Great poems, but wouldn't it be nice to see the Prince of Wales reciting poetry about Wales????
At least he's got a holiday cottage here. Sigh.
Friday, 23 January 2009
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
David Cameron fancies Gordon Brown
I know the House of Commons is just a place for a slanging match on par with the schoolyard taunts of 'nah nah na na nah', but David Cameron really seems to take it to a new level when having a go at old Gord.
Especially at the moment when the country is in the very real grip of a very frightening recession which seems to be tightening it's boney fingers day by day around all our purses.
Is it just me or is it time - on a day when unemployment in Briton reached nearly two million - to put aside the petty name calling and actually do something constructive?
People might not like Gordon, but at least he's getting his head down and trying to get on with job.
Or is it a case - Mr Cameron - that the lady doth protest too much?
Especially at the moment when the country is in the very real grip of a very frightening recession which seems to be tightening it's boney fingers day by day around all our purses.
Is it just me or is it time - on a day when unemployment in Briton reached nearly two million - to put aside the petty name calling and actually do something constructive?
People might not like Gordon, but at least he's getting his head down and trying to get on with job.
Or is it a case - Mr Cameron - that the lady doth protest too much?
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Obama stands for hope
When they ask me where I was the day Barack Hussein Obama was sworn in as American President I will - like many in the UK given that the time difference made it around 4pm in the afternoon - say I was in work.
Now this is not the most memorable of places to be, I think, as I watch him stumble through the oath; to be in work, how boring. I sit and wish I could be somewhere more memorable and glamorous for such a memorable and glamorous occasion.
Then I think about the credit crunch, and recession, and think how lucky I am to be in work at such a time. I think of all those who have been made redundant, I think of all those who cannot find work.
Americans have an annoying habit of hyping things up - can you ever imagine Gordon Brown being sworn in as Prime Minister outside Westminster admits such pomp and ceremony as adorned Capital Hill today?
But when you look beyond all the hype there is the feeling that something very real happened today. The air smells a little freer now - maybe. There is a little more hope in the world now - maybe.
Obama stands for hope, well I have hopes too. I hope he can deliver his promises, I hope he can fulfil his pledges. But more than this, for the first time in a long time, I have hope that the most powerful man in the world will make some real changes.
Now this is not the most memorable of places to be, I think, as I watch him stumble through the oath; to be in work, how boring. I sit and wish I could be somewhere more memorable and glamorous for such a memorable and glamorous occasion.
Then I think about the credit crunch, and recession, and think how lucky I am to be in work at such a time. I think of all those who have been made redundant, I think of all those who cannot find work.
Americans have an annoying habit of hyping things up - can you ever imagine Gordon Brown being sworn in as Prime Minister outside Westminster admits such pomp and ceremony as adorned Capital Hill today?
But when you look beyond all the hype there is the feeling that something very real happened today. The air smells a little freer now - maybe. There is a little more hope in the world now - maybe.
Obama stands for hope, well I have hopes too. I hope he can deliver his promises, I hope he can fulfil his pledges. But more than this, for the first time in a long time, I have hope that the most powerful man in the world will make some real changes.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Goodbye Woolworths
In the wake of the closure this week of the last remaining Woolworths shops there has been an upsurge of comment pieces and articles in the media bemoaning a "world without Woolies" and asking if Britain will ever be the same without the (nearly) 100-year-old high street favourite.
It's just lazy writing from lazy journalists trying to get on the Woolies bandwagon (and I can say that without the slightest hint of irony because, well, because this is my blog).
And while I am saddened at this latest high-profile totem victim of the credit crunch, and despair even more at the loss of so many jobs, I can't quite understand the thinking behind all of these Woolies 'obituaries'.
If the shop was that dam good in the first place we would all still shop there and it wouldn't be closing.
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Strictly speaking
I would like to congratulate whichever PR spin doctor came up with the idea of hashing up the votes for the final of that ballroom dancing game show on the BBC.
Until last week I couldn't have named you a single contestant, told you how the show worked (other than it's people dancing - but I wasn't 100% sure it wasn't on ice-skates), or what night of the week it's on.
Now, thanks to the 'voting debacle', it's been on the news and in the newspapers and everything and has been publicised to the sort of people who have better things to do on a Saturday night than watch the goggle box.
A PR campaign very well executed.
Until last week I couldn't have named you a single contestant, told you how the show worked (other than it's people dancing - but I wasn't 100% sure it wasn't on ice-skates), or what night of the week it's on.
Now, thanks to the 'voting debacle', it's been on the news and in the newspapers and everything and has been publicised to the sort of people who have better things to do on a Saturday night than watch the goggle box.
A PR campaign very well executed.
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
New look, same old story
So the latest paper to get a new-look design make over is the Metro. Spewing multi-colour and shaded lines all over the place.
Is this to make it look more like a website? Although that seems to be still mostly blue and red.
I don't know how the Metro is fairing these days - I know I'd still rather read it that some of the dross being put out by local news groups.
Plus the Metro is free so can afford it's revamp.
For those who don't know, ailing paper's usually try to recoup losses by;
a) sacking as many staff as they can legally get away with
b) making those journalists who are left do twice as much work
c) redesign the paper
d) make the folio smaller so there's less work to be done - but also less news in the paper
e) when they've re-hashed the look of the paper, reduced the staffing levels to the point where the remaining staff are all off with stress and taken half the pages out, they charge more for paper!!
And then they sit back in their big cheese offices and wonder why the industry is struggling.
Is this to make it look more like a website? Although that seems to be still mostly blue and red.
I don't know how the Metro is fairing these days - I know I'd still rather read it that some of the dross being put out by local news groups.
