Oblong Scone

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/education/6159857.stm Are A-Levels getting easier? That’s been the question that literally everybody in the entire world has been asking. Just to put a picture in your mind of the widespreadnessness of people asking that question; A seven year old boy from Brazil, in the middle of a conversation with his mum regarding Comfort Cooling, suddenly and spontaneously directly asked “Mum, Are A-Levels getting easier? Mum? Are they? Mum? Mum? Mum? Are they?“ Well the answer to this question has been given by the QCA (Qualifications and Curriculm Authority), another organisation that feels that the word “and” isn’t important enough for their acronym. I would sincerely like these anti-conjunction-recogniser snobs to survive without this word. “Can I have Fish Chips please?” What you want chips made out of fish? Get out of my Fish And Chips Shop (FACS) you food mutating perverts! Anyway they’ve been working on the problem of A-levels, which are now officially recognised...

'I'll close the door then' , the bloke working on the platform said as I didn't close the door behind me whilst getting onto a train, because I don't work there. Don't get me wrong, I have no real objection to closing train doors and would happily do it just for the pure orgasmic enjoyment only closing train doors can bring a person. The trouble is the last time I closed the door behind me after thinking I was last on, I got the guard ripping the door open with a 'that's my job' look in his eye and an old woman who smelt of goat wobbled on moaning about the 21st century like it was nothing to do with her.I've had 30 years of influence on the world, she had probably had about 70. Statistically all the problems in society are more likely to be her fault than mine. She’s had longer to stir her wooden spoon of contempt in the dirty fat cake of earthly affairs. I hadn’t closed the door in her dumb-folded face deliberately, but I remember that look of ...

We’re gonna six you all over the place you Rolf loving sun stealers. Anyway I reckon Rolf wants England to win cause we let him make Animal Hospital? Did you heh? All those animals and did you give the bearded hummer a tele-program where he could unsquash cats? No…you’re too busy tying kangaroos down onto your barbeques and squashing full cans of Fosters with your bare dirty hands, spilling that shit everywhere so your whole country stinks of dull tasting lager. We’re gonna whack yer twenty nil you Ramsey Street peepers! Then you’ll come back to us crying, asking if you can use our queen again. Well you can’t - Lizzy don't like your accent and Phillip reckons your eyes look funny. COME ON ENGLAND!

A middle-aged colleague paying 10p to get a drink out of the vending machine that isn’t standard tea or coffee. Standard tea and coffee is free. His selection is made but the drink fails to fire into the cup properly. He pulls out the plastic cup, a look of disgust on his face as he surveys the brown sludge lodged to the bottom. He strolls with indignity around the whole office showing all he encounters the inside of the cup. “And I paid 10p” he says repeatedly. “Not on.” some reply. “Go get the money back off the bastards” says the one who has never smiled. And with that, a man who got nothing for his 10p storms off to find “the bastards“. And we may never see him again. The middle aged man who put petrol in his Diesel Car. A sudden letting go of the pump trigger and he stares down, eyes pushing as hard as they can out of inadequate sockets. “Shit!” And then two desperate looks around: The first to see if there’s anything he can do to rectify this terrible mistake. The second when he ...

Tom Cruise has married Katie Holmes. It was somewhere in Italy, which is a European country. Tom and Katie wrote their own vows as is probably not required in Scientology. Here’s a transcript… Tom Cruise: I Tom Cruise from Top Gun, Mission Impossible and in a more emotionally complex performance “Born on the Fourth of July”, in the name of Sam from Quantum Leap, Spock and Mr Spoon, wanna say how enthusiastic I am about my love for you, the Seventh lesbian satellite of Kron - Katie Holmes and you were in that thing on Channel 4. Normal people can only express love. I as Tom Cruise wish to express something more than love. Love is not a strong enough emotion for me, as I am Tom Cruise. My love for you is a gushing spurting tide of pure thick and sticky devotion, that in physical form would resemble a come covered hamster. I cry when I look in the mirror and realise how many years Tom Cruise has been denied such a deep and spongy vibrant emotion. Come to me… Katie Holmes: I love you Tom C...

There’s a creeping sense of foreboding in the road outside my flat. A road hidden in the heart of Bristol - remote from chatter and coffee . There’s rain - a superficial cliché of the sinister. The ice-cream van came past as usual. But the strong dull wind skewed it’s tune into a painful chiming scream. It didn’t stop - Ice cream today would be crass and unnecessary. The cars are parked further onto the pavement than normal. Whatever’s coming shall be encouraged to pass through as quickly as possible. Now all we can do is turn off the lights and wait. Close the widest of eyes and push our faces hard into the mattress. Hope that when a tired and useless sleep expires, the hangover’s gone for good.

