Cheap Holidays....

Short of Money?

Need a break?

Only had 2 holidays this year?

Why not Holiday In England

As we are all aware, the current economic climate has taken its toll. Nobody is as well off as they used to be. And this week British gas and other energy suppliers have raised prices, Begging two questions.

· What is the best temperature to defrost frozen elderly relatives?

· How are we going to afford a holiday?

Now I can't answer the first question, but the I can the second; it’s quite simple really. Holiday at home. No I don't mean go and live in your shed for a week, I mean Say 'au revoir'

To the Dordogne, and Say hello to the places England has to offer.

Now this is not new, many thin, slightly odd, sandal wearing vegetarians have been doing it for years. But they go to places like the lake district, Or Loch Ness, Or Stonehenge, Where you will inevitably end up Underwhelmed, Wet, and paying over the odds for lumps of shiny stone, or bottled water. So this 'Helpful' Guide Features places where that isn't going to happen (Well, you may get wet, I can't stop the weather....Yet). So get your finest tracksuit on, and pack your crocs, because were going on Holiday....

Wales

Known too many as Wales, or Whales. It is indeed England’s largest piece of derelict wasteland. Home too just a few hundred Locals, Called the Welsh. There are many things to do in Wales, Including Visiting one of its many crack dens, (Usually located in the larger cities such as Cardiff). Wales has No museums, and looks upon culture dimly. However, if you manage to approach a local who isn’t high on ‘Rubicon’ you could indeed spend hours listening to them ramble on about Coal, Digging, and Digging for coal and Leeks. That however is difficult, because for some reason, many original locals refuse to drop their now largely pointless language, and cannot be understood.

It also has a lot of Hills, and Sheep, and judging by the picture it has a fair few misty hills as well.  Wales is largely child unfriendly, In fact it has been known for parents to unwittingly take a 5 year old to Wales and return with a 5 year old Heroin addict. It is however cheap. And much prettier than Bristol.

 

Leicester

Leicester, Is an upcoming city, working very hard to dispel its poor reputation. And recently in fact, Came 5^th on the Midlands city of culture list. Behind Coventry, Wolverhampton, Birmingham and West Bromwich. Leicester has many interesting things to see and Do, Including Junction 21 of the M1, Which is widely regarded as the busiest section of the motorway, you and your children can stand in awe at the sheer amount of cars, Trucks and vans that are driving on it. ‘Discover Leicester’ Run an open top bus tour around all of Leicester’s tourist spots, So if you find yourself with a spare 4 minutes to kill this is a must. Many think that every single person from or connected with Leicester is tediously dull, this is not true. In fact many Lecesities are there by accident, either through work, or at her majesty’s pleasure, and are in fact very interesting. If you can find any shops in Leicester they are all very cheap.

 

Wakefield

Wakefield, Known as ‘The heart of the Rhubarb triangle’ Or the Jewell of the West Riding (Named after the large factory that makes Argos jewellery, which is located just outside of Wakefield) Is definitely the place to go if you want a cheap relaxing holiday. It has literally a few things to do. Including a large shopping centre, which is very quiet. (Unless you happen to be near the benefits office). The centre has a range of shops Including Pound land, Mothercare, and a DFS (Note, at the time of writing DFS was closing down). Once you have finished shopping, you could indulge in one of the town’s fine eatery’s including a Greggs, McDonald’s or a KFC imitation. Wakefield also boasts the largest amount of Polish off licenses in England. If you want to experience some of the local culture, you could try slobbing around all day, grunting at the TV before heading out at 8pm to throw something in the canal, a tradition the locals have followed for many years, seemingly trying to appease the god of benefit Britain. The most common sacrifices include Old TV’s, Trolleys and dead whippets.

 

Thank you for reading, I hope this has given you an idea of some cheap holiday locations, But if none of the places on the list press your buttons, Read next week for more deals.

Before long anyone with a land rover will be forced to live underground.

