Darker Side of Bridget Jones

2010-04-25T07:35:00.000-07:00

There's something out there.

2009-09-27T03:15:00.001-07:00

I think W will get a surprise when he sees my art work in the living room. I fancied being creative yesterday so I took out the red paint from the cupboard and began painting.

Currently in Kensington seeing my love interest. He's working today on his art work.

I think that W does not always tell the truth to the women that he is involved with, he likes to play the victim and only tells them what he thinks will impress them. Women like a sob story, we like to mother men, especially men like him.

For instance has he told Chiswick yet that he walked out on his disabled wife and two young sons. One had just been born ansd was months old. When I asked him why his marriage ended he told me that his wife stopped loving him. As I have got to know W the truth has come out, that in actual fact he had four extra marital affairs. One of which was with his ex girlfriend Jenny, F does not know this, I am sure had she known this she would not have gone to Jenny's wedding. How could Jenny play act like this? Sleeping with another woman's husband is really low, especially as she was about to get married herself. He never visits his children in France, he never phones his children in France. Instead his children stay at his sister's house in Clapham. It's his sister who makes all of the arrangements. Like most women in W's life we are all left to pick up the pieces. When I asked why don't you see your children, he said, because their grandfather is a nutter, he tried to hang himself on my wedding day. Perhaps the old man had really good intuition and insight and knew that sadly the outcome of this marriage would be disastrous for his daughter. W has no backbone. I have always told him that he MUST make more of an effort to get involved in his childrens' lives. I am still waiting. I guess they'll be waiting for alongtime to come.

W has gone out of his way to slag me off left right and centre, but what he has not done is admitted that whilst I was drinking, he was also drinking with me, we BOTH drank together.

W has not told his current women about the emotional abuse I had to put up with comments like:

You have fat blobby legs.

SLS was better in bed than you.

You have the manners of a pig.

And other extremely nasty and hurtful comments

Telling me I am useless and stupid

His extreme mood swings from the alleged manic depression that he suffers from.

Regularly shouting at me

etc etc

W also needs to own up to the fact that when he met me, he was still sleeping with another woman called Sabine, a German woman who lives in Richmond.

He has a tendency to sleep with not just one woman but several.

Is Camila aware that whilst he has been dating her, he has also being seeing the woman in Chiswick.

Why has W still been sleeping with me (and why have I still been sleeping with him)? Whilst seeing Chiswick and Camila and who knows who else?

W is quick to talk about what he has had to put up with from me, playing the victim, well what have I had to put with? He has now got his wife wrapped around his little finger with the fabricated lies about me and our relationship.

He dabbles in taking prescription drugs.

He smokes wacky backy.

He drinks far more than I do. He drinks everyday. My drinking is only on a Friday and Saturday night.

What really has hurt is that I saved up to buy him an expensive Austin Reed jacket which was a special gift from me to him (it has sentimental significance) and he has been wearing it to meet Chiswick. That was a really special gift and he knew how much I had saved up for it and that I was really proud that I could buy him such a nice gift.

He is incredibly materialistic he always says 'I had a four bedroom house in Streatham, and now I have this' I have to correct him and say 'no W, you had a wife, two children and a four bedroom house in Streatham'.

The truth is I am not nearly as bad as he makes out, he is using me as a way of getting sympathy, as a way of justifying his own actions. It's always someone else's fault.

Women love a sob story, they love to nurture, take care of ..... Come on girls get real, he's playing us all.

Love Cat

These are My Kind of People. - Yip Peeeeeeeeeeeeeee

2008-06-21T06:53:00.000-07:00

Maddo and Martha's Film

An Apology to Professor Whitty.

2008-06-18T08:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Justin,

I am sorry for writing about you in the wrong way. I did not mean to cause offence, it was in fact done in a very tongue in cheek way. I have now deleted your name from the post.

All the Best Cat.

“I cried because I had no shoes, then I met a man who had no feet.”

2008-05-28T05:38:00.001-07:00

Public Relations Exercise on the new play - Darts.

2008-05-14T10:32:00.000-07:00

darts

00:16

Started to write a new play called 'Darts'.

2008-05-14T08:25:00.001-07:00

Come on lads ...

Nantwich

2008-05-14T08:20:00.000-07:00

If I can during half-term which is less than two weeks I will go up and support them, the Tories. Ideally, I would like to do tele-canvassing from Croydon.

Darts my new play.

2008-05-14T06:24:00.001-07:00

Character Profiles:

As well as being morbidly obese Janice is also insane. Bolton born Janice recently took a National Express coach to Croydon, at midnight, on Sunday 7^th May. This was to escape the DSS who are currently investigating her for benefit fraud. Janice has ten children to Tim, who is, like Janice, unemployed.

Me, well I am a drama teacher from the North of England and I have recently relocated to Croydon.

Masha is a character from Anton Chekov’s play the Seagull.

Tory MP Mark Swain is married to Sheila. Sheila is a doctor and a part-time celebrity journalist. They have three children who all attend the famous Whitgift School.

Mark has a secret. He likes darts more than politics. The truth is he dreams of becoming an international champion darts player. Mark's wife suspects he is having an affair because he keeps disappearing for hours on end. The truth is Mark is driving two hundred miles twice a week and playing darts, in a working mens' club in Barnsley.

Barnaby McFergus is a smooth talking man from the US of A. He has a passion for one thing and one thing only, darts. It is because of his love of darts he has come to the UK to track down the British World Champion, Phil Taylor.

Phil Taylor – World Champion Darts player.

DARTS a play by Cat McDougal.

Janice had decided to take a walk into Croydon. She was peckish and rather fancied a cheese and onion pasty. When she got there she thought that woman behind the counter was a little odd.

Janice: She had dead shifty eyes and smelt of something which was rather unsavoury. It could have been kipper oil. It was definitely fishy. It was fish-tastic – Yuk! How could anyone smell that bad, especially if they’re serving the public? Not only that she wasn’t wearing a Greg’s uniform which was a bit suspect, no, you see what she was wearing was a black a period dress, like all Victorian. Do you get me? There was something about her, definitely not right, you know. And then it hit me, like smack, right in between me googlies.

Me: Googlies?

Janice: Pies!

Me: Pies?

Janice: (annoyed) Eyes!

JANICE: She resembled somebody I had seen before, maybe on beeb like. And then it came to me.

You’re an actress aren’t you love? Ave seen you on telly.

Masha: (French accent) Pardon?

Janice: I said love, that you’re an actress, aren’t you?

Masha: My name is Masha. I am from Russia. I speak minimal English. What is it that you want from me?

Janice: My usual, a cheese and onion pasty. Gee us that big one there, looks right tasty.

Masha: Where is that?

Janice: Under the hot counter. (Janice points to the counter) Then this bloke walked in, looking like all kinda Victorian, he had a walking stick and a big bushy moustache, he then gets down on one knee, strokes his moustache and says to Masha….

MEDVIEDENKO: Why do you always wear black?

MASHA: I am in mourning for my life. That will be one pound please.

JANICE: Do you take coppers?

MASHA: Pardon?

MEDVIEDENKO: (very serious expression on his face, looks constipated) I have found it.

MASHA: You found what?

MEDVIEDENKO: I searched high and low and then I eventually found it.

JANICE: Excuse me love (counting out a handful of two pence coins) will that do? Oh shit I am just short of four pence. Will you let us off cock?

MASHA: (Preoccupied with MEDVIEDENKO). What have you found? You must reveal this to me, now, do it now. I have customers to serve. You must hurry, soon it will be lunchtime and the shop will be packed.

MEDVIEDENKO: It’s here, in my bag. I wrapped it up in linen. (He rummages around in his and then pulls out the seagull)

MASHA: (Becomes flustered and overwhelmed by the sight of the seagull) Oh MEDVIEDENKO! You found it, you found my seagull. Je ne peux pas le croire. Je suis si heureux. Car le long du temps maintenant j'ai été inquiété que je ne le verrais jamais de nouveau. Oh merci, merci tellement.

Janice: Bloody hell.

MEDVIEDENKO and Masha start kissing each other.

MASHA: Before this moment. I was quoting King Lear. It felt like hell, darkness I was drowning in a sulphurous pit. ‘Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, fie, fie! Pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet. Good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination’

MEDVIEDENKO: No longer sweet angel. Now you can quote Sarah McLachlan instead, sweet angel.

Masha: Who is she?

MEDVIEDENKO: ‘Happiness is like a cloud, if you stare at it long enough it evaporates’.

Masha: Who is she?

MEDVIEDENKO: (Confused) Who?

MASHA: (suspicious) This Sarah woman?

MEDVIEDENKO: (starts laughing, then stops as he can see that Masha is not very happy) She’s a Canadian singer song writer.

Masha: I was warned about you by my mother, she told me to beware, he’s just like his father – a womanizer. Retirez votre mouette foutue en Russie. Partez courant les femmes tout ce que vous aimez, nous sommes finis. Je vais continuer à travailler dans Gregs les boulangers. Je vais devenir morbidement obses comme la dernière femme qui était dans ici. Vous pourriez dire que vous m'aimez, mais vraiment vous aimez toutes les femmes. Quand je suis assez gras je reviendrai en Russie et serai assis sur vous et vous mourrez! Sortez! Et prenez cette chose laide foutue avec vous.

Janice: Then the poor man left, with his tail well and truly in between his legs. To be honest if our Tim brought home a dead seagull I would tell him where to get off un all. But not French though, that’s too flash for me. I just say and while you’re disposing of the corpse, get down to the chippy and pick us up a bag of chip ‘n’ bits, with lashings of curry sauce. That’s the only way to woo me back, is with a bag a chips from West Yorkshire’s finest ‘Derek’s Chips’.

He's Done it - Good lad Boris.

2008-05-05T11:37:00.000-07:00

Still a lot of anti Boris sentiment going on despite his victory. I was watching the presenter Kay Adams this morning on Channel Five and she spent a good ten minutes ridiculing him and bringing up some of the racist comments Boris is supposed to have said about black people.

She's a vulgar woman.

Watch Link below -c/o Man of the Woods blogspot.

2008-04-20T09:28:00.001-07:00

Appeasing Islam

Oh Bloody Hell.

2008-04-20T06:03:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think Feminism has actually made women's' lives worse. Well, what do we have now? We have women that work full-time (usually) as well as bringing up families, running their homes, wiping their partner's bottoms as well doing all of the house work.

Okay, Feminism may have given women autonomy but it has also increased our workload.

Read Guardian article Below:

Call me a feminist

Gaby Wood 's generation thought the battles had been won. Yet for many women 'having it all' has turned out to mean doing it all, and the female eunuch has returned to haunt them. Which is why, she argues, we need feminism now more than ever

The Observer,
Sunday September 16 2001
Article history

This article appeared in the Observer on Sunday September 16 2001 on p1 of the Features and reviews section. It was last updated at 03:09 on September 16 2001.

When I turned 30, my mother gave me some anti-wrinkle cream as a present. She was worried I might feel old, but I didn't; what I felt was, overridingly, unprecedentedly, female. There was nothing definite about this - it wasn't as if I'd made some dramatic choice to change my career, get married or have a child - it was just a strange sort of dawning. I had gone through life thinking I was no different from a man; I had been told, after all, that I could do anything, have everything. So had I even ever really thought of myself as a woman, rather than a human being like any other? What my mother had predicted would be an age crisis was, in fact, much more like a gender crisis.

This unsettling feeling turned out not to be merely personal. It is, to some extent, generational. And, more importantly, it is also political. Something that may seem extraordinarily naïve - how can you not know you are a woman until you are 30? - is, in fact, a direct result of our liberation. It should not come as a surprise, for example, that recent books such as Naomi Wolf's Misconceptions and Rachel Cusk's A Life's Work have seen motherhood as a radicalising experience. Because although that may sound like old-fashioned chauvinism - women imprisoned by their sex or by that gender stereotype, the 'maternal instinct' - it is a long-term effect of 1970s feminism: we are mostly now not imprisoned by much until then.

We know that women are having children later now. But the issue here is not simply that the realisation that we are not the same as men comes to women of my generation much later in life than it did to our mothers; to many, it also comes as a shock. Sara Singer Schiff, a 30-year-old editor at a women's website, believed until recently that women had 'made it'. Yet when she started to think about having children, she says she was 'genuinely shocked to discover that, on this issue, I was no different from women and mothers through time immemorial. I was bound to my biology in a way that I had never previously been aware of.' It seems that, until a certain point, most women think of themselves as people, plain and simple, and have no reason to dwell on what Marina Warner calls 'the enterprise of living as a woman'.

What I am describing is less to do with actual motherhood than the consideration of it, and it is more broadly to do with self-image. Many of the women I have spoken to don't have children and don't know if they can or will have them. So the problem is more personal than the practical issues of childcare and employment. It is something like what Germaine Greer observed a few years ago: 'Where women were once nothing but reproductive organs,' Greer wrote, 'they may now claim no specifically female organs and no specifically female functions. The 1969 female eunuch was nothing but a womb; the 1997 woman eunuch has no womb.' The result of 'liberation', for many women, has been to act in spite of, rather than in collusion with, our physical selves.

Natasha Walter has advised us to do away with the old feminist adage - 'the personal is the political' - since the political, she believes, gains strength by shedding the baggage of the personal. It's a persuasive argument, since there is still so much work to be done: on matters of equal pay, equal rights and better childcare, the battles are clearly not over. But in an age when eating disorders are on the increase, when women feel even more pressure both to succeed and look beautiful, when the problems of balancing work and domestic life have, according to one feminist, actually become worse than ever, the personal can't be left in the lurch. A number of the women I have spoken to have felt guilty for dwelling on these issues. But they are not complaining; they are successful, and bewildered. And their private unease is so pervasive that, together, they form a collective voice that deserves to be heard.

Because whatever the changes in women's public lives, the issues of our private lives remain much the same. Your beliefs about sexual equality don't prevent you from feeling ambivalent about your appearance or insecure about your intelligence. Your ambitions for your career may sit uneasily with your desire to have a child. In other words, though the personal may be seen as having a political reach, the political doesn't always impinge on the personal as much as many of us hope it might. As Germaine Greer has put it: 'Equality legislation cannot give me the right to be at ease in my woman's body.'

Feminism has made so much progress on the surface that what it had to say about our personal lives has been all but forgotten. We don't need to separate the personal from the political. We need to rescue the personal and make it political again. Feminist historian Sally Alexander has said of her Seventies activism that 'our actions were about self-discovery as well as imagining a better world'. Both of these projects went hand in hand, and they should go together now. We don't need a new feminism that gives us equality at work and leaves our private selves in crisis. We need the old feminism back, not out of an unproductive sense of nostalgia, and not because we fail to appreciate what has already been done, but so that we can harness both aspects of it for a new age.

Many women of my generation feel they have missed the boat on the great political movements of the twentieth century. As one woman I spoke to put it: 'I wish I'd been born in an age when there was something more concrete to fight for.' In fact, there are things to fight for - we still can be feminists - but because of the period when we were born, we don't necessarily start out that way. I have often thought about the first tutorial I had at university on the subject of feminism.

Two of us arrived, armed with our copies of New Feminist Criticism, expecting to be asked to think about literature with a feminist slant. But instead, our tutor, an energetic and inspiring woman, told us what was wrong with women's lives. She spoke about childcare and detailed some of her partner's less charming domestic habits. She said it was generally men who had affairs, because if there was any commuting to be done, the man generally did it. I interrupted to say my mother commuted to work. 'OK,' she said, 'your mother's the exception. But, for example, women mostly do the cooking.'

My friend interrupted to say that her father did all the cooking in their house. 'Right,' she said, 'so your father's the exception.' After a few more of these exchanges, the tutor became exasperated, and gave up. 'Uch!' she said, as if about to spit out the dirtiest of words, 'you're post-feminists!'

We didn't mean to be, of course. We had arrived hoping to learn more about what feminism was, or had been, before the 'post' kicked in. But clearly we were born in an era that made us 'post-feminists' chronologically, if not by choice. I was born a year after Sexual Politics was published, the year of the first women's liberation demonstration in Britain, the year The Female Eunuch came out in paperback. That edition carried on its cover an image that has now become an icon - a suit of flesh, hanging up to dry, airing out the old assumptions about what a woman was supposed to be. We had been oppressively reduced to the sum of our body parts, the image said, and it also implied that a gender stereotype was something put on you, like an item of clothing; there was a liberation in the idea that you could take it off. I could not, of course, have made sense of it then, and that is the point about where my generation falls in relation to these politics. We can call ourselves feminists, but we cannot claim to have had any part in the battles that liberated us. We are beneficiaries of a movement that 'is no longer a movement', as Sally Alexander has said.

And, beyond the mere chance of timing, my university friend and I were, whether we were conscious of it or not, 'post-feminists' ideologically, too. Our age had had an effect on our ideas. The late critic Lorna Sage pointed out that feminists rebelled against their mothers more than they did against their fathers: 'You aim your feminism less at men,' she wrote, 'than at the picture of the woman you don't want to be, the enemy within.' When we were growing up, our mothers didn't provide such negative role models - we didn't necessarily define ourselves against them.

