I was an object of desire

I went out on the razzle-dazzle with a few charming folk on Friday night. We found an excellent little bar where I entertained the locals with some spectacular dancing - the better for my being drunk.

Without any preamble, I was nose-to-nose with a black-bearded, short man who was beaming brightly and thrashing like a cat chewing through a power cable. I understood him to be dancing.

The evening had been going well and I was in high spirits so I danced with our new friend. After a while I broke off and went to the toilet. Coming back, I saw black-beard standing with my group and I presumed he was pestering the ladies among the group. I cast shame aside and danced with the hot-blooded latin lothario to give the girls a break. He returned my chivalry by kissing me on the neck.

It was only then that I realised I had been the object of his amor. When I clarified my hetero status, he exclaimed "I see! I saw! I have seen!" and then went over to a friend of mine and shouted "I see! I saw! I have seen!" before walking off, a little embarrassed.

Apparently everyone else knew all along that this guy´s intentions towards me were not honorable. I think I need to get my gaydar recalibrated.

The Mighty Elephant

A mighty elephant is stomping through the jungle one day, in a foul mood, when a tiny armadillo waddles into his path.

"WHAT HAVE WE HERE?" bellows the elephant. "MR.ARMADILLO, YOU ARE VERY SMALL AREN´T YOU?"

"We´ll I´ve been ill," replies Mr Armadillo.

Washington, for the love of Big Animals

...and in other news this week, a Seattle man has died after having sex with a horse.

Click here and scroll to bottom story

A couple of points which raised an eyebrow:

1) He died of a perforated colon, which gives a surprising answer to the question, who was on top?
2) The horse was uninjured, thankfully
3) Sex with large animals is not illegal in Washington State, but pair up with only a wee beastie to make the beast-with-two-backs and you're going down.
4) So lovers of large animals should head to Washington State.

And it's goodnight from him.

Access to the netherworld just got easier!

In Newquay, in Cornwall, UK, just behind the bus station there is a care home for the elderly, called Roundabout Nursing Home. So named? Because it’s on a roundabout.

This is the same logic that leads you to number your children, which at least betrays an admirable lack of parental gooeyness. But naming an elderly care home after a non-descript roundabout is lack of imagination to the point of callousness.

They might as well name it after the graveyard next door (really): St John’s final rest, access to the netherworld just got easier! Even industrial estates are more imaginatively named. “It’s very practical” Yes, but it seems more heartless than plastic bedding. Poor devils.

Berserk we did go, verily.

On Thursday I paid good money (twenty-five euros, no less) to watch an elderly man roam about a stage wearing nothing but a pair of 1970s trainers and a nappy. That man was one of The Presidents. In fact, I thought he was George Clinton until another fully grown man ambled on stage in jeans and a striped polo shirt with coloured strips of paper decorating his hair. He didn't need to do an awful lot for the crowd to go berserk. And berserk we did go, verily. Bananas, barking, cock-a-hoop.

It was a spectacular concert.

In a quiet moment I mused on which outfits the chap in the nappy had dismissed earlier that evening. Jeans and t-shirt? Nah. Gold lame catsuit? I'm too old for that kind of caper. Fuck it, it's a warm night and I'm approaching incontinence, I'll wear the nappy.

I also wondered at the coincidence that way back in the 1970s this crazy loon call himself George Clinton and started a band called The Presidents and the past three US presidents have been George, Clinton and another George. Weird, no?

Please pray for this man...

The publicist for RnB chap, Omarion, issued a statement on Thursday, July 7, asking fans to pray for him because he had been in London when terrorists exploded four bombs in the city. According to Shana Gilmore, his publicist, "He wasn't hurt or anything, but just the fact that he was there and all that."

CLICK


Except that, according to Omarion, he has nothing to do with Shana Gilmore, or the company she works for.

STROKE

...and according to Shana Gilmore she has nothing to do with Omarion

RUB


which is all a bit fishy.

I felt very far from my friends and sister today

When terrorists bombed Madrid last year, I felt very close to my friends and folks back home in London. A lot of them called, texted, emailed to see if I was OK. Today, in diametrically opposite circumstances, I felt far away. I didn't hear from my sister until after lunchtime and my imagination had already begun to swoop and dive. I flickered between two websites and the radio news for most of the morning, trying to pick up information.

