tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-22:/A load of shite from the Isle of Wight!!!MokoFeed2009-11-22T22:05:11+01:00tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-22:/2009/11/22/observations-on-the-bacon-butty-7433732/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-22T07:34:01+01:002009-11-22T07:34:01+01:00My 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.<br> 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. <br> I wonder how many of you will be reaching for the frying pan after reading this. I know I would!!!<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/22/observations-on-the-bacon-butty-7433732/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-21:/2009/11/21/observations-on-whinging-7426429/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-21T13:14:02+01:002009-11-21T13:14:02+01:00Why 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?<br> 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.<br> 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......<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/21/observations-on-whinging-7426429/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-20:/2009/11/20/observations-on-the-good-old-days-7422412/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-20T20:52:01+01:002009-11-20T20:52:01+01:00Of 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.<br> 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.<br> 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.<br> 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?<br> If I am please someone do the decent thing and shoot me.......<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/20/observations-on-the-good-old-days-7422412/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-20:/2009/11/20/dirrrrty-joke-friday-7419831/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-20T13:54:02+01:002009-11-20T13:54:02+01:00Saucier than Sarah Harding in a spitroast. Dodgier than Robert Maxwells cheque book. Its Dirty Joke Friday time!!!!<br> <br> A pirate walks into a pub and the bar man says 'Jesus mate, what happened to you? Whats with the wooden leg?'<br> 'Arrrr' replies the pirate 'we got into a fight with another ship and a canonball took it straight off at the knee'.<br> 'Oh right' says the bar man 'and what about the hook?'<br> 'Another battle' says the pirate 'enemy captain took my hand off with his sword'.<br> 'Boy thats bad' winces the bar man 'and what about the eye patch?'<br> 'Well' says the pirate 'a bird shat in it'.<br> 'Fuck off' laughs the bar man 'who the hell ever lost an eye from bird turd?'<br> 'Son' says the pirate shaking his head slowly 'it was my first day with the hook'!!!!<br> <br> A wig and a turd walk into a bar and the wig asks for two pints of Stella.<br> 'Forget it' says the bar man 'you're off your head and your mates absolutely steaming'!!!!<br> <br> 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.<br> 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.<br> 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.<br> Two hours later he wanders back to the garage and the grease monkey says 'Looks like you have blown a seal mate'.<br> 'Oh shit' gasps Pingu 'Its just ice cream. Honestly'!!!!<br> <br> 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.<br> 'Tell them' says the man 'that I am premature ejaculation'.<br> 'I cant say that' cries the MC.<br> 'Ok' replies the bloke 'just say I came in my pants'!!!!<br> <br> And finally the one, the only, disaster joke from the archive!!!!<br> <br> A maths teacher asks his class 'how many times does 63 go into 15?'<br> 'Dunno' says Little Johnny 'can I phone Bill Wyman up and ask him'!!!!<br> <br> Toodle pip!!!!<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/20/dirrrrty-joke-friday-7419831/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-19:/2009/11/19/observations-on-my-abrupt-departure-7416958/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-19T23:48:01+01:002009-11-19T23:48:01+01:00There 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.<br> 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!!!<br> <br> What have a priest and a Christmas tree got in common? <br> The balls are just for decoration!!!!<br> <br> Catch you all tomorrow!!!<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/19/observations-on-my-abrupt-departure-7416958/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-19:/2009/11/19/pompeys-guide-to-cleaning-a-bathroom-7414905/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-19T18:14:01+01:002009-11-19T18:14:01+01:00Well 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.<br> <br> 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.<br> <br> 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.<br> <br> Step three. Take marigolds out of cubboard.<br> <br> 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.<br> <br> 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.<br> <br> Step six. Light another cigarette.<br> <br> 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.<br> <br> Step eight. Go to the kitchen to get a Jay Cloth. <br> <br> 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.<br> <br> 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.<br> <br> 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.<br> <br> 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!!!<br> <br> I hope you all find this useful!!!<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/19/pompeys-guide-to-cleaning-a-bathroom-7414905/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-19:/2009/11/19/observations-on-cleaning-7413471/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-19T14:18:02+01:002009-11-19T14:18:02+01:00I 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.<br> God I hate house work.<br> 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.<br> 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!!!