21 February 2006

Chicken Injector General

So bird flu is almost here - in fact, by the time you read this, it will
almost certainly have arrived. On Newsnight, a man called Brigadier
Birdwhistle called for prophylactic measures to be introduced when dealing
with chickens. I assume he was not referring to Durex Featherlight.
Is there a reward for being the first to discover a case? There should be.
Like Willy Wonka's Golden Tickets. I almost went out today to look for dead
foul on the banks of the Kennet and Avon canal. Fortunately I got waylaid,
getting in as many fags as possible before the ban. I was going to give up,
but now feel obliged to wait until the bitter end. I will make field
recordings of my wheezing chest before they become a thing of the past...or
I do. By the way, what will happen to the annual Coughing Contest at Zurich?

Concerned about the death of the radio 4 insomniac theme?...I am considering
a protest similar to the Muslim cartoon outrages, calling for the beheading
of Radio 4 executives. Don't the fuckers realize that this is the reality
re-calibration point for sleepless drug addicts and alcoholics? The time to
go to sleep signal for the nation's upside downers. What will we do now? I
don't like much these days it's true, and I know I'm rambling - I'll get to
the point in a minute perhaps. At present, I haven't got one. Might make a
joke denying the existence of David Irvine or something - I have an
unpleasant feeling that 'right thinking folk' are going to have to defend
him for the sake of free speech...sad but we must. Typical of Austria to be
touchy. Didn't what's his name with the tache hail from that neck of the
woods? And Jorg Heider? Anyway, it's none of my beeswax, I'm still thinking
about birds. Apparently they've got to come indoors. Is the millennium dome
still there? A fine chicken coop if ever there was one.

Anyway, bollocks to impending catastrophe -Personal advancement and wealth
are what concern me. I'm looking to buy a house, so if anyone knows of
one...far away from civilized people - let me know. I haven't got much
money, but I want a detached something in the middle of nowhere...reasonably
close to London. Anybody know of any shit-hole fixer uppers that require a
new lord and master? Obviously I wouldn't fix it up; no under floor heating,
rewiring or improvements of any kind. In fact, I'd probably regress it. I
would require electricity, and some kind of apparatus for the disposal of
excrement - other than this blog....boom boom - (by the way, Basil Brush
double bill on CBBC at 6 O'clock on Saturdays...only a complete fool would
miss it).
Failing this, I might return to the shit-hole fixer upper known as London,
and attempt to ply my trade. Is it too late to become a professional
footballer?
NB. Call DEFRA first thing. Get contract to become Chicken Injector General.

Must watch the documentary on Men and Motors now...I'm reviewing it for the
parish gazette.

Tweet Tweet XX

13 February 2006

Never in the Anals of British Crime

Ah, Good After Noon there,

Hope you all had a lovely...it's too early in the week for platitudes isn't
it? Anyway, my rotten, dull inebriated hibernation was finally made bearable
by the news that Dick Cheney had shot a man. Made me quite ecstatic in fact.
I imagine the jokes will already be in by this stage, so I won't add to them
too tiresomely or mention Dan Quail. Hopefully criminal charges will be
brought, and I for one demand to read the toxicity reports on Double Barrel
Dick. Please God, let him have been drunk or on drugs. Obviously it could
have been worse. If it had been the man in charge, it could have been more
than a shotgun that went off by mistake. Still, it must be a first. Reverse
Assassination. Imagine Deely Plaza...Imagine the Zabruder (?) footage. In
technicolour slow-mo, Kennedy calmly sprays Uzi rounds into the crowd.
Imagine Pope John Paul II firing a pistol at worshippers, like at a rap
concert? Leaders used to carry on like this you know - read the history
books.

