Gosh! Really? Wow, thanks for telling me that.

Playtime at St. Arseclown's Junior School for the Terminally Hard of Thinking earlier today.

 
The Snowolf Den is undergoing a spot of spring cleaning today, the curtains are out on the line, the wardrobe has been cleared out and the stock evaluated and swapped for some of the stuff that was moved out in autumn, the light fittings have been taken down and cleaned and the furniture has been moved about and cleaned under.

Mrs. Snowolf is struck down with terrible hay-fever. She's been streaming and sneezing and snotting all over the place, therefore it's been down to me. I don't mind, I'm quite happy pottering about doing my thing. As an aside, and speaking as a non-sufferer of hay-fever, I'm convinced it doesn't exist, is purely psychological and a good excuse for the big pharma companies to hawk their lotions, potions and pills like some sort of latter day snakeoil salesmen.

Between the sneezing, blowings of the nose, rubbing of the eyes, popping of pills, administration of nasal treatments and increasingly violent exhortions of frustration and general yukness, we've had the shining beacon of public service broadcast; the finest purveyor of the televisual arts on the globe, the BBC on this morning. I've been exposed to one of the interminable programmes, that one with the slightly fey chap and the socially incompetent antiques 'expert' (and why do they always have such terrible dress sense and unfortunate hair?) who stomp around some old dear's house and evaluate the worthless tat she's managed to accumulate and then take her along to an antiques house, where she is coerced into jumping up and down in excitement at the thought that the sum total of the nik-naks in her house could cover the cost of a weekend in a caravan in bloody Frinton. I get the impression it is the commercial arm of the situation outlined by Leg-Iron the other day.

Anyhow, they uncovered a couple of well rusting 19th century cavalry swords. But, watch out, peasants! There's an important lesson to learn here, although to be honest the lesson I learned was don't watch daytime BBC whilst stood atop a ladder cleaning light fittings, as the effort expended in trying to come up with an inventive, eloquent, yet fatally offensive rant significantly raises the risk of falling off. The lesson?

Wait for it. . .

"You don't need a firearms licence for a sword. . ."

This brought forth one little explosion of enquiring as to why we have to hand over good money to the BBC for the privilege of watching this bilge. This was as nothing when compared to what followed:

". . . but swords should be kept well out of the reach of children."

Oh? Do you think? That puts me in a bit of a bind, because I've just uncovered a cache of weaponry whilst cleaning out the loft, all of it bladed, there's dirks and a cutlass, a broadsword, a battle-axe, a collection of lances, pikes and spears, I think I saw a mace as well. I was going to go and take it all down to the local primary school to see if they fancied having it, but now I've learned that bladed weapons may not be entirely appropriate playthings for kids. Who knew?

Oh, that's not all. Oh, no. Because the swords were rusted, it was also vital to be mindful of the risk of tetanus.

Listen mate, if I come bearing down on you with a five kilo cavalry blade, hell bent on cleaving your skull in twain, the last thing you're going to have to worry about is bloody tetanus.

Who is at fault?

I had either the good fortune, or bad fortune, I haven’t made up my mind yet, of listening to some half-wit chuntering away on the wireless last night.

The poor old sod was stuck in his car on the M6 near Wigan in the snow, having travelled about a quarter of a mile in about three and a half hours.

One feels a degree of sympathy, as it would appear that our transport system is, once again, completely unprepared for the winter weather we tend to get in winter.

My sympathy began to waver when I heard his plaintive cries about lack of action, lack of information (it’s snowing, you’re on the motorway, traffic has stopped, use your imagination – in this case a jack-knifed HGV) and that calls to the Greater Manchester Police non-emergency number had resulted in referral to the Highways Agency. Well, it wasn’t an emergency, so that sounds about right to me.

Apart from it could have been an emergency.

You see, despite advice from a copper with scrambled egg all over the peak of his cap, the usual stuff, you know, ‘the weather is very bad, do not travel unless it is a matter of life or death’ that was given out that afternoon, this man was in his car with a colleague of his who was eight and a half months pregnant.

No, he wasn’t taking her to the hospital in an act of fraternal solidarity. He was giving her a lift home, and found himself stuck in the snow, with a very pregnant woman, returning from their office Christmas party.

My sympathy evaporated quicker than a Scottish footballer playing in a Qatari world cup match when I discovered they were estate agents.

So, senior copper says stay at home, and what do you do? Take your pregnant colleague out into the snow to attend the office shindig?

And you have the nerve to demand to know who is at fault for your current predicament?

OK, here’s how you find out. Whilst you're sat behind the wheel of your immobile car, the fuel tank indicator needle inexorably drifting to the red ‘E’ as you keep the engine running to power the blower, look up at the centre of the top of the windscreen. Just tilt that mirror until you see a face in it. That is the person at fault, you utter, utter mong.

Well it's failed every other time, so it is bound to work now.

Should the UK tax high-fat junk food to cut obesity rates? 

Oh Jesus, here we go.

Because the increase in tax on tobacco, alcohol, petrol, flying, electricity and gas has slashed the number of people who smoke, drink, drive, take holidays, cook and heat their homes, hasn't it? I mean, why wouldn't it work?

In the same way as taxing cigarettes helped to reduce smoking and related illnesses, could putting up the price of junk food - as Denmark has done - cut obesity rates in the UK?

Whoa, hang on. Taxing cigarettes has helped to reduce smoking related illnesses? Has it? Come on, you are a correspondent for a 'reputable' programme on a 'reputable' broadcaster, so I'm assuming you've referenced or linked to your source material for that, have you?

*scans the article*

No, they haven't.

I went on a day trip to Brugge (the French can sod off, it is a Flemish city, so I'll use the correct spelling, thank you very much) last week. Very nice it was too. Just on the Belgian side of the French border is the town of Adinkerke, it has a most impressive collection of tobacco retailers, all patronised almost exclusively by French and British. Why? Because tobacco taxes drive them there. So I would say that taxing cigarettes has helped to increase the profits of those living on the Franco-Belgian border and reduced the income to the treasury in both the UK and La Belle France.

I digress.

The first thing that struck me on the taxi journey into Copenhagen was how slim everyone looked.
I really had trouble spotting anyone fat.
And the second thing that became obvious the moment I stepped out of the cab and was almost run over by a cyclist, was that the Danes are clearly no strangers to exercise. 

Oh, for the love of God.

I've been to Copenhagen as well. Lovely city, very nice people, the Danes.

