Good Samaritan my Arse

So I'm striding along, making my way to Finsbury Park from Islington and I've got up a head of steam

It's windy. There are a lot of leaves piling up on the pavement

Up ahead I see a LOL (little old lady) pushing her shopping cart along the pavement and as I approach she's trying to get it through a huge drift of leaves.


Anyone seen Prince?

Chance to be a good samaritan I think, so as I pass her, I heft up the wheelie shopping cart and pull it over the drift of leaves. It seems extremely heavy, and as I look back I see she's still attached, holding on for grim death, knuckles white amongst the liver spots.

"I need that to steady myself - let go at once!" she barks out.



You wanna give me my shopping trolley back any time soon?

I instantly put her back on the pavement, and wander off mumbling an apology.

Little Old Ladies? I'd rather face the Nazi hordes.

Supercar

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,  it is with great pleasure to me, the missus, but mostly to our long suffering friends that I would like to announce the eminent demise of our car.

It is one of these:


The world's dullest car

Vintage 1994 I think. Unfortunately, it is not waterproof, Over the years, efforts to locate and repair leaks in the chassis have proved less than successful, so that recently the interior resembles this.


Where to Guv?

OK slight exaggeration, but only slight.

The sunroof won't open because it has a luxuriant growth of moss all round the edge.

The upholstery is a lovely shade of moss green. That's not the colour; that's moss again.

The seat itself has to be covered in black bags to protect any passengers from developing damp patches.

After a rain shower, there is usually about 4 inches of water on the floor, and we have to bail out with a large mug now permanently kept in the car.


Think we'll need the black bags today

Any passenger travelling in the back is liable to suffer from Trench Foot.

I swear I spotted a Macaw sitting amongst the undergrowth the other day.

So it's going at the end of the year, to be replaced with these



and these


but mostly these


although I am hoping to avoid the worst of the dogshit

Funniest picture I have EVER seen

CHRIST!! This fucking dog's just shat on my cardi

What a sucker - again!!

I am that sucker. I am that North London wishywashy liberal left leaning member of the Muswell Hillbillies who bought that 5 litre can of olive oil


Scene: Hell

It is the monthly technical development and new product meeting, between the Devil and Archie Dudcock, the Director of The Association for Juice carton, Milk carton, and Olive Oil (metal tins) Pourer, Nozzle, and Spout Manufacturers , who sold his soul to the devil many many years ago.

Beelzebub: OK, show me what you've got.

Archie: well, since our last meeting, we've come up with this new tag for the semi-skimmed…

Beelzebub: is this the type where you have to undo the plastic strip around the top, or where you have to get the foil seal off the top once you've got the lid off?

Archie: (smirks) Both! We got two refinements. First, the plastic strip. Here, try and open this

Beelzebub: Okayyy…Hmm! The little tab fell off.

Archie: Tadaahhh!!! OK, so you've now got no way to get in, without the use of a knife. Tests have shown this to cause both milk AND blood loss. Now try the other one

Beelzebub: Here we go…OK, the top unscrews fine. Archie, am I going to be disappointed? You know how I get when I'm disappointed…

Archie (quickly): No, no Your Beastliness, go on, try and pull off the foil top…

Beelzebub: Well where's the little metal bit to pull it off with?

Archie: Tiny isn't it? Go on, give it a pull. Tab falls straight off, eh? Now stick your finger through the foil. No? Can't get through? That's because we've reinforced the foil with bomb-proof high tensile strength plastic AND you've got razor -like sharpened filthy fingernails, so what chance do mere mortals have eh?

Beelzebub: Blood and milk?

Archie: Blood and milk

Beelzebub: Cool. OK, gimme the juice news

Archie: Right, this is the very latest useless fad drink that all the schmucks are drinking. Pomegranate Juice

Beelzebub: Get outta here…

Archie: As God is my witness

Beelzebub: Seriously? God? Shall I text him for confirmation? OK, OK calm down. Just get on with it. Right, what have we here…Ooooh… I like it. Looks complicated…

Archie: It is complicated, Your Hideousness. For absolutely no good reason at all, it's hinged in the middle, causing instant confusion, impatience, and loss of motor coordination. Go on, open it

Beelzebub: Hmm, well I guess if I push here…Nothing. So I have to press a little harder…Goddamit!! All over my horns! Son of a…

Archie: Right, now try to pour it out

Beelzebub: Nothing happens!! Just a dribble!! Ooooh Archie, Archie…who's the Man?

