Da Vinci Code - "Fiction" Shocker!

Oh dear. I bet Dan Brown can't believe his luck. Writes an unoriginal, formulaic novel and then goes on to world domination. A bit like JK Rowling.
Idiots that have read his tale have started going around vandalising listed buildings.

Hello! Wake up!! It's a work of fiction! Not real. Made up. Capiche? Not only that, it's just a tedious, pot-boiler version of Umberto Eco's "Foucault's Pendulum". Which, in turn, pays homage to Robert Anton Wilson's "Illuminatus! Trilogy". Both of these are, of course, essentially satires on conspiracies, but I presume that people that enjoy The Da Vinci Code don't "do" irony. Unless it's got a winky/smiley avatar at the end of each paragraph. Even worse, there are those who believe in the ludicrous Bronze Age fairy tale that all three of these stories allude to.

Right, I'm off to kick in the back of my wardrobe, to see if there's a magical mystery kingdom on the other side.

Iran's Nuclear Capabilty

How the hell did Iran get hold of weapons-grade uranium? How did they set up and build their nuclear reactors?

Er, the Americans supplied it all.

One Rule For Us, Another Rule For Them...

Pffft. Another mockery of the English legal system.
What are the chances of a member of the public escaping with an absolute discharge?

And this is the day after this.
I'd hope that if I was stabbed in the neck and slashed across the face that the police might actually even take a statement or make some kind of contact with me...

Satan's Trumpet: Cruising for a Losing

I felt compelled to write about tiny Tom Cruise getting fired for being a talentless mentalist, even in comparison with other L. Ron Hubbard lunatics, but thought you might as well take a look at Dave Satan's blog, instead.

Murder On The Dancefloor

The Nazis were, apparently, responsible for yet another reprehensible crime- they gave us Fatboy Slim.
At the very least, it goes some way to explain the chaos that is known as the Moseley Dance Centre.

Above My Tits

...always good to read a funny, well-written blog like this. It's a shame, because that's the kind of vibe I had originally intended for Jawdrop. Oh well.

Quotations For The Nations

I always enjoy reading decent quotes by the good, the bad, and the ugly - there are some on this blog to check out.

Kola Boof

I love the internet. Osama Bin Laden polarises opinion, and it's fair to say that I'm most disappointed in him, now I know he likes Whitney Houston, Van Halen, Miami Vice, and MacGyver.
Kola should be applying for a scriptwriting job with The Simpsons, given her flair for inventive, biting satire.

A Load Of Old Cock

I've been vegeterian for 16 years now, but I haven't got any inclination to encourage animal rights. In fact, I've been targeted by animal rights activists for no good reason. Thanks for that. We'd be better off sorting out human rights first, then developing a cheap cure for cancer, and then maybe worrying about how we treat other species. And I'm sure the SSPCA has got better things to do than promote censorship.

Ronglish TV

Enoch Powell and Ron Atkinson have a couple of things in common. Both are infamous for making racially charged comments, both have Midlands connections, and both have encouraged the employment of black people in England at a time when it was frowned upon.

Powell encouraged Commonwealth citizens to come to Britain and work in the NHS, and thus is partially responsible for the evolution of a Black British middle-class.

Big Ron revolutionised football by fielding "The Three Degrees" (Cyrille Regis, Brendon Batson & Laurie Cunningham) at West Bromich Albion, thus allowing a generation of Black British footballers to be employed, regardless of the level of melanin in their skin.

So it was with some vague interest that I watched Big Ron Manager last night. And what a corker. Absolute car-crash TV - essential viewing. Big Ron comes into a lower-league footy club to act as a troubleshooter.

Apparently Sky One had tried to set up the documentary with Iffy Onuora at Swindon Town but Iffy refused to continue with the programme after a month, due to perceived "interference" by Ron.
Next, they allegedly had to pay the chairman of Peterborough Utd, and mate of Big Ron, Barry Fry a £100k sweetener to take on the project.

There's an overview of the series (with spoliers, assuming you don't read the sports pages) in The Mirror.

It's so much better than viewing than the God-awful Excuse My French. Big Ron may have called Marcel Desailly "a fucking lazy, thick nigger", but at least he's fluently bilingual as a sports pundit, eh Ron?

More Rivers Of Blood, & Seats Of Comfort

Post-war, Enoch Powell became Tory MP for Wolverhampton South West, which incidentally meant that my beloved Molineux was in his constituency. Equally, indeed perhaps more importantly, he went on to display more progressive thinking.

Powell realised that the Cold War was just a sham, fabricated by America in their (ongoing) quest for world domination. The USSR was dependent on Western food supplies, and were never going to attack us. Hence, he knew that maintaining a nuclear deterrent was another pointless, illogical, unnecessary smokescreen. NATO was just a front, he inferred, for America to control Europe.

