Funeral Arrangements
Reply
Category Archives: Misc
We’re sorry to announce…
… that the next blog from this station has been cancelled. This is due to a stale whelk-related incident last night. The next blog is due soon after my head stops thumping. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause.
You’ll Never Walk Alone
News item:
A disgruntled Newcastle United fan has failed in a bid to get himself banned from St James’ Park by invading the pitch.
Kevin Southerton, 26, ran on to the field after Djibril Cisse scored for Sunderland in February’s Tyne-Wear derby.
He told police who pursued and arrested him: “I hope I get banned. I’m sick of watching this.”
Although Newcastle magistrates could have imposed a three-year banning order, they opted to fine him £200.
Now who amongst us hasn’t felt like that at least once in their lives? Anyone who’s spent any time standing in the covered end at The Valley knows that urge only too well. In the 70’s I once watched Charlton draw 0-0 in three consecutive matches, a Saturday-Wednesday-Saturday thrill-fest. It was like undergoing root canal work.
Rubbish
A colleague once wrote of a crusty old fan in Scotland (at some team like Hearts, or Arbroath—you know the type) who every single Saturday took his place in the stand by the players entrance, resplendent in a grubby old mac and woolen bobble hat, and booed his team ON to the pitch. He never missed a home match. Furthermore, after one mid-week away fixture, the team were on the club bus driving home through the pouring rain when they spotted this same fan trudging a lonely trudge through the storm, having been to watch his lads lose away. They took pity on him and picked him up. No sooner had the coach pulled away that our hero stood up at the front of the bus and delivered a long stream of abuse, punctuated by profanities, on what a useless bunch of wankers they were. After 75 yards of this the bus pulled in and the players threw off the old git again.
The Traditional Way to Watch Charlton AFC
Football fans have a bad rep, but there’s always occasional characters like the examples above which give you renewed hope for mankind in general. At this stage I’d like to draw your attention to to a lovely little book by Jack Bremner entitled “Shit Ground No Fans” a collection of football chants collected from around the country. Many are predictable and repetitive, but there are a few little gems within its 256 pages. One example from Boston United goes (to the tune of John Denver’s Annie’s Song:
You fill up my senses
Like a gallon of Batemans
Like a packet of Seasalt
Like a good pickled egg
Like a night out in Boston
Like a greasy chip buttie
Like Boston United
Come fill me again
Beautiful.
Oddly the great Andy Goram song isn’t included in its pages. Readers will recall when Goram, the then Rangers goalie, had been “exposed” in the press as having a mild form of schizophrenia. Shortly after, opposition fans started chanting “Two Andy Gorams, there’s only two Andy Gorams”
And they say there’s no humour left in the game.
Rant starvation?
End lack-of-ranting misery today. I have a friend who can help…just go CLICK
Just make sure you come back to me .
Help….
Not sure what to do about this one. A friend just forwarded me this email sent to her. What do you think she should do?:
Hello,
How are you doing?hope all is well, I”m sorry that i didn’t inform you about my traveling to Nigeria for a Seminar.I need a favor from you as soon as you receive this e-mail because i misplaced my wallet on my way to the hotel where my money is and other valuable things were kept, i will like you to assist me with a loan urgently. I will be needing the sum of $2,500 to sort-out my hotel bills and get myself back home.I will appreciate whatever you can afford to help me with, i’ll pay you back as soon as i return. Kindly let me know if you can be of help? so that i can send you the details.
Your reply will be greatly appreciated
Stanley
Anybody got some spare cash they could send this poor soul?
.
And now a Word from our Sponsor:
I guess you have, but just in case you haven’t…
We Should All Start a Fire
Robin Jackman, Hazel Blears, people serving warm beers,
F1, cold tea, Natasha Kaplinsky
Trevor Francis, itchy bum, Russians with Polonium,
RBS, AIG, and RyanAir’s O’Leary
Will Farrell, sushi, Andy Cole of Chelski
Noel Edmonds, wonton, slimy David Cameron
Paxman, Tax men, poxy films like X-Men
Impressionist John Culshaw, I just can’t take it anymore
CHORUS
Of these we all start to tire
Thru the years we’re learning
Hear my stomach turning
I need a gun for hire
Tho I’ve tried to fight it
But my life’s been blighted, by
Greedy city bailouts, lifting in the lineouts,
Credit Crunch, Iraq War, Charlton’s hopeless back four
Big Brother, short men, Archer wrote a book again
Joggers, chuggers, people who say Rugger
Comedians with swimming pools, parents hitting staff in schools
Shaven Peter Mandelson, Owen Wilson, Aniston
Fox hunting, tennis, McGregor’s Phantom Menace
Mighty Boosh, Glen McGrath , and no-one serving at the bar
Tattoos of your girlfriends, Budget speech that never ends
My Bank Manager, offensive Bernhard Gallagher
Daily Mail columnists, photographers that take the piss
Green bins, Mini-Me, ballroom dancing on tv
Little Britain went too long, the latest Red Nose Day song
Eurovision all gone wrong, now that Terry Wogan’s gone
Blooper shows, job cuts, Flock of Seagulls haircuts
Horne and Corden, load of crap, as funny as a dose of clap
Golf electric trolleys, people who use brollies
Tory Party, Watergate, Bono and the Modern Tate
Jacqui Smith, talking shite, it won’t be alright on the night
Fred the Shred, Conrad Black,I want my bloody money back
Powdered Gavin Henson, anyone called Jensen
Davos, Argos, piss-weak US lagers
Fascists, Nazis, no paper in the khazi
George Osbourne in my head, I think I’d better go to bed
This Sporting Life
Spring has sprung,
Da grass has riz,
I wonder where da boidies is?
