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Do you, or do someone you live with suffer from diminished intelligence?

Due to government concerns that the lack of a capable and intelligent workforce in the future and the potential shortfall in taxation due to the high number of slack-jawed yokels claiming benefit, a survey is being taken to assess the problem.

Over the coming weeks, if you have a member of your household who is suffering from an inability to form sentences apart from “You're in front of t' telly!”, “Poofs/Blacks/Muslims/women is wrong!” and “Get me a beer.” They may also have a number of friends or 'mates' who wear synthetic tops with numbers on, or advertise banks that have made you as poor as you are now. Are they unsatisfying in the bedroom, thinking only of themselves? Are they insensitive, boorish or spongelike? Are they possibly made of fat?

If you have someone like this in your home please hang a white flag with a red cross on it outside your home. Our survey will be able to identify how widespread the problem is. If you feel that you or your household members are of particular concern please also tag their car/van.

If they additionally happen to have a penis smaller than 3cm can you instruct them to drive around in their vehicle blowing their horn after a football match win? It will make tracking down these poor wastes of blood and their removal from the gene pool so much easier.

Thank you for your assistance.

SAILBOAT
(Society for the Abolition of Illiterate, Loutish, Bastards Obsessed About Tits)

Moving in a Mysterious Way

Well, it’s been a while – and a rather eventful one at that.

Our birthdays went well, our life continues. The recession bit and Woolies closed.

Bankers were pariahed and then paid a lot to put things right for us.

The public sector were told they were bad for taking away all the money – they’d probably stolen it off the bankers – and that they wouldn’t be getting any more as rubbish collection, teaching, supporting the elderly and ensuring that the public were safe was not nearly so important as having a Porsche and living in a detached house in Surrey with a trophy wife called Porscha.

We watched as the Government managed to lead the world – to the acknowledgement of the world - in strategies to resolve the debt only to read in the papers that Gordon Brown was personally responsible for the recession and he must’ve travelled to the States to bring down the whole, wobbly, foundation of Capitalism. In short, he managed something that Communism didn’t manage to do. Not only that, he was responsible for simultaneously leading us in the wrong direction and failing to lead us. And having poor handwriting – blind or not, he should try harder.

Christmas came and went. We followed the recession spirit and had a family oriented cheapy which worked very well.

We also had three Doctor Who specials

The Waters of Mars
A sinister dark non-starter. The Doctor arrives on Mars before the first base is destroyed. He knows everyone is going to die but not how. 40 mins later he buggers off to let them get on with it and then decides he’s in charge of time and rather than get the TARDIS and save them he runs back, sends a comedy robot to get the TARDIS and saves the last three. One of whom shoots herself to show the error of his time meddling ways. Rather than, say, shooting him.

Ood Sigma turns up to sing at him.

The End of Time – Part One
The Master is resurrected. Wilf wants the Doctor to save Donna. The Doctor refuses. The Master turns everyone into copies of himself. Wilf asks the Doctor to kill the Master and return everyone back to normal. The Doctor refuses. The Master finds a way to save the Time Lords. The Doctor grabs a gun. He’s a bit contrary today.

And Donna has a headache.

The End of Time – Part Two
Donnas’ headache causes her to have a nap, and knock out every copy of the Master in Chiswick. The Time Lords try to bring Gallifrey back in our Solar System – The World is in Peril… more Peril. The Doctor shoots the jury rigged network server with a diamond in it and everything twangs back into place.

Wilf got locked in a box and the Doctor triggers his regeneration by saving him.
He then goes for a few quick trips, shopping for books and lottery tickets for the afterlife, sets up Captain Jack with someone lonely, depressed and half his visible age, provides the kind of brooding, non-talking presence that might persuade Martha to go back to doctoring rather than running around with Mickey the Grunt with the worst hair extensions, has a quick grope of Sarah Jane’s adopted son and messes with his own timeline by setting a bomb in Rose Tyler’s flat to make sure her mum never travels with him.

He then regenerates – which breaks the TARDIS. See I told you better out than in!

His new persona then spouts ‘Catchphrase’!

Well that’s us up to date.
The future lies this way…

Torchwood 3

Well, what a suprise. Capt Jack's a bad guy. Why is everyone suprised?

Anyway, more corridors and posturing. Still good to see the team back together and thieving as well. Quite fun.

A friend suggested that the 456 are Zarbi with a cold. I thought Zarbi with Swine Flu.

##Yesss## Splash of Mucus. Maybe melted children are Zarbi linctus?

Give us 10% or you're all dead? If you can do that, why not just take 10%? Why chat about it?

Torchwood 2

Well, another good episode - more of a corridor story than advancing too much but some good 'feeehulings' stuff with the families.

And Jack's grandchild. Just the one?

