07 September 2005

A Matter Of Some Delicacy and A Declaration Of War

I am speaking to you from the offices of the Germ Organization in London. Yesterday, at aproximately two O'clock Greenwich mean time, this website was attacked. An organization or individual by the name of Hanif attempted to destroy our democratic forum and impose terror upon us. Well let me tell you Mr Hanif Kureshi, we will not be cowed, intimidated, or bothered in the slightest by your electronic rubbing out device. Our only response to you is that we do not like your books - with the exception perhaps of The Buddha of Suburbia - but the rest are awful - unless you wrote My Beautiful Launderette - which I think you might have.
Anyway, you flatter us by your attacks. We obviously represent a terrible threat to you and those like you. Our ideaology and our boyish good looks fly in the face of your pent up ugliness.
The Germ organization stands for freedom, dignity, humour, idleness and not getting up too early.
Beat that you dogmatic demagogic curse against enjoyment. If you must hack, be a suicide hacker.

Back to more important matters. I am in a moral quandry. An old friend who I have not seen or contacted for several years ( or been contacted by ), happens to live in a flat overlooking the Oval Cricket ground. Would it be bad form to simply pop round this weekend? Would contacting him now, be seen as a cynical ruse to watch the test match, or would he welcome the return of a dear lost friend? Also, under the circumstances, should I care?

06 September 2005

Hurricane Jason

Been slightly remiss recently, when it comes to keeping the world informed of my movements. Well sorry world, or the seven of you who constitute planet John Moore. I've been rather out of sorts of later - and busy. I'm less busy now, but am certainly out of sorts still. I haven't had what I consider to be an adequate holiday yet. Long weekends to the Plague pit in Devon don't count. A five minute stroll along a windswept beach and having to chase after my hat, are not enough. Either I go somewhere proper and hot, and lie down for hours on end, or I shall don stout walking boots, and take to the highlands. Really, although I don't do very much at the best of times, I need a break from it. A metaphorical fag break.
I suppose in the bigger scheme of things, I shouldn't really be complaining. At least I don't live in New Orleans - sadly, nor does anybody else now.
My dear pal Byron did live there, but astoundingly, managed to get out before the storm hit. If you knew him like I do, you would understand why this is astounding. Suffice to say, the relaxed pace of life in the Big Easy, suited him to a tee.
So far, it's my favourite places that are getting hit. NYC and New Orleans, biblical hits to Godless metropoli (?). Well perhaps there's something in this religion after all. Has the bible belt been bashed at all?
Spent a pleasant weekend in Lincolnshire - marred only by a visit to the resort of St Leonard's on Sea. Accuse me of snobbery if you like, but I've never seen such a concentration of chavs in my life. I refused to get out of the car for fear of being eaten. This is the kind of place that needs a hurricane - of course, it would have to be called something like Hurricane Dawn or Hurricane Jason. I'm off for a game of bowls.


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