Mr Angry

Everybody has a moment when they become angry. I know I do and I’ve seen normally mild mannered individuals succumb to the red mist and explode in a flash of rage. Usually this is a rare occurrence.

However, the are some people who seem to spend their entire day in a perpetual state of fury, never resting from their wrath until they close their eyes to sleep, whereupon I’ll wager their dreams also involve stomping around shouting and screaming at every poor figment of their imagination.

I like to refer to people like this as Mr Angry or, in the case of ladies, Ms Angry. Let’s not forget that such illogical behaviour transcends gender.

I have worked with such people in the past. We all know a Mr Angry.

Mr Angry fails to control his temper and has a short fuse and the only reason he seems to be calm is because he is waiting for a random person to speak to him so that he can explode in rage.

Mr Angry is usually a bully who thinks that bellowing at people will somehow force them to behave in the way that Mr Angry wants.

Mr Angry also explodes when something trivial annoys him – like this man:

Personally, I hate being angry because ultimately that is undoubtedly a low point. It is a rare event, dear reader, and when I am possessed by rage, my mind isn’t clear and I am prone to say things that I will later regret. I am sure this is the same for everybody.

When this happens to me, I simply walk away from the target of my wrath as soon as I can. The symptoms can actually be physical – increased heart rate, anxiety, depression and high blood pressure are just some of them.

Some people may argue that it is sometimes beneficial to become angry in order to “let off steam” and while that may be true for the occasional hissy fit, I think that if you are constantly angry it can’t actually be that good for you.

Therefore I avoid it when I can – and if I can’t I simply run away from the source of my anger.

Okay, regular readers may say; “But hang on! You often rant and rave about things on this very blog!”

Yes, that is true, but it is a technique that I have honed, certainly over the past few years. Anger is pointless but the ability to “let off steam” on a blog allows me to vent my spleen in a controlled way without the adverse reactions associated with a full blown Incredible Hulk moment. And I enjoy it because I can inject a little humour into the mix.

This is also what I do at work; I strive to “let off steam” in a fun way, which allows people to laugh at me. It’s entertainment in a way.

People who know me really well consider me to be very laid back and this is the truth of the matter. I rarely genuinely lose control.

Yet I have seen people who thrive on this anger, maybe because they have had some success in the past as a result of it.

Here’s an example.

Many years ago, I was working in an edible oil production plant. We had supplied a process management computer system to the company and we were testing it in real time. I had heard of a man whom I shall refer to as Mr Banner (in a similar way to the Hulk) and that he was prone to moments of rage.

Yet whenever I had met him, he has been as nice as any person I had worked with. One day, we were running a test and something went slightly wrong.

We were all trying to find the problem and it was either a computer glitch or a problem with the equipment itself. We were in a control room above the equipment and we had to wear all the safety gear including hard hats and goggles to satisfy the Health and Safety police.

 I looked at the computer screen and after about five minutes of watching what was going wrong, I turned to the guys in the room and told them that I thought I knew what the problem was. We had a test system downstairs and I knew that I could confirm my hypothesis on that machine and actually fix the issue. I said, “Give me ten minutes.”

Now everybody in the room seemed to accept this – apart from Mr Banner. He glared at me and then he glared at each of the other guys in the room in turn.  Then, in a true Hulk moment, he pulled off his hard hat and screamed:

 “PPPPPPPPHHHHHHHAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!”

He hurled his hard hat at the floor and it bounced up with a noise that sounded like a firecracker. His face turned bright red and everybody in the room backed away from him. I stood there open mouthed in shock.

He walked to his hat, picked it up and I could see his inner struggle. I expected him to calm down but he didn’t! Instead, he picked it up again and hurled it across the room at the wall. I was expecting him to turn green but instead his face darkened to a weird crimson colour.

That was my cue.

I turned to the guy next to me who was also goggling in shock and said “I’m off to the test system!”

I left the room and went downstairs shaking my head in disbelief and half expecting Mr Banner to follow me. There was no way I was going to tolerate that kind of behaviour.

Thankfully, I was not followed.

Twenty minutes later, I had found the problem and returned to the control room with the fix. The rest of the day was fine and by then Mr Banner had returned to his normal calm self. I received no words of thanks and he behaved as if the episode had not happened.

What scares me about such behaviour is that it is unwarranted and also the perpetrator thinks that his antics will force people to bend to his will.

However, what makes me laugh about Mr Angry is the irrationality of it all and, sometimes, I have to walk away when I see Mr Angry in full flow, in case I burst out laughing and enrage him further.

Like in this video:

My advice to Mr and Ms Angry is to take a deep breath and walk away. That’s what I do – it works for me – unless Piers Morgan is on the TV.

Only In Britain

The National Environment Research Council (NERC) funds environmental scientific research in the United Kingdom and is about to build a state-of-the-art polar research ship here in the North West of England. The boat is backed by government funding and will launch in 2019.

NERC have launched a public campaign to name the ship, opening a web site for the British public to suggest a suitably apt name for what will be a magnificent vessel.

In other parts of the world, I think that the suggested names would reflect the excitement of the ship’s purpose, perhaps naming it after a science or a famous historical person. 

But what is currently leading the pack BY FAR in names suggested by the great British public?

Boaty McBoatface

I am not kidding you. A state-of-the-art ship, with a serious purpose will sail to the Polar Regions with the name RRS Boaty McBoatface etched on its hull.

There are some serious suggestions but also some equally silly names such as:

RRS Its Bloody Cold Here

RRS Usain Boat

RRS Boatimus Prime

RRS I Like Big Boats and I Cannot Lie

RRS What Iceberg?

RRS Notthetitanic

RRE Big Metal Floaty Thingy-Thing

This is a typical British quirk that stems from our ability to laugh in the face of adversity and make a mockery of things labelled as serious.

Don’t get me wrong; there are British people who are probably howling in outrage at this but the good news is that the majority of votes are for silly names.