<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/19/observations-on-cleaning-7413471/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-18:/2009/11/18/observations-on-pompeys-book-7407805/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-18T15:58:02+01:002009-11-18T15:58:02+01:00For 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.<br> And so its proved.<br> I'm up to page twenty and I haven't even mentioned Trigger yet!!!<br> 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!!!<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/18/observations-on-pompeys-book-7407805/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-17:/2009/11/17/observations-on-a-kind-of-spying-7399897/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-17T14:36:01+01:002009-11-17T14:36:01+01:00Now 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.<br> 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.<br> 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.<br> 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.<br> 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.<br> 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?<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/17/observations-on-a-kind-of-spying-7399897/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-16:/2009/11/16/observations-on-wake-up-england-7384801/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-16T13:26:01+01:002009-11-16T13:26:01+01:00So 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. <br> 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?<br> 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. <br> 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.<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/16/observations-on-wake-up-england-7384801/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-15:/2009/11/15/observations-on-car-crash-tv-7379263/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-15T20:14:16+01:002009-11-15T20:14:16+01:00 <p>I goes to mothers house and for reasons that I sincerely hope she will keep to herself she is watching something called Drownwatch Miami or Beachside ballsups USA. I may not be entirely correct with the title (or indeed even close) but basically it is one of those programmes where some poor desperate fucker with a schedule to fill on a telly station seeks to find entertainment value by folowing someone doing their job, this one by stalking lifeguards on Miami beach.<br> It was fucking terrible.<br> Of course these programmes are bad enough when set in Britain. 999 with Michael Burke was as truly awful as you thought it could get and yet they seem to have gone down hill from there. But when set in America, when everyone with a uniform and a little bit of authority thinks they are one step away from Dirty Harry, they are excruciating to watch. Who in gods name ever thought this would make compulsive viewing?<br> First up is the fact that all the 'stars' are acting like Rambo for the benefit of the camera. Why? Do they really think we would be impressed? Then there is the dialogue which proves time and time again to be cheesier than a 50 year old Stilton. Do they talk like this normally? And if they do has no one ever taken them to one side and said 'You know what Bud? You really are a bit of a wanker'? And lets not forget the 'real time' action shots which anyone with even the brain of an especially retarded goldfish could see has gone through at least 20 takes. I mean I wouldn't like to say this shite was staged but you know something aint quite adding up when the 'bad guy' who they have just managed to catch is being asked by passers by for his autograph.<br> But like I say, mother dearest is inexplicably devoted to this crap. Cop programmes, ambulance programmes, even frigging vet programmes, she is sucked in by them all. I reckon if they made a programme on the working life of a living fucking statue she would watch it avidly.<br> I'm off to bang my head against a large immovable object....... </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/15/observations-on-car-crash-tv-7379263/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-14:/2009/11/14/observations-on-bashing-the-bishop-7372688/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-14T16:20:01+01:002009-11-14T16:20:01+01:00Heres one from this mornings paper that fairly startled me I can tell you. Schools in Spain are to start giving their pupils lessons in how to Jack (and presumably Jill) off. Oh well at least Rafa Benitez is guaranteed a job as a teacher once Liverpool wake up and sack him.<br> But to be fair I really didn't think strangling Kojak was one of those activities in which extra tuition was required. Of course (despite the evidence I displayed on the dance floor last night) I would never claim to be a Master Bator, and I suppose its possible that my technique has had certain deficencies over the last couple of decades, but given that things have always, ahem, come to a satisfactory conclusion I think I can safely assume I have been doing something right without any additional aid from the education department.<br> And how are the Spanish going to teach this anyway. One would hope it would be all theory but what if they did decide to throw in a practical module too? If you were the school cleaner you would be banging on the headmasters door demanding danger money wouldn't you? And how exactly do they propose to assess the kids? On speed? Quantity? Distance and accuracy? It doesn't bear thinking about. And surely having someone watch over you making remarks and writing in an assessment form would be enough to put you off your stroke as it were.<br> Oh well, lets just hope this somewhat original form of sex education remains unique to our Iberian cousins and doesn't cross the Bay of Biscay to these shores. I don't wish to be unkind but acording to all the available evidence we have enough little wankers running around as it is.