Like A Sausage Up Leek Road

I'm referring to this.

On initial read, it's fairly amusing to the more juvenile of us. A MAN having SEX with a HORSE! LOL!!1!!1 ZOMG.

Secondly, the URL "pensioner-guilty-sex-donkey-horse" - how impersonal. How do they think that this would make said horse and said donkey feel after all they've been through? They don't even name aforementioned animals, probably due to data or victim protection.

This brings me nicely to my third query - victims? However impartial and fact based this mini article seems to be, which is amusing in itself, we can't help but find victims in every story, in this case, beasts of the equestrian flavouring. Who knows who came on to who? You know how those little flirts on Blackpool beach are, who knows what goes on backstage at the Grand National and, see below... that's love.


These romantic intervals may have caused emotional pain for said horse and donkey, splashed over the papers, realising you're not the only one etc but, I very much doubt that there was any physical injury accrued. 1. If they didn't like it they should have said no and 2. One has to wonder if the tail was lifted by the buggerer or the buggeree? Just saying.

On another note, my sympathy in all of this goes to the donkey. It's like some bloke (pensioner at that) doing a kiss and tell on you AND Beyoncé at the same time, can't help but feel slightly overshadowed.

"Pensioner imprisoned..." - somehow this packs more of a punch, does it not? If this were a healthy 28 year old man, it'd be acceptable would it Guardian, wouldn't bat an eyelid? Pensioner however, he should know BETTER.

Consequently. Horses should stop being so heavily sexualised, full stop.


Imagine. That. (You already are) - that's quite enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday Musings #2

Hello!

It's been a fairly eventful week consisting of the following:

- Attempting to give blood and being told that this will never be possible due to past blood transfusion - boo.
- Death of a grandparent.
- Half Hearted previewing at Cannes - yay! Hi famous (Ange), it's famous here (me)... this made me do an actual lol at the time.
- Haircut - this is a biggie.
- iPhone that i'm still uncomfortable with and, will never ever say 'there's an app for that' and I don't mean to be a cunt, but that's reminded me of this one application that puts different lenses and films effects on the camera - AMAZING.
- Santorini difficulties, issues, change of circumstances if you will, but it's back on!

(I realise this isn't really in the spirit of my usual blogging)

- Broseph's 20th!
- Few more dresses.
- It's 10:40am on a Sunday morning and I just got in, minus hangover, dead sunny - sleeps in sun required - hi burn. One thing that I'm probably only putting on here because I'm still drunk is, that no matter how much I get ribbed by my wonderful friends about my sketch show of a life, they are still very very wonderful. Deffo still pissed. I'm glad that they realised that I'd go 100% dirty guts if I get thrown into a pool. In fact, I reserve this judgement until after holiday.

Anyway, although all these major events (yes.) have occured this week, the biggest thing happened. CRAIG DAVID ANNOUNCED FOR HANLEY PARK MID JUNE. I.AM.THERE.

ULTIMATE. and anybody who denies this song is a liar.

I'm spent (hahaahahaaa) for now but I'll probably delete this post later, because it's a load of rubbish. I can feel the beginning of a headache.

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Michael Haneke

I've just watched The White Ribbon (Das Weisse Band) and this just progresses my fondness and admiration of Michael Haneke.

The reasons I love Michael Haneke can be found here.



Not only is he technically courageous, as evidenced alone in the opening scenes of Code Unknown (Code inconnu: Récit incomplet de divers voyages) - one 8 minute continuous shot to open the film, but his stories are incredibly humanistic. Throughout the whole of The Piano Teacher (La pianiste) I can't help but feel anxious and nervy, as if the release so desired by Huppert's character is a craving inflicted on the audience too.

