FEAR

I don't watch much TV but I saw a trailer for a BBC documentary called Cold War, I remember it well, mainly through youthful eyes riveted to Spitting Image puppets mocking World leaders and endless espionage films where the enemy, 'Those Commie bastards' used propaganda and lies to control the masses(sounds so familiar) but their greatest weapon against their enemy, namely the USA and their British co-conspirators, was FEAR. There was public information films and endless TV documentaries explaining 'the effects of' and 'what to do in the event of' a nuclear strike against mainland Britain. This stoked the fires of hatred and fear even more. Later when I was in the Navy there were the hours and hours spent shadowing Russian Naval vessels. Although we apparently came very very close to the almost total annihilation of the human race, in the end fear was the only weapon actually used in great salvo's against friend and foe alike. A war of the mind against the human imagination.

This was a time when the RAF had bases everywhere, when a fleet review saw warships in rank and file as far as the eye could see and we had an army that was the envy of the World, Britain was capable of kicking arse anywhere on the globe at a moments notice. Small boys played war games with toy guns and adults were staunchly patriotic, proud of the achievements of a ruling Empire long gone.

When the World super-powers sat round a table and thrashed out an agreement for nuclear disarmament and started to cut the number of weapons of mass destruction(remember that phrase?) within their arsenals. There ceased to be a recognisable enemy, there ceased to be a 'fear' with which the Government could control the masses by feeding a united national identity. They started a rot that would eat away at the Great in Great Britain, allowing the liberal Do-gooders to convince a nation to distance themselves from the horrors of war, they gave birth to a new mindset and slowly 'national pride' and 'patriotism' was relabelled as 'Nationalism' and deemed reprehensible, eventually that label attracted skinhead racists, fascists and extremists(oh yes, we have them too), slowly growing into something a whole lot worse. After being drip fed on lies concerning the concepts of collectivism and equality, the touchy-feely influence of the caring Do-gooders have encouraged the common people to absolve themselves of their personal responsibilities towards one another and break from the spirit of community, relying more and more on an increasingly all-powerful State to bind society together, and I'm pretty sure it's failed.

2014 will welcome the 100th Anniversary of the outbreak of the First World War, The Great War, The War to End All Wars... but where the Germans attempted(twice) and failed, the Do-gooders have succeeded by stealth, by the over encouragement of multiculturalism resulting in the smothering of our own culture and the erosion of our own ethnicity into a minority within our major cities, the invasion is complete.... and they're still being welcomed.

I have said before that this is no longer the land that our fathers and grandfathers were prepared to die for, they spilled their blood in the soil for freedom, honesty and for a people of common decency and respect for one another. Would they still so willingly go to their deaths to preserve a generation of complacent, egotistical people who cared nothing for the sacrifices they made.

The politicians today still use lies and propaganda in influence the voters by instilling fear, a lesson learned from the cold war leaders, they use phrases like 'National bankruptcy,' 'Cost of living Crisis,' 'Child poverty' and 'Enforced Austerity' .... hmmmm people on the so called breadline, fighting for survival, listen to these words and fear that they may not survive the winter. So they let the kids entertain themselves for a minute on their laptops, iphones and x-boxes so that the parent can flick through the hundreds of Fear spouting channels on one of their super-sized HD smart TV's with surround sound, wondering how they will be able to afford their next tattoo. They end up so depressed that they can't be bothered cooking for the kids and they send out for a bumper sized pizza with all of the trimmings, half of which will end up in the bin. Is life really so bad here?, are we really fighting for mere survival?..... then why do tens of thousands of foreigners give up livelihoods, their homes, their families and their culture to move to Britain for a better existence....

Since the Cold War ended and we as a nation ceased to have a recognisable enemy, the Government with the aid of the media gave us something else to fear.... each other!

I really must watch 'COLD WAR' on BBC 2

In Loving Memory

Tomorrow I'm doing what all good Dodo's of their day stupidly did when the bite of winter grows sharp... I'm heading North.... heading up to the north-east of England where the rocky shores greet the strong icy Siberian winds like a long lost friend, where the snow falls deep and the temperatures fall deeper. I am returning to my roots, to the place of my childhood. On my last visit in April, my family were torn apart with grief at the passing of our beloved mother, my father lost his childhood sweetheart and soul mate after a mere 64 years together, her life force fading away as they held hands.....and heaven received a new Angel.
 Following Mum's death, the family had to wait nine days before the funeral service, hanging on in a silent mournful limbo, unable to do anything, unable to even consider a future without Mum.
I had a lot of free time alone to wander and wander I did, often disappearing for many hours. I completely wore out my favourite shoes, wandering, to search out the places once cherished but then forgotten, I had time to revisit childhood memories buried deep within the vast pile of storage boxes stored in some dark corner of my brain. Memories triggered by places and sights that were once so familiar, some unchanged, some gone, pulled down and rebuilt over in the name of progress but still there in my minds eye.

