I didn't quite catch that...

In the news today: The Beautiful South split.

The shocking confession: this fills me with sadness.

I quite like ‘em. One of my favourite songs to sing along to while intoxicated is Woman in the Wall. Don’t Marry Her gets massive thumbs up for shocking honesty. Perfect Ten makes me laugh. And Rotterdam had a great video.

They were never the coolest band in the world, and cutting edge would be one stunning way of not describing them. But they were one of the ones I liked.

And now they’re gone.

Boo hiss to that, sez I.

/ wanders off, muttering

He was just a social drinker but social every night
He enjoyed a pint or two or three or four
She was just a silent thinker, silent every night
Hed enjoy the thought of killing her before

Well he was very rarely drunk but very rarely sober
And he didnt think the problem was his drink
But he only knew his problem when he knocked her over
And when the rotting flesh began to stink

Cry freedom for the woman in the wall
Cry freedom for she has no voice at all
I hear her cry all day, all night
I hear her voice from deep within the wall
Made a cross from knitting needles
Made a grave from hoover bags
Especially for the woman in the wall

Shed knitted him a jumper with dominoes on
So he wore it everyday in every week
Pretended to himself that she hadnt really gone
Pretended that he thought he beard her speak

Then at last it seemed that he was really winning
He felt that he had some sort of grip
But all of his new life was sent a-spinning
When the rotting wall began to drip

So, how is it that 3 doormen can turn up to a bar, get quite drunk, enter the pub quiz that was on, and end up in third, just behind various people who turned up and took it very seriously.

This is quite annoying. a) because it would be have been very satisfying to beat those who took it seriously and b) because it’s a better result than I’d normall get if I took it seriously.

But, hey, I got free beer out of it. Even if it was Corona, which is only technically a beer.

Found at A day in the life of a terrible mother:

You’re supposed to add up the dollar amount to see what would you owe in fines for those bad teenage things you do. (Or your late twenties, after a seperation, depending on who you are.) Each one only counts once, no matter how many times you participated in a particular infraction and you don’t have to say which ones you did.

* Smoked pot — $10
* Did acid — $5
* Ever had sex at church — $25
* Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you — $40
* Had sex with someone on MySpace — $25
* Had sex for money — $100
* Vandalized something — $20
* Had sex on your parents’ bed — $10
* Beat up someone — $20
* Been jumped — $10
* Crossed dressed — $10
* Given money to stripper — $25
* Been in love with a stripper — $20
* Kissed some one who’s name you didn’t know — $0.10
* Hit on some one of the same sex while at work — $15
* Ever drive drunk — $20
* Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk — $50
* Used toys while having sex — $30
* Got drunk, passed out and don’t remember the night before — $20
* Went skinny dipping — $5
* Had sex in a pool — $20
* Kissed someone of the same sex — $10
* Had sex with someone of the same sex — $20
* Cheated on your significant other — $10
* Masturbated — $10
* Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend — $20
* Done oral — $5
* Got oral — $5
* Done / got oral in a car while it was moving — $25
* Stole something — $10
* Had sex with someone in jail — $25
* Made a nasty home video — $15
* Had a threesome — $50
* Had sex in the wild — $20
* Been in the same room while someone was having sex — $25
* Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars — $20
* Had sex with someone 10 years older — $20
* Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 — $25
* Been in love with two people or more at the same time — $50
* Said you love someone but didn’t mean it — $25
* Went streaking — $5
* Went streaking in broad daylight — $15
* Been arrested — $5
* Spent time in jail — $15
* Peed in the pool — $0.50
* Played spin the bottle — $5
* Done something you regret — $20
* Had sex with your best friend — $20
* Had sex with someone you work with at work — $25
* Had anal sex — $80
* Lied to your mate — $5
* Lied to your mate about the sex being good — $25

I got a trifling $325.10 fine. Which isn’t too bad.

However, if they were going to start counting instances of each, I’d go broke very very quickly. I mean, there’s $70 worth of drink related fines that would be multiplied many, many times…

In the birthday post, I listed a load of statistics that mean nothing to people who aren’t me.

But I left one equally unimportant stat off: the number of spam stopped by Akismet in the six months since I started using it: 13,256.

Which is a lot.

A random selection of some spam comments that have arrived recently:

• I love it. So what did I say the other da… oh. Yeah. Did I say that? Such a shame one couldn not do that for our brains. A replay button? Nah.
• Superb! (I wrote something else and then I read below that I aint supposed ter. So I deleted it.)
• dude. awesome.