Archie : Wait, there's more

Beelzebub: More? What, it's my birthday?

Archie: Please Oh Horned One, let me indulge you.

Beelzebub: So indulge, indulge…What's this? Archie, you've gone too far. Who's gonna buy this? It's too big.

Archie: Trust me: they're all the rage in the shops.

Beelzebub: Seriously?

Archie: Seriously. Believe me, Mr & Mrs Muswell Hill can't get enough of it. Waitrose, Sainsburys, Lidl of course, even Tesco for crying out loud. 250ml? Forget it. 500ml? Please. 1 Litre? Nah. Let me tell you, oh Cloven-Hooved One, no architecturally-designed, Tuscany-inspired, one-upmanship-driven six burner fitted kitchen is complete without a 5 litre tin of Italian Extra Virgin First Cold Pressing Olive Oil (with rosemary infused notes and a peppery aftertaste), sitting proudly next to the La Gaggia.

Beelzebub (whispering in anticipation): Shall I open it?

Archie: (smirking) Well you can try. First, you have to prise off the little metal cover, then try to hook your finger through the tiny plastic loop and pull up the spout, which will break, but not before almost severing the tip of your little finger, then you have to dig out the plastic bung with a knife. Then…

Beelzebub. What is this - Tomb Raider?

Archie: …then hook the knife, or fork, or spoon handle, or fondue fork into the hole and try to lever up the spout, and then…

Beelzebub: Blood and oil?

Archie: Give that Unholy One a crusty roll.

Beelzebub (sitting back and stretching). Well, I gotta hand it to you Archie, another winner

Archie: So…you'll let me off the lava pit and pitchforks for another month?

Beelzebub: Wellll…(his diabolical face breaks into a grin) get out of here you big lug!

Exit Archie mopping his brow

There is a knock on the portal

Beelzebub: Enter

Goblin: Your cocoa Oh Putrid One.

Beelzebub: Put it on the table. On a mat! On a mat! This isn't some X-factor waiting room you know. By the way is Simon Cowell due soon?

Goblin: Very soon, Sire. Oh, there is a delegation of new suicide bombers to see you sir.

Beelzebub: (wearily) Just put them on furnace duty like the other ones. And tell them the usual.

Goblin The usual?

Beelzebub  No refunds.

Things are not always what they seem

To Islington this morning to help out with the books at my old firm for a few hours.


Picture of me giving the new boss some sage advice about the Bought Ledger 

Having worked is Islington since 1347, I have seen the roads transformed by the People's Republic of Islington, from smooth(ish) hazard-free highways


Picture of me as a lad on top of the number 91 omnibus travelling down Upper Street to Ye Olde Nandos

to speedbump-strewn assault courses designed to do everything in their power to out-manoeuvre and outwit any hapless motorist foolish enough to besmirch the Junta's personal property, ie the public highways with their presence.

And so you can forgive my bemusement as I was walking along the pavement of an especially bump-infested street, even for Islington, when I heard and then saw a cyclist coming towards me in a state of high excitement that seemed to be directly associated with the bumps.

"WEEEEEE!!!" he went as he sailed over the first bump. "OOooohhh!! Here we go agian!!" as he sailed over the next. "EEEEK!! Look out!! Here comes another one!! WEEEE!!!". "Here we go, here we go. HERE WE GO. WEEEEEEE!! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!"


One of the relatively bump-free roads in Islington

And as he came closer and closer to me, I could only think that either he had never been on a bike before, and certainly never in Islington, or he'd drunk three quarts of Southern Comfort, or he was just stark staring bonkers.

And it was only as he passed me that I realised he had, strapped into a little seat behind him, a small child.

Sucker

To the Ally Pally Farmers Market this morning. Usual mix of overpriced cheese, sausages, scented candles, organic veg (that's the same as ordinary veg except it's covered in shit).

As I was eyeing up the authentic local Sri Lankan Hummus stall, a very attractive lady at the stall next door said, "hello, do you read at all?"

I noticed she had a bookstall selling very nicely printed novels: European books translated for the first time into English.



She engages me in conversation by saying, "do you do much reading?"

"Er..."



She persists. "what sort of books do you read?"

I have to think quickly. The type of thing I read is



But I thought I'd better say,



"...oh WELL", she gushes. "I think you would be very interested in these titles.."

