More Nonsense From _Paul_And_Land_

Month: July, 2013


Twitterland can be both a good thing and a bad thing: good because it gives everyone the opportunity to speak and bad because some people say things that we don’t want to hear. Now what you have to get your head around is the fact that _Paul_And_Land_ is pretty similar and believes that the right of every single person to express their thoughts is fundamental to existence. Likewise, its also a pretty basic right that none of us should be oppressed by anyone or anything, someone or something, some system or bunch of views or whatever. Think you’ll agree that these are fundamentally okay as a set ground rules.

Problem is, and this is a problem for _Paul_And_Land_ as well as the big, bad world in general, that these two conflict. Let’s say, for example, that one of the world’s World of Roy’s pops up and proclaims that _Paul_And_Land_ is oppressing him (or her) because they’re not a plumber or electrician. Our ‘new’ World of Roy Roy could be a Fishmonger from Leith. Or a self-employed Rug Importer. Or an urban farmer. Have we mentioned any of those in the ‘World of Roy’ series? Honestly, no. So what we have is a paradox which is not a toilet cleaner but a difficult problem. And difficult problems need difficult answers. Trouble is, we (that’s all of us not just _Paul_And_Land_) are not good at difficult answers, preferring to let someone else do it. That is until the difficult answer is not the one we want.

Think on, if we want some of the difficult answers to be the ones we want then we better start taking responsibility for all the difficult answers and stop copping out. Is that okay with everyone? Doh!

Daily Mail

Hurrah for the Daily Mail and it’s constant output of unrivalled nit-wittery. This time it’s housing and the shocking news that every house, so it would seem, has been occupied by a family of Bulgarians hell-bent on stealing the food from the mouths of British children before kidnapping every first born and forcing them into the salt-mines of the Hindu Kush.*

What complete arse.

*This may not be entirely true rather like the arse put out by the Daily Mail.

Don’t Go There.

Well it seems that Twitterland (in the UK, at least. Actually not all the UK but a relatively small group of people, in real terms) has been ringing off the hook (not really ringing off the hook as they put it on the out-of-office message but you get the picture) about Jane Austen and a tenner that someone owes someone else (this may not be the case but there you go, messages get mixed and before you know it The Labour Party are demanding the heads of all and sundry, The Conservative Party are saying that the market will resolve the problem and any other number of other people are farting and breezing like there’s no tomorrow).

Let’s cut to the chase, get right to heart of the matter and put our cards on the table here*, this is something that we’ve thought long and hard about. Some people are men and some people are women. Some people are not sure (which here at _Paul_And_Land_ is cool and funky and totally groovy). Some other people are total shit-bags (which here at _Paul_And_Land_ is not cool nor funky nor totally groovy). Thing is when some people start getting demanding about one thing, other people are going to get demanding back and some of them, the shit-bags, will probably get to be unpleasant. This, unfortunately, is a given and is true of all sorts of ‘isms’. Personally, we’d like more pastel colours on bank-notes but there you go.

A few weeks ago, the Tommy Robinson Brigade rocked up in Sheffield and kicked off. A few weeks ago the Anti-Fascists rocked up in Sheffield and kicked off. A few weeks ago friends of _Paul_And_Land_ rocked up in Sheffield and wanted a quiet mucky beer. That was not possible because two sets of people were kicking off and a day of mucky beer drinking was ruined. By shit-bags. From both ends of the spectrum.

Problem is the Shit-bags have, what they see as, a legitimate argument only they don’t put it across too well and, for want of better words, they get on everyone else’s nerves. Interrupting mucky beer drinking, taking over Twitterland or just generally kicking off.

Y’know, many of these problems stem from basic inequality: some people have got less access to something than other people. Only when everyone has the same amount of something as everyone else will things be slightly better. Call us idealists, but that there Capitalist System has something to answer for. So never mind sticking Jane Austen on a tenner stick the system (and a few shit-bags) on a rocket to Pluto and we might start getting some place.

*_Paul_And_Land_ was voted best politician of the year in 1972. And yes, that’s a very interesting question which I will come back to shortly after I’ve bored you senseless with some propagandist nonsense about how Max Jaffa and his Orchestra are at fault for the world’s problems.

The Last Bus from Detroit calling Here and There.

Some things are fairly easy to write. Some aren’t so easy. We can only assume that reading this stuff is equally easy or difficult, stick with this one.

