Plus points

Me and Trump are getting V+ on our cable telly this weekend. I've come to realise that I miss the only programmes I want to watch because they're on too late and we haven't got a video to record things on anymore. I can't wait to be able to pause live telly, record two things while watching another, have Miami Ink on series record.

Brill.

Jesus, VH1 are playing Stevie Wonder's I just called. What a dreadful song. I wonder if he'd want to kill himself if he could see how daft he looks in his videos? Why do some of our most talented musicians have to ruin their reputations by producing one or two songs that are utter dross? Of course, many great talents have had their copy books permanently blotted by collaborating with Paul McCartney: Stevie, Jacko, the Frogs Chorus. None of them were the same after singing with Macca. Bloody hell, look what happened to Linda! Singing with him was literally the death of her.

She lives on in her pies, and that can never be a bad thing.

I'm going to watch MTV Dance until Ida Corr comes on.

I love dance videos; some of them are nothing short of soft porn. There's this one with scantily clad young women using construction equipment - yes, pneumatic drills. And the one that's on now has two women in a shower scene! And by the magic of Youtube...

Toing and froing
There's lots of it going on out on the road tonight; it's quite unnerving. Car doors slamming, people driving off, others arriving, knocking on doors, voices in the street...

When I pulled up earlier, a young man on a bike was trying to ride away from a hysterical woman who was pursuing him and screaming. "LET ME EXPLAIN!"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"

Ad infinitum

They were at it for ages. Some people have no shame.

This from the woman who runs about in her pyjamas, squeaking a latex chicken.


Brum, Brum
I went to Birmingham today. I went on the train with some colleagues. It was really smelly. Unfortunately, I needed a wee while we were travelling so had to use the facility on the train. It was just a little unnerving trying to have a wee knowing the toilet door shut so far as to leave a centimetre gap and the weird bloke loitering outside could've peeped through to see the reflection of me weeing in the mirror that was positioned opposite to the toilet.

Why? Can somebody explain why you need a full length mirror opposite a toilet?

I haven't been to New Street railway station for at least 13 years and I don't think it's changed in all that time. Dump.

And why, when it's clear that a seat is reserved, do people still choose to sit there, only to look all hurt when you point out that you've reserved the seat and that they need to move? Idiots. But then you apologise to them for asking them to move! Perhaps you're actually apologising on behalf of them? "I'm sorry, it must be difficult being a total fucktard."

I used to have to travel through Birmingham on the train quite a lot before I got my car when I lived in Coventry. On one particular journey to Barnsley, I'd walked from my house in Cov, caught the train to New Street, where I'd changed to get the train to Barnsley or Sheffield or somewhere around there where they have that weird accent. It was on this last leg of the journey that I'd finally got a seat and as I caught my reflection in window, I realised that I'd been travelling with a leaf sticking up in my hair all the way from somewhere between my house and Coventry station.

Fucking trains.


PS
20.55 MTV Dance Ida Corr vs Fedde La Grande. YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!! I don't understand why scruffy man thinks jeans and a hoody is suitable attire when those lovely young ladies went to such an effort to look their best. I'm having a cold sweat now.

Let me think about it....

Would I like to spend an evening being entertained by the delightful Ms Ida Corr and her very musical friends? Let me think about it...

Blimey, ain't she just something else?

Running down the road in my pyjamas and slippers, squeaking a latex chicken

Rocky has a new girlfriend. He spent two days joined to Peggy's side, trying to shag her. She enjoyed the attention, clearly keen to take advantage of Rocky's pedigree in her quest to reproduce before getting her tubes tied.

It's always useful having an older dog around to guide him as he tends to go off in a world of his own when he's outside and he becomes deaf to our calls. Unfortunately, Peg's only a relative pup herself and she sometimes forgets herself. I watched in horror as I saw her wandering off out of the front gate towards the village, Rocky stuck to her side. I was wearing my pyjamas and slippers, but it's quiet there so I didn't have any shame in running onto the lane to call them back.

FUCKING BIN MEN! What the hell were people doing on the road? You NEVER see people on this bloody lane. But this was a crisis and I felt no shame.

The dogs trotted off towards the village, I called them both, they were deaf to me. I ran into the house and found Rocky's squeaky chicken...

I ran back out onto the lane, squeaking the chicken. The bin men watched me. Even in in-bred capital of the world Norfolk, the site of an overweight woman in her pyjamas running down the road, squeaking a latex chicken must have seemed odd. I didn't care, the dogs had disappeared from view.

FUCK!

I ran back to the house to call for help. Peggy was in the garden. Rocky was nowhere to be seen. I shouted at her, "What have you done with Rocky? What have you done with him?" I was in a total panic. I ran into the house, everybody was upstairs, I ran into the kitchen to be met by my tripey little dog. The little bugger had come in around the back while I'd been entertaining the bin men.


Norfolk
This county is lovely, but it's a total shit to get to. No dual carriageways for a hundred miles, so a 200 mile journey takes over four hours when it should take less than three. Wednesday's journey took us five and a half hours. Fucking awful. It's no wonder they're all inbred; there's no way new blood can get in there to mix with the existing gene pool.

But the night sky there is amazing; literally bursting with stars that you never see when you live in the city. I noticed them in the early hours of Thursday morning while stood outside when the pooch was having his oh-so-conveniently-timed wee at 3am. I couldn't believe what I was seeing; I've never experienced anything like it before. I promised to set up my camera to take a photo of it the following night, but the temperature and atmospherics meant that I was disappointed.