'You'll see,' the tutor kept telling us, 'when you start working, or living with someone, or having children - you'll see that it's not the way you think it is.' We thought she was wrong, and that the times she predicted we would one day encounter had in fact passed, long ago. But I have had cause to revisit that moment since then, with every sexist word that is addressed to me. And that is why, for me and for many others, post-feminism is something you grow out of, in order to become a feminist.

It is 52 years since Simone de Beauvoir famously wrote that one is not born a woman but becomes one. In that time, we have been taught that we needn't just become women because, as de Beauvoir suggested, culture constructs us that way - we can also choose to become women, however we want. We can each arrive at our own definition of what a woman is. If anything, however, the apparent array of choices available to us can make living as a woman more confusing. Sheila Rowbotham, a pioneer of second-wave feminism, has admitted that 'none of it is as simple as we thought back then'. Natasha Walter, author of The New Feminism, now points out that 'feminism hasn't made things harder, but it does mean we have to make choices our grandmothers didn't have to make, and I think we have to be honest about that'.

Few things are as they seem. Sexism, masked by political correctness, is more insidious now and more difficult to attack. Yet its presence is surprisingly strong - one black woman I spoke to said she had encountered sexism earlier than she had encountered racism and a gay woman said she came across sexism more often than homophobia. In many ways, what are presented to women as options are really new demands; professionally, many women still operate as if they were men. At home, many women do most of the childcare and most of the housework.In a number of cases, 'having it all' simply turns out to mean doing it all. So it would seem that we are not choosing to 'become' women; we are just muddling through.

The women I have spoken to on this subject have fallen, with startling consistency, into three groups, depending on their age. Those in their mid-twenties seem extremely confident and have, for the most part, interpreted my questions in relation to their professional life. Some of them have the added, arguably reactionary, desire for men to open more doors for them and catch spiders more often. 'I haven't reached the point where I have found that my sex has impeded my actions,' says Lauren, a 25-year-old editorial assistant at a dotcom magazine.

Jessica, a 23-year-old management consultant, says: 'I can't honestly say I feel like I've encountered any discrimination along the road to where I am today. I have no complaints. I act as a professional and expect to be treated as one - end of story.'

'I have been brought up to be strong and independent and to think that I am equal if not better than men at all things,' says Farrah, 24. 'However,' she goes on, 'I still like it when a guy takes me out for dinner or opens a door. Is this bad? If a man is being a gentleman, does it mean that I am inferior or weaker?'

The women who are about 30 have hit the turning point I am attempting to describe. 'I've realised a few things in the last couple of years,' says Georgina Pye, a 31 year-old television producer. 'And the troubling thing is that they're all a bit contradictory. Having spent most of my life thinking that my mum was a great role model because she'd retrained in a difficult profession in her thirties and become really successful, I now look at her life and the thing I envy most is that she had loads of kids when she was in her twenties and is still young now I'm grown up.

'I suppose I don't really know anymore how to define success. I still want to believe that everything is possible but I'm coming to think that everything probably isn't and that I actually have to make positive choices about which things are the important ones.'

'I think many modern women don't imagine themselves as such, but rather as sexless beings, or even as "men",' says Kathleen, a 28-year-old who works in politics. 'It's a great shame because it's really about women adapting ourselves for success in the male model of the world, where it is men who hold power. Being a woman only begins to make a really substantive difference to someone like me, who otherwise has a career like any man I know, when I have children. And I think that well-educated women today are really quite unprepared for this. Being unprepared means we're not very ready or able to work against it.'

Tess McPherson, a 29-year-old doctor with a two-year-old daughter, confirms that, when she was growing up, 'the complexities of the choices that women have to make weren't really addressed. 'My mum had had to face quite a lot of barriers to become a doctor but because she had done it and had a family, I assumed it was easy. And it has been easy, in a way, because I think there are fewer stereotypes. The barriers left are much more subtle, though, and probably more difficult to deal with than a full-on old-boys' network, because whereas the generations before us had to battle with men who thought they couldn't do it and prove themselves to them, we have to battle with our own confusions. Having had my daughter doesn't really clarify things but just confuses them more - because I want to both do well in my career and be a good mum, and making decisions about how to achieve this is not easy or obvious.'

The older women I spoke to, mothers in their mid-thirties, have seen quite clearly how the battle of the sexes pans out at home and at work. Of all the women I interviewed, they are the most disappointed. Sophie Finzi, a writer, expresses it best: 'When you have kids your whole relationship to sexual politics changes. There have been times when I have leaned down to pick up a discarded item of clothing and thought, "I didn't expect this. My mother didn't want me to do this and that is why it was kept from me that I would have to do this." I have sworn that I will not let my daughter have to do so much. That for her it must be fairer, with less responsibility heaped on her shoulders.'

When you hear these women's comments, they show a striking progression - from the apparently free and post-feminist 24-year-old to the bewildered 30-year-old trying to adapt to a new reality, to the re-politicised woman in her mid-thirties. None of these women is old enough to have been a part of feminism's Seventies heyday. And yet gradually, they are returning to issues that were voiced in that era. This pattern is diametrically opposed to the old cliché of the student revolutionary who becomes more conservative as he ages. These women are more likely to call themselves feminists the older they get. Why? Because the difficulties appear only to increase, and we badly need to look at those old arguments again.

When I asked Lynne Segal, professor of gender studies at Birkbeck College and a former second-wave activist, whether she thought there were aspects of feminism that needed to be revived, she replied: 'Yes. The basic practical agenda of trying to make home lives and working lives more compatible, which is one place we began - that situation has got worse. More women are in jobs and they are more autonomous - that's better. More attention to violence - that's better. But the basic practical problems are not solved.'

On the more personal issues, she believes that 'rethinking what it is to be a woman, and so on, has not yet been able to generate differing images of healthy and attractive womanhood'. Culture still pressurises and constructs us along very familiar lines. 'And so,' Segal concludes, 'everything needs to be revived, but revived in ways in which women aren't situated as victims.'

Sheila Rowbotham, reflecting recently reflected on her activism of the early 1970s, commented: 'Everyone was saying the big problem in the future was going to be too much leisure. Instead, here we are in the labour force, working longer hours, suffering from stress... well, something went wrong. There should be more to life than having no time to live.'

There is more - the world of work is not enough; the political must never leave the personal behind. And if only we can redefine it for ourselves, feminism can help us get our lives back.

Some names in this article have been changed

Women in a man's world

Sophie Finzi, writer, 37

Having kids changes your whole relationship to sexual politics. In my first marriage, our genders seemed almost interchangeable before my son was born. Then it took us both by surprise that I was so maternal and soft and he became rather gruff and paternalistic. He resented having to bring in the money and I resented doing all the home and baby stuff. I don't know a single couple in which the woman's brain is not filled with packed lunches and socks and egg-boxes while the man is able to turn his brain to anything he likes. Recently, I couldn't sleep after reading Martin Amis's autobiography. He and his father made writing seem to be a man's thing - creative thought unhindered by the mundanities of domestic life. A writer like Amis has so much clear time - hours and hours each day even though he has children. That time is his because there've always been doting women doing things around him. I found it very disturbing.

Vivienne Francis, film executive, 30

I always assumed I'd be successful - my parents (typically African) were obsessed by education. I did maths at university and loved it. I had daydreamed my perfect life. Lovely smart house, boyfriend; I'd go to the theatre a lot, I'd be the first or the youngest or something. Big office, youngest MD... I got a rude awakening. I did a couple of corporate finance jobs in the City and found the office environments overwhelmingly male, and I felt threatened. For the first time in my life I was conscious of being a woman and black. I decided I didn't have it in me to fight that battle, so I got a job in fashion and entertainment PR before ending up in film. I'm very mixed up about children and marriage. I really want those things but I'm too selfish, too career-minded, to have children now. I can't stand how mushy some women become once they have kids. I often think (and I hate myself for this), what if I didn't like my children, if they didn't live up to my expectations?

Jessica Watters, management consultant, 23

Growing up, I always thought I could do anything I wanted professionally. It was never an issue. On the personal side, there are a few problems. I find myself apologising for, and justifying the fact that I want to get married and have children one day - like this is just too traditional. The person I get this most from is my mother, who still holds out hopes that I'll grow up to be a virgin doctor with no need for men or romance! I'm sure a lot of people my age can identify with their mothers not wanting them to get stuck in the 'trap' they feel they're in.

Feminist landmarks

1949 The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir.
1961 The Pill became available in Britain.
1967 The Abortion Act allowed a termination when two doctors believed that continuing the pregnancy would be a risk physically or mentally to the woman.
1970 The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer helped mobilise the women's movement and turned Greer into one of the most important voices in feminism.
1973 Fear of Flying by Erica Jong, described by Henry Miller as 'a female Tropic of Cancer '.
1975 The Sex Discrimination Act and The Equal Pay Act came into effect, making it unlawful to offer different pay and conditions where women and men did the same or similar work.
1990 The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf took on the beauty industry.
1992 Backlash: The Undeclared War Against Women by Susan Faludi analysed the way the mass media works against women.
1992 Our Treacherous Hearts by Ros Coward argued that feminism had achieved all it set out to achieve.
2001 The morning-after pill became available over the counter.
Kim Bunce

http://dirtyeuropeansocialist.blogspot.com/

2008-04-20T03:47:00.000-07:00

Dirty European Socialist blog is worth reading.

We should celebrate diversity of opinion.

2008-04-20T03:00:00.000-07:00

DIRTY EUROPEAN SOCIALIST.

Fighting for freedom, Democracy, Socialism, and against the forces of hatred. The blog that all politicians love. Warning some people are not clever, or nice enough, to enjoy this blog. I feel nothing but contempt for them, and ask them to grow up. LOL

I think it is very sad when people bully others just because they do not agree with their opinions. I think it's a shame that the Dirty European Socialist has taken off his comment facility because clearly people have been subjecting him to cyber bullying and that's not on. When I initially started my blog, a year ago now, I experienced some cyber bullying and it was very unpleasant. I hope that the Dirty European Socialist puts the comment facility back onto his blog and that people are a little bit more respectful of his views. If you don't like his views then don't read his blog.

At the end of the day our blogs are just a hobby and people shouldn't be abusive.

Diversity of opinion is a truly great thing and we should celebrate the fact that we have freedom of speech in this country. Okay, I am not socialist but I am someone who likes debate.

God Bless D.E.S. Love Catriona!!!!!!!

http://dirtyeuropeansocialist.blogspot.com/

I cannot advocate racism of any kind - sorry - but do read the blog below. I work in Hackney for god's sake. It would be unethical and dishonest.

2008-04-20T02:21:00.000-07:00

http://swindonnationalists.blogspot.com/

I am into TOTAL EQUALITY. However, I do have major issues and concerns with one group of people but I'm afraid I have to keep these thoughts to myself. There is one religion who goes out of its way to undermine women. I saw a documentary once about a young woman that was beaten to death by all of the men in her village because she fell in love with the wrong person. They killed her beat her, kicked, threw stones at her. It was horrific.

A girl I lived with at Dartington College of Arts is Jewish and she told about how her mother was subjected to some really vicious racism from her next door neighbour. He believe it or not was a retired policeman, he would come out of his house and shout at her calling her a 'Jewish whore' and other really nasty anti-Semitic comments. She was a single mother bringing up two young girls all on her own. She was frightened.

Racism exists at the school I work at. I delivered a scheme of work on the Holocaust and the black children that I teach told me how much they hate Jews. I was gobsmacked and actually very offended by their comments. I have tried hard to rectify their bizarre opinion of Jews and I have to say that I have failed to make them see sense. It is something I have brought up with the senior leadership team and I am still waiting to see what action they take. The kids' views are strong and they are almost like cement - they won't go away.

As I type this I am watching a documentary on the Holocaust. God it's disturbing. I really dislike bigots and I really dislike the views of the children that I teach, obviously these views come from their homes. It's terrible.

My recent trip to Spain.

2008-04-20T02:16:00.000-07:00

Get me away from those kids - Two weeks off to recover!!!

2008-04-06T10:13:00.001-07:00

Hello, is that Tommy Tom Tom?

2008-04-06T09:58:00.000-07:00

Hello, is that Tommy Tom Tom?

No, actually it's me Catriona Backenzie from Tottenham Hale.

Just to give you all an update I have handed in my notice in at school, and guess what I don't have a job to go to. That school was killing me professionally, emotionally. I feel damaged by the constant abuse from the kids/staff. I am getting fat, I'm drinking too much. I hate the way I look at the moment I am probably depressed. I am damaged I need a good school, not one that kicks you.

I get paid up until August 31st which is some relief. The problem is, coz like, like coz, I have already been to two teaching interviews and the competition is fierce. Like my neighbours dog, Pepsi the poodle. I am sick of its barking.

My hair is brown now, like my soul, shit stained.

Middle Classes are under Fire - The Poor are Indulged.

2008-03-02T06:14:00.000-08:00

Maybe I am selfish, maybe we all are. I will be thirty six in June. I cannot afford to have a kid. When (fingers crossed) we move into our new flat in Croydon, our outgoings will be the following:

1). rent and mortgage combined £1098.00 we will be owning 55% of the property and have to pay rent on it, as well as a sliding service charge for the lift, which starts at £150.00.
2). Council tax roughly £120.00
3). Gas and electric £60.00 combined.
4). Season ticket £156.00.
5). Phone Bill £30.00

My income £1723.00.

Read the following article below by the Telegraph.

It is the middle classes who pay under this Labour Government, Alice Thomson argues in today's opinion section.

She says the rich are allowed to get away with not paying their way in modern Britain, perhaps because Labour is afraid to upset them.

Meanwhile, the poor are indulged every step of the way, Alice says. They are being offered personal trainers, nannies and a wealth of tax credits without being expected to take on any responsibility in return.

It is the people in the middle who are expected to pick up the burden neglected by rich and poor. Taxes are rising, nanny-state meddling is spreading and public services are collapsing.

Do you agree with Alice? Are you feeling squeezed by Labour? How would you fix the situation?

Should the rich pay more tax? Should the poor get fewer benefits?

How did this situation come about? Did it start with the Labour Government or was the rot setting in before that?

Save Dartington College of Arts from Closure. PLEAAAAASSSSEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-01-04T03:52:00.000-08:00

Dartington College of Arts at Prime Minister's Question Time

CLICK ON THE BOX ABOVE TO SEE SHORT VIDEO CLIP.

Hunter and Shooter blogspot, also known as Justin Hinchcliffe of the Tottenham Conservative Party has asked me to do a MEME.

2007-12-30T11:41:00.001-08:00

Justin, sweet pea, I don't know what a MEME is.

Anyway, here's eight ideas for 2008.

Personal:
1). I attend Art 2008, at the Business Design Centre, in Islington, with Mr Badger (formerly known as Doctor Finlay).
2). I eat a tin of mackerel everyday, drink 2 litres of water, eat one apple, one orange and half a broccoli.
3). I think before I open my mouth.
4). I swim forty lengths a day.
5). I read all of PG Wodehouse's novels.
6). I read Conservative Home twice a week.
7). I attend more political functions.
8). I find another job.

By the way, I am in the middle of the above photo, wearing a bright yellow shirt and a black and white skirt, with large spots on. This was taken on the terraces at Westminster, in, I think, it was the summer of 2005.

I am talking to two lovely women. One of which is a Conservative Councilor from Fulham and the other was the very successful literary agent, Maggie Noach. I briefly became friends with Maggie Noach two years ago, I kept bumping into her at various functions and events, and I was very upset when I discovered the news that she had suddenly passed away. When I found out I was in Convent Garden having a G&T, I was about to go to a CWF function when I got the call from one of her assistants, informing me that Maggie had died. Prior to the phone call I had gone around Convent Garden and bought her some gifts as a way of saying thank you for her kindness and friendship. Her death came out of the blue. I am not going to go into it. But, if you type in 'Maggie Noach' and 'obituary' you can find out what happened. It's all very, very sad indeed.

Political:
1). I know I am a Tory and I am quite mad with Gordon Brown about some of the things that he has done, but I cannot stand the way people in the media mock him and his 'mental health' - his shaking hands. I don't like it and I wish they would stop.
2). Mr Badger writes a political blog and I just wish that he would get a political book deal of some sort. Most of the time I read his blog and I have no idea what he's talking about, he is too brainy, or I'm just a bit thick.
3). Peace in Pakistan/Iraq/Iran/Israel.
4). Expose people like J ***S Pipe (can't believe he's just been awarded an OBE - I am totally baffled why he has been nominated - I think it is disgusting) for being utterly corrupt and useless.
5). To make children and young people more accountable for their actions. If they do the crime then they should do the time.
6). Children who are violent in schools should be taken out of mainstream education and put into a borstal type of establishment.
7). Get rid of Mugabe.
8). Get rid of the PC brigade.
9). Here's an extra one - PLEASE DO NOT CLOSE DARTINGTON COLLEGE OF ARTS!!!! OR, PLEASE DO NOT RELOCATE THIS AMAZING COLLEGE TO ANOTHER CAMPUS!!!!!!!!