This is why I love being British. We can, as a nation, see humour in everything and often use that humour to make people laugh in serious or stuffy situations. 

There are millions of examples of things we find funny that perhaps other nations will either raise their eyebrows at or simply tut and shake their heads in disgust. 

Here’s another example of the kind of thing I mean. A friend of mine was on his own in a pub, waiting for another friend, when he needed to go to the toilet. He had a full pint in front of him and decided that the best way to stop somebody stealing his pint or taking his seat was to put a note on top of his glass saying:

“I have spat in this beer”

When he came back, somebody had added:

“And I have put my winkie in it”

I love this.

Regular readers will also know that I am a sucker for clickbait, where I click links to read meaningless nonsense instead of doing something more constructive. However, some of these sites are full of “Things that only British people will find funny”.

For example – a letter from a disgruntled customer which finished:

“I have enclosed your letter and you will notice that I have taken the liberty of rolling it up very tightly which should make it easier for you to stick up your arse.”

Or this answer to a Health and Safety Question:

If an accidental fire started in a building with employees inside, what steps would you take?

Answer: Fucking BIG ONES!!

Some people have even named their businesses or shops with a hint of humour such as:

A lift company called Schindler’s Lifts

A wine shop called Planet of the Grapes

A flower shop called Florist Gump

A painter and decorator called Luther Van Gloss

A pet nanny called Hairy Pop-Ins

A Caribbean restaurant called Jamaican Me Hungry

A removal company called Jean-Claude Van Man

A male hairdresser called Barber Black Sheep

I have been told by some foreigners that they simply do not understand some British humour. 

For example, do you find the following funny?

There are a gazillion examples of British humour knocking about on the internet, as well as lots of British silliness.

Oh – and finally, not to be outdone by a polar research ship, a train driver pulled into Waterloo Station in London and gave his train a name:

Only in Britain – unless you know something different, dear reader.

Top Ten U.S. Sitcoms

I’m a great fan of British comedy and I regard out sitcoms as the funniest in the world, which is hardly surprising considering I am British myself and relate to the humour.

Comedies from across the pond don’t always strike a chord with me and while I generally find them amusing, they tend to lack the cutting edge that I find in British sitcoms.

Nevertheless, I have enjoyed many bright and hilarious sitcoms that have found their way from America onto my tellybox and it is those programmes that I would like to focus on in this post.

I present to you, dear reader, my top ten US sitcoms, programmes that I have genuinely enjoyed and found myself howling with laughter at.

Note – I am not including cartoons like The Simpsons and South Park (which I really enjoy). For this I will concentrate on live action shows. So without further ado, here is my list:

10. Friends

Friends was extremely popular in the UK and Mrs PM loved it – as did both of my kids. I caught the odd episode but never really got it – until I saw an absolutely hilarious episode featuring Ross and spray tan:



And then I watched it again and became hooked. Sadly, that was late in the series so I found myself watching old reruns. To be honest, I was not too keen on the “will they/won’t they” relationship with Ross and Rachel but the other character relationships were good enough to keep me entertained – particularly Joey, my favourite character in the show.

9. Taxi

When I was a kid, I caught an episode of Taxi with the character Latka Gravas, played brilliantly by the enigmatic Andy Kaufman.  Here he is offering his philosophy on happiness:




Most of the actors have gone on the achieve great things: Danny DeVito and Christopher Lloyd in particular, but I am fascinated with Andy Kaufman. If you ever get a chance to see the movie about Kaufman's life, called Man on the Moon and starring Jim Carrey as Kaufman, then please do. I recommend it.

Being from the UK, I only knew Andy Kaufman as Latka Gravas and when I saw the movie, I was astounded to see the mystery surrounding him, something we never knew. To me he was and always will be Latka – my favourite character in the show – but there was so much more.

8. Soap

Soap was another sitcom from the 1970’s that took the piss out of soap operas, with over the top characters and absurd plots. I loved it. Basically it was the story of two sisters and their families but it was much more than that – it was totally ridiculous – and that’s what made it brilliant:

My favourite characters were Burt Campbell (shown in the clip) and Benson the butler with his cutting wit.

7. Police Squad!

Police Squad! was silly – totally silly, silly enough to be as absolutely hilarious. Leslie Nielsen was a comic genius and how he managed to keep a straight face while filming the show and the three movies that were spawned from it, I will never know. I don’t think there has been a sitcom like it in America (correct me if I’m wrong) and there probably won’t be again.

Here is a typically silly scene:




6. Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Continuing on the cop show theme, Brooklyn Nine-Nine is a brand new series set in New York and features some of the best characters I’ve seen in a comedy show. Particularly surprising is Andre Braugher, who plays Captain Holt. I’ve only previously seen him in serious movies or mini-series and he has adapted to comedy extremely well. Also worth a mention are Andy Samberg as the childish Detective Peralta and Stephanie Beatriz as the sexy but scary Detective Diaz. It is one of my favourite comedy shows on television on either side of the pond at the moment.




5. Sledge Hammer

And yet more cop humour, Sledge Hammer was a parody of the Dirty Harry movies in the 1980’s. Sledge Hammer is a crazy cop of the same ilk as Clint Eastwood’s famous creation except he loves violence, big guns and even talks to his own gun. He has an extremely loud Captain, called Captain Trunk who spends the entire episode screaming “HAAMMMMEERRRRRR!!!”. Sledge Hammer was brilliantly portrayed by David Rasche and his catch phrase is fantastic: “Trust me! I know what I’m doing.” – except he doesn't really know at all:

4. The Office (US)

The Office in the UK was absolutely hilarious, and when it was announced that a US version of the show would be produced, I thought that America would just not get it, therefore the show would be completely different and nowhere near as funny. But I was wrong. The American version, while not quite as good as the original, has sailed off in a different direction and proved to be a very funny show in its own right. I don’t think Michael Scott is as amusing and cringeworthy as David Brent but the character of Dwight Schrute more than makes up for that:

3. Frasier

The first time I saw Frasier was on a long haul flight from Hong Kong to London and my guffawing made me look like a complete fool to the other passengers. Frasier Crane, and his brother Niles, are both such pompous arses that you can’t help but chuckle when they are brought down to earth – like in this scene:



Also, the character of Daphne has helped put Manchester on the map for Americans (even though her accent is nothing like Mancunian). Still, every little helps and I’m sure most Mancunians mind – even plastic ones like me.

