Tony Blair: end of an era (after Wikipedia)

Anthony Charles Lynton Blair (born 6 May) is a proper fucking cunt who served as the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom from early May 1997 to late June 2007, the Leader of the Labour Party from 1994 to 2007 and the Member of Parliament for the constituency of Sedgefield from 1983 to 2007. On the day he stood down as Prime Minister -- can you believe the balls of this fucker?! -- he was appointed as the Middle East envoy on behalf of the United Nations, European Union, United States and Russia (the Quartet).

Tony Blair became the Leader of the Labour Party in July 1994, following the sudden death of his predecessor, John Smith. Under Blair's leadership the party abandoned many decades-old traditional Labour values, essentially becoming the Conservative Party Version 2.0. As a result of this political about-face, Labour won a landslide victory in the 1997 general election, ending 18 years of rule by the Conservative Party; it was the worst Conservative defeat since 1832. But of course it was also a Conservative victory, albeit under another name. Blair is the Labour Party's longest-serving Prime Minister, and we are the unlucky fuckers who had to witness it. He has been nothing but a lying, deceitful, Bush-arse-fucking, don't-give-a-fuck-about-the-promises-he-made, waste-of-space political leader since the last one, which probably wasn't that long ago.

Gordon Brown, Blair's ten-year Chancellor of the Exchequer, succeeded him as Prime Minister. And, oh, how we can all look forward to being fucked by this cunt, too.

I've got nothing more to say, I suppose. Just good riddance to bad rubbish. Let's hope the cunt dies on a Middle East visit. (Is that a bit excessive? Maybe. Oh well.) Prick. Liar. Arsehole. Now there's an epitaph we should all aspire to.

Oh yeah, by the way, I'm 41 per cent zombie-proof.

41%

Tagged by Gardenia

I wanted to write a wee rant about that cunt Tony Blair and how great it is that he has finally fucked off, albeit leaving our country in even worse hands in the shape of that other cunt Gordon Brown, who can't talk without doing some weird freaky thing with his bottom lip. Wanker.

But then Gardenia tagged me, so I guess I'll put that post off to another day.

1. WHAT WERE YOU DOING 10 YEARS AGO?
Getting ready to get married, more or less. Our tenth anniversary is only five weeks away.

2. WHAT WERE YOU DOING 1 YEAR AGO?
Christ, who knows. Working I expect!

3. FIVE SNACKS YOU ENJOY.
Cashew nuts, white chocolate, beer, pitta and hummus, sex.

4. FIVE SONGS YOU KNOW ALL THE WORDS TO.
The Saturday Boy (Billy Bragg), Stand and Deliver (Adam & the Ants), That Makes It Tough (Buddy Holly), Holidays in the Sun (Sex Pistols), Suspicious Minds (Elvis Presley)

5. FIVE THINGS YOU'D DO IF YOU WERE A MILLIONAIRE.
Give up work. Direct a movie. Put together a band and make an album. Travel a lot. Start an animal sanctuary.

6. FIVE BAD HABITS.
Do I have any? Snoring, apparently. Watching too much shit TV. Working too hard.

7. FIVE THINGS YOU LIKE DOING.
Spending quality time with the wife, especially eating out, watching a good movie, holidaying, takonad'ing. I also like blogging and watching good TV.

8. FIVE THINGS YOU WOULD NEVER WEAR AGAIN.
I dunno. I figure anything I wear is cool by virtue of my wearing it. Oh, except dungarees perhaps. Yeah, I'll never wear those again. Good job I gave them to charity!

I tag anyone who wants to have a go, but first to mind are Cappy, Milla, and RefPo.

Back from my travels

... But not without a close encounter with this little lady, among other things.

It was my dad's 60th birthday, so the wife and I went off to see the family. Talk about a relaxing break. No, not relaxing... the other thing. Exhausting, that's it.

