Archive for the ‘Random ramblings’ Category

I wonder..

Saturday, October 7th, 2017

Are there any Catalans that shop at Matalan?

What happened?

Saturday, June 4th, 2016

I looked you up on Faceweb. You used to be the first pick on Kiss Chase. When we were 8. All the girlies swooned when you caught them. You were the dark-eyed lothario of Mrs O’Brien’s Class. And she always seemed to like you more than the rest of us. I remember you as a beautiful boy. Now you are bald, podgy, wrinkled and live in Australia with your second wife who appears to smoke more than you do.

I looked you up on Faceweb. You were my best mate for a few years. A change of school did for our friendship. We used to look at your dodgy mag collection in the park. Our dads got on too ( I wonder if they had a similar arrangement? ) Now you look like Captain Birdseye and appear to have several grandchildren but no grandma to share the joy. I missed you for ages but I don’t think we’d get on now. I like to remember your straightforward, openly lustful and incredibly practical younger self.

I looked you up on Faceweb. I didn’t really know you at school very well but we were in the same circles. You always struck me as slightly psychopathic – an air of menace surrounded you. Now you are an eighteen stone bodybuilder with a boyfriend who works as a fashion buyer for a department store. You look good in speedos. Sadly you appear to know this because all of your Faceweb photos are of you in speedos. Apart from the one of your poodle.

I looked you up on Faceweb. You are Faceweb Friends with my former housemate. And my former best mate – the one with all the money and the semi-fame. He is Faceweb friends with all of you – our gang, apart from me. You fancied me like mad and I think we might have ended up together. Now you live in Australia with your husband and children and appear to have created the perfect Aussie suburban lifestyle. You look the same as when I last saw you twenty years ago. I do not.

I looked you up on Faceweb. You were my former housemate. You appear to have pursued the politically correct pathway you craved. You were damaged when I knew you. It ended badly. You resented me somehow, even though I did my best to help you. You took liberties with our friendship. I did not like that. You probably knew. You shut down and moved out. Now you look happy. Well done.

I looked you up on Faceweb. You were posing with your wife, both of you dressed to the nines ready for a night out at the casino. You appear to live in a thirties semi with artexed walls and a fishpond in the garden about 3 miles from where you used to live. When we were 10. Your wife looks much younger than you but it is clear that she looks after herself. You seem very happy. You are a grandad. You look like you could be my grandad. What happened? I hope you are OK – you were always a nice chap and you appear still to be so. Well done.

I looked you up on Faceweb. When I knew you, you were what I would now describe as a sleazy sex-obsessed nutter. You were pretty thick and used to threaten me and my mates quite a lot. We kept our distance but you always seemed to turn up. At the next desk. In the queue for dinner. Sitting behind us at assembly. So you could kick our arses through the canvas chair seats. We loathed you. Now you are a dead spit for Les Battersby. You even have orange hair, even though you used to be blond. What happened?

I looked you up on Faceweb. You are not on Faceweb. You are, though, on Google. You are dead. You were a disturbed boy. Many of us were pretty scared of you. I hope you are at peace.

I looked you up on Faceweb. You are not on Faceweb. You are, though, on Google. You have a flashy website. You are fat and much uglier, even than you used to be. You have a lot of money and live in Canada. Your website is full of bragging self-aggrandisements. It is clear what happened. You carried on doing what you always did and now you are rich, fat and ugly in Canada.

I looked you up on Faceweb. You are not on Faceweb – well not in a full blown Faceweb; you are sort of there but there is very little of you there. People might search for you but they would be hard-pressed to know whether it was you given that three other people with the same name and details matching some of yours live in the same town. That’s probably the best we can hope for – if ‘Les Battersby’ should come a’looking when he finds out about the real reason he got arrested.

A day of removing BluTak

Tuesday, August 25th, 2015

Finally, the course I have been longing for. I’d have preferred a week’s duration as just a day of  exploring BluTak removal may not be quite enough to satiate my needs. However, it is free of charge and in a spiffing venue too, so a gentleman should not complain.

