More from our correspondent

The snips know that they haven't a snowball's chance in hell of
winning a future Scottish referendum on leaving the UK, due to the
fact that too many Scots are currently aware of the economic
consequences. So the new SNP tactics involve:

a: Ruining the education system so that the next generation of Jocks
can't count www.ft.com/cms/s/0/49eec956-0304-11e5-b31d-00144feabdc0.html

b: Be so nasty to the Englanders that they come to hate the Jocks as
much as the Jocks hate the Englanders
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3165076/SNP-rips-rule-book-vows-start-interfering-English-affairs-time.html
with the expectation that the Englanders then tell the Jocks to bugger
off because they are not willing to continue to sub them billions if
they're going to be so nasty.

Plan B is having some success, as the Jocks interfere with the
Englanders historic love of getting on horses and chasing an innocent
furry creature round the hills until it gives up and lets a pack of
dogs rip it to pieces. This may not be what you, I or most other
people regard as sport, but they've been doing it for centuries, and
it came in handy as training when they wanted to get rid of a
generation of silly buggers by telling them to make a charge of the
light brigade up the wrong valley.

If there is one thing that the Englanders can't stand, it's constantly
whinging Jocks walking away with Englander klonkers in their pockets
for free from lazy bugger benefits, so we will have to wait to see
what happens next.

July report from our Scottish political correspondent

Rob,

You may not have heard that the snips are taking yet another leaf out of Mugabe's book, and are planning a land grab via the Scottish Land Reform Act.

The problem for the snips is that the only Jock war vets heareabouts are the ones who fought for thon Jock socialist (now multi-millionaire) Tony "Things Can Only Get Better" Blair in Iraq, and the snips don't like him anymore.

So, their plan is to redistribute the land in a different way - the longer you've been bone-idle, the fatter you are and the wider your plasma screen, the more land you will get.

As soon as the recipients realise that from their new boggy-bit lands they can't get a Sky TV signal and that the nearest offie is far more than 100 yards away, there will be a mass Jexit back to the schemes.

autumn sky

From our Scottish TV Critic

---

I've given up watching all thae TV programmes about fat, bone-idle proletarians on benefits with massive flatscreens. And also those progs about compulsive clearners (mainly because I sympathised with them).

Now, I'm watching The Island http://www.channel4.com/programmes/the-island-with-bear-grylls

The Island is a tiny bit like I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here, but without the celebrities

There are two islands. One island, they drop 14 lads onto. The other they drop 14 lassies onto. Beforehand they get two days of survival training. The islands are in the tropics.

In the laddish island, they mostly argue about who is the alpha male. But they also had to get their act together to kill the crocodile for something to eat. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3053336/Pictured-controversial-moment-contestants-Bear-Grylls-survival-Island-killed-protected-American-crocodile.html

Meanwhile, on the lassies' island, they mostly got completely lost and went round in circles for several days because, unbelievably, they all had worse directional skills than Crazy John.

I find the lassie island more interesting.

They don't seem very good at survival, but they bitch less than the lads. They were all wet and soggy and depressed and lost, but then one of them was featured, and she was calm, and still had a sense of humour, and was also gorgeous. And I thought...I could live with you on The Island. But then the next day I think the sand flies had been at her during the night, and her face had a million bites and was not so attractive.

Then they featured the Scottish lassie. Attractive, has a personality, is a bit lippy, but nice with it.

They (it is filmed by the participants) showed her walking along the beach after the previous night's storm, looking at the washed up debris including various plastic bottles. She picked up one of the bottles, and said, "Aye. Look at this wan. It's called [brand name deleted]. Disgusting, so it is. Tastes just like sperm!" ¹

At this moment, all the male folk watching the program woke up from their slumbers. She'll have a lot to live down, when she gets back home. And I thought...I could live with you on The Island.

The lassies were on one beach where there were two young wild pigs. Really young hogs. And they left that beach for another beach where there was fresh water. The wee pigs followed them several miles to the new beach, for unknown reasons. The wee pigs became pets. They slept with the lassies at night. Several days later, when they've had nae food whatsoever, talk amongst the lassies gets round to the fact that there is suckling pig walking around the camp.

The sperm taster turns out to be a vegetarian (yes, explain that one to me), the others are nowhere to be seen, but saying things like "You can't kill a pet". One of them is a qualified doctor.

Then, up to the mark steps the gorgeous babe who previously attempted to row the Atlantic (or similar). This one is regarded by the others as 'the strongest amongs us'. She's gorgeous, also, and has sharp blue eyes and lips that suggest alliances.

So eventually the doctor, another one and the strongest one pick up the suckling pigs. The gorgeous one says "Don't get them stressed. Just hold them gently, but firmly, while I cut them. They won't feel pain."

Which she does. And I think, I totally want to live with you on The Island. It's wonderful TV. It's far better than Excessive Compulsive Cleaners.