Plus the Metro is free so can afford it's revamp.
For those who don't know, ailing paper's usually try to recoup losses by;
a) sacking as many staff as they can legally get away with
b) making those journalists who are left do twice as much work
c) redesign the paper
d) make the folio smaller so there's less work to be done - but also less news in the paper
e) when they've re-hashed the look of the paper, reduced the staffing levels to the point where the remaining staff are all off with stress and taken half the pages out, they charge more for paper!!
And then they sit back in their big cheese offices and wonder why the industry is struggling.
Monday, 1 December 2008
Twas the Night Before Xmas
I know it's a tad early for festive celebrations, but as it's the 1st December I think I can (just about) get away with this.
If anyone is familiar with the traditional seasonal poem Twas The Night Before Christmas here is an alternative version.
WARNING: Contains language not suitable for young children.
'Twas The Night Before Xmas
'Twas the night before Xmas and the kids wouldn't sleep,
Mamma was upstairs wrapping an Action Man jeep.
Pillowcases had been left out at the end of the bed,
In the hope of a visit from that big man in red.
The plastic has been buzzing all through December
And they were well in the red as the fire turned to ember
It had to be put out so Santa could come,
Not a hint of credit to poor dad and mum.
The little brats were all hyper on chocolates and candy,
Leaving papa in his kerchief sipping the end of the brandy.
A Christmas seemingly so perfect, but still papa laments,
Because he knows for this day there are still 12 more weekly payments!
The WII's second-hand, he sighs, and the Tardis is fake,
"There as much ours as a bloody snow flake."
When out in the back yard there arose such a din
He sprang from his chair to see what was occurring'.
He pulled on his crocks and his superman t-shirt,
"Keep still," he told Mamma, "someone's gonna get hurt."
When what to his wondering eyes should he see,
But the chav family next door nicking someone's Christmas tree.
There were half in the yard, and busy them all,
Eight of them pulling the tree up over the wall.
With a little hoody leader so lively and quick
Papa shouted, "Oi leave it or I'm calling the nick."
"Now dickhead, now knob, now idiot and twat,
"I'm not going to let you ruin someone's Christmas like that!"
But then in a twinkling, papa heard in the flat,
The prancing and pouring of another little prat.
Who was busy in the living room while he'd been making a fuss
Nicking the wide-screen and the brand new sky plus!
His eyes how they twinkled with criminal intent,
His cheeks were flushed as to the window he bent,
Dressed all in kappa, from his head to his toe,
His hoody still wet from the Christmas eve snow.
The stump of a rollie was held tight in his gob,
As this little hoody hoodlum set out on the rob.
He had a spotty face and his legs shook like jelly,
As he walked to the window with their flat-screen telly.
He spoke not a word, but gave papa a wink,
The little shit was taking everything but the kitchen sink!
After he'd finished his work with the nimble speed of an elf,
Papa cried out in fear, in spite of himself.
"Don't take the presents," he pleaded in fight,
As the little bugger ran off into the night.
He sprang over the fence, and to his team gave his a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
So papa exclaimed, 'ere he refilled his glass,
"Christmas is it? Merry Christmas my arse!"
If anyone is familiar with the traditional seasonal poem Twas The Night Before Christmas here is an alternative version.
WARNING: Contains language not suitable for young children.
'Twas The Night Before Xmas
'Twas the night before Xmas and the kids wouldn't sleep,
Mamma was upstairs wrapping an Action Man jeep.
Pillowcases had been left out at the end of the bed,
In the hope of a visit from that big man in red.
The plastic has been buzzing all through December
And they were well in the red as the fire turned to ember
It had to be put out so Santa could come,
Not a hint of credit to poor dad and mum.
The little brats were all hyper on chocolates and candy,
Leaving papa in his kerchief sipping the end of the brandy.
A Christmas seemingly so perfect, but still papa laments,
Because he knows for this day there are still 12 more weekly payments!
The WII's second-hand, he sighs, and the Tardis is fake,
"There as much ours as a bloody snow flake."
When out in the back yard there arose such a din
He sprang from his chair to see what was occurring'.
He pulled on his crocks and his superman t-shirt,
"Keep still," he told Mamma, "someone's gonna get hurt."
When what to his wondering eyes should he see,
But the chav family next door nicking someone's Christmas tree.
There were half in the yard, and busy them all,
Eight of them pulling the tree up over the wall.
With a little hoody leader so lively and quick
Papa shouted, "Oi leave it or I'm calling the nick."
"Now dickhead, now knob, now idiot and twat,
"I'm not going to let you ruin someone's Christmas like that!"
But then in a twinkling, papa heard in the flat,
The prancing and pouring of another little prat.
Who was busy in the living room while he'd been making a fuss
Nicking the wide-screen and the brand new sky plus!
His eyes how they twinkled with criminal intent,
His cheeks were flushed as to the window he bent,
Dressed all in kappa, from his head to his toe,
His hoody still wet from the Christmas eve snow.
The stump of a rollie was held tight in his gob,
As this little hoody hoodlum set out on the rob.
He had a spotty face and his legs shook like jelly,
As he walked to the window with their flat-screen telly.
He spoke not a word, but gave papa a wink,
The little shit was taking everything but the kitchen sink!
After he'd finished his work with the nimble speed of an elf,
Papa cried out in fear, in spite of himself.
"Don't take the presents," he pleaded in fight,
As the little bugger ran off into the night.
He sprang over the fence, and to his team gave his a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
So papa exclaimed, 'ere he refilled his glass,
"Christmas is it? Merry Christmas my arse!"
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