Putting the clocks back/forward

Daft idea

This weekend in the UK we will have to put the clocks back. It’s a monumentally stupid idea and nobody really knows why we do this.

We suspect is to do with the farmers, but ask anyone in the pub on the night that we are supposed to adjust our clocks (fall back, spring forward – hope that helps) and you generally get a blank expression. Sure someone might have a theory but it’s usually crap.

And nobody agrees with the idea. During the wintertime it means we have shorter evenings and longer mornings, but who wants shorter evenings?

There is a minority of people who want this. Again, we think it’s the farmers but we are still not quite sure. Forget changing the current voting system, let’s have a referendum on this issue and hopefully that should shut the farmers up for good.

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Business speak

Policy wonkers

Time to get busy with the firearms if you hear anyone who starts talking about low-hanging fruit, being ahead of the curve, hitting the ground running or blue-sky thinking.
Generally if you hit the ground running you end up with a wound that’ll extend from head to toe and if you are a blue-sky thinker you probably have your head in the clouds. When you hear any of these phrases, or something that sounds unnecessarily opaque or arcane it’s absolutely the best policy to say: ‘Could you explain to me what the hell you are talking about because, quite frankly, it really does sound like you are talking a Millennium Dome full of shite’.
This should stop this person in their tracks and it’ll probably nail your three-hour meeting laced with smoke and mirrors down to about half an hour.

Policy wonk
That’s so one vowel away from the truth.

Credit crunch/downturn
No, it’s a recession. Don’t try to jazz it up.

‘Satisfying’ the banks
Sick of George Osborne saying we need to ‘satisfy the banks’ in order justify swingeing cuts, and it’s more even galling when you hear that economies throughout the world are trying to cut deficits in order to stop the banks and money markets from freaking out. That’s a bit rich. These are the people who got us into this mess in the first place.

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Supercars

Ferrari California - fat arse

Supercars… aren’t that super. Sure, they go fast and they look like the automotive equivalent of Concorde, but they are rough as hell.

Get in a Lamborghini Gallardo and you’ll find the seating woefully uncomfortable. Then there’s the switchgear: somebody raided the Duplo parts bin.

Okay, so forget the Lambo, why not try the R8? Well that’s just an Audi and once in you might as well be in an A4 saloon.

Right, how about something more exotic – what about a Ferrari? Not really. There are no redeeming features on a 599 and the California looks like a boat: it’s got a big, fat ugly arse and it’s largely driven by overpaid dimwits.

Okay, what about a Bugatti Veyron? Fast, but you might as well buy a house.

Pagani Zonda then? Looks like a fairground ride inside and out.

An Aston Martin DBS? Handles like the QE2 and has less space.

Noble M600? British built, pre-disposed to fall to bits.

Spyker? The Dutch are only good at building cheese.

Blimey, what about a Koenigsegg? It’s from a nation that invented the Volvo.

No, save yourself a lot of money and buy a black Maserati Quattroporte – it’s not a real supercar but it’s got four seats, cruises nicely along the motorway and people won’t throw kebabs on your windscreen after a night out.

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‘I’m Spartacus’

Curtis: unliving

Tony Curtis is a dead bloke, which is a shame because I think it’s important to have people in the world who are able to wear a badger on their head and have enough chutzpah to stop people from saying: ‘ Tony, you have a badger on your head.’

Curtis is a hero of mine. Always has been. As his career has progressed his badger has slowly moved upward, and I admire him for that. In 1956 he wore tights in Trapeze, where the badger was placed strategically in the groin area, and later, in the 70s, he partnered Roger Moore in The Persuaders where the badger had decamped to the chest region.

But I think Spartacus is my favourite Curtis film, particularly for its ‘I’m Spartacus!’ moment where the badger, residing within the skirt that Curtis was wearing, had experienced ignition.

Curtis was lying and we all knew it.

Now I don’t mind that much because I’ll always have much affection for badger boy but I do have an issue with the credibility of the film. I believe the ‘we-don’t-know-who-Spartacus-is’ finale is fatally flawed for two reasons, and I’ll spell them out for you.

So…

1, Why didn’t the Roman soldiers just say: ‘Er, Tony you’re lying.  Spartacus is the bloke with the bum chin because that’s what it says on the description.’

and…

2,  When Curtis presents himself as Spartacus instead of the real Spartacus (Kirk Douglas) everyone steps forward apart from Spartacus. Having seen the reaction, why didn’t the Roman soldiers have the wherewithal to think, ‘Hang on a sec, who’s the odd one out here?’

A little bit of thinking outside of the box and they would have had their man in a jiffy.

Now I accept it would have been embarrassing if they had picked someone out who said, ‘No, I’m Dave’, but do I remember watching this film as a small child with a single-digit age and a three-digit iQ thinking: ‘I am a child of eight and I know who Spartacus is.’ Then I got down from my seat, turned off the television set, phoned the BBC’s complaints department and explained how the holes in this truly gossamer-thin plotline had ruined my enjoyment of what would eventually be a cinematic, cult classic.

I was beaten as a child.

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