Occulomency

Princess of Hearts

Why is the media turning Jade Goody  into Princess Diana?

Surely one is enough.

Is it wrong to want to draw hair on all of the pictures on her in Heat magazine?

And a beard.

And glasses.

Probably.

Opodo probably sponser Carrie and David's Popshop*

* When I say probably, I mean they don't but it's the sort of thing they would do, as they are a bunch of unscrupulous bastards.

Now Carrie and David think that their Popshop is the best song shop in the world. Every day, a slightly awkward pre-pubescent customer calls into the shop in need of a song for such strange reasons as "my aunties chicken have hooping cough", and with help from Riff the dog and viewers singing along at home, they create and perform an original pop song.

Well, I say help from Riff the dog. I mean the shite glove puppet performs narration and introductions in the most annoying way possible (he refers to his viewers as 'pups'), and randomly pushes brightly lit buttons in order to churn out the unutterably awful dribbling arse-gravy that masquerades as music in this sorry abyss of a show.

My favourite bit, and I use the word favourite quite wrongly, is the sight of an embarrassed child trying to look enthusiastic about dancing along to a song that is clearly not being played to them. Check out the below clip for a great example of the incredible awfulness of this program. It looks like it was invented by a lunatic who calls toys 'resources' and provides reviews of parenting books on Amazon.

Carrie wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't a shrieking, stripper-dancing freak. Nothing could redeem the dog. I hate the dog. They also routinely break the fourth wall, which annoys me. Pass me a pod, indeed.

Oh yes, and that bloody "is it this or is it that" song. Jesus.

Opodo are a terrible company to buy tickets from

I didn't get to Belgium. Boo.

Darwin is though to have suffered from Chagas Disease, he reported symptoms of:

"Vomiting preceded by shivering, hysterical crying, dying sensations or half-faint. & copious very palid urine. Now vomiting & every paroxysm of flatulence preceded by singing of ears, rocking, treading on air & vision problems such as loss of  focus & black dots."

I get similar symptoms after a really good night out.

It is absurd to divide people into good and bad.

I was accused by Mother of thinking that Cromwell was a complete bastard because I haven't read enough books about him. well, I have done minutes of serious research now and I can astound all of you with my knowledge of the English Civil War.

Brace yourselves for this blistering historical tour de force that will rival Simon Schama in every aspect (except my leather jacket isn't as camp as his).

Right.

Civil Wars.

It turns out, a civil war is a form of warfare known for its politeness and manners. It was developed by the British in order to demonstrate our superiority over the French, being a type of warfare that caters for every British person's need for cucumber sandwiches, tea, cordial smiles and small talk during battle.

The English Civil War (1642–51) was a series of cricket test matches between Parliamentarians and Royalists. The first (1642–46) and second (1648–49) tests pitted the supporters of King Charles I against the supporters of the Long Parliament, while the third test (1649–51) saw the game played between supporters of King Charles II and supporters of the Rump Parliament. The Civil War ended with the Parliamentary victory at Worcester on 3 September 1651 by an innings and102 runs.

The Parliamentarians were captained by Oliver Cromwell (born April 25, 1599, died September 3, 1658 ).

In domestic cricket, Cromwell was one of the most prolific batsmen in England for most of his career, but it took him several years to establish himself in the Parliamentarian team. He initially had great difficulty converting fifties into centuries at Test match level and he did not achieve a Test century until his 54th Test innings; he went on to accumulate ten hundreds in all. His highest Test score of 207 was scored at Edgehill; this was the second double century by an English cricketer as earlier that day, Sir William Waller scored the first double century: this was the first time that two English batsmen had made double centuries in the same Test innings.

 

He captained Parliament to an Ashes series victory at Stamford Hill in 1642. Later that year came the "lithe Cornishman affair" when Cromwell argued with an umpire at Lansdown. The England hierarchy supported him at Lansdown, but he was sacked as captain the following summer over an alleged encounter with a barmaid, triggering the "summer of four captains". He subsequently led a highly controversial rebel tour to Gloucester. Cromwell hit the headlines during the tour for describing a siege outside the town as "a few people singing and dancing".

