Peeple are moaning abowt my speling.

Quite recently, I have been receiving a number of misspelled comments informing me that my blogs are badly-spelled – the irony.

Apparently, I used the word ‘behaviour’ instead of ‘behavior’. I used ‘colour’ instead of ‘color’. Can you guess where I am going to go with this?

As I look at my screen now there are some red wiggly lines under behaviour and colour that inform me they are misspelled.

Guess what? They’re not. For those of you who don’t know, I’m English, English, not American English. I do not use the online dictionaries because I have found them to be at fault.

Collins, Oxford and all those other dictionaries are a little suspect too. They include too many Americanisms for my liking.

Call me a snob, but I prefer the Chambers Dictionary. Fuller, weightier, sexier and more accurate than all other pseudo-English dictionaries.

I was introduced to the Chambers Dictionary at College studying architecture theory. We always referred to the Chambers Book of architecture because it was more complete and contained impartial information.

I discovered the same of their dictionary. Now I use Chambers books exclusively. I trust their content.

Admittedly, I have made a few boo-boos, looking back. But hell, nobody’s prefect.


Top Cat is advertising mortgages from a dustbin. (Where do I start?)

Top Cat was one of those Hanna-Barbara characters created in the early sixties. A streetwise alley-cat who lived in a dustbin, had a gang and was always in trouble with the law.

In one of the new campaign’s executions he is advertising mortgages from his dustbin. I know there is a shortage of affordable housing, but what sort of message does this send?

But that is not my main concern. The character Top Cat, although a lovable rogue is a bit dodgy. A flim-flam artist who tries get-rich quick schemes to get ahead.

So, what the Halifax is telling me is that they’re a bit dodgy. It’s a street gang, always in trouble with the law by scamming people. Here, have my money you mad fools.

Charming as the Top Cat advertisements are, they are just plain wrong. It’s like advertising Great Ormond Street Hospital with Jimmy Saville.

Or promoting Vidal Sassoon haircare products with Donald Trump – to be fair, I would love to write that script.

I know there aren’t as many great ads these days. But if you get the money to do something like this, at least do it right.



Cats are allergic to humans. Vengeance is mine.

Friends used to say that if they were in need of entertainment just rub a cat in my face and watch as I turn bright red, my face swell up and start wheezing.

I couldn’t go round to a friend’s house without taking anti-histamines and taking inhalers with me, just in case.

Avoiding the beasts didn’t do me much good. They sensed I was indifferent to their charms so they would do their level best to gain my attention. Sitting on me, climbing up me, or rubbing their arses in my face.

These evenings would end with me with swollen lips, eyes, scratching myself to pieces and wheezing like an asthmatic ant carrying two large suitcases up a hill.

But, now I read that a small percentage of cats are allergic to humans and I couldn’t be happier – well, I could, but that’s another story.

There is a God. These feline menaces are getting a taste of their own medicine. Rub a human in their faces and they turn into spotty, wheezing messes.

If they inhale skin cells left on pillows, they are the ones coughing their lungs up. They are the ones scratching their skins off when a human has rubbed themselves up against them.

There is a serious side to all this. If your cat is experiencing irritation or coughing up something that isn’t a furball, you might want to have it checked out.

It could just be allergic to you. (Vengeance is mine.)

Am I getting bigger or is public transport getting smaller?

When you’re 6 foot 3, go running and cycling, and have a fairly fast metabolism, you can eat anything and everything and barely worry the scales.

Then I turned 40 years old and I really piled on the weight. I grew from 14 stone to 19 stone. I didn’t change my ‘diet’ my body just stopped processing food as fast.

I’m down to 16 stone and change now, but I still feel enormous. Getting on the tube I have to duck or I will smash my head on the handrail above the door. (I think I have a permanent dent on my forehead from this

Getting in a seat I have to shoehorn my body between two equally squashed gentlemen who then fight me for the armrests.

The bus is no different. If I sit on an aisle seat I have one cheek hanging out for every baby carriage or shopper to ram into. Sit in the seat above the wheel and my legs have to ‘man-spread’ or I have to pull them up to my chest just to get the fuckers in.