I won't go on too much but I just had to mention this man. This is without even going into Hidden (Caché), Benny's Video or Funny Games. Haneke's films aren't just films - they're texts, pieces and crafts. Disturbing to the core, compassionate to the verge of tears and beyond innovative, Haneke never fails to shake and move me in every sense. I would urge every single person, who doesn't class subtitled films as 'weird' to go out and experience Michael Haneke - don't blame me when you're staring at the screen catching flies but, I do need someone to talk about him with, so if you do, let me know eh.

xxx

Sunday Musings #1

Sunday. The day of rest. The sabbath. Commonly known as hangover day. The day where I'm full of musings from the past week or, night, if my memory serves me half as well as it has been doing lately. I think I may start jotting down my thoughts on a Sunday as a retrospective and, what's in my head there and then. This could be a very dull past time but I'm not really bothered, soz.

1. Roll Deep - what have you done? I remember the days of Racist People, I loved that song - now it's some bird (hahaa i never say that) in daft glasses (...) on about shopping on a Thursday. Really, Roll Deep? Try harder.

2. For the last 2 weeks I've had the line "When I was 13, I had my first love" in my head, a la Luda. I can't shift it. Every single day I must say it at least 5 times, and that's out of my mouth, aloud. It even popped out when I arrived at the hotel room in the early hours of this morning. It's becoming a problem.

3. I didn't think I liked hats. Last night I realised the true potential of a hat, they're great.

4. Kelis is beautiful isn't she?


5. I'm genuinely bored of ConDemNation. It's happened, let's all calm down.

6. In my experience, hen nights are fairly subdued compared to stag do's. I mean, the ludest thing on a hen night, that I've ever encountered, is an oversized phallic inflatable. Harmless loud vile women. Men on the other hand, think they can get.away.with.anything. This is a complete generalisation based on recent events (and 100% excluding the brothers) but, just a musing all the same and I think it's terrible!



7. My conservative name is Doreen Cotswold Waghorn - that's brilliant isn't it.
(grandparent, first street, headteacher)

8. It's nice to see some results - SoulBoy and Half Hearted.

9. Whiplash is fairly restrictive. So far it's affected pretty much EVERYTHING. Can't wash my hair properly, can't turn around to talk to people, can't reach for stuff, can't sleep on my side, can't try clothes on, you get the picture. Hmph. Drinking on whiplash isn't that wise - well, it is at the time, then the next day, cutting off your torso seems attractive.

10. I watched an album review of The Queen Is Dead yesterday morning. It's nearly 2 hours of pure unadulterated Smiths gush, my favourite. It was a toss up between that and the Nick Stockley Substitute 2nd Birthday mix to get me in the mood for a hen night in Chester. Usually, the latter would win but this was a welcome change - Alison Limerick's Where Love Lives seems to be following me.

That'll do for now, happy Sunday xxx

communism doesn't work

I, During a well earned coffee break today risked being lynched for daring to turn the TV channel over from 4Music to *gasp* BBC news. Now I'm sure this to you may seem slightly a minor thing, indeed possibly even something that , in any normal place of work, would not even cause anyone to even look up from their coffee of choice (Currently we have the choice of 5 variations of coffee available!!! only 55p a cup!!)

Sadly the murmurs of annoyance were being prepared in the throats of the assorted work-force even as I confidently stood up and paced towards the TV, now in my defence I would like to point out at the time that nobody was watching the TV, indeed nobody seemed to be listening as all that was on was some weird hybrid of an interview/advert, you know the ones, "this is an advert" in small letters across the bottom yet filmed as an authentic interview. I digress.

Since the open vote for what everyone would like to see installed in the newly refurbished canteen (nobody thought to ask about the pricing structure of the coffee), We have, as requested by the majority of the workforce, been the proud 'owners' of a large flat screen telly stood proud in the corner of the room, like some shining beacon of just how nice a firm this is, Look!! it screams. WE LISTEN TO YOU!!

'They' don't by the way, I know, as I can count myself as part of 'they' no membership fees are payable, simply work hard enough , have yourself elevated to a position in which people can assume you actually hear all the juicy gossip, indeed that they assume you actually care whether a TV or a pool table gets shoved in the canteen.