One thing I noticed; the national sport in Denmark, alongside eating pickled fish, is . . . smoking.

Prohibition does not work. Minimum pricing is illegal. Taxing junk food, really? Who is to say what counts? Are you willing to take on the legal might of McDonald's when you say their burgers are bad, but the burgers sold in the pub two doors down are ok?

I've an alternative, you could just fuck off and stop trying to make people into little grey miserable clones. Try it.

Oh, and BBC, Panorama markets itself as a news programme. Try covering some bloody news for a change, eh?

No, no, no, no. That's a no.

Another assault on our God given rights today. This is not a civil liberty, this is not a 'nice to have in the ideal world', this is not an 'only if you qualify.'

This cannot be taken away. It is not in Parliament's power to remove from us the inalienable rights which were granted to us by God before Parliament came to be.

When Louise Casey says that:

"We should not view the right to a jury trial as being so sacrosanct that its exercise should be at the cost of victims of serious crimes"

She is attempting to usurp God, she is placing herself above the concept of the Almighty creator that is so important to the constitution of the country. She is also portraying herself as one of the most disgusting, odious, objectionable people in the country.

Victims' Commissioner? What? We are all victims if this is introduced. If I were to be tried under this scheme by a Magistrate, I would find myself in Court refusing to comply or cooperate and shouting, very loud, that my God given rights had been infringed by a body which has no power to do so.

Perhaps the money spent on this department would be better spent on the Police or Courts Service, because I'll tell you what victims want; they want the criminal who has wronged them to be caught, arrested, tried, convicted and sentenced to a proper punishment that is really, properly proportionate to the offence committed. What they don't want is another self-important, attention whoring, mindless fucking quango headed up by another poorly tailored suit of toss all with a mouth that looks like a slit in the side canvas of a curtain sided artic.

Got it?

Just in case you are in any doubt, here is the clause of Magna Carta, which has served us perfectly well for the last 795 years, written in a plain style of English that is easy to understand, salient, concise and quite beyond anything that a shower like Louise Casey could write if her miserable, insignificant and pointless life fucking depended on it:

No free man shall be captured, and or imprisoned, or disseised of his freehold, and or of his liberties, or of his free customs, or be outlawed, or exiled, or in any way destroyed, nor will we proceed against him by force or proceed against him by arms, but by the lawful judgment of his peers, and or by the law of the land.

Fuck you and the broomstick you rode in on, Casey.

You want to do away with this for the sake of expediency? I'll tell you this, doing away with the right to trial by jury (yes, even in the case of like, really complicated fraud trials) is but one step removed from sweeping away innocent until proven guilty.

Compare and contrast.

I'm making no points about either event, but how does (emphasis mine):

New rules aimed at banning discrimination by employers, covering areas such as age, disability and pay, have come into force.

The Equality Act covers many workplace areas and draws nine separate pieces of legislation into a single Act.

Sit with:

The national minimum wage has risen to £5.93 an hour from £5.80 and for the first time people aged 21 will benefit from the rate.

[...]There are also corresponding increases for younger workers, with 16 and 17-year-olds seeing a rise from £3.57 an hour to £3.64.

So in effect, if an employer were to deny a 17 year old a promotion on the basis that they were too young, they'd be liable to prosecution under the new Equality Act. However, the government is totally at liberty to limit minimum wage payments for those under 21.

Some are obviously more equal than others. . .

I see, so what you're saying is . . . whoa! Hang on! Where did that come from?

Just caught a few minutes of Jeff Randall on Sky News this evening. No problem with Jeff, he's quite entertaining. What I was struck by was the report on the demonstrations across Europe today, with special focus on the one taking place in Brussels.

This Pan-European Union Trade Union Marx-in revealed the usual it's all the bankers' fault. There was one British moron going on about how capitalism had failed. Well, it would have done, had we had capitalism, rather than governments trying to tame lions, milking them and coming running when they get a thorn stuck in their paw.

That isn't capitalism, the best description I can think of is corporatism, and we all know where that had its best run, don't we?

What caused me to stop, press pause on the old Sky box and whip the camera phone out was this quite remarkable banner carried by some of the participants today:

You actually think the EU is Liberalising things?

Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus and all the little orphans!

I don't know which is worse, the fact that you think that the EU is a force for liberty, or the fact that you think a process going towards more liberty is a bad thing.

I'm speechless, except to say, remember folks, these people elected the leader of the second biggest party in the UK.

If you live near some hills, I'd run for them, if I were you.

The One That Was Waiting. . .

Didn’t take long, did it?

I’ve been waiting for the clangers to drop, and now they’re dropping. It was only a matter of time until this new administration proved itself to be as hopeless as the one that came before.

First there was Oiky Gove’s arseing up of the school lists. Nice one. Too soon to be sacked, I would think. That, and the fact that he’s one of Dave’s star performers. God help them. 13 years they’ve been itching to get back in, and the first opportunity they get, they screw it right up.

And people wonder I have so little faith in the State organising stuff. It’s because of things like this. Just because one is an elected MP and appointed by a bloke who didn’t do enough to win an election that a flatulent amputee giraffe could have won, doesn’t mean that you’re actually any good. Walking into a government office, and sitting in a government chair, behind a government desk doesn’t mean what you do will be any good. People don’t seem to realise this, I have friends who really do believe that if the government takes control of something, it will, somehow, be alright in the end.

I believe that if the government takes control of something, it will, inevitably, a twisted, burning wreck before Countdown goes on air that afternoon.

Then, we have the farce of Clegg’s repeal act. I could bang on about it, but why bother when two of the best in the business, Leg-Iron and Dick Puddlecote, don’t just hit the nail on the head, they drive it through the wood, the workbench and into the floor.

It makes me angry, but what really exasperates me is the low level, mean spirited and small minded idiocy that pervades our lives on so many levels.

I couldn’t care less what you believe, I have no objections. Two caveats; don’t restrict anyone else’s activities, don’t try and make me sing your hymns.

Even worse, when morons, no doubt well intentioned, go and restrict other peoples’ activities on behalf of people who are quite capable of making judgements for themselves. You could pick from a plethora of examples, but let’s take this one from Stoke on Trent Council.

Swimming lessons in some Staffordshire schools should stop during Ramadan to ensure Muslim pupils "do not swallow water", a council has suggested.

Stoke-on-Trent City Council has issued an 11-page Ramadan guide for schools to help pupils who may be fasting when the school year starts in September.

