A multi-racial booze-up! Well, we tried.

Yesterday afternoon, I sat in my study and just listened.

Five interns were in our kitchen, drinking wine, eating casserole, rice and vegetarian flans whilst laughing, ribbing, poking fun and generally enjoying themselves.

But here’s the thing – there was one post-grad from Nigeria in the mix, two final year Bangalorian students, one Muslim second year and one Welsh-speaking team-leading boyo from Risca. A Pentecostal, a Sikh, a Hindu, a Muslim and a Welsh Baptist – and I’m not kidding.

As I listened, I couldn’t help but think, well now, if we can manage such racial and religious harmony, then why the hell can’t the rest of the world?!



Screaming Munch.

If I had seen ‘The Scream’ unframed and stuck on a fridge door by some Popeye magnet, I would have assumed that some primary school five-year old was proudly exhibiting their school-work.

And arty farty types, still keep lionising the sophisticated cultural and nay, superior genius of Western Civilisation?!


Our Damien.

I am surprised that our Damien hasn’t died from laughing on the way to the bank, I really am.

I take my hat off to him, for making such complete tits out of a group of ever-so-clever arty aficionados with big pockets, and tongues that simply cannot wait to lick his ever-so-clever arse, every time he drops his artistic trousers.

Good on you Damien, I mean it.


Tax and quite right too!

Do you know something, I’ve never had any problem paying tax.

I use the roads, I use the National Health, the odd copper has been round to the house to stop my wife beating hell out of me and my bins are collected on a regular basis.

We get a lot of bang for our bucks if you ask me, so what the hell is everyone moaning about?!

The silver surfers have had the good years (go to any half decent restaurant on a lunchtime, and see who’s scoffing all the up-market grub), so somehow I can’t see that losing  a couple of hundred quid a year is really going to hurt that much, and anyway this is compensated for by the Winter fuel payment – my 90 year old father-in-law always gambles his away at the local Casino!


PS I’m going a bit ‘silvery’ myself now, but I’d like to bet that I’ve probably got more than most, so what the hell. Pay up! Pay up! And play the game!

Writing Fiction…….

It was pointed out to me yesterday, that I rarely if ever use my blog posting as some sort of showcase for my writing and books – something that apparently these days, authors are supposed to do, particularly where this manic social media business of  self-promotion etc is concerned – take that for the quest for sycophantic lionising on a grand scale!

The truth is, that I simply enjoy telling a yarn and didling away at a blog or two, nothing more nothing less.

I do not seek constant re-assurance, I do not need oozing plaudits (I don’t get them anyway!), and I’m sure as hell not the least bit interested in being seen as anything other than a boozed up, fagged up, foul-mouthed,rude, sexist, chauvinistic, politically incorrect etc etc etc swine – and that’s on a good day, as my enduring wife will confirm – mind you, at least I have some personality!

All this ego-obsessed and idiotic ‘literary’ soul-searching pomp about ‘writing’ is complete and utter nonsense – I’m still trying to work out what on earth ‘poets’ do all day!

I have a good life, a good wife and good friends; I write for fun and that’s good enough for me. If people don’t read my books, that’s my problem, not theirs.

Each to their own.

My ego is already far too ‘damaged’ to worry about it!


Book Reviews and Critiques.

I’ve decided to become a book Reviewer and Critic.

From what I can see most ‘Reviewers ‘ and ‘Critics’ have written bugger all of any consequence themselves, so I consider myself inordinately qualified to undertake such an illustrious occupation.

I have just finished reading ‘No Such Thing As Society’ by Andy McSmith.

My only real criticism on the negative side is the title. I am not a raging Thatcherite but her actual words to Woman’s Own were, ‘There is no such thing as society.  There are individual men and women. There are families’……..etc etc. It would have been less misleading and indeed fairer, I suspect if the author had placed the full quote at the beginning of his book instead of at the end.

This faux pas aside, the book, albeit that it was tackling an explosive decade, was ‘a good read’ – that’s if you’re into boiling your head in 1980’s political history! It was easy-going, accurate and even up to a point (for history and politics geeks like me anyway) unputdownable as they say. There was none of the Hobsbawm high academia to confuse the issues and spoil the fun. The book was also extremely well-balanced, neither veering to much to the Left nor too much to the Right.

A fine readable reminder, for those who lived through the eighties and well worth a purchase. Oh, and I’m not even getting a tin of baked beans from the author either!


To sleep or not to sleep?

You know, every time I think I’ve seen it all in our wantonly spineless culture, I get surprised yet again.

Here’s the latest, a ‘sleep counselor’.

A bloody ‘sleep counselor’, can you believe it?!

As if I need some counselling clown to tell me which way to turn my backside in order to avoid offending my wife and breaching her human rights. Damn, she snores the hell out of me every night, not to mention the windy explosions that nearly blow me into the en-suite and leave me bewildered and shell-shocked.

‘Sleep counselor’, give me strength.


A whiff of rugby.

Here’s a curious thing.

I just happened to hear some Welsh rugby ‘gurus’ (I’m still trying to work out how ancient Hindu spiritualism has found its way into the rather tawdry realm of media populism), discussing the esoteric complexities of one fellow lobbing an inflated pig’s bladder over to another fellow, indeed these informed and erudite commentators, seemed to be getting all lathered up about this particularly complicated exercise in sporting prowess – I must point out here, that I remain utterly mystified as to how grown men can spend hours discussing the ins and outs of throwing a ball around a field, but there we are, yet again what do I know – anyway, apparently one player, it was remarked, was a shrewd if not profoundly adept ‘sniffer’ ie good at sniffing out a try for those of you, whom like me are sporting zombies.

Well now, I walked away rather confused as the only things I’ve ever seen rugby players sniff, is each other’s arses.


Boy or Girl?

I’ve just been listening to an ‘expert’ child psychologist on the radio.

He is of the view that if a child is brought up to be ‘gender neutral’ (God help us) ie the child is dressed up one day in pink girl’s clothes, the next day blue boy’s clothes, is allowed to play with dolls one day, the next soldiers ………….. the child is likely to end up being a trifle confused.

Well, I really needed an ‘expert’ to tell me that.


PS Come to think of it, what the hell does the gender neutral entity do when requiring  the services of a Public Convenience? – that’s if it  can find one!