Hate is a strong word, But...

Hate is a strong word, people often nowadays say they hate something when, really they probably just dislike it. As a result the word 'hate' seems to have lost all meaning. Indeed I have a long list of things I hate; expressive dance, the price of celebration cards, cyclists, cauliflower, busses, wasps, Gary Barlow. But if I go down that list, (with the exception of Mr Barlow) I actually hate very few of them. I for example, wouldn't purposely knock a cyclist off its bike, nor would I set fire to an innocent cauliflower, but one thing that I genuinely do hate is Swimming. or in my case, drowning with much commotion and splashing. I have the same feelings towards swimming as Mrs Thatcher does about British industry, I would quite happily go out, drain every swimming pool in the country and fill them all with sand.
I don't know why I hate it so much, I think it's because I just can't do it, no matter how hard I kick, or how much water gets into my lungs I just can't move in water.

At primary school we had to do swimming, everyone would stand on the edge of the pool looking excited with their 5,10,15,20 meter swimming badges sewn onto their shorts, and then there was me, at the end, shivering, with marbles and concrete sewn into my short pockets. And at primary school we had unisex swimming, boys and girls in the same pool. Which meant someone had to be next to 'Betty', Betty didn't smell very nice, she usually had nits. One of her eyes was weepy, and no matter what time of the year it was she always had a dribble of snot coming from her nose. And if if you were come into contact with Betty, you had Betty germs, which meant you had to wipe them onto a fellow classmate and say "naaaanaaaa, you've got Betty disease" by doing that you automatically cured yourself, strangely no one from my year ever went on to become a doctor. And because I was usually the last into the swimming pool it usually meant I had to slot into the gap between the edge of the pool and Betty, as near to the edge of the pool as possible.
So not only was I concentrating on not drowning, but I had to make sure I avoided Betty, try to avoid standing on the gritty/muddy stuff that had collected at the bottom of the pool, and dodge the inevitable plaster. It really was no wonder I couldn't do it. Once everyone (except me) had mastered swimming on the water, the teacher moved the goal post, now we were swimming under it, through hoops, like some sort of special needs fucking dolphin, or collecting rubber bricks from the bottom of the pool, just in case a career as a lifeguard at a brick factory beckoned. Then once everyone (except me) had mastered that the teacher once against moved the goal posts, now I found myself, back on top of the water, facing upwards, trying to do what the pro's call -backstroke, it's basically swimming upside down, it is slower, more dangerous, harder, and more stupid than front stroke but it is still for some reason seen as a viable way of moving in water. It wasn't all bad though, at the end of each lesson we'd have fun time, which was I assume sarcastically named. It meant the teachers would throw some foam floats (with bite mark) and some balls and hoops into the pool, in a fuck it sort of way. So now not only did I have to avoid Betty, drowning, plasters, mud, but I also had to avoid being hit in the face by a ball. Fun my arse.
It did all build up to something though, the swimming gala, which was an event like sports day, but in water. The four houses, Scott, Cook, Hilary and Drake (mine) would compete for some shit stickers, heavily diluted juice and a digestive biscuit. Parents weren't allowed to watch this event as the pool wasn't big enough, but instead it was a whole school event, so I could not only humiliate myself in front of my classmates, but also people, older, and younger than me. It's fair to say I never got entered in any of the proper races. Only the fun races, which usually involved walking in the pool with a football between your legs, picking up the rubber bricks as you went, first one to the end wins. Anyway third behind wheelchair Tom and blind Mark wasn't bad (well I was fourth if you count Marks Labrador). It's safe to say that I've never managed to put my swimming talents to good use, and I doubt I ever will.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Andy Dawson- Legend

