Australian Government says it will not be legislating a "war" tax. Bugger ... looks like we, the citizens of the 256th state of the US, will be digging deep into our pockets again when it is mysteriously appears on the statute books.

It's about time we started looking like a real blog.

What I'm reading.


I'm listening to.


and I'm watching.


while I'm eating.

I am sorry but I'm not a very well rounded sociopath..

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Why is Tory Tony Blair boring the pants off the innocent citoyens of Bluckpoowell when he could have dropped his at this delightfully idyllic venue?

"Strawberry Water and The Edge are situated in a coastal hamlet on the Devon/Cornwall boarder (sic) between Bideford and Bude. They nestle in their own grounds of nearly 5 acres in a coastal valley approx 800yds walk from the beach. A short drive away are many popular tourist attractions, restaurants and shops.

In response to numerous requests we developed a course where these issues were addressed, along with others such as the need for safety on all levels, including emotional as well as physical safety.

The first weekend course for 'newbies' was held in the spring of 2000 and proved to be a great success. So much so that these courses now run almost monthly at The Edge and are attended by people from all over the country.

There has been significant demand for specific skill based workshops, which has lead to these being offered on an occasional basis."
Link 1. Link 2.

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Historical note of some interest. "The Edge" was originally owned by the famous, some would say infamous, Legge-Orpington family, about which, in the fullness of time and the emptiness of the Glenfiddich bottle, there will be more.

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LATE BREAKING NEWS.
EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS FROM BLUCKPOOWELL.

Rules of Conduct for a more Pleasant Way of Life in Britain Today!

1) Women...don't breast feed babies in public places if you weigh over thirty stone and have bosoms that resemble cannon balls in blue and pink striped socks. Especially down Lord Street in Fleetwood at 4.30 on a Monday afternoon.

2) Bluebottles...use your loaf! If you can land on the television screen and obscure Jenifer Aniston's nose every time it's turned on, then why can't you find your way out of a six foot high door?

3) Parents...don't allow your children to piddle in the gutter. Especially at 4.35 pm. on Lord Street in Fleetwood on a Monday afternoon when some people are still recovering from the shock of a grotesque bladder-weevil of a woman with her left tit out.

4) Spammers...it's time you realised that if I added another four inches to my knob as you recommend, I'd poke out one of my eyeballs every time I became aroused. Kindly keep your member-enlargers to yourselves as, clearly, you need them more than I do.

5) Dog owners...when you take your pet to be spayed, please ask the vet to clip off their bollocks completely. Large, bald, pink testies dangling in front of my face when I'm trying to eat a butty in the churchyard on Lord Street at 4.50 p.m. on a Monday afternoon is not something that gives me pleasure regardless of what you might think.

6) The auto-cue writers for Channel 5 News...the phrase "Make sure you let us know where you're sending your e-mails from," is grammatically incorrect. In such an important position of communication you ought to know to better and your dangling prepositions are, quite frankly, bloody annoying.

7) Postmen...please do not stuff colourful bits of glossy paper advertising Asda through my letterbox. They are not proper letters and only go straight in the bin.

8) Kays catalogue...if I don't want to buy one of your over-priced, vile, little products but I do want to keep your catalogue under the broken leg of my chair, then that's my decision. Regardless of your crappy letters I will not be sending your catalogue back. You should have thought of the consequences before you sent me the damned thing in the first place. Now cut the whining and bog off you cheapskate b*stards.

9) Holiday makers and fellow grockles...when visiting Fleetwood do not make the assumption that everyone walking down the street is on holiday and wants to move at a leisurely/comatose pace. Also don't fill the pavements with your fat, swollen bodies forcing me to step into the road and narrowly miss getting killed by a tram at 5.10 p.m. on a Monday evening. I don't care if you're going home to Yorkshire never to return because of my outburst. If you wish to take me to court for assault and battery that's your perogative. But stop being arrogant, ignorant and fat.

Uncle Brian...sharing personal advice and caring for the quality of other people's lives.

Lancashire Welcomes Bill Clinton and his friends in the Labour Party with Free Laundry Services for the next month.

Yes...the Labour Party Conference is in town!

No, not Fleetwood...but Blackpool which is round the corner and up the coast by about twenty miles.

Unfortunately nobody seems to have told the Lancashire police this. They've been out and about round Fleetwood's quiet streets in force today, costing the local rate payers several million pounds of their pensions for the privilege. I'm curious...are the government surrounded by armed gunmen and snipers all the time in London, or are the old biddies who live in Lancashire the only threat to their well-being?

Michelle was greeted this morning by a police chopper (insert your own innuendo here) hovering menacingly above the garden whilst she was hanging out her smalls. Then, during my usual game of cribbage in the cafe, my brother and myself were treated to a fine display of strange yellow police wagons (about six or seven in all) creating a daisy chain around the lighthouse. Exactly what it was all about or what they were expecting the mainly retired population to do is beyond me, but the whole town (all 1/4 of a square mile of it from the market to the shelter on the promenade) has been reminiscent of Afghanistan for the last twelve hours...only with more seagulls of course.

The stupid thing is, everyone knows that Tony Spin Blair isn't even staying in the area. There are certain well-documented 'safe houses' in Lancashire, usually owned by aristocratic leeches with certain tendrils in the government pie. For example, Maggie Thatch managed to escape the Brighton bombing because she'd been staying at a friend's house forty-odd miles away when the hotel blew up placing Norman Tebbit's wife on the Disability Allowance Scheme for the rest of her life. The fact that Maggie didn't emerge for the cameras for forty minutes wasn't because she was straightening her hair, but because the hotel owners had to get to drive down to Brighton and then sneak her in via the half demolished back door.

In fact, for anyone interested, news on the grapevine claims that Uncle Tony is currently staying at a house in Bury. To be more precise numberMESSAGE INTERUPTED BY THE BOYS FROM THE HOMELAND SECURITY (previously known as the Ministry of Truth) MAKING THE RUN UP TO THE THIRD WORLD WAR A PLEASANT EXPERIENCE FOR EVERYONE!

Lancashire bobbies....ignoring the sharp increase in rent boy and prostitute activity when the Labour Party are in town and concentrating instead on threatening pensioners with sniper rifles.

I woke up this morning to discover that I'd been abducted by the greys in the night. (Very painful and worthy of the 'Contortionist of the Year Award' if you ask me.) They drank all my whisky, painted my tongue with some furry stuff, made my teeth ache, replaced my gallbladder with three large amniotic sacs, attached my Terry-Sedgwick-is-Gay boxer shorts to the top of Fleetwood lighthouse where, even as I type, they're proudly proclaiming the bearded Bloshovic's sexuality to a queasy seagull, and committed numerous other offences in my name. The north slope of Parlick Fell now has a carving of Tony Blair slipping John Prescott a crippler across it in much the same fashion as the White Horse of Uffington...only the little grey sods have signed my name at the bottom. They've also aged me by about fifteen years over night, given me a dodgy stomach and a bad case of bed spin and turned my kitchen upside down. My biggest worry right now is that the cucumber I'd been keeping in the fridge has gone missing and I've been walking around all morning bow-legged.