This story was related to me by an acquaintance who works for the British Antarctic Survey: The Antarctic Treaty stipulates that no-one single country owns or has the right to lay claim to Antarctica. Instead, each country can lay claim to small areas of Antarctica for research purposes. And each country that has a reserach station in Antarctica lives side by side with their neighbours happy with the arrangement. Except for the UK. The British base is in disputed territory in that Chile also lay claim to the same bit of ice shelf.

The Chileans have a small base which was once part of an old British research station, a few huts and a church. In order to reinforce the Chilean claim, their government flies pregnant women out to the base so that their children are born on Chilean soil (or ice) thus reinforcing their claim.

Now here's the solution to the teenage pregnancy thing. If Britain wants to hang on to their bit of Antarctica and not get embroiled in another Falklands scenario, the government could do the same as Chile. So, before Chavetta can lay claim to her complimentary council flat and all the benefits to which she is currently entitled, she has to sign up for free ante natal and maternity treatment in, yes you guessed it, Antarctica. And it should also be a condition that Chav accompanies Chavetta to Antarctica and could be employed counting penguins or something.

This should either encourage Chav and Chavetta to use contraception properly or at least discourage the stupid little bints from getting up the duff in the first place.

Oh and just for the global warming fascisti - the average summer daytime temperature down there this last summer was minus 10 degrees Celsius. Which I'm sure you'll agree is a bit too fucking cold for ice to be melting.

The following observations have been noted:

GOS's Law of the ATM 1:
The likelihood of the ATM being closed is directly proportionate to the urgency of the cash withdrawal.

GOS's Law of the ATM 2:
The number of people in the ATM queue is inversely proportionate to the approaching distance from the ATM.

GOS's Law of the ATM 3:
Once in the queue, the time the person directly in front of you will spend at least five pondering their account balance and then try a minimum of three times to withdraw money from an already overdrawn account.

GOS's Law of the ATM 4:
Your patience is indirectly proportionate to the stupidity of the person mentioned in ATM Law 3.

GOS's Law of the ATM 5*:
The number of times a person should be shot for (topping up their mobile phone credits / printing mini-statements / trying to find the piece of paper with their PIN written on it in their handbag) instead of just getting some cash and pissing off is approximately equal to 1.

*Thanks to Peter O'Phile for Law number 5.

I remember way back when I was still in high school, waking up one morning to the news that Eric Morecambe had died from a heart attack. I still remember the immense sadness I felt and the sense of loss - that somehow a little light had left the world that day. Even now watching repeats of the old Morecambe and Wise shows, it still amazes me how naturally funny Eric was and gifted in comedic timing and delivery. And no matter how many times you watch them, you still laugh.

The same can be said for Peter Kay. I've only seen him live twice. Once opening for Eric Clapton a couple of years back when he came on stage for the first five minutes, and again last Friday night in The Producers at The Palace Theatre, Manchester.

As Roger De Bris, Kay is brilliant and how much he sticks to the script is anyone's guess. He had both leads in fits of laughter so much so that John Gordon Sinclair had to sit down whilst Kay and Cory English bantered back and forth. At one point, someone in the audience shouted something out. Kay stopped the play, pointed and said "This isn't fucking pantomime. These are real actors. This is a Tony Award winning show. There is no or very little audience participation." Even though, Kay plays the role with such aplomb, he does not steal the show nor does he upstage the leads at anytime but instead feeds off them.

What was clear though, was how much he loves being on the stage and how much of an entertainer he really is, and he CAN sing.

Phoenix Nights and his live tour certainly set the benchmark for Peter Kay, and in The Producers he exceeds that standard. Like Eric Morecambe before him, his timing and delivery is spot on and does not have to resort to profanity to raise a laugh. And in much the same way that Eric Morecambe was, so Peter Kay is a national treasure and hopefully will continue to make us all laugh for many years to come.

Once again the Americans have shown us that the pursuit of happiness and freedom also includes the right to take up arms and slaughter innocent people. No doubt, and already on FiveLive this morning, there are those who view carrying a gun as some God given right granted under the constitution of the good old US of A. In fact, nothing could be further than the truth and the constitution states that in the absence of an organised militia, the people have the right to bear arms. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but last time I looked the US had an organised militia even though many of them are over in Iraq getting their bollocks blown off on a daily basis.

