Priti Priti what legislation hast thou forsaken? AKA Capital GUNishment with Britain’s best selling Daily Genocidist!

Now then, now then quiet at the back. Thank you. You may recall that but two days ago we established as a class that the e-petitions site was, to put it flatteringly, largely ordained by barely literate folk who in expressing their desired legislature often came across as madder than Tom Cruise’s favourite brush.

Since over 100,000 people added their signature to Paul Staines’ online E-petition it has to become commons debate & was discussed on last week’s Question Time from Birmingham. Conservative MP Priti Patel should’ve looked increasingly isolated in her views towards reinstating capital gun-ishment as an apparent ‘deterrent’. One local audience member then echoed her point before comparing this measure to being caned at school. Despite the 4 remainder of the panel (Dimbleby included you’d hope) clearly opposed Patel still went largely unchallenged by all but Ian Hislop. He is all that prevented Birmingham from rolling heads in a misguided public bloodletting of Nick Clegg (ok not strictly true but still deeply worrying).

Without wanting to turn this piece into a scathingly personal and vitriolic attack on any one individual (please refer to Nick Griffin post), Patel is making it very difficult to resist. After investigation all her official websites as Witham MP downplay her pro-death penalty stance, as indeed they should within any slick and ongoing PR campaign known as modern politics. But when said constituent claims that “as a young mother she understands the wide range of issues affecting people in the local area” this is obviously a glaring oversight. Simply having a wee babby doesn’t equip someone to act a representative barometer of moral virtue (and they said Rose West was a bad mother).

Bring Back Hanging heckles the all-too thinly veiled subtext of recent front pages of the Daily Heil sorry Mail. It usually then launches into a series of quotes from the minority of supportive Tory MPs before reluctantly signing off with Amnesty’s admission that this would be the hallmark of an uncivilised and immoral society. It’s true there ARE some abhorrently wicked and sick individuals in this world and most of them probably write for the Mail already. Talk about pissing all over your own pantry.

How the Daily Mail would look were it not for their old bugbear Political Correctness

After almost 40 years how quickly folk forget the grim reality of how unfulfilled it leaves the families of killer’s victims. There is no closure for someone you have lost and taking vengeance would help you sleep no easier. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind’ a wise man named Gandhi once said. Having said that however, he did live in a very dusty country where river blindness couldn’t always be avoided because of contaminated water supplies. Archbishop Desmond Tutu (named after my degree grade) has also sagely commented that the death penalty is merely vengeance & never justice.

Presumably this is all a reactionary backlash following the Norwegian massacre that as a nation has comparatively liberal criminal sentencing currently capped at a maximum of 25 years. Varg Vikernes aka Count Grishnackh aka Burzum one man death metal band & convicted brutal murderer of Mayhem’s guitarist Euronymous (gotta get me a title that long & ignoble someday) walked free after 16 years. The irony is Burzum translates as Darkness – imagine Suffolk’s finest The Darkness as JUST Justin Hawkins in a leotard & codpiece wailing about the futility of mortality because THAT’s our literal equivalent.

Yet again I digress.

This may indeed be rather forgiving for someone (Vikernes not Hawkins) who also burnt 4 churches & had far-right links to Neo-nazi factions for many years. The point is he does seem genuinely rehabilitated and claims to only want family company & work on his farm. I don’t mean to use an ex-mentalist white supremacist musician (just about) as a case study of comparative penal systems but I strongly doubt Vikernes would’ve been ‘deterred’ by now being Dead (which even more ironically was another Mayhem band member that killed himself rather than by Vikernes’ stabby hand).

At least when we had public hanging,” brainwashed Stepford Grandmothers of Daily Mail Worship will be thinking “there was something free I could take my grandkids to watch“.

Its not every blog post which name-checks Tom Cruise, Priti Patel MP, Ian Hislop, Nick Clegg, Nick Griffin, Rose West (they’d make a good couple), Gandhi, Desmond Tutu, Varg Vikernes aka Burzum, Justin Hawkins & Mayhem’s Dead in turn although to be fair they probably all deserve to meet the same ends other than Gandhi, Tutu & Ian Hislop – how often can you say THAT?



