North Korea – The Truth

First of all, let me hit you with the terror. 

 

That’s quite bad, isn’t it?

It’s a little different to when we thought Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction, mainly because (a) He said he didn’t and (b) He didn’t.  North Korea say they do and apparently they do.

So why haven’t America launched a pre-emptive strike? Cynics might suggest that what the world needs right now is a good old-fashioned arms race where we can buy and sell lots of weapons in order to re-inflate our crumbling economies. Certainly Dave at Number 10 is in no hurry to cut back (even though there is no suggestion that North Korea could get anywhere near us).

 

Cleverly he even manages to link it to the current benefits crisis “Our current nuclear weapons capability costs on average around 5%-6% of the current defence budget,” he said. “That is less than 1.5% of our annual benefits bill. And the successor submarines are, on average, expected to cost the same once they have entered service. It is a price which I, and all my predecessors since Clement Attlee, have felt is worth paying to keep this country safe.”

But there’s little point in trying to start an arms race if you’ve already nuked the only nation likely to pose a genuine threat. So they won’t. They’ll keep posturing, but all the time they and their fellow shareholders will be making lots of delicious money. 

But who is really behind all of this? As we know from documentaries like Team America World Police and Apollo 13, an industrialised North Korea and rocket-powered flight are fictional things. Take North Korea for instance. Up until January 12^th 2013 this is how it appeared on Google Maps.

 

That’s right, pretty desolate. Certainly not an economic or nuclear threat.

Then, on the 13^th January 2013, this happens. 

 

Suspicious? I know I am. So what, they just created a country overnight and expect us to fall for that? Well I refuse to. As someone who considers himself fairly bright and internet savvy, I thought I’d probe a little deeper. I thought I’d try and work out exactly who was behind all of this. My findings will shock you.

I knew that there was definitely no chance that North Korea existed. I knew that to create such an illusion needed a combination of incredible wealth and corruption. Therefore I knew I had to look carefully at any recent communications made with the world’s most powerful country, Switzerland.

I found this.

 

Pretty damning, I think you’ll agree?

But that wasn’t all. Having found my target I looked deeper. 

 

Scared yet?

But who is this RedEaredRabbit? Why is he doing this? What’s in it for him to start all this warmongering and in turn, dissatisfaction amongst the common working man about the way his country and indeed his world, is run? Well I’ll show you. 

 

Careful analysis of the graph shows that as soon as the threat of war was made his follower count suddenly leapt. And that, dear reader, is what this is about. More followers for one man who writes an occasional blog about economics. Every time there is some sort of economic crisis he magically conjures up a blog about it. He is happy to let the world risk destroying itself to get a few more readers for his dangerously left-wing rants. More weak minds for him to manipulate with his clever use of “facts”.  Now, you may accuse me of opening Pandora’s Box and I suppose you may wonder if I can prove any of this. The reality is that I can’t. Indeed if anything, the way this monster has infiltrated Twitter and society means that any further attempts to research the topic would inevitably lead you on some wild goose chase concluding that this was all the ramblings of a slightly bored man with too much time on his hands.

Perhaps it’s meant to be that way. 

 

Sleep well.

From carpets to marpets: a non-sexy history of slippers

It’s late September and the rains have arrived. The temperature has dropped like a stone and households up and down the country are starting to get itchy fingers when they pass the thermostat in their hallways.

In fairness this has been the way for the best part of the last couple of decades – I am not suggesting that the onset of Autumn is a new phenomenon. Indeed Autumn has been following summer for a number of years now. There has been a subtle sea change when it comes to one area though – I’m talking of course about flooring.

In the olden days before we had telly floors were made from stone or wood. They could feel quite cold underfoot and people had to grow bunions, warts and verrucas to help insulate their feet. When the NHS was invented and impressionable groups like women had medical books read to them by their menfolk these foot enhancements went out of fashion with some commentators even describing them as “unattractive”. A quick fix was needed and it came in the form of the carpet.

