Saturday 31 December 2011

YANNY MAC'S TEN-MINUTE SUPPERS



Having just read the Literary Review of the Year, and noted the huge absence of poetry anthologies & blogs from the overall Top 100 publications, I've decided that to make this writing lark more profitable, I'm going to get into recipe books.

This is my first recipe from my forthcoming collection Yanny Mac's Ten Minute Suppers.

FRIED EGG SARNIE

I always use the freshest eggs I can find, preferably from a hen, but I like to experiment as well.
(Check the little stickers on the front of the box - the later the Use By date, the fresher the egg).
My old housemate Joel used to fry his eggs in olive oil.
Although this is proper posh, I tend to bung mine in hot vegetable oil, and IMHO, I think they taste well nice.
The olive oil can sometimes make stuff taste a bit foreign, but a lot of people like that.

For the bread, always use fresh.
If you can't get a bloomer from Greggs, get the best sliced stuff from Tesco.
DON'T GO FOR VALUE BREAD.
It's full of chemicals that might one day kill you.

Real butter is hard to find these days, but if you can get Vitalite or Flora this will go a long way.
If you can't get a spread, try mayonnaise or tommy ketchup.

When your egg is properly fried (I like mine well done - the wife likes salmonella with hers) stick it in between the bread slices and bosh!

Voila!
An egg sarnie to take away the winter blues, and put a spring in your step.


Ingredients:
Eggs
Bread
Butter (optional)
Oil (for cooking)

**For a little something different, try some ground white pepper & table salt for an extra kick.

I AM NOT TIM DOWLING



As we approach the compulsory shit & piss-fest that is the NYE celebrations, I guess we should review the past year, recollect the bad memories and good, and be thankful that some of us are still here.

I nearly lost the wife back in July.
Not in the garden centre as per norm, but to a collection of pulmonary embolisms and secondary pneumonia.
Like George, it was all a bit 'touch & go'.
We also had to move house whilst she was in hospital.
As a consequence, we got behind in our regular readings of Tim Dowling's column in the Guardian Weekend supplement.

It's become a fairly pleasant routine.
I read the wife to sleep with a series of back-to-back TD escapades; ones that I rehearse in advance, in order to provide humour or gravitas when required.
I even do the voices.
I never attempt TD's mid-Atlantic nasal drawl, but I've mastered a trio of teen petulance for the kids, and do a slightly bored, if massively indignant wife.
I've even bestowed a Southern Irish lilt upon TD's best friend Pat, and my drummer from the band can often sound like Mick Jagger.

The problem we have with Mr.Dowling's articles is that they are far too short.
Reading them is like watching the daily half-hour repeats of 'Come Dine With Me'.
After several recaps and an abundance of DFS adverts, you're not left with much substance.
We now record CDWM and watch them back-to-back with the assistance of a f/fwd button on the remote.
And this is how we enjoy TD, with a few of his columns back-to-back.

In July of this year, we had several TDs outstanding, but there was no immediate fear of not completing them by year end.
Most of them focussed on yet another holiday in Cornwall, or yet another festival appearance by the band.
But by the end of October, I had so many Weekend's piled up, that they resembled a dog-eared bedside table.
Tim Dowling was growing in stature, but only on my bedroom floor.
I set about reducing the dust topped mountain with passion and theatrical prowess, and I'm happy to be able to tell you that we are down to the last three (yet another technophobe one, Dinner with the kids & Choosing the Xmas tree).

Tonight we will spend NYE with my friend Luke and his family.
I have less than ten hours to complete my task, a task that looked improbable in August of this year, particularly when my wife was hooked up to a life support machine.
Perhaps I'll read the final three to tonight's assembled party-goers, whilst quietly praying that this year can happily come to an end?
Or perhaps I'll save them for the marital bed later?
Or perhaps I just won't bother?

After all, I'm no Tim Dowling.

Wednesday 21 December 2011

The Strange Story of John Osborne, the Wireless & Quite a Long Day





Made the mistake of leaving the wireless on all day.

I weaned myself off FiveLive some weeks ago by reducing background noise altogether, and by trying to read the book the wife bought me last Xmas.
My alarm on my phone (I know! It's got a camera too!) reminded me that I needed to tune into Radio4, as my friend John Osborne (no 'U') was prattling on about music, girls and sheds again.
The subsequent programmes held little of interest until 'All In The Mind' around mid-afternoon.
The presenters were examining stress-levels and were asking listeners to take part in an online stress test.
I'd chopped logs, fed the cats, and been as witty as I could on Facebook (not Twitter - I'm not witty enough for Twitter), so I thought what the hell?

After about twenty minutes I received my results, and it turns out I'm borderline psychotic!
The beeb's analysts have urged me to seek medical help as soon as possible, and to contact a relative or friend with my news, in order to ensure assistance.

They didn't give any indication as to who would put my bins out, or who would draw my wife's bath?
Amateurs probably.

I've switched the wireless off now.
No good will come of all this modern technology.

Tuesday 20 December 2011

THE RETURN OF THE TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS (w/e 18-12-11)







WORLD OF CARPETS : Carpets - Southend United


MICHAEL SPIERS : Exclusive Jewellery - Plymouth Argyle



Mr. CROPPER : Hydraulic Concrete Pile Breakers - Burton Albion

Thursday 8 December 2011

Campaign Update (Focus DIY)



More importantly, the retail behemoth that is Focus DIY, is no more.
Hopefully this will bring much needed business to the paint-sellers, nail-floggers, plant-punters and padlock-dealers of Olde Beccles Town;
but I fear the new Poundland may absorb some of that trade.

(6-7-2011)

The Poundland I referred to above, was in fact a 'Pound Stretcher'.
Along with QD, Gary's Discounts and the multitude of charity shops, it's hoped that no one will have to pay through the nose this Xmas.
Not in Beccles.

We do still however need somewhere for the kids to go when the lido is closed.
Our hope that the massive warehouse vacated by Focus DIY would be turned into an Open Venue, or youth club, or sports hall, or skate-park or gym, has been dashed, only a fortnight away from Xmas week.

