Well, there was uproar, and down-roar, after dear old Blighty’s bid for the World Cup failed to make the grade.  And, if all of the dirt dug up by the BBC’s Panorama team, with talk of bribes and corruption holds water, I’d like to think that fairly soon we can all enjoy witnessing the dung of football making contact with the whirly thing that cools the room down.

Is it all about the game?  I don’t believe it is anymore.  Is it all about the money and the power?  Ooh, now your talking my kind of language.  England’s bid team were promised votes that didn’t materialise.  Oh well, better not make a scene.  On the flip side, Russia’s Mr P didn’t even turn up on the day of the ballot.  No, instead, he waltzed in sometime later recounting tales of how Leningrad was bombed during the Second World War and how football has helped Russians endure such ‘tragic’ deprivation over the years.  Methinks we didn’t have a good enough sob story!

The bid cost a cool 15 million big ones to put together, and how many votes did we secure?  Two!  And one of those was from a fellow countryman – fan-fucking-tastic!  The maths is simple.  Add what an inquiry might cost, to investigate why our bid went, babies feeding aparatus upper most, and I reckon you could supply water to those parts of the world where there is next to none. 

Even though two FIFA officials have banned from voting, due to bank accounts that were swelling nicely, Sepp Blatter, that well known bathroom cleaner, has never organised an inquiry.  When asked at a press conference, what would it take for an investigation to take place, Mr Blatter replied, evidence would have to be provided by official channels.  When a reporter asked FIFA’s media office what that meant, they said, we have no idea.  Hold on, I’ve just got to plug in a new Glade room fragrance, why, it’s waffle and bullshit!

So Russia, with a history of poisoning, spying and failing to recover nuclear subs from the bottom of the ocean, have secured the World Cup fairly and squarely, and who would believe it, so have Qatar.  (They were rank outsiders at the start of the bidding)  Now, call me Mr Picky but, what have the two countries got in common?  Well, one is definitely much, much, much, much bigger than the other.  However, the smaller one does an extraordinary large amount of oil.  Well it would I suppose, as it is equidistant from Saudi Arabia, Iraq and Iran.   Now that is interesting.

Surely the World Cup venues aren’t chosen, nay manipulated in some way, because of who’s got what in the energy department?  Now if only we had some coal… 

But hey, who’s going to take anything I’ve got to say seriously, I’ve got a mental health history as long as both of your arms, and consequently I’m a non human!  However, on a serious note, when people say, “You’ve got to think outside the box,” you should take stock.  The ‘box’ to ‘watch’ is the one ‘I’ allow to flash periodically in the corner of my front room, because there are some amongst us that believe everything  that spews from it

Right, I must dash, I’m organising a pole vault and senna pod party at an old people’s home…

 

I’ve said it before, and I’m going to say it again.  Everyone don’t worry, forget about soldiers losing their limbs in Iraq, push aside your fears of failing to make that mortgage payment, and hey, who needs a bloody pension anyway?  There’s going to be a Royal wedding, hoorah!

Hopefully, I’ll receive that section paper I applied for, anything to escape the media bollocks, and a year’s worth of guesswork by salvating Royal correspodents, who are all brown-nosing for an invite to the big bash.  Yes guys, we’ve got a whole heap of extra nauseous column inches to put up with, so you better make plans now if you want to avoid the gushing drivel.

A venue we have, so that’s one item out of the way, but that’s the least of our worries.  To add to the media melee, and the rumour mongering, it will be nothing compared with the fashion frenzy that is about to unfold.  Dresses, shoes, morning, evening and ’20 past 12′ suits will all have to be handmade by Filipino monks that haven’t been born yet!  Ladies-in-waiting, who are hired just to wait, will still be waiting long after the ceremony is over.  And the next guessing game to come is; where will the newlyweds go on their honeymoon?  Who gives a shit!  And let’s not forget about the mug-fest that will invade the shops.  My guess is that they will be on sale before Christmas, with the hope that the sales will outdo the ones made for Charles and Diana.  I mean Jesus, there’s already five books out about the bloody subject, with a promise of more to come.  Let’s face it, it’s just one big fundraiser for England isn’t really! 

