I've been outside most of the day...
...not the best call I've ever made,
weather-wise. I've got some feeling back in my hands, and the curry
helped warm me up some.
The economic climate and the climate
climate
With the excess typical of our times,
apparently a double-dip recession isn't enough and we need a
triple-dip to teach us all a lesson. That lesson being that bankers
are immune to lessons. How many more dips are there before they call
it roller-coaster recession, or a Loch Ness Monster recession. How
many dips before it qualifies as a multi-dip recession, or a poly-dip
recession?
We're teetering on the brink of going
treble- from double-, and it seems the snow might be the thing to
drive us over the edge, as the retailers struggle to get punters into
the shops spending money, and as the punters struggle to get their
cars out of their drives and down to the shops.
The large plastic shovel market is
doing well, as are small plastic sledges and salt. Where there's
grit, son, there's money right now. Get in soon, because there's a
mini-heatwave on the way, if the bloke on the radio is to be
believed.
The climate back then
It's ninety years since the first ever
UK weather forecast was broadcast. It wasn't much brighter in 1923,
but it was delivered in true Mr Chommenley-Warner tones. I liked the
bit about:
“...and we welcome bac k an old
friend, the large depression, sitting immobile over the Irish Sea...”
Who is the greatest living
Englishman?
Can't see past Matt Prior right now.
Even better that he's South African.
Anne Widdecombe
She should be chained up in an attic
somewhere, like Sloth in The Goonies. Like Sloth in The Goonies
before he breaks free. She lacks his charm, and his good looks. She
should be gagged because even her voice is ugly.
According to St Anne, patron saint of
mingers, every right-thinking human being ought to be appalled by the
'appalling' crucifixion scene at the end of The Life of Brian.
She's made a telly documentary, about
Christianity and comedy. This is why I hate telly so much. Instead of
being gagged and chained up in an attic somewhere, this appalling
woman, who's been x-rayed and found to be without any vestige of a
sense of humour, is given air-time to bang on about one of the pet
bees in her bonnet.
Make that chained and gagged in a
remote attic in the middle of nowhere, where no-one goes, without
food or water. With a loop tape of Always Look on the Bright Side of
Life playing.
“Crucifixion?”
“Nah. Freedom.”
“Oh. Oh, well, jolly good then...”
“Only pullin' your leg, crucifixion
it is...”
I've just had a very pleasant thought,
involving Ms Widdecombe and a cross.
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