Badger and Cadger.

2007-12-30T02:39:00.001-08:00

Doctor Finlay has had a name change. I am now calling him Badger, Badger, click on the link below .....

2007-12-27T09:55:00.001-08:00

http://www.badgerbadgerbadger.com/

copy 'n' paste the above link onto your tool bar.

My friend Justin has advised me to remove the previous blog post. I am NOT going to do it. Sorry, sweet pea.

2007-12-19T15:17:00.000-08:00

The Doctor and I, last night, before supper.

2007-12-19T11:52:00.001-08:00

mistress

01:25 From: MixWrestlingSuper

Views: 19,167

CLICK ON THE BOX ABOVE.

NOW THAT WE'RE ENGAGED .......

The Enchanted Forest

2007-11-30T14:03:00.001-08:00

THE ENCHANTED FOREST.
I laminated the enchanted forest for doctor Finlay, at school. I even included a couple of unicorns and butterflies, but I hid them away. behind a canvass. It's up to him, if he wants to discover their treasures.

Sausages ........

Worthless British journalists vote to boycott Israel

2007-11-29T08:38:00.000-08:00

Worthless British journalists vote to boycott Israel

06:48 From: MilitaryBoot

Views: 1,690

Click on box above to watch short video clip. Warning have a stiff drink to hand, it's a rather heavy one and don't have the volume on too loud, coz it might break your glass and all the windows in your house.

My Toe nail has been ripped off my left big toe, and I cannot walk properly.

2007-11-29T04:19:00.000-08:00

Two large quotes from the Spectator.
Quote One:
Labour’s failure to turn this into social cohesion is their biggest failure, and the Conservatives biggest opportunity. This is the “broken society” agenda – Cameron’s most powerful weapon. And Brown will never follow this, because he will never accept British society is broken.

Quote two:

A combination of the Thatcher reforms and the decade-long Blair–Brown duumvirate has achieved what was once deemed impossible: Britain has stopped declining. The British economy might not be quite the modern miracle Gordon Brown claims, but it is no longer the basket case it once was. It is part of our new Prime Minister’s claim to the top job that he deserves much of the credit for this. But his first lesson in the hot seat is likely to be that there is no gratitude in politics: the British now take for granted that they no longer have a Broken Economy; they are much more exercised about the Broken Society.

During the Blair–Brown decade social concerns — what kind of society we have become — have gradually replaced economic worries. People fear that we have become an increasingly fragmented, boorish, more violent society. The new barbarism of the Broken Society stalks not just the dilapidated parts of our inner cities but the high streets of once placid market towns.

Of course, the social trends which are now defining us started long before Mr Blair entered Downing Street; but they have grown worse under his watch. Violent crime has doubled during his decade. Gun crime has soared: in parts of our inner cities it is almost as ubiquitous as it is in America’s ghettoes. In some areas of criminal endeavour we’ve even overtaken America: you are now much more likely to be mugged or burgled in London than New York, a remarkable reversal of fortune on 20 years ago.

Britain may or may not be blighted by a feral media but many people are in no doubt, as this week’s survey from Barnardo’s reveals, that we are blighted by a feral youth, often financed and fuelled by drugs, which is out of control and beyond the law. Every day brings fresh horror stories from the frontline of the Broken Society: teenagers are shot in their beds in gangland tit-for-tat killings; a youth is chased through the streets of West London by a gang of 14-year-olds shouting ‘Kill him, kill him’ — which they do when they catch him, with a stab to the heart. This week another schoolboy was murdered in a pre-arranged mass gang brawl in Beckenham: he was beaten to a pulp with chains and baseball bats, then stabbed in the back.

Britain is now living with the consequences of allowing an underclass to take root and fester. When, as editor of the Sunday Times, I tried to highlight what was happening 20 years ago, nobody wanted to know: the Right said there was no such thing as an underclass, the Left that it was just the poorest part of the working class. Both were wrong.

That the underclass exists cannot now be doubted by those with eyes to see, though some fashionable opinion-formers still try to wish it away. Nor is it necessarily poor: quite often the underclass is reasonably cash-rich, thanks to welfare benefits, crime and the black economy; but it is increasingly severed, in attitude and cultural values, from the rest of society. And (another popular misconception) it has very little in common with even the most deprived of the old working class: the underclass does not form brass bands, go to night school or strive to find the best state schools for their children.

So far our response to a growing underclass has been containment: it has been herded into reservations we call sink estates, where the rest of us hope it will stay out of sight and out of mind. Its members speak their own variants of English (now well enough recognised for comedians to mock), wear their own style of clothes (which middle-class kids sometimes copy) and have no respect for the police or the laws that bind the rest of us. Nor do they have much regard for the world of work or educational achievement: traditional values such as thrift, endeavour and marriage are alien.

Most children of the underclass are born out of wedlock; relationships are fleeting and unstable (which ensures that what is born into the underclass stays in the underclass). This is a world in which there are almost no worthwhile male role models, which is a disaster when boys turn to youths. Single mums struggle to cope as best they can — and usually lose control of their kids, especially if they are boys, when they become teenagers. With sad, depressing predictability, the children of today’s underclass become tomorrow’s criminals and dropouts.

Dirty European Socialist - 'Ave you 'eard yourself recently?'

2007-11-27T09:31:00.000-08:00

Notes in red are from the blog Dirty European Socialist.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Tories have won next election thanks to Oxbridge conspiracy

Congratulations Mr Blair, the Oxbridge conspiracy and to the Tories you have won the next election by a landslide. 14 points in the lead in the last opinion view in the independent. You have ousted the first non Oxbridge partnership as Chancellor and PM since WW2. It took a few weeks of hysteria. We have all learnt who runs the country. The English people have spoken they are subservient to you. And you will get your people, and your people only back into office again and again and again. You must be proud.
Somehow you managed to blame Northern Rock on labour. Yes a private bank going out of business is all the fault of the government, despite the fact that economic growth is still strong. Your hysteria has worked.
Then Mr Blair's army buddies gave a death blow to the government. The same army bosses who never even squeaked Blair was in office decided it was time to say what a terrible government we had. Thanks for that Mr Blair. Thanks for killing our government. Oh we soooooo Miss you. You petty vindictive man.
Well done you tories have won the government is dead. You have won. Most of you bloggers didn't go to oxbridge. so you are looked on with the same contempt this present government is looked on by the establishment of Oxbridge big business conspirators. Why do you love the establishment so much?
Do you think they will give you something?
Poor misguided idealistic fools I pity you.
Well done you have won. Your utopia that the tories will bring is just around the corner.

Bloody hell mate, get a grip, will you? Next you'll be telling us that Cherie Blair-Booth, that hghly paid working class, barrister QC woman from working class Bury, a hundred million miles away from twee Oxbridge, kidnapped the bloody Boswell aliens. Lar dee bloody dar.

Mind you perhaps there is some truth in this conspiracy theory business. If you read Cherie Booth's Wikpedia entry it states the following:

"John Wilkes Booth, the infamous professional stage actor who assassinated Abraham Lincoln, is a distant relative of Cherie Blair".

Could be bollocks of course, it probably is.

TaxPayers Alliance - Click on box below.

2007-11-26T10:09:00.000-08:00

The Town Hall Rich List

05:12 From: WatTyler

Mark Denham talks about the Town Hall Rich List.

Gordon Brown Numa Numa - YouTube video clip.

2007-11-26T09:59:00.000-08:00

gordon brown numa numa

03:40 From: crewzy18

Views: 93

Click on the above box, for a short comedy song on Gordon Brown.

Red Ken Livingstone.

2007-11-26T08:54:00.000-08:00

Red Ken Livingstone

Click on the box above for video clip on 'Red Ken Livingstone.'

Watch this link below. It's on Gordon Brown. Click on small photo.

2007-11-24T06:41:00.000-08:00

gordon golden brown

Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man.

Click on the link below, it relates to the story about the ice-berg.

2007-11-24T04:27:00.000-08:00

Alla Pugacheva - Iceberg (Айсберг)

Bach - The Only thing I can listen to.

2007-11-22T13:00:00.000-08:00

Page down, if you like, for the English version of my ice-berg story. The other two posts are either in French or Japanese. Whilst you are waiting,click this YouTube link. This guy is amazing.

Rostropovich plays the Prelude from Bach's Cello Suite No. 1

Je parlais l'autre jour pour soigner Finlay environ.

2007-11-22T12:42:00.001-08:00

le fait que mon iceberg n'a pas changé beaucoup.

Alors il a précisé à moi…

DF : Bien, réellement le chat, votre iceberg sanglant fond.

DSBJ : Non ! Aucune manière !

DF : Regarder ! Le regarder ! Il a un trou sanglant, droite au milieu de lui.

Il avait raison, mon ami, Cappo-Zadee, l'iceberg, avait commencé à fondre. Je ne sais pas ce que je vais faire à son sujet. Le docteur a dit….

DF : C'est un signe clair que Cappo-Zadee, votre iceberg, est préoccupé au sujet de quelque chose.

J'ai frotté mon menton et ai considéré pour un instant au-dessus de l'analyse du docteur. Si, je pensais à me Cappo-Zadee est déprimé, comment l'enfer sont nous allant le traiter. Est non seulement il un iceberg, il est également beaucoup de milliers sur des milliers de milles de distance, dans le Pôle Nord.

Curieux, j'ai regardé sur le google et ai introduit au clavier le suivant « comment traiter la dépression d'iceberg ». Il n'y avait rien. J'ai secoué ma tête dans l'incrédulité.

DF : Ceci ne semble pas bon. Je pense ce chat, vous dois faire face à des faits. Cappo-Zadee va fondre. J'ai regardé dans mon sac des tours du docteur, et il n'y a rien. Vous faites mieux l'appel.

Le docteur m'a remis le téléphone. J'ai sonné Cappo-Zadee et ai cassé les nouvelles à lui.

DSBJ : Regarder, me considérer, regarder dans mes yeux.

Iceberg (Cappo Zadee) : Je ne peux pas, je suis dans le Pôle Nord et vous êtes dans Hackney, ainsi, je ne pouvez pas vous regarder. Sur celui je n'ai aucun oeil. Je ne peux réellement voir rien. Est je sens juste le froid toute l'heure, cela ce que je fais, froid de sentir, congelé, comme le gel de Jack, seulement plus froid. En fait je même ne sais pas ou ne comprends pas pour cette matière je peux te parler.

Je n'ai aucun organe interne et je certainement n'ai une bouche, ou aucune dent. C'est pourquoi je ne peux pas manger ces pingouins hybrides ennuyeux. S'occuper de toi, si je faisais j'obstruerais probablement à la mort - petits baiseurs antisociaux sanglants. Je ne sais pas pourquoi les gens disent qu'ils sont mignons, coz qu'ils ne sont pas. Pendant que bientôt les appareils-photo et les touristes disparaissent, ils fouettent dehors leurs paquets des sèches, centaines d'elles soufflant loin sur leur Marlboro.

Je suis malade de ces petits bâtards, ils continuent à sauter sur moi et à pooing partout. Et, l'autre chose que vous ne connaissez pas eux, est leur boire de binge. Ils boivent les locataires sanglants dans l'intéret de dieux. Ainsi, là je suis, se reposant comme un berk total, je veux dire l'iceberg, et ces petits bâtards ennuyeux, environ cinq cents des baiseurs, sont reposés là, pissé hors de leurs têtes minuscules de pingouin, sur des locataires. Je ne peux pas prendre davantage de cette merde. Je suis un iceberg de saignement, pas un Wetherspoons visqueux. Je ne pourrais pas avoir les dispositifs humains mais j'aime le reste de moi être propre et rangé et sans merde de pingouin ou être tracassé par leur comportement antisocial.

DSBJ : Est-ce que c'est pourquoi vous fondez parce que vous êtes déprimé ?

Cappo-Zadee : Pas, je suis saignement fondant parce que ces baiseurs n'éteignent pas leurs extrémités de sèche correctement, il est ces baiseurs qui me font la fonte.

Cliquer dessus le lien ci-dessous.

Alla Pugacheva - Iceberg (Айсберг)

私はフィンレイを約博士ために先日話していた。

2007-11-22T12:33:00.000-08:00

私の氷山が多くを変えなかったという事実。

それから彼は私に指摘した…

DF: それで、実際に猫は、あなたの血の氷山溶けている。

DSBJ: いいえ! とんでもない!

DF: 見なさい! それを見なさい! それは血の穴、それの真中の権利を持っている。

彼は権利、私の友人、Cappo-Zadeeの氷山、溶け始めただった。私は私がそれについてしようと思っているものを知らない。医者は言った….

DF: これはCappo-Zadeeのあなたの氷山が何かについて、悩むという明確な印である。

私は私の顎を摩擦し、医者の分析をちょっとの間熟考した。、私が自分自身に考えたらCappo-Zadeeは地獄が彼を扱うことを行っている私達いかにであるか、落ち込んでいる。彼はまた氷山、彼である北極の何千マイルも離れたところで多くのたくさん、であるただ。

好奇心が強い、私はgoogleで見、次で「氷山の不況」を治す方法をタイプした。何もなかった。私は私の頭部を信じられない様子で揺すった。

DF: これはよく見ない。私はその猫、事実に直面しなければならない考える。 Cappo-Zadeeは溶ける行っている。私は医者のトリックの私の袋を見、何もない。よりよく呼出しをする。

医者は私に電話を渡した。私はCappo-Zadeeを鳴らし、彼にニュースを壊した。

DSBJ: 私をの私の目への一見見なさい、見なさい。

氷山(Cappo Zadee): 私は北極に、私いるできないし、Hackneyに、そう、私見ることができないある。それの上に私に目がない。私は実際に何でも見ることができない。私はちょうど風邪を、それ私がすることである、より冷たいだけジャック霜のように、凍っている感じの風邪いつも感じる。実際は私は知らないし、私があなたに話せるいかにをかその点では理解しない。

私は内臓を有しないし、確かに口、か歯がない。そういうわけで私はそれらの悩む擬似のペンギンを食べることができない。断っておくが、私は死-血の反社会的で小さいfuckersにおそらく窒息する。私はかわいいと人々が、によってないcozなぜ言うか知らない。すぐにカメラおよびツーリストが行くと同時に、たばこ、何百の包みをものMarlboroで吹くそれら打つ。

私はそれらの小さい粗悪品の病人である、それらは私の上に跳び、どこでもpooing続ける。そして、あなたがそれらについて、であるどんちゃん騒ぎの飲むこと知らない他の事。彼らは神の為のための血の借用者を飲む。従って、そこに私はあり、総berkのように坐る、私は氷山を意味し、それらの悩む小さい粗悪品、fuckersの約500は借用者で、彼らの小さいペンギンの頭部から怒らせられて、そこに置かれる。私はこのたわごとのもう取ることができない。私は出血の氷山、ない粘着性のWetherspoonsである。私は人間の特徴を持たないかもしれないが、私のきれい、整頓されるそしてペンギンのがらくたのない残りがまたは反社会的な行動によって迷惑を掛けられるのを好む。

DSBJ: 落ち込んでいるのでなぜ溶けているかそれはあるか。

Cappo-Zadee: いいえ、私はそれらのfuckersが彼らのたばこ端をきちんと消さないので溶ける出血、それである私に溶解をしているそれらのfuckersである。

リンクを次につけなさい。

Alla Pugacheva - Iceberg (Айсберг)

I was talking the other day to Doctor Finlay about ....

2007-11-22T09:08:00.002-08:00

the fact that my ice-berg hasn't changed much.

Then he pointed out to me ...

DF: Well, actually Cat, your bloody ice-berg is melting.

DSBJ: No! No way!

DF: Look! Look at it! It's got a bloody hole, right in the middle of it.

He was right, my friend, Cappo-Zadee, the ice-berg, had started to melt. I don't know what I am going to do about it. The doctor said ....

DF: This is a clear sign that Cappo-Zadee, your ice-berg, is troubled about something.

I rubbed my chin and pondered for a moment over the doctor's analysis. If, I thought to myself Cappo-Zadee is depressed, how the hell are we going to treat him. Not only is he an ice-berg, he is also many thousands upon thousands of miles away, in the North Pole.

Curious, I looked on google and typed in the following 'how to cure ice-berg depression'. There was nothing. I shook my head in disbelief.

DF: This does not look good. I think that Cat, you have to face facts. Cappo-Zadee is going to melt. I have looked in my bag of doctor's tricks, and there's nothing. You better make the call.

The doctor handed me the phone. I rang Cappo-Zadee and broke the news to him.

DSBJ: Look, look at me, look into my eyes.

Ice-berg (Cappo Zadee): I can't, I am in the North Pole and you are in Hackney, So, I can't look at you. On top of that I don't have any eyes. I can't actually see anything. I just feel cold all the time, that's what I do, feel cold, frozen, like Jack Frost, only colder. In fact I don't even know or understand for that matter how I am able to talk to you.

