It's that old ramming stuff down people's throats metaphor again. Has any body EVER in reality EVER rammed anything down someone else's throat?

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I'm a nasty, violent lefty. You cunt.

Twat.

Bournemouth's looking pretty beautiful today, I can tell you that. No doubt his curtains (and door) have remained firmly shut for years.

It's pretty good here, too. Just been to the council tip where friendly staff were helpful, polite and humorous; the guys working on next-door's garden fence are whistling and occasionally singing as they work (alright, I could do without the singing) and the sun is shining on the little cheerful birdies. Off for lunch later with son and grand-daughter.

What a bloody awful country this is...

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Where there is great doubt, there will be great awakening; small doubt, small awakening, no doubt, no awakening.

I envy people who live in Rwanda. I bet they don't have to worry about wheelie bins and council jobsworths.

...and we had a pleasant lunch in a restaurant (well, Pizza Express) where the staff couldn't have been nicer if they had tried (despite being forrin) and they were even nice to the party of autistic kids who were on the next table. There was even a discount on the meal (though that worries me a bit). Then we sat in the sunshine. Later I read some Sherlock Holmes I got free from Kindle.

So I've had a terrible day in Broken Britain.

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Where there is great doubt, there will be great awakening; small doubt, small awakening, no doubt, no awakening.

So today went to two lectures watched some of the apartment, now watching carpool had a baguette and a really lovely chicken potatot, peas for dinner, yeah terrible awful place

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There never was a golden age Mike, it's all an illusion

The Third Doctor Invasion of the Dinosaurs (1974)

Went to work, got back 10 pm. Not a great day and partly caused by Cameron's attempts to break Britain, given that I spent most of it dealing with bloody stupidities from local authorities desperate to save money even if it means breaking the law. Still, at least my colleagues and I were doing our puny best to remedy that rather than sitting around moaning about it.

Perhaps the next series (is there one) should feature a Muslim family moving in and being bumped off by some blustering former military man (I'm picturing Major Misunderstanding from Viz here) with every shot of him or his house featuring him reading the Mail, having the mail on a table or using Richard Littlejohn's book to prop up a wonky table.

With a room in his house full of LittleJohn pictures, like Alan Partridge's stalker had!

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The upper hand is on the other foot now.

This would be hilarious, especially given it wouldn't be a BBC show and as such untouchable from that point of view.

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"Even when you're a super-computer with an IQ of 2000 it's brown trousers time."

Reclaiming "methinks" for the nation

Latest blog post - 2011 - a review (updated 07/10)

Quick someone... Set up a petition.

Drove to the canal, where we sat on the towpath reading papers and watching the assorted wildfowl swimming hopefully up to anyone carrying a bag that might contain food. Then when the wind got up we drove to another car park, ate lunch and looked at the newborn lambs in the next field. Sun shining, birds singing, lots of happy, smiling faces. This country's finished and I wish I could leave.

I went out to lunch with a very old, good friend, his wife, son and daughter in law. We had a great time, part of which was him telling me about an ex colleague, now 92, who has just started a blog. Then we went home and had a visit from Nº1 son and grand-daughter, sat in the sun and chatted for a while, then dinner.

I hate this country and it's broken ways!

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Where there is great doubt, there will be great awakening; small doubt, small awakening, no doubt, no awakening.

I gathered my 3 kids and visited a few local country parks. We saw deer running wild through the trees, greater spotted and green woodpeckers swooping around us, bunnies hopping about, then dined in the sunny garden of a country pub. This country's finished. I'm emigrating tomorrow.

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The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts.

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