Category: Writings

It’s odd that in eighty five years, not one person has tried to tell Donald Duck that he just needs to clear his throat. I’m sure I’m not the first person to point that out, although if you were the first person to point that out, you should note that the copyright on your statement will expire after seventy years, with no exceptions.

In any case, it’s highly likely that when Duck’s parents realised he was different, they got a lot of useless advice from professionals who had no experience of this phenomenon and, for reasons unclear to this observer, thought it perfectly acceptable to just make it up as they went along. What do you do after the fifth child psychologist in a row gives you the meaningless and irrelevent “If it talks like a duck” quip? I hope I don’t accidentally delete this one like with the flat TV post the other day. That took me ages. Anyway, unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of ducks, because why would I, so I’ve included one of a chicken being eaten by some of my cats several years ago, to illustrate my point.

Oh, good news. An early draft of my lost flat screen TV information has turned up. I’ll include it here, below. Special thanks to the me of the past for apparently saving it in his Twitter drafts while drunk.
___________________
Twenty years ago it was decided that TV screens were too narrow and needed to be made 25% wider, but also that television sets were too bulky and had to be flattened so they now disappeared when approached at a 90° angle so you couldn’t even find them, despite ironically having subscribed to Rupert Murdoch’s Sky 3D channel, which mostly showed repeats of David Attenborough’s fake documentary “Walking with Dinasaurs” (He had walked with nothing. They were already long extinct, and besides it was no secret that he hadn’t filmed on location in fifteen years due to old age) that he just did in a vain and petty attempt to make his brother look silly for starring in Jurrasic Park. His brother is now dead and presumably buried.

Meanwhile, newly-bankrupt flat TV owners were tearing their hair out trying to locate their prized possessions, not realising they just had to oscillate themselves ninety degrees in either direction.The Amazon Echo on the corner was of little help, not having been invented yet.

The arrival of surround sound, sixteen years earlier, only added to the confusion. To be continued.

First posted Oct 2019 on Facebook

That last option, while admittedly relatively minimalistic, still seems a little extravagant. Now, I haven’t looked up the statistics, and you might argue that these things are best left to the experts, but let us assume that ten thousand servings of coffee cake are consumed daily nationwide and that, of those, seven hundred and eighty-four result in fatal choking in instances where a pre-poured beverage is not close to hand.

That leaves eight thousand, two hundred and sixteen servings of, on the face of it, medically unnecessary tap water. However, let’s be reasonable and assume that forty percent of diners will be genuinely thirsty and drink the water regardless, and that another ten to fifteen per-cent will take a number of nervous sips just out of some sort of guilt and / or perceived obligation because they are occupying the much sought-after big sofa in an upmarket coffee shop in which you are pretty much required by law to be drinking coffee, even if you were just hungry and had a hankering, as some of you foreigners call it, for something that tastes like coffee but fills the solids compartment rather than the liquids compartment.

Incidentally, the only reason people go nuts for those couches is because they’ve convinced themselves that one day they’re going to find a load of cash between the cushions that will balance out all the money they’ve squandered on bottled tap-water and dry coffee cake over the years. It’s pretty much legalised illegal gambling, and it’s happening right in front of our faces in every shopping mall in the western world. It is very telling that McDonald’s, who serve a far more down-to-earth, honest, hardworking clientele, have always had contiguous moulded plastic seating with no gaps. Although they do still screw the chairs to the floor.

The only other possibility I can think of (regarding the coffee cake Market) is that maybe it’s like Carat Cake, whereby it isn’t really made from carats of gold, it’s just called that because somebody mistyped “carrot”, and it auto-corrected to “carat”. But that doesn’t seem to make any sense to me. It’s not like your average consumer of cake would have a hankering for either carat or carrots, or in any case expect such a hankering to be resolved by eating cake. And besides, unless I’m greatly mistaken it’s actually called carrot cake, and not carat cake, so my point is moot.

And while I’m on the subject, that word “hankering” just reminds me of that disgusting Mr Hanky character from South Park, and does nothing for the appetitite. The producers would be well-advised to consider licensing him to SlimFast. (Assuming they want him)

In conclusion, there is literally a coffee cake on a coffee table five feet from me as I type this on a device that contains a camera, and still I’m going to use an archive photo of one of our cats as the illustration.