It said swimming was acceptable to Muslims but posed a high risk of swallowing water that may break a fast.

Islam requires Muslims to fast from dawn until dusk for one month per year.

OK, so if the Muslim parents or indeed the Muslim child decides that they don’t want swimming on the agenda, then fine, don’t go. I wouldn’t expect them to be penalised or punished for it. That’s what you believe, then that’s fine. It has no adverse effect on anyone else.

But no, you see, you can’t have that.

Schools with a significant number of Muslim pupils should try to avoid scheduling swimming lessons during Ramadan to remove unnecessary barriers to full participation.

No-one must be allowed to swim. If denying everyone a swim isn’t a barrier to full participation, then I don’t know what is.

I despair, I really do despair. It is precisely this sort of action which means that people of different race, religion, sexuality or any other quality which is relevant only to the individual concerned, will only ever look upon the other with resentment and mistrust.

I fear we can elect as many new politics, coalition governments we like, it will make no difference, the bastards have taken over, I really don’t see what we can do about it, all the time people are scared of being branded racists and Nazis.

The One That Is Carrying On In The Same Fashion. . .

I hope you all had a pleasant Public Holiday period. I now have enough stock to open my own branch of Sock Shop.

When the council sent around their cunningly worded invitation for me to surrender huge amounts of my money to them, they included a little booklet, telling me the sort of thing that they'd be wasting my cash on instead of making sure that roads and pavements were gritted during a cold spell and organising a sufficiently regular rubbish collection so my bin area doesn't resemble some Monrovia suburb in summer.

Nowhere in that little booklet did it explain to me that they'd expend energy and resources in making sure I didn't get upset. To be honest, from where I'm sitting, the whole raison-d'etre of the council is to upset me. It's like the Python argument sketch, I'm paying for it. Perhaps it's OK for them to upset me, but not for anyone else to upset me? Perhaps I'm just unlucky not to live in an area governed by the sensitive souls of Suffolk council.

Neither have I ever heard of someone being prosecuted for upsetting someone. I don't recall any offence of 'causing upset'. Bodily harm, certainly. Alarm and distress, yes. Causing upset? No.

What am I whittering on about?

A bingo caller has been advised to stop using phrases such as "two fat ladies" for fear of offending his audience.

John Sayers, who runs charity games in Sudbury, Suffolk, says he was told by a council clerk the traditional bingo call could upset some players.

Oh dear, here we go.

A town council spokeswoman said it was "sad" they had to give the advice but they had to be "politically correct".

Why did you have to give the advice? It's all very well sitting there, wringing your hands, but did it not, perhaps, occur to you to mind your own fucking business and not get involved? As radical as it may sound to you, people do not actually want nor need grey little fucks from the council overseeing every aspect of their lives. It's sad that I have to give this advice, but I have to point out the bleeding obvious, and this could hurt, you really aren't that important or wise and people couldn't give a pair of dingo's kidneys what you think.

The 75-year-old, a member of Sudbury Town Council and former town mayor, said the clerk advised him to cut the traditional comic calls in case the authority found itself facing legal action.

And why would the 'authority' (over what do they have authority? Certainly not me.) face legal action? Is this a council run charity games event? If so, why? As we've already explored, I pay the council to grit the roads and empty the bins, not to run bake-offs and jumble sales.

"The concern was that if there might be two large ladies in the audience when I said 'two fat ladies 88' or someone might think I was looking at their legs when I said 'legs 11'," he said.

"I was advised that someone might take offence and we could end up being taken to court."

Fear is king, let's pick out the key words in those lines, shall we? might, might, might, could. As in 'The Emperor Klang might arrive with his planet destroying starship, and he might have his stormtroopers with him. He might decide to invade Earth and take control of Sudbury council which could lead to significant congestion outside Matalan.

Why would someone take the council to court for offence caused by a fairly standard practice in one of the country's most popular activities? And why would the judge not just tell her to stop wasting his fucking time?

A council spokeswoman told the East Anglian Daily Times: "In particular with John being a councillor we have to be politically correct."

If John is a councillor then there's a very simple way of dealing with him if he pisses you off. You take his job away from him by placing a little X against someone else's name. Good God, does this mean the council is legally responsible for the conduct of its elected officials? Or is it because you just CAN'T HELP STICKING YOUR FUCKING NOSE IN WHERE IT ISN'T WANTED YOU ODIOUS LITTLE TWATS? Just asking, like.

She added: "It is very sad because it is part of the fun of bingo but unfortunately in today's society people take it literally."

No, no they won't. And if they do, so what? What damage is done? None. None at all. Which by happy coincedence is also the degree to which you live your life in the real world. What she meant to say was:

"It is very sad because it is part of the fun of bingo but unfortunately in today's society people in the public sector are shit scared of losing their jobs and so have to do things to demonstrate that we actually do stuff to earn our money, problem is we're so institutionalised that we can't even do that properly so pick on stupid stuff rather than tackling the problem of asylum seekers jumping over garden walls and eating people's trees."

Good grief, anyone reading that news story would think we live in Utopia. 'Hey, Zlargan, look at this place, they've got everything sorted to such a degree they're concentrating on the un-intended offensiveness of bingo. Freedom, no war, no hunger, no-one living in the streets, they must even have sorted out the problem of space refugees jumping over garden walls and eating people's trees.'

'Nice one, Yavvor, let's tell the Emperor Klang and invade, we can cause considerable congestion around Matalan.'

Unfortunately we don't live in Utopia, and it isn't because we've got the big problems sorted, it's because our elected reps don't have the balls, the vision or the intelligence to sort the big stuff out. They make a fuss about the little stuff in the hope we don't see the big stuff hiding behind the sofa and under the rug.

The One That Is Telling You To Put That Bottle Down, NOW! . . .

There will be no fun this Christmas. We’re not allowed to have fun. We don’t have time to have fun. Every waking hour must be spent plagued with guilt that we are killing ourselves, killing other people, killing a number of furry mammals, offending people, discriminating against people and setting a bad example by bringing up children incorrectly meaning they are doomed to repeat the litany just outlined.

Drinking is being denormalised, as we know, here are another couple of festive examples.

First of all there is the unconscionable fuckwit Donaldson. Another example of an unelected goon who just cannot help sticking his nose in people’s business and telling them what is best for them. Doctors love doing this and Donaldson is worse than most.

Parents who allow their children alcohol at home may be increasing the chances of future drinking problems, says England's chief medical officer.
Sir Liam Donaldson accused some parents of a "laissez-faire" approach and said letting children taste alcohol to ready them for adulthood was "misguided".

