idiocy
The King Of Comedy
I’ve always been a fan of comedy.
Sounds a stupid thing to say doesn’t it? I mean, who isn’t? Everyone likes a laugh, don’t they?
But, there’s comedy and there’s ‘comedy’.
There’s After Life and there’s Mrs Brown’s Boys.
There’s Detectorists and there’s Two Pints Of Lager…
Very different shows, catering for what I suspect are very different audiences.
I’ve not yet met anyone who likes both the former and the latter. For me – and in the two examples above – it’s the former. Every time.
But, I’ve always had a penchant for the absurd and the wacky.
I grew up with Python and The Goodies, Not The Nine O’clock News and The Young Ones, all of them anarchic and unconventional.
And I can trace this love of silly humour all the way back to 1977, when I read Spike Milligan’s war memoir “Rommel? Gunner Who?”
I don’t know how or why that book came to be in my possession; whether I just happened across it or whether it was recommended to me, I just don’t know. But I do remember reading it in the back of my dad’s Cortina on our way down to Minehead during the holidays, and I was just crying with laughter.
In later years I discovered Spike’s radio triumph The Goon Show and spent a fortune acquiring as many shows as I could on cassette tape from HMV.
I joined the Goon Show fan club and would motorcycle into London, for meet ups with them, once a month. A friendly and enthusiastic bunch who were sometimes a little too, er… enthusiastic. Occasionally, Spike himself or Michael Bentine would venture down and buy the drinks and a brilliant night of storytelling would ensue.
Through the club, I made a penpal. Of course, these were pre-internet days and so yes, an actual pen was used and we would write ridiculous letters back and forth to each other. She even put me up (or put up with me) for a month in her home in California.
Which was nice.
As a quite active member of the club, I sort of became part of the inner circle and was very excited once, when Spike invited a small group of us to his house for dinner. Unfortunately, I couldn’t go that day, as I had a family function to attend.
“Oh well, maybe next time.”
There wasn’t a next time.
Many comedy historians cite Milligan as the man who changed the face of British television and radio comedy, and I think that’s true. His influence can certainly be seen in some of the comedy programmes that I mentioned earlier.
But, for me, he’s just the man who brought hours of laughter and joy into my life, both directly and indirectly, and for that, I thank him dearly.
He died 21 years ago, today.
It’s In The Stars
Isn’t astrology wonderful? The ability to look through space (and time) and see not only new worlds but also to see the creation and evolution of stars and galaxies.
No, hold on… that’s astronomy, that is… a proper science.
Astrology is, well… a load of crystal balls.
With it’s roots firmly planted in the distant past, when the supernatural was considered a science, it purports to predict a person’s future through the alignment of celestial bodies such as the sun, the moon and the planets, along with various star systems. Pure hokum.
And yet, as per my earlier post, people believe in this. Hundreds of thousands of them, all over the world.
There are many charlatans astrologers out there, earning a decent living through making this stuff up, so I thought it might be fun to take a look at what they are predicting for me. And, I figured that if there is any veracity in this at all, then if I were to check predictions from several different charlatans astrologers, then surely there must be some crossover: surely some of their predictions will match up somewhere.
So, here is my horoscope, from several of the higher profile charlatans astrologers for today:
Mystic Meg – The Sun
Finding and keeping work that feels like fun comes closer once you switch off your self-doubt.
And talking honestly about your skills can be the key to helping this happen.
Being bolder in love comes more easily the more you practise – and yes, a neighbour to the left of you is longing for you to try.
OK, I do have a neighbour to the left of me, so you got that bit right. I wonder what it is that she is keen for me to try.
Russel Grant – Daily Express
It is not a day to take everything that everyone says too seriously. If a business rival manages to damage your confidence by getting to you through their insensitive comments, you have let them win. Don’t make any rash decisions based on another person’s thoughtless remarks.
I never take things seriously and I don’t think I have any business rivals.
Elle Magazine
Your candid perspective could land you in hot water today, as the moon fires up your forthright ninth house. Try to tone down the bluntness if possible—a little diplomacy will go a long way. This is especially important if you’re delivering feedback to a sensitive person. Is it really worth starting World War III over this inconsequential detail? The same thing holds true for any social media rants you’re tempted to post. Ask yourself—do you really feel like spending your day battling trolls?
Damn! I hate it when the moon does that to my ninth house! WW3? Is Putin a Taurean, I wonder? And I don’t do social media, so fighting trolls is out of the question.