2019 – First posted on Facebook

**** Next time: Coffee tables ****

From 2004, Originally part of the Newsburp University. Later rebranded the Matchstick University. It even had a Matchstick Cat mascot in a graduation cap Adorable.

Course NBU-04: How to Play the Banjo – Part 1

Although I, your lecturer for course NBU-04, have never played the banjo and never handled one or read any books on how to play the banjo, I firmly believe that a good teacher can teach anything, regardless of knowledge and experience.

Playing the banjo can be a rewarding and fruitful hobby, in the right hands. In the wrong hands, it can have consequences that lead to the forced evacuation of your town or city, and can result in harsh economic sanctions being placed on your country by the international community.

First some background. In 1976 Christopher Columbus, grandson of the explorer of the same name, was travelling by car to a second hand record market in Holland, where he hoped to pick up a bootleg copy of the yet-to-be-released unnamed fourth Led Zeppelin album. The one that some idiots mistakenly refer to as “Led Zeppelin 4”. The ignorant numbskulls.

Anyway, on his way he took a brief diversion and inadvertently discovered America. Now, America had of course been discovered several hundred years before that, but everyone in Europe had sort of forgotten it existed. So it came as a complete surprise to everybody to find that there was another country at the other side of the big blue water-filled hole where they kept their inflatable matresses.

Suddenly everything made sense. They now knew where all those mysterious unidentified flying aeroplanes (UFAs) were coming from, and why the aliens who travelled in them always spend a couple of weeks harmlessly exploring museums and local McDonald’s branches, before disappearing without even bothering to kidnap anybody.

Anyway, this guy, Columbus Jnr (Jnr. was an abbreviation of Jennifer, a name of which he was not proud, because there was a much loathed serial killer at the time, by the name of Jennifer) , came back from America with a new musical instrument, and a couple of board games. At first people were skeptical. “That’s pretty much just a violin that’s not made out of cat whiskers, isn’t it?”, they would say. They always said it in those exact words, because the well-organised anti banjo movement used to walk a hundred feet ahead of Columbus wherever he went, handing out cue cards to the locals with that sentence written on it.

(The anti banjo movement is now a political party, but in the interests of impartiality, the NewsBurp University will not tell you which one.)

Anyway, somehow the proponents of banjoism managed to overcome these hurdles, and nowadays it is rare to walk down a street and see a person who isn’t carrying a banjo. Well, that’s the history bit – let’s get down to learning how to play your banjo.

First, make sure you have oiled your musical instrument. And always adjust the “saddle” before attempting to play it. Now, assuming you’re right-handed, hold the handlebars in your left hand, put your right foot on the left paddle, and gentle push youself down the hill. When you have a momentum going, throw your right leg over the saddle and start peddling, remembering to watch out for traffic coming from behind.

Now you’re well on your w:ay. Well done. You’ve all passed.

Course NBU-12: How to Play the Banjo – Part 2

Welcome to the long-awaited second part of our course in how to enjoy one of the most rewarding hobbies known to humankind.

Now that you’ve learned the basics, and are becoming comfortable with your banjo, it’s time to get more adventurous. I suggest you start by signing up for some bungee jumps or going on a blind date. But you could also become more adventurous with the banjo itself. Before you do that, though, you need to know a little more about the history of this wonderful instrument.

In the early 1800s, the peer pressure that has always been associated with banjos, started to get out of hand. Every child in the country felt an uncontrollable urge to get his or her hands on one. As a result, the banjo factories worked flat out, twenty four hours a day to meet the demand. Banjo makers were in great demand, and started to insist on exhorbitant wages for their much sought after services.

Something had to give.

Then the manufacturers became clever. Instead of making banjos in the traditional way, they bought thousands and thousands of unused ukelleles, and simply converted them. The expertise ot the banjo makers was no longer needed, and they ended up on the scrap heap.

Ukellele makers, on the other hand, had it made.

