28 May 2017

And Then A Couple Of Things...

First-up is a nice list of commandments I’ve got on loan from Nanny Knows Best – with apologies. I do believe I may print and frame it. You may also consider making it into a greetings card and sending it to any of the annoying folk of your choice. And your MP, but that’s only common sense.  The last line says so much; ‘Don’t like your rights taken away? Don’t try to take away the rights of others.’

12

Twos-up was when I turned on the TV in time to see Amber Rudderless talking about Manchester and security in general. All just words with nothing behind them but one bit did catch my attention. Briefly.

She stated that great progress was being made in relation to the investigation into the Manchester outrage and there were now eleven fellows in custody. Well done those security folk I say. I believe it’s now twelve - or as that nice Diane My-Brain’s-Out-and-Abbout would say, eleventy one.

However, moments later this was put into some sort of perspective when she stated that there were presently something like twenty five thousand people – that’s twenty five thousand – on one or other of the security services various watch-lists. By my reckoning, that would be eleven down and twenty four thousand, nine hundred and eighty nine, that they know of, still out here. Way to go girl! Lets get that ol’ threat level down from ‘Oh-ho’ to ‘Fingers Crossed’ then. Feel safer now? It’s just words; it’s only words.

As for her name, I know what amber is and it’s beautiful but I did that Google thingy anyway and it came up with this: ‘Fossilized resin from coniferous trees of the Tertiary period, typically yellowish in colour.’ So there you go, we have a Home Secretary who’s folks must’ve spotted, early doors, that she was going to grow-up and end up with the IQ of a stone that has a yellow streak. 

Quote;  John Wyndham.

“It must be, I thought, one of the race's most persistent and comforting hallucinations to trust that ‘it can't happen here’ - that one's own time and place is beyond cataclysm.”

24 May 2017

And Then An Idea...

I have nothing to say about Manchester; it’s all be said.

Try this on for size; if you’re a suicidal bomber, you wear the bomb, right? It’s been mentioned in the news that this nutter was seen putting a case down. Maybe, just maybe, he was instructed to take the bomb in, put it down and told he’d have five minutes to get out. He’s dumb enough to believe that but the fellows with the trigger have no intention of letting the mule, who’s now the star of so much CCTV, get out alive... 

Anyhoo, the aftermath? So sadly predictable with all the usual suspects, aided and abetted by our compliant MSM, repeating all the usual shock and horror and all rounded off with the required appeasements.

One addition this time is that Amber Rudderless has announced that troops will be deployed to guard stuff and patrol the streets. However, in the interests of community cohesion, whatever that is, they’ll be leaving their weapons  back in barracks and patrolling armed only with ‘T’-lights and teddy-bears.

I do hope they make use of the lads rather than just having them aimlessly roaming the streets. Things like, oh I don’t know, looking out for people smoking outwith a designated smoking area? Some old Brit eating pork scratchings near a mosque? You know, the stuff wot seems to be so important now.

Thus to the title of this typing period. I have an idea that could be a winner on a couple of levels. It would get our country back and give a few old folk a great reason to get up in the morning.

They’re going to put troops on the streets, right? Hay, you in charge, do it properly. Be honest, we’re at war okay? Make an end to it; get the job done properly and I’m full sure these old folk I have in mind for the job have springs that were fairly tightly wound already but after Monday, they’re probably severely over-wound and looking for a release. All you need to do is arm these old heroes, tell them we want our country cleaned-up, give them  carte blanche, throw open the doors, cry 'Havoc' and let slip these old dogs of war.

And who do I be referring to? Those fine folk wot have done it all before and I know damn well that, despite their age, could do it all again and it’ll matter not a jot if there’s four thousand, four hundred or only four of ‘em left, nobody’s going to stop ‘em once they get started. Okay, who? Why the Chelsea Pensioners of course.

                             Pensioner
Once the doors are open all the usual suspects, the politicians, the luvvies, the snowflakes, the bed-wetters and those of a nervous disposition should just go and hide under their beds ‘till the job’s done**. And it would be done.

An obvious knock-on bonus to this plan would be boom days for the airlines as, once the old boys got quickly into their stride, every flight out would be fully booked times three as our bestest ever friends fought for flights ‘home’.