All we did was eat pork or beef, then drive on to the next place where we could eat pork or beef. I put on 1.3 kg (2.86 lb) between leaving Saturday morning and when we arrived back home at Tuesday lunchtime. My meals were:


Saturday lunch: Faggots and mash with gravy (above), with vegetables.
Saturday dinner: Scallops on a bed of lentils, followed by steak with a morel mushroom sauce and potato dauphinoise, followed by chocolate and pear tart with cream.
Sunday breakfast: Full English -- i.e., bacon, eggs, sausage, mushroom, tomatoes, and toast (with eggs laid by hens of which the girl at the top is one of 60).
Sunday lunch: Roast beef with all the trimmings, followed by white-chocolate cheesecake topped with blueberries.
Sunday dinner: Garlic mushroom on pesto, followed by beef stroganoff with rice, chips, and garlic bread, followed by strawberry-and-vanilla cheesecake with cream and ice cream.
Monday breakfast: Full English.
Monday lunch: Ham and eggs with chips.
Monday dinner: Breaded garlic mushrooms, followed by bangers and mash with peas and onion gravy, followed by a slice of chocolate birthday cake.
Tuesday breakfast: Full English.

Wow... that almost makes me want to gag now! The first three meals were the best, but then they were at the Michelin-starred restaurant/B&B that we stayed at. The food there is absolutely fantastic, and whenever we visit my family we make sure we have at least one meal there. This time it was three meals, since we hadn't been for so long!

Families, though, eh? They can be stressful, and no messing. I'll move on to that in my next post...

What’s it all about?

Of course, you and I, dear reader, know full well that A Blog About Nowt is about nowt, but Technorati isn't quite as clever as us. This is what that most "useful" of bloggers' "resources" has to say:


Admittedly some of my favourite things appear on that list, but I still can't shake the feeling that it's missing the point somewhat. Oh well, such is life...

Running around like a blue-arsed fly

That's a particularly fun turn of phrase, don't you think? Anyways...

You know that song "These Boots Are Made for Walking" by Nancy Sinatra? Whoever wrote that had never spent a couple of hours pounding the streets of London in a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars. And I don't care how much you love David Tennant as the Doctor, there is no way any being, not even a Time Lord, can spend his entire life wearing them, not with all the running and galaxy hopping and Earth saving he has to do.

But wait, this morning I had a pretty damn good idea. I removed the padded inner soles from my trainers (or sneakers or tennis shoes, if you prefer) and put them inside my Chucks (or Cons or All Stars, if you prefer), and hey fucking presto I suddenly have some footwear fit for wearing on my feet.

Cos today I had to pound the tiled floors of the mall to grab some T-shirts and stuff, so I didn't want to make my feet even more blistered than they were yesterday.

Speaking of yesterday, the dental hygienist was very gentle. Never has a dental hygienist been so gentle with my mouth. I think it's because she's more accustomed to working with special-needs children. And you know, my eyes didn't water once either, so (although I certainly won't admit that I ever cry in the dentist's chair) I'm beginning to wonder if the pain of the hygienist somehow makes my eyes water (not cry, though).

She said... Well, what didn't she say? She is quite the talker. But she said I was doing well and to keep up the good work. I love when the dentist or hygienist tells me that. Over the past six or seven years I have spent a lot of money on my teeth -- more than I've spent on tattooing in 17 years -- and although I still don't treat them as well as I should (who does?), I wouldn't want to go back to those dark days of poor upkeep and infrequent check-ups.

For those who don't know what The X Factor is, it's an American Idol type of show in which there are three mentors, each of whom has a bunch of artists: one has 16- to 24-year olds; one, over-25s; and the last, groups. After all the usual audition rounds and eliminations that these shows go through, the viewers at home get to vote off one artist each week until only one remains. So, it's a singing contest, rather than a Britain's Got Talent type thing.

I'm slowly getting out from under my hectic workload. It's fun watching as the number of projects reduces, ready for a slightly less manic summer. But before long, as is the freelance way, we'll soon be worrying that we have no work. I vow not to do that until August, though.

Updates

So, my brother is on to the next round of X Factor auditions, to be held on 11 July. At this one I think he will come face to face with Simon Cowell. Oh, to be a fly on the wall...

Meanwhile, the missus and I are heading off to the dentist today. I hate going to the dentist. I'm not an anti-dentite, but I know I don't floss as often as I should, and I'll get told off. Also, when I'm lying on my back, that big, fuck-off light above my head is so bright that it makes my eyes water. I'm not crying, I swear. It's just too damn bright!

