RBKC giving the gift of enlightenment this Christmas.

RBKC are giving their temporary housing tennants the gift of enlightenment this year.

Political correspondent Jan Nieupjur reports that Housing officers in the borough feel that occupants of temporary housing do not know how lucky they are. To that end they are evicting them and thus giving the gift of homelessness in order that they may understand better how much worse it can get.

Once homeless they can be given the additional gift of removal from the borough allowing the place to become a much nicer place for the social elite and Russian money launderers who often complain about poor people in their line of sight.

Editors note: This is satire and should not be confused with fake news.

RBKC social cleansing at Christmas.

How about this for a shitty Christmas tale: I had a Christmas morning chat with my neighbour, a delightful young woman with a young daughter. She informed me that Their Christmas has been somewhat dampened by the fact that the local authority had served an eviction notice two days earlier because as she is in temporary accomodation, and has been for years, and refused to move to Essex as demanded by them she has made themselves intentionally homeless and must go. She also told me that she cannot have family visit her from overseas at Christmas because one of the conditions of this boroughs temporary housing agreements is that she is not allowed visitors, even close family, to stay overnight. God bless you RBKC, the richest borough in the land, at this time of peace and good will to all.

there is much much more to this sordid tale which I will add in due course.

The fraudulent muse at christmas.

Christmas is a wonderful time
for the fraudulent muxe

She has got away with it again
for another year

She thinks.

Her tree decorated with sparkling lies,
dull looks, paranoia, debt, delusions of granduer,
mind snails, decay, theft, smells and
obsessive fears of honesty.

Christmas is a wonderful time
for the fraudulent muse

And as usual and again
for another year

She demands love but inspires nothing

But pity.

And no one needs a pityful muse.

Love measures itself.

Eternity is a curious concept. It ends with the death of the person measuring it.

You know...  Whatever you say will last forever will last until you die and no longer.

Unless it is love which lasts until you change your mind because you didn't really know what love was and when you said I will love you forever you realy meant I will love you until something better comes along, something that explains love and explains why love will last as long as it does and then die.

Because love measures itself.

And in some shape or form lasts forever.

Unlke eternity.

Duncan, Blue, smoothies. Guilty as charged.

 

Innocent smoothies shooting an ad today... some bloke called Duncan from Blue. Nice people and a very cold but lovely actress.

Happy to post this as Innocent smoothies are a fundamental ingredient, along with vodka,  of my 'lost weekend smoothie'. 

A slogan for which could be: All your 5 a day and drunk before breakfast. Back to bed!

Wrong about the muse. Dora Maar.

A couple of nights ago, having dinner with an artist friend, we got to talk about the muse. I made a couple of crass statements about the gender of the muse based on my automatic assumptions as a male of the species.

Had my friend been less polite she would have pointed out that I was talking utter bollocks. As it was she left me to realise, as  later, I thought about that evening, that I was as far from right as is possible.

I've often written about the muse but to date always with the assumption that the muse was female. I guess I can try to justify that by saying that I am a man and like most men am driven by women and assume that only a woman could assume the role of the muse. Also there is the homophobic thing.

Often the muse turns out to be the more talented one who has been bullied.

There is an exhibition of work by Dora Maar (Picasso's muse) at Tate Modern. I sense that she will convince me of that. I'll go and see then report back.

https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-modern/exhibition/dora-maar

The cooker hood as muse.

After a pint at the Cow
and a pleasant unexpected meeting
I took my self home
to lay out some rugs
lent by a friend and
to concentrate a chicken stock

The extractor fan on the hood
was not working
I took apart the cooker hood
grease greeted me like an unwelcome friend asking for money

I removed the filter
remeniscent of the airfilter
on the Lancia Fulvia rally sprint
That I bought in the 80's

I remembered how good
the front wheel drive
worked so well
in the snow and ice
in north oxfordshire
and I remembered Julia
who sat beside me then
and Victoria who in her first year
lay in the carrycot on the back seat

I remembered how well I loved
unconditionally
back then before it fell apart
and we all moved on.

It took a cooker hood
to remind me
to cherish memories
and not dwell on bitterness.

I stopped Prince Andrew from shagging.

At last I can tell my Prince Andrew story:

 When he was at Dartmouth Naval College his tutors would scour the town for 'pretty girls' to have dinner ( a euphomism for shag) with him (yeah pimping). My girlfriend (soon to be my wife, dont ask) was chosen for one such night. He played 'this little piggy' with feet under the table with another of the girls present and chose to come back to our place afterwards no doubt in the hope of an easy conquest. I was at home getting verry drunk with a friend just back from a stint on a North sea oil rig armed with much whiskey. Andrews security guys came into the house to check it out, took one look at us and decided that the prince was not getting laid that night.

On other occasions Andrew's goon squad would clear out local pubs in order that the Prince could have an undisturbed drink with his midshipman mates. Girls were never asked to leave.

He was not liked in Dartmouth.

Iceland's banned Christmas ad.

I'm informed that the following ad has been banned for being too political. 

The advertising clearance body, Clearcast, who screen broadcast adverts, deemed that the film breaks rules banning political advertising laid down by the 2003 Communications Act.

Iceland's founder Malcolm Walker said: "This was a film that Greenpeace made with a voice over by Emma Thompson.
"We got permission to use it and take off the Greenpeace logo and use it as the Iceland Christmas ad. It would have blown the John Lewis ad out of the window. It was so emotional."
The watchdog said in a statement: "Clearcast and the broadcasters have to date been unable to clear this Iceland ad because we concerned that it doesn’t comply with the political rules of the BCAP code.
"The creative submitted to us is linked to another organisation who have not yet been able to demonstrate compliance in this area."
More than 890,000 people have since signed a petition calling for the advert to be shown on TV.


The destruction of the rain forests is not a political issue, it is far bigger than that. I am astonished that this should be banned: 

Austerity at work.

The new bird feeder is working a treat.

I managed to lure three of these suckers on to the balcony today. I think they are albatrosses of some sort.

I decided to make good use of this windfall.

The breasts are going into a terrine, along with some minced pork, anchovies, nutmeg, port and pepper. The legs make an excellent stock when combined with onions, field mushrooms and port, the corn in the gullets I shall dry and grind into flour with which to make artisanal  bread to sell to the hipsters and foodies.

The terrine is in the oven now as I write this.

As I await the outcome I plan dishes made from parakeets and finches and celebrate austerity.

Fuck off Boris.

UPDATE:

And you thought this was fake news.

Johnathan Swift and I will be tucking into this, with a healthy dollop of piccalilli and a pint of bitter, once it has cooled.

Black and white bathroom.

Of all the things I have done this has to be one of the most satisfying.

Please feel free to contact me regarding commisions.

Found lost cat was not lost.

Cats are never lost, they know exactly where they are. It is their 'owners' who are lost having formed an un-natural dependency upon the most independent creature on the planet.

Vitreous perception.

The optimist sees the glass half full
the pessimist sees it half empty
the opportunist quickly drinks it
the surrealist sees a pipe
the illusionist sees it now he doesn't
the scientist sees a miniscus
the narcissist sees a mirror
the French royalist sees Marie antoinette's breast
the permanently pissed top it up with gin
an shee two glashes full
the existentialist sees what he will
the biologist sees bacteria
the capitalist decants it into a smaller glass
then sells it at full price
the depressionist cannot see the point.

I see your reflection in the glass

it is full.