…Two, Zero, Two, Two…

Well…. That went well. What an absolute shocker. It’s hard to imagine a worse year than 2021 but as an evolving species we managed to acheive that by delivery 2022 with added war, Monarch death and skinting everyone out.

This won’t be a particularly long read as I’m pretty certain none of us want an indepth rehash of the shitshow that is the last 12 months so I’ll breeze through it with as much humour as I can mustrer and at a rapid pace so we can kill it of. What I will do though is end this blog with a story from my forthcoming bestselling memoir brilliantly titled (by me) ‘Watching the Detectives’. The story in question happened very early in my career and has rarely been bettered for a moment in a pub where I was left on the floor in tears. It is, of course, ‘The Shoe’…

Bombing European cities in the 21st century? This sounds almost ridiculous when in print but as you well know this actually happened all courtesy of a little blokes ego. Tragic.

Forget all the reason that the little man came up with as they are all cobblers. The only reason this happened is because he fancied it and has a deep rooted embarrassment about what happened to his old Empire way back in the 1980’s. All this perceived threat and NATO pushing their luck rubbish is just that. It’s all just an excuse to roll in the tanks. The problem the little man has though is that he kinda overestimated the power of his own once mighty land army, and the fact that when you cross into another country you tend to find that the locals are willing to fight to the death more readilly than the bloke told to go there. I’ve always said that I would never fight for this country outside of its borders but would happily stand armed to the teeth at the White Cliffs of Dover with Elgar’s ‘Nimrod’ booming in my earholes as the French or some other mob made their way accross the channel. It’s the least I could do. for the countryt of my birth.

As I write we are in the 10th month of the ‘special operation’ that would only take a week. The invaders have had to conscript their own citizens much to their youth’s shock and they have been ground to a halt by dogged defensive resistance on the battlefield. This has resulted in the little man using a blunter strategic approach and so the citizens and the infastructure became the target to kill the will of the people. Clearly he’s not met many Ukrainians. I don’t know where this will end but most wars end at a table.

NATO seem pretty solid and I’d imagine they will have more missiles to offer up than the little man has in reserve so we are at the ultimate stalemate for now until someone runs out of ordanance. On the upside Trump isn’t involved or I’m sure he would have already handed Ukraine up on a platter and built a tower block slap bang in the middle of old Kyiv with a Casino in it.

It’s essential that we stick with this one as it cannot become the norm. Tough Times ahead but sometimes it’s worth it. This is one of those times.

If you were a Tory then a European war was exactly what you needed. Deflection was the name of the game and this was right up their stench trenches. The main narrative was ‘fuck you and your problems, we have some Ukrainians to help’ and while I fully endorsed the overriding principle I’d imagine the bubbles were flowing fast at Tory HQ when the little main addressed the planet in February.

Every mistake the Tories had made up to this point was now irrelevant when they wanted it to be but the war also made it hugely relevant if it bailed them out. Energy Crisis? Putin’s Horrific war, Cost of living Crisis? Putin’s horrific war, Petrol through the roof? Putin’s horrific war….BOOM!! handmade bail out and if you said ‘But, hang on…’ you were considered some kind of monster.

Well I hate to break this to you but if you can’t feed your kids and you can’t heat your house I’d imagine some chinless wonder telling you about ‘Putin’s Horrific War’ ain’t really going to cut it when they’ve been elected and paid to ease your burden on this island.

On the upside all this mess did result in the almost full collapse of the Tory party and the ultimate humiliation of The Oaf himself albeit to resume a career bumbling after dinner speaker on about a million squid a month. His humiliaton was total, so bad in fact that the only person the God fearing, Shire dwelling, right wing blue rinse brigade could stomach to replace him was a woman of such magnificent stupidness that she could have come from the minds of Charlie Higson and Paul Whitehouse of ‘The Fast Show’.