Most of you probably wont have heard of the name, Unless of course you support Hull or Scunthorpe, Or are the most ardent of football geeks. But over the last 10 years Andy Dawson has been the first name on the teamsheet throughtout Hull City's rise through the football league. Rareley the headline maker Andy's consistent, strong and dogged displays have earnt the left back legendary status amongs Tigers fans.
     Signed by Peter Taylor on a free transfer from local rivals Scunthorpe fans could, Initially be forgiven for thinking Dawson's time at city would be largely unspectacular. In fact I imagine very few would have thought we'd be talking about him 10 years on. Dawson came to city when they were the proverbial 'sleeping giants' in Division 3, Taylor was building his team for success on the pitch, Adam Pearson building for success off it. Andy Dawson was to play a major part in All of the resulting achievments.
    For 10 years Dawson has been a rock as part of a team which has changed around him. In that time players have donned the tiger stripes who have made the fans uncomfortable when on the ball, Junior Lewis, Ibrahima Sonko, Peter Gulacsi etc. But the fans faith in 'Daws' has been unwaiverin. It was clear to see that Andy was more than capable at playing in Division 3, And when City won promotion to league 1 Dawson again stepped up, with more outstanding defending. Then another promotion this time to the Championship, Now we were playing with the Big Boys, City no longer had the bigger budget, The best stadium or the better players, We were going to be up against it. But again Andy stepped up with more effortless defensive displays. A few seasons of fighting relegation were followed by possibly the most amazing thing to happen to City to date, Promotion, To the Premier League, With Dawson playing a major part in the promotion season. Surely though, The veteran Left back couldn't step up once more to face the likes of Cristiano Ronaldo, Rooney, and Torres. But yet again he silenced the doubters,To become one of a select few of players to have played for their club in all 4 divisions. And became an essential part of the Tigers team for their 2 seasons in the top flight.
      But don't go thinking Andy's talents end at defending, He has (to date) scored 8 times for city, Most of which from sublime free kicks, He can cross (A rareity amongst modern full backs), His determination to never lose an individual battle really shines through on the pitch, and often leads to the arguably 'more talented' players failing to achieve, Just ask Theo Walcott, In the Tigers first season in the Premier League The young england winger barely got out of Andy's pocket all game. 
      I think one of the most telling tributes to Andy's performances is the lack of any real challengers for his position, Each of the 7 managers he's played under has fully trusted his abilities, and any challengers to his position didn't last long, Damien Delaney had a few cracks, but his delivery was nowhere near the standard of Andy's, Who could forget (Or even remember Roland Edge) Alan Rogers stepped in when 'Daws' suffered an injury in 2007. Kevin Kilbane got pretty close and Stephen Mouyakolo might even have tried, But No one has got close to moving Andy Dawson from the left back slot.
Daws has played behind many players at city, Eliott, Ellison,Fagan, Hughes, Halmosi, Geovanni, Stewart the list goes on, He's provided the crosses for Allsopp, Burgess, Parkin, Duffy, Campbell, Windass, King, Cousin, Manucho and Fryatt. He's partnered the likes of Delaney, Cort, Turner, Brown, Hobbs and Chester. And survived 7 different managers, The success of Taylor, The short lived disaster of Phil Parkinson, the ups and downs of Phil Brown, Ian Dowie, The needed clearout by Nigel Pearson, He's played under his friend and teammate Nick Barmby and currently Steve Bruce.
Windass is the local goalscoring hero, Ash was a hard tackling fans favourite, But Daws, well, 10 years on He's still here, and still Playing to the highest standard.
Andy Dawson, Thank You - From A city fan.

Swimming, Halloween and Derek Acorah

Well, We've recently had Halloween, which is one of my favourite celebrations of the year, It's definately up there just behind Christmas, Birthday, Bonfire Night, New Year, Easter, and the little known East African tribal celebration of Umpaktu. It also means everyone gets to dress up as Witches, Vampires, Zombies or Youths and Knock on peoples doors and demand treats, With the threat of some form of trick. There are a few things I dont 'get' about that whole procedure, 1) At no other point in the year is it acceptable to do that and 2) At no other point in the year is it acceptable to hand sweets out to childeren. So why do it on October 31st? It also means ghosts have to start making appearences and live up to their reputation. Step Forward.....Derek Acorah.

Derek Acorah For those of you who dont know, is a man from Liverpool, Who has a husky smokes 20 hamlets a day type scouse accent. Not a talent in itself, However his talent lies in his ability to speak to the dead. He's a spiritulist Medium. Or Liar to you and me. He's most famous for plying his trade on former Hit TV show Most Haunted, In which Derek, His invisible spirit guide Sam, and a film crew would go to a old building, talk to ghosts, scream and leave again, with no concrete evidence whatsoever.  The crew would be exploring a 500 year old castle and he'd stop, raise his hand and say something like, "Im sensing the spirit of a man" The crew would all gasp in awe, of his genius, Another raise of the Arm of Acorah would be met with another pearl of wisdom "I feel, This man has passed away" the crew look more and more shocked, and ask Derek for a name, He then turns into some sort of Liverpudlian porn actor and in a low, sensual voice he would contact his spirit guide (A mediums equivalent of Yoda I believe) " Come on Sam, Give it to me, Give it too me Sam, Give me the name, Who's the daddy, Give it to Sam you dirty girl" The crew now looking more and more alarmed, Derek comes up with a name, The big moment, He raises his finger once more, And In mid air spells out the name,  'ALAN' At the same time as saying "Joseph, The mans name is Joseph" At which point a factual banner comes up at the bottom of screen saying 'No Record of Joseph can be found at this castle' So to Summarise Dereks contribution to the show so far, He's found that a man has lived in a 500 year old castle, and is now dead, This man is called Joseph (Or Alan) and has absolutley NO connection with the building whatsoever. Oh yeah and He's had imaginary ghost sex with his spirit guide.  Thats how he made his living, He may well be a fraud, But he's Filthy rich and a genius for it.

