Ed Miliband – really?

Ed Miliband - Morph

Last year the Labour Party chose Ed Miliband as their leader. It was a very bad decision based on the fact that the unions didn’t want his brother David Miliband because he looked too much like Tony Blair and that it would have been too sensible an idea.

Ed Miliband has proved over the past 12 months that he is not a leader in any way shape or form. He might make an extremely good character for Creature Comforts but unless we want Morph as a prime minister, one suspects the barrel of Tory policy is what we will all be staring down for the next ten to 15 years. Indeed, I can hear the words ‘bah, bay, bah’ ‘ ringing loudly in my ears each time I hear the current Labour leader start another useless, meandering sentence.

I simply can’t take Ed Miliband seriously. I drove home yesterday and, inbetween a bout of severe diarrohea that necessitated a hastily planned pitstop at the Old Fox Inn on the A428, I listened to Ed nasal his way through a monumentally bad speech no doubt inspired by back-to-back viewings of Scooby Doo archive material.

‘There’s bad businesses and good businesses, and we want to weed out the bad ones,’ Ed told us in fluent Klingon, and then he explained that the bad businesses would face the full force of his wrath.

So Ed, tell me how do you plan to do the weeding? Are you going to get a large gun? And how would you begin to even establish what’s a good business and a bad one? One suspects a board of directors dressed in masks, stripey T-shirts carrying swagbags, saying things like: ‘I ain’t singing like no canary’, is what Ed and his ragtag, second-rate shadow cabinet is looking for.

‘We need a new bargain,’ Ed rambled on and then he told us about things he felt were wrong in the world, y’know like eating with your mouth open, standing on rakes, peeling back your eyelids, pretending to be a lizard, making squelching noises with your armpits, seeing what happens when you put your index finger in a fan and men that gob in urinals for no apparent reason.

And who the hell understands what a ‘new bargain’ is. This is language dreamed up by committee that couldn’t find a suitable slogan. I reckon Ed passed a pound shop and reasoned it work of genius. I assume there was no-one in the Miliband speechwriting team who didn’t have the foresight or maybe even the gumption to say: ‘Er, Ed. You might want to not say this because it really is utter utter bollocks.’

During his speech Ed made self-deprecatory jokes about having an operation on his nose, telling us that he had had his septum realigned, which kind of begs the question as to why the surgeons didn’t remove the snooker ball residing firmly up his nostrils while they were at it.

I am sad that we have a plasticine man as leader of the opposition because I don’t want to be told on a daily basis that picking up my peas with the fork turned up is wrong. I can’t bear the thought that my journeys home will from now on be punctuated by Ed Miliband-inspired digestion problems. And really, it isn’t a good sign when you realise that the mere sound of Ed Miliband is enough to make you want to shit in your car.

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Your point being…?


Fishing trawler. No bloody fish though

Plenty more fish in the sea
Not strictly true. Have you seen the programme Trawlermen? Well, it usually features the trials of Scottish fishermen in their hunt for shoals of cod, haddock and other stuff that tastes nice with batter on it.
The stories work to a standard format. Each week, two or three boats potter out to the North Sea, drop their nets for about five days and catch bugger all.
In the 50s and 60s fishing was a lucrative career because there were plenty of fish in the sea. Now there are not and more people in Scotland have been forced to take menial jobs in supermarkets. If we continue to fish at the current rate, we’ll have nothing more than a few shrimps and a couple of dogfish in our waters.
So if you hear someone say ‘there are plenty more fish in the sea’ simply cite the level of fish stocks compared to those in the North Sea in 1970. That’ll shut ’em up. 

How are you?
When people ask you this question they don’t really care about the answer. This is a conversation starter, pure and simple. If you respond to the question ‘How are you?’ with ‘My dad’s died, I’ve been made redundant, my wife’s had an affair and I’ve got terminal cancer’, they’ll retort, ‘Oh lovely. Well I was just calling to see whether you want to come along to the cinema with me to see The Inbetweeners tomorrow night.’
‘How are you?’ has no regard for the response. Why not simply say ‘Hello’ and get down to the real purpose of the conversation?
Listen to Radio Five Live for ‘How are You?’ abuse. Nicky Campbell will be asking listeners to tell us whether they think homosexuals should have their testicles nailed to skateboards because they don’t do what God intended and then some numpty from Carlisle asks Nicky: ‘How are you?’ Nicky, will respond ‘Fine thanks, what do you want to say?’
Campbell does this throughout the show and it is a wonder why he just doesn’t caution: ‘Please do not ask me how I am as a precursor to our brief conversation, because a) you don’t care and b) it’s none of your ruddy business.’

A new day is like a freshly plucked orange
Right, you get up, you open the curtains and it’s grey, dull and miserable. You turn on the television and there’s been another plane crash, traffic is at a standstill, unemployment is at an all-time high, the economy is on its arse and JLS are still making music.
Head for the kitchen. You’ve run out of milk. You put on an overcoat and walk to the local shop. There’s only full fat milk in two-litre sizes. You buy it, you walk back, you make tea.
You go in the bathroom and face the mirror. Still ugly, more grey hairs. You try a shower but your flatmate has taken all the hot water.
You walk to the train station. You get into the carriage. There are no seats. The person standing next to you is holding the overhead rail which means you are getting the full force of his body odour. The person standing behind you has an iPod. It’s at full volume, which means you are getting a tinny version of Lady Gaga blasting in your ear.
You arrive at your destination. You have been told a new round of redundancies is in the offing.
Another day has begun.
Anyone smell orange?

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One-coat paint

Here's a result of my handiwork

I haven’t written much on this site lately and there’s a reason for that – I have spent the past two weeks doing DIY in a house that I own. It’s a painfully dull experience that I simply cannot put into words.

Still, during my home improvement offensive I have learned something: I am on first-name terms with Steve at B&Q (a UK home improvement store if you are from other shores) and I have also learned about the absolute bald, uncompromising lie that is Dulux’s so-called ‘One-Coat’ paint.

On the one-coat paint tin there lies a boast of monumental proportions i.e that with this, all you need is one coat to cover your wall. There’ll be no need for an extra layer, the tin tells you, which is fine if you have an existing white wall and choose to paint it… white. In this event you’ll not baulk at the results yielded from a solitary layer of paint and you’ll skip around like a gay lamb celebrating a pain-free experience and a job well done. And again, if you have a red wall and you cover it with exactly the same colour, you might feel reasonably happy with the results.

But let’s say you are living in rented accommodation and you’ve decided to rid your life of that ochre mess for a more muted colour.

This is another story that’ll inevitably lead to self-harm.

Last week I tried covering a red area with a nice muted, olive green colour with One Coat Dulux and the resultant effect looked like a bad West Indian beef jerky parlour. I spoke to Steve about this and he looked at me with pity. ‘Yeah, that one-coat stuff is a bit crap’, he explained. ‘You’ll need three coats for that.’

I phoned up Dulux’s helpline for an explanation and a small dog answered the phone.

You have to face the fact that one-coat never works. You want orchid white to cover up the blood red? Forget it, you are looking at a four-coat job, at least.

One-coat is a trades-description, underwear-ablaze injustice that you can never fully prepare for. If you get bored with the decorating process you’ll doubtless come to a point of absolute desperation, down tools and claim your handiwork is a ‘wash’. Don’t do this – all your visitors will look at this pinkish experiment and say, ‘One-coat’.

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