Ain't no party like an airbrushed truck party

Sometimes the view from my front door is too wonderful for words:



Later on the A-Team van, KITT, and Magnum's Ferrari stopped by for mai tais.

Health & Safety

From the BBC:

Youths warned over holes on beach
Police in Norfolk have traced two youths responsible for digging holes measuring 6ft (1.83m) on a beach and trying to conceal them.

The three pits were all found earlier this week on North Beach, Great Yarmouth.

Police had earlier warned that a person could die if they fell into one and were unable to get out (the rest of the story...)

Work on my tunnel to Australia (first attempted 1980 on the same stretch of coast referenced above* and continued intermittently at a variety of locations since) has been suspended, lest the Norfolk rozzers come-a-knocking.

The latest progress on my tunnel to Australia.
Never give up your boyhood dreams!

(*At Sea Palling)

Chippy Scouse Bird to Wed Potato

Seeing as the football/soccer season is over (apart from some crap competition in Europe of no account, in the same way as the 1994 World Cup wasn't a real world cup) there isn't much news to report. However, just when you thought you'd have to wait until the end of August for the return of overheated British sports coverage, lumpy and thuggish Man U and England superstar Wayne Rooney is about to get married to his life long gold digger Colleen.

The ceremony is going to be a closely guarded affair with no press coverage. Thankfully, a sharp eyed paparazzi was able to infiltrate the stag night:

Headline of the Year

From Britain's Ilford Recorder:

'Binman did a poo in our garden'

Now that's news. Sorry it has taken four months to come to wider attention.

Why?

From the BBC:

Flushed bra causes sewer collapse
"A bra and a pair of knickers have been blamed for a flood and road collapse in County Durham."

Indeed. We have all had those moments when the old underpants gave way under the strain of an over exuberant toot (to put it discreetly) and they had to disappear sharpish. But sending them to sleep with the fishes? And what kind of vile disaster befalls a lady to make her want- nay, need- to flush her brassiere? From what the missus tells me, good ones aren't cheap.

This might be my favourite bit:

"When we dug down to inspect the damage, we found a bra and knickers had snagged itself across the nine-inch diameter of the pipe. There was also a heavy build-up of grease and fat, which contributed to the situation. We were forced to repair a 2m section of sewer and a 10m section of road was affected. These pipes are not designed to carry bras and knickers."

"These pipes are not designed to carry bras and knickers". Words to live by.

I'd Almost Rather Stick With Oil

White gold; Tilney St Lawrence Tea, that is
I happened to catch a story recently that mentioned that should the technology become available to make production affordable, sugar beet farmers were well positioned to benefit from the coming ethanol boom (the always riveting Biofuel Review has more details). As a child of East Anglia (for my American chums, that's the grumpy bit of merry olde England) this first filled me with joy.

"Oh!" I thought. "All my below sea-level dwelling, unisex frosted hair modelling, speaking like a seagull crapped in one's mouth paisanos are finally going to be able to break the bondage of the soil and live like Texans or Saudis. Yippee."

Then I contemplated the above sentiment, and a cold chill ran up my spine. It takes a certain sort of soul to remain on the land, growing unglamorous crops like oil seed and sugar beet, staring out over the flat and featureless landscape, never able to escape the smell of poultry dressing (its not for salads, lets leave it at that), and getting all one's news from Look East. Throwing mad money from the sugar beet-to-oil-substitute industry into the mix is only going to have two results, neither good.

Result 1: The formation of a primitive Methodist Taleban who'll impose strict shia'horse law on the county and blow up all the fonts in the Church of England churches like so many Bamiyan Buddhas. Face it: "wahabbi" already sounds like a Norfolk exclamation.

Result 2: They'll all take the money and end up like this proud successor to Nelson.

Please- don't give them any money. They'll only cause trouble as detailed above then blow whats left in the arcades at Cromer.

Ull be avun that, wuntuh, when uhm quids in, unteye."

The Full Monty Has a Lot to Answer For

Just look at the size of his chopper
From the BBC:

Firefighters mistaken for strip show
"A group of firefighters were mobbed by women who thought they were part of the act when they arrived to tackle a blaze during a strip show. Female fans clapped the firefighters at a pub in St Helens, Merseyside.

"One lady shouted, we have got our money's worth here," said watch manager Paul Costello.

The fire was accidentally started by a stripper using lighter fluid in his act. One person was hospitalised with smoke inhalation...."

God alone knows how these women react every time they see a pair of mall security guards, walk past a building site, or glance at muscular men trying on velcro-sided trousers. Wang-hungry northern slatterns out of their heads on Diamond White and black market Embassy Number Ones, the lot of them.

Broken Hearts in Madrid, Broken Metatarsal by Late July

Posh and Becks. Or not.
David Beckham is due to join up with his LA Galaxy teammates at the end of June at the conclusion of his contract with Real Madrid. $10 says he will be out injured within a month of playing his first game in the States, clobbered by some long-in-the-tooth South American or cynically hacked by some ex-collegiate thug who couldn't crack the reserves at Accrington Stanley. Any takers?

An Old Git Writes....

I occasionally get written correspondence away from the comments sections of my various posts about something I have written or the state of the world- you can imagine the sort of thing. Rarely do I pay much attention, but this morning a rather profound missive jumped out at me and I thought I'd share it with you all:

"Sir-

It has come to a pretty pass when Britain has been reduced to a blubbing fat boy trembling in the corner of the lower sixth common room, half fearing and half anticipating a beating-slash-molestation at the hands of a apparently smaller yet much rougher boy.

