Yet More Rain

OK so its still raining. I however remain resolutely cheerful in the face of inclement weather and lunatic suicide bomb threats. Bring it on. This is not some crappy spirit of the blitz approach however, Englands stiff upper lip has never been my forte.

Oh no. My joy derives from Wimbledon. Ever since I was a child I have had a loathing of the whole feckin thing. Strawberries, Cravats, queing for crappy tickets, blazers and Pimms (well actually not Pimms).

As a kid you would arrive home from school for those glorious two hours before tea and homework, flick on the TV and see nothing but tossers running about in white. There was no multi-channel options, that was it. No apologies. Nothing. Tennis or vets in the outback. In the early evening the parents would be glued to it.

"Shut up Fidel, we're watching the tennis."

I wouldn't have minded quite so much but neither of them had ever, to my knowledge actually hefted a tennis racket and I doubt they knew the rules.

Then, when Borg passed his crown to Boom Boom Boris, then boring Pete then on and on and on and on. (I appreciate this glosses over the good bit with McEnroe) No. No. No. Its not right. Thats the men.

The ladies - Navratilova (wasn't she also known as the Fridge or was that Betty Stover?), Graf (Battle ship not battleaxe) and every year a smattering of half dressed blonde russians (Pornicova?) Come on. Get over it.

A minority sport played by an elite for too much money and with little or no actual effort or excitement (except of course the tension of finding out how many millions you are due to earn this year). Even the useless cretin Henman earned an absolute fortune and for what? To artificially get pushed unrealistically up the rankings every June only to dissappoint a load of menopausal old Tory birds yet again? The fateful and pathetic perennial "Femail" pin-up. ***

But then it got worse. Not only was it on the telly but the whole country got taken over by "Henmania." Previously as a nation we'd never tried to be any good at it and had accepted our fate of going out in the second round surrounded by much handwringing in the papers and the annual "What can one do?" from the LTA*.

All of a sudden we supposedly had a contender. NONSENSE- he was crap**.

Anyway, this year normal service has been resumed, pissing with rain and all Brits out in the second round. Thank fuck for that.



*What you could possibly do at the LTA is stop tennis from being the preserve of the elitist middle class tossers who run most tennis clubs. As with all sports a little bit of aggression, drive, hunger and desire can make up for an awful lot of pampering, simpering and expensive coaching. Get rid of the Ruperts.

** Yes Henman fans, he is crap. He has that most frustraing of habits of nealy pulling it off every time he plays but somehow manages to lose all nine match points. Sorry for him? No Chance. Glorious British hero or Failure, Bottle job, choker, arsehole. Call him what you like- no- really call him what you like. I do not give a shit.

***Yes I hate Femail almost more than the Sunday Observer.

Rain

First Spinsterella dissappears, then LC gets pathological and threatens to kill everyone and now Patroculus is depressed because she hates sunshine (even if there isnt any). Flirty Something is miserable because of an unspecified mid 30's birthday, having no job and living in her sisters flat. This is what I have found out in blogland today. The art of the blog will die if everyone continues to be so bleedin' pathetic. Get positive.

Use your browser to see the world for what it is- one great big human-freindly biosphere of possibilities.

It has been raining everyday for the last month( of summer??)- so what. Last year it was too hot to travel to work and you all wittered on about global warming and water rationing. This year well- its just wetter. We are waterproof. In fact we are life-proof. The only real thing to worry about is death and for most of us that is a long way off (relatively speaking).

For those who do not have so far to travel- well I hope you have lived life in the knowledge that someday you will die and that its approach does not come as a surprise.

Regrets? - bannish them. You cannot go back. Worries about the future ? - yep. Shit happens. Get over it. Worries about other people- They are probably worrying about you. Turn the switch to positive. Press the banzai button (see LC)

Jealous of what others apparently have? - ask them whether they have what they want. No one actually does. Relationships- take them at face value and as they come. Everyone is insecure. Everyone is scared of commitment. Everyone is tired of being crapped on. Everyone should be open to new and unexpected things and they will happen to you if you put yourself into a place and a frame of mind where they might. Go somewhere new. Do something new. Everyday.

Welcome change. Don't be afraid of the future.

Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be.

Thats better. Feel good about yourself. Put on your new shoes (figuratively) and dance out the door.

NEXT?

Girl on a train

Dark hair pulled back (no not as extreme as the Croydon facelift), beautiful green eyes, pale skin, skulpted bones and a full mouth a la Angelina, late 20's at a guess. Tailored pale pink shirt, grey check "A " line skirt (it looked better than it sounds...). Tall, very tall, not skinny, but statuesque or amazon. Strong Handsome Woman. Glances once as she gets on, again, this time I catch her, she looks down, again I catch her, she looks left. She's trying not to look again. Train fills up, she still catches my eyes occasionally while glancing around. She leaves at Baker Street.

It must be pheromones. Those of the bloke behind me possibly. I am not that cute, in fact cute would be a distinct misnomer. Cute descibes small and perfectly formed, non threatening, neat packages. Not scruffy, rough, outsize and unfinished which is genernally how I appear. Maybe I appeared so abhorrent that, like a car crash she had to keep glancing back. Maybe I look like her long lost uncle/brother/grandfather, maybe she's trying to determine where the smell is coming from. All of these cross my mind and are dismissed.

