All Dandelions are Bastards

OK. Let us get this straight. Dandelions are complete bastards. Dandelions are the enemy. Dandelions deserve to be exterminated. If there is one weed, one piece of utterly worthless vermin vegetation it is the bloody Dandelion.

They they were, one morning about two weeks ago. An eye watering mess of little orange head bobbing about in the breeze in MY lawn. But it is not the flower I detest so much as the spawn of the vermin.

Leave the flowers and all they do is the vegetable equivalent of shag each other senseless every moment of every day. Then they cast their spawn to the wind to pollute the veggie patch or other sacred ground.

They had to go.

At my local Garden Centre I explained I wished to commit Dandelion genocide and needed to buy the most virulent and destructive Dandelion toxin available. I was told that the "Smart" option was to buy a "Weed and Feed".

Now, I could have bought straightforward weed killer. But No.  I decided to be "Smart".  - Fatal mistake.

I bought the Weed and Feed. It says on the side that it will give you a "Rich and Verdant Lawn", while consigning the dandelion scum to an ugly and untimely death.

Oh, if only I knew then what I know now.

Pleased with my 20 Kgs of Dandelion Armageddon, I set it to one side ready for later use.

Then I went down the boozer. - Second Fatal mistake.

While at the boozer, and because it was such a beautiful day, I got talked into having a glass or two of "Old Rosie" ( The Cider of champions ) - Third Fatal mistake.

I staggered home eager to give the bastard Dandelions a taste of my displeasure.

Never ever, ever try and dispense "measured" amounts of "Weed and Feed" when you have had a few. Let alone a skin full.

Especially don't try and imitate a twirling Dervish. It is a crap dispensing method and just ensures the stuff lands in concentric circles.

Particularly don't take a phone call half way through. You won't remember (or care) where you got to.

But positively the worst thing to do it to get close up and personal with individual Dandelions and ensure they (and by default, the surrounding grass) get a significantly higher dose than the rest of the lawn.

Two weeks later and truly, some of the lawn is "Rich and Verdant".

In fact some of it is like the Amazonian rain forest. While other patches remain  forlornly yellow.

I had a hell of a job explaining the concentric circles to the wife. I fobbed her off that it was caused by a  particularly rare fungus that form huge fairy rings. But I don't think she was convinced.

As to the Dandelions, they are still there like nothing happened. Scum!

Don't even know when to die when they should.

Vote Drink Moan (Again)

Many Moons ago, on the last election day, I suggested that voting should ideally partaken of during the evening, just prior to pub opening time.

After voting, the voter should congratulate themselves on their exceptionally good electoral choice and sink a significantly dangerous quantity of alcoholic beverage.

This election is no exception.

You can be a namby-pamby - "Oh I always vote first thing in the morning" type. Or you can be a real man (or woman) and get them lined up down the boozer ready for the post voting binge.

As for the liquor of choice, I would personally recommend Old Rosie - the Cider of Champions. Old Rosie is served in a pint glass. It is cloudy. Whether this is because cloudiness is its natural cidery state, or because it is dissolving the glass has yet to be determined.

One for you doubting bastards who
thought Old Rosie was a figment of my imagination 

Of course, this time we have the AV/FPTP referendum to vote for as well as the local elections. In my locality we also have Parish Council elections to congratulate ourselves over. It promises to be a hell of a night.

While down the boozer and before the result is in, maybe we can view the future optimistically. After all we all know we are likely to be disappointed. But just because the game is rigged, does not mean you should not play.

I suppose even the early morning voters, though denied their liver challenging late night alcoholic consumption can still indulge in a bit of optimism.

Personally I recommend you support AV. A vote for AV will seriously restrict the room for maneuvre for the dirty men and women of politics.

The Eton boys, the dirty old guard of the Labour party, the dinosaurs, all want AV voted down - because it suites their ugly purpose.

True there are some real unadulterated tossers supporting AV - like Clegg and Co. But just because we have to endure these fellow travellers does not mean we should do the bidding of the ugly status-quo self servers either.

But whatever you vote, get out there and vote.

Don't forget - no vote no moan. If you can't be bothered to vote, don't expect anyone to listen to you moaning about politicians.

When you are down the pub next, how the hell will you be able to legitimately complain about the politico's if you didn't even vote?

I suggest you vote for AV.

But whatever you do:

Vote.

Love&Kisses
Billothewisp

A Warning from Billothewisp

OK you grubby little Englanders. I have a severe warning for you.

Even if you are a not mass murderer, or an oppressive dictator. Or even  a megalomaniac, nazi inspired, bigot.

You could well end up looking like this

Or even like this

Simply by embibing a mere five pints of Old Rosie (the Cider of Champions)  or half a bottle of industrial grade Metaxa - fresh from the chemical waste dump outside Athens.

No mass murder is required.

So be warned.

h/t to Anorak News and Wikipedia

Billothewisp Returns from the Dead

My dear deranged and desperate English pals.

Billothewisp is not dead. He just smells funny.

A new list of topical and contentious blogging items for beration and derision are being prepared.

In the mean time, Billothewisp has been on tour, or, at least, to the Cambridge Folk festival.

Here among the dreaming spires (or is that Oxford?) you find an interesting and eclectic mix of individuals from the far flung frontiers of our nation. From the Mung bean eating classes through to our tattoo bedecked shaven headed brethren. You know, those who always give you the urge to look at your shoes when they pass by.

This year the festival was, well, so-so. But hey! that is only my view.

What I do wish to impart is a tale of stunning achievement performed by one of our young and delightful English female patriots at the festival.

The venue was the main beer tent.

At that time Billothewisp was sticking to the Bishops Tipple, a fine brew.

However there are those who would consider Bishops tipple a mere Nancy boys drink compared to the main item.

The drink of champions.

The nectar of the gods (of war).

Of course I refer to Old Rosie (7.2% ABV).

Old Rosie is cloudy. This may be due to its apple heritage or possibly because it is dissolving the glass.

Anyway, I digress.

Let us call our English champion Tracy.

Tracy is 5 foot nothing and weighs about 7 stone. She has a charming English rose tattoo on her upper left arm. Her hair auburn with blonde streaks. There are two pints of Old Rosie on the bar.

Tracy lifts the first pint and puts the glass to her lips. The pint of Old Rosie vanishes in less than 5 seconds.

She is still standing. A hush descends on the bar.

Then (Oh Mother of God!) she lifts the second pint of Old Rosie.

It vanishes. Tracy smacks her lips and saunters off into the night (in a straight line)

I think even Boudicca herself (Warrior Queen of the Iceni) would have quaked at such a feat.

Believe me. As long as we have girls like Tracy, England is safe.