Da little boids is on da wing,
Ain’t that absoid,
Da little wings is on da boid.
There’s something different about this morning. It maybe that, for the first time this year, I’m able to sit in my garden with a cup of tea without the fear of losing several digits to frostbite. It may be that the new European Champions at Rugby Union are Ireland. (4th place. FOURTH!! How d’ya like THEM leeks?). It may even be that the blue tits in my garden (no, nothing to do with the cold weather) seems to at last be taking an interest in one of the several bird boxes I nailed up over the winter months.
But no, there’s a spring in my step this morning because yesterday IT arrived, just as he promised it would. It came in the post yesterday morning (well, lunchtime—my postie likes his lie-ins nowadays) and was accompanied by a piece of paper on which he’d written “Drool Away”. “He” is my long-time pal Andrew, and “it” is my ticket for the first day of the Lords Test Match against the Australians this July. YES.
I can hear monocles flying out all over Tunbridge Wells, teacups smashing in the Garrick, and a million expletives uttered under a million breaths as a large proportion of the population come to terms with the fact that the tickets are out only a lucky few will get them.
I’ve been going to the Thursday of the Lords test with Andrew for nigh on 20 years now. Through thin and thin we’ve supported England as country after country have turned up at HQ with the press predicting they’ll be over-awed by playing at the Holy of Holys, only to teach the home side a lesson in, well, pretty much everything. I think we speak about six words to each other when we’re there, and we certainly never talk during overs. It’s heaven.
Hook THAT one, yer bastard!
Supporting English cricket is not for the faint-hearted or the easily-disappointed (being a Charlton Athletic fan, you’d think I’d suffered enough unpleasantness), but addict and Addick as I am, I just can’t help myself. Imagine the thrill of seeing 2 out of the first 3 Aussie batsmen get clattered on the head when they were last here. It was hilarious beyond words. We stuck it to ’em alright. So they decided to return the compliment and rout us when it was their turn to bowl.
It happens with an almost predictable regularity but nothing can dampen the goose-bumped optimism for my team’s chances as I pass though the gates and enter the Great Place, awaiting those flanneled fools in their Green Baggies to skip down the pavilion steps. Anyone who’s been on the Nou Camp, the Augusta National, the Oval Office or the Taj Mahal must surely recognize that feeling. (In the Taj Mahal I always order the Doipaza and the Taka Dal, very tasty, and remember, they stop serving at 11.30 sharp). Twickenham is always a bit of a disappointment—it has to be the coldest , soul-less ground on earth, and oddly The Millennium Stadium, Cardiff knocks it into a cocked hat (have I mentioned that the Welsh came in 4th?).
So now the long build-up to that great day begins: There’s the Lions Squad to be announced (PLEASE DON’T TAKE THAT POWDERED PONCE HENSON), Charlton’s Oozalum season will come to it’s inevitable conclusion, and the drone of millionaires parading round an F1 track will soon be interrupting my Sunday lunchtime pint. But I have my ticket for Lords and that means cricket’s back in town, and the world seems a better place for it.
Now where did I put my lucky jockstrap?
A terrifying site for any Ozzie batsman
Steven Wright. He’s odd.
I woke up one morning and all of my stuff had been stolen…and replaced by exact duplicates.
Half the people you know are below average.
42.7% of all statistics are made up on the spot.
All those who believe in psychokinesis, raise my hand.
The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.
I almost had a psychic girlfriend, but she left me before we met.
OK, so what’s the speed of dark?
How do you tell when you’re out of invisible ink?
Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
When everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane.
Ambition is a poor excuse for not having enough sense to be lazy. 
Extract from Steven Wright’s “I Still Have a Pony”. Wonderful stuff.
I intend to live forever – so far, so good.
What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
My mechanic told me: “I couldn’t repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder”.
Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?
The problem with the gene pool is that there is no lifeguard.
The sooner you fall behind, the more time you’ll have to catch up.
My father was a circus clown. When he died all his friends went to the funeral in the same car.
The Sharp Single 