Everybody suddenly wanted ukellee makers. But to cut a long story short, it all ended in tears when the kids suddenly decided they wanted Shrek 2 toys intead. I hope I’m not giving anything away for those of you who haven’t seen it yet, but the storyline of Shrek 2 contains very few, if any, complimentary references to banjos. Possibly because the film company is in cahoots with the anti banjo movement (see How to Play the Banjo, part 1, above)

Anyway, now that you’ve learned how to play the banjo, it’s time to learn some advanced moves. As always, hold your banjo between your legs, at an angle of forty five degrees to your right leg. Remember to check that there’s nobody standing behind you. You don’t want a nasty lawsuit just when you’re getting the hang of your new pastime, do you? Of course you don’t.

Now, holding the top of the banjo’s neck with your right hand in a vulcan death grip, and your left hand a couple of inches below, swing it right back and up into the air, enjoying the satisfying “swoosh” sounds it makes, then off you go. You might even get a hole in one. And that’s perfectly fine. There’s supposed to be a hole in the centre of the banjo, just under the strings. It’s something to do with sound or resonance or something.

Anyway, well done. You’re the next George Fornby.

A page of content from The I make web-pages when there’s nothing on TV site.

Obviously it’s a load of absolute tripe, with no redeeming features.

I am under no delusions as to the quality of this content. My delusions didn’t kick in until at least 2004, when I got my first dot com domain, NewsBurp. It was my first ever attempt at humour content of any kind. It led to more online writings and to Matchstick Cats starting in 2004 and Into Your Head podcast in 2006. Both of which are my pasttimes here in 2025. So there’s that.

Anyway here, amalgamated for the first time onto one handy page, is the content from The I Make Web Pages when there’s Nothing on TV site:

Welcome

You know the song that goes “You’re so vain, You probably think this song is about you”? That’s about me.

Urination

There’s a lot of fuss made about the apparent need to test athletes’ urine at unannounced times, to ensure that they are not using performance-enhancing substances. I have given a lot of thought to this and my advice to athletes would be this: Stop drinking urine.

The Egg, Obviously

Allow me to supply the answer to the frequently asked question “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”. It’s always seemed perfectly clear to me that the egg came first. It was layed by a creature which was one generation away from evolving into a chicken. I hope that clears it up, once and for all.

No Breakfast

Do you know the film (and song) “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”? I haven’t seen the film myself, but apparently you can’t get breakfast at Tiffany’s.Because there’s no restauraunt there. Presumably just a load of disappointed tourists hanging around outside, wishing they had gone to Dunkin Donuts (did I spell that right? I don’t think they call it “doughnuts”)

And while I’m on the subject, my favourite cereal is toast. (What? Wheat is cereal isn’t it?)

Which reminds me. I wish shop assistants would do me the courtesty of handing me my change instead of placing it on the counter, now that leperacy is no longer as common as it used to be.

Generic Weblog

There’s a new trend among web-people to keep a “blog” – an online diary, for strangers to read on the internet. I can appreciate that. We all want to know what a person we’ve never met on the other side of the world had for breakfast. I had Frosties (known in some countries as Frosted Flakes – must allow for cultural differences).

Unfortunately, a weblog, by definition, must contain an entry that says “9.30pm: spent two hours writing this”. If it doesn’t it is not accurate and cannot be trusted.

Anyway here is a generic description of what I did today:

My Generic Weblog – Today’s Entry
Mon/Tue/Wed/Thurs/Fri (delete as appropiate):	Looked at clock, swore, went to toilet, dressed, went to work, worked, came home, ate, wrote this, went to bed.
Sat/Sun	Looked at clock, went back to sleep, looked at clock, went back to sleep, got up, did stuff / did nothing, wrote this, went to bed
Public Holiday	Looked at calender, went back to sleep*, etc.

*except Christmas day – got up and ate sweets for breakfast

Deleted

There used to be a paragraph about the weather here, but it was poor, even my my standards, so it’s gone. I can’t say I’m thrilled with this bit, either. And now, three weeks later, I notice that I even mispelled “weather”. That’s depressingn

Antidisestablishmentarianism 

An English teacher in school circa 1989, asked the class to suggest the longest words we knew. I offered “antidisestablishmentarianism”, rather proudly. He said this word didn’t exist. I’m still bitter to this day. The best that the rest of the greasy-haired little scumbags could come up with was “cat”, if I recall correctly (albeit selectively).

Not the Ninth Caller

I used to have a phone number that was two digits out from the number of the local radio station. What fun! One night a woman rang up and said “Hello, is that the radio?”.”No”, I said. “This is the telephone”.

