The Obscurer

Category: Fimbles

Humbug

Well, Christmas is almost here and I can’t be bothered to write my lengthy-ish seasonal post after all; shopping and wrapping have taken up too much of my time.
So nothing about my trip into Manchester the other week wandering around the Christmas markets, where I saw the strange sign “Wanted – temporary staff for Christmas market stall” (are there really vacancies there for permanent staff?); how calling a member off the bar staff in Sinclair’s Oyster Bar a “wanker” may have resulted in me getting better service; or how much fun we had looking at the prices in Harvey Nichols (£2.50 for a standard pack of dried spaghetti? how much better can it be than the 40p stuff in Morrisons? And £4.95 for a normal sized bar of chocolate, albeit spotted dick flavoured?). No, none of that.

Nothing about it being the time of year when people seriously consider drinking Old Tom, a stupidly potent winter ale (once called a barley wine in a previous incarnation) from our local Stockport brewer Robinson’s, which a mate of mine once judged from the pump clip logo (left) must be “so strong it will give your cat a stroke”. No time to tell you that.

What about carols? I can’t spare a moment to tell you how much I like them, how superior I feel they are to hymns, that all the best Christian tunes seem to have been held back for this time of year; so it is a shame that no one has told the kids round my way that looking surly and shouting “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” isn’t really carol singing in the traditional sense, and won’t make me part with any money.

As for fact that there is only one thing I really dislike about Christmas, and that is all those people who moan about how much they hate Christmas, and talk bollocks about the way we are blackmailed and guilt-tripped into taking part (which just isn’t the case), there is simply no way I can find the time to go into that.

In fact, all I think I can do is wish you all a Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year, and I will probably see you next in 2006. Cheers.

Walls

Why is this post entitled Walls? There may be a number of reasons. Perhaps it is because one summer, a few years ago, I had the pleasure of working for Unilever at their Wall’s factory in Hyde. I still like to recall that, like Chris Waddle, I used to work in a sausage factory. A few things from that period stick in my mind; the exemplary level of hygiene in the food areas of the plant which was hugely impressive and commendable; the mind boggling amount of waste and inefficiency there, unrivalled by any of my subsequent or previous employers; and most memorably the way that pork sausage wastage was swept up off the floor and fed to the pigs, a fact which still turns my stomach (although I have no idea whether this practice still goes on). But as interesting (or not) as these observations are, the title of this post is Walls plural, not Wall’s with a possessive apostrophe, so there must be some other reason.

Perhaps it is an allusion to prison walls, and therefore a reference to the recent government defeat in its terror bill which sought to allow the police to hold suspects for 90 days without charge? But that is a tenuous link, and anyway it is old news now and I have little to add to the debate. There seemed to be a three line whip across the blogosphere with almost everyone (barring the usual pro-Blair suspects) opposing the new legislation, and I am certainly not going to step out of line. To the best of my knowledge, not one person detained for the full 14 days under the current legislation has had to be released without charge so I cannot see a reason for any extension whatsoever, and I think we got the right result. Admirable as it was, though, for 49 Labour MPs to oppose the bill, that still leaves a lot of sycophantic sheep who voted for something you cannot imagine they would have supported had it been proposed by a Tory government, but we are well used to that by now; like the pigs at the end of Animal Farm, the Labour leadership long ago became almost indistinguishable from the previous masters. More surprising was all the Conservative MPs voting against a measure they would have gladly passed when they were in power. I felt certain the 90 day extension would get through because of some Tory defectors, but thankfully, on this occasion, party politics won out over conscience. It is odd though; a generation of first time voters could grow up viewing the Conservatives as staunch defenders of civil liberties. They’ll get a hell of a shock should they ever gain power.

I didn’t comment on the terror bill at the time because I was away on a short break in York; that famous walled city, and hence another likely reason for the title of this post. We were housed in a Travelodge to the south of the city, just along from Fishergate Bar, site of the only remaining barbican in England, and we had a fantastic time. I didn’t really know what to expect from York before I went, perhaps that it was a similar place to Chester, which I love; but it surpassed any expectations I’d had and knocked Chester into a cocked hat. I think I could spend the rest of my life just wandering around the ancient streets such as Shambles and Stonegate, enjoying a quiet pint in a cosy old tavern like Ye Olde Starre Inne, or demolishing a bottle of red in a modern bar like The Capital with its views across the River Ouse. York is now jostling with Prague and Edinburgh for the coveted third place in my list of favourite cities in the world (Barcelona being first, with London in second place; at the moment). In case you haven’t guessed, I loved it, and recommend it.

When we got home from York we dumped our stuff and set off for the Trafford Centre, for a meal at Cathay Dim Sum with my sister-in-law and her husband, a pleasant way to eke out our holiday. Great food and service, as ever. Then, when we got home and pulled onto our drive, we discovered that our garden wall had been kicked over; the fourth and most compelling reason for the title of this post. Our good humour crashed down like a ton of bricks. The wall was not quite as historic as the famous ones in York; it was just 2 weeks old and replaced the previous wall that had been pushed down only a month before. Bastards bastards bastards. As a gut reaction I briefly thought about extending police powers, or even taking the law into my own hands; but only briefly. I don’t know who is responsible and if I pick a likely suspect there is every chance I may get the wrong person. Even if I do find the guilty party and administer the proverbial clip round the ear that is unlikely to be the end of it; (over) reacting on the basis of a blind if justifiable fury may just mean that the people who are currently only kicking over my wall will start throwing bricks through my windows. It is likely to only make the current situation worse; and I think there is probably a lesson in there, somewhere.

