Thursday, May 29, 2003

Well, the logic went, if we are going to drive for an hour we may as well drive for 90 minutes, then, if we are going to drive for 90 minutes we may as well drive for two hours. Which is how we ended up spending the day on South Beach at Tenby, with hundreds of brummies for company.
I have turned a screaming, vivid red. It's very embarrassing, I look like a fucking freak. I wonder if I can get a note for it.

Wednesday, May 28, 2003

It struck me as I parked up in Cardiff this morning that it is some shithole I happen to live in when I have to drive 20 miles one way for a decent piece of meat and 20 miles another for a decent haircut. Still, having been suitably shorn, me and the nipper managed to completely overspend on books again, and stock up on various bits of clothing that neither of us actually needed. Of course having done that, we had to get something for the other two nippers, and, naturally, Mrs Buddha. One way or another it was an expensive chuffing haircut.

The nipper is delighted with his new Lemony Snicket, but not half as delighted as I am with my new Newton Thornburg, To Die In California. I have been trying to get this for about 2 years, since reading his masterpiece, Cutter and Bone.

I also picked up, to my shame, A Season With Verona, by Tim Parks. I always said I wouldn't buy this book, for two reasons; one, large chunks were serialised in the Guardian, and two, having read the articles I had come to consider the dude a bit of a dilettante. However, I picked it up, browsed, remembered it came highly recommended by young Blues fans Flavio and Colin Bumstead and , well, I just couldn't not buy the fucking thing.
I also got If Nobody Speaks Of RemarkableThings, by Jon Mcgregor. If the rest of the book compares with the beautiful first paragraph, this is a book I will be returning to. Read the first chapter.
While I was at it I decided to get Little Infamies, which has been well reviewed, more in the hope of keeping Mrs Buddha quiet for a couple of nights than anything else really. All I have to do now is finish the bloody Crumley.

There are compensations to living here. It was shaping up to be a beautiful evening and on whim we decided we would head for the beach. We left at 5 and, despite having to go through or past 3 major towns, in the rush hour, we were scoffing ice creams on a beach by 6. As we drove down I thought we could see hundreds of seals at play, but it was just dozens of black clad surfers; a fact I appreciated when we got nearer and found the tosspots had all parked along the road despite there being an enormous car park within about 20 yards from where they surf. This parking , although on yellow lines, doesn't cause a major hazard, but it does make life slightly, but, nevertheless, unneccessarily, difficult for others. I suppose chasing that radical high makes one a bit selfish. They wouldn't want to miss Big Sur!

Mind you the car park was worth a post in itself as it seems to be where the local and not so local herberts hang out. So we were treated to the sight of 4 fat slags, wobbling about and drinking Carlsberg from cans trying to get the attention of a group of slightly cooler males by outblasting them on their car stereos, which prompted others to compete. Tranquil it aint.

The main beach is impressive but poxy. Good for sandcastles and watching the surfers with hundreds of rock pools, but my fucking God....the people! Bloody Nora I cannot even bring myself to think about them, the wobbly, thick, gits. Not to mention the parents!

Walk around for 5 minutes though, and you have the place more or less to your self. Tonight there was a beautiful sunset which we shared with just another large family who were enjoying a most impressive barbie with the waves rolling gently in and the smell of the briney clearing the sinuses. This other family were getting the wine down their collective necks like motherfuckers and were clearly enjoying themselves immensely. Yet they kept to themselves, were relatively quiet and discreet and did not seek their pleasure by getting in everyone elses faces, which shows it can be done.

You wouldn't to walk too far around the bay though,or your reward would be a beautiful view of Port Talbot steelworks , which would destroy all romantic notions.

We drove back just as it was getting dark and had the motorway to ourselves. It was beautiful, I love empty roads at night, especially motorways, I fill my head with all sorts of childish, romantic notions, about just driving on the open road for ever, till I find my spiritual home.