Tomorrow I will revisit my old home town with refreshed eyes, probably tearful eyes as it's Mum's birthday on Monday, so we will take Dad along the sea front to Mum's favourite spot, where her memorial bench now sits, with it's shiny brass plaque, welcoming weary walkers and old friends alike to sit for a while and enjoy her favourite view. A view that for me, recalls so many memories of family days out spent picnicking and exploring the shore.

In Loving Memory of Mary Ellen Campbell, My Mum

I'm a Critter, Get me outta here

Sunday evening...  I was off work and ALL of my technological devices were playing up after a running battle with the Gods of Technology so I spat out my dummy, threw all my devices on the floor, licked my wounds, sat down with a strop on and watched the opening episode of 'I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here'.... I sat for the first twenty minutes repeatedly asking the same question over and over again "Who's that then?"  OMG, what a bunch of Misfits, no-marks and has-beens (I don't think that I'm hooked) ... From the 'Silver spoon in the mouth' David Emmanuel, who frequently refers to himself in the third person to the 'I don't care' appearance of Steve Davis who turned up dressed like he had just popped down to the local Aldi to pick up a bottle of cheap Plonk.  Maybe in answer to the long standing question that has kept celebrity speculators and pundits pre-occupied for many years, we will find out just how interesting Steve Davis really is.
 I then had to quickly don my darkest sunglasses as Joey Essex entered stage left and blinded the nation by flashing his glow-in-the-dark smile and looked like he'd just stepped out of the spray tan booth, he stated that he hated confrontation and that he would never 'confrontate' anyone, he also doesn't like people  'confrontating' him... what a Prat!
but all he wants to do(and I was convinced that he was gay) is get to grips with Amy Willerton, who is this years gratuitous piece of eye candy, thrown into the jungle to try and hold the interest of the average beer swilling Neanderthal male viewer, I have no doubt that Amy's daily visits to the wash pool will be peak viewing and that these voyeuristic glimpses of the Miss Universe competitor will be a common topic of conversation at work. However, if Amy ever did agree to a romantic rendezvous with Joey, he'd probably miss the date anyway because despite successfully(only God knows how) navigating his way through the British educational system, he never actually bothered to learn that ever so overrated skill of telling the time.

At least Laila Morse, who apparently is an actress in Eastenders, a program which holds the same appeal as watching physicist Stephen Hawking recite poetry whilst dressed as a St. Trinian's prefect. At least Laila can become a surrogate Cockney Mother to Joey and help him tie his boot laces as well as other equally difficult tasks around the camp site. While the men can ogle Amy, Kian seems to be the one temptation for the ladies, he is about the twentieth member of Westlife to try and make it onto our screens in an attempt to revamp his dwindling celebrity status...dwindling? .... I've never heard of him. I believe whenever an agent comes across a good looking bloke with an Irish accent, they automatically sign him up for a celebrity reality tv show and tell everyone he was in Westlife ..... there was never that many in the group surely. 
Carlton!! now this one I remember, the hammy acting posh yank(there's a contradiction in terms) whom supposedly oozed grace and decorum whilst always complying with gentlemanly etiquette from the 'We all Love Will Smith Sitcom'...... I hope that he's first out..... I said that I remembered him, not that I liked him...

Rebecca(I'm a fish) Adlington and Lucy Pargawotsit both look dangerous to me and I wouldn't approach either in a dark alleyway. I think these are the ones that do not suffer fools lightly and will be in the middle of any volatile situation that explodes onto our screens later in the series(and I hope that Lucy smacks Joey's pearly whites out).

That leaves Matthew Wright, yet another one that I don't know, I've never heard of and I've never seen before..... but again, a prize example of modern British manhood, bouncing up and down clapping his hands together like an over excited Carnival Queen one minute and then bawling like a toddler who's had his sweets stolen the next. I have a feeling that he and Joey may be the public's playthings when it comes to bathing in cockroach piss and chewing on Aborigine bollocks.

