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Nice outfit. Where do you keep the fire extinguisher?

September 28, 2018
Animals/Pets Entertainment/Media/Arts Sex
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Why...

Are we obsessed with safety in all things, except what can actually kill us? Last Christmas my wife and I attended a carol service in London. Before the service started with a candlelit procession and a lone voice singing out ‘Silent Night’, we got a safety announcement. Yup. All the lights were switched on, organ music stopped and the priest in full air stewardess mode pointed out where the fire exits were in case a candle ignited a choir boy’s cassock or some incense managed to set fire to a pew. This in a building that had survived over 1,000 years and never so much as had a runaway candle singe an altar cloth. However later this year my wife has organised a huge charity bash here in Malta to save the Valletta Skyline starring the world’s best ABBA Tribute Band, Revival. So it’s time for fancy dress… out with blue eyeliner, bellbottom trousers and platform shoes. As I am not quite the snake hipped love god of 40 years ago, my old clothes are a tad snug, so I need to hire an outfit. There is a smorgasbord of ABBA costumes available to buy on the web... most of which have a small warning saying stay away from a naked flame or the wearer will turn into a Roman Candle. So there you have it. Come to a church made predominantly out of stone and be subjected to a fire drill, but buy some clothes that can toast you like a marshmallow and tough luck. Yo-yo (You are on Your own).

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Your call is important to us... because we are charging you suckers $1 a minute to wait till we bother to answer

Why...

Do I bother trying to track down customer service? Nearly all consumer product company websites are designed to keep the customer service email and call centre numbers harder to find than spotting ‘Where’s Waldo’. If I do find the telephone number in the haystack of info, rise early and call in the first seconds of opening time, I always seem so unlucky! As if by magic, that very day it appears everyone else is doing the same thing. “Due to a high volume of calls...” Translate that into: “Due to lack of us staffing this place with enough people to bat away the volley of complaints raining down on us like arrows in the battle of Agincourt, we will at least make money out of you suckers by increasing call capacity to 1,000 idiots at $1 per minute so we can make $60,000 an hour doing nothing but reading the papers.” To add insult to injury these customer call centres are usually located in Nowheresville Uzbekistan, Mongolia or possibly Scranton. Get through and you might as well talk to an aardvark as all you get is a script with no room for nuance or common sense. In addition I am sure most of the call centre staff would have more chance, blindfolded, pinning the tail on a donkey, than into a map to identify where I am calling from.

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Old Mother Hubbard

September 13, 2018
Animals/Pets Food & Drink Kids/Family/Relations Life
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Why...

Is my freezer always at bursting point with stuff I will never eat? When I go shopping I seem to buy not only for my wife and I but for the freezer... like it’s an actual person who needs feeding. “Ooooh, lark’s tongues. I’ll put those in the freezer. Yum, anchovy and chocolate mousse. Looks so interesting. I can freeze it.” The result of all this largesse is my fridge is crammed full with stuff that in the cold light of day I don’t want to eat. Conversely, I feel guilty about throwing out food, so this abundance just sits there.

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Casting call for Aliens in next Star Wars movie. Only real Aliens need apply!

Why...

Is there now a huge gerfuffle over actor Jack Whitehall being given a role as a gay character in a Disney movie? Not because Disney are giving a prominent role to a gay character but because in real life he is not gay so some say he should not get the role.

When I was a Producer casting for roles, I chose the actor or actress best able to portray the character. Doh! It’s called acting.

So does this current nonsense mean that John Hurt should never have played The Naked Civil Servant, a multi award winning production about the first real gay activist Quentin Crisp?

Sean Penn (a renowned swordsman) got an Oscar for playing the gay Harvey Milk.

On the other side of the coin Rupert Everett has played a hunky heterosexual numerous times and gay Cynthia Nixon played Miranda Hobbes, one of the man eaters in Sex and the City.

This debate is utter nonsense brought on by people whose IQ matches their shoe size. Please would someone with some real credibility in Hollywood stand up and tell them to shut up.

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Oh, come on... what happens in Benidorm stays in Benidorm

Why...