Tomorrow we are getting up early and heading for a quieter beach about 30 minutes further up the coast. This place is stunning but the hoi polloi generally can't be arsed making the effort to get there. Unless we go just a bit further and end up here:

Iraq: a memorial It was flesh and blood that died, people with families, thousands and thousands of people, all grieving.
Body counts

Jesus H Christ! Is it really only 2 and a half years? I suspect when the history books come to be written, by objective scholars, given distance from events, young George will be much mocked.

Friday, May 23, 2003

Having heard the Cerys Matthews cd more than once I am forced to revise my opinion. It is much better than OK, it's bloody good. Good songs, well performed, nothing earth shattering but it leaves you feeling happy, who could ask for more?

Why I love the internet, part 101, Disinfopedia

Bugger me you have to try Gnod, just for a laugh. It is supposed to recommend books and music and suchlike based on information you give it. I told it I like Crumley, Pelecanos and Evanovich, and it suggested I check out some guy called Mantec. Looking further I discovered this chap writes fantasy novels, which is a genre that leaves me completely unmoved.
The music recommendation made more sense. I put in Flaming Lips, Wilco and Cerys Matthews and it suggested Super Furry Animals. At least it was somewhere in the neighbourhood.

I nipped off from work to travel 20 miles to buy some meat. I wanted some beef fillet, and the last time I tried to buy some in Cwmbran I genuinely lost the will to live. Anyway a nice old lady served me.
"Do you have any beef fillet," I asked. She looked at me as if I was an idiot and pointed to a tray full of the stuff. " Oh," I said, " I mean in a piece". "Yes," she said, "how much do you want" "er, dunno," I replied, and sort of gestured. " How many are you feeding with it," she asked, and I said "4".
"It's very expensive, it's that much for a pound," she said, pointing to the ticket, "and you need at least 2 pound".
"That's OK," I said, "so long as it is a nice uniform thickness, as I am going to wrap it and roast it and I can't have one end cooking quicker than another"
She gestured me to follow, then called a bloke over and told him what I wanted. He went away and came back with a beautiful big thick piece of fillet. He sort of marked out a piece in the middle and suggested that would just about do the job, I agreed and he cut it, from the middle. I tell you it is a beautiful piece of meat and I am well chuffed.
As I was paying the lady asked if I was wrapping it in pastry; "no," I said, "I will soak some porcini in wine, roll the meat in thyme and rosemary, smother with the mushrooms then wrap with pancetta." Bloody Nora, she told another old lady what I was planning then a general discussion on things to do with a nice piece of fillet ensued; involving the whole bloody shop!
It was a nice interlude in an existence that lately is being characterised by chuffing misery, which made a change from the idiot in Sainsburys who insisted that I didn't want fillet I wanted sirloin. The same Sainsburys who still haven't dealt with my complaint from some weeks ago.

Test your sexuality.

I had good day yesterday, which I may or may not detail on me other blog, next week. Twice though, early on, then much later on the people I were with said how education can be a curse and that if they hadn't educated themselves they would be much happier, as they would be happy to settle for less. We went around and about this sort of logic all day long really, most animatedly in a pretty shit hot Cuban restaurant in Islington where we enjoyed a very leisurely lunch. I thought about it again today when someone commented that I had become so cynical that I don't even pretend to be interested or motivated at work anymore. I said it would be an insult to my own and everyone elses intelligence to pretend otherwise; I would be marking myself out as a happy idiot, unable to see what is staring him in the face. I only mention it because it seems that we should all try a bit harder to be happy.

Cale says he is "still fascinated by the emotional curve of my journey from Wales to New York and back again. When I return to the Amman valley, it is as if to the bosom of a friend. That friend floats in the language and seduces me with each translation."
The above quote resonates with me, not because it relates to a place barely 40 minutes drive from where I sit, but because I recognise that it doesn't matter how long you live in a place, how much you identify with a place or how much you connect with a place emotionally or intellectually, there is only one place you can call home, one place you truly belong, even as you cease to belong there and even as you come to find it unrecognisable, and that is where you grew up.
Which is a long winded way of saying the bloody Guardian has a good interview with John Cale. I don't know if he does Tai Chi for 3 hours a day but he seems a bit more centred than Lou Reed.

