You know how it is. You are sitting in the office minding your own business when a headline catches your eye (Moral: Stop throwing your eyes around in public).
This is an occupational hazard when working in a newspaper office but, even in the kind of environment where silly headlines are batted back and forth willy as it were nilly, this one was a classic.
‘Bonekickers discover our oldest vole-eater’ it bellowed, atop a tale that analysis of the bones of Westbury Man from 600,000 years ago proved that he ate rhinoceros, bear and… vole.
Somewhat aside from the fact that I never knew rhinos inhabited Westbury (OK, let me have the jokes) it was decided that a much dafter headline would have been the title of that Dean Martin classic song, Little Old Vole-Eater Me – well, slightly amended, