A parasite by the name of Lynn James is muttering about the financial loss she and her partner will suffer under the government cuts in benefit. She moans that instead of taking the full maternity leave she may have to return to work after six months as she is the family breadwinner earning more than £60,000 per annum. Apparently as she has three children she will lose child benefit and the family will be £188 per month worse off. She states ' I wish the government would do a little more. It just feels like take,take,take.'
Well Ms. James I suppose you were served with a governmental order to shag like a Viagra infested rabbit in order to have another child. Having produced that child you a) expect time from work to nurture the baby and b) child benefit to help you pay for it. ' I wish the government would do a little more' you say yet forget that the government doesn't have any money. The benefit you receive come from other taxpayers some of whom are getting mighty fed up with subsidising your and millions of others lifestyle.
Do you, I wonder, sneer about benefit scroungers living in subsidised social housing because if you do how tjhe hell do you differentiate between them and yourself?

Had a little bit of playing with Santa today and it's a mighty peculiar feeling being all dressed up in the suit ,beard, wig etc.  whilst the young school children hide in the corners scared stiff of the terrifying old man leering at them from a decrepit armchair. Still it does have the height advantage of being able to mutter meaningless platitudes to the little darlings whilst getting a level eyefull of the gorgeous thighs attached to the teachers and their helpers. Unforunately the spectacles provided with outfit kept steaming up so it was impossible to render my full appreciation of the various titties but I'm sure they more than matched the hips and arses on display. It now becomes a matter of regret that in discussion with my careers master at school I opted for War Criminal instead of Infant and Junior Teacher . ( Note that I avoided secondary teacher as the women seem to become more ugly as the move up the school grades)
As I've been impressed into this Santa thing I've had to take the grandchildren to school by car and so haven't the opportunity to trace any more orange turds although I thought I'd seen one the other night when taking my dog Reestarse for a walk. Unfortunately the dog was attempting to shag a community officer's leg at the time and although he ( the plastic plod) appeared to be enjoying it  I dragged the hound away before getting a bill for trouser  dry cleaning purposes and didn't have time to check the excreta out.
Back to normal tomorrow so I can catch up on the latest apparel of the tatooed titties that pass for young mothers around here and perhaps have groan at the teacher who allows my offspring to learn about Diwali and Sita. I wouldn't mind if they taught the advantages of soft porn as it does at least have broader range than the festival of fricking light and an Indian cleaning company.

Britain oh dear Britain

Interesting item about an outbreak of ' ice cream wars' in jolly old Blackburn Lancashire. It appears that a turf war erupted between a Mr. Softee and Mr. Creamy or whatever stupid name is involved that resulted in weapons bared and a court appearance before one of Her Majesties judges.
Now it's not the rights and wrongs of the matter that are of interest but the names of the involved parties. Mr. Softee is Ibrahim al Jacuzzi and Mr. Creamy's moniker is Abdul Abulbul Emir or similar. The crowning piece is that the video footage taken by a bystander and filed on U Tube is credited to Alal Abdullah the Fourth. Distinctly not traditional British names.
I noticed at the school today that this weeks studies were all about Diwali and the reading stage was on a book about Sita. As the village has four takeaways staffed by people who live elsewhere I enquired of one of the teaching assistants the necessity for such a lesson. It was explained to me that it was part of the curriculum as all religeous festivals were at the appropriate ti9me of the year. With such a generous approach to education I enquired what Christian festivals were incorporated. 'Ther's the nativity play next month for any that are interested' was the reply.
Britain oh dear Britain

Another wet, miserable, pissing it down day that endears the English climate to my wistful soul. The local river bridge has been closed  because of an extra high tide and the only pub open on this side is populated by persons of the Romany tendency. Fortunately the local ASDA produced sufficient cans and bottles of an alcoholic nature that should keep me in blissful ignorance of the country and floods until tomorrow at least.
I don't usually watch the MSM version of what lies they consider news but pick up on relevant points from the internet and other bloggers. It was interesting to note that the chairman ,sorry chair, of the Chelsea Supporters Club has threatened to keep the current hate against their new Spanish manager going until the end of the season. This must please the proponents of multi-culturalism as the his name is Baggoretini or similar and twenty supporting comments came from people with very un-British names.
Iwonder if the orange dog turds around my district are anything to do with football or any other sport for that matter as their appearance is of a most regular nature. If not I'll go along with the post office owner who declares that it is all down to Jimmy Saville.
If there are any readers out there please feel free to post a comment even if it's only 'fuck off you boring twat'.

General Thoughts 2

Orange dog turds and young mothers are totally out of the window today as for various reasons I've only made one trip to the holding cell six and a half hour long environment that our glorious goverments grant us for children relief.
Reading the comments and 'news' items on other blogs I'm reminded of three very pertinent things;
1. All CEOs of fake charities (Alcohol Aware, Banardos, ASH etc ) are either women or men who have totally embraced their feminine side. ( whatever the fuck that is)
2. All of them, especially the women, are horrendously ugly.
3. People appearing in our courts have distinctly un-british names.
4. People representing them have distinctly un-british names.
5. Judges handing out the sentences have distinctly un-british names.
6. Persons stabbed or shot in the less salubrious regions of our cities have distinctly un-british names.
7. Footballers and managers in our great and famous Premier League have distinctly un-british names.
Can all be the cause of Global Warming?