I am male obviously and have an ego therefore she must, despite the obvious indicators to the contrary, be one of the more derranged women that could find such a beast attractive. Clearly. It will be a better day now.

The only problem is I will now vainly attempt to get into the same carriage at the same time everyday, ultimately, like the Waterloo magistrate, leading to a charge of indecent exposure or stalking.

Googletwats

How many times do I have to try signing in to leave a comment on somebody elses blog to be told that I need to verify my account by returning my verify my account email again and again and again and again. Ever since you tossers got involved in running blogger your stupid freindly intelligent software logon to record keeping shite has consistently prevented me from using the site the way I want to. I wanted to change my account name but had to change my e-mail address to achieve this. I wanted to produce a more anonymous blog but the fucking thing remembered my computer and so would not let me create a more anonymous persona but kept referring everyone back to the original. Why do you have to complicate everything? So you can get your poxy records and "improve your responsiveness to my requirements" or sell me some shit and sell on my details to your spineless unaccountable corporate partners. Google is no longer my freind and enabler. It is a corporate fuckwit with no joy left. Shove that up yer blogger and get busy with it.

Great British Traditions

Shakespeare, Englands most famous literary son, was a persecuted Catholic? Well no not actually but possibly. Now I am not good on religeon or history but I was surprised to learn that good old Will lived at a time post reformation when to be a Catholic was considered unholy and many were actually hanged for practising the faith here in London. The reason apparently is that good old Queenie (Elizabeth 1) was sired by a post divorce Henry VIII. So whilst leaning towards believing in the Catholic Faith if she converted then that would be to accept that Henry (daddy) conceived her out of wedlock. ie that the Queen was a bastard. This may also have had some impact on her claim for the throne. In consequence she continued the tradition of persecution out of a sense of self preservation.



Anyway Billy Shakespeare roamed around at the time and records identify that he had associations with an illicit mass that was regualrly celebrated in an old Gate House of the City of London. Not only did he know the owner and count him as a freind but he also subsequently bought the building and owned it when he passed away. In fact it was his most valuable property. So now we come to the present day and minor royals (Princess Annes son) has to renounce his claim to the throne in order to marry a catholic. presumably for the same reason as Elizabeth the first. If catholicism is accepted by any member of the Royal Family then weinstantly go way back to Elizabeth the first and under English law the Royal Family wouldnt be the Royal Family anymore as there line of descent would be broken. Now who actually would be the Royal Family and would own all of their assets woould be an interesting excercise.

Needless to say none of this really matters but it is interesting to note that the persecution of the Catholics in this country, despite what the Church of England would have you understand is based in no more theological or indeed moral or principled position than self preservation of Elizabeth I's Royal claim.

London Calling

The Thames has never been so full, inches below street level, the dark storm clouds fill the sky and there is not a breath of air, the temparature has reached uncomfortable and the humidity is around 80%. Its June in London. The city holds its united breath in anticipation of the storm that will surely come, suited men are swathed in sweat, the working women have abandonned the poise and posture of the cool trip in, the Primark clothes are sagging and the sweat stained pits of man-made fibres crying out to Bond Street for rescue.

Commuters will be bitter and spark off one another rank indignant lightening. The pubs offer no refuge as the oppresive heat, smoke and stale air, this fetid atmosphere, will overcome all but the most ardent thirst. Praying for rain to swell the current further, Ark Royal lurks at Port of London as if to effect a rescue when the river bursts its banks as some day hence it must.

But still the city's pulse is racing, the commercial whip drives on its wearied toiling ranks. The bold financial centre of the world, wilting in the summers dim light, tarnished by the greed of enterprise, today truly resembles a sweat shop.

But on and on the engines drive, to fuel the nation, to pay for property and fund the wars, to burn in the administrative boilers of a gasping health service, on its last fag before the knackers come and we the willing many, like some throwback metropolitans, trooping underground, will oil the wheels again tomorrow and struggle back to the modern mills to pull our living wage.

Snakes

Well, sitting in the pool on Saturday and just chilling out. First we see the flicking tongue and then the entire head of a snake. A UK native snake ? Who knows. Green with black lines on and a hint of yellow on the head. Do I know what sort it is? No. Do I need to find out? Probably. Aside from a natural fear of the creatures it is obviously quite a privelidge to get these visitors but I could do without them in my pool. (Well not really in the pool but behind the lining and leaning in for a drink or to snap up some insects). Its scared of me. I am scared of it. Mexican stand-off. How does one discourage a snake without actually harming it? Any answers ladies?

Regards


Fidel.

The relief of Paris

Having served two days of a 40 day sentence the self obsessed serial drink driver has been released into the custody of her own Malibu mansion. The American justice system is clearly about as flawed as it can get. Obviously the influence of money power fame and vacuosity had nothing to do with the legal process in this case.

As a former jail-bird (and felon?) is she still free to come and go to the UK or does she need a special visa as would be the case in reverse?

PS: The one night in Paris video now comes as a double feature with a new short called "Banged in the Slammer."

Backlot

Pants

While in contemplation this afternoon I read some advice inside my pants.

Keep away from fire.

As far as useless information and advice goes wouldn't "may contain nuts" have been more appropriate?