Later in his career, he rightly refused to be involved with the National Front, and when he became an Ulster Unionist MP, he refused to join the Orange Order - in your face, Ian Paisley! He went on to declare that it was not the IRA, but the CIA who had killed Lord Mountbatten, and that "MI6 and their friends" had committed multiple political assassinations in Northern Ireland.

As well as being a great learner- learning his 12th language aged 70, he was good friends with Tony Benn, a campaigner for homosexual law reform, and supported the abolition of the death penalty. He opposed British involvement in the 1990 Gulf War, remarking that "Saddam Hussein has a long way to go yet, before his troops come storming up the beaches of Kent or Sussex".

As an aside, I've actually got a chair from the Midland Hotel (don't worry, I haven't half-inched it, they were refurbishing). It might even be the one that Enoch used for his big speech. If you want to own this exciting piece of history, then let me know. Of course, there's no guarantee that his arse has actually rested on it.

Anyway, I didn't buy that signed book in the end, as I mentioned in my previous post. But I'm feeling pleased with myself now because of a guy called Dutch. I'd earmarked Elmore ("Dutch") Leonard as someone on my "must read soon" list. Took a quick look on Amazon, but they didn't have any of his works at a worthwhile discount. So I headed off to another cluster of charity shops in south Birmingham, on the offchance that they might have some. I ended up buying a bag-full of books, including Leonard's Freaky Deaky. Much to my delight, it was only £1.49 - and signed by the author - in your face, Amazon!

Maybe I'll do a sideline in autographed books and "seats of the famous". One day...

A Rising Tide In The Rivers Of Blood

This story is about a guy called Dutch. But we're going to take a little detour first. I say little. It's more of a road trip. I remember about ten years ago, I was idling a nice day away in Dudley. Yes, that is possible, being an outlet for Batham's, the finest beer in the land, and hence in all of the world.

I was some know-it-all student punk, ambling around the town's cluster of charity shops. I found a book about Enoch Powell, signed by the man himself. I saw him as nothing more than a local celebrity fascist, and so didn't see much point in buying the book- these were the heady days before e-Bay and so forth, so I didn't feel compelled to make a fast buck on it.

Of course, charity shops are like jumble sales- it wasn't advertised as being autographed, because the staff didn't realise that it was.
Inevitably, I'm a little gutted, in hindsight. And, given that we now live in a authoritarian, right-wing state which masquerades as something different, perhaps it's time for me to revise my opinion on the Brummie polemicist.

Infamous for his "Rivers Of Blood" speech, the speech itself arose from the case of a Wolvehampton landlady who refused to rent out her spare room to blacks, depsite the high demand. He was against the introduction of the Race Relations Bill, rather than immigration, as he saw the proposal as a curtailment of freedom of expression. To quote him, "Like the Roman, I seem to see ‘the River Tiber foaming with much blood’".
This was, in fact, a reference to the civil rights unrest in the US, via a reference to Virgil. Standard Tory oratory, if not from an incredibly intelligent background.

Inevitably, though, intelligence isn't always a bedfellow of perception, but I'm surprised that I agree with a lot of his opinions. He was furious with Britain's attempts to appease the Nazis, seeing it as a betrayal of British interests. He was also quick to realise that Russia would end up as a key ally with Britain.

During the war, he came to the conclusion that America had plans to dismantle the Britsh Empire and become the dominant superpower- "I see growing on the horizon the greater peril than Germany or Japan ever were...our terrible enemy, America."

Part 2 coming tomorrow....

Chek-Chek-Chek It Out

Well, hello and welcome, dear reader. I've been doing things like going out in the fresh air and enjoying the occassional warm, sunny day in this pesky maritime-temperate NW European climate. Hence, I haven't been posting much. You can see that for yourselves, though. Oh well, I feel like I've let you down, and I've let myself down. I'll endeavour to ensure it doesn't happen again. Actually, that's not entirely true. I intend to loaf around some more first. Rather like Chekhov (think Russian literature, not Star Trek), who wrote:

"My most intense pleasure is to walk or sit doing nothing. My favourite occupation is picking useless stuff (leaves, straw, and so on) and doing useless things".

What a top bloke. In fact, I've dug up a load of quotes about idleness. I might put some more on here, but I can't be bothered today.

Magna Carta

On this day in 1215, King John sealed Magna Carta, which would guarantee English political freedoms and limit the power of the monarchy.

One of the main clauses was:

"No free man shall be arrested, or imprisoned, or deprived of his property, or outlawed, or exiled, or in any way destroyed, nor shall we go against him or send against him, unless by legal judgement of his peers, or by the law of the land".

Thank heavens that Tony Blair is determined to remove as many of our rights and liberties as possible. It goes without saying that 800 years of English history are wrong, and "Dear Leader" Blair is right...

