17 Apr 2015

And Then The Answer Is….

If that thing I used to have quite a bit of but now only have fragments left, memory, serves me almost right, I ran into this at Guido Fawkes and thought… No, sorry, forget that bit; that's a step too far.

Anyhoo, it features, from some time ago, Never Ready Eddy answering a series of questions. This clip is brilliantly put together and is absolutely spot on regarding how our betters answer a series of probing questions.

You may well have seen it before but  never mind, go on, click, you'll love it.

It's so true isn't it? Whatever happened the day before, suitable answers are prepared and punched into their heads RAM so they're all kitted out ready to 'answer' any questions as soon as they step out their front doors.

What we really need is a cleaver, dedicated media hack who could hack into their on-board RAM, right?

Quote;  Peter Nelson.

“I used to think I knew all the answers. Then I thought I knew maybe a few of the answers. Now I'm not even sure I understand the questions. Nobody knows anything.”

14 Apr 2015

And Then, TV Adverts….

Another tough call today; Conservative manifesto or bingo. Bingo!! We have a winner!

However, before I move ever onwards, I did pickup on this bit of 'news' the other day and it's interesting to note that, along with our vast money orchard,  it seems we have a really big building, possibly secreted amongst the swaying boughs of the money trees, in which there are, presumably under lock and key, five thousand doctors just a-sittin' and a-waitin' 'till called upon to do service for the country. I mean, is that pretty damn cool or wot? May I humbly suggest that, as they're released to serve us, they should be electronically tagged just in case they make a run for the nearest airport.

Enough of that; let's have a bit of this.

I tottered downstairs this morning, booted up the beast… Pardon? No, the computer. Drank a pair of strong coffees so I could function in an almost human fashion - almost – and read* the news online. I then asked myself a question, me being the only one there at the time. Why do we wake up reasonably happy then insist on plunging ourselves into instant depression by reading the news?  Why not just soak up the coffee, the nicotine, gaze out the window and contemplate what to do today?

What to do

Some time later I made another mistake by turning on the TV and further spoiled a yet to even get going day by stumbling into one of my all-time pet hates. Just one of the many adverts for on-line bingo.

Now, I'm not a violent man by any stretch of the imagination, but if the actors{?}, and I do appreciate they're just earning a crust but they be my contact point, who feature in these adverts were rounded-up and placed in a room and I managed to gain access to said room clutching a number nine coal shovel, I guarantee nobody would leave the room before I'd erased that, "Give all your money to us." jollity from their faces with the working end of my number nine coal shovel. Hay, if people like playing bingo, have at it is what I say, but those giggly, smiling, jolly, singing, adverts just trip my trigger and trust me, my trigger's a long, long way from being a hair-trigger.

That's it. Mr Grumpy done did gone and went and the rest of the day progressed as… well, pretty much along the same lines as yesterday as near as I can remember how yesterday progressed.

*Why is this as it is; "I'm going to read the news" "I've just read the news" Why won't English let me type, "I've just red the news"? What's wrong with that then?

Maybe I should take up knitting.

Quote;  Vilhjalmur Stefansson.

"What is the difference between unethical and ethical advertising? Unethical advertising uses falsehoods to deceive the public; ethical advertising uses truth to deceive the public."

13 Apr 2015

And Then A Fowl Story….

I had a tough call to make this evening. Type about the Labour manifest or my small adventure buying a chicken. Guess what? The chicken won.

Her indoors wanted a chicken so where better place to get said bird than a supermarket wot has chickens wot have been made hot by that ol' rotisserie hot making method.

I queued, not wishing to be rude, at the cooked meat counter where the chickens were all sitting ready bagged and tagged, on a large heated glass fronted, shiny metal topped display.

The queue was long which resulted in a long wait as my fellow queuees ambled forward to take their turn in requesting, from the one lady on duty, this being the busy time an' all, various lumps of pork, chicken wings, thighs, stuff in foil trays, sausages and such.

Sadly, this wait resulted in my mind wandering off, unattended, and when I found myself at the head of the queue I had to quickly re-group and remember what I was doing there.
"Could I have one of those delicious lookin' cooked, bagged an' tagged chicken thingies please." I asked of the top of the ladies head; her head being the only visible bit of her over the top of the display.
"That you can." Replied the smiling purveyor of fine cooked meats. "Help yourself."
"Yes, but I can't because of the gla…" I stammered as I tentatively extended my hand and  realised, somewhat embarrassingly, that there was no glass between me and the hot, cooked, bagged and tagged chickens. Another twenty minutes gone forever.


Quote;  Samuel Butler.

"A hen is only an egg's way of making another egg."

12 Apr 2015

And Then, Promises, Promises….

Do you get the feeling that the election campaigning has descended into farce with, most obviously, the main two gangs just attempting to outdo the daily announcements of each other? It seems to be mainly revolving round health with none of them seeming to grasp the fact that, however much money is thrown at it, it will never catch up, never mind keep pace, with the ballooning population. Same with housing and schools. Ditto public transport. Ditt, with an 'o' again, all infrastructure. Of course, they don't have any money of their own anyway and once they've used all ours, there's only magical mystery money left.