I used to own a gun. When I lived in South Africa it was almost de rigeur to own and carry a firearm. So I know first hand how you can kid yourself that yes it's for your own protection and that of your loved ones. Would I have used in self-defense? That's a difficult question to answer. You see, the very act of reaching for your weapon was considered aggravated assault so you had to be absolutely certain that if you were going to pull your weapon your life was in danger and if indeed you did pull your weapon, you were going to use it. No Mexican stand-offs here. The simple solution was not to put yourself in any situation where you thought that it may be necessary to use your weapon in self-defense, so you avoided certain areas. If you were going out drinking, the gun stayed in the safe where it belonged. If, on the other hand someone had broken into my house with the intent to do me or my family harm, I would have had no hesitation in using the gun. Now that may shock you, or it may not. But when you live in a society where guns are a common feature it will come as no surprise then that criminals will also resort to carrying guns and will often break into properties or cars with the express intention of stealing a weapon. And so the cycle of violence becomes self-perpetuating. In fact, owning a weapon makes you feel less safe than if you didn't because as a gun owner, you become more of a target. The last straw for me, was coming home through Johannesburg one night and witnessing a group of black guys running hell for leather through the city centre being chased by another group of back guys armed with AK47 rifles. I kid you not. I sat at the traffic light while it flashed red for a full five minutes taking in what I'd just seen. Had any of those guys looked to their left they would have seen a single person in a vehicle in an almost empty city street which presented them with the opportunity to steal my car, my gun and most probably my life. I sold the gun and vowed to leave the country.

And so it is in America. Where you can purchase a firearm via mail order with no background check whatsover, where you can walk into a gunshop and purchase a semi-automatic rifle and ammunition and walk down the road to the nearest school, supermarket or shoppong centre and let rip because you feel a little pissed off at the world. We've all at one time or another felt like going into the office and blowing the boss of his chair with a twelve bore and not bat an eyelid because he's a complete twat and the air he breathes is just wasted on him anyway. But we don't. Maybe because twelve bore shotguns are difficult to come by, but mainly because it's not hard-wired into the British psyche in the same way as it is with the Americans - they gained independence through the barrel of a gun, and then proceeded to subjugate the native Indians via the barrel of a gun, and so it continues where the most minor of disputes are resolved via the barrel of a gun. So whilst we may be shocked by the shootings at Virgina Tech, we shouldn't be surprised.

The best thing the government ever did was to prohibit private gun ownership - although the legislation was a knee-jerk reaction to Dunblane and had a detrimental effect on the sport of practical pistol shooting. (Wonder how they will get round it in 2012?). At least we can send our children to school safe in the knowledge that they aren't going to come home in a body bag.

 

The last ten years have seen our tax pounds (for that is what they are even though common parlance is to use the phrase "tax dollars" but seeing as the dollar is not our currency standard, it doesn't make sense to use it in this country) disappear down an ever widening plughole and see very little in return.

Oh but so many people have been lifted out of poverty is the on-message political mantra . What, so they can spend their benefit and tax credits on Sky, plasma screen TVs, Nike trainers, ghastly sportswear and camera phones. Poverty my arse. Visit the squatter camps in South Africa, refugee camps in Sudan, the slums of Mexico City and Rio de Janeiro. That's poverty. Not being able to afford 20 Capstan Full Strength isn't.

I digress. I seem to do that a lot these days. I happened across Wat Tyler's (a nom de plume - note the ease with which I lapse into the French language) excellent blog called Burning our money. There is now a link over on the blogroll to the right of your screen (or the left if you are in the habit of standing behind the monitor and reading upside down). Seems like Gordon may just as well have taken all the dosh and built a bonfire out of it in the garden at Number 11 - roll on independence for Scotland.

Just so I don't fall foul of the Civility Code for Weblogs I thought it best to warn readers that some of the content on this blog may not be to your liking. There may be naughty words, there may be opinions with which you do not agree, there may even be the odd naughty picture or video link. You may find some of the content offensive - if you do, good. People like you deserve to be offended. Regularly.

So here's the content warning:

If you don't like this blog. I don't care. Fuck off somewhere else.

