democracy in action (and great telly)

this blog has long been concerned with the fate of princess diana – our Queen Of Hearts (and one of the few people ever to have merited upper case here). there have been those who have doubted whatever verdict was given by various inquiries whether conspiracy theorists, those who know what phil the greek is truly capable of (even if you only beat him at monopoly)(and i believe she did one christmas… ominous) or the occasional barking egyptian millionaire with less taste than marbles. there seems no way to get a result that everyone will trust.
a number of possibilities have been aired to sort it out, including an investigation by members of the royal household (who, as well as buying the queen’s breakfast cereal, are presumably all qualified forensic detectives and will be led by some fat guy who lives at the tower of london, feeds the birds and wears a random scarlet piece of C16th tat for reasons nobody has ever discerned – if you really wanted it sorted, you’d ask trevor eve and sue johnstone, or you’d pay the extra and bring over grissom and horatio to look very sternly at people, but hey); there was talk of a judicial review, but they won’t take it seriously unless judge john deed does it and he’s too busy shagging jenny seagrove and wondering whether donald sinden is going to peg it in one of the gargantuan breaks between the few words he has to say. i’m sure i even heard that they were going to ask her sons to give evidence (which, given that they were about 4 years old and tucked up in bed in a different country when it happened, is certainly an imaginative choice). you need to do it in a way that is above suspicion, that will have no whiff of favouritism or looking after our own; in a C21st way that’s inclusive, modern and above all fun.

it has to be a public text vote. you get a load of witless buffoons to text a horribly expensive number, pour a few more millions into the mobile networks’ accounts and donate a penny a pop to a bunch of losers digging landmines out of school playgrounds somewhere hot and humid. add davina mccal and that bloke with the big hair and funny drony voice et voila! simple, profitable and strangely classy. that’s how you sort out these impossible dilemmas and plug a nasty hole in the tv schedules. one lucky voter even gets to be on the live firing squad for the culprits.

and they say there’s nothing good on telly!

next week: the cast of holby city solve the riddle of the lost city of atlantis using previously undiscovered proto-hittite runic manuscripts faked last week at broadcasting house.

nice search term and a dose of good old irony

two totally separate points here – lest anyone should think i was about to be libby purves and attempt to link porridge and a woman who has secretly been running the UN for twenty years (or some other pair of mismatched people or items, purely because they are both on the same edition of midweek).

today’s search ‘pigeon cree’ has been my favourite ever – thank you, friend! (unless you were randomly looking for information on names of birds used in minority languages of north america in which case sorry and good luck with your search) i think of the writing of sid chaplin and the crees on allotments in my (not all that distant) youth and realise a very special time has gone. the father of my first girlfriend kept pigeons. i never much liked them – tho i am becoming fonder of the owner of my balcony ‘nemesis’ as we call him or her; gives my son someone to shout at who isn’t me.

and (as i said) separately: an essex man recently found out the true cost of avoiding identity theft when he followed his wife’s instructions to dispose of a pile of bank receipts and other confidential documents; he lit a bonfire and happily destroyed them; alomng iwth his car and his house – oh well at least nobody took £100 out of his bank account.

beat the undead and change the world

today i had a flash of inspiration (i know you all love it when i come up with something amazing so i’ll share it) and realised that tony blair’s soul (if you’d call it that) has clearly inhabited the space reserved for same in the body that is walking around calling itself dave effin cameron (well it’s not as if anyone was using it, right?); my extension of that theory is that a high-level member of the undead is now intent on tormenting this country with its unhallowed rule for eons to come twisting out all our existences into what seems like an eternity of pain with million quid bonuses for people selling hedges or some such and a never-ending cycle of invasions of places we formerly couldn’t quite locate on a map while we sip latte in coffee crypts and become minor undead ourselves and voting tory once again becomes a thing you can admit to your friends – it’s probably thatcher… and keith joseph is sitting at the controls of the now-rudderless simulacrum of blair.

so, i thinks, here’s fun! i reckon we need more laws to defeat this undead scourge – so post your best shots here and i promise to work ceaselessly to get the best one through parliament. not sure how we’ll do it, but an insane email campaign at senior cabinet ministers should be a lark.

simple and even a child could understand it – let’s change this vile old world and let’s change it now.

too bloody much – please stop now

the perve search to end all perve searches and a concept with which i will not be asociated. some ubersicko has just searched for me with the two scariest words i know ‘paul tergeist’.

ack ack ack

brief respite from attack of the killer perves – the book thing

okay i haven’t done my bloody homework and it is 10 minutes before french class and i’m in the crap so i’ll be quick.

someone – well actually three someones were inspired/bored/drunk enough to give me this random book assignment so like an obedient servant of the reich i will carry it out and get a bit of peace from my built-in autonag programme.

so… get a book… bloody hell the place is full of them. okay get up from computer and shuffle like an aged turtle across to the bookcase and grab one at random… turn to page 123…good job i wasn’t in n’s room as none of his have 123 pages and i couldn’t draw any of the pictures… find the 5th sentence and copy out the next three… so do i start with the 5th …or was it the 3rd and copy the next five?… or the 6th ah bollox, i’ll take the shortest and claim brevity is the soul of wit… so here goes

By the time of his death he was largely forgotten. (para)

I had asumed when the critics dismissed my work, the same thing would happen to me, that the public would forget about me. How mad is that? and the next sentence cos i like it…Eventually I would have to face the music – go back to performing – the long-awaited bally-hooed reunion tour – gypsy tours – changing ideologies like tires, like shoes, like guitar strings.

Identify author and book: Bob Dylan ‘Chronicles Volume One’ – and was that prophetic or ironic?

Now tag three more people (god there’s a way to keep the world busy if, like me, they are stupid enough to do it) …ok I tag Paul Tergeist just because it will annoy the bollocks off him, renegade evolution because she’s bound to tell me to sod off and has anyone done sparkle? err how do they work out they’ve been done? i’ll go and tell them…sigh…do it manually, boy! wonder if i can get a prize for the oddest set of taggees…?

perve update – still searching

now i’m getting kinda freaked; yesterday’s coastist search term was ‘used to live whitley bay’ tho whether that was a reference to the searcher or a vicious slur about your honest blogger here, i wouldn’t know. there is clearly some kind of war being waged on me and this site by persons unknown (and that makes sense as there are one hell of a lot of persons out there i don’t know – i mean i don’t even know how many there are…etc.).

let me be clear: NE30 is not and never has been whitley bay. it’s a tunnel of love out there, but not for you, perve.

a propos of nothing whatsoever, i have just dropped in on the last 30 minutes of ‘kill bill’ and i must say that either he got killed pretty early in the piece or he has a really crappy part.

and how bored can one woman get of cutting bits off people? not as bored as me, i fear.

perverts alive – weird searches cont.

some weirdo used the single word ’shiremoor’ to violate the integrity of this sacred place.

you know who you are and your isp (palmersville.com?) should be ashamed. i am coastal and write for coastal people – the marden estate was good enough for my parents and it’ll remain good enough for me.