<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/14/observations-on-bashing-the-bishop-7372688/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-14:/2009/11/14/observations-on-dancing-part-ii-7372026/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-14T14:20:02+01:002009-11-14T14:20:02+01:00If you happened to be in Lloyds in Newport last night and if you had the monumental misfortune to witness a large, somewhat inebriated gentleman who looked as if he should have been old enough to know better bouncing round the dance floor like a helium balloon on acid to such tracks as Chelsea Dagger and Parklife, I apologise. It was me. I'm really sorry if I put you off your beer or traumatised you for life. If its any consolation I did wake up this morning realising that I must have looked a complete dick.<br> Now where the fuck did I put those paracetamol......<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/14/observations-on-dancing-part-ii-7372026/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-13:/2009/11/13/observations-on-luck-7366935/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-13T15:36:01+01:002009-11-13T15:36:01+01:00Ok so its Friday 13th. Anyone reading this cowering under the bedclothes, too scared to move in case it all goes tits up? Doubtless someone will be. Its amazing how the randomly chosen date of a French King 700 years ago to kick the living shit out of a bunch of uppity knights can morph into an occasion when even the sanist of people can go about their business quietly bricking themselves. What if he had chosen Tuesday 23rd to give the Templers a good hiding? Or Monday 5th. Would we all still be worrying ourselves to death? Its just a date for christs sake. Nothing more.<br> Which nicely brings us on to the subject of luck, or rather the lack of it. Believe me, it doesn't exist. The law of averages will tell you that in any one lifetime you are going to get some pretty substantial breaks and some rather hefty kicks in the bollocks. Thats not good luck or bad luck, thats life. And as for lucky days and unlucky days. Yeah? So your fourth cousin seventeen times removed once got wiped out by a meteorite on Friday 13th. I think we can call that a tragic coincidence. Wrong place, wrong time, an unfortunately flighted bit of rock. There really is nothing more sinister than that to it.<br> I guess what I am saying is stop worrying everyone. Its just another day.. Stop trying to hunt down a black cat when you want a bit of fortune (to be honest the moggy is probably getting a bit pissed off with it). Stop walking in the road to avoid passing under ladders (keep on with that malarky and the chances are you will get banjoed by a bus which sort of defeats the object). Stop putting your faith in lucky horseshoes and lucky heather and lucky underpants and lucky condoms and get on with enjoying life. You cant change the past, you cant change the future. What was has gone and whats to come will be, no matter how many frigging mirrors you break.<br> Jesus, some people are so bloody gulible......<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/13/observations-on-luck-7366935/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-13:/2009/11/13/dirty-joke-friday-7365811/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-13T12:08:01+01:002009-11-13T12:08:01+01:00Kinkier than kylie in a St Trinians uniform. Sicker than going down on your missus during rag week. Have another fix of your favourite, fantabulous, filthy friday funfest!!!!!<br> <br> The old boy was a bit mutton so he goes to the doctor with his wife for his examination. The quack checks his heart rate and blood pressure and so on then says 'right I need to run some tests. I'll need a stool sample, a urine sample and a sperm sample'.<br> 'What did he say?' asks the deaf old coot.<br> 'He said' shouts his wife 'can you leave him your Y fronts behind'!!!!<br> <br> Little Billy gets dragged home by little Jenifers mum who tells Billys mother she had caught them playing doctors and nurses.<br> 'Oh come on' says little Billys mum 'They are 8 years old. They are bound to experiment a bit'.<br> 'Experiment my arse' replies little Jenifers mother 'Hes just taken my daughters fucking apendix out'!!!!<br> <br> A man walks into a bar followed by an ostrich and a cat and orders three pints of lager. Once they had finished them the ostrich buys them all a drink but when it comes to the cats turn it tells the others where to go. So the man sighs and goes to the bar instead.<br> 'I couldn't help noticing' says the bar man 'that your cat refused to stand its round. Bit mean isn't it?'<br> 'Its my own fault really' replies the guy 'You see I was walking down the street one day and I found a lamp and gave it a rub. Out came this genie who granted me a wish. This is what happens when you ask for a bird with long legs and a tight pussy'!!!!<br> <br> Two female friends meet at a cosmetic surgery. 'What are you here for?' says one to the other.<br> 'I'm here to get my tits pumped up a bit. What about you?'<br> 'Oh I want to get my arsehole bleached' replies the second'.<br> Her mate thinks for a minute or two then says 'Do you know? I really cant picture your husband as a blonde'!!!!<br> <br> And finally its Disaster Joke From The Archive Time!!!!<br> <br> Reports suggest Dodi Fayeds chauffer was enjoying a right old piss up in the hours leading up to Princess Dianas crash. One source said he had downed a Harvey Wallbanger and six chasers!!!!<br> <br> Toodle pip!!!!<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/13/dirty-joke-friday-7365811/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-12:/2009/11/12/observations-on-jungle-jerks-7358281/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-12T14:12:02+01:002009-11-12T14:12:02+01:00Oh dear god. Its nearly that time of the year again when ITV goes into mental mode overdrive and presents another bunch of wankwits, has beens and never weres for us to watch acting like tits and generally trying to do a Lazarus job on careers that most of us had forgotten had even existed in a jungle.<br> Great. Just fucking great.