Delroy Smellie has the twatiest name

I believe the caption in this image expresses how I feel about the decision in the case of Delroy Smellie (and, for the record - what a twat of a name!)...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/8597217.stm (btw, other headlines surrounding this case include a particular favourite of mine: "Officer Mistook Carton for Weapon" ... WTF!?)

Happy Birthday to ME – ME, ME, ME!!!

A couple of years ago, Paspartout claimed what she termed a "birthday week", and that I had to be "nice" to her all week. Well, I had a birthday last week (no, you don't get the number – that's not important right now), so I thought I'd play the same game and require that she be nice to me for a full seven days – in a row – as it was MY "birthday week". So...

The week started fairly uneventfully – I'd just come back from a week's snowboarding in the Haute Savoie with my good friend Bob, so all good there – and so I simply relaxed (and checked/packed my kit) for what remained of the weekend and Monday. I'm between contracts at the moment, so I try to make sure that the chores get done during the day, but my father came over to see me on Tuesday, which was great as we hadn't really spoken for nearly a fortnight so a nice long natter was a tad overdue. It looked like the chores were going to take a back seat for quite a while...

Then Wednesday (my big day, so to speak) came around – a chocolate cake with candles for my super-healthy breakfast started my morning, and got me all sugar-rushed up (yo!). Should I do the chores? Na – let's go out and play, we're off to my favourite local Chinese place for dinner later!

Thursday we had a power cut – NOOOOO! – I had to go out to the coffee shop to get my internet fix, which meant me being all caffeined up for the rest of the day (which was just as well, as I ended up going out to a friend's leaving work do – out at 5:30, home at 02:30 – oops!

Friday – big lights, bright city (or something like that!). Paspartout's treat for me was beginning to take shape: we booked into the Park Lane Hotel at 3pm (I'll say that again: the Park Lane Hotel), and later trundled out into the town. Paspartout was dragging me hither and thither through the streets, whilst I was saying things like: "er, how about a drink in here - here looks good?", all the while thinking: this is shit, I'd quite to relax for my birthday treat, but for now I'd just settle for slowing the fuck down ... a bit. We pulled up to a pub (screeched to a halt, more like), with Paspartout saying "this will do". OK, in for a beer – w00t! I walked up to the bar, peering to see what they had on tap, and of course didn't realise that I'd stood immediately next to my brother! I wandered along the bar at for a better look, turned to my left to ask Paspartout what she wanted to drink, and looked up at this bloke who looked just like my ... WAIT – that's my brother! DUUUUUDE! I thought he and Paspartout where going to ruin their underwear, they were laughing so much! Bastards! A couple of beers and off to the Diner on Ganton Streeet – good food, good music, terrific waitress (Carly?), great times.

Saturday was a shopping day, but in the evening I was instructed to don a suit, and follow Paspartout through the streets of Mayfair. Along Park street, I suddenly thought "please let it be Locanda Locatelli again, pleeeease!" (well, it was dinner time, and I was hungry!). I was faithfully following as we turned onto Upper Brook Street, when – whoosh – a quick turn up some steps, and I was faced with ... Le Gavroche ... I'll say that once again: Le Gavroche. Beyond here, my mind turns to jelly, as I'm lost in the memory. The joy is too overwhelming to explain fully – I might manage it in 2015.

THEN, as if all that wasn't enough, we topped the weekend out with a trip to Bristol to see Stephen Lynch in concert. Funny, talented, irreverent (and on such an angelic face!).

I love you, Paspartout...

Orange - epic FAIL

So, I've just bought an iPhone - yes, I succumbed (ignoring Flava Flave) and believed the hype. Sorry ... I love it. Despite the following tale of woe...

I decided to transfer to Orange from my current provider, and what a bunch of wasters they turned out to be! Firstly, when the phone arrived, it lasted approximately 5 hours before the screen went mental on me. I spent the rest of the evening trying to get the solution via the internet (resets no good - it has to be replaced). I resolved to go into the Orange shop and get a replacement the following morning, but when I asked for a replacement, they said I had to do it over the internet (or phone), as I hadn't signed up and received the phone from a shop (something to do with different business stock, or some such bollocks), but over the internet. I'm still seething when I think about the entire debacle, so I'll cut the story short(er). Including three 'members' of shop staff, I spoke to nine people in order to try and circumvent the "we'll send you an envelope, you send us your phone, and when we get it back we'll send you a new one" train wreck that their so-called customer service had become. I told each person I spoke to of my dissatisfaction, my ability to cancel and walk away, and my general rising bile, in the hope that someone would just 'own' the situation and make the magic happen for me. Instead, I got passed from pillar to post, and forced to listen to Florence and and the Machine (it turns out that I too sometimes feel like throwing my hands up in the air).

At this point, I excercised my right to terminate (bear in mind that I was a BRAND NEW customer - time was that losing a new customer, aka lost sale, was a big deal), which involved calling a new number and introducing myself to telephone person number 7 (total of 10). This last chap was actually contrite and apologised for me having to deal with morons and spending 40 minutes in their shop listening to hold music and inanities. OK, so I dressed up his apology a tad, but at least it WAS one - the only one I got. After my short-lived life as an Orange subscriber, I walked back over the road to my previous (and still current, as it turns out) provider, who quite frankly I should never have left, and got an iPhone, had it set up, and left the shop in 10 minutes.