I'm not sure what our new retailer is actually called, but it has a gaudy fascia that highlights the words FAMILY, DISCOUNTS, BARGAINS, and it appears to have a glut of plastic exclamation marks!!!!!!!!

The kids may be roaming the streets this festive period, but no one will have to pay for anything through the nose.
Not in Beccles.

Merry Costa everybody..........

Sunday 4 December 2011

THE RETURN OF THE TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS



I've been asked by an online publication to re-start TTTNPAH.

They thought there was 'mileage' in another season.

They asked if I could explain why I thought certain advertising hoardings were humorous, or of note?

I told them to fuck off.




TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS (w/e 4-12-11)


John Hill Associates: Architectural & Surveying Consultants. 01302 35565 - DONCASTER ROVERS

John Brocklesby Metal Management Ltd: "For all your scrap metal needs" - HULL CITY

Dave Ridge & Sons: Pebble dashing - CRYSTAL PALACE

Wednesday 2 November 2011

Campaign Update (Merry Costa)




To be fair to Beccles Tesco (and I'm not fair that often), taking delivery of Xmas stock in Autumn, and placing it directly onto the shelves, that are taking brief respite from barbecue charcoals and citronella tea-lights, is a space & labour-saving device, that the public, rightly or wrongly, see as a piece of cynical capitalism.

Costa Coffee however, do not have this excuse.

Whereas Tesco is still punting pumpkins and fireworks, with not a Xmas decoration in sight, Costa Coffee has festooned it's windows with the most garish, unattractive, badly fonted posters, wishing everyone who can read, a 'Merry Costa'.

What does it even mean?!

A Merry fuckin' Costa?
It's not even a crappy seasonal period!
It's a brand name.
For a coffee-shop.
When did buying an overpriced cup of java ever have anything to do with Xmas?

What next, a Merry Costa and a Happy New Starbucks?
Ding dong merrily on high, in Devon the tills are ringing?
Costa time, mistletoe & caffeine, children singing Christian rapping?
(I'm angry and I didn't really give these my best shot - your suggestions please?)

And why now?
It's November 2nd ffs!

No.
We've managed to get rid of Julian Assange, Focus DIY and Woolies.
We've stalled Wetherspoons.
It's time to rid our town of this obnoxious chain of space-hogging, money-grabbing, sanitised nonsense, and embrace the twelve or so independent coffee shops that we already have.

If you want a skinny latte' ask Elsie for less milk.
If you want a cappucino ask Doris for a sprinkle of cocoa.
If you want the world to disappear up its own arse, ask Santa for a Merry Costa.
(You never know, you might get it in a proper cup)

JULIAN ASSANGE WANTS TO SCREAM "I'M FREE"

A man who struggles to understand when 'No' means 'No'.
Let's look at the facts;


Visits police station in stockinged feet, even in winter

Knowingly breaks his curfew to watch Titti T Rash.


Doesn't know who Ricky Ponting is.


Illegally films inside Beccles Police Station, outside of curfew.


Sanctions his autobiography, then denies its validity.


Actually isn't 'that bloke from Wikipedia' at all.


Prefers Waveney Valley in a tag, than Sweden without.


Cannot maintain a sensible haircut.


Didn't follow the Ashes, but happily redacted cables about boring stuff.

Thinks extradition should be requested by defence, rather than prosecution.


Has been told 'No' twice now, and still appeals, wasting valuable court time, and losing credibility in doing so.

Looks suspiciously like John Inman.




If you didn't do it Julian, go face the music.
The Swedes are lovely.

Justice will prevail, you know that.........

Wednesday 19 October 2011

IS JULIAN ASSANGE THE NEW MESSIAH?




And on the seventh day, although He should've been resting, God put a large patch over the still smouldering blimburn, somewhere near Papua New Guinea.
And He put a few Adams, a few Eves, dingoes and a tiger or two therein.
He then added eucalyptus trees and wattle, marsupials, crocodiles and columbine-tantalite, in case Adam or Eve were ever in need of a mobile telecommunication vessel.
But he did not foresee the coming of Adam's naughty forebears, who brought rabbits, foxes, camels and brumbies, Catholicism and a desire for diets containing high levels of sugar.

And though the cane was for the beetle alone, the forebears laid claim, and introduced toads that would save their precious crop.
But the toads took to emulating the promiscuous behaviour of the rabbits, instead of eating the beetles, and you can probably guess what happened next?
And so Adam's forebear tried to harness the brumby. And when he found he could not, he developed an equine contraceptive that he exported all around the globe, along with wine, ocker-blokes and Dannii Minogue.
And then, just when it was all getting a bit too much, He sent His son Julian into the world, to sort things out a bit. He also gave him a real mum, that took him into hiding, and as Angel Gabriel was a bit busy, he gave him the protection of a Guardian. But Julian was arrested by the authorities, and as a cock crowed 'Aussie' three times, when asked who Ricky Ponting was, Julian denied all knowledge of him.
And then he sort of wrote an autobiography, and then changed his mind about it later.

Sunday 18 September 2011

The Last Ever TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS

As it's the LAST EVER Top 3 N-P A H's, we at TTNPAH thought we'd let you have a TOP 10 to go out on.

Thanks for watching.
It's been lovely........


KEIGHTLEY COLLINS FLOORING - AFC Bournemouth

A.P.S. SPECIALIST METAL POLISHERS - Rochdale

ZONECLOTH - Colchester Utd

POLLARDS CLASSIC CLEANING SUPPLIES - MK Dons

YATELEY MOT CENTRE - Aldershot Town

E&P FIREPLACES - Huddersfield Town

SPEEDY SKIPS - Cheltenham Town

DRAINAWAY - Morecambe

QUEDAM SHOPPING CENTRE - Yeovil Town

WAITROSE - Reading

Sunday 11 September 2011

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS (w/e 11-09-11)


Is anyone reading this, or has this been an 18month-long excuse, just to stay up late on a Saturday night?
Does anyone care that the BBC has a 'no commercial advertising' policy, yet every weekend, Match Of The Day gives over nearly two hours to punting Barclays Bank, McDonalds, Budweiser, Nike and BetFred?