E-petitions: E-by gum they’re all written by folk who can’t rightly type ses i


E-petitions: Do you HATE goldfish bowls more than anything else in britain today? Then sign up today – EAT THAT typical low-maintenance family homes!


Have you been onto e-petitions website?


I advise you do and search under ‘ban’ because it’s really rather incredible what some people want banned. Some genuine petitions of what to ban include:


Dogs on ALL beaches – but how will they learn they’re on a giant island without running everywhere?


Scientology – how do you ban what’s inside daft celebrities heads?


Bonfires so presumably Lewes & the entire South-East coast – woooh be gone devilish pagan thoughts


Non Christian religions – for having far too much fun with fire: Repent!


Slayer albums – but of course! Completing this unholiest of trinities. Citing them as bad role models responsible for the recent riots! That’s just unfair: Slayer have been causing riots at gigs worldwide for 30 years. But why them and not one of a hundred less pioneering bands using extreme imagery? B-sides you won’t deter their fanbase. Take note – here is a typical Slayer fan:


Botox 4 babes – which I signed after establishing it wasn’t FOR actual babies


Halal meat – wave goodbye any hope of tasty nosh after kick out time


Goldfish bowls – not the building, please refer to title of this post


The sale of small rabbit hutches – “Rabbits need the space to be able to hop around and exercise to prevent illness and boredom” it says. I blame Slayer.


The wearing of hoodies – it’s just a piece of cloth stoopid


Hoodies in shopping areas “I don’t need a reality injection of income disparity from neglected youths when I’m frittering Domingo’s spare bullion in Harrogate”


Wind chimes in built up areas – which must sound far more severe than…


Low flying aircraft – surely not on top of wind chimes? Mother of God Nooooo! Their uninterrupted tinkling would surely tickle my brain to death. Aircraft would ironically help uncover hoodies through sudden air pressure. Doh! If only they reached a consensus.


Here is what said aircraft petition states:


For the government to ban aircrafts from flying low over towns and cities in the uk, as the aircrafts that fly low over towns and cities, desturbe people with the loud noises that they create, and this is way low flying by aircrafts should be banned.


He certainly presents a convincing argument does he not? Alas the creator James Ross appears to be the only one who’s signed possibly due to being the only one who can interpret precisely why he’s petitioning in the first place – loud noises…not emitting countless pollutants/impurities directly into the atmosphere or being taxed on account of grossly impractical negligence and possession of an unethical conscience but LOUD NOISES. Why not ban Public Enemy & The Hadron Collider as well then while you’re at it? NIMBYism (Not In My Back Yard) – it’s what prevents any form of progress more frequently than anything else in this country. When someone like Simon Cowell, let’s say mass-music business tycoon Simon Cowell wants to collect his dry cleaned jeans from roughly the same distance as an arch of badger’s piss down the road why shouldn’t he be able to?


Bruce Dickinson & Gary Numan, two prominent British musicians who are also qualified pilots should surely be allowed as they’ve paid their dues in being living (and flying) leg-ends who unlike Cowell are NOT contributing to the downfall of all music-related entertainment as savagely degrading lowest-common denominator glitzy melodramatic panto-spazzle. Numan is actually one of a very small handful of flyers with the credentials and qualifications to train aerobatic instructor pilots according to Wikipedia. Yet although he can loop the loop & enjoys an infinitely more daring form of transport he sings about CARS to maintain his gloomy industrial facade – always was an odd cookie that one. “Anyone need anything from the shops?”



The list of petitions goes on. There are at least 5 petitions against banker’s bonuses plus various variants thereof which whilst being a worthy cause surely dilutes their ultimately shared goal for the greater good. The one with the most signatures (at a whopping 36) reads:



“after the crisis banks caused by their reckless behavior,i propose to stop the bonus culture of banks.i would like the banks to work for a salary just as people do in the real world”


Now I’m sorry but ‘the real world’ has and will continue to become increasingly subjective with the ever-expanding online universe of personalised alienation. I myself would like Jason Wills; creator of ‘ban bankers bonuses’ e-petition to be able to have a basic grasp of grammar, spacing and punctuation just as people do in my real world.