Oh God, here we go. Come on then, give us the evidence, Liam.

Evidence showed that this could lead to binge drinking in later life, he said.

Right, d’you feel like presenting the evidence? No? What a surprise.

New official guidance says under-15s should drink no alcohol, with under-17s drinking only under supervision.

You’ll notice that isn’t law, it is ‘official guidance’. Official guidance is the same as any other arseclown prodding you in the chest and lecturing you at great length in a patronising fashion, but with the added bonus that you are paying for the privilege.

No alcohol for the under-15s. Hmmmm. Yes, because historically, prohibition of any kind has been a runaway success whenever it has been employed, hasn’t it?

Under-17s drinking only under supervision. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Let’s try again shall we? How about alcohol for children as their parents see fit with no unsupervised drinking under the age of 18, which is the minimum age at which can one can legally buy alcohol in England and Wales. I’m not sure about Scotland, I think I read somewhere the SNP wanted to increase the age to 45 and only if you had letters from your former teachers, a judge, your doctor and the police saying you could be trusted with a small glass of sweet sherry once a fortnight.

Ahhhhh, I hear the Righteous start, some people can’t be trusted. OK, and? Do you really have to reduce everything to the lowest common denominator? Yes. Of course you do, because by reducing everyone to the status of the worst, ill-equipped, socially spastic scrote it makes it that much easier to justify your baffling control freakery.

Have a festive fuck off from me.

What else is festive? Oh yes, Father Christmas. But he’s persona non-grata as well now.

No, not because of that, you filthy minded little skit, it has nothing to do with him coming down chimneys into the bedrooms of sleeping children. It is because his lifestyle is unacceptable.

Santa should get off his sleigh and walk, and lay off the brandy and mince pies, says an Australian study that criticises Father Christmas for being a bad role model. The current image of Santa Claus promotes obesity, drink-driving, speeding and an unhealthy lifestyle, says a study from Monash University published in the British Medical Journal.

I think the Australian tax payer needs to ask some fairly searching questions about what it is the people at Monash University are doing for their money if they’ve time to trot this arsegravy out.

Santa should go on diet (sic) and the tradition of leaving him cookies, mince pies or brandy should cease, it says. Instead, he could share carrots and celery sticks left for his reindeer.

Hmmmm, yes, yes he could. But let’s try another suggestion, why not fuck off and not bother us with your sanctimonious twaddle, you joyless, horrible, grey little cretin? I bet your mouth is set in a constant cat’s arse pucker of disapproval, isn’t it? Does it make you miserable? Good. I hope you remain in misery for the rest of your life.

“Santa might also be encouraged to adopt a more active method to deliver toys — swapping his reindeer for a bike or simply walking or jogging,” the study says.

Yes, and you might also be encouraged to suck my cock.

I believe very strongly in the rule of law, but sometimes, just sometimes, I long for summary justice, big iron bars and lynch mobs.

The One That Is NOT Having Fun. . .

Someone who is demonstrably NOT a war criminal, earlier today.

Fun isn't allowed. Fun kills people, ruins lives and is discriminatory.

Besides, those in the know will tell you that true fun only comes from pitching your tent as a spectator at the disabled amputee lesbian ethnic minority carbon neutral everyone-a-winner organic hopping championships sponsored by Vegan Emma's Fairtrade Lentils.*

You can only have fun at events like that, but mind you go easy on the elderflower cordial, any other fun is baaaaaaaad.

Especially fun in video games:

Video games depicting war have come under fire for flouting laws governing armed conflicts.

Human rights groups played various games to see if any broke humanitarian laws that govern what is a war crime.

The study condemned the games for violating laws by letting players kill civilians, torture captives and wantonly destroy homes and buildings.

It said game makers should work harder to remind players about the real world limits on their actions.

*deepest sigh that it is possible to imagine*

You do understand these games aren't real, don't you?

I'm not a lover of this genre, not on any philiosophical level, they just don't do it for me. It's a shame that this logic doesn't extend to other games because I love sports games. If the logic did hold, I'd be a roaming attacking midfielder for Barcelona or an explosive running back for the New York Jets such would their influence be on me.

Hang on . . .

kill civilians, torture captives and wantonly destroy homes and buildings.

When is any gamer going to be able to do that?

Here's a message for the people peddling this complete arse-gravy:

There's a door over there. Open it, go on, no drop into the darkness, no wild animal or elaborate booby trap, it's just a door. Opened it? Good. Now step through and close it behind you. Can you still hear me? Excellent, now walk away and keep walking until you have put a distance between us such that a reasonable person can be satisfied that you have fucked off and left me alone.

It's an illusion. No, not the game, that's a simulation. The illusion is that you think these games are going to lead to people committing war crimes. I understand why, you seem to think that people are influenced by anything you have to say, thus you think people are influenced by these games. You are wrong on both scores.

No-one gives a flying fuck what you say, everyone understands that these games aren't real.

I do hope that is clear enough for you.

















Twits.

*Sponsorship in form of donation to Endangered Polar Bear Battered Wives Association - Reg'd charity number 237627849889326

The One That Finds It All Too Easy To Believe. . .

It’s laughable really.

I know it is ACPO, so normality doesn’t really apply in their bizarre little world, but really, do police officers absolutely need a 93 page, two volume manual on how to ride a push-bike?

The TaxPayers’ Alliance call it:

an absurd waste of police time and thousands of pounds of taxpayers' money.

Which seems fair enough to me.

Has this come about because rank and file police officers are incapable of riding a bike? If so then I would submit that they’re probably not safe to be let out of the house, or is it that ACPO think that rank and file police officers are incapable of riding a bike without step-by-step, idiot proof instructions from them?

I reckon it is the latter, and unfortunately it explains a great deal about ACPO and our police service.

The One That Is Saying 'Enough. Stop Now'. . .

It really does beggar belief. I can think of no pithy or salient introduction to this absolute arsewater, so let's just jump straight in, shall we?

Police have been urged to avoid using greetings such as "evening" and "afternoon", because the words are "somewhat subjective" and could cause confusion among those from different cultural backgrounds.

It's the Muslims, must be, they don't have afternoons, not proper afternoons like Christian people, their's are probably different. And because Senior Police are so consumed with the feeling that we aren't all just members of the public, this imaginary afternoon problem must be stamped out.