General Thoughts

I had a quick recce this morning on the school run but the scything rain that lashed the backs, fronts and heads of the staggering children had washed away any remnants of the orange turds. Pity as my mode of transport, slowly crawlimg in the car, would have been an excellent method of catching up with any defecating animal, Pikey, resident, or frightened alien. For those who wonder why I was crawling in the car it was to keep pace with the children who were of course walking.
I did exit the vehicle at the school as the headmistress has some objection to motor vehicles in the playground, doubtless caused by travelling families who think they can park anywhere and totally ignore using the swings as a simple drop off point.
Carefully scanned the young mothers but quite naturally their tattoos were concealed by layers of rain proof clothing. Pity as I have a theory that some of the cheaper Ts may well run in wet conditions and bugger up the chinese menus printed on some necks. A chicken Chow Mein could change into Fried Prawn Bollocks and cause chaos in the lifeof the innocent passer -by who copied it down in good faith. Always use the printed menu I say and then you've got 'em in black and white.
I notice the news feed is trumpeting about the Cof E telling women bishops to bugger off and of course all the all knowing MPs critisising them for it. Why can't these useless morons in parliament stick to fiddling their expenses instead of shoving their noses into matters that don't concern them. Ye Gods any married man must shudder at the thought of giving these pushy women any higher standing to blow their own trumpets and inflict their will upon everybody else.

Not much to report this day. The howling wind caused the young mothers to wear tattoo concealing clothing and even the trousers seem to be more warming than skin tight.
Still nice to see that the Israelis are still chucking shit at the Hamas mobsters. It might be an idea for the pillock Cameron to encourage Israeli immigrants to settle in some of our major cities. Bradford, Leeds, Dewsbury, Birmingham and London spring to mind as being places that a little more multi - ethnicity might improve.
Tremendous amount of the orange dog crap around today including one stretch about a twenty yards long. Theories exchanged with the school crossing lady include the possibilities that the cause could be a slightly mad resident or ab alien visitor whose spacecraft is stuck in the local slagheap and has no way of emptying his inter-galactic midden. We shall see.

I have not been very informative on the subject of orange dog turds recently but never fear that I have grown tired of the seemingly relentless task of seeking the perpetrator. It was only last Friday that I spotted a deposit on the pavement outside the entrance to the vaguely Asian newsagents emporium and, for early afternoon, it was still steaming. As you will know these mouldering satanic piles have always been found cold and dried after a darkened night of mysterious happenings, so does this indicate that the canine dropper is getting careless or perhaps too confident in its actions?
I will remain 'qui vive' even though the school run convoy duties caress so much of my time.

After five months of a non blogging nature I find myself drawn back to an incomprehensible desire to express my own thoughts to the public in general.
I'll start in a gentle fashion leaving such things as the 'alien' orange dog turds and the reprehensible behaviour of the local tartetry for future posts. I will indeed try to write daily although the weekeds may prove to be difficult in which I'll be a five day blogger!
To sum the day up I've consumed three pork pies ( extra to to my meals of course), mentally smoked two full packets of brightly coloured and manufacturer impressed cigarettes, partly supped through several bottles of reasonably strong ale ( the rest is to follow), and spent a very pleasant time following an old alchemist instruction on re-creating the Pied Piper.
I think that fills all my social obligations for one day.

Well after a two weeks of suffering from something that resembled Ebola mixed with a virus that was a close relation of bronchitis I finally feel fit enough to resume the school run.
As an aside I must mention that even after the torrential rain of the past weeks there are still remnants of the orange dog turds adhering to sections of the pavement. As the laying of fresh turds is about due I shall resume my investigations with the new deposits.
The school yard was full of the usual mothers this morning but, as I approached, I could sense an air of excitement amongst the gathered throng and a sort of restless movement from the tight jeans encasing the multitude of tattooed and child bearing thighs. Local legend has it that the greatest excitement in the village was in the late fifties when Hammer Films did some casting for junior vampires in one of their Dracula films and I suspected that something similar was taking place, although I could see no sign of cameras or film type personnel in the immediate area. After a moment a figure, furiously scratching its' left buttock, broke free of the milling throng and sort of semi hopped in a large circle around the painted markings used by the cycling proficiency people. As it scratched there was similar movement amongst the the crowd and I half expected that they were practising for the tribal dance held on the anniversary of the miners strike every year. As this anniversary ritual also includes breaking the windows of all 'scabs' houses and the firebombing of the local police station, the rehearsals do take up many hours of the local community time and are often carried out in any convenient location such as the school playground.
However the initial participant was now surround by others all of whom were flapping their hands and a voice shouting 'got the bleeder' indicated that the furore had been caused by the first wasp of our delayed summer. To everyones relief the agitated parents soon settled down and I was able to read some of the intricate messages inscribed by the tattooists pen on both their exposed and indeed less exposed areas of bountiful flesh.
I hadn't previously realised it but many of the messages, especially the ones curving from the navel to the groin, are actually written in text speak. I noted two lols, one wtf and four of consecutive letters from scunthorpe, although the one was partly obscured by a large fold of surplus flesh. From some of the inscriptions I can only conclude that one of the local Chinese takeaways has struck a deal in order to advertise their menus albeit in the original Mandarin rather than modern English.
As this post has taken the better part of a week to complete I'll finish now and perhaps tomorrow relate a few more secrets of this mysterious community.