Laud Nelson

This is my first post for over a fortnight, and I don’t really have any excuses for my absence. I have been a bit busy, but not that busy. Inspiration has been lacking, and when I have come up with a few ideas in relation to news stories and posts on other blogs, by the time I’ve got around to trying to write them they had become far from topical, so I haven’t bothered and they have bitten the dust. Also, I have thought of some brilliant posts to write whilst drunk, only to discover in the morning when sober that they are utter shit. So you have probably had a few lucky escapes there.

The erratic nature of my postings is likely to continue for a while as I have got a few short breaks planned over the next few weeks. It’s York at the start of November, taking advantage of Travelodge’s absurd deal of £26 a night for a family room; but for tomorrow the boy will be deposited at his Grandparents’, and my wife and I are off for a two night stay in Chipping Norton, “gateway to the Cotswolds”, apparently (although considering the size of the Cotswolds, I suspect it can be considered just one of a number of gateways). It will be our first nights away from our son for a good few months, and yet from previous experience our love for him will dominate the conversation during our stay. The reason for our trip? We have vouchers for a free room (subject to conditions) in a number of hotels throughout the UK, including The Crown And Cushion, handily placed halfway between the touristy meccas of Oxford and Stratford-upon-Avon; and it is also the fifth anniversary of our engagement (well, any excuse really).

Yes, I fancy a quiet break away from things, but the other day in the pub I saw a poster that suggested my anticipated tranquillity may be breached; for it appears that today, tomorrow and Sunday constitute “Trafalgar Weekend”, and we are all invited to celebrate the Battle of Trafalgar by attending our local public house to partake in a pissy pint of lager or two, along with a pack of those weird Nobby’s Smokey Bacon coated nuts; or the food and drink of your choice I suppose.

Let’s celebrate the day of the battle itself if we must, but a whole weekend in the pub? That seems a bit odd, although no odder than those official celebrations in June this year which were presumably to mark the 199¾ anniversary of the event. The last thing I want is gangs of rural louts roaming around Chipping Norton High Street, singing sea shanties and punching French and Spanish passers-by; it could quite put one of one’s Tournedos Rossini in the hotel restaurant (Oh yes; Tournedos Rossini! I’m going to push the boat out a bit this weekend (no joke intended)).

I guess we will be alright though; I don’t think many people will be commemorating the battle in quite the way the pub chain’s marketeers would like (although you can’t fault them for trying). I suspect most people will think that celebrating Nelson’s ultimate battle by going to the pub on Sunday afternoon, 200 years and 2 days after that historic moment, is a faintly ridiculous idea; although perhaps no more ridiculous that celebrating your engagement anniversary when you are in your fourth year of marriage.

A Cross Post

(cross posted at Biased BBC)

Not content with sometimes showing Muslims in a fair light, rather than portraying every last one of them as the evil jihadists we know them to be, the BBC has now decided to try to rehabilitate the failed doctrine of communism; and what’s more, to target pre-school children in their despicable plan.

How else can you explain the new segment Summerton Mill in the children’s programme Tikkabilla? For there, in an animated feature that purports to be a simple tale of rural nostalgia, you will find a cat, called Mao Tse-tung! This character is depicted as a sleepy and somewhat benign figure; a far cry from the former ruler of communist China, responsible for the Cultural Revolution and complicit in the deaths of millions through famine. Furthermore, is it any coincidence that the cow in the show is called Francois? Named after Francois Mitterand, former socialist president of France, no doubt. I have yet to work out a leftist connection for the main character of Dan, or the dog Fluffer, but I’ll bet they’re there somewhere, and given a few hours spent in my darkened room in a twisted rage I will come up with something.

It must all seem so very amusing to the metropolitan Marxists in their ivory towers at Broadcasting House, as they plot new ways to indoctrinate our youth and spread their pervasive plans for a communist international. Realising that they have been thwarted time and again by the keen eyes of Biased BBC as we battle their worldview across the adult media, they have decided to switch tactics and get at our children. Who was it said “give me the child at two and by screening BBC propaganda I will show you a communist as an adult”? Actually, I’m not sure anyone has ever said that, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Well tough, BBC, because we have spotted your game, and we will fight. And win!

To make matters worse, Summerton Mill appears to have replaced Bonny, Banana and Mo, which was my bestest, most favourite part of Tikkabilla. Just what do I pay my license fee for?* In fact if I wasn’t secretly in love with presenter Sarah-Jane Honeywell I wouldn’t bother watching Tikkabilla at all anymore.

* I don’t actually pay my license fee, being so old and curmudgeonly that I get one for free, but if I did have to pay then I wouldn’t anyway, as a protest against the Biased Broadcasting Corporation and their unfair telly-tax, which you have to pay regardless of whether you watch the BBC or not, although I do, a lot. But you get my point.

Update 26/9/05: A big thank you to whoever nominated this post for inclusion in Tim Worstall’s latest BritBlog Round-Up. It is nice to know that I struck a cord (chord?) with someone, and that there are others out there equally frustrated by the BBC’s one-eyed prejudice!

Clan Did Know!

In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t really have either the time or (more importantly) the inclination just now to write anything on this blog. There just seem to be more important things to be getting up to at the moment.

Such as spending a glorious day at Llandudno, for example, where the accompanying picture of my son was taken. It sure beats sitting at a computer, bashing out a post, I can tell you.

So, until inspiration hits me, and I come up with another derivative post where I repeat myself once again original, intelligent and well observed post, I will leave you all with this image. See you soon…