**Note: Once it’s done, and you lot in hiding start to think about crawling out from below your beds; be careful as those old folk may decide, as they’ve cleaned-up down the way, that they’ll carry on and clean-up up the way as well. Bu-by.

Quote;  Marie Kondo.

“The objective of cleaning is not just to clean, but to feel happiness living within that environment.”

22 May 2017

And Then A New Lease Of Life...

I see that manifesto thingy put out as a vote winner by Teaser May-day is getting more of a panning than winning any endorsements and they seem to insist on keeping wheeling out spokes-folk who haven’t got a scooby what it’s all about and how it’ll work. Stands back in amazement.

I’m guessing a bunch of the elderly will now be weighing up the advantages of selling all their tangible assets and distributing the monetary proceeds amongst their nearest and dearest, in the best tax avoidable manner, and reverting to living the vaguely remembered life of the past as hippies. Living in caves and foraging along hedgerows. Best quote today? ‘If I find I’m slipping into dementia, I’m going to sell-up and share the money between my kids. If I can remember their names and where they live’. A tad cruel but... May-day may be on thin ice.

          

I see there’s another hint of a row-back but it seems as misty as the firstly announced stuff. No-one will have to sell their home to pay for care while alive. Right, I’m lost now as it also seems they want to set a floor and not a cap. That clear? Wot if your caps on the floor then? I’m yet further convinced that there’s a darker game in play here as I can’t believe those up there are as thick as the bricks they would have us believe they are.

On the up side, this could herald a new lease of life to all those tired old TV programs that have been past their sell-by date for so long. How about I’m a Pensioner, Get Me Out Of This Three Bed Semi. Or how about, Cave Location, Cave Location, Cave Location. Those cooking competitions?   Elderly Master Chef; Road-kill Special. Wot about, You Gotta Eat Here ‘Till Your Heart explodes.

By-the-by, did you play the track above? Did you catch the picture? love it.
                                     bear

Quote;  Suzka.

“Violet screamed into her pillow so loudly she scared herself. Her head hurt. It was as if all her memories were trying to kick their way out. They were finished and wanted to leave.”

20 May 2017

And Then, What Next...

I see Teaser May-lose, in front of that same open goal, has now kicked the ball over the bar and out o’ the park with her plans  for the elderly and the elderly sick. Yes, I know that if you dig down and work it all through on a thirty page spreadsheet it’s not too bad at all, but...

The problem is who’s going to do that? Few to nobody I’d guess and the MSM isn’t going to help at all so all we’ll hear and see, and take note of is that Mustapha Headline chap on the BBC wailing about the Con plans to hit the elderly from all sides. No details. No comparison with the present situation and that’s all the elderly will hear before preparing to the kitchen, muttering, to make the evening nosebag.

The papers? All the elderly will see is the Elderly Sick Can Now Only Leave Pennies To Their Kids type headlines as they pass the Waitrose news stand on their way to pick up groceries and a free coffee.

And the opposition parties don’t even have to tell fibs now. They just need to repeat Teasers words, with varying degrees of accuracy, and the seeds of doubt are sown in the heads of waverers and, indeed, many believers.

Teaser has probably convinced four out of every ten elderly to vote in a way that’ll do limited damage to their country but in no way help someone now perceived to be an elderly hater.

Teaser says, in a small damage limitation exercise, that she wants to be honest with the electorate with the manifesto. Teaser, the electorate don’t want the truth, they want ‘feel good’. If you really wanted to wipe-out all opposition, you’d have given us a manifestoes full o’ fun an’ fibs. And why not? Manifestoes aren’t legally binding anyway, right? Hell, Timmy Forlorn’s promised us weed  will be available down at the corner shop, the one run by that nice Mr Patel, and now the elderly are left wondering if they’ll even be able to afford it for heavens sake! 

Day by day it looks more like the rubbish I typed here may well be coming to pass.

Tell you wot, if UKIP hadn’t decided to self destruct, they may well have been in with a shout round about now.

Quote;  Shel Silverstein.

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
”I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
”But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
”I know what you mean," said the little old man.

19 May 2017

And Then, More Chips...

It being Friday an’ all, we had a fish and chip lunch. I opted for the healthy option and included one of my five a day; mushy peas. I also had scraps and for any of you unfamiliar with scraps, they’re the left-over bits o’ batter after deep-frying. I doubt these, as good as they are, can be counted as another one of my five a day.