A spokesman added: "Terms such as 'afternoon' and 'evening' are somewhat subjective in meaning and can vary according to a person's culture or nationality. In many cultures the term evening is linked to time of day when people have their main meal of the day.

"In some countries including the UK, the evening meal time is traditionally thought of as being around 5-7pm but this might be different say for a family say from America who might have their main meal earlier and thus for them 'evening ' may be an earlier time.

This is just an avoidance of the old dinner/tea debate, isn't it?

'Hello? Is that the IPCC? This un-PC came around my gaff and accused me of having my tea, at dinner time, he thought I was common. I'm incredibly offended, I demand a five figure sum in compensation and that the officer be cast into a dark pit.'

That seems a little unlikely to me.

Confusingly, staff are also barred from using the word "homosexual", for which they are instructed to use the term "gay", while they are warned against using the phrase "straight", and told to say "heterosexual".

Right, well, that makes perfect sense then. I'm not gay and have no strong feelings on the gay/homosexual word debate, I understand that queer and poof are not well thought of, so that seems fair enough. Being straight (deep offended intake of breath) I don't particularly care if I'm referred to as straight, heterosexual or even just hetero. I was even called a 'Breeder' once, I think it was supposed to be perjorative, not that it bothered me.

I'm not a breeder, by the way, I'm a civil servant. Perhaps there's money in breeding? Perhaps I could do that instead?

Anyhow, let's think of the chiiiiiiiiiildren:

A number of organisations, among them Essex Police and Northern Ireland Fire and Rescue Service, now instruct staff to avoid the phrases "child, youth or youngster".

The 52-page guide used by both organisations states that such phrases could have "connotations of inexperience, impetuosity, and unreliability or even dishonesty". It also states that addressing someone as "boy" or "girl" "may cause offence". Instead, officers and firemen are instructed to use the phrase "young people".

Well now hang on a moment, if you call the nearly dead 'old people' the indignant whining from the Righteous reaches such a pitch that dolphins start knocking on their front doors asking them to leave it out as it's giving them a headache. Surely this should be 'younger people'?

Now I really am offended.

London Fire Brigade instructs its staff not to use the terms "businessmen" or "housewives", because it says they "reinforce outdated stereotypes".

Does that mean that a married woman who raises the kids is an outdated stereotype? What about all those men who wear those off the peg suits and sit on the train into London everyday, on their way to an office where they do God knows what, but the end result seems to be a paunch, baldness, stomach ulcers and an aneurism? Are all they outdated stereotypes as well?

This, people of non-judgemental, all perfectly equal gender is what happens when you have a phalanx of equality and diversity officers.

Mrs. Snowolf has responsibility for the disability stuff at her place of work, most of it goes right over my head, the legislation seems to be complicated in the extreme, but given the phone calls she gets from other places for her advice, she seems quite good at it.

She writes the policy, makes sure it is applied and then puts the policy on the shelf. Once in a while, the policy is reviewed to make sure it is still current. Simple. If you employ Equality and Diversity Officers once all this stuff is done, they're left with nothing to do, so they have to dream up enemies, slights and struggles to be fought.

It's all bullshit, no-one is going to be offended because a Police officer rolls up at 1720 and says good evening, when you consider the evening to start at 1730.

Why not spend money on fighting crime and fires rather than agonising over what part of the day it is?

Give me strength. . .

The One That Wants To Know Why You Can't Just Mind Your Own Bloody Business. . .

Back in March I blogged about some mouthbreathing Righteous arsewipe who was incapable of keeping her bloody nose out of other peoples' business.

It's happened again:

A supermarket has apologised to one of its customers after she was told she could not have unpasteurised cheddar cheese because she was pregnant.

I could paste more, but really can't be arsed.

Look, it is very simple.

It is none of your fucking business. None. Whatsoever.

I don't go to the supermarket for medical advice, and even if I did, I wouldn't seek that advice from the girl working on the fucking cheese counter.

Jeeeeesus.

Here we have it folks, our politicians spend so much time telling us how to live our lives that everyone thinks it is an appropriate way to behave. Footballers? Rock stars? Pah, it is the NuLabourites that have been a bad example for the public, if only they'd wrap cheese wire around their necks and stick their faces into the meat-slicer, then perhaps know nothing cheese vendors would do the same, instead of sticking their noses in to other peoples' business.

Bastards.

The One That Is Thinking About Flying South . . .

It’s all really starting to fall apart now. For the last twelve years, a Labour government and their Righteous infantry have kept tigers as pets. All of a sudden, these tigers don’t want Whiskas for dinner, they want real meat that they’ve caught themselves.

The problem is that when you keep a wild animal in captivity it does not lose its desire to act like a wild animal, but it does lose the skills to live as one.

The first tiger to roar has been Anjem Choudary of a ‘fundamentalist’ (not too much fun, plenty of the mentalist) Islamic organisation who would see the imposition of Sharia Law in the UK. I’ll oppose that as strongly as I would oppose the imposition of any value system in the UK. In his video he basically tells the ‘English Defence League’ that they will lose, that the green flag of Islam will fly over Number 10. Well, he would say that. He also goes on to tell the United in Fascism, sorry, Unite Against Fascism to go and screw themselves and that they are perfectly capable of looking after themselves, thank you very much.

The tiger has awoken, and he is hungry and wants to stretch his legs.

The English Defence League are not one of the pet tigers that have been kept by The Righteous. They’ve been left out in the cold and have had to fend for themselves. They may not have the lustrous coats and full bellies of Choudary tiger, but they have survived, learned to hunt and have even resisted the urge to kill those who come to take their catch to feed those pet tigers. Until now.

A tiger in captivity will attack its handler as a substitute for the hunting sized hole in its life, it doesn’t do it out of hate, but because hunting and killing is what a tiger does, and it wants to feel more tigerish. A wild tiger will hunt to live, but will only attack another tiger as an absolute last resort. There is the difference between them, the captive tiger wants to fight to prove it is a tiger, the wild tiger knows it is a tiger and knows that the best way to remain being an alive one is not to scrap unless it has to. When that wild tiger fights though, it is to the death. This wild tiger has backed off and backed off and now has nothing more to lose, it is very, very dangerous.

The handler has a dog as well. A big dog. A ferocious yet very obedient dog. He sees the handler feeding his tiger, and as the handler also feeds him, reckons that the tiger is part of his pack. The dog will fight to the death to protect his pack, from the Alpha to the underdog, they stick together and see off any threat to the pack, or die in the attempt. United in Fascism, sorry, Unite Against Fascism are that dog.