There are as you know if youve read my previous blogs, Many things that annoy me, Religion, Supermarkets, Pensioners, Cats, Farmers, Derek Acorahs etc. But Nothing annoys me, quite as much as swimming.  There are some things people are naturally good at, Some things people learn and improve at, And others that people just cannot, not for want of trying do. Swimming is mine. For 9 years at school I did swimming lessons and to this day can swim no more than a legnth, In the shallow end. With a standing stop. I dont know why im cack at it I do everything the swimming teachers tell me, Wave my hands around, kick my feet. But I just cant do it. Then again, I have no interest in doing it. I have no interest in walking through the gammy, mucky, gritty footwash things, I can see no fun in spending any amount of time swimming in straight lines in water full of bleach, urine, plasters, disease and childeren. and to top it all off, The one thing I have learnt in swimming has never come in of use to me, Never In my 21 years existance have I been walking past a crystal clear canal, in my Pyjamas, and see, a rubber brick struggling to stay afloat. It really does take the piss. But each to their own, If you are the type of person who likes taking a bite out of them polystyrene floats and swalling large amounts of nasty water then be my guest.

If anyone serves me riced potatoes I will smack them in the face

The phrase 'brilliant idea' is overused a lot these days, usually by a Chinese looking person with a strong Glaswegian accent on dragons den, while they struggle to describe the benefit of wearing a glove that doubles up as wine press. And as they begin to fall to pieces at the sight of what's up Deborah skirt (Theo's hand?) they feel I assume much like the person who invented the slotted spoon felt when he/she was pitching their idea. "Errmmm well, yeah, it's a sort of spoon, but errm with holes in".
However some of these inventions are useful; the JML halogen oven, the JML Paint runner, the JML ped-egg (an egg for removing dead skin I believe) for instance, all useful inventions available from all good woolworthseses. However the potato ricer, is at the opposite end of the spectrum, a completely pointless, useless and impractical money making, Idea, it basically mashes potatoes, but in ultra small small amounts, so by the time you've riced your last bit of king Edward the first bits cold. And I imagine they're a ball ache to wash up (even with fairy). Unless your names Jamie, Gordon or Hugh-Fearnley you really shouldn't own one, let alone contemplate buying. Save your pennies and buy a shoe horn instead.
It seems strange that we are worshipping potato ricers, and dead skin eggs, as technology, when arguably the greatest invention ever seen is lying dormant and unused in some museum. The Concorde, was a complete miracle, for a start it was built by us and the French, and usually anything built in this country was about as reliable as getting Jimmy Saville to babysit. The Austin Allegro for example, or Rovers. And the French only really do fine delicate things, such as wine, cheese and underwear. But the two combined on this project really worked, when you think about it, the frechies managed the technical stuff and we did the big, gritty parts, because wings are easy to knock up in between striking and complaining a out the wether. The Concorde really was an amazing plane, I could be in America and back in time for breakfast, if it was still in action (possibly in a screaming fireball, but still...) and ok it had its downfalls, as all new ideas had, but too scrap it so hastily, well it's a massive waste. And, it also makes the last piece of genuine British design and ingenuity look crap, and it wasn't. Although the Airbus can hold more people, and is more spacious, it's not as quick and therefore like anything built since, has been a step back. Bring back the Concorde I say.
Rant over, I'm hoping my next blog will be funnier, it's going to be about my hatred for swimming, I think.