The Queen has extended the Royal invitation to meet the in-laws.  The bride’s parents must think they’ve won the European lottery five times over!  And what better way to meet Kate’s mum, than invite her up to Balmoral to shoot something feathery!  After blasting a range of flappers to pieces, they can sit down and discuss the the prenuptial agreement, once a physician has checked Kate’s capability for firing out a son and and heir.  Day two will be totally taken up with more ‘gell’s talk’ – hair, flowers, bridesmaids and page boys, and the  invite list, followed by a rough tot up of how many sausage rolls and spam sandwiches they might need.  After a quick update on security, and a lesson on how to set a landmine, it’ll be off to maim a beater in time for tiffin at 4 o’clock precisely.

What won’t be discussed however, is the Bowes-Lyons mental health history.  My, how embarrassing, what would the neighbours think if that got out?  Oh it is out, oh well, brace yourselves…  The Queen Mother had two nieces, but they were far to spazzy to be part of the Royal family.  They were severely handicapped and hardly spoke a word.  After a certain amount of private care, their spazziness still remained.  What to do?  Let’s pack them orf to a Royal psychiatric hospital under cover of darkness, someone made so bold.  Hoorah, came to reply, and in 1940/41 Katherine and Nerissa Bowes- Lyon were shipped off to Earlswood hospital, and that’s where they stayed FOR DECADES!  Such was the shame of the Queen Mother’s family that they had a ‘handicapped’ child in their midst that Katherine was even listed as dead in BurkesPeerage in 1961, despite living on for many years after that date!   “No – it doesn’t work, get rid of it.”   Makes yer proud to be mental and British!!!  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerp.

Right I’m off, don’t want to be late for lift practise…

 

Now, I don’t know whether you’ve noticed this or not, but there seems to be a more the plentiful supply of H2O falling out of the sky.  There have been floods in America, India, and England has been coated in the stuff lately. 

‘They’, who ever they are, say that this situation has nothing to do with climate change; personally, I don’t buy it.  The only way to find out the real truth of the matter, of course, is to ask Polar bear or an Inuit tribe.  In dear old Blighty the blame falls squarely on the shoulders of the hydrophobic counsellors, who will insist on keeping a hosepipe ban in place, despite the fact that it might have been raining solidly for last three weeks!  Do they live on a flood plain region?  Do they bollocks!  So who does live there?  Ooh, now let me think, oh yes, the poor unfortunates, poor being the operative word.

However, as I see it, the basic problems with flooding are thus: water where water shouldn’t be – buildings with more water in them than is necessary –  the surprise of all the extra water – household items that are wetter than usual – no buildings, and little or no power.   And what do we get to protect our homes and belongings with?  That’s right, the very sturdy, but very leaky sand bag.  I mean really, what’s the fucking point?  “Ooh look Stan, we’re so lucky, the water level in our house is two inches lower than next doors.”  “Oh yuss me old beauty, thank the Lord for sand bags I say.”

Anyway flood plain dwellers, have no fear, I am here to help.  Yes, shortly after a meeting with the, ‘Where the hell’s all the extra water coming from’ Society, I put my plans into action.  My original scheme was to knock down the houses in the problem areas, and reconstruct new ones made from the discarded remnants of all the Keil Kraft made between 1945 and 1973.  These have been collected over the years by balsa wood scrape merchants from projects that were smashed up, out of shear frustration, when father and son alike failed to get their model planes airborne.  Aah yes, how well I recall the great balsa wood mountain of 1968!  Unfortunately, Health and Safety jumped all over that idea, as they felt that the splinter risk was too high.

So dear chums, it was all down to my final ploy.  It will slash the price of a house by 92 percent.  You can build it yourself, and if you hate where you live, whens it rains, you can simply float off somewhere else.  Right, who wants to put their name down for a Polystyrene house then?