No worries.
As the summer break has just finished, this week's theme is 'holidays'.
(I'd like to dedicate this to Colchester United's celebrity supporter, Luke Wright, who is currently on tour in Australia and China)

CAMPBELLS CARAVANS - Preston North End

WALDEGRAVES HOLIDAY PARK: MERSEA ISLAND - Colchester Utd

HAYCOCK HOTEL - Peterborough Utd

Thursday 8 September 2011

A Little Bit Of History Repeating (Part IV - More War, Sex & Recession)











I watched the slug crawl across the carpet, my eyes still hazy from the caustic vapours rising from my mouth.
I couldn't tell through the bloodshot, whether this morning's temperatures were spiked with window frost or condensation?
The tinny voice in the clock-radio on the floor confirmed frost.
And an announcement that several thousand public sector workers were to lose their jobs.
Color Me Badd then sexed-up sleepy Wiltshire without our consent, followed by GWR FM's looped infomercial on AIDS, sandwiched perfectly with Salt 'n Pepa talking about sex. Again. Baby.

Swindon. March. 1991.

The single bed was cold, yet heavily indented, and wet.
Was that sweat?
She was certainly a big girl if I remembered correctly.
No.
It wasn't legacy.
It was condensation. She had obviously left a lot earlier.
She'd also scrawled her telephone number on my mirror, in lipstick, and circled it in a defiant flourish.
A cosmetic loveheart that looked more like an arse.

Dodging the fag butts and used condoms, and kicking over a heavily fingerprinted glass of Thunderbird, I stumbled to the dressing table and tried to remove Revlon's greasy message.
This month's paltry wage had already been spunked on three successive nights out, and I was now in desperate need of Windolene.
I switched on the portable black & white telly and fiddled with the blu-tack+coat hanger aerial.
It was 8-27am.
And we were still at war.

I'd been made redundant three times since Saddam had invaded Kuwait, and both sides were now hurling missiles at each other indiscriminately.
Was this the beginnings of World War III?
Was this even a war?
The comics I had read as a child never featured saturation bombing or scuds.
Dresden and Guernica were never considered battles or combat.
Just fuck-off punctuation marks.

My head pounded with unsuitable empathy.
The guy who rented the upstairs room had switched on his Montego's engine and left it idling while it defrosted.
This was a less than salubrious area of town, and I couldn't help thinking how trusting he was. The car was worth less than a tenner but the cost of a barrel of oil had just reached unprecedented heights.

The slug had stopped.

I made the decision for the second time that week, not to go to work.
What was the point?
My commission-based job wasn't paying any commission, and there was little I could do about it.
A typical day would involve punting out-of-work accountants into a soul destroying void of joblessness.
I was in 'recruitment'.
And I needed a new career.
And I also badly needed to pay my £30 a week rent.
I was an itinerant temp without baggage.
Or a car.

By 9-30am, Cheese had arrived unexpectedly.
He had important news. A mutual friend from back-home had been involved in a near-fatal car crash, and was critically ill in hospital.
Cheese took one look at the crimson coloured mirror, another look at the slug on the carpet, and said "Come on. We're getting you out of here".

We sang Oleta Adams all the way along the M4.
We arrived in Surrey before Hannah Gordon had begun introducing the guest artist on Watercolour Challenge.
I offered Cheese a fiver for the petrol, and he laughed.





You can reach me by caravan
Cross the desert like an Arab man
I don't care if you get here
Just, get here if you can......

Sunday 4 September 2011

TOP 3 POSTER BOYS/GIRLS FOR GB OLYMPICS 2012 w/e 04-09-11




The more I'm forced to watch Mo Farah run, the more I fall in love with distance-running on the track.
And when looking at the starting line-ups, who could fail to see the ironies, however small?


About five years ago, Mohammed's closest rival was Jesus.
Jesus Espana (of Spain), would often match Mo stride-for-stride in the 5000 metres.

Now Farah relies on the quicker pace of Galen, to help him reach his goal.
Galen Rupp, Mo's training partner, is as much a part of the Essex Beagle's track success, as was his recent move to America.


And it's always good to see an Irishman in the mix;
even if his name is Craggy.





Craggy Ireland finished 14th in the World Cup Athletics in Daegu this evening.
Jesus crossed the line in front of the Irish, but still finished 11 places behind Mohammed.
Galen ended up 9th.

This pleases me.
On so many levels.

Carry on entertaining.



*Galen is both the name of the evolution-sceptic hero and the omniscient doctor in Planet Of The Apes.


2012 Poster Boy - Mo Farah




2012 Poster Girl - Hannah England




Runner-Up - Perri Shakes Drayton






**I researched the names 'Perri', 'Perry', 'Mohammed' and 'Mohamed' on the internet.
As Mo's Somali name is Maxamed Mow Faarax, it seems inconsequential whether there are two 'm's or not.
The correct spelling of Perri depends on whether you believe the BBC or the Guardian, Wikipedia or Google, Channel4 or Nike.

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS w/e 04-09-11



It's Gus Poyet's week.
To be fair, his football club are looking good for promotion to the Premiership, despite keeping his sponsors fairly local.
What the good inhabitants of Hove & Shoreham will make of a world made of international airlines and Thai brewers, nobody really knows?


BURT FAMILY BUTCHERS - Brighton & Hove Albion

SOUTHERN PILING: SPECIALIST PILING CONTRACTORS - Brighton & Hove Albion

BRIDGE GROUP: FABRICATORS OF CATERING EQUIPMENT - Bury

Sunday 28 August 2011

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS w/e 28-08-11





I make no apologies for re-posting Rotherham's vacant advertising space.
What more do they have to do?!
Play-off finalists last season, top of the league & unbeaten, moving to a new multi-million pound stadium, and home to the Chuckle Brothers.
Why will no-one advertise at their ground?