We took a look at the new house in the hood. To be fair, it's not as hideous as I was expecting. But they've only put one up so far. The other arrives on Saturday. Two new houses in the space of five days. So, this is the modern world that I've learned about.

Tuesday miscellany

There's a man outside my house holding a stop/go board. It's temporary, to control traffic flow. Why do they need to control traffic flow? Because a plot of land half a dozen doors away from us is today becoming two houses. I looked down the road and there's an enormous crane. And on the road beside it, ready to be hoisted into place, is a house, covered in what looks like polystyrene (Styrofoam) sheeting.

It's come to this. Alongside this lovely little terrace of Victorian houses built in 1847, some cunt is dumping a pair of fucking prefabs. I foresee the day when some oik in local council decides they ought to rip down these eleven 160-year-old houses because they are spoiling the otherwise modern look of the area...

Today my brother is in Cardiff. Why on earth would he go to Cardiff?, you might ask. And it's a fair question. Other than going to check out Captain Jack's Torchwood base, I can see no other reason. But he's there for the first round of auditions for the new season of The X Factor. [That's kind of like American Idol, for those of you on the other side of the Atlantic.] The celebrity judges aren't at these early try-outs, so he won't get to meet Cowell. But he does have a history with the high-waistbanded one. Let's hope it doesn't affect his chances should he get through this first stage.

This evening, we have to pay the plumber. Y'know, for the work done in the kitchen. I say plumber, but he is really more like the foreman, since he arranges everything with all the other contractors. Indeed, he wasn't even present when our ktchen was done, because he was on holiday in the south of France. It seems like a long time to wait to pay him, but believe me, it's almost as difficult to get this guy to give us a bill as it was to get a quote out of him in the place!

At the weekend, I'm going to see my family. It will be the first time I have seen my mum, my sister, my brother, and most other family members in 18 months. Because they all never come to see us, y'see? So unless we go to them, we get bupkis on the visiting front. We've booked into a couple of B&Bs. This morning, we had to scour Google to try to remember the name of one of the ones we booked. I had booked it over the phone a couple of months ago and hadn't made a note of its name anywhere. Eventually we plumped for one in the same area and asked if they knew the name of any other B&Bs on that road, because we didn't know where we'd booked. The nice Welsh lady was very obliging. Now we know where we're going! What a plonker!

Other than that, I got nothing. I have a couple of projects that are due to finish today, and then tomorrow, Red and I are off to the dentist in the West End of old London town. So, we might even take in a bite to eat. Make the most of it. People are more attractive in London than they are where we live, so we may as well soak it up while we're there...

Wow...

Is it Friday already? And not just Friday, but 6pm on Friday. Where the hell did yet another week go?!

The good news is, I might actually get to have a day off this weekend. All work and no play makes Nowt a dull boy, and all that.

So the missus and I might go shopping for something nice to wear on our upcoming-but-still-too-far-away holiday. Or to have a nice meal somewhere. That is something we don't do often enough. Then once in a while we'll go out for dinner and say, "That was nice. We should really go out to a nice restaurant at least once a month." Then three months fly by and we realize we haven't. Must change that.

There will be some work to do, though. And even if we have some downtime, we have to do the finishing touches in the kitchen: a bit of Polyfilla and paint, that sort of thing. And before the flooring man comes, we have to remove the old vinyl tile things from the floor and fill any holes in the concrete beneath.

It really seems like there is always something to do in real life. Always. I mean, a guy could spend his entire life -- not just waking hours -- doing stuff, whether it be work or home improvements or taking out the trash or washing up. And yet, I can't really complain about my life.

You might be forgiven for thinking that I do in fact complain about my life a lot. But really I'm just complaining a lot about certain bits. I don't hate my job, unlike many people. I have a house that I like unlike some who live in cramped quarters with virtual strangers. My health is good; others aren't so lucky. I have a loving wife, who puts up with some quirky, fucked-up behaviour from me once in a while (sorry about last night, pet). And I have a cat who... well, who tolerates me; but then that's cats for you.

So I end this week on a positive note, giving thanks for what I've got instead of a mean-spirited rant about something unimportant. Don't worry, though: I'll be back doing what I do best before you know it!