2. Married With Children

Al Bundy was my hero and I had a crush on his daughter Kelly. What I liked about this series was that the family all lived together and tolerated each other even though they all appeared to hate each other. In fact all of the characters spent every episode hurling insults and belittling each other – and that was so different from almost all other US sitcoms I have seen. And of course, it was hilarious.



1. Curb Your Enthusiasm

Al Bundy was my hero, but Larry David, the evil Larry David in Curb Your Enthusiasm is most definitely my hero. When most of us bite our tongues to stop ourselves from saying something or doing something that might upset other people, Larry David has no qualms about bounding over the line of bad taste without a care in the world for the consequences of his actions. And along the way he meets other celebrities who are equally willing to portray alternative versions of themselves for our amusement. It is the funniest show to come out of the US. Even Mrs PM has grown to like it; at first she said “It just isn’t funny” but now she laughs as much if not more than me when we see an episode. It is clever, totally and utterly politically incorrect and takes no prisoners – and that includes the rather colourful language and adult themes that accompany it. Here are some examples – but be warned, they contain language that may offend.

And finally…

Over to you, dear reader.

Have you seen any of the sitcoms above?

Do you agree with me?

If not, what are your favourite US sitcoms?

Why (Part Two)?

Here are some questions I stumbled across – I’ve added a few of my own too.

Why do people like modern art when in reality it is just awful?

Why is it that the further you are from a toilet, the more desperately you need to go?

Why isn’t “ten” pronounced “onety”?

Why are most politicians ugly?

Why do they make cars that can travel at 140 mph when the maximum speed you can drive is 70mph?

Why do banks have branches when money doesn’t grow on trees?

Why are the instructions on how to cook packaged meat always on the inside of the package?

Why did my mum ask if I’d washed behind my ears, when my hair was so long that it covered them?

Why do doctors have such poor writing? And why are pharmacists the only people who can read prescriptions?

Why does more hair grow out of a man’s nose and ears as he gets older?

Why can’t I tickle myself?

Why do you look up the spelling of a word in a dictionary when, surely, if you didn’t know how to spell it you would never find it?

Why is a lift called a lift when it can go down?

Why are people promoted above their level of competence?

Why do people demand to have the word “manager” in their job title, even if, say, they only sweep the streets?

Why do slow drivers always wear hats?

Why do you never see the headline “psychic wins the lottery”?

Why is the third hand on a clock called the second hand?

Why is there a light in the fridge but not in the freezer?

Why do celebrities die in threes?

Why aren’t there any guilty bystanders?

Why is there an “s” in the word “lisp”?

Why do you get on a train but into a car?

Why do intelligent intellectual types always look so weird?

Why are intelligent intellectual types always portrayed by good looking actors in films?

Why is it that when a door is open it’s ajar but when a jar is open it’s not adoor?

Why is it that lemon juice contains mostly artificial ingredients but dish washing liquid contains real lemons?

Why do they make bullet-proof vests but not bullet proof pants?

Why aren’t there “junior citizens” as well as “senior citizens”?

Why do British people complain about the hot weather in the summer then pine for it in the winter?

Why are there instructions on a shampoo bottle?

Why doesn’t the glue stick to the inside of a bottle?

Why do we say “sleep like a baby” when babies wake up constantly?

Why do we still have apes if humans were supposed to have evolved from them?

Why don’t sheep shrink when it rains?

Why do mattresses have patterns on them when they are always covered by a sheet?

Why do lawyers charge so much for doing not a lot?

Why do we say “goodbye” but not “goodhello”?

Why isn’t “phonetic” spelled the way it sounds?

Why is “abbreviation” such a long word?

Why is the alphabet in the order it’s in?

Why do shops that stay open for 24 hours have locks on their doors?

Why does traffic move slowest during the rush hour?

Why did kamikaze pilots wear helmets?

Why do British singers sing with an American accent?

Why is the plural of “tooth” “teeth” but the plural of “booth” not “beeth”

Why is the plural of “goose” “geese” but the plural of “moose” is not “meese”?

Why doesn’t Tarzan have a beard?

Why when you yawn do other people in the room start to yawn as well?

Why is your funny bone not funny at all?

Why do people fall head over heels in love? Isn’t your head always over your heels?

Why do people always want to push the red button that says “Do not push this button”?

Why are the elderly called “old people” yet children are not called “new people”?

Why does it never rain when I take an umbrella but always rain when I forget it?

Why is there no pine nor apple in pineapple?

Why do women have so many pairs of shoes?

Why do women always go to the toilet in pairs?

And finally - Piers Morgan - WHY????????

The Nutter Magnet

I have an affliction that has tormented me for most of my life: I am a complete nutter magnet.

I’ve asked myself why nutters are drawn to me but I simply cannot see what it is about me that sends them into a frenzy. I could be in a room full of people who are all completely different. When the nutter enters the room, he will invariably look around for a victim, spot me and then home in. As soon as he sees me, he will shift into the highest gear of weirdness, smile his crooked smile and, before I can blink, he will be there, inflicting his nuttiness on me.

It’s happened all of my life and continues to happen to this day.

Here are a couple of examples of my encounters with nutters.

In the eighties, I was sitting in a pub with a mate. He got up to buy a couple of beers and when I turned around a second later, the only nutter in the pub had taken his seat. It was as if he had been waiting for my friend to leave. This guy (they are always guys) stared at me with a very creepy grin. He didn’t say a word.

