, someone might to say to you when you've been caught out two-timing and get your knackers severely punched in end up with no one.
In a classic case of Be Careful What You Wish For, I decided, just over a week ago, with a nose full of snot, a brain dulled, aching bones and general all-round ennui, that my blogging days were numbered. I was all written out; my tales had largely been told; I was tired of trawling my mind for sketches; I couldn't care less if anyone ever read a word I ever wrote again.
So I deleted all my friends, not by accident (as I claimed) but on purpose. I figured, if I'm to do any of this ever again (which in those heady times of nine days ago I wasn't ever going to) then I'd quite like a new audience.
But then I stopped writing. Anything.
And I lay in bed watching daytime TV, veering between the occasional munch of tasteless cheese sandwiches and desperately needing both a wee and a cigarette but too lazy to get up to do either (until the former forced me to, I hasten to add).
Then Mr Brooooon presented us all with The World's Worst Week In Government and my fingers began to itch.
On Thursday morning, I went back to work for the first time in two and a half weeks and realised how much I missed the place.
I missed the incredulous, pompous shite from our local MPs (one in particular - the berk). I missed the convicts complaining about being called convicts. I missed little old women worrying about their missing cats. I missed dog shit, and litter, and picking up the small pieces of other people's lives with a simple phone call they can't seem to succeed in doing themselves; I missed strolling through from the front door to our office in the back; I missed the coffee; the photographers casually plugging everything into where they go and the images popping up onto a screen; saying the words "can I help?" and knowing that, hopefully, I can; I missed being irritated if the "others" - rivals, I suppose - had something we didn't; I missed laughing at their efforts to match ours; I missed the colleagues; and I missed being me, truth be told.
That's what Very Serious Man Flu does to you.
So, back at work, ennui discarded like a crap coat, I entered my blog URL into the browser and readied myself for a blogathon.
But instead of a pleasingly plush salmon screen and a half cheeky smirk, I instead got a warning that this - this! - site is not available because it's apparently "known" to be vulnerable to spy-ware and ad-ware, and as such is banned.
That is, the whole of BCUK.
Banned!
No problem with Wordpress, Blogspot, Blogger etc. Just BCUK. Banned.
Which means I'm buggered, really.
Because if I can't blog in the day, I can only blog at night. And at night I'm likely to be mildly oiled, which is what I've tried not to do much of in the last few months (blogging pissed, that is, as against getting pissed, obviously), not least because it's landed me in trouble more than once.
But hey.
Som naam naa.
Serves me right, really.
Should never have gone in the first place.
x
November 24, 2007
Palinoia, noun
Compulsive repitition of an act until it is perfect
"I can see what you mean," said Nipper, sweating slightly. "But they do reckon it makes you go blind, you know."
November 22, 2007
Kakistocracy, noun
Government by the worst citizens
"Oh, come off it," said Nipper. "Next thing you'll say, ooh, I don't know, that they didn't notice that £24 billion - and then some - would have to be used to prop up a bank that will still eventually make a profit when their City mates are allowed to buy it for a bonus-busting song, rather than nationalise it - which would be the fair thing seeing as its taxpayers' money - as a temporary measure!"
"Well, er-"
"Hang on! Or, like, how about, something like they want to spend billions more on a totally unnecessary and unworkable ID card system to - gulp - protect our identities, and then they'll go and give a world-beating 25 million of them away, national insurance numbers and bank account numbers and dates of birth and all, to anyone who wants them anyway!"
The buzzard roared with laughter.
"Look-"
"Stop, stop," waved the buzzard, eyes filled with bleary tears of mirth. "You're killing me! You're killing me! No way!"
"Erm-"
"Shut up! My sides hurt! What next? Police assassinating innocent men in broad daylight and no one getting the blame? Going to Remembrance Sunday services with a solemn face even though you know perfectly well that the poor proud bastards with no legs just a few metres away can barely afford to live? Mate, you do make me laugh. This is Britain. We're not like that!"
"Nipper-"
"Really. Honestly - you'll believe anything. I suppose you think the Tories had a point when they described Brown and his band of lickspittle hypocritical bandit bastards as 'pathetic' for blaming all the so-called fuck-ups on the previous Tory Government of, um, pre-1997, when half your blogging mates were still at school?
"Or, say, clearly vulnerables getting let out of prison to kill? I suppose that's the Government's fault, too, isn't it?
"I bet you don't even buy Mr Broooooon's assertion that his superb bet-for/hope-for-later running of the economy has led to an inevitable slow down, having relied as it did on the belief that American bounty would last at least until his term is over and then it's someone else's problem?"
But Zeds had had enough: "Or how about this very afternoon a single-mum of 32 being locked up for six weeks for overclaiming benefit because she had a part-time job making £82.75 a week extra - in fact a grand total of just £291 extra over a four month period, if she'd declared it?"
"Bollocks," said Nipper. "They wouldn't do that to someone on the breadline. Not this Labour government. Not while their City mates earn millions in bonuses year in and year out without paying a penny in tax, because, like L'Oreal fucking shampoo, they're worth it?"
"Sorry," conceded Zeds. "You're right. We live in a wonderful place. Not, admittedly, as wonderful as Saudi Arabia, though, where a seven-man gang-rape victim aged just 19 years-old faces 200 lashes - for fuck's sake - for being in an unrelated man's car at the time she and her frend were attacked."
"Christ," said Nipper. "Now that's barbaric."
"Well, yes. But they are our allies, you know. In war and stuff."
"Ah."
"Ah indeed. And it doesn't matter that 80 percent of the 9/11 assassins came from, well, Saudi Arabia and not, bizarrely, from either Afghanistan or Iraq. As in, where the bombs still land. Every day."
"Well, no. Thank crikey, eh?"
"Yeah. We're brilliant. We got rid of the oppressive woman-hating Taleban in Afghanistan and, even more brilliantly, carried on sending cut-price bombs and planes to the extraordinarily wealthily Kingdom of Saud where they still strap a teenage rape victim to rough bark, in front of a baying mob, and whip her until she's blooded, half-naked, and half dead. Great, eh?"
"Don't we give them kick-backs on those military deals, too?"
"Yeah. About $40 billion at the last count. But it keeps America happy."
"Then praise be to McDonalds and appalling foreign policy."
"Agreed," said Zeds. "Shall we put our Union Flags up now?"