So. As I returned to my seat, picked up my 55p coffee of choice and brought it to my lips, Mutterings of annoyance were threatening to disturb my viewing of the breaking news that Gordon Brown had called some poor old lady a "Nazi" or something.

Upon returning to the relative safety of my office I inquired further as to what the problem with changing the channel was exactly. Turns out that a rota exists which determines what channel is to be on each day, no room for a brief snapshot of news, or in the case of 4music, entertainment. No, it has been written that each week a piece of paper goes up on a notice board and people choose which channel to watch, this, so I'm told is the fairest way. I would argue that to choose simply one channel would quite possibly be the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Why on earth would you commit nearly 400 people to a day of watching QVC simply because some weirdo wants to watch "electronics hour"? Answer, you wouldn't.

My investigations proved, rather sadly, that QVC has never been chosen.

Now I have many choices to make on a daily basis, what socks to wear for example, deciding which channel the works telly should be locked on is not one I'm prepared to contribute on. I have on the other hand, had both time and will enough to find the remote for aforementioned telly and plan on creating havoc on a daily basis. you wish to watch the Jeremy Kyle show Shelly? no problem. top gear on channel Dave you say Mark? allow me.

So in summery, public ownership simply doesn't work, if only I had been consulted before we all bought a load of banks debts, never mind, maybe next time. At least I managed to complete my working day without calling a little old lady a bigot. Nice one Gordon.

SPS

x

ps

Don't get me started on why a cup of coffee is 55p, you can have no idea the levels of 5p hoarding that goes on since the machines give no change. It's barbaric. bloody bigots.

The NHS in Stoke, Ash clouds & reminders on Hanley bus station

Well this is my debut blog and I have been invited by a work colleague as she appreciates my ability for a good rant. If I enjoy it you may be reading more of my strange tales but we will see how it goes. And if my enthusiasm (Or lack of) and my addiciton to you tube halts this. Apologies for any spelling mistakes.

The NHS in Stoke-On-Trent:

My first topic. DISCLAIMER: This rant is in no way aimed at the Doctors, Nurses, Ambulance men, Support staff, Clerical staff and 1000s of other volunteers who keep this institution running on a daily basis. And obviously not everyone in Stoke is haggard,obese and unemployed although if you visit A & E or Hanley bus station you would struggle to break the myth.

PART 1: Unfortunately I have recently being involved in an accident that resulted in a broken foot we wont go into the precise details. This gave me the joyous pleasure of sitting in the fracture clinic at Hartshill for some 4 hours. A number of highlights. 1st off the initial sight of about 150 people from North Staffordshire with ailments of all kinds and plenty of stories. And it would seem relatives and friends willing to sit with them. Some up to 5 people. 90 % of which were haggard,obese and/or unemployed. No wonder the place was chaos with a 1-4 ratio taking up valuable waiting areas. As I sat on a table due to the lack of room not one of the many haggard creatures of the potteries offered me a seat. They merely looked at me as if I was the problem. My advice for which ever idiot is voted in two weeks. Please let only a 1-1 ratio in aforementioned clinic. After waiting for 2 hours I was then sent to a corridor to wait for a further 30 minutes. Again this area had god knows how many hanger onners looking for a free brew and somewhere other than the cafe on Hanley bus station or Ladbrokes to hang around. On the point of free refreshments. I ended up paying £3 for a bag of crisps and the worst cheese and tomato sandwich of all time. The look of disgust on my face must have been priceless. Although in the corner of my eye balanced on a table I could see the 3 witches of Macbeth drooling at the thought of stealing it. They would have bought one but they had no joy on the national and dole day is Thursday.