I have no internal organs and I certainly don't have a mouth, or any teeth. That's why I can't eat those annoying bastard penguins. Mind you, if I did I'd probably choke to death - bloody anti-social little fuckers. I don't know why people say that they are cute, coz they ain't. As soon the cameras and tourists go, they whip out their packets of fags, hundreds of them puffing away on their Marlboro's.

I am sick of those little bastards, they keep jumping on top of me and pooing everywhere. And, the other thing you don't know about them, is their binge drinking. They drink bloody Tenants for gods sake. So, there I am, sitting like a total berk, I mean berg, and those annoying little bastards, about five hundred of the fuckers, are sat there, pissed out of their tiny penguin heads, on Tenants. I can't take any more of this shit. I am a bleeding ice-berg, not a tacky Wetherspoons. I might not have human features but I do like the rest of me to be clean and tidy and without penguin crap or be bothered by their anti-social behaviour.

DSBJ: Is that why you're melting because you're depressed?

Cappo-Zadee: No, I am bleeding melting because those fuckers don't put their fag ends out properly, it's those fuckers that are making me melt.

Click on link below.

Alla Pugacheva - Iceberg (Айсберг)

Join My Facebook Group.

2007-11-17T09:04:00.001-08:00

It's called the 'Boo Ritson Appreciation Society'.

I absolutely adore this woman's art work, I really, really do. If I had the dough I would buy one of her paintings. They do look more like sculptures, but they're not, they are actually paintings.

Thank you Boo, I love your work.

Boo Ritson paints people, but not on canvas or on board – she literally coats people with paint. Presented as photographs, Ritson’s portraits are a double masquerade: her subjects coated in sticky disguise, and the documentary image a surrogate representation of the tangible painterly, sculptural, and performative qualities of work. By using photography Ritson capitalises on the associations of snapshot memory and filmic narrative, with each of her characters playing out readily recognisable stereotypes.

My Band. I'm on the keyboards, I think I do a good job.

2007-11-17T08:36:00.000-08:00

The Muppet Show - Beaker

01:57 From: samfilms

Boo Ritson.

2007-11-17T08:29:00.000-08:00

Her work "exists somewhere between painting, sculpture, photography and performance".

Gales of Laughter:"Why are you laughing?" Because, you're making us laugh, you're funny.

2007-11-08T03:30:00.000-08:00

The one thing to do
Is to do nothing. Wait.
...
You will find that you survive humiliation.
And that’s an experience of incalculable value. - T.S. Eliot

Why are you laughing?

Crowd: Because you’re from Benidorm, that’s why.

Dickhead (me): Given the current climate with tension growing in relations with both radical Islamism ……….

I think it’s important to follow your instincts, gut feelings whatever you want to call them, like last night. I should NOT have attended the Freedom Association’s event, entitled, "The Munich Pact 1938: Was Appeasing Hitler Sensible?" My gut feeling was telling me to go home and watch my favourite soap, Coronation Street.

At the event, after Graham had finished his talk, the floor was open to questions or comments. I stood up and tried to make a comparison with what Graham was talking about and relate it to some of my experiences in Hackney, where I have witnessed first hand Islamic fundamentalism, in my own classroom in fact. Some of the kids I teach have expressed anti-Semitic, anti-American, anti-British views and I have not really known how to deal with it. They don’t give you training on this at teacher training college. Some of the kids I teach have clearly been indoctrinated by fundamentalist parents, which makes you wonder why on earth their parents have sent them to a Church of England School.

My attempts at articulating my points on this issue were greeted with gales of laughter from the majority of people present, at the event, which I did not appreciate. So I asked them, ‘Why are you all laughing, it’s not funny?’ This was met with further out pours of laughter. I felt like a total dickhead.

I won’t be going back to any further events organised at the Old Bank. I wasn’t drunk and I wasn’t even that inarticulate, I thought I made reasonable and valid points, but everyone else clearly thought that what I was saying was pants.

So, I re-read the invitation I received and this is part of what it said

Our speaker will be Graham Stewart, history columnist on The Times and author of several books regarding historical political figures. Graham's subject will be "The Munich Pact 1938: Was Appeasing Hitler Sensible?"

He will discuss both the diplomatic background and the military situation to assess whether Neville Chamberlain squandered an opportunity to defeat Germany quickly or saved Britain from a sudden but deadly knock-out blow.

Given the current climate with tension growing in relations with both radical Islamism and Russia, it will be a fascinating insight into the most controversial historical instance of appeasement.

So, I was right to talk about my experiences, they were relevant.

You know what, fuck the lot of them. I won't be going back, next time I'll stay at home and watch Coronation Street, it's safer that way.

I was just glad that the doctor turned up at the end. I was burning up inside with anger.

Message to Tom Mason.

2007-11-04T03:41:00.000-08:00

Hi Tom,

You are missed in Tottenham. We never had a chance to say goodbye. Will you and your girlfriend be coming to the dinner on Turnpike Lane? The one that Justin has organised, the Grahame Stuart one.

Hope so.

If you can't make that, then there is always Justin's coffee morning, in a few weeks time.

See you there.

Cat

Doctor Finlay and I, just before breakfast this morning.

2007-11-01T09:50:00.001-07:00

He tried to persuade me to take his pistol into school, this morning, because things are getting a little out of hand there. The kids are insane, verging on, well they're a bunch of feral nutters. He said, I should use it, obviously as a last resort and in self-defence. I just told him to put it away. I insisted in fact, that he put it back, into his filing cabinet.

File it away, now.

DF: What should I file it under?

I don't know. I am not a secretary.

DF: I implore you, please, take this pistol.

I don't know how to use it. Is it loaded?

DF: No, no it's not loaded.

Not sure I can do this.

DF: Look it will be an act of self-defence. You need it Janet. I implore you. Don't worry it's not loaded right now.

Okay, how do I load it up?

DF: Just go to a sink, any sink. Take the nozzle off the top, look (shows me the gun) and fill it up with cold water, and then squirt.

So, it's a water pistol?

DF: Of course it's a bloody water pistol. What do you think I am, a frigging psychopath? I am a doctor, I try to preserve life, not take it away.

But, I don't want to get wet.

DF: You don't have to. My ex-wife left a wet suit in the attic, you can wear that.

Knock at the front door.

DF: Who the hell is that? My God, it's half past five in the morning.

Shit, you don't think we've disturbed the neighbours, do you?

DF: It's possible.

DF goes to the front door and opens it, he is completely gobsmacked at what he sees.

Boo Ritson: Hi, can I come in please?

Me: Who are you?

Boo Ritson: I am the artist Boo Ritson.

DF: What do you want?

Boo Ritson: I want my painting back.

Me: What painting?

Boo Ritson: The one you're using on your blog, and pretending that it's you and doctor Finlay. I want it back now, please.

Me: Oh.

DF: I think perhaps I'll go and put some clothes on, although I am sure you've seen this sort of thing before, being an artist and all that.

Boo Ritson: So can I have my painting back now, please?

Me: Sure. I'll just get dressed first though. How would you like it?

Boo Ritson: Well, I don't want it wrapped up, I'll just take it as it is now.

Me: Okay, well if you walk down the corridor, it's in the room right at the end, on the right hand side.

Boo Ritson: Thanks.

Louise Bagshawe: 'Just another Thursday' - Read her article on Conservative Home.

2007-11-01T04:46:00.000-07:00

It's beauty that captures your attention; personality which captures your heart.
~Anonymous ~

I won't tell you about either my Wednesday or Thursday, in Hackney - but what I will say is that I need the following:

1) Help.

Anyway, Louise is a bonnie wee lassie, as sweet as the heather on the hills.

Do You Know who These Gloves Belong to? I found them on the steps of the stage at my school.

2007-10-29T09:46:00.000-07:00

If you do, then please call Detective Inspector John Reid Barnabas on 0111 444 222 333 666.

Thank you for your co-operation in this rather delicate matter.

The Miss Havisham Party.

2007-10-28T11:54:00.001-07:00

The above photo is of the Lib Dems, shortly after Nick Clegg became leader. It took only a matter of months and then the whole lot of them became extinct.

How did the Lib Dems become extinct? This is a question that has stumped scientists ever since Lib Dem fossils were first discovered at Westminster, back in the year 2008. There are many theories as to how the Lib Dems became extinct. This post presents some of the most popular theories. Keep in mind that there is absolutely no proven theory. Noone knows for certain exactly why and how the Lib Dems became extinct, although most people suspect it was something to do with their rather fake, yet pompous leader Nick Clegg.

Probably the most popular theory right now is the Asteroid known as 'Nickers Clegget', Theory. According to this theory a large asteroid or comet known as 'Nickers Clegget' collided with Earth about 65 million years ago. Scientists think that such a large collision would throw so much dust into the air etc, etc, causing dramatic changes in public opinion which resulted in voters turning off due to the Lib Dems fake and pompous leader, Nickers Clegget. Some party members rallied round and tried to salvage the dying dinosaur MP's, they even got their knickers in a clegget, but Nick had totally eroded the whole thing and it was too late.

Sunday 28th October, The Politics Show, interview with Alex Salmond. Andrew Marr enquired 'is English subsidy enabling Scotland to provide free tuition fees, free care for the elderly' etc ... Alex Salmond's response was as follows:

ALEX SALMOND: ‘Well perhaps the answer is to elect a government in England of English MPs who want to implant these policies south of the border. I mean we're publishing figures today which show that with control of our own resources Scotland would become the third most prosperous country in Europe and the sixth most prosperous country in the world.

So I think the solution to that argument, which will go on forever if we don't solve it, is to allow Scotland to raise its own money, take charge of its own expenditure, and allow England to do exactly the same. So I'm putting forward a, a solution which I think is fair and equitable, has growing support from Scotland, and I think it has a lot of support in England as well’.

This is exactly what the Tory party are advocating at the moment. I know that many people feel that Alex Salmond is deliberately stirring up the divide between the North and the South, with some MP's believing that Salmond is adding greater fuel to English anger over Scottish devolution, obviously with the intention of driving Scotland closer to independence. I just think he's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. He can't win, can he? He is giving us Tories what we want and now we’re giving him grief. Obviously I am a wee bit biased here, with my Scottish connections, I do feel a bond with my native land, although, I do have a rather thick, yet cultivated Bradford accent. And, it is for this reason that many Scots don't accept me. They have referred to me, in the past, as the 'white foreigner' which is of course total madness.

No, I do like Salmond, sorry. I admire his directness and no bullshit approach to politics, He is definitely a conviction MP, and these days they appear to be a rare species, just look at how fake Nick Clegg is. He really has got on my proverbial tits. If this is the best the Lib Dems can do, then I am afraid to say we're looking at party that are going to become extinct. I can just see it the Lib Dems will all be sat on one side of the commons like Miss Havishams, covered in cobwebs all faded and yellow, ‘withered with sunken eyes'. resembling 'ghastly wax-work' dinosaurs. Thanks to wonder boy - Nick Clegg.

Read Conservative Home's article 'BBC employees are eleven times more likely to be liberal than conservative'.

2007-10-26T04:20:00.000-07:00

Conservative Home.

Doctor Finlay has many hundreds if not thousands of books in his surgery, sometimes it resembles a library as opposed to a medical centre. Anyway, I happened to stumble, accidentally, across a book called 'Scrap the BBC!' by Richard D. North, and this is one of the things he says in his book: -

'The BBC is populated by many people who are broadly of the centre-left, but it doesn't suffer from leftish bias: it suffers from a stodgy green, soft-left green liberalism, which isn't the same thing. Now, in any case, political paranoia about the BBC is an equal opportunity experience: the two parties which share power, share their unease about the BBC. They also understand it and are understood by it. This is perhaps the worst feature of the present state of play: the media and the parties view each other as instruments that should be played'. page 89, 'Scrap the BBC' by Richard D North.

Who is this?

2007-10-25T09:45:00.001-07:00

Any ideas? Just found this face on google images. I've never seen him before, have you? There are thousands of faces like this on google images. I don't know where these people come from.

Look What Doctor Finlay Has Bought Me.

2007-10-25T08:28:00.001-07:00

I thought the doctor loved me. I am not supposed to know about these boots. The other morning the doctor was still fast asleep and I just found myself raking through his things and this is what I found. On the gift tag it said, "My dearest Janet, when I met you I felt that all my Christmas's had come at once. Now, living with you, everyday is like Christmas, Easter, New Year and my 21st birthday again, all rolled into one glorious experience. Happy Christmas Janet. Love Doctor Finlay'. On the reverse of the gift tag it said, 'PS - thank you for all of your help in the surgery, and in particular for keeping it so fresh and clean. You're the best cleaner we've ever had'

The Leg He Loved.

2007-10-25T02:20:00.001-07:00

The doctor is sat behind his desk, looking down at Michael Johnson's file.

Michael, a retired miner from Barnsley is sat directly in front of him, he is nervous, and a bit reluctant to talk about his embarrassing problem.

Doctor: Michael when did your leg start shaking?

Michael: Well, if you read my notes doctor, which you have got in front of you, you would know that I have had a shaking leg since I was a young lad, roughly about the time Shakin’ Stevens was popular.

Doctor: So, that’s about the early eighties?

Michael: Correct doctor.

Doctor: It’s been very hard for you, hasn’t it?

Michael nods his head in agreement with the doctor’s statement.

Doctor: Just talk us through what happened. I need to know so that I can get to grips with the condition. (Raises his eyebrows, looks perplexed) You see Michael (exhales, then looks up at him), you see (pauses to consider his next statement), it’s not something I’ve ever come across before. (Removes his glasses, rubs his eyes). I’ll be honest with you; it’s not easy, not even for me, to know what to do with your leg.

Michael: (Nervously starts to tell the story) Well doctor, I was watching ‘Top of Pops’ and that’s when I saw him.

Doctor: Who?

Michael: Shakin’ Stevens.

Doctor: Right, right, sorry, carry on.

Michael: I just really took to what he was doing, the dancing was just great, I mean mind blowingly brilliant. It was all that shaking, of his limbs. I thought wow; I’ve never seen that before.

Doctor: What happened next Michael?

Michael: I got up, out of my chair and copied what Shakin’ Stevens was doing. I started shaking, my legs, and my arms all of me shook. I was literally ‘all shook up’.

Doctor: Ah ha. You were all shook up?

Michael: Yes doctor, I was all shook up. But, it was after the song had finished that the problem started, my leg just wouldn’t stop shaking. The rest of my body stopped, but my left leg continued to shake.

Doctor: So, then what happened?

Michael: Well, I couldn’t go down the pit after that, because it was shaking constantly. My wife took me to the hospital, they put a calliper on it and it shook its way out of the calliper.

Doctor: And then what?

Michael: They put plaster on it.

Doctor: A plaster cast?

Michael: Yes doctor, a plaster cast and still, give me your hand (reaches for the doctor’s hand).

Doctor: (The doctor refuses to take Michael’s hand) Michael, I can see your leg is still shaking, it’s okay. So, that’s almost thirty years you’ve had your leg in a plaster cast, and still it shakes?

Michael: Yes, doctor. Look they said you would be able to help me.

Doctor: (The doctor pauses for thought as he considers his response, he closes Michael’s file) Yes Michael, I can help you. We will amputate that shaky leg of yours, it’s the only way. That’s the bad news. The good news is …

Michael: I suspected that it would have to go. That shaky leg of mine has ruined my life doctor. For a while you know I was able to make money in the Northern clubs and bars as a Shakin’ Stevens impersonator but then Shakin’ Stevens career took a nose dive, and so did mine.

Sorry, did you say there was some good news, doctor?

Doctor: Yes Michael I did. (The doctor smiles) Michael, (he reaches for Michael’s right hand and pats it in a supportive way) I’ve already got you a new leg.

Michael: Thank you doctor.

Doctor: It’s not what you think. Nurse! (The doctor calls out to the nurse who is next door) Nurse! Show Michael his new leg.

The nurse shows Michael a photo of his new leg.

Michael: Wow! Hang on ….. That’s not a fake leg …. It’s real.

Doctor: I know Michael; we’re going to make medical history. You are going to be the first man to have a leg transplant.

Five years later ….. Michael is sat in a Porsche car with the doctor in the car park at Royal Free hospital.

Michael: Doctor, I offered to buy you a year’s supply of stethoscopes and still you won’t tell me the name of the donor, why???

Doctor: You’ve changed Michael. You’ve become cocky, arrogant, you’re not the kind man you were five years ago.

Michael: Look I had a shaky leg, I was broken inside. But, it was you doctor, you put me back together again. Look I just want the file doctor.

Doctor: I’m not giving you the file Michael. I have told you time and time again. I cannot divulge any information about your donor.

Michael: This Porsche is for you doctor, if you just give me her name and address.

Doctor: If I do that will you leave me and my wife alone?

Michael: Yes doctor, you will never see me again.

Doctor: And the Porsche? I get to keep the Porsche?

Michael: Yes doctor, you get to keep the Porsche. Okay. Her address….

Five years previously, shortly after the transplant.

