Israel… God's chosen scum.

There are no words to describe the evil that exists in Israel.

This is not about Judaism but about the arrogance of man.

I am truly sickened by what these butchers are doing, sanctioned and financed by America and allowed by us because any criticism is seen as anti-semitism but criticism of Israel is not anti-semite it is pro-humanity.

Oh, and did you know that Barack Obama is backed primarily by Zionists…

It is well past the time to stop feeling guilt about the holocaust and time to stop the genocide in Gaza.

Kitten found safe and well in Gaza.

The Russians may be shooting down airliners and the US backed Israeli's bombing women and children but the world can sit back and relax in the knowledge that a kitten has been found alive in the debris of a bombed out Gaza house.

The owner of the cat, who would not give his name, said: 'My entire family was wiped out in the blast but this little fellows safety makes it somehow worthwhile'.

An emergency UN meeting has been called in order to celebrate the safety of the kitten who has been name Jesus by the regimental rabbi of the 3rd Bethlehem Butchers who found the animal stating that the little fellow seems to be able to perform miracles.


Editors note: Sadly little jesus was killed in the stampede of journalists rushing to cover the story.

Israel targeting the Kingdom of Heaven ?

I am getting reports that Israeli rockets are targeting areas of the kingdom of heaven in order to eradicate the Palestinian women and children it has sent there. Are they mad?

David, who sells falafels down the road and therefore knows as much about the situation as anyone tells me that Jesus promised them the kingdom of heaven but for reasons of disbelief they turned it down, however they now want it and will do what they like with it and there is certainly no space for Palestinians in the Kingdom of Heaven.

According to other sources American pro Zionists are funding a stairway to heaven as a means of moving the heavy artillery up there.

Jimmy Page declined to comment.

Jesus's 'Book of Miracles' found.

A well preserved fragment of parchment unearthed in Palestine appears to be the journal of Jesus of Nazareth. From the parts that have now been deciphered it appears that Jesus kept a record of his daily activities including details of his 'miracles'.

One excerpt reads: Sermon on the mount.  good turnout at the rally today, 50 thousand at a guess, not too many hecklers. Got a bit hairy at lunch time though… Mary came to me and said there was going to be a riot if we didn't feed them all and all we have is a few fish and some bread. I said don't fret Mary, I know these people, they are all sitting on picnic baskets but don't want to bring them out in case they are asked to share with others. Once they see food going round they will all suddenly discover their own stashes and tuck in. I bet we have loads left over at the end.  I was proved right as usual and another 'miracle' was born.

Another: Turned water into wine today… Visited a local merchant who was expecting us,  I asked for wine for myself and the crew, the guy said: 'Sorry. Times is hard, all I have is water.'  I know my merchants well and suspected that he had filled his wine jar with water in anticipation of our request for refreshments and put the wine in the water jar.  So I says, quick as a flash, I'll turn your water into wine and before he could stop me I poured a glass from the water jar… Sure enough it was wine. Another 'miracle' done and dusted…

The curious incident of the bread in the park.

This is a pile of 'designer' bread dumped today in the corner of the little park on Tavistock Road. It raises a number of questions:-

Boo's reviews No.2. The Red Lemon.

An occasional guest review type thing. Written by a child who knows about stuff.

It is hard to find a pub to review within walking distance, I'm only one and can't walk that far and the elements seem to be conspiring against pubs these days, especially around here.

If the poet pushes me the first 200 Metres I can consider the Red Lemon to be within walking distance. I'll review that then.

I've been drinking in the Red Lemon all my life, I've been drinking in the Red Lemon since it opened. I like a drink… My tipple used to be milk but I've moved on to water now but I invariably take my own to the pub. The poet and the muse drink pub drinks and they say that the Lemon sells draught beers and stuff at very reasonable prices unlike other pretentious places in the neighbourhood.

The staff a friendly and invariably wave back when I wave, they sometimes pick me up which is comforting when you fall over in the pub. I fall over a lot right now but I'm getting steadier.

There are sometimes parrots in the Red Lemon.

I didn't know what a parrot was until I went there so I can honestly say that the place is educational.

The decor is stripped down Victorian, painted grey throughout but not austere. There is sufficient soft material in the place (banquettes and blinds) to stop the place being the echo chamber that so many trendy pubs become.It is my opinion that high ceilinged Victorian rooms demand big blowsy velvet drapes and stuff to absorb all the echoes from the punters therein. Pubs and breasts are very similar, they should be soft and warm and inviting. Ask any man or baby.

The food is good and sensibly priced according to the poet and the muse, they take me there for lunch sometimes. I invariably get a piece of bread which is both good to eat and good to throw. I have yet to be scolded for throwing bread so must surmise that bread throwing infants are welcome.

On saturday mornings when I drag the poet to the pub there are often other children there with their dads in tow. The place has newspapers for the grown ups to read while us kids are people watching, beguiling grumpy people into smiling, gummily pulping inappropriate stuff and things like that.

All in all the Red Lemon is a good, family friendly local pub with far better than average food and sensible prices. It is rarer than hens teeth in this part of London.