ADVERTISE HERE: TEL 0114 223834 - Rotherham Utd

COLCHESTER SKIP HIRE: RECYCLING FOR THE FUTURE - Colchester Utd

THE FIREWORK EMPORIUM - Ipswich Town

Monday 22 August 2011

Just Another Bit Of History Repeating (Part III - 1984)


Lyme Regis. August 1984.

I'd only agreed to come, if they'd agreed to driving-lessons.
I had no reason to doubt them.
But fuck, I was bored.
The last-minute deal, summer holiday-plan, resulting in Spain, or at worst Greece,
had been hastily replaced by a safe, home-fires vacation, in Blighty.
Mum & dad had grown up with the blitz and bombs, real ice-cream and bicycle rides in the country.
Abroad was still very foreign.
And it was safer therefore, and ultimately more enjoyable, on home shores.

Dad was constantly on edge with regard to the Middle East.
He'd spent a lot of time there, peace-keeping on behalf of the rest of us.
Mum, having worked in the Benghazi Library in the 60's, was equally sceptical.
After the shooting of WPC Fletcher, and the Libyan Embassy siege,
dad, Thatch, mum and Ronnie Reagan all went a bit gung-ho
(the latter taking it all a bit too far, a couple of years later).

So, I was stuck in Lyme Regis in 1984.
And I was horny.
Lots of doublespeak, and very little sexcrime.
Mum & dad were still a bit edgy with the new-age business crowd, taking over the tea-shoppes with their arty things, and their homegrown produce.
I was intrigued by the fat woman with no bra.

Daily, we enacted a favourite routine;
a walk, a cream tea, back to the caravan for a pretend shower;
pub, another pub, fish & chips and back to the caravan again.

An English family holiday, prior to the concept of 'stay-cation'.


I tried to get pissed on the shandies my father proferred.
I made roll-ups from the ash-trays I dutifully offered to empty.
I wanked in the caravan-park toilets, and I wished I was at home.
Or in Torremolinos.

The telly in the clubhouse bar was full of Arthur Scargill and the police and disturbances.
The jukebox in the games room was playing 'Two Tribes' by Frankie Goes To Hollywood.
The formica tables were littered with cockle-less polystyrene cups, and grubby pots of Saxa white pepper and malt vinegar.
And I was a mess.

I was emphatically in-tune with Billy Bragg, the miners, the GLC, and Red Ken, and the Smiths and CND & everything.
I bought The Clash's 'Sandanista' and voted in a Smash-Hits Reader's Poll concerning Nicaragua.

But I just wanted to have sex.
Lots of it.

With every girl I fancied.
(And quite a few I didn't)

And there wasn't any of either, in olde worlde Lyme Regis.
Just pickled eggs, warm beer and fossils.

In the morning, I stuffed a pound-note into my jeans, and walked to the campsite shop.
I bought a copy of the Sunday Mirror to find out exactly where Libya was.
And a copy of TitBits.


Sunday 21 August 2011

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS w/e 21-08-11




Bit of a slow week.
The missus' been ill, and I had to do a Joe Pesci on a rabbit.
Unless someone complains, I ain't gonna feel guilty.


ASHWORTHS: MENS & KIDS SPORTSWEAR - Accrington Stanley.

CHINA ROYAL RESTAURANT - Scunthorpe Utd.

CAPITAL TAXIS: 43-43-43 - Exeter City.

Friday 19 August 2011

More of a man than Philip Larkin (Warning:contains disturbing images)




Today I killed an animal knowingly.

In 1978, I claimed to have shot a sparrow with my uncle's air-rifle;
but on reflection I clipped its wing at best.
I was 11 years old.

I am now 44, and I have never killed, or attempted to kill, another animal knowingly.

Until today.

Today, I bludgeoned a rabbit with a piece of metal scaffolding.

I missed its head and neck with the first blow, and it squealed.
(Rabbits don't make noises in everyday life)
I broke its back, before despatching a blow to the head, and rendering it unconscious.
I continued to batter it repeatedly, in order to ensure the swiftness of deaths, that a man of little skill could best administer.

And tonight, I know I will have nightmares.

Of the thousands of rabbits that burrow and forage the grounds of Geldeston Hall, only a small percentage are blighted with myxomatosis.
But it's in the summer months when these poor, ravaged creatures are at their most apparent.
Grazing the lush verdant pasture at dusk, within the safety of the numbers from their warren, it's hard to distinguish the weak from the plenty.
It's only when they scatter, in flight and in fear, that the diseased are exposed.
Oblivious to sight or sound, blinded and deaf to approaching danger, these half-dead lagomorphs dribble on grass with no sense of impending mortality, or anything other than cruel raison d'etre.
Myxomatosis makes zombies out of rabbits.

Today I had to 'poo-pick' my wife's horses' field.
With a radio blaring out Test Match Special, and a determined stride, I entered the field with purpose and a desire to be done as soon as possible.
Rabbits scarpered and crows flew away.

Except for one.

I knew immediately that Benjamin Bunny was a myxi-case.
Oblivious to my grumblings and the trundling of the wheelbarrow, BB continued to nuzzle the nettles that littered the shallow hollows, that discredit East Anglia's claim to 'flatness'.
On closer inspection, BB had only half a face.
No cheek. No chin.
Tumours covering the remaining flea-bitten fur.

His eye complete in its decay, the lower jaw was exposed and his rotting gums were bleeding and raw.
The rest of BB's afflictions are too painful to describe, let alone endure.

I left the field and sought about procuring a weapon that would bring an end to BB's suffering.
A pile of builders' scaffolding poles provided the implement that would bestow upon me the title of 'God' for the next five minutes.

When I had finished, and was sure that the suffering had ended, I scooped up the carcass and dumped it with the horse-shit on the compost heap.

The right thing had been done.
I was shaking and I was numb.
But I was sure the right thing had been done.

I then went home and cried.

For BB - RIP.

Monday 15 August 2011

A Little Bit of History Repeating (Part II)

Springtime in Hampshire.