Thick Lizzy breezed in and like a 15 year old schoolgirl with the hump sacked everyone who didn’t vote her and kept all her mates in the plum roles. She even sacked Johnny Mercer as Veterans Minister which was a role he created citing that she thought she could get someone better to do it. Rees-Jub was effectively promoted and Kwarsi Phatang-Phatang, the man with nothing behind the eyeballs and a slack mouth breathing jaw was elevated to the plumest of plums as Chancellor….The money man….

Kwarsi, pushing for the Truss’s title of Dimwit-in-Chief and injected with the standard 1000 yard stare she perfected or that look that a dog gives you when it doesn’t understand decided that the best way to run a country was to fuck a country and bring everyone back to the dark ages. It was almost like the little man’s Ukranian policy but without the bombs and the rubble. In a flash of the ‘back of a fag packet’ policy being announced everyone was proper skint but it wasn’t his fault as you would imagine. It was Putin’s Horrific War and we just better get on with it.

This economic apocalypse after the previous one they foisted on us in the name of Brexit which no one now owns or admits to has truly consigned the Tories to the financial dustbin of history. People forgive lots of stuff but stop their Sky TV, raise the price of a pint or make their house cost more and they will never forget. Luckily this time it was the Tories fronted by Truss who became the scapegoat for the whole cabal. Much like The Oaf ‘getting Brexit done’ or ‘Doing the vaccine’ (both these things were said to me in a pub this year by a bloke who actually believed it, I mean if you have a global pandemic the least you can expect from those running your shithole is a jab right?) she didn’t personally crash the economy, the Tories did as a lot of them would gain from it. It’s a collective and not the masterplan of some numbskull with the badge of leader. They all loved it until the charts went south and a lot of them even loved it then as the bets they made came in.

So now we are all skint with everything costing more. Damn that little fella eh? Of course this has nothing to do with monumental governmental mismanagement, underfunding of essential services or Brexit, God no. This was most likely Labour’s fault for not doing anything in the 12 years they weren’t in power of , naturally, Putin’s horrific war.

We are lucky in this house as we are almost (not fully) unaffected by all this as we are in relatively safe full time employment, we know we are lucky but millions of people aren’t lucky, they are struggling and as Danny Dyer recently said:

“…If you are working 40 hours a week and you can’t pay your bills that isn’t your fault, it’s the fault of the slag paying you….”

Wise words from Dyer as ever..

Truss was removed pretty quickly within the party as us mere mortals couldn’t possibly be allowed to get involved in that vote and so the Shires spoke again but this time they loaded Daddy’s revolver, downed a large sherry and appointed a man of colour to temporarily take the flak before he gets removed prior to the inevitable election in two years and the Oaf rides back in hanging out the back of some intern who laughed at his jokes once.

The time of Rishi has now begun.

This patsy, without a shred of humanity, sincerity, personality or empathy took the reigns in a £3,000 suit and loaded intagram account. As we all knew he’s just another rich boy that you couldn’t hold a real conversation with. You will never sit in a flat roofed boozer in Rotherham looking across a table at a ‘Rishi’ over a pint of Skol for £3.20 saying ‘Let me tell you about your fookin’ kids pal!’…. It’s never going to happen. I’d imagine the Rich-Tea ain’t going to Rotherham or anywhere anytime soon with his brand of insincerity and elitism… bit damp and dreary up north….No thumbs apparently…

To be fair he’s been pretty anonymous even on the media front so far and I’d imagine only really went for it as he knew he wouldn’t be there long, couldn’t really fuck it up any more than it already was and would get his painting on the wall of Downing Street forever. No Brainer.

The problem is that he appointed a group of individuals who can inflict real damage to this country over the next two years including the likes of Braverman who is a proper horror show revelling in other people’s misery while creating that misery. It’s Genius in some ways if you are into generating your own joy without frantically bashing away in a shower….Become a Tory front bencher and the pleasure will be constant.