For years in Britain there has been 3 main political parties with largely differing views on the way the country is run. And then languishing in the background, Like the wheezy kid who was always picked last at football Is the green party.
Some may say that the Labour party has been the most uccesfull party in recent years, Others may argue it's been the tories. There's probably a few people with pritt sticks up their noses that would say the Lib dems have done well. But actually, It's the green eco warriors who've done the best. Because like hemp clad power rangers they have infiltrated all the other parties, and made them do what they want.
This week for instance, It has been announced that people are to be fined for using plastic bags. In an attempt to stop polar bears throwing themselves into the sea. We all know that plastic bags are very bad, Much worse than Hitler, and Smoking. So something does need to be done. But imposing a fine on the shopper is not it.
For instance The fines are going to be around 5-10p So if you do forget your own bag it's just going to be easier to pay the fine, as opposed to struggling out of Asda with your big shop stuffed down your tracksuit. And I can just see the look on 'Sharon' from till 5's face when you need £19.95 change because you left your bag at home.
Fining the shopper is the wrong move, Fining the supermarket would be much better, Cauliflowers are wrapped up like they're solid gold, Apples are more secure than area 51 and Pork chops are sandwiched between that much plastic anyone would think they are highly toxic.None of these products need that level of packaging, and as far as I'm aware broccoli does not get embarrassed when it is displayed naked. All of this plastic has to go somewhere? Maybe the government should start fining large companies everytime an item of their packaging is found in the street? Then they'd start reducing those evil plastic bags.
All these parties seem to want to tell us what to do, Or at least let people tell us what to do. At school teachers tell you what to do, and where to go, Unless you have A (largely made up) ADHD style illness, In which case teachers aren't allowed to tell you what to do. Ten years ago Bankers told anybody they could have any amount of money they wanted for whatever reason, regardless of Job, Prospects or Intelligence, Now the same Bankers are saying that no one can ever borrow money again. One minute Vegetarian's wearing beards and hemp sandals are saying we musn't shoot foxes, or hunt ducks and deers, or catch fish, or eat cows, chicken or anything that once had a face. The next Men in sharp suits stood in front of ruddy faced farmers are telling us we must Kill, punch, kick, slap and poke every badger we see.
The police tell us how fast we can drive, despite having no real idea of the road or driver conditions,And the vegetablists are telling us we can't drive anything that might give off pollution or squash a squirrel. The government tell us where and what we can smoke and drink.
It does indeed seem, That anyone who wears a suit, a beard, or a hi viz vest can tell us all what to do. Unless of course your a ginger, homosexual muslim. In which case No one can tell you what do.

Stop The Cull.

I'm not normally a fan of the usual animal cruelty/Environmental/green issue campaigns. But the recent Badger cull is pretty shocking. So as opposed to standing in between a 12 bore wielding farmer and a badger I'm going to write a blog. To voice my largely irrelevant opinion.
In short Marksmen will be going out shooting badgers because they Might pass on bovine TB. The 'might' bit is kind of important.
But as 'Bovine TB' may suggest it can also be spread between bovines...(Cows). But we won't be culling them. The disease cannot realistically be treated in cows, as a result most infected cows get the chop. So I can see why farmers want something done about it.
It can however be vaccinated against. It's not easy, or cheap But it can;

• The government could open a number of 'drop in centers' So badgers could come along and get themselves vaccinated. But due to most Badgers dis-interest in reading newspapers or signs, they proabably wouldn't know about such places, So wouldn't turn up. Unless they are to be lured in with free mash potato.
• Or They could get people to Trap and vaccinate the badgers. It takes time and money, But is largely humane.
• Or they could mix the vaccine in with some food, and put it in and around there setts. (Like they're doing now, But just not shooting the badgers when they come out). Again it takes time and money.

However all them things take time, and a large sum of money. But then again so does keeping Murderers, Rapists and Peadophiles in prison. Our ultra 'Do gooder' society will not allow the worthless scum of human kind suffer, But will happily trick some badgers into being shot. But I assume there are no plans to re start fox hunting any time soon?

