Observations From A Small Island

Observations on The Bacon Butty

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-22 – 06:34:01

My apologies to any vegetarians or adherents of faiths which do not allow the eating of pork reading this, but there really is no greater dish anywhere in world cusine as the humble bacon sandwich. You could go to the finest restaurants and sample the best oysters, the richest Kobe beef, the most delicate Italian truffles and the most eye wateringly expensive Russian caviar and still they wouldn't lead your taste buds to experience the cullinary equivelent of multiple orgasm that three rashers in a bread product can. The bacon butty is, what my dad used to call, proper nammit.
And so, with slightly less than fuck all else to do at 6am on a sunday morning, I have just indulged. My take on this old classic is slightly novel in that I grill the bacon, melt lashings of Edam cheese on it half way through then serve in lightly toasted pitta bread with just a smidgin of tomato ketchup, and fuck it that each one contains around 6,950 calories, it sure beats seven shades out of inferior breakfasts like coissants or muesli. In fact they are so good I had two of the buggers, all washed down with a gurt steaming mug of coffee. Never let it be said that old Pompey doesn't know how to live.
I wonder how many of you will be reaching for the frying pan after reading this. I know I would!!!

Observations on Whinging

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-21 – 12:14:02

Why me? Why fucking me? Why does anyone who feels like a good whinge and bitch and gripe and moan, often about things I have nothing to do with and bugger all interest in, think its funny to do it in my direction. Do I have Samaritans tattooed across my fucking forehead?
I have been up for less than two hours and already I have had ear ache off my mother regarding my ex sister in law, off one of my colleagues regarding the manifest shortcomings of another member of staff and off a girl I worked with a decade ago and haven't seen for years regarding her job. Do I look like a relationship counsellor? Do I look like a personnel manager? Do I look like a frigging careers advisor? Do I look like I actually give a monkeys? That may sound harsh but please. I am trying to get all my jobs done so I can enjoy the rest of my day off and I really don't have time right now to try and sort anyone elses life out for them.
God, the temptation to take the battery out of the door bell, switch the phone off and go back to bed is almost overwhelming. I can be a right grumpy bastard sometimes......

Observations on The Good Old Days

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-20 – 19:52:01

Of all the things my mother is not entirely good at, living in the 21st century is probably top of the list. Anything technical baffles her. To watch her try and write a text is painful. I have seen astroturf grow quicker. When it comes to computers she is well and truly fucked. She would stand more chance of turning on a eunuch. Even simple tasks such as using a hole in the wall machine take her so long that by the time she has finished the queue backing up behind her is stretching all the way over the downs to Shanklin. Some people are equipped for modern living and some aint. Mother dearest falls resoundingly into the second catagory.
Happily though she is aware of this and freely admits as much. She craves what she describes as a return to simple times, although trying to pin down when she thinks this mythical age was is a little more tricky. First she will claim it was the early 1970's until you remind her of the three day week and oil prices hitting $37 billion a barrel. Then she will say it was the 1980's until you throw Mad Maggie at her. She will then plump for the 1960's, convieniently overlooking that since she was still a schoolgirl for most of that decade things by definition were going to be a tad less complicated.
But still she pines for whenever her easy life was. She still hankers after pounds, shillings and pence even though she must be the only person still alive who thinks that a monetary system that divides its base unit 244 ways is an improvement on one that fiendishly chops up into 100 pieces. She will look at her mobile as if it is something that fell into her lap from outer space and then yearn for the days when she would drag us out in the pissing rain to use the call box. I even think she wishes computers would die on their arse and that she regrets selling the antique type writer that until way into the 1990's still held pride of place on her desk. To say its exasperating probably qualifies as understatement of the year.
But what really worries me is this. What if I end up the same way? I saw it with my grand parents who right til the end of their lives were content to live in a hovel with no hot running water, no indoor toilet and a black and white telly and who wouldn't trust anything invented after around 1955. And now I am seeing it with mother. Will it be so that in 30 years time when people are being teleported around the planet and paying for everything on their Eurocard that I will be the one yearning for the days when we caught the train and bought our groceries with 'proper' money?
If I am please someone do the decent thing and shoot me.......