Wowsers! It’s not often you get to stuff Slayer, goldfish bowls, Scientology (along with all other non christian or Earth-based religions), hoodies, CAMRA, Gary Numan & The Hadron Collider into a single post.


Despite their bizarre choices and zany inconsistencies I’m almost strangely warmed by how strongly some people feel about their chosen issue as if instant democracy just a click away can cure all societies’ foibles. It’s the same reason I’m not a member of CAMRA (CAMpaign for Real Ale) despite loving so-called ‘real’ ale (everything I drank before that was merely an illusion) as I don’t think an oversized pint glass should really be a priority in the modern world. Instead I DO urge you to become a member of independent global campaign movement AVAAZ for that same reason.



Over 100,000 signatures however and your issue must allegedly be discussed in the House of Commons. This is how the ugly recurrence of capital punishment keeps getting kicked back into debate by a very vocal significant minority. Any fleetingly humane individual with a moral compass should know that as an amnesty & UN-endorsed western civilisation we should be way beyond this kind of barbaric thinking. But that’s for another column folks, another column rather soon that just might be a scathing rant directed directly towards The Face of Fury that is Daily Mail-sponsored Witham Tory MP with just a tiny taste for vengeful bloodlust: Priti Patel. That’d follow on nicely…

Until next time – SHABBA

ECOWORKS: A global ethos as well as some stunning local surroundings

ECOWORKS Community Gardens are the oldest & largest in Nottingham having been established onsite since the early 90s. Located across 10 gardens on the appropriately named Hungerhill Allotments site in St Ann’s (or Stan’s to those who know him well), they grow a wide range of fruit & veg more than worthy of market display with an abundance of apple & pear varieties ripe for the picking. Especially this time of year when their lushious fruits are droopier & closer to the ground than Hugh Hefner’s testiclay.


I read it through the grapevine


Considering today is the 10th anniversary of 9/11, an Ecoworks heritage site open day seems more apt & appropriate a place for peace & contemplation than any other within our fair native city.


Do the wonders never cease?


Hatred & intolerance be damned as whichever dark & disturbing personal demons you might happen to be battling – these guys got the natural surefire cure. There is definately high risk exposure to positive vibes & stimulating sensory habitats.


Man the air feels good whistlin through my ears lookin out across St Ann's from the Clay Building Living Roof


Don’t just take my poorly chosen words for it however – check it all out now & see for yobadselves duckehs:


Ecoworks Mini-Orchard & Radish patch plus faithful convert


Old Eric's Shed & Outhouse


Until next time – peace to all nations

Never follow up an interview given upstairs at a coffee chain with someone who has no fixed business address

Only been unemployed for 6 weeks but already started acquiring some classic symptoms of lacklustre self-neglect. Like wearing stupidly bright novelty clothing, odd socks and unwashed hair (alright you got me I did that before in jobs but more subtly or only under my shirt). Bermuda shorts & curry-derived dishes all day are only the surface conditions. These would be but small sacrifices to avoid should I reinstate my contribution to society any time soon compared to what CAN be asked of you as a mere mortal petty wage slave as I was soon to discover…

Take the other week I had this 8 HOUR field interview to become a property insulation surveyor who shall remain nameless which they often do when giant Doberman dogs and bald pasty single blokes who obviously wank too much never let you finish. This rather rapidly became more of a shared self-review which left me revisiting more questions from my internal monologue than the other guy who occasionally kept interrupting. Like dead cryptic morally-dubious questions such as “Am I a ‘people who like to meet people’ person or more of a ‘person who dies the second he greets people’ person???” which only left my thinking I generally swing whole-bodily toward the latter with members of that all-too-easy club to join: The General Public. Man, that committee must have really let their standards slip. Here’s Danny Devito’s brother presumably trying to unload some of his tremendous but permanently blinding limoncello.