Michael’s ex wife: When Michael came home with his new leg we were all ecstatic. It was a special day for the family. My mother even baked him his favourite cake – Victoria Sponge. When the bandages came off I was in a state of euphoria, at last he had a leg that didn’t shake. But, that euphoria soon changed when I realised that his new leg was from a woman. I was furious, especially when he became more interested in her leg; I mean his leg than my legs.

He was always touching it, shaving it the bath, putting my expensive moisturising lotions on it. He even wore one of my skirts, once, with heals and stood there admiring it in the mirror. What a bastard!

In the end I left him.

Doctor: Michael became very rich as a result of his new woman leg. The media were fascinated by him. I personally think, he became arrogant. He says that he just fell in love with the leg. He kept saying to me ….

Michael: Doctor, my new leg is not complete unless I find the rest of its body.

Doctor: In the end I gave in. I couldn’t stand the bombardment of phone calls through the dead of night. I didn’t want my wife to divorce me and believe me it was getting to that stage. So I gave him her file.

She was a ballerina, a perfectionist. A young woman who decided to sacrifice her career and dedicate the rest of her life to charity work. She was sick of the limelight.

Ballerina: The pressure was so intense, that I decided the only way I could get out of this life of mine, was to let my leg go. I thought if my leg could bring genuine happiness to someone else then why not.

Doctor: But, your legs already bring so much happiness. You have thousands of fans around the world that love your legs. What about all of those appreciative audiences around the world. How will they feel? It’s like a betrayal. Why stop now?

Ballerina: Doctor, I’ve had enough. Please take my leg and give it to someone who really needs it, I implore you.

Doctor: So, he found her. He travelled four thousand miles around the world and found her, in a school in Africa, teaching kids how to read. I believe they are now very happy together.

A story about an illegal car parking space, a theatre company called ‘Wonder Pants’ and a persistent official from Perth and Kinross Council.

2007-10-24T07:26:00.001-07:00

There was a time when I just couldn’t get any decent work in Scotland. I tried everything; I even worked in a call centre for six months which drove me potty. I couldn’t stand the repetitive nature of the job and being hemmed in like a bloody battery hen, it was all too much. The thing that particularly annoyed me about the regime was that you had to ask permission whenever you wanted to go to the toilet. It was an absolute sweatshop, often the reaction I got from the miserable, spotty, adolescent supervisor was, ‘Can’t you wait?’ The thing was, I couldn’t wait, so I quit.

At the time, eight years ago, I was earning just one hundred and forty five pounds a week – grim.

One day, in a sulk I took myself off to Edinburgh for the day. Whilst I was there I met the people in the photo above. I got talking to them; well I had nothing else to do. I was broke and miserable, so I thought I would speak to the idiots in the photo for a bit, thought that they might cheer me up.

They were a friendly bunch, who were out, on the Royal Mile, handing out leaflets advertising their fringe show.

They told me that one of their actors had broken his leg, during a midnight bender. Then they said, ‘How long are you in Edinburgh?’

‘Me, well I live in Perth’.

Actor playing a duck: Hey, she’s about the right size, isn’t she Bert?

Bert playing a pelican: (over enthusiastic) Yeah she is. Are you free this afternoon? We’ll pay you. You’d really be helping us out, you know.

Me playing myself: How much?

Susan playing a vulture: (with difficulty removes her beak, in order that she can speak and be heard, otherwise it would have been a muffled kind of a voice). Fifty pounds per afternoon.

Me: Okay, I’m in. (I shake hands/paws/claws with the animals/human beings)

It was easy work. I felt like a bit of a tit though, but I did it. The production was called ‘Animal Magic’, we showcased the work at the Botanical Gardens, in Edinburgh. It was by the avante garde playwright Johnny Mufflecakes. He was a former student of Warwick University’s experimental Theatre workshop, which took its inspiration from the now deceased, revolutionary Theatre Practitioner, Jerzy Grotoswki.

Johnny Mufflecakes, is the guy in the photo, right at the back, with the mask on. He gave us the brief, that’s what he called it, the brief. He said, ‘I want to push the boundaries between audience and performer’. He didn’t want the audience to be passive, no, you see what Mr. Mufflecakes wanted was for full audience participation, he wanted them to feel the actors – literally, we’re talking skin against fur, hand against claw, lips against beaks.

So, this is what we did. There was no script, as such, well animals don’t speak, do they? No, instead we were all given a tape recording of the animal noise that we should be making during our performances.

Johnny Mufflecakes now playing a sleuth, with sinister looking, uneven claws (stereo-typical personae of a RADA trained actor): Under no circumstances can you enter into dialogue with any members of the public. It is a fundamental part of this production that you embrace with your entire physical, emotional and spiritual being the nature of the furry animal that you are wearing. If you deviate from this, then you’re sacked and ‘Wonder Pants’ will never use your services again. Do you understand?

Entire cast of thirty animals: Yes, Johnny Mufflecakes.

Johnny Mufflecakes now playing a Brazilian Bull frog: (Evil, ironic, melodramatic laugh) Ah, you see cast of furry creatures, you got that wrong. Do you understand me?

An embarrassing pause, confused people in badly fitting furry costumes looking around at each other for ….

A tiny actor wearing a penguin costume pushes his way to the front of the crowd to confront Johnny Mufflecakes.

Tiny actor wearing a penguin costume: (squeaky voice) Sorry, Johnny, at this point are we all supposed to be making our animal noises, in recognition of what you just said?

Johnny Mufflecakes now playing a baboon with a large red bum: Yes exactly! Whenever I speak to you, cast of thirty, you respond with your animal noise. So, let’s ask Mr. Cow over there. Do you understand me Mr. Highland Cow?

Large Sweaty Lady, who is not coping very well under the multi-layered Highland cow costume: (slight pause due to the woman sucking on her asthma inhaler, then ….) Moooooooo Mooooo Mooo.

The entire cast of thirty all make their animal noises, which represents their approval/recognition of Johnny Mufflecake’s (who is now dressed as a Centipede) directions.

We were all dressed like all of the animals in Noah’s Ark, so I was zebra; someone else was a crocodile etc … etc… Then of course there were ducks, a couple of tigers – God they were scary, but then I remembered there weren’t really any tigers there, it was just a couple of guys wearing fake fur suits, they were human beings actually.

Anyway we all hid in the bushes and some of us hid in the undergrowth, in the greenhouses, at the botanical gardens, and every time a member of the public went past, we jumped out at them and then wrestled them to the ground.

Johnny Mufflecakes now playing a kangaroo: Look, I don’t want you people to differentiate between any members of the public, they’re all human beings, so you all just jump out at them, wrestle the fuckers to the ground. And, to answer your earlier question, Catriona, if they have crutches you treat them in exactly the same way as if they were able-bodied. Do you understand? Now let’s go and get those human beings!!!!

The cast of thirty people wearing animal suits can be seen dispersing around the botanical gardens, running to their hiding places (Yelling) Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!! Yip peeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! Woooooooooooooooo!!!!!! Let’s get ‘em’! Way to go!!!!

Johnny Mufflecakes now playing an albino python: Christ what did I tell those idiots, they’re animals, not humans!

The story about the illegal car parking space and the council official is to follow.

I have an idea, about the Controversial Barnett Formula ....

2007-10-23T07:34:00.000-07:00

The Facts About the Barnett Formula, taken from Wikipedia.

In actual monetary figures, that works out as (per person):

England £5,940
Scotland £7,346
Wales £6,901
Northern Ireland £7,945

As these regional variations were not ever a consciously decided policy of the Treasury or Parliament this has been cited as a reason for reform. However, as noted earlier these differences are eroded by time, and at current rates of growth in public expenditure they should disappear in thirty years.

It should be noted that the population of England is 80% of the population of the UK. Instant abolition of the Barnett Formula, based on the above figures would result on an average UK expenditure of approximately £6150. This would be a large decrease for each person in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, but an increase of less than 4% per person for England.

Darkersideofbridgetjones solution:

Let Chingford have ago at this now. The people of Barnett have suffered enough and their residents could do with a rest. We should share the financial burden. I nominate Chingford. Well, it's a prosperous area in the South East, and the majority of the residents all have 'loads of money'. They also have a crest which the Scots can relate to - a stag.

Champion Of The Underclass, Nick Clegg's first interview with DSBJ.

2007-10-22T05:46:00.000-07:00

Nick Clegg said .....
'I was at university at the height of Thatcherism, I was appalled by this soulless vision, there's no such thing as society. Twenty years later you have David Cameron saying society's anarchic. This is a vision of society, a Tory vision of society which I find by turns heartless and desperate. Now I represent a constituency up in the north, in Sheffield, one of the great cities of the north, which has got social inequalities which are utterly grotesque'.

After watching the Andrew Marr show on Sunday, DSBJ contacted Nick Clegg’s office to arrange an interview with him.

DSBJ: Nick, you're a champion aren't you, Nick? You represent the underclass, don't you?

Nick: Someone has got to.

DSBJ: That's lovely is that Nick, you're a kind man Nick. Let's go to the phone lines now. We've got Sheila from a sink council estate in Salford, on line two. Go on Sheila you're speaking to Nick, your champion, the champion of the underclass.

Sheila: (cough splutter, husky Salford accent, due to 60 a day habit) Nick love, I smoke 60 a day, my teenage daughter's pregnant, her brother has been excluded from school twice, once for beating up a teacher and the other time for smoking some of that funny stuff. I'm on benefits and I can't get a job. What you going to do about it Nick? Oh, and my husband can't read or write (coughs, nearly chokes to death). What you going to do about it Nick?

Nick: I blame Margaret Thatcher.

DSBJ: Okay, let's go to the next caller, sorry Sheila, we're going to have to cut you off there.

Sheila: Well, what's he going to do to help me....???

Nick: I'm going to blame Margaret Thatcher for everything, that's what I'm going to do about it Sheila.

DSBJ: Next caller. We have Mary from Newcastle. Go ahead Mary.

Mary: I'm too scared to go out at night because of the teenage thugs on my estate. What are you going to do about it Nick?

Nick: I'm going to blame Margaret Thatcher, that's what I'm going to do about it Mary.

DSBJ: Okay, thanks for that Mary. Let's go to the next caller. It's Mike from Tunbridge Wells, go ahead Mike. You're speaking to Nick, your champion of the underclass.

Mike: My wife has just contracted C difficile, what are going to do about it Nick?

DSBJ: Shall I answer that for you Nick?

Nick: Please.

DSBJ: He's going to blame Margaret Thatcher. Ok, next caller, that's a Mrs. Lewis, a 67 year old, who is actually living on the Isle of Lewis itself.

Canned laughter.

Mrs Lewis: I've had my pension nicked by Gordon Brown, and I'm finding it difficult to keep on top of council tax payments. I'm hungry because I’m living off a tin of baked beans every day. What are you going to do about it Nick?

DSBJ & Nick: (together in harmony) we’re going to blame Margaret Thatcher (raucous laughter from the pair).

DSBJ: You're really good at this politicking business Nick. I think after watching you on the Andrew Marr show that you've got longevity in this game; I really do, unlike Ming though. But, I guess when you get into your sixties you'll be doing botox, no doubt, by that time they'll probably be selling it over the counter at Boots.
Right, time for one more caller, and it's Jackie from Milton Keynes. Go ahead Jackie; you're speaking to Nick Clegg the champion of the underclass.

Jackie: But, I'm not part of the underclass. I'm a white, middle class woman, with a degree from Cambridge. I just wanted to say ...

Nick: Cut that bitch off. I'm not speaking to her.

DSBJ: Sorry, what did you say Nick???

Nick: I said cut that bitch off now!! I'm not speaking to her.

Jackie: Hello? Can I ask my question now please? I’ve been waiting for the last twenty minutes, and my baby wants feeding, and by the smell of it, its nappy needs changing as well.

Nick: No! You can't, you superior middle class white bitch!

DSBJ: Look Nick, stop raising your voice like that. That's not the way that champions speak to members of the public.

Jackie: But, I was at Cambridge with you Nick.

Nick: That is beside the point, I'm a socialist liberal. What are you Jackie? No, I mean it, what are you?

Jackie: I'm a housewife from Milton Keynes.

DSBJ: Okay, let's er ... stop arguing ...

Jackie: I'm not arguing with him, I just want to ask him a question.

DSBJ: Go ahead Jackie.

Nick: (murmurs under his breath) Not happy about this, it's supposed to be for the under classes, not smug white middle class people like her.

DSBJ: But, I thought we were a multi-inclusive society Nick? You can’t discriminate against Jackie? Surely everyone is equal Nick?

Nick: (getting increasing irate, trying hard to contain his temper) Not everyone is equal DSBJ, take Ming, he’s not my equal. He’s past it. Like a gone off tin of kippers.

DSBJ: Sorry, I forgot about Ming. You’re right he is just one big kipper. All I am saying is, doesn’t the socialist liberal party advocate equality?

Nick: Fuck equality and democracy. It’s the socially inept I’m interested in, anyway. (His manner becomes increasingly neurotic) I want to indoctrinate them; after all they’re a bunch of fucking morons. Just topping them up with more and more benefits. It’s like we’re anesthetizing them, and then guaranteed, like a junkie, they’ll keep coming back for more and voting for us.

Forget giving them good schools, it’s better that they’re not well educated, education is dangerous, it gives people freedom, liberty. We don’t want that.

Jackie: Can I talk now please? Can’t stay on the phone too long, my baby needs its nappy changing. (The sound of a baby screaming in the background)

DSBJ: Go ahead Jackie, what’s your question for the morally insane Nick Clegg?

Jackie: My eighty-eight year old mother spends over thirty thousand pounds a year, on her nursing home care bill, yet there is a cap on the amount the local authority pays, for residence that require the same, or similar care. Is that fair Nick?

DSBJ: Can I answer that for you Nick, that's actually .... well, I don't know, who's fault is that Nick? It's not my fault.

Nick: (Looking slightly perplexed, in fact looked frazzled and a bit mad) I can't answer that question, I don't know.

Jackie: My mother is going to have to sell her house to pay for the mounting cost of her personal care.

Nick: Why don't you move the old crow to Scotland. Right next caller.

The sound of a phone being hung up.

DSBJ: Okay, now we have morbidly obese twenty-three year old calling, Sharon, from Croydon. Go ahead Sharon.

Sharon: Okay Nick, I'm a Chav. I'm morbidly obese, but I can't afford gym membership, because I am on the minimum wage, and I have to pay my parents rent money every week. And Nick, I can't afford to get onto the property ladder. I've been priced right out of the market Nick.
I did go to university, to better myself, and now I have twenty thousand pounds worth of student debts, to pay back. And, the other thing is, (starts crying) I didn't go into work today, because I wanted to watch the Trisha Goddard show. I thought Trisha could help me, give me some advice, I am depressed Nick.

Nick: Who the fuck are these people? They're total morons! (Rips his microphone off) Do you know what, I'm off!! Forget politics, I'd much rather work for the European Union, like Kinnock, the perks are much better and the job spec is a doddle.

DSBJ: But, Nick, what about all of those people you're letting down? You can't leave now.

Nick: Fuck-off!

He also said ....

'The life expectancy of people living in the poorest ward in Sheffield is a full 14 years lower than the life expectancy of those people living in the richest ward. And that is part, partly because of the ravages which were inflicted on that city by the Conservatives so, frankly, so much of my politics is driven by that'.

This was on the Andrew Marr Show on Sunday.

Please checkout Croydonian's blog, post entitled 'Yet more Labour achievements', where it states that the top twenty worst places in Britain to live are mostly Labour held seats, with a couple of Lib Dem’s thrown in. How long have Labour been in power now Nick?

For these left wing politicians to keep trawling the seabed floor, of what they perceive to be the damage that the Thatcher government did, is grossly unfair, especially, since Labour have been in power now for a decade.

Since Cameron took over the Tory leadership he has made many significant changes to the party. The work that Iain Duncan Smith is doing (Centre for Social Justice), along with Chris Grayling’s work, which is all about addressing issues of poverty, and more importantly helping people to get themselves out of the poverty trap.

Sadly many of us are subjected to the effects of a broken society. Although, according to Gordon Brown (during his party Conference) he denied that this broken society actually exists. What bollocks!

Watching Channel Four’s '20 Best and 20 Worst Places to Live', on Sunday, this show highlighted how much Labour have lied to us all, and failed the majority of the most vulnerable in our society. They, like Clegg, are no friend to the common man or woman.

As doctor Finlay pointed out to me two of those Labour Constituencies, in the 20 worst places to live in Britain, were held by John Prescott and Alan Johnson, two of the highest ranking MP's within the Labour government. Of course John was too busy doing other things, like playing croquet in the nude with his secretary to even notice his constituent’s problems.

Croydonian

The story of Jason the dog and Matthew Parris.

2007-10-20T02:51:00.000-07:00

Recently I attended a CWF event with a bishop, Sue and doctor Finlay. It was there that we met Matthew Parris and he told us a very funny bloody story. I laughed so much that I started crying.