Cue Rob Tyner and the boys:

“They told you in school about freedom
But when you try to be free they never let ya
They said “it’s easy , nothing to it”
And now the army’s out to get ya

Sixty nine America in terminal stasis
The air’s so thick it’s like drowning in molasses
I’m sick and tired of paying these dues
And I’m finally getting hip to the American ruse

I learned to say the pledge of allegiance
Before they beat me bloody down at the station
They haven’t got a word out of me since
I got a billion years probation

Sixty nine America in terminal stasis
The air’s so thick it’s like drowning in molasses
I’m sick and tired of paying these dues
And I’m sick to my guts of the American ruse
Phony stars, oh no! crummy cars, oh no!
Cheap guitars, oh no! Joe’s primitive bar… nah!

Rock’em back, Sonic !
The way they pull you over it’s suspicious
Yeah, for something that just ain’t your fault
If you complain they’re gonna get vicious
Kick in the teeth and charge you with assault
Yeah, but I can see the chickens coming home to roost
Young people everywhere are gonna cook their goose
Lots of kids are working to get rid of these blues
cause everybody’s sick of the American ruse

Well well well , take a look around !
Well well well , take a look around !
Well well well , take a look around !
Well well well , take a look around !
Well well well , take a look around !”

That probably makes no sense at all, even if it was mentioned that it was recorded by the MC5 and that it’s entitled “American Ruse”, it still would make no sense. Let’s say that the MC5 came from the home of Tamla Motown and that they were churning out the all anti-American anthems throughout the sixties and you may start putting some thoughts together.

Detroit, as is now common knowledge, is skint, broke, flat on the bones of it’s arse; screwed over by a global banking system who’s only aim was to reward it’s own. People, real people, the working class MC5 people and African American Motown people became meaningless nobodies; mere faceless hamsters for the ever increasingly financial complexities. And when it all went tits-up, the little hamsters were left out on a limb, to fend for themselves as the city died around them, and with no life-support from central government the people died too.

Back in the day, Detroit was a lively, modern-cultured place where people were not afraid to voice their opinions and stand up to authority. It should have been born with a heavy scouse accent. Or at least a Northern accent. One can only assume that this pissed plenty of politicians and their lackeys off. It did in the UK because it’s not a long step to consider that if Thatcher had not been squashed, Liverpool would have been Detroit, left to die. It’s still on the critical list.

And now (in a bit of government finger wagging blame culturalism, Tory stylee), Northern England, in general, and it’s millions of Working Class people are having their collective throats crushed by Dr Dave and his gang of nascent privatised Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy poxy practitioners: Nurse Mainstream-Media and the James Robertson Justice like consultant Sir Burgeoning Capitalist-Class. Austerity? Bollocks, it’s murder.

Now we could end it there but given that this plot-line came from the rather ace @stoptherow and that we’ve quoted the exceptional MC5, let’s explore this ol’ dark house a little more. The reason for quoting the MC5 was one line, one little phrase: “Phony stars, oh no!”, that’s it. Now the reason why. Or perhaps you need a moment to recover from the frying pan in the face that was Detroit to Northern England with Diana Ross and the Supremes, Smokey Robinson, Jackie Wilson, Mary Wells, Marvin Gaye, Junior Walker, Martha Reeves, etc, etc, etc as a sound backdrop. This was the global popular music home for a generation. Really. No Detroit, no Motown. Think about it, for a second, and *ding-ding* we’re off again. Hold tight please.

Seems that the style of _Paul_And_Land_ is reminiscent, according to @stoptherow of a certain Smallweed. Not knowing of such things, _Paul_And_Land_ was forced to research. Smallweed, it appears, was a scribbler of some note who oft appeared in the softie publication reknowned for por speling, the Gradiun. Or is that Graudain. Or Gurdian. Or Gordian, we’re tying ourselves in knots here. Praise is a genre which sits uncomfortably with _Paul_And_Land_. Still, Smallweed. Yes. *

The first of Smallweed’s articles we alighted upon was entitled “What’s in a Name”. Look it up, we’d supply a link but we’re intrinsically lazy; scroungers of the worst kind, hiding behind our shirkmanlike curtains. We’re not really, we’re on a train to work yet we like to dream. Dream of laziness and six weeks holiday. And second homes. And subsidised restaurants. And numerous bars open throughout the day. You bastards.

“What’s in a Name”, written in 2005 introduces us to a couple of “artists” initially. For us, “artists” is used tongue in cheek for they are Tracey Emin and Billy Childish. Both are still household names but have a degree of talent so minimal, so miniscule, that one would need Jodrell Bank to find said talent. Do they even belong on the same page as some of Detroit’s finest? And so, “Phony stars, oh no”. Capitalism feeds us this talent and supposedly keeps it relevant to us. Right, thanks capitalism, fuck you! Steady, we haven’t got to the crux of this, yet.