The Cooperative

As the title of my blog suggests I am a largely unconvincing person socially, However you didn't need to be some sort of mind reader to work out the girl at the till in the co-op fancied me, as she fumbled around with her till roll, and struggled to scan my items, making up feeble excuses such as 'my scanners been down all day' clearly lies as she admired my patience and openly warming stance as I waited for my items. There was definitely something in the air, I shan't go into details as I wouldn't want to outsell 50 shades, but as with all love stories there was an abrupt parting, but to sum it up i eventually got my items....although I aren't allowed in co-op again.
Anyway last night watching 999 what's your emergency made me realise one thing, just how much I value my teeth and my wallpaper. For those of you who haven't see it it's basically like Jeremy Kyle filmed on location, featuring people who use the word 'was' in the wrong tense. It's amazing how much some TV programmes can touch you inside. It really does make you wonder just why the government are helping these people who waste every opportunity given to them, and have little or no ambition to change their lifestyle. Surely it would be better to give these people there benefits in the form of food stamps or utility bill stamps. That way these people would have no choice but to spend there money where it is needed and not on ecstasy and reebok track suits. If this ruling ever does come into force I'd move all my money into shares in Bernard Matthews, and other chicken dipper makers.
Talking of TV programmes that really touch you, Jim'll fix it, who'd have thought that Sir Jimmy Saville may have been, you know, one of them. I can't help but think these allegations would have been more good coming to light when he was alive, that way something could be done. But what are they going to do now? Hang him? I just can't decide wether I believe these allegations or wether its just a few people trying to make a quick buck, but anyway at least they got a medal. Of sorts.
The good news is that food prices are set to rise this winter due to a poor summer, well if that's the case would All the farmers who are clogging up the roads with their tractors kindly sod off and get some big greenhouses built in case next years summer is as bad, it would protect next years harvest and make my journeys all the more pleasurable, two birds, one stone.
Thanks again for reading, if you did. If not, take a long hard look at yourselves :p

You know your life's in a strange place when you contemplate making soup.

Well it does seem, as I look out of my window at the sea of grey and rain drops that winter has arrived, or at least returned from its week off. Which means that everyone has a common talking point and a common reason to be miserable. It also means that we are now on a collision course with 6 months of bad weather, which most people believe to be a bad thing. However bad wether creates a good feeling, kind of siege mentality, like in the war, except its not nazi bombs and mustard gas were all fighting, it's rain, snow and a lack of common sense. By the end of the week we will be seeing pensioners huddled together underneath bus shelters complaining about the rain, like a bunch of damp refugees. And went the snow comes we will all be asked to look after our elderly neighbours, and sooner or later there will be a news story stating some halfwit has died trying to climb Ben Nevis wearing just a pair of crocs and a bobble hat. And together as one we will all shout 'moron'. So lets all cut the bad weather some slack and embrace the rain and the way it unites us.
Also In my humble opinion I've just witnessed the most disturbing news story of the year, no, not one about a much loved celebrity passing away, or hundreds of innocent nun's children's bunny rabbits being killed, but a story that a shooting star that flew over parts of England last night may have just been an ordinary piece of space crap. Ok I appreciate the BBC has to report the facts but why not let the good people of Slough believe they have seen something magical and amazing, Not just some rusty old bolts from a space station, It does seem rather unfair that we aren't allowed to enjoy these 'special' moments without someone with thick glasses and a West Country accent telling us were all idiots and we were in fact wrong.
I've also just been reading the local paper, and there are about 50 adverts for lost cats, Now I've never really understood cats, or understood why people want them, But for so many to go missing is just odd, and its not just this week, it's every week, these horrible flea ridden dog wannabe's are going missing in their hundreds, now I can't decide wether this is down to their odd owners carelessness or more likely it may be down to the cats who having being spoiled for so long now intend on taking over the world, it's the perfect plan if you think about it, after all. Who expects a cat?

Why Don't the Olympics just sod off.

It seems that nowadays there needs to be scapegoat for people to be happy about things. It's usually; America, Immigrants, Men, Banks or Motorists. Last week for example the 'thing' that was responsible for everything bad in the world was Barclays, I like everybody else aren't really sure why, But I'm pretty certain they are a set of bastards for doing whatever it is that they did. I think what they did had something to do with money, And it Involved an Important man at Barclays called Bob Diamond. But with a name like that, The guy was always going to be evil. Bob's fair enough, But Diamond? Of course he was going to be trouble. Anyway whatever he did  he copped some flack for it, and I think got sacked. 
But this weeks scapegoat is G4S who have been chosen to sort out the security at the Olympics. However the man/woman at G4S who was in charge of this particular project greatly underestimated the amount of security gaurds they would need. For some reason these Idiots thought that 6 people would be enough to make sure that the millions of people coming to watch the biggest event in Britain for years would be ok. Now I'm not a security expert, But there are usually two Bouncers on the door at the local nightclub, which rarely gets more than 100 people in it. So I'd imagine that 6 people, even if they were big, burly, strong men, Armed with super soakers would struggle to secure the olympics. So now the Army will have to do it. That has made us all very angry and made G4S This weeks scapegoat. Infact I'm fairly  sure that it was a G4S employee who started mad cow disease, and It was probably The lady who cleans the G4S toilets who was responsible for the common cold.
Personally I'm sick of hearing about the Olympics, and in particular all of it's bloody sponsors; glaxosmithkline- The official anti Dopers of the olympics, Coca Cola, The lottery, and Most hilariously; Mcdonalds - The company that has turned Millions of small childeren into waddling, Multi Chinned balls of lard and Chicken Nuggets, They are sponsoring a major sporting event. Nothing Prepares Sir Chris Hoy for a bicycle ride more than a tub of French Fries, A big mac and a super size Mcflurry. It's just a completely innapropriate sponsor, They may as well say "Fred West- The official child killer of the Olympics'. Surley the companies that should sponsor the games are ones like; salads R us, or Getoffyourfatarse.com.
Not that I care, I'm bored of the Olympics already, It seems that If you stick a union jack or the words 'Team GB' on something you can flog it for a tenner. It does seem that In britain we can't got more than 2 weeks without getting irrationally excited for a major sporting event.
Thanks for reading.
If indeed you did.