Are teh spambots getting more intelligent, or did they just happen upon a blog where quite a few of the comment’s read exactly like that?

Oh, lookee, it was 4 years ago yesterday that I started this blog.

Since then there have been 3,337 posts, 4,554 comments and 519,278 words.

There have been four salient points, two well thought out posts, several thousand instances of insults being dispensed and many hundreds comparisons of leading Labour politicians to pieces of anatomy.

Sitemeter says that I have received 59,660 visits, although I’m sure that 50,000 of them were me.

I have spawned somewhere in the region of zero blog offspring, but that’s OK because I couldn’t afford to school any.

I’ve used two different content management systems, and am on my second domain. I’ve uploaded 13 different themes that I can switch between depending on how daft I want the page to look.

Over the years, I deleted about half a dozen posts that I’d written under the influence of alcohol (and thusly made no sense whatsoever) and corrected hundreds of typos caused by my high-speed-low-accuracy method of typing. Some of these were noticed and highlighted by unkind pedants, but since I’m an unkind pedant to others, I probably shouldn’t complain too much.

Through the site, I’ve met several very cool people, and Nelly, who is beyond cool. If this was Top Gear, they’d have to move the DB9 out of the fridge and put the Garden in there. I have – thus far – managed to avoid meeting and of the twats who apparently populate teh interweb, unless you count some of those interesting conversations with myself.

Most of all, though, I’ve had a laugh, and I’ve gotten a lot of bad juju out of me by putting it into sweary rants here. So I think I’ll keep it going, if that’s alright.

Obvious note: I should have realised this yesterday and posted it then. But I’m an idiot, so I didn’t.

According to the BBC, people are leaving behind their evil larger-loutish ways, and are moving towards drinking low alcohol lager instead of the tastier, stronger brands.

Yeah, right. That’s been said before, and I remember exactly how well Kaliber sold round these here parts.

But the point of this post is not that I have anything meaningful to say about the story, it’s that it (and conversations over the weekend) have made me think about my changing habits.

For many, many years, my beer of choice has been Stella. Sure, the hangover can be a killer, but the taste was always much better than the rest of the stuff on tap. If there wasn’t Stella, I’d go for Carling, because I actually really liked the taste.

Recently, however, I’ve been moving away from these. Oh, I’ll still enjoy them; I still have cans of them waiting to be drunk. And I’m not going to go all CAMRA-ish. But while I used to walk into a bar and say “Oh, they have Stella, I’ll have that”, now I’ll walk in and say “I’ve not heard of that one, a pint of it please barkeep”. Without the barkeep bit, because if that was said I’m sure that the pint would contain more biologicals than I’d be comfortable with.

Over recent weeks, this has led to many fine experiences, and only a couple of bad ones. I didn’t particularly like the St Patrick’s Ale, but the Legbiter from the same brewery was excellent. There was a bit of a nasty experience in an Italian on Breckenridge’s Main St, but the micro-brewery down the road more than made up for it. The Canuck bar in Covent Garden has a surprisingly drinkable “light brown honey lager”; the cheap Chinese bottled stuff in the Mongolial BBQ place across the road was a pleasant one. And the dodgy bar in the redeveloped domestic lounge in Heathrow had Erdinger on tap.

Of course, the limiting factor with these drinks is not how much you can manage to fit down your throat in a session; nor is it the time constraints on your visit to the establishment. No, it’s how many body parts you’re willing to sacrifice in persuit of them. At the minute, I’d happily donate a couple of minor organs to medical science if Erdinger would see fit to supply me with a few cases of the Schneeweiße; the honey lager would, I’m afraid, have to be drunk in small quantities because it’s not quite good enough for me to consider giving up my gall bladder for.

But, anway. It’s a new and interesting way of doing things. Long may it continue.

And seriously, Erdinger, get your people to call my people. I’m sure a mutually benefical agreement can be worked out.

I’m concerned about my carbon footprint.

So far this year, I’ve flown some 10,054 miles. This has resulted in around 4.5 tonnes of CO₂ being dropped onto the world.

This, I’m sure you agree, just isn’t Good Enough. There must, and shall be, more.

So, today I’m heading to London for a couple of quiet drinks, which should bring me up to 5 tonnes. Not a bad total for the first month of the year, I’m sure you agree.

Also, for you to discuss amongst yourselves: aren’t Air Miles great?

Should I Get a Dog or Have a Child?