Reflections From A Subsidised Housing Circle

There are several subjects that I would like to comment upon this week the main one being the fortnightly appearance of orange dog turds on the route to the school. Now, as you would expect , this area contains a large number of indeterminate breed mongrels that wander around the streets with no sign of any human ownership about their persons. Amiable creatures for the most part theirs is a seemingly happy life as, apart from the occasional road casualty, they seem to have no natural enemies and they wander about sniffing at various objects with what appears to be a great deal of contentment and a certain air of ' bon vivant'.
The main problem that arises from this idyllic existence is that their toilet habits are necessarily of a nomadic nature that leaves piles of festering dog turds at random locations on public footways. The particular infestation that I am writing about seems to occur on a regular two weekly cycle and always follows the same pattern, so to speak. The deposits are all around four inches in height and formed in a circular pattern with a base diameter of approximately six inches. The consistency is neither wet nor dry but the amazing points are the spacing and the colour. It would seem to be a most incontinent dog that lays a turd at one hundred yard intervals over a distance of almost three quarters of a mile. Not only incontinent but the possessor of an immense gut to deposit twelve equally sized and coloured circles of shit in that same distance and, at the same time, remain invisible as nobody I have quizzed on the route has seen the defecating canine at work. This is not totally improbable as most of the young mothers who traverse the pathway do so with their mobile phones glued to their ear and undoubtedly wouldn't notice if they were wading knicker high through a swamp of rotting lizards.
Well I have to admit that I am completely mystified by this phantom but regular crapper to the extent that I'm even contemplating holding an overnight watch when the next cycle becomes due. ( I won't of course because imbibing a bottle of red vino and a couple of large whiskys tend to make the eyelids rather heavy.) Anyway my theories so far encompass a tribe of similar sized Whippets being simultaneously walked, an incontinent local smackhead getting his/her periodic dose of fresh air, Godzilla roaming the streets at night in search of tattooed titties or ... well I just don't know. The major improbable is the rich orange colour of the turds. From personal experience I know that human faeces tend come in various shades of brown or black dependant on the types of alcohol and curries consumed previously, but Orange!
When the current flood level subsides a little I might inspect each rotting pile and see if there is any sign of staining on the pavement. After all it could be an alien attack!

Always wear the right clothing.

The school is active once again, as is the weather, so this weeks forays along the magical entity of tattoos, titoos, tight leggings, gobbing children and strange life forms has resumed in a fairly natural fashion. It seems that England only has two seasons now, Winter and Summer, so that if the sun should appear the dress standard is for July, regardless of temperatures of 38F, and if clouds or rain should obscure the sun, the dress is still for July with an added hoodie over the T shirt.
Yesterday was sun so the usual cast of parents milling around the school yard were clad in short-sleeved tops which in the case of the women exposed vast quantities of bouncing bosom. Unfortunately the men were the same and I can only think it was the sight of these that  was scaring the hedge sparrows away.
Now I may have previously mentioned the large scale of these local titties that seemingly have a life of their own even when metaphorically constrained by iron cast bras and other guidance systems. True to form Monday morning showed the power of these memorable mammeries in the shape of a chubby young woman wearing a red 'England' shirt and very leg hugging black tights. The brat owned by this women was doing its usual thing of charging around the school yard when, upon another approach to it's mother, another brat stuck its foot out causing the little lout to tumble headlong towards the said Alma Mater. In an attempt to prevent his disgusting piggy nose from furrowing the unkempt tarmac of the playground the young pustule made a grab for his mother to prevent his fall. Well the movement certainly worked as the excrescence remained on its feet but, as the great Newton reminds us, to every action there is a most definite reaction, in this case heralded by the sound of a resounding twang type noise bounding across the playground and providing a faint echo   from the sides of the surrounding slag heaps.
' Me bleedin' bra strap' came the cry from the slightly off balance young mother as she tried to steady herself from the brats clutching hands and the asymmetric motion released by her now freely swinging breasts. For some reason, it may have been a different rate of swing by each of the released Bristols, she seemed to enter an uncontrollable leftward lurch that seconds later caused her right nipple to knock the mobile phone out of the hand of the father of another child who was standing about a yard behind her and attempting to inform his gaffer that he was sick in bed and couldn't attend work that day. His instinctive shout of 'watch where you're putting your great fat tit' must have impressed his boss no end but at that point the classroom door opened and the subsequent stampede dragged me away from what must have been a very interesting three way conversation between the man the woman and the unwitting listener at the other end of the line.

Friday bloody Friday

Well there was nothing unusual on the school excursion today apart from the grand daughter being whisked off on a trip to a local garden centre. I don't know what a bunch of four year olds get out of that unless it's part of a cunning plan to turn them all into green activists in years to come. They're wasting their time with mine whose greatest pleasure in the recent spell of fine weather has been to scour the garden for 'pretty ladybirds' as she puts it and, having found such creatures, crushing them under her dainty little boots.
The Friday morning shop was an extremely light one in the nearest Tesco, a store not usually favoured with our custom as we consider them to be a two faced, lying, back stabbing organisation who are ever nuzzling too close to whatever set of morons currently hold the reins in Westminster. The car needed its weekly influx of petrol so I enjoyed twenty minutes of observing pump rage amongst the panic buying middle classes of the surrounding areas. I just put my usual twenty five quids worth and had fun in berating the acne riddled Tesco car fuelling assistant about his company profiteering by putting the price up by three pence a litre. In retrospect this was very wrong of me as I don't think he knew what profiteering meant.
The cheap offer Boddington's loaded into the car along with a loaf and milk I couldn't help remarking how empty the store was. Serves the bastards right for screening off the cigarette and tobacco display counter. I don't smoke now but I might have some fun soon by asking them to check if they stock different brands of ciggies and pipe tobacco. Should keep the assistant busy opening and closing the shutters and I could then complain to the management that I caught a glimpse of named tobacco product!

Nearly the school holidays so the blogging vein will have to change over the next week or so but, before I continue to this weeks view of the school run , a word about our dear leader David Camermong.
A man who pisses off smokers, drinkers, calorie lovers, Gregg's Bakery and fat cat potential donors to the cause in less than a week must be THE BIGGEST POLITICAL CUNT THAT EVER EXISTED. Following on from Blair and Brown that is one MASSIVE achievement that can only have happened because the man is a total and utter penis polisher with no understanding of morality or reason. Still the thousands of mentally challenged voters whom he managed to scare into bumping up his VAT income on petrol will undoubtedly vote either him or the creep Millipond into power at the next election.

