Aspirations of buggery within the Tory party.

We all know Leon Brittan was at it but were told to leave the old bugger alone to die in peace. Maggie knew Leon was at it but protected him. William Hague must have known Leon was at it when he had his 'chat' with him. Did Hague have Brittan behind him when he made his famous juvenile speech at the Tory conference all those years ago?

We all know Jenner was at it but we are told to leave the old bugger in peace, hiding behind the dementia curtain that old buggers hide, twitching.

Westminster is full of paedophiles and amateur buggerists. As long as the buggerists are toffs and the victims are in every sense 'infra dig' the system will protect its own kind.

No doubt Keith Vaz will hide behind claims of dementia when the time comes for him to explain why he protects the paedophile buggerists within government whilst failing to protect the victims. We all know that Keith Vaz would do anything to protect that which he aspires to and from what I can see he aspires to being a tory toff who can bugger boys at will if he so chooses.

As a teenager I was the victim of a paedophile buggerist. I know what I am talking about. These paedophile buggerists offer you the world and then fuck you up the arse and the only world up my arse is the world of poo and you have to wonder what these fucked up ex public school boys find of wonder up a rent boys arse. Are they looking to relive the shit of their childhood?

I am accusing no-one of anything and no children were hurt in the making of this blog.

No such thing as a free gift from Tesco.

It annoys me when a free gift is in reality an advertising hoarding for a retail outlet.

Tesco have cleverly left space on this bag for a spot of customisation.

Taurus Trakker. Motormouth.

Three Thousand Hangovers Later on Portobello Road.

I nicked all this from Ant Easton's  Facebook thingy. I don't know Ant (or maybe I do but don't know that I do) but I know Ray and I know the Castle, which is now a shadow of its 80's self and I think this is a book begging to be made....

Ant Easton writes:

I've edited and designed this book of photos taken by my friend Ray 'Roughler' Jones and we're hoping to raise the money within the next five weeks to publish it on Crowdfunder.co.uk. The photos are of the great and the not-so-great of Portobello / Notting Hill in the 1980's - from Joe Strummer to Underground Steve, Neneh Cherry to Pete the Murderer, whoever he may be. There are several different levels of pledging, from £10 for an e.book to the top level of £199 where, amongst other rewards is a personalised tour of Ray's Portobello Road. Ray promises NOT to sing. Whatever, follow this link, take a look at the video and see if you want to get involved.

http://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/three-thousand-hangovers-later…

THREE THOUSAND HANGOVERS LATER

http://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/three-thousand-hangovers-later-1/

CROWDFUNDER.CO.UK

West Thirty Six. A muse eyes view (The death of Golborne Road).

West Thirty Six, spawn of Beach Blanket Babylon, has arrived on Golborne Road. I went there this afternoon by pure chance. I'll be reviewing it another time but in the meanwhile I will leave it with the muse:

Fucking hell, £150.00 for a bottle of gin and they cannot even put a staple in the right place on a booze menu.


As I said I will be reviewing the place later.

I wouldn't hold your breath.

Tate Modern Gifts.

Tate Modern gift Ideas.


How about a Banksy grafitti kit complete with stencls, spraycans, balaclava and false balls.

Or a Gilbert and George Rococo shit embellisher. Containing resin and gold leaf for the perfect ormolu stool. (Shit not provided but may be bought separately from the Tate gift shop in handy 30g tins. Price: £97,250.00 courtesey of  Piero Manzoni)

Other items on sale include theTracy Emin camping condoms. Signed by the artist for authentic safe artistic fucking intent.

The 'LOOK AT ME' Nicholas Serota mirror... Just repeat after me; If I say it is art it is ART! (This gift works well with Last years 'Emperors new clothing' Curators costume.)

Chapman brother faced false penis noses (set of two). Now you and your brother can look like a pair of dickheads.

The 'Munch Scream' cot and buggy mobile. Ideal for disturbing the very young artist.

Andy Warhol bald patch. Impress your friends with your impersonation of Andy without a wig!

Warhol without wig: http://jannieupjur.blogspot.co.uk/2010/10/club-21-remaking-scene.html

The 'Jackson Pollock' Muse beater. An authentic paint spattered singlet ideal for the 'Abstract Depressionist*' during alcoholic rages. Works equally well on long suffering wives/boyfriends.

The Damian Hirst animal mutilation starter set has been withdrawn due to legal issues... It was rubbish and overpriced anyway! 



*Abstract Depressionism: Copyright. Jan Nieupjur 2009. http://jannieupjur.blogspot.co.uk/2008/11/barking-on-thin-ice-in-search-of.html

Portobello Road celebrates the resurrection of tourist tat

If you were one of the numerous tourists strolling down Portobello Road on Easter Monday you no doubt came away with the impression that we Londoners are a curious lot.

