One Minute’s Silence for Heatwave

No one’s ever going to be able to pretend that the British don’t find inordinate pleasure in verbalising at length regarding the state of the weather. It’s simply never right. Too cold in the summer. Too warm in the winter. And vice versa of course. Should the day ever arrive when the temperature and climate is just right, the unachievable Goldilocks scenario if you will, I’m sure there will be many a complaint that such bliss will never last.

For all the time we spend longing for a bit of sunshine when it arrives we’re all too quick to criticise. Sure, the sunbathers flock to the beaches initially and there’s a national run on ice cream but the ebullient atmosphere soon sours. We’re simply not equipped to deal with excessive heat. Many, of a strictly anti sweltering conditions disposition such as I, merely melt into puddles of former consciousness. Others bake into crisps that some inventive marketing type may look to sell before too long.

It’s even worse on the continent. Superheating or European spite (or something, I’m sure I was supposed to pay attention in Geography. Perhaps if I had I could sound a little more knowledgeable now. Oh well, I imagine I’ll live. Provided the clouds don’t swoop down from the sky and devour me in their mighty jaws. They do that, right?) ensure that the air is toasty warm day and night. It makes things a little sticky when you come to bed. On the other hand, the jam sandwiches I have for midnight feast purposes could have something to do with that particular sensation.

So let’s have a moment of silence for the heatwave. It’s not its fault that we pine for sunshine and complain endlessly when it arrives. The heatwave thought everyone would be happy that their sunshine quota for the year would be fulfilled in thirty seconds flat. But it was not to be. Have your moment of quiet and then hope very hard for a slight relent from the sweltering weather.


Send in SAS to Get Married

So many folk these days are altogether far too serious. You tell a serviceman he’s special and he gets ideas above his station (or possibly just at the right level, I probably don’t have the most fulsome picture of the situation but ill-informed guesswork has always been a commonly used tool for me). They could do with a little more fun and romance and magic or whatever.

Airlift them all into Vegas and see how they get on. Set up an elaborate and highly specialised form of internet dating. I’m not talking about getting people laid here, soldiers can do that on their own time (and I’m relatively certain that anyone who turns to me for help with getting it on is in serious trouble. And I do mean an incredibly dire situation. I mean come on, I’m a stranger on the internet). They should get things in their lives sorted. Because marriage makes everything so much simpler, lovelier and easier. Or so I might have heard once. A while ago.

Maybe they’re already married. Perhaps what has gone before has absolutely nothing to  do with the story in question. It could well be more that there are some dangerous weddings happening where grooms (and indeed brides. There are ladies in the special air services, right? Maybe men can get the job done anyway) hardly fear to tread. Or skittish men are scampering away from the altar.

When events such as these occur there is but one solution (well, odds are there’s far more than just the one but I have limited space – brain space that is – so we’ll be going with just the one for the time being). You have to send in a particular regiment of the army to ensure that the job gets done. Weddings are a highly sensitive business and stand ins are definitely not being used anything like enough.

The Boy Hero of Up to 23 Britons

It’s always important in life to have people who look up to you. The only way for you to know how much meaning your life has. Through the eyes of others is really the only way for you to see yourself. It doesn’t matter how satisfied you are within your own skin, perception takes paramount precedence.

However, I’m sure you know all too well that we can’t all be trailblazers. There’s only so much one can do in just the one life. For one thing, there’s a lot of stuff that’s already been done. You can’t become someone’s role model by emancipating the slaves or extending voting rights to women because someone else beat you to it.

So you either need to devote a lot of time to a slightly more niche cause that you’re going to try and make more significant than it deserves or aim ever so slightly lower. If you can make anything up to twenty three people look up to you then you know you’ve done pretty well.

Take pointers from a boy I made up this morning (mainly so I don’t have to talk about beach related tragedies again because the papers are full of it and I’m not well equipped to deal with adverse emotions). He has courage, ambition and impeccable hygiene (a quality never to be underestimated in this day and age). More than that, he has highly notable exploits that make him a figure of admiration.

He rescues cats from trees, he’s even been known to retrieve lost balls from ponds and such and always completes his homework on time. Yes, he’s something of a tool but he’s a great example of the model citizen for others. Of course he’ll spin completely out of control by the time the teenage years roll around but for now he’s the golden boy of the entire neighbourhood.

Bloody on their Sunbeds

I could try and make a joke. Probably. But I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that there are days when the prospect is more than exhausting. The headlines are splattered left and right with massacres and slaughter. And why? Because a tragedy happened, someone took to the beaches with more weaponry than anyone ought to be able to get their hands on even in the middle of a war zone and decided to start shooting.

Maybe I should have read the story in depth before deciding to comment on it (but when has that ever been my style? This is why I generally depend on making stuff up. It requires so much less research and then I can go and play for the rest of the day). However, this was not the only atrocity that happened yesterday.