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… and they called it The Independent.*

Or, How to be two contrary things at the same time

I was listening to a bit of the Anita Anand show last night, and there was a bit of a discussion about the latest government brainfart about immigration. Part of their plan is to introduce compulsary biometric ID cards for all immigrants. Obviously, and I cannot stress this enough, this particular step would be A VERY BAD THING.

On the show was Phil Booth, of No2ID, against the proposal; a fella who was moderately in favour; and a woman strongly in favour (and against all immigration).

There was a bit of discussion, as you tend to get on such shows. Mr Booth’s points (about the big brother state, and how it wouldn’t just be the low wage migrants would would be deterred, but also the doctors and nurses who keep the NHS afloat; the stockbrokers who add a noticeable amount to GDP when they take a job in The City; the scientists who produce very important research at British companies and universities, etc etc etc, and how it would all be a backdoor to get compulsary ID for everyone) were all very good. As were some of the other guy’s points, about the shambles that is the current immigration system. And Anita herself had a good few things to say that made sense.

But the other woman (whose name I didn’t get) did not have any good points; she was against all immigration, and strongly in favour of fingerprinting all foreign nationals. And all of us as well; ID cards all roung would be a ‘great thing’, apparently.

So, that is the one thing that yer wan is; strongly in favour of a massive state ID scheme, which would mean that nobody has anywhere to hid anything**.

The other thing she is was shown on the next discussion, where she was shown as being in favour of some people not paying their car tax, on the grounds that, if they can’t afford the tax, they can choose to not obey the law and take their chances.

Where is the logical disconnect in those two view points? Well, they’re mutually exclusive. You cannot support a database scheme that takes away places to hide, and then encourage people to hide.

So she is fully in support of the one thing, and the other thing that is made impossible by the first. Thusly, she is inducted to the category of “Fuckwittery”, with all the ranks and privileges associated with it.

Namely the responsibility to shut the fuck up and let the grown ups make the decisions…

–
* – Credit to I’m Sorry I haven’t a clue

** – Que the “if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear” quote; I accuse you of being a boring bastard who should get out more if you honestly have nothing to hide.

A man was found drowned at his breakfast table, with his head buried in a bowl of muesi.
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Now, before anyone starts accusing me of anti-wimmen-ism, I should say this: some of my closest friends are wimmen. Hell, quite a few of my family are.

So, there’s the fig leaf I’ll hide behind while I say this: some wimmen do have appalling taste, don’t they?

Gordon Brown, sometimes described as dour and sombre, has made it into a list of the world’s 100 sexiest men.

The chancellor’s serious demeanour appears to have struck a chord with readers of NW (New Woman) magazine, who voted him in at number 97.

Sure, he may be running the country into the ground; sure, he may be the biggest statist since Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov; sure, he may be about to get the reins handed to him without any form of democratic oversight. But he’s seen as a bit of alright, so that’ll be fine then.

The Sweary Lady has a totally non-controversial view on why young Bertie Ahern gets away with being on the take: he’s seen as a ‘cute hoor’; the auld biddies of the land feel sorry for him, and just want all those nasty people to stop delving into the ancient past. Like when he was getting brown envelopes…

And, to put the evil icing on the bad taste cake, they put Take That on top of the charts.

Wimmen of the world: what is your defence?

Now, before anyone starts accusing me of anti-doctor-ism, I should say this: some of my closest friends are doctors. Hell, quite a few of my family are.

So, there’s the fig leaf I’ll hide behind while I say this: some doctors do get quoted talking a lot of shite, don’t they?

Anytime there’s a campaign to introduce more state intrusion into our lives, there’s a BMA spokesman saying “it’s for the children”; anytime someone wants to decide what I should eat, there’s a generic consultant saying that, if only we’d restrict our diet to muesli and berries, nobody would die ever; and whenever anything comes along that looks like fun, there’ll be someone from A&E denouncing it as the end of civilization.

It is, of course, not that doctors have a higher percentage of nutjobs than any other percentage. It’s just that we (as society) have raised the status of doctors immensely. Then, once a year or so, we tend to try and bring them down with complaints about god complexes.

The upshot is simple: when a doctor, in their official capacity, says something a tad silly, it is taken much more seriously than if plain ol’ you or me said it.

Example: this story:

An accident and emergency consultant has warned of the dangers of the kids’ footwear craze Heelys.

Almost a dozen children have turned up with injuries at a Belfast hospital after falling while using the trainers, which have wheels in the heel.

(This is probably the same message that was put out about skateboards when they first arrived, and trampolines, rollerblades, roller skates, bicycles, bipedal motion and probably crawling; anyway, 12 injuries out of a population of half a million that use Belfast hospitals isn’t an awful lot)

This was front page news on the BBC. Whereas my offical position (as stated on many occasions, just not on the blog) has received exactly no coverage.