DIRRRRTY JOKE FRIDAY!!!!

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-20 – 12:54:02

Saucier than Sarah Harding in a spitroast. Dodgier than Robert Maxwells cheque book. Its Dirty Joke Friday time!!!!

A pirate walks into a pub and the bar man says 'Jesus mate, what happened to you? Whats with the wooden leg?'
'Arrrr' replies the pirate 'we got into a fight with another ship and a canonball took it straight off at the knee'.
'Oh right' says the bar man 'and what about the hook?'
'Another battle' says the pirate 'enemy captain took my hand off with his sword'.
'Boy thats bad' winces the bar man 'and what about the eye patch?'
'Well' says the pirate 'a bird shat in it'.
'Fuck off' laughs the bar man 'who the hell ever lost an eye from bird turd?'
'Son' says the pirate shaking his head slowly 'it was my first day with the hook'!!!!

A wig and a turd walk into a bar and the wig asks for two pints of Stella.
'Forget it' says the bar man 'you're off your head and your mates absolutely steaming'!!!!

Pingu the penguin takes a job as a long distance truck driver in America when one day he was crossing the Arizona desert and his lorry started to play up.
So Pingu pulls into a garage and lets the mechanics work their magic but soon Pingu realises he is overheating and needs to cool down.
So he waddles off to the diner and starts ordering ice cream after ice cream but being a penguin and only having flippers it goes everywhere. All over his face, all over his head, all over his body.
Two hours later he wanders back to the garage and the grease monkey says 'Looks like you have blown a seal mate'.
'Oh shit' gasps Pingu 'Its just ice cream. Honestly'!!!!

A man goes to a posh fancy dress party atired in just his Y fronts. 'How would you like me to announce you?' asks the master of ceremonies.
'Tell them' says the man 'that I am premature ejaculation'.
'I cant say that' cries the MC.
'Ok' replies the bloke 'just say I came in my pants'!!!!

And finally the one, the only, disaster joke from the archive!!!!

A maths teacher asks his class 'how many times does 63 go into 15?'
'Dunno' says Little Johnny 'can I phone Bill Wyman up and ask him'!!!!

Toodle pip!!!!

Observations on My Abrupt Departure

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-19 – 22:48:01

There one minute gone the next. A bit like Wayne Rooneys barnet. I apologise profusely but my brother pitched up to give me a hand taking some back to mine and besides beer was calling.
So to make up for me disappearing like Northern Rocks Christmas bonus and to get you in the mood for Dirty Joke Friday have a little late night giggle!!!

What have a priest and a Christmas tree got in common?
The balls are just for decoration!!!!

Catch you all tomorrow!!!

Pompeys Guide To Cleaning A Bathroom

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-19 – 17:14:01

Well since I think I am supremely well qualified in the ways and wherefores of brushing a bog now (I aint big headed or anything but I'm starting to class myself as an expert), I thought I would pass on my tips to you all. What a generous guy I am huh? Here then is Pompeys guide to cleaning a bathroom.

Step one. Have a cigarette. Of course this does slighty less than fuck all for the cleanliness of your bathroom but it will soothe your nerves a tad for the horrors ahead.

Step two. Get all the bottles of chemicals out from under the kitchen sink and throw in a bucket. I know they warn you in big bold letters not to do this but in my considered opinion this is just to cover their own ass. If you are of a nervous disposition however you may want to open the window and check that fag is properly out just to be on the safe side.

Step three. Take marigolds out of cubboard.

Step four. Put marigolds back in cubboard. After all you don't want the postman to think you have turned a bit Doris Day should he knock at the door.

Step five. Take bucket of chemicals to the bathroom and throw liberally over every surface. Dont worry about the carpet. You were going to buy a new one anyway.