<br> I have just had a quick butchers at the cast of this years freakfest and am proud to announce I have beaten my record. I have actually heard of three of this series contestants which is, well, three more than usual. <br> Go ITV. Well done for finding a new barrel to scrape. Sam Fox of course was once famous for getting her baps out so I suppose that kind of qualifies her as a celebrity. Jimmy White was well known for getting to the World Snooker Championship final year after year then getting banjoed all over the baize by Steve Davis. And Kim Woodburn I sort of recognise from one of those gruesome programmes on the lower end of the Sky box that my mother is inexplicably devoted to but which make me want to lose my dinner. As for the rest though? Nope. Aint got a scooby.<br> I mean who the fuck are Colin Mcallister and Justin Ryan? The paper says they are interior designers so I guess we can look forward to them filling their tent with scatter cushions and pastel air beds, but beyond that how does a taste for patterned sofas and strategically placed futons allow them to be called a celeb? Beats me.<br> And then there is the 'acting' contingent. Lucy Benjamin anyone? No me neither although it says here she was in East Enders so at least she is used to dealing with pond life. Stuart Manning? Apparently he was something big in Hollyoaks and may once have shagged Lulu which I suppose will stand him in good stead if he has to get his teeth into any stick insects on a bush tucker trial. George Hamilton? According to my rag he starred in the Godfather Part III so at least it could get lively if he decides to leave a horses head in the interior designers sleeping bags.<br> As for the rest, god only knows. I suppose I could Google in order to supply you with a somewhat more informed post but forgive me. I really couldnt give the drippings of a tramps todger about this drivel And thats without even considering the goons presenting the whole shower of shite. I think my now traditional pre Christmas boycott of all things Meridian shall continue for another year. Any chance we could petition the makers to send it the same way as Big Brother?<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/12/observations-on-jungle-jerks-7358281/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-11:/2009/11/11/observations-on-a-vibrating-cock-ring-7351624/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-11T15:26:02+01:002009-11-11T15:26:02+01:00Perhaps its because I seldom use such things (the Scouts motto of Be Prepared means I always have precautions in my sky rocket for those occasions when my Stellavision tunes in spectaculary), or perhaps its because I usually enter a bar to get hammered rather than to broaden my sexual knowledge, but I really hadn't noticed how wildly the range of products available in pub johnny machines had increased until last night. It was actually kind of educational.<br> Now before you ask I wasn't on the pull. A load of hairy, tattooed, pint swigging, marathon swearing pool players really doesn't do a lot for me, especially the male ones. But we had our old kitchen porter with us who at 18 is still easy enough to wind up and I thought a 'gift' to be presented to him and his missus in front of everyone would be a nice touch.<br> But what to get? At one time the range in pub bog vending machines was condoms or nothing. Now its like doing a tour of an Ann Summers catalogue.. The first pub we went in was selling mini dildos out of their contraption which would have been ideal except for the nagging doubt at the back of my mind telling me that if I managed somehow to set it off in my pocket before I could give it to him, I was going to look the pervert. The next one was even worse. This machine was churning out Blue Pills. Now I realise they most likely have all the potency of an M and M but doesn't that strike you as slightly tacky and more than a touch potentially humiliating? Imagine sneaking in the khazi to procure a packet of these 'sweeties' and then all your mates burst in with camera phones? Facebook could well go into meltdown on the back of that.<br> At the last pub however I found just the ticket. A vibrating cock ring. From what I can gather the gentleman slips it on his member before getting down to business and to that end I hope it gave Lloyd many seconds of enjoyment. <br> I think I shall go and get a cold shower.......<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/11/observations-on-a-vibrating-cock-ring-7351624/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-09:/2009/11/09/observations-on-dancing-7339909/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-09T21:32:01+01:002009-11-09T21:32:01+01:00Oh fuck, this could get embarassing.<br> Friday is my mate Kyles birthday and being a bit of an animal of a party persuasion he wants to try out a new nightclub in Newport.<br> Now unless I end up drunkenly copping off with a gilf or something this in itself shouldn't lead to me having to keep my head down for the next six weeks. The problem is however that when Kyle is merchant bankered he likes to strut his stuff. And if he is dancing everyone else has to be too. Alas I cant dance for shit.<br> To say I move like a land crab on acid is possibly slanderous to the crustacean. It really is a wonder to behold. My arms and legs go in about 400 different directions at once. My neck muscles give up on me resulting in my appearance being cannily familiar to that of Churchill (the dog not the Prime Minister) and my arse tends to wobble like Anne Widdecombe getting a cheap thrill off a washing machine spin cycle. And its not even as if I can blame alcohol. The same happens on the rare occasions that I try to dance sober. I just have all the natural rhythym of a slightly demented chimp trying to play the drums.<br> So what do I do? Do I decline the opportunity to look like a div on the dance floor and get called a wuss? Or do I go amoving and agrooving and risk a decades worth of piss taking from the entire town? I know its not advisable but I guess I will just have to leave my fate in the hands of beer. I shall keep you posted on my humiliation!!!!