For the sake of completeness, I should probably lay out my position on said devices:

If people want to go about looking like tossers and falling over a lot, why the hell shouldn’t they. But be warned, once I’m Supreme Overlord there will be changes. Namely I will have a remote control that will lock the wheels of any set of Heelys I want to stop. Quick stop and a sudden drop, that’s what’ll happen if any more of you feckers try to know me down again…

There may have been drink taken when this position was first formulated, but I’m not sure…

Tim Westwood amuses me; the reasons why should be obvious.

One reason would be clips like this.

And you’re gonna DIE!

Question: are we supposed to take him seriously?

1. Two words regarding the Battlestar Pegasus in battle:

   AWE-SOME.

2. Three words regarding the early battle manoeuvre by the Battlestar Galactica in Exodus Part II:

   AWE-FUCKING-SOME

I’m sure I’ve mentioned that Battlestar Galactica, the new series, rocks hard. I know that others have…

This article has gone and broken some very bad news to me.

I am soon to die. Apparently.

Being cynical can increase the risk of heart disease, US researchers claim.

A study of 6,814 people found that cynical distrust was associated with signs of inflammation which in turn increase the risk of heart disease.

Cynical? Luckily, that is not a word that could ever be applied to me. Honest.
Realistic, maybe. Liable to realise that the worst case is the most likely, probably.

Oh dear.

International aid is often considered to be a guide to how ‘developed’ a nation is. No country can claim to be truly civilized unless they give away a little of their hard earned wealth to another, less developed nation.

Obviously, to prove their worth, the donor nation tends to hype their donations. Hell, what’s the point in doing good if the international equivalent of Mrs Jones at number 27 doesn’t know all about it.

So you get headlines like “Developed nation gives £800m to third world neighbour”. Which really should have been plastered all over this:

The Irish Republic is for the first time to spend money on Northern Ireland’s infrastructure.

The Irish government’s National Development Plan for 2007-2013 will be published later.
…
About 1.2 billion euro of that 180 billion euro will head north. That is about £800m and is roughly 7% of the total spend.

It is expected that some of this money will, inevitably, go on cross border initiatives. But some will go on other things that need it badly: the road network in the west of the province, and some of the health service in border areas*.

And I for one welcome our new Celtic Tiger overlords. I’d like to remind them that as a trusted blog personality, I can be helpful in rounding up others to toil in their underground sugar caves.

–
* – turn about being fair play, I suppose, considering how many people from t’other side of the border who get NHS treatment…

Well done, you daft, crusty, misled hippy.

I don’t agree with the reason for your fight, but by God I agree with the fight itself.

Anti-war protester Brian Haw has won his latest legal battle to maintain his demonstration in Parliament Square.

Police claimed Mr Haw, 57, from Redditch, Worcestershire, posed a threat as terrorists could hide bombs under his many banners and placards.

Basically, the man is the main reason for the hideous law that the government brought in a while back, banning unapproved protests within a certain area, namely the seat of government. Because it’s just so damned inconvenient for politicians to sit, discussing which of our liberties they’re removing today, while some soap-dodger sits quietly with a couple of placards calling them the twats that they are.

But, as is generally the case, the law was rushed through, un-thought out, and is so full of loopholes that Minnie Driver could get her grin through it without much effort. First there was the realisation that the law couldn’t be made retroactive, so Mr Haw’s protest was exempt from the law put in place to ban it. Then you get the plainly ridiculous claim that his stall will be used to hide a terrorist device, when anyone with half a brain could see a dozen more effective ways of hitting the place than planting a backpack behind some cardboard.

The score now stands at: Stupid Statists 0 : 2 Brian Haw

You know, if only he’d picked an issue like civil liberties to make his civil liberties related stand about, then it would be the perfect protest. Missed opportunities.

Can you see what’s missing from this article?

The hit comedy [Father Ted, obviously] spawned a string of catchphrases and launched the careers of simple-minded priest Ardal O’Hanlon as Father Dougal, manic housekeeper Pauline McGlynn and veteran actor Frank Kelly who won over younger audiences as an alcoholic lay-about who randomly shouted: “Drink! Feck! Girls!”

BBC, please repeat after me: “Drink! Feck! Arse! Girls!”

I know, it’s a naughty, grown-up word word. But you’re disrespecting the memory of a fine show by misquoting it.

Speaking of naughty, grown-up words…
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