“Excuse me,” I said politely. “This seat is taken.”

His grin widened but he said nothing. I should have simply stood up and joined my mate at the bar, but being the idiot that I am I stayed there.

“I can read your conscience,” he claimed. “I KNOW your mind.”

Oh no, I thought – a bloody nutter. Instead of getting up and walking away, I tried to engage him in conversation.

“Look mate, my pal’s at the bar and will be back in a minute.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” he said, his grin becoming even weirder. “I can read your mind like a book.”

“No you can’t,” I said. “Nobody can read minds.”

What kind of idiot was I? What was I doing trying to engage the nutter in conversation? I knew that it would end in pain.

The nutter, buoyed by my stupidity, settled into his seat and started to explain why my thoughts were so easy to read. I can’t remember what he said exactly but his words were mad enough and loud enough to attract the attention of quite a few people in the pub. Instead of coming to my rescue, these people simply enjoyed the show and started laughing openly.

“What’s he saying now?” said one.

My mate returned from the bar and, being much more forceful than I am, said “Oy, mate! That’s my seat.”

The nutter got up and I breathed a sigh of relief. However, such is the strength of my nutter magnet that he wasn’t finished. He walked behind me and continued telling me, in increasingly bizarre terms, why my every thought was screaming at him. And then the final humiliation – he put his hands on shoulders and started massaging my neck. He lowered his lips to my ear and said “I think you can read my mind as well – we’re so alike.”

I have to thank my mate at this point because he intervened.

“I wouldn’t touch him, mate,” he said to the nutter. “He’s got AIDS.”

I have never seen a man fly out of the pub so quickly.

Perhaps I should have simply ignored the nutter. Unfortunately that doesn’t always work as my second tale will reveal.

I was on the London Underground. The train was full but I had been lucky enough to get a seat. When I say “lucky” I really mean “unlucky”. I was listening to music at a fairly high volume and was so engrossed in it that I was oblivious to my surroundings. I noticed that the woman opposite me was staring in my direction – I thought for a brief second that I may have attracted the welcome attention of a nice young lady. But then I noticed she wasn’t looking at me at all; her gaze was focussed slightly to my right. Her eyes briefly flitted back to mine and her brow furrowed as if she were puzzled. I turned my head to my right to see what was so fascinating.

That’s when the person to my right grabbed my headphones and ripped them off my head.

The man next to me was a complete nutter, one of the worst kinds – an angry nutter. He had apparently been yelling at me for a while but my music had been loud enough to cover his insane screaming; that’s why the lovely lady opposite had looked so puzzled. I had been sitting next to the nutter as he screamed at me but my music had been so loud that I was oblivious to his insane ranting.

He gripped my headphones in his dirty hands and shouted “WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME????? NOBODY LISTENS TO ME.”

The person on the other side of the nutter must have breathed a sigh of relief at this stage because, as usual, the nutter had focussed all of his attention on me.

“Can I have my headphones?” I asked calmly.

He threw them into my lap in indignation and shouted.

“LISTEN TO ME!!!”

Because he was angry, I agreed to listen to him. He spent the next ten minutes telling me about alien invasions, evil doppelgangers and peculiar conspiracy theories. He punctuated his ranting with “DO YOU BELIEVE ME????”

I nodded in the hope that he would leave me alone – he didn’t. I’m sure that if I said “No,” he would have carried on ranting.

Of course, the rest of the train found my experience highly amusing and again some people were openly laughing. It was as if the nutter and I had been surrounded by a bubble impervious to sound; he was oblivious to everybody else and the mocking laughter that echoed around the train.

When the train finally stopped, I waited for the doors to open and a few people to get off, before leaping up at the last minute. I managed to get off the train before the nutter could react and follow me.

These days I am more aggressive to nutters; if one were to sit next to me in a pub I would get up and leave rather than being subjected to a one way humiliating tirade of abuse.

All this has got me wondering whether I have any physical properties that draw nutters to me. Have I got a kind face? Can they really read my mind? Am I an alien?

Ah – I think I may have it. I think it is my mad bad hair. It must be an antenna that draws nutters in. Perhaps if I shave it all off the nutters will leave me alone. Perhaps I’m like Samson – except my hair doesn’t give me strength; it is the nutter magnet.

Maybe I’m wrong though – perhaps it’s just me. Whatever the reason, I fear that nutters will still be drawn to me. I have never done anything to encourage them at all. I wonder whether I have an invisible tattoo on my forehead saying “I LOVE NUTTERS” that only they can read.

Anyway, I’m not the only one who suffers:

Listen here for the Birmingham commedian Jasper Carrott's experience of nutters: Nutter On The Bus

I know exactly how he feels.

I've Got This Mole, Ya Know ...

I was having a poke around YouTube (as I sometimes do) and I came across this classic piece of stand-up comedy from Jasper Carrott.

For those of you who have never heard of him, Jasper Carrott is from Birmingham (pretty close to where I was born) and is one of my favourite comedians. I first heard this routine as a child in the 70's and I have never forgotten it.

I was delighted to discover that it came with its own animated film.

I hope you understand the Birmingham accent (very similar to a Black Country accent but not quite).

Enjoy:

Killer Cats

Cats can be cute and cuddly, but one thing that most people forget (usually women) is that they are in fact vicious killing machines who butcher innocent creatures without remorse.

Take the other night, for example. Picture the scene:

There I was, sitting at my desktop, with a very dodgy post about toilets in front of me, searching for inspiration for another blog post. Mrs PM had gone to bed early. The house was silent. The world was falling asleep.

All of a sudden, a blood-curdling scream reverberated around the house. It shocked me so much that I pressed “Publish” by accident and unleashed the disgusting post about toilet habits onto the world without proof-reading it first. Mayhem ensued.