So to sum up.... We have a bunch of overweight, tantrum throwing, sulky crybabies who talk about themselves in the third person and care more about their hair, make-up and appearance than whether their team-mates eat or not.... and then we have the girls!..... So bring on the Snakes or as most people call them Ant & Dic.

PLEASE DO NOT FEEL THE NEED TO KEEP ME UPDATED

I WILL NOT BE RUSHING TO WATCH IT AGAIN!

Beast of the Bottle

 For the boys and girls heading off to Benidorm this weekend..... Stay Safe and look after one another.

I like alcohol.... No, really I do. Although my attitude towards drink is a lot more mature now, don't get me wrong I probably drink everyday(I don't know why I wrote 'probably' in that statement) but I limit my intake to a couple of cans of bitter or a couple of glasses of a carefully chosen Rioja or Chianti. Occasionally I will partake in a fine brandy or a single malt.... or even a glass or two of my currently favoured tipple, Bourbon, especially Woodford Reserve, to experience that is truly to imbibe the nectar of the Gods. Saying all of this makes it sound like I am a chronic drunkard, a sot, but the truth is, I rarely drink to excess nowadays being all grown up and all..... however this hasn't always been the case, my long term relationship with the Demon Drink has been a rocky one to say the least. It has seen me breakfasting in a cell on more than one occasion, it has resulted in me

appearing in courts, both civil and military, facing some pretty hefty fines or a custodial visit to one of the Queen's big houses . Whilst under the influence I have awoken in hospital having a stab wound stitched without the aid of an anaesthetic and I have been stranded in foreign lands long after my ship had sailed over the horizon. On another occasion, my drunken antics resulted in my friend being hung by the neck, I might add that he survived but was in hospital for a week with hypothermia after being plucked from the icy waters of the South Atlantic. So as you can see, over the years our relationship has certainly had it's ups and downs. I have done other things that I am not very proud of and it was all down to the Demon Drink, the Beast of the bottle.

My main tipple and partner in this long term relationship is and always has been bitter, lager was the drink of old men and women where I grew up. When I started courting alcohol, pubs had only three pumps on the bar, bitter, lager and mild and there was one choice of each, usually all from the same brewery, the only bottles were, Guinness, brown ale and stout for the hardened old widows, the battleaxes of the Northern Bars and working men's clubs. There was no vast selection of Continental or exotic lagers, there were no cocktails or shots from a test tube, there were no plastic plants, florescent lighting, fruit machines, quiz's or karaoke.... there was only beer and good conversation.

As I matured to an age where it was actually legal for me to drink and I started to enjoy the company (and tales) of salty old sea dogs, old Matelots who had spent their whole adult lives sailing to the far corners of the globe and had experienced more adventures than Captain Jack Sparrow himself and whilst I hung on every word of every relayed adventure(they all had a great skill for story telling), we would finish each night with a few rounds of Matelots Marmite, love it or hate it, Dark Navy Rum was the drink of our mariner forefathers and a vital ingredient to the staple diet of  'Men of the Sea'.... no mixers though, they were the folly of Landlubbers and there would be an almighty roar and banging of tables if the bar wench even waved the rum anywhere near the ice bucket. These were happy care free days, courting and dating the Demon, taming the beast... but the Beast was a thief, it would steal evenings away from me, then days and even whole weekends would go astray leaving no recollection as to their whereabouts. The strange thing about Matelots Marmite is that I used to drink a lot of the stuff, large ones, neaters, no ice, but as soon as I became a civvie, I couldn't stomach it any longer, it started to make me violently sick.... Psychosomatic????

Even as the Top Brass sat around highly polished tables in Naval Headquarters to discuss and debate the delicate subject of alcohol abuse within the Royal Navy, each rating over the age of eighteen gratefully received his daily issue of beer, three cans per day per man. Gone were the days of the Rum Issue(unfortunately) but at least the Admiralty had seen sense to try and ween sailors off their daily issue slowly by replacing the rum with beer. Of course some wouldn't drink theirs..... not me, I wouldn't allow a little thing like being tossed about like a Caesar salad in a force twelve gale with a fifty foot swell to come between me and my nightly visit to the mess fridge.... 'More for those that do' was the motto by which I lived.