The Red Lemon is on the corner of All Saints Road and Tavistock road. W11.

Racism in the UK today.

Jan Nieupjur writes:

I read today that 25% of the population is openly racist. Add to that the 50% of the other 75% who weren't being honest that gives you a figure of 62.5% of the population as racist in some shape or form. Full marks to UKIP for tapping into this. My prognosis is that the Tories will move to the right to capture this voting mass, Labour will move back to the left in an an attempt to regain some honour, the Lib Dems will go back to buggery and shooting dogs (apologies to anyone who does not remember the glory days of the Liberals), UKIP will vanish and the Green party will remain a single issue party without a hope in hell. Shoot my dog If I'm wrong Jeremy Thorpe.

Terry Gilliam's Cellini at the ENO and stage door security.

This is a bit of a coup. It is a photograph of the set for Gilliam's production of Berlioz's opera 'Benvenuto Cellini'  for the ENO at the Coliseum which opens next week.

Stage door security was crap!

Details HERE 

UKIP openly pissing in the swimming pool.

The United Kingdom is riddled with intolerance, bigotry, racism and prejudice. No one is without guilt and no one is more guilty than our political parties.

Let us consider the UK as a public swimming pool… Everyone is quietly pissing in it as they swim, we all know this and we all accept this. It just is!

Along come these UKIP chaps and instead of doing the normal thing of getting into the water to disguise the pissing they are openly standing on the edge pissing in on everyone else.

Everyone else is screaming 'foul play' while they continue to piss themselves.

But the truth is that the pool is full of piss and a little bit of honesty will actually cause discussion and hopefully, action.

Death of yet another Portobello pub and bad news for dolphins.

The Market bar (latterly Shannons) was once reason enough to come to Portobello Road, it was quirky and original until the health and safety jobsworths interfered. Now it is closed!

The basement is being dug out in readiness for a sushi restaurant and bar.

Sushi, to my mind, is the emperors new clothes of the food world. Over priced, pretentious and as useful as origami or feng shui. I cannot see it doing much business on that site, the tourists only want a slab of street food and the locals will not be able to afford it. The Bankers do not stray that far down Portobello, they get nose bleeds passing All Saints!

A new sushi place means more tuna being caught, more tuna fishing means more dolphins getting killed in the process… An origami butterfly flaps its wings in Portobello Road and a million dolphins die on the other side of the planet.

Boo's reviews No: 1. The Electric Diner, Portobello Road.

An occasional guest blog by Morgana, the Sultana of Boo. Her views are not necessarily my own.


One of the first truth's I have learnt in my short life is that it is far better to have just enough money rather than shedloads of the stuff. If you have too much money you forget what a treat is and ones life flattens out into a salt pan of excess. Just enough money means that one can have a real treat that doesn't involve flying to the Seychelles in a private jet.

It is the Muse's birthday today so I took her and the poet out for lunch, a late lunch, at the Electric diner which is attached to the cinema (which in my opinion should show more films like Bambi) which is part of the Soho house chain.

Inside it is nice, because it is a long tunnel of a space it feels like a tunnel but with light at the end of it but without any trains. There is a long bar on one side and booths on the other. We had a booth and I got a clamp-on baby seat which meant I could stand up in it yet still be strapped in. This is important as I spend most of my time practising standing at the moment with a view to walking soon.

The staff were lovely and the service great, I made a point of smiling at all of them, my fur coat was much admired.

The Muse had chicken in a honey glaze thing and the poet had a burger and fries. I browsed from their plates.  It is Diner food but very up-market diner food and very good.

No one complained about the mess I made and when I threw in a scream (of joy) or two no one raised an eyebrow.

With two glasses of wine and a pint of beer the bill was very reasonable and no more expensive than a number of local 'gastro pubs'. They also do a good kids menu and if you have a cinema ticket the bill is halved which makes me think it would be a cool place for a birthday film/dinner type treat for a young lady… Especially if they were showing Bambi.

When we left the poet left his phone behind but the waitress came after us with it. that saved a lot of swearing I should think.

In all a treat for not much money in an interesting place with friendly staff and, unlike the Seychelles, no danger of being bitten by a crab.

Anyway. If you live in Portobello Road you don't need to be rich because your life already is.

NB. Only nylon animals were harmed in the making of my fur coat.

The influence of Brautigan on my poetry.

When people ask me
who influenced you
in your poetry
was it Brautigan?

I say
no it wasn't.

Chez Lize, Bringing it on home.

This video came my way accidentally. I was curious about what the film maker did.

What the film maker did was to bring something home to me.

I'm lucky, I've got a home.

On top of that it started me thinking how in our wonderful society the mentally ill are the ONLY people blamed for their illness…. They are blamed for their illness because we don't know how to handle it.

The junkies, the alcoholics, the obese, they are allowed to blame an age, a society, a culture but the mentally ill must blame themselves because of course our age, our society, our culture is above imperfection.

The people in this film are beyond blame and beyond responsibility and something bankers should note before they dive out of the 34th floor is that they are (and should be) happy knowing they are cared for.

In the old days we looked after the needy. In this modern day we don't because they don't earn a buck.