<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/09/observations-on-dancing-7339909/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-09:/2009/11/09/observations-on-kingsmill-confessions-7336276/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-09T11:20:01+01:002009-11-09T11:20:01+01:00Ok, I accept that white sliced bread is not the most exciting thing to make an advert about. I doubt that the top brass at Saatchi and Saatchi or whoever bothered to get themselves all worked up about how to market an edible wheat product. But surely the Kingsmill Confessions ads have got to be among the cheesiest on the box at the moment.<br> The bacon butty one blamed on the dog is bad enough (I mean who the hell leaves such a delicacy to answer a bloody phone call? There are such things in life as priorities and a bacon sanger could never ever be ranked higher than a good gossip), but compared to the other shocker its up there with the best Guinness has ever put out. Dallas had more believable story lines for fuck sake.<br> And then at the end they invite you to email them with your confession as if they really believe that butty burglary is rife throughout the shires. Oh please. I may not be a paragon of purity but I don't think it has ever occured to me to pilfer someone elses nammit box much less go through with it. And even if I had do they really think I would waste valuable drinking time telling them all about it? <br> On second thoughts Compare the fucking Meerkat gets thousands of hits a day so I guess anything is possible. I could well be in the minority on this one. <br> Is it just me or is the planet getting sadder by the second?<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/09/observations-on-kingsmill-confessions-7336276/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-08:/2009/11/08/observations-on-rememberance-sunday-7329987/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-08T11:58:01+01:002009-11-08T11:58:01+01:00To the fallen we will never forget. To the living, in danger as we speak wherever you are, you are in our thoughts. We will remember them. Please all wear your poppies with pride. You may not agree with the war but remember it is not the politicians on the front but ordinary men and women. For them, in 5 minutes, please pause and reflect. Thank you.<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/observations-on-rememberance-sunday-7329987/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-08:/2009/11/08/observations-on-there-isn-t-a-god-7329193/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-08T08:26:01+01:002009-11-08T08:26:01+01:00Ok ok, what with Aruna Dindanes hatrick against Wigan being a somewhat distant memory, I've changed my mind. My blog, my rules and all that. But really, how the fuck can there be an all powerful deity if I am in a position to post at seven o pissing clock on a Sunday morning? Which merciful master of the universe would allow anyone to be awake at such an unnatural hour much less waiting for a bastard bus? And which piss taking celestial guardian would be sick enough, make that perverse enough, to let me run out of sugar resulting in me awaiting the aforementioned conveyance without even so much as a mug of wakey wakey juice inside me to make the whole horrific experience just that little bit more bearable?<br> No folks. If you are reading this while getting ready to go to church, do yourself a favour and go back to bed. You are wasting your time completely. There is definately no god. We are but a giant experiment of some mad bastard scientist who looks like Doc out of the Back To The Future films and who is currently holding us in a fuck off great test tube and laughing his bollocks off at our miserable misfortune while deciding what evil shit to throw at us next.<br> Or at least he would be if he wasn't still tucked up in bed stacking zzzz's. Exactly where I should be now.....<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/observations-on-there-isn-t-a-god-7329193/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-07:/2009/11/07/observations-on-a-true-story-allegedly-7328214/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-07T23:04:23+01:002009-11-07T23:08:04+01:00 <p>A story I was just reminded of when nattering to an old Islander in the bar.<br> As the saying has it, every village has its idiot and the Isle of Wight has more villages than most. Well the tale goes that one of these yokels from a place called Whitwell makes his first ever trip up to London. He gets off the train at Waterloo Station and suddenly it dawns on him that he hasn't got a bloody clue where he is going. So he approaches a copper and asks him in his thick Island accent (if you have never heard it it is very close to a Dorset twang) where such and such was.<br> 'Bleeding hell' says the bobby hearing him 'where the hell do you come from?'<br> 'I comes from Wital (the local pronounciation for Whitwell)' says the bumpkin proudly.<br> 'Wital? where the bloody hells Wital?' says the copper.<br> 'Thats funny' says the confused Caulkhead 'Everyone in Wital knows where London is'!!!!!!!!</p> <p>I have it on good authority that every word is true!!!!!!!! </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/observations-on-a-true-story-allegedly-7328214/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-06:/2009/11/06/observations-on-puritans-pole-dancers-7321785/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-06T19:36:01+01:002009-11-06T19:36:01+01:00This Island of ours exasperates me at times it really does.<br> Now correct me if I am wrong but I thought nearly eight years ago the world entered the 21st Century? I also believed we lived in a fairly tolerant modern society where, as long as it was legal, anything was possible. Well it would appear that while you might be at that position on your north island, over here, where an unholy alliance of tit headed Tories, numbskull NIMBY's and outraged overners run the show, we are condemned to another century in the dark ages.