The captive tiger looks at the dog and doesn’t see a pack member. He doesn’t see a pack. The tiger is a solitary animal. The tiger looks at the dog and sees lunch. He owes no loyalty to the pack, the handler has kept him locked up and prevented him from being a proper tiger.

The wild tiger looks at the dog and doesn’t see an equal. He sees one dog, on his own. More an irritant than a threat. That dog is an irrelevance, he can be dealt with later, the captive tiger is the threat. The pre-fight posturing is now underway, soon the fur will start to fly.

Given the fairly explicit message sent out by Choudary, will United in Fascism, sorry, Unite Against Fascism re-examine their loyalties? No. They fail to see the irony in combating a group they say are fascist, in support of a theocratic regime which is most certainly fascist by using tools employed by fascist organisations throughout history and around the world. Remember, United in Fascism, sorry, Unite Against Fascism are the dog, and not the Alpha. The handler is the Alpha and will sort out any squabbles within the pack. As far as the dog is concerned, if the Alpha tells Choudary tiger to go to his basket, he will.

Alpha hopes that when he tells Choudary tiger to go to his basket, he will.

Choudary tiger couldn’t care less about his handler, or the smelly dog. It doesn’t matter to him whether they get out of the way or die.

The handler’s wife isn’t concerned with the tiger, she quite liked having him in the enclosure in the back garden at first, but he isn’t very friendly, she concerns herself with the puppies. She loves the puppies, they are very cute and she cares for them very much. The handler’s wife gets very annoyed when people mistreat puppies, and wants to make it as difficult as possible for this to happen. She’s implemented a programme where anyone looking after someone’s puppy whilst they are away, or takes a puppy to puppy classes, or occasionally takes a friend’s puppy out for a walk, or who even stops in the street to give a puppy a pat, has to be checked to make sure they’ve never been mean to a puppy. She’d be much happier to check everyone, whether they have puppies or not, just to be doubly sure.

The vet’s wife has said this is stupid. It is the first time that the vet’s wife and the handler’s wife have ever had a disagreement. It is very odd, especially as the handler’s wife employs the vet’s wife as her lady who does. The next coffee morning could see fireworks. The handler’s wife thinks the vet’s wife is most ungrateful, perhaps she’ll employ someone else to do her cleaning and puppy walking. The handler’s wife doesn’t actually look after the puppies, but she’s still an expert, and knows how everyone else should feed and train their puppies.

The puppies just want to be able to go out and play and to learn some useful tricks. They’re not allowed to go and play though, there could be someone who is nasty to puppies hiding at the park, waiting to get them. When they graduate from puppy classes to go and be a guide dog, or an earthquake search dog, they find out they’ve not been trained to use their noses, and being able to say ‘sausages’, sing along to the theme tune to East Enders and rolling over are not useful skills. Then they grow up into dogs. They aren’t cute puppies anymore, and no-one likes them, they get left on the streets, to rifle through bins and chase the cats.

They then come across the wild tiger and think, ‘well, if it’s good enough for him. . .’

So where do I fit in? I may be the Snowolf, but what I actually am is a swallow. Sat in the trees, looking at the streets below, wondering why some people keep pets. I notice the nights are drawing in and think that winter is coming, it looks like it will be a bad one. Perhaps it is time to fly off somewhere?

The One That Is Going On And On And On And On . . .

The story in the news today about Haringey council putting a foster child into the care of the family of one of the wannabe liquid explosive suicide plane bombers has been commented on by a number of bloggers today. Whilst not the focus of today’s rambling, I will pass brief comment.

Haringey are idiots who couldn’t tell their arse from a sky-scraper made of edam and lego. I don’t think we should be surprised at this latest news story. That being said, it is my belief that most people in the intelligence community do not play well with others. I understand why to an extent. Given that these arse-clowns were under surveillance, and seemed fairly committed to the idea of making a plane go bang in spectacular style, it makes perfect sense for the cops and spooks to keep schtum until they have enough evidence to pick these guys up and charge them. That practice is preferable to keeping people locked up for however many days whilst a case is built.

By keeping them under surveillance you can build the case on the hoof whilst making sure the muscle is ready to step in if they make a move before the suspected scheduled time. I would imagine, given the history of Haringey social services, that the big hat in spook circles wasn’t all that enthusiastic about calling Haringey Soc. Serves and telling them that the foster family were connected to these people. That wouldn’t work at all.

That being said, why they thought that the unemployed and seemingly unemployable were suitable foster carers is a mystery to me. Haringey are an easy (and justified) target, but I bet one of their head honchos could pick up some government policy document and say ‘well it says here. . .’

One line hits me square between the eyes:

"Muslim children can only be placed with people of the same faith and the need
to find foster parents could mean that corners were cut in the vetting process."

There are some real issues with that policy.

Firstly, does this mean a child’s cultural heritage trumps considerations over its safety? If so, this is shameful and tantamount to abuse. You could have a loving couple from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster who would provide a secure and stable environment for any child, being passed over for a Muslim individual with a fondness for stretching seven year old sphincters. That is madness.

Secondly, does this mean Jewish children can be placed with Christian families? Taoist with Hindu? Is it just the Muslim children who cannot be placed outside their faith? If so, this is shameful and tantamount to abuse. What happens to the kids if there are no beds available with Muslim foster carers? In order to be in foster care, you have to be under a clear and present threat to your wellbeing, are the kids to be returned to an unsafe environment for the want of a Muslim foster family? Or are they to be placed in some home, cold and institutional, where they will feel that they are being punished? Do Haringey council run homes for the Muslims? If not, then where’s the difference to the policy for foster caring? This is bad news for the kids, the non-Muslim community who seemingly can’t be trusted to look after anyone of an Islamic background, and the Muslims themselves because. . .

Thirdly, this means that either the Muslim community demands that children be left in danger or a miserable home rather than be in a comfortable, loving environment, or (as is most likely) some lack-wit has decided that cultural sensitivity is the beginning, middle and end of the consideration, and indirectly tells those who aren’t Muslim they aren’t good enough. Either way mistrust and hatred is going to be the only outcome. Non-Muslims will hate the Muslims as they will see them as insulting, prejudiced and not caring about the kids. The Muslims will hate everyone else for hating them as the siege mentality takes over, and the kids will really hate the ‘liberal’ hand-wringing people at the council for making bloody silly policy which cost them their childhood in part or whole.

