like bloody crack, the Daily Mail comments. Anyhoo,one more irresistible one (from a story about people arguing about gays or god or some such thing) and then I'm off to bed
Dear Ben Summerskill, how awful that you find this old lady's views offensive. By the way, I had to give up walking on some of the best parts of Hampstead Heath because of the toilet waste left by male gays every night, whose behaviour you exist to support. It was SO offensive to find faecal matter and tissue stuck to my feet, not to mention the risk to children. Good old Stonewall, eh?
- Ms B, London, UK, 26/10/2009 13:10
YES! DAMN YOU THE GAYS! WITH YOUR SHIT PARTIES! FOR SOME REASON! WANDERING AROUND, LOBBING YOUR POO WILLY NILLY, AND LOO ROLL, NOT QUITE SURE HOW THAT IS ACTUALLY A PART OF THE OLD ANAL SEX BUT I'M PRETTY SURE YOU CELEBRATE YOUR MAN LOVE BY DUMPING ALL OVER THE SHOW. THEN WIPING. THEN JUST DUMPING THAT. YOU GAY SHITS. DIE. YOU FUCKED UP MY WALK WITH YOUR POO.
Typically thoughtful and reasoned piece from the clinically sane Mel Phillips today. Read the headline first. Drink it in. Have you ever, inall your born days, read a collection of words so beautifully tooled to tap into the dark fantasies of the mittelenglische? Let's set aside the obama questioning and palin supporting, mel's really gone for the burn here.
Then, o my children, read ye the comments. For those who can't be arsed, here's a choice selection, with weird random capitalisation and scant regard for the laws of grammar aplenty:
Lets have NICK Griffin shouting from the roof tops, yes he IS telling the truth, and the mealy mouthed jack straw has been proved again to not be able to tell the truth along with the rest of his party.
- brian, Blandford, 26/10/2009
(Hi KKK! Even "almost totally non-violent" KKK! Hi! This country needs you!)
Labour are traitors. They should pay for their irretrievable crime in the traditional way.
Not an epic week, the highlight beng moving stuff out of the living room so the plasterer can come in and do his thing. Like the death of a childhood hero there's nothing that reminds you so chillingly that you're full-grown as getting someone in to do something. Brrrr.
So a quick post, seeing as I'm back doing this thing again I supose I'd best keep at it, even if there's little of interest to say. how about a list of five entertaining things? That'll do.
1. Griffin. Don't wish to expend too much energy on this, as the hyperbole is off the scale. Suffice to say a million votes = right to public speaking. Deliciously said right then leads inexorably to making a tit of oneself. I fell in love with Bonnie Greer after her 2:2 gag. NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH ONLY GETTING A 2:2, SLIGHTLY THICKER READERS. I kid, obv.
This is, after all, the internet. This particular shitstorm brewed up hours ago, and is already old news, but fuck it, I've been in work all day, I'm feeling slightly misanthropic and here's a chance to thump an old enemy.
Doubtless you'e already read Jan Moir's massively upstetting and wrongheaded article. If you've not here you go. Pretty hate filled, huh? The bit about the "happy ever after myth of civil partnerships" is particularly choice. Her response is pretty funny, too, but i don't feel like generating more hits for the Mail. Needless to say no-one could possibly conclude that a phrase like the aforementioned could be construed as homophobic. It also falls back on the elderly defence of claiming that nobody kicking off actually read the article. Sorry Jan, I did, what with having a higher regard for checking one's facts first than, say, the Mail. Anyhoo, doubtless you're aware that a backlash is afoot, which is, of course, massivel…
You remember the ads. Don't make out like you don't. Someone eats a tasty yoghurt (or signs up for a credit card, my memory's somewhat hazy) and someone else sticks their hand in a wood chipper (or is gored by a rhino, again, I forget). Well it's an interesting idea. Well no, it's not, but it's a fragile peg on which to hang a blog post, and I'm bored. So it'll do.
So, in the spirit of those adverts for either a yoghurt I never ate or a credit card I never got (still not sure) here are my top five hateable individuals, each piece of bile balanced with what may prove to be a redeeming feature. Or not. The jury's out.
CHERYL COLE AGAINST: that single, you know the one. Also massive racist, though that seems to have been forgotten. FOR: married Ashley, so nobody else has to, doesn't sit well with the charge of racism I know but hey. We're due some revision.
TAIO CRUZ AGAINST: see below FOR: endearing admission in an interview that he invented a gramm…
As some of you may be aware I spend my days holed up in a kitchen with only a radio for company. As a result I listen to a lot of it. I'd love to listen to radios 4 and 3 but find that I tend to start concentrating on them and not getting any work done. I'd listen to 6 but I can't get it together to go and buy a digital radio, and as any fule kno commercial radio is entirely, entirely beyond the pale. So radio 1 it is. It's generally inoffensive enough, particularly now they've got shot of Jo "That's amazing" Whiley, though the replacement Fearne Cotton is shaping up to be just as aggravating (though occasionally appealingly snarky about records she clearly doesn't like, a trait which is only to be encouraged but which will, I fear, be stamped down upon sharpish). Okay, they have a tendency to bang on about any old mediocrity (hello The Killers/ Kings of Leon but on the other hand there're generally a couple of good records per hour or so.
If I have ever known it, it occurred this evening.
Mrs Coastalblog is out for a well deserved night out with the girls, leaving me and the boy to our own devices (consisting largely of him shouting "trains daddy" at me and then playing with duplo). We cook dinner. It's very much a joint effort. Ethan likes to stand on a chair by the stove when I cook. This evening, he decides that it's down to him to make dinner. I merely chop, and hand him ingredients which he then lashes in the pan, occasionally yelling "more chicken daddy" or "more tomatoes", inexpertly stirring and yelling "spoon". I, more routinely used to barking at at k.p's and wait staff am very much the sous to his two foot nine, two year old chef de cuisine.
We dished it up, and sat and ate our dinner in a companionable manner. He ate the lot, then grinned at me and pronounced "my dinner".
Seriously people, if you have a better example of sheer, utter, unnalloyed hea…