2012 - The End of The World is Nigh.

Harold Camping was RIGHT!. We are all going to die, and you dear Reader will be deader than most.

21st December 2012. BOOM! The end of the world. 12:00pm sharp. Don't be late. This is the date the Mayan 13th Bak'tun on their Long Count Calender runs out. (actually it wraps over to the 14th Bak'tun - but we'll ignore that)

The Mayans may have been a stone age civilisation, but they knew (Uh...) "things". Things like, well, Um....

They were in touch with a deeper mystical and celestial presence.
They had reached that deep cosmic Nirvana that our civilisation cannot ever attain.
They were in touch with the inner psyche of the divinity at the centre of existence.
Their karma extended beyond a mere physical existence into a truly eternal Cosmic conscience..

That is why they painted their women's faces blue, then filed down their teeth to points. Finally they made them go boss eyed by balancing a ruby on their nose.

How mystical!
How metaphysical!
And how much money do you have? Arghhhh!..Ignore that last question.

YOU really are DOOMED. YOU are the walking DEAD.

But is that a fat wallet I see?.Hallelujah!!!! There is a way ahead. There is salvation. Remember though, if you have money you simply cannot enter heaven. De Facto.

Rich men and the eye of needle? Remember that?

It's no goodtrying to amend your ways now. Rushing off down the boozer to blow it all on Old Rosie (the Cider of Champions) simply is NOT going to cut the mustard.

Remember this is GOD we are dealing with. Not the planning department at the local council.
Oh OK - bad example - but just because the planning dept think they are gods doesn't make it true.

(In order to be culturally inclusive the following applies to all Welsh, Scots and Irish as well as Canadians, Australians, Yanks, Mexicans, Norwegians and everyone else for that matter, as long as they were born on a week-day or alternatively on the week-end)

Yep. I am talking to ONLY TO YOU my grubby little Englander. YOU are the only one who can be saved by Billothewisp. But YOU Have to agree to be saved.

Let's face it. Otherwise you are stuffed. Unless you agree to be saved then for you, it is an eternity of hell fire and damnation. So what is Hell? Brimstone? Whips? Boiling Oil?

Nah - that's kids stuff.

Hell is being forced to drink gassy alcohol free American lager and watch the X factor all day. The adverts will be filled with no-win no-fee lawyers. If you change channels all you will get is a continual discussion between the two members of JedWard on their understanding of the Schroedinger Wave equation.

Your eyes will be stitched open. Your bladder will be stitched shut. Your mind will be filled with images of a naked Kate Moss - but when she is 85 years old.

Serves you right. But there is hope.
Yes! Billothewisp is here to save you! Don't start thinking about it! Don't start reasoning! That only leads to hell and a wrinkly Kate Moss. What you need to do is divest yourself of all that hellish filthy lucre just laying in your bank account. Billothewisp has broad shoulders. He can absorb the shame. He can soak up the bad karma that flows from (ugh!) money. So, as soon as possible, ensure you send him all those ugly high denomination notes.

When the whole world explodes at 12.00pm 21st December 2012, you can go straight to
the front of the queue into Heaven (celebrity entrance). Just mention Billothewisp.

Be Saved. Send all your money to me! (Metaxa is also accepted in part payment)

You know it makes sense.

Happy New Year.
Love and kisses

A Christmas Carol

It was Christmas Eve.

 In a dark corner of the public bar in an obscure boozer in one of the wilder recesses of Purbeck, Carol pulled a pint of Old Rosie (the Cider of Champions).

Scrooge greedily eyed the filling glass and impatiently tapped the bar with his knuckles. 

The liquid slowly filled the glass. The smell of sour apples filled the bar. Scrooge's tapping got louder and louder.

Carol (who was not known for her tolerance of old impatient men) glared at the ungrateful customer. She finished the pouring. The glass was slid across the counter. Scrooge grudgingly passed over a handful of coins.

Scrooge licked his lips. His grubby little hands clutched round the glass of cloudy fluid. Raising it carefully to his lips, he sipped the brew. Slowly and carefully, he consumed the golden liquid.

Soon the glass was empty.

Scrooge tearfully eyed the empty glass, then like a man in mourning, he cracked open his wallet and extracted a single twenty pound note. He bought another pint of Old Rosie and then another and finally, a fourth.

Scrooge, it has to be said, was utterly hammered.

It should be remembered that Old Rosie, (the Cider of Champions) is not a brew for the faint hearted. It is rated at 7.5% ABV.

It may be that the natural cloudiness of Old Rosie is part of the brewing process, or it might be because Old Rosie is dissolving the glass.