---

---

---

---

¹all opinions expressed are not necessarily etc....

more from our Scottish political correspondent

You won't have seen the Scottish newspapers yesterday. The Sun,

which is owned by thon Ozzie fascist chap who gets his income from

those proletarians of low intelligence, had a full front page photo of

Ed Milliband eating his bacon sarnie from months ago, and looking

decidedly weird.

And I thought - how low can you get?

Then I looked over to the SNP newspaper, The National, and it had a

smaller copy of that same photo, along with photos of all the other

non-Nat Nutter leaders taken during episodes of severe flatulence and

all looking very weird. Yes, even Broonie suffers from flatulence

from time to time, which added to his glass een, can make him look

extremely weird. And I thought - so that's what it comes down to for

the too-dumb-to-be-able-to-count - i.e. don't vote for someone who six

months ago had a photo of themselves looking weird two hours after

eating a veggie burger.

But don't worry. 66.1% was the turnout in this general election.

84.5% was the turnout in the last Referendum. There are therefore

still hundreds of thousands of folk who, like me, didnae pitch up to

vote yesterday, but who will always, always, always pitch up to vote

No in any Scottish Referendum to defeat the fascist Nat Nutters, the

hopelessly romantic, the bone idle, and those who think Scotland can

nationalise BP.

And we feel secure in the fact that, though the good Nippy Sweetie

may repeatedly threaten to skelp Fat Eck's backside, the man with

verbal diarrhea himself has not only now been let loose on Westminster

and the press in that part of the country, but has also never been

properly potty trained and therefore will always completely and

utterly over-anticipate the ultimate outcome of a Highland Charge. I

would definitely have voted for him if I'd lived in the constituency

of Gordon, simply in order to get him to Westminster.

email from our Scottish political correspondent

I'm totally positive about the forthcoming election, because, whatever
the outcome, the Nat Nutters will be the eventual losers.

Scenarios:

1. The Nat Nutters gain all seats in Scotland, and demand another
Referendum. This is the best outcome because, what with the fall in
oil prices and the now certainty that Scotland could not keep the £
and would have to print worthless Groats, hardly anyone who can do
sums will vote Yes in that Referendum. Having two No votes in quick
succession will surely stop even the Jock whingers for a generation or
so. This is actually why the Nippy Sweetie has more or less ruled out
the possibility of another quick Referendum.

2. The Nat Nutters do well in Scotland. The 'Red' Eds are the
largest party and form the next government with Fat Eck's occasional
support. Fat Eck writes the budget. This is not quite so good, but
what it will mean is that the economy will quickly be half-wrecked,
benefits will be increased which will mean that due to demand, the
price of street drugs will sky-rocket, and who will get the blame for
the economic downturn? Fat Eck and the Nat Nutters who have written
the budget! After a few years, the Posh Boys will be elected once
again so that they can sort things out once again. The Nat Nutters
economics will be shown to be crap, in practice.

3. Although the Nat Nutters do well in Scotland. The Posh Boys are
the largest party, and form the government with the help of the Libs
and Nigels and continue to sort the rest of the stuff out. In five
years time everyone except the bone idle will be loaded with spare
cash, and it will be plain madness to want to leave the Union for
independence. Not that this will stop the Nat Nutters from whinging.

4. No-one gets a real majority or is able to form much of a
government for any length of time. As happened in Belgium in
2010/11, you don't actually need to have much of a government for
things to continue. If things are only continuing, they can't change
much, and the economy will continue to prosper. In five years time
everyone will be loaded and (see end of 3 above).

5. The 'Red' Eds win the election outright. This is possibly the
worst scenario. The economy then does badly because the 'Red' Eds
borrow billions. The Nat Nutters whinge. But everyone knows that the
Nat Nutters' economic plans are more or less the same as the 'Red'
Eds', so the Nat Nutters' support will suffer in the long term. This
possibly worst-case scenario for Unionists is less likely, thank goodness,
because it is the Nat Nutters who are taking seats from the 'Red' Eds.
Yay the Nat Nutters! They never learn!

6. The Posh Boys win the election outright. No need for another quick
Referendum, and in five years time the rest of the stuff will be
sorted and everyone apart from the bone idle will be loaded and not
want to commit political suicide.

Of course, in the meantime we will have to suffer the global
embarrassment of seeing pissed Nat Nutters falling about in the George
Square fountains the day after the election on the news, but in fact
this will only go to show the world what they are really like.

Letter to the editor

I think that there should be another Scottish Referendum, ASAP.

This is because there have been two substantial changes since the last
one. 

a) the massive drop in oil prices, which makes it
obvious, even to nat nutters, that a separate Scotland would be a
complete and utter economic disaster, and 

b) we now all know that a
separate Scotland would have to have its own currency, and everything
that that would entail.

