this could be my fortune...

Many thanks to those people who contacted me requiring more information about the use of large brass hounds as a fitness aid. Due to your enthusiasm and the encouragement I received I am planning my presentation for “Dragons Den” now. I’m planning a range of different sizes and weights of brass hounds, from Chihuahuas for weak asthmatic children to Irish wolf hounds for Steroid freaks.

I hope that within a year (two at most) talk of brass hounds will be as common in the workplace as talk of gym memberships, squash games and Pilates classes are now- “Oh hi there Nick-how’s the brass hound training going? Not bad at all thanks Bill-I’ve just moved up to a red setter this week…”Phew, good work Nick!””

It will be worth it purely for the reactions from the “Dragons”. I long to see Duncan “Popeye” Bannatyne cravenly begging me for the opportunity to invest so he can incorporate them into his “Leisure Empire” whilst that dreadful sour faced old harridan in the grey baggy suit looks on, looking like she’s desperately holding in a four day old curry shit.

I wouldn’t let Peter Jones invest though, as he is a cunt. I’m not sure what it is about him, but whenever I see him, and regardless of what he is saying or doing, all I can see and hear is a small fat toddler, covered in it’s own shit, in a nappy shouting “Look at me mummy! Look at me! I DID A POO! I’m a clever boy! Look at me! Look at me!”.

I find it amusing that the “Dragons” themselves, for all their arrogance and swagger, never seem to get into the lists published of the super rich of the world-those that contain Bill Gates, Roman Abramovich, Lakshmi Mittal, The Sultan of Brunei and so forth. In those kind of circles these appalling near-caricatures of capitalism would rank only slightly above white trash lottery winners in mock Tudor Essex mansions.

What I’d like to see is someone extremely successful (and seemingly not as much of a cunt) like Richard Branson appearing on “Dragons Den” and saying “this is my new idea-it’s worth a fortune and it’s all mine, you utter scoundrels, and you can all beg like the craven spavined mongrels that you are for the scraps from my dinner table, for I AM A SELF MADE MAN AND I COULD BUY YOU!”.

I’m thoroughly sick of people telling us how we should live.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/health/healthy_living - stuff like this....

Although I personally try to lead a healthy and active lifestyle, and don’t feel that I m in a position to lecture to others how best to live their lives-if you want to sit about your sofa and eat pizza by all means do so… Similarly, I am an ex-smoker and although I am now vehemently anti-smoking I recognise the individual’s right to smoke. Except in restaurants, you filthy, dirty bastards…

I am writing this as it seems increasingly difficult to escape from this attitude in the media. I also don’t like it because it is cheap and easy journalism-everyone knows what’s bad for them, and what it will do to us. Everyone with any sense has looked at the facts and decided on their own “enjoyment”:”fear of early death” ratio, so it’s all preaching to the converted really-nothing anyone says will make a blind bit of difference. We don’t need more programs telling us that if we eat chips every day we get fat, ugly and can’t walk up stairs as we are fully aware of it. If you aren’t aware of it you are too stupid to live and will drown in your own fat. If it was something we worried about we do something about it, if it isn’t we don’t.

Health and fitness wasn’t something we used to worry about, people just got on with their lives. My grandfather smoked about 40 cigarettes a day and drank several pints of mild during lunchtime, but got his fitness and prodigious strength from being a steelworker, and also from carrying with him at all other times a life size cast metal statue of a beagle.

Lumping around this huge lump of metal gave him enormous amounts of endurance and amazing upper body strength with a grip like a vice.

I remember as a child watching him flex his biceps and saying to me “Look at that lad! Look at the size of them! That’s all down to my brass hound.”

After his untimely death in the early 90’s the brass beagle was passed into the hands of my eldest cousin Michael, who is now a veritable goliath of a man.

There's a moral there somewhere...

Murder, death, kill…Murder, death, kill…

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/code red emergency...

This is a great idea, hopefully it will soon be updated in real time. As I am always one to play good odds I am going to consult this before I leave the house each day, the same as I would the weather just so I know what to expect.

“Hmmm…. It looks like low car crime day with an increased chance of mugging coming in from the west this afternoon. I’d better take a big fucking stick out with me…”

I can also use it to calculate my statistical likelihood of being murdered, as if there hasn’t been one for some time, I will certainly be more wary of leaving the house. However if some other poor bastard has just been killed I can go on my merry way, knowing that it’s statistically unlikely for 2 people to be murdered in the city in quick succession.