But here’s the rub. When last I looked, Muslim people breathe oxygen, drink water and need food to eat. There’s no real difference between them and anyone else. Their faith is an accident of birth. There is no Muslim genome, nothing binds the Bosnian Muslim, the Algerian Muslim, the Bangladeshi Muslim and the Malaysian Muslim beyond their faith. Muslim people come in all different sizes, shapes and colours.

Does this mean that a one year old Muslim kid has to be kept by people of ‘his’ faith? He’s a bloody kid. He could quite easily have been born a Christian, a Jew, a Buddhist, it is a total and complete lottery. It isn’t HIS faith, it is the faith that has been imposed upon him by his parentage and his society.

That sounds like an impassioned argument about the futility of religion, perhaps with an undertone of bansturbation. It isn’t. I don’t care for religion myself, in my experience each of the three biggies in the mid-East, Europe and Africa seem to espouse values of love, peace, forgiveness and understanding, but those who bang on about it most display those qualities least. I don’t need it in my life.

But here’s the thing, just because I don’t need it in my life, doesn’t mean other people don’t need it in theirs. If they feel they do, then carry on, I sincerely hopes it makes you happy. I will not try to force my lack of faith (although it is more a lack of faith in Man and his organised church, than in God) upon you. I will not seek to kill you because you believe differently to I (this may be because as I have no church to ‘learn’ from, there’s no-one telling me to do it). I will treat you with respect, good manners and politeness. I do this willingly and without passing judgement upon you. In return I ask that you do not try to force your faith upon me, that you do not seek to kill me because I believe differently to you and that you treat me with respect, good manners and politeness and do this willingly and without passing judgement upon me.

On the whole, this arrangement works very well. Down my street in very homogenous Canterbury we have Ahmadiyya Bangladeshis running the grocers, Shia Kurds running the barber, very Christian women running a charity shop and Greek orthodox running the chip shop. All within forty paces of each other. They refrain from smashing in each others windows, which is nice, and will normally change each others banknotes if pound coins start running low. I use all the businesses regularly because they are all nice people and I believe in supporting local commerce.

Very few people would turn purple and start shouting about a Muslim kid in danger of being beaten, raped or killed being moved out of that environment and placed in the care of someone who will give them a nice dinner, a warm bed and a bed-time story. Those that would are detestable, these really are the cheeeldren we should be thinking of.

So what’s the message? On the whole we all get on fine, tolerate and in some circumstances actually show an interest in our differences. Some people through idiocy hate the different as their way is the only way. These people shout loud. Next time you hear an idiot shouting loud, get together, sensible, ‘normal’ people and shout louder. Perhaps that way the idiots will realise they are outnumbered and stop trying to kill us all. Perhaps that way council officials will realise that the policy of putting kids in the foster care of suicide bombers is more offensive to us, that being society, than it is to those who think Muslim people should have their own little world.

I’ll sign off with a quote from a well respected and much loved dramatic piece.

‘Be excellent to each other.’ – Rufus; Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.

The One That Is Offering Some Tips. . .

It is hot. I do not respond well to heat, it makes me grumpy(er) and even more unpleasant to be around than usual.

I've had the most joyous task of running a few errands this morning, which meant I had little choice but to take to the roads, pavements and shops of the fair city of Canterbury.

Having returned I am now outlining some helpful hints for the hard of thinking in order to facilitate the smooth running of their daily lives.

Behind The Wheel.

- Signalling at roundabouts will prevent people from having to guess your intentions and almost running into your side.

- When encountering some knob jockey at a roundabout who has decided not to signal his intentions, waiting for him to pass over the junction before committing yourself to moving means you won't run into the side of him.

- When a traffic light shows red, it is considered good form to stop.

- When a traffic light shows green it is best practice to stop composing a text/filing your nails/masturbating and engage first gear and move off.

- The national speed limit on a single carriageway is 60mph, driving at 40mph will encourage people to attempt risky overtaking manoeuvres.

- The speed limit on narrow street with many pedestrians is normally 30mph, driving at 40mph will mean that you will have to break suddenly and almost end up in the rear of the person in front of you.

- Driving at 40mph on a 60mph road and on a 30mph road marks you out as a cretin of the highest order.

On The Pavement.

- Old Ladies, when on a coach trip to Canterbury, it is not required for you all to stop en masse and gaze into the window of WHSmith. They sell the same tat in there as they do at the branch in whichever Godforsaken town you live.

- Young men, when it is sunny, no-one really wants to see your pasty white, scrawny torso as you saunter down the street with your T-shirt tucked into the waistband of your kappa tracksuit bottoms. Fewer people are impressed with your selection of music playing over the loudspeaker of your mobile phone. Fewer people still are impressed with your habit of spitting on the pavement every 5 metres. The absolutely fucking huge black man who admonishes you as you spit once again at the ground but hit his very young daughter's shoes is neither impressed nor intimidated when you square up to him and ask him what his fucking problem is. He is twice your size and has limbs which look like Stuart Pearce's legs where most people have arms. Think carefully.

- When at the cashpoint with a large queue behind you, it is very bad form to insert your card and make use of every facility the cashpoint offers. To do it with two cards, and seemingly in English, German, French, Spanish, Italian, Serbo-Croat and Yoruba before walking away without having withdrawn any fucking cash, is asking for a hefty kick in the genitals.

In The Supermarket.

- When one of your unruly gutter rat children (of whom there seems to be a dozen, each one more unruly and snot-coated than the one before) runs into the basket being carried by an old woman, almost knocking her off her feet, the appropriate response is not to yell at her 'watch where you're fucking going.'

- When at the checkout, the sign hanging above the till that says 'Baskets Only' applies to everyone, not to everyone except you. Taking the young girl on the till to task for pointing it out, marks you out as a complete fucktard and is asking for a hefty kick in the genitals.

- When at the checkout having had your shopping scanned and bagged for you whilst you gazed out of the window, try not to act surprised when the girl on the till then requests payment.

- When at the checkout there is no point in acting like some kind of superior being because you've brought along your no-doubt very expensive, message heavy, rough hemp bag, when you are then going to demand that the girl on the till put your hermetically sealed chicken portions in a transparent plastic bag.

- When at the checkout don't tut and look at me like I've stamped on your kid's head because I am using a new plastic bag. I have a dog, these bags are then used to pick up the deposits she makes in the park and placed in the bin. Would you prefer it if I went out and bought purpose made bags, or would you like me to leave the dog-shit where it is, so your kids can roll around in it? If you like I can re-use the bag again and again by emptying the deposit into your letterbox.

