BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Alys Fowler - Again!)

I am more than happy that provenance of food, and 'growing-your-own' has become another consumer-friendly pursuit of the middle classes as of late, but I am beginning to realise that other, less scrupulous horticulturalists are embracing these new technologies for illegal purposes; namely, the production of illegal Class A & B drugs.

I have mentioned in my other blog "Yanny Mac - Dwile Flonker" how easy it is to inadvertently procure illegal substances, particularly if one 'hangs out' with the right people
(see Allotment Alan's adventures at http://yannymac-dwileflonker.blogspot.com/2012/02/we-are-nothing-without-our-banks.html ).
I have also railed against the use of suggestive, highly-sexualised and profane language by the economy fish-finger, ex TV presenter, and now wannabe-journalist, Alys Fowler.

But this week she has gone too far.
In the Guardian Weekend supplement, of all places.

It would appear that her father introduced her to smack at an early age.
He told her how to access opium from poppies, and then regaled her with stories about 'chasing the dragon'.
Fowler herself goes on to describe how she 'is addicted to opium'.
And how it has become an obsession, and how she often tries to grow {poppies out of a} crack.

It's this sort of mindless, flippant, provocative writing that encourages our children to listen to the Devil's music, and subsequently sniff hair gel; ultimately leading to a life on benefit culture, addicted to soap, fast food takeaways and mind bending substance abusiveness.

I say it's time to regulate the musings of the liberal left media.

I say "Bring back Mary Whitehouse".

A NAKED LUCY WORSLEY

No greeting cards or service-station flowers
No candlelight or making love for hours
No forced gestures or pink confectionery
Just some tissues, closed curtains
And a naked Lucy Worsley.

MENSWEAR La La La.

It's hard to believe that no-one is really into Menswear anymore.
Everyone loved Menswear in 1995.
If you Google 'Menswear' now, the band isn't even mentioned until the 25th entry.

I was into Gene and Marion in 1995.
I had Menswear's album, but I preferred the Morrissey-like dulcet tones of Martin Rossiter, and the Johnny Marr-infused rock of Macclesfield's finest.
It's hard to believe that no-one is really into Marion or Gene anymore.

My girlfriend at the time was into Candyskins.
The two Cope lads' dad was Kenneth Cope from 'Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased)', 'Corrie', 'Brookside' and both 'Carry On Matron' & 'Carry On At Your Convenience'.
I went to see Candyskins at The Water Rats in London, and stood next to the bloke from The Fast Show.
It's hard to believe that no-one is really into Candyskins anymore.

Menswear went on to have 5 hit singles including 'Sleeping In', 'Daydreamer' and 'Being Brave'.
Their single 'Stardust' appeared on 'Shine 3', a various artists' showcase of Britpop talent, featuring singles by Marion, Gene, Cast and Echobelly.
The Boo Radleys were also on 'Shine 3'.
It's hard to believe that no-one is really into Cast or Echobelly anymore.

Candyskins didn't feature until 'Shine 8', the fourth of the double Shine albums, that included Bennet, Whitetown, Monaco and Sleeper.
Whitetown was from Norwich.
I met him a few times.
I also met Louise Wener from Sleeper at the first ever Port Eliot Festival.
She writes books now.
It's hard to believe that no-one is really into Bennet, Whitetown, Monaco or Sleeper anymore.

After 'Shine 10' there was a Best of Shine album released in 1996.
It pretty much featured everyone mentioned above, except Marion, Gene, Candyskins, Sleeper, Echobelly and rather surprisingly Menswear.
Luckily new bands like Seahorses, Embrace, Mansun & Republica had come along to replace the ageing Britpop originals.
It's hard to believe that no-one is really into Seahorses, Mansun or Republica anymore.

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

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......