Do they care? of course not. They are unlikely to be in a position where they might have to mop this shit up. Labour look on course to wipe them out but it’s no time for complacency. Don’t forget and do your bit. You might not like Starmer or the current Labour set up but remember, it’s Labour or more of this shit so bite down and get rid of this mob as soon as you can, we rarely like politicians so let’s just get on with Starmer to try and save this island from these greedy bastards as it cannot get any worse.

A shocking year for celebrity death and the older you get the more of the dead you know. This year we lost the marvellous Wilko Johnson, the legend Terry Hall, the unreal Shane Warne and the all round lovely Olivia Newton-John. Sadly we also lost the nations Nan in the shape of the Queen and the nation seemed to come together briefly not for the monarchy itself but for what was simply a nice enough old lady.

We also lost the greatest footballer of all time in Pele. It’s hard to fathom how influential that bloke was on the modern footballer. There was a video doing the rounds of modern players doing fantastic skill and you could find an example of Pele doing it decades previously. A true legend, man, footballer, statesman, actor, Nazi conqueror and seller of ‘cock pills’. Truly missed.

This has been a particularly difficult year for me with nothing of note really happening outside of a lovely trip to Devon with my tribe which will feature in a future blog called ‘Welcome to the Trundle’ if I can be arsed.

I spent another year working from home while slowly losing my mind as I realised that I was almost irrelevant in the big work scheme of things. I have to literally manage myself which sounds great but we all need a touch of direction now and again just to make you realise that you actually count. ‘Go into work’ you say, yeah, I could but there’s rarely anyone in and all I acheive there is spending some cash getting there. It’s a tricky one that I need to fix this year. My swead can’t take another year of this madness.

It was also the year that the boy left us in order to travel to the Midlands and set up camp to study Thatchers Haze Cider and History. I thought I could handle this but, alas I was wrong and it only fuelled my mild mental collapse. His presence was missed. His room was cold and devoid of the necessary sentient being, you could feel the lack of ‘him’ throughout this house. The fact that he is absolutely useless at communication isn’t easy but he’s here for Christmas and so I’ll lap it up. The only thing that matters is that he’s enjoying himself….you work a long time and I’m happy to delay that for him for as long as necessary.

And that’s all I want to say about this year. A horror show for everyone. 1 Blog delivered, 586km run, 16 audiobooks ‘read’, 121 hours of meditation completed, a golf club joined….

….And now…. a bonus tale from my award winning future book (unwritten at present)..

…THE SHOE…”

When I joined the Organisation in 2003 I was thrust into the hands of a boss I will remember until I leave this planet. I only worked for him for about 8 months but my God he could be funny.

The minute I met him I liked him as he was unnecessary aggressive and oozed a dark malevolence which sadly took him down the wrong path after he retired. As he still lives for the purposes of this story let’s call him ‘Brian’.

Brian was a small bloke during a time in the polis where the cops were big 16 stone Bacon and Guinness fuelled monsters. When I joined I was stunned at how big everyone was and not just in height, they were all solid and looked in command of any room they were in. To paraphrase ‘Shutter Island’ these were ‘Men of Violence and not Violent Men’. There are few cops like this now as they have almost been bred out of the polis and this is a bad thing which has contributed to the crime ridden streets we currently experience.

What Brian lacked in physical height and girth he made up for in personality and presence. If he was in the room you knew it, everybody knew it and they all wanted to be in his black humour/mild agression arc. Brian also liked a drink and I was lucky enough to be in his company a lot during my limited time with him when he was holding court at various boozers in the shadow of the Bastion of Justice. Always hilarious, he created great memories for me in those early days.

This tale concerns a piss up quite near Brian’s retirement after a long day drinking with another unit we got on well with. For some reason we all ended up in a local pub adjacent to the ‘Big House’ called The Buckingham, an old traditional hostelry opposite Wellington Barracks in Petty France which at the time was only frequented by drunk polis and Sky News crime reporters. It’s a narrow pub with a bar to the left and a sort of corridor down the middle.