It is a wonder I'm not on an attempted murder charge this afternoon.

The One That Says Size Does Matter. . .

Stupidity reigns in the Weald of Kent.

The little market town of Tenterden has had some new double yellow lines put down on a road.

These lines are 80cm long and sit on the corner of the road leading into someone's driveway.

Yes.

Eighty centimetres.

Tenterden is quite a well heeled place, rather well-to-do, which means you get wonderfully eloquent expressions of exasparation like this:

One can only watch with weary resignation the Ashford Borough Council painters slapping double yellow lines on the roadway outside our house. Having failed, through a combination of ineptitude and local anger, to implement the draconian parking restrictions they wanted to impose on Tenterden, the council are now doing the predictable – bringing in restrictions by stealth.

As a result, we and our neighbours have lost nine perfectly good parking spaces which the council have deemed a road safety hazard, but which haven’t caused a single accident in the 13 years we have lived here. In their messianic zeal to use up every single pot of yellow paint, the council also seem to have created the world’s smallest parking restriction.

Of course it isn't the smallest. Not even in the UK, apparently Islington holds the record for yellow lines, clocking up one space which comes in at a microscopic 50cm, or something.

The response from the council is predictable.

Ashford council says the yellow lines have been introduced following extensive public consultation

But of course. The people of Tenterden were beating down Ashford Borough Council's door for these lines.

This just shows the arrogance and self-important attitude from these wonks. It would have been so much easier to say 'someone's over-stepped the mark here. These plans were drawn up after lunch on a Friday when the planner was due off on holiday at the weekend and he wasn't really giving it his all. We've had words with him and will remove the offending items.'

But they won't. They cannot make daft decisions. They are correct. The decision will stand. They do not serve, they dictate. You will be silent and comply.

What a bunch of idiotic buffoons.

The One That Is Exclaiming 'For Crying Out Loud!'. . .

I despair. I really do despair. Before I get to today's fury catalyst. I'll make a couple of points.

Firstly, by banning things that are traditionally English, you play straight into the hands of the people you spend so much time bleating about beating. Namely the BNP. Are you so stupid that you don't realise when you engage in the activity of banning something on the premise of preventing the offence of a hypothetical minority group, all you do is give them a stick with which to beat you?

Secondly, offence, or perhaps more correctly, the taking of offence, is not a passive activity. Leg-Iron has made the point in the past that in order for offence to be given, it has to be taken. Offence cannot be thrust upon you, you have to accept it, to allow yourself to be offended. Some things are truly offensive, supporters singing songs about the holocaust when Israel play football is offensive, for example. However I will state that offence doesn't actually have any consequences. It makes you feel that the offender is a twat, but that's about it. Offence does not cost lives or limbs.

Morris Dancing is not offensive. So I was literally crying 'For fuck's sake!' when I read this story.

A group of Morris dancers say they are "disappointed and frustrated" after performances were cancelled because they wear traditional black make-up.

Why would there be a problem with the black make-up?

Chantry Primary School in Gravesend is one of three event organisers which have cancelled perfomances this year.

The school said it had to weigh up any potential offence to its community.

But how likely is that? Just as we hear about H&S bannings exasperating H&S experts, as the assessment of risk does not take account of the most important aspect, the likelihood of damage being done, decisions are being taken with a hugely amplified risk of offence.

Really, who is actually going to take offence at this display of dancing? Any spectator will realise that this is not some crude pastiche of how black people dance, indeed Border Morris uses the blacking of faces to act as a disguise, not as a lampoon of the population of Africa. If anyone decides they want to take offence and complain, what is to stop the Morris side themselves taking offence at the implication they are terrible racists? Does the accusation of racism trump the feelings of those who have been unjustly accused? The whole situation is ridiculous.

No matter, someone, somewhere, has decided that this could be, not is, offensive, and as a result the display of English cultural heritage must be stopped, 500 years of tradition must be washed away, and the bad guys get another victory, another arrow head for the BNP to loose is forged.

Oh, I don't doubt that the decision has been made for laudable reasons, there is no conspiracy here, it is just that the reasoning is deeply, deeply flawed. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I leave you with the wonderful Steve Hughes from Nanny Beeb's Comedy Roadshow the other weekend. Excellent stuff which I cannot recommend highly enough, it isn't often I adivse the consumption of media, but please do watch the whole thing.

The One That Is Saying 'Well, It Is Summer'. . .

Honestly, they really do think we are a clueless bunch of mouth-breathing lackwits, don't they?

A heatwave alert has been issued by the Met Office amid warnings of extreme temperatures over the next few days.

Hmmm, OK. Well it is nearly July. One would expect a bit of sun and warmth.

There is a 60% risk of a heatwave for Monday and Tuesday with daytime highs in London reaching 32C and remaining warm at night.

Oh for crying out loud. Do two days really constitute a heatwave? And 32C, it isn't exactly Ice Cold in Alex, is it? Families go on holiday to Florida in the February half term expecting that. Hang on, 60% chance? You mean it is only slightly more likely than not?

The Met Office has predicted that around the country daytime temperatures could reach 29-30C

What? 30C? In summer? In the UK? No doubt we'll have one of the weather people on TV telling us how it was warmer than Jamaica or the solar facing surface of Mercury, or somewhere.

What on Earth should we do in the face of these never before experienced temperatures?

'. . .drink cold drinks like water or fruit juice regularly and avoid tea, coffee and alcohol'

Bloody hell, I'm glad they pointed that out. I'd have never thought of that. What else?

'People with respiratory problems should stay inside during the hottest part of the day.'

Or anyone with even the merest degree of the sense they were born with.

'Older people [give me fucking strength, older than what? - Wolfers] especially those on medication, can often find coping with the heat particularly difficult.' Poor old buggers, they're always in for it, it only seems like a few weeks ago when an afternoon of snow meant we were being warned that the nearly dead were all about to turn into Captain Oates.

Whilst we're on the subject, do you think, MSM, you could drop the annoying habit of referring to the temperature in Farenheit as soon as it touches 25 Celsius? It gets right on my tits.

The One That Gave A Little Chuckle. . .

This is doing the rounds on the email at the moment.

It supposedly shows a group of workmen clearing up after installing bollards at a Belfast hospital to prevent people parking at the front of the building.

I wonder if they've made a mistake, or if their van is part of one of these extravagant modern art installations hospitals seem so keen in putting up instead of cleaning wards or treating patients?