All of this was long before that anti-social phrase 'Binge Drinking' came to the attention of the public... but sailors had been binge drinking for centuries. As soon as their ship hit land, the crew would head for the nearest tavern outside the dockyard gates for a warm up session before painting the town red, we've all heard the phrase 'drunken sailor' or 'Jolly Jack Tar', this was just Olde English for binge drinker, I suppose  because it wasn't vilified on a daily basis by the media of the day(scrolls nailed to a post) drunken sailors were looked upon with a sort of affection and leniency because of the 'perceived' hardships of their chosen profession when a voyage could mean 4-5 years away from family and friends.
So now that I'm older and wiser(honest, I am)
I gently sip and savour the taste of my drink. We sit snuggled together on the sofa like an old married couple, my drink and I, looking back with fond memories over our thirty five year relationship... Till Death do us part........

Sip and Savour.... all grown up like

CHEERS!

On T'interweb

What's not to like about t'interweb? the Global Highway with a service station in every household, where you can stop and chat with, debate with, argue with, or just observe the nature and behaviour of strangers from every corner of the world, from every culture, class, creed or religion. An encyclopaedia with limitless volumes, never before has the Earth's secrets been so accessible to everyone, never before has the Earth's population been so close and so willing to communicate with each other and I don't mean Their leaders joining for political debate, I mean normal everyday folk from all walks of life, sitting in their favourite chair, drinking a coffee from their favourite mug and building friendship networks across the globe.
I know there are Bullies, Trolls, Parodies and alike out there but everyone has an armoury of EXIT, DELETE and BLOCK buttons and the most valuable weapon, Common Sense. I myself once wandered out into the Global Highway leaving my common sense at home curled up on the comfy chair away from the keyboard. I still carry the scars today, so...

LESSON 1: use your common sense at all times.

Once you've joined, tried, explored and danced through the minefield that is Social Media Sites like Facebook or Twitter and believe me there are hundreds of them, if you ask Wikipedia for a list of social networking sites the list is huge, massive, it seems never ending. Anyway once you've had a play in these childish, immature, superb sites and got used to them, made new friends, lost old friends, been blocked, been reported, been deleted, been followed then you're ready to join the grown-ups. Pick your subject, any subject such as ,.... Edwardian Politics, Deserted Railways in the former USSR or even Left Over Screws from IKEA Flat Pack Furniture and there will be a blog, forum or chatroom solely devoted to and debating your chosen subject. These are the civilised internet communities sharing a common interest and discussing it to death in pages and pages of toneless drivel, a gathering of multiple Roy Croppers ready to pick each other up on the slightest mistake with their shopping bag hung over one arm whilst single finger typing with the other, but if you need to know anything at all about anything at all, this is where to look. You can get a crash course in washing machine repairs, fairy cake baking or even learn how to lance your

  swollen haemorrhoids (so I've been told)...... but even in these civilised Cropper crèches, tempers can flare and virtual shopping bags can be swung, I have witnessed many a battle of violently typed facts and figures on these sites (in fact I think that I may have started a few), usually over a trivial factual error misrepresented or misconstrued.

LESSON 2: The internet has a boundless supply of experts in every subject imaginable... and most of them know NOWT!... keep your common sense close by at all times.

Personally, I love Social Media sites, they're a digital playground for your imagination, jam packed full of idiocy, political rantings, breaking news and completely diverse lunacy, a worldwide club of like minded madness in your own living room. I urge people to become part of it, to shout their opinions into the global conscience where it can be argued with, debated, blocked, liked, shared or maybe hash-tagged if you're lucky. The educated and sometimes misguided responses can strengthen your resolve or shake your beliefs to the core. The global community is so close now and we can so freely interact with one another that the powerful people of the world that once kept the masses in check with lies and propaganda are fearful of it. Everyone has a voice and can join together in protest, in petition, in a global cry against tyranny and injustice... and the voices are getting louder. We need to speak out more, not less, we need to shout so loudly that the Parliamentary puppets can do nothing but listen and take heed.
Here end'th the lesson

My favourite spot within the digital playground is the busiest and most frequented... the diverse lunacy section, where people post the ridiculous, the incredulous, the crazy and the most unimaginable mind boggling and intellectually retarded rubbish.... it's fantastic. this is what puts a smile on my face and gets me through the day. It confirms my belief that I'm not the only lunatic on the loose that the men in white coats have failed to locate and that I needn't look over my shoulder quite so often. The crowd that I try to blend into are also trying to blend in too.... We're all so different yet we're so much alike. Right, I must dash because a cute puppy has just entered on a skateboard wearing a superman outfit and spouting philosophy while juggling three goldfish.... I Love it.