<br> Because of these fuckwits we dont have a single casino over here anymore. Likewise most of the nightclubs that existed even 15 years ago have gone because these arseholes made them more trouble than they were worth to keep going. It took years of pressure before they would relent and allow the music festivals for which we were once world famous to return and now they are all going apeshit because someone wants to try a small scale pole dancing club. In short these muppets, these halfwitted wankers, want to keep the island in a perpetual 1950 and to hell with the long term consequences for our tourist industry if we dont keep up with competitor resorts.<br> Take pole dancing as its in the news now. Now to be honest it does nothing for me. I find the thought of a naked woman prancing around a bit of scafolding about as erotic as the lingerie section of a Damart catalogue. It really doesn't float my boat at all. But who the hell am I to say that since its not my scene it shouldn't be anyone elses either? The arguements against us acquiring one of these establishments are both picky and pathetic in the extreme. Ok so there is a school a good ten minutes away from the proposed site (yes County Press, ten minutes away. Not opposite as your story claimed this morning. I know you think we are all thick as pig shit but even I didn't consider that you had such a low opinion of your readers to think that islanders wouldn't have a basic grasp of the geography of their own capital). And? What do they think the promoters of this venue are going to do? Drag kids in for a novel sex education lesson? <br> Then there is the bullshit that it could attract a dubious clientelle. Do they really think that one strip club is going to turn Newport into a perverts paradise? For fucks sake, get a life.<br> This really could become the issue that decides whether the Island modernises or not. If it gets passed we may have some hope that we have a future as a holiday resort. That it will show we are capable of moving with the times and that anyone who wants to try something new can do so with the encouragement that people are receptive to out of the ordinary ideas. If the idiots get their way and block it though we may as well all give up, wait for the current staple of biddy buses to die off and then put up the closed down signs on our tourist industry. The next generations of grockles want different things. Do we provide it for them or do we tell them to piss off to Blackpool or Benidorm instead? Do we come of age or do we let the overners and Nimbys and puritanical piss takers win to our long term cost? Isle of Wight Council its over to you. I wont hold my breath......<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/06/observations-on-puritans-pole-dancers-7321785/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-06:/2009/11/06/dirrrty-joke-friday-7317584/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-06T09:22:01+01:002009-11-06T09:22:01+01:00Filthier that frotting against Phil Mitchell. Rougher than riding Joan Rivers bareback. Its that Friday feeling time!!!!!<br> <br> Isn't it amazing how thoughts can trancend continents? Just the other day one guy was walking across the Niagra Falls on a high line while at precisely the same time a 20 year old nipper in Sydney was getting a blow job off a 90 year old woman. And at exactly the same time exactly the same thing popped into both their heads.<br> For fucks sake don't look down!!!!<br> <br> Vain Vinnie was admiring his tanned and toned physique in the mirror one morning when he noticed a flaw on his otherwise perfect body. While everything else was gloriously bronzed, his old man was still whiter than a nuns concience.<br> Well Vinnie couldn't be doing with this. Far too vain you see. So he took himself off to the beach and buried himself in the sand with just his Johnson poking out to catch the rays.<br> Half hour later Ethel and Mabel come walking along the shore. 'Well aint that fucking typical?' says Mabel giving the cock a flick with her walking stick. 'At 20 I was curious about them. At 30 I enjoyed them. At 40 I craved them, at 50 I paid for them and at 60 I forgot all about them. And now I'm 80 and the bastards are growing wild and I'm too fucking old to squat'!!!!<br> <br> Little Billy, little Tommy and little Johnny are in the playground comparing their fathers.<br> 'Well my dads so clever he can blow cigarette smoke through his nose.' Says Billy..<br> 'Thats nothing' says Tommy 'my dads so clever he can blow cigarette smoke through his ears'.<br> 'My daddys even better than that says Johnny 'He's so clever he can blow cigarette smoke through his arsehole.'<br> 'Oh bollocks' cry the other two in disbelief.<br> 'He can too.' Says little Johnny 'I've seen the nicotine stains on his Y fronts to prove it'!!!!<br> <br> The Rabbi is conducting the Saturday prayers at the Synagogue when all of a sudden Yossi and Jacob start an almighty row at the back. 'Brothers' cries the Rabbi 'We are trying to show some respect here and you two are arguing like children. What is the matter?'<br> 'I am sorry' says Yossi 'but we are having a theological debate. You Rabbi are a man of great learning.. Could you tell us if black is a colour?'<br> 'Dear god' says the Rabbi 'Yes its in the Torah somewhere. Black is a colour. Can I get on with the prayers now?'<br> So the Rabbi goes back to the prayers when Yossi and Jacob start having another barney. 'My friends' says the Rabbi 'This is a place of worship and you two are squabbling like babies. What is the matter now?'<br> 'Rabbi' says Yossi 'We are still in disagreement. Could you tell us whether white is a colour?'<br> 'For the love of God' sighs the Rabbi 'Yes according to the scriptures white is a colour. Why the hell do you want to know anyway?'<br> 'Because Rabbi' says Yossi 'Jacob thinks I have ripped him off'.<br> 'Ripped him off?' Asks the Rabbi 'In what way?'<br> 'Well' replies Yossi 'He wont believe me when I tell him I sold him a colour telly'!!!!<br> <br> And finally the legend that is Disaster Joke From The Archive!!!!<br> <br> Princess Diana walks into a pub and asks the bar man for a pint of Fosters.<br> 'I'm sorry ma'am he replies 'We dont sell that. Will Carling do?'!!!!<br> <br> Sees ya next week!!!!