All in all, a wonderful tool…

is there anybody still out there?

Due to a bizarre misadventure I have spent most of the last month or so in the care of the NHS, an experience I have found to be one of the great levellers in life (hence no chance to vent spleen via the blog).

Spending any significant amount of time on a hospital ward certainly puts you in touch with sectors of society you would not otherwise meet, or at least if you did you would generally shoot first and ask questions of them later.

Befoere I go on to pour scorn and bile over vermin in my usual manner I would like to make a special mention on the subject of nurses and other NHS staff. Despite the massive amount of bad press in the media egaridng these fine poele, without fail, each and every member of NHS staff I dealt with from cleaners to consultants were professional, polite and friendly, in marked contrast to some of the appallingly idiotic patients who treated them as, at best, as servants and at worst as adversaries.

In the beds opposite and around me there were variously:

a) A very, very stupid man who had been admitted after being bitten by his own attack dog so hard it had broken his arm, apparently not for the first time. He refused to inform the police as they would have put the beast down. Why someone wants an attack dog that randomly attacks it’s own owner I have no idea.

b) A filthy looking young man who was genuinely upset and surprised that you were not allowed to smoke on the wards. He cheered himself up with the small bottle of meths he had smuggled in.

c) An old and very unkempt man who although appearing quite harmless, would often wake up in the middle of the night and shout random things to nurses, such as “You can’t keep a fucking dog in here!” or “put it on the sideboard, I’ll cook it in the morning” at the top of his voice,

d) 2 chavs who had stolen a motorcycle and driven it into a telephone pole whilst travelling at 120 mph. remarkably both survived. I suspect karma must not have had its eye on the ball that day.

e) A witless man from Wakefield who felt compelled to spend several hours each day calling over nursing staff then describing in great detail his bowel movements; “Eh, nurse. I just spent 2 hours trying to push one out. Very dry it was. Thought I’d got it out, then it got sucked back in…” etc.

Thankfully I was able to become part of a suitably middle class enclave of people as disbelieving of the sheer fuckwittedness of many patients as I was.

An example of the above would be (bearing in mind we were on what was to all intents and purposes a surgical ward) inviting in about 10 of your unwashed shit thick mates, all dressed in their filthy clothes and eating dodgy takeaways. I can’t help but think that infections such as MRSA are less the hospital’s fault and far more the visitors. It was made even more fun when they all started arguing with their girlfriends when the nurses threw them out…. Oh yes, and then some of them turning up late and getting angry because you weren’t allowed in outside the clearly posted visiting hours…

My solution to this kind of problem, as ever would be along the lines of “If you don’t contribute, you can have a plaster then fuck off and die in the gutter”.

Luckily I was able to recuperate at home, and was able to familiarise myself once again with the wonders of Jeremy Kyle (who appears to be approaching meltdown).

For those who haven’t yet had the pleasure of watching (and shame on you) a normal episode will normally follow this format:

Some gap toothed rodent of a man has been slinging it up a couple of fat birds. He’s married to one of them, the other is his cousin. They are both complaining about it for reasons that they are not able to fully articulate. Jeremy shouts at them and tells them to act like adults and get jobs.

Next, a woman who looks like Rod Stewart comes on who has had 17 kids-she’s not sure which man is father to which child and so has got a couple of “possibles” on the stage and would like a DNA test so she can decide which one of them to start shouting at for not giving her any money. Some times it’s none of the “possibles” and she has to start thinking about who else it could be, and how she could get money out of them. Jeremy shouts at them and tells them to act like parents and get jobs.

A couple of pond dwellers with neck tattoos come on to complain that one/both/either of them is an alcoholic and bellow about how it is “tearing us apart, Jeremy” (actually stopping drinking, or even the fact they with or without drink their lives would still be pointless hasn’t occurred to them). Jeremy shouts at them and tells them to stop drinking and get jobs.

A pram faced eighteen year old slattern with her hair in a scrunchie comes on to complain that her mother abandoned her as a child and “put her in care, innit?” They then bring on her mother, who looks like Giant Haystacks with a cunt, who then attempts to justfy herself, whilst munching on a Greggs pasty. Jeremy shouts at them and tells them to reconcile with Each other and get jobs.

Everything I have written above is actually real life for some people… God help them…