Email morons

Tuesday, July 1st, 2014

*Blows dust off of blog*


I was one of the early ones. Those who got wind of something new and different and signed up even before they restricted sign-ups to ‘by invitation only’.  My ‘real name’ domain name had long gone. Snapped up by some cybersquatting bar steward who’s sat on it for more than 10 years without doing anything with it aside from trying to sell it to me for forty thousand dollars. You have to be fast in cyberspace, the prime spots go cyberfast. My gmail address is pretty special; it could only be me.  All the others have to add a number to their names or mix up the characters when they sign up. Only I get to be me.

This was all well and good for the first few years. Slowly but surely, gmail has signed up thousands more of my namesakes, each of whom has had to choose a little addendum to make their gmail address unique.  At first the mistakes seemed quite interesting; “Hi XXXX – remember me? We met at *bar in remote foreign city I have never visited* – fancy meeting up?”  Now, email abounds with pork luncheon meat (meet?) like this, but this is not spam – this is the real deal. A real person in *remote foreign city I have never visited* is sincerely and genuinely sending an email to that fanciable chap with the same name as me hoping for a hook up.  The only problem is that they are using the wrong gmail address. They forgot to add the little bit on the end that would get their message to Mr Gorgeous and not Mr Absolutely Gorgeous But Fed Up of Getting Duff Gmails From Strangers; AKA: me. Next came the subscription to The List From Which There Is No Escape. Somebody with my name is a member of the residents association of a small community of luxury properties in a far flung corner of The Empire. For five years I have been receiving monthly updates on the petty, backstabbing and politically manipulative goings-on in this “idyllic place”, proving that the rich and not-famous are just as vile and scheming as the rest of us.  It was actually quite interesting being on the The List From Which There Is No Escape, albeit in a dull sort of way.  They had me hooked after the dog fouling episode outside Mr Huge-Wonga’s mansion and the ensuing twelve months of passive aggressive recriminations in the form of Association Meeting Minutes that attempted to steer a line between a factual record of discussions and a badly disguised condemnation of Mrs Enormous-Pile’s habit of leaving her two Pekingese off the leash (against community regulations) when out and about in the early morning paradisical sunshine. In fairness, I tried clicking the ‘unsubscribe’ link in their messages but whoever had set up The List From Which There Is No Escape had failed to set up the escape route. So I kept getting the updates until recently. I’ll never know now what became of the plan to erect passive aggressive signs next to the community playground and whether they might have succeeded in getting the Enormously-Fertile’s to control their prolific offspring’s vocalisations echoing around the community at “all hours” tut tut.

Sadly, the soap opera component of gmail misaddressing has been far outweighed by the moron component.  These are the individuals for whom email appears to be some sort of magic, the rules of which they don’t fully grasp. There was the toastmaster who kept sending me snotty demands that I complete my training or he would strike me from the register of toastmasters. My protestations of non toastmasterdom where sneered at as ‘evasion tactics’ leading me to the conclusion that to be a toastmaster requires submission to a cult of discipline similar to that of the Ninja.  The estate agent who sent me a demand for back rent and refused to believe that I was not the XXXX who had done a bunk with the fixtures and fittings, jeopardising my deposit. My deposits in his inbox were dismissed with a threatening sneer and an aggressive response to my suggestion that his failure to check his information reflected badly on his business. This, after the third erroneous email from him. I ended up filtering out his techno-crap so it goes straight to trash where it and he belongs.  One of my namesakes appears to have a child at an exclusive Irish school. Try as I might, I have been unable to stop them from sending me parents’ newsletters. Apparently they do not have the technical expertise in-house to remove my details from The System.  Today a fourth of July e-card arrived from Mom & Dad.  My polite response that I was not their son met with incredulity and a brief exchange of further messages in which they probe me to see if I might be lying about my parentage. I feel that there might be a book in this somewhere. I know Dave Gorman did his Thing but this is my Thing. I’m the only real one you see. I got there first. Only I could write this particular book.


Saturday, May 14th, 2011


Wednesday, September 8th, 2010

Pope on a rope

Another blow to my Pre-Papal-Vist-Prep is the news that Pope on a rope is ‘no longer available’ – drat.  With what am I now to cleanse my sinful soul and wash away unwanted  evil?  Maybe I’ll need to put in a special order for a bulk pack of Ratzinger.

