Londoners give themselves a BJ

…which isn’t as pleasant as it sounds.

At what point did the entire capital city get lobotomised and think BoJo (or just plain Bozo) was fit to run the place? Did I fall asleep and miss the adverts urging residents to go to their nearest clinic? Am I part of some bizarre reality TV show where the country gets pushed to its limits? What the hell is going on?

The electorate, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that this buffon-blonde buffoon is fit to guide their city through what promises to be an extremely tricky time – economically, politically and socially. Dicks. It doesn’t matter that he’s a Tory, cos I don’t think even he knows what his views are on some things. The guy can’t even string a sentence together without making some apalling gaffe. He and Prince Phil should get on famously.

Hopefully he’ll be out in time for the Olympics! Can you imagine the great and the good descending on London, with the eyes of billions watching as Bozzer makes a complete goof of the entire thing?

This guy couldn’t even get his story straight about a possible use/handling/eating of cocaine (‘Erm…I..huh-huh…erm…yah…well…erm…I-I-I-I thought they said cake, those spiffing chaps in those..erm..er..fetching..erm…hooded..erm..yah…sweaties…can I ride my bike now please, Mummy?’)

I mean COME ON LONDON, WHAT THE FUCK??

The end.

 
Politics? Booooring!!!

Forced labour

Well, forced blogging.

When you get comments from people telling you there is no point to keep checking your blog, you know it’s been too long. About a month to be precise. Yikes. Sorry Manc fans.

And now I’ve been forced to put pen to paper (well, fingers to keys), the age-old problem of writer’s block rears its ugly head (an apostrophe-ruined-nightmare of a sentence – one writer or more than one, its? I’m sure someone will tell me [you know who you are]).

So to blog about work? I think not.

Life? Not much going on at the moment. Been to London a few times to see friends, rugby and stuff.

Football? Don’t get me started.

Random stuff? Can’t find any.

So there. A blog post.

Hope you enjoyed.

A broken Manc

Oh my. Oh my, my, my. First trip to the new gym (yeah, like I had an old gym) after work today for a swim. Did 600m (30 lengths) in 25 minutes in my own lane. I don’t think I was meant to have my own lane. In fact I think I contravened pretty much every rule in the Little Swimming Pool Book Of Etiquette, judging by the wry smiles exchanged by others when I left.

This is all due to the fact that I haven’t had my induction yet (am I going to be induced, like a pregnant woman…yeah I know the resemblance could lead a bleary-eyed junior doctor to make a mistake), that happens on Thursday.

So, let’s discuss pain. It’s mostly across my shoulders and neck, possibly due to my impossibly crap breast-stroke (fnar) technique. I’m sure my feet dragged the bottom a few times. And who’d have thought it was possible to sweat so much in a swimming pool? I’m sure I salinated that water more than is humanly possible. I pity the fool who took over in my lane, as they probably thought they’d made a wrong turn and ended up in the Dead Sea. By the way, is it even possible to contaminate just one lane like that, or would it be the whole pool? Whichever, the filters will be working overtime tonight.

And apart from the pain which is going to arrive with the inevitability of a Virgin train (you know it’s coming, but you’re never sure when it will get here), I appear to have a completely blocked right ear. No amount of head tilting or shaking will enable me to hear. Hopefully it’ll leak out in the small hours of the morning like an unpopular government policy.

So, the gym. It made me feel good for about an hour, but I know I’ll feel bad for longer. Sooner or later this balance will redress itself, but until then, I’ll be the fat bloke in his own lane sweating into your local pool. Do enjoy your swim.

Writer’s block

Aaarrrgghhh! I can’t get any further into the Las Vegas story without coming up against plot problems, so there’ll be no more until I can ease out the knots. Also, writing about Vegas, watching the TV series Las Vegas, accidentally catching a children’s morning show about Vegas and people from work going to Vegas has made me really hanker after going back and revelling in some of the excesses. Maybe we can live there for a bit (not sure how Mrs Manc will feel about that!) before we settle. Maybe not.

I could be a professional Northerner, maybe have a Northern theme night, there’ll be enough of my kind there to get people interested. Maybe once Hatton retires he could do stand-up as a lounge act, he’s really rather good at it.

Anyway, that’s the future, and who knows what that holds. Apart from Mystic Meg, obviously.

Next installment

Sorry, been too long. Anyway, I started on the wrong track with this writing exercise, so I think you may be witnessing the birth of a novella…..

 

He walked through the doors of the casino into the wall of blazing heat and light which the hotel owners try and remove all trace of by making their gaming halls dark and air conditioned to almost Arctic conditions. It hit him like a strong right cross from a prize-fighter, his loud Hawaiian print shirt sticking to him instantly, but the girl just swanned out and waited for him, hand on her hip, like there was no discernable difference. She was good, he’d give her that.

‘Your place or mine?’

