Get rid of Max Mosley

It’s time for this addle-pated and dangerous blithering idiot of a cartoon character to go while F1 still has some supporters left. Leave him another year and he’ll kill the sport entirely.

Sign the petition here: Max Mosley. Even if you have no idea who he is, please sign – millions of motor racing fans will love you. He is a disgrace to his position in the FIA, and is destroying the sport of Formula One motor racing. Recently he referred to Sir Jackie Stewart as “a certified half-wit” – how’s that for arrogance from a Grade A fully paid-up fuckwit?

While you’re at it, enjoy some of the comments made about this utter twerp.

The veil of secrecy, lifted

The British press are prevented from revealing the identity of the “royal” targetted by blackmailers for having a naughty with a henchman.

However, for nosey parkers like myself, you have only to follow liberally-sprinkled clues in the British dailies to arrive at the Huffington Post, where all is revealed (well, not all, but a name and a photo). Does the person involved object to the fact that according to BP they are not a “senior” royal?

Another trophy for the mantelpiece

Thank you to Mya, for another splendid trophy.


Mya lives in a beautiful part of the French world, clinging to her sanity with her bitten-down fingernails as she tries to raise a husband and child. The evidence is that she’s not winning – hairline cracks are showing, but bless her, she’s not going down without a valiant fight.

As my old nanny would have said – she’s a spunky little piece. 🙂


Here he is singing “The Phantom of the Opera”. To listen, you need to put the Sonific songspot (right-hand column of this blog) on “pause”, otherwise you’ll be hearing the Londonderry Aire at the same time! Not so good. 🙂 .

One day, he will be a superstar. That’ll really piss off the people who love to hate him!

The Marmite factor

There’s this contestant on the X Factor, who is called Rhydian. People loathe him. People love him. I don’t know if he’s a good guy, or a bad guy, but what a voice! Last week he sang Meatloaf’s “I would do anything for love”, and tonight “The Phantom of the Opera”. It made my hair stand on end, and I did not want him to stop.

There’s the usual mix of contestants, some great voices, some mediocre, but Rhydian stands head, shoulders and blond hair above them all. Let this man win, so we can hear much, much more of his beautiful baritone voice.

You can listen to him here: To listen, you need to put the Sonific songspot (right-hand column of this blog) on “pause”, otherwise you’ll be hearing the Londonderry Aire at the same time! Not so good. 🙂

No bicycle-fucking here, please

This morning I have to double-check the date. It is definitely 27th October, not 1st April. I have to pinch myself really, really hard to make myself believe what I am reading in today’s Telegraph.

A man in Scotland has been placed on the register of sex offenders, and charged with “a sexual breach of the peace”. Can you guess what he was doing?

According to the two “extremely shocked” cleaners who unlocked the door of his room in a hostel when he failed to open it, he was found “trying to have sex” (a coy euphemism for ‘fucking’) – with a bicycle.

Now excuse me, but exactly how does a person fuck a bicycle? I can think of several ways of using a bicycle for pleasure, but it simply does not have the necessary physical configuration to be fucked – unless the one in question had been custom-made.

So the poor fellow is enjoying a fantasy, in what should be the privacy of his room, doing nobody any harm, and bang! – in burst two uninvited domestic workers. Normal people might have quietly burst out again, locked the door behind them, had a quiet giggle, and gone about their business. But no: they feel they must report this sex-fiend to the hostel manager, who informs the police, who bring a complaint so that it goes to court and before you know it, just about the whole world knows that Hamish was banging himself against his bicycle.

So what? He’s having a few moments with his bike; maybe he loves it, or maybe he just feels like a shag and there’s nobody handy.

FFS, world, wake up!