I am for another Referendum on one important condition - that is, when
the majority vote 'No' once again, the nat and snip nutters promise to 
stop whinging for a generation.

---

---

---

Anzac Day report from our Southern Hemisphere Military Correspondent

Sir John Monash was probably the best General of WWI. 

He not only invented the principle of providing his men with air cover. He also used tanks for cover and machine gun attack, plus the creeping barrage, whereby the field gun would project shells in front of the men.

Adam Henry McKibbin of the 4th Machine Gun Corps wrote home about the industrial machine, useless British generals, the putrid smell of flesh and the total waste of human life. His letters were uncensored because he sent them home from Weymouth recuperating from gas. 

None of this Nancy Boy "oh that's totally un-PC" CRAP - that's just straight out of some middle class L*zzo-F*g, left wing, shut-the-argument-down-because-it-may-offend-our-sensibilities, bullsh*t. Unfortunately they are the very people that have f***ed left wing politics in this country. And unlike the Labourites of old, have never done a decent days physical work in their whole lives, but see themselves as life's VICTIMS and MARTYRS.

And as for the little Johnny Too Goods going to Gallipoli now for the commemoration service, well I'd get them to sign up for Military Service on their return, except their Mummies wouldn't like it.

Australians need to harden-the-f***-up or we will be overrun one day.

---

The views expressed here are not necessarily etc....

Lord of The Ring

I lost the gold ring that I've had almost all my life. Everyone in my family used to have identical rings, but they had all lost theirs, or had them stolen. Owning the last remaining ring had allowed me to annoy them by claiming to be the rightful family head.

So I went to the cop shop in case someone handed it in. The police were very friendly, and when I showed them a photo of the ring, they said it would be helpful if they could have the original file for their database. To reach my USB stick, I unpacked half of my backpack on the counter, including a discarded bail court attendance order that I had found in the street outside. 

I warned them that there might be hundreds of photos on the stick, but they said that wasn't a problem. One of the officers plugged my USB stick into his computer and seemed to spend a long time looking at the contents. I suddenly wondered - what the hell else have I got on the stick? Eventually he found the ring pic, and took a copy to file with his report.

When I got home, I checked the stick, and found multiple full frontal photos that Denny and I took of each other, pissed of course. 

briefly

How James Bond transports delicate seedlings home on the bus.

phone rage

One reason I hate cinemas is the interruptions from the mobile phones of inconsiderate bastards. Why can't these people just switch their handsets off? This guy agrees with me.

So I avoid the cinema, except that last week I went to see American Hustle (not bad, though you have to concentrate on the plot's bluffs and double bluffs). Half way through, a phone goes off, and keeps on ringing. Some self-centred NPD sufferer hasn't switched his phone off. Typical! Then I realise the noise is from deep in my backpack. The one time I forget to silence my phone, is the very time one of my few friends has chosen to call! And these days I have the volume set to stun. 

So what to do? Wade into my bag, knowing the ringing will get even louder as I unearth it? No, I decide to brazen it out till they hang up. Except they don't. Eventually I have to bite the bullet and bring out the phone. By this time it can almost be heard in the next cinema.

Finally it's silenced, nobody has punched me, and we can all get back to watching the film. 

A minute later, the SMS alert noise tells me the caller has left a message. Now, peering through my distance-vision specs, I try to work out how to switch it to silent. At last it's done. Panic over. 

By this time I've missed enough of the film to have lost the plot. 

A few minutes later, my friend has decided to try ringing me on my other phone, also set to maximum volume, also at the bottom of my bag, and the whole rigmarole begins again. By now the film's ruined, but it hasn't been a total waste of time. I've had the humbling experience of learning that inconsiderate bastards aren't just them out there, it's me too. I believe some people would meditate half a lifetime to achieve that kind of oneness with the universe. 

germanic classics

The old German classic book for children, Struwwelpeter, is a collection of severe moral tales for kids. Little Jimmy Head-in-the-air, doesn't look where he's going, falls in a canal and drowns. Little Johnny Suck-a-thumb gets his thumb cut off. Message - when shit happens it's your own fault.

I live in a place not noted for centuries of intellectual writing. Sitting on a bench, waiting for the bus home from the town supermarket, I was reading Jonathan Franzen's new book. I was congratulating myself on my postmodern sensitivity - Franzen has just translated Karl Kraus's 20th century writing about Heinrich Heine's 19th century writing. The new book presents the German text on the left page, and the English on the right, but the footnotes take up most of both pages

I got on the bus and continued reading. Franzen views Kraus as a 1900s blogger, and re-casts his dichotomy - German austere functionality vs French/Italian aesthetics - as a contemporary rivalry: stodgy workmanlike PC vs glitzy cool Mac. Function vs Form. Two European cultures. And how clever of me to be reading about it!

