Monthly Archives: May 2011

Avoidance fun.

When you’re sat, alone, in a deck-chair, reading of the antics of all things public, the term ‘avoidance’ often comes to mind.
Take for instance potholes. They feature in today’s Mail feature deeply and the subject is now so big it just can’t be smoothed over.
But how can the poor motorist – misguidedly and colourfully penned into believing that such earthy subjects would, at the two strokes of a balloted cross, be totally levelled – avoid falling into such devious black-holes?
The simple answer is that you can’t and that compensation claims for personal and vehicular damage caused by these procrastinated abominations now tops £50,000,000.00p. The estimated repair bill for the holes is about £13,000,000,000.00p but you never see two such the same, ergo: they haven’t a friggin’ clue and opt for the (so far) lesser evil!
To actually avoid them you could ditch the car (not literally!…well…) and opt for a more deck-chair friendly transport mode, (see today’s top pic – mmm…a fun-pun) but be careful where you moor because some bits of canal are well blocked!
And, don’t worry if you can’t afford a nice barge outright – you can, as they do publicly, just rent!
The public farce staggers on but there is the odd light at canal-tunnels end. Another once forcibly deck-chaired, but, fortunately not heavily misguided, invested his time and although probably regarded, by family and friends, as a prime Twit, stuck to his programme and eventually sold it to a large U.S. company for £25,000,000.00p.
Another mode of avoidance comes urgently to mind!
But dealing with that is better-suited far more Privately. Here? Perhaps?

Historical fun.

Thousands of years ago southern English peasants; makers of knick-knacks like pots and trendy clothing, were sat about on the grass wondering why no one visited their (West?) field. One of them had an idea to attract folk and started to cart huge stones about; indeed, stacked them up to make a kind of Emporium called, then, ‘Salisbury’s’. Folk did indeed call, from miles around, to see the stones, some copying the idea to encapsulate the concept ‘Pyramid Selling’ perhaps, when they got ‘home’, wherever that was.
Pots and clothes sales improved and folk traversed the country to see (and of course buy) from various piles of stacked stone. In certain rather muddy areas of, say, what was to be later London, cobblers invented shoes – some with thick soles and high-heels and, so equiped, even the local ladies could cross the mud to visit the various sites of stacked stone – and buy.
Routes, to these now rather trendy stones, became clear, footworn paths through the rod’s, poles and perches, indeed miles, of boring grassland and, even where two such paths crossed, makers found that clothes, food, pots and high-shoes, could be sold.
Around these cross-roads makers erected huts of wattle and daub; began to manufacture for the criss-crossing hordes and, for customer comfort, filled-in the muddy pot-holes which made the roads, or streets as they were then known, much higher, indeed, they were oft referred to as ‘high-streets’ by the visiting crowds.
The canny makers kept upgrading and modernising the stone-stacks – one for well over a thousand years – and today it still attracts visitors by the thousand. Sadly, after all this time, no one remembers why.
Impressed by such mega sales Italian folk nipped over and made a bit of a take-over bid; made a few ‘improvements’, bridges, wider roads, posh houses, but the place was too cold, even with underfloor-heating and hot sauna’s, and their mamby-pamby Mediterranean style sandals were useless in the deep English mud, so eventually they cleared-off.
But the old ‘high-streets’ lingered; are still there to some extent, but, as time passed, the old work-intense ways with their cumbersome stones slowly faded into the realms of academic wonder and curiosity, as the sellers adopted more amenable shops – Mary. Yes, these days, even for the young, we’re told, a restful deck-chair is becoming quite a party-piece.
Folk still wear, on occasions, the old high-stacked shoes, but these days they’re mainly for the red-carpets of success rather than the vibrant but muddy, old and footworn stones of the once mighty and seemingly invincible, recently cost and red-tape-infested high-streets.
Adam Smith now calculates that Tax-Freedom Day falls 150 days into our year for average grafters, the latest daily additions being due to vat hikes.
Deck-chairs grow ever-more popular – and you set your own T.F.D.!
These days you C&P your own highway…
…and the Bridge pic was taken, during a long, recreational walk, along the Bury & Bolton Canal.

Just not cricket fun.