The continuing fine weather has seen more shedding of apparel by the mixed community that head in the direction of the school each morning. I followed one pushing a pram that had the briefest pair of cut-off denim jeans I have ever seen. ( Believe me I do keep an eye out for these things) To say that the cheeks of her arse were virtually on full display would be a conservative description and the only thing missing was a little sign saying 'knock twice and enter if I'm using my mobile.' The accompanying walking brat wasn't exactly intelligent as it walked in front of the pram causing the mother's head to tip forward and the arse point towards a nearby chimney top. I did notice that the vision presented caused three crows to vomit in the house guttering and a black Labrador to run howling up the street with it's owner being dragged along behind. There are some mornings I'd rather be admiring the views in Afghanistan.

A couple of  things  before writing of events on the school walk;

Front page headline in The Sun yesterday;

MUAMBA SPEAKS

What's next?

SPHINX FARTS !

It's like a line from a 1950s biblical epic.

Much as sympathise and wish the lad well I shudder at the mindset of the twat arsed journalist who came up with that headline. The MSM stinks.

The weather has been very mild and the resultant shedding of outer clothing by the mothers and grandmothers ( remember that in this village it's normal to be a grandmother at 30 ) has led to some interesting and even horrific sights in the school playground.
The first one that almost literally hit me in the eye was of a twenty something mother whose partly cardigan covered left tit had appeared to have the word' ham' tattooed  on it in a vaguely vertical design that meandered slowly down in the direction of her naval. Not so. The bloody word, revealed in it's cardiganless glory, was Northampton, with the final N verging on a confluence with the nipple that was barely restrained by the purple, scallop edged bra that proudly peeked above the line of her extremely cropped top.
Barely thirty seconds later the benighted women's brat fell down whilst playing at the other end of the playground and she set off at a trot to the screaming child's rescue. I swear that she almost went asymmetric as both breasts began an uncontrolled pitching that destroyed her ability to pursue a straight line to her objective. The zig zag pattern that emerged would have done a Second World War Atlantic convoy proud but also had the fortunate effect of causing a last zig to veer her around the weeping brat otherwise the ensuing damage may have required a fleet of ambulances and the entire budget of the local NHS to remedy.
Enough for now, I still feel dizzy even thinking about the scene.

School Playground

Been a little busy this week  as it was time for my monthly pub crawl with an old friend, so the blogging had to take second place to the pleasures of alcohol and fine conversation. Still, the hangover seems to have cleared a little so I can share my thoughts on the strange scenes from the school playground.
Regular readers of this blog will be aware that, for my sins, I have the duty of convoying two of the grand children on their daily visit to that state institution known as school. As their are several schools in the complex, nursery,infant and junior, it makes for an interesting collection of adult accompaniers milling around in the school playgrounds and each adult has its own particular characteristic.
As the weather has been reasonable this last day or two the young mothers have skipped from winter to full summer clothing with,in many cases, a very interesting display of tattooed flesh. Now a decent tattoo is best displayed on an ample area of flesh and the young women of this village have attacked the body increasing capabilities of lager and kebabs with a fervour that should make each one eligible for a medal for increasing the profits of  British Takeaways and cheap lager breweries. As you know dear readers the increase of flesh tends be in the areas the medical profession refer to as the three Ts. Tummy, Thighs,and Tits.
 This morning, the weather being fine, I decided to do a quick count of the various types and numbers of the tittoos tattoos on display and the sum was very interesting. I counted four displayed on right tits and five on the left hand mammary. All the tattoos were of different designs with the most prevalent being variations on a butterfly theme, although there was one that to my untutored eye resembled a vagina shaped poltergeist escaping in flames from a flatulent cows arse. It must be said that the displayed body disfigurements didn't simply rest upon the upper curve but continued downwards to the area where the nipple snugly resides  inside the wearers bra.
I can only conclude that the tattoo 'artist' must on many occasions be privy to sights that only 'partners' and the Saturday night customers of the local pit club have viewed in their entirety. I sincerely take my hat off to their bravery and dedication. ( tattooists not tits)

School Convoy Pt. 2

A little further down the road from Krypton's encounter with the dog shit stands the very pleasant lady with the school crossing lollipop. Always greeting each child by name with a cheerful quip to the escorts about the weather etc. she is relic of the happier days when this country was still fairly civilised and stands apart from other high viz users as a wanted and useful member of society.
Unfortunately after leaving her presence the next two hundred yards lead through the pedestrianised area of the dreaded *** **** estate whose 1930s designed layout was stolen from Moscow by a British secret agent in the expectation of showing a cheap way to build houses in the economic climate of post war Britain. As the estate is mainly pedestrian it enables the plod to zoom past in their taxpayer funded mobile offices without bothering to investigate what happens on the streets, and the result of their indifference is laid out for all to see,
It's two hundred bloody yards of avoiding discarded needles, ( few) empty lager cans, ( many) used condoms (ribbed) and various items of female lingerie which would be fatal to sniff. Luckily an increase in walking pace soon gets us through and, like a sunbeam piercing a malodorous cloud, we cross another road and come upon the school, with all it's attendant humanity thronging the playgrounds in eager anticipation of the day ahead.
To be continued.