Hmm, Smallweed. Moving right along we drift into the world of the Cornerstone Group. Let anger commence for this is a far-right Tory group of MPs whose favourite words are Flag, Faith and Family. Oh yes, this gang of nutters are big on Nationalism, Christianity and their own set of family values (Mummy, Daddy, two and a half kids, a Rover in the garage and Sundays based on Church, the missus cooking and daddy cutting the lawns). Oh yeah, and these are the hard-pressed souls with their six weeks holiday. And second homes. And subsidised restaurants. And numerous bars open throughout the day. Huh-uh, they do the hypocrisy stuff with relative ease and go to church on Sunday, which was not a Motown tune. Now you can get really angry because these are the people who decide what happens in our lives, based inevitably on their unrepresentative norms and values. Good eh? **

Let’s leave it with the modified version of the MC5 tune, shall we:

“If you complain they’re gonna get vicious
Kick in the teeth and charge you with assault
Yeah, but I can see the chickens coming home to roost
Young people everywhere are gonna cook their goose
Lots of kids are working to get rid of these blues
cause everybody’s sick of the British ruse”.

* Never let it be said that we’re not kind to you Snallweed
** We will return to these nutters in the future.

Euphoria 2.0

So they’ve all done their jobs and, no doubt, will be clamoured over by the political classes snuffling at every chance to hang out with British success stories.

Hurrah indeed to Kenya’s Chris Froome, who is clearly British because he’s won the Tower of France sponsored by I-fell. Another bit of Africa will always be forever England thanks to Mr Kevin Peiterson and his mixed bag of Englishmen, including far to many Northern types.

Northern types, unless they’re playing a nice sedate gentlemen’s sport are problematic: how can one, for example, compare Lord Tennis of SW19 with that common sort, Wayne (that says it all really) Rooney?

Fortunately, for the political types looking to hang their caps on sporting prowess, there are some winning Northern types who are okay-ish for their purpose. Joseph and William Root suit the purpose well as they both have ‘not really that Northern” names. Likewise the Brownlee brothers from the historic (always a winner) city of York fit the bill and will probably join the Root boys in gaining the freedom of Middlesborough, Leeds, Elland, Morley or some such place of Northern clime.

And then there are the utterly useless, and clearly Northern types, who let the side down: Semi-scouse Mark Cavendish who failed to win the Tower of France final bit or Clint Westwood and his equally useless (but is he a Northern type or does he just naturally have no taste in trousers) oppo, Mr Thingie Poultice. No beatification for that hopeless collection, not this week at least.

The English Defence Tourist Board

Mr John Major, former wearer of Y-Fronted undergarments and ex beau of Eddie “Mixed Vegetable Korma” Currie, once said “fifty years on from now, Britain will still be the country of long shadows on cricket grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs, dog lovers and pools fillers and, as George Orwell said, ‘Old maids bicycling to holy communion through the morning mist’ and, if we get our way, Shakespeare will still be read even in school”. What a load of ol’ cobblers. But all those ol’ notions get tourists flooding into the country with their Yens, Dollars, Euros and the odd Paraguayan Guaraní. “Attract more Paraguayans” is our watchword, their National Anthem is entitled “Paraguayans, Republic or Death”. Love those guys, so upbeat.

In terms of upbeat, Mr Robinson and his followers, who all appear to favour tattoos of flags, lions and unicorns alongside their general disdain for hair products and the English language in general, don’t quite cut it. If, for example, some of these less than sprightly young chaps were to offer travel advice, it would probably begin and end with “Go Home” to every touring foreign Johnny. Hardly welcoming, on any level, and certainly not reminiscent of “old maids bicycling to holy communion through the morning mist’.

But these chaps clearly have a penchant for the urban milieu: London, Sheffield, Liverpool and now Birmingham, have become the focus of their adoration. So great is their love of the urban that they try to share urban materials with all manner of other folk: bricks with your run of the mill British Bobby, cobbles with your average shopper, timber with chaps whose opinions differ to their own.

On second thoughts the English Defence Tourist Board isn’t quite as appealing as one would initially believe. Actually, it never was that appealing any way.

Madonna starring in “CSI: Epworth”

Well, how deliciously apt that Ms Ciccione should pop up and sing her song about holidays.  Well she hasn’t actually popped up to sing her song about holidays, you have to imagine that.  Here at _Paul_And_Land_ we like our readers to imagine stuff.  And things, obviously.  Adds to the general japery of the place.  Talking of holidays and places:

Madonna is not in the picture

Madonna is not in the picture

Imagine away, and then some.  We’ll have some Cranberry Juice and the vegetarian crispy duck option.