I am not a football fan. But last night did, as there was little else on TV at the time, watch the Man U./Barcelona final. After a good fifteen minutes I realised that ‘the reds’ were, unusually, Barcelona and ‘the whites’ Manchester United. I don’t know if it was a good match – but Barcelona were very skilled compared to a far more mundane local team.
Today already I read one or two ‘posts’ suggesting that that nice Mr. Ferguson should, at last go – hold-on a minute, at least the Manchester team were in the bloody final and have done exceedingly well I believe this season.
When I read things like that I get a funny taste in me mouth – like the taste of Cadbury chocolate to a govern-mental committee! (Way to go Irene!)
Today too I have run-out of Privately taken, local wildlife and nature based photographs of rustic views in gentle, timeless countryside settings and, sadly, must rely on something far more public for todays pic. It’s a scene of a normal, fairly pleasant London street, monetised.
Signs of things to come methinks.
There’s a nice pic of all the recent p.m.’s as they wait for words of wisdom…
Meanwhile deck-chair sales escalate…
Might watch the F1 stuff later – it’s full of those thingies with wheels, erm, yep, got it, cars!
There are twelve houses in our street with, in total, fourteen cars.
One house has no cars but the biggest drive.
The houses with most cars have the smallest drives.
The houses with the best cars don’t work.
Until recently the house with the smallest drive had five cars.
All of the working houses have mortgages.
Except one; that has the biggest drive and a deck-chair.
The non-working houses are retired.

Highly taxing fun?

It simply abounds in todays’ ‘news’. There’s chat too about some fresh pension stuff – I’m glad I’ll not have to sort that kind of wheat from chaf again as the ‘new ideas’ seem just as barmy as the old ones!
Talking of barmy, that nice Mr. Cameron is quite adamant about foreign aid isn’t he? Despite being up to the follicles in debt and boe folk warning about ‘hard times to come’.
With all this kind of stuff about the beached deck-chair is the place to be – strangely, an order has come in for one from London – to be forwarded to Newcastle beach, you know, where the coal used to come from. Doubtless some young thing has pulled a bundle somehow and wants a breather – sadly, after tax, that bundle will be much depleted – and after all that running around and mega wardrobe spends wots left will only buy a basic deck-chair model. Not to worry, judgement is difficult for one so young and location is oft down to elocution, elocution, elocution. That’s why I don’t go out much.
Today’s pic is, as you can see, of bluebells under a tree. They’re in the middle of the picture, just about.
I must, it seems, delve the environs once again as the photographs have finally run-out!

Private fun.

Below what seem like permanently entrenched, grey-white cumulus, the sun does get through once in a while to shine – on the righteous?
Being car-less essentials (tobacco, flints, lighter-fuel, pipe-cleaners etc.) are being imported, very cost-effectively, on foot from a local and happily well-stocked emporium on our local ‘High-Street’ – boy, Mary, are they doing well!
Meanwhile life’s luxuries, for the non-funded, (food, drink – erm, that’s tea and coffee btw, etc.) are shipped-in Food-Parcel-like by a well-run local supermarket online delivery service.
Burberry, the name for all things expensive, goes from strength to strength, under it’s rather humble GUS catalogue parentage beginnings first published at Ardwick.
And Bloomsbury, the Potter publishers, are set to reap global harvests from the digital side as e-book sales start to soar – JKR must be sweeping out the bank-vaults in readiness – in between serious deck-chair hours of course!
A superb Lowry, ‘The Football Match’, goes under the hammer for £5,600,000.00p and looking at it I wonder if I was actually there! Oh boy, how time, for the canny investor, (in deck-chairs too) flies!
For the ageing ‘retired’ all this albeit lucrative Private graft and investment is fine – but usually far too taxing in all respects.
So although the deck-chair may have to be erected in-doors at rainy times, the sight from it of a few simple, inexpensively planted spuds out-back, as they start to sprout, is always encouraging.
And time, as an investment, is cheap.
Meanwhile, in the public asylum the Presidential car is congestionally charged £10.00p. (Yes, really!) To which The U.S. replied, “Our President isn’t subject to UK tax.” To which Boris replied, “The congestion-charge is not a tax.”
Non-payment of this non-tax tax, by various embassies, now exceeds £50,000,000.00p!
‘Asylum’, attributed in humour, may be far too jokingly moderate! But, with hindsight and afterthought, and a differing contextual meaning for the word, I’m boded to ask, “Has he and his entourage actually gorn back?” I mean, something, under that car, hit the frigging speed bump!
Today’s pic features, in, sadly, rather over-exposed mode, ducks and chicks, sheep and bullrushes, around clearly pristine, Bolton and Bury Canal waters.
Today’s pick is again floundering after the terrible tsunami flooding – it sounds like Tesco and nears the bottom from where, the only way will be, up. Dear yet but wotchit for a bargain.
Banzai!