School Run

Wasn't sure what to pass comment on today as plods, politicians, the F.A. and Christianity are all vieing for headlines at the moment and are, from a bookies point of view, running neck and neck. I know that I've said some unkind things about the police in the past and I'm sure that the black clad, shaven headed thugs will provide plenty of more reasons for comment on their misbehaviour so I'll just concentrate on what has become my daily job. The School Run.
It must be understood that by 'the school run' I am simply referring to convoy escort to a couple of my locally residing grandchildren and the method of said conveyance is on the hoof. The village is a desperately poor area both economically and mentally so the only motor vehicles delivering to the school are, unlike the middle classes of the leafy South East, comprised of the BMWs, Mercedes, Chelsea Tractors, and Transits from the local Pikey enclave a couple of miles down the road. To be fair they're mainly Papists and only park near our school as the Catholic prison up the road has more parking restrictions than ground zero in New York. I may as well admit that some of the parents who live just over 400 yards from the school also use vehicles, mainly fourth hand Fords, to enable them to sit more comfortably whilst watching their uncontrolled foul offspring creating mayhem in the school yard before incarceration time.
Right! back to the escort duties. As it's about a half mile walk I usually muster the GCs about twenty minutes before the school kick off time of about 0845. I say about because the school clock hasn't worked properly since six thugs on detachment from The Met mistook it's flat ticking sound for a Yorkshire accent and gave it a good kicking back in 84. Also modern teachers being both illiterate and innumerate have trouble figuring out what the big and little hands on the clock are actually pointing to and have to have a meeting before ringing the bell.
Walking having commenced I usually take up a shepherding position slightly behind my charges which enables me spot any casually discarded dog turds in good time to order an avoiding change of course. This can be a problem with the legions of Mongol cavalry numerous children who,following government keep fit guidelines, use the pavements as a risk free racetrack for their varied high speed scooters and bicycles. This morning I was pleased to see one of these machines, piloted by a young moron named Krypton!!! plough its front wheel into an epically proportion pile of shit that stood about eight inches tall. The resultant skid saw the off balance Krypton drag his left leg through the turd from his knee to ankle. I confess that I took great pleasure in hearing his foul mouthed mother castigate him in language that would have made a naval Petty Officer blush. I was going to suggest she re-named him Crapton but thought, in the circumstances, I'd better remain silent.
Tomorrow we continue the trek as far as the School Crossing lady.

Yet Another Letter

More letters


The Reverend H Hareshol
St. Johns Church
c/o The Team Vicars
Peace Avenue
FG6 3GN

Dear Vicar,

After the recent meeting of the Parochial Church Council I feel that you may have misconstrued some of the issues raised and hope that this letter may help you to resolve the situation.

Although Ms. Brotherton is undoubtedly a highly qualified social worker I find that her counselling of the congregation after every mention of Satan makes the service overly long. Perhaps she could use the tambourine practice room for this purpose, after you have given your final blessing.

Whilst on the subject I wonder if it would be possible to avoid mentioning the name of Jesus during The Eucharist. Although no one has greater admiration than I for the fervour of the 'born again' members of the congregation I do think that the composer Handel has already written the definitive version of The Hallelujah Chorus and the copyright should remain with his heirs and successors.

With regard to my comments about your rallying call of 'The Church For The New Millenium' I meant only to say that your crusade for 'bums on seats', although in the true Christian tradition, could be misinterpreted in these days of popular access to American television programmes.

On the question of the space available in the aisles it would be helpful if your young lady curate and her assistants were more aware of some of the church customs. Several worshippers have mentioned that the bringing in of sheaves is normally confined to the The Harvest Festival and should not be used as a weekly accompaniment to the tambourine and guitar ensemble. I hasten to add that they do not wish to cause trouble and have no desire to be summoned to the Monday evening 'bible awareness' classes conducted in secrecy by that earnest young man from the university

I wonder if you could see your way to having the talking in tongues session separate to the communion service. Apart from making progress difficult for the servers the number of people writhing in the aisles during the collection has led to a sharp drop in the Font Renewal fund and will, I believe, delay your plans to divert the river into the church for the proposed mass baptism services.

Finally I must mention the giving of ' The Peace.' Although I agree that in this day and age a mere handshake is not enough, the partial disrobing and exchange of body fluids practised by the more charismatic worshippers may possibly be misunderstood by members of the older generation. It was possibly because of this that the bishop on his last visit felt compelled to embrace only male members of the congregation.

Yours in fellowship,

Letter To The Hyper-Market

The General Manager
Modified Foodmarkets plc.
Genetics Square
The Forward For Science Industrial Park
Euro Area South West 21.


Dear General Manager,

After a recent visit to your company's new globerama market in Yorkshire I feel compelled to note one or two points that may be of interest to yourself.

I must congratulate you on your policy of solely employing young people who appear to suffer from the unfortunate syndrome known as 'learning difficulties.' As you now operate in excess of one million outlets I do think that this courageous policy may eventually lead to slight staffing problems. It may be that if and when such a situation should arise the company could consider employing the merely illiterate members of the population which, experience suggests, comprises the majority of persons under the age of forty. If this should prove difficult then I fear that your only recourse is to turn to the older members of society, although their basic good manners, knowledge and courtesy, may be disturbing to younger shoppers thus causing a decline in your sales of illegibly labelled compact discs and Thai curries.

To return to my visit I must state how I admired the 'sang froid' of a young assistant whose lapel badge proclaimed her to enjoy the somewhat unusual name of Tracy Supervisor. When I enquired about the labelling of genetically modified products she informed me that all the micro-waveable foods carried the instructions on the packet.I found this a refreshing example of the witty replies so naturally uttered issued by your staff and remain amazed by the way she managed to utter several such statements without the slightest hint of amusement showing on her serious countenance. Such training deserves the highest accolades and I ask that you pass my comments on to your excellent Personnel Manager.