"Well, we promise a load more magic money for the NHS."
"Well, we'll promise a shed load more magic money than that for the NHS."
"Well, we'll promise that every lady having a baby will
have their very own midwife. No, really."
"Well, we'll promise two sheds bursting with magic money to the NHS."
"Well, we're going to build lots of houses."
"Well, we plan to build more houses than that. Then lots more as well. We think."
"Well, we're going to tax non-doms 'till they've all gone away.
Or are thinking about going away."
"Well, we're committed to thinking about getting tough on non-doms AND tax dodgers. Whatever they are."
"Well, we're going to re-negotiate our relationship with the EU so we can all live in a wondrous Eu-topia."
"Well, we're committed to thinking about renegotiations and then letting the common people have a vote on it and I can confirm today that I have a team of specialist code writers working on the ballet paper questions which will be written in something very loosely based on the English language." 
"Well, I think we should, and by golly, will, tax big houses."
"Well, no ifs, no buts, we're going to allow dead people to keep
their big houses."
"Well……  Whoa!! Say what now?"

Daily, on and on it goes and all coming from people you'd expect to be aware that the country's bust.

I'm wondering what bearing the above has on that other popular phrase, you know, the one about the countries strong economic recovery.

Even I, as dumb and as thick as I be, with a brain that resembles the thickest part of a very thick thicket, can see that these supposedly jolly intelligent folk are just doing that “O yeah?” thingy you and I used to do to each other, as kids, when at junior school. All to be forgotten after playtime. All to be forgotten after the election.

Then you step outside on a crystal clear night and look up into the incomprehensible vastness of space and quickly come to the conclusion  that nothing, absolutely nothing on this minute speck of dust we call home really matters at all.

Well, I think that's what I think. I think.

Quote;  Chuck Palahniuk.

“In a world where vows are worthless. Where making a pledge means nothing. Where promises are made to be broken, it would be nice to see words come back into power.”

10 Apr 2015

And Then Time And Age….

I was standing in the shower this morning trying to figure out, not for the first time, the best way to wash my feet without leaving the shower, head first, through the glass, when that age thingy suddenly popped into my feeble old brain. Again.
Note: The drying of said appendages presents exactly the same unstable wobbly problem.

The age problem I pondered was the reasoning behind the apparent high speed of time when old, compared to the crawl of youth. As a by-the-by, could time speeding up with age be why we old folk forget… sorry, I forget so much stuff? Is it all happening so damn fast that I can't take it all on-board  in the allotted time before something else pops up that needs remembering and it all gets lost in a never-ending queue of stuff to try to remember and  so, when I need to access  some information, only fragments are there and thus just do not compute.

What was I typing about? Got it. Well, bits of it.

You remember way back when you where in your late twenties? Remember that far back? Remember when you never gave the idea that one day you'd be in your late sixties a second thought because time was going so slowly you'd never actually get there?

Are you of an old age? Yes? Is time going by really quickly for you? Not enough of it is there? Here we are at Friday already and it seems like only yesterday it had only just got to be Thursday, right? And were Wednesday went I've no idea. Then I thought, if I went back to my late twenties right now, keeping my present speed of time, I'm sure that before I got there I'd see myself coming back to be old.

I'm guessing, and it's only a guess, that time will slow down again, pretty dramatically, when we're dead. And a fat lot o' use that'll be to us.

I'm also guessing I need to get out more. Damn! Not enough time left today. Tomorrow then. Or is it tomorrow already? No, it can't be – that was yesterday wasn't it?

Finally, before I forget….. Oh,oh. Got it!! Take a look at this:
India Bans Greenpeace Funding, Suspends Licence. Bravely done that country I say.

Quote;  Dr Seuss.

"How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?"

            Horace Mann.

"Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered for they are gone forever."

8 Apr 2015

And Then A Photo Op….

Further to the post a little bit after a while ago relating to 'trick' photos, I ran into another example at the Spectator Coffee House and thought I'd loan the pictures for a moment.

The first shot shows Boy Dave, backed by a bunch of euphoric supporters. He's apparently speaking to a throng of attendees crammed into a huge hall as per the second shot.

     Group Group2

However, the last two shots show this huge throng, as intimated by the above shots, to be 'big' enough to hide behind his bus.

    Big Big2 

Yet another example, should one be needed, that you should only believe half what you see and nothing that you hear.

Second up, have you noticed that TV adverts featuring young men have started to move on from the unshaved stubbly look and an increasing number of these adverts now feature chaps with full beards? Is this some sort of subliminal message suggesting a full beard may be the way to go so as not to feel alienated amongst the ever growing numbers of our new bestest ever friends?

What will be subliminally suggested next? A cheeky wee line in gents ankle-length frocks for summer in various shades of grey and off-white? Or do I need to get a new set of tin foil body armour and double-up on those purple pills?

With that rubbish above, and an election in the offing, I feel it's time to re-visit the tune below. Please be advised that playing the track may well result in the damn thing occupying your head for a minimum of twenty-four hours.


Fnord for now.

Quote;  Gary Hopkins.

“In a world of full of manipulation, half-truths and lies, the conspiracy theory is often a safer bet than the official story.”