Ancient legend has it that somewhere deep beneath Independent Towers, some 53 steps below the wine cellar, guarded by rabid dogs, you will find a vault.
And in this vault, so the legend goes, there are just the few remaining articles tucked safely away under dust. Articles with which to grab us by the bollocks, stare deep into our eyes and scare the crap out of us. Hand picked for those days when the war just doesn’t cut it any longer, when disease fails to arrive and when Global warming seems just a little bit tepid.
Sadly, the key was misplaced long ago. Blindfolded, the dart takes aim at the map.
‘Switzerland: Europe’s heart of darkness?’. Right, well thanks for that, now I know.
The Guardian is so desperate for this week to end. On the edge, we expect them to break at any moment. Throw enough mud in enough faces and surely some will stick; surely…
‘Foot and mouth reports blame drains at ‘shabby’ lab site’. Not the builders then, as someone may have suggested earlier in the week. Nor the cows, or the passing circus, the local tramp or the Polish.
No, this time the Guardian if confident. ‘Was probably spread by leaking drains’, ‘it’s now pretty clear’ that the outbreak started at the lab.
Cold hard facts are hard to dispute
‘Where’s the sex?’
My sentiments exactly Grandpa, my sentiments exactly.
‘Should the old lady do more to ease this crisis?’ Actually, I’d rather she didn’t if it’s all the same to you.
Times Head Boy is far too busy today. World Cup Rugger, hurrah!. What TVs were made for.
‘We should all cherish Ann Widdecombe’ (Independent). No Terrence Blacker, we shouldn’t.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3.
Friday 7 September 2007
Thursday 6 September 2007
06.09.07
We begin this morning, with the sad news that, whilst perhaps inevitable, still manages to extinguish just a little more hope from the world.
Yes, it has now been confirmed that the B52 bomber sent to fly across America has failed to drop its nuclear arsenal. We heave a heavy sigh………..
The revolution has not materialised.
What’s that you say? No foiled military coup to see here. No radical attempt to right a worldly wrong.
What do you mean it was a mistake? They’re nuclear warheads not head lice; can’t really carry them around unawares now can you.
‘As many as 6 nuclear warheads. Each with a destructive potential almost 10 times that of the Hiroshima bomb, were mistakenly flown across the US’ (Guardian)
Oh, it seems you can.
Of course everyone’s received a severe telling off as expected and ‘US air combat command has suspended all similar operations until September 14’.
What exactly happens on September 14 is still unclear.
It’s difficult to look any further a field than human error as the cause. Mistakes were made, checks missed. End of blame trail.
Apart from Head Boy of course who, never shy to point the finger, has started to wink and nudge a little bit in the general direction of another suspect. All the while whistling the Dam Busters tune.
‘A B52 bomber was mistakenly armed’, ‘the B52 took off’, ‘if the B52 had crashed’…….
‘The B52 was evasive in interrogation’, ‘the B52 has links to a number of terrorist networks’, ‘The B52 is from a broken family, has a god complex, wants to be infamous.’
That’s it Head Boy, say what you really think.
‘Popcorn addicts risk lethal lung condition’. Quick, urges the Independent, phone all your popcorn addict friends to warn them.
The Russian Bears are back, but fear not; Grandpa is up and out of bed. Yes he’s still in his slippers but don’t let that fool you. No time for complicated diction today folks,
‘Tornados scrambled to intercept Russian jets’.
Ever wondered how to stop an asteroid? I know I have. If only……….
‘How to stop an asteroid’. By Grandpa Telegraph.
Almost as if he’s reading my mind.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3.
Yes, it has now been confirmed that the B52 bomber sent to fly across America has failed to drop its nuclear arsenal. We heave a heavy sigh………..
The revolution has not materialised.
What’s that you say? No foiled military coup to see here. No radical attempt to right a worldly wrong.
What do you mean it was a mistake? They’re nuclear warheads not head lice; can’t really carry them around unawares now can you.
‘As many as 6 nuclear warheads. Each with a destructive potential almost 10 times that of the Hiroshima bomb, were mistakenly flown across the US’ (Guardian)
Oh, it seems you can.
Of course everyone’s received a severe telling off as expected and ‘US air combat command has suspended all similar operations until September 14’.
What exactly happens on September 14 is still unclear.
It’s difficult to look any further a field than human error as the cause. Mistakes were made, checks missed. End of blame trail.