A small hiatus occurred when I attempted to procure one of the wheeled baskets that were artistically arranged at the store entrance. These scientifically designed ensembles of steel wire are, as I'm sure you're aware, linked together by what appears to be a thin section of chain fencing. As I felt that steering sixteen of these magnificent vehicles around the store would deprive some other worthy shopper of the opportunity to sample your interesting range of goods, I endeavoured to separate one which would be sufficient for my modest needs. After several minutes of struggle I requested assistance from a young man who was attired in both pullover and hat bearing the 'smiling till' logo displayed all around your company's stores.Incidentally it is very thoughtful of your management to design a hat with the peak at the rear. This must be of immense help in preventing harmful ultra-violet from the sun affecting the bare necks of your young employees. I would assume that the time lost from sickness is greatly reduced by this innovation. Upon my asking this willing fellow for assistance he replied by saying ' Itexakwid.'

My delight at finding a fluent knowledge of the Serbo -Croat language was a requirement for your employees when, by deft use of sign language for the hard of hearing, he indicated that a one pound coin was all that was required to release the recalcitrant piece of chain fencing. This I must say is modern technology in its finest form as once the coin had entered a slotted section none of my subsequent efforts could release it again. I would assume that this clever device goes a long way to meeting the repair costs caused by these baskets being inconsiderately damaged by the libs of your more careless customers.

Whilst on the subject of the mobile shopping basket I never realised what a marvellous training aid they are for shoppers whose driving skills have become somewhat jaded. After suffering the rigours of a short urban journey to reach your store all drivers can revitalise their skills by pushing one these trolleys for only a few short yards. I feel sure that all customers must appreciate your consideration for what is largely a car borne trade.

I fear that I cannot comment any further on this visit to your emporium as, just after entering, I foolishly allowed my right leg to intersect a trolley that was headed towards a sign proclaiming 'baskets only.' I trust that no permanent damage was caused to your shopping vehicle and remain in awe of the design work that enables such a modest creation to be loaded to a height of six feet or more above ground level and still provide room for three young children to sit in comfort.

After my discharge from hospital I shall certainly visit your store again.


Sincerely

A Letter To The Surgery

The Practice Manager

Bodycheck Medical Centre

Dialysis Medical Village

Fundsway

RI 1 8Nt

Dear Practice Manager,

As an infrequent user of the excellent facilities available at your well appointed centre I feel that I must apologise for any consternation caused by my recent visit.

I was unaware that, for obviously sound health reasons, your customers are expected to walk to the centre and thus offer my apologies to the stern  lady in jackboots who was supervising your spacious parking area. It did seem to me to be an unusual job for the loud voiced senior receptionist but I can assure you that her being trapped between my vehicle's radiator and the boundary wall was a pure accident. I consider the nice young police constable was in error by referring to the incident as attempted murder.

A innovative feature that I noted was the security guard searching all visitors to the surgery for evidence of tobacco and alcohol abuse. If this could be extended to other categories, sports abuse, food abuse, self abuse etc. significant progress would be made to the ideal of ensuring that only completely healthy people gain access to the centre. This would ease the strain on your overworked medical staff and enable them to spend more time investigating the links between smoking and the Mongol expansion into Europe during the first Millennium.

I did feel that the compulsory seventy-eight page pre-appointment questionnaire took some considerable time to complete but remain grateful for the compulsory hypno-therapy session in section forty-three. I had never realised what evil people my parents had been and look forward to their forthcoming trial and probable imprisonment.

A suggestion that you may consider is to more widely display the events that take place on the premises. Had I realised that Thursday was Gay Health Day I would not have shown my surprise when the young man in the black leather jacket took my hand and attempted to lead me into a curtained cubicle. I can assure you that I had no intention of causing him such serious injuries, the marks on his throat being from a purely reflex action when he offered to help me undress. I must add that were the cubicles a little larger then my knee would not have struck his groin as he attempted to sit down. Please send him my best regards and I do hope that the steel implant in his spine will eventually enable him to recover at least some power of movement.

My comments to the lady behind the armoured glass in the reception area were of a jocular nature and were only made because of her extraordinary resemblance to the late female commandant of the Ravensbruck Concentration Camp. The remark about her being too young to have belonged to the Hitler Youth was intended as a compliment and my question about her medical knowledge was only made because of my admiration of the intensive pre-consultation briefing she subjected me to. I can assure you that my observations about cauldrons and broomsticks were merely a reference to alternative medical practises and only made in wonderment of the wide knowledge she seemed to have on all health matters.

As all four hundred and twenty of the group medical staff have now refused me a consultation I am endeavouring to memorise the three volumes of your Regulations for Prospective Patients publication. If I am successful in passing the Rejected Patient Re-entry Examination I have a tentative  appointment for March 2017 and hope to see you then.


Cordially yours,

Daily News

Scanning through the paper this morning I came across the following stories that show to what a shit state England has descended. ( Warning -the stories are from the Daily Fail so accuracy is dubious)

1. Some fart of a government twat wanker  running dog has made a statement about legislation to be introduced to curb the current spate of attacks by dangerous dogs. All puppies are to be micro -chipped at birth and a rolling programme will then hoover up all the adult dogs in the country. HTF are the power mad bastards going to monitor that? When a dog licence was only 7/6d ( 37p)  eighty percent of dog owners didn't bother bying one so, with a micro-chip costing up to £35, it may just be possible a similar situation arises.