Work, Rain and 50 shades of Gray

I'm currently watching a programme on TV fronted by Nick and Margeret off the Apprentice - It's called the town that never retired.  Basically they've forced a load of 70+ year olds from Preston to get a job, Just to see if they can do it. Needless to say it's not going well, Who would have thought a frail, 70 year old who's been retired for the last 10 years was going to struggle lifting reinforced steel joists? Or that a woman who once 'did' Joan of Arc's feet would fail to grasp the concept of word processing, And after four hours Writing click on Several Mice 'Elsie' a former WW2 land girl still hasn't managed to log into 02s main server account.  Still we've made it through the first half an hour of the programme without so much as a heart flutter. Things are looking up for them.
They should have given the poor old chaps an easy job at least, Such as Lion conservation in the Arctic, Or working for Gillette's product devolpment team, Arguably the easiest job in the world. Stroll in about 9am, Walk into the board room, "Right guys, The kids want a trip to euro disney and the wifes just finished reading 50 shades of gray, and has spent all our cash on Candles, Essential oils and cucumbers, So heres my money making idea, wait for it.....A 6 blade razor, The first blade cuts the hair, The rest just look pretty, But the beauty of it is guys, We can charge £18 for a pack of 6"  A 3 year old could do that, Never mind a pensioner.

The pensioners are out working in winter, I'm sat here in Summer, apparently, It's raining, like it has been for the past 3 weeks, At least it's stopped the hosepipe ban, And it's given people who don't really like each other but daren't ignore each other a talking point, It's also  given local people an excuse to not bother doing anything, Going out, Opening shops, smiling, That sort of thing.  Personally I don't mind the rain, It stops me having to squint when I'm trying to see people. But most people don't like rain. It'll be a bugger for the Olympics, (Not that I care) This country grinds to a standstill when we have bad weather alone, Not to mention bad weather, lots of tourists, congestion, and a Major event too host.  On average it works that every 2 weeks Britain gets embraced by completely misplaced ' Sporting event fever and overconfidence' what with the Euro's, The tennis and the Olympics.

The other Massive news story recently has been that of 50 Shades of Gray, Which is like Harry Potter, but for women who's husbands would rather play golf. It's basically a book about sex, But without actually mentioning sex on the front cover, So it can be read on the train.  It's sold Millions of copies,  And is keeping many divorcee's busy on those lonely evenings, Along with a bar of galaxy and  a bottle of Lambrini. It's also radically improved Tesco's Cucumber sales, For some reason.

Is Untold Misery all that bad?

When William Shakespeare sat down and started writing Othello, Or Romeo and Juliet I wonder if he realised the years of misery, pain and despair he'd cause for hundereds of school childeren in the future? And If he did what an amazing feeling that must have been - Knowing that unintentionally he would cause thousands of 16 year olds to work, head in hands into the early hours of the morning trying to discover subliminal messages, and underlying relationships between characters with ridiculous names, In Paragraphs of barely legible words.
I imagine it's the same feeling that the chancellor gets when he raises taxes, Or that a dentist gets when he says 'You'll only feel a little scratch'. It's that 'I know I shouldn't laugh, But Sod it, Hahahaha' feeling. You know the one, The one you get when you see a person trip up in the street. (Usually followed by the unlucky person staring back at the ground expecting to see the huge gulf they have just tripped over) It really is an amazing feeling. Probably only beaten by the feeling Simon Cowell gets when he is judging Britains Got Talent. He earns millions as the public lap up the sights of pensioners singing do ya think i'm sexy do ya think i'm sexy, Or a ukranian spluttering their way through a rendition of poker face. But he nows despite all this He will earn millions still from some ex smackheads who've formed a boy band  and can do a half decent cover of an east 17 song.

It's an amazing feeling. One that I really need to try and get more of.