Seems like Bonkers Liz, the supposed Leader of the Conservative Group on North Lincolnshire Council has got some notion that Epworth is the crime capital of the UK.  Entirely justified in our opinion: not a day goes by without shock headlines in the local august news provider recounting tales of terrorist cells and drugs cartels operating out of the Isle of Axholme’s go-to place for criminality.  Times without number we have taken in our breath, sharply, at the stories of murder, mayhem and well, more murder and mayhem as well as the constant horrors retold of  marauding gangs, plucked from the streets of South Central Los Angeles, the banlieu of Paris and the murderous back-waters of Somalia, fighting it out for control of Epworth Market Place.

Against this backdrop of violence, both bloody and possibly not so bloody (depending on the time of day), fifty grand for a slack handful of CCTV cameras seems a drop in the ocean.  We can only hope that this one single generous gift will lead to many others much needed in North Lincolnshire.  One immediately thinks of the South Killingholme International Airport, the Barrow-upon-Humber Urban Expressway and the Westwoodside Olympic bid.  Unfortunately the plans to replace the aging Keadby Bridge with the Cllr Robert Alan Waltham Memorial Bridge will, we can only assume, be put on hold until such time as said chap is just a memory.

Next week, anyone?  Anywhere looking for an experienced charlatan?

Taking the Mince

Well, ahem, this is #99 which, if you’ve been following closely, you’ll know comes hot on the heels of #98. And we’re not, as @ProfessorEdith worries, taking the mince. No, this is real stuff: #98 started us on our journey, #99 will take us there and who knows where #100 will take us. Well, that’s not quite true, we here at _Paul_And_Land_ know where we’re going so you’d better pack a bag. And if any of you are considering contacting that Jirman woman to send _Paul_And_Land_ a telegram by way of celebration, think on, them there telegrams could be difficult to extract from your crevice!

Any road up, as they say in Hebden Bridge, wa’s th’ to do? Seems like a bunch of shady guys holed up with Mr Making-Bacon MP, gave him a working over. Bunch of heavies from out of town working for a guy called For-Change, Movement was his first name, made Making-Bacon the kind of offer you don’t want to turn down. Making-Bacon had other people he had to answer to but they were just locals, big fish in their pond yet they were nothing alongside For-Change. Making-Bacon had made promises to the locals before and had very easily gone against his word. This For-Change guy had something to offer, something real. Those locals had nothing, only history and bad noises. “I’m gonna go my own way”, thought Making-Bacon as he signed the contract and offered up his soul to the Brother of the Devil. Or Diablo as they say on Spanish Whale-Watching Expeditions.

Trust us we know what we’re doing. First let’s talk about Pensions. The excitement. Cor!

Some ol’ dirty rumour-mongers like to spread ol’ dirty rumours and they shouldn’t specially when it’s their ol’ dirty head honcho and leader and top guy that they’re spreading ol’ dirty rumours about. Still, _Paul_And_Land_ just listens and nods in the only way that a blog can. Metaphorically. So to speak.

Back in the day (not quite when the world was in Black and White but at the time when our screens flickered with Elliott More or Ness – the disappearing act with a difference), Mr Making-Bacon was at Big School. Not proper Big School but semi-Big School. John Wayne is Big Leggy, or some such thing. Now why, as some types have asked, would anyone carry on working in one place when they’ve another job handed to them on a plate, bowl, tureen, platter, etc., etc., and so on and so forth. Some rascal proposed that perhaps the lucky laddo wanted to get the years in for the ol’ gold-plated pension. Ooooh, they can be cutting! But those Jolly Holidays at John Wayne is Big Leggy need someone with a bit of gravitas locking and unlocking the doors, not just any old Tom, Dick or Harry. Seemingly no-one else is qualified for such massive tasks. Well they’d best learn sharpish as our boy’s pension is not helping out their staffing problems. One out and now, it seems, all out. All 40. Or 50 depending on who you believe. Nice work, Mr Making-Bacon, care to tell us about that pension? You could tell us about the pay-rise at the same time. And breathe.