When I went on my first solo summer holiday, was the hottest part of the day always after dark? I remember reading that in the 1980’s such was the lure of ‘a quickie in Magaluf’ that over 35% of single people had sex with a stranger within two days of starting a package holiday on the Costa Brava. I suppose if you ground out 50 weeks a year in a damp typing pool in Wigan, some rumpy pumpy in an exotic locale had a very strong appeal. I mean all those hormones, no parents and no prying phone camera from your friends to tell the world what you had been up to. My holiday snaps in the 1970s were taken on the last day to show my Aunt the sea view from my room and the plane I flew home on; taken with a camera loaded with one roll of film with 12 shots (ASA 100 - Remember those). Today’s racy photographs that cover snapchat like acne would never have been developed by my local Boots. Instead I would have found a note inside saying these pictures were unsuitable to print! I can assure you that what I was looking for on those first holidays was not a UNESCO World Heritage Site or a basket weaving co-operative. So I was somewhat staggered to learn that young people on their first solo holidays nowadays seek out exotic locations as opposed to locations where they indulge in something erotic. Cheap and cheerful holidays have been replaced with earnest young people wanting to load up on Instagram a photo of a three toed armadillo or four eared fruit bat. Students and the first time employed apparently now yearn to sample the delights of a warm oil colonic irrigation whilst eating mung beans in an Ashram. Fun seems to be a ten mile trek through some mosquito infested swamp with the reward of a tofu burger and cup of tepid fruit tea, rather than an all-night rave and enough E to fill a giant size bag of M&Ms. The kiss me quick traps of the Baby Boomers and X Generation have suddenly gone quiet. The locals in great swathes of Spain, Italy and Greece are actually nostalgic for the old days of sluicing away the vomit from the night before’s over indulgence or collecting abandoned flip flops, thongs and condoms that once littered the beach in dawn’s early glow. Wolfing down paella with chips followed by binge drinking Raki with Sharon from Skegness has faded from memory like the sepia pictures that hang in the mock rustic tavernas. Now, whilst I am the last person to deny some culture to our youth, where has fun gone? I worry today’s youth are not being misspent.

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It’s not what you do, it’s the way that you do it

August 3, 2018
Entertainment/Media/Arts Fasion Health & Beauty Technology
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Why...

Do I care what pattern kitten heels British PM Theresa May is wearing at the next Brexit battle or that the President of the EU is so plastered he cannot even stand up? Surely it’s the outcome of events that matters, not the window dressing surrounding them... but of course it isn’t. Hats off to the English football team (though how are they 4th in the world when losing three games out of six) but most people associate our World Cup campaign with Manager Gareth Southgate’s waistcoat rather than wasted opportunities in front of a goal. Trump is all about haircuts, wandering hands (admittedly the size of G.I. Joe’s) and being rude/blunt/economic with the facts. All quite amusing and the best news fodder any President has gifted to the press since Washington’s teeth got woodworm. But in the long lens of history all irrelevant, which is a shame. The trouble is far reaching results are not instantaneous and do not fit prime time schedules. We focus on things we can control and in our pre-set time frame. So we obsess on the minutiae of events rather than the bigger picture.

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Twinkle, twinkle, little star How I wonder... ...how the f*#k you got it!

July 20, 2018
Animals/Pets Entertainment/Media/Arts Food & Drink Work
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Why...

Are stars listed for goods and services that mean utter bullsh*t? Let’s start with the supernova of stars, the seven star hotels in the Gulf. According to the Hotel Star Registry, there is no such thing as a seven star hotel. Well guys, I hate to tell you, the Burg al-Arab boasts them. Hard to miss it. It’s the third highest building in the world. The fact no one challenges this self aggrandising nonsense is a clear example of how the rating system is abused globally. Technically I believe the star rating system was started by the Forbes Travel Guide, formerly Mobil Travel Guide, which launched its star rating system in 1958. The AAA and their affiliated bodies use diamonds instead of stars to express hotel and restaurant ratings levels. However, although many countries have legal requirements for star designation, others do not. This makes a mockery of the whole system. A four star hotel in say London or New York is in a different league to one in some islands in Southern Europe or Africa. To qualify to be five star you need to have shops on hand available to buy essentials. However there is nothing to say a vending machine would meet that requirement... and in some countries they do! In China saunas and spas are not a requirement to get five stars but a room to play cards and mahjong is! In Mongolia I assume you need somewhere to tether your Yak whereas in London it’s an underground car park.