This does have its advantages though, we now know that Old Rosie is one of the most potent sterilising agents known to man.

If during an outbreak of MRSA the patients were given a couple of pints of Old Rosie each morning, the bug would be toast.

However, I digress. Back to Scrooge.

Anyway Scrooge had imbibed four whole pints of Old Rosie before he decided to stagger home. He got about half way before the hedge looked too comfortable to avoid. He lay down.

Now at this point of course, old Scrooge is supposed to go off on three journeys of discovery, into the past, the present and the future. There he discovers the true meaning of Christmas and ends up a better and more fulfilled person.

But really, let's be serious. If you think anyone is going to be able to stand up after drinking four pints of Old Rosie, let alone indulge in time travelling and character building, then you are sadly deluded.

Scrooge was lucky. Carol was driving home down the same country lane and noticed the old man snoring away in the hedge. She woke him up and threw the drunk into the back of her car. In true Christmas spirit she dumped him 100 yards from home. Just far enough for him to stagger home, and dream up an excuse for the wife.

A true act of Christmas generosity by a bona-fide Christmas Carol.

Merry Xmas.

Love & Kisses

Another day Another Template

Well, I was getting tired of the old template anyway. I thought I would upgrade to one of the latest wizzy free templates in hope of fixing the embedded comment box problem as well on the fly, but to no avail.

So I give up. It is going to have to be pop up comment boxes from now on.

Looks like this is a problem smeared all over the net, but if I wait for Google to come up with a fix I'll probably die of old age first.

Anyway no more of me droning on about how crap this is. (Thank God I hear you say).

A cidery Xmas lament is in the making


Re-Functional but only just...

My inability to comment (i.e. reply) on this blog has finally been fixed by changing the comment method to a separate window from in-line. When I get daring I will change it back.

My God, don't you forget just how sloooowww modems were, though to be fair this GSM modem isn't too bad. I suppose it is all down to the amount of bloat on websites these days.

Anyway, before I start reposting I should re-visit some folk first.

I'll get the Xmas greeting done next, then its back to some dear old campaigning.


Blogger is Broken

My Blogger I/F is broken.

To make matters worse, I am currently running on a GSM modem that is as slow as a three legged dog on sedatives.

There appears to be a javascript issue where the owner of a blog cannot now  even comment on his own posts!

When I try and issue a comment it asks me which identity I wish to sign in as, although I am already signed in. Then it refuses to allow me to select anything by clicking the button. I cannot issue a comnment until logged in etc etc etc. forever ad infinitum.

Hi Ho Hum.

For those missing a reply, please accept my apologies. A reply is written and will be issued asap.

I give in.

I will have another go tomorrow, but maybe that wordpress blog beckons. I am getting sick of this and google changing stuff under your feet without testing it thooroughly first.


A short intermission will ensue. Please feel free to leave comments but the may not be moderated or replied to for a few days as I am currently overwhelmed with other things and time is tight.

Normal abuse will resume shortly.

Any comments to this blog are always published (excluding adverts, gratuitously offensive or totally off-topic) and a reply usually issued. But there may a delay for a few days. That's all.

Love and Kisses

Safer SetBacks

Actually, the Scout Camp at East Stoke would be (much) less than 1000 feet from the nearest turbine of the proposed East Stoke (Alaska Farm) Industrial wind turbine complex.

Yet a leading Wind Turbine Manufacturer (Vestas) recommends in its technical documentation that technicians working on turbines of a similar size stay at least 400 metres away (1300 feet) - unless absolutely necessary.

A residential home for people with Autistic Spectrum Disorder (i.e. some of the most vulnerable in our community)  is about 2400 feet away.

Peoples homes are within 2000 feet.

Meanwhile the Scottish Government requires a 2Km (6500 foot) setback and just about every medical expert who has studied the field agrees with them including:

  •  Dr Chris Hanning (the world's leading sleep deprivation expert) 
  • The French equivalent of the BMA, 
  • Dr Amanda Harry ENT Specialist 
  • Dr Nina Pierpont consultant pedriatrician (author of Wind Turbine Syndrome). 

All of these medics have produced devastating reports on the effects of having turbines too close to peoples homes.

Then there are  the environmental bodies, all queuing up to support a setback of around 2Km.

  • The United Kingdom Noise Association
  • The John Muir Trust
  • The CPRE.

The only organisation who thinks having closer setback is a "good idea" is RenewablesUK the cartel trade association representing the wind turbine carpet baggers.

But, seriously folks,  you do not have to worry about the morality and social conscience of the wind turbine fraternity.

They simply don't have any.

Hat tip to my friend Linda at Windtoons ( Here )