But why do I care? A man who has been pigeon shooting (granted I never even saw a bloody pigeon never mind shot one), Who regularly goes fishing and keeps the fish. And who enjoys a regular mixed grill. Why should I care about some badgers? Because been British we love an underdog, Badgers have it tough as it is. Most countryside animals are brown, or green to blend in. But badgers are grey, with a bloody great white stripe down the middle. Who thought that was good camouflage? I grew up watching Bodger and Badger (I still remember the theme tune). I'm bound to have an affinity to the poor little mites.
But Badgers are also 'my type of creature' They're quiet, they don't bark, squawk, or cry (Like dogs, Birds and childeren), They just go about there business in there own time, at there own pace, They don't demand attention or human intervention like those pesky horses. Badgers, well They're just chill.

The slightly more alarming thing is, That Bovine TB can also be passed on by other animals, Deer for example. How long before we start culling them? Or are we better off just napalming the whole of the British countryside?

'Lady' Adverts

Now, I've been alive for extremely close to 23 years, for exactly 100% of the years I've been Male. But like all modern men I try to be in touch with my feminine side, I struggle to reverse park out of empathy. (SISTERS!). However there are a few areas of the fairer sex I don't understand. Most of them have recently been brought to light in recent 'lady' adverts on the TV.
Number one; "Tampax pearl, with smoothest ever applicator" I understand all of the words, but not when they are all together, I mean what exactly is it that you are applicating? Polyfilla needs a an applicator, wallpaper paste needs an applicator, but this seems a step too far.
However assuming I am missing the point and whatever it is you are applicating needs a smooth applicator then what was being used before this revolutionary new smoothness was invented? Because the Gameboy advance was a revolutionary idea, but it still took a while for everyone to get one, so I can only assume there are women out there who have yet to get a 'pearl' but what are they using? Cheese graters? Sticks? Lion bars?.
Secondly "Always', new most flexible ever design" Now to my understanding these things have (for recent years anyway) always been made out of cottony/wooly sort of stuff? What can be more flexible than that? Air? So basically women are paying alot of money for air. And what is it about these products that makes it possible for women to smile happily, go roller blading and push a child on a swing? I assume its because women are no longer sticking tree bark down there undergarments.
That said advertising for women is alot more difficult than advertising for men. As proven by Gillette adverts, all men need is a series of high octane buzzwords and we'll buy it, you could advertise a toaster as 'stealth' and within months the entire male population would have one.
But despite the fact they raise more questions than answers the new 'lady products' at least mark some forward step in technology.
Unlike the village in Somerset where I've spent the last two weeks. I'm fairly sure the people their still sacrifice goats when they see a naked flame. One bloke we got talking to lost his driving license 3 times because of drink driving. I didn't even
Know you needed a license to drive a donkey. Never the less you'd have thought after the first time he'd have learnt. I can't wait till the tamagotchi phase hits the village. Then what will they sacrifice?
That said Somerset villages from the 1840's do have noticeably less fat people than Bridlington, as I discovered this morning when I attempted shopping. Aisle after aisle of smelly, inconsiderate fat people, with out of control fat, spoilt pikey kids. Kids who despite already been high on blue smarties (the under fours anyway, any of them over four where on ketamine) wanted more additive filled sweets, and they where quite willing to shout, and swear until there obese parents gave in. Refuge tends to be found in the 'whole foods' aisle, because they just look at fruit and nut with disgust, calling it 'foreign muck'. But don't spend too much time down there, or else you will end up paying over the odds for some out of date berries with some odd stuff mixed into it.

In The words of Geoffrey Boycott- He's out. My autobiography

In The Words of Geoffrey Boycott:

He’s Out

It’s the 21st of September 1991, Armenia has just been granted independence, American track and field athlete Jordan Hasay was born (according to Wikipedia) and it’s the international day of piece. Also There was a James Bond movie on the telly, I know that because that’s the reason my dad was 5 minutes late for my birth. And In The words of Geoffrey Boycott, He was out!. I imagine my birth to be like something out of Casualty, with blood and lots of sweating doctors runners around using big Latin words   . However it turns out the images in my head are wrong and the only thing remotely interesting was some rather strong language from my mum (for some bizarre reason).