2. The worst prime minister since The Gorgon of Kirkaldy ( who was the worst P.M. since the husband of that slot mouth female Q.C.) has decreed that what British Industry needs is more screeching feminazis women in the boardroom. Actually it's Brussels that has decided it but the Camermong is trying to make out that it's all his own idea to introduce legislation to ensure that more dripping fannies sprottle the high class leather of boardroom chairs. WTF has it got to do with any politician how companies make up their directorships?

3. Ther has been a sixfold increase over five years of schoolgirls getting contraceptive implants. This is being implemented by local authority health fanatics without the knowledge of the children's parents and, because of confidentiality legislation, is allowable within statute law. All the girls,some as young as thirteen, have to do is request the implants. Personally if they're that eager to have sex at that age I'd rather see them fitted with time locked chastity belts that wouldn't open until after their menopause. It would probably be the cheaper option.

4. Mothers wanting to return to work are having difficulty finding classy part time jobs. All the jobs on offer according to that hotbed of feminism, Netmums, are cleaning, clerical or cashier type jobs that do not appeal to the bossy managerial type of mothers.
Well too frigging bad. It's time you damp knickered harridans realised that if you make the choice to have a baby then the rest of society, including employers, do not have to bend over backwards to accommodate your every demand and desire. The lot of you go away and straddle a porcupine's backbone. That should keep your mind off the paucity of proper jobs for people of such station.

Thursday 2nd. February 2012

Labour's Tom Watson made a statement about the Metropolitan Police investigating News Corporation's alleged hacking of e-mails.

Thursday 2nd. February 2012

The Metropolitan Police issued an apology after revealing that during a survey the e-mail addresses of over 1100 crime victims were sent to survey recipients.


Leaving that hotbed of social activity, the daily convey of grandchildren to the school, I noticed an interesting letter published in the Daily Fail.
Claiming that the taxation and banning from public places has caused people to stop smoking and therefore reduced heart attacks the writer extends the principal a little further to tackle obesity which, he/she claims, is now our top medical concern
I suggest that from January 1 2013 everybody will have to undergo a tax/obesity assessment - weight, height and girth - providing an index figure. If you're 'above the line' you get taxed more and your tax code is adjusted. Get slim and your tax is normal. It's only fair after all, bigger or fatter people will, ultimately, make greater calls on NHS services.
Assuming the writer, one P. Webberly, from Preston is not at present confined in an institute it becomes interesting to analyse the way his/her cell challenged mind operates.
If EVERYONE in the country is to be weight tested on a regular basis how much does Webberley of Preston think it might cost? Does this economically  illiterate wankrag commentator expect the extra taxation to more than cover the cost of such procedures? Does The Webberley consider the number of extra non productive leeches that HMRC would have to employ and the cost thereof?
The answer is probably not, but be assured, the said Webberley almost certainly had a massive orgasm when typing the sacred letters NHS into the e-mail.
Even more frightening is that the letters editor of The Fail actually published such crap and that there are thousands more Webberlys infesting this once free and pleasant land.

Gays, Plods, Victims

I see a new proposal is seeking to both increase the fines paid by offending motorists and also increase the amount the convicted felon driver has to pay to the 'victim surcharge fund.' Ken ( I love the E.U.) Clarke is in favour of charging all offenders an increased surcharge on their conviction.
I don't suppose it's occurred to the fat twat that if the fine levied for the offence was given to the victims whatsit then there would be no need for any surcharge.
Of course not. He's a a politician well versed in the arts of stealing money from the electorate.


The Plod have been attracting my attention lately with their aggressive eagerness to shove the prognoses in the world of professional football. The issue is, of course, racialism which seems to be a supposed crime at which the amount of money wasted is proportional to the number of stupid complaints made. The opportunities for 'fans' to make mischief in this way may well cause a few Chief Wankers Constables to wish they hadn't leapt on to the equality bandwagon so readily.


A further annoyance is that coming from the 'gay' section of society who now want equal rights in marriages. It's not on lads and lasses. I don't care if you want to go and turd burgle the entire Arabian Peninsular but marriage IS a religious institution for man and woman, not man and man or woman and woman. By all means have the same rights as married couples but do not , under any circumstances, claim that your union is that of marriage. You've stolen enough words for your own use already as pouf, queer, shirt lifter or lezzie, didn't seem to suit your sense of propriety. So for your partnerships invent a word or words of your own and please remember that I once had an excellent local pub called The Gay Lancer. It is one of the few pubs not closed by the smoking ban.

A pensioner in Yorkshire has been given a ten year ASBO for making insulting remarks about local businessmen, clergymen and a councillor on his blog  entitled ' Wolds Eye.'
Reading the article in the Daily Tail doesn't give you much detail on what he wrote but the way in which the matter has been dealt with should concern all bloggers as it smacks of censorship by the powers that be.
If the man made false claims about the people named in the article then there are existing laws regarding libel and slander that could have been utilised by the individuals concerned to silence and refute any untruths made about them. However, they, in the way of today, chose to make complaints of harrassment of to the local plod that ended up with him appearing at Hull magistrates court last week.
The article states that his blog was taken down by the authorities last year but does not mention what 'authorities' or their right to 'take down' a private blog.District Judge Frederick Rutherford rejected the defence by stating ' It's a nonsense to to hide such appalling actions behind human rights. This is clearly anti - social behaviour.'
They obviously want to hang a criminal offence on bloggers as it's much easier to control the people that way. I wonder if he had his DNA recorded?

Pressurising MPs.

