There’s a bad man out there. His name is ‘H6’ and you’ll recognise him instantly because he’ll be walking around with a blurred face. He suffers from ‘chronic redaction disease’ but hopefully this week he’ll be cured and we can all learn what he looks like. Though we’re unlikely to see him over here because – Read More-
Richard played the guitar. He never won a Grammy. But he did achieve something which Bob Dylan didn’t, nor The Beatles, even Taylor Swift or Beyoncé. He won the talent contest at the Gants Hill Odeon, Saturday Morning Pictures, in about 1965. Saturday morning pictures was method for unloading noisy, destructive children into institutional care – Read More-
The eulogy. Richard Lawrence Conway was born in 1953. In 1958 he saved my life. After I’d had a fit of ‘terrible two-ness’ our saintly mother hooked my walking ‘reins’ over a garden gate and walked away. Leaving me. Possibly to a life of post-Dickensian alms houses, to the fate of a Fagin, who knows? – Read More-
The funniest thing about Syria is that Bashar al Assad is an ophthalmologist. Trained at no less than Moorfields Eye Hospital. You wouldn’t necessarily go to him to have your cataracts sorted, or with a glaucoma issue, but if you needed 20,000 people murdered, he’s your man. If you need a few Kurds bombed out – Read More-
I note that this is one of my favourite titles for my postings. Because I like changes. And I like David Bowie. And right now, although unfortunately there is no change in Bowie’s status (alas he’s still dead), the world is shape-shifting once more. France is crumbling. Arrogant, obnoxious tosser, Michel Barnier, the by now – Read More-
The problem is cows. Lots of them. They are basically machines for turning grass into milk and steak. I know, that’s not a very vegan attitude, but I’m not really very vegan. I’m more ‘the anti-vegan!’ And I know cows can look lubberly and cudderwy, but basically they are my food chain and I want – Read More-
Aggghhhhh, Greggy, Greggy, Greggy. What we gonna do wiv you? You’se got’cha’self in a whole heap a trouble now, we gotta get’cher out of it. That’s what I says to him on Sunday. So Gregg says: ok, maybe if I just issue, like, a standard, blanket apology, ya know, ‘sorry if I offended, blah, blah, – Read More-
Well, it could be worse. I could be a Man City fan. I could be Gregg Wallace. I could be a protester in Georgia. Not the US state of Georgia, I don’t think they’re likely to want to join the European Union at this time, but the country of Georgia. Near Russia. Bit too near – Read More-
“GOT’CHA LUVVERLY TSATSUMAS, PERND’A’PERND. WE GOT BANANAS, ORINGIZ’N’ GRAPES. DON’ TOUCH THAT, LOV, I DON’ KNOW WHERE YA BEEN. GRANNY SMIFFS!!! 90p A PERND. ‘ERE; WHERE YA GET DEM, DARLIN’? DON’ GET MANY’A DEM TO DA PERND, DO YA????. YA WAN SOMINK JUICY’N’SWEET DO YA? COME RARND DA BACK DEN, HHHHAAAAAA!!!!!” Greg Wallace was a – Read More-
Tomorrow we get to vote. On ‘assisted dying’. Whether our nation-state becomes complicit in murder (if you’re a Catholic/Christian/anti-abortionist/Hassidic Jew/devout anything) or whether it allows people the freedom to choose their time of death when there is absolutely no hope and staying alive only adds pain, suffering and loss of dignity (if you’re me). Or – Read More-