Friday, 23 October 2009

I learnt some important life lessons tonight.

1. It’s not so bad going to concerts on your own.

2. The city is a bitch to traverse and trying to get across it just following your nose isn’t always the best option.

3. I can no longer read tiny print in half light – problematic when one is relying on the A-Z when lost in the city.

So I have been to a wonderful wonderful concert at the Barbican. Whenever I say the word Barbican I remember a rant, I think by Alexi Sale, about the Barb-e-can! I heard Diamanda Gal├ís, Arthur H, Momus, Camille O'Sullivan, Arno and Marc Almond singing Jacques Brel songs – beautifully. An amazing venue and lots of hair on the back of the neck moments.

I’ve returned, finally, to see Question Time with Nick Griffin which seems to be the political story of the week. People have been making reference to the rise of the NF in the 70’s which made me remember discussions at primary school during the 1979 elections. None of us knew anything about politics, obviously, we were 10! I don’t know if we even knew what the NF stood for. I don’t remember being aware of what racism was. But I clearly remember someone telling me that that if the NF got in, they would abolish schools, so we wouldn’t have to go any more. Milk Snatcher got in anyway, and the rest, is, unfortunately, history. Maggie Maggie Maggie – out out out!

Someone asked me today whether I wanted to donate to the postal worker’s support fund. I said that I would if it went towards getting my fucking letters through the door. I’m sure the CWU has a very extensive strike fund, so I won’t be donating.

Getting back to the TV, which I seem to have started watching again after several months of none/very little. I have mostly been enjoying Escape to the Country, Ru Paul's Drag Race, Newsnight and This Week, but last night I caught Secret Millionaire. I haven’t blubbed so much for ages, apart from the breast cancer care QVC special last week, you’ll have to excuse me for that one. And talking of Breast Cancer Care - please do send them some money this Christmas - they are an amazing charity. I know many people give charitable donations at this time of year so once you've sent a few quid to the Albert Kennedy trust at please send some money to BCC at

Oh well, Friday tomorrow – thank frig!

PS: as always - better to view this at the website - then you'll see any video links

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

Are you comprehending my definition?

So, yes I know I'm as street as the next honcho, or is it poncho - oh it's all so confusing these days.

But anyway thems of you what wish to hipity hop in a batty boy stylkee now have a get out of jail free card with new 'no homo'.

This allows one to go jigggy jiggedy wid it, but not to actually be a batty boy. So you suck, then you say 'no homo' then you fuck and you say 'no homo'.


From the urban dictionary:

Phrase used after one inadvertently says something that sounds gay.

His ass is mine. No homo.

As this is quite a complex concept, some americans have produced an instructional video.

Enjoy and learn.

No Homo!

(PS: you'll need to actually go to the blog website to see the video

Sunday, 18 October 2009

The Joy of Reading

My Mother’s bedside table was always piled high with books, like the walls of a great castle. There was strength in those literary walls, and she certainly obtained a great deal of strength from her literary life. She loved books of all kinds, but in particular poetry. Her favourite author was Thomas Hardy, and from her love for him she developed a love of Wessex. We used to decide what books to buy her based on their weight rather than necessarily the content. At each birthday and Christmas I would scour book shops and the internet to try and find a new take on an old favourite, or a new collection of poetry, or an otherwise hidden literary or historical gem.

When she died earlier this year Dad invited me to take some of her books if I liked. So over the past few months I have brought a handful back each time I have gone to visit him. I have now amassed what is known as the Zena Godwin memorial library. I have tried to take books which I remember as having significance for her, and one day hope to get through them all. There is Betjeman, Hardy, Byron, Woolf, Seamus Heaney, Vera Britain, Tennyson and Brooke to name a few.

Growing up in our house one would often hear or ask the question ‘Where’s mum?’ this would usually be answered with ‘upstairs, reading’. It’s where she went to get away from us I suppose, and to revel in a fantasy world a million miles away from family life in Leamington Spa (Royal).

I'm with her on that one though, as I too have used reading to create a little bit of time out and personal space when sharing a home. And there is nothing worse than the noise of someone else’s TV viewing when all you want is a bit of peace and quiet and time on your own. The bed and the book can therefore be a wonderful refuge, a place of quiet escape.

So I do love reading, and have become a bit like mum with several books piled high on the bedside table. Some I have given up on, some I am reading, some I will come back to, some are good for little bits of dipping into, and some are sitting their enticing me to finish my latest so I quickly move on and start to enjoy them. Some I may never pick up and will move back to the shelves or be given away as presents. I am usually focused on one, but like to keep my options open. You'll see from the pic that I am starting to build my own castle walls and have plenty to choose from.

Wednesday, 7 October 2009

Hey Mr Postman - post a fucking letter!

I decided to write to the Deputy General Secretary of the Communication Worker's Union (CWU) this evening as I've reached the end of my patience with this 'action'.

Just fucking deliver our letters for fuck's sake why don't you!