Apart from Head Boy of course who, never shy to point the finger, has started to wink and nudge a little bit in the general direction of another suspect. All the while whistling the Dam Busters tune.
‘A B52 bomber was mistakenly armed’, ‘the B52 took off’, ‘if the B52 had crashed’…….
‘The B52 was evasive in interrogation’, ‘the B52 has links to a number of terrorist networks’, ‘The B52 is from a broken family, has a god complex, wants to be infamous.’
That’s it Head Boy, say what you really think.
‘Popcorn addicts risk lethal lung condition’. Quick, urges the Independent, phone all your popcorn addict friends to warn them.
The Russian Bears are back, but fear not; Grandpa is up and out of bed. Yes he’s still in his slippers but don’t let that fool you. No time for complicated diction today folks,
‘Tornados scrambled to intercept Russian jets’.
Ever wondered how to stop an asteroid? I know I have. If only……….
‘How to stop an asteroid’. By Grandpa Telegraph.
Almost as if he’s reading my mind.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3.
Wednesday 5 September 2007
05.09.07
We all knew it was coming, we’ve all seen the original and we all wept just a little bit. So it should come as no surprise to find the inevitable spin-off hotfooting its way towards a cinema near you.
‘Basra: The soldiers’ tales’ (Independent Productions) premieres later today. Critics are calling it a masterpiece, a triumph. It’s got it all; fear, loss, relief, heartbreak, animal cruelty………….
“I remember once a group of Bulldogs came under fire. I dived under one of them and there were rockets and mortars landing everywhere”. Says the only soldier in the world small enough to obtain sufficient cover from a dog. Or perhaps they’re giant bulldogs, genetically enhanced for warfare. Yes that’s much more likely.
Genetically enhanced, warrior bulldogs. Now that would be worth seeing.
(Yes, Bulldog in a term for an armoured vehicle. No animals were harmed during the making of this movie)
Also out this week we have the return of Chinese super spy ‘Titan Rain’.
The Guardian seems jumpy, maybe even a little nervous. Dressed immaculately as always in bright summer colours they smile. Cannot help but return the compliment, and damn it we feel better for seeing them. Yet beneath lies the fear and skittish ways of a newspaper on the edge. Desperately clawing at the newsreel for that one killer punch. Pilled up to the eyeballs, headlines descend into chaos.
‘Foot and mouth linked to builders’. That’s made up isn’t it; you’ve gone a bit ‘Daily Mail’ there haven’t you. Within two lines, the article has admitted the ‘exact cause is unlikely to be established’.
‘Please don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. There’s so much more to me, you’ll see’.
An intervention is planned for next week.
Oh and Mattel have gone off in a sulk, recalling 800,000 more Barbies (Times). Apparently no one would talk to him after last week’s ‘Ken’s got Lead’ incident. If he can’t play with them, neither can anyone else.
‘Yeti footprint photos go under the hammer’ reports Grandpa. As the world first conclusive evidence of the snowman’s existence goes on sale. ‘Yeti’, ‘footprint’, ‘photos’; no room for mistruths there then. Apparently any resemblance to a size 12 walking boot is purely coincidental.
Headline of the Day?
‘Hospital bans crocs’. About time too.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3.
‘Basra: The soldiers’ tales’ (Independent Productions) premieres later today. Critics are calling it a masterpiece, a triumph. It’s got it all; fear, loss, relief, heartbreak, animal cruelty………….
“I remember once a group of Bulldogs came under fire. I dived under one of them and there were rockets and mortars landing everywhere”. Says the only soldier in the world small enough to obtain sufficient cover from a dog. Or perhaps they’re giant bulldogs, genetically enhanced for warfare. Yes that’s much more likely.
Genetically enhanced, warrior bulldogs. Now that would be worth seeing.
(Yes, Bulldog in a term for an armoured vehicle. No animals were harmed during the making of this movie)
Also out this week we have the return of Chinese super spy ‘Titan Rain’.
The Guardian seems jumpy, maybe even a little nervous. Dressed immaculately as always in bright summer colours they smile. Cannot help but return the compliment, and damn it we feel better for seeing them. Yet beneath lies the fear and skittish ways of a newspaper on the edge. Desperately clawing at the newsreel for that one killer punch. Pilled up to the eyeballs, headlines descend into chaos.
