Germans and toilets

"When your arse makes the noise, your heart feels good."

Bavarian proverb
Told to me in a toilet in a Berlin bar at 6 in the morning.

In the interest of political discussion

John Prescott should be PM. Remember when the lout punched an oaf? That brought politics to the people.



Condom-tax policy is as racy as Gordon Brown gets. Could someone poke me with a stick when he does one of the following?

1) shoots a lawyer,
2) punches a farmer
3) has some clown set fire to the seat of his trousers, screeches like a chimp, runs about in a blind panic and puts the flames out by bouncing on his arse. This happened to a friend and I laughed like a drain.

Mick Hucknall: pop genius or twat?

Click on this unbiased link and judge for yourself: T.W.A.T.

Lawyers: hunt them with dogs?

Harry Hutton's really got his teeth into this Cheney hullabaloo.

But I see a deeper story. I find myself wondering, what is the most humane way to cull the lawyer population? For cull them, we must.

I'm not convinced that shot-guns are the right tool - as the veep has demonstrated. However much you recognise the need to control the population, no right-thinking human being can look upon one of God's creatures, once so magnificent in its pin-striped plumage, squirming, writhing, yelping like a pup, shaking buckshot from it's snout.

I am told, by a greater-tweeded lawyer (no less), that hunting with dogs is a more humane approach. At least that way the poor mite gets torn limb from limb in a matter of seconds.

Or, now that we've taken a step down the road to sport, perhaps we should allow these proud beasts one last hour of glory. Perhaps we should put them in a ring and have them taunted by a fairy in buttock-hugging, gold-lamé trousers. That would be the Spanish, and to my mind the best, approach.

The mysterious case of the black sock

A most odd thing happened this weekend past. My doorbell cruelly chirruped at Saturday's hangover. Answering the door I was confronted by Esperanza - an old lady in her eighties who lives across the stairs - and Pilar - an "inqusitive" neighbour from downstairs. They asked if I'd lost a black sock. No, not so far as I'm aware, said I. I must confess I haven't checked recently but I'm fairly sure I have the full set. Why do ask?

Well, last night Pilar heard a terrible crash and a bang at about 2am and Esperanza woke this morning to find her purse missing, footprints on the windowsill and a black, gentleman's sock on the floor of her living room!

It seems someone climbed the stairs to the third floor, took to the window, stepped onto Esperanza's window ledge, climbed in, robbed her purse and left a sock.

The odd thing is, during my first encounter with Pilar, the downstairs neighbour, she offered me a single black sock as a settling in present.

There's more to this than meets the eye.

UPDATE: unloading a white wash at the weekend - a white wash which I personally loaded, item by item - I found single, black sock. I shiver tickled my spine. Like a coward, I hung it up to dry inside the house. This will come back to haunt me.

Cut and thrust in a gastro-pub in London

"Two halves of Star please."
"You from The Cock?"
"Yeah" smiles
"Chef there aint'cha?"
"Yeah"
"Wanna leave?"
"Why?"
"We sacked our chef last night..."

Welcome to England, have a nice day (II)

Tall guy; big, wide, tall guy. Stack of snow-white hair. Belly lunges precariously over his trousers. Shambolic English academic. Looks like his pieces - head, arms, hair - were tossed in the shed and, over time, rusted together in a more-or-less human shape. Stands stock-still. Rummages in a shoulder bag (fabric, stuffed full of papers, may contain a laptop).

As I pass he mutters, sotto voce, "Gis' a kiss darlin'"

Hampstead Heath

Welcome to England, have a nice day (I)

Large, white rooms. Wide, long, low ceilings. The wide width and long length intimidate the human occupant. He suffers a creepy, creeping feeling. Not noticeable at first. The subject is crushed by the low ceiling. Without knowing, he is at his most vulnerable.

The low hum of machinery. An shrill warning siren. Old people ferried by a buggy: the kind you'd find in the lair of a down-on-his-luck Bond villain. Driver: glum, overweight, older than his mid-fifties deserve. Beard: muddy white. Eyes: disfigured by glasses. A Santa hat clings to his skull like a popped balloon.

Gatwick Airport

Blind fury

At Madrid airport, boarding calls are not announced over the PA system; instead passengers must check the information screens regulalarly. Roughly every ten minutes, this policy is announced over the PA system. There are fewer furious blind people than might be expected.

Bush, Blair declare war on explosions

Following the explosion which rocked Luton early Sunday morning George W. Bush and Tony W Blair have openly declared war on explosions, the "scourge of the modern age" as one commentator put it.

Mr Blair took the opportunity of a pre-arranged speech to the Scarborough Women's Institute to emphasise the solid stance of America and Britain in the war against explosionists.

"We are bound together as never before. And this coming together provides us with unprecedented opportunity but also makes us uniquely vulnerable," he said to a packed audience.

"And the threat comes because in another part of our globe there is shadow and darkness, where not all the world is free, where many millions suffer under brutal bangs, and where a fanatical strain of religious explosionism has arisen. We have to tackle this at every level."

In a bold speech to Congress earlier today, Mr Bush declared, "America and our friends and allies join with all those who want peace and security in the world, and we stand together to win the war against explosions. Our war on explosions begins with Luton, but it does not end there. It will not end until every explosion-doer has been found, stopped and defeated."

The Pentagon today began distributing Top Trumps cards of the world's biggest explosions to help win the hearts and minds of the man on the street in the new campaign. An interactive list of the biggest explosions in the world compiled by our team of keen-as-mustard, eighteen-year-old experts in the proliferation of world explosionism can be found here.

