Month: April 2015

Election Special

I’m not one for getting all political, but this election could be a landmark one for this country – and not in a good way.

Now it might be all well and good for multi-millionaire, and ex-Los Angeles resident, Russell Brand to tell us misguided fools that voting is rubbish.  And I’m happy that Russell Brand (multi-millionaire, ex-Los Angeles resident), is using his popularity to announce such opinions to whoever is willing to spend £16.99 for the hardback.

However, on those occasions when Russell Brand (multi-millionaire, ex-Los Angeles resident), talks such a heightened level of bollocks, I can’t help but see him as nothing more than a South Bank street entertainer who has shagged his way into a very successful career in show business.

As such, I’m not entirely sure we should be taking advice on overthrowing an entire parliamentary system of rule, only to embark upon a torturous reformation of a new socio-political ideal, from a bloke who is a few steps up from pretending to be a statue in Covent Garden.

I intend to be one of the first in line next Thursday – not to register my vote towards a particular party I support, but rather away from one I utterly despise.

These reptiles are largely responsible for an air of tolerated racism and xenophobia in this country.  Basking in opinions that should be shameful and embarrassing, they seemingly appeal to a growing group of supporters who are either too ignorant to cast aside their own outdated and vile prejudices, or too stupid to see past the “good for Britain” rhetoric being promised.

Yep.  I’m referring to those lovely men and women over at UKIP.  The voice of the uninformed voter.

Now, we all know how warm and accepting Nigel Farage is.

His party effortlessly attracts the worst kind of racists and bigots to their numbers, he is good friends with groups such as the rightwing Italian Northern League, to say nothing of his much trumpeted hatred for the European Parliament – who he freely accepts an £83,000 salary from.

Add to this the endless catalogue of racist, sexist, xenophobic and two-faced displays provided by his underlings, and we have a party of forward thinkers, led by a man with oodles of integrity and compassion.

So when Nigel speaks of his sorrow towards drowned immigrant children, I don’t doubt his motives for two seconds… and would never consider his choked comments as a veil to cover his real feelings – a veil so thin I could use it as a fucking contact lens!

These people are absurd, embarrassing and truly poisonous with their intentions.

Every time a UKIP zealot opens their mouth and spews the party line bile, I can’t help but feel sympathy for them.  Sympathy towards how they manage to live a life so terrified and intolerant.  It must be hellish.

However, with such a level of apathy in this country, and with multi-millionaire ex-LA residents telling us not to bother voting, I’m concerned.

Look.  If you place a tick next to UKIP, then fine… congratulations… you’re an idiot.  But at least you have used your right to make that choice, and my tolerant lefty mind-set can’t slam you for that.

However, if these hate mongers get a foothold because too many of us just couldn’t be bothered to vote at all… then we are the idiots.  Willing architects towards a county that will be horrifyingly disconnected and entrenched in fear.

So get down to the booth and vote for anyone other than this lot.  Go Green, go Conservative, go Labour… just make sure you go!

Paul Millard 2015

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Running Costs

A few months ago I wrote about my desire to be less people. If you recall, the Christmas weight gain had raised questions towards the structural support afforded by my floorboards, and as a means of avoiding costly building work, I decided to slim down.

However, Easter started in January, and in that early celebration of our Lord’s resurrection, my Mini Egg eating had managed to reach startling heights of excess – that’s how efficient I was at being subservient to God!

So a few nights ago, whilst sitting on the sofa with my wife, I couldn’t help notice how she was slowly moving towards me. At first I thought she was shuffling closer by design, perhaps to instigate a little fooling around! But she started to fight against the movement – she was clawing at the cushions in the hope of stopping this unintentional display of affection.

Trying to understand the phenomenon, we both reached a worrying conclusion – I had developed my own gravitational field! People getting too close to my planetoid’esque stomach were unwittingly dragged into its orbit and consumed.

I needed to lose weight.

Dieting alone wouldn’t cut it; I needed to take some exercise. Time to get the cardiovascular system working independently, and without the need of a massive coffee kick-start each morning. It was time to maybe do a little jogging? I was scared.

So I spoke to few fit people at work, and asked what I needed.