Mikey Delgado tells George, straight: "That Bush and Blair mate. What planet are they on? I watched the breakfast time news and I know old Bush is a laugh like, with his bullshit about fighting the war on terror, and how he looks like an old-time druggie and he’s got to think about how to move his tongue to say whatever crap it is he’s saying. But when you see him on telly you just want to give him a shake don’t you? And tell him "Look George, for fuck’s sake, I know I was fucking crap in school mate and I know I ain’t the sharpest knife in the box, but come on, shape up, we’re not fucking stupid. You’re starting to take the piss, mate."

Man, I need this t shirt, as does this dude. Ta very much Desultory Deturgescence.

Hmm, Rapacious Dissertation sounds like a crap name for a blog.

Wednesday, May 21, 2003

Finally, got the mefiswap cd's in the post. I have some excuse but not much, they should have gone before now. After a very long wait at the post office I explained to the nice lady at the counter I wanted to send 2 packages to the US, 2 to Canada and 2 within the UK.
O.K she said you will have to make a customs declaration...fill in these little forms. I looked and explained I couldn't do that as they were all in Welsh. I will help she said, but couldn't speak Welsh herself, so Christ knows what the hell we have done. Are they all the same weight, she said, yes I replied so she wote the same weight in for each of them, then weighed them anyway. They all weighed different. We had to remove all the stickers and start again. Man I was popular. Finally I asked what the difference in price would have been. None she said, absolutely straight faced.
For more examples of how I manage to make a berk of myself on a daily basis, visit my other blog

Cardiff play QPR in a play off final at the Millenium Stadium in Cardiff on Sunday. You would not believe the racket the locals have been making. They want the Wesh national anthem played before kick off and the league has said nooooooo fuckin way Jose, quite rightly. Remember this is Cardiff, who play in the English league, in English competitions, all of a sudden getting all patriotic. I would say if you are that patriotic fuck off to the Welsh league.

Talking of patriotism, I have just seen Celtic defeated in the EUFA cup final. The support they took over was remarkable, and it included Rod Stewart, which wasn't so remarkable. We had to listen to him on the radio this morning telling us what a great Celtic fan he is and how he was worried he wouldn't get a ticket. I wonder how many other Celtic games he has been to in the past ten years.

A while back I went on about how pleased I was with myself to have discovered Haruki Marukami, and stuck some links up. There is a really good profile of him in, I am embarrassed to state, the Guardian. It was last Saturday; I tried not to post it!

Images of New York from the 40s and 50s.

I just happened upon Bookforum, there is nothing in particular I would recommend but it looks like I will be wasting many minutes there in future.

Monday, May 19, 2003

You can barely pick up a paper or a magazine at the moment without finding some article on Cerys Matthews and her new album, Cockahoop.
There is a good interview with her in the Guardian.
I have the album and it's ok, better than most of the reviews I have read suggest. Mrs Buddha loves it, she likes her bruised and raw vocal style, and she identifies with strong women who won't be cowed. Unfortunately.

Also in the Guardian is a really good, well; it's more of an expose than interview, with Lou Reed. I really don't know why the guy has to be such a berk. I have seen loads of similar interviews with him recently and he came across like a twat on Radio 2 the other week. There is nothing wrong with exercising a little humility, especially if you havent made a decent record for about 30 years .

Rather than visit this blog, you might just as well go straight to the Guardian site, because I am about to link there again.
An extract from a book by Sidney Blumenthal, self aggrandising about his role in advising Clinton during the Lewinksy affair (pun intended)

The Bilderberg dudes have been meeting in France, busily mapping out all our futures.

Flash thingy looking at the military record of young George. I think it's supposed to be funny, actually it is quite depressing.

Apparently, being apathetic, I am one of Christianitys worst enemies, I am delighted to divulge. Which enemy of Christ are you?
Via Desultory Turgescence, which is a motherfucker to spell but worth a visit for the Nigerian type communication from Saddam.