 

In June 1643 during Parliament’s first innings at Newbury Cromwell received  King Charles I's first delivery in an Ashes match. Charles pitched the ball a foot outside leg stump, and spun the ball past Cromwell's bat to clip the off bail. This is sometimes referred to as the Ball of the Century. His dismissal in the second innings was also unusual in that he was bowled off the very last ball of the fourth day's play by the Earl of Carnarvon, meaning he was unable to help Parliament to bat out the last day (Parliament eventually won in the last session on the 5th day).

 

Perhaps equally infamously, Cromwell was hit full on the nose by Royalist’s great Prince Rupert during a one day match in 1644, shattering it. The bowler later finding shards of Cromwell's nose embedded in the leather. This would set the tone for the series, as Parliaments fearsome pace attack thrashed the Royalists 5-0.

 

Another mishap for which Cromwell will be remembered is being caught by Royalist wicket-keeper Lord Jacob Astley after trying to play a reverse sweep off King Charles I's first ball during the 1644 World Cup final.

 

His last Tests were played on tour at Worcester in 1651. Sir David Leslie and himself were the only two members of the original touring party to be fit for all matches, although they were the two oldest in the squad. In the first innings of the Worcester test he scored his final century (117), a battling effort where he spent a lot of time in the nineties, which helped Parliament to win the series.

 

Cromwell was a useful right arm medium pace bowler. He averaged under thirty with the ball in first class cricket, but he did not bowl with great frequency. Perhaps his finest bowling performance was against The Royalists during the final One Day International of the 1644 tour to Gloucester where his 6/26 helped Parliament to a comfortable 134 run victory.

 

Cromwell was named as one of Wisden's five Cricketers of the Year in 1650, and was awarded an OBE in 1651.

There, don't say I don't do bloody research.

25 Random Things About Me

1. My left leg is exactly like a Greek statue.
2. Yesterday, I discovered the secret of eternal life. it involves Heinz Tomato Ketchup and a hand whisk.
3. Head scarves make me break out in a rash that looks like scabies but isn't.
4. Orchids make me weep gently in dark corners.
5. Voles shun me.
6. Elephants worship me as a God, but only in Tanzania.
7. Rolls Royce based the Spirit of Ecstasy on the outline of my left nipple
8. Caravans spontaneously combust in my presence
9. Real men may eat Quiche, but I prefers flans.
10. Alma Cogan isn't my favourite singer.
11. Farmers put effigies of me in fields as some bizarre attempt to avoid my wrath.
12. The grass is indeed green.
13. Isaac Hayes based Shaft on me.
14. Some people confuse me with Charlie Watts.
15. Four people have broken my brain.
16. Ullage is my favourite space-flight related term.
17. Lunar Module Pilot, Radiographer, Artist - these are just a few of the professions that I have corrupted with my Rabelaisian appetites.
18. Less than half of you have bothered to read this far down, so now I can get lazy.
19. One of you has something on your back.
20. Felix is my least favourite Neuron from the popular, but shite cbeebies show Nena and the Neurons.
21. Every time you go away, you take a piece of me with you.
22. Enya sends me into a coma.
23. Lismore is the most dismal shit hole I've ever lived in*.
24. Sam on Boff's Island had a profound effect on my psyche.
25. ! is my least favourite punctuation mark; I like the semi colon.

There, I'm meme'd out so don't fracking send me any of this shit through Facebook, OK?

*This is actually true.

I've got 40 acres...

I shall not rise to the derogatory comments from Mr OxBridge on my homeland (note that despite his Private Education, he did not progress to University, nay even a Polytechnic - they used to have them in his day). However I will add that one of his great loves (trains) was invented by one of my fellow countrymen, Richard Trevithick, so we can't all be pasty eating, tin chewing farmers.

I shall also not draw much attention to how Mr No-Higher-Education likes to cast aspersions on my ethnicity, when he himself took expection to someone doing the same to him when he was in fee-paid education. Let he that is without sin, throw the first stone.