 Surf the Net.. not my Train

Justice

This rant is a little late because of a rather hectic weekend which involved a lot of work, paid and unpaid... and a couple of social gatherings, mainly to raise a toast of remembrance to those shippers who remain on an everlasting patrol in the South Atlantic

Friday was a sad day for British Justice... On Friday just gone, the Do-gooders ran amok over the British justice system and found a 'victim', a Royal Marine sergeant only known to the public as 'Marine A' ...... his despicable crime was to to do what he was paid to do, to do what the public expected our Marines to do, he did what it says on the tin, he shot an insurgent, an enemy in far off lands. "FOUL" cried the Do-gooders like it was some kind of Sunday League football match where everyone can go to the pub at the end of each bloody and deadly firefight. They rushed into court blowing their whistles and holding up a 'Red Card', quoting the constantly changing 'Rules of Engagement'..... Sub-Chapter 5, Appendix 8A, Paragraph Blah Blah... When an insurgent drops his rifle, said insurgent ceases to fall into the category of 'The Enemy' and is reclassified as an 'Unarmed Civilian'......... Yeah and if said insurgent lies still and counts to ten, he's alive again.... he's back in the game.

I'd love to round up the do-gooders, give them a rifle each and send them out on patrol and see if quoting the rulebook through a loud hailer will stop the Afghans from shooting them as they tend to their friends and comrades who just exploded into a crimson shower  of flesh and bone before their eyes as they stood on a hidden IED.

Okay, so Marine A said he fired a round into what he thought was a dead body of an enemy fighter. Very ungentlemanly, very un-British, we have rules Sir! ...... But if that wounded Afghan had been in possession of a sidearm, do you think he would have checked the Rulebook before opening fire on Marine A? We hear of the Taliban soldiers playing possum to lure British soldiers into a trap, we hear of them enlisting in the local Police force or Militia so that once they are a trusted member of the team they can shoot young British soldiers in the back..... What does the Rulebook say about that? I know that many years ago it used to say something like... If you refuse to shoot the Enemy then you will face a firing squad for Cowardice.. Perhaps this is what Marine A was thinking at the moment his finger squeezed the trigger..... Did anyone even ask what marine A had had to witness... what was feeding his future nightmares prior to that fatal moment. I suppose only he knows for sure and he now has a lifetime of incarceration to become acquainted with those nightmares.... a harsh punishment indeed.

I find it hard to believe that you can punish someone

so severely for not adamantly adhering to the Rulebook when the opposing side doesn't follow any rules at all.... What an FA Cup Final that would make.. If our 'Treatment of Prisoners' section of the rulebook said, Torture the prisoner for at least one week, then place him in front of a camera and behead him, would there be such a public outcry when images showing this treatment of our captive troops are beamed around the world.... NO, there is such a public outcry because WE give prisoners use of the comfy chair, a cup of tea and the best biscuits we can find, subject to current location..... we are just so evil.

Unless both sides are resolutely following it,  then the rulebook should be burnt in protest and dog eat dog should apply, survival of the fittest and quickest. Our troop's lives are seriously being put at risk now because in every future enemy contact there will be a moment of hesitation before

pulling the trigger, not because they may kill or injure a 'Civilian' who has thrown his weapon to the ground but because of what the Do-gooders will do if they find out.

To paint a picture of what our guys go through I've borrowed the following words from a slightly certifiable lunatic who was once a soldier......


WORDS ON WAR
  I walked down Basra Road in 1991, and my head broke. Tattered scraps of teenage flesh smeared black across burnt steel, as fire cooked white bone. I spent half an hour looking for a dead boy’s head – no joy, so his corpse stretched bloated fingers skyward and his death mask was lost to history.

A Tank sat lonely in the sand. Barrel down in defeat as flames cooked the men in its belly. A rictus grin painted across a roasted man’s face stared down at me, mocking his fate or mine? I still don’t know, so I clipped a grin onto my face and said ‘Hello!’ because the world had gone insane.

A pair of legs spread impossible splits onto blast scorched tarmac, their body gone now – trashed by high explosive launched from an air-conditioned cockpit, jostling for a place in the dead zone next to some severed off arms and a brain splashed helmet. And still the earth gave up her dead.

I met a face with no head, and I stared hard at the straggly hairs of a dead teenager’s moustache. There was no ‘Hello!’ this time. Just a blank nothing from me, no words made sense, so I smoked a cigarette and walked further into madness.