Interview with Chomsky.

404 page.

Sunday, May 18, 2003

One of the pleasing things about Blues unexpected promotion last year was the fact that decent players were prepared to play for us. Some Blues fans on some message boards still haven't worked this out and are forever suggesting we try our luck with some nonentity from the second division who has managed to score half a dozen goals. We don't need to do that, established internationals are more than happy to come to us, and in the case of Savage postively canvass for the move. Now Dugarry has signed, it is even more likely that players of high class will accept that a move to us is in their best interests.

The best example of playing for us being a positive career move is seen in the case of Matthew Upson. He had been kicking around on the fringe of the Arsenal squad for 5 and a half years, not really getting anywhere. Weeks after signing for us, in January, he was named in the England squad, and has stayed there for the upcoming matches.
There is a very good interview with him in todays Times, which is also something of a meditation on the frustrations of being a bit part player at a large club like Arsenal. He seems to have his head screwed on. I reckon Sven has identified him , potentially, as one of his famed "cultural architects", which can only be good news for Blues.

The Times also had a sort of light hearted end of season review; these items caused me to snigger:
Commentary: Half-time in the Champions League, and Big Ron Atkinson was hungry and unaware that he was still live on German TV. “Are there any sandwiches? I’m starving,” he grunted. Atkinson also let slip his admiration for Roma’s front-man: “He’s a little twat, that Totti”

Interview: Portsmouth manager Harry Redknapp, mid-sentence during a TV interview at their training ground, is hit smack on the back by a stray ball. “Why the fuck have you kicked that over here? Got some fucking brains, ain’t you?” Redknapp turns to camera. “No wonder he’s in the fucking reserves”

Goal celebration: Pascal Nouma, the Frenchman sacked by Turkish club Besiktas after taking off his shirt and putting his hand down his shorts. “It w>as not against anybody,” he said. “It was a private sign of joy”

Not forgetting our Clinton and his dear old mum. Actually, I wish the ugly chuffer was just a bad memory:
Mum: Angela Morrison, mother of Birmingham’s Clinton, was so enraged by the treatment her son had received at the feet of Rufus Brevett, then of Fulham, that she continued the spat in the players’ lounge after the game. “Your son’s got a big mouth,” Brevett said. Ma Morrison replied: “I know, he gets it from me.” Stewards were called.

Just for Bluetitch: Kittenfilter.

Baghdad in peacetime.

There is a good article in Open Democracy on the philosophy of food. Very good, in fact; very provoking of thought. The Guardian is also getting its middle class nickers in a twist over the global economy of food.
Now, food is a passion for me, and I buy the best and most humanely produced produce I can, but I am starting to get irritated by the food fascists, telling us we can only buy free range this and organically produced that; have these berks seen the price of this stuff?
Perhaps if the owners of big media who run these stories banned the conglomerates from advertising in their papers it would be a start. Think globally, act locally; unless it is inconvenient to me.
Try buying a free range pig in Cwmbran, it can't be done, old cock, unless you are talking about the FFC of course.
These are readily available though.

Hunter S Thompson on Richard Nixon, it puts me in mind of Wee Jimmy Krankie, can't think why.

From The Observer end of season review:

Man of the year: JESUS GIL

Steaming after a fraud conviction in February, 70-year-old Jesus offered to kill his Atlético players ('I mean it, some of the players don't deserve to live'), withdraw their salaries ('and anyone who doesn't like it can die'), and gave the year's best radio interview, days after having a pacemaker fitted. 'There's too many bloody passengers in this team! They're not going to laugh at this shirt any longer! They are not going to make fun of me.... Carreras, Santi and Otero are no good. They can die!' (Interviewer tries to cool things, reminding Gil about his new pacemaker.) Gil: 'I'm sick of people telling me to relax! They can stick my heart up their arses!'