I especially love dogs that don't view my kneecaps as bonemeal

Little did I know that this all-day ‘interview’ shadowing a 4 month old door-to-door surveyor would be primarily based in the back of a speeding Peugeot, sat kerbside opposite a Bulwell residential estate and in a bus stop by myself escaping the perpetual drizzle.

This energy surveying company’s field staff consisted of ever-expanding armies of young go-getting cocksure big-eared boys dressed as groups of men with motors around the side of Carpet Warehouse alongside The Vat & Fiddle (which frankly I’d much rather be shadowing for field research). Their eyes were all agleam with the promise of fat stacks of sycophantic salary bonuses within the first few months as they fan out nationwide into suburban streets like an unrivalled mafia but with less sense of style and shit half-mullet hair.

I was asked how much I’d like to earn as a campaign manager which I could supposedly become over the next 10-12 months. I was asked to write down the 20 qualities a manager should have and also to provide 10 strengths and 10 weaknesses. My GREATEST weakness is a total lack of any upper-body strength resulting in those fake press-ups done on your knees. This can be compartmentalised i.e. broken down further by limb to provide the other 9 necessary. I assumed my own strengths and weaknesses were not related to this demigod of a flawless and divine leader they asked me to describe. Ordinarily I would’ve sensed a Manson Family or Scientology cult-like mentality and allowed my bullshit detector to direct me home but I had met the gaffer the previous day upstairs in Costa Coffee for an interview. This in itself may have been a test as there are now chains like these on practically every major high street in town which are just perfect for setting up a business above unnoticed when they more than match office hours. “Guess that’ll be lunch at my desk again” where the only staff incentives are free sugarcubes.

Here’s what i imagined the other side of the door every time i watched my trainer colleague knock:

"I'll just assume you aren't interested in government-endorsed carbon-cutting grant initiatives then"

Seriously though, it was a sales job in all but name and nothing like that movie I once sneaked downstairs to watch as a scrawny acne-ridden adolescent on Channel 5 @ 10.50pm one friday night: Secrets of a Door to Door Salesman. Although I am of the belief that most folk are inherently good in their motives but have had their trust tested, on the surface they’re usually dicks in the interim.

Mmmm that’s good pressed word

P’s out

Notting Hill Carnival Sunday August Bank Holiday 2011: Knock Knock Knockin’ on Cameron’s Door

Have I missed the float? I’m well aware its now the Friday after but here’s my summary of the tantalising sensory overload that is the utterly unique Notting Hill Carnival but a few weeks after London’s infamous riots & T-minus one year before the city’s 2012 Olympics. Most of the press attention either seemed to focus on record police presence or Monday’s singled out stabbing which I felt only served to highlight the often skewed sense of paranoia from the political and mainstream media elite with the exception of some fine Guardian articles: most notably The Importance of The NHC. For me, this beautiful chick-a-dee snapshot best sums up the spirit:

Cameraman's note to self: never take pics in post-Appleton's focus

The world’s second largest out-of-hand street party kicked off its 46th year in typically vibrant and decorative style (unlike any of the ones for the recent Royal Wedding you’d imagine). In spite of Kensington & Chelsea resident’s annual complaint that “there’s a stoned, half-naked student in a bright feather boa and headdress ahem, irrigating my front lawn” most seem to board up or temporarily abandon their home (possibly one of several) and run to the hills for their lives to paraphrase the mighty Maiden. Some seemingly even return from holiday forgetting all about the existence of a bank holiday tradition which Claudia Jones campaigned for way back when they were but a twitch in dem pappy’s nutsack – see Independent Columnist Cooper Brown’s 500 word whinge.