A tiny glimpse of sunshine, and a chance to dry out my karate shoes.
Mum said I couldn't have tukka boots because they were too expensive.
Everyone I knew had tukka boots.
My decision to rebel lay solely at my mother's door.

With the teenage yearning to fuck anything that moved, in a small town where the village-green offered little opportunity, and after the coldest winter 'on record', I was left with the ability to do nothing more than watch the recently created TVS, whilst dreaming of MTV and the girls out of the Human League.
To me it was still the same old shit.
Pipkins, irregular Schools Progammes and Fred Dineage.
All that had changed was the livery, and the 'greed-is-good' mindset of its owners.
Unemployment had hit a post war all-time high, and the Saatchi-Tory claim that 'Labour Isn't Working' appeared to be coming back to haunt them.

A philosopher once said: "Man does not normally wish to fight.
If you want a man to fight, make him feel he is under attack"

And somewhere in the South Atlantic, a scrap metal dealer was bringing out the man in Margaret Thatcher.


Yateley. St.Peter's Churchyard. March. 1982.

I understood Paul's rejection of me as a friend.
With me only home from boarding school during the holidays, our relationship was strained.
He had other friends around him, and I was becoming increasingly more 'strange'.
It was Paul's dad that told him to be wary of me.
With my badly applied make-up, my flasher's coat and girls' school cardigan, I didn't really fit in.
And if I was honest, this was exactly what I wanted.

Bizarrely, the older kids from the village-green didn't have a problem.
They knew I was weird, but they liked nothing more than interrogating me on subjects such as 'life in a dormitory of 20 boys', over an illegal Pernod & black in the Dog & Partridge pub.

Paul didn't come to the pub.
A year younger than me, Paul was yet to get the awkward bum-fluff and forced chin-stubble that I had developed.
With cheap foundation stolen from my sister, and a red greasepaint stick, stolen from backstage-drama, acting as a substitute for blusher, I hoped I would resemble Philip Oakey.
Later in the year Don't You Want Me would become my lament for Paul.

And mum & dad seemed particularly agitated today.

Home from work early, dad depressed the silver cylindrical button at the top of the TV.
The picture rolled and switched from Fred Dineage to Richard Baker;
and as if fulfilling my parents' week-long prophecies out of spite for my holidays, we were informed by the voice of Mary, Mungo & Midge, that we were at war.

Why would Argentina invade a Scottish island?
Who is Lord Carrington?
What the fuck does this have to do with me anyway?
How old is Richard Baker now?
Are you wearing eyeliner?
What are you? A poof?!?

Questions bounced off the artexed ceiling.
A family united in turmoil, embroiled in a battle several thousand miles away.
Mum said 3 Para were already on stand-by.
Dad said 2 Para were better equipped.
I told them that Andy from school's dad was already in Scotland.

"It'll mean more overtime" said mum.
"It'll mean less overtime" said dad.
I didn't care, but I didn't say anything.
"Go and wash your face" said mum.

The churchyard was one person short of the usual habitue'.
Zoe explained that Paul no longer wanted to be mates.
Adam & Jason giggled and said something about pillows.
I lit a crumpled JPS that I found in my overcoat lining, and spat amongst spit, hitting the flagstones littered with butts and Juicy Fruit gum.
I felt nervous, embarassed and flushed.
One by one they walked away.
Zoe stayed, and I asked her what she thought about the Falklands.
"Dunno" she said, grabbing my cardigan and ramming her tongue down my throat.

I walked home alone, hoping the breeze would rid me of the smell of cheap cigarettes and teenage fumbling.
One of the older kids shouted 'homo' and then farted loudly.
His friends, too young to be jobless, but angry, and too pissed to care, grunted in appreciation.

The lights were quickly switched off on my arrival.
I turned on the telly and listened to Fred Dineage bid "a goodnight from all at TVS".
I scrubbed at the greasepaint with Imperial Leather, irritating spots I never knew I had.
I went to bed and dreamt about Zoe.

By the end of 1982, nearly a thousand lives were lost in the Falklands conflict, and many more suffered horrific injuries.
Margaret Thatcher was lauded by the tabloids as the greatest home premier since Churchill.
Ignoring the race-riots of a year earlier, she set about creating a police-state, and systematically destroyed the British mining industry.
Less than 25 miles from Yateley, 30,000 women set up a peace-camp at Greenham Common.
It was to last for nearly 20 years.

I swapped 'homo' for 'pinko', Human League for The Smiths, and make-up for a flat-top haircut.
Mum & dad were both made redundant.
And I never saw Paul or Zoe again.

I was a teenage new romantic
We wore make-up
I had spots
It was shit

Sunday 14 August 2011

IS NATHAN SYKES THE 'NEW' JULIAN ASSANGE?





Has anyone else noticed that Nathan Sykes (The Wanted) and Eric Sykes (Harry Potter) have never been seen on stage, or in a movie, together at the same time?
Although I can't suggest they are one & the same person (there is a slight age difference) it is possible they are closely related, and have been part of a long-standing family feud.
The fact they have the same surname would seem to support this.

The important question is; can we really trust Nathan Sykes?

I'll leave that one up to you.

Saturday 13 August 2011

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS w/e 14-08-11 (New season- New rules)




Let's be honest, it's been a tough start to the season.

The BBC appears to be blurring a lot of the hoardings, with particular interest to the 'local' advertisers, in the higher leagues.

NPower, Coca-Cola, Rainham Steel and Bet365.com appear to be immune to this blurring.

Of course, my failing eyesight may have something to do with this, but even so, this is about how small business advertises on the BBC.
Partially-sighted people need product too.

As a consequence, for the first time in ToNoPrAdHo history, we will be announcing the Top 4 (yes FOUR!) Non-Premiership advertising hoardings on the BBC w/e 14-08-11.

(This may become a weekly thing, depending on vision)

B.LECKEY: ROOFING - Scunthorpe Utd.

GARY FINNEY: GENERAL BUILDER - Aldershot Town.