Couldn't let it go award: TAEKO:

A young Japanese woman, telling the Shukan Post about her favourite man: 'I stayed at hotels where Beckham stayed during the World Cup. I checked toilets he might have used, took photographs of them and licked them. I'm definitely going to England. I want to live in Beckham's neighbourhood and go swimming or shopping with him. If I meet his wife Victoria, I will ask her to leave him.'

Coolest mind: MARK BOSNICH :

'I really don't give a toss about football anymore. Fuck football. I really can't be bothered. I want to try and make it as a sports star in America. I don't know what type of sports I would do. But that is what I want.' Runner-up: football's most positive man, Gérard Houllier: 'You call our season a step back. I call it a phase of plateau.'

Friday, May 16, 2003

It seems a long time since I did the Friday 5 :

1. What drinking water do you prefer -- tap, bottle, purifier, etc..?
Any water is fine so long as it is well diluted with vodka. Not really. Tap will do, unless you are in some dusty shithole in some malaria ridden hovel.

2. What are your favorite flavor of chips?
Potato? I assume chips are, in fact crisps and Walkers cheese and bunion cannot be bettered.

3. Of all the things you can cook, what dish do you like the most?
Some days, I would take this as an excuse to show off about my extensive repertoire of culinary skills. Today though, at this precise moment, the honest answer is chips. The fat must be clean, only Maris Piper will do and the double fry method should be utilised.

4. How do you have your eggs?
As a constituent part of ice cream, preferably.

5. Who was the last person who cooked you a meal? How did it turn out?
Mrs Buddha cooks one meal a week, Sunday dinner, although that tradition has gone tits up since the weather turned fine. It's usually O.K .

You know those electric things where you have to get a hoop around the wire without touching the side?
This is a variation of it, I can't get around the first bend.

Thursday, May 15, 2003

An interesting piece here from 1995, examining the possible motives behind a terrorist attack in Saudi Arabia.

I don't know why, I just don't seem able to drag this blog out of the gutter. Drag your mouse over the bare arses and they fart.
Clearly, not safe for work.

Mick Jones and Tony James have stuck a song on Poptones, for anyone to listen to. I wouldn't bother, to be honest.

Radio 3 has developed a website all about world music for nippers, it's chuffin ace!

Wednesday, May 14, 2003

You can't beat a nice fish supper.

An interesting account of a day in the life of young George .

I have to get this t shirt.

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned I had found my way to the work of Charles Willeford. I wondered why he was not better known but having now read 2 novels I think I might know why. Excellent as he is he has a tendency to throw in irritating little racist jibes at every point. He is hardly the house author of the Klan, but it's off putting people are untrustworthy, pc is bad, indiginous Americans are lazy, everyone hates the white man but is happy to take his money, that sort of thing. I tell you I have gone right off him.

My new major dude is James Crumley. I am reading The Final Country, it's the gonads, if you don't believe me, have a look yourself.

As much as I loathe Arsenal, Terry Henry seems like a cool dude.

A dingle wing, is not the ear of a Wolves fan, it is the trailing wing of a spinning boomerang. The term was coined by an American. You too could learn fascinating jargon like this at The Glossarist, which has much more than boomerang stuff.

As much as you are likely to want to know about potted meat.

I don't quite know how you would describe this, it's a sort of compendium of things someone overhears on the tube. Anyway it's brilliant and I found it via Happy Hippy.

Tuesday, May 13, 2003

The inaugral Sportsfilter EPL fantasy league has concluded. The winner was a most deserving and handsome dude, I reckon.

The real football season has concluded too. Most Blues fans are delighted with the way we finished, as am I. It's been an interesting season and the pleasing thing is that we negotiated a sharp learning curve and now look set to improve further.

I wasn't as enamoured as some of my Blue mates with our early season style of play, although I accept it served us well. I think the club was taken by surprise by our promotion and hadn't really planned for it. The transfer window knackered everything and we had to cope with what we had, more or less. So until Christmas our play was characterised by heart, passion and commitment. We got points by outfighting teams and wearing them down with our sheer obduracy.