In fairness it’s all too easy for me to lambast apparent lack of anything approaching community spirit when over a million fired-up streetwise party-goers (who frankly bring enough of their own spirit – here’s looking at you Wray & Nephew) descend on one of the most exclusive postcodes in a West London borough. The last thing on their mind must be seeing how the privileged half live (or don’t in this case) despite the fact the rest of the year most would probably get arrested for even eyeballing the poodle shampoo shops of these poncy bunch of homeowners. After getting up to date with their tax receipts, local residents should treat the weekend more as a cultural or more accurately neighbourhood exchange whereby they continue snorting lines of caviar or shopping in their tinted Porsche’s over in Tower Hamlets or Hackney (can you tell whose side I’m on?). Come to think of it certain Hackney teens could do that themselves in their new local currency – Plasma TVs and top-line trainers.

Anyroad I digress…

Unlike the film equivalent I didn’t see a single randy Welshman in Y-fronts locked out his house although my friend Mike’s hair did turn increasingly floppy and queer as the day progressed. But then students WILL need a Hugh(e) Grant in their lives to stay a-float for the festivities. Enough with the Rom-Com film of the same name jokes already.

Upon our arrival at Westbourne Park tube we were handed flyers for legal advice along with our carnival maps as if rogue lawyers were operating at large within our area. A topless binged-up and entirely hairless man with a voice like Baron Von Greenback on an all-gravel diet kept blowing his vuvuzela or variation thereof (which were ever present) then yelling about how if we didn’t down a can of his Red Stripe every half hour then piss in it and hurl it at police on horseback we weren’t really being Caribbean and should leave immediately without our ‘Certificate of Membership into the Carnival Heritage Behavioural Club’.

The police horses hardly set a good example of public bodily waste disposal. Thus after a few hours every side/back street with a solitary overflowing urinal quadro-bank had geezers spraying onto garage doors and birds squatting in unspeakable squalor. Imagine a warzone under heavy bombardment from repeated bladder explosions. The cobbled drained did nothing but flow these frothy streams further along. Our dear lady Kate Thomas bought a she-pee which is a practical subject they should mandatorily teach in all summer schools – just not on field trips. I never thought nor dared dream I’d have to write a full paragraph on festival piss etiquette but whoop there it is.

Sadly not found in attendance this year at Good Times

Elsewhere things were barely more aesthetic but tenfold more groovy. Gaz’s Towbar of Rockin’ Blues trailer float won pride of place with a horse made from binliners and sidestage staircase leading up to a silver caravan DJ shack. The crrrazy vanilla-besuited compere declared he’d never heard rawk’n’raol so good since 1959 and the vast majority of his audience were in no position nor age bracket to disprove. Loosing the use of your arms isn’t really a problem when the whole street is shakin’ something and you jump en sync as one huge amorphous blob of rhythm. Singing “Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery” as one people during a ska/R&B band’s climatic encore Redemption Song is about as close as you can get to those we-are-the-world style cornball moments which should never be captured on videophone. I sincerely doubted that any one of the young white middle-class males singing & swaying with their eyes closed had ever experienced restraint and colonial struggle but there are times when I wish I could just switch off from being so cynical and socio-politically conscious (which I’m bad at & overly reactionary anyway).

In conclusion the atmosphere is incomparable in both a slightly threatening Tripoli prison yard and sunshine vibes nothing compares to this sense. In amidst all the chaos is a transcendental form of higher sonically and socially-connected bliss. I WAS robbed but only for buying £3 uncooled Red Strip tinnies. I WAS stabbed but only in the chest & groin by frankly dinosaur-stomping tremor levels of bass from soundsystems often close enough together on street corners to collide with a heady clash of warped beats & numerous sound FX which make your nipples wince and rupture your spleen. Public Safety Announcement: those with weak heart conditions or loose flab might want to strap themselves down.

A double rainbow forming just as the downpour aided the police’s enforced earlier closing time with a constantly hovering helicopter could still not deter a mini procession from starting up again upon their exit towards Harrow Road. Kicking our way through the debris in what seemed to resemble some quarantined post-apocalyptic oppressive military landscape, that sight was surely the truest expression of the whole occasion’s thoroughly unshackled spirit.

To all who got down – big up yer bad selves & ting (this review could only have ended with that one tiny word)