State of the nation

Wednesday, August 11th, 2010

If you want to understand the contemporary values of our nation, one way might be to determine what is most interesting to those who like to idle away time looking at news website videos.

Lo and behold, I bring you today’s top five most watched videos on BBC News.

Top 5 most watched BBC News videos Fast food and violence. Yum yum.
Top 5 most watched BBC News videos Voyeurism and the promise of witnessing death and destruction. Yeah!
Top 5 most watched BBC News videos Fast moving traffic, voyeurism and the promise of witnessing death and destruction AND women – Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!
Top 5 most watched BBC News videos Bizarre B-movie voyeuristic destructo sensationalism.
Just the thing for a lunch break gosstopic.
Top 5 most watched BBC News videos Property. Hmm, maybe Sarah Beeny might feature…

All the people that come and go

Sunday, July 25th, 2010

Penny Lane

Did you know that the street named in the famous Beatles song, Penny Lane, was named after one James Penny? Did you know that James Penny, who died in 1799, was active in the slave trade until the American War of Independence and later took up the trade again when the war ended?  Furthermore, Penny spoke in defence of the slave trade to Parliament in 1788; he argued that abolition of the trade would destroy the economy of Liverpool;

“it would not only greatly affect the commercial interest, but also the landed property of the County of Lancaster and more particularly, the Town of Liverpool; whose fall, in that case, would be as rapid as its rise has been astonishing.”

Thankfully Penny was proved wrong, Liverpool survives still. A policy of changing the name of Liverpool streets associated with the slave trade deliberately excluded Penny Lane from the process. Like Penny, the city knows where its bread is buttered.

Dear Marje

Thursday, April 8th, 2010

Dear Marje

I’ve always been a big fan of certain high street store.
These are the things I like about them:

Good quality merchandise.
Good customer service.
Sexually suggestive adverts for food.
Wide selection of knickers in all capacities and configurations.
Gusset guarantee.
Individual foil wrapped delicious chocolate digestives that remind me of when I was 6.
Hand polished strawberries that taste of strawberry.
Soft bread for pensioners with no teeth (I am not one of them).
Employed Twiggy  when she was about to join Eastenders in desperation .
Nice Swiss chocolate in  bulk packs.
Giant photos of fish and chips next to the tills.

These are the things I don’t like about them:

Their Executive Chairman has revealed himself to be a raving Tory nutjob.

As a raving unreconstructed socialist loony leftie, I now feel the urge to boycott the store so as to make a protest against the unacceptable intrusion of politics into my underwear. The only trouble with this is that I would miss the chocolate. A lot.

What should I do Marje? As you were also a lifelong raving unreconstructed socialist loony leftie I’m sure you can help.

Yours drD

And we’re back

Thursday, February 18th, 2010

Farewell Blogger / Bloogle / Gloogle / Goggle or whatever you call yourself now. Thanks for the email telling me you were going to discontinue servicing my requirements due to being amazingly huge and indifferent to mere prawns such as I. I have logged off and bogged off from you for the last time. I wiped my feet on the way out.

Farewell Haloscan / Halitosis / Hall of Fame / Echobeach  or whatever you call yourself now. Thanks for the email telling me you were going to discontinue servicing my requirements due to being amazingly cheap and unwilling to be free anymore to mere prawns such as I. I have logged off and bogged off from you for the last time. I exported my bits on the way out but you didn’t supply any instructions on how to glue them back together again. I can’t say I blame you; you’ve obviously got a load of work on divesting yourself of freeloaders such as I once was.

Hello WordPress. I’m growing fonder by the moment. I feel somehow that we are going places together. You have given me so many buttons and things and widgets to play with. Somehow I feel more in control of my own destiny and less at the mercy of  the blogglecloud or the halistasisphere. This may be a delusion. I’ve probably already uploaded my DNA to the CIA without even realising. So silkily sexily smooth was your installation. I like you WordPress. You press my buttons baby.