Carpets served the country well. Mites, bugs and insects that had all seen their natural environments destroyed by the post-war building boom suddenly had a deliciously comfortable new home.Young schoolboys coming home after a game of football in the park no longer had to wipe their shoes on the doormat as these new carpets could easily hide most forms of mud and excrement. Sadly though, despite all the obvious benefits, carpets were blamed for the huge increase in childhood asthma. In 2006 the then Labour Government, fearing that the courts would be clogged up under a deluge of negligence claims against carpet manufacturers, banned the sale of any flooring cover containing over 10 threads per square inch.

Wooden floors were back. The public liked them – for the thirty minutes after they had been cleaned they looked quite nice though there were inevitably grumblings about the mysterious fluff that began settling within a couple of hours. There was one big problem though – once again the people of Britain had cold feet. A resolution was needed.

And so it came to be that slippers were invented. At first they were purely a functional device, initially known as “Marpets” (Mobile Carpets) and little heed was given to the way they looked. Parents struggled to encourage their children to swap their fashionable training shoes for marpets when they came indoors so the industry began designing novelty versions to appeal to their less-developed brains.

Costs were kept down by ensuring that only materials that could make the feet heavily sweat were used. Internationally styled marpets also became popular. Here are a pair that I own.

Unfortunately Marpets weren’t sexy. Figures released by the World Health Organization(sic) in 2008 showed that in households where carpets had been removed and replaced with marpets birth rates had fallen by almost 50%. Women just didn’t like guys in marpets. Similarly one study conducted by Playboy in 2009 famously quoted international playboy Marky Mark as saying “they just make women look a bit like mummy. I don’t want to do it with mummy.” The marpet needed a new image.

First to go was the name. A co-ordinated industry think tank ploughed over £3million into coming up with a name that would appeal to the masses and be sexy. Without any explanation they settled on the word “slipper” and it stuck.

Early attempts at designing sexy slippers nearly ended in disaster. The whole Cinderella debacle was cleverly spun to avoid the public finding out about the horrific injuries that could be sustained when a glass slipper shattered. Manufacturers went back to using softer materials.

I’d like to say that there was more to this tale, that they were successful in creating a sexy slipper. This though, is not a story with a happy ending. Every day I receive literally tens of tweets asking where people can obtain sexy slippers from. There is no answer. Somehow, in 2012, with a multi-billion fashion and sex industry thriving, we are yet to see slippers available for both men and women that are both stylish and sexy. Here is a Google image search I did for “sexy slippers” only this morning.

Something’s not right Britain. Let’s make slippers sexy. 

(If you are a slipper manufacturer and believe that you can prove me wrong by supplying a free, size 9, sexy pair of slippers I would be happy to change all my beliefs immediately and totally pimp your wares – please contact me)

Tuesday 12th June 2012

Rain.

It’s rained a lot. Not so much today. Today has mainly just been grey with a threatening air of rain. Yesterday was a shocker. It shouldn’t matter – our skins are fairly waterproof, but it’s a bit miserable.

I think I’m getting through it though, by not drinking. Odd. I managed to pick an incredible time to give up the booze, first the four day bank holiday weekend, then through into the the re-release of the biblical floods. Well done me. Actually I did have a minor blip – I had a skinful on Friday, but apart from that I have been “dry”.

How has this helped? It’s the lack of hangovers, it’s not rocket science. It’s much easier to get up and face the day when you have a hangover if it’s fairly pleasant outside. When your head is banging and you can hear the waves lapping up against your window it’s somewhat more depressing. God it’s dull though.

I’ve lost weight, that was the original plan. I’ll keep working on that, but tonight, as I sit alone watching Poland play Russia I have that feeling of missing out. I’m probably not. If I am then don’t tell me, just invite me along next time.

I have adopted a new plan – pre-organised drinking. Possibly more exciting than the spontaneous piss-up. There’s more build up. It’s all about the build up. Anyway, to sum up, not drinking makes you bored, drinking makes you feel bad, not drinking you’re alone, drinking you’re with drunks.

Poland 1-1 Russia.

