Stop the Press I want to get off.

Scoop of the year from the Belfast Telegraph. Tony O’Reilly must be over the moon with this story.

Football legend’s ‘lost’ car is found and brought home

The words “fuck”, “flying” and “who gives a” spring to mind.

Is this what passes for journalism in Northern Ireland now that the ‘troubles’ are over?

A car bought in 2002 is going to be a tourist attraction in Northern Ireland? Are we fucking serious here?

I love this line: “The late football legend’s black Mini Cooper – the last car he owned before falling fatally ill – will eventually become part of a permanent exhibition dedicated to Northern Ireland sporting heroes.”

The car also, and I quote, “Mysteriously disappeared”. Ooohhh, spooky, do you think George or his brute ugly talentless waste of space son might have sold it? Nothing mysterious about that.

Roll up! Roll up! come and see a car bought by a man who was too drunk to drive it.


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Estate agents are all scumbags

One of my favourite books which has served me well is Gulliver’s Travels. The book is divided up into four sections, most childrens versions of the book only deals with the first two, Lilliput, where Lemual is a giant among little people and Brobdingnag, where Gulliver is the tiny person among giants.

Section three deals with a series of wild and wacky islands where he meets immortal blind people, scientists trying to build houses from the top down and trying to extract sunshine from cucumbers etc.

 Chapter four, my personal favourite and in my opinion, the most important chapter of the book, deals with Lemuels travels to the island of the Houyhnhnms, a breed of talking horses where man is the savage. Amusingly, Dean Swift calls the savage man Yahoo cos they run around shouting yahoo all the time. Today people just think it is a second rate search engine.

In this chapter, Gulliver wants to explain the ways of England, the culture, the politics, why men wear clothes, why gems are coveted. When explaining laws, the Houyhnhnms ask Gulliver to explain the need for lawyers and barristers, Gulliver explains that everyone needs to be tried for crimes, the horse asks further questions as to why someone is employed to defend a person who has done wrong and defending the thing that isn’t.

Gulliver goes mad because he cannot competently explain the need for lawyers.

I am going mad because estate agents and their devious, coniving, rat like ways. I am starting to believe that estate agents are moulded out of the devils faeces. Example, I have viewed houses which are within my price range say £175,000. I go along, very nice house, the estate agent then tells me that the person does not want to sell for less than £200,000 and the original price of £175,000 was there just to get people through the door viewing it. So I have taken half a day off work, travelled thirty miles to see a house which I believed to be in my price range only to be told that it isn’t. I have asked estate agents on the phone before booking a viewing what they will sell it for and they tell me and they say the asking price. I go along and it is a different story.

There are two well known estate agents operating from the Belfast area which price their houses twenty grand less than the desired selling price just to get people through the door and I am seriously tempted to name and shame them on this. They literally are scumbags.

When I sell my car, I do not put it in auto trader for £200 pound less than I want do I? When I go to Tesco, I do not expect the shop assistant to tell me that there’s an extra couple of pounds on a bag of potatoes because what I thought they were priced at was just the viewing price. I fully understand that people bid on houses and it is technically an auction but to price something £20,000 less than what you want for it, is quite frankly, insulting.

P.s I really have no idea why I linked Gulliver’s Travels to this post?

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My 3 characters..

Did anyone, when they met their present girlfriend/boyfriend, tell the truth about what they did when first meeting them? It is the same when you are in a strange bar in a strange town where no one knows you, you make up a story about who you are and what you do for a living.

So when I am out trying to chat up women, rather than tell them I write crap little advertorials, have arguements over colour schemes and try and explain that sentences have one too many explosive syllables. Who is going to be interested in this tale of woe?

So my three characters when out on the tear are:

  1. I am a professional poker player. I get up around half nine and play on-line poker all day until 5 when, I can be over $10,000 richer. Never works, they tend to get a bit bored, I have yet to find a woman who likes poker.
  2. I write the true stories in pornographic and womens magazines. This is normally a very interesting two way conversation.
  3. I am a spark… Everyone needs a spark, throw in a couple of near death experiences, people tend to be impressed especially when you explain the top prong on a three pin plug. It’s earth and very rarely used, if your house burns down, don’t blame me.

The problem is, as a result of these characters, I cannot see them again if we exchange numbers, as I don’t know if they are impressed by my ability to listen to a conversation without looking at their cleavage or checking out the ass on the girl at the bar or impressed by my ability as a poker player/spark/porno fiction writer?

So, do I tell them at the end of the night as I say cheerio, in a text message the day after, just forget about her or try and live my life as a character from my invented reality?

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Words for the day…

Rugby: A form of football named after the town/school in England where it was created. A sport traditionally played by hard men, simpletons, lager louts and ruffians for the entertainment of the middle and upper classes who consider it the perfect opportunity to get together with their friends to discuss each others property portfolio and their stocks and shares.