Anyhoo, shortly after not too long ago, there was a pretend post here regarding us all getting kitted out with micro chips. As if that’s ever going to happen eh? Really, how far ‘out there’ can I go?

With that in mind, you can imagine my surprise this morning when I turned on the radio while waiting for the coffee to cook and tuned into the Today program on the BBC - yeah, I know, but an early morning blood boil gets my circulation going for the day – to catch some dame recounting her experiences living with a ‘biohacking implant’ she’s had glued into her hand.  Say what now? You believe that? Maybe the Foggy Mirror ain’t that foggy after all.

Assuming you didn’t catch it, Have a listen here; slide along ‘till you see something close to 1:44:26 in the little ‘follow along’ window. Ensure you’re seated.

After listening to that, thought I to myself, me being all alone and by myself at the time, I’ll Google ‘biohacking’ and was amazed{?} at the number of results. Here’s the only link I clicked.

Seems the future isn’t catching up with us at all; it’s actually overtaking us and it’s kind o’ scary. Wot comes next? Be afraid. Be very afraid.

By-the-by, if you’re staying in this evening and have an abundance of tin-foil to hand, type this into that Google finding stuff thingy; ‘YouTube; Flat earth’.   Bu-by.

Quote;  Edward Bernays.

“The conscious and intelligent manipulation of the organised habits and opinions of the masses is an important element in democratic society. Those who manipulate this unseen mechanism of society constitute an invisible government which is the true ruling power of our country.”

17 May 2017

And Then, A Call...

This morning, I had occasion to make a phone call. This call was in response to mail from the insurance folk who look after our home insurance. The mail helpfully reminded me this was due for renewal and, if the attached terms were acceptable, it would renew with an automatic payment using my card of record.

This is cool other than the previously used card has expired. How hard would it be to mention this on the ‘reminder’ mail? Anyhoo, I journeyed to their Web place, logged in and found the obvious spot to change card details. I was met by a helpful message along the lines of, “You cannot change any information here as a transaction is scheduled in the next few days.” Bummer. More so for them than me.

And that is wot led to the dreaded official telling-bone call.  First-up was, “Please key-in your date of birth in six digit format.” and that I did.
”Please key-in the first two letters of your post code.” This I couldn’t do as the key pad point blank refused to cycle from numeric to alphabetic. “I didn’t understand that. Please wait for an operator.” I can do that.
Surprisingly, a lady operator came along instantly which made me wonder what the first bit was all about but let’s not give that no never mind right now.

After explaining the reason for my call, things went along well with the exception of suddenly hearing loud tones and chimes coming down the line.
”Sorry,” said the lady, “That was my computer.”
”That’s a relief.” Said I, “I thought it was my pace maker. It tends to overload and sound alarms when I’m parting with money.” Okay, not my best line but, going by the sounds now coming down the line, more than well received.

I stated, in answer to her question, that I was happy to accept the quote and she said the funds would be deducted at the time of renewal and that’s when I lost all interest and drifted off.

Why? Well, you remember the paper days when you got your insurance certificate, one sheet, with a further ten sheets of the aptly named small print, font size one, which was ignored and filed away never to be seen again until making a claim and being informed they don’t pay out for that. “Didn’t you read the small print?”

Seems if you do this stuff on the phone you avoid the small print but have to suffer the small talk as the lady proceeded to recite the whole bag load of everything. This failed to hold my interest for as much as a nano-second and I promptly drifted off to another galaxy far, far away.

I crashed back to earth upon hearing the lady say, “Hello? Happy with all that then?”
“I’m sorry, I missed a bit. Could you repeat it all please?”
”Whu...”
”Kidding.”
”Oh. Happy then?” To which there was really only one reply and that was the reply I offered. “That would be entirely dependant upon your definition of ‘happy’.”

I hung up the phone with my ears ringing to the happy sound of my briefly encountered lady friend smiling out loud. There’s absolutely no nicer sound than that of laughter at nine thirty ante meridiem of a grey, rainy morning.

Quote;  Ambrose Bierce.

“TELEPHONE n. An invention of the devil which abrogates some of the advantages of making a disagreeable person keep his distance.”