MIKE LOCK: CONSTRUCTION - Yeovil Town.

GUTTERFIX LtD. - Doncaster Rovers.

Saturday 30 July 2011

TWITTER FEED MENTALITY




I'm an old-fashioned guy.
I like things the way they are;
but so often, they become something else entirely.
So quickly.

And I'm ashamed to say
I don't understand social-media.

I'm an old-fashioned guy.
I like it when things are planned;
but so often, things bombard your very senses
to the point of overload.

You feel ashamed to say
"I fuckin' detest social-media!"

It makes me sound like a psycho
or a schizo at best.
It's what I call my Twitter-feed Mentality.

Egypt.
From Hossam.
RT. @Robert Mackey - New York Times


"the tear gas canisters r being shot @ v dangerous level, like knees or abdomen.. We have to dodge them"

Via Facebook.
From Yanny Mac & Pikey Paddy.


"Homecoming Gig! Great Yarmouth Pier's Pasquale & Depp reunited for one last time. This Saturd"

Norwich.
From TractorGirl
RT. @YannyMac


"Ipswich FC are guilty of commercial suicide"

Beccles.
From YannyMac
RT @Robert Mackey @Hossam


"the tear gas canisters r being shot @ v dangerous level, like knees or abdomen.. We have to dodge them"

I'm an old-fashioned guy.
I like it when things are peaceful;
but so often your laptop window gets fogged up
with reality.

This is what I call my Twitter-feed Mentality.

Wednesday 20 July 2011

Cricket's Greatest Ever Test Series (Bob Willis)




BBC Radio 5Live had a phone-in-cum-wankfest yesterday evening, about what should 'top' the all-time best ever cricket Test Series.
Inevitably, 2005 and 1981 demanded the greatest amount of airtime.
1960 and the Bodyline tour were given a scant glance .

And it all coincided with a Botham 'tribute', on the BBC.

If 1981 is voted 'the best' this evening
(and listening to the 40-something pundits' glee at reminiscing over O'Levels and 3 channel TV, I have no reason to doubt it will),
I sincerely hope Mr.Willis is given the credit he is due.

Bob Willis won the 1981 Series for England.
It was Bob that bowled out the Aussies.
Even with the follow-on.
Lest we forget.

Wednesday 13 July 2011

The Incredible Story of The Fat Controller & Julian Assange's Penis





*Apologies*
I should've alerted you to the fact that this is a continuing 'Campaign Update'.

Tesco have finally removed the incredibly annoying Noddy Car from outside of their store.
Instead of "Come & play with me in Toyland' repeated over and over again, by a man who sounds suspiciously like Joe Pasquale, we now have the dulcet tones of Ringo Starr as the Fat Controller from Thomas the Tank Engine.

Julian Assange has not been seen in Ellingham or Beccles for over 48hrs now.
Knowing him, he's probably on some escapade in that London, chasing skirt and following his penis!
That lad will get himself in trouble one day. you mark my words.

Tuesday 12 July 2011

Campaign Update (Assange's Birthday Party & Asbestosis)




So the reason we can't have a Wetherspoons is because of too much asbestos.
When did product quality or customer care become part of Tim Martin's remit?
Now we've got an empty pub, slap-bang in the centre of town, that no-one wants, and may be a danger to public health.

The King's Head stood there for nearly 400years without any problems.
JD Wetherspoon came along, and fucked Beccles into a hole.

The checkout manager at Tesco is a rude cow.
Yesterday she closed two tills, as I was obviously approaching them, without a word of apology or consideration.
If it wasn't for their Value cider, I'd boycott them.

Julian Assange was 40 on July 3rd. We invited him to our Birthday Cricket game on the common, but he declined to attend, favouring a party with Vivienne Westwood and the girl who plays the lead in Australia's 'Rocky Horror Picture Show'.
I'm not sure if they slept over, or if Jules drank so much, he lost his moral-compass, but he did end up nicking some of our cricket attendees.
I just wish he would get over the whole 'Ricky Ponting' thing.

Friday 17 June 2011

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Sauce)



I enjoy my weekly trip to Tesco, especially when it's a little cooler than of late, and the young folk are dressed sensibly.
But this week, despite it raining on most days, I was horrified at what I saw in aisle 15(condiments & sauces).
Since when did Guinness make ketchup?
And why is Jack Daniels making barbecue sauce?
I understand Levi Roots wants us to get jiggy-jiggy with his chilli & vinegar concoction; and due to his relentless tv appearances, he appears to have convinced the buyers.
But why alcohol brands?

Is this an attempt at subliminal association?
"Ere Duchess. We'll need sauce for the burgers. Oh, and pick us up a crate of cool, refreshing sour mash whiskey while you're there?"

Or is this just global domination by manufacturer?
This week, Heinz meets Diageo.
Next week Nestle' meets Pampers - "it's not what you put in, it's where it comes out".
I'm all for innovation, but peddling the same rubbish, under bigger marques or logos, doesn't really suggest progress.
No-one wants fish fingers made by Durex.

Mary Whitehouse would never have put up with this.
You know what to do.......

Wednesday 8 June 2011

THERE ARE NO MOUNTAINS IN SURREY, MOHAMMAD

We can only imagine how the conversation went.

(SUNDAY 5th JUNE. 10-30AM. A Surrey village green)

Addington Village Cricket Captain: Hello Bob
St.Lukes Village Cricket Captain: Hi Gerry.
You ready for a damn good thrashing today!
(chortles)

AVCC: (chortles too) You bet!
Listen Bob. We’ve got this teenage Pakistani lad who wants a game.
I promised his dad.
You ok with him having a swing?


StLVCC: Pakistani hey? As long as it’s not Imran Khan!
(both chortle, one less convincingly than the other)

AVCC: We’ll probably give him a bowl before lunch, and see how he gets on.
If we win the toss?!


StLVCC: You always do Gerry! You always do.



************


(2-37PM. Early Tea. A Surrey village green)

St.LVCC: Four wickets and sixty runs already eh, Bob?
Which part of Pakistan did you say he was from?