Wacky Races

If only my driving lessons had been this interesting...

Asbo-lutely Fabulous

"My client admits that he was drunk when he created a disturbance at Weymouth Bay Caravan Park", defending solicitor Roger Maxwell told Weymouth Magistrates Court. "He admits that he used threatening words & behaviour, he admits to shouting & banging on caravan doors, and he admits to swearing at the police when they handcuffed him.

It is also true that he is already the subject of a 2-year Anti-Social Behaviour Order. But in mitigation, I should point out that..the wording on the Asbo specifically states that he is 'prohibited from not being drunk in a public place'".

After consultation with his fellow magistrates, Chairman of the bench Colin Weston passed judgement on 38-year-old Stephen Winstone. "It is fortunate for you that the Asbo has been badly written, because otherwise we would have been looking to sentence you to prison for a couple of years. However, you were technically fulfilling the terms of your Asbo by being drunk in public, so the court will show leniency to you. You are fined £100".

[source: Dorset Echo 17/03/05].

Keyboard Warrior

Typing at a keyboard. Like using a phone, it enables gutless morons to act aggressively, safe in the knowledge that they won't get a shoe-ing. And that's why messageboads are wonderful. That specific moment when someone just loses the plot and then the floodgates open. The keyboard warrior just can't stop, or, heaven forfend, back down like the coward they inebitably are.
Ladies & gents, click here to witness perhaps THE funniest example of someone exploding into a rage of bigoted nonsense. And what fundamentalist bulletin board are we talking about? Er...Lonely Planet. Take the time to read every post. Genius. Accidental genius.

Apostate Windbag

Apostate Windbag

This is a great blog which I've lazily only just posted about. For good measure I'll add it as a link soon.

Who Murdered John Peel?

Shift-patterns are detrimental to health. Fact. I've lived the call-centre dream first-hand, so I know. Everyone who's ever worked nights or late-shifts knows it. It's not called a graveyard shift for nothing.

People who work nightshifts as part of their job may be at greater risk of heart disease, say researchers.
A team from the University of Milan has found that the heart does not respond well to being made to work hard in the middle of the night.
This is because the body is programmed to slow down during the night - and changes to sleep patterns appear to have no effect.
The researchers found that nerve activity that accelerates the heart is lower in people working an overnight shift than when they work in the morning or afternoon. BBC website, 17 October 2000.

I'm healthy(ish) and in my thirties, and would feel the strain. Imagine what it must be like if you're in your sixties.

Urine tests from workers on the [late] shift revealed that levels of melatonin, the sleep-regulating hormone normally secreted at night, did not become synchronised to the new sleep times after shift changes. As well as being more tired and less attentive on the job, these unadapted workers showed signs of being at risk of long-term health effects. The men had abnormally high levels of fatty acids circulating in their blood after meals, compared with the day shift or adapted workers. This increases the risk of heart disease, diabetes and other metabolic disorders. New Scientist, 23 April 2005.

In the mid-nineties, Radio One repaid their debt to their longest-serving DJ in the only way they knew how- by giving him short shrift. Notably at a time when "alternative" music was truly seeping into the mainstream, the BBC beancounters clearly saw him as a spent force, albeit with cult status. With multiple reschedules, Peel was forced to work later hours and make the long journey from Suffolk to London and back. This stress was intensified in 1996, when his wife Sheila suffered a brain haemorrage. The BBC switched and reduced his slots to ease the pressure, but six months later he was back on a regular late start for 3 days a week. For a while his show was starting at an "early" 20:40.

In 2001, Peel was diagnosed with diabetes. Out of compassion, the BBC soon had him back on a late night slot (starting 22:00). A few months before his tragic death, the BBC decided to turn the screw a bit more, and bump his show back to a 23:00 start.

Two weeks before he died, Peel told Andy Kershaw that the move to the 23:00 slot:

"caused him a lot of stress and that he felt marginalised and unappreciated" Wikipedia.

John Peel

Well done, BBC, you've done us proud. John Peel's later shows were available to listen to 24/7 on the internet, as well as being broadcast live on radio. As the BBC are so keen on promoting digital media, you have to wonder why they failed to allow an elderly employee, in ill heath, to record the shows at a reasonable time, to be broadcast later at any time they chose. Instead, they cause further damage to his body-clock and related biochemical processes. At best, they are criminally neglient, at worst, well... anyone for corporate manslaughter?

Chop Chop!

Afternoon all! I'm back from my self-imposed exile and I'm doing a good job of typing, considering I nearly lopped off half a finger last night. A few Stellas, a couple of tots of Glenfiddich, and I was all fired up for some midnight cookery. Obviously moving into the arena of searing metal, boiling water, and sharp knives is a risk at any time, but more so when you've strapped on your beer-goggles. Endorphins and alcohol save the day again...