Kevin's stupid moped

Here. You know that Kevin? Kevin. Got that stupid bloody moped. Off Barry. Yeah, that’s him. I think it was nicked, that’s why it was so cheap. Anyway, I saw him this morning. On his moped, he was. Come round the corner and pulled up at the lights on the High Street, down by the Exchange. Yeah, going towards the bridge.

So he comes round the corner, and he pulls up like that, and I’m, like, crossing the road. So I saw him and I says oy Kev and he turns round and oy Kev I says, what’s that you got on the back of that bloody moped? I’m sure it was nicked.

Anyway, on the back of his moped, coming out of where the exhaust comes out, he’s got this big bloody metal thing, shaped like, well, shaped like a trumpet I suppose. Like a trumpet, I’m telling you. But sort of squashed so it was taller than it was wide if you looked at the back of it straight on. Alright, alright, oval then. But like a trumpet, bigger at the back than at the exhaust end.  It was so big at the back it was taller than the moped. Made of metal, looked like he’d knocked it together himself. Covered in rivets and bits of messy welding.

It was attached to the moped with loads of, like, string and that. Loads of it. And, I’m not making this up, there was an old skateboard stuck on the bottom with a big clump of brown packing tape, so he could tow it along without it scraping along the ground. What’s that on the back of your moped, Kev? I says, and he says to me, that’s my rocket engine Dave.

So I says, you what? And he says I made this rocket engine out the back in me mum’s shed. I got all this metal off Barry cheap. So you can bet that was nicked and all. And I thought I know what I’ll do, I’ll make a rocket engine.

A rocket engine? I says. You sure? And he’s like, yeah, well, I haven’t tested it yet but it should work. Got the plans out of this old book my old man had. And I thought he was winding me up like. Well, you would, wouldn’t you, someone tells you they’ve made a rocket engine and stuck it on the back of their moped with string and a skateboard. Either that or they’ve gone gaga and the men with the butterfly nets are coming for him. But then I remembered that time with the pogo stick, do you remember? When he blew them bins up round the back of Lidl’s?

When you testing it then, Kev? I says to him, thinking this is gonna be good. I’ll go round and have a look, like. And he flips down the visor on his crash helmet and says, now and he leans over and there’s this computer keyboard stuck on the, like, on the handlebars there. One of them old ones. No, not Vic 20, what’s that other one, with the rubber keys? That’s it, Spectrum. He leans over and taps some of the keys and goes doodle-eh-doot, like that.

And nothing happened. So I thought here we go, I thought. Kev’s finally gone and lost it. And I was just about to go into Smith’s when the trumpet thing at the back starts to rumble. Whhrrrrrrrr! It goes. And then it gets louder and louder. WHHRRRRRR! And flames start coming out of the back of the trumpet thing and the skateboard’s rattling on the tarmac and I can feel the ground starting to shake under me feet. Car alarms start going off, the lot.

So Kev looks at me and sticks his thumb up, and then – BOOF! He’s just gone! I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s just over the bridge and off, with a big smoking trail following him. He only went and did it, didn’t he? Made his own rocket engine!

Anyway, I seen him again earlier. I said, you did it, didn’t you? And he reckons he went up in space but that’s got to be fucking bollocks.


What happened to the foreign job theives?

A classic, I think you'd agree
I used to get quite worked up about how the papers covered employment statistics. Whatever they were, we'd get made up headlines about how migrants had stolen ALL the jobs splashed across the front pages. Yesterday, some new employment figures were published and I got all nostalgic, so I looked to the tabloids to see if they were still pulling the same trick.

Turns out all sorts of things have been happening in the tabloid 'foreign worker scare story' petri dish while I've been away. I feel like a scientist who comes across a forgotten specimen at the back of a cupboard to find it's...mutated.


I'll have a racist 99 please!

Last week, two vans with massive posters on the side telling illegal immigrants to fuck off or get arrested were driven around six select London boroughs. Rumours that they played a plinky-plonky ice cream van version of Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries' as they went remain unconfirmed.

'In the UK illegally?' they asked politely of everyone before bellowing, 'GO HOME OR FACE ARREST' presumably at people who were indeed in the UK illegally. To assorted right wingers and racist people, however, they shouted 'WE ARE BEING ALL HARD ABOUT FOREIGNS. PLEASE DON'T VOTE FOR THE UKIPS'. I'll leave you to guess which of those was the actual primary message. (HINT: It was the second one, Einstein).


Bulgarian government, Bulgarian TV station or British Sunday tabloid?

On last night's BBC Question Time, Diane James of UKIP claimed that a Bulgarian government survey showed that 56% of Bulgarians have said they want to move to the UK. 

This instantly sounded fishy to me. Last month, the Sunday Express said that 54% of Bulgarians wanted to come to the UK after it took UKIP's Paul Nuttall to Bulgaria on a fact finding mission. The paper claimed the figures came from a survey by Bulgarian TV station bTV. The Daily Star on Sunday reported the figure at 55%, leaving out mention of any source. These are probably the same numbers Diane James was talking about, since her leaflet mentions 4 million Bulgarians like the Express article.


Toby Young - not much better than Delingpole

A while ago now (although it was in my last post here) I looked at a James Delingpole column and went through the logical fallacies I spotted in it. I think I got most of them.

In it, I mentioned Toby Young, one of the other big professional Gumbys who earns at least some of his living spouting nonsense the media thinks someone should be representing, even if it's an idiot with a knotted hanky and wellies on standing in the middle of a field.

For larks, I decided to do the same thing with Young's latest Telegraph blog* as I did with Delingpole's and go through the logical fallacies. I must just miss the rock n roll lifestyle.


James Delingpole - not very good

A few weeks ago, I joined the Blocked by James Delingpole club on Twitter. It's not a very select club, it must be said. The criteria for entry seems to be disagreeing with him, whether or not you use the sort of colourful language I did. You can even get in if your name's not down and you're wearing jeans and trainers.

Delingpole is one of those professional Gumbys that are employed because they represent a point of view that people in the media feel needs to be expressed by someone, even if it's an idiot in wellies and a knotted hanky standing in a field expressing it in a stupid voice.


My journey into mucky books, with Cagney & Lacey

Mucky books, mucky books (ooh mucky books)
Mucky books, mucky books (ooh mucky books)
Mucky books, mucky boo-hooo-hoooks
Mucky books, mucky books (uh huh ha, uh huh ha!)
- Darts (except not quite)

Some recent tweets and a post by Steve Baxter at the New Statesman have made me think about mucky books. I hardly ever think about mucky books these days, but typing this right now is making me do a Sid James style 'phwooar!' at my keyboward.