No, no, there’s no need for thanks, just send money…

 

Well, it’s been a slow old week, but my library hit list grown, and my little story has made it’s way into the The British Library, yay!  (Full list to come)  There is also another candidate for the ‘no earlobes’ group, and a peach of a silly name too, I fell about when I heard it on News24…

So, to my library quest.  It’s taken around five months, but I’ve contacted every UK central library to see if they would be interested in my first book, and it seems that they were, bless ’em.  To date, 40 have purchased it, and 60 others are considering it for stock.  And here is the list of lending libraries where Bi Polar Expedition can be lent from:

Essex – Waltham Forest – Haringey – Barnet – Ealing – Havering – Southwark – Richmond – Camden – Hammersmith & Fulham – Wandsworth – Westminster – Luton – Peterborough – Suffolk – Bristol – Gloucestershire – Stoke on Trent – Dudley Metropolitan – Northumberland – Stockport Metro – Worcestershire – Oldham – Warwickshire – Manchester – Blackpool – Durham – North Tyneside – Warrington – Sefton – Sunderland City – Cumbria – City of Wakefield – North East Lincolnshire – Dumfries – Inverclyde – Angus – South Dublin – County Donegal – The British Library.  

Never trust a person without earlobes list: Phil Woolas, banned form being an MP for Oldham East for three years by the Labour party.

Silly name check: an American Doctor, Robert Titzer, PhD.  And he’s working on a theory, unfortunately called, Titzer’s Theory.  I laughed until I stopped, I really did…

Laters… guys BB

 

Well, I’ve seen some old toot classed as art before, but the piece in the Tate titled, ‘Sunflower seeds’ takes the biscuit!

We have, in the past, had a pile of bricks as an exhibit, and it won a prize, a cash prize!  And if that’s art, I’ve got a full head of hair, three knees, and a pair of exploding trousers!  Some arse was allowed to transport her bedroom from her house, and stick it on show.  Now, I can only guess what’s coming next.  Someone lawn perhaps, the contents of a wheely bin maybe.  One from a house in Kensington and one from a council estate in Edmonton.  And there will be all sorts of old bollocks talked and written about the piece by art critics and artists alike, and the artist concerned will end up laughing all the to the bank, when they go and cash their huge great Gregory Peck, knowing that they’ve got a way with it again.

I’d love to be at the meetings where they decide who’s toot will or won’t be commissioned and shown.  Can you imagine the waffle and oxyen-wasting that must go on?  “Oooh, a cow cut in half?”  “Mmmm, well it’s got my vote Triston.”  Wankers!  I mean, why stop there, why not fill up a house with concrete, and then knock the house down!?! F-e-r fuck sake!!  Or, let’s get people to stand on a plynth in London!  No, no, surely no one one would be daft enough would they?  One of my favourite exhibits was the guy that got paid to put a huge dark room in the Tate!  Now call me Mr Picky but, for a commission of 900 quid you can come and sit in my loft and achieve much the same result!  

So, you wake up one day with a blinding idea for a piece of interactive art, and the Tate takes the bait.  “What’s your idea Mr Wei Wei,” they say, all keen and eager.  “A 100 million hand-painted porcelin sunflower seeds.”  “Stupendous idea,” remark the Tate twats.  “And what are you hoping to achieve with this most interesting piece?”  The artist replies, “People can walk on them, interact with them, and pick them up.  And in the fullness of time, they will discover they are not real.”  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” say the twits at the Tate.  Why, they’ll be queuing around the block to see that, how much money would you like, an open cheque as usual?” 

The artist leaves the meeting saying, “See you in five or six years then matey-boys,” while smiling like a cat who smiles a lot.  He then heads home, some where in Asia where there’s a whole bunch of poor people in need of work, and an even bigger bunch of porcelin.   Thirty processes later, and an outlay of 10 bob from his huge commission fee, the raw product is ready to be put in molds and fired.  From there they are distributed to the lady folk of the town to hand paint.  Man, that’s gotta be a mind-numbing job hasn’t it?  Some years later, and after a futher outlay of another 35 bob, the workers are paid their wages, and the sunflower seeds are flown to London.   The arist arrives, pushes a rake about a bit for five minutes or so, and then retires shagged out but with just enough strength to count what’s left of his orignal wad.  And that’s art is it?  Well sit on my and call me Bernard!!!

I’m feeling a bit dismayed with my progress as a writer chaps, in fact I feel a bit flat.  Well, it’s coming up to ‘that’ time of the year for me, I just don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere.  So my post will be in fits and starts for a couple months I’m afraid. 

Yours, a bit pissed off, Spam Van Damn.    Hope you all have a happy Yule Tide…

Ooh, ooh, here’s a late no earlobes candidate… Ed Balls

 

Well, it’s been a while, so I guess I should explain my absence…

I’ve missed writing my blog, but when you don’t have the luxury an agent, you find you have to do everything yourself, while other things hang in the air.   However, I’m not going to add a post if I’ve got nothing to say, one of my pet hates is bullshit and padding, and I would rather write something that’s spontaneous, than write a lot of old toot.