As Jesus is my butcher

1 - a young man at the counter

"No not that bit, can you cut it from another piece?"
Jesus: "What are you talking about?"
"That bit's too fatty, can you find me a piece with less fat"
Jesus: "The fat's good for you."
"I don't want it"
Jesus: "...gives it flavour"
"Just cut it from another piece."
Jesus: Sighs

2 - a mother shops for her family

"Whoah, stop there,"
Jesus: "What?"
"Stop there, that's fine."
Jesus: "What?"
"That's fine, we'll never eat all that"
Jesus: "You will"
"We won't"
Jesus: "You will"
[warning tone] "Jesus..."
Jesus[shakes head]: "O-kay"

These were two conversations overheard at my butcher's, who is called Jesus. This is not so odd in Spain (in fact, I once met a man called Jesus Maria El Salvador - "the saviour" - who'd been born on 25 December).

The vegetable shop round the corner is called Hermanos Polla, which means "Cock Brothers". It's one thing to be called Mr Cock: quite another to go into business with your brother and use the family name.

Saddam: hanging's too good for him

What a blighter! Fancy turning up to court without a tie! They're better off without a slob like that. No wonder he won't show his face today; embarrassed no doubt.

Probably the kind of yahoo that would light a cigar before coffee.

Romantic gift

Not sure what to give that special lady in your life?

Buy her a false eye and when you give it to her say, "In case someone steals the diamonds in your eye and...like...y'know...you wouldn't be able to see so...er...I got yer...geddit?"

Putty in your hands, my brothers.

Best goes West

So George Best has finally karked it. The Best death of all time?


I can't help seeing it as ironic that Georgie's last hours came just as England's drinkers were granted a few more
hours in the pub.

Alanis Morisette, if you're reading this blog, THAT's irony. All that stuff in that naked song of yours missed the mark.

In the interests of transparency, I should declare an interest. George Best looked like my Dad.

Rioting in France - what did I tell you?

What did I say? Hmmm? All that bally-hoo over how the Americans can´t organise themselves out of a flooded bayou and how it wouldn´t happen in Europe because we´re different and whaddaya know? A couple of weeks later all of France is up in flames.

And before any smart arse pipes up with "ah but that´s different, that´s the French, they´ve never won anything," well it wasn´t so very long ago that northern England was aflame with racial rioting and only just over 25 years ago Spain was a dictatorship.

So it does happen here. Less of the gloating please.

I refer the assembled self-righteous to my previous blog: click.

...and anyone who points out that maybe, just maybe, this post is a little self-righteous, I point you to the title of this blog.

I´m living the brand.

I cannae change the laws of physics captain

Poor old Scotty. He wanted his ashes spread across the final frontier but the spaceship's knackered.

Fix the warp nacelles and get warp 3 in less than three minutes or they´d all be dead! Alas, the energiser was bypassed like a christmas tree. In life, as in death, he couldnae change the laws of physics.

security guards and foreign exchange

I've made good friends with the security guard at work. He's a nice fellow, looks like Steven Segal's dad. He collects coins and has a thing for pound coins so whenever I go back to the UK I bring him one. Anyway, one morning we were discussing the pros and cons of sporting a leek on your coin of the realm and he explained how expensive they are:

"They're not cheap you know."

"Really?"

"Oh no, I mean how much is a pound in euros?"

"About 1.50, give or take"

"Well, there you go you see. I paid 2.50 for this one."

I let out an impressed whistle.

This is surely China's century

When the International Olympic Committee makes synchronised yogic flying an official sport, China will be ready and waiting.



That the same can't be said of our once-Great Britain speaks volumes.

Kindly old gent pooh-poohs world-domination rumours

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/4290944.stm

Not the leader of a shadowy organistion that rules the world

Katrina cause: lesbians, jazz or Japanese?

Pat Roberts was meanly misquoted by Hollywood Dateline as blaming Hurricane Katrina on famous lesbian, Ellen Degeneres. link to slanderous, degenerate commies


That would be silly. The punishment for lesbianism is earthquakes, as every good Christian should know. And Hurricane Katrina was all about sinful jazz music.
link to grovelling apology from slanderous, degenerate commies



I pray you, brethren, do not so wickedly.



He's angry with the jazz, not the lesbians.



Pat Robertson reveals controversial plans to wash his feet in the blood of the wicked.


Rug-munchers! Suffer thy shame.


Scientists think talk of Godly vengeance for jazz is bunkum. According to one clear-thinking and rational egg-head, Katrina was caused by Japanese gangsters annoyed by Hiroshima and hoping to clean up on the futures markets. Click here to know the truth about Katrina.



...and more from the world of science:

"Patrick Leman of Royal Holloway, a college of the University of London, has presented the results of his research into conspiracy theories to the annual meeting of the British Psychological Society, which was held last week in Bournemouth. He thinks the reason people believe in conspiracy theories is that humans have an innate tendency to try to link major events with major causes.

To test this idea Dr Leman presented 64 students with clippings of articles that looked as though they had been taken from a newspaper. In fact, the articles had been made up. They were about the president of a fictional country, and they came in four versions, of which each student saw but one. In the first version, the president was shot and killed. In the second, he was shot but survived. In the third, the shot missed, but he died shortly afterwards from an unrelated cause. In the fourth, the shot missed and he lived. The students were asked to rate the likely truth of six statements on the subject of whether the assassin was a gunman acting alone, or whether there was a conspiracy at work. They were also asked to rate the accuracy of the “facts” in the article.

...Dr Leman found that if the fictional president “died” after the shooting, readers were much more likely to believe that the gunman was part of a conspiracy. This was true even though the other facts in the story were unchanged, and even if the death was due to an unrelated cause, such as a heart attack. This curious observation is the basis of Dr Leman's hypothesis that there is some underlying process in human psychology that assumes that the bigger the effect is, the bigger the cause must have been."

Taken from: http://www.economist.com/displaystory.cfm?story_id=1648616