Then another time some guy rings in the middle of the night, and I bite the head off him* for waking me up. He acts all surprised and says there’s no need to be so unfriendly. I point out that it’s 2AM. Sorry if you’re expecting a punchline here – I just need to get this off my chest.

*A local coloquialism meaning call him a complete b*&*$£

Anyway, where I live you can send text messages from your cellphone to the DJ on the radio. So one morning, just before a newsreader called “Hanley” came on, I sent the text “10 minutes to curtain, Mr. Hanley. Thanks Scooter.”. The DJ and the sports guy seemed to think it was hilarious, and as a result I now own a cheap plastic “Holy Moly” mug.As per the photo on the right. And that’s how I pass the time on the bus.The reason I mention all this is: I’ve e-mailed the DJ, telling him about this bit on the web-page, and suggesting he should provide a link to this site. I don’t think it’s going to work.

This is a MUGSHOT. Ha Ha Ha. The other side says “holy moly”.

So-called Bad Manners

I need to discuss the issue of so-called “manners”. Why is it that if you put your elbows on the table, you are automatically labelled “bad-mannered”. The thinking man knows that the only situation where this is rude, is where you’re seated at a long table, with a person on your left, and a person on your right, who may want to talk to each other without your elbows blocking their sight…
…In which case, surely, THEY are being rude by ignoring YOU.

And while I mention it, what’s wrong with wearing my headphones on the bus? They’re not loud (it’s just the news), and anyway I’m just trying to drown out the sounds of peoples sniffing and snorting, which apparantly are acceptable.

Why does the person sitting in front of me need to clear his throat every thirty seconds? He’s sitting on his own, so it’s not as if he needs his voice to be in perfect working order so he can make a speach to the person beside him.

Helping Others

I didn’t come up with the following proverb, but I wish I had:

“A friend in need, is a pain in the arse”

Light Rain

I would like to add my voice to all those of whoever has already said this: I object strongly to drizzle. I go out on a cloudy day in October; everything seems fine until a couple of drops of water start landing every few seconds. The problem is this: If I put up my umbrella, I will look like an idiot – it’s not raining. If I don’t put it up, I will slowly get soaked. Ditto snow. It feels dry until it melts on your head. Then your’re bandjaxed.

Have you noticed how many people mispronounce the word pronunciation? They say pro-nown-ciation. The buffoons. These people are going to cause the downfall of society.

Wildlife Shows on TV

Why are presenters on Nature shows always either too loud or too quiet.

First you have that guy David Attenborough. He goes within a few feet of a big lion, then starts whispering into the camera. Is he afraid he’ll scare the animal or something? Meanwhile the other lions are looking up a recipe book. The only reason they don’t eat him is they’re not expecting him and don’t have a suitable wine.

Then there’s that Australian guy. Enough said.

Dogs

Arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf

No don’t leave. It’s just a simulation. Not a real dog. If this was a real dog there would now be dog-saliva on your hand, and you would be expected to smile at the owner as if you’re enjoying it.

I’ve produced a complex theses to explain why dogs make that loud noise with their mouths. Here is a summary: They’re all bastards.

Fingernails

But what really annoys me is something that started four or five years ago, and is spreading around the word like an e-mail virus. Saying the word “is” twice in a row, for no reason. For example, “The thing is, is it’s very hard to stop talking in this irritating fashion”
Why don’t you people just scrape your fingernails on a blackboard, or something?

Fake Mice

And why are there so many mice in cartoons? Are we meant to think they’re cute? Surely cartoons are meant to be a brighter, more fantastic version of the world, so that we can escape from for a while. Call me old-fashioned, but I think mice are scum. And you can quote me on that. So long as you don’t say who I am, or what I said.

Directions?

I seem to have a problem with people who stop me in the street for directions, and then start driving away before I’m finished, shouting “okay thanks” as they disappear in the wrong direction, dying to get away from me. Is that just me? Are my directions particularly uninteresting or upsetting, or is it just that they get confused and forget all about it. If that’s the case I think I see why they are lost in the first place.It’s not my fault they’re in the wrong place. Don’t shoot the messenger. In some jobs I could reasonably expect a tip for being as helpful as that.