Michele Knight – The UK’s Favourite Astrologer (apparently)
A month to the day after Mars not only left your financial sector but ended all planetary activity on this side of the financial fence until later in the year, the Moon is here with a chance to check in. As well as fuelling your financial instincts and imagination, as you become more emotionally and intuitively engaged this will help you to reconnect with the financial passions and fighting spirit the warrior planet of the cosmos left you with. Mars may have moved on but he has left you with the means to take your financial power back.
Ahh, so that’s why I was skint last month: Mars made me spend all that money. Or was it the moon? No, it can’t have been the moon, as that was busy buggering up my ninth house.
So, there you have it. Nothing matches up and everything said could apply to anyone at anytime. Spout enough drivel to enough people and at some point you’ll get it right.
But, fortunately for me, us Taureans don’t believe in such nonsense.
Idiot
It took me ages to get up to Sainsbury’s this morning, to do my weekly shop, as the current shortage of lorry drivers that is causing many petrol stations to run out of fuel, meant that the supermarket petrol station was the only one in the area that had any for sale. Consequently, there were huge queues there, up to ten o’clock last night and the same again at seven-thirty this morning. Queues that ran down the road in both directions. I didn’t want any fuel – I have a quarter of a tank, which will probably last me a few weeks – but I did need to get food, so I had no choice but to sit in the queue.
On a positive note, I think many people had looked at the queue and just decided not to bother, so when I did get in there, the car park – and of course, the store itself – was more than half empty.
I picked a trolley from outside and rattled across the car park into the store. Annoyingly, now that I was on a smooth floor, I realised that the trolley had a dodgy wheel that went Rattle Rattle Clunk, Rattle Rattle Clunk… I couldn’t be arsed to go back out and swap it for another, so decided to put up with it.
After less than two minutes, I decided that I couldn’t put up with it.
As I headed back to the entrance though, I espyed a trolley just sitting alone in an aisle: no-one with it. It was full of plastic hangers and bits of cardboard and was obviously being used by a member of staff who was tidying the aisle. As there was no-one there though, I hatched a plan to swap them over.
Now, both trolleys had one of them locks that you put a coin into to release it. I never had a coin in mine, but rather a handy token that I carry on my keyring. I didn’t want to lose the token, so I pushed the two trolleys at right angles each other so the bit of chain on one would reach the lock on the other and release the coin or token. I plugged my chain into the lock of the spare trolley (it just about reached). To my horror, when the coin tray popped out, there was nothing in it. And I had no change in my pockets. I now had two trolleys locked together and no way of separating them!
And then the Sainsbury’s lady came over and grabbed her trolley, taking mine with it. “Oh dear”, she laughed, “What’s happened here. Oh dear, oh dear.”
I pleaded stupidity.
“Oh. What can we do? We need a coin. We’re not allowed to carry any money. Do you have any? “I shook my head. She asked a passing customer if they had a pound coin we could borrow and the customer immediately started going through her purse and offered up a shiny coin. I explained that the customer wouldn’t get her pound back as it would be stuck in the trolley lock, at which point she declined her offer.
“Oh dear, oh dear” said the member of staff. She was a little bit ditzy, and was now getting concerned. I told her not to worry and to wait whilst I went and got some change.
Eventually, I managed to release the trolleys from each other, but it cost me a quid.
I decided to just put up with the rattle rattle clunk.
Smokey and the bandits
I’ve mentioned several times before, the woods where I often walk the dog.
It’s that time of year where it starts looking good: the trees are starting to get some foliage and the bluebells have just started to shoot up and blossom. In full bloom, it’s a beautiful sight and makes for a lovely walk.
But yesterday, as the mutt and I made our way round, I heard the cracking of branches. Peering through the trees, I could see four herberts – all aged about sixteen – breaking them from the trees. Then as I got closer, I could see that they were throwing them onto a fire that they had made around a tree.
I pushed my way through the undergrowth until I was about four or five meters away and from there I could see that the tree was well ablaze – surprisingly so, considering the recent rain and snow we’d had.
“Oi! What do you think you are doing?” I shouted at them. They all had hoods up, making it difficult to see their faces, especially through the smoke that was coming from the tree.
They all looked away from me, so as to hide their faces. “We’re just having a little fire to keep ourselves warm” said the short one.
“No you’re not!” I exclaimed, “You’re setting fire to that tree, you bloody idiots”.
“We’ll put it out later”, said the short, gobby one. There’s always a gobby one. “We’ve got some bottles of water.”