Free stuff

Don't you just love free stuff? Maybe people who come from wealthy backgrounds don't, but those of us who grew up in modest or poor families love it. It's stuff... that's free. I mean, how can you go wrong?


My latest free thing is the above. A Just Married bumper sticker that is a promotional tool for the latest Chuck Palahniuk book, Rant (which, by the way, I am reading and enjoying and considering a return to form for one of my fave authors). I think it's cool looking. And it dropped through my letterbox just a few days ago, all the way from New York City.

But it got me thinking...

The folks at Doubleday books must know that if they offer this sort of thing to Chuck fans, many many of them will never see the light of day, surely? I mean, this ain't going on no car of mine. This will stay in a hardbacked envelope in a box, probably, along with all the other junk that I consider "collectible".

But what's even more mysterious in this case is the way in which this freebie was offered. I just had to go to the official Rant book website and click on the black widow spider. A message pops up telling you how to enter a competition. Okay... But to get the sticker, all that was required was to e-mail Doubleday and tell them what message came up when I clicked the spider -- i.e., tell them that a message came up informing users of a competition. Um, how odd is that?

Indeed, it's so odd that for a short time users on the forums at Chuck's official website seemed almost to consider it an urban myth. But it's true. And it worked.

So, do you like free stuff? What's your favourite free thing right now? Not gifts, though. That's a different ball game. And is there a weird tale behind it? Come now, don't be shy.

It’s one of those things, innit?

Facebook, I mean.

Those of us who do this blogging thing seem to have a compulsion to find out about and join other Web-based thingamajigs. Those of us who grew up in an era when people had real, flesh-and-blood friends who they'd meet up with once in a while might not fully understand what all these things are for.

Facebook, MySpace, BeBo, and whatever the fuck else is out there for "social networking". I read a few months ago about one social-networking site aimed specifically at black people, and that it is devised as neighbourhoods that you aspire to or something. I forget the name now. Oh hold up, it might be The Block. Something like that, anyways.

I have a Facebook account, just as I have a YouTube account, two MySpace accounts, and several blogs. But I don't know many people on Facebook. I've been there a few weeks, but no one I know in real life has one. And my Facebook account is in my real name. I know Cappy is on there, and Shea and Adam and Martha. And Will and James K.

So... do I hook up with peeps who I know only in blogland? Or do I set up yet another online thingy with my nom de plume? Oh, I just don't know anymore. It's complicated having all these personae. I feel like a superhero. Without the super powers, obviously.

So many anniversaries, so little time to enjoy them

Today is the 11th anniversary of the first fumbled, awkward kiss between me and the missus. Doesn't time fly? And here we are, celebrating by working all day on a Sunday. Ain't life grand?

Bush fires

I can think of one Bush I'd like to set fire to. Is it gratuitous just to say how much I hate Bush for no apparent reason today? I think we have to remind ourselves, even on days when he hasn't done anything newsworthily stupid, what a cunt he is.

And not just him, of course. Blair, too. On his final "world tour" as prime minister. What a fucking arsewipe. Cunts, the lot of 'em.

It’s Monday!

Oh, don't you just love Mondays? Time was that I used to hate them, just like most other people. But these days Mondays have taken on a whole new meaning.

You see, because I tend to work all weekend just lately, the reason I love Mondays is that I feel justified again in working. And also I know that most other people are having to do it too. If I've got to, then I derive some twisted pleasure out of knowing others are working as well!

That's not to say there's nothing good about working weekends. The great thing about it is this: most of our colleagues/clients/employers (call them what you will) don't work the weekend. This means that our working days become far more fruitful because we are not constantly answering the phone, responding to e-mails, and generally being pushed and pulled in several directions at once.

We did, however, manage to find time to pop out for Sunday lunch, which for me was a bacon cheeseburger, while Red opted for the altogether more healthy tuna niçoise salad.

So, all in all, not much to report today. My latest bits of ink are healing nicely. My weight is yo-yoing like Ricki Lake's. I watched Mean Girls on TV and think Lindsay Lohan is not so annoying as I had expected. And I've posted a new review over at Such As They Are. And now... to work. Catch you all later, blogpals!

Last-minute edit: How could I forget that we've also started watching this year's Big Brother? Christ on a bike, what a shower of cunts they are, too...