At 6 foot 3, I’m not a giant. These days, there are people approaching 7 foot tall wandering around. All I would ask is, how do they cope?

It seems like every time they build a new bus, new train coach or a new aeroplane they cut back on materials and make it just that bit smaller.

(British Airways once cut an olive from every in-flight meal they served and saved millions; how much would they save by cutting seat space?)

The general trend is that people are getting bigger and taller, the trend towards public transport is that they are making it smaller.

Too small and all the tall people will have to buy big cars just so they can travel comfortably. Which will cause more pollution – I think I see a flaw in this money-saving exercise.



I’m sinister. Right is wrong.

In Latin, being left handed was ‘sinister’ while right handedness was called ‘dexter’ . Use both hands and you’re ‘ambidextrous’.

So I’m sinister. If I was born in the middle ages I would have been burned for being a witch. Today isn’t much better.

Left handed people are said to either become homosexual or will commit a crime of passion. Either that or they will die 9 years earlier than their right handed counterparts.

Because we’re dominated by the right side of our brains we tend to live inside our heads. We’re creative, socially awkward, and tend to become alcoholics.

Which is a bit of a pisser. (Add to this the fact that I’m a Gemini and that throws up all sorts of other problems. Apparently, I’m a mess.)

I can’t work without music playing in the background and while I may be adept at a musical instrument there’s no way I can handle musical theory.

Mathematics is an alien language to me and while I prefer to write an essay, I couldn’t tell you the rules of conjunctions, verbs and adverbs.

More murderers are left handed, the Devil is left-handed and so is Paul McCartney – no idea what I’m getting at there.

The main problem is that sinister people account for only 10% of the population. So, the world is predominantly right-handed.

Us lefties are a minority. Our brains work on the wrong side. We live in our heads. We’re murderers and villains. Homosexuals and passionate killers.

Cool. At least we’re interesting.




How to irritate people. And not be irritated yourself. Lesson 1

My father is the master of this. This man can start a fight in a locked room with just a microphone. Growing up, I learned the sacred art of ‘Annoying the fuck out of someone.’

Give them a nickname. My favourite was for our next door neighbour. Because he had long hair and wore a couple of rings, he called him, ‘Blossom’. He then repeated this name in every conversation. The man cracked and went for my father with a hammer. My father then ‘defended himself’.

He never started a fight, but he certainly ended it. He kept his calm despite all the ‘insults’ that were poured on him, on a daily basis. He just replied. ‘Is that right, Blossom?’

The police were called a number of times. But ‘Blossom’, ‘Lurch’, ‘Hunchback’ and ‘Buckethead’ could do nothing. All my father had done was call them a few nicknames and as we all know ‘sticks and stones may break your bones, but words were not really an offence in the 1970s.

Why do bands cover other music? They just look like karaoke singers

There is a rule in the music industry about never covering a Beatles song; apparently it’s commercial suicide.

Ethel the Frog (who?) performed a version of Eleanor Rigby. Put it out as a single, then vanished from sight. (Their own songs were heavy rock.)

When Boyzone performed Father and Son, I thought wonderful. Not a patch on the original Cat Stevens but better than their own stuff.

Alien Ant Farm covered Michael Jackson’s ‘Smooth Criminal’ and then disappeared from the music scene.

You may be the most fantastic singer or skilled musician but performing other people’s music is just karaoke to me. And there’s too much of it about.

Even today, some of my favourite bands occasionally whack out a quick cover version and it annoys me. Judas Priest performing Johnny B. Goode? Rubbish.

Ace Frehley (from KISS) performing ELO’s ‘Do Ya’ makes me think less of the man because he can write some cracking tunes without nicking from Jeff Lynne.

Five Finger Death Punch do a version of ‘House of the Rising Sun’ and after hearing it I can’t listen to the album anymore.

Disturbed playing ‘Sound of Silence’? Why? That’s all I can bring myself to say.