As I got off the bus at the other end, I realised I had idiotically left my shopping on the bench in the town. I had been too engrossed in the book. So I crossed the road and caught a bus going back the other way. When I got there, my bags were just where I had left them. I'm lucky to live in a place that hasn't produced any Einsteins or Stuwwelpeters, but they don't nick your stuff.

barricades and barbecues

I've survived another night in NZ, staying with the trusting outlaws, who happily leave their doors and windows open all night. I've had to barricade my bedroom door. 

It's Xmas morning, and New Zealand's main worry is whether the rain will spoil barbecue plans. I agree with them - at least if everyone's out in the garden, you can get peace to watch the TV. 

I read a quote: Christmas is that special time when the whole family gathers in one place to look at their smartphones. 

In this country there seems to be a church on every second corner. Most of them are tiny, and look like ordinary houses. You learn to tell them apart by looking at the apex of the roof - a TV aerial means a house, but a cross means a church.

Apart from the antenna this looks like a church:

Without the cross this would be a house:

wet wet wet

It had been raining for weeks, and blocked gutters were sending waterfalls off the roof and under the house. I copped a Scottish-style drenching while up a steel ladder in a thunderstorm, using my hands to scoop out years of moss, leaves, and mud. And even some tiny bonsai trees, naturally-stunted. 

Meanwhile, someone I live with had offered kindly to sit reading near a window, in case I fell off and injured myself. But she was so immersed in her book, I wondered if she would even notice if there was an emergency. At one point I leaned down from the ladder and banged repeatedly on the window for her to come out and help. No response. Apparently she "didn't realise" I wanted help. Probably she thought I was just saying hello, or practicing drumming. It's an easy mistake to make.

summer

The summer holidays have begun, a time of free simple pleasures. (Muddah faddah kindly disregard the last post). The beans are popping up.

Those are snake beans, but there's also soy, borlotti, and this monster, an Egyptian hyacinth bean, which is edible when young but poisonous when mature.

The silver beet is looking juicy. Probably the slugs, birds and possums will agree.

Yesterday I finished the book about the history of the periodic table. Fascinating, even if some sections brought back school memories of incomprehensible chemistry classes. 

As reward for finishing that, I'm now immersed in this Irvine Welsh, before the film comes out here. One druggy summer in Edinburgh, working as a dish washer I rubbed shoulders with ruffians (and the drug squad).

first world disasters

I'm not one to complain.

Losing your job is a major life event. But so is not losing your job, when you've had your heart set on being sacked (with a handshake).

Then I lost a dear friend and confidant, my smartphone. Diary gone! Umpteen passwords to change and loopholes to close. Trying not to think of the embarrassing and compromising material now out there in the public domain.

On the way home last night I went shopping to buy myself something nice, as consolation. Then I realised there's nothing I want. Nothing! You'd think that's a sign that life's perfect, wouldn't you?

3 captains, or 4 if you count the cricket guy.

I had an email from Rodders.

On 8 Dec 2013, at 10:33, Rodders wrote:

R,

Must admit that it confuses me that, the creekit about to happen, you
are concentrating on sleeping.  Surely, you should be doing Our Prayer
for Cap'n Cook and the boys?

Coincidentally, last week I spent a day walking from the spot where Captain James Cook landed, later passing the place where former class captain Albert first lived after he landed, to end up at the shack where Cap'n Kev now lives (he came ashore and sold the boat).

great big pest

Have you ever seen garden pests like this before? They're huge, and I think they look rather chic. They were in a neighbour's garden, and only on a specific species of plant. 

The blue one is an interloper. I think we all know how he feels.

In the second picture, they're on a bin beside the plant, perhaps waiting their turn on the leaves.

passing the time / water

In the jazz club last night, while waiting for the concert to start, people were fiddling with their phones. To fit in, I reacquainted myself with the first app I ever downloaded, called Urinal Challenge.

The aim is to answer all 25 questions correctly. The first few are easy.

The first answer is obvious. You should choose the free urinal at far right.

Most of the questions are common sense if you're a normal male like myself. For example, question 7.

By the time you get to question 14 you have to think really carefully. I messed up. After I guessed wrong, the green arrow revealed the official correct choice:

I had chosen the position next to it. Can you understand my reasoning? My personal best is 22 out of 25, equivalent to 88%. At university that's a Distinction.

conference extremes

This week I went to a conference, probably the last one I'll ever attend. Very enjoyable, the complete opposite of my first-ever conference. It all balances out.

My first one was half a lifetime ago in Cambridge, where I had to deliver a half-hearted and vacuous paper in front of about 600 clever and critical tech-heads. Stressful as eff.

If that was my most inhumane conference, this week's was the opposite. A roomful of like-minded geeks, communicating by tweets, with no need for small talk and other annoyances. All tweets, questions and interjections from the floor were actually on-topic!