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It’s all about service

July 13, 2018
Food & Drink Kids/Family/Relations Life Travel/Nature
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Why...

Do hotels with four or even five stars find the basics of what is expected so hard to deliver? The Porter. When I pull up in a taxi or my car, why is carrying my bags into the hotel a spectator sport? A porter should be there. No excuses. Instead, nearly all hotels are perfectly happy for me to lug cases inside when some spotty teenager dressed like an organ grinder’s monkey then expects a hefty tip as he wheels my bag from reception to the lift. I always enjoy pulling out a note then tearing off a third and saying... “That part is my share of taking these out of the car to reception.” Internet. If I am paying a decent price for a room don’t piss me off asking to pay an additional $25 a day for Internet. It’s grossly expensive and just appalling customer relations. WiFi is now as basic a requirement as electricity, aircon and hot water. I was recently charged for internet and then given a download service of less that 1 MBPS. For those luddites reading this, it means even a simple presentation document takes so long I would need a shave and a haircut by the time it finished downloading. Unless I am actually in Africa, watching BBC News Focus on Africa is as pointless as last year’s football results. If I am in Stockholm I could not give a toss about basket weaving co-ops in Laos, but more likely a terrorist attack in London. BBC, CNN and other news agencies seem to be mostly advertising monologues for third world dictatorships. You just get endless reports from parts of the world that are as relevant to my life as Morris Pole Dancing. If you are a five star hotel with an International clientele shell out the few extra pennies to allow us to watch rolling news (Sky News for the English... and Russia Today for those who like fairy stories before bedtime). Perhaps if I should just thank Reception on check out for such interesting news channels and offer to pay in Matabele gumbo-beads when presented with the bill? Bathroom. As I wrote before (here) I don’t wear glasses in the shower so print shampoo, conditioner and shower gel in big letters and have enough lights around the mirror to let a woman do her make-up. Bedroom. One switch by the bed to turn all the lights out.

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I say, anyone for tennis?

July 7, 2018
Fasion Health & Beauty Food & Drink Politics Sport Technology
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Why...

Have some events managed to stay essentially the same in character whilst others have changed beyond recognition? Wimbledon is in many ways gloriously anachronistic and has stayed resolutely the same since 1877. My late father was on the board and I was immensely lucky to have watched every men’s final from 1969 until his death in 2004. Yes the event is old fashioned but still managed to sneak in the odd dollop of progress. It took till mid 60s before the All English Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club, to give it its official name, allowed professionals to compete. In the 1970s skirts went high and in the 1980s rackets just went high tech. In the 1990s Wimbledon led the way in taking a little pressure out of the balls to stop short serve and volley rallies that threatened to ruin the game... but those two weeks in July are still rooted in Agatha Christie’s England. Pimms Number 1 cup to drink, smoked salmon sandwiches, strawberries & cream to eat, and a fearsome dress code. All men must wear jackets and ties in the members enclosure, trousers are frowned on for women and no one raises their voice (John Mcenroe in his prime, the exception that proved the rule). Even now the men’s and ladies champion pair up at the opening dance at the Gala finale ball. You almost expect to see Maggie Smith as Dowager Lady Grantham complete with lorgnette inspecting the crowds to make sure no riff-raff have gained entry. And yet Wimbledon has survived, even thrived. Unique in the tennis world as a Grand Slam on grass yet with the atmosphere of a smart village fete. It’s not the quaint atmosphere that puzzles me, but why no one else has tried to copy it.

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Do you wanna be in my gang?

June 22, 2018
Finance/Law Food & Drink Life Politics Sex Technology
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Why...

