And kill processed fish

So, we’ve apparently got world kindness day coming up… do we really have to have a day to be nice to people? Does it also mean we can be a cunt to everyone for the other 363 days? It’s a sign of the times when someone saving a dog, or a few ducklings, goes viral on Facebook. How about this… we all just be nice to other people, it costs nothing and it makes you feel good.

Carry on.

Ain’t no good thing ever dies…

When I was younger I didn’t wear a poppy, even though I was in the ATC and marched on Remembrance Sunday. I wore a white ribbon, I wore it all year round on my coat. I am, and always have been against war. I didn’t get into any arguments or discussions about why I didn’t wear a poppy, and no one ever challenged my ribbon. As I got older and more cynical about our country’s foreign policy, and read books by Pilger, Chomsky, and Monbiot et al, I realised a few things.

1. You don’t have to be pro war to remember the sacrifice that others have made in the past, for things they believed in.

2. The poppy and the ribbon are not mutually exclusive.

3. If you’re anti war you don’t have to wear a white ribbon.

An act of remembrance, however you do it, is a more effective way to prevent future wars, it galvanises us to lobby and vote in certain ways, to write to our MPs, to educate others and enter in discussion and argue our case.

What prompted this post was the increasing passive aggressive bullying that goes on in the realms of social media to wear a poppy. The argument goes that if you don’t wear one you’re somehow disrespecting our armed forces. I don’t accept this. We remember those who died in conflict, those that died to ensure we remained free. A big part of that freedom is the right to choose how and when to remember.

The most annoying aspect of this is blind shares and likes of right wing groups that have co opted the poppy to further their racist views. We’re in danger of applying the same racist connotations to the poppy that we have to the George Cross.

One of my relatives was an engineer, and instrumental in building the Spitfire. Tracy’s grandad carried his commanding officer through the jungles of Burma, saving his life. We both have good reason to remember that, and it doesn’t just happen on the 11th of November, it can happen on a warm spring morning when something on the news flashes an image in your head, or a throw away comment, a passage in a book…. Anything, at any time. We remember.

I wear a poppy, but I would never question anyone who doesn’t.

Cut a little swathe and lead the people on

The Panama papers have morphed into the Paradise papers, just when the snowball of the Westminster sex scandal was about to threaten the slim Tory majority. Look, the queen dislikes poor people… seriously? Put something on the news we didn’t know. Tax avoidance is legal, these loopholes allow accountants to get the best deal they can for their clients. It’s up to governments to close the holes and ensure big earners who use our infrastructure, pay their share for its upkeep. At a time when we have failing and chronically under-funded public services, we need their contribution more than ever.

As much as it boils my piss, it’s perfectly legal for the queen to invest in a company that preys on low income families with poor credit histories. Vile fucking carpet bagger that she is, cap in hand to the fawning tories for three hundred million to renovate their palace, while the most needy in our society pay obscene interest rates for a new telly. Now, I know there’s an argument that says “if you can’t afford it, don’t buy it”, but can you really say it’s a rule you have stuck to all your life? I know I haven’t… you make mistakes when you’re young and foolish, we all have… as you get older you realise you can’t do it… well most of us do anyway. Brighthouse, and Crazy George before them, tap into a huge market of instant gratification, can’t be arsed saving for it mentality. Not a coincidence that it was Thatcher who created that philosophy thirty years ago.

I personally don’t think the sex scandal will go away, but a few days of misdirection might help our hapless leader find an angle, create a little breathing space, blackmail a few ministers, schmooze a couple of editors, write a script for Laura Kuenssberg, deflect some of the shitstorm on the other parties… it’s a long shot, but it just might work. Oh, and it wouldn’t harm the cause if Boris put his foot in it with Iranians again… have we got a scapegoat anywhere? Well, there’s a woman in jail….

I’m not falling for their shenanigans.

Too marvelous for words…

Ring ring…. Ring ri…


Tommy, it’s Simon.

Hello mate, what’s up?

Can you sing the song for us?

You’re fucking kidding? Once or twice a season’s ok, but every fucking week? You’re taking liberties.



Tommy? Tommy?

Oh well… Ohhh I’ve never felt more like singing the blues…..

Take a drink from his special cup

This may well sound a little heartless, but all these gambling addicts that are blaming the bookies need to have a fucking word with themselves. It’s not the bookies fault, it’s yours… take some fucking responsibility for your actions, no one made you spend your money, why the fuck should the bookies be punished, why should responsible gamblers be reigned in?

This sort of pandering is on a par with the fucking sugar tax and the fizzy pop embargo… a woman was refused a bottle of wine in Tesco because she had her seventeen year old daughter with her. What does the future hold down this path?