Primal Termite

Since you seem to be still here, do you happen to know who wrote these lines or where they might have come from?:

“A primal termite knocked on wood
He tasted it and found it good
And that is why your auntie May
Fell through the parlour floor today”.

Someone I knew used to recite it. My uneducated guess would be Spike Milligan or Dr.Suess wrote it. or possibly the Irish poet Pat Ingoldsby, who you’ve almost definitely never heard of because everyone on the internet is in America.

Here are some more favourite lines. This is from Ian Dury and the Blockheads’ “This is What we Find”

“This is what we find
This is what we find
The hope that springs eternal
Springs right up your behind”

Standards

I was watching a television programme today and the guy being interviewed said “I think anyone with an IQ of less that eighty per-cent of the average, should savagely be beaten until they learn to be less lazy“.
Personally, I believe that this is absolutely disgraceful and disgusting. Anyone who speaks on TV as a spokesman for a cause should be capable of getting through a sentence without using a split infinitive.

But I digress

Here are some more favourite lines. This is from Ian Dury and the Blockheads’ “This is What we Find”

“This is what we find
This is what we find
The hope that springs eternal
Springs right up your behind”

By the way, if this site looks unprofessional it’s because the copy of Dreamweaver I ordered ten days ago hasn’t arrived yet, and I’m writing the code all by myself. If it does look professional, it means it has arrived, and I’ve just forgotten to remove this paragraph. Which in itself is unprofessional.

I was about to put an e-mail address here, then I realised you’re a stranger and I don’t trust you, especially now you’ve read through all of this ^gobledegook without leaving – I’m not a psychiatrist, but there’s obviously something very wrong there.

There are plusses and minuses to waking up with Frank Zappa’s “Evelyn, a Modified Dog” as an earworm, as I’m sure you’ve found, but at least it provides us with an opportunity to subtly indicate to the online community what sophisticated and eclectic tastes we have.

There used to be a British woman in the (nineteen) nineties (I am not saying she was nineteen, although it cannot be ruled out without over-researching for what is meant to be a mildly amusing social media post, not a PhD dissertation. It’s bad enough that I keep spotting annd having to fiix new tpyos on every read-through) who reported having suddenly acquired a foreign accent after a brain injury. But even something like that, (and especially *that* itself (not the word “that”, the concept of people acquiring a foreign accent after a brain injury (The following two closing-brackets are not a typo and are entirely neccessary and appropriate. In fact we’re going to need a third one now to accommodate these (admittedly extravagant) words of explanation))) would not account for a whole country switching languages at least twelve hours before, and possibly (as far can be ascertained without once again adopting the methodology of a PhD candidate) anything up to 13.8 billion years before the start of the nuclear emergency.

We can only assume it was some sort of conspiracy involving either (a) the people of Soviet era Ukraine, or (b) scriptwriters at the tiny startup production company in either Scotland or Northern England (I can’t remember which and have too much respect for the reader for me to just “Google” it and then dishonestly pretend to be an authority on the matter) who created the series for HBO and Sky. If the conspiracy involves (a) above, it’s reasonable to assume that a sequel will be made about it, given the enormous success of the first series. This is less likely if (b) is the perp (perpetrator), as it might involve self-incrimination, or allegations of self-incrimination.

I assume self-incrimination is also a serious crime as it can cost your investors zillions in avoidable litigation, especially if you screw up even further by somehow managing to lose the case despite being innocent of the thing in which you managed to incriminate yourself, which is quite a talent, if you ask me, since I assume that when you sell-incriminate you are expected to testify for both the prosecution and the defence.

Not that I’m an authority on either Scottish or Soviet or Northern English law. Although I did once successfully demand a refund from the aforementioned Sky by conveying that I know a fair bit about the civil law tort of Misrepresentation. Which I did at the time, so don’t imagine you’ve caught me up in an admission of misrepresentation. F’ing smartass. 

First posted on Facebook, October 2019

From sometime between 2004 and 2012. That’s all I know.

I’ve always had a massive aversion to pillows. I’ve just never understood them. Why would you want your head to be higher up than the rest of your body? That’s just asking for trouble.

I mean, let’s suppose there’s a drop in air pressure. What are you going to do then? The air you are breathing will be from quite high up, where your face is, but your lungs will be begging for more air because they are lower down where there’s bad atmosphere stuff going on, so your lungs will mistakenly think that there is a problem with the air, because they don’t have the benefit of being as sensitive as your nose, so they’re obviously going to  panic and start running around inside your body cavity, all in a tizzy.