I guess it'll be a long time before I experience it again.

It's always the way when waiting for the photo opportunity you want; you see it, but assume it'll come back the next day - you know, things like the rise of the harvest moon? But it's only ever like that one night, and then you've missed it.

Carpe diem and all that.


Road rage
Why is it wrong to assault or kill people who are crap at driving? What's wrong with doing all other road users a service in getting menaces off the highways? You're not even supposed to beep or shout at the fuckers.

A sure fire vote winner for anybody with political ambition would be to allow the use of rocket launchers in private vehicles.

A local shop

I needed fresh chillies yesterday and I couldn't be bothered to go to the supermarket, or to venture onto the high street. But there's a collection of shops and takeaways nearby and one is a gardening shop that has expanded to sell vegetables and some deli good. It's owned by an eccentric looking chap with panama hat and elaborate beard.

With a touch of trepidation, I entered. Inside I found that I was pleasantly surprised by what they sold and I grabbed a hand of chillies and took them to the young woman at the till. She weighed them and calculated the price. "That's three pence please". Shocked, I fumbled through the change in my dog-walking jacket pocket and pondered paying her with a dog biscuit.

THREE PENCE? That would've cost about £1 in the supermarket.

I gave her 20p and declined the change, which went into the charity box.

My thoughts returned to the idea of paying for goods with the dog biscuits in my pocket. Wouldn't bartering and payment of goods by exchange of services be fun? I'm sure, given the demographic of the area, this is pretty common between businesses anyway, but could you imagine trying it down Tesco?

"I'll stand by the door and make sure no rif-raff get in if you give me my shopping for free."

"And what if we decline your offer?"

"I burn your shop down?"

It might work at Asda I suppose. When the big Asda in East Manchester opened, they had to sack half the workforce within the first week because the checkout staff were allowing their mates through the tills without scanning half their shopping. Serves them right for thinking they can regenerate a deprived area by building unaffordable housing, crappy supermarkets and casinos.

But that's neo socialism for you....


Gordon is a moron
I've knocked thieving cunt Gordon Brown for over a decade now. Incompetent Chancellor and now unelected Prime Minister, the man has overseen and held the purse strings for Government since they came into power in 1997. Despite him being responsible for the disaster of NuLabour, his PR machine has tried to con the country into thinking that we have a brave new leader who had absolutely nothing to do with that nasty Tony Blair. Gordon Brown would save us all, despite him causing much of the mess in the first place.

Of course, aided and abetted by the BBC and the Guardian, the Labour spin machine seemed to be successfully conning the electorate and Labour had a remarkable turnaround in the opinion polls during a period of time when parliament was in recess and the opposition had zero opportunity to get a word in against him.

With a ten percent lead, election talk surfaces. "Let's have an election before the recession hits next year, before the housing market collapses, before we abolish the 10% income tax rate and make all the really poor workers even less well off, before people finally realise how incompetent we are! " A 1st November election was a 90% certainty this time last week,

But it being conference season, the opposition finally gets the chance to have a say, to start getting their message across, despite being upstaged by the BBC's preference for reporting the Diana Inquest and the PM's oh so brave visit to Iraq. The people don't fall for it, they start getting the message from the other parties, the opinion polls swing back round again and Gordon, in his usual jaw-dropping, gasping manner, announces that he doesn't want an election within the next 18 months afterall.

PUSSY!

What a manipulative, opportunistic, sneaky, cynical, cowardly, CUNT.

He treats the people with such contempt. I'd love a revolution.



Inked
I'm really warming to the idea of getting a tattoo, to the point that I'm about 100% sure of getting one. I'll be getting my tongue split next!

What a carry on

Have you ever been at the till at the supermarket and the checkout assistant asks if you want help with your packing? You say No, thank you because you don't want to look like a lazy twat. I mean, who on earth can't manage to pack two carrier bags' worth of shopping, for fuck's sake?

Me, that's who.

The items are scanned so quickly that they fly to the end of the conveyor belt. And they pile up and all the time you're still struggling to get a carrier bag off the stand. Flustered and annoyed, you finally manage to get a bag from the stand and then comes the struggle to get the fucking thing opened. At this point, all the shopping has been scanned and the checkout youth is left staring at you with an expression of utter contempt having replaced the one of boredom, they add to the discomfort by telling you the total price of your shopping. You just know that they're calling you a spaz and muttering under their breath, "Should've accepted my help to pack, fucktard!".

Supermarket carrier bags used to be quite easy to get separated, but not any more. I blame the greenies and their insistence on us reusing suitcases when doing our supermarket shopping. Well actually, some of us like to collect plastic carrier bags to use for a) bin liners and b) picking up dog poo.

Besides, I'm too young to be using one of those bloody shopping carts like my parents had when I was a kid. You know the sort that were always made of brown or tartan vinyl?

I used to pootle along in front of my mum as we made our way from the mad-busy supermarket to the bus stop. I'd stop at my peril because this usually resulted in me being stabbed in the back of the leg from the spiky stand of the bag. She never did it on purpose or anything.



Rocky update
Rocky finished his puppy training tonight. I'd been looking forward to it all week, but the shitheads in Bury Council decided to resurface a section of road on our way to the class tonight - before the end of rush-hour. Huge tailbacks ensued and we were half an hour late for the class, he was unable to concentrate because he wanted to say hello to his friends and the whole event was a fucking waste of time.

But never mind, he's been doing other things. Like growing his grown up teeth...

Taking his first dip....

And learning how to fly!