AVCC: Carshalton Gerry.
Carshalton.

Tuesday 7 June 2011

Campaign Update (Matches on the Common)




The recent spell of dry & windy weather has left Beccles Common parched, but it would appear that it has nothing to do with God, Julian Assange or Wetherspoons.

Many years ago, some 'bright spark' decided to plant the far-from-native poplar tree on the common, with the intention of selling the wood to the lucrative matchstick industry.
Then along came '5 for a Pound' lighters, Gary's Discounts, Julian Assange and Greggs, and hey presto! We didn't really need to have done that after all.



It's estimated a poplar tree can take up to 50 GALLONS of water, every day!

I say "chop down the trees!" and encourage something more indigenous, and in line with the common's best interest.
And we must do this before Wetherspoons or Greggs espy the vacant space, or before Assange introduces cane-toads.

Monday 6 June 2011

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Norfolk Showground)






Thank God for Sarah Teather & David Cameron!
A proposed website for like-minded people to complain about the vile muckiness that most of us are subjected to on a daily basis.
I sincerely hope they let Mary Whitehouse be a moderator.

Only the other day, my teenage daughter asked me to get tickets for an event at the Norfolk Showground, a venue that has, in the past, showcased 'Wheels of Steel' and ' The East Anglian Game Fayre'.
I asked the ticket-vendor who was performing at this so-called 'weekender', and you can only imagine how disgusted I felt on hearing the line-up.


One of the musicians claimed to be a 'Professor', although subsequent investigations suggest he didn't even get his GCSEs, let alone a PGCE.
This is how peadophiles roll, I'm told.
Another pop-star seemed happy that he had a temper, albeit a very small one, and another felt proud of his achievement in not being able to increase his stride.
Do they not teach PE in schools anymore?
I can only assume that the organisers have their Rex Harrison films mixed-up, as the appearance of Eliza Doolittle alongside a talking, singing chipmunk, suggests that the doctor is not in the house.

The Norfolk Showground, once an arena for the Best in Breed, is now a breeding-ground for the worst in filth & degradation.

Please Mary Whitehouse.
Come back and save us all......

Sunday 5 June 2011

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Countryfile)






What IS going on?

Last week we had the ginger one, ejaculating over his family-home, where they farm stuff, and drive big 4x4's with legitimacy.



And this week we're subjected to Matt.



Back at his childhood stomping ground, creaming over the rides he experienced in the back lanes of Ruralsville.
Mr. Baker nearly exploded when he donged the school-bell, behaviour more suited to an onanistic campanologist.

Why the self-indulgence BBC?
Why does this say anything to us about our lives, particularly on Sunday evenings?

What next?
Julia Bradbury showing us where she was first titted-up, in a haystack, behind an oast-house owned by her forefathers?

No.
It's time to bring back Mary Whitehouse!

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Britain's Got Talent)




Shocking.
Absolutely shocking.

BBMW.

Tuesday 24 May 2011

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Chelsea Flower Show)






Thankfully, in our house we use the television guide to filter unsuitable content.
I am often found sitting on the loo with a pencil, putting my ring around things we shouldn't really be watching.
So imagine my utter disappointment when I had to edit tonight's Titchmarsh-Fest from our proposed viewing, all because of the 'new girl' on Gardeners' World.
This is not a feeble attempt to bring back the economy fish-finger Alys Fowler - the wife and I get enough of her in the weekend supplements.
No. This was outrage at the perpetual filth plastered across the goggle-box, and this time before the watershed.
I quote:
"Rachel De Thame finds out what makes a successful entry" (RHS Flower Show.BBC2. 8pm)

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE!

Monday 23 May 2011

BBW - Going down on a Sunday






A lot of people (including me) thought it would be WWW come the final hour.
Wigan, Wolves and West Ham, were many pundits favourites to go down (and I came across many more who thought it could be BBC)
I guess BBW will satisfy those who don't like A, B or E (or even BMW)?

Stats-wise, 'Nigella's Tits' was my finest moment.........

The Ubiquitous Ms.Long






We followed you for a bit
on Twitter
but it felt like teaching politics
to a classroom full of six year-olds
And then you did UK Uncut
and Skins
some things
we're much more grateful for
And what’s more
we liked seeing you
at festivals and such
But today we heard you
on FiveLive radio
with Nick Hancock
and Rhona Cameron
And someone talking loudly
about how some sport is rubbish
if it isn't quite British
And how the workmen
in your proud London boroughs
migrate every day from Essex
by the sea
But we didn't want to hear that
not from you
not from anyone
You are much less crapper
than ropey idle chatter
So go back to Hackney Ms.Long
and pick up a pen
Go home Josie, go home
and start writing the good stuff again

Wednesday 4 May 2011

Campaign Update (Focus DIY)








WE DID IT!
We're hoping to convert the warehouse in Beccles into a climbing gym & 5-a-side pitch now.
(Failing that, we'll take a Homebase)

*Julian Assange is currently appearing at Brighton Festival alongside Carol Ann Duffy & Aung San Suu Kyi

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Underwear online)













I am not a man that cares much for personal image.
The comedian Patrick Lappin once remarked that I was luckier than most, due to having a full head of hair. I was surprised at this remark, as I thought he had observed at first-hand, my constant struggle to maintain my mane, whilst creating a look of nonchalance & carefree abandon.
Other than hair & make-up, and the occasional amphetamine-based diet, my interest in how I look is far from healthy. This all changed recently when my wife decided that I should now be alluring in the bedroom.

I change my underpants, on average, once every five years.
I purchase a job-lot of trunks/shorts, consider pouches, dismiss pouches, go commando for a week or two, and then reach a compromise with my testicles, that normally involves compulsory bagging-up whenever we have house guests.

So imagine my concern and disgust when I was confronted by the cheap, tacky and exploitative nature of gentlemen's knickers, freely available online.
The suggestion that fellas only wear grundies for the act of sexual pleasuring left me astounded.
What sort of messages are we sending out when our posteriors are covered in suggestive slogans such as "I'll work hard for your happy ending" and "I'll shake you all night long"?