I'll probably do no justice to it, but here we go....
When he was a young lad, he jumped in the river Thames and rescued a couples' dog. Te dog was called Jason (the name of the dog made me laugh as well. I've never heard of a dog being given a humanoid name).

As a result of his bravery he was later on presented with an award, which Margaret Thatcher presented to him. As she was making her presentation the dog started humping her leg, but she continued with her presentation, and made no reference to what the dog was doing and just ignored the dog's affections. It made me laugh.

Fingers crossed (not allowed to mention anything) but hopefully Matthew will be visiting Tottenham Cons in the new year. If he does that it will be a great boost to that constituency.

Thanks to Blogger 'Dizzy Thinks' for exposing the awesome talents of Greg Knight.

2007-10-20T02:36:00.001-07:00

http://www.gregknight.com/

Please click onto his website (above) and watch his promo video - it's fantastic!!! I think Greg should be in the UK charts with this, it's a song for Christmas, could raise money for charity, with the proceeds.

I am definitely a fan now, Justin is also a fan and so is doctor Finlay.

What a smashing bloke he is. I just wish there were more MP's like him. You've got my vote Greg.- thank you.

So, where are you going Mavis?

2007-10-17T06:15:00.000-07:00

Me: So, where are you going Mavis?
Mavis: (no reply, instead Mavis grabs her inhaler and sucks it).
Me: Do you always carry a thick bicycle chain around in your handbag? And that balaclava ... those leather gloves and that torch..... what are all of those things doing in your handbag? Mavis?

In school we call this tactically ignoring certain behaviour.

Narrator: Mavis is a member of the ageist party, also known as the LibDems. She is currently packing her handbag. I notice that she has also got a flask of tea in there, along with a couple of rounds of potted tuna sandwichs.

Mavis: (looks up, shakes her head) And, ham with branston pickle!

Narrator: And, ham with branston pickle.

Mavis: I thought that's what YOU wanted.

Narrator: Yes, I did, I did say that, sorry I'm not being ungrateful Mavis.

Me: That should keep her going for a bit. What's she going to be doing with all of those things?

Narrator: She's on her way to the LibDems HQ, where she is going to chain herself to the railings.

Me: Why?

Narrator: She believes that if the ageist party, also known as the LibDems get into power they might create an ageist state called 'Logan's Run'. So, she's protesting. A group of other elderly women will be joining her. Actually we're talking the entire British population of women, who are over 65.

Me: Won't that run into millions?

Narrator: Yes, yes it will.

Me: That's alot of sandwichs?

Narrator: It's alright though because the Pankhursts are going to be helping out, making tea and serving scones I think.

Me: Right, they've got a fair bit of experience of that sort of thing.

Narrator: Absolutely.

LibDems - Ageist Extremists. I ask anyone over 60 not to vote for them, as a protest.

2007-10-17T05:18:00.000-07:00

Be warned if the LibDems get into power this is what it could be like ......

"Everyone who reaches the age of 30 is executed in an event called Carousel where they are told that they will be renewed in a new form. Now, there are dissidents who don't believe the tales of the outside still being uninhabitable because of the nuclear radiation. They also believe in a place called Sanctuary where they can live in peace. These individuals are called Runners and they are hunted by a special execution squad called Sandmen. One of these men is Logan, who questions whether being renewed actually happens and if the outside is uninhabitable. When he is sent to track down runners, one of them named Jessica, who knows about Logan's doubts, fuels them with what she knows and Logan decides to join her. They then leave the city and search for Sanctuary. Francis, Logan's partner is tasked with trying to find him. Along the way they meet Rem, an android, who helps them find their way and teach them about the world they have entered".

So, don't vote for them. If you're an andriod then you will be safe, but if like me you're a mere mortal, you've had it!

It's not Ming's age that was the vote killer, it was the LibDems thuggish, bullying of a man who was potentially a real asset to them. The public aren't thick! So, let them slide even further and further into the sewer.

Through their behaviour they have excluded a significant and important part of the electorate.

I mean, in two years how many folk will be over 65?

I thought the retirement age had increased.

I thought politicans wanted us to work into our late sixties/seventies, I know I probably will have to, due to the hulk's theft of pension funds.

This is what the Prime Minster does after he's dressed his haggis.

2007-10-16T10:21:00.000-07:00

His wife loves it though.

Doctor Finlay does this occasionally, as well - I can tell you it's a lot of fun. Especially if he does it running around the Heath. We go there once a month now. We're just like an old married couple these days. In the past we used to do it vigorously, four times a day, nope, not anymore.

We all know the truth about the LibDems. Without Ming, this is what they are ....

2007-10-16T10:17:00.000-07:00

The Big Man.

2007-10-16T08:48:00.000-07:00

The big man with his tightly fitting pin striped suit on, waddled like a duck, past Brian Haw. Brian was camped out, opposite parliament. The big man knew what Brian was doing, and it made the big man chuckle to himself. Brian was squatting down, cooking over a makeshift stove, bacon and eggs on a rusty frying pan. “But that was ok”, thought the big man. “Brian is allowed to eat”.

The big man secretly, despite his loyalty the party was a supporter of Brian Haw, he admired his conviction; he considered him to be a warrior for peace, freedom, equality and truth. “And, surely,” thought the big man, “That’s why people enter politics”, and with this sentiment it helped the big man pick up speed, and he quickened his pace. After all, he couldn't possibly be late.

If it wasn’t for Brian Haw a lot of these atrocities would not have been brought out, into the mainstream. Even though the big man suspected that many journalists were now starting to boycott the reporting of Haw’s campaign, and that only reminded the big man of his time in Sharleston, back in the early nineties, when the ‘Women Against Pit Closures’ were also being deliberately ignored, by the mainstream press. Anne Scargill told him this at Joan Maynard's funeral tea. This is was in Thirsk, the out back of Yorkshire, back in 1991?

In a strong Sheffield accent she confided in the big man, “They’re very selective you know”.

Anne was right.

It was a week later that she and group of other brave women made they’re way down a pit in Lancashire, and refused to come up. Then the media had to take note. They were down there for weeks.

The big man did have loyalty to his party, but he also had loyalty to his friends, friendship he valued more than ambition. And, Anne was a friend, even despite her affinity with Communism.

Brian stank of shit, but the big man didn’t notice because he had lost his sense of smell years ago as result of motorbike accident, that had sent him flying through the air like a torpedo, luckily for him the angels caught him, just in the nick of time. The doctors were mystified by his recovery, they were certain that they would be dealing with yet another fatality. "Dangerous bend", the boy like police officer said, "You’re lucky to be alive, Mr Ponservative", said another, even younger, doctor.

This is why the big man ate so much, he knew that by being big it would cushion any fall he might have in the future. The problem was, when he climbed ladders they broke, so he was never able to clean his ex-wife’s windows, but then he didn’t need a ladder for that anyway, because she lived in a ground floor flat.

The big man was on his way to CCHQ, it was a George Osborne event, a fundraiser that Hornsey and Wood Green Tories were hosting. The big man had a question for George, this was his question:

“When will the Tories abolish tax?”

One hour later …..

All the toffs slurping champagne, intellectual flash questions being asked, everyone applauding and sucking face. Then …..

The big man asks his question, he clears his throat first.

“When will the Tories abolish tax?”

At first people started laughing, they thought the big man was an idiot. They thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. He asked the question again, “When will the Tories abolish tax?”

Gasps of shock horror, embarrassed red faces, people looking away, looking down at their sparkling Prada shoes.

George whispering into another man’s ear, “Who is that rather portly idiot?”

“I don’t know sir. Yes, he is a rather large fellow, isn’t he?”

George, “Before I go, anymore questions from the floor?”

They ignored the big man.

The big man left early, went past Brian Haw’s site and dropped him a tenner.

“How were the sausages Brian?”

“Not bad mate, thanks for the dough”.

“Any time”.

ENDS.

Banana Man Visits Westminster.

2007-10-15T01:45:00.000-07:00

Just for a laugh watch these videos below, then read my nonsense, if you like.

banana man - tally hall

Banana-man: Episode 1: A day in the life of

I think that we all acknowledge that Sir Ranulph Twistleton-Wykeham-Fiennes, 3rd Baronet OBE (born 7 March 1944), is the world’s greatest and definitely the bravest, adventurer and explorer, that is until Banana Man appeared on the international stage.

Okay, so Sir Ralph may have been the first man to visit both the north and south poles, by land and the first man to cross the Antarctic by foot, but, it was only by foot and although we applaud him with a standing ovation, we cannot forget the ingenious skill and bravery of Banana Man, who crossed both poles not by foot, or by chopper, or even by a log carved into a canoe, but, he did this by shoes made entirely of banana skin. You could say he is a nutter and you might be right there. But, this four foot and ten inch tall Mexican from the remote, rural village of Zaragoza is a determined banana chomping dare devil – nothing scares him, not even plantain.

Unlike, Fiennes he did not have a supply of Kendal mint cakes to keep him going, no, he had only packs of bananas, which he hand picked himself, with the help of his elderly gran Maria-Jesus De Lopez, from the hills of Zaragoza. And, unlike Fiennes he certainly did not use a thermal vest when things got particularly nippy, no, he had only a banana skin suit which the elderly ladies in his village helped to weave together. It took them several years to do this, because they were all very old, I think the youngest lady in the village was ninety seven.

You see as far as I am concerned he is genius. A man that can survive for days on end on the love of good banana – is magic if you ask me!

So, you ask yourself what is Banana Man doing on the banks of the river Thames? Well, that’s a damn good question. You see unlike me he is a Labour supporter a Brownite. He is currently going to the houses of parliament to deliver a sack of his finest Mexican bananas, in the hope that they will provide a magic cure for the failing Prime Minster. Perhaps, these bananas will give the Prime Minster the strength he needs to carry on. Maybe the Prime Minster will do a ‘David Banner’ and turn into the incredible hulk, during Prime Minster’s Question Time. Maybe he already is the incredible hulk?

Perhaps Banana Man will convince him to join his next expedition which is to travel by banana boat, up the Thames.

Banana Man’s mantra ‘mutantur omnia nos et mutamur in illis’.

Through the clouds I can see.... (Bananas, frozen men in cheap suits, with blue rosettes)

2007-10-12T07:59:00.000-07:00

"It was time", I thought to myself, "To go on another adventure". And, so I did. I travelled backwards in time, 3000 years to be precise, and what did I discover, as I reached down into the sandy water? I discovered my reflection - it was a shock I can tell you. I noticed that I was a yhetti - a blond one.

"Why me? Why a yhetti?" I enquired as I looked up into the clouds/river (down into the frozen river - there were a few gold fish, looking up with sad frozen Captain Bird's Eye fish finger eyes - saying please Ms. Yhetti defrost us?). Then I realised, "actually, it's okay. It's rather cold here, and if I just had a human suit of skin on I would be dead. Or, I would be suffering from frost bite and by now all of my extremities would have dropped off. It's the ice-age after all and I'm already pretty cold". Then I placed my hand on what I thought were rocks. I was mistaken, no, it was not a rock, it was a corpse of a large gentleman. Like a big stoney beached whale, just lying there like a gigantic ice-cube.
"Jesus!" I yelped in yhetti yelpness. I won't tell you who it was. But, I knew the name of the man. He was from another era in time. The man, the big man, had a massive blue Conservative rosette pinned to a nasty cheap pin striped suit, "What a plonker" I thought! "Never mind. I am hungry, and cold, and I'm a big hairy yhetti? What do I do now? Should I run up that mountain behind me, and start beating my chest like an ape? No, I know I need a banana. Damn-it! They're all frozen. Hey, is that ASDA over there?"

It is you know - it's ASDA.

Fucking Women .. Fucking Men .. Fucking Cheats.

2007-10-10T14:27:00.000-07:00

"For the lips of a loose woman drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil; but in the end she is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword"

A mistress should be like a little country retreat near the town, not to dwell in constantly, but only for a night and away. - William Wycherley.

Don't Eat This ....

2007-10-09T09:03:00.000-07:00

Or, You'll End up Looking Like This .....

2007-10-09T09:01:00.000-07:00

Don't Eat This ....

2007-10-09T08:59:00.001-07:00

How many times have I told you!!! Don't eat this ....

Or you'll end up looking like this ......

Hackney Council Have Started to Knock Down Homerton College of Technology.

2007-10-02T09:52:00.000-07:00

It is a sad time. Homerton College of Technology closed it's doors to key-stage four students last year, and today when I walked past I noticed that they have started demolishing it.

During my time there parents and students were treated like third class citizens. There was never any proper consultation period with the parents. Hackney Council/The Learning Trust had decided that the school would close, and Goliath won. They quite literally bull dozered their way into getting what they wanted. So, much for democracy. Parents campaigned hard to keep the school open, but their efforts, despite their passion, were futile.

There is a desperate shortage of school places in Hackney, and all of the boys from Homerton are now are being taught in schools in Tower Hamlets. And, if you know anything about turf wars in East London, you'll appreciate that this was a very wreckless thing that Hackney Council did. I think they could have at least waited until all of the key-stage three cohort had completed their education, at Homerton and basically given them the opportunity complete key-stage four. That would have been the decent thing to do.

But, there's really nothing democratic about the way Hackney Council operate, I'm sure you have read about the under hand tactics they used in gentrification of Broad Street Market. They've pissed off all the residents there as well.

The Learning Trust - are ruthless buggers, they went out of their way to undermine the staff, students and ethos of the place. They replaced at least three or four sets of senior management teams in a short space of time, which inevitably played a major part in effecting staff/student morale which resulted in the school becoming a chaotic, directionless place. And, with the imminent threat of closure you can only imagine how miserable it was. All a tactical ploy. There was so much game playing going on. If you are interested in reading about it, go onto the Hackney Gazette Website and type in Homerton College of Technology, back date it to 2004.

We had a group of governors who did not represent the demographics of the school, one of whom was related to Jools Pipe. And the rest of them (I know I've got no room to talk - but the whole thing just stank of kippers to me) were white middle class women, who were posh. All of which supported the closure.

Next Week Came early - Chris Grayling with his orange moustache.

2007-10-01T10:13:00.000-07:00

He was told repeatedly by his mother to stop eating all of those carrots, but he refused. When he wasn't munching on carrots, he was tearing into packets of ginger snaps. Sorry Chris, you can't have it all!

Neat Work - So, here's your crown Chris Grayling.

2007-10-01T09:53:00.000-07:00

‘You can't trust Gordon Brown'

Chris Grayling, the Shadow Secretary for Work and Pensions, committed a Conservative Government to setting up a life-boat fund to help the victims of Gordon Brown's pension swindle.

And he attacked Brown for abandoning pensioners and many other vulnerable sectors of society:

"You can't trust Gordon Brown. We will stand up for all of those people whose trust Gordon has broken: the pensioners, the hard working families, and the unemployed."

The above words have been stolen from the Con Party Conference website. If you visit next week Chris will have grown an orange moustache, so be sure to tune in.

My Unfortunate Encounter with a Roach.

2007-10-01T02:14:00.000-07:00

My cockroach nightmare.

I got into school this morning just after seven, outside my office was what appeared to be a novelty button, so I picked it up, to take a closer inspection. I thought my boss Christina might have dropped it. But, I was wrong, the thing I was holding in between my fingers was a live cockroach. I screamed my head off!!! It got away, I threw it down onto the floor, the caretaker came running down the corridor to see what all the fuss was about. He said, 'don't worry love, you won't see that thing again, it will have disappeared, into one of the cracks in the wall!'

How wrong he was, twenty minutes later, it reappeared and was walking towards me. Massive!! It could of gone on my leg or anything. ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! HELP!!!

Doctor Finlay phoned me this morning, at a critical moment. the cleaner had just smashed the roach with the end of his broom. I am scared, because I know there will be more. Apparently, there's hundreds.

I wish I was in Blackpool slurping champagne with the doctor.

Anyway the latest news is that I have bought a second hand cello. I need a hobby. I have spent the last three months learning how to bandage the doctor up, like a mummy, from head to toe. He loves that, but I need to be more versatile in what I do. So, instead I am going to learn how to play Bach and then wrap him up like a mummy with bandages.

Oh Yes - How could I forget -'Abolishing Stamp Duty'

2007-09-30T03:24:00.001-07:00

Yep, that's a good move and will almost certainly help first time buyers.

As for inheritance tax - that really is a tax too far. If we have balls we should scrap it altogether. It's paying tax twice and it is totally sick. So, let's scrap it. We should be rewarding people who look after their money, not penalising them with this outrageous and unjust tax burden.

David Cameron: 'A Compelling Alternative'.

2007-09-29T23:45:00.000-07:00

Whilst Doctor Finlay is in Blackpool with all the other (delicate), sorry I mean delegate doctors (Oooohhh Matron!!), I'm sat in London watching the supreme doctor of the British isles, a Doctor David Cameron on the mamby pamby Andrew Marr show. I have to say I was impressed with what he said, that's the supreme doctor, not mamby pamby Marr. Andrew Marr is obviously a Labour man and went out of his way to trip up Doctor Cameron. Anyway he was confident and resolute. What does resolute mean?

