Coastalblog

Been a while since the super, soaraway Ormskirk Champion has served up such a treat, but this one is wonderful. So anyhow, Marco Pierre White attaches his name to the Swan Inn in Aughton, relaunching it under his aegis. So far so so. Some locals are surprised to learn that he's not cooking there himself, but as they are clearly dolts we shall not allow them to detain us further. Coastalblog is midly intrigued, and will probably toddle along for a spot of dinner in a few months or so, when it's all calmed down a bit. It then emerges that the parent company (no people, not Marco himself, he is a name attached to said company, do keep up) have applied for planning permission to add some accomodation to said restaurant. You know, the restaurant which is under the aegis of multi award winning, one of the kickers off of the late eighties british food revolution, resolutely top end Marco Pierre White. That restaurant. That restaurant to have some accomodation attached. Lets be absolut

I've had to unban you for this, it's too good. Oh Ashley Ashley, Oh Ashley Ashley Ashley Cole. You genius, you little fucking genius, amidst a world of pygmies you bestride the land like a colossus. Truly we have never seen your like. It started, of course, with your autobiography, and with your hard hitting revelation that tightwad Arsenal wouldn't give you your due, in your own words: When I heard Jonathan repeat the figure of £55k, I nearly swerved off the road. “He is taking the piss, Jonathan!” I yelled down the phone. I was so incensed. Not only did you think that figure of 55K a week insultingly low, you chose to share it with the world, because no-one would see anything wrong with that. At all. We'll gloss over the lottery advert, shall we? And now, now you are "incensed" (there's that word again)that Chelsea plan to punish you in the wake of your perfectly reasonable dalliances with a series of doubtless thoroughly pleasant young ladies. It's

Big review seems like a good idea, then they go and stuff it full of awful charts telling us what some bookshop in fucking brighton or something sells. Or downloads. Or sits in a coffee shop and dreams about whilst they use their twatting iphone to like arrange a meetup yeah at that hot new popup joint which does, like, proper Vietnamese, yeah? I find it hard to care about review sections unless they have honest to goodness reviews in them. Thankfully this one's big enough to include that too, on balance, a plus. But I still can't shake the feeling that it's, I don't know, slightly thicker (in the IQ sense) than it used to be? Possibly? Hmm. Sport, ugly fonts, kudos on the fergie interview though. Nearly had a heart attack when I thought they'd ditched said and done, mightily relieved to find it it though. News, as you were. Something hatable about the magazine, can't quite put my finger on it. Scandalous relegation of Atkin, poor show (but then like, yeah, mayb

Some notes for your diary, the following words and phrases are banned in my hearing until further notice. "In real terms" "Contextualised" "Knocking it out of the park" "That's old-school" "That's what I bring to the table/party (delete as applicable)" "Punch and Judy politics" Any figure over 100% is banned should it succeed the words "giving it" in a verb clause, all other usages are acceptable. Any mention of MP's expenses is banned should you yourself have an expense account/petty cash tin/access to a stationery cupboard. Discussion of the BNP voting for non-whites to be allowed to join is banned, likewise anything which could be deemed a liberal hot button du jour. John Terry is banned, likewise Ashley Cole. Vernon Kay's ban is not be rescinded under any circumstances. George Lamb will remain banned until such time as his accent ascends to its correct social class. And he fucks off. Florence and

Rare work related post plus mutual backscratching corner. Those of you of an alcoholically minded persuasion could do worse than check out the new link in the sidebar to The Ormskirk Baron . Beer tasted and rated, which is sort of part of what I do, and seeing as how he's been good enough to publicise our beer tasting next week it seems only reasonable to reciprocate with linkage, ta Baron! (this would be the beer tasting coming two days after the private party, which is the day after Valentine's, which is the day after a load of pre-booked takeaway meals, which is also a Staurday, which are mental anyway, ulp)

I know, describing them specifically as prole wedding pages does make me an awful human being, but honestly, if wishing to exhibit oneself to the magazine hungry baying hordes isn't declasse then what is? This applies to ALL PEOPLE. Not just civilians (to borrow La Hurley's telling nomenclature). Ergo, Kate Middleton, whitebread, Princess Caroline of Monaco, doleite scum, anyone who's ever let us nto their lovely home, first up against the wall. We buy one of these things at work, customers seem to like it for some reason, and I suspect that there's a wellspring of hate here for them that I have, as yet, only begun to tap. There was some berk in one of them who is apparently a polo player. Who. Gives. A. Fuck. About. Polo? What kind of obsequious, fawning halfwit thinks that this odious fuck with his girlfriend half is age is anything other than a sink for precious resources? What kind of oleaginous goon actually wants to read this shit? And this, my friends, is why I w

It is to my eternal chagrin that sitemeter lists my location as Widnes. Ever been to Widnes? . Sufice it to say I don't live there, or anywhere near there. In point of fact there are a multitude of major population centres between where I currently sit, and Widnes. It's perplexing. I'll keep it brief, I think, largely because I'm properly goosed and it's a hard old day in the kitchen coming up, but it occured to me that I've not written anything in what could be termed a biographical vein for a while. So here we go. Suffice it to say all is tolerable here at coastal towers, and thanks for asking. Not rolling around yelling "money fight!" in a weirdly high pitched and girlish tone, but not inclined to curl up and die as currently stands. Hard to go much further than that really. Obviously wife and son are not for the entertainment of the internet at large. Though I feel reasonably secure in letting you know that wife is just fine, ta, and that small son

All, of course, should read Gary Younge's article in teh Grauniad today . Better yet, get stuck into the comments for a ripe slice of why people who comment on Grauniad articles are even worse than people who comment on BBC articles. Heaven save us from liberals who want to be iconoclasts. Learn, people, the whole point of being a liberal is to be a big girl's blouse. Try to be a liberal hardass and you just come off as a total prick. Um, yeah, but, like, what do I owe Haiti yeah? You don't. And that's fine. Anything you choose to do, or not to do is between you and your conscience. I see no sense in making it a matter of public record unless you're grandstanding. In which case you're clearly a fucking cunt on general principles. And no, I'm not telling you what I've done, what kind of a fucking idiot would that make me? Ah, the kind that implies he's a generous benefactor whilst simultaneously castigating those who do something similar, aha, the dou