Once upon a time, I had a Sinclair ZX Spectrum. What do you mean you've never heard of it? That must mean you are under 25 and are on the wrong website. The porn sites are over there.

Anyway, I forget who the author of this particular game was but it was brilliant. It was called Football Manager and was written by Kevin Toms way back in 1982. The essence of the gameplay was that you selected a First Division team - that's the Premiership now for those under 25 - and managed the team through season after season of football, buying and selling players on the transfer market, selecting the best eleven for the match and then sitting back and watching the highlights. Little pixellated men on a green football pitch. Sheer genius and totally addictive. The game has come a long way since then, thanks mainly to the gargantuan efforts of the Collyer brothers, Oliver and Paul. The game engine is just a huge database processor crunching player attributes to derive the results of countless football matches in umpteen leagues and competitions. The game has even been cited as cause for divorce such is its addictiveness.

The last version I purchased was CM03. My PC was becoming dated and couldn't really hack it as far as the processing power that was required to run CM04 onwards. However, Christmas before last I had upgraded the PC and bought what is now called Football Manager 2006. I usually start off trying to manage Manchester City but as broke and utterly frustrating they are in real life, so they are in FM. No matter how hard I try, no matter how careful I am with the finances and bring in bargain basement Bosmans and loan signings I get as pissed off with them in the game as I do in real life - perhaps I'm destined never to witness real success with City.

So, rather than avoid inevitable disappointment I tend to select another team with which I have no affinity and hope that I can progress up the managerial ladder to Premiership and European success. But which team? Not a team in red. Obviously. Not Stockport because I just fucking hate them as I do Wolves, Aston Villa, Birmingham City and any other team that has an ex United player as manager. So that rules out Macclesfield. What about starting in the Conference? Could do. But very difficult to get out of and build a credible managerial carreer. So I plumped for Blackpool - play in orange shirts and previously managed by two former City players - Colin Hendry and Steve McMahon. And so I devoted three seasons to getting Blackpool promoted out of League 1 as champions. Three seasons into the Championship (including one FA Cup semi final appearance and on FA Cup final appearance) the bastards sacked me. Just outside the playoff zone with 9 games to go and only 5 points behind second placed Nottm Forest. Sacked. I though about just exiting the game and reloading but no, if that was the board's attitude, sod 'em. I'll go somewhere else. Now remember the game starts at the beginning of the 2005/06 season so it is now 2011. Blackburn offer me a temporary slot to help them stave of relegation. Which I do, winning 4-0 on the last day of the season at Ipswich sending them down in the process. This is a double edged sword however, as Midlesbrough win their last match as well, City draw theirs and replace Blackburn in 18th place. 

I'm now trying to rid the club of the deadwood that is a 40 year old Brad Friedel, 36 year old Robbie (Lily) Savage (I hate him as well) and Thomas Sorenson who ships more goals than Columbians ship drugs. With just £2m transfer budget and a £425 p/w salaray budget I've started season 2011/12 with a 7-3 loss at Everton, a 3-2 home loss to Chelsea and a 5-3 win at Crystal Palace.

I know it's not real. But sometimes it seems like it. I punch the air when my team scores, praise my star players in the press, and curse when my team loses. It's a game but like football in real life, this game is oh so much more than that. When I'm working away, I have a second game going on my laptop. This time I'm managing French 2nd Div side Amiens. Why? Because I have no affinity with them at all. I can be dispassionate. But I'm not. Just 3 matches to the end of the first season and Amiens have exceeded all expectation and are 7th in the league when my missive was to avoid relegation. Unlike at City, bargain basement freebie and loan signings have been the key.

The graphics aren't great - there aren't any. The action on the pitch consists of circles with numbers in knocking a ball to one another and occasionally it will go into the net to either much jubilation or frustration depending on whose net the ball is in. The gameplay is purely cerebral - it's decision making pure and simple. Who to play, who to drop, who to bring through from the reserves, who to buy, who to sell, who to sack, who to hire. For those who have never played the game or for those who prefer the fx and graphics fest of Playstation, X-box or other PC games -  I don't expect you to understand why Football Manager is the best game ever. For those of you that have, you will know, it just is.