My full name is James Nigel (don’t say anything) Martin named after the famous Formula 1 driver Nigel James Mansell (My dads idea) if my dad had his way my first name would be Nigel but my mum put her foot down (Thank God).

No doubt over the following few months I was being passed from relative to relative like some parcel at a child’s birthday party. No doubt I was bought enough clothes to stock every Oxfam shop this side of Watford. However this also meant a few boring months not containing much excitment.

Untill one day......

The Severance

The story of why my right thumb is bigger than my left.

My dad is a fan of DIY, now being a fan of DIY is very different to being good at DIY, for example Brunel was good at DIY because most of his work never killed or seriously injured someone. However my dad is not Brunel so when he decided that he was going to re do the hallway it was met with an air of sceptisism. But for a few days all was going well, The walls were stripped, Doors sanded etc. But a construction site no matter how small is very dangerous for a one and a half year old as a result i had always been kept well away. However this particular day I decided to go exploring (Even Ranulph Fiennes had to start somewhere) So off I walked into the hallway. My mum (who was making bolgnese sauce at the time) said she was first alerted to a problem when she heard loud screams and screeches coming from the hallway. She rushed into the hall to find I'd pulled a loose radiator off the wall and onto my thumb and it was hanging on by a thread (my thumb not the radiator). So my mum in what she describes as "caring mother mode" (otherwise know as a blind panic) wrapped my thumb tightly in a tea towel ( I know what your thinking and no Florence Nightingale). At that moment my dads boss came round to drop off my dad's wages, So he did his good samaritan role and rushed us up to the hospital, Where my dad arrived shortly later.

In the hospital (and at this point I would like to add that despite being a toddler with half of his thumb missing and a blood stained tea towel wrapped around my hand we still had to wait a good three hours, But I suppose that's Blairs Britain for you) Now where was I?...Oh yes In the hospital the Nurses were quite shocked at just how well a tea towel from the Shetland Isles can absob so much blood. Never the less they managed to stitch my thumb back up (I dont want to sound harsh but it does look like Abu Hamza had stitched it up with his hook!).But the Important thing is my thumb was back together, Later my gran rushed round with chocolate and sweets becaus they had run out of Morphine and Paracetamol at the Spa.

Burlington and the dreaded Blue playground

There I was stood bolt upright, chest out. My bright green jumper glistened (sort of), my black trousers didn't, My shiny new shoes were polished up like a mirror, and my hair was neat. My mum adjusted my collar and waved me goodbye as I joined the other kids as we all lined up outside Burlington Infants School ready for our first step on the path to success. I knew a few of the people their; Matt , Jordan  and Wayne  so I wasn't a complete stranger. We were greeted by a tall thin man called Mr Lee who was the headteacher at the time, I'll always remember him not only because he was a nice guy but also because of the Roald Dahl book The Vicar Of Nibbleswicke where a tall thin vicar called Robert Lee is diagnosed as being dyslexic which leads to various mishaps and capers over the prununciation of the words 'god' and 'sip'. But i dont suppose that's important. Mr Lee took us all to our classroom where we met our fellow classmates and teachers. Our teacher was Mrs Simpson who looked more like a rugby player than a teacher-Think Lawrence Dallaglio meets Dame Edna. Mrs Simpson was a nice teacher (until Rachel  had the infamous chair wetting incident, Now known as The Wetter Gate scandal!)

One of the features of Burlington was blue playground which was a small area of blue stuff which was meant to be softer than concrete so if any of the first years fell over they wouldn't end up seriously injured. But we were only allowed to use it on our first and last breaks so at lunchtime we had to use the BIG playground (ooooooooohhhh). It was on the BIG playground where I met Ashley S, And Matthew W, -I didn't know it then but these two would get me into big trouble many years later.

Burlington was alright really, It was there someone realised how crap my eyesight is and that meant I had to have visit's from Mrs Pecora (Mother of former Aston Villa goalkeeper Antoni who now play's for North Ferriby) She would give me eye test's which meant I got to miss a few lessons and I got to go in the staffroom. Now when your young you think that the staffroom will be a grotto filled with mood ligting, bottles of champagne and exotic dancing ladies........It wasn't far off that ok there was no Mood lighting or dancing ladies but there was a few half empty bottles of Jack Daniels.