I posed next to a dead man. Swollen and still, silent in death. Click went a camera and we gave him some smokes. More clicks captured the lunacy I embraced, war crimes and worry etched into my life. We called the road ‘Murder Mile’ and we were right. I think often of the boy whose name I’ll never know in the place where sanity fled.

War is murder – all of it. To judge one among many is wrong, but then so is war. I suspect neither will end soon. So I think of the road and remember the boys who fell in the sand.

 FREE MARINE A, HE'S A HERO NOT A CRIMINAL

Lest We Forget

I grew up in a small County Durham mining town. My father, who was a miner all of his working life and a devout Trade Unionist, was a man of vision and knew the pits had had their day(just not quite as soon as they did). So in the same year that Margaret Thatcher took power of this once great country, already organising her generals to wage war on the National Trade Unions and the working classes, I joined the Royal Navy as a young innocent teenager with the World as his playground, ready to sail the seven seas in search of love, life and Adventure... and I found all three in abundance..... but those stories are for after the watershed....

Then, just a few short years later the unthinkable happened, due to Thatcher's political  and personal stubbornness, the Country sailed for war, toward a desolate group of islands on the other side of the World. WHY? was not a question that we asked, it didn't even cross our minds. Our family, my shipmates were sailing to war and we would be there to cover each others backs, just as we always were, that's the way it was in all aspects of life in the Armed Forces. We were blood brothers..... Brothers in Arms.....a bond so strong
that even now when we meet, over thirty years later, we carry on our conversation and friendship as if the last thirty years just hadn't happened, that kind of bond is something that anyone who has never served in the Armed Forces could not even begin to comprehend. This bond stretched from ship to ship, even nation to nation in a strange way for when the heat of the battle is over and an enemy ship is sunk, sailors do not cheer or dance in celebration as they do in Hollywood movies. They search, in silence for survivors while in their mind they whisper the phrase "There but for the grace of God go I".....  and they mourn the death of every fellow mariner pulled cold and bloated from the sea, for they are no longer the enemy.

Modern Naval battles are a war of anonymity, you no longer get close enough to see the whites of your enemies eyes, you don't even get close enough to see the enemy ships but this makes it no less personal than if you were coming along side an enemy galleon to deliver a broadside and swing, cutlass in hand to cut down the enemy on his own deck... . War has even changed beyond recognition from Winston Churchill's day when 'So Many Owed So Much to So Few'....... Half a generation of adventure seeking teenagers.... lost, for they were only teenagers, 'The Few' when they piloted planes less technologically advanced than a present day commuter's mp3 player... They were teenagers who poured out of cramped landing craft and raced over blood drenched sand to liberate Normandy..... They were teenagers who ran the daily gauntlet of unseen German U-boats to deliver urgently needed supplies to the British public. Half a generation paid the ultimate price, the remainder die slowly of cold in a country where veterans can't afford to heat their homes because of corporate greed.

In an ideal world, the veterans who freely gave up their youth and offered their lives for our freedom and probably still, to this day suffer the nightmares of a war long forgotten, should be showered in offerings of thanks. They should not have to go hungry so that they can afford to switch on the heating when the bite of winter snaps at their feet. They should be living a life befitting a hero... a hero that the whole nation, no, the whole world is indebted to.

Our society can afford mediocre middle managers by the bucket load, to ease the workload of our overpaid, under worked senior directors. We can afford millions to pay narcissistic Prima Donna football players and egotistical actors pretending to be war heroes whilst forgotten real life war heroes go hungry and cold in their twilight years...  So if you really are thankful for the sacrifice made by these brave men and women who gave so much, then go to your local Cenotaph tomorrow and show that thanks by respecting the two minutes silence during the Ceremony of Remembrance and by applauding those survivors who are still able to march proudly in rank and file.

 “When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say, For Their Tomorrow, We Gave Our Today.”

 Lest we forget…

Unacceptable Characteristics

Once a year, every year, usually around now, I allow my 'Sense of humour' to stretch it's legs and run free of restriction or limitation.... But not this year.... it's NOT allowed.... this year my Sense of Humour, along with his favourite playmate, my 'Imagination' are to be tightly tethered and left to rot in a dark humourless cupboard. Why? because last year the Humour Police lay in wait, secretly hidden in the shadows of the internet, watching, waiting, ready to pounce and rid the world of the evil that is.....'Banter'.... and pounce they did!..

