The Obscurer

You can keep that one. It’s free. Well, it’s got to be better than “Between a Northern Rock and a hard place” and all the other similar, equally obvious and unimaginative headlines recently. But to be honest, I don’t want to talk about the current turmoil in the financial markets. I mean honestly; pensioners being criticised for being naïve as they take their life savings out of Northern Rock, while city institutions do the same thing with their money but without censure; laissez-faire, capitalism-red-in-tooth-and-claw-government-should-just-get-out-of-the-way free-marketeer types squealing for state intervention; it all seems beyond parody to me, but then fortunately I don’t really know what I’m talking about.

No, far better to simply announce, albeit late in the day, that we still have a few minutes left of…

…International Talk Like A Pirate Day! Quick quick, me hearties, there be not much time to go!

In my wildest dreams. Picture courtesy of the never-reliable “Camera Obscurer.”

Picture courtesy of the ever-reliable “House of Zamyatin.”

I really can’t get my head around email spam. I mean, why bother? What’s the point? I can understand why people try to hack into systems, spread computer viruses or engage in a bit of old fashioned fraud. Such people are wankers, but at least there is a reason for such twattishness, be it for financial benefit or mischievous pleasure. But sending out those emails that are full of badly translated gibberish that – even in the unlikely event that they get past the spam-blocker – are instantly deleted by all but the loneliest; what’s that all about?

But the spammers have really messed up this time. I’ve just received an email from my dear old never-known friend alaa Gionet who kindly writes

Hello quinn
want to fit into extra large condoms?

What a waste of time and effort. They’ve really picked on the wrong bloke here. Listen, I don’t mean to boast but I already can fit into extra large condoms; and with plenty of room to spare. I certainly don’t need any info on some bizarre knob diet, that’s for sure.

Remember me? Just a quick word to those who care to say that I’m back from my extended jaunt, where along the way I sampled many of the regional dishes of these fair isles; Cornish pasties (obviously), macaroni pies (ubiquitous in Scotland, seemingly) and Cumberland sausages (in butty form, following a sneaky trip to the Lakes for lunch on our way home). I am now approaching the size of house, whereas at the start of my break I was merely the size of a holiday cottage. Time to think about dieting. Again.

I’ll spare you the slide show. Not that we have too many pictures of golden beaches; we only got one really good week of sun out of the four we were away, but that’s fair enough if you are holidaying in Britain (that global warming we hear so damn much about can go and get a bloody move on). But I will show you just one picture, as a request for assistance.

I mean; what the blinking flip is this? We unwittingly received it from Burger King at Exeter services, where I bought a “Dark Whopper” for myself and a Spiderman meal for my son (the Dark Whopper was very average, but the description featured black pepper somewhere in it; my Achilles heel, and so the marketing men hauled me in like a grateful mackerel). So clearly it must be some character from the new Spiderman 3 movie; but what? And why has whatever it is been dismembered and put atop an HGV (where I think he is supposed to spin around as the vehicle moves forward, except the mechanism doesn’t seem to work)? Frankly I am as baffled as my son was scared. Answers on a seaside postcard please; or just uses the comments facility below.

Anyway; normal service will be resumed soon enough; i.e. I’ll probably write fuck all now for another few weeks. See you soon?