While Filipino's are busy nailing themselves to crosses and the Pope is busy pontificating to the massed fanatics in St Peters Square, we in London are in worshipful homage to the great God Tat, his crucifiction and subsequent resurrection from a hole called Carnaby Street !

There was nothing open except the nasty little shops selling fridge magnets, model busses, T-shirts sloganing a love of this city and any amount of rubbish bearing the Union Jack.

People pay good money to come here for a vacation, surely we can offer them something better than that!

Half a mile away the peacocks of Holland Park are nonplussed too.

Portobello Mysteries No:1. The blind windows of CASHINO.

 

The blocked out windows above 'Cashino'.

CASHINO is one of those nasty little government endorsed dens of inequality.  A room full of slot machines designed to fleece all who enter there. No one leaves these places a winner except the operator and the government.

Why are the windows on the top floor of this building blocked off?

Is it full of money.

Is it where they chain up the occasional winner until he/she hands the money back.

Is it occupied by illegal immigrant dwarves who work inside the machines.

Is it where they train children to steal from parents purses and wallets in order to feed their gambling habit.


We should be told.

Help finance Hot Wind.

News of this arrived via a friend. Check out the promo film and click on the link to find out more.

Heck, you know you always wanted to be in the movie business!

¡Amigos! 

Our Round II Indiegogo campaign for "Hot Wind" was just launched!

Please stop by for a visit at the following link:  

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/hot-wind-film-round-ii/x/80020

Trampolines in high winds are the latest status symbol.

We have had some relatively strong winds overnight and the BBC invited people to post pictures of the damage. Here are 2 examples:

These images tell us more about the people inhabiting the Home Counties than about the weather; they scream: "Look at me, I've got a trampoline in my garden". I doubt if there are many of us who could give a stationary fuck, let alone a flying one about a piece of flimsy gym equipment that the owners failed to secure properly.

I look forward to the new phenomenon being taken up around the world after hurricanes, cyclones and tornados.

Perhaps 'the comparative distance travelled by a trampoline' could be added to the international measurement of stuff index (alongside the equivalent distance in double decker bus heights or football pitch lengths or the toss we couldn't give length).

Cyclists should dismount from their high horses!

The guy in the picture is not a youth who has nicked his bike, he is not an arrogant courier or 20 something king of the road. He is a late middle aged man who should know better. He is blithely cycling the wrong way down a one-way street.  He is one among many hundreds of idiots who do this every day, endangering their own lives as well as the lives of pedestrians. And probably, like all the other idiots on two wheels, he doesn't give a flying fuck about others.

I constantly hear the whinging of cyclists about their safety but if they refuse to abide by the rules of the road they have no come back.

A few days ago I watched as a cyclist got knocked down by a car in Portobello road. the woman driver was understandably distressed. The cyclist picked himself off the road, extracted his bike from under the wheel of the car and then, waving, yelled: 'It's ok, I was going the wrong way on a one way street'. then got back on his bike continuing his wrong way journey.

Cyclists pay no road tax, therefore we can safely say that they are using roads that are financed by motorists. They are the privileged  guests of said motorists and should show a little courtesy.

Cyclists do not, like motorists, have to take a test, so we only have their word that they are competent. Many of them are not.

Cyclists should, like all other road users, be registered and display that registration on high vis clothing and on their bike.

Cyclists should also acknowledge that footpaths are for (surprise surprise) those on foot.

Cyclists should dismount from their cod-eco, moral, high horses and accept that the world does not revolve around them!

Oh, and it is not just men:

Monkeys on Lancaster Road. W11.

My dog is not a TV, my dad is not an alcoholic. How sad is that.

A guest blog from an 11 year old boy.

I got a puppy for Christmas, outwardly that looks brilliant, but after a week or two the polish wears off.

I cannot watch TV on a puppy, I cannot play games on a puppy,  I cannot google porn on a puppy. All a puppy does is live and breathe and love me.

You would not believe the things a puppy does: it shits and pisses and expects me to clear it up. When I shit and piss I have my mum to clear up after me because thats what mums are for. Kids like me are for having puppies that play computer games and stuff & puppies that sit on my lap when the TV is on so I can say I am busy puppy minding when I am really just watching TV. Kids like me are not designed to look after a fucking puppy that no-one said was going to piss and shit or require feeding.

No one told me I'd have to walk the fucker.

Modern society has not taught me that I have to consider anything other than myself and my selfishness.

It is not my fault that my puppy does not understand this. I did not ask it to love me or need me.

All I ask of it is that it enjoys Spongebob Squarepants and craps on somebody else's watch.

I wish my dad was an alcoholic so he would use my puppy as an excuse to go to the pub every day.

Then I wouldn't have to walk it.

And I might love my dad a bit more even though he was an alcoholic and probably would beat my mum up when he got home from the pub.

A dysfunctional family is a small price to pay for me not having to look after my puppy.