I am old enough to remember when we didn't have to play as if we were apologising for being there and accepted the higher status as our right, so was a bit irritated by this, and the constant and oft repeated mantra that finishing 18th would be a triumph. With our ground, fans and backers we should expect better, in my view.

Then came the turn of the year and the transfer window opened. Bruce did remarkably well here, and in Dugarry brought in exactly the spark that had been missing. Out of the Blue, we looked like we belonged. Er, not out of the blue, actually, it took a while to adjust, but other, more prosaic signings fitted in well and made us look a better team anyway. The end of the season saw a complete transformation in attitude and skill and we were unrecognisable from the lumpen newcomers we appeared to be in August.

I have supported Blues for too long to allow myself to get carried away, but the future looks bright. Bruce appears to know what he is doing and has made some very astute signings. We no longer seem to be more concerned with stopping the opposition than we are with expressing ourselves and are clearly capable of taking the game to anyone. Now we have established ourselves and signed quality players more quality will be willing to come to us. I expect more changes through the summer and I have to say I am already excited about the prospect of next season.

I genuinely believe we could be challenging for a European place.

Friday, May 09, 2003

Saving Private Lynch

Ooh, look, a sonic boom.

If Bluetitch happens along here she will like Speedy, soppy as she is.

I know more than a few people who might benefit from a glow in the dark toilet.

Shoot the kitty.

I don't know what the point of this game is but it's bloody hard. The senile old chuffer spionkop will love it.

Have a look around an abandoned hospital

I think I may be addicted to E Bay.

Man, there is no better cure for an overtired and fractious toddler than to sit him in front of the Lemonjelly video at Sputnik7. I have to confess I like Lemonjelly, what's not to like;and talking of electronica I cannot recommend Manitoba, or, especially, Four Tet, highly enough.
Music is my saviour, along with the Mrs, and the kids, and literature, and cooking, and one or two other things. I had a motherfucker of a day ahead of me today and it turned out much, much worse than I could have anticipated. Knowing there would not be much light in the day I shoved The Wild The Innocent and The E street Shuffle into the cd in the car on the way in. For the 15 minutes the journey takes all the shit went away and I was 16 again, and fantasising about being a studly dude in New Jersey. Just the chuffin job.

I don't know. I try to keep this blogs brow unknotted, if not high. I like to think it is the art and the culture I link to about every 6 months that keeps my half a dozen readers enthralled on their bi monthly visits. So I apologise for all these bloody impressive cleavages!

Talking of e bay, you may find this dudes comments helpful.

Thursday, May 08, 2003

The above photo of Brooklyn was taken from the Cross Atlantic Report which has loads of brilliant, and not so brilliant images taken by 2 guys in New York, one in Paris and one in Brussels.

Steve Bell

Wednesday, May 07, 2003

No sooner do I start referring to our new group manager tosser as Wee Jimmie Krankie than the the Guardian publishes an article on the duo.

Fly Guy, very compelling and strangely relaxing.

Web building tutorials

A few months ago I stuck a link to an interview with Vic Godard up. I finally got around to purchasing the album and have played it non stop since Saturday. Do yourself a favour, buy this record, yes buy it, the guy is a postman for Gods sake.

The LA musical history tour.

Shoot the cans off the fence post.

Monday, May 05, 2003

Courtesy of Ragamuffin, the reluctant blogger: Baywatch, Birmingham UK stylee!

Winning hearts and minds in Fallujah.

"George W. Bush, master of denial. George W. Bush, wearer of masks. George W. Bush, soldier for Christ". Man, it's hard to be humble.

Commercial breaks and beats will help you find a piece of music you hear on the box.

I frequently make myself unpopular in Sainsburys and other shops when I pointedly take stuff out of bags packed by the cashier and then repack, properly. Even I had thought I may be being a bit precious about this, but now I discover it is actually an art, which should be taken seriously.
I am still in dispute with my local Sainsburys over that tenner, I might just e mail the article to the manager, being helpful, like.

I love a good deli (nyt)
I also love a good book.