I flick through the books on display and read some of the synposes. They all seem to involve subjects such as the relationship between mother & daughter, a young boy growing up in Kazakhstan. A famine in nineteenth century Finland. There's another one about a family sitting round a dinner table. The evening wears on...

"Umm..."  I try to rekindle my interest in the Sri Lankan Hummus

"£10 each. That's a saving of £2.00"   She does have lovely blue eyes.

When I get home, the conversation goes like this.

Missus. "did you buy anything?"

Me (casually) "oh not much. Thought I'd pick up something to read. My casualness is overpowering



"Oh?: What did you get?"

I actually have no idea what I got. I was looking into her eyes as I picked out a book.


"That'll be £10 please"

I pulled out the book and showed my missus.

A gripping Norwegian drama about the power struggle between two sisters.
Far out on the plains of northern Norway stands a house. It belongs to two middle-aged sisters. They seldom venture out and nobody visits. The younger needs nursing and the older never dared to leave

The missus stands there with her hands on her hips giving me The Look. "Really? Who the hell conned you into buying this?"



"That'll be £10 please"

Guy Fawkes

CHRISTONABIKE will this madness never end??

Oct 20th
Bang!! Boom WHEEEEEEEEEEEE


WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF HOWL WOOF WOOF YIPYIPYIP0YIPY WOOF WOOF RRRUFF RRUUFFFF  YIPYIPYIPYIPYIP



Oct 21st  
bannggg!!!  whIZZZ ZZZZipp


WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF HOWL WOOF WOOF YIPYIPYIPYIPY WOOF WOOF RRRUFF RRUUFFFF  YIPYIPYIPYIPYIP



Oct 22nd
BANGGG  CRAAAACK  WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ZZZZZZZZIPFZZZZZZ


WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF HOWL WOOF WOOF YIPYIPYIPYIPY WOOF WOOF RRRUFF RRUUFFFF  YIPYIPYIPYIPYIP!!!!!

.
.
.
.
.
.Nov 9th
BOOOOMMMM!!  CRACKKK!!!   cracklecracklecrackle fzzzzzzBANGBANGBANG WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BANGBANGBANG BANG BANG BANG


WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF HOWL WOOF WOOF YIPYIPYIPYIPY WOOF WOOF RRRUFF RRUUFFFF  YIPYIPYIPYIPYIP!!!!!


me:

BANNGG!!!



yelp...

Masterchef

Well I'm sorry but I cannot resist it.


However in this new series the shiny headed Greg



Mmmm that sprout and raspberry couli is deelishus


is introduced as "...and seasoned diner Greg Wallace..."


Christ they'll eat ANYTHING



Well I LOVE the crispy skin, but I am afraid your presentation has let you down

Hallowe'en

Never been particularly into this. Probably because I am not a snotty nosed 8 year old, armed with eggs, intent on terrorising the neighbourhood.

So there are three possibilities

1) Turn off all lights and go about IN YOUR OWN HOUSE wearing night vision goggles


Oh hello kids. Go on. Throw an egg. Make my day.

2) Give in to the inevitable, and spend all evening answering the door to yummy mummies (could be worse) accompanied by little Electra and Hamish (could be better) and handing out choccies to the little darlings



3) Just get the hell out of Dodge for the evening


Come on Clive, let's call it a day and catch that Bunuel retrospective at the ICA

So me and the missus chose option 3.


First, we went to King's Place for cocktails

...OK punk for the last time...WHERE'S MY GODDAM LITTLE UMBRELLA??


and then on to The Great Nepalese for a curry, but on the way we passed Granary Square and saw this amazing sight





3,000 candlelit pumpkins. It did look incredible. With the warm glow of two Mojitos inside me, and a curry on the way, best Hallowe'en for some time

Rocket Science

After nearly nine months dicking about, I have, almost against my better judgement, started doing things other than eating, sleeping and complaining.


Sorry, sorry: I meant turn left!!

OK haven't quite got to driving a plane yet, but I have been studying a bit of Physics and attending lectures


Anyone got a comb?

Last week we had a lecture about Newtonian mechanics - you know the sort of thing - cannonball trajectories, throwing a body off a cliff, generally how objects move when you hurl them somewhere.

And either the lecturer was particularly testy that evening, or we were all particularly thick. At any rate, after half an hour of trying unsuccessfully to explain all this to us, he threw his hands in the air and said rather petulantly, "oh come on, it's not rocket science!!"

               ...to which I just could not help myself and said

               "well actually, it is"


Hey smartass, you wanna takeover?

Am expecting an E-