Dear Mr Ward

Can you please tell me why all these weeks of disrupting my post is supposed to make me support your claims? Won’t it simply make customers and companies choose other post distribution options?

You really are pissing the nation off now - so when are you going get a grip and start thinking about the customers. Yes I am a union member, and yes I understand the issues, but ultimately the delivery of services is about the service user/customer’s needs primarily.

I work with a lot of social workers for example, and yes if they had an industrial grievance I would support them, but ultimately I would be more concerned for the old ladies who were going without a service, and would put their needs above an industrial disagreement.

You are digging your own grave which is a shame as the royal mail used to be a good service when your members went to work. But someone else will come along soon who will deliver the post – face it you aren’t.

You will win or lose the people’s hearts based on whether you deliver their post on time or not. If Christmas stuff sits in sorting offices, and isn’t delivered like last year, you’ll find plenty of labour voters hoping that Mr Cameron, when he gets in next May, will get another company to manage the nation's post.

William Godwin

Tuesday, 6 October 2009

Too Much Service

Don't get me wrong I like a good service as much as the next man, and I know I would be quick off the mark to complain should I receive a bit of your actual usual standard British customer service. But you can go too far I says.

Having ordered some music from the the other day I perchanced upon this email in my inbox this morning.

'Your CD has been gently taken from our CD Baby shelves with sterilized contamination-free gloves and placed onto a satin pillow.

A team of 50 employees inspected your CD and polished it to make sure it was in the best possible condition before mailing.

Our packing specialist from Japan lit a candle and a hush fell over the crowd as he put your CD into the finest gold-lined box that money can buy.

We all had a wonderful celebration afterwards and the whole party marched down the street to the post office where the entire town of Portland waved "Bon Voyage!" to your package, on its way to you, in our private CD Baby jet on this day, October 5, 2009.

We hope you had a wonderful time shopping at CD Baby. In commemoration, we have placed your picture on our wall as "Customer of the Year." We're all exhausted but can't wait for you to come back to CDBABY.COM!!'

Do you think they are taking the piss?

Sunday, 4 October 2009

Give, Give, Give - Run, Run, Run

After a hard week in the office ensuring the infirm of South London are smiled at, the Rozzers are up to speed with the hoodlums, and enough Library books have been checked out I don’t know about you, but I like to relax with a marathon. In fact I’ve just finished my cool down session pre typing.

It does feel good though, and I am so pleased with myself. Today’s first marathon, my second of the weekend, was actually a slightly shorter than marathon fun run in aid of Breast Cancer Care. It started at 11.30 am and the first place winner came through the tape about 17 mins later. It was sometime later that I finished, but still.

My first marathon of the weekend took place last night on the Southbank and took 3 and a half hours. Some of it was really tough going, but I think once I’d reached the halfway stage the adrenalin started to kick in and by the end I was really enjoying it.

My third marathon, well snickers actually, is waiting in the fridge and I shall be running into the kitchen to get that just as soon as I’m able to crank the winch up!

Ok so I haven’t just become a super fit Lycra wearing bond girl/beardy boy conglomeration (although I think it is good to have something to aim for in life) Last night’s marathon was Brecht at the National - Mother Courage and her Children. It had its ‘drama workshop’ moments and there were a couple of songs which we could all have done without, but it was a vibrant and interesting production with great live music throughout. At the interval it seemed that nearly everyone in the audience needed to do a big elephant wee. There are never usually queues for the men’s loo. But I suppose everyone has a drink before they go in and the interval wasn’t until we had already ploughed through 2 ¼ hours of the great man’s work.

The fun run was real though, but I was treasurer and marshal not actual runner. I gave all the runners the clap they so richly deserved - handing out the ‘taking part’ medals (you all know my views as to whether it is actually the taking part that counts or not) No silver blankets as it wasn’t that hard. All I can say is ‘Vada the omee-palone bona lallies’. But as well as having to carry around all the entrance fee money, so being a key mafia target – we did make a lot of money for breast cancer care, I also had a walkie talkie. The thing about me is, that at heart I am a boy, so boy’s stuff is great, and a walkie talkie is in the top 10 of boy’s stuff all time greats. Now I didn’t use it for a lot more than asking for more tea, and asking for lost property announcements to be made over the tannoy. Next year I’m hoping I can be promoted so I can whizz round the place in a golf buggy. In fact I might even get myself a golf buggy for personal use anyway (more like a mobility scooter).

So that’s me - all culture and good works. Now all I’ve got to do is get through all the weekend papers, finish last weekend’s papers, read Time Out, finish Attitude and Intelligent Life, finish The Hours, start Michael Palin's new dairies, then it will be bedtime and another week will start. The circle of life is a heady one. Only another 15 years until I can retire!!!

Keep warm, as it is Autumn/Winter now. I’ve heard scarves are in this winter as are warm jumpers – so get knitting and look out for your neighbours.