“A couple of bottles of water are not going to put THAT out!”. I needed to get rid of them, so I got my phone out. “Right, you just wait there”, I said.
“Fuck off!” A stick flew past my head and landed in the bush behind me, as they decided to flee before I called the police.
With them out of the way, I started to tackle the blazing tree: the way this fire was raging, there was no doubt in mind that, if left, it would consume the whole tree and possibly several of those around it.
Using a long stick at arms-length, I pulled and pushed apart the tee-pee of sticks they had rather expertly placed around the tree, helping to concentrate the flames at the base.
I beat and stamped the fire out until there was just ash and embers left. A couple of small fires kept self-igniting and I wondered how to stop them. Having the bladder of a small child, I’ll often stop for a pee as I walk round the woods, but this time, when I really needed it, I just didn’t want to go – not that it would have been enough.
And then I spotted a plastic 2 litre water bottle laying in the grass nearby. It must have been laying there for sometime, as the water inside had gone green. No matter: I quickly undid the lid and threw some into the smouldering embers.
WHOOSH!
I jumped back, as flames shot up into the air.
Petrol! Of course, that’s how they’d managed to get the fire to take so well. Little gits!
I spent a few more minutes putting out the fire I had just restarted and then headed home, taking the rest of the petrol with me – I wasn’t going to leave it so that they could come back later and try again.
All my clothes – including my coat – have had to go in the wash, as they stink of smoke.
Now, when I was a lad, me and my mates used to get up to mischief… of course we did, but we never did anything like that.
I might be starting to sound like an old man, but what is it with kids today?
Social idiots
Twitter claims yet another career.
Will these people never learn?
Sainsburys shopping
I did my usual, weekly, grocery shop at the supermarket this morning.
Although it’s starting to get busier there, we haven’t yet gone back to pre-Covid numbers.
I think a lot of people started having home deliveries or Click & Collect during the first lockdown and probably enjoyed the extra convenience it gave them and so they have stuck with it.
Which is great, because it keeps down the number of customers actually in the store.
But, as I say, numbers are on the increase and the store is getting busier.
And people are starting to get lax: 2 metre distancing has long gone, as has waiting for someone to move out of the way. Now, people just lean across each other, grabbing whatever they require.
I was getting some eggs, this morning. And – of course – before putting the eggs in the trolley, I opened the box and checked that there were no broken ones. It probably took me ten seconds to do so.
Satisfied they were all intact, I turned round and stepped away from the eggs, walking straight into an old woman as I did so.
She must have been stood no more than six inches away from me! I’d have probably felt her breathing down the back of my neck, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was only about 4-foot tall.
Of course, I apologised for bumping into her.
Yes, I apologised, even though she was the one breaking the distancing rules, being too impatient to wait till I had moved out of the way.
At least she was wearing a mask. Not everyone does.
I think some people feel that if they have a mask on, they are protected and distancing isn’t required.
Idiots.
To educate or not to educate, that is the question
This Covid lockdown business is having a detrimental effect on our children’s education, as I’m sure everyone is aware.
My son is in his final year at high school – the year in which he was supposed to be taking his GCSEs, but who knows what’s going to happen there? One thing for sure, is that he has missed a lot of proper schooling. Even when they went back to school – between the lockdowns – he was only there for a short period, as someone in his year (a teacher) tested positive and the whole year had to be sent home to self-isolate. This happened twice in the same month!
The school – like others – started doing online lessons, but it was all very haphazard at first. I think they have improved now though and seem to have a more rigid online curriculum in place. Even so, Son tells me that they have a lot of supply teachers and that they are mainly doing just revision. Possibly, at the end of the year they will be assessed on what they have learnt so far.
Maths has always been a strong point for him, but when we got him to take a mock GCSE exam before Christmas, he failed. We were told that on the stuff that he knew, he was actually very good, but that there were large gaps in his learning… obviously. As such, we are now paying for him to see a private maths tutor once a week. Whether this will help in any exam he may or may not have at the end of the school year, I don’t know, but it can’t do any harm and – like any parent – I want to give him the best start for when he leaves school. I just wish I could afford to also get private tutors for English, Geography, Engineering and Science.
Definitely science.
Following his maths tutelage, I was discussing his other lessons with him last night and he told me how, for his science homework, he has to write up why a thick electrical wire has greater resistance than a thin wire.
Of course, I told him that he had it the wrong way round, but he showed me in his book where he had written down verbatim what the teacher was saying in the lesson.