Wherever we had been we were nicely alight when we arrived here and were mob handed. We set up camp towards the front door of the pub where there was a bit more room and Brian, as ever, took centre stage with everyone in the palm of his hand and us all around him in a circle. Tragic really that grown men, pissed or not can revere a single individual like this but he was a genuinely funny bloke.

So Brian is in the ring of adoration with one of our colleagues from another unit and he’s explaining the intricacies of the drop goal in Rugby. Brian was a big rugby fan with no time for football and could talk about rugby all day in a way that only a Blackheath Scumbag could.

“…Right, you listening mate?.. nah seriously, listen right… The dropkick is an underused masterpiece….I’ll show you right…watch yeah…watch…”

Brian then takes this bloke through a slow motion tutorial of the dropkick complete with hand position on an invisible ball and the set up with sedate leg swings showing the hand/drop/ sweep matrix or some shit. It goes on a bit but he was a passionate egg chaser and truly believed in the power of the drop kick for the drop goal victory.

“….So you got all that sahn? you got it right? you got the idea? You now know what you is gonna do yeah? yous gonna win the game….for the Queen. The final thing you need is leg power…the sweep in time with the drop…like this…”

At this point Brian makes himself a bit of room and adopts the position where he drops the imaginary ball. The leg comes back and sweeps forward with full force, it would have been the perfect connection had a ball actually been involved but there was no ball.

“…FUCK ME!!….”

….The last words of Brian as he realises no ball is involved in this textbook demonstration…..There is no ball but there is only…The Shoe…

The shoe in question was a loafer and a particularly nasty version. Faux Croc skin with a buckle and a chisel toe is emblazoned across my mind. Proper Cuban Coke dealer job. Brian always wore loafers, horrifc shoes in various colours whether he be in a suit, chinos or Jeans… it was the loafer. I’m convinced he couldn’t do laces as no one would willingly wear the loafer all the time.

The loafer is now airborn and is spiraling toe over heel in a dead straight line down the centre of the boozer between two lines of proper pissed rozzers quietly enjoying an afternoon pint after a day of crime fighting. This loafer must stop at some point and is rapidly running out of landing options until it spot a massive polis lifting his lovely pint of G to his lips. It was at this moment that the loafer arrived. In an explosion of stout and noise the loafer finds it’s destination….the bridge of a coppers nose.

If you have ever seen a violent moment in a pub you will remember the silence which instantly greets its arrival. This is no different. Brian stands still surveying the carnage from a distance but is the only person in the victims view and so clearly the culprit. Then the pointing and the shouting and the swearing starts.

“…Right..I suppose I best go buy that mug a pint and get my shoe back.”

Brian heads off down the corridor of polis towards the melee of accusation and anger and all the while the carpet reacts with the polyester sock on his shoeless foot charging him up to the volatility levels of the Elephants Foot at Chernobyl.

He reaches the aggreived polis and extends his hand in apology. After a few exchanged expeltives they shake hands and Brian delivers a static electric shock of such huge ferocity it send the recipient reeling backwards with his hair on standing up on end. This poor sod simply went for a pint after work and ended up getting a loafer to the face, a pint on his ill fitting suit and an electric shock from a bloke who only apologised because he wanted his loafer back.

Brian turns to us having retrieved the Loafer points over his shoulder with his thumb to the mess behind his and laughing says:

“…I electrocuted the cunt as well….”

Six months later I’m watching the rugby World Cup on a Saturday morning in a loft bedroom in North London in the copmany of a heavily pregnant Jen and Jonny Wilkinson adopts the position and delivers a perfect dropgoal to win the World Cup. All I see is The Shoe….

Happy New year all….let us hope for better in 2023….

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2 thoughts on “…Two, Zero, Two, Two…

  1. SB says:

    Do Rotheramites say fookin’? I thought that was Glaswegians?

    If you need a reason to be in the office once a week I can leave at 5 for a pub in a location near Holborn (it’s Holborn)……

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Marie says:

    Bloody brilliant. Proper laughing at the Shoe. Thanks X

    Liked by 1 person

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