Celebrating the greatest raid of all time

Today Marks the anniversary of perhaps one of the most astonishing millitary operations of British (If not the world) history.  Lets set the scene. It was WWII, Britain was on the very edge of losing the war, The German navy with it's U-Boats and battleships were tightening it's grip on the sea's surrounding Britain, Over 9million tonnes of shipping had already been sunk. Supply Ships couldn't get in, Warships out.  The result of the war at a pivotal moment, And It was about to swing heavily in the favour of the Germans, With the Arrival of the german warship the Tirpitz, Huge in size, Much faster than anything in the British navy, Stronger Armour, Heavier weapons, This was the ship that would tighten the noose around Churchill's war effort.
However, The Tirpitz' Huge size was a slight drawback, If Damaged the Turpitz only had two options for docks big enough to repair her, Go Back to Germany, Past the British defences, Or Head to the only Other Dry dock large enough for her. St Nazaire in France. Churchill New this, And Summised if the British could destroy the dock at St Nazaire the Germans would not risk sending the Tirpitz into battle.
However destroying Europes largest dry dock was no easy task, It could be done by sea as the mouth of the estury was heavily gaurded by german defences, and was 6 miles away, It couldn't be done by Submarine as the whole estury was criss crossed with anti Sub nets, Northern France was under German control so a land raid was ruled out, and It couldn't be done by air- Largely because WW2 Bombing raids were notoriously innacurate, Only 20% of Bombs landed withing 5 miles of the intended target, Also next to the Dock was 40 U-Boat pens, a very important commodoty of the germans, and as a result were protected by 80 anti aircraft guns, and In St Nazaire itself 5000 German troops.
So Churchil Needed a plan, And the result of his pondering was truly epic. It relied on a relativley new bunch of Soldiers called the Commandos, When we think of these we imagine 6ft, Chisel Jawed god like men. But in reality the Commandos were chosen as much for their brains as their braun. They were made up of University graduates, Don's at Oxford, Poachers, Motorcyclists, Journalists etc. Not your average commandos (A thought embedded by Micky Burn, Who had a upper class up bringing, Went to Oxford, Became a Nazi Sympathiser, Met Hitler, and the Queen, And Audrey Hepburn).
The Commandos were an Elite bunch, They trained completely differently to the regular army, No Parades, or Barracks, Just endurance marching, Assault courses and Live weapons training. The commandos Job was simply to go to the mission, Cause as much chaos as possible, and get out.
At this stage, Japan Entered the war, Forcing us to send a fleet of warships to Japan, We were losing in africa, we were losing the battle of the Atlantic and London was in tatters. Chruchill wanted succesful aggression to help raise morale back home, And So, Operation Chariot was born.
Operation Chariot involved the commandos aquiring a couple of destroyers, Sailing them from Cornwall to St Nazaire and Driving one of them, (The one jam Packed with explosives) into the dock gate. Avoiding the 20 odd gunning placements along the way. Once the Boat had rammed the dock gates the commandos would run around shooting and blowing things up run back to the other destroyer (Which had somehow managed to avoid being blown to bits while waiting) and sail back to Blighty in time for the late night shipping forecast.
The RAF were meant to send 100 aircraft to offer a diversion bombing raid over St Nazaire as the Destroyers sailed to the target, But The RAF Commander thought the idea was crazy and offered about a dozen bombers. The Navy Werent keen either, And thought the idea was silly.  They weren't forthcoming with destroyers, But after much pleading found the HMS Campbeltown, On loan to Britain from The USA, It was old, Slow poorly armoured and unreliable. The commandos were unfazed. The Campbeltown would have to sneak past 80 Gun placements on it's way to the dock, So with just 12 days to go the Navy set about disguising it as a german ship, They sawed 2 funnels off and cut the other two at an angle, so at a glance it looked sort of German, Sort of.
The job of Turning the newly modified ship into a bomb fell to a shy, Naval officer called Nigel Tibbets. He was the best student at Dartmouth naval college, But even he struggled turning the Campbeltown into a bomb. Where in the ship do you put the bomb? The front?, Middle? Back? Tibbet elected for somewhere near the middle, He then had to time the explosion and with no digital timers he had to rely on Acid timing devices, Which were unreliable depending on the stregnth of the acid or the wire it would burn through, They were also suseptible to shock and sudden movements, You wouldn't want to drive a boat into a dock gate with one, for example. The Campeltown was packed with 4 tonnes of explosives, The plan was set.
However in the Unlikely event everything went well there was still a problem, How to get the commandos home? The navy would only provide one destroyer, But they did provide 16 Fairmile ML's They were a plywood mass produced boat, Largely built for tourist trips and to increase the size of the navy, They were not really suited for open sea, they rolled badly and often caused sea sickness, They were unarmoured, had very light weaponary, And had exposed fuel tanks. The Campbeltown was a bomb on purpose, These were a Bomb by accident. And they had to take half of the commandos up to St Nazaire and Back. Looking back this mission was clearly a one way ticket for most of the men.
The commandos were given a chance to write letters to loved ones in the event they didn't come back, The newly married bomb designer Tibbets somehow new he wasn't coming back. Before boarding for the mission all commandos were offered a chance to stand down, None did. so at 2pm on the 26th of march the Campbeltown and 16 wooden cruisers set sail, With 265 Commandos and 350 navy personel. 620 Men, Only 227 came back.
The 6 Mile journey up the estuary to St Nazaire was frought with danger, Avoiding the sandbanks But staying out of reach of the german guns. To increase speed the armour had been removed, so If she did become grounded it was game over.  Amazingly the first 3 German gun boxes didn't open fire on the vaguely German looking boat. The RAF Bombing raid was a disaster as there was cloud cover, The Germans were now suspicious, A german signal from shore was remarkebly answered by the crewmen who had found the german codebook, Twice the Germand opened fire, But each time the Campbeltown responded with the correct codes. But just 2000yds from the dock gate the Germans realised their mistake, They opened fire, and Bullets came from all angles at the Campbeltown, The first captain was killed, and a second man took the helm of the Campbeltown, But he too was soon killed, Then Montgomery an engineer, found himself at the wheel, Confused and in disaray he felt a tap on his shoulder, It was Tibbets, the scientist, The Bomb designer, who took over the ship. At the last minutes the British realised they realised they were heading for the wrong dock, But some heroic seamanship saw the Campbeltown redirected to the right target, Under a hail of gunfire, In pitch black, Then the impact, the Campbeltown hit the gate and reared up, The bomb was now exactly on top of the gate. In the 2 hours before the bomb went off the Commandos, Outnumbered 20:1 were sent to go out and destroy as much as possible and get back to the small boats for the journey back. 4 commandos led by a severley injured stockbroker were given the job of destroying the U-Boat pens, So badly wounded, with ready to blow explosives in his his hand the stockbroker climbed 7 flights of stairs in the dark and destroyed the pens, The Winding house was also destroyed. As the commandos gathered to depart they saw a harrowing sight, All but a couple of the wooden ML's had been sunk, The sea was awash with flame and Bodies. The commandos then had to fight there way out of town and to spain, 350 Miles away. 5000 Germans vs 120 British Commandos.  The commandos now numbering just 80 were whittled down and went to ground in various places. Many were captured, Some killed. And as Dawn Broke the battle was over, Just 5 made it to spain, 220 made it back on the wooden boats and 250 were taken prisoner. And to cap it all, The Campbeltown's bomb still hadn't gone off. Even the Germans were applauding the guile of the British, A German Naval officer even reccomended a brave British seaman for a VC. The Campbeltown was now crawling with souvenir hunters. Eventually a blast ripped through the gate, The Campbeltown had finally exploded. The Dock gate was Destroyed. The Tirpitz denied a home, and as a result she spent the majority of the war in a Norwegian fjord, She was destroyed by a bombing raid having never sunk a ship. at a cost of 169 men. This was arguably the moment that won WW2.