Do we seek solace mixing with people who on joining a group or club revert to stereotype? “I never want to be a member of a club which would let me in,” may be a classic Groucho Marx line and a cliché but for good reason... It’s true. I have been very lucky to have been invited as a guest to several clubs and they break down into the following seven categories. Back to school There are a handful of Gentlemen’s Clubs in London holding a male only policy. They are all in Pall Mall and St. James and distinctly different to other Gentleman's clubs that can only operate by having scantily club members of the opposite sex. The London Gentleman’s club is really just public school (private school in the US) for boys who never grew up and miss nanny. The place runs on old fashioned rules. The Nanny organises the social desk and membership fees but that’s the only woman you will see. You better turn up in a tie, shoes polished, nails clipped and hair brushed. Yes, you can drink, but do not get rowdy. Most of the food is what I call nursery menu. A perfect lunch would be: Windsor soup, Steak and Kidney Pudding, Jam Roly-Poly, & Welsh Rarebit. Conversation through the meal with other members sharing your refectory style table equally as stodgy and bland. This is followed with a port and a snooze reading yesterday’s The Times. These throw-back establishments work on handed down privilege, who you know and how you behave. I am sorry to delude new members who have fought their way up in society through hard work and brains to join but… Old Biffo and Squiffy in the corner still look down on you as nouveau riche; the same way they dismissed Johnny Foreigner as a new boy at Rugby or that boy with the flash watch as parents “working in trade”. Back to Basics Health clubs. No frills. Over sophisticated gym equipment and eye wateringly expensive juices, drinks and rabbit food. Staff preachy and superior with bodies buffed to within an inch of their lives. Off peak these caverns of sweat are filled with the bored and rich. These poor souls have nothing else to do except cheat on their partner and sneak off for plastic surgery to show the results of all the dieting and training they pretend to follow. Peak time it’s just an overcrowded dating agency. Back to the Future The Lovie playroom. Media based haunts are filled with overloud voices recalling their last meeting with Brad and Angelina, how genuine the Spielberg’s are and what a shame about Amy’s drug abuse. Always in slightly seedy parts of town set up by failed media wannabes who see this as their entree into the glitterati. The propeller head equivalent of techy clubs are full of earnest members trying to convince you to invest in some crypto crapto currency or hint they might get you into an angel start up fund with guaranteed returns. “So, you’ve invested yourself,” is a sure-fire way of getting rid of them... and leaving you with absolutely no one to talk to. Pointless. Back to the Wall The exclusive nightclub. Exclusive because there are only so many people willing to spend £10k a year for membership to an overcrowded noisy hell-hole that charges prices that are an insult and a door policy that admits only good-looking people with an IQ quota the same as their shoe size. To make it worse should you be insecure enough to have to order a five litre bottle of vodka or a jeroboam of champagne for £1,000, the staff bring attention to your vulgarity by having sparklers light up the bottles as they bring them to you and alert everyone else in the place who is tonight’s soft touch. If you have to go to one for a night of drug fueled fun, you never want them to have your real name anyway. Always make sure someone else is the member. Back in the saddle The Horsey Club. Filled with overweight florid faced men and woman who bray when they laugh. If you ask for the bridal suite it’s a large room full of saddles, riding crops and Gucci buckles and the last place you’d want to spend your honeymoon. If you can separate the bullshit from real horse manure you might get a good tip on a horse. The Back Nine What can I say about a golf club except I don’t want to join one. Ever. It’s a chance for you to dress up like an extra from a Blaxploitation movie, though ethnic minority representation still remains low. Members may slice their tee shots to the left or right, but politics is invariably to the right. I speak with some experience here when in Myrtle Beach a club member made the mistake of asking me my opinion on abortion. “The obvious answer is it is not really a man’s decision; though if it were men who got pregnant, I suspect termination would be so easy it would come from an ATM machine. “No religion recognises a miscarriage or the trauma that causes. So, until they do they cannot go on about the rights of a foetus.” He pulled a gun on me and called security to eject the “limey liberal pinko”! Back Inside There is a great line in the TV series set in a woman’s prison Orange is the New Black with a character greeting a new inmate saying… “Welcome to the 1950s”. The speaker is not referring to the building or facilities. But to the clubs. The Narco Mexicans stick to one group, The Neo-Nazis another, right down to the Nepalese Horse thieves or Belgian child molesters. Everyone has a group. It’s basic. It’s for protection. So, on that note console yourself that Bernie Madoff is not the wife of some 6’6” ex Cripps member but closely closeted with some other fraudster both cheating at monopoly but a least paying protection money to keep their balls.

