And now, a word from our sponsor...

This blog is brought to you by the good old British weather. No, really - it was born on a wet, windy Sunday morning, had the sun been shining it might still be no more than a half-formed aspiration. You see, I'd planned to go biking with some friends - which I see as doing my bit for the environment: y'know, pumping out large amounts of burnt hydrocarbons, and cutting a swathe through the flying insect population of southern Scotland (no doubt somewhere sparrows will be starving because their dinner's splattered all over my leathers).

But the weather, it seemed, had other ideas and, not being one of those bikers who particularly enjoys getting soaked and blown into the path of oncoming traffic, I was left with no option but to make good on a promise I'd made Art-Girl the day before: if the biking was called off I'd start a blog. You see, for some reason best known to herself, Art-Girl finds my writing mildly amusing (here's a tip guys: if you wanna get into a girl's knickers you need neither Donald Trump's bank balance nor Linford Christie's lunchbox, all you need is Woody Allen's sense of humour...though there's always a risk he'll sue you for copyright violation if he finds out you're using it). Anyway, for some months Art-Girl had been suggesting I start blogging and now, thanks to that most capricious manifestation of the Random - the British weather, I have.

This blog does exactly what it says on the tin. Here you'll find my meditations, observations and rants on all sorts of things - some utterly trivial, some deadly serious. You'll find wit (just maybe), wisdom (unlikely, but anything's possible), derision (almost certainly) and mockery (guaranteed) - sometimes all in one sentence. You may find your favourite sacred cows not just mocked but stunned, slaughtered, butchered and served up medium-rare with a nice merlot. You may well find some robust language or other cause for offence. Well, if anything you read here offends you in any way I cordially invite you to stop reading and bugger off! That's what 'grown-ups' do in free societies - if they don't like it they don't read it or watch it. Freedom of expression is an absolute and I'm under no obligation to make sure I don't offend you (whoever you are). I won't mock your race, sex, age, disability or sexuality (well, not unless you're into something really pervy) but all else is fair game.

Now, if you still want to read this blog just come this way...

Wednesday, 14 July 2010

This blog is rated 'O'...for 'old'

Recently Art-Girl was opining that some of the cultural references I use in this blog would be unlikely to be understood by anyone who was...oh, under a certain age shall we say. This, I think, was her way of telling me I'm an old fart (and the 'grumpy' prefix may be taken as read). Well, this left me thinking: should I change how I write so I is like all down wif da kids innit? Should I start referring to...well just what the Hell does interest the yoof of today? Apart from (c)rap music, bad hair styles, endlessly texting each other in what appears to sanskrit with all the vowels removed, and aspiring to appear in the pages of 'Heat' magazine and its ilk.

I freely confess I have no understanding of the yoof of today...oh, bugger that - I, at least, am capable of writing proper English: the youth of today. (Yea gods, I think I'm turning into my parents). But do I feel diminished for my lack of understanding? Err, no. I sit here, secure in my middle-aged grumpiness, knowing that one day - some years hence admittedly, but the day will come nevertheless - the youth of today will be exactly where I am now. And I, assuming I haven't shuffled off my mortal coil, will be a very grumpy old pensioner. Though hopefully not the sort who thinks buying trousers with elasticated waists from Greenwoods is a good idea. (Art-Girl will doubtless be pushing one of those tartan shopping bags on wheels up and down the cat food aisle at Tesco's and adopting 'ramming speed' for any young mothers who happen to get in her way).

So that's it settled - I'll continue to blog in my own, imitable, fashion. And if any references to 'Norman Tebbit' and why his name's funny with regard to cycling, or to 'The Tomorrow People' make no sense then you have a choice: you can either look it up (the internet's not just for porn you know), you can ask an old person (that's anyone over the age of 25, 30 or 40 depending on how old you are Dear Reader) or you could sod off and read something about who Russell Brand is, or is not, shagging this week.

Chin chin!

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1 comment:

Art Girl said...

What's this about a tartan trolly? I insist on a funky coloured one from Lakeland!

29 July 2010 at 15:16

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