As I was cleaning a collection of Doctor Finlay's stethoscopes I made a mental note of what the supreme doctor said, here we go:

Brown uses green taxes as a stealth tax.
Crime, breakdown of responsibility in our society, criminals only go to prison for a few weeks. Therefore there is no real punishment - they're getting away with it basically, which exacerbates the problem further. (Dear Reader - please read the rest of this in a Salford accent - out loud and proud) Fuck-it they think! I make more money doing this than me (my) old man does selling fur coats on E-Bay. Yes, that's right you heard it here first. Now resume your normal accent - it was just that bit before.
More opportunity and power to ordinary people, Cameronitis is the real alternative, real change.
Family breakdown, tax relief for married couples, people who are single, bringing up kids get greater tax relief than those living together.
Family breakdown highest in Europe, this obviously impacts on a child's mental, social development. 1 in 4 kids don't know their fathers.
He wants to lift 300,000 kids out of poverty.
Under Labour gun crime has doubled, the health service is still shite
Immigration - needs to be more controlled, as it puts pressure on an already pressurised infrastructure. Don't use emotive language, be sensible, be moderate.
Fish Fingers are nice, don't over cook them in the microwave like my friend LIz Cohen did (back in 1993 - in my King William IV Cottage in Devon, off Station Road, Totnes - I think she was doing it as little experiment), as they shrivel up, go so small like the size of a pea.
Yeah, I think Cameron did well.
Work with private companies, like they do in America and Australia, focus on getting the 5 million unemployed back to work.
Fix the broken society - because let's face it, it is broken. Brown is living in gagga land when he says, 'don't let anyone ever tell you that our society is broken' If people are going to fall for this, then they are dimmer than me.
Fish fingers crossed, let's hope the compelling alternative works.

To be honest sometimes I feel bad .... Like now ... but other times I remember my childhood amd my family and it makes me happy.

2007-08-31T13:11:00.000-07:00

I am pee peed at the moment. Don't tell anyone because it's a secret.

Pissed off that there is no free speech anymore in this country. I think that a certain politician has been badly treated by Decker Chomper. But, let's get real he wasn't being racist, he was merely re-telling a story.

Packer Macka (Patrick Mercer - is salt of the earth). Donal Blaney's programme called 'Up Front' on Patrick Mercer, on 18 Doughty Street, guest include, I think, Peter Whittle and a lovely lady World Something or other' sum up beautifully the shit that's going on....

Mostly it's a Frogtastic day.

2007-08-31T04:12:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning in a very silly mood. You know I was thinking I don't know why people take drugs, all they actually need to do is have a bit of my DNA and once they have done that they will see the world through my eyes, which believe me is looking rather frogtastic at the moment.

When I was in Scotland, a few weeks ago now, I was cycling through the village where my father was born and grew up, Pitcairn. I nearly fell off my bike when I heard this really peculiar noise coming from a nearby field, it was a bit like pigs squealing. I discovered to my surprise two of them, what I can only describe as 'creatures' rolling around in the grass, playing with each other. I thought, 'bloody hell, what are those little things?' I got off my bike and went over to take a closer look. Upon my initial inspection they looked a bit like squirrels. But, then I thought, 'hang on a minute, those things can't be squirrels, they don't have bushy tails for one, and they're darker than your average squirrels. And as for their bodies, well, they're longer .... Do you know what I don't what the fuck they are'. So, instead of carrying on with my bike ride and cycling all the way to Birnam, I went home and told my father about them.

He said shaking his head in disbelief, 'No Catriona, they were not deformed squirrels. What you obviously saw were weasels, playing with each other, rolling around in the grass'.

Me, 'Right'.

Frogtastic Revolution - Put down your guns, take off your bras, burn your underpants and join us all in the frogtastic revolution.

I used to be part of the frogtastic revolution, like all the other kids on my street. Well, I mean there was about three of us actually. Me, Lindsay G and my sister Isobel, and occasionally we persuaded Jill with the albino rabbit to get involved. We used go down to the fields, start by feeding the cows, then walk over a few more fields and then down past the observatory where there was a pond, this was our final destination. We all came equipped with long white buckets which my dad had retrieved from his factory. We put on our marigolds and the whole thing began. It was a sticky, messy business, but we were well prepared, we had our green horse riding boots on, I've forgotton what you call them.

Knee deep we waded through the water and got our prizes - frog spawn - heaps and heaps of the stuff. And we carried it home, mission accomplished, two buckets for each girl. The buckets would be kept behind the house and every morning progress was monitored. Then it happened, one evening we were all watching TV in the lounge and my mother started screaming, 'Peter! Peter! My God, what are all of those frogs doing in our garden?'. We loved it we ran outside and chased them all around the garden. With all of the commotion going on the neighbours came out, wondering why my mother was so hysterical, and wondering why our garden was awash with frogs. I shouted out to them 'Don't worry it's the frogtastic revolution!!'

Justin.

2007-08-28T03:47:00.000-07:00

Justin, my best mate from Tottenham has just phoned. This is our conversation.

Justin: I need to ask you something.
Me: Go ahead. What is it?
Justin: Are you on medication?
Me: No, I am NOT!
Justin: Okay. I think that perhaps you should consider it.
Me: Cheeky bugger, get lost!
Justin: Perhaps we can go for a drink later, share a beer, with two straws.
Me: Maybe.
Justin: I've just spoken to my grandmother on the phone, she told me to "Fuck-off!" She's mad, just like you. She hung up on me. I was only wishing her happy birthday.
Me: What prompted the call?
Justin: I am fed-up. I met a friend on Sunday, he was an hour late, and when he turned up, he just sat there snogging another guy.
Me: Why didn't you walk out?
Justin: I did in the end. When are you back?
Me: Me? I don't know, probably later on this afternoon.
Justin: You should give the doctor a rest, he needs his space.
Me: Right I'm off now.
Justin: Oh, by the way can you get your phone charged up, because every time I call you, it charges me forty pence.
Me: Okay, will do. Bye, love you.
Justin: Oh, and another thing no drinking on the train .... come straight home.
Me: What are you? My mother? Have some respect.

HI - YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!

2007-08-28T01:58:00.000-07:00

YoU SEE, WHEN I WAS A KID AT SCHOOL I USED TO RUN AROUND THE PLAYGROUND PRETENDING TO BE MISS PIGGY. i USED TO GO "hi-yaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrr!!!!!"

It's a lot of fun, I can recommend it. I am going to try it on the doctor later.

Now for a Mad Poem, by an Insane woman I met in the streets the other day.

2007-08-28T01:47:00.000-07:00

Sorry, I've lost it.

Sports Day was a Success. According the PR Management Team, sorry I mean the Senior Management Team.

2007-08-27T09:19:00.000-07:00

The new academic year is starting shortly, in less than two weeks, to be more precise. I just wanted to reflect on some of the issues I encountered at the school, last year. Mostly I look back at my first year, at the school with disappointment. To be honest I dread going back there. I have wept a few times, over the course of the last few weeks, much to Doctor Finlay's surprise. I wail at him, like a dysfunctional three year old, "I just don't want to go back there!" He replies, “Oh just have another biscuit that should ease away the pain”. Then he cracks his whip, kerchaar, kerchaar …..

So, let's just recap. What exactly was my year all about? Did I manage to engage with some of the children, and teach them anything about the dramatic arts? Was I able to impart some of my knowledge about life, and equip them with new life skills? Because let's face it being a teacher is not just about teaching your subject.
Yes, actually I did, with some of them anyway, my year sevens, mostly.

Since September I had spent the year trying to get help with one particular class. The class from hell! Yet, I spent the year being IGNORED.

I, meticulously completed ALL of the time consuming, but necessary paperwork, which has to be done in order for the appropriate action to be taken, by the senior management team – but, they simply brushed it off – blaming my inability to come up with new and exciting teaching strategies.

Mostly the students’ behaviours were dangerous, and to put it bluntly, I did not feel safe in the room with some of them.

As I have already stated; I followed the schools' procedure of filling out the necessary forms, making phone calls to parents, regularly speaking to the relevant senior management team, assigned to year nine, expressing my concerns about this volatile group. Instead, I was criticised by the year nine team, for writing too many of these 'referral forms'. I was told that I had to find different strategies for dealing with the class. "Have you thought perhaps of teaching the lesson in a classroom, as opposed to the drama studio? Perhaps making the lesson more written based would help to alleviate some of the behavioural issues." Did this stop the violence, the fights, and the other anti-social behaviour? No, so I continued to report it, and nothing happened. They basically left me to it, and like a corpse I started to rot. It was only during the last couple of weeks, at the end of the summer term, when one of deputy heads managed to come down to the drama studio, where she witnessed it for herself, first hand. In fact the poor woman was actually hurt trying to break up one of their many fights. It was only then that she turned to me and said in a rather frazzled state, "These boys are not safe, they cannot possibly be in the same room together, next week they will have to be removed from the lesson altogether". All too late, I am afraid, because at this stage of the game, the kids have lost all respect for me because none of the senior management team took me seriously and took any action to rectify the problems.I felt extremely undermined. I wonder if it is this type of attitude from them that has caused the department to have such a high turnover of staff. I believe it’s something like four drama teachers in the last four years. The school should take at least some ownership of this, and ask themselves, well, why? Why is it that all of our drama teachers leave after only one year? Mmmm, it’s a tough one.

Sports Day - was a cosmetic exercise which I found to be highly superficial, reminds me of Blair's government, ironically – it’s all show and no substance.

One of the boys who was regularly violent in my classroom and just a vile individual in general, (that we all just had to put with) was made a hero on sports day. He might be a thug, but do you know what, he's a great athlete, who makes our school look good.

According to the head Sports Day was a big success. Despite the fact that the children left all of their rubbish on the floor of the stadium, they trashed it basically, nobody even thought to ask them to pick it all up. I felt ashamed of the mess they left behind. Some students even spent the morning throwing empty food cartons at the staff, but that's okay because sports day was a success.

The Thug that pissed in a student's bag.

My GCSE Drama results were painfully low and I am depressed about them. I worked tirelessly hard. Any idiot can get a GCSE in drama, and to be honest any idiot could teach GCSE Drama.

I took over the kids in year 11, and they had done NO coursework at all, but I believed that this was a very doable thing to accomplish, after all it's not rocket science, and if we all work together we can do this.

There were about six boys in that lesson that had no desire to gain drama as a GCSE. They were the usual – abusive, lazy, angry young men. They went out of their way every single lesson, to destroy it, and they succeeded. Again, I followed the schools’ discipline procedures, and again nothing happened. They left me alone with those animals, which confused me, because my degree is in Theatre Studies and not Zoology.

I kept turning up, with my lessons planned, and so did they – turn up, destroying everything that I had created.

A week before the drama exam I emailed the senior management team, reminding them of the exam, and requesting support because I knew things were going to kick off, and get nasty – they replied by saying, “No, we can’t support you, if we do this then we have to support everyone else, we have a school to run”. As predicted, there was a riot. The head HAD to come down – because things just spiralled out of control: The examiner nearly fainted. They were aggressive towards her, complaining about the running order I had created. She started shaking and said, “I think I am going to faint, can you get me a cup of tea please”. So, I made her a cup of tea, she then called the examinations board and said the following, “It’s been a difficult day here today at Hackney _________________. Because of all of the trouble should the teacher write into the board and ask for special consideration?”

Special consideration means that kids with learning or behavioural issues (who fucked their exam up, due to vile behaviour) will be given special consideration and possibly a better grade. Not on, they knew exactly what they were doing. They were being really vile. They should have all failed.

Let me just go back a few weeks to the incident involving the ‘pissy’ bag. As per usual I called for a senior teacher to the lesson; one of the deputy heads came down to speak to the boys, because they were being worse than usual. The deputy head said, “Just leave them, they’re unteachable, work with the ones that want to learn”. All I wanted was for him to remove the dross, but no, we’re not allowed to do that in my school, because my school promotes inclusive education, which means everyone has to be treated equally, and no one can be excluded from the lesson.

So, I left them. The rest of us went out to rehearse in the hall – at last progress! We were all feeling pleased with ourselves, we had achieved something. Towards the end of the lesson one of the girls returned to the drama studio to discover that her bag was soaking wet. She then proceeded to hand me the bag and shouted at me (because they blamed me for everything) “Miss! Why is my bag wet?”

I then put my hand in the bag, which came out wet, smelling my hand and I could smell urine, “Oh my God Estella! Someone has pissed in your bag!” I realise now in retrospect, saying the word ‘pissed’ to a student is unprofessional, but at the time I was utterly shocked and disgusted. I then stormed into my office to phone for back-up, to find that someone had pissed in my office as well.

Anyway, let’s back track a bit more, to the very beginning of that lesson, Kyle comes in with two hundred and fifty pounds cash, which he proceeds to throw up into the air and shouts “Scramble!” He has clearly been taking something, because his behaviour is even more erratic than usual, and his eyes are just wild.

Only one boy is brave enough to scramble around on the floor, and pick up all of the notes. Kyle then turns to him and says “You keep all of that to yourself!” Kyle is a local gangster; he wears a knife vest for protection, under his school skirt. Scary kid, it’s a shame about him because he does have talent. I did try very hard to reach out to him because I could see so much potential within him – but I think his work on the street is more appealing than my pathetic desire to get him a GCSE in Drama.

What chance did any of us have? Really disappointed, as I said a GCSE in Drama is a very obtainable qualification, it’s also a lot of fun, but they blew it – not so much the kids (?), but the senior management team. They should not have allowed monsters like this into mainstream education. Fuck inclusion – it does not work.

My school is a marketing exercise, a facade. Even the Ofsted inspector got hurt last September/October in the English corridor, but they still rubber stamped it, and allowed the school to pass its inspection. Really appalling. On paper, yes the school works, but the reality is that it isn’t working and that it is failing the good kids.

Put them all on a Toxic Island.

2007-08-27T04:39:00.001-07:00

I’ll keep this one short because I know my writing is rather pants.

I felt compelled to write down my thoughts on the problems of anti-social behaviour. The thing is, I have seen enough anti-social behaviour in the last five years to realise the following:

· That on the whole parents are useless. They don’t know how to be responsible – they do very little in fact to support their offspring through their school career. They expect the school to do every bloody little thing. If they carry on like this they may even start asking teachers to wipe their bums for them, do their housework for them, drive them to KFC to pick up a collection of McChicken McNasties for them etc.

· What parents are good at is complaining and blaming far too much, “Why has my son, got a permanently snotty nose since he started at this school? He never had this at his last school!”

· Me: “Well, perhaps if you started feeding him more greens, instead of going to KFC …..”

· That children are never properly disciplined and therefore never really see what the true consequences of their actions are.

· It’s all process and procedure/form filling/no real action is ever taken – it’s all cosmetic basically, lip service.

Ultimately, our schools are microcosm of the society that we live in. Therefore we MUST get tougher and adopt a policy of zero tolerance to ALL forms of anti-social behaviour. If children see that it’s basically an acceptable norm in our mainstream schools, then this will spill out into our streets and communities. And, this is exactly what is occurring right now.

Last week on the radio, a man who lives in the community where the little boy was shot, said that he and his family do not go out after 7pm, because they are too frightened of the youths from the neighbouring estate. He also stated that many of the residents had complained several times to the police but that nothing was ever done about it, by the police.

Solution:

Parents/guardians/kids sign a contract at school which states that the school has a zero policy to any form of anti-social behaviour, particularly violence. Stating that it has no place within the mainstream of our schools or indeed our society. If it does occur the child is with immediate effect permanently excluded, and withdrawn from mainstream education.

Another thing that gets on my nerves is that teachers build up a case against a difficult child (one, who has been violent, abusive, disruptive etc) and the parents appeal and the child ends up staying in the school. The kid comes back with glee in his face “Ha ha ha, you can’t get rid of me!” The other children see this and think, “Mmmmm we can get away with anything at this place”.

The problem is there are too many appeals, too many people scared of offending people. If a kid is bad chuck him out – I think there is an island off the North West coast of Scotland, which is highly toxic from some experiments they did there during the Second World War. It’s full of radiation basically. These kids are toxic, they don’t want to contribute positively and productively to our society, so put them all on a couple of national express coaches, and drive them up to Largs. Pack them onto the ferry and just dump them there, on the toxic island.

2007-08-14T09:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

I have recently received an email from a university lecturer who is based in the North West, who thinks I have blackened his good name, on my blog. I must point out to this man that the names used on this blog are fictional, and are not based on real people. This is a surreal blog, with mostly made up nonsense. I cannot believe he is taking this blog seriously, when it is so obviously nonsense.

If I have caused offence in anyway then I apologise - it just happens to be a coincidence. I have tried to change the name on the post 'I was in Shameless Once', posted in March, but the blog is not allowing me to do so. I will try again later.

Rergards
C
x

Support the People on the Ground During the By Elections.