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There ain’t no cure for the summertime blues

June 15, 2018
Animals/Pets Fasion Health & Beauty Life Sex Travel/Nature
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Why...

Is the colour of summertime really blue? Well, OK apart from the obvious colour of the sky and the sea. Let’s start with profanity. Yup. The redder the thermometer the bluer the language. It is beyond me how anyone in my youth managed to drive in the heat without air conditioning and not to lob a thermonuclear device into the idiots in front trying to read a road map. Remember those… only men could read them and only women could fold them while doing twenty miles an hour with an indicator that had been blinking for an hour. In London, on the days it gets really hot, a blind person cannot go on the tube. Reason? You cannot transport animals in a temperature over 30c (86f) and the subway regularly reaches 34 (93f). So whilst it was fine to gently poach a commuter, it was illegal for a guide dog to ride the tube! Aircon (again a blue colour) is so critical for comfort. How do London Black Cabs who again have no Aircon, not understand that in the summer they just give ground to Uber?

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In the old days we cooked real food and made our own entertainment

June 8, 2018
Food & Drink Kids/Family/Relations Life Sex
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Why...

Do some people in their sixties plus go all starry-eyed when harking back to the days before the microwave and streamed entertainment?

“When we were young, we played cards,” they moan.

So giving your kid a regular gambling fix is better than subliminal history via Vikings and The Tudors or world class fantasy literature of Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings?

“The family stuck together and entertained each other,” they pontificate, sniffing at Netflix, Amazon, Sky, etc...

“Which is why in some remote regions your husband, your brother, your cousin and your uncle were all the same people,” I reply. This is even an argument to allow easy access of porn to occupy Uncle Ernie rather than him insisting on a game of doctors and nurses with his niece and nephew.

However, I do accept that building a tree house, riding a bike without a helmet, a game of conkers or walking unaccompanied to school did generate a dollop of risk. No one I grew up with got away without a broken limb... if not two.

“And we had such innovative games. So much more involving than just a video screen.” True but...

I remember being given an Atomic Energy Lab from a toy company called Gilbert that had a small sample of polonium and uranium! At seven I had fuel driven planes whose propellers regularly tried to sever my fingertips, steam engine trains with boilers heated by methylated spirits (so you were stoned before your fingers got third degree burns) all jumbled up with catapults and a wicked gun called a Johnny 7. This little darling had seven different missile firing guns each capable or poking out an eye or pissing off the next door neighbour’s cat.

I never wore a seatbelt and quite often steered the car sitting on my father’s lap. (Please note we never had an accident... we saw dozens).

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The Village Idiot has gone global

May 25, 2018
Entertainment/Media/Arts Life Politics Technology
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Why...

Are complete idiots so keen to show the rest of us how stupid they are and why do we lap it up? Now this is not me having a rant and sour grapes. I happily peddle this blog for mainly selfish reasons… I simply enjoy doing it. But honestly who would have believed that a format that is literary in nature would see as the pinnacle of success the scribblings a bunch of self-obsessed wannabees. Originally the internet gave us a lovely set of rose tinted spectacles and we were encouraged to believe the ether would be filled with undiscovered literary titans. China no doubt would produce a dozen Mark Twains, (his little-known book Running for Governor was actually taught to every Chinese kid in school). Instead we got Fang Junping, who is an overnight blogging sensation there… as he explains cosmetics to a population that a few decades ago all wore the same uniform and the only bestseller was Mao’s little red book!

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♫ I hear somethin' sayin'♪ Yumm, Yumm ♫That's the sound of the men eating in the chain ga-a-ang♪

May 17, 2018
Animals/Pets Fasion Health & Beauty Food & Drink Travel/Nature
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Why...