Wet fun!

Once again, here in the distant once grime encrusted north, water is not only falling like county-wide confetti but is, at some British seaside beach resorts, regarded as ‘unclean’, the worst, to date, Blackpool!
Not to mention that half of the country is in near drought mode despite all those trendy, money and problem-saving water-meters!
Meanwhile, as OEDC jobsworths lecture on ‘ easing off in the cuts’ department – public borrowing, in April, smashed already astronomic govern-mental levels. There are, as mentioned yesterday, no cuts yet – but there are mega tax-hikes and, that nice Mr. Cable warns, ‘economic H-bombs’ waiting to hit us.
So what better than the (scruffily-beached?) deck-chair? Carefully placed, as rain buckets, well out of it below a comparatively dry, but at times windy (and possibly over-jumped) pier, as the more newsworthy (?) turbulence goes on.
Even from such a position, with today’s modern tackle, the lone highway ranger can easily, yet quietly, test the nearby tidal waters without the need for major borrowing or invested cost and catch the odd fish – albeit in these austere times a (sensible!) minnow.
These days you don’t need all that grime.
Attention to detail can oft be beneficial too. As motorised transport, here, is now obviated, a teeny-weeny bit of tax was, yesterday, returned. But I’ll have to spend more, in order to get the bus to the bank, so that I can deposit the cheque!
Such is public logic.
So I’ll employ Private logic and walk!

Olympic fun!

As forecast yonks back the Olympic farce sprints staggeringly on with folk – bewildered by the home-spun ticket-sales mode – opting sheep-like for an alternative route.
Another website, really attuned to a handfull of visitors from some remote islands that only David Attenborough is familiar with, gets inundated with cash-glutted uggle hordes and crashes.
But, with superb timing, those responsible for the barrage of special train-services that will (hopefully) criss-cross London’s afflicted Olympic areas, announce that tickets, available only to those with Olympic event tickets, will be on-sale…
…from yet another website…
For those intent on decrying ‘The Cuts’, please relax, there hasn’t been any yet! Public Borrowing for April was at a record – £10,000,000,000.00p – up a couple of billion on last April.
The British and American heads of borrowing met yesterday and, apparently, had a laugh about it all after a nice dinner of shee..well, more reader-friendly named perhaps, as lamb.
It is too, at the moment, quite sunny up here but, as you see in today’s picture, Bullrushes thrive in this soggy and boggy over-wet and rain-glutted north. Deck-chair fabrics oft trap much of this falling water and make sitting rather uncomfortable – but the canny user gets to the bottom of the problem by making a few small holes in the lower extremes of the fabric.
Water then runs out like cash from a public Market – one of which wishes to up it’s ‘rent’ to alarming and totally un-justified levels.
Why? What on earth does it meaningfully do? Besides cost.
Meanwhile the Private Market of Amazon thrives, supplying another 900 Part and Full-Time real jobs (and training etc.) in Scotland. Worthy surely, of a daily plug.

It’s hailing fun !