‘Foot and mouth linked to builders’. That’s made up isn’t it; you’ve gone a bit ‘Daily Mail’ there haven’t you. Within two lines, the article has admitted the ‘exact cause is unlikely to be established’.
‘Please don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. There’s so much more to me, you’ll see’.
An intervention is planned for next week.
Oh and Mattel have gone off in a sulk, recalling 800,000 more Barbies (Times). Apparently no one would talk to him after last week’s ‘Ken’s got Lead’ incident. If he can’t play with them, neither can anyone else.
‘Yeti footprint photos go under the hammer’ reports Grandpa. As the world first conclusive evidence of the snowman’s existence goes on sale. ‘Yeti’, ‘footprint’, ‘photos’; no room for mistruths there then. Apparently any resemblance to a size 12 walking boot is purely coincidental.
Headline of the Day?
‘Hospital bans crocs’. About time too.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3.
Tuesday 4 September 2007
04.09.07
As David falls Goliath we cheer, we all cheer as the once great, unruly oppressor falls undignified at the feet of the little man, our little man. Little David, we are so proud, behind you all the way. Your motive and fear have captured our spirit so much so that even as this fearsome giant falls directly onto our homes, we cheer, we still cheer.
So what if our homes broken, we’ll build new ones. So what if our lives have been hindered, it matters not for tomorrow is another day. This day we see your cause as a just one and so will back you to the hilt.
That is what we do you see, for we are Londoners
Derek (for that is surely his name), is leading the London Underground network in protest. No longer shall they work under this iron fist, beaten, drained and desperate, they rise up, make a stand and clap great Goliath slap bang between the eyes. He will fall upon our livelihoods and we shall ask for nothing more than a worthy cause to hide behind. Go on Derek, stick it to the man!
‘What do we want?’ Assurances that no jobs will be cut or pensions lost at any time in the future. ‘When do we want it? Now!
Steady on there little man, that’s a bit vague. ‘At any time in the future’? You cant really demand that sort of thing, but then again what do we know, I bet conditions down in the pit are bloody terrible, cant even begin to imagine. We still believe in you Derek, if its lifetime assurance you want then you bloody well go and get it, London is right behind you.
“Both the mayor and the direct employers have given trade unions clear written assurances that meet all their concerns; namely that there will be no job cuts ……and no loss of pensions now at any time in the future” (Guardian)
Right so that’s all your demands met. Goliath it seems is a realist named Ken. Can we have our tube back now please?
3 days of Tube strike for no apparent reason. You may have got 2500 workers to whimper into a tissue Derek, but just you wait and see what a real ‘angry mob’ looks like.
If ever a party looked destined to bleed, it seems the conservatives might just edge it. Lost in a world of unknowns, poor little Tory Dave just doesn’t know where to turn. Forehead on a broom handle he’s just been spun 50 times. And now he’s forgotten the new rules (published this morning). Commons tactics seem to have buggered off out the window a long time ago. “Tory MPs sign up to PM’s ‘new politics” (Independent). Whilst no expert on the finer displays, surely a red bumper sticker is perhaps one compromise too far.
Fear not Tory Dave, tomorrow is yet another day and with it a new set of rules by which to play. Surely this dizzying red whirlwind will move on soon, leaving your thoughts to clear and regain their muster.
Maybe tomorrow.
Grandpa’s sat up in bed eating his Cheerios, shaking with fear. Curtains drawn, quilt tucked in tight, he has barely managed one sleepy moment, his dreams too full of fear. ‘The Chinese army is invading London. On September 13,’ so confident they name the date. Terracotta Grandpa, models. Please get dressed; the paper is lost without you. The dog barks a gunshot; Grandpa’s breakfast jumps to the floor.
Ever wondered what the Times Head Boy would call the school gardener once his affections had been repelled?
‘Unprincipled ruffian’ snorts Head Boy, lapels firmly gripped, nose proud with purpose. Some cover story regarding the Nazis and an Argentinean submarine, but we don’t really want to read that now do we? No.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3.
So what if our homes broken, we’ll build new ones. So what if our lives have been hindered, it matters not for tomorrow is another day. This day we see your cause as a just one and so will back you to the hilt.
That is what we do you see, for we are Londoners
Derek (for that is surely his name), is leading the London Underground network in protest. No longer shall they work under this iron fist, beaten, drained and desperate, they rise up, make a stand and clap great Goliath slap bang between the eyes. He will fall upon our livelihoods and we shall ask for nothing more than a worthy cause to hide behind. Go on Derek, stick it to the man!
