Against a more newsworthy day’s backdrop of the biggest strikes in 30 years and my own Senior Lecturer – a former journalist at the News of the World – being arrested in connection with the Leveson phonehacking enquiry (later bailed until March), I have a deadline. I should’ve written this a week ago but I’m shit and lazy and I think I might be losing it, again.
All we had to do was prepare a three minute talk on one of the subjects discussed in the above episode of Question Time. There were plenty to choose from:
The one million 16-24 year olds that are now unemployed. (Make ’em join the armed services, teach ’em some farkin discipline. The conscientious objectors can look after the old, infirm and disabled – at gunpoint, so they behave.)
Bankers tax? (£700 Billion bail out? By my drunken maths that’s £10K for every man woman and child in the UK. We could’ve bought Greece for that AND cut our carbon emissions by never flying home from holiday.)
As the strongest economy, Germany is able to dictate policy to us. (It’s better this way – remember what happened the last time the Reichstag burnt?)
My Mother once said to me, “You can go to Australia on your own but you can’t go down the corner shop.”
I find that succinct in a way no GP, shrink or bar-room confidant as yet has managed.
I can’t seem to get out of this slump but the show goes on around me so rather than hide in Hyrule or Modern Warfare or – God forbid – an actual book, I gave it my best today. This morning began at 7am and saw me presenting my second solo radio show for ClickTeesside – ‘Your Campus Radio.’ Continue reading God is in the Radio→
“In 2010 the world emitted 30.6 gigatonnes of carbon dioxide. If you want to know how big 30.6 gigatonnes is, look at your children and imagine them dying from skin cancer and lack of water, and then stop asking stupid questions and just do your fucking recycling.”
– Frankie Boyle, Work! Consume! Die!
I’ve spent the majority of my adult life living abroad, and for the most part I found it more bearable than not doing so; but if history has taught us anything it is that all foreigners are little more than vile savages before a fear of the Christian Lord and a good command of the Queen’s is raped into them.
One thing that some of them do seem a hell of a lot better than us at though is recycling; from India’s slums to the supermarkets of Denmark, it is understood that there is money in ‘waste’, be it sorting through what others throw away or collecting the deposit on all the dog-end filled empty bottles littering your apartment after a party. Continue reading Our Rock is an Alcoholic and We are Happy-Hour. Part Two→
The August 2011 riots of England and Wales were perpetrated by mindless thugs hell-bent on violent assault, the destruction of property and opportunistic theft.
The terror and anarchy that spread from the capital to other UK cities may have started as a peaceful protest against the fatal shooting of 29-year old drug-dealer Mark Duggan but quickly spiralled into chaos, fuelled by criminal avarice.
The reason and the message of that protest was lost the minute the first missile was thrown. This violence was not triggered by public unrest nor is it our melting-pot boiling over. This is not our Arab Spring nor should parallels be drawn with the civil unrest of the Thatcher era. Continue reading Insurrection Lite→
My shower is an idiot. There are two in the house but they are identical and I choose the one with ventilation because I value being able to both breath and see when I am in a confined space.
On the road I’ve gone weeks without a proper wash; I’ve also nearly drowned a couple of times. This isn’t about such severe ends of the bathing spectrum but more to do with an apparatus that was invented by a person and constructed by another; about the methods of its operation which I assume must have had a certain degree of reasoning behind. Continue reading Our Rock is an Alcoholic and We are Happy-Hour. Part One→
I’m pretty sure the people I live with think I’m a bit of a freak. Notwithstanding my forgotten but undoubtedly questionable conduct when drunk, I have shown to have in my possession an amount of kitchen equipment that would seem to rival all but the most thorough of small rural restaurants; and yet I haven’t cooked once.
I’ve been here nine days or so yet I haven’t cooked once. There’s a reason why – a mighty, engorged, sweating mass ten inches above where I would want adjectives like that used. Yep, I’m a fat bastard. A condition I wouldn’t say has exactly crept up on me but nor have I attempted any form of escape. I’m one of those guys where the fat sits hard on the belly and the arse, if I was a dead president’s head in a jar, 1000 years from now, I reckon I’d get on alright with the ladies. Nervous twitch n’all. Continue reading Living Tasted Better Than Healthy Felt→