Sinisterly, Endoscopy machines have been walking out of hospitals in the
Yorkshire area. Police are stumped. "Never in the anals of British
crime...." etc. As a keen reader of Holmes, perhaps I can throw a little
light on the subject. I suspect they are being stolen to order for the
purposes of Pornography. That is why I'd do it anyway. Since gynecological
porn is now thoroughly old hat, and can even be viewed on Emmerdale,
something a bit stronger is required. You mark my words, intestinal tract
porn is on its way. Now where did I put the plunger?
My next theory - wot I have just had, is even more worrying...although if it
pans out, I claim my $30 million. Now isn't there something wrong with Bin
Laden's kidneys? Wasn't he having dialysis? and his own machine? This might
seem like a long shot, but I am prepared to wager that he's behind the
thefts. I'll go further - he's living in Leeds. Obviously, due to
fatwaphobia, I shan't be claiming a connection between hunches one and two,
but then again - who'd have ever predicted that Dick Cheney would have shot
his lawyer?

Well, its' Valentine's day tomorrow. I am not yet fully recovered from the
catastrophic injuries sustained last year when I was crushed by the postal
delivery, but I am prepared to accept electronic messages of love, proposals
of marriage, or even suggestions as to what I can do with an endoscopy
machine. In the meantime, here is my valentine's message to y'all:

Roses are red, violets are blue
Those who offend Islam will be beheaded

XXX

10 February 2006

Naked Messiah

I'm watching the opening ceremony of the winter Olympics. No terrorist
outrages yet, unless I haven't noticed. The seven monumental alpine horns
might provide some action of course. Anyway, that's not what I'm here to
discuss. I've had an idea about how to invest my property millions.
I am mulling over the idea of becoming a theatrical Impresario. As I have
made clear, I am doing bugger all at present and am seeking diabolical
projects for my idle hands to embrace.
This afternoon, while watching a Music show on a BBC cable channel - Men and
Motors was off air being cleaned, I discovered a program presented by the
excellent now fully endowed ex-choirboy Aled Jones. It was all about
Handel's Messiah - fave of amateur dramatic societies and Hallelujah Chorus
aficionados everywhere. Well, having being marveling at the work of Spencer
Tunick of late....mostly with a magnifying glass and a box of Kleenex, it
occurred to me that I should invest my cash in producing a Naked version of
the Messiah. What do you think? - has it got legs? How many? Four hundred? A
cross between an amateur chorale society and a WI calendar. We could tour
the land .It would be quite cheap, due to no costumes. I think it's a winner
and will be discussing it with my 'Listening bank', when I speak to them
next week on other overdraft related matters.
If you would like to be in it, and feel that your singing and carcass are up
to scratch, do get in touch....and send a Polaroid. If it's a success, we
can do an 'On Ice' version as well at the Empire Wembley Pool during the
Christmas months.
I feel that the dancers in the Winter Olympic opening ceremony might be
lining up to join my troop, so you'd better apply fast....if they don't get
blown up first.

On another matter, I am rather surprised that the Lib-Dems got elected in
the Dunfermelin(?) by-election. Perhaps the Mark Oaten diet has had a
positive effect on our friends north of the border. Time to rebuild the wall
I fear.
If anybody visiting this blog is considering visiting the Luke Haines site,
tread carefully. The old fellow's put his back out and is in a fearsome
rage. You heard it here first...on the Q.T

Bodmin Moore XX

08 February 2006

Chickens to Milk

Hello, it's me again -the Sporadic Blogger.