Just a minute, there’s Gregory Peck playing Captain Ahab. What-o, Gregory, how’s the fishing? What do you say, “there she blows”, well there’s a thing. We’re all going for Tapas, Gregory, fancy an omelette. Or how about some smorgasbord. Or Ryvita. Or a drive to IKEA, you could park the car at Newark, (anag) 6. Or maybe we could buy some carpet. Or some chairs. Maybe a table. Don’t worry, it’s all from the public purse so as Gerry Mulligan, Frank Sinatra, John Barrowman, Count Basie and his Orchestra, Ella Fitzgerald and Stan Tracey, amongst others, would say “Anything Goes”.

Was there a mention of Spain. Or Whales. Well what’s this here:Spains, Whales Nice work, if you’re fortunate enough to knock about with the right crowd.

“Sharon! Sharon! Where did I put those holiday photographs?”


Well Gawd Blimey Missus, slap my (censored because it’s a naughty word not for delicate ears) and call me Charlie. Alternatively, don’t bother but do raise a glass of your favourite mucky beer to the rattle-trap charabanc of _Paul_And_Land_ which hurtles, with the brakes on fire, the power steering out of action, the air-conditioning eaten by dinosaurs and Sondra Bullock driving toward the sunlit uplands of Blog-Post #100.

Yes, it’s true, we have travelled via places which some, all or none would have never, or possibly would have travelled through previously because that’s what we do. Or don’t. We’re like that. Awkward. And other things but usually awkward. “Enough!” cried a young voice from the back of the room and the massed ranks of the multiple Eds, the folks at Jeff’s Bar and Grill, Shiny Dave and Shiny George, Tango Nige, the Worlds of Roys, Yvette from Ponty et al, a number of grubby people, Wynsor’s World of Shoes, Robert (aka Bobby, Rob, Robbie), Cllr Neil Poo*e and old Uncle Tom Cobblers all stopped. Well done young voice. Here, have a shilling for your troubles, go and warn Nobby’s Legal Services of Mirfield that their services may be required.

So where is the #98 taking us we hear you cry. If this were Bozzer-Land (which it isn’t) the #98 would be speeding us from Willesden via Kilburn, Maida Vale, Marble Arch and Oxford Circus to a final destination of Holborn*. At risk of pedancy, “speeding” may not actually describe the level of speed achieved on said journey but as previously confirmed this is not Bozzer-Land so it is no import. For goodness’ sakes, let’s move onto #98 favourite song by Mr David Jones (also known as Bowie and not Bowie Jones before you ask), a little tune name of “Golden Years”: “Opening doors and pulling some strings, Angel”. Shall we take this #98 to Spain and other places and leave all the doors ajar. Yes let’s! We can leave the car at Newark, (Anag) 6, and catch the train there rather than catch the train from here. It will be an adventure. And we can buy carpet and chairs and get a pension when others are being made redundant. And a pay-rise. What hoots!

Mr Rochester eyed Mr Making-Bacon MP with some concern. “Tell me, Mr Making-Bacon”, he started, “why is that you take your vehicle to some far flung place when one could so easily stroll across the park and obtain rail travel with so much more ease?” Mr Making-Bacon perused Mr Rochester with a wistful look to his eye and retorted “but one sees, Mr Rochester, one would risk meeting the common folk of the borough. And they would be unvetted. How does one deal with such common folk who would, no doubt, be in drink?” Mr Rochester, something of a singular common folk himself, thought deeply for but the merest second then looked straight into the black pools of Mr Making-Bacon’s eyes. His retort was swift and cutting; “You tosser” he spat before turning on his heel and stepping away swiftly.

Where do you go to weigh whales? The whale-weigh station. Aye than kew!

*In any other context this would be called education but Michael Gove is not another context. He’s a prannett.

Bloody Sheffield – An Experiment in Something.

Being of the type to try most things, somethings but not other things at least once, or twice, or not at all, _Paul_And_Land_ stepped forth into the potentially dangerous cocktails and associated drinks market with the introduction of the “Bloody Sheffield”.

As any business minded person will be aware, rigorous product testing, market analysis and competitor understanding are fundamentals in new product release. As such, these elements have been explored in expansive field trials and certain areas have been found somewhat challenged. The product initiation and release team (PIRT) tested opposition products and found the taste a little difficult. The competitor’s product was also tested on a market cross-section and similar findings to those of PIRT were noted.

Whilst comments such as “it tastes like liquified pie”, “is it spicy soup” or “that is utterly disgusting” could be seen in a negative light, ultimately PIRT will take these comments onboard and review the competitors product with a view to reconstructing our own product to supply a more market friendly taste sensation.

Interested in joining the “Bloody Sheffield” PIRT? If you are, can we recommend some interventionist counselling therapy or, at least, some time in a darkened room.

“Bloody Sheffield” – it’s a taste you won’t want to remember!