And they're not doing too much bitching at each other.

And Jack had his cock out - finally. I get the impression that Mr Barrowman has been glued into his outfit in order to prevent repeated nudity. He looked like he was having fun anyway.

And. Sloooooowest escape ever!

Children of Earth

Well that was pretty impressive. Nicely written with good characterisation and great plot twists and turns.

Great points.

The Children - bloody scary.
Torchwood - finally seem to be pulled together and coherent. And positive. Hearing Gwen talking about the positives of working for Torchwood was great. Now I want to see it!
The civil service elete and MPs out for themselves and watching their own backs - very topical!
Clement - an interesting damaged character - hopefully more to come.
Dr Rupesh Patanjali - shame! Pretty!
A bomb in Capt Jack! And Torchwood in pieces!
Baby Gwen! Ahhhh!
And triple deadlock can't keep out teenagers on a council estate. It was always a rubbish plot device and seeing people mooning at it from the Torchwood truck was great!

I'm horrified. London is no more having been destroyed by G20 protesters! This picture is where Lloyds used to be! According to the Evening Standard anyway. And remember, those Catholic-Muslim-Lesbian-Asylum Seeking Immigrant-Single Mums - they'll be coming for you next!

Honestly, what is the problem with the media? It's not just the Standard. They're all making the news now rather than reporting it. It's been there for a long time but when you live in London and you see what happens you do end up wondering if there's another London somewhere in the UK that no one has told you about!

Anarchy in the UK... again.

I'm panicking! The media have told me to. I'm also completely unable to cope. Apparently. And I live in Zone 1 so have barricaded the doors and booby trapped the lift and the staircase. Just for self-defence. Those pesky protesters wanting to kill me with their peaceful protests!

I hope I live through the night and they don't get a cossack to bomb me!

Exposure

Facebook is something that has made me wince in places. Most of the time it's a useful tool. You're able to communicate what you need and make easy linkages with friends. Sometimes it's more exposing. I've found people often expressing themselves in writing all to hastily to be wise. I've seen friends pop in and out of their relationships with indecent haste and, in many ways like blogging, they've said some pretty revealing things.

This is good, even though my repressed British spirit does say that it's unsettled.

Often it's about a lack of confidence and self-worth. Sometimes I worry that I'm the most confident person I know and whether that makes me less talented, capable, even insightful than people I recognise as being good and talented people who don't bloody realise it. How oxymoronic is that!

I honestly think that the only thing holding back the universe is a voice in our head going "No one likes you! You're no good at that! Don't try it you'll waste your time! Envy! Jealousy!"

Fight it people. You're worth more than you think. In most cases a lot more!

The Voting Public

This is one of the fundamental problems with reality TV - it's not about talent or skills, it's about likeability - or the lack thereof. The British public feel that they can influence anything they want for the most spurious of reasons.

They vote for people because:
A) They're nice, but often not too nice.
B) They’re pretty, but not too pretty.
C) They're good at something unrelated. i.e. (I'll vote for my favourite football player even though they're plainly rubbish at ice skating in scuba gear.
D) They're not the judge’s choice and the judges were a bit rude about them.
E) They're the underdog.

Now we like the underdog, it's one of those things that exemplify the British psyche. We think that it's jolly unfair if they don't have a chance. This is a commendable feature up to a point, but coupled with our tendency to take our pleasures sadly and glory in failure, it does mean that we're destined for Jordan to be our Prime Minister. A) She’s easy – good to know if you’re an outraged fad middle aged Daily Mail reader – even you are in with a chance! B) She's considered by some to have the criteria for being pretty (that’s not the word, there needs to be one, maybe glamonster) – but a bit tacky, both physically and conceptually. C) She’s good at self publicising – not just positive publicity but any.
D) Everyone thinks she’s quite dumb so therefore deserves a chance to prove she’s not – or at least until she does something really stupid.
E) She’s low down the social scale and she’s a dog.

That coupled with the national disaster’s that’d occur if she was in charge – well glory in her failure – just what the country likes and there’s never be a time when we didn’t know what was going on! She’d be monitored 24 hours a day.

And the public absolve themselves from blame about the situation. We chose her and she messed it up. Of course she messed it up – you chose her.

Remember politics no one voted for Margaret Thatcher, John Major, Tony Blair and Gordon Brown. We voted for (or against) the parties that they represent. And people, don’t kick up a fuss because someone you don’t like is in charge of the party. You gave them the ability to be there – and it could always be worse. Jordan’ll give anything a go. Ask Gareth Gates.

Banker rhymes with...

Having seen the last blog entry of the inestimable Rob, and realising I've been a bit remiss in not updating for a while

It's terrifying to think that such a large chunk of our economy is based on moving money around and guessing how much things that don't exist will be when they do exist. Betting is a way for an individual to make money (or more often loose money) but should not be the way a civilisation creates wealth in an abstract sense.

