Tag Archives: back seat

Rupert Murdoch and Other Shit… Literally

20120222 Hatchet Bristol Toilet Door 150x150 Rupert Murdoch and Other Shit... Literally

Kimberley from Bristol sent in this photograph taken in the toilets at the Hatchet Pub in Bristol.  Just like the stench of a dirty toilet lingering in your nostrils, Rupert Murdoch just won’t go away.

You know when the dog takes a crafty shit in the back seat of your car?  I don’t own a dog, but I have a vivid imagination.  Every time you turn on the air conditioning, the circulating air picks up the whiff of rancid turd every so often and then it goes away again.  You crane your neck, sniff, shrug it off… and repeat.  It’s rather like a good shampoo – or just a poo in this case.

In a similar manner Rupert Murdoch keeps hitting the news with this god-awful non-news story about phone hacking and the related fallout.  And now there’s the dreaded comeback: rumour has it he is going to launch a new Sunday newspaper.  But wait, isn’t that old news?  And does anyone actually give a toss?  Why was that the leading story on some news programmes last week?  It seems it is that and the death of another “celebrity” that has been making the headlines recently.

But what else can we report?  The economy is still in tatters, the Eurozone and Greece are looking as woeful as ever but we’ve all got immune to the effects and stopped caring.  It’s like the boxer Dereck Chisora slapping you in the face over and over.  After the first 500 slaps it stops hurting – hell it even starts to feel soothing.  It is almost as soothing as the giant hand of Zeus coming down from the sky and gently, nay lovingly, caressing you behind your little fwuffy-wuffy ear.  Who’s a cheeky monkey?  YOU are a cheeky monkey!  Tickle-tickle!

Phone Hacking

Poor Britney, though.  No wait, Whitby…  Wilma?  Whatever her name is, Ms Houston had a great voice and had a string of hits to her name that define different stages of many people’s lives.  A friend of mine forwarded one of those quasi-humorous chain texts to me the other day.  It read as follows:

“Rupert Murdoch is said to be deeply touched by the messages of condolence left on Whitney Houston’s phone.”

Hmm, nice allusion to phone hacking, however when was the last time you left a message of condolence on a deceased person’s phone?  It just doesn’t make sense.

What annoys me most about the phone hacking scandal is the fact that most people didn’t care about the dubious ethics being employed by newspapers initially.  They lapped up the deliciously succulent non-news stories about “celebrities” and bought papers in droves, like a cocaine addict searching incessantly for… her next tub of Muller Rice.  Mmm, it’s so delicious.  The public was as much a part of the wrongdoing by facilitating it.  They created the insatiable demand – insatiable until the Milly Dowler story.  When it involved the victim of a murderous paedophile it was all suddenly a step too far.  And don’t we bloody hate paediatricians – erm, I mean paedophiles – in this country…  We’re obsessed with them.  I’m not saying it’s not a heinous crime, but I think in this country we sometimes react disproportionately.

Don’t wet the bed

One final thing that annoys me about this story is the pronunciation of the name “News Corp” – short for News Corporation, of course.  The BBC in particular seem to think it is some sort of army regiment, choosing to pronounce it with a silent ‘p’.

And so, from a silent “number two” in the back of a car, we come full circle and end with a silent pee.  You couldn’t make it up – actually, I just did…

Don’t have nightmares.  Above all, don’t wet the bed.

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Fluorescothugs suck bags

20110818 French handbag face 150x150 Fluorescothugs suck bags

Trying to organise things can suck bags.  Some people will ignore emails or texts and some many will be available on a given day.  I used to organise a lot of things but have taken a bit of a back seat in recent months (until about a week ago), as I have been so damned busy.

Can you believe it’s August already?  I’m looking out the window and it’s cold and dark.  When I was in Chippenham earlier I could smell autumn in the air and we haven’t even had the August bank holiday yet!  Remember the two weeks of summer we had back in April?  They were predicting a hot August and possible drought.  Fortunately I had a nice long weekend in southern France not too long ago.


The holiday to southernFrancewas the last thing I co-organised and I am currently in the process of organising yet another holiday and some other little projects on the side.  Once everyone has replied to the respective “projects” I’m sure it will be great, but as I alluded to above it can be a pretty frustrating process.

The holiday in France (Montpellierand Béziers) was fantastic.  We went for a long weekend and had a great time absorbing some culture and swimming in theMediterranean Sea.  There were loads of topless women sunbathing on the beach.  I am quite proud of myself for actually swimming in theMediterranean Sea– the most polluted sea in the word (I believe), which I can now note down in my book of achievements.  All in all, it was a pretty awesome holiday.  Did I mention the topless women…?

The face in the bag

Whilst in MontpellierI spotted a handbag it in a shop window that appeared to have a face in it.  The shop was quite posh looking and was in Le Polygone shopping centre.  I didn’t particularly want to take a picture of a shop window, deterred by my bad experiences with “officials” in Britain (or as I call them fluorescothugs – give anyone a fluorescent jacket and they think they are God.)  My friend Liam took the picture for me and he had a superior camera on his phone anyway.  It was photography by proxy induced by fear.  I call it photophoboproxography.


As an avid photographer I was openly taking pictures at Cribbs Causeway a few years ago and was putting myself through awkward physical contortions to get a slightly better composition.  I call it yogatography.  It should have been clear to any imbecile that I was a jihadi – erm, sorry, a photographer.  Nonetheless I was approached by some thugs riding a converted golf buggy (too lazy to walk), which looked a bit like the Pope Mobile.  When asked what I was doing, I was tempted to reply, “It’s called photography.  Do you simple folk have that?  Look, it’s a magic little light box!  Woooo…”

I decided it wasn’t worth my breath and followed them into a little room around the back of the shopping centre to receive a severe beating – sorry, I mean a “permit”.  It was just some lame piece of paper that I could have knocked up myself but it made those sad small people happy for a split second.  Give anyone a fluorescent jacket and they think they are God.  Fluorescothugs.

On a lighter note, did I mention there were loads of topless women on the beach inFrance?

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