Does anyone bother to be a chef in some parts of the USA? Last month my wife and I went to visit my son in Florida where he teaches people to become Commercial Airline Pilots. Yup, I know the tallest mountain is Thunder Mountain in Disneyworld and in Daytona Beach where my son is working, there is more culture in a yoghurt but… one night we decided to go out for dinner and tried to find a local restaurant. On one three mile stretch of road we counted 51 different food franchise restaurants and spotted only one real bistro where somebody actually cooked a meal rather than follow the franchise instruction manual. This leads to the ludicrous situation where you ask for the teensiest change in a meal and you are met with a blank look from the waitress; “We cannot possibly hold the tomatoes/not use garlic/add extra turmeric… It would take away from the taste experience we have so carefully crafted.” Translation: “We can’t change anything because none of the people in the kitchen can actually cook anything. We just assemble pre-packed gloop and wouldn’t know turmeric if it came up and bit us in the ass.” The exception of course is anything that can get an allergic reaction (and then a law suit) so nuts are kept in separate radioactive bags only to be added to a dish at the last minute using two-foot-long tongs and industrial grade gloves.

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And then they insisted Putin issue a public apology...

Why...

Does everyone think diplomacy is like laundry... to be aired in public? The easiest way to get people to change their minds (excluding attaching parts of their anatomy to a car battery) is not to make it look like they changed it in the first place. Now I am no apologist for some of Russia’s excesses but we equally overstep the mark in what we release in public. There is no public evidence of Russia meddling in the US elections at the request of the Kremlin. I am sure a battalion of James Bonds and Jason Bournes have secret evidence... but isn’t that the point? In public you give Johnnie Foreigner the benefit of the doubt but you stick incontrovertible proof under his nose in private. Yet you still give him a way out publicly as you haven’t painted him into a corner. Note that our Kremlin buddies have been unusually quiet about the Golden Shower allegations swirling around President Trump... the only reason I give the sordid claims any credence!

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I never forget a face... but in your case I’m prepared to make an exception!

Why...

Is it people I really want to forget are always the ones who remember me? If there is one certainty in life, it’s the annoying geek from kindergarten whose teddy bear I punched, the abusive jerk whose girlfriend fell into my arms, or the cross-eyed clown who reversed into my car at the supermarket car park will end up sitting next to me on a marathon airplane journey. They will also be the first to greet me at a wedding line reception. And they ALL remember me. I on the other hand do not possess even a flicker of recollection. Then there is the reverse. Once at a dinner party I was complaining about a recent review from the late TV movie presenter Barry Norman when a lovely blond lady to my left piped up: “Hi, we have not been properly introduced. Emma Norman. Barry is my father.” Cue to a prayer for a hole to open up beneath me to swallow up my elephantine social gaff. As if that was not embarrassing enough, I was at awards dinner two months later with the great man himself sitting opposite me. My wonderful hostess for our table started doing the introductions… “Mark Grenside, this is Barry Norman.” “My daughter sends her regards,” were the only words he addressed to me all evening.

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?Whoa-ooh-oooh... whoa-ooh-ooh...? Every’bunny was Kung-Fuu fighting....?

Why...

It’s Sunday... it’s Easter... it isn’t Easter... it’s April Fools’ day. One of life’s mysteries is how can one religion, Christianity, not agree on the crucial dates of Christmas and Easter? Even with divisions between Shias and Shiites they can all agree on Ramadan... and the whole world agrees on April Fools’ Day, the Olympics and the World Cup, (well except in UAE when their bid for 2022 won... despite their application clearly stating the date in June but they actually meant November). Now the temptation to take advantage of Easter and April Fools’ days falling in tandem is simply overwhelming. I have six guests coming to stay and empty my wine cellar but on Easter morning I shall make everyone paint the shell of a hard boiled egg at breakfast. “Right close your eyes and I will go hide them in the garden. Whoever finds his or hers first gets a free lunch at one of Malta’s finest restaurants, the last one pays the wine bill. If you don’t find the egg at all, then no lunch.” I will of course throw the eggs over the wall into the sea. My friends will hunt high and low in 25 degree heat for about two hours before I will yell out from the car driving en route to the restaurant booked for lunch.... “No eggs. April Fool.”