So, I have been busy that’s for sure, and I have to say I’m quite proud of my achievements in the last four months.  Last year a friend’s mum, who works for Essex Libraries, mentioned my book to the buying team, and the upshot was they ordered a copy of Bi Polar Expedition for their stock.  Being slow on the uptake, it hadn’t occurred to me  that other libraries might be interested in my little story.  It turns out I was wrong!  What a berk!!! 

What began as a casual browse at the local boroughs, soon turned into a full scale London operation and, after recieving a good response, I thought, fuck it why stop there, why not cover the entire UK?  So I did!  And that is what I have been doing since the start of March this year.

I couldn’t contact every library in every borough, there are literally thousands of them, so in the end I decided to aim for all of the central lending libraries.  Each borough has a slightly different way of dealing with an enquiry, but largely if you do make an enquiry you have to wait 10 days for a response if you contact the council or the library directly.  And yes, I’m glad to say I managed to gain a little humour from my trails.  [NOTE TO SELF: tell ’em about Royal Kingston Upon Thames library, and their attitude towards severe mental health disorders.]

So, without further ado, here’s my library hit list to date:

Library/Copies

Essex 1 –  Waltham Forest 3 – Haringey 1 – Barnet 2 – Ealing 4 – Havering 1 – Southwark 1 – Richmond 2 – Camden 1 –

Hammersmith & Fulham 1 – Wandsworth 2 – Westminster 1 – Luton 1 – Sutton 2 – Peterborough 1 – Suffolk 1 –

Bristol 4 – Gloucestershire 1 – Stoke-on-Trent 1 – Dudley Metropolitan 1 – Northumberland 1 – Stockport Metro 2 –

Worcestershire 1 – Oldham 1 – Warwickshire 1 – Manchester 1 – Blackpool 2 – Durham 1 – North Tyneside 1 –

Warrington 1 – Sefton 4 – Sunderland City 1 Cumbria 1 – City of Wakefield 1 – North East Lincolnshire 1 – Dumfries 2 –

Inverclyde 3 – Angus 1 – South Dublin 2 – The British Library 1 –

Total libraries 40.  Libraries considering my book 45+

 

Now, after chatting to various librarians, 99.9% had something positive to say about my story, and mental health issues.  However, there ‘s alway a small fraction that still have the blinkers on when it comes to having a nutter in the family, living next door or sitting on their bus.  They just can’t handle an issue that can’t be cured by money is what it really boils down to.  “Got a problem?”  Throw some cash at it, it will soon disappear!  Yeah, if only… 

So I sent my standard email to the council of Royal Kingston-upon-Thames, and the day after I received a standard reply notifying me that my message had been forwarded to the department responsible, and they would be in touch within 10 days.  And 10 days later, sure enough, there was a reply to my humble enquiry.  It read thus:

“Dear pleb,

Thank you for submitting your enquiry regarding your first book about how mental you were, (my, that must have been embarrassing for you).   We do have a section on self-help, (we don’t put it under the heading of’ mental health as it would upset our clientele who are well and loaded) or (well loaded).  So we prefer to deal with only mild to moderate disorders, as it’s a lot less embarrassing for all concerned.  But, on the upside, we do hold a raffle for the bankers in the next town who are suffering from a lack of interest in life, and on their accounts due to the credit crunch, and that makes us feel better about our inadequacies in dealing with real life situation.  I shall certainly consider your book (snigger snigger) when we empty out the bins or when I’ve got ‘one of my heads’.   And thank you for making us aware of your tatty little literary offering.  So I said…

Dear Never ‘ad a chip sarney in yer life,

Thank you for such a swift and positive reply, you scabby old bat.  I hope my book, ‘Bi Polar Expedition’ is considered for the libraries of Kingston upon Thames, as a large majority of men and women are not lucky enough to escape with just mild to moderate disorders, some have to sack their butlers and housemaids, and their cook and nanny as well. 