‘What do we want?’ Assurances that no jobs will be cut or pensions lost at any time in the future. ‘When do we want it? Now!
Steady on there little man, that’s a bit vague. ‘At any time in the future’? You cant really demand that sort of thing, but then again what do we know, I bet conditions down in the pit are bloody terrible, cant even begin to imagine. We still believe in you Derek, if its lifetime assurance you want then you bloody well go and get it, London is right behind you.
“Both the mayor and the direct employers have given trade unions clear written assurances that meet all their concerns; namely that there will be no job cuts ……and no loss of pensions now at any time in the future” (Guardian)
Right so that’s all your demands met. Goliath it seems is a realist named Ken. Can we have our tube back now please?
3 days of Tube strike for no apparent reason. You may have got 2500 workers to whimper into a tissue Derek, but just you wait and see what a real ‘angry mob’ looks like.
If ever a party looked destined to bleed, it seems the conservatives might just edge it. Lost in a world of unknowns, poor little Tory Dave just doesn’t know where to turn. Forehead on a broom handle he’s just been spun 50 times. And now he’s forgotten the new rules (published this morning). Commons tactics seem to have buggered off out the window a long time ago. “Tory MPs sign up to PM’s ‘new politics” (Independent). Whilst no expert on the finer displays, surely a red bumper sticker is perhaps one compromise too far.
Fear not Tory Dave, tomorrow is yet another day and with it a new set of rules by which to play. Surely this dizzying red whirlwind will move on soon, leaving your thoughts to clear and regain their muster.
Maybe tomorrow.
Grandpa’s sat up in bed eating his Cheerios, shaking with fear. Curtains drawn, quilt tucked in tight, he has barely managed one sleepy moment, his dreams too full of fear. ‘The Chinese army is invading London. On September 13,’ so confident they name the date. Terracotta Grandpa, models. Please get dressed; the paper is lost without you. The dog barks a gunshot; Grandpa’s breakfast jumps to the floor.
Ever wondered what the Times Head Boy would call the school gardener once his affections had been repelled?
‘Unprincipled ruffian’ snorts Head Boy, lapels firmly gripped, nose proud with purpose. Some cover story regarding the Nazis and an Argentinean submarine, but we don’t really want to read that now do we? No.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3.
Monday 3 September 2007
03.09.07
Why does the cat always bring the half dead sparrow to your feet? Flapping, lifeless, bleeding from new holes. Conjures up that little bit of bile from bowl to mouth doesn’t it. Puss peers towards you, so proud of their gift, expectant of reward. An invitation into the house to sit by the fire. ‘My, what a catch I’ve caught this time, it can’t fail to impress, admittedly last weeks dismembered toad was perhaps a bit over the top but I’m onto a winner with this claret covered feather. Snuggling up in owners lap in no time’ Tabby purrs under his breath.
But we just don’t want these mangled remains, oh no we don’t little tabby cat. The bird was fine in the first place, flying high, graceful. No concern of ours yet no doubt fulfills its purpose, whatever that may be.
This mess on our doormat; this bloody heap. Neither grace nor purpose. A wing, a beak, all parts are present but it’s such a mess little tabby, such a bloody mess. What’s more, it’s now on our doorstep and now we have to worry about it. We shake our heads and curse. Not angry, just disappointed. Tigger spies a door mouse.
And so ‘Blue Blood Dave’ has vowed to match Labour spending plans (Guardian). On the doormat in front of me is a bloody mess. Match? Match? Since when is that a strong enough argument to get in the house? You bring me what fundamentally amounts to the same amount but in an untried, unfamiliar structure and I’m supposed to be happy. Where is the bird that flies higher, faster? No little tabby cat, Rover stays inside tonight.
And what do we get from Labour? ‘Brown announces plans to revamp politics’. Revamp politics! Now that’s what I’m bloody talking about. Forget all this ‘we’ll be just as good as the other guy’. Not even ‘we’ll be better than the other guy’. Oh no no dear voter, apparently it’s perfectly reasonable to inform everyone that we’ll be playing a new game from now on. Always the perfect prefect, the Times Head Boy wanted this story and by golly it got it. New rules, new regulations. Until next week when they need to shout something else from the rooftop. Isn’t it exciting, you never know what the hells going on? I’m sure it’ll settle down soon, I’m sure they’ve got a plan for a bit of stability, are able to just run a country. I mean just how much more reinvention can we take? Wham! There goes Basra. Bam! Take care Tony. Crash! There goes the monarchy, oops! Sorry that’s next week
Poor little tabby cat, shut inside whilst all the fireworks are going off. Just for tonight, tomorrow is another day.