PART 2: Finally I was seen and treated by a very pleasant doctor who has a lot better things to do than treat me and 99% of the other people in the fracture clinic. By their very nature most of which are self inflicted. I then made my way to the casting room where I was met with another over crowded waiting room. This time I managed to get a seat although I wish id taken ear plugs. Sat some 4 chairs away was a Jim Davidson sound alike trying to be funny. By this I mean trying to be racist but not having the balls to say what he actually meant. I meanwhile listened getting angry with each sentence and mumbling under my breath. The conversation centred around the fact that his accident had been caused by a taxi driver to quote, "You know what their sort are like." By their sort id assumed people making a living from driving people around?!?! No it appears he meant someone of Asian ethnicity. He then went on to slag off the staff that had seen him in part 1. Apparently they couldn't speak very good English. He didn't think to thank them for fixing him after travelling 1000s of miles away from family and friends. To only be confronted by Neanderthals in the Potteries. I just hope the taxi driver does a better job next time.

Ash clouds:

How can a natural disaster cause so much chaos? Just ask the British Media. Every kind of map possible to explain that essentially they aren't flying for two reasons. One the morale panic on 9/11 Princess Diana scale that would have happened even if 1 plane had to land a little quickly. And two the cost of cleaning engines dirtied by the clouds which according to a good source would have been 10 times the cost of cancelling all flights. Plus they wouldn't have been able to bully the government and the EU into paying all the comp out. I have heard rumours of a flying disc being chased by fighter planes down the M4 but i'l leave the conspiracy theories to David Icke. (Maybe Thomas Cook is actually a reptilian that dwells beneath Buckingham palace.) I have also enjoyed the ridiculous escapades of plains,trains and automobile style stories. My particular fave a Music professor and his wife went as follows. Flight to Amsterdam. Taxi to Belgium. (Why a taxi I don't know). Train to Paris to Calais. Ferry to Britain. His quote, "Well its the British Dunkirk spirit isn't it?" Yes another pointless unplanned escapade into insanity. I note you only hear about the rich people able to take part in these stories of complete stupidity.

On a lighter note there must have been some effect. My mum wiped the outside table at hers and brought in the cloth, "Look that's that ash you know its everywhere." Showing me a cloth with a black substance not to dissimilar to ash but more likely to be non de-script dirt. Her evidence was backed up by someone from her coffee morning group. "Well she said she could taste the ash when she was cycling." Comedy gold. My mum wont be voting for David Cameron. After his egg-ceptional display at the Cornish 6th form, " Oh daft bugger what a waste of an egg." Just wish Cameron had swung at the hoody Prescott style although hes far too smug for that.

To sign off. A story donated by a friend of mine on waiting for a bus in Hanley this morning. A man holding a free pen from a betting shop you know the little blue ones. Wrote dole 1.30 on his hand. It could have been a reminder for a horse or an appointment. I'm just wondering whether it came in or not?

Unhappy? Strap this on your head.

It's 9:11am. Switch on BBC News and there's Beverley Callard sitting on the sofa disclosing details of her clinical depression and subsequent ECT.

"After a couple of weeks, I couldn't even remember my own name"

Since reading about Lou Reed's ECT to cure his homosexuality, it's safe to say, I'm not a big fan of this treatment. Lou Reed himself confesses that this moronic remedy left him devoid of emotion and the proceeding aim of his parents to make him normal did quite the opposite, in leaving Reed as a blank and heartless being.

When it comes to Callard, I'm not sure that much work is needed to achieve the above results. It will be interesting to see how Liz is played in the future though won't it? Instead of the lycra wearing, northern equivalent of the MILF (arguable), will we see an unimpassioned, cold-fish of a woman? I hope so. Where that is not an attack on Callard herself, sympathy for her presupposed condition is limitless, but to appear on morning news describing the positive effects? Your wool isn't covering anyone's eyes. That's the thing though. Maybe it is. She actually started off talking about the positive effects of anti-depressants and then concluded with "and you don't think the ECT is going to work, then it really does. I'm quite an imaginative person so I thought I could smell rotting flesh." Give you a clue, your imagination is working overtime if you're presuming that was down to your imagination. Come on everyone, strap this to your head, feel happy.

I for one hope this has a slight effect on the costume choice for Liz. No matter how many exercise videos you do Bev, that cleavage still doesn't sit right with me around tea time.

xxxx