  “You need the right pair of running shoes. Something that will give a little bounce and is the right measurement.”

I kinda figured that one out for myself. In fact, I had already ordered a nice pair of trainers with bubbles in the soles – the marketing literature explained how the bubbles provided the wearer with improved shock resistance, better levels of endurance, and a healthy dose of concentrated pretentiousness.

I would also require the right kind of socks, something to let my feet breath. This sacred me again! I immediately had visions of “trench foot” and Victorian methods of amputation, administered by a fearsome local butcher who hates “bubble shoes”.

The list continued.

Good running shorts to avoid any chaffing to those areas that I certainly wouldn’t want amputated. An iPod, so I could listen to the kind of energetic music I would normally run away from regardless of the expensive trainers on my feet. A decent water bottle, to ensure I kept hydrated. If, like me, you consider exercise as a form of torture, shouldn’t self-administered water-boarding resolve the exercise/hydration issue in one fell swoop?

Whilst listening to these well-toned bastards, I calculated that my pursuit of a fitter body would be more demanding on my wallet, than on my hamstrings!

It went on like this for a while, and I soon became bored and started thinking of home… and the bag of Mini Eggs I had hidden behind a box of firelighters under the stairs.

I drove home that night already planning my excuses for not taking this stupid idea any further. Maybe this is my ideal weight, and tinkering with the system will only lead to more problems, like a disgruntled pizza man who has seen his profits disappear overnight and is now unable to take that family holiday. How could I knowingly cause such a horrible butterfly effect?

However, whilst getting out of the car and spying my shadow – one that seemingly belonged to a herd of Space Hoppers – I thought better of it all and had a little jog to my street door.

Paul Millard 2015

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Suicidal Gardening

Snarky Tuesday Paul Millard Gardening

Around this time of year I like to consider myself an expert gardener. With whatever know-how I have gleaned from YouTube that morning, I stride into the wilderness of my backyard, and start killing things with dangerous chemicals and gardening implements I’m too stupid to use safely.

The grass is looking particularly haggard this year. Winter months of harsh weather has taken its toll, and my once green and pleasant land now resembles my Father’s head – bald, lumpy and would benefit from some decent drainage.

In all honesty, my fireworks display from last November didn’t help much either – with more than a few bare patches remaining from the ignition sequence of a dozen rockets I launched at the neighbours.

That, coupled with a clowder of stray cats that take turns to shit all over my lawn, has led me to get my house in order, and return my garden to the suburban oasis I think it is (so my son can enjoy destroying it over the summer months).

One of the YouTube videos suggested I rake the thatch out of the grass and aerate the soil with a fork. It looked quite straightforward… almost easy… the kind of thing you can get done in a spare hour.

It turns out YouTube is full of shit and lies to people.

Honestly, the raking alone ensured each disc in my spine felt like a poorly placed Jenga brick! I hobbled back into the house, looking like I had messed my favourite gardening pants. Simply untying my shoelaces felt like a torture process lovingly employed by the CIA on people who look a bit terroristy and foreign!

I admit it. I’m not built for such manual labour, and have in fact been known to break into a muck sweat just by standing still. So the sight of my pathetic form attempting to be horticultural can only result in a trip to the chemist for a vat of Deep Heat, and enough Ibuprofen to stop a team of wildebeest in its tracks.

Anyway, after a week of convalescence and the third season of House of Cards taken from my sickbed, I felt strong enough to do a little more groundwork.

Not one of my best ideas.

If the raking sent my body into shock for a week, the forking of the ground (every 6-8 inches to ensure any winter compaction is alleviated), was enough to have me reconsider the benefits of pouring concrete over the entire sodding area and painting it green!

Oh, and that’s just the first stage. Once I’ve watched the entire first season of Better Call Saul from my sickbed, I have to reseed the ground – this will require a few bags of compost, grass seeds that I can’t smoke, and preferably an experienced gardener to do it all for me.

Ok, so the garden will look fantastic after all this hard work, but how am I supposed to enjoy that from the confines of my iron lung!

Paul Millard 2015

Snarky Tuesday Paul Millard Gardening3

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