Socks

The other day It became apparent to me that I needed new socks, Partly because my old socks were more like flip flops.  So I decided to venture out and buy some new ones, How hard can it be? Even for me it can't be anything other than simple, Or so I thought.
Upon arrival at the sock shop I was expecting to walk in, Pick up some socks and leave, No, How wrong I was, There was a giant wall of socks, Cotton socks, Wool Socks, Sport socks (Which looked very similar to cotton socks but with a stripe on top), Bamboo socks (Which apparently aids freshness Incidentally  If anyone has ever caught a whiff of a panda you will know that it doesn't).  Gym socks- Which presumably came full of more athletic, stronger and generally cooler people than me and you will pay an excessive amount when you first buy them, Use them twice and never again. Plus socks of many different colours and size. Why?, Why do we need so many choice of sock?
As always there will no doubt be some piddington with moleskin trousers who specifically goes out to buy sport socks for use with his sandals, And yes I imagine that a tall, upper class lady in a neck brace called Marion probably buys Bamboo socks for her husband, Because It's something to talk about at her dinner parties, But for the average person a sock is a sock.
Then another thought occured to me, It's taken me a long time and caused an (abnormal) amount of anguish to buy socks, What am I going to do when it comes to buying a house? Or a fridge? I mean you can get fridges, Fridge freezers, Big Fridges, Fridges with Ice cube makers.  It's a mine field out there, And thats before I start on paint colours; Magnolia, Beige, Off White, Buttermilk, ButterNut, Butter- and thats just the different words for 'cream'.
I think I'll go for wallpaper.

I washed my car, And my sleeves, Shoes, Socks, Jeans .....