My Sense of Humour and Imagination were both taken into custody and held on remand awaiting sentence. Subsequently, there followed, a two month investigation to ascertain the reasons why my Sense of Humour and Imagination had both been allowed to run so freely, why they had been allowed to run rampage, unsupervised over decent humourless folk innocently going about their business, why they were free to launch an all-out, ruthless, vicious and vindictive attack on no less than nine highly respected members of the Humourless Community.

Found guilty of these 'Heinous Crimes', my Sense of Humour and Imagination were labelled, 'Unacceptable Characteristics', they were muzzled, bound and thrown into solitary confinement, incarcerated for twelve months with no chance of parole.

I am now mocked and jeered by my peers, labelled a Cyber Bully, a Management Tormentor, my 'Personality' is now fragmented, I am a mere shadow of my former self, trapped in a humourless existence. I am like the old toy that always gets left in the bottom of the toy box, broken, sad,  unloved and forgotten.
I am like a 'Whoopie Cushion' with no air, fartless and flat, just waiting for someone with a childish side to come along and blow me up....

So, I plead to all of those in the humourless Community out there Please Please Please.....
           Bl CENSOREDe!!!     

Details censored within this post are not to be released for public 
viewing until March 2014 by order of The Humourless Community

Tradition

  It's 5th of November so throw another Rebellious Catholic on the fire, tranquillise your pets with enough Melatonin and Diphenhydramine to knock out a dairy herd, then go out and burn your hard earned cash in the garden while the kids stand at a safe distance with a worried looking and over protective Mummy, all Ooooooing and Aaaaaaaaring in unison at the feeble, anticlimactic fireworks which cost you the equivalent of a 'MP's expenses claim sheet' down at your local corner shop....

I just don't get it, as well as spending huge amounts of cash to flush down the Pyrotechnic toilet as individuals, we also allow our local council officials and government leaders to dip into the public purse and burn £millions to put on locally organised firework displays when public services are being slashed due to lack of funds, civil servants and council workers are losing their livelihoods in council and governmental cut-backs.... Are we all mad? am I the only one asking Why?.... "But it's tradition" I hear people say... So what!.... 'Gurning' is a tradition but I don't see the neighbours hanging over the fence wearing a horse collar trying to perfect this totally bizarre rubber-faced skill.... I don't see everyone packing their tents into the back of the car in the Spring bank holiday and rushing off down to Gloucester to roll cheese down Cooper's Hill.... that's a tradition..... and what about Maypole Dancing, Bog Snorkelling or Morris Dancing.... these are all Traditional pursuits. Imagine the magnificent sound of the whole nation dancing with ankle bells on, oh how that would piss off the international neighbours with  the noise carrying on the wind to France, white handkerchief sales would go through the roof too and may well cure the current economic crisis.

So why do some traditions go so much further than others, why does the 5th Nov capture the imagination and heart of the whole nation when Bog Snorkelling doesn't... could it be that we all celebrate with a smile, a failed attempt to blow up Parliament and all of those within.... when in reality, we all wish someone would have a go right now and succeed, so we go out once a year to cause a huge diversion and keep the emergency services occupied ........ hoping that maybe this year..... it WILL happen!

Stay Safe Folks

The Ninjas and friends

Today's society are so brainwashed by the media into believing that every teenager is a knife wielding murdering monster without a conscience that people become too scared to just open their door and shout "Hoy" which years ago would of scattered gang fights............. Is this fear justified?.....

.I think not... the majority of teenagers are usually good kids(most of the time) and I'd like to repeat that.... the majority of teenagers are 'good' kids, although some have had very few lessons in common courtesy in their lives, usually through the lack of responsible parenting and occasionally overstep the boundaries of common sense or respectability, all they need is that person to step up and say "Hoy, that's wrong"........ but then of course, there are the 'Nightcrawlers'.. these are the bad ones, the ones so often demonised by the press who lead people to believe that there are evil Nightcrawlers on every corner and I might add, that they are few and far between, the ones who are so filled with hate and anger that a "Hoy" might just get you a good kicking, or worse. In my occupation you learn to spot these Nightcrawlers long before your existence has even been registered on there 'finely tuned enemy radar'. you also learn how and when to speak to these Nightcrawlers in a way that will keep them calm, like using a childish, excited voice when talking to a Rottweiler,  because one wrong word, or even a right word said in the wrong tone can result in a nose to nose rage filled torrent of abuse or even violence....... but like I said, Nightcrawlers are rare, the truth of the matter is that the majority of the 'bad' teenagers out there are 'North Face Ninjas'......

