Thursday, 31 May 2012

Monday, 21 May 2012

Ufer

U is for many things but unfortunately few of them exist in the bewildering and, on the whole sexy, animal kingdom. Without wanting to be the bringer of bad news unicorns simply don't exist, and nor have they ever done. Even in France. So, instead U in my animal alphabet stands for uakari, the spirited bald-headed monkey from South America who have pink faces.

So, just to emphasise this point to all those of you wishing to colour this in with accuracy, they have pink faces.

Pink.

Uakari

If you would like to download an A4-sized version to print out and colour in and then throw in the sea, you can find one HERE.

(Pink).

Wednesday, 16 May 2012

Prolonged absences

I've been terribly lax updating this blog recently. Unfortunately, actual life has been getting in the way, which has significantly impacted on my ability to imagine a whole different life and then fill the internet with a series of lies about it. So this morning I thought I should quickly explain that, and apologise. But then I thought, why should I? Honestly.

I love posts like these, but at the same time I have to admit that they are never anything beyond pointless, self-indulgent and self-important drivel. I'm afraid that people who have blogs, especially blogs that people actually start to read, just unavoidably find themselves cast in the role of a celebrity guest in the episode of Going Live! that is taking place in all of our heads.

I guess that this makes you readers the TV viewers or perhaps even the little kids who made up the studio audience. People who comment are the kids who called in to actually speak to the guests!

Kid 1 Hello Chris who does your hair?
(sound of a baby sibling wailing and screaming in the background)
Chris Isaak Hey kid, I do ma own hair
Kid 2 How do you get the ideas for your song?
Chris Isaak Hey kid, I needed money

So, just to be clear, you are my fans and hanging on my every word, I am famous, what I have to say is important, I am Chris Isaak.

Sunday, 6 May 2012

Non-explosive Tupperware box disrupts Olympics

The British newspapers are up in arms today. Well, the red tops are at least. This is always a good sign. Firstly, it means there's no actual news to report, which is a good thing for scaredy cats like me. Secondly it is a sure sign that no English footballers are currently cheating on their wives, which should help them concentrate on their preparations for the European Championships next month.

The issue is that, during a security exercise, a policeman successfully smuggled a dummy bomb into the London Olympic Park. In this world of terror-threats and religious fundamentalism, this is a great concern. Particularly for The Sun on Sunday, who are always keen to distract people from any of the numerous terrible things that their parent company has done.

I love news stories like this. They are designed to cause panic and outrage. In so doing, they prove the futility of both of those emotions. They are snap reactions, devoid of any reason or perspective. If you really analyse anything deeply and properly, panic and outrage should quickly dissipate. If they don't, you are probably in trouble. But even so, having a brain clouded by either is unlikely to be a constructive platform for action.

In days past, I would panic myself up into a tree over silly things like this. Luckily, over the years I have learnt to be both more analytical personally and more cynical of the motives of the news media. Sorry, the news media. But you did kind of bring this on yourselves.

The whole point of exercises is that they are supposed to discover flaws, so that when the actual thing is in progress it won't happen again. Maybe if News International's hacks had practised not tapping phones and not rooting through celebrities' bins more often, their current and future troubles would be significantly smaller. Furthermore, it was a dummy bomb. I don't know about you, but you're welcome to smuggle as many dummy bombs as you like into anywhere. You can smuggle some into my anus, as long as I'm not breathing out at the time. Go nuts. Give your children some dummy bombs to play with. Feed a few to your dog. What I'm actually concerned about is real bombs.

Of course, this will all seem very silly come July and Usain Bolt's attempt at defending his 100 metre sprint crown is waylaid as he trips over a lunchbox full of Blu-tak and batteries, hurled onto the track by a mischievous urban terrorist. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

It always helps to put your trust in the people who are in charge of these things, after all. The fact is, whether you want to believe it or not - and whether the press want us to believe it or not - they know what they're doing better than we do. And even if they don't, thinking that they do is a nice warm feeling, although I may just have wet myself.

Personally, I'd be more offended if someone tried to smuggle a copy of The Sun, or Rupert Murdoch, into the Olympic Park.

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