Step six. Light another cigarette.

Step seven. Use shower to put out blazing eyebrows where your innocuous brew of cleaning products has somehow morphed into a concoction with the power of TNT taking your fag, your lighter and most of your face up with it.

Step eight. Go to the kitchen to get a Jay Cloth.

Step nine. Realise you used the last of the fucking Jay Cloths last time you were this foolish and walk three miles to the shop to buy some more.

Step ten. Return from shop after an inadvertant 3 hour detour to the pub. Use said Jay Cloth to wipe down all surfaces and shit yourself that you have managed to take most of the paint off the walls.

Step eleven. Hunt desperately in shed for that old tin of magnolia you kept for emergencies. Try to patch up the horror show you have made in the crapper before the missus comes home and has your balls on toast.

Step twelve. Realise you have more chance of making John Merrick look like Brad Pitt than you have of making this look half way decent and go back to the pub which is what you should have done in the first place.. You are in the shit anyway. May as well go out in style!!!

I hope you all find this useful!!!

Observations on Cleaning

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-19 – 13:18:02

I guess Mala's post on house work yesterday finally shamed me into shifting my arse into gear and getting my flat all nice and sparkley before Kim and Aggie paid an impromptu visit to sniff my khazi or whatever.
God I hate house work.
I have been gunning it for two hours now and apart from the 753,586 black bags in the hallway it doesn't look any different to when I started. How can one man acquire so much crap? How the hell can it get this bad when I'm never here? I wake up, have a shower,go to work, come home and go to sleep. Thats all I ever do here (unless I strike lucky). How then can it get this yucky? I use the oven so rarely that on the odd occasions I do switch it on I have to retrain it in its intended task. I have whole rooms that I had forgotten even existed. How then can they have got messier than Amy Winehouse in a mud wrestling competition? If only I had a ghost, at least then I would have someone to blame.
Oh well, I'd better crack on with it. At least I am working up a sweat. Gives me an excuse to go and find 'refreshment' when its all done I suppose!!!

Observations on Pompeys Book

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-18 – 14:58:02

For years now I have been threatening to write a book about the weird, 'wonderful' and often whacked out world of catering. I figured that since I have at worked in some of the biggest dumps ever to avoid getting closed down by enviromental health, for some of the biggest cowboys this side of John Wayne and with a selection of the most frightening nut jobs ever to secure day release, I would have more than enough material to work with.
And so its proved.
I'm up to page twenty and I haven't even mentioned Trigger yet!!!
So I guess I am telling you all this so that if I start to post a little less frequently over the next month or so you have no need to fear. My interest hasn't waned, my mojo hasn't gone awol, my inspiration hasn't run dryer than a nuns nipples, its just that I want to get this project finished. OFASI will still be here and the load of shite from the Isle of Wight will continue to pour forth. You never know, I may even put sample chapters here so you can see what I'm up to!!!