Football/Soccer:A sport played by two teams of eleven players who are owned by multi-millionaires who don’t understand the game. Each player generally has the IQ of a small rodent and is played for the entertainment of the working and middle classes.

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You know life is bad…

when the condom you carry in your wallet is now out of date…… Dare I try… Every bloody woman I meet does my head in.

I decided to stop ‘dating’ people because the last ‘date’ I went on, the woman didn’t know what the spoon was for when she ordered spaghetti bolognaise. If you are going to order it, at least know how to eat the f*cking thing… And the other girl I once went out with, decided to tell me all the things she had bought at the shops that day. If it was clothes it would have been interesting, but all her groceries?..

 Where do you meet nice, intelligent, can have a sensible conversation, rich women in Belfast?


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Three evil words

One thing I have noticed since moving to Belfast and embarking in the world is that people, work colleagues and the like, see themselves and each other as a threat and will, at every opportunity, try to shift blame or withdraw from working. Bitch Troll for example, got a new flatbed scanner (to scan her many shades of vert) which came with instructions, instalation disks, all the required leads yet she still wanted to wait 2 days before someone came out to install it.


It’s because we continually use the three most evil words in the English language. Health and Safety.

The binmen won’t empty a bin if the lid is half an inch from being closed completely. Why will they not empty it, “Health and safety mate.” It takes two people to use a ladder in a supermarket. People take a fifteen minute tea break for every hour they use a computer, even if they spend half that hour glancing at Heat magazine, because health and safety regulations say that their eyes will hurt. Baggage handlers in airports, people paid to handle and move your luggage, will not move it unless it has wheels.

Bitch Troll, did not want me installing herour scanner because health and safety regulations state that a qualified technician must be paid to come at a time convenient to him (which means my lunch hour), install software, link it up to all the computers, arse about for half an hour so he can claim for two and then make some nonsensical comment about programmes not being compatible with the firewall that conflicts with the port sockets.

Does anyone else have any really stupid health and safety stories?

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Come and See

In the book of Revelations (or the Apocalypse of St John), it is stated and I heard one of the four living creatures saying, as with a voice of thunder, “Come and see!””. Not being a vociferous Bible reader, although I have dabbled, I just thought this was a line from a Johnny Cash song, but after seeing the 1985 Russian war film, Come and See, I had to investigate further the meaning of these words.

 Come and See is obviously an invitation which arouses our suspicion. Once when I was a young lad, I was invited to Come and See a cat which had been run over by a car, I took the long way home just to stand on the kerb and examine the carcass from a Gods eye view. Halfthe head had been bashed in and the tongue was sticking out, the fur was all matted.

Just last month, my cousin’s daughter asked me to come and see her new play house which I obliged. Come and See is an invitation which anyone rarely turns down.

So, in my opinion, it is a great title for a film which deals with the brutality that the Russians faced in World War II. There are very few films that I have watched in my life which have affected me, changed my perspective on life, urged me to seek more knowledge. This film, I am ‘pleased’ to say did just that.

I shouldn’t use the word pleased, there is not one happy, funny or amusing moment in this film. We have been invited to watch hell. This film is full of gruesome, horrible and disturbing images. It was interesting to read how the film was made, the director, allegedly used live rounds to scare the cast, there were very few stunt doubles, the actors were not allowed to wash the mud from their clothes and faces at the end of each day and the catering was intentionally so bad that many of the cast did not bother eating.

The final half hour of the film is the most stomach churning, the Nazis invade a Russian village and lock all the children in the church before setting fire to it because “children are the future and have been infected by Communism” and for their own amusement. I did a YouTube search and, quell surprise, someone has uploaded this and the much debated final scene. You can watch it here, although the YouTube version heavily edited and you literally do need to see the whole film.

Unfortunately, it’s not a film you can pick up at Xtravision, if it was, they would have one of those stickers on it telling you the film is in a foreign language.

The finale asks one of the questions which was posed in the film 1995 The Last Supper with Cameron Diaz (Interestingly, her second film, the first being The Mask). In it, they ask, if you could go back in time to a little Austrian village in 1910 would you kill a struggling unknown artist with right wing opinions called Adolf? The finale of Come and See, shows the boy Alex shooting a picture of Hitler. Every shot he fires, the war goes in reverse, then it goes to the first world war and then it goes to pictures of Hitler as a young 20 something, then it goes to Hitler as a teenager, then stops with a baby sitting on his mother’s lap. Alex doesn’t shoot this image.

It gave me something to ponder. It amazes me that some people and film studios would prefer to fund pure evil films like Little Man (16 mins in) rather than Come and See.

On a lighter note, while searching for Come and See on YouTube, I found this clip from Top of the Tops in 1975. Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel, Come up and See Me.

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