 

9th June 2012

Again, I’ve been working hard to ensure that a post appears on here everyday. Or every six days. Whatever.

I have a new game. I’m going to play it tomorrow. I’d like you to play with me.

My new game is called 1985. It’s called that for a couple of reasons. Firstly, games need a name and secondly we’re going to be living as though it was still 1985.

The rules are simple.

The aim of the game is to live as though it was 1985. Accordingly no post-1985 technology is to be used*. This means that you will not be allowed to use debit cards (introduced in the UK in 1987, pedants) nor will any of you be allowed to send text messages using mobile phones, calls are okay, as Vodafone got it’s network up and running in 1985. The internet is off limits, you will have to do without. I imagine this will be the hardest part of the game.

If you live in the sticks, don’t worry, cars are fine (though I’m being generous as I imagine most of your cars are of a more recent design). Similarly, I’m okay with you watching television on a flat screen. I am not okay with you watching any more than the four channels in existence at the time. This means you may only watch BBC1, BBC2 ITV and Channel 4 (S4C if you’re playing in Wales).

I could sit here all day and write out lots of rules, but I won’t. Mainly because I have a light hangover but also because it’s supposed to be fun and too many rules are BORING. You will decide how rigidly you are going to stick to the aim. I will decide the winner at 10pm on Sunday night and will allocate a suitable prize.

*Obviously you are allowed to tweet, indeed the game will be nothing without you doing so, but your Twitter device is only to be used for tweeting – no looking at the internet or sending text messages.

Oh, one thing, just because it is 1985 do not think it is acceptable to shout “TERRORISTS” at any Libyan people. Wearing a body warmer is fine.

Game starts at 06:00am. Good luck (You might want to withdraw some cash in advance).

 

3rd June 2012

Well that went well didn’t it? It seems that I am still lacking some discipline when it comes to sitting down and writing. Perhaps I need to think about doing it at a set time each day. But when would that be? In the morning my brain always feels a little slow until the two espressos (espresso is a nicer version of expresso) have kicked in. During the day seems an odd time unless I’m writing a non-diary type entry because then it leaves me in the perilous position of either missing something out or writing two blogs in one day. Evenings? Well, evenings could work and would have worked until recently (particularly with my recent foray into sobriety) but then I’ve started getting called out to work.

So I’ve made a decision, I’ll just do it when I can. I’ll try for each day and accept a gentle push when I forget. If you don’t care then you don’t have to tell me, you just need to stop reading.

Anyway, speaking of not caring, today is the Diamond Jubilee (see what I did there?). I’m assuming that one day historians will look back on my work as a useful record of life in twenty first century London so I thought I’d better keep some of the topical stuff in it. The plan seems to be that the Queen and Prince Philip are going to meet up with the Duke of Edinburgh and sail 1000 boats towards Essex. It is currently pouring with rain which gives them their best chance of victory because all the people in Essex have to stay indoors in case the orange melts off their faces. Or something. I don’t know, they’ve shut all the bridges and I need to work.

I felt slightly more excited about last year’s Royal Wedding. I think my issue with the Jubilee is not the absolute ludicrousness of the whole thing, but that someone seems to have deemed it necessary to turn it into a four day event. It’s been stretched out so far that there’s no focus. How will people know when to hold their street parties? You can’t do it when the Armada is heading for Essex because you have to watch that. You can’t hold them when the concerts are on because you’re supposed to be watching them. You can’t hold them when the Queen is at the Derby like she is every sodding year watching people with overwhelming, crippling gambling habits bet on horses that are fed on Platinum and Cocaine because you might miss the race. At least we knew when to have our street parties when the wedding took place (I didn’t – I was at work).

If you ask me this government should be concentrating a little less on fiscal policy and a little more on street party organisation. That’ll sort everything out.

 

I’ll probably write something that makes more sense later. Good morning.

1st June 2012

So I missed a day. It wasn’t through laziness, I just didn’t get home until midnight. I wasn’t drunk, but I was fairly tired so I didn’t feel I would do myself justice when trying to explain the day.