Today was a day when it was foggy. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, the funny foggy stuff that was obscuring my view. But then as I reached the motorway, and the electronic matrix signs started flashing the word “fog“. It all became clear. The man who owns the paper-shop never looks at the headlines. The woman in the Post Office who never sends anything through the post. They might play cards together on a Wednesday afternoon, glance out a dirty window, and try and wake up the day with a dirty smile. But they already realise that it’s never going to change. Up come the motorway road-works. I realise they’re road-works because a sign tells me I’m only allowed to go at 50mph and there’s a couple of cones on the side of the road…but that’s it. Motorway road-works never have works on road. Who’d want to hold a Stop/Go sign on the hard-shoulder of the M4 unless they were tanked up on Stella and their name had one-syllable. ‘You have to keep the floors clean in this job…’ says the man in...

When your phone rings in the middle of the office answer it. Don’t stare at it grinning nodding your head in what you hope is shared amusement at what we can’t see. Flip it open, look slightly embarrassed by your ringtone of someone shouting “Answer the phone! Answer the phone!”. And if next time you don’t answer it quickly, I’m gonna shove it up your ass and continually ring it; watch your hopeless face as your insides muffle those dumb fucking words, with you having no hope of fulfilling this quest.

“The future everyday“, the corporate slogan says. ‘Wireless, all wireless‘, he says, pointing upwards to something wireless. I nod and slowly look around. There I was wondering around a Transport technology exhibition in Berlin, because that‘s the kind of life YOU are envious of. Loads of companies each covered in disgusting corporate spunk. The half-smiles, empty eyes, rehearsed tightening of the ties, and shirts uncreased beyond the achievement of conventional ironing hardware. ‘So……..they’re………all…………..wireless?’ I ask. ‘All wireless,’ he nods, ‘everyone, even that one with the wires; completely wireless. That‘s the key you see, the lack of wires.’ I said something about wirelessness and then threatened to kill him if he didn’t leave me alone right that second. And he went over to talk to someone else, about wirelessness. That’s what “The Future Everyday” is like you see, and I don’t want it yet. I don’t know how this company tangibly experiences the future everyday, I’m even sligh...

When I turn on my DVD player, the digital display says “HELLO”. I rarely reply, there’s no sense in it. Talking to DVD players brings little reward and if there are others in the room it pisses them off that you would rather engage in conversation with Japanese electronics with a two word vocabulary (It also says “GOODBYE”) than talk to them about cars or angels.

It's the end of summer again. And people are already worried about its classification. Was it a good one, an OK one, or a bad one? If you can't really immediately judge it, does it really matter? An old couple walking down the pavement in early September. Their every step heavy, weighed down by the worry of the day's weather. They ambled on neither hot or cold and definitely not wet. There was no sun in the sky, yet the clouds were not grey and the breeze was light and friendly. "I bet you'll it'll rain any minute", he said looking upwards shaking his head. "Typical" came a reply half smothered by a loud tut. Yes it's typical; its England, and it isn't some kid breaking your wing-mirror. It's the weather, controlled by whatever controls the weather (probably a magic elf). It's not Tony Blair and Gordon Bran-flakes deciding that they should subject us to rain. The local council isn'tmeeting to discuss the possibility of raising...

“Why the hell are you wearing that hat Matt?” is not a question I was asked today as I was not wearing a hat. Also the fact that ‘hat’ and ‘Matt’ rhyme could make this sentence sound clumsy if the annunciation was not of a high standard. Tuesdays are rarely a day when people are really putting out their best work aurally, so none of the people I encountered today were willing to go near such a sentence. Even if they were feeling confident enough to say the words ‘hat’ and ‘Matt’ conjoined, the fact that I wasn’t wearing one would have catastrophically diminished any kudos gained from their competent use of verbal emphasis. It‘s also worth noting that if I was wearing a hat, it would have been of an adequate quality and worn in a suitable context, so as not to have attracted an enquiry punctuated with ’Why the hell’. So nobody said that to me.

Bristol is not meeting any of its recycling targets, so has put into action a new rubbish collecting plan. What’s the brown bin for? That’s for left over food. And the green one? That’s for garden waste. What’s that one for? That’s for cardboard and only carboard, nothing but cardboard. Do no place anything in it it……except cardboard. If you’re not sure it’s cardboard take it to our new ‘Is it Cardboard? Office’ in the main council building. They can tell you if the piece of cardboard you’re holding is suitable to be recycled as cardboard. They may decide it’s not cardboardy enough, in which case you need to take a long hard look at what you are doing to the environment of Bristol, in fact the United Kingdom. The whole world could very well be completely fucked because of your lack of care in discerning cardboard from very thick, cardboardy paper. What about the black bucket? For recyclable goods that aren’t cardboard. You put cardboard in there and we will kill you. Not a euphemism , ...

I had a day off this week to catch up on some stuff. I may have accidentally switched on the television mid-morning and it may have been on ITV. And who was on the television?(Who am I asking this question too?) It was Jeremy Kyle, the Trisha replacement, talk-show host, goat-loving (unsubstantiated, in fact made up) over-opinionated, person I’d most like to punch. Everybody always used to laugh and look down on people on American Talk-shows. But, I think they should be laughing at us. Laughing at people who’s lives are so fucked up they’ve decided to embarrass themselves, by washing their shit-stained laundry on television. The episode I saw, I mean glimpsed at, I mean barely noticed, featured a man who was unsure about whether the child he had been raising was his. Actually…I think this was on the Jerry Springer in the UK show, not Jeremy Kyle. But is accuracy really necessary in the world today? How faithful was the film Lord of the Rings : The Two Towers to the events that really o...