These are the 'Ghetto Kid Wannabes' who can barely string a sentence together because the few braincells that are rattling around in their otherwise cavernous craniums, are so stoned on weed that they're too busy giggling to actually function as braincells, leaving the North Face Ninja, a clueless halfwit unable to function properly within normal civilised society rules and boundaries. North Face Ninjas are normally harmless, misunderstood kids just trying to fit in with their brainless peers by repeatedly saying things like "innit" and calling everyone "Bro".. and a loud, dominant 'Hoy' will frequently see them panic and run around in circles like headless chickens. They often give a bit of cheek back and pretend to be hard gangsters before they flee but this is only if there are several Ninjas operating as a 'Gang',

sharing their unusually small brain capacity as a collective, pooling their IQ's... it's simple maths really:

clueless halfwit x 2 = a Full witless wonder
clueless halfwit x 3 = Retard
clueless halfwit x 4 = Numpty
clueless halfwit x 5 = Imbecile.. .......and so on

Then of course there are the 'Crazies'.. these are the unfortunate souls that would have been locked away in the 60's and 70's, the forgotten mentally ill members of a society too ashamed of them to allow them to mingle amongst normal people. So they locked them up in isolated government funded asylums, a playground of innocence policed by bullies, sadists and paedophiles... but the funding ran out and the helpless, tormented, dysfunctional patients were released from care and left to fend for themselves out in a self-centred society that despises their very existence, constantly reminding its normal well balanced citizens that they're all just one chromosome away from being 'Different'. There are the obvious 'Crazies' who shout, grunt, scream, wave their arms about, dribble, drool, rock, sway, or twirl..... and then there are the less obvious Crazies who can walk and talk like the 'Normals' but inside their heads the wiring is all wrong so that, 'they're just not quite right'.
The worst of the undesirables to try and feel any pity for are the Crazies that have self-inflicted conditions.... toothless, brain addled drug and alcohol abusers sharing common skull-like features which make them resemble the living dead, who queue for their daily dose of methadone courtesy of the hard working tax payer.
Nightcrawlers, North Face Ninjas, Crazies and all other Social Misfits do have one thing in common............... they ALL love the Railway! .... and they keep us from getting bored

Guy

On the 5th November 1605 a 35 year old Catholic man from Yorkshire was caught in an undercroft beneath the Houses of Parliament guarding a large store of gunpowder in possession  of a pocket watch and a slow match. He and his thirteen fellow conspirators were plotting to kill King James 1 and restore a Catholic monarch to the throne. Amongst the forgotten conspirators led by Robert Catesby were several gentlemen of position and wealth, so why is Guy Fawkes the name that has been remembered for 408 years?
Guy fawkes also known as Guido Fawkes, a name he took up after selling all of his estate and sailing to the continent to fight in the 'Eighty Years War' for Catholic Spain against the Dutch Republic. The highly skilled soldier won favour with the king he tried to assassinate when he withstood days of torture in the Tower of London before he finally gave in and confessed, giving the names of his fellow conspirators. But this wasn't the end, on 31st January 1606, Guy was mounting the steps of the gallows to meet the same fate as all of his friends and fellow conspirators whom he had just witnessed being Hung, drawn and quartered. he decided the mutilation would be too much and leapt from the gallows head first, dying instantly from a broken neck, robbing the crowd of their entertainment and justice.

Effigy's wearing a ceramic Guy Fawkes mask(the earliest example of holiday merchandise profiteering) were burnt on the anniversary by children in celebration of the failed gunpowder plot, a celebration that continues to this day.........

Well, I say this day, it's more like this week or even this month. The effigy burning turned into bonfires which were accompanied by fireworks, which are now set off by brain dead 'North Face Ninjas' rather than children. They usually start going off around local council estates near the end of September and last through until the end of November. it's like living in a war zone where nightly  attacks make dogs go crazy but people just don't care, sure, they'll moan about it down at the paper shop in the morning but during the nightly artillery attack on their estate, the residents remain indoors, barricading themselves in against an unseen evil, unwilling to unlock that door that leads to, basically, what is a couple of troubled kids that are a little out of control. They bolt their doors and pretend it's normal behaviour to be too afraid to confront their neighbourhood kids, the endurers of a Blitz that no one cares about. Today's society are so brainwashed by the media into believing that every teenager is a knife wielding murdering monster without a conscience that people become too scared to just open their door and shout "Hoy" which years ago would of scattered gang fights............. Is this fear justified? ......I'll leave the answer to that until next time.

Enjoy the Fireworks Folks 

and please stay safe