Friday 27 January 2012

Down the Dole in My JimJams

Down at the dole they don't like you turning up in your jim-jams. They don't like it at all. It smacks of a poke in the eye to everyone else out there trying to earn a living wage. The hard-pressed souls who brush up, tie straight, shoes polished, only to view the bleary-eyed ragamuffin hoards heading for free hand-outs in their nightwear.

Tends to upset people. Who wants to face the daily grind when others are taking a short break from bed to pick up their payments? Many are meant to be available for work. Yea, right.

Onesies are popular, the adult baby-gro jobs that are so comfy for slouching around all day. Just the job for the workshy. Now the dole offices are insisting that people turn up properly dressed. For appearances sake. Most are no more likely to set off hot-foot after the nearest paid employment, but at least they don't look like they are showing the finger to the rest of us.

A government spokesman said: "The people doing it saw no problem with it. It came from an extended feeling of home. " The Job Centre, home from home for most of them. Bless!

Thursday 26 January 2012

Monty Dog Does a Lassie, Mutt in a Million

"What's that Monty? There's a man in the river - call an ambulance?" Forget Lassie, Monty the labradoodle is just as good. He saved his owner from a watery grave, despite being 77 in doggy years.

Owner Maurice Holder, 73, was out walking by the river in Cornwall when the ground shifted and he fell 40 feet. He came around to find Monty in the water with him. The pair struggled up the steep bank together then the dog dashed off, barking the old: " Follow me, I need help!" message we found so thrilling in the films. What a hero!

And what a one-off. Love our dog to bits, but he can barely get out of bed at 11 years old. Labradoodles are scatty, gallumping, big bags of nonsense that don't know where their own feet are. They eat everything, including plastic plates, and never run out of energy or good humour. Mr Holder says: " He's loyal and that's what matters." Spot on , well done that dog.

Monday 23 January 2012

Miranda"s Marvelous Job

Miranda may have something going for her after all. I think she's brilliant in Call the Midwife. She seemed almost saintly at times on telly last night. Having read the book - sucker for all things gory, especially medical, I though Miranda had old Chummy sorted. Top marks!

Before this I've never really got her. Everyone seems to think she is wildly funny. Awards and everything. Not me. Couldn't see it. Then she made such a wuss of herself with Bear Grylls. Twice his size, she could have picked him up and carried him down the mountain. Instead she just sat there and refused point blank to do the rope slide. And all the while he's telling her how well she's doing.

Delivering babies, that's what Miranda does best. And being posh. She was even looking good on a bike at the end, having made a cracking job of doing it badly. Totally convincing - did she learn on the set? Anyway she stole the entire show and can't wait for more next week.

Thursday 19 January 2012

Norway No Thanks

Britain is bust - how about Norway? They seem to have it all, including the most beautiful women. Apparently Norwegian women are snapped up by the dating site Beautifulpeople.com. Three quarters of applications are accepted.

Seems Norway's got a lot going for it. Water and wind provide all of their electricity and they are the third largest exporter of oil on earth. Stayed out of the EEC so sitting pretty, thanks.

Makes you want to spit. Here we are, shoving on another jumper because the bills break us out in a cold sweat, totally fed up with the cuts and facing strikes by everyone from the bin men to doctors. Not much dancing in the streets.

Hang on though. Beer costs a fortune out there, it's dark, they spawned that bloke who went about shooting 69 teenagers for fun and their best-known artist painted The Scream. He wasn't happy was he? As for the women, a quarter were still consigned to the dog house. Norway no way.

Monday 16 January 2012

Skiing not for Wusses

Broken legs, bruised bonces - par for the piste! Go skiing, have the best time of your life, but nobody said it was safe. Now the resorts are likely to send costs soaring after payouts claimed by accident victims.

One person died after sliding under a safety net and hitting a pillar. Another was left paralysed after falling on ice that nobody told her about. These are tragedies and no one is underestimating the pain they caused.

But warnings about ice when skiing? A lawyer for the resorts said: " Do we need to put a mattress around every tree?" While another added: " We could reduce the slopes and put nets everywhere but where would be the pleasure for skiers? We can't turn ski resorts into kindergartens."

Skiing is dangerous. That's the thrill, along with speeding along in crisp mountain air with the wind in your hair. Except that you will have to wear a helmet.

One guy in our party took out a beginner on the nursery slope when she swerved into his path. He had a bump, she was stretchered off. Totally his fault, but she knew the risk she was taking when she clipped herself in. Take out your own insurance, weigh up the odds and go anyway. Or stay at home and forever wonder what you missed.