Poppy, the most timid of our cats, the one who is terrified of shadows, raced downstairs in a flurry of black and threw herself out of the cat flap like a feline possessed. This was all the more incredible because the cat flap was locked.

Spooked by the scream and Poppy’s remarkable exit, our fat cat, Jasper, followed her and somehow managed to crowbar his bulk through the same cat flap.

“What the …?” I said. Mrs PM ran downstairs still in a state of shock.

Fearing that we had a burglar or, worse, a ghost in the house I looked around for the nearest blunt object. I found a Wii controller and prepared myself for combat. Then I thought to myself “That’s going to be a pretty useless weapon when challenging a spook,” so I reluctantly put it down and tried to be the brave man.

“Wh..wh...wh...what’s wrong?” I stammered, picturing a psychotic vampiric spectre marching downstairs with blood lust in its eyes.

“Poppy’s bought a LIVE MOUSE into the bedroom and dropped it on the bed,” said Mrs PM with a look of total trauma. I then realised that she was holding the little blighter by its tail – and it was still wriggling. She opened the front door and carefully released it back into the wild.

When she came back, I was on the floor rolling around in hysterical laughter.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY!” she shouted before storming off back to bed.

I was still laughing when I reread the blog post I had inadvertently published. Thankfully, I deleted the post before anybody read it (at least I hope I did).

I have tried, in vain, to convince Mrs PM that “her babies” can be evil little monsters who terrorize wildlife. Even Poppy, a tiny cute little black creature, can mutate into a vicious, heartless predator. If Arnie Schwartzenegger had had to face a giant Poppy in that jungle rather than an alien killing machine, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

I’ve seen it myself. Poppy has marched into the lounge on a number of occasions with a live creature in her mouth and then let it go before walking out of the room again, leaving me to catch the creature myself.

I AM NOT A CAT.

I cannot catch mice; I cannot catch birds; I cannot catch frogs.

Have you ever tried to catch a mouse? It’s impossible. Cheese doesn’t work. Those Tom and Jerry cartoons are lies.

Mice are bad enough but birds are the worst.

Why? Because they can fly and I hate them.

When I was a kid, we had a particularly vicious cat called Midge. This cat was a psychopath. It would treat me as prey. I would go to school covered in scratches, battle scars from my confrontations with this mad moggy.

My dad christened the cat Midge because when we first acquired him, he was tiny, absolutely minute and totally cute. But inside that tabby ball of fluff lurked a monster. It seemed like he mutated overnight. One day he was a cuddly little ball of fluff, the next he was a psychotic killing machine – and nothing was safe – including me.

One day, I returned from school and Midge was sitting on the gate post. As I approached, I heard him purring and so, led cunningly into a false sense of security, I put out my hand to stroke him.

I almost lost it. He leapt off the wall, grabbed my hand with his front paws, sank his teeth into my flesh and clawed my forearm with his back legs. I couldn’t shake him off. By the time he’d let go, my entire arm was a bloody mess.

Another time, he jumped on my knee, purring and moved his face close to mine. Before I could say a word, he had sunk his teeth into my nose. On other occasions he simply scratched me for the hell of it. I think he saw me as a challenge. He would stare at me and his eyes would say “You’re going down, sucker!”

My sisters were also victims. He once climbed into my eldest sister’s school bag and peed all over her school books.

As well as attacking me at every opportunity, Midge used to bring live birds into the house and let them go. Once, he brought in a thrush that was almost bigger than he was. He let the beast go and its instinct told it to fly for freedom towards the window. As well as glass, there was another obstacle to block its escape: a net curtain.

The bird flapped around the window screeching in terror and the cat ran up the net curtain tearing it to shreds in the process. I sat there in total shock as I watched the mayhem unfold. I was stunned into inaction as the cat leapt about the window, using the curtains as claw holds, ripping them to pieces.

Can you imagine the scene? Me trying desperately to catch a cat with bloodlust in its eyes, a terrified thrush flapping around making enough noise to wake a corpse, and my mum’s net curtains being systematically destroyed by claw and beak?

It took me a good ten minutes to catch the cat. As I struggled to take it outside, the cat vented its spleen and tore several shreds of skin from my face and arms. Midge became a hissing, scratching ball of pure fury; it was like wrestling a live chainsaw.

Having disposed of the cat, I finally managed to open the window and free the thrush. However, the poor creature had deposited the contents of its bowels evenly over the curtains, carpet, TV and most other items of furniture in the lounge. The bird was like a TARDIS - how could something so small contain so much poo?

I sat down dishevelled, bleeding and shell-shocked. All I could hear was the cat howling outside the door: “Let me in or there will be hell to pay.”

It took a hell of a lot of explaining to my mum when she returned and saw her lounge looking like the Battle of the Somme. And, of course, because to her Midge was a harmless ball of cuteness, I got the blame.

“Yes, Mum. I caught a thrush, let it go in the lounge and tried to cut it to pieces with a chainsaw. Midge had nothing to do with it.”

Thankfully, our three cats are nowhere near as violent as Midge was. Nevertheless, they do feel the need to bring us creatures, alive and dead, for reasons that only they understand. They show no remorse when they drop a bloody half-eaten sparrow in the middle of the carpet. In the summer, in particular, our house can become littered with half-eaten woodland creatures. Our house becomes a morgue for wildlife.

I see dead creatures.

And still Mrs PM treats the cats as if they are little angels.

The day after Poppy dropped a live mouse on Mrs PM in bed, she was walking around the house, cooing.

“Poppy! Poppy! Where are you little girl?”

“She’s probably annihilating the mouse population again,” I replied on Poppy’s behalf.

“She’s not,” replied Mrs PM. “She’s frightened because you’ve been stomping around like a demented elephant again. You’re horrible”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said. “But are we talking about the cute little black thing, known in the garden as The Killing Beast? The same little black ball of fluff that decapitates mice for fun? The very same timid creature that dropped a live mouse on your head last night?”