I digress.

Now, from my previous comments it appears that Mr Eton has the idea that I have a chip (or Pommes Frites - see I did French too) on my shoulder regarding Public/Private education. But this is not true.

I am much more elitist than that. For I am a product of the Grammar School system, whereby only those that can make the grade are able to gain entry. (via the most wonderful of tests, the 11+). For me these fee-paying schools were a Godsend, whereby all the Richies are able to throw money at a school for their kids, (who's IQ's have long since been thrown down the toilet) and therefore keep them out the way of those who require to be educated at a reasonable pace/standard. I understand that Mr Toilet-Seat-Warmer gained scholarship to his fine school. That must have been a feat comparable to gaining Mensa membership. What did you have to do? Ensure that the domestic staff had completed their chores for the week before beating them?

Furthermore, these schools (normally single sex) shielded these Special Cases from realilty till they got to University. Whereby the Richies would pay more fees to get into the Universiry/College they wanted and became Cannon fodder for the rest of us.

Anyway, here is a real photo I took a few years ago from the Sub-Station near my school, which is ironic on many levels. I believe that the white sign was produced by someone who attended a Private School. It all makes perfect sense. *

* For those who didn't go to a state school, you might not see the error. I'll point it out to you chaps later.

 

Trilogies.

In spite of being the first person from Cornwall known to operate a computer (or Cabinet Of Magical Pixies And Quintapeds as they are known beyond the river Tamar), well, I say computer. What actually happens in Cornwall is they goes to the Cancer research shop in Redruth, they buys an old broken child's typewriter (preferably that great Nottingham brand 'Petite'), sticks a bit of string to the back of the typewriter and sticks the other end to the back of the TV, set it to CEEFAX and hey presto! A modern computer.

I digress, anyway, The Peanut has hit upon a valid point in between his angry, incoherent rants at the superior education of us Midlanders. Actually, I was quite impressed that Peanut had mastered the comments section at all, as in Cornwall, they only had one book to read learn from which was passed from school to school on a strict rota. Cornish people did use quill pens, admittedly mainly for tickling the demons out of the insane (people from Exeter, probably).Anyway, to return to the point in hand, like The Peanut, I don't get the fuss over Tolkien either, the films were pretty good, but that was more due to the efforts of Peter Jackson rather than old JRRRRR.

The problem is Tom Bombadil. Every time I have tried to read Lord of the Rings, I reach the section with Tom and have to stop because he makes me so angry.

I know that Tom Bombadil meant to be a comic character,  a "spry fellow, with a quick, playful wit", but his mode of speech is even more annoying than Jar-Jar bleeding Binks. 

There is only so much "Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow! Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!" you can take before you reach for your side arm. He is of no earthly use, less use even than C3P0 which is saying something. Bombadil is just so bloody annoying, and it sounds like his wife is really fit, which pisses me off even more. In my head, I imagine a cross between Bill Oddie and Tony Robinson. Can you imagine? Can you? Really?

Useless tit.

Anyway, Jackson cut him entirely from the trilogy. For that, I thank him, it made them watchable.

Right-ho chaps.

My school thought it was a bit posh, but it was a bit crap. I like to think it tried hard but was ever so slightly rubbish at what it did.

Let's take school sports, now being a fully fledged and paid up member of the 'why the fuck would anyone want to take part in organised team sports in the rain' club, I was never picked for the school team. But I was able to infuriate P.E. teachers to near embolism by my ability to not participate in what I perceived as a criminal waste of my time.

Our school was so rubbish that we didn't have a games field of our own, rather we had to go to a Council one that was rented by the hour. We had to walk there, and it was frakking miles (I've just measured it on Google Earth and it is actually 1350 yards, but no matter), which pissed me off before I got there.

There were two games teachers that stand out in my mind, Mr Fruitneit, a young Aryan tosser with a bad temper. He was a complete cock. Once when I had walked a cross country run, he made me run around the sports ground twice and then berated me for not being able to knit. Like I said, tosser.

