Poor Man About Town

This blog was previously called "Notes from a Bedsit Room". I have decided to change it. I am no longer living in a bedsit, but at some point I could be. Now, I'm impoverished, but mooching around town. Eating in cheapo but interesting restaurants. Politics, still left-wing. Business as usual.

What is about Kelvin McKenzie, he does not lend himself to the radio or television very well. My refrigerator could articulate much better than him. He has an over-valued idea of himself and all the media organs follow suit. Why is the licence fees paid on these rather talentless individuals.

Kelvin appeared on Any Questions tonight. He was crap. He had nothing original to say - he was parrotting the Richard Littlejohn line!

For all his right-wing faults, Littlejohn comes accross as McKenzie's intellectual superior and someone who is quite able to use the press, tv and radio extremely well. So why are we paying for the likes of McKenzie to appear on Radio.

Labels: crap, journalism, Kelvin McKenzie, richard littlejohn, tabloid, the media, trash

The New Model Middle Class are really pissing me off. They are remarkable by their lack of consideration for anyone.

I went to the National Film Theatre tonight to collect some programmes. The place was full of suits, boozing away and getting pissed - they were clearly not going to see a film. Then there was this twelve year old shithead, who occupied nine cubic metres of space around the space where the leaflets were stored. He had a Brompton Bike, two metres behind (I should have nicked it) along with bags of this of that, he had a lap top plugged into the wall. He was logged into one of those fucking networking sites, why he could not be arsed to visit them defeats me. Anyway, I reached over and collected the leaflets and was confronted with a really Hitlerian look, I had invaded this little shit's lebensraum. I felt like telling him "oh fuck off, you little shit...you're not here to watch a film"

Then as I was making an exit for the door, one of the boozing suits produced this pink monster from inside his suit - it was a fucking baby! The group started with which he was boozing started to coo like those pigeons one hears from the crevices of filthy buildings. I felt like screaming "fuck off"

Labels: culture, selfishness, suits, the middle class, the national film theatre

The remarkable thing about Damien Hirst's art is the fact that it attracted a lot of toxic money. It was the money that bought houses at grossly inflated prices which disguised their true value. Hirst's art rode on the back of this - people had loads of toxic money to spend on.............crap! And Hirst was a willing supplier. How could a sheep in alcohol be aesthetically pleasing? How can a skull encrusted with loads of diamonds be termed art, the skull should be on the dashboard of a drug-dealer's car. Yet, I was listening to BBC Radio 4 Saturday Review - and here we had the reviewers falling over themselves not to criticise the crap that Hirst produces but to say that they attended an auction where it went on sale. One reviewer commented that one woman thought "oh that's only 15 grand, can I afford that?" She went on to comment on how democratic his art is! Why all this fawning crap, why doesn't someone come out and say his art is shit! If I had 15 grand, I could have 15 decent holidays, there is no way I would even buy Damien Hirst's bollocks even if they were displayed in a glass case and preserved in formaldehyde

Labels: art, BBC, BBC Radio 4, Bling, bollocks, bullshit, conceptual, crap, Damien Hirst, gobshite

I was feeling bored yesterday night, I was bored and I had morbid curiosity and tuned into that rather dreadful house makeover show with that balding git with sideburns who oozes and gushes his way through each episode. The programme started with the balding git ski-ing around with gay abandon - showing us how superior he is to us poor gits. This episode focussed on an old dilapidated farmhouse in the French Alps. We learn that this couple had a shed load of money to spend on a fucking shed! £750 000 in actual fact. The woman is an interior designer, these people charge you mucho dinero to tell you the type of wallpaper you should buy and how your bog should look to visitors - I guess that this is how she earns shed loads of money. She wanted to redesign the shed to keep its rustic appearance and original timberwork but wanted all the modern fixture and fittings to go with it. Now here is something absolutely hilarious, she wanted eight bedrooms and eight bathrooms, but all I could see of family were one husband and two small sprogs. The bedroom windows would be at ground level offering the nice view when lying on bed, but when standing one would have to be less than one metre high to appreciate said view - the woman is an interior designer, remember! The next most hilarious point is that the house is built without foundations on the side of a fairly steep hill; what kind of insurance company is going to touch a liability like that. I was getting increasingly annoyed watching this crap and shouted "fuck off" at the television and switched channels. To think Channel 4 want part of my licence fee to produce this programme with its narcissistic participants, I am minded to stop watching tv all together.

Labels: grand design, Housing, housing market, Television, trash, tv programme

I was listening to BBC Radio 4's Any Questions today. John Redwood was the main star. His manner and presentation strikes me as akin to a Victorian undertaker, I get the feeling that if you were in his presence, you would smell fresh cadavers and embalming fluid, not the sort of person who would be invited to a dinner party in East Dulwich. He was pitted against twelve year old Rosie Winterton, New Labour Minister for Pensions. What struck me was the amount of New Labour bullshit and rhetoric which was coming out of Rosie Winterton's mouth and the rather locquacious and well-informed stuff that was coming out of Mr Redwood. I don't like Mr Redwood's politics, but his ability to express them far outweighed that of Ms Winterton, who just seemed to be reading off a New Labour idiot card. I knew it all along, Ms Winterton is a Blair implant, a career politician and will just spout off a script. What this programme laid bare was the deep chasm that exists between the old school politician and that the rather trashy new school, who really can't express themselves properly. Redwood, for his party, is worth the money. Winterton, for New Labour and her sponsorship, well that's open to debate.

NB I wonder if Rosie is related, by any chance, to Nicholas

Labels: Any Questions, BBC Radio 4, Conservative, John Redwood, New Labour, Rosie Winterton, Tories, twelve year old

It seems that The Sun Newspaper would like to see this scenario created around the home of Haringey's Director of Children and Young People, Sharon Shoesmith with regard to her handling of the "Baby P" case.



I was listening to BBC Radio 4's PM, and heard an extremely sanctimonious, self-righteous and pompous Political Editor from The Sun shovel us some hot bullshit about he and The Sun were not causing a witch hunt (I bet his smouldering knickers were singeing the hair of his bollocks when he said that!) but that the paper wanted to hunt down those responsible for the death of Baby P. I guess that if those responsible are burnt at the stake for their negligence, we would get this response: IT'S THE SUN WHAT DONE IT!

All this is mere cynical sensationalism in an attempt to colonise the memory of an abused and innocent child to flog copy. As if this paper cares about anyone at all, let alone a child. This campaign strikes me as somewhat crass.

Labels: mob rule, newspaper, Sharon Shoesmith, social services, tabloid, the media, The Sun, trash, witch hunt

It's been a long time since I have tuned into LBC, it was becoming increasingly unlistenable - drivel and earwax give tremendous earaches. Time was there were fairly good broadcasters on board, now they all seem to be refugees from the tabloid press, whose skills are broadcasting can be likened to a chimpanzees with typewriters. I guess that the content is dictated in a similar vein. It's now become complete tabloid trash. I shan't be tuning into LBC ever again.

Labels: broadcasting, LBC, Radio, tabloid, trash