Mental ill health is a classless condition, and it is partly the reason I wrote about my experiences but, if you feel lucky, and believe you will escape being associated with the ‘1 in 4’ (riff raff who become ill because they have no money) don’t order a copy of my story.  I mean, we wouldn’t want to upset anyone would we.

Wishing you, all you wish yourself (you sanctimonious git)

Luv&’ugs & a grope behind the bins, The Spaz from Alcatraz, oarfer 

 

No earlobes member No. 19.  Patrick Keilty.  Stand-up comedian and TV presenter.

Right I’m off, the cat needs and iron, and Halfords have just had a consignment of exploding Y fronts delivered.

BB has left the gas on… 

[Doffs cap]  Thank you for such a swift and po

 

Sorry for not returning sooner guys, my unicorn breeders licence came through, and I’ve been busy trying to find an outlet that supplies invisible hay.  It’s alright though, I found a place now, I also picked up a bucket of blue steam, some sparks for my angle grinder, and a tin of tartan paint to do the stables up with.

Okay, this post has been along time coming.  I’ve watch many episodes of this particular  BBC programme, (largely to hurl abuse at it) just to make sure I’ve got the measure of the sickly and bleedin’ obvious ‘Lassie come home’ feel in the shows format.  I’ve never heard so many cliches in one single half hour slot – 43 seems to be the average, but don’t quote me on that.  See, I’ve started doing it now!  I’m talking, of course, about the inane daytime offering called, ‘Cash in the Attic.  Possibly the most nauseating pile of shite you could ever wish to view…

There are a number of presenters from week to week, and a few antique specialists as well.  The premise of the show is to rifle around a punters house, find some old tat, and then flog it at an auction to raise cash for a much needed project.  And to begin with, the programme does have some endearing qualities.  However, this changes after some half a dozen episodes.  You become agitated by the ‘plumy’ repetitious BBC banter, and by cliche 17, you begin shouting expletives at the screen.  Well, that’s the back story, but here’s what it’s really all about…

In the beginning, riff raff would call in to the show saying they wanted to raise £20 to buy some skunk or muster up some wedge for a neighbours colostomy bag.  Some wanted some cash for a charity or to sponsor a dwarf, and somehow, the programme just ambled along with one show a week.  Now it’s on at five times a week, but the participants have been screened more thoroughly so they fit into a more refined BBC mold.  

In short, the scripting has become a telegraphed affair from the days when the BBC first began broadcasting.   And Jenny Bond and Angela Rippon reinforce this style.   So, we’ve gone from Herberts from Worksop, living in a caravan, hoping to raise money for a day out on a bus, to the last show I watched.  My, how things have changed!

The latest ‘average’ working class couple lived in a 32 room mansion, which sat in a 180 acres of land!   The antique expert, wait for it… wait for it… JONTY HERNDON couldn’t wait to get in side to have a rummage.  [Note: the programme may be called, Cash in the Attic but so far, I’ve never witnessed the shows team enter a loft!]

Anyway, as you might imagine, the tat around the house was a tad more exspensive than your average Joe’s tat.  “Let’s go down to the palatial wine cellar,” Jonty pipes up, with a look of masterbatery glee in his eyes.  I kid you not, you could have performed a three point turn in a Morris Minor in it.  And what did find, neatly arranged so the camera could spot them on the opening shot?  About 50 siver candle holders totalling a knock-down rock-bottom estimate of 800 quid!  By find two the couple already had the folding money they needed for their most important project.  And what did the money-loving couple want the EXTRA £1,600 for, as they obviously hadn’t got enough in their bank accounts?  They wanted to buy a pony for their 16 month old child!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Words fail me…

Come on BBC, keep it real…  Yours, The Spaz form Alcatraz.  (Mrs)

 

Well, it’s that time of year again, and I need to take a break, and so does my brain.  Thank you for your constant support, I’ll wear it until the swelling goes down.  I’ll be back in three weeks, but if anything annoys me so much I will add it to my collection of posts.  I’ll sign off with a piece of advice for the ladies…

We know that there are some sad gits out there, and the only way they can attract the female form, is to drug their

drinks.  So ladies, if you leave your drink unattended, for any length of time beware.  When you return to the bar or

table, inspect the glass, and the contents of your drink, and if it’s asleep don’t drink it! 

No, no there’s no need to thank me, I’m just here to help.

Catch ya laters… Bipolar Bill