Monday, September 04, 2006

Death or Glory

Stop the Press!

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Okay so I was going to waffle on about in my usual un-grammatically-correct-poorly-spelled way about the recent Leeds Fest- but aside from the fact that you probably couldn’t give a damn about the irksome conversations with Tex-Mex vendors who almost drowned my spicy potato wedges in Salad cream rather than Sour cream, and upon querying the former condiment (is it a condiment?) he said “oh we don’t do that” in a curt manner, despite the large sign above his poorly written menu stating that they if fact did, or the Glaswegian girl who told me she’d woken up to the sound of my voice after I was talking to (or should I say ‘at’) Lisa about why you don’t see the old NHS style wooden crutches anymore for nearly half an hour, she said I had a soothing voice- and I sounded like Mr. Scruff (A Manc no less- not for the first time Johnny Marr thought I was a Mancunian too!! Although some old bird in Benacissism asked me, after overhearing me talking, where in Liverpool I came from- I’M FROM ‘EFFING YORKSHIRE YOU DOLTS- WHAT DO I NEED AN EFFING WHIPPET!) or conversely the forgetting tent incident and the “ah a fellow fence dweller” conversation with the chap whom Lisa thought was chatting me up and who took umbrage when I suggested his appearance could easily be misconstrued as being Emo. Sadly I have to report all this has now been put on the back burner due to the sad news that Aussie Legend, Steve Irwin sadly “copped it” from a Sting Ray whilst filming out in the Barrier Reef yesterday. http://www.abc.net.au/farnorth/stories/s1732635.htm?backyard


It was the first news I heard on the increasingly annoying Chris Moyles’ Show this morning, and not since the loss of John Peel/Rod Hull have I felt sadness on a par with this. How could anyone not warm to a man who spent his adult life wearing the same beige jungle clobber whilst charging up to a plethora of dangerous animals with that look of Aussie determination upon his simple face? The same guy who cried like a baby over the death of an alligators and said : “I loved it like I love my wife”. In the continuing dumbing down of television programs- especially those aimed at children it was good to see someone actually being enthusiastic towards sharing his knowledge with the viewers.- surely the last kids’ TV presenter over the age of 25.

Why are all the kids TV presenters slightly effeminate schmucks with spiked hair donning crap Top Man polo shirts? Do they think as far as educating children via the medium of TV that the presenter must either be an animated character or a bland no-mark with a provisional driving licence? Johnny Ball and Rolf Harris are kid’s TV legends who surely demonstrate to me that eccentric old (er) men have just as much to offer without appearing sinister. Conversely; they still use the bearded old paedophile Captain Birdseye to promote his fishy fingers, abducting several hundred wide eyed kids on his boat over the years- I mean would you leave your kids with him? Would a genius show like Tony Robinson’s ‘Maid Marian and Her Merry Men’ be made today? I think not- which in the words of the late Mr. Irwin is “a bloody shame” and I feel the time has come for me to stop watching kids TV.

Anyway, I would like to make light of the news, but sadly as a mark of respect I will resist- no doubt a barrage of joke e-mails, predictably involving some reference to the Gerry Anderson created TV show ‘Sting Ray’ will clog up my various e-mail inboxes in the next few hours. At least Fat Karen and had a little bonding session as she exclaimed in a childlike voice “oh no- I loved him” when she learned of his sad demise.

Tonight upon my return to my domicile, I shall open a can of Fosters and doff my cap to the loon and perhaps get Lisa to dress up as a crocodile whilst I gently wrestle her to the ground as homage to the guy.

Adieu Mr. Irwin… adieu.


The Clash -Death Or Glory

1 comment:

mark w said...

Heh! I've now got the way-too-potent-for-twenty-to-four image of you in khakis animatedly addressing an imaginary camera in your living room with a chirpy 'Crikey! She's a feisty little madam, and I've got to be VERY CAREFUL at this stage...' as Lisa's teeth lovingly sever your arm at the shoulder.
Astonishingly, the Stingray gag has already spattered into my inbox, like an abandoned kebab on a windscreen.