Later, I found myself wishing I had been there. That my friends had been through this weird day and I hadn't. It was a weird and selfish reaction but not one I'm ashamed of. Then, having spoken to and emailed a couple of them, I got the feeling that maybe it was more weird for me than for them. Maybe you take it in your stride when something shocking happens in your city - unless you are directly involved. I remember that about the Madrid bombings too - it really didn't affect me much on the day, other than to make me worry that I might be laid off. That was a selfish reaction that I am ashamed of.

Loathing Subsides...for the moment at least

I seethe for 10 minutes a day at the open thievery and despicable gouging of fear that is the insurance industry.

That was until I found this article about an insurance company which has offered triathletes insurance against a close encounter with the Loch Ness monster: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/4651679.stm .

So bare is their face, so disarming their chutzpah, I have set aside my daily roil and instead doff my cap to their temerity.

Tomorrow I will hate them again.

Ode to Goonhavern

Down at the very tip of Cornwall,
far from London´s madding crowds,
there lies a sleepy sanctuary,
Goonhavern. A haven for Goons.

Far from the feck and the list,
of modern life,
fat bees waddle in the breeze,
and clay woodland fauna gather in gardens.

Garden gnomes become loyal friends,
suspicious shrubs cause a rumpus,
and Goons while away lazy afternoons,
swivelling their eyes and giggling.

Here the Goons have nothing to fear,
For they are in their haven.

Chess

At a chess convention in a posh hotel, the upper echelons of the chess community are enjoying welcome drinks and reliving past victories. The hotel manager stalks in, shouting, "Get out! Get out of my hotel! Everyone of you! Clear off and never darken my door again!"

"Why?"

"I'm not having chess nuts boasting in an open foyer."

Butcher´s Handle

There is a butcher´s shop in northern Madrid called "La Matanza", which means "The Killing".

As in, "Can I get you anything from The Killing while I´m in the area?"

tell him to stick his verisimilitude up the eye of his arse

More on Spanish swearing. This gem was uttered by my oh-so-dainty Spanish (female) friend.

Gotta love 'em.

For any budding Spanish speakers, this is:

"Dile que se meta su verosimilitud por el ojo del culo."

It's the level of detail which impresses me most.

Chutzpah

Donald Rumsfeld was ranting the other day that China has been increasing its military spending without an immediate military threat. According to the righteous old bore, China has risen to the number three spot in military spending.

That takes quite some face, given that Rumbo´s very own defence budget not only takes the number one spot, but is eighteen times that of China (or 7.5 times if you take US figures).

I shit in the milk!

¨The weather, the food and the swearing,¨ these are the things that a Spanish friend of mine missed during a year in the UK. In fucking Glasgow of all places. Swearing was up there at number fucking three.

Contrary to popular fucking suspicion, Anglo-Saxon swearing is fucked. Not half as good as our Latin, Indian or African cousins.

The title of this post is a direct translation from the Spanish, me cago en la leche. Fuck knows what it means; it is, like much of Spanish swearing, a fairly flexible phrase used in good, bad and indifferent situations. The English equivalent would almost certainly be fucking hell!

Then there is me cago en la hostia (I shit on the body of christ) for which the English equivalent would almost certainly be fucking hell!

Swearing is a much greater part of the Spanish culture. A quiet and unassuming Company Legal Secretary I know, is fond of asking which party has taken their trousers down and been fucked in the arse, when checking the progress of his staff´s negotiations.

In the delicatessen the other day, I spotted a can of green beans with the brand name: judias cojonudas (bollockingly good beans).

Un piso de puta madre (a flat of the whore´s mother) is a very desirable place to live. Fucking nice flat would be a reasonable translation. What got to my foul-mouthed and homesick friend the most was the lack of variety "everything in england is fuck, whereas in Spain we have joder (fuck) but we have so many more ways to swear." She went on to list me cago en tus
muertos (I shit on your dead family), qué te den por culo (I hope they fuck you up the arse)...

Anglo-saxon filth is fucking prosaic by comparison.

Wanted - web designer, must be fresh from fight

I was offered 2 tickets for the price of one to a Bonnie Tyler concert today. This has nothing to do with the waning stardom of one of rock and roll's most appealing artists. It has everything to do with how much one of rock and roll's most appealing artists values me as a fan and, no doubt, friend. I'm probably one of her most appealing fans.

Alas, I have other plans.

But I did take the opportunity to look at Miss Tyler's website (www.bonnietyler.com) and, I must admit, I thought one of rock and roll's most appealing artists could have done better.