2007-08-10T14:30:00.000-07:00

We should ALL do more canvassing. I know people write their political blogs as a way of supporting the party, but I think we could all be doing a lot more, in terms of physical support, on the ground. Whenever I go out canvassing help is always thin on the ground, and that’s one thing about Labour they seem to be very good at organising coach loads of people. Canvassing (I know it’s not always easy, especially when you’ve got work/family commitments) really is such an effective way of gaining more interest, but we just seem to be very bad at it. Perhaps we’re all a bit too much into self-promotion. I know it’s not particularly glamorous work, and ladies you have to wear flat shoes, although if you speak to Justin he will tell you I always wear my four and half inch stilettos – bubble gum pink, can’t bear to be a short arse.

I must say Justin Hinchcliffe is very good at going out and delivering leaflets, in all kinds of weather conditions, as boring and as tedious as this type of work might be it is essential. Small acorns ………. Big trees ……….. and all that.

For details of the By Elections contact Ian Sanderson at CCHQ.

Cheers

Experiments Done on Different Kinds of Seagulls.

2007-08-09T13:35:00.000-07:00

As instructed by Mr. 'C'.

9th August 2027.

Scotland.

Dear Doctor F,

You mentioned recently in your notes to me the Conservative blogger known as Croydonian. I have to say that I have met this gentleman only once. This was at a Conservative Blogger Awards evening, hosted by Conservative Home, held at some public house somewhere in the centre of the golden metropolis. As I recall this was one evening some months ago now.

For some bizarre reason we struck up a conversation about a rather unfortunate experience I had encountered in Devon. This was many, many years ago now: I recount the story in a pseudo Mancunian accent "I was standing at some traffic lights in Brixham and a rather large gull was hovering above my delicate head and it decided to relieve itself (it had a bowel movement) and consequently its shit landed down one side of my face. I then had to run into the adjacent pub (I was going there anyway) to seek immediate face washing facilities - I looked like a right tit as I sprinted past the bar with the white bird crap dripping off the end of my nose.

Anyway this Croydonian bloke was very sympathetic to my rather unfortunate encounter, and invited me to observe an usual experiment he wanted to conduct off Brighton Pier. It involved the following aparatus:

a) a large portion of Harry Ramsden's fish 'n' chips.

b) a bottle of French Mustard.

c) a bottle of English Mustard.

d) some surgical rubber gloves.

e) a catapult.

f) one pint sized beer glass - to put the mustard in.

His hypothesis is this: - that if you dip a Harry Ramsden's chip in mustard and catapult it up into the air, the greedy seagull will eat it and then the gull will explode.

If you try different mustard on different gulls the bird will do one of the following, all depending on the brand of mustard and the breed of bird, of course.

1) implode.

2) explode.

3) fart.

4) belch.

5) turn into Hunter and Shooter.

So, Doctor F I hope this paints a much clearer picture.

Yours sincerely,

Jean Brodie
Perth, Scotland.

They're Closing My College Down.

2007-08-08T13:27:00.000-07:00

Peter Brook, director of the film 'Lord of the Flies' speaks out against the decision to close the revolutionary art college.

Help Save Dartington College of Arts From Closure.

A campaign has been setup by local people to try and save Dartington College of Arts from closure. The group called http://www.savedartingtoncollege.org/ from closure are calling for a public inquiry to take place. Dartington Trust want the college to be relocated to Cornwall and merge with University College Falmouth. £25 million will

becoming from EU funds which will facilitate this merger.

If this does go ahead it is estimated that it will cost the local economy £5million in lost revenue. I am personally gutted about this as this is where I studied for three years. It is a truly superb college and has internationally renowned status. I have dreamt for many years about returning there and teaching my subject. Do you know what my life is full of misery. Dartington is a magical place - I just don't get this one!? If they do close it (which they probably will) Dartington will be destroyed, it is such a bad move. It's like murder.

Spokesman and former college principal Will Fitzgerald, who met RDA officials, said: "We are totally in favour of Cornwall becoming a thriving place with the university and the arts, but it should not be at the expense of our community and lives being destroyed in south Devon."
The RDA is crucial to the move because it distributes EU convergence funding in the region.
The college move is expected to cost about £25m according to a report by consultants Burns Owens for the RDA, most of which is being sought from EU convergence funding.
'Stitch-up'
Mr Fitzgerald said: "Moving one asset from our part of the South West to another part of the South West is not what this money is for.
"If you are going to spend money on moving it, why not spend money to allow it to stay in Dartington?
"It has been a stitch-up.
"We want a government inquiry that considers all the options, including staying at Dartington."
He added: "We are under no illusions that we are taking on formidable forces, but we are sure that what we are asking for is right."
Dartington Hall Trust, which owns the college site, says that it does not have the £20m needed to update the college's facilities and therefore the college must move or face closure.
Research for the RDA estimated that the south Devon area would lose about £5m a year if the college moves.
An RDA spokesman said: "We have not received a formal request for funding and no decisions have been taken to allocate RDA or European funding to help relocate the college.
"The assessment of any future bid would quite rightly look in detail at the current situation and weigh up the potential economic costs and benefits to the region of supporting the college's relocation to Cornwall or other options."
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/devon/6445793.stm

Lord of the Flies film director Peter Brook said of the college "more than priceless" and has urged officials to rethink the closure.

Dartington College of Arts is part of the 850-acre Dartington country estate. This was created in 1925 by the US heiress Dororthy Elmhirst and her husband. The estate is home to many arts centres and summer festivals, as well as the Schumacher College. The closure of this college will be devastating for many reasons, not just to the local community in South Hams, but it will also impact upon the college's international status and reputation. The college has to be situated in the grounds of Dartington - that's part of the magic and the experience and what makes it, what it is. This college has been a centre of excellence for many significant years, for all three disciplines music, art and theatre, although it is more famous for its music festival and college. It exudes vibrancy and is the soul of some revolutionary art work. Move it to another location and the whole thing dies.

Peter Brook said "My deepest hope is that everything possible be explored"

The college has trained or employed some of the largest and most successful names in the arts, including Benjamin Britten, Ravi Shankar and John Cage.
Mr Brook said: "Dartington College of Arts is more than a priceless institution, it is a living, evolving presence.....My deepest hope is that everything possible be explored and implemented to enable this work to continue in its present context and location."
Contact: Anthony Steen MP if you want to save this college from closure.

To Vote for Your Best Political Blogs email iain@iaindale.com

2007-08-07T14:38:00.000-07:00

My Top Ten are:

1) Croydonian (sharp witted, funny)

2) Donal Blaney (honest, sometimes controversial, thought provoking)

3) Prague Tory.

4) Dizzy Thinks.

5) Iain Dale (informative)

6) Hunter and Shooter (covers local and national issues, humorous at times)

7) Conservative Home.

8) Ellee Seymour.

9) Devil's Kitchen.

10) This space is reserved for Sue Joyson - I think if she started writing a political blog it would have a dedicated following.

11) Tory Radio (like the interactive nature of this blog)

As for the gossip in Perth - a very important person made the journey North at the weekend.

They flew up c/o BA. Yes, you've guessed it, it was doctor Finlay. He was very good to me, wining and dining me, took me to the rather sophisticated Dome restaurant, off George Street in Edinburgh, where he indulged me in Haggis covered in filo pastry - that's a first, peasant food made posh. We did other cultured things, visited galleries like the De Marco. I informed the doctor that I used to be part of Ricky De Marco's entourage, back in my arty farty post-Dartington College of Arts days. I don't think he was particularly impressed. In fact I don't think he's even heard of Ricky De Marco.

I also wanted to take the doctor on a bike ride down to the river Almond, but the weather was crap. It would of been nice to strip him bare and then throw him into the river, and then jump in afterwards and rescue him. Yeah, I am bit sick really aren't I? Never mind there's always next year.

Anyway going back to the political blogs competition - Justin Party Pants Hinchcliffe nominated my blog as a political blog, obviously taking the piss out of me, as per usual. He loves winding me up. My blog is not political. I wanted it to be at the beginning but I just got fed-up with it. When I start back at school I am going to do the following:

a) become a spy. Sign up to MI6, might be easier than being a drama teacher in Hackney.

b) No I am not, yes I am, well I might do.

c) Monday - write a political piece. Read Conservative Home more often and start buying the Daily Telegraph.

d) ?

e) Do you know what my dad is giving my sister her inheritage early. He is giving her forty thousand pounds so that she can complete her pilots training in Spain. That's not the entire cost of the course but it is a significant part of it.

f) I have to say I am bit miffed about this. I am living in a hostel in Hackney - with no prospects of ever buying or owning my own flat - coz I am poor. If he gave me my money now I could probably put that towards a property and get on the property ladder. He laughed at me the other day, he said that he had read an article that in the next five years property is going to go up by another forty percent. He said "... at that rate you'll have no chance of ever owning your own home".

g) Great, bloody great.

h) My sister already has over one hundred and twenty thousand in the bank, profit she made from the sale of a house she jointly owned with her ex-partner. They bought their home in 1992 for next to nothing - sixty thousand. It's now worth over quarter of a million.

i) 'Honey I Shrank the Kids' - shrink me Lord. I can afford to buy a Sindy house. I could live in one of those. I've always fancied Ken anyway. Mind you I don't think I could fit into any of either Barbie or Sindy's clothes, they have wasp like figures and I am too pear shaped for any of their outfits.

Without being a soppy cow - I AM REALLY MISSING MY FRIENDS IN LONDON.

2007-07-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

SO MUCH SO THAT I MAY HAVE TO CUT MY VISIT TO SCOTLAND SHORT.

I REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY AM MISSING SOME OF MY VERY SPECIAL FRIENDS IN LONDON. IT'S DOING MY HEAD IN COZ I MISS THEM MEGA AMOUNTS.

I could cry actually, it's that bad. I feel that I am a million miles away, on another planet (well, that is true).

They could always visit me, in Scotland, they'd be welcome.

Oh God!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Another 21 days up here, I just don't think I can survive for that period of time. I miss my friends. Suddenly Scotland has lost it's magic.

Le nouveau Cerveau Pour Altère Finlay.

2007-07-29T13:26:00.002-07:00

Journaliste : La plus ample controverse a frappé l'aujourd'hui capital français, à propos du médecin de Conservateur britannique insensé, Finlay de médecin. Altérer Finlay qui est le cerveau est gelé partiellement (en raison de son chômage partiel sur les alpes françaises, sans l'usure de tête protective appropriée, telle qu'un chapeau et un gants lainees) dans un mini-iceberg est dit se remettre à un secret soignant à la maison, a cru pour être quelque part dans Bradford.

Pendant ce temps un cerveau anonyme a été mis à la disposition pour une transplantation de cerveau pour Finlay de médecin. Pendant que ceci est de bonnes nouvelles pour la récompense gagnant le chirurgien britannique et sa famille, ceci a causé la controverse et le scandale en France parce que le cerveau est dit de venir d'un chirurgien français mort. Cependant, la femme française du chirurgien est crue pour être un Conservateur né britannique de Milton Keynes, bien que, elle est actuellement dite habiter en Lyon. Elle est dite d'avoir le cerveau de son mari dans un pot gelé spécialement conçu. Sa femme a eu son cerveau gelé dans l'espoir qui un jour un corps de donateur convenable serait trouvé. Sa femme croit que ce Finlay de médecin est le candidat idéal pour ceci. Apparemment il a la même étincelle dans ses yeux, juste comme son mari eu.

Sarkozy, le Président français a coupé son déjeuner de dimanche aujourd'hui court pour plaire au plus haut tribunal en France, essayer et obtenir une injonction de tribunal hors contre le cerveau est transportée au Royaume-Uni.

Le président Sarkozy a dit à une conférence de presse brève aujourd'hui :

Le président Sarkozy : Cet homme, ce Finlay de médecin insensé, il ne partira pas juste. Il a causé les gens la français humiliation majeure en détruiant la réputation le Tour de France, en entrant la compétition sur le dos d'une moto. Maintenant il veut voler un cerveau français de l'homme. Il doit être arrêté. Je, comme votre Président, j'arrêterai cet homme fou d'obtenir le cerveau.

Journaliste : Pendant ce temps dans Oxford, un Wellington David Cameron vêtu a parlé à nos appareils photo.

David Cameron : J'ai une chose à dire, et cela est je soutiens le cerveau vient au Royaume-Uni. Je pense que le cerveau devrait être transporté au Royaume-Uni le plus tôt possible. J'ai parlé à Janet Finlay et elle a assuré me que le médecin exécutera au moins 12 opérations par an en France. Je crois que le médecin remettra le soutien qu'il a reçu des gens français. Son Janet de femme m'a informé qu'il achètera même Mme Maria PeePoo deux nouveau mouton de remplacement. Vous voyez qu'il n'est pas un mauvais homme.

Journaliste : Dites-vous ceci pour plus de votes ?

David Cameron : Non ! Je dis ceci parce que je crois que le cerveau ne profiterait pas juste la famille de Finlay mais tout le monde. Avons s'il vous plaît ce cerveau sanglant ! ! ! Je vous conjure le Président Sarkozy

Darker Side of Bridget Jones

There's something out there.

These are My Kind of People. - Yip Peeeeeeeeeeeeeee

An Apology to Professor Whitty.

“I cried because I had no shoes, then I met a man who had no feet.”

Public Relations Exercise on the new play - Darts.

Started to write a new play called 'Darts'.

Nantwich

Darts my new play.

He's Done it - Good lad Boris.

Watch Link below -c/o Man of the Woods blogspot.

Oh Bloody Hell.

Call me a feminist

About this article

http://dirtyeuropeansocialist.blogspot.com/

We should celebrate diversity of opinion.

I cannot advocate racism of any kind - sorry - but do read the blog below. I work in Hackney for god's sake. It would be unethical and dishonest.

My recent trip to Spain.

Get me away from those kids - Two weeks off to recover!!!

Hello, is that Tommy Tom Tom?

Middle Classes are under Fire - The Poor are Indulged.

Save Dartington College of Arts from Closure. PLEAAAAASSSSEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hunter and Shooter blogspot, also known as Justin Hinchcliffe of the Tottenham Conservative Party has asked me to do a MEME.

Badger and Cadger.

Doctor Finlay has had a name change. I am now calling him Badger, Badger, click on the link below .....

My friend Justin has advised me to remove the previous blog post. I am NOT going to do it. Sorry, sweet pea.

The Doctor and I, last night, before supper.

The Enchanted Forest

Worthless British journalists vote to boycott Israel

My Toe nail has been ripped off my left big toe, and I cannot walk properly.

Dirty European Socialist - 'Ave you 'eard yourself recently?'

Notes in red are from the blog Dirty European Socialist.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Tories have won next election thanks to Oxbridge conspiracy

TaxPayers Alliance - Click on box below.

Gordon Brown Numa Numa - YouTube video clip.

Red Ken Livingstone.

Watch this link below. It's on Gordon Brown. Click on small photo.

Click on the link below, it relates to the story about the ice-berg.

Bach - The Only thing I can listen to.

Je parlais l'autre jour pour soigner Finlay environ.

私はフィンレイを約博士ために先日話していた。

I was talking the other day to Doctor Finlay about ....

Join My Facebook Group.

My Band. I'm on the keyboards, I think I do a good job.

Boo Ritson.

Gales of Laughter:"Why are you laughing?" Because, you're making us laugh, you're funny.

Message to Tom Mason.

Doctor Finlay and I, just before breakfast this morning.

Louise Bagshawe: 'Just another Thursday' - Read her article on Conservative Home.

Do You Know who These Gloves Belong to? I found them on the steps of the stage at my school.

The Miss Havisham Party.

Read Conservative Home's article 'BBC employees are eleven times more likely to be liberal than conservative'.

Who is this?

Look What Doctor Finlay Has Bought Me.

The Leg He Loved.

A story about an illegal car parking space, a theatre company called ‘Wonder Pants’ and a persistent official from Perth and Kinross Council.

I have an idea, about the Controversial Barnett Formula ....

Champion Of The Underclass, Nick Clegg's first interview with DSBJ.

The story of Jason the dog and Matthew Parris.

Thanks to Blogger 'Dizzy Thinks' for exposing the awesome talents of Greg Knight.

So, where are you going Mavis?

LibDems - Ageist Extremists. I ask anyone over 60 not to vote for them, as a protest.

This is what the Prime Minster does after he's dressed his haggis.

We all know the truth about the LibDems. Without Ming, this is what they are ....

The Big Man.

Banana Man Visits Westminster.

Through the clouds I can see.... (Bananas, frozen men in cheap suits, with blue rosettes)

Fucking Women .. Fucking Men .. Fucking Cheats.

Don't Eat This ....

Or, You'll End up Looking Like This .....

Don't Eat This ....

Hackney Council Have Started to Knock Down Homerton College of Technology.

Next Week Came early - Chris Grayling with his orange moustache.

Neat Work - So, here's your crown Chris Grayling.

‘You can't trust Gordon Brown'

My Unfortunate Encounter with a Roach.

Oh Yes - How could I forget -'Abolishing Stamp Duty'

David Cameron: 'A Compelling Alternative'.

To be honest sometimes I feel bad .... Like now ... but other times I remember my childhood amd my family and it makes me happy.