More Nonsense From _Paul_And_Land_

More Shirts

Readers may, or indeed may not, recall the semi-well received scribbling entitled ‘Shirts’ which contained any number, which can include zero, of references to the aforementioned garments. Can we firstly contend that said post was possibly one of the finest pieces of writing in the English Language ever, without contest, bar none. This we will contend but it may not be an exactly true contention but that’s how we roll. Sometimes. Now and again. Just to be awkward.

Still, more shirts indeed. Traipsing around as we do, we often see various members of the Rt. Hon. General Public undertaking similar, if not identical, activities. That is, traipsing around and doing various things and stuff and what-not. Strangely enough, that’s what members of the Rt. Hon General Public do at times: traipse around and do various things and stuff and what-not. Some even mooch. Others, conversely, don’t. Whatever suits really. Invariably though some of these folks will be decked out in shirts. Perhaps even more shirts.

Now it’s like this, shirts can be a variety of things. They can be formal, casual, buttoned, unbuttoned, tasteless or whatever else you want them to be. Collared, uncollared, short sleeved, long sleeved, the possibilities are seemingly endless. There are even tee-shirts (yes, they are indeed shirts) which are emblazoned with various logos* and names with a sporting connection in some sort of way. So some of this stuff looks acceptable on Jessica Ennis-Hill, David Beckham or that bloke who sails yachts but on a less than athletic frame belonging to some article that spends more time traipsing around and doing various things and stuff and what-not, even mooching, it doesn’t look quite the same. Honest.

And it’s the same with tennis shorts. No! It’s entirely wrong. Unless you happen to be the soon to be (no doubt) Lord Wimbledon of Tennis or one of his close relatives Mr Rafal Prize Nadal or Mr Pete Samples do not even begin to consider slipping into a skimpy pair of tennis shorts. Ever.

Glad we’ve got that straight and who’s for a game of darts. Or shove-ha’penny. Or whist. Mine’s a mucky beer, cheers!

*Or should that be logi. Or logum. Or logii. Or Branding.

The Chuckle BRothers

Well it seems that the international superstars and comedy geniuses that are the Chuckle Brothers (Rotherham’s finest, we are told) have been opening railways. Not so much opening railways in the styles of navvies, copious mucky beer, misery and death of Victorian era opening railways or even in the style of William Huskisson (“what’s that noise, bugger me, they can’t run me over I’m a well known politician who will become a footnote in history as the first person ever to be run down by a train”)* kind of opening railways. No, this was more a sort of “let’s get two pillocks prepared to act like two pillocks in the name of slick marketing” sort of opening railways. “Why’s that?”, asks the ubiquitous small voice (who generally appears at the back of the room) in a, as usual, tone most quizzing and quizzical and quizziness of tone as well. Yes, quite.

Well you see, this here railway has been around a year or two or 150 or so and, err well, two buffoons dressed in bathing costumes and proclaiming it “open” seems, at the least, a tad tardy on the part of the railway purveyors. But there you go.

But just a cotton-picking moment, this pair of entertainment giants were advertising a service that’s been around for some time and by a train provider that, curiously enough, that has also been around for some time.

Y’know, trains aren’t like soap powder, you don’t get a huge choice of brands all proclaiming their ability to get your whites whiter or whatever. No, you get a box on wheels, going along tracks, taking you someplace. On this new railway, opened (remember) by our erstwhile heroes Mr and Mr Chuckle, the choice is take it or leave it. Go on this train or don’t bother. No “gets your whites whiter” or “now with added pzazz” or even “with a new recipe that makes our product better than theirs” in this deal. Just, this is it, you mugs.

That’s the privatisation deal, people. They sell you choice and there is no choice. Makes you laugh dunnit? No? Well that’s why they rolled out the Chuckle Brothers. Don’t have a hernia laughing, you’ll have to choose your health practitioner. Or not.