<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/06/dirrrty-joke-friday-7317584/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-05:/2009/11/05/observations-on-an-open-letter-to-anne-robinson-7314279/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-05T19:28:33+01:002009-11-05T19:30:45+01:00 <p>Dear Anne<br> I hope you can take this but if you cant I really don't give a fuck. After all people in glass houses and all that. You really are the most odious woman ever to be employed on British television. Do you know that? You love to run everyone else down but lets take a look at you shall we? Or perhaps not. I don't really want to lose my dinner.<br> Where do we start? The fact that you have all the personality of an out of date Ryvita? Yeah thats right. You might love to take the piss out of Wankest Link contestants for being blander than a baked bean banquet but you aint no better really are you. You have no sense of humour, you resort to nasty sarcasm instead of wit and, lets be fair, your pointless pathetic jibes are just sad.<br> You love to take the piss out of peoples jobs but lets face it, you have built a whole criminally overinflated career trading on other peoples misery (Points Of View, Watchdog, Weakest Link). I hardly call that Nobel Prize winning stuff either do you? Its hardly going to nab you a BAFTA. you are to serious journalism what paper condoms are to safe sex. You are to game show hosting what George Bush was to World peace. You are the most piss poor excuse for a human being god ever put on this planet.<br> You think its funny to poke fun at peoples looks. Have you glanced in the mirror recently? It may sound harsh but you yourself are in possession of a face that looks like it has been set on fire, then clubbed out with a baseball bat. Yeah some of the wankwits who inexplicably go on your show might be less than easy on the eye but take it from me you aint no Kylie Minogue either. To say you were dog rough would be doing the mangiest mongrel in all of a Britain a diservice.<br> You might think its amusing to rip into people for not living conventional lives but hang on a second. Weren't you the one who was a pisshead who lost custody of your child through drinking? Thats normal then isn't it? Not exactly in a position to start slating others there then are you?<br> No Anne you are a disgrace. You are a bully, a bore and a miserable old hag who has got more milage out of less talent than anyone else on earth. Anne You are the Weakest Link. FUCK OFF.</p> <p>Pompey</p> <p>Sorry about that folks. Just needed to get it off my chest. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/05/observations-on-an-open-letter-to-anne-robinson-7314279/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-04:/2009/11/04/observations-on-a-whistling-wanker-7303595/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-04T08:18:02+01:002009-11-04T08:18:02+01:00Its quarter to seven in the fucking morning, its freezing cold, still dark enough for the moon to be brighter than your average Oxbridge kid, and some daft twat has just got on the bus whistling like he's won the pools and celebrated his success by shagging Girls Aloud. I hate gratuitous violence but at this very moment I want to rip his head off and stick it up his arse.<br> What the fuck is there to be happy about? Everyone on this carriage of doom is off to either work or college, which tends to put a downer on preceedings as it is, and then add the fact that its chilly enough for penguins to say 'fuck that' and book two weeks in Tenerife and you can appreciate that smiles are about as thin on the ground as decent watering holes in Tehran.<br> And still dickhead keeps whistling. Dear fucking god. Hes murdering 'Three Lions' now. Whats all that about? Excuse my sleep deprived rantings. I need coffee. Fast.....<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/04/observations-on-a-whistling-wanker-7303595/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-04:/2009/11/04/observations-on-michael-jacksons-seance-7302729/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-04T01:22:01+01:002009-11-04T01:22:01+01:00Please forgive me but I saw a trailer for this 'live Michael Jackson seance' on Sky tonight and damn near put the telly through the window. Has there ever been a television programme anywhere near this grotesque before?<br> Now I don't know if its possible to talk to the dead. Both my personal beliefs and natural scepticism say its not but since I have no real proof either way I am inclined to keep an open mind. What I do know however is that if Sky and whoever else is involved in this pathetic circus act are prepared to set this gig up they are going to want a 'result'. The chances of it being the biggest fraud since Nick Leeson was in his pomp are incalculable.<br> And just say the mediums or whoever do get through to Wacko Jacko? Are they going to ask him if he was bumped off and by whom? Are they going to grill him on whether he really was a kiddie fiddler? This may seem like a harmless diversion but the risk is that lives on this mortal coil stand to be wrecked by this charade especially, as is more likely, the whole thing turns out to be a faked stunt with the 'answers' to the above questions and others simply made up to either boost ratings or to suit whoevers personal agenda.<br> Like I say I dont know if what they claim they will do is possible. Some here will say it is, some that its not and others, like me, will be sat on the fence. All I know is that I would rather the dead stay that way.. The can of worms this show threatens to become, one way or another, will lead to no good. You mark my words.....<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/04/observations-on-michael-jacksons-seance-7302729/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-03:/2009/11/03/observations-on-i-think-mcdonalds-owe-me-7299365/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-03T15:58:01+01:002009-11-03T17:15:36+01:00 <p>As you may have noticed I have put a feejit thingy on my blog on the advice of Sparkles. Its not that I am nosey and want to know where you all come from or anything (and even if I was this thing is monumentally useless anyway. For reasons best known to itself it thought I was in Bristol until I put it right), but because over the last week my stats have been going mental and I wanted to know why.