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Archive for November, 2008

2.5% VAT CUT!!

Fuck off!

Brown obviously thinks that if he says “I realise that the country is sliding down a deep, dark hole and many hundreds of you will shortly be fighting in the street for the last couple of remaining cleaning jobs but – OH! Look! A pretty shiny thing over there!” and then slinks quietly away in the other direction we’ll all be so excited by the shiny thing that we’ll forget our troubles, dance in the street and have the bestest Christmas ever!

This has to be one of the most insulting ‘measures’ our glorious leaders have ever hoisted on us. How about cutting my fucking income tax, or council tax, or any one of the 273 other taxes I currently pay.. in fact, anything EXCEPT a 2.5% cut in VAT would do. Bastards.

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Horses Arses

On Sunday I met a horse. Although I live in the country and there are riding schools/stables and farms dotted all around the place I rarely interact with horses. To be honest, they’re a bit of an enigma to me, I find I can’t read them at all. With cats and dogs there’s usually some obvious body language so you can be fairly certain if there’s going to be an unpleasant scratching or biting incident – but horses just kind of look at you, and rub their noses against you, look at you again, nibble your clothes a bit, look at you, look away, look at you and WHAM! : there’s a hoof print across your forehead and the last thing you ever hear is a bemused whinnying as a horse looks at you a bit and wonders why you’re lying down, bleeding. This is my perception because I usually hear “Oh he’s fine, he’s very well behaved but just DON’T STAND BEHIND HIM!” Thus, I have developed a morbid fear of horses arses.

This particular horse is called Jake and his owner understands horses, for which I salute her. She rides every week and recently spent a couple of weeks riding across Idaho, driving cattle (where’s the steering wheel on a cow, anyway?). I don’t mind horses, but can’t say I am particularly excited by them and certainly couldn’t eat a whole one.

On this occasion Jake was indeed very well-behaved but totally unreadable as usual. he looked at me a lot, nibbled my coat trying to get at a packet of polos that I didn’t even know I had in my pocket, but was otherwise, er, a horse.

I have no idea how good his kick is, I didn’t stand behind him…

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My Old Man

Today’s the 22nd anniversary of the day my Dad decided to shuffle off this mortal coil, join the choir invisibule etc etc. He is an ex-father, he has ceased to be. He was actually a bloody good father, at least I’ve always thought so, but then I only ever had the one so I am fairly biased. And I still miss him.

Next mini-obituary – same place, same time next week folks…

This one’s for you, old man…

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terday wos very suny and worm and nise so i tuk mi dogg calld mr jasper for a wallk. coz it woz so nise i went in to the feelds and ther wus a man with too big yello doggs. mr jasper iz qwite smal but he has lotz of mussels but wen wun ov the bigg doggs chased hym he woz scared. the bigg dogg had all his teeth owt and evrything and wos making nastie noizes and mr jasper ran into me and triped me over. i falled over and it wos all into the mudd and icky stuf and poo poos from cows bottums. the man helpd me to get up but he wos funy and didunt let goe ov my arm for a long time and keeped sayin ar yoo alrite a lot. i wos alrite becos actshly it wos kwite funy and later on i did laff a bit cos i lookd funy with all mudd on me and stuf. th end.

i lyk this it is wun of mi favritt singingz .. –

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Bloody Students

Some recent media piffle has reminded me of when I was a student and myself and a mate skived off one afternoon to go to my house and make a bunch of prank phone calls.

At the time we were of the opinion that walking through the centre of town making loud chicken noises was endearingly amusing to passers-by. In fact we were insufferable twits.

The calls we made were in no way belligerent or threatening. I was a bit rubbish and resorted to finding people in the phone book with silly names and just being a twat at them. My friend, however, could seriously think on his feet and one of the calls was to a local Geest Banana factory where he asked to be put through to the personnel dept and then offered his services as a banana translator. The poor woman on the end of the line was at first confused, then she started giggling which really opened the floodgates to his weird sense of humour. By the end of the call the woman was in absolute hysterics as he cooly gave examples of different banana dialects and explained that his services were usually very much in demand. The call ended very politely and he totally made that woman’s afternoon. I still have it on cassette somewhere, must dig it out and convert it to mp3 someday.

Of course, when my mother received her next phone bill the shit hit the fan with some ferocity, I had nievely overlooked the possibility of being caught!

And do you know – we never took drugs in those days and could get completely bladdered on a couple of pints of cider and a pernod and black. Pims was an old ladies drink, malibu was laughable and nobody touched vodka, how things change eh? (Strangely we are now middle aged and will happily consume whatever narcotic substances we can get hold of… so much for responsibility coming with age…)

And we can both still do alarmingly accurate chicken impersonations. Hmm, I feel an afternoon of prank phone calls coming on…

 

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