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Showing posts from 2009

Bleurgh argh christmas etc

as you were, hope it was bearable Worth pointing out though that the recent snow made it much easier for me to track Will Smith across town. I just looked for the fresh prints. (Many thanks to a B Morgan of Kernow) See this is a nothing sort of placeholder post, but a few years from now I'll have forgotten that joke, and a random archive delve will turn it up, and huzzahs all around as a result. The internet, it's there for you in minor, minor ways.

I blame Peter Tobin

It's brilliant. So your man Tobin is already banged up for two murders. Only one of of which ever gets mentioned, possibly because the other victim was polish and all british news media is inherently racist, I don't know, answers on a postcard. And then the rozzers work out that he gone done another one. The bones in his garden were a giveaway. And now, now he's being linked with up to twelve others. Possibly he committed them, there can be no doubt that this is one seriously unpleasant guy. No form of opprobrium would be enough, life imprisonment will indeed meanlife and quite right too, not really a huge amount of grey area where Tobin's concerned. I wouldn't be in the slightest surprised if he turned out to have a whole bunch of murders behind him. Again, bones, garden, alarm bells. But Inspector Knacker must be fucking LOVING this. The respective forces clear up rates will be going throught the roof. So I'm wondering if I can't pin a couple of misdeme

Wouldn't you know it?

You just get back into the swing of the whole blogging thing and your compuetr goes and breaks down. A faulty hard drive as it turns out. Just one of life's vicissitudes I guess. So, in the absence of anything germane to add to the sum of human knowledge this week's Melanie Phillips prize for wilful abuse of the english language goes to one other than Alan Shearer for his heroic, Daedalytic description of the early retirement of Dean Ashton, the thinking man's Bobby Zamora, as a "tragic tragedy". On point , as ever, Big Al. An honourable mention to this column's new hero, David Potter, righteous chronicler of all things Forfar Athletic related, and who, as can clearly be seen here is a man unafraid to deal with global events so long as he can do so by viewing them throughthe wondrous prism that is Forfar Athletic football club. I am in awe.

Quick archive delve

Curious, I recently have some visitors googling for John Climo. Who he? You cry. Gather round my children, and I shall tell you a tale. It was early 2006. X-factor still had novelty value and we were still only two eighties revivals into the decade. Truly they were heady times. We got our brains beat out on a weekly basis at the Albert's pub quiz, I was yet to marry, and I didn't yet know every episode of the first three series of futurama verbatim, a world of possibility lay before me. As it turns out not so much, but who was to know in those fragrant, crazy times? Also a chap by the name of John Climo got sent down for the murder of a local chap, allegedly in a contract killing. I mentioned it in passing (possibly not entirely seriously) as that was the sort of thing I did, I may have alluded to said conviction not being entirely kosher. And blow me down if there isn't a great big virtual free John Climo campaign on the go. And your humble correspondent is steamrollered

In memoriam: amazing

Coastalblog is sad to report that as of this week a number of words have, with great reluctance been made redundant. Times are hard, belt tightening all round, etc, and Im afraid they just aren't cutting it any more. A leaving do will be held at the Queen's Head, Ormskirk on friday, should you wish to pay your respects, or have a whip round and buy the poor, knackered old sods a fucking clock or some such thing. Amazing having done sterling work for a number of years as the go-to adjective of choice for lazy DJ's wishing to describe anything from a muffin they just ate to the size of their morning shit has, I'm afraid, held up its hands and admitted defeat. Said Amazing, yesterday "The last straw was the MSN website using me to decribe John and Edward Grime's short-lived reality TV career. I used to be used to evoke a sense of wonder, awe at the beauty and intricacy of life. Now I'm attached to a pair of mini Max Headrooms for no reason other than no fuck

Oh go on, one more

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. and, oh dear lord tha

Easy targets for fun and yucks

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. - Clive Halton, chel


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. 2. Idolator's fifty worst songs of the 00's looks like one to follow, entertained so far, even though I've opnly heard

Doing my bit

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, massiv

The pleasure /pain principle

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 invente

Vent, vent, vent

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. Two

True Bliss

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, unnalloye

And whilst I'm at it

All of those involved with whatever mobile phone company it is that has had that wheeze of special deals "for popular people". And then devised the ad campaign featuring those less popular indulging innocently in whatever hobbies float their respective lardy, unpopular boats should, in all seriousness, kill themselves. I'm not even joking. You people have no idea what misery you've unleashed. Thre's a cutoff point of fifty numbers for the deals, as I understand it. How many kids are looking at the twenty, thirty odd numbers in their phones and feeling like shit? Eh? Die. Seriously. Walk in a fucking lake. Jump off a cliff. Drink rat poison. Whatever. Just do it. Die. Die. Die now. Die.

Ha, Good Lord

Y'know, for some obscure reason I thought today would be as good a day as any to post to dear old Coastalblog, languishing in the corner as it has been, treated like a damp uncle on the morn of an otherwise gay shooting party. Poor thing. So as it turns out things continue much as before. Who'd have guessed? Not me. Not for a second. Still overworked and underpaid, though as it's me paying me I can't really whinge or else I'll have to take myself out in to the car park and give myself a stern talking to, which, now the students are back would simply result in blank looks all round. Poor show. So no, I don't really feel like talking about work any more. I could enlighten you as to the stirring start Fort William have made to the new season (third from bottom! despite losing all their games! On goal difference! Even though their goal difference is -16! In your face Strathspey Thistle and Rothes! You must be really awful at football!), and point out that I am rea

Speaking to myself

Yep, just me here by now I reckon, it really has been a while. Look, I'm really busy, okay? I know, it's a poor excuse, and I promised you that nice dinner and everything, I even said I might get round to putting some new curtains up but you know, it's not happened. I'd love to think that I could pay poor, battered, Doncaster social serviced, Coastalblog the respect and attention it deserves but fuck it. It isn't going to happen. By this stage of the game, I really am just talking to myself, and quite right too. No-one should actively have to listen, that would just be a bit "Smash Hits" and , frankly. I've no idea why I made either that reference or the effort required to type quote marks. Incidentally, quote unquote is shit. But not as shit as moneybox live. Do you have any conception of precisely how much time I spend behind a stove? No, you do not. Lucky, lucky you.