It seems someone has taken a cheeky swipe at Head Boy and they didn’t like it one bit. Not content with announcing a change for democracy, the Times, itching from its weekend constraints, has decided it’s about time to change the way the world looks. ‘Times atlas shows how world is changing’. Chest puffed out, Head Boy parades around the room.
Would someone please just stroke their ego a little bit before they take a crack at the legitimacy of religion.
4 years we’ve been in Basra, 4 long years. ‘What was achieved?’ Asks the Independent, who today takes the award for ‘please ask someone else’ question. If, 4 years ago, our goal was to sit in a palace and fight with those we sought to aid, finally sneaking out on tiptoes, swearing blind that ‘we’re not going nowhere guv’ each time someone asked. Then yes, job done. Pat on the back for one and all.
Grandpa had a long weekend. What with the hefty roast dinner and the grandkids circling his feet, he’s feeling tired, out for the count; hasn’t stirred at all yet today. Rest easy Grandpa, come back firing on all cylinders tomorrow.
Someone should probably just go in and check on him, you know, just in case.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3
But we just don’t want these mangled remains, oh no we don’t little tabby cat. The bird was fine in the first place, flying high, graceful. No concern of ours yet no doubt fulfills its purpose, whatever that may be.
This mess on our doormat; this bloody heap. Neither grace nor purpose. A wing, a beak, all parts are present but it’s such a mess little tabby, such a bloody mess. What’s more, it’s now on our doorstep and now we have to worry about it. We shake our heads and curse. Not angry, just disappointed. Tigger spies a door mouse.
And so ‘Blue Blood Dave’ has vowed to match Labour spending plans (Guardian). On the doormat in front of me is a bloody mess. Match? Match? Since when is that a strong enough argument to get in the house? You bring me what fundamentally amounts to the same amount but in an untried, unfamiliar structure and I’m supposed to be happy. Where is the bird that flies higher, faster? No little tabby cat, Rover stays inside tonight.
And what do we get from Labour? ‘Brown announces plans to revamp politics’. Revamp politics! Now that’s what I’m bloody talking about. Forget all this ‘we’ll be just as good as the other guy’. Not even ‘we’ll be better than the other guy’. Oh no no dear voter, apparently it’s perfectly reasonable to inform everyone that we’ll be playing a new game from now on. Always the perfect prefect, the Times Head Boy wanted this story and by golly it got it. New rules, new regulations. Until next week when they need to shout something else from the rooftop. Isn’t it exciting, you never know what the hells going on? I’m sure it’ll settle down soon, I’m sure they’ve got a plan for a bit of stability, are able to just run a country. I mean just how much more reinvention can we take? Wham! There goes Basra. Bam! Take care Tony. Crash! There goes the monarchy, oops! Sorry that’s next week
Poor little tabby cat, shut inside whilst all the fireworks are going off. Just for tonight, tomorrow is another day.
It seems someone has taken a cheeky swipe at Head Boy and they didn’t like it one bit. Not content with announcing a change for democracy, the Times, itching from its weekend constraints, has decided it’s about time to change the way the world looks. ‘Times atlas shows how world is changing’. Chest puffed out, Head Boy parades around the room.
Would someone please just stroke their ego a little bit before they take a crack at the legitimacy of religion.
4 years we’ve been in Basra, 4 long years. ‘What was achieved?’ Asks the Independent, who today takes the award for ‘please ask someone else’ question. If, 4 years ago, our goal was to sit in a palace and fight with those we sought to aid, finally sneaking out on tiptoes, swearing blind that ‘we’re not going nowhere guv’ each time someone asked. Then yes, job done. Pat on the back for one and all.
Grandpa had a long weekend. What with the hefty roast dinner and the grandkids circling his feet, he’s feeling tired, out for the count; hasn’t stirred at all yet today. Rest easy Grandpa, come back firing on all cylinders tomorrow.
Someone should probably just go in and check on him, you know, just in case.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3
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