Posts in category "UK"

death of a disco dancer

After I finally got over the shock of Michael Jackson (I suspect Mr. Pharmacist with the white pills and syringe in the study) and being genuinely saddened at the recent death of Sir Bobby Robson, Im not sure I can take any more.

Just heard some really crap news. Benson, the world's largest living carp, is no longer living.

Benson, who loved disco dancing, weighed 64 lbs and was between 20 and 25 years old (apparently, Benson lied about his age a lot - similar to Jane Fonda) has died.

The cause of death is unknown at this time but Michael Jackson's doctor has not been eliminated from police inquiries. Benson had been caught 63 times which he used to carp about endlessly to local fishermen.

It is possible that one angry angler threw some unsalted Nobby's Nuts into the lake which may have been responsible for Benson's demise as he had a nut allergy and preferred spicy 'Chilli Heatwave' Doritos.

where will it all end ?

Last year, I found an ancient 56Kb dialup modem lurking in a cupboard. I fondly remembered the days of dangling the extension cable diagonally across the bedroom floor (which often tripped unsuspecting visitors up) and mentally replayed the connection tone.

And now Virgin Media announce 50Mb for £28.

aftermath of flight AF447

I probably shouldnt ask this question and watch a CSI New York box set to find the answer but still...

Bodies are now being recovered from the fateful Air France flight 447 that crashed in the Atlantic ocean and the authorities are requesting DNA samples from relatives in order to identify the deceased.

So, what exactly does 7 days in sea water do to the human body ?

open letter to Bob Crowe

Dear Bob

Congratulations on disrupting the lives of millions of Londoners by calling a two day tube strike. Nice timing, by the way. An England international at Wembley and more importantly; The Fall, Buzzcocks and John Cooper Clarke live at Kentish Town.

Just a couple of quick questions before I set off:

  • I would also like a 5% pay rise which would come in most handy in these tense, difficult times. Also, the prospect of a guaranteed final pension and a job for life is also very appealing. I am certainly capable of reading a Red/Green/Amber signal, moving a lever from 'Stop' to 'Go' while reading a copy of 'The Sun'. Please email me if any vacancies come up.
  • Obviously, I would like to show my whole hearted support for the RMT cause by hooting my (imaginary) horn and making a small financial contribution to the fighting fund. I will be passing though most of the mainline stations on my extended journey tonight so maybe you could picket there where the London commuting public can see you instead of hiding in your office car park - you cowardly bastards.

Your comrade, Norman.

possession of an offensive weapon

Last Friday, I found myself standing in a short queue at Newcastle airport. I could immediately discern that the global economic recession is starting to take hold up in the bleak, industrial North. Normally, at this time, Newcastle airport is packed with hordes of Geordie holidaymakers bound for the Mediterranean and beer swilling lads in Newcastle football shirts going on a, err, cultural visit to Prague.

However, to my surprise, last Friday, the airport was eerily quiet. No queue for the self-service kiosk. No queue to check the bag, No queue to enter the security area. No snaking queues with temporary barriers to navigate. No smiling, happy, expectant people discussing their fourth overseas holiday of the year.

In fact, just a scattering of tired, emotional businessmen, pilots and aircrew passing their bags, belts and shoes through the security scanner.

As usual, I go to grab my laptop off the conveyor belt and hope my trousers don't fall down. The vigilant lady says 'Brian - get that bag'. I sigh as Brian says 'Excuse me, Sir - is this your bag ?' I own up and he starts to pull out the various adapters, wires, power supplies and cables. He looks towards the vigilant lady. 'Is it this lot ?' 'No - it's round, circular'.

Brian delves further into the tardis that is my Targus laptop bag. To my horror, he drags out an empty bag of 'Liquorice Twists' and a copy of 'Oracle Magazine' that I nicked from work. A pretty lady dressed in a nice trouser suit looks dismissively at me while she puts her shoes back on. I feel myself start to redden. It gets worse as I realise my trousers have fallen down.

And, finally, Brian finds it. He triumphantly pulls out a roll of Sellotape. I have carted this all around Europe and the UK in the forlorn hope that I would somehow summon up the enthusiasm to do my expenses in a lonely hotel room. But, of course, I never did.

Vigilant lady scowls: 'Yeah - that's it, Brian.' Brian then quickly places the almost full roll of high quality Sellotape into an unseen drawer. 'Sorry, Sir but I am going to have to confiscate that item.'

'Are you serious ? I have lugged that Sellotape all around Europe for two years and never been challenged once. In any case, how will I do my expenses now. You must know that staples are explicitly not allowed by Section 3.1.2a of the expenses policy. And before you say it, nor is Blu-Tac.'

'Sorry, Sir but I must confiscate this item in the interests of security.'

'Come on - at least tell me why.'

Vigilant lady momentarily takes her eagle eyes off the camera and spits out: 'Because, Sir, that item could be used as a restraining device on the aircraft. That is why.'

So, next time, you're on a plane and your neighbour reaches for the overhead locker and pulls out a roll of Sellotape - be frightened, be afraid, be very afraid because he isn't going to simply update his holiday scrapbook.

That manic psychopath is going to bind and gag you; he is going to wrap you up tight like an Egyptian Mummy; he is going to wrap you up like a Christmas present from your mother-in-law (with no air-holes).