She had said “A thick wire has a greater resistance than a thin wire, because there are more particles to get in the way of the electric current”.
More particles to get in the way!! ?? WTF!
It beggars belief!
I have written to the school headmistress, asking her to have a word with said science teacher, but it does worry me, if that is the calibre of some of these supply teachers.
Annoyed
Sorry I haven’t posted anything in a while, but I’ve been busy. People to see, places to go. You know how it is.
But I’m starting to get annoyed with people.
People wearing masks in their cars.
On their own.
In their car.
Wearing a mask.
Idiots.
And, I’m also getting annoyed that masks and rubber gloves are fast becoming the new urban detritus. Our local Sainsbury’s car park is littered with them.
But, not just there, I’m also seeing them laying on grass verges; tossed onto roundabouts and carelessly dropped in the woods.
Yes, the woods: the beautiful woods where I walk Saber each evening.
I find it most annoying to stroll along the footpaths, lost in the beauty of the low sun filtering through the trees, dappling it’s light on the host of lilac bluebells that fill the woods at this time of year (yeah, Wordsworth: ‘host’ doesn’t just have to apply to daffodils, y’know!), only to stumble across an abandoned latex glove, laying there like five discarded condoms. It kind of ruins the mood.
But, it’s not the only thing in the woods that is annoying me.
Where once there was a still silence, broken only by the wind in the trees and the sound of twigs snapping underfoot, there is now a constant cacophony of noisy kids. It used to be that we would hardly see a soul as we did our circular walk, occasionally happening across a fellow dog-walker or two. But now, since Boris has decreed that we can only go out once a day to exercise, the woods have suddenly become infested with whole families using it for their daily perambulations; marching their way through and widening the footpaths; breaking off branches and trampling through the bluebells.
With ne’er a dog between them!
Get the fuck out of my woods, you noisy bastards and take your rubbish with you!
Hammer Time
It’s 08:30 on a Sunday morning, as I type this and through my slightly open window, I can hear the sound of a hammer drill pounding into brickwork.
It’s not coming from any of the houses in my road, but rather, from the next cul-de-sac along.
I suspect it’s the same chap who got an angle grinder for Chrismas because, bright and early on Boxing Day, we could hear the distinct sound of angles being grinded. And that went on for several days.
OK, I know that the weekend is the only chance for people to get these sorts of jobs done, but this early on a Sunday morning. Really?
It doesn’t bother me too much, as I’m an early riser, but for those that like to have a lie in…
I too sometimes have noisy jobs to do at the weekend, that will involve power tools, but I have rules: no earlier than 9am on a Saturday and 10am on a Sunday.
I think that’s reasonable.
But not everyone is as considerate as me, so we can’t stop this.
I Don’t Belieeeeeve It!
Continuing on a TV theme…
The annual National Television Awards show is where viewers vote for their favourites, rather than a panel selecting the winners.
This seems fair enough.
But, I was surprised to read in the news that Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s sublime Fleabag and Ricky Gervais’ superb dark comedy After Life, were both beaten in the Best Comedy category at the NTAs, by Mrs Brown’s Boys.
Yes, Mrs bloody Brown’s bloody Boys.
Really, people? That’s what you went for?
Proving once again that the Great British public just cannot be trusted with the vote.
Ouch 2
We were sitting watching Strictly on Saturday night, when I felt a strange tingling sensation on my right foot.
Within a couple of seconds, that changed to a searing sensation of pain.
I looked down to see that I had managed to knock over the freshly-made, boiling-hot, cup of tea that Daughter had just brought in… all over my foot!
“Ow ow ow!” I ripped off my soaking-wet sock, but the pain continued, so I hopped and hobbled as quickly as I could to the downstairs loo and tried to squeeze my size 11 plate into the world’s smallest hand-basin.
“Ow ow ow!” The cold water didn’t seem cold enough to be doing anything. “Quick!” said Mrs M to Daughter, trying to show concern, but at the same time not take her eyes away from Emma and Anton’s Paso: “Quick, get a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer!”
We didn’t have any frozen peas, so I had to make do with Curly Fries.
It wasn’t helping much and after a short while the fries started to warm up, so they went back into the freezer and out came a bag of Chicken Fillets. Surprisingly, frozen chicken fillets don’t mold themselves around the toes that well!
I spent the remainder of Saturday evening with my foot in the washing-up bowl filled with cold water.
This time, I remembered to take a photo. I’m sure you’re all pleased about that!