I’ve been accused of being a music snob and maybe it’s true, but I would rather see a band fail on their own material than succeed on someone else’s.

When a band first starts out they have to perform cover versions to get established with an audience. But once they are, I want to hear their music.

But that’s me. Awkward git that I am.






I’m not a sheep to be lead out of the European Union. I’m a puppet

Jess C. Scott wrote that ‘People are sheep and TV is the shepherd’. Apart from being insulting, it’s also wrong.

I can only speak for myself but I am not a sheep. I am however a puppet. I can be manipulated, quite easily.

When the newspapers or the internet blurt out an inflammatory comment, I react. They have once again manipulated me perfectly.

Now the referendum on Brexit is coming up and I don’t know what to think. I’m not being effectively manipulated.

Stay and we are charged £200bn by the European Union for receiving £937bn of Foreign Direct Investment (FDI). Seems fair.

Leave and we can enter negotiated trade with other countries like America . Seems fair. Except that Barack Obama is saying that the UK goes to the back of the queue if we leave the EU. Is he blackmailing us? For shame.

Support Brexit and the UK controls immigration. No more free movement around the EU. But that also stops UK citizens having free movement too.

If we leave the European Union, those xenophobic people have won and immigration is limited. But do I want to let those people win? Not really.

The EU stops us working more than 38 hours a week. Makes sure we get at least four weeks of guaranteed annual leave, 4 months paid parental leave and anti-discrimination laws, plus protection for workers when companies change ownership.

On the whole the European Union looks after people better. But that is my opinion. I don’t want to leave human rights in the inhuman hands of our Government – look how they forced the junior doctors back to work when they expressed concerns about safety.

I would not give control of the United Kingdom to people more intent on lining their own pockets than looking after the country.

Someone has got to keep an eye on them. And I would rather it be the European Union. But am I just being a sheep, or have I been manipulated again?
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If I wanted to fly through the air, I wouldn’t have taken the bus.

Every time I catch a bus, the drivers think they’re driving a Formula One race car. It’s a bus. I know it’s red, but that doesn’t make it a Ferrari or a Porsche.

Plus it’s full of those soft, fleshy things called people. Accelerate quickly or stop suddenly and they tend to fly around – especially if they’re standing.

I can’t count the number of grannies I’ve saved from a driver inspired manoeuvre – not the sudden stops inspired by other bad drivers.

Complaining doesn’t help. The drivers sit in their little plastic cocoon and stare at you blankly when you ask them to be careful. They have the look that says ‘You should hold on motherfuckers, not my problem.’

Take the driver’s number and complain at the bus garage and you get the same story – I’ve been up 3 or 4 times now – the manager agrees and says he’ll have a word with the drivers, but to this day I’m still catching passengers.

They know the problems, they can hear the shrieks of their passengers. But they don’t give a damn when a 90 year old woman falls wrinkly arse over saggy tit.

Is it some part of their training? When they get bored do they think, let’s see how many I can get down this time?

It only takes one granny to fall down and break a hip and then they’ll ban people from standing on buses. Which means more people stood at bus stops in the pouring rain waiting for the next ‘full’ bus.




Just one of the reasons why I’m not invited to dinner parties, any more

I have a theory; all these celebrity deaths from Lemmy to Prince and from Victoria Wood to Ronnie Corbett are a portent of things to come.

My theory is that all these stars when they were younger, offered their souls to the Devil so that they could have fame and fortune.  And he agreed.

Trouble with the Devil is he always reneges on the deal in some sneaky and conniving way.

Say, for instance, that the world is going to end sometime late this year, or early the next.

The Devil knows that as soon as we realise the world is going to end, we’ll all start praying for forgiveness. And God, being the lovely chap he is, will say ‘oh go on then’ and everybody goes to heaven.

This means that all those contracts the Devil has signed for all those souls will be null and void. So, he’s getting them before they can ask for forgiveness.

And that’s why I don’t get invited to dinner parties. Except, very strange ones.

Ok, you come up with a better idea.