Everything is a bet in life. Will the crops grow? Will the film
be popular? Will we run out of water? However those are productive betting processes with aspects we can control. Will the crops grow? I'll tend them more? Will the film be popular? We'll put gunfire and titties in it. Will we run out of water? We'll conserve it. However, the Stock Exchange is a weird place. The idea that you can bet on production and make money from them whether or not they do well or badly seems such a strange concept. Essentially it seems like a farmer whose crops fail and goes, thank goodness. I had bet that they would so I've made lots of money. It produces nothing and benefits, directly at least, very few. It also, and this is very weird, it appears to underpin our entire financial system.

We are beholden to a collection of people who, when calm, bet that everything will get more valuable on the whole and then, when like oil and house prices rocket beyond the reach of most people, panic that the economy is in recession. This panic is insidious. If, on the day of the panic, the water of the Stock exchange was spiked with Valium and Prozac rather than the usual Cocaine and Caffeine then the crash wouldn't happen, or at least much slower and calmer. People panic and sell, which causes stock prices to crash, causing more people to panic and sell. I think you can see the problem here. Panic and hysteria are the motivating forces and they aren't the best ones.

Ultimately the problem affects shareholders rather than the general public – apart from in sideways effects like pension funds. The companies often stay in business. People still need umbrellas and track suits and t-shirts, but the shareholders who bought shares for £10 each and have sold for £5 have lost half their money. On the other hand, if they waited 5 years they'd probably have made money, but no-one wants to wait now.

More interestingly is that at each stage of this process the brokers tend to have made money. If we have to bail out banks and bankers to ensure economic stability we should be able to make some robust changes to the structure of the system to make it more equitable, transparent and based on something real.

Maybe the hollowed out skulls of bankers who wail that they need an income in the kind of bracket that makes most peoples knuckles itch. Really, it's probably why I'm not in that kind of business. I tend not to panic so would be useless in a system like that. Apart from wandering around telling people to calm down.

Much as I do now really. On the other hand. This might be a good time to invest in Prozac shares.

Party, party, party!

Well it’s been a busy weekend. Got in contact with an old friend. Had a long overdue housewarming party and had a visit from the in-laws.

From the top – Emma, an old friend from Uni got in touch by Facebook. I like Facebook as it means you can stay in contact with people by doing – well, nothing really. And I’m very good at that. I leave it a bit and then it turns into 5 years. I think I’m living like I’m going to die at 1000 years old – my life seems to be paced that way in some ways. Anyway that was lovely.

Then we have the party. The inestimable Rob and that whippersnapper Chris had a housewarming party. I hasten to add that this is at least 3 houses down the line. They have been pressurised by friends to organise a housewarming and essentially set it up in such a way as to make it nigh on impossible for people to attend. I myself had to cancel the removal of three cysts and a teapot in order to attend.

There were nibbles and Dante’s Cove and Chris and Rob and his infernal I-Phone.

And there were the guests.

All seven of us.

Boys you missed the point. Having a party that no one can attend merely makes people want you to have one they can attend.

Particularly if people give glowing praise to the party.

So may I say now what a delight the evening was – the amount of exposed flesh was probably illegal. Particularly since some of it was by Tracy Scoggins, wearing stocking style legwarmers on her arms of all things. The food was a delightful juxtaposition of flavours and there is enough alcohol there for at least 3 more parties – or an evening in. And the hallway carpet has now been washed. There’s a tanning booth in the bathroom and an elderley relative in the cistern.

Rob’s musical selection is inventive and eclectic.

See! If that doesn’t get the buggers round I don’t know what will.

My mother in law and stepfather-in-law popped over on Sunday and we had a lovely chat and a nice meal at Sorrisso http://www.london-se1.co.uk/restaurants/info/664/sorriso. Very good food and they do a weekday lunchtime special of £599 for 2 courses and a glass of wine. Very nice.

Dramarama

I have wondered if my partner could find some soothing past-time to do. Soothing for me too that is. I’ve come to the conclusion that the answer is probably no. Which is a shame.

Here is my event path for a generic soothing activity.

Painting flowers.

If he painted flowers things would be fine for about 2 minutes – just enough time to get inconveniently far away and yet close enough to hear.

I'd get "Is this the right colour?"
“Can you find me some nicer flowers?”
“Can you hold the easel? It seems wobbly when I paint!”
"Can you get me some fresh water?"

After going to get the water and being stopped a couple of times rather than asked all things at the same time I would return to see the easel on fire, the paint was up the wall, he’d managed to swallow the only toxic flower in the bunch and he'd gouged out an eye with the paintbrush!