And then they’ll probably hyperventilate and have to help each other to breathe into little paper bags. But all the acid inside your body will dissolve the paper bags, and then where will you be?

I don’t mean to scare monger, but I do think somebody has to worry about these things. And I don’t claim to be an expert in this field, but then who is? I’m as qualified as the next man to talk about it. I’ve got a diploma in web design and a beaver’s badge.

Well, that’s not quite true. I lied about the beaver’s badge. I don’t even know what a beaver’s badge is, it just sounded like a cool thing to have, so I decided to lie to you, and pretend I have one. Pardon me for having a little pride that I want to protect.

I was, however, a member of the Beavers until the age of six and a half, when we moved to a less rural neighbourhood.

You know, I was once a member of the top secret organisation known as the Men in Black. I can’t tell you very much about it I’m afraid, but I left because I had a problem with the dress code. I don’t do suits I’m afraid. Especially black ones, unless it’s a funeral.

Now, sweatshirts, that’s a concept I can deal with. Sweatshirts are fine. You pull them over your head and down over your torso and that’s it. What could be simpler. That’s a rhetorical question by the way, I don’t need you to write in and tell me what could be simpler. If I did, I would have added a question mark. But I do have a point here. Please bear with me.

The point is, I don’t understand why all clothing is made out of animals, but none is made from of trees or vegetables. In the food world, we’ve got meat and we’ve got vegetably stuff. But with clothes, there’s just no room for vegetarianism. We need to consider those among us who don’t want to wear a t-shirt that’s made out of mutton. We may not agree with them, but surely it’s appropriate that we facilitate their way of life, as long as they are not doing any harm?

And that’s all I wanted to say.

Published as IYH Blog on my Into Your Head podcast website, April 2012

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be an elephant. And those of you who are regular listeners to my podcast will know that I am not the type to sit and wonder – instead I go out and do things.

Anyway, yesterday I took a little trip to Foto Wildlife Park. Unfortunately it’s two hundred miles away and I can’t drive, so by the time I got there the place was closed. So instead I walked to the nearest residential area and knocked on every third door until an elephant answered. And boy was I surprised.

I had always thought that elephants were huge, grey monsters with a trunk and large ears and tusks and legs and things, but apparently not. The elephant who answered the door looked more like a cat than anything else. Not that I’ve ever seen a cat, but I’ve heard about them on TV and I’ve seen the reconstructions that they make using computer generated whatsits, so I feel that I would recognise a cat if I saw one.

But that’s not the point. You see, today, my bank statement arrived, and the third item from the bottom was a charge on my debit card for a packet of wine gums. So obviously I suspected the elephant. I mean, who wouldn’t? I don’t mean to generalise, but elephants are thieving bastards. Everyone knows that. So I went round to the elephant’s house and switched off his television, but I didn’t switch it off at the main power button. Instead I put it into standby, which uses up a small amount of electricity and therefore will result in a small but definite charge on his electricity bill. That’ll teach him.

You see, I don’t like to go over the top when I’m plotting revenge. Instead I prefer to be subtle, and cause a small amount of pain in a devastingly ineffective way. That way, I have all the satisfaction of a Kill Bill style massacre, without any of the disadvantages of the subsequent police investigation, the lengthy court case and the death sentence commuted to life after I plead insanity.

And, frankly I would also be a little disappointed at how easily the court believed me when they said I was mad.

That’s not to say that I’m not mad. And I don’t mind being mad, if I am. That’s not a problem at all. Where I live, you can get a free television license and monthly butter vouchers if you’re mad, because the government cares deeply about people with disabilities or illnesses. So it would all be fine.

But that’s not the point. You see, I went to the doctor yesterday to ask for a few empty sugar pills to help cure my insomnia. However I forget to tell the doctor that I didn’t want to know that the pills were empty. The placebo effect doesn’t work if the patient knows that they are placebos. And it sprang to mind that I could have just gotten an elephant to sit on my head until I got bored with not being able to move, and fell asleep. That would have saved me forty euro in doctor’s fees.

So you can see how I am a little bitter about elephants at the moment, can’t you.