“I’m sorry mate I can’t serve you with that pasty, you look a bit chubby… unless your gym app says you did forty minutes exercise yesterday you’re going to have to settle for this Apple”

The fucking nanny state boils my piss.

Eligible for parole come Valentine’s day.

This whole “four-month-Christmas” bollocks is seriously pissing me off. Yes, this is a “things were better in my day” post. But they were… Halloween was a non-event, we were all too busy collecting wood for our bonfires. We were too busy making a Guy Fawkes and sitting it outside the local pub so we get the piss-cans (drunken gentlemen) to give us a penny for the Guy, then we could use that cash to buy some fireworks. Halloween was an American thing, we didn’t get it.

Next was Remembrance Sunday. If you were in the Boys brigade, or the cadets, then you marched on remembrance Sunday, stood at the cenotaph, put your poppy on the leaf sodden ground, bowed your head and remembered, looked at the old soldiers and wondered what they’d seen. Then, around the same time, there was the Royal Festival of Remembrance.

After that, the odd TV ad for Cointreau and Milk Tray started, maybe a new Campari ad with Lorraine Chase. What we didn’t get were Christmas decorations, they didn’t start till well into December, and in our house, the week before Christmas. The shops started to get a bit Christmassy a couple of weeks before, just as we were getting ready to finish school for two weeks.

This restraint made it special, its not special when Morrison’s have a fucking tree up in September. A third of the year is now given over to buying stuff for one fucking day. It’s preposterous, it’s unnecessary, and it’s fucking annoying.

I know modern life is amazing, but some traditions are worth keeping… can we go back please?

None of our pockets are lined with gold

Well, it’s been a weird week. A mildly annoying one too… there are Christmas aisles in the supermarkets and it isn’t even fucking Halloween yet. It should be outlawed until after the Royal Festival of Remembrance. We watched the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie, and it really was a massive sack of Donkey wank. I love Depp, but this was woeful. We also realised that our dash cam has audio…. Fuck! If those files get out… we really must be careful what we say.

Apparently there are sex pests in Westminster, who’d have fucking thunk it? A place where white men are elevated way beyond their natural power level. I’m not sure Rees Mogg would be beating them off with a shitty stick if he weren’t in the position he’s in… or maybe his 19th century views on women would win they day? Who knows?

Anyway, back to it next week, words and all that. But first, wine.

Need me a triple shot of that juice

Jesus tapdancing Christ, minimum pricing for alcohol is back. C4 news interviewed a homeless guy and asked him “what has alcohol done to you” it sounded like a mugging. We have free choice, it’s the same with the fucking ridiculous sugar tax… it won’t work, it punishes poor people and it will not reduce binge drinking. It’s time we started facing the real issues, the root causes. People choose to drink, gamble, get fat on their own, they may have their own reasons but no one forced them to do it.

Brexit and Remembrance Sunday. Anyone who voted to leave the EU, and then wears a poppy, or posts some remembrance related imagery on social media, needs to have a fucking word with themselves. It’s either complete ignorance or an utter fucking disregard for the truth, or more likely, an act of virtue signalling to align themselves with the in group…. How can anyone glorify the very people who’s graves they pissed on with their vote to leave?

The dark nights are drawing in

In the middle of Frankie Boyle’s Guardian column, where he compares Boris to a malevolent baked Alaska, he maintains that no one in the UK is doing a decent job. He’s absolutely fucking right. We stopped at Keele services on the way home from Birmingham on Wednesday. I know, in hindsight it’s a level of stupid on a par with the bloke who told the Beatles that they were shit, or the committee that brought us mocktails, but you know… coffee. We had passed a Costa/M&S combo at Stafford, in favour of the holy grail of Waitrose/Starbucks. The Waitrose sandwich had black slimy rocket and chopped and shaped ham… the coffee had no coffee in it. How the fuck do we get crap customer service in a recession?

Also, Marks and Spencer women’s clothes. This is a tale of fucking woe, as first world problems go anyway. Six pairs of women’s trousers, all the same size but a mixture of regular and long. All different lengths with only two pairs falling within M&S own tolerance. A right first time of 30%, which is piss poor. 85% is getting there, with 95% being pretty damned good. After an email string where M&S executive office failed to either apologise or admit they had a quality issue, I’m forced to conclude that M&S let their customers carry out their QC function. They did, eventually, apologise… but only after I shamed them into it.

So, customer service always improves in a recession, and this consistent lack of anyone seemingly giving a flying fuck in many of our customer facing businesses is proof that the Tory austerity con wasn’t in any way a cure for a recession, it was a robbery, moving public assists into private ownership.