I'm well and truly bleedin' bored now. My little old novel has left home is
walking the streets, trying to meet prospective partners in the publishing
world; so now I'm in limbo - until the rejection letters flood in. Luckily
my years of hope and disaster in the music world give me a certain teflon
coating, and it must be said - a pint of Guinness goes down very well with
abject failure. Futility and a roll up make fine partners too. Should the
unthinkable happen, and somebody actually agree to print my scribblings, I
will be in a highly dangerous state emotionally, and probably in
considerable physical danger as well.
Still, enough of the advertisement for doomed genius, I must try to do
something useful. Finding a new dwelling should be top priority now, as I
will shortly be in possession of the proceeds from the sale of my old place.
Of course sinking it all into bricks and mortar is not a particularly
exciting prospect. Having watched so much of the Men and Motors channel of
late, it has crossed my mind that I could become a car designer, and build a
prototype in my mother's garage. Purchasing several acres of woodland also
appeals - I've a very nice tent. The stock market? now there's a golden
opportunity for a bored man to come seriously unstuck. Shares in renewable
energy sources perhaps. Investment in a wind farm? Seems to me that I've
done too much of that already.
I shall be putting my feet on the streets of London tomorrow evening, so
perhaps I'll find some mischief to combat my ennui. I've had a very nice
time living in semi rural seclusion - if you can apply that term to a
housing estate near a field, but I am perhaps, not as finished with the
metropolis as I thought. You don't get many whales in Burghfield for
starters. Try buying food in the countryside - almost impossible. There are
pubs, but they require driving to, which rules out getting slaughtered to
pass the time.
I went to the White Horse at Uffington today for a stroll round the hills.
It was rubbish - and freezing...although I did detect signs of a little
dogging scene in the car park. Probably other poor sods who've sent their
manuscripts off and have nothing else to do. Called in at Upper Lambourn,
where I can confirm that Ivy was indeed climbing the ash trees - if that was
really her name.
Well I must go now; Chickens to milk, sheep to plough, Men and Motors to
gawp at.

If you see me in London, take me by my fat old hand and give me half a
crown. xx

01 February 2006

Rip Van Winkle Rides Again

Good Morning boys and girls,
 Excuse me if I'm a little rusty, but I have been asleep for rather a long
 time. As I open my eyes and survey the world around me, so much has 
changed.

 Firstly, good news for all the ladies in the world, and terrifying news 
for husbands everywhere. Due to events beyond my control - no matter what 
anyone says...I find myself single once again. Oh yes, I know this must come as a
 bombshell to many, but there is no easy way to break news of this nature.
 However, after the initial unpleasantness of marital meltdown, a semblance
 of normality and civility has returned, and me and the old old lady are on
 good terms. Of course, it all represents a massive failure on both our 
parts- although I suspect rather more on mine...but still, no point in 
quibbling.
 Our dear heir, although rather bewildered by events at first, appears to 
be in good spirits, and is enjoying playing one parent off against the other.
 She has just started school, and happily, there have been no incidences of
 attacking other children, stabbing teachers, shop lifting, happy slapping,
 or cries for help of any kind. Her hoodie is a duffel coat which she wears
 in a non threatening way.
 My dear erstwhile colleague Haines played one of his periodic pop concerts
 this evening, and was supported by Sarah...the Black Box Recorder family,
 dysfunctional though it is, still loves each other. My contribution to the
 night's proceedings was to baby sit...a vital part of any musical set up,
 and of far more value than say - rhythm guitar.
 On the domestic front - and this should make me sound highly sexy and
 desirable - I am residing temporarily - with my dear Mother, am 
practically penniless, and if I am not liberated soon, will put on weight...this
 aphrodisiac description of my new self should be enough to ensure
 Beatlemania in the semi rural suburb to which I am confined. To make 
myself sound even more alluring, I have become very fond of the Men and Motors
 channel on the television - after Mum's gone to bed of course.

 My only hope of salvation, seems to be, that I have finished the novel - 
in fact I finished it in December, but I always start the year slowly. It is
 now with an agent, who decided to take it on...probably out of pity, and 
my mother's begging. All I can do now is wait for vast wealth and acclaim -
while keeping the other eye on the job ads in the local gazette for 'part
 time pot men' at the pub.
 Apparently - this is according to the advertisements on the Men and Motors
 channel- if I text 'Babes' to a certain number, I will be put in touch 
with two gorgeous ladeez in my area. I am rather skeptical about this, and so
 far, have resisted the temptation to try it. I happen to know that the 
only two ladeez in my area are well past eighty.
 Well that's it for now, although with nothing better to do, I may resume
 regular briefings, should anybody be kind enough to want to read them.
 Must dash, have to go and read the bible now.
 Good Night.

 



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