The only reason why we’re hearing about this one rather than the suicide bombing in Kuwait or the mutilated body discovered in Lyon is that British people were brought down in this particular killing spree. Why on earth should that matter? I am not for one moment saying that we shouldn’t care. Of course we should, any loss of life like that is appalling. But the fact that some of those who died come from the same country as I do ought to be irrelevant.

I could pretend it didn’t happen. I could run away and invent as I usually do. There could be some fantasy scenario where hapless tourists fell asleep on sun beds and cooked to a crisp. Whereupon they were eaten as a delicious banquet by savage natives. But for once, no. People get gunned down or blown to pieces or decapitated or something else monstrous every day and we need to pay attention to all of them, not just our countrymen. The vendors of news have to care about something other than the local angle.

Lawyers Set to Take Charge of BBC

It simply can’t go on like this. Dodgy presenters from yesteryear keep crawling out of the woodwork. Personalities with unmanageable egos derail all manner of plans by acting out in an unacceptable fashion. The bigger problem with such people is their online following who are more than capable of whipping situations into a frenzy with a minimum of effort. There are other, darker, issues that we really can’t go into here for fear of getting sued (or worse) but altogether they’re making the whole shebang increasingly untenable.

So what can be done? The system is more than a little broken and corporate bigwigs are spectacularly incapable of coping with clean up. There is only one solution left and quite frankly I’m disappointed you haven’t spotted it yet. Bring in the lawyers.

Layers and layers of lawyers in their sharp suits with jargon ready to go at the drop of an especially stylish hat. They will sweep their way in and clear out every single last cobweb. The beeb will finally run like the well-oiled machine it was always supposed to be.

Unfortunately, as with any restructuring campaign, there will be unintended side effects. No matter how well meaning the initial push was, it will totally backfire on your ass. Or, you know, your front. Unless you’d turned around or something. The output will go to crap.

No more smutty descents into helpless innuendo on a certain baking programme. The new Top Gear will be entirely inoffensive and therefore lose whatever apparent charm it once had. The news, well, it’s the news so it’s hard to change it all that much. However, any stories will disappear completely under swathes of disclaimers. I’m trying to work out whether that’s a bad thing or not. Of course, once the British Broadcasting Corporation is fixed, there’s the NHS to sort out too. Excitement all round.

You’ve Got to Carry Testicle Eating Killer Fish

It’s a sorry state of affairs when women just don’t feel safe to walk the streets alone of an evening. Now there are plenty of solutions to this issue. I don’t have any idea how workable they might turn out to be but at least they kind of sort of potentially exist. We could investigate them one by one but I think you can tell from the title of today’s post that I’m merely going to skim over most of them and skip to the attention grabber.

You can attempt to enforce harsher penalties. Or try to put members of the constabulary through training designed to make them more sympathetic to the plight of a harassed woman. Maybe have a crack at coaching ladies through extensive self-defence classes. Or forcing women to dress head to toe in drab, figure masking garb so as not to arouse strangers.

There’s always the method of trying to achieve enlightenment through better education in general but when has that ever worked before? An attacker may know better but that doesn’t exactly halt him in his pathetic tracks now does it?

Obviously none of these would have enough of an effect. We need something better. More of a deterrent to those who might think they can get away with attacking an unsuspecting woman down an alleyway or something. Luckily, science has provided us with the goods required to take us forward in this endeavour.

The testicle eating killer fish was the brainchild of a particularly twisted mind. Taking elements from sharks, piranhas and those fish you get to eat the dead skin off the bottom of your feet, a new super breed was invented. They are designed to go after only male genitalia and are so small you can easily slip one into a handy water filled compartment that will fit neatly into a handbag. Forget pepper spray. You need a TEKF.

Scots Accused of Chaos in Calais

I thought by now that we’d have put all this devolution nonsense well and truly behind us. They had a vote and decided against it. End of. By the grace of having far too many people in this country who disagree with my excellent ideals, we are stuck with a Tory government for the next five years. Rather than screaming and shouting about the injustice of it all (democracy isn’t fair if it doesn’t go my way), I am going to pout and complain instead. It is the British way.

Anyway, what I’m trying in my characteristically roundabout way to say is that the Scots need to leave well enough alone. They must accept that they’ll be shackled to us forevermore because we simply cannot bear to let them go. Or it might have something to do with oil and delicious haggis.

Having failed in their previous attempt to slip the surly bonds of England, the people of Scotland decided to cast around for a little inspiration. Barely a stone’s throw away from British shores is a port of great significance that managed to free itself of British oppression. In all fairness, I don’t really think that Scotland are angling for a military conquest right now but a bit of background research can’t exactly hurt. Putin’s always on standby if they’re really desperate.

A sudden influx of rowdy Scotsmen angling for a fight of a breakup of the union is definitely going to have an impact on surroundings. Especially as they weren’t exactly in the mood for French wine and some very choice cheese. Note there how I didn’t make a deep frying joke. I think I might be growing as a person. I don’t think they meant to make tremendous pests of themselves, I think it was a well-meaning fact finding mission that’s gone more than a little awry. How else do you explain the town now being on fire?