“Leave her alone,” she snapped.

“So let me get this right – you’re having a go at me because Poppy, aka the Manchester Mouse Murderer, is out there on a killing spree rather then being here with you?”

“She’s not a murderer. She’s lovely. She’s so cute.” said Mrs PM before storming off. I somehow managed to acquire the blame for the whole episode.

I can’t win. It is so difficult to convince Mrs PM, sometime, that Poppy is really a serial killer; so is Jasper; so is Spike.

Anyway, I need to get this off my chest, so I would like to dedicate this post to Poppy for giving me a little inspiration.

Now then, where’s that post about toilet habits?

How Insulting!

Many people have insulted me over the years. Many people still do.

I’m not talking about people who swear at me, or tell me in no uncertain terms what they think of me. I’m referring to clever little put downs that are rude but funny.

Below are some great examples of insults that I have stumbled upon while travelling in cyberspace, peppered with one or two that I have picked up from other people.

If you had brains, you’d be dangerous.

Keep talking – one day you might say something intelligent or interesting.

How do you manage to get dressed in the morning?

Don’t feel sad – there are a lot of other talentless people around.

Even stupid people think you are stupid.

If you spoke your mind you would be speechless.

Humans are meant to live and learn. You just live.

You’d be out of your depth in a puddle.

Crikey – take that bloody mask off. Oh sorry – you’re not wearing one.

Hi – I’m from Earth. Where are you from?

How did you get here? Did somebody leave a cage open?

When you fell out of the ugly tree, did you hit every branch?

100,000 sperm and you won the race?

You’re the kind of person they would use as a blueprint to build an idiot.

Calling you “stupid” would be an insult to stupid people.

Is there a village somewhere missing an idiot?

I look into your eyes and get the feeling someone else is driving.

You’re a sandwich short of a picnic.

As an outsider, what do you think of the human race?

You are living proof that man can function without a brain.

Something crossed your mind? Must have been a long and lonely journey.

Here are some insults from some of my favourite comedy shows:

Blackadder:

"We live in an age where illness and deformity are commonplace and yet, Ploppy, you are without a doubt the most repulsive individual I have ever met. I would shake your hand but I fear it might come off."

“Yes, it's not the only thing that is "very small indeed". Your brain for example – it is so minute, Baldrick, that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open, there wouldn't be enough to cover a small water biscuit.”

“Percy, far from being a fit consort for a Prince of the Realm, you would bore the leggings off a village idiot. You ride a horse rather less well than another horse would. Your brain would make a grain of sand look large and ungainly and the part of you that can't be mentioned, I am reliably informed by women around the Court, wouldn't be worth mentioning even if it could be. If you put on a floppy hat and a funny codpiece, you might just get by as a fool, but since you wouldn't know a joke if it got up and gave you a haircut, I doubt it.”

"The eyes are open, the mouth moves, but Mr Brain has long since departed, hasn't he, Percy?"

Red Dwarf:

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Look at me – I’m disgusting. I look like you in your best clothes”

“I am Holly – the ship’s computer, with an IQ of 6000 – the same as 6000 PE teachers.”

“The mind-probe was created to detect guilt, yet in the case of Arnold Judas Rimmer the guilt it detected attaches to no crime. He held a position of little or no authority on Red Dwarf. He was a lowly grease-monkey, a nothing, a piece of sputum floating in the toilet bowl of life. Yet he could never come to terms with a lifetime of under- achievement. His absurdly inflated ego would never permit it. He's like the security guard on the front gate who considers himself head of the corporation. So, when the crew were wiped out by a nuclear accident, Arnold Rimmer accepted the blame: it was his ship, ergo his fault. I ask the court: look at this man. This man who sat and failed his astronavigation exam on no less than thirteen occasions. This sad man, this pathetic man, this joke of a man. I ask the court one key question: would the Space Corps have allowed this man ever to be in a position where he might endanger the ship? A man so petty and small-minded he would while away his evenings sewing name labels on to his ship-issue condoms? A man of such awesome stupidity, he even objects to his own defence counsel. An overzealous, trumped up little squirt, an incompetent vending-machine repairman with a Napoleon complex, who commanded as much respect and affection from his fellow crew members as Long John Silver's parrot. Who would put this man, this joke of a man, a man who couldn't outwit a used tea bag, in a position of authority where he could wipe out an entire crew? Who? Only a yoghurt. This man is not guilty of manslaughter. He's only guilty of being Arnold J. Rimmer. That is his crime. It is also his punishment. Defence rests.”

"Look, we all have something to bring to this discussion. But I think from now on the thing you should bring is silence."

Two of my favourite insults supposedly come from Winston Churchill:

Woman: Sir, you are drunk!
Churchill: And you, madam are ugly! But at least I’ll be sober in the morning.

Woman: If you were my husband I would poison your tea.
Churchill: If you were my wife I would drink it.

Finally, here is a sketch from Alexei Sayle’s TV show, which I personally think is hilarious (my warped sense of humour I’m afraid). It demonstrates the clever use of put-downs but the point is emphasized with mindless violence.



What are your favourite insults?

Another British Post

Napoleon once famously said of England:

England is a nation of shopkeepers

Presumably the French dwarf was annoyed because we kicked his bottom at the battle of Waterloo in 1815.

Well, I think its time to tell you all a little more about Britain and I will start by categorically denying Napoleon’s claim – I am not definitely not a shopkeeper. To counter this, I’ve decided to relate a few more facts about my home country.

Monarchy

Britain has a monarchy; we are ruled by Queen Delia of Norwich, a woman who writes books about food. When she barks we all jump – this is known as the “Delia effect”. She once wrote a book called “How To Cook” and in that tome, she suggested that we all go and buy eggs. I still recall the fateful day when Mrs PM read the book – I returned home from work to find the fridge full of eggs.

“What’s for tea?” I said.

“Eggs,” she replied. “Delia says so.”