To the rational world, Ron Atkinson is a big fat Villa bastard with a strange vocabulary all of his own. Others believe him to be a key semiologist.

I am sure I have mentioned Bookcrossing before but it is worth repeating. Basically it invites you to leave books about the place in order that others might read them; you leave a Bookcrossing message and hopefully the website gets notified. Even if that isn't the case, you have done a small, but selfless thing that may have benefitted someone who found it. What can be wrong with that?

The last press release of Comical Ali.

Nothing seems important. I don't care. Whatever. I can't be bothered with anything these days. My mind is like an empty room, but that's how it is. Pfft.
Never be stuck for something to blog again, thanks to the apathetic online journal generator.

I must have an airzooka!

Sunday, May 04, 2003

The Sunday Times had loads of stuff on broadband in today. I found Sputnik 7 there, highly recommended, not only for the Manu Chao videos it has on it. Live 365 and Johnny Broadband have gone into my favourites as well, the problem is, there is just too much good stuff out there.

It appears that there is growth in the devolpment of child free estates, where no one under 45 is allowed in. I am all for that, this afternoon there were 8 nippers in my garden, none of whom were mine and only one of whom I recognised, there were more in various parts of the house; God knows who half of them were.

This morning we had a walk through a beautiful bluebell wood about 20 miles from here. At one point a woman who must have been about 80 and was wearing an outrageous headscarf announced imperiously that we were so lucky to have such a beautiful wood for the nippers to play in. We could do little but agree, timorously. She said that when she purchased the wood she was 6 grand short so a friend gave it to her. Oh, Mrs Buddha said, which bit of the wood do you own? All of it, she said, and strode off. I tell you, she was terrifying!

Saturday, May 03, 2003


I am destined for the sixth level of hell.

Homage to my home town.

This is very cool, photos from the Los Angeles Herald Express, in the fifties.

I find Peter Singer very persuasive, despite his fascist tendencies. Here he deliberates thoughtfully, and at length, on 30 years of promoting the well being of animals.

Typepad might be worth a look when it is up and running.

Meet Wild Cherry, burlesque queen, and many others ,at New Orleans eccentrics.

Do you have the brain of a man or a woman? My empathy quotient is that of a woman. My systemising quotient is that of a daffodil

Friday, May 02, 2003

Unfortunately, my typing skills do not actually exist, so it has taken a painfully long time to put in the couple of paragraphs I managed on my new blog. This, plus arsing about on Sportsfilter has left me knackered, and I have have also got pissed. So apologies in advance if: a) nothing appears here; and :b) anything does appear here.
I am not myself doctor.
Don't use upsaid, it's crap.

Thursday, May 01, 2003

This is a tragedy of almost unimaginable proportions.

Who won?

"If George Bush were connected to reality in any but the most tangential way, he would pull out U.S from Iraq and hand over the task of reconstruction to the United Nations."
"Though we disagreed with the means employed, there is now an opportunity for peace and for freedom in Iraq, and that can be a very good thing if it is properly advanced by people who respect the rights of the people of that region to be free, which means politically self-governing and the masters of their own resources. If that is what Mr. Bush has in mind for them, then we can still hope for a happy outcome. It is our experience, however, to expect otherwise."
It's a matter of emphasis

Deck of Cards

Celebrate Mayday by getting angry!

I found this pictures of tree fellers (pun intended) at Crossing The Frontier, which I found via Photoblogs

Gyroball. Bloody impossible!

Election day today, no party was offering Tax Cunts though!.

Beck has a blog

Little Guardian piece on blogs, I always wanted to be a d.j!

Spooky. One of the nippers mates was telling us the other day that his favourite book was Canterbury Tales, and that he had read it in modern and old English, with his dad, (this kid is 8). Then I happened upon this.

Things have got so bad at work I am a bit wary of putting stuff even on the new blog, though I will continue to do so. I would quite like the Fuck Faced Cowbag to see it, she would have a hard time proving it is me. Neverthless, it might pay to remember this place.