I speak of course of two recent events. The first is the capture of 15 bell-bottom-wearing floating pooves in the Shatt al Arab (by the bloody Iranian Coastguard of all people: not even proper fundamentalist loonies) which has been covered ad nauseam elsewhere.

The second, more recent, event was the shameful defeat of travelling Manchester United association football fans in a pitched battle with the Italian security forces. These Italian security forces are of course direct descendants of the military and police who made such a hash of invading the Greek and subduing the Ethiopian during the '39-45 show, whereas the travelling 'Red Devils' are the more recent offspring of some of the most fearsome gangs to stalk the bones of the Holy Roman Empire since the Visigoths. And yet they had their arses handed to them on a plate by a gang of wildly gesticulating ponces in motorcycle helmets and Versace jumpsuits.

These are just the latest incidents in an ever-increasing list of troubling signs that Britain is not the primus inter thuggus that we used to be. These modern day 'Chavs' (or as we called them in my youth, 'Trevors'), are supposed to redeem their empty and violent existence by joining the army and falling on hand grenades, or roughing up foreign sports enthusiasts and coppers, not thanking the Iranian president for the headscarf or moaning that the Officer Mario hit them while they were innocently waiting for the bus. Mr. Blair's government may boast of a yob culture second to none, but I am afraid the evidence points to the unstoppable emasculation of the United Kingdom. Unless drastic measures are taken soon, we may well end up with a female prime minister, or even a female Queen.

I remain sir, your obedient servant,

Dicky Bumchutney-Staines, Colonel (rtd), late of the Queens Own Border Collies"

Crap Pirates

A Modern Devonian yesterday
Spare a thought for the poor M/V Napoli: not only did it run aground off the coast of southern England this weekend, but as it's cargo has washed ashore the containers have attracted the attention of modern day wreckers in the West Country. The full story can be found here, but to offer up some choice quotes and a summary,

"Barrels of wine, shoes, hair care products, beauty cream, steering wheels, exhaust pipes, gearboxes, nappies, foreign language bibles and BMW motorbikes have all been washed up on the pebbled beach. And, ignoring advice to stay away, hundreds of people have been helping themselves to the thousands of pounds of free goods on offer.

One told BBC Five Live: "There's plenty...there's a container down there - the more we can take away the better really - it's not really any good to anybody is it?"

Others were celebrating the unusual turn of events.

"We don't normally have this sort of stuff happening down here, but you know...grab what you can," an excited hunter said. "We've got some engine parts and some BMW engines - and we've all been helping together in unloading them really," another said."

This has to be one in the eye for those who claim that the traditional industries of Western England have been done under by globalisation and technology. I'd like to see Johnny Outsourcer or Microsoft come up with a better way to run off with stuff that doesn't belong to them than these ruddy and simple British thieves with their hearts of oak and beef-flavoured farts. And you can keep your urban crimes of mugging and happy slapping too: three cheers for good old fashioned rural Devonian larceny!

A colourful local "chav" steals a box of support hose from the beach; shows daily every 2 hours between 10am and 4pm (photo courtesy of Visit Devon: Britain's Home for 'Olde Worlde' Crime).

By Punching Chavs, You Help Stop Terrorists

Senior British politician John Prescott punches an mulleted idiot on the campaign trail, 2001
Hear hear.

The Chav Revolution Is Coming

Lunchtime at the Rawmarsh Comprehensive School, Rotherham, England.
I saw this a while ago and really wanted to post it, then I promptly forgot all about it. I would apologise for the oversight, but I don't think you would believe I was being sincere.

Parents feed pupils through gates

Pupils at a South Yorkshire school are being fed fish and chips through the gates by parents who say the canteen is not providing what their children want.

Students at Rawmarsh Comprehensive are not allowed out of the grounds at lunchtime, so some parents are taking their orders for the chip shop instead. They say pupils are not being given enough time or choice for their meals. But the school said it aimed to provide good quality food that helped pupils to concentrate in the afternoons.

Julie Critchlow is one of the parents who delivers pupils' orders from the grounds of a neighbouring cemetery in Rotherham while the school gates are locked. "The children aren't eating what the school provide in the cafeteria because they don't like the quality of the food," she said. "By the time the children have queued to get their lunch they haven't time to eat it. They prefer to come to us to have their food delivered fresh and hot, which is what they're asking for. We're giving them what they're asking for."

The move is being seen as a backlash against TV chef Jamie Oliver's campaign for healthy school dinners. the rest of the story..."

Back when I was a wee lad, we used to order pizzas at night and wait ninja style in the bushes for the delivery person then spring up with the money and run with the pie (it was a boarding school and such exta-curricular dining was discouraged). Either that or we would ask day pupil Mondale to smuggle stuff in concealed in the door panels of Jeff the Ford Fiesta. Now these pathetic sops have to get their parents to do it for them. The youth of today, pah.

Its Not a Proper Night Out Unless You Need Antibiotics In The Morning

Oh England, my England.....

"Cattle TB spreads among clubbers
Six people have contracted bovine tuberculosis in an outbreak in Birmingham which has killed one man. Three are thought to have picked up the infection at a bar and nightclub, two had visited the same venue and one was acquainted with others infected."

Of course here in the USA fatal nightclub TB would be blamed on Al Qadea sleeper cells or the hair metal band Great White.

Saturday Night Heifer, by Rob Scotten