No. This must be stopped, before we end up in a society that portrays men as sex objects, and prevents them from experiencing an innocent upbringing.
Shame on you clothes manufacturers.

I say again;
Bring Back Mary Whitehouse!

Tuesday 3 May 2011

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Local Poet & Son)








It saddens me to see such disagreeable filth on the shelves of our local newsagent, ranging from magazines designed for those who think a house interior is some sort of money-making project, to periodicals aimed at women of a certain age, with a sick penchant for crochet and baking.
But imagine my disgust when today, on purchasing the Beccles & Bungay Journal, I was subjected to the most abhorrent picture my eyes have ever laid upon!
A young 'man', with the largest of gay faces I have ever seen, gazed wistfully into the newspaper's banner, clutching another young 'man' to his chest, the latter sporting the smallest of gay faces possible. The so-called 'local poet' was involved in a tawdry affair, so vile in fact, that I could not bring myself to read the article in its entirety, but needless to say, the strapline ended "....gay library fight".
Inside the paper, on page 3 no less, the big gay face (this time looking like a lesbian that wears dungarees) had written a poem criticising politicians, that positively encouraged our youngsters to "drown....in beer".
Another line cried out "Hurrah! A bum......year".
The other smaller man, screwed his little gay face up for the photo, reminiscent of a young John Lydon, and pointed at the camera, as if to say "You lot can fuck off!"
He was quoted as saying " (I) loves to run around in the beautiful enclosed garden", presumably half-naked and monged-out on Relentless?

The state of our media is in crisis.
And this is why I emphatically plead once again;


PLEASE Bring Back Mary Whitehouse!

Thursday 28 April 2011

Coming Off Meds Again (Week 1 tba)






I am just about regaining full mobility.
Received a phone call from my GP today, informing me that Croc Snooze & I ARE actually eligible for IVF treatment!

So here we go again......

London-Types: keep those jam jars warm please.

Wednesday 13 April 2011

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Women In Love)







Filth.



Pure filth.






Bring back Mary Whitehouse!

Monday 28 March 2011

THE TOP 15 ALL-TIME NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS (2010/11)



THE SOFA KING: OUR PRICES ARE SOFA KING LOW, YOU MAY WET YOUR PANTS - Northampton Town


BUFFET CITY: ALL YOU CAN EAT FROM 3-15 - Plymouth Argyle


ADVERTISE HERE: TEL 0114 223834 - Rotherham Utd


FAMILY SIZE PIES - Liecester City


ANTHONY - Wycombe Wanderers


MARINO FISH BAR and TAKEAWAY (and CAFE) - Gillingham


KEITHS - Bristol City


DAVID FISHWICK: MINIBUS SALES - Burnley


WHIP STREET MOTORS - Ipswich Town


DIVORCE ONLINE - Swindon Town


WILFREDA BEEHIVE - Doncaster Rovers


MANNERS PIMBLETT - Stockport County


mc CARPETS - Wycombe Wanderers


ew SPECIALISTS - Lincoln City


TORBAY TAXIS: 211611 A LESS TAXING TAXI - Torquay Utd

Thursday 24 March 2011

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS (The penultimate one)



POTT'S PIES - Morecambe.

IDEAL SCAFFOLDINGS - Aldershot Town.

FARMHOUSE BISCUITS - Burnley.

Campaign Update (The mysterious reappearance of Julian Assange,butter & nipples)



Julian Assange was seen by my neighbour, signing his tag-thing, yesterday morning in Beccles Police Station.

He was accompanied by a cameraman, who he referred to as 'one of his own'.

They took shots of him entering the police station, and different angle shots of him signing the register.


Assange's original bail conditions (that were made public) required him to attend between 2pm and 5pm in the afternoon.


All press were advised that there was to be NO FILMING or PHOTOGRAPHY inside the station.


Is Julian Assange still on bail, or is he putting the final touches to his forthcoming film?

If he is required to meet bail guidelines, why is he deliberately flouting them?

We say "Oi Oi Oi Jules. What's going on?"


In other news, Tesco Beccles have re-stocked Country Life butter, but it would appear at the expense of Ecovert washing-up liquid.

A customer comment form has been submitted.


And in rather sad news, the media attention given to the increases of breast & skin cancer in women under 30, appears not to have been heeded by the bright young ladies of Suffolk.

Following two days of warm sunshine, nearly every girl in this small town literally had their tits out today.

I thought I saw melanoma at one point;

I can only hope it was nipple.

Take care of your bodies girls, and cover up when you can.

Wednesday 23 March 2011

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS w/e 24-03-11



DUNCAN PHILLIPS - Barnet.

J.G. JONES - Hartlepool Utd.

MORRIS LUBRICANTS - Shrewsbury Town.

Tuesday 22 March 2011

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS w/e 23-03-11



DAGGERS HOLIDAY CLUB - Dagenham & Redbridge.

SWANSEA FASTENERS - Swansea City.

BRADFORD DECORATING - Oxford Utd.

Monday 21 March 2011

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS w/e 22-03-11



'FLAMINGO LAND' - Bradford City

'CRUMBS' - Carlisle Utd

'ELTON JOHN' GREENHOUS MEADOW - Shrewsbury Town

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS w/e 21-03-11



ALAN WOOD. PLUMBING & HEATING - Barnsley

IP WILLIAMS. FLOOR SCREED, CONCRETE & FLOORING CONTRACTORS - Bury

JOHN LEWIS PARTNERSHIP - Reading

Sunday 20 March 2011

TOP 3 NON-PREMIERSHIP ADVERTISING HOARDINGS w/e 20-03-11



MASON'S SCAFFOLDING - Millwall

METALLON: DERBY'S PREMIER METAL RECYCLERS - Derby County

DEMOLITION, EXCAVATION, AGGREGATES & ASBESTOS REMOVAL - Oldham Athletic