Now I have to say that I cannot say anything bad about Queen Delia. She loves her people. Here she is giving encouragement to her subjects:



Now, apparently she wasn't drunk; royalty don't get drunk do they?

Government

The government of Britain is an example of a unique form of politics: idiocracy.

Our most recent Prime Ministers have been:

Margaret Thatcher – also know as “Atilla the Hen”. She was also called “The Iron Lady”, because she liked to iron clothes. She frequently did this in the House of Commons while insulting the opposition. Mrs Thatcher (or “Thatch” as she was affectionately known) single-handedly destroyed industry in England, because she didn’t like seeing pictures of dirty miners on her television screen. Such was her ego that she considered herself to be two people. When her first grand child was born, she wobbled up to the camera and said: We are a grandmother.” Now I’m sure that Atilla considered this to be a profound statement, but in reality it was because she was in fact a man - here is proof:



Following her years of dictatorship, Atilla was replaced by a robot called John Major, otherwise known as “The Grey Man”. This man was so dull that he quite literally sent everybody to sleep as soon as he opened his mouth. John Major should actually have been an accountant; how he managed to accidentally become Prime Minister is anybody’s guess. I would post a link showing a typical John Major speech but I fear you would immediately fall asleep. Here he is:

After Major bored us all to coma, we were subjected to His Royal Tonyness, Tony Blair, also known as “Tony Bliar”. Unlike his predecessor, Tony has a smile so huge that crows often get stuck in his teeth. In fact, Tony’s teeth are bigger than his head (and that is big enough):

Tony was great; Tony was cool; Tony was in a rock band. Tony can sing. He even did a duet with George W Bush:

After His Royal Tonyness came the dour Gordon Brown, our current Prime Minister, a man who has more lives than a cat. Gordon the Gopher has led the UK into recession. He has a fake smile that can scare even the bravest warrior. When I first saw him smile, I fled from the room, screaming for my Mum. Those of a nervous disposition, please DO NOT click the following (no matter how tempted you are):

He is famous for saying “No more boom and bust”. I presume he wasn’t talking about the economy when he blurted out these ill-chosen words; I guess he was talking about his expanding waistline.

Patron Saints

The patron saint of England is St George, who is also the patron saint of binge-drinkers. On one particularly boozy night, St George hallucinated and thought he saw a dragon. He promptly slayed the imaginary beast with his wooden spoon and somehow managed to convince a whole nation that he had done so.

The patron saint of Ireland is St Patrick, who is also the patron saint of Guinness drinkers. Every year, on March 17th, the whole of Great Britain goes out and gets drunk, including Queen Delia of Norwich. The video earlier in the post was filmed on March 17th.

The patron saint of Scotland is St Andrew, who is also the patron saint of monsters. Every St Andrews day, the Loch Ness Monster, or “Nessie” to her friends, crawls out of Loch Ness and shares a haggis and a pint of “heavy” with the locals.

The patron saint of Wales is St David, who is also the patron saint of rugby. Every Saturday thousands of Welshmen sing their hearts out at rugby union games throughout the country and are generally happy (mainly because they don’t have to play English teams).

Major Cities

London is the capital of England. It was discovered by the Romans, who named the place “Londinium” which is Latin for “speakers of cockney-rhyming slang”. Romans found it difficult to understand the language, which hasn’t changed in centuries. I mean, do you know what the following sentence means?

“Would you Adam and Eve it? I was having my barnet cut and I had a butchers through the window when I saw this geezer fall down the apple and pears.”

It means:

“Would you believe it? I was having a haircut and looked out of the window just in time to see a man fall down the stairs.”

People from London are called cockneys and think that Great Britain is contained with the boundaries of Greater London. Everyone else is “from the Norf”. Here's a typical cockney:

Birmingham is the second city in England. It was discovered by the Romans, who named the place “Brummigumus”, which is Latin for “speakers of a poor pseudo Black Country accent”. Again Roman’s found it difficult to understand the language in this city – it is like Black Country accent – only far less classy. Birmingham people think that their city is at the centre of the universe. In reality, the centre of the universe is just a few miles up the road, in the Black Country, at a little place called Walsall.

Manchester is the real capital of England. It was discovered by the Romans, who named the place “Mamucium”, which means “City of Paradise”. Julius Caesar declared “Mamucium” to be the true capital of the Roman Empire and decreed that only the greatest human beings in Britain would be allowed in the city; something that still stands today. Manchester is home to the crème de la crème of British citizenship; only the most intelligent and beautiful people in Great Britain are allowed within the city limits. I sneaked in twenty four years ago, through the sewage system.

In Scotland, there are two major cities; Edinburgh and Glasgow. Edinburgh was discovered by Mel Gibson who promptly went to war with the English and then retreated to Edinburgh castle. Glasgow was discovered by the Romans, who named the place “Glaswegia”, which is Latin for “wearers of kilts”. Nobody outside Glasgow can understand a Glaswegian. Listen to this:



Does it make sense to you? No, it doesn't make sense to me either.

In Wales, we have Cardiff. Cardiff was discovered by the Romans, who named the place “Armus Parkus”, which is Latin for “Home of Welsh Rugby”. Cardiff is a fabulous city and I have always had a magnificent time there. On Saturday nights, the city is full of Welsh people singing in close harmony as they consume Brains Bitter. I was of course instantly recognised as an Englishman because when I sing, cats throw themselves under cars.

In Northern Ireland we have Belfast, which was discovered by the Romans. They named the city “Belfast”, which is Latin for “Home of Georgie Best”. George Best hailed from there and is one of the greatest players ever to grace the English football league. I wish George Best had been English.

Anyway, that’s enough for now. More may follow in later posts. In the meantime, if you have any questions about Great Britain, please fell free to ask me.

I may even tell you the truth next time ...