It started off with the prospect of some work, in Ilford of all places (not a regular contender in any Britain in Bloom category so far as I can see). In fact having accepted the offer of work I then went on to turn down other jobs. The work never materialised. I went for a walk.

I’ve been having problems sleeping since giving up alcohol – I wake up at dawn with the sun streaming through my window on to my face. It doesn’t seem to matter how I angle my blinds it still gets me. I decided to buy an eye mask. I’ve had a few in the past – normally ones that you’re given free on aeroplanes. The problem is that they’re not particularly comfortable and at some stage during the night I seem to cast them off my face rendering them fairly useless in stopping the light getting to me.

I wanted something better. The name Otis Batterbee came up. Apparently he is a purveyor of high quality eye masks. Despite them being horrendously expensive I decided that I would justify this based on the benefit of getting a good night’s sleep. Just one problem. Nobody sold them. I went to all the good shops around Oxford Street and Bond Street. Nothing. Then I went into Marks and Spencer.

I saw a Panama hat. I had to have it. Problem is you can’t just throw on a Panama hat. They deserve some respect. So I had to have a linen jacket to go with it. I quickly spent everything that I hadn’t managed to earn. I’ll probably wear them twice this summer, if that. It doesn’t matter. For a couple of minutes I felt amazing. The day was on an up. Then I discovered that Marks and Spencer also sold a moulded eye mask for £5. Keep an eye on M&S – I think they could do well.

To the pub then, for an evening of Lime and Soda, eating free food (won in a quiz) and doing another quiz. We won. This means we’ve won another free meal. Potentially this could save me making 52 evening meals a year. I will have to ensure that I learn more about Mr Men though. And art. Why was I never taught anything about art? Was this because I went to a state school? How did I miss out? I’m going to buy some sort of Art for Dummies book.

30 May 2012

I went out and about today. The nice weather was threatening to come to an end and I thought I should suck up as much Vitamin D as possible. My wandering took me to Balham and down to Clapham Junction.

I still find it fascinating to see what is missed by those at work in an office between nine and six. For instance those of you with wives who can’t work because they’re looking after young children – have you ever asked them what they actually do? Let me assist. They all sit with their equally baby obsessed friends in coffee shops, parks, wine bars – basically anywhere they can buy drinks – and talk to each other. Not the children, they don’t talk to them. No, they just make noise and run around a bit.

Now to any reasonable person this is fairly obvious, it’s just a scam to get out of working for a while. I just wonder if this is really in the best interests of the child. We all remember being small and our parents making us sit with them while they talked to friends. It was boring right? The whole world is out there and they’ve chosen to sit outside Starbucks near Clapham Junction.

Why aren’t they doing something useful instead? I’m not suggesting sending them up chimneys or carrying water for five miles, but really, every now and then it does strike me that we would have far fewer stupid kids if they weren’t brought up listening to vacuous conversations about shoes and affairs instead of being stimulated and educated.

Would it be expensive? Needn’t be, all those mothers could go back to work once the child reached two years old and the children themselves can all go to nurseries full time from then. Group childcare is much cheaper than doing it individually. The only ones who would lose out would be the coffee shops and their staff could man the creches.

I could be wrong of course, maybe I’m painting a horribly cynical picture of it all, but really try getting a table anywhere between ten and eleven in the morning anywhere in Clapham. Then try and hear what anyone is saying above the screaming. This is probably why everyone else gets jobs.

Some people may query the impact this could all have on a child’s emotional well-being. I like to think of children as being a slightly inferior version of puppies (puppies are cuter). It is perfectly acceptable to remove a puppy from it’s mother at eight weeks. They cry for a couple of nights and then they’re perfectly happy and a welcome addition to their new family. Perhaps I’m being generous to advocate leaving a child under the constant care of its mother for up to two years? Most children are emotionally crippled psychopaths by the age of six anyway. That’s under the current coffee morning regime. Why not give mine a chance?

If it doesn’t work then we’ve lost a generation, but at least I’ll be able to get a table outside Starbucks.