Tights, Skirts I wore them all

Soon though came the time where I had to make the move from Burlington Infants to Burlington Primary, This mean't a different set of buildings, different teachers, proper lesson's like science and maths and not just playing in a sand pit and reading Bif and Chip. It also meant we had to do swimming with Mrs Williams, now I dont swim well i'm more of a depth swimmer than a legnth swimmer. But it gave me a chance to be a bit creative with my excuses (apparently Saturday night fever wont stop you swimming especially first thing on a Wednesday). Also at Burlington Primary we had proper school dinners they weren't very good in fact they were so bad they put me off for life and I have never eaten school dinners since. However there was a plus side Mrs Bradley who was one of the nice dinner ladies and she didn't force you to sit and eat if you didn't want to. (The funny thing is this summer I ended up working with Mrs Bradley husband who's a joiner -It's a small world but you wouldn't want to paint it)

At Burlington they also had a weird fixation with theme days (like a pub) The first of which was a Tudor day we had to come dressed up as Tudors and prat around for the day. I dont know which Tudor I came dressed as but I know he wore tights and a large stupid collar. We had a huge Tudor banquet,Our headteacher Mr O Rielly was Henry VIII (the resemblance is uncanny) But that was where any similarities with the Tudor's ended as I very much doubt the reason Anne Boylen was killed was becauseshe would't pass Henry the plate of crisps, i'm also pretty sure the Tudors didn't have sausages on sticks and lumps of cheese on sticks.

They also liked performing plays at Burlington and after getting thrown off the nativity on the first night for saying there wasroom at the inn, And not getting a part in Bugsey Malone I was determined to land a place in the Twelth Night (at least I think it was that one, The one were the guy says "if music be the food of love") Anyway I wanted to play Malvolio but teachers pet Ben  got that role. But the good news is they must have realised my cosiderable acting talent as I got a part

I was delighted, Until I got the script that is, Would you like to guess how many lines I got? 20? 50? 300? NO I got 1 line 1 BLOODY LINE!. But it was my line and I was determined to make it my own. My role was the vicar and my line was, wait for it.......(drum role please) "I pronounce you man and wife". I did toy with the idea of improving my line and maybe delivering it through the medium of interprative dance or going through the whole wedding vow procedings (But i'm sure Bill Shakespeare doesn't need my help). I was even more annoyed when I saw my costume, It was a huge white T-Shirt, a black skirt and a sparkly head dress that was unfolded and draped over my shoulders. But i'm convinced I got the biggest laugh of the night when I came on sporting a Freddy Mercury style fake moustache that Callum had dared me to wear. Oddly enough I was never asked to do anymore shows after that but I did have to mime a song during a production of Joseph.

PR Agent Required

We here at Skanky Media inc. Are pleased to announce the opening of a new position.

We are looking for a dedicated, Creative and forward thinking Individual to be the Public Relations officer for none other than Tulisa Conto.....Errr From N Dubz.  The job will require you to follow Mrs from N Dubz around, (while holding your head in your hands). and being on hand to promote Mrs N Dubz good name.

Job Requirements

• The candidate must be creative, And able to come up with good excuses for severe 'negative publicity' situations, Such as Major drugs scandals, and Poor Blowjobs are commonplace.
• The candidate must also have a keen interest in shopping at Primark, and other such 'Chavvy' shops.
• An eye for Burberry, Argos jewellery and fake 'Playboy bunny' underwear (From Chelmsford market) is also an Advantage.
• Most importantly the candidate should be deaf, or Actually not mind listening to N Dubz.
• Being a Drug dealer/Baron with a BMW is also preferable.