A Very British Post (Part One)

Today, I came across an article that discussed the traits of British people, those items that are typically British and the various stereotypes and icons that foreigners consider to be quintessentially British. Intrigued by this, I decided to dedicate a couple of posts to this very subject. The first is about the people (of which I am a prime specimen).

On my foreign travels I have met many people who have fixed ideas about what it means to be British. Some people have the opinion that Britain is a bizarre place full of eccentrics; others think that we moan a lot; still more think that we are so reserved that the expression on our face never changes.

Here is a list of some of the traits of British people according to some foreigners:

Bad teeth: apparently there is a school of thought, possibly originating in America, that we have odd, misshapen, crooked, yellow teeth that stick out of our mouths like those of a tiger shark. I am aware that Mike Myers depicted Austin Powers to have dreadful teeth in his three hit movies but in reality our teeth aren’t that bad. From a personal point of view, I visit the dentist every six months for a thorough check up and usually come away without requiring any treatment. I have to admit that compared to our American counterparts, though, perhaps our teeth aren’t perfect. You seldom see a “Hollywood” smile in Britain, where people have a row of perfectly sized, even teeth that are so white you need sunglasses to look at them.

Obsession with the weather: I believe this to be true. Usually, the opening manoeuvre in a conversation is to talk about the weather. Why? Well my own personal opinion is that the weather in the British Isles is so changeable that you cannot guarantee what it will be like at any time during the day, even in the summer. This is one of the reasons I am so annoyed when I see a weather forecast in the morning. Carol Kirkwood will tell me, on BBC Breakfast news, that we should have a warm sunny day. So I leave the house without a coat or an umbrella and I can almost guarantee that I will be caught in a spontaneous, localised freak rain shower that drenches me from head to toe. And this is not just in Manchester either. Once I experienced all four seasons in one day. I went for a walk in May a few years ago and when I set off, the weather was beautiful. Within hours it was raining and then suddenly I was hit with a freak hailstorm. An hour later it was sunny again. This is typical of our weather is also the reason we talk about it all the time.

Obsession with the royal family: The royal family, for me, are merely figureheads and there are two key schools of thought as far as they are concerned. First there are those who love them and are utterly obsessed with them. Second, there are those who regard them as obsolete and want them to stand down. I am somewhere in between. Personally. I am not interested in anything that they say or do; to me they are just self-important celebrities who mean nothing. I wouldn’t care if the Queen’s head was removed from postage stamps for example. I never watch the Queen’s speech on Christmas Day because she is so divorced from reality that everything she says is irrelevant. Still, those that love them do so with gusto. As soon as there is a royal wedding the whole nation comes to a standstill and we all get out our flags and wave – well the royalists do anyway. I just go about my daily life as usual.

Politeness and being reserved: Foreign people see British people as both polite and reserved and to a certain extent this is true. As a nation we are not brash or pushy and we do like to say “please” and “thank you”. Where this comes from I don’t know. You can guarantee that if we have a grievance, we will generally address it politely and will not explode in a tsunami of arrogance and rage – there are exceptions of course. The only problem I see with the “reserved” tag is that we are perceived as being unfriendly, which is far from the truth. I feel that British people tend not to want to intrude and impose on other people’s lives. Personally I don’t care. I am reserved to a certain degree (unless I’ve had too much beer) and am a very friendly chap.

Stiff upper lip: In a similar way to being reserved, we are regarded as being devoid of emotion, i.e. we have the ability to maintain a “stiff upper lip” in the face of adversity. To be honest, I regard this as hogwash. Maybe in the past it was a desirable skill but in today’s times this “stiff upper lip” mentality is probably only encouraged in royalty and the military. That said, most British men will never admit to crying. I do, but only when caught out by a surprise ending in a film. I have been known to leave a cinema, pretending to “have something in my eyes”.

Queuing: I was surprised by this because people queue in other countries. We are perceived as a nation who will happily stand in a queue for hours and despise people who attempt to push in (like Germans for example). If you ever see a queue abroad and notice British people in that queue, just for a laugh try to push in. You will certainly hear these people moan and very politely direct you to the rear of the queue. However, if you approach politely and ask to push in, you may be lucky. From a personal point of view, I despise queuing and will endeavour to do my very best to push in – or simply avoid them.

Humour, irony and self-deprecation: We love to laugh at ourselves and put ourselves down and we are very good at it. In my opinion, we are the funniest people in the world, so funny in fact that a lot of foreigners just don’t get it. Take Monty Python for example. There are British people who do not like Monty Python, but the majority of us do – and we understand why it is so funny. On my first trip to America, we were staying with a family in New Jersey. As soon as I walked through the door, I was cornered by the head of the family who said: “Before we eat I want to know two things. First, why is Monty Python funny? Second, what the hell is cricket?” I struggled to answer both questions but the most difficult was why Monty Python was funny. To me it just is. Take the “Argument Clinic” sketch for example:




Now I find this hilarious. Do you? If you do, then you “get it”. And what about irony? For example, there is a feeling in Britain that Americans just don’t understand it. I came across this on the web recently:

SAN FRANCISCO MAN BECOMES FIRST AMERICAN TO GRASP SIGNIFICANCE OF IRONY - Jay Fullmer, 38, yesterday became the first American to get to grips with the concept of irony. "It was weird," Fullmer said, "I was in London and, like, talking to this guy and it was raining and he pulled a face and said, "great weather, eh?" and I thought "wait a minute, no way is it great weather." Fullmer then realised that the other man's 'mistake' was in fact deliberate.

Fullmer, who is 39 next month and married with two children, aged 8 and 3, plans to use irony himself in future. "I'm like using it all the time," he said. "Last weekend I was grilling steaks and I burned them to sh*t and I said, 'Hey, great weather!'"

Here are some examples of British humour from some of my favourite shows:



















I’m sure you will agree – very funny.

Finally, I would just like to ask any non-British people reading this post what they think are the traits of British people (be nice, please).

I will return with a post about British food.