Enough is enough. I’m saying what everyone’s too afraid to say, lily-livered leftie pussies, all of you.
We need to man this country up, now. Fuck this lockdown, let us get back to work, and if a few ‘minorities’ are hit hardest by the second spike, so fucking be it. They shouldn’t be here anyway, this is white man’s land and you bleating faggots whining about civil liberties can go live in Africa if you like it so much.
Wow, sorry. Obviously it wasn’t me saying that.
I’ve been hacked.
Continue reading The loons in the boondocks
Like everybody else, I’m using this period of indefinite detention to have a bit of a clear-out.
It’s incredible the amount of utter shite you find yourself stockpiling in cupboards you’d only ever open if you weren’t allowed out. Among other cherished keepsakes, I’ve found a router from the 1990s, two shit hip flasks – Christ knows where the decent one’s gone – and a length of bright green cloth I had sent to me for a specific purpose that’s since vanished into that part of my mind that resembles a misty tundra with drunken Finns stumbling about on it. I’ve said the words “What the fuck is that for?” so many times I no longer associate them with glancing down in the shower.
So you set about throwing all this crap away. And physical music is a great place to start, because it takes up so much room and can so easily be digitised, if you’re even arsed with that since everything you’d ever want is online anyway. That stack of CDs you’ve had in the corner of the room for years? You could have a lovely pot plant there. Bin them, that’s what I’d do.
If I didn’t have 3,000 of the bloody things.
Continue reading A dip into the bargain bin
It is my considered opinion that Stephen Fry is a disgrace.
Woah there, you can’t say that about a National Treasure oh but I can, I can. I have no issue with most of the things Stephen Fry believes and says. He seems politically sound, he’s just the right type of anti-religious proselytiser that I enjoy, he loves his cricket and he’s provided some splendid comedy over the years, not least a bafflingly underrated nineties adaptation of Jeeves and Wooster.
But he’s on Twitter, see, this fucking guy. And again, normally that’s fine – right now he’s doing a decent job of trying to raise the collective mental health, and doubtless his own, as the walls close in and the Sainsbury’s website shakes its head. But I can’t forgive him, and I can never forgive him, for his disgusting remark in September 2018.
It is my considered opinion that #therepairshop is far and away the best programme on British television at the moment.
You’re cancelled, Fry.
Continue reading Urns and trinkets
What one day resembles Utopia, the next looks like Uttoxeter. Turns out if you let people do whatever they want at home all day every day, their favourite new hobby is to moan they’re bored.
Certainly the things people are doing to try to fill time feel a lot like barrel-scraping. Take gardening, when it’s not cold as a snowman’s carrot outside, because a week and a half of quarantine has completely reversed global warming and we’re now a fortnight away from woolly mammoths setting up market stalls in Aberystwyth.
Continue reading Shake, rattle and roll
This one’s serious then, is it?
Serious enough for politicians to admit that a few people might have to work from home for a while. The devastating effect this’ll have on the boss class – oh fuck, if they don’t need to be here to do these jobs, what’s the point of me? – was conveyed in the twitchy demeanour of Britain’s buffoon in chief, flanked by the experts he’s so recently branded as bogeymen. If staring about a podium wildly for help is ever a paying position, he’ll be fine, even as everyone who does a non-computer job is handed their last meagre pay slip and told to make it last because paper doesn’t grow on trees.
Before boffins had had the chance to give it the catchy sci-fi name Covid-19, red-top comics read by builders had planted ‘coronavirus’ into simple minds and that’s what we’re stuck with. How many of us are stuck with it, God only knows.
I heard some figures yesterday: the absolute worst scenario for people in the UK getting this virus is 80%. It kills roughly one in every hundred people who get it. Given the UK’s population of nearly 67 million, that would mean that the top projection of deaths from this is a bit over half a million.
A proper cull!
Continue reading The path of a 355
Let’s get this straight: when I’m Prime Minister, given basically anyone’s allowed a go now hahaha, the first new crime on the statute books will be tardiness.
I will trample a litter of newborn puppies to get somewhere on time. I don’t instantly want you dead if you’re late to meet me, but your first born are fair game. If we agree to meet at 7pm and you arrive with a “Sorry, I got caught up” at 7.50, I’ll have spent the 45 minutes since your grace period ran out thinking of ways to have you arrested for sex crimes.
But that doesn’t make me a hurrier. If I say I’m going to be somewhere at a certain time, I make sure I add a few minutes’ buffer to the journey. If I’m looking like being early, that’s why God made pubs.
I don’t spend my days hurtling about like a sheepdog on Ritalin. Which brings us to HS2.
Continue reading Wensleydale and the whippet
I have a burning pet hate these days. I become so infuriated I’m sure I often resemble a ‘gammon’ myself as my face turns a shade of beetroot, my blood pressure skyrockets and I struggle to maintain my cool and dignity. I absolutely detest arrogance, especially when the so-called achievements are exaggerated or didn’t even happen.
So many Brits believe they are better than any other nationality, and living anywhere other than the UK is akin to living in North Korea or some third-world country in Africa. I really can’t comprehend where this arrogance comes from and I have no tolerance for people who think and behave like us Brits walk on water and look down on all other nationalities from our ivory tower. I’m beginning to think we’ve become a nation of complete twats, convinced we are far superior to the rest of the world and that our tiny little island exceeds any other place on the planet.
Continue reading A shade of beetroot
Poor old Australia. Currently on fire due to what their hilariously holidaying Prime Minister probably blames on a Swedish schoolgirl, it’s hot as Hades and people can’t see each other for smoke. A couple more weeks of this and they’ll have to use their famed ‘points-based system’ to decide who gets to hop about in the last flip-flop not yet ablaze.
The average Aussie would give their right leg shackle for a downpour. Meanwhile on this side of the planet it’s winter and therefore rainy season, since snow was banned under whatever arrangement Boris Johnson has made with Satan. At this most wonderful time of the year, people look fearfully to the skies as though the AFD have found a few leftover V-2s.
I personally love unhappy weather. A grey day makes my heart sing as though the darkness at my core has been allowed out on day release. Rain is Mother Earth crying at the constant beatings she takes from her children, and we deserve every tear. So needless to say I fucking hate umbrellas.
Continue reading Monsoon season
Westfield Shopping Centre in Shepherds Bush, on Black Friday. Whoops.
It didn’t occur to me when I booked my ticket. I had to be out west later to see a band, I had time to see a film first, there’s a cinema in this hideous place: fine, I’ll tolerate it. Little did I realise I’d encounter a battalion of rabid consumers surging towards me in waves with their unlimited boxes of trainers, always bloody trainers.
Still, not even people soon to realise that bargain Converse won’t fill the hole in their soul can ruin one of my favourite experiences – going to the pictures. That honour instead falls to the Vue cinema chain.
Continue reading Screen 15
Let’s face it, every freelancer dreads their job on a daily basis.
You may believe we’re living the dream. It must be so relaxing to be your own boss, even if you do have to give almost a quarter of every one of your invoices to a third-party website you’re being forced to use because it’s almost impossible to start a business by yourself these days. We’re not living the dream.
Continue reading Living the dream