Candidates are expected To work 150 hours a week, Although depending on events (Claims of affairs, Giving birth to a chinese baby etc) this could climb.  The Job is very well paid, the successful applicant can expect to receive £7 per week, plus bonuses including a £15 Argos voucher and a Hamper from Lidl at Christmas.  Any overtime will be paid in either Ecstasy tablets or 'Blowies'

Closing date for applicants is 10-6-13

Caravans, Candy Crush and Eurovision

This morning, As part of my recently alarming descent in an early midlife crisis I decided to go fishing, But not to catch fish, More for the peace and quiet and tranquillity of the rolling sea.That and the fact I'm quite willing to do a 'Reggie Perrin'. On my way to the fishing spot I have to walk through a caravan park, Which got me thinking, Why on gods earth would anyone want to stay in a bloody caravan ? I spent the four and a half hours I was fishing trying to think of one good reason, and I just couldn't.
For those of you not familiar with the whole principle of caravaning, I'll give you a short explanation. Firstly you need to buy a caravan, You have two choices, either one with wheels, which means you can take your holiday home with you when you visit the same place every year, Or a static, Which means you cannot. Either way you will have to spend an outrageously large sum of money, for lets face it, One room full of beige velour fabric and toilet you have to empty yourself.
Then you have to decide where you want to put your caravan, Because even if you buy one with wheels, you will inevitably end up going back to the same place every year. Where you choose to go is up to you, However according to the 'Happy Camper' magazine it is common to go somewhere very similar to where you live but with a slightly poorer climate. May I suggest Ulrome.
Then you have to decide which caravan site you wish to stay at, In most seaside towns Many semi entrepreneurial local people will have bought a few acres and stuck a few toilet blocks on them. Some parks cost more than others, the 'Bargain' parks are basically a field, a wooden shack with filthy toilet facilities and quite near a train line. The 'Expensive' parks are pretty much the same, but they have a small, overpriced newsagents on them. 
Then you have to decide what you are going to do when you've arrived. Most Caravanist's spend the first hour of their holiday wondering just why the several miles of drivers behind them were getting all 'Het up'. after that it's entirely up to you, But you will have to empty your own feces, shower with other people in disgusting toilet blocks, wash up and cook your own food. In between all that though, you can have much fun, sat on a fold up chair reading the daily mail with a drooping testicle hanging from beneath your beige shorts seems to be the 'In thing' with caravaners at the moment. Be warned though, Most caravan parks will not allow you to do certain things, Ball games, BBQ's, running, music, laughing, smiling etc.
It really isn't a holiday is it, Not when, for less money, and for less hassle you can stay in a hotel, have your food cooked, and shower in a warm, clean environment without having to worry that a middle aged, large, balding bloke is constantly staring at your John Thomas.
As I mentioned at the start of my post I'm entering a midlife crisis, Which means I'm either going to die at 42 or I'm an advanced developer, Either way, one of the causing factors to my mental imbalance seems to stem from my mobile phone. 2 years ago I knew exactly what my phone wanted, If it made a continuous noise someone was calling, so I could ignore them, If it made a one off noise someone was texting, So I could ignore them as well. And if it made an occasional beep it meant the battery was low, So I could charge my phone so I could ignore everyone. But nowadays I'm never sure. If my phone beeps now It could be a call (unlikely) a text (Unlikely) battery (likely) a friends request, a re tweet, a new follower, a life on candy crush, a sheep on farmville an Email or something to tell me that my burgers are ready on cafe world. And I mean, How am I meant to prepare for that, How can I open my phone and expect to have to harvest crops but then end up having to talk to someone? There really is no wonder I'm going crazy.
One good thing about this week was the Eurovision neighbour song contest, In which we (Great Britain) didn't do well, but we did better than last time so we did do well, If you follow me. Basically we entered a once respectable singer to sing a naff song and ruined what was left of her waining career. One thing that did strike me though is when the votes were read out from the various countries all the presenters were stood next to rivers, presumably so they could jump in after being forced to watch some Estonian sing a song no one could understand.
Next year we should just let a load of pissed up Geordie's sing 'Coming Home Newcastle' just so we could see the population of Belarus try and figure out what 'Ahm coming home Newcastle,Ye can keep ye London wine,Ahd walk the streets al day al neet,For ay bottle ay the River Tyne,' means.