Saturday 14 January 2012

Outraged Taliban and Olaf Schmid

Been thinking about the Marines peeing on the dead Taliban. They will be found, Hilary will send the dogs in to flush them out. Got to be done, but the truth is, I haven't forgotten Olaf Schmid either. Remember him? Like so many others he got blown up trying to defuse bombs in Afghanistan.

He died in a vain attempt to make the place safe. Every time he bent over a bomb, the Taliban would take pot shots at him. Their snipers are excellent. They know if they leave a few IEDs about, someone will be along shortly to shift them.

So they hide and wait for Olaf's mates. The guys go out anyway to do what they can, knowing that the bombs will be back tomorrow. One day recently they watched as a mini-bus full of women and children decided to leave the safe road and take a detour. There was a soft pouf and that was that. We saw it all on the 6pm news.The Taliban must have their reasons for doing what they do. Peeing on their dead bodies is not acceptable, but a part of me understands that a whole lot better than their bombs.

Thursday 12 January 2012

Filly Folly in the Front Room

Pets, they have their place - but my front room isn't it. Not for a horse anyway. A lady up in Lewis thinks differently. Her pony is now grazing the carpet after a row with the field owner. Stephanie Noble says she had no choice.

She calls that a choice? Has she any idea how much poo one horse can produce? Well she must have, because poo picking is the job du jour of any equine type. There's about two wheelbarrows from the average paddock. Daily. Sometimes more.

And the wee! Get that on your boots and the soles fall off. Stinks worse than a cess pit in high summer. Doubtless the three-year-old dappled grey is a very pretty creature. I can picture her now. So can you. She's probably thrilled with her centrally heated, comfy stable. No wind whistling through the rattling door.

Horse lovers say they love the smell. Can't see what the fuss is about. Not sure where Lewis is? Never mind, you'll soon be able to pinpoint the stink.

Tuesday 10 January 2012

Kelvin Could Cut The Crap

How about we cut the crap and the cost of the Leveson inquiry? Here's how. Tell the press, "hack a phone and go straight to jail." Posties have faced prison for opening mail, reporters should be treated in the same way. Should put a stop to it.

That's it. End of. There is no point in calling Cameron to explain why he signed his letters to Rebekah Brooks " Love, David." He schmoozed the papers - get over it! They all do. Everyone wants nice things to be written about them. Good press is the life blood of politicians, they can't survive without it.

Cameron has better things to do with his time, some of which should have been done yesterday. Nobody gives a toss about the Leveson inquiry, now that everyone who matters has settled their differences with hard cash. This thing is costing millions. We can't afford it.

Final note - nice one Kelvin. You were a cracking editor when I worked for you and you are still entertaining now. Keep it coming.

Thursday 5 January 2012

Holy Cow What Next!

All men are equal in the airport security queue. Frisk all. Sadly, that's the fear we live with. All that is, except the holy men. Those with very strong, fundamentalist, beliefs should not be touched and deserve to be driven to the plane itself. To avoid the rest of us.

That's a good one. Here's another. Security staff must not open a sealed box because it contains deities. The guru holding it must take a bath before unlocking it. Let's have it aboard then, chop chop!

All of this is going on in India, a people not exactly renowned for their peaceable tendencies. They have a long list of VIPs who can get on a plane without troubling the security staff at all. They include army chiefs, politicians as well as religious nutters. Did anyone tell the other passengers? Might be nice if they knew the risk they run.

They might choose not to fly. Better still, why not ban the 22 categories of VIP allowed to skip the checks. Let them stay at home instead. The queues will not be shorter, but they may feel a whole lot safer.

Monday 2 January 2012

Cheque this Trick Out!

Back to the shops then? Kept the receipt - Goodo! Some pressies defy logic. Like the mug Santa fetched to one of us in hospital. All the patients got one. Useful item, better than a chocolate teapot, but this one has a jumper. Red, with a button.

It's quite cute but totally useless. The jumper can't keep the cup warm, it gets dribbled on and has to be taken off for washing. Then put back on again. We've kept the mug, no idea why. On reflection I'd rather have the teapot.

The other useless gift is £20. Fantastic, what's wrong with that! Wait though, this twenty quid is a cheque. Made out to my daughter, who is too young to have her own bank account. We can't pay it into ours, it's got her name on.

So we divvy up the £20 and forget it. The alternative is to send the thing back, ask the generous rellies to send another one, with our name on it, and then pay it in that way. Too much grief and it manages to look ungrateful. Which we really, really are! Because this happens every year, we used to get three of the things and on top of everything else we spent, it began to seem expensive. And annoying. And a bit thoughtless. Handy for the sender though in these hard-up times. Bah, humbug to one and all and a Happy New Year!