Coastalblog

Twice in one night! I Know! But I'm SO excited about eh labour party leadership contest I couldn't wait! To recap: 1) Middle class white bloke, awesome, strong candidate, who believes we need to talk to the grassroots 2) Middle class white bloke's middle class, white brother, who is different, yeah? Strongly believes we need to talk to the grass roots 3) Middle class white bloke, marginally less interesting than his wife, feels very strongly that we need to talk to the party's grass roots. 4) Middle class white bloke BUT possessed of a northern accent. Firmly believes we need to talk to the party's grass roots. These are all important, white, middle-class opinions, and in no sense is coastalblog suggesting that the the labour leadership constest is going to descend into a wearying blairalike roundelay in which a bunch of fucking arseholes who haven't grasped that it's THEIR FUCKING FAULT THAT I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH CAMERON'S FACE bang on agreeing with ea

I have been, as is my wont, a trifle busy. Do not weep for me my children, for this is a good thing. When you own your own business, for reasons which become increasingly obscure, busy is good. I'm often amused by people coming in very early/late in an apologetic manner: "I'm sorry to bother you" they whisper, ashen-faced "No! Bother me!" I cry "Because bothering me will involve money! Which I can exchange for goods or services!" So said level of activity has left poor old coastalblog maundering, mouldering, skulking like a whipped cur, which of course, will not do. It's also left the old trying to do a spot of writing depressingly firmly on the back burner. I wouldn't mind, in all seriousness, were it not that much of my activity is that which I used to delegate to others, back in the day. I've done my years of pot-washing, floor-cleaning, extractor-fan grease removing. And now I'm doing them again. Because it means I don't hav

Unfairly labelled as the weak track on OK Computer, I rather liked it. So I have refrained from commenting on the hullabaloo for the duration of the campaign, partially because I couldn't be arsed but mostly because, please, a blogger? Commenting about the election? Kind of declasse, non? But now that the jig is finally up I can breathe out and start with the usual flotsam again. Some final thoughts, however: It was entertaining to see the candidates addresses on the ballot, various streets and postcodes, mostly Skem and Liverpool addresses. The one who didn't have a house number? Because his house is massive? And on its own? Surrounded, I choose to believe, by a moat? Go on, guess. THEY HAVE NOT CHANGED, THEY WILL NOT CHANGE. In all seriousness, the day I see a Tory party candidate with a Digmoor address I'll be approx .5% more inclined to give a flying fuck about them. Osborne. Osborne. Osborne. Look at his fucking face. Look at his shiny face. Tell me that's not evil