Coastalblog

Two hilarious interventions this week.

First up, Coastalblog is a tremendous fan of Sean Penn's sticking his oar into the Falkland/Malvinas fracas. Because naturally, what this situation was crying out for was the opinion of Sean Penn. In fact, were it not for the trenchant views and considered plans of Mr Penn I, for one, don't see a way out of this. In no way, and I want you all to be very sure of this, in NO WAY is the Argentinian government's current bout of sabre-rattling an attempt to distract their populace from a dismal economic performance. Clear? Good. Right. Equally, in NO WAY is the British military's decision to deploy the twin forces of nuclear weapons and Prince William (when each could easily have been quietly shelved) a wearying act of machismo liable to induce near-terminal depression in the seasoned observer and convince the MoD that they're not blindingly irrlevant to the passage of the quotidian. Okay? Got that? Brilliant. Right, now, bearing in mind all this heartbreakingly obvious realpolitik is your first thought "I wonder what Sean Penn thinks?". I suspect not. But Sean Penn's first thought was clearly "the world needs to know what I think". Sadly, Sean, it does not, I have the utmost respect for your CV,and I am sure that you are a thoughtful, intelligent, many layered man. However, I don't really give a fuck what you think about the Falklands.

Second hilarious intervention of the week is, obviously, Cambo, bless his silk socks. Matrching up to Scotland to say that hey, yeah, right, it's like totally your choice, yeah? But, like, you'll totes hurt my feelings? and if you don't vote yes that would be amaze? Genius, Dave, spectacular grasp of Scottish politics. Because of course, if you don't want the Scottish voters to do something, the best way to get them to knock it on the head is to send a southern Tory to jolly well tell them what's what. You fucking idiot.

And the moral of the story is, keep your fool mouth shut, guys. I'm deeply aware that I'm not doing that here, and, frankly people could easily not give a monkeys.But I'm insulated from cold hubris by the comforting fact that nobody reads this any more, and quite right too

Right, fine, Sir Fred is now plain Fred. Backslaps all round. Justice has been served. Well done all. Some thoughts, though: whilst Goodwin (or possibly just plain FG these days, having forfeited even the right to an unabbreviated name) was clearly a colossal dick and is single handedly responsible for the misery of thousands, so were a whole bunch of people. I'm curious as to whether or not the chopping down of the man who's come to symbolise the venality of bankers will sate the public's bloodlust, particularly after the token humiliating of Hester; in which case an entire crate of penises will be breathing a big sigh of relief and cracking open the Montecristos. It needs bearing in mind that Fred Goodwin was not the banking crisis, and the banking crisis was not Fred Goodwin. It's also worth bearing in mind that he's still trousering a £375k p.a. pension, so whilst it may sting a little, I'm sure he'll lie back in his bed made of money and reflect that it could be worse.

Another though occurs. Jeffrey Archer is a Lord. He is also a convicted felon. If Goodwin has brought disgrace upon his office, then what about perjurer and all round scumbag Jeff? Is it because he still crops up in Hello! ? He's merely the most obvious example, Labour peer Fred Goodwin was never convicted of anything, Tory donor Jeffrey Archer was. I spy with my little eye something beginning with "double-standard"

and why not? the tea is bubbling away, Mrs Coastalblog is swearing at her planning, the offspring sleeping the sweet, inscrutable sleep of the indestructible and I have a moment, just a moment, to spare, so why not list five things currently getting on my nerves? After all, it's so fresh! Okay, fine, I'm bored.

1) Gove, obviously

2) Oh, Michael Kiwanuke, you come across in interviews as a thoughtful and pleasant chap, but for some mysterious reason critics have yet to notice that you make Jack Johnson look like Lemmy.

3) See also Lana Del Rey, cheer up.

4) The TS Eliot prize, which had they an ounce of integrity would have been called off after the credible part of the shortlist bailed

5) Yachts, all yachts, without exception

Oh dear oh doctor I really am not terribly good at the internet, as you have probably gathered by now. Or rather, I lack the inclination to be so. So here we are in 2012, when people have phones that can remodel their faces to attune to their mood, where children can create music from air, where even my ten month old son is using his iPad to start a record label to rep the ten month old scene, bruv. And I still have dear old Coastalblog, looking increasingly like the leathery uncle you can't pry from your armchair come Christmas. But, right, it has new links, see? Yes, it's only taken me five years to put the business on here, pretty nippy, I'm sure you'll agree. Oh, and twitter, for my sins.

And in this spirit of reckless linkage abandonment let me point out that sometime coastablog confrere, a Ms J O'Mahony, late of this parish, is continuing her stellar upward trajectory at a rate designed to strike fear and envy into the hearts of those who are still weighing up what they want to do with their lives in their mid thirties. i.e. me. Her first honest to goodness column can be found here. And huzzah for that.

Right, now I've gone all giddy from that sudden rush of technology to the head I'm off to sip a large Gin Sling and play some Lawn Quoits, in the interests of balance, you understand. Toodle pip!

New, new, new, all is new and shiny in the limping, wheezing world of coastalblog. Well, not overly so, but I can now do these !@? I feel so much mre expressive. And yes, I'm aware that I could have used a virtual keyboard, but frankly I couldn't be arsed. The main problem is re-teaching myself to type, I've gotten so used to caps-locking on and off at lightning speed, as well as avoiding most sentences involving either the declarative or interrogative for obvious reasons?! (you see?) (I've also avoided parentheses). Cheers Jim.

So much for that, you cry (and rightly so) we care naught for your sudden adoption of the shift key, and who could blame you? Not I. Do you have anything interesting to say? You cry, to which I can only reply no, not really, I am a very dull man. But, and this is crucial, I am a very dull man with a functioning shift key.

I think, pretty sure it happened, hands have slightly more cuts and burns than usual so it seems like that Decemeber's occurred all over me, nice.

What, I don't say hi for months and then it's some mumbling nonsense about December, I look back to more cogent and lucid dissections of the hell of christmas from a catering perspective and weep bitter, bitter tears. Well, I'm saying hi now.

Incidentally, I managed to get some poems published over at the rather marvellous railroad poetry project, hooray for me; http://issuu.com/railroadpoetryproject/docs/issue2/1

Furthermore, to my deep shame, I now do twitter, possibly some humble pie needs eating; should you wish to, I suspect you'll find me fairly easily.

And that's that, enough mea culpas and hand wringing, poor old coastalblog got kicked down the priority list a bit, with wives kids and businesses this sort of thing tends to happen. That said, I have a sneaking suspicion you may be seeing a bit more of me sooner rather than later, no great change in life, but perhaps a change in emphasis, of which more anon. Enjoy your merry etc

goosed, just..goosed

i'm still devoid of shift keys, hence the raworth-esque feel of the post, and this minor problem is still enough to keep me away from the keyboard

which is a shame, for there are many interesting things occurring, be they coastalblog's crust-earning enterprise source [again, lack of shift precludes html, google it, completism-fans] kicking up a quality food ruckus at bickerstock this weekend, or highlighting brewdog's equity for punks plan, or expounding at length on the joys of a week or so in darkest devon, or fretting a touch about how the sw sucks the ambition from people, or noting various sad and imminent anniversaries

i'm dying to post about how george osborne shouldn't be trusted with a quid to go and buy milk with, or how erbacce are putting some really interesting stuff out. i was recently gifted the worst, i mean simply the worst, poetry you have ever read, but how can one deconstruct effectively without simple access to caps, or question marks, or parentheses, or declaratives

one can't, so one shan't, but j, believe you me, when i can, i shall