<br> Well it seems the answer, somewhat unexpectedly, is that silly little parody of the McDonalds 'Just Passing By' ads I scribbled a few days ago, the one that took all of two minutes to write. Its even at the top of Googles search on the topic and now I am thinking where the hell are my royalties? After all any publicity is surely good publicity isn't it? And its not as if the good people at Maccy D's cant afford to slip me a few quid for 'promoting' their business in such a novel way? So why shouldn't I expect a share of the dosh? Jesus, I would even settle for a lifetimes supply of Big Macs, although given that my record is eight of the buggers in one sitting (I was pissed beyond all belief as you may have guessed), their idea of what constitutes a decent weekly ration and mine may not quite be the same thing. Not to worry though. I'm ready to negotiate whenever they are!!! <br> Alas something tells me I may be waiting a while..... </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/03/observations-on-i-think-mcdonalds-owe-me-7299365/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-02:/2009/11/02/observations-on-the-end-7289984/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-02T08:34:01+01:002009-11-02T08:34:01+01:00All good things must come to an end the saying has it and this morning we must test this theory. The Sandown side of the hotel operation closes its doors today for the winter and once more the team will scatter in every direction. Will we all return next year? Its looking doubtful. I guess this season proved to be one too far as it is. We all need pastures new, all seek a different challenge, all require some semblance of normality to be restored to our lives. Five years of working in possibly the biggest freak show ever assembled has been a blast but somewhere in the back of our minds I think all of us have been considering that there is a whole different world out there.<br> So to Simon, Marshy, Rob, John, Kyle, Craig, Trigger, Marrianne and Charlotte, its been emotional. And to those who were once but are no longer, Gem Gem, Katy, Alicia, Justin and others too numerous to name, you too deserve your mention in dispatches. Ladies and Gentlemen, it has been a laugh from start til last and really you cant ask much more than that.<p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/02/observations-on-the-end-7289984/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk,2009-11-01:/2009/11/01/observations-on-how-far-is-too-far-7288386/pompeycaulkhead2009-11-01T22:19:44+01:002009-11-01T22:19:44+01:00 <p>Right, lets get one thing clear. I hate, I mean really fucking hate, political correctness. It has wrecked all sorts of areas of our lives with pathetic diktats but one aspect that had escaped the meddling of the PC police was comedy.<br> Until now.<br> In the last couple of weeks both Frankie Boyle and Jimmy Carr have found themselves in the shit over jokes they have cracked. Why? Lets start with Boyle. Mock The Week, as well as being one of the funniest programmes on telly, is known to live on the edge. It is infamous for humour that may offend. Why then, if you were of a sensitive nature, would you watch it? Its not as if it is that or nothing. There are other TV stations out there.<br> And then there is Jimmy Carr. Now please forgive me but if you go to one of his shows you must be deficient in the brains department if you think you are going to get good, clean, wholesome, family fun. If thats what you seek go and watch the Chuckle Brothers. Carr too is not exactly renowned for telling knock knock gags. His brand of humour is also colourful. If you were one to take offence why would you bother buying a ticket for his gigs?<br> Now please dont get me wrong. Of course there has to be certain boundaries as to what constitutes comedy and what is just crude. Some subjects are completely off limits and anyone who tries them deserves all the flack they get, but surely it should be down to their audience to let them know when they have crossed the line rather than self appointed 'moral guardians' who wouldn't know a sense of humour if it slapped them around the face with a wet kipper? Both Boyle and Carr have had to apologise for telling jokes which probably didn't warrant an apology, Boyles especially. Yes you could argue Carrs was in bad taste (and it was) but it was told to an audience who expect that from him. Why then is he having to say sorry for doing his job?<br> Now of course I have a vested interest in this. I write jokes. Whenever someone comes a cropper or a big fuck up occurs somewhere in the world I am expected by a lot of people to have jokes about it pretty much instantly. As a tragedy joke specialist I know more than most that I have to be careful. Sometimes though I will misjudge my audience and tell a gag that sinks like a lead rhino. That will not ever stop me coming out with new material though. I have certain subjects that I wont touch (racism being the main one) and a whole fund of jokes that I would never ever tell as they are too sick for words, but these are self imposed boundaries. The only thing stopping me expanding them is my own conscience.<br> And that is why I would ask everyone to get off Carr and Boyle's backs. Yes they told gags that were near the knuckle. Yes their subject matter wasn't the wisest to approach, but in doing so they must have thought their gags were funny. Just because you might not agree does not give you the right to demonise them. We have lost many things in this nation of ours. Does our sense of humour have to be next? </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://observationsfromasmallisland.blog.co.uk/2009/11/01/observations-on-how-far-is-too-far-7288386/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>