19 November 2017
While eating my breakfast I like to listen to the BBC World Service. Quietly mind you as the Domestic Manager explodes like an IED if her beauty sleep is disturbed. I can recommend it to anyone who has to get up at 5:00am then creep about like a burglar as they get ready for work. The other morning they played an interview with a chap called Stan Hays, whom immediately became my latest hero.
Stan almost leads a double life. During the week he works in insurance, a career no-one would regard as exciting.
Then at the weekends he puts on a different hat and competes in BBQ competitions, because Stan is what they calla Pit Master. An unusual yet harmless hobby, which rather like like darts is more a hobby than a sport as there’s not a lot of athleticism required.
A while ago Stan had an idea. Why don’t I and my fellow Pit Masters use our pork butts for something worthwhile? And so BBQ Relief was born.
Whenever there is a disaster, Stan and his team take their gear to the scene and ensure everyone has food. He estimates they have fed over 1 million people in the last 18 months and was recently selected as one of the USA’s top ten hero’s by CNN. The video at the end of the link (below) explains all.
If I may digress for a second – while watching keep an eye out for the guy using the Hobart chopper. I used to be the Hobart salesman for the North of Scotland and we were not allowed to sell those things because they were too bloody dangerous!
Not sure how much protection the guy thinks those black rubber gloves are going to give against the massive razor sharp blades inside, but I guess it is more about how they make him feel. Perhaps they help identify any severed fingers that find their way into the mix.
Video by CNN of Stan and his work
Another situation I became aware of thanks to the World Service was vaguely animal related. In 2016 Tony, the Kellogs Frosties tiger, had to ask all the ‘furries’ – the name give to fans of Tony – to stop sending animal fetish porn to his official twitter account. His reply message read:
“I’m all for showing your stripes, feathers etc. But lets keep things gr-r-reat – & family-friendly if you could. Cubs could be watching!”
Who on earth would you send a cartoon tiger pictures of animal porn? If you really want to wind him up, send a picture of your kids eating cornflakes while wearing a tiger skin dressing gown with the head still on.
While on the subject of creatures have you ever considered if your Tequila is bat friendly?
Expanding tequila plantations are taking over the natural bat habitat in Mexico, so in retaliation the bats have started raiding the tequila factories, getting all pissed up, picking fights with workers, piddling in the cactus presses and leaving freshly vomited kebab on the bottling machines.
Bat friendly tequila is produced with the bats welfare in mind. Not sure exactly what this means, but I hope it doesn’t mean they give them free tequila to help them forget their home has just been burnt down.
Closer to home I have been on many train journeys over the last few weeks. I have been as far south as Edinburgh where the festive season has already begun and as far north as Inverness where the mountains were covered in snow and it started to get dark at 2:20pm.
This meant I was able to confirm my belief that the train is in fact a parallel universe where the usual rules of life don’t apply.
There should be a sign when you first get in:
Be aware –
1. No matter how quietly you speak your voice will fill the whole carriage and everyone can hear every word.
2. While the other passengers will not show the slightest indication they listening to you, they are. Every one of them. And they are all judging you.
3. Bearing in mind the two points above, this means the train is not a good place to:
a. Chat up the girl next to you when she is clearly not interested and way out of your league
b. Talk to yourself, especially if you are criticising a fellow passenger in the same carriage
c. Make a personal phone call regarding not being able to pay your credit card bill, extending your already massive overdraft or to tell your children you have now left their mother and are on your way to London to live with an fifty year old hairdresser called Clive.
ABout a month ago as I got off the train in Edinburgh I saw a man screaming at the guard. Our train was three minutes late and he could not get any coffee. He was full of uncontrolled rage and his language was appalling.
Two weeks later I saw the same man get off the same train and scream at a different guard with the same uncontrolled anger that the train was too cold and he had only been able to get a seat facing backwards when he wanted one facing forwards. It must be awful to arrive at work each day so full of rage. I do hope he doesn’t work in marriage guidance.
I also saw a couple on a train cut their fingernails mid-journey. The train was packed and as they clipped bits of unwanted nail flew across the table and bounced off the people sitting opposite. No-one said a word, they just sat there as bits of unwanted nail rained down on them.
Edinburgh is ready for Christmas with the big wheel on Princes street up and running. According to the board outside a fee of £12 per person will secure one and a half revolutions. Unsurprisingly the thing was going round completely empty.
There is a Christmas market selling wine and hats and wine and sausages and wine and wine flavoured hats made out of sausages, all good festive stuff, plus at the bottom of the hill there are rides and a small ice rink where the surface looked as flat as a cheese grater.
When heading north to Inverness a few days later a colleague got on without having picked up her tickets. She believed a quick flash of the confirmation email would be sufficient to appease the guard.