Reading about the greasy slitherings over the Clegg's plan to make MPs accountable to the electorate between elections I was struck by an allied thought.
If Libertarians could get their act together there could be organised a campaign to remove arseholes MPs and/or councillors at the next elections.
The subjects would have to be carefully chosen, size of majorities, parliamentary committees engaged on etc and ,of course ,would have to be told that they were being targeted because they had no interest in the rights of anybody apart from their favourite pressure groups.
A low cost leaflet campaign could then be mounted in each constituency giving the MP/Councillor's voting/attendance record, where they stood on civil liberties and freedom etc, and also perhaps giving advice on voting for a non mainstream party.
I would think that very few of the smokers, drinkers and obese among us have any idea where their elected representative stands on these issues. Finding out might well change voting patterns although it would take some organising.

Schools & Things

Picking the granddaughter up from school today I was presented with an A4 sized sheet of paper entitled School Newsletter. ( They've only been back two weeks for heavens sake) As said GD was busy chatting to her school friends as we strolled in the direction of the old abode I decided to cast my eye over the doubtless silly but engaging stories in such a newsletter. Newsletter my arse it was a complete bollocking for any parent or guardian who was unwise enough to let their child attend that school.
Page one ( the front sheet) started with a health enforcement article reminding parents that lunch boxes must not contain sweets, bars of chocolate or fizzy drinks as the school is involved in a 'healthy eating programme' . Now the healthy eating is undoubtedly inspired by that sad, lank haired twat Jamie Oliver but surely as the parents choose to give their offspring the sort of food that children like it's surely no business of the surly, black clad Medusa in the headteachers office what choices they offer to their children.
This is swiftly followed by a barely veiled threats about ENSURING that dinner money IS PLACED in an envelope with the child's name and class on and furthermore HANDED to the pupils class teacher in ADVANCE on a Monday morning. Next is a bit of light relief with a REMINDER that KS1 milk money is due again in September. ( It's only January for fks sake)
The sheet is finished with a list of events and an admonition that THESE are Important  dates for your diary so enter them as soon as you get home, you imbecilic parent, you. The reverse side contains dates when the school is closed which through some optical illusion appear to be more frequent than the days when it is open.
I should mention that the newsletter is sub headed Summer Term 2011 although the dates given refer to 2012. Perhaps the LEA is so committed to its belief in Climate Change that all terms are now designated as Summer. Perhaps in a few years they will be called Hot, Hotter, Arid and The End of Life.

Modern Morals

This morning, as on most mornings, I was waiting with my granddaughter for the school door to open when my enjoyment of the early frost and sharp air was destroyed by the actions of a witless oaf of around two years in age.
It is the practise for parents and other adults delivering a child to the school to congregate in the playground a few minutes before the official start time. As the various people pass the time by inconsequential chatter amongst themselves the children, naturally, run around with their friends and generally have a good time. Many of the mothers have children below school age with them and quite obviously bring them along with their older siblings. This particular blight on the civilised world had been freed from his taxpayer funded pushchair and was wandering around the yard, totally unsupervised,  with the normal vacant expression adopted by the natives of this ex-mining village. Reaching a position about a yard behind his vacated conveyance he stopped, looked contemptuously around, hawked, and spat a massive globule of phlegm onto the playground surface. The mother of this object paused from her mobile phone conversation to utter the words,' good un, gerrit of yer chest then', and returned to her phone to tell her co-conversationalist that ' our Jockos just had a good gob in playground'.
The small creature then proceeded to put his right trainer into the phelgm  and having it adhered to the sole, tried speading the leavings of his diseased chest all over the school yard.
I know that spitting in public has become very prevelant of the last twenty years or so. I realise that it was probably started by professional footballers expectorating all over the pitch in some belief that it was healthy for them to do so. I accept that children will only follow the lead of the parents nad that at two years old they are not to blame. But, and I know that it is a big but, just let me loose with an automatic rifle make the council enforce the by-laws and I guarantee that within forty eight hours   a couple of months there will be no more phlegm on the streets, pavements and playgrounds of this village.

Soviet Methods in the Anti Industry

Today I was  considering all sorts of things in a vague sort of way when the words of a famous novelist wandered through my mind.
They have an unarguable belief in the righteousness of their cause and the inevitability of that cause coming to fruition. They will listen to no argument against that cause. They consider all methods lawful that will further that cause. The use of lies and propoganda is necessary and correct to ensure that other people accept the imposition of that cause.
The words are from memory and may not as Eric Morcambe might said ' be nessessarily in the right order'  but are fairly accurate in their meaning. Who was he writing about? It was the attempted Sovietisation of Germany after the war but the words were learned well by the New Righteous to seek to regulate our lives by an increasing amount every day that passes.

The War On Racialism

The great battle against racialism has opened a new front within the motor trade. Volkswagon, that well known German manufacturer of ' Hitler' cars has launched two variants of its new 'up' super mini called ' The White Up' and 'The Black Up.'
 Guess which model is causing offence in the U.K.?
VW bosses in the UK blocked the black version because it could give offence to ethnic minorities. For why pray? Oh, obviously, the term 'black up' could give offence to ethnic minorities who may associate it with white actors and singers blacking up applying dark make-up to perform as minstrels darker complexioned expert players of stringed musical instruments en route to ' De Camptown Races.'
To get round this the VW people in the UK have simply reversed the words and called the vehicle 'The Up Black' which has done nothing to satisfy the ranks of the professionally offended.

There must legions of these useless sperm seepers spending every day of their lives looking for something to complain about. One example. a creature entitled Matthew Collins from an organism called Hope Not Hate  branded the name insensitive. He said that in this country we seem to be dealing with an explosion of racism and these are not the wisest of words to be have been chosen.
What  drooping dicks he and his cohorts are. They,like all true believers, will never realise that the majority of people, both black and white, would never have thought twice about the car name if the campaigners hadn't made it into one of their endless causes.