“I don’t fucking care anymore.” he shouted to noone in particular, dazed in a smart business suit in the midday sun. His zig-zag walk down the pavement of Gloucester Road in Bristol was slow and hampered by his substance intake. His head was pushed out in front of the rest of his body, so he had to stop himself from tipping over every ten seconds by stopping. “You don’t care about me, and I don’t care about you.” he continued. Everyone carried on walking, lifting their heads up the minimum amount so they could observe him but not gain his attention. An old man with a bright orange coat and scruffy blue trousers walked past and offered “Just calm it down eh mate?” “I am calm” he replied with massively exaggerated arm movements; movements of someone who wasn’t calm. Movements of someone who didn’t fucking care anymore, but might of just hours ago. Who might have cared more than anyone about something or someone, but was drowning under the glare of those that lived around him. People who ...

What was it with this sun that’s suddenly been doing its heat thing over the last few days. Has it warmed for a reason. To burn the St George’s Crosses from the sides of all the cars in England. We’re all surprised again about how late it stays light in the evening. As if it’s never been this long before. Are we right to be suspicious? Is it the government bringing in longer nights and a hotter sun. A not so prudent chancellor raising the temperature by 2 degrees in his weather budget, putting 10% on the evening illumination. Then today nothing but rain. Nothing but people in soaked summer clothing screwing up their eyes, running through supermarket car-parks with trolleys full of salads and ice-cream. “It’s good for the garden” they nod, and close the door.

Though I can honestly say, I don't buy women's magazines.(Honestly, Reveal magazine was an accident. I thought it was a retrospective on Teletext)I do enjoy having a quick glance at the headlines as I walk past them in a newsagent. "I slept with my daughter's boyfriend ","My husband found out the baby wasn't his when he came out Welsh' and 'My partner stole my ankles' all being typical headlines. The "I slept with my daughter's boyfriend' is a very popular headline. Such a story appeared in a Sunday tabloid's magazine a couple of weeks ago. The article ended with the woman, who was telling her story in this article, saying that 'I deeply regret what I've done, and hope that one day my daughter will forgive me.' This wasn't an anonymous telling of the story. The woman telling the story, proudly displayed herself looking sorrowful; a quote from the story "Don't make the same mistake as me" rested be...

"I think Sven is going to go 4-1-4-1", I mentioned to a work colleague of England's upcoming game against Ecuador. "He'll play Rooney up front and Hargreaves just behind the midfield." He nodded his head solemnly."I think that's definitely what's going to happen" he replied, "What else can he do?" Football gives you the opportunity to talk about something we know nothing about with a perceived legitmate confidence. There's no tone of irony in conversations in which bankers and bin-men discuss how a football manager with 30 years experience has no idea what he's doing, and here's how to make it all better. I, like I'm sure most others, am not actually even aware that I don't know what I'm talking about when I'm engaged in soccer chat. The brain of the football-loving man has an extra section that modifies football related memories. It wont touch the normal brain functions such as that which deals with ea...

I’ve always hated using scissors. I’ve also always liked using the excuse that I’m left-handed; although not in an American ‘I’m a persecuted member of society’ kind of way. Just that, whilst I don’t think it’s ruined my life, having to use right-handed scissors always gave me some kind of excuse at school for my badly cut out paper-cat-shapes. To this day I think there was an over-concentration on cutting-out at my primary school and of course neat hand-writing. The children that could write neatly and then accurately cut out farm animals and stick them around their writing always got the A++s (Yes there were ++’s --’s and all sorts.) My highest mark was a story about a man called Jack who went to Mars in a spaceship and died because he didn’t pack enough lunch. This captivating tale earned me a B--, which in a funny kind of way looked more depressing than my usual C++. A happy ’C’ must be better than a depressed ’B’. I would of got a straight B if I hadn’t cut off Jack’s head before ...

The best thing about pubs is the licence to engage in conversations that may seem a little out of place in the office, at a football match or in Devon. One such conversation a couple of nights ago brought up the concept of computer Artificial Intelligence. Because of computer power doubling every two-years, it was speculated that in ten years they would be able to think like human-beings, even maybe surpass them. I can’t buy this. I mean what makes us human? What makes us more than just micro-chips, RAM, and running around killing monsters with a laser cannon in a badly lit cave complex? For example, could a computer ten years in the future be better than Shane Ritchie? I’m the first to admit that a PC of 2016 would be able to forge out a career as a light-entertainer, presenting shows similar to ‘Run the Risk’ and ‘The Shane Ritchie Experience’. It may need to be fitted with a dedicated ‘Cheeky Chappy’ processor card to handle the intense unrelenting glint in the eye, but with this ad...