Not that of course I'd consider it done on purpose but it would add drama what should be a relaxing situation.

It’s bad because I’m starting to do things for him to prevent the coming disaster.

I suppose I should just let him get on with it and then act like it’s a catastrophic disaster and make him go and stay with his mother until ‘my shattered life can be rebuilt’ ,!

I mean that would meet the required level of melodrama? Eh?

Windows, windows...

I’ve lived here for eight and a half years.

Each Year we’re told that there will be a refurbishment of the block.

Each year it’s failed to happen.

Until today. Today we are getting new windows. Yaaaay!

Sadly the new kitchen was cancelled by the council.

Oh, yes and the new bathroom.

And the rewiring.

And they won’t be replacing the windowsills.

Or making good.

And they started the roof before replacing the windows.

So everything got covered in grit.

But the windows are being done.

Whoop-de-do

Shake, Rattle and Roll

The ear saga continues...

My hubby has just started taking statins as he has a natural predisposition to high cholesterol. He's also taking antibiotics for his ears together with aspirin and paracetamol for the pain.

So he's rattling.

Or at least that's the noise he's making.

I have heard about his hearing.

And how painful his ears are.

And that it's really painful.

And I am sympathetic.

But if this is going on for 2 months I'm going to go down for manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility.

Bless.

Bang Bang

He shot himself down is not the way the song lyrics go but sadly he did.

My delightful partner decided to clean his ears after a shower, but rather than just do that he put in the cotton buds, wandered around the house, flapping, and then tried to do his hair, having forgotten about his ear cleaning which resulted in him popping an eardrum. Unfortunately his Italian bent caused him to "Mamma Mia" style clasp of the face on either side causing the one he'd left in the other ear to pop that eardrum. To be fair he coped with it in a suprisingly normal manner for him. Panic.

He’s been told they’ll grow back within 2 months and to keep them dry.

I am awaiting a water tank to burst over his head.

Ups and downs.

Well it's been a bit busy over the last 11 weeks. We're due to have our windows replaced soon and all the mess that'll make, it's out birthday coming up and Doctor Who is about to wind up as a series for 2 years.

Gosh, I feel palpitations coming on!

Behind the wheel.

It is scary.

I am about to try driving for the first time ever.

And I am crapping myself. To be honest.

...and a new beginning!

Doctor Who. Glad to have it back and a good fun reintroductory romp with Donna and the Doctor. Both paralelling themselves to the point at which they meet, and rather unfortunately do so in front of the baddie. Mis Foster - well it was Miss Wormwood wasn't it. Great but I've seen it before. The Adipose are sweet and frankly I can think of some dieters who would be happy to take the pills if they'd just take the fat. The drop and subsequent splat of Miss Foster was a bit heavy handed and the cheesy flypast was, well, cheesy. Overall it was really a Sarah Jane Adventures with the Doctor.

At least until Rose.

And Rose - well we'd heard she was back but weren't expecting it this end of the season. It looked like she was waiting for Donna and looked so upset.

Maybe she knows something about Donna's future.

If she has one...

An ending...

Torchwood was a bit of a blast last night. Visually very impressive and with some peril that could've been lifted from the Jon/Tom era - exploding nuclear power station. No explanation for the strange voiced scythemen.

And then we sadly come to the downside. Gray - Cpt Jack's baby brother. Back for revenge for having his hand let go of a few years (relative time) back. Motivation, sure but surely not really a Big Bad for the series end. Did some terrible things but hey! How quickly did he get over it? And Jack buried for 2000 years. He said he had a bit of grey here and there after 100 years waiting for the Doctor yet after 2000 years in a box he seemed pretty OK. And again with the I forgive you. He's killed #~@{}_+ >@}@~}:@> of people including Torchwood members and 'I forgive you'. And how quick did he get over his brotherly anger.

The death scenes, particularly Tosh's were handled superbly but I have to say that I would prefer a stronger motivation and better characterisation of a villan character. How many people who've suffered torture go on to blow up major cities when they want to get their own back on someone. And where do you get a Weevil remote control.

Bless...poor Tosh.

La Hoya/Herradura

Well it's been a lovely time. 8 days of sunshine and 24+C, it's been glorious. On our visit this time we had.
Mother chair jiving
Karaoke in the style of Opera
Albondigas coming out of our ears.
A Gigantic puppy
Hubby on fire.
Lunch in the Chapel
Gossip of a drunken fight
Combat Bingo.
So you can see we had a bit of a full week.

Blueberry Blow up
What could happen on the way home? Really. Yes I was traveling with my partner, Diva Stropp to you. If you've read these missives you'll know that a simple journey is impossible.

Accident's this journey
Pouring a blueberry smoothie over his entire seating area, leg and socks.

My life is a tragicomedy!