I must confess I knew this was incorrect but the opportunity for humour was simply too great. So I said nothing.
The guard confirmed it was a case of ‘No ticket no travel luv’, but as our departure was delayed by a few minutes my colleague had time to go and get her tickets from the machine. It was at this point she realised she also had no bag, no purse, no money, no nothing.
Now it is a little known fact that you can pick up pre-booked train tickets with any bank card. It could say Adolf Hitler on it and the machine would still churn them out, so once my colleague had stopped panicking I lent her my credit card to get her tickets. I also loaned cash for her lunch, which may come as a surprise to those familiar with my restrained approach to financial management.
We completed our days work then met again on the train for the return journey. As the stupidly expensive hostess trolley arrived my colleague asked “I’m going to have a cup of tea. And some chocolate. Do you want anything? I’ll get it”. I am sure you will – with my bloody money!
There was one incident that almost pushed me to physically harm someone. On a different trip to Inverness a pompous youth got on at Forres and sat in the seat next to mine. When we got to Nairn the train filled and he refused to move his case to let people sit down. Not only that, the little shit had his feet on the table people eat from.
If I knew his name I’d contact my local branch of the Scientologists and tell them he wants to join but his parents won’t let him so could they do a pretend abduction. I’ll also tell them he is extremely wealthy.
Disappointingly the National Trust has decided to ban the use of Santa Clause and only use Father Christmas instead. Can’t remember why but it was a stupid reason. On a related topic, does this mean the National Trust is guilty of gender discrimination by demanding we use Father Christmas?
They can’t have it both ways. It’s either not at all and go for the gender neutral Santa, or all ways and go for something like Father/Mother/trans(all)/other Christmas Person. Got to be honest, I’m not convinced it has the same ring to it.
This comes in the same week that the Archbishop of Canterbury announced that all children should be allowed to wear what they like to school and express themselves freely. If they want to wear a dress and a tiara they should be able to do so without ridicule.
I am sure teachers will manage to accommodate such a lifestyle choice, but will their classmates? Good luck with sending little Sebastian to school in a tutu. He might get to lunchtime without someone calling him a ‘Nonce’ and getting seven shades of shite kicked out of him. But I doubt it.
At home things have progressed pretty much as usual. We had three ‘Can you take me to hospital now’ requests from my father, the last one being on Thursday. The Domestic Manager took him to a local hospital where the staff sent him to Dundee in an ambulance with the blue lights flashing after he suddenly went downhill.
There was some concern he might throw a seven that night so we took the phone to bed. When the phone rang at some ungodly hour I answered thinking it was the hospital, however it wasn’t. It was a man with a thick Indian accent.
“Hi my name is Iain (no it isn’t) and I am calling from Londonshire in Englandland (no you’re not. You’re in Mumbi).
Congratulations – you have won a free energy insulation survey…”
I didn’t listen to any more.
Friday night I took my mother to visit him and she was Mrs Cheerful as usual
“Oooh I do hope he lasts until Christmas or the turkey dinner will be really miserable”.
No mother I think the moment for the turkey was miserable was when it realised it was about to get it’s head chopped off. With Christmas all planned, the menu’s written, the presents bought and the brussel sprouts all ready boiling on the stove, thoughts have turned to New Year.
While nothing is confirmed it looks like my disco will be making another trip to Middlesbrough for a party hosted by the Domestic Manager’s family. I am sure it will be very well attended and hopefully the DM won’t spend half the night being sick like she did last Christmas.
The DM’s youngest and by far loudest sister has decided it should have an 80’s theme, so the DM has suggested I go as Jimmi Saville. For readers unfamiliar with this name, Jimmi was a hugely famous DJ and TV personality during the 1970’s and 80’s. He raised millions for charity and even had his own TV show where he would make children’s dreams come true.
Sadly after he died he was exposed as a a pedophile and a necrophile, indulging in rape, sexual abuse and all manner of twisted perversion whenever the opportunity arose.
Even I was a little reluctant to give the suggestion serious consideration and have now abandoned it all together, but I did briefly look for costumes. Note the disclaimer manages to find a few positives towards the end.
(DISCLAIMER)
This is a bad taste tv presenter which is made to look like a Jimmy Savile costume, this costume does not mean we in any way condone Jimmy saviles actions why he was alive, these are also not the views of ‘I love fancy dress’. People wanting to order this costume must keep in mind that others may be offended by them wearing the suit. This fancy dress costume is however ideal for anyone wishing to cause a stir at a party or for people attending a bad taste party. This great quality costume comes complete with trousers, jacket, necklace, cigar, wig, face paint and glasses. This is the costume as seen on sky news, Daily Mail and formerly on Amazon.
Murrays Musings 