Observations on A Kind Of Spying

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-17 – 13:36:01

Now please don't get me wrong. I have no intention of becoming the next James Bond (I cant stand vodka martinis for one thing), but a rather surprise by product of me putting a Feejit thingy on OFASI is that it lets me spy on what people have been putting into the search engines before being helplessly and traumatically directed to my crap. It really has given me no end of amusement. I know. I really need to get out more.
But take this for example. What the hell was whoever of Berkshire thinking of when he/she typed 'How many portaloos are there at the Reading Festival?' into Google? Why the hell would you want to know? Was it done in a spirit of idle curiosity? Was it the CEO of Bakelite Bogs Ltd. wanting to know how many tempory turd holders he would require to put in a tender for the contract? Who knows? I would have paid seriously good money to see their face when they landed on Observations on Portaloos, a post dedicated to lampooning the sanitary conditions or otherwise of these palaces of poo though. I bet it wasn't quite what they were expecting.
Or what about Mrs (well I hope it was a Mrs) O'Thigamyjig of Dublin who put 'Marks and Spencers leggings size 22-24 into her search engine and got sent to Observations on the M&S Bra Controversy, a half forgotten post that did very little apart from break the World record for the most references to tits and underwear in one article. I bet she went straight to confession after reading that although if she did manage to procure leggings in those sizes I would probably advise her to see her priest about buying a season ticket.
And the list goes on. There was Olaf Olafsson in Oslo (of course I cant be sure that was his name but I would wager I'm close) who chucked Thai Mail Order Brides into Google and instead of getting a gaggle of Oriental beauties to ogle, got a post I once wrote monumentally ripping the piss out of blokes who procure such women through the post. I guess it really made his night reading about what a muppet I thought him and his ilk are. Probably shot his confidence right to shit. Oh well. Lets hope for some poor cows sake it put him right off the whole idea.. Thats a hell of a diference in temperature between Norway and Bangkok.
And what about the visitor from Bonn who made enquiries for 'German Porn Stars' and got a post about Guus Hiddinks moustache that I had once innocently tagged with those very words? Something tells me he was probably in no mood to spank the monkey after landing on that. It must have been the literary equivelent of hitting the vinegar strokes just as the leading man displays his diamond cutter on a bongo video. I almost felt sorry for the poor sod.
I shall keep you up to date with any more crackers that come in cos they are giving me the giggles on an almost daily basis. Who said the internet was a waste of time?

Observations on Wake Up England

by pompeycaulkhead @ 2009-11-16 – 12:26:01

So that was it folks. If you didn't know it before Saturday you should now. England have got about as much chance of winning the next World Cup as I have of indulging in bedroom aerobics with Cheryl Cole.
And yet a very large proportion of you refuse to see it. You fail to see that Shaun Wright Phillips couldn't cross a pools coupon. You fail to see that Englands midfield is flatter than Kiera Knightlys top rack. You fail to see that Ben Foster and Robert Green are shakier than a nervous jelly in an earthquake. You seem to think that because its England they have some sort of divine right to bring home the goodies from South Africa next year. Why do you cling to the belief that because its England they are going to automatically whip the worlds arse at anything even when your own eyes are telling you that they would struggle to beat a 5 year old in an egg and spoon race?
And its not just football, its everything. Why do you assume England should be the best cricket team on earth? Or the best rugby team? Why really should the rest of the planet sit up and listen when Gordon Brown or the Queen speaks? England, and more generally the UK is a medium rate nation. It has a medium sized population, a medium sized economy and if anything it positively punches above its weight in just about every form of human endevour. Its leaders have a global respect that those of larger nations such as Germany and Japan fail to command. Its culture and language is both admired and imitated the world over and it still carries a weight internationally out of all proportion to its size. Yes it was once stronger but the Empire is long gone. The days when you could walk from Cape Town to Kuwait City and not once leave British controlled soil are no more. The map is no longer pink. Surely it is time to face the inevitable, down size expectations, accept that a quarter or semi final place in a World Cup or an Ashes win or even a top five finish in the sodding Eurovision is actually pretty good going all things considered and start being content with what you have got.
The UK, it seems to me, is a nation that can't shake off its past. A country that is always looking backwards rather than forwards. We see it in its attitude to Europe (I mean can anyone, anyone at all, give me one good reason why it SHOULDN'T join the Euro?), we see it in its foreign policy, we see it in its continual clinging to tradition for traditions sake even if one person in a million couldn't tell you why. Now I am not saying its time to ditch the monarchy, get shot of all the pomp and bullshit, and forget the last 1,000 years. Of course I'm not. But what I am saying is that to only look backwards is to stagnate and to stagnate is to fall further behind. If you want to celebrate a World Cup win or a major foreign policy triumph or whatever you have to work for it, not rely on the fact that because its England it will be delivered on a plate. The world is going forward folks and its high time a lot of you got your arses into gear and went with it.