Then, he is going to wield you in front of him, advancing forward through the plane from your aisle seat in 23C, brandishing a roll of Sellotape. He will then ignore the screams of passengers and break into the cabin, demanding the immediate release of political prisoners in Guantanamo Bay and that the plane diverts to Tehran immediately with a press conference on arrival or you are going to get it !

With the heavy duty duct tape.

embarassing Dad

Recently I collected Norma-Jean from one of her hobbies. As we departed, I stopped to bid farewell to a couple of boys who were preparing to cycle home: See you next time, lads.

'Dad - why did you have to say goodbye to those boys ?'

'Well I see them here twice a week so I was just being friendly...'

'God - that was so embarrassing. I actually thought you were going to say 'Cheerio' as usual'.

There followed a brief discussion on the list of all possible farewell greetings and the acceptability of each. Then we reached the car. She put her iPod on, I listened to the radio and the matter was closed.

Until the following week. We left the sports centre where the same two lads were unlocking their bikes. I paused. My daughter stopped and looked at me in stupefied horror as I waited for the lads' full attention.

'Laterz'

beyond the expected

Just been down to Asda. Not because I am a Nineties man but mainly because the element on the kettle just blew.

I went fully equipped with what I believe is known as a 'shopping list'. I managed to decipher all of the entries (some were written by Norma) and successfully secured everything. I was debating whether to pay at a till or risk self-service where you swipe your own goods.

As I reviewed and cross-checked the list for a final time, I found to my horror one solitary item unaccounted for.

Worse, it wasn't Norma's handwriting. Worse still, the final, indeterminate item was written by me.

I could have left it but when you suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder that is easier said than done. In any case, what if the item was important ? What if the item was needed for tea tonight ?

I paused for thought, pushing my trolley to the side by 'Chocolates and Confectionery' and studied the shopping list intently. I still couldn't decipher the writing. I turned my head through 90'. Still no joy.

A friendly, helpful shop assistant approached. 'Can I help you, Sir ?'

'No really. It's OK. I'm fine. Thanks. Just looking at Liquorice Allsorts for my Dad for Christmas. He loves them, you see'.

'You're not having problems reading the shopping list, your wife gave you, are you ?'

'God no. Of course not. In any case, I wrote some of it.'

'Here - let me have a look'. I reluctantly passed the assistant the shopping list.

She scrutinised the scrap of paper. 'Well it can't be that. We don't sell it. Nor do Sainsbury's.' She then turned her head through 90'. 'Hmm - it sounds stupid but, honestly, that's my best guess - 'Goat's Head'.

'Yeah. Thanks. That's what I thought it was. It was probably my son messing around. He's a Goth, you see.

'Listen - do you want me to ask Eric ? He's really good at these handwriting puzzles.'

'No. Listen, it's OK. Honestly, Thanks a lot for all your help. I'll just leave it for now.

I hurriedly made my way to a manned till as I simply dare not risk any more potential embarrassment at the self-service tills with items that fail to scan, causing interminable delays.

Phew - the ordeal is finally over. I put the shopping list back in my pocket and start to pack the shopping.

As I hang a bumper pack of 24 toilet rolls onto the handy hook on back of the trolley and prepare to pay, I hear a demented shriek: 'WAIT - DON'T LET HIM LEAVE THE STORE !'

The plain clothed store detective perks up and security men start to move menacingly towards me.

I spot the previously helpful shop assistant sprinting towards me from aisle 11 (Ice Cream and Frozen Vegetables), carrying something.

People from adjacent tills are now staring at me and I feel myself starting to redden. The security guard is now brandishing a pair of silver handcuffs with a worrying gleam in his eye.

The shop assistant finally reaches the till and triumphantly throws down two 'Go Ahead' bars (Strawberry and Fruits of the Forest).

'I asked Eric. He took one look and said: 'Come on - this one's obvious. It's not 'Goat's Head' - but 'Go Ahead'.

open letter to Tony Hawks

This is the first in a series of open letters when I send emails to people who I admire or have had a major influence on my life.

I will post my open letter and subsequently will post the individuals response (with their permission).

To kick things off, an open letter sent in February 2008 to Tony Hawks (UK author, comedian and occasional 'talking head' on those interminable BBC series that look back to the 1980's).

Obviously, Tony has been very busy this year which must explain why I haven't had the common courtesy of a reply (yet).

Hi Tony

You don't know me (I bet a lot of your emails and fan letters start like this) but many years ago I saw you in the reception at the Chine Hotel in Bournemouth.

I recognised you, you saw me staring at you and gave me a weak, knowing smile, probably dreading the awkward exchange that you feared was about to happen.

I was considering coming up and introducing myself. However, I didn't for the following reasons:

  1. I had this awful mental image of stuttering 'Hi Tony. I've see you on TV and I think you are quite funny' while you were trying to query a mysterious charge on your hotel bill.
  2. My wife has never heard of you and would wonder why I was accosting a complete stranger at the reception desk.
  3. I had to go to check on my two little children who were at loose in the soft-play area.

Anyway, I never did make it over and many years later, I still think you are quite funny and I have just finished 'Piano in the Pyrenees' which I thoroughly enjoyed. So much so I am immediately going to buy your other books ('Fridge Round Ireland', 'Playing Moldovans at Tennis' and possibly 'One Hit Wonder').

All the best, Andy

PS. Tell those techies who designed your Web site, it doesn't appear to work on Firefox thus alienating a large part of your target audience.