So any budding designers of bonnie websites out there should get in touch and do their bit for soft rock.

It seems Miss Tyler is big in Germany. This is right and proper. Her brave offer of a signed sports-bra to Mr Gorbachev in return for calling it a day on the global domination front has gone egregiously unsung in my view.

Just like that beef-wit, Reagan, to lap up all the credit.

killers born naturally

I am something of an Economist addict. I love the writing, which is always clear, interesting and to the point. Anyway, that's beside the point. This post is about murder.

Last week's Economist contained news that psychopaths are born and not made. Actually, it contained news that psychopaths MAY be born, as opposed to nurtured. Well, strictly speaking, there's still hope for them even then, so long as they aren't dragged through childhood by bastards. That is "bastard" in the common usage of the word - the illegitimacy of their parents was not mentioned.

I can see how Tony Blair cocked up that dossier so badly. It's not easy writing arresting prose when everything has to be true.

Deep throat fingered!

fnrr, fnrrr.

Ok so I'm late with the news and the gag is at least as old as the nickname but...wait a minute...is it possible to make a double entendre about an already double-entendred nickname? And what are the odds on that being the subject of a research grant proposal?

My very doobling of the entendre probably reveals something uncomfortable about my inner desires.

Perhaps, deep in the shadowy cloisters of my id, I fantasise about stolen trysts in a secluded garage, furtively arranged by drawing a clock-face on a daily newspaper.

Oooooooh yes, that's it....blowing a whistle....while two men in dark suits bungle a burglary.

Mmmmh, and a hard-drinking, grumpy old chap brooding in the background, whitewashing an already-white-but-forever-stained house (sweet irony!)...ooo-ooh yeeeeah.

Wha??? Where am I??

Shit, I've drooled.

Literature and life

"Literature is mostly about having sex and not much about having children. Life is the other way round." David Lodge

A time long ago...

when George Lucas could knock up a decent flick. I saw Star Wars 3 at the weekend and was disappointed. Points I didn't like>

1) Dialogue. Quite the worst i've heard since Before Sunset, which had the excuse of not having a script. Example>
"Why do you look so beautiful?"
"It's because I love you"
"No, it's because I love you."

Or, on hearing that the love of his life is dead, "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!" which was surprising only in its predictability and total hamnation.

2) Acting. Anakin Skywalker is apparently played by a tranquilised high school footballer. It was as convincing a rendition of the internal struggle between good and evil as you might expect from George of the Jungle on Mogadon.

Ewen MacGregor produced some appalling ham. All tally-ho and chocks away.

Lord Sith was never really convincing until he became deformed. Until that point he was too reminiscent of the kindly old gent who plays God in the Time Bandits. And he sounded like he was reading his lines for only the second or third time.

Put simply, Natalie Portman was about the best actor there. Which gives you some idea of the woodenness of the others.

3) Lord Grievous. Quite a good character ruined by an appalling name. Might was well call him Mr Bad Guy. Note to George, "Doctor Evil" was a piss-take.

4) The moment when Obi-Wan finds out that Anakin has gone to the Dark Side. Let's not forget, this is not just the turning point for this film but it is the set-up for the next three films. It is despatched with as much dramatic tension as checking a gas meter.

Nevertheless, and in the spirit of fair-mindedness, it was not all bad. Bits I liked...

1) The set designers were the clear, far-and-away winners of the film. The city-scapes were especially good. As always, in Star Wars the ships were fantastic.

2) The story coming full circle and Darth Vader getting put back together. Very cool.

3) The fight between Obi-Wan and Anakin. Probably not a coincidence that this was the darkest and most gruesome part of the film.

So there you have it. A disappointment. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade is surely the last decent film George has done.

Earning your daily bread

"It's just another form of idolatry, a dog licking the rod that beats it: work." Q, Luther Blisset.

I am inclined to agree; it's been driving me round the bend recently. It was with mixed feelings, then, that I read an article about Somalia's Minister for Tourism. Enticing people to spend their two weeks of hard-earned leisure time in a country which shot to international fame for the death of American soldiers is an unenviably hard task... but on the upside he receives no emails and civil war is a water-tight excuse for failing to drum up much tourism.

'“I'm sure tourists would leave Somalia alive and I'm hopeful they wouldn't be kidnapped,” he says. “At least, we would try to make sure they were not kidnapped, although it can happen.”' The Economist, March 4th, 2004