Time for my second update of my semi regular life blog. (It say's alot about a person when the most interesting thing that happens to them is meeting a Jehova's person and washing my car).
It's been a relativley mildly interesting weekend really, I went past the cemetary, I picked out a lovely little plot for myself, Right in the far corner, Meaning vandals and yobs won't be arsed to scrawl graffitti all over my little obelisk, and also that anyone that can be bothered to visit me have to walk a bloody long way to do so. I might take my spade down there tommorow and make a start, Just in case.
Anyway after my little visit to the cemetary I went to pick my car up from outside the pub. I was half expecting it to have been broken into and vandalised to within an inch of it's life, Bloody sods. But much to my amazement it was just as I left it. Well exept for the dirty great Pigeon poo slap bang in the middle of my windscreen.
Now I'm not a Bill Oddieist but Whatever the good people of Bridlington are feeding the local birdlife it must be good stuff, After five minutes of screen wash and frantic wiper action the excrement still remained, Solid, staring triumphantly at me. So i had to give in, I elected to wash my car.
Now instead of paying several pounds to use the petrol station car wash, Or several more pounds to have immigrants wash it for me I decided to do it myself, By hand, And use several hundered pounds worth of water and polish.
Washing ones car comes with the usual hazards, Soaking wet feet, sleeves and body in general. Then the usual moron who walks past and cheerfully declares 'Ooooh You can do mine for me while you're at it, Hahahaaa'
In that situation it's very hard to act pleasant and not fly into a rant about the individual being a complete and utter idiot, In what other walk of life is such a comment the norm, If I'm eating in a resteraunt people don't walk by and say 'Ooohh You can eat my steak for me while your at it'
Anyway to cut a long story short, I'm wet and cold, but my car's clean ish, My graves picked out, And I'm still not a jehova then again Arguing with a religious person is like playing chess with a pigeon. You could be the greatest player in the world, but the pigeon will still knock over all the pieces, shit on the board and strut around triumphantly.
I really don't know how I keep up my Rock N roll lifestyle

National what day?

I could sense today was going to be another one of those days, at about 11 o clock this morning I heard a knock at the door,  Now it's very rare I answer the door, Usually someone beats me to it. But today I was in pole position, I beat the other 4 members of the house to the door. 
Now when answering the door I expect to see a wide variety of potential callers; Postmen, Neighbours, Friends, The Grim Reaper , You Know the usual candidates. But not this morning, This morning when I answered the door there was a biggish woman, Beige Jacket, Brown sensible legnth skirt, Woolen scarf, You know the sort. She'd brought a Child with her; Possibly her daughter, possibly not. But either way I was now stood face to face with a dull woman and someones child.
She paused, I paused it was quite awkward. Then she Introduced herself, I didn't catch her name or that of the child, But it turns out she was a Jehovas Witness.
"Oh, Him Nice to meet you " I said
"Oh Bloody  hell, Sod off" I thought.
But I didn't say that, Well I couldn't really, She had already started talking at me,  I thought about interrupting and telling her 'I'm not interested and that she should go away' But I caught a glimpse of the small childs huge glowing smile and my Concience said "You can't say that you Bastard".
So I didn't I told the woman I didn't believe in God, In the vain hope it would make her go away (Even if she did come back later to torch the house). She didn't go away, She just kept talking at me, And Like a lonely, Friend starved fool, I kept listening. She gave me A leaflet, Which is yet to be read, But Hopefully there's a section In it that will tell me which coulour Bin i'm allowed to put it in.

After my attempted conversion to God I had to go to a supermarket, Which is the most Ironically named structure ever, They might as well call it the 'Jam packed full of idiots who have nothing better to do than stand and maul fruit market'. I only had to get wrapping paper, Which in itself is an expensive mine field of Rolls, Sheets and Glitter.
When I arrived in the Super Market car park my first thought was 'My, Isn't it busy in here today' That should have been my warning, That should have made me turn around and leave, But no, As with the Virgin Mary earlier in the day I didn't act quickly enough. And before I knew it I was trapped in the Foyer of the store, A concentration camp of Baskets, Security Gaurds, and Bored Husbands. Oh and the hoodie, waiting for a Happy Slap oppertunity.
Once I'd glided my way into the 'market' area of the store, I was surrounded, Like a timid acid trip, Every where I turned there was Pensioners, Headscarves to the Left, Crimplene to the right, Edna's and Ethels blocking Aisle's chatting away about weather and death. I didn't realise I'd gone to the Shops on the Annual Bring a pensioner to the supermarket day. It just goes to show you, You wake up expecting to get wrapping paper, But you end up with Jesus, A mildly bruised Avacado, and A smell of Old spice and smoked kippers