There was no choice offered of an early start or not as at five fifty-five am the heavens opened noisily and it hailstoned violently.
Yes, as most of the country sits in Sahara-like drought conditions, with water- ‘companies’ hand-wringing gleefully as they contemplate drought-condition price-hikes – easy-peasy when everyone uses Direct-Debit – we, here in the water-glutted north, had hailstones – in May!
The noise was sleep-shattering – a loud rattling amid the stratosphere-strength winds that we brush-off as a light, northern breeze.
With Booker, and myriad other ‘hot-news’ related prizii in half-asleep mind, I raced (staggered) eagerly (gingerly) out into the tormented dawn (without a coat!) and, with me digi, got a couple of pix before the ice melted.
The picture quality is of my usual standard.
I particularly like the third picture, ‘Hailstones on Grass’ and if anyone would like a May Hailstone photograph, please feel free, but, as they say, give me (at long last!) a credit!
Meanwhile, as all this transpires and the rain still buckets down, the newly exploded bits of Iceland (the country, not the company – yet!) float through the northern water-soaked air in an Eastern-European-Economic-Migrant-like bee-line for the benefit of Britain. Soon, around these climes, the lot will fall, planes will be grounded, tempers frayed as dust mixed with hail, must fall as mud!
Luckily, the deck-chair is metaphoric!
(As, is now in the north, the concept, ‘Global Warming’.)
But despite all this perfectly natural airborne shite, plus the almost global atmospheric infestation of un-natural diesel bus-engines, the powers that wannabe contemplate banning smoking in the open-air!
The handful of deck-chaired, pipe-smoking, non-debt-ridden, earth-based, thinking entrepreneurs that are left, tap ash from briar onto garden earth with shaking heads – that miniscule deposit – itself rich in spud-growing nutriments, is the microscopic non-nuclear-waste left after the sheer hard-work of world-feeding thought.
Without it…
And to placate our relatively inexpensive ‘S.S.P. I’ll ‘monetize’ the ‘site a bit.

Freezing fun.

I read with intrigue, today, as earlier I peered hopefully into our much depleted freezer, of the Iceland freezer food company that may be bought by Morrisons.
A back-pocket-change bid of £1,500,000,000.00p is on the initial cards (mmm, is icy food so lucrative then?) and naturally I wondered why such a sale was even contemplated.
It turns out that Iceland’s biggest part-owner is actually an Icelandic bank (so wots new?) and for some reason they want out.
But then, as I read another item I realised why.
Once again a lump of Iceland is currently exploding skyward, to disappear in clouds of world-encircling crap and ash; becoming, as time passes, again just a plane-grounding tabloid crisis for a few hot and dusty weeks.
Faced with such a problem as my own country catapulting itself into stratospheric oblivion, I think I’d flog the stalls and suss-out a quiet but stable beach somewhere meself too!
And it must be bloody hard keeping food cold sat atop a molten magma-venting volcano.
But every cloud (?) has a silver-lining I tell myself as I gesture hopefully toward some well-toasted banker with a billion and a half in his back-pocket and then to a gently sea-lapped beached deck-chair, with a (slightly) enhanced price-tag upon its beer-glass receptive arm-rest.
Mind you, with the present state of my freezer, the term ‘barter’ has something of a ground-breakingly new retail concept – especially when the frozen joint is fire-damaged!
A more carefull troll through my My Pictures file found the delightful picture above of a Grebe.
The picture already posted of a Grebe didn’t apparently, have a Grebe in it after all – it was, for some reason, just water.
This picture too features water in its quite realistic northern glutted volumes, and judging by the present arctic winds and turbidly grey-black morbid clouds, more is on the way – humourously called perhaps, in such fiery times – Volvic!
And I still haven’t got a bloody coat!

Fun although flagging a bit!

A funded jobsworth (according to Mail) with the ear of those ministerial, suggests that our websites fly, proudly, the Union ‘Jack’ – correctly, for land-lubber use – The Union Flag. So I have.
The flag may, at the moment, elicit a smile from possibly foreign observers, as those presently sub-servile to it beleaguer, possibly in debt and/or without reasonable income, with which to viably live.
Doubtless that nice Mary Portas – once again heavily ‘news’ as she waves the wand, albeit totally uselessly, over the sadly defunct and silent High-Streets – may (obviously with a grimace of envious distaste) agree, but a jpegged flag in her chosen Windows will do little or nothing to help!
And she does not read here I imagine; thus being unable to immediately grasp the first requirement of any and all things ‘Retail’!
And that, as said here for yonks, the only things selling are beached, entrepreneurial deck-chairs.
Unless of course, you’re (most comfortably!) sat in one while working.