The irony is that I still have the original iPhone, as the Orange shop couldn't take it back - I have to wait for the return envelope to arrive in the post so that I can post it back to them.

Orange - epic FAIL...!

Feelings - Spike Milligan

There must be a wound!

No one can be this hurt

and not bleed.

How could she injure me so?

No marks

No bruise

Worse!

People say 'My, you're looking well'

.....God help me!

She's mummified me -

ALIVE!

Where do you think YOU'RE going, hmmm? I knew it. The cupboard. You and your cupboard.

This is one of the funniest things I've read for a long time: SleepTalkinMan

This guy talks in his sleep - totally random weird shit - and his wife records it, and puts it on a blog. Joyous. It makes me want a t-shirt.

Red Friday

I don’t know who the “I” is in the story below but agree with the sentiment


The Story Begins
 
Last week I was in West London attending a conference.  While I was in the airport, returning home, I heard several people behind me beginning to clap and cheer.  I immediately turned around and witnessed one of the greatest acts of patriotism I have ever seen.
 
Moving through the terminal was a group of soldiers in their uniforms, as they began heading to their gate everyone (well almost everyone) was abruptly to their feet with their hands waving and cheering.  When I saw the soldiers, probably 30-40 of them, being applauded and cheered for, it hit me. I'm not alone. I'm not the only red blooded Briton who still loves this country and supports our troops and their families. Of course I immediately stopped and began clapping for these young unsung heroes who are putting their lives on the line everyday for us so we can go to school, work, and enjoy our home without fear of reprisal.
 
Just when I thought I could not be more proud of my country or of our service men and women a young girl, not more than 6 or 7 years old, ran up to one of the male soldiers.  He knelt down and said 'hi,' the little girl then asked him if he would give something to her daddy for her.  The young soldier didn't look any older than maybe 22 himself, said he would try and what did she want to give to her daddy.  Suddenly the little girl grabbed the neck of this soldier, gave him the biggest hug she could muster and then kissed him on the cheek.
 
The mother of the little girl, who said her daughter’s name was Courtney, told the young soldier that her husband was a Corporal and had been in Afghanistan for 5 months now.  As the mum was explaining how much her daughter, Courtney, missed her father, the young soldier began to tear up.
 
When this temporarily single mum was done explaining her situation, all of the soldiers huddled together for a brief second.  Then one of the other servicemen pulled out a military looking walkie-talkie.  They started playing with the device and talking back and forth on it.  After about 10-15 seconds of this, the young soldier walked back over to Courtney, bent down and said this to her, 'I spoke to your daddy and he told me to give this to you.'  He then hugged this little girl that he had just met and gave her a kiss on the cheek.  He finished by saying 'Your daddy told me to tell you that he loves you more than anything and he is coming home very soon.'  The mum at this point was crying almost uncontrollably and as the young soldier stood to his feet he saluted Courtney and her mum.
 
I was standing no more than 6 feet away as this entire event unfolded.
 
As the soldiers began to leave, heading towards their gate, people resumed their applause.  As I stood there applauding and looked around, there were very few dry eyes, including my own. That young soldier in one last act of moment turned around and blew a kiss to Courtney with a tear rolling down his cheek. We need to remember everyday all of our soldiers and their families and thank God for them and their sacrifices. At the end of the day, it's good to be an Englishman (British).
 
RED FRIDAYS
 
Very soon, you will see a great many people wearing Red every Friday. The reason?
 
British men and women who support our troops used to be called the 'silent majority'.  We are no longer silent, and are voicing our love for Country and home in record breaking numbers.  We are not organized, boisterous or over-bearing.  We get no liberal media coverage on TV, to reflect our message or our opinions. Many British people, like you, me and all our friends, simply want to recognize that the vast majority of Britain supports our troops.  Our idea of showing solidarity and support for our troops with dignity and respect starts this Friday and continues each and every Friday until the troops all come home, sending a deafening message that every Briton who supports our men and women afar will wear something red.  By word of mouth, press, TV, let's make Great Britain on every Friday a sea of red much like a homecoming football team
 
If every one of us who loves this country will share this with acquaintances, co-workers, friends, and family, It will not be long before Britain is covered in RED and it will let our troops know the once 'silent' majority is on their side more than ever, certainly more than the media lets on.  The first thing a soldier says when asked 'What can we do to make things better for you?' is...'We need your support and your prayers'...  Let's get the word out and lead with class and dignity, by example; and wear something red every Friday.
 
If you agree -- then send this on.  If you don’t then hit the delete button.  It's your choice.  Their blood runs red----
 
Lest we Forget.

All is Jam on the Jihadi Front

Cool – looks like I got my Jam, and the Dexter DVD got its freedom (all together now: "Freee-dumm!"). Well, I say "got", but I haven't actually posted anything (I mean the terrorists haven't ACTUALLY released anyone/thing), and it's not the jam that was demanded that's being shipped out. Still, it looks like "the chef" will finally have his Serial Killer as Good Guy viewing urges sated. Though I'm not sure the same will be said of Paspartout with her near-narcotic jam dependency.

Ah well – what is it they say about the taking of part? Oh yeah – IT SUCKS TO NOT WIN !! I remember…