Then there was Mr X, now he was a nice guy, but I once irritated him so much lost his temper and booted me in the ribs (I was on the floor at the time). He was in a fearful state when he turned up at my house to apologise to Mother. I got into trouble for driving him to it (valid).

Science lessons were also a hoot, what happens if you get a lump of sodium, wrap it up in lead and drop it in a beaker full of water? Well, let me tell you, one kids gets about 30 stitches, a facial wound and an undisclosed damaged payout.

If you look at the actual qualifications the teachers had, most of them... well hadn't. We had musicians, some that I still can't find out what the acronyms stood for, a Distinguished Service Cross holder, an ex-radiographer who channelled Yoda and a man who could reduce a class to silent tears with the word 'Mars Bar'.

History lessons consisted largely of a terribly nice man telling us about AD33, R.E. was taught by the same man and was, to all intents and purposes, identical in content.

Geography was taught by the Aryan nob-end, I once got 100% in an end of year exam and he was not amused.

The Maths teacher, Mrs Evans, was brilliant. Superb teacher she was, the best of the bunch by a country mile. I liked the Computer Studies teacher too, although she was, well, a midget. I confess to writing on the ceiling of the computer room (it was in a basement and so rather low set) "I bet she can't reach this.", I was right. She was a pretty good teacher though was Mrs Hempstead.

My nemesis was a child named A. or something or other. Many a plot in order to cause him distress or physical and mental harm were hatched. He reacted badly to being mocked as physically or mentally disabled, very badly in fact. He used to fly into an uncontrollable rage, which was to my 14 year old brain, incredibly funny.

Picture a French lesson. No, not that sort. Right, nameless ally asks French teacher "If there was a dispute when playing football, how would you claim that one had scored the goal in question?". "Easy", replies teacher, "You would say 'C'est mon goal'. A. starts shouting at the teacher and getting all aggressive because teacher had said 'mongol'. Hilarity ensues as teacher tries to work out what the hell just happened.

A. was easily fooled, one colleague ran up to him and said "Hey, I just called you a spastic", A. ran off and started hitting someone else entirely.

Then there was the pencil case. Oh the pencil case. A. had his pencils embossed with his name in nice fancy gold letters (he was a posh twat), by this stage I had been moved to the other side of the room out of his way. Some one nicks his pencil case, sneaks it round to me, whereupon I empty the contents into my drawer and get the pencil case back to A. English lesson with the headmaster commences. It was a fine day, A. was sitting by an open window calm as can be. I threw one of his pencils at him whilst the headmaster's back was turned. A. snaps it in half and chucks it out of the window, I throw another and so on and so forth.

After a dozen or so pencils had been disposed of in said manner, A. looks at the broken halves of one that I had just thrown at him, roars, gets up, runs across the classroom and starts hitting me. The headmaster is incredulous and demands to know what is going on. A, responds "Occulomency is making me throw my pencils out of the window, sir". I sit there as innocent as can be, tapping my temples....

Mind you, the headmaster was easy to wind up too, all you had to do was produce a copy of "The Communist Party Manifesto" when  told  to read an educational book. Long lectures on the evils of socialism ensued.

My school reports were challenging reading too. My last one, which I loved and hope my mother still has said, in the headmaster's comments, "Occulomency has not been an easy boy to teach". Too bleeding right and might I add, Mr Redwood, you were not an easy person to learn from at times either. Still, we both did all right, didn't we?

Best years of my life? Quite frankly, no.

I feel like......

Three kormas for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Morder where the Shadows lie.
One pathia to rule them all, one jalfrezi to find them
One phaal to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

What do you mean obsessed?

Metasequoia

This photograph whilst appearing to date from 1883, in fact dates from 1983.

Now rumoured to be practising 'Spiritual Healing' in Exeter.

Seek and ye shall find.

Occulomency has for some time harboured a secret desire to telephone Mr. Redwood and ask him, as a leading light in the society, whether he could get me a copy of Delius' How To Cook, but I think that if I did, it would serve no purpose other than to confirm that all his worst feelings about me were true.