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Wear a tie if you want to be taken seriously

Why...

Don’t people understand that a business suit is just 21st Century armour? It’s meant to be intimidating. It’s expensive, often handmade and bloody uncomfortable. This is something that is close to home for me. I’m actually allergic to wool, so when I dress up in a suit and tie I itch like a flea infested baboon rolling in a nettle-bed but my dear business partners explain that’s a small price to pay for some financial or legal glory. Some folks might think it’s bangin’ to turn up to a meeting with Bankers or Lawyers in Nike Louis Vuitton sneakers ($2,500) and a Dolce and Gabana t-shirt ($1,300), but all you’ll be banging is your head on a brick wall. There are rules and regs in life and these include costumes. Run against that and you simply put yourself at a disadvantage. And if you think dressing like a walking advertising slogan makes a statement… it’s that you are a gullible twat!

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Funk me, Mark Zuckerburg wants to put me on the naughty step coz I talk like a sailor

Why...

Has swearing become the big no-no on Facebook... as opposed to: how to build a nuclear bomb on a rainy afternoon, five different ways to slice and dice a noisy next door neighbour or learn to shish-kebab the infidel in ten easy steps? I understand that algorithms are being introduced as electronic bleepers to cull blogger’s profanity. Therefore this might be my last blog for a while as I dial down my language. So what happens to my friends on Fanny Hands Lane in Scunthorpe or Butt Hill road in Penistone who are ornithologists and want to discuss the mating habits of a blue tit, a skiddy-cock, nicker-pecker, boobyalla or assapanick? Will the marine biologist from Cockermouth in Cumbria and their aholehole and bummalo fishes be banished from showing pictures or the insect lovers and their cute six legged cockchafers have their accounts closed? No more stories from holiday-makers out to catch a dik-dik (a small antilope) or out for a sail with a fuksheet (foresail). Clearly one man’s passion is Facebook’s poison.

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And they all lived happily ever after

Why...

Do we think that nations with opposite views will eventually all become lovey dovey? The fact that North and South Korea are competing in the snowman building competition at the Olympics or that the British and our continental friends like a sing-song event called the Eurovision Song Contest does not mean for one moment all is platonic. The UK has had a very jaundiced view about foreigners ever since 10,000 BC, when the British Isles uncoupled itself from France due to tectonic shifts and became an island fortress. “If God had wanted us to be European, we would not take baths but showers nor eat food that has gone off and whose rotten taste is covered up in fancy sauces,” say many limeys. However despite this feeling of self righteous ‘differentness’, every high street in the UK looks the same as they are all franchises from multi-national brands, whereas in most of rural Europe individuality at retail level rules supreme. Go figure. The rift between North and South Korea is but a blink of an eye in the history of our times but looks to run as long as the all time Box Office Champ of dispute between the Jews and other Arab nations.

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Nice outfit. Where do you keep the fire extinguisher?

Why...

Your call is important to us... because we are charging you suckers $1 a minute to wait till we bother to answer

Why...

Old Mother Hubbard

Why...

Casting call for Aliens in next Star Wars movie. Only real Aliens need apply!

Why...

Oh, come on... what happens in Benidorm stays in Benidorm

Why...

It’s not what you do, it’s the way that you do it

Why...

Twinkle, twinkle, little star How I wonder... ...how the f*#k you got it!

Why...

It’s all about service

Why...

I say, anyone for tennis?

Why...

Do you wanna be in my gang?

Why...

There ain’t no cure for the summertime blues

Why...

In the old days we cooked real food and made our own entertainment

Why...

The Village Idiot has gone global

Why...

♫ I hear somethin' sayin'♪ Yumm, Yumm ♫That's the sound of the men eating in the chain ga-a-ang♪

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And then they insisted Putin issue a public apology...

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I never forget a face... but in your case I’m prepared to make an exception!

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?Whoa-ooh-oooh... whoa-ooh-ooh...? Every’bunny was Kung-Fuu fighting....?

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Wear a tie if you want to be taken seriously

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Funk me, Mark Zuckerburg wants to put me on the naughty step coz I talk like a sailor

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And they all lived happily ever after

Why...