‘Erm….’ He hadn’t quite got this far in his finely honed plan, assuming that he’d have to work at her and have time to build up an idea of how she rolled. ‘Yours?’

And she was off again, striding towards a cherry red Mustang. The engine was revving impatiently before he had time to think that this was all going a bit too well. At least the car would have AC.

She drove at speed in short bursts between the lights on the Strip, weaving in and out of the traffic like a Nascar driver. He gripped his seat, gritted his teeth and watched the lights flash by, smiling wanly. When she pulled up at the valet parking bay of the Wynne and got out, tossing her keys to a waistcoated lackey, he was confused. But he didn’t have time to collect his thoughts because she was striding away from him again into the casino, and he knew that if he lost her there then there would be no chance to find her again. What he was trying to get straight in his head as he did a passable impression of an awe-inspired tourist was why she was bringing him to the newest, fanciest hotel in Las Vegas, and why he had been told to find her in what was probably the crummiest.

She was just getting into an elevator when he caught up with her, having legged it past the designer shops and implausibly-priced restaurants, and he squeezed through the doors just as they were closing.

What’s all this Golden Compass hoo-ha about?

God this gets me mad! Or rather should I say – Jesus I’m annoyed! Or maybe I have to say – Nothing I’m peed off. Because that’s what I think. That there is nothing out there, no higher power, no guiding all-seeing, all-knowing being. Utter tosh. How can there be? One man and one woman did NOT start all human life in a garden (although the bit about the woman being susceptible to a bit of less-than-subliminal suggestion about something sweet, and therefore being evil is spot on – see chocolate advertising for details.)

So all this fuss about a film that apparently denigrates the entire Christian religion has to be wrong. If there is no God, then surely the boot is on the other foot. Surely they (the God-squadders) are trying to twist our minds by getting us to believe in something that is so blatantly wrong (water into wine – no [unless you add some grapes and wait a bit], walking on water - no, coming back from the dead - no.) So, Christians, show me some proof that you are right (and for every bit of proof I get I’ll show you a fossil, an insect trtapped in amber from millions of years ago, a clear DNA structure linking man to ape), and I might entertain your argument. Even the Turin Shroud, the one piece of ‘evidence’ that has been held up as irrefutable has been exposed as a fake.

So to the film. Yes, in the book there are some blokes in long dark robes and called the Magisterium and yes, they’re meant to represent the church, but so what? If a guy thinks that there’s no such thing as God, why can’t he say so? Why must he be condemned? What happened to turning the other cheek? I’m just thankful the robes were black, not white, and thebook/film doesn’t mention anything remotely Islamic. Imagine the smack down that would bring. Just why people who ‘have religion’ should dictate to the rest of us is quite beyond me.

In conclusion: get down off your high horse/camel and STOP PREACHING TO ME! I don’t believe in anything, stop shoving it down my throat!

Too long have I been away

Wow, that really is a long time between posts, isn’t it? Too long I’d say. Sorry loyal Manc fans, I’ll try and be on top of this in the next few weeks. It’s a tired excuse, but work has been manic, so……not good enough is it?

What’s been going on, I hear you cry? Been involved in a massive competition on a blog I write for work, which had the prize of flight to Las vegas, 5 nights hotel and tickets to the biggest fight of the year, Hatton vs Mayweather.

Speaking of competitions, I was overjoyed to find that I had been selcted from 100s of others in a painting naming competition over at Pollocksthebollocks. Can’t wait to collect my prize, it will look superb in the flat.

Enough for now, stuff to do, leaving drinks (not mine) to go to. More soon, promise.

A milestone has been reached

Today I checked the site, and have received my 1000^th hit. Happy days. Hopefully the snowball will grow and exponentially increase the hit rate until I have a goodly base of people reading my musings. So, what has been going on?

Football – bah!

Weekend – excellent. My parents came down from Manchester and a good time was had by all. Bit of shopping, bit of eating, bit of geocaching (introducing someone to the hobby is wicked, just watching their faces while you explain is enough, but then when they find a cache, priceless).

Busy day at work, so I have to go, but come back soon, and remember – tell your friends!

Cache-ing in

Once again I lost my post. F wordpress.

Enough to say we started to find caches! Yay us.

Steve Rider’s carbon footprint

Now I know ITV like to have their best presenters on show for the nation, but Steve Rider is being seriously overworked. Japanese Grand Prix on Sunday, Old Trafford last night, and Shanghai for the Chinese Grand Prix on the weekend. I make that about 12,000 miles. In 4 days. No wonder he looked spaced out on the football last night. I hope he’s signed up to an air miles programme, and on a hefty contract from ITV.

About the football…nothing special, another 1-0, but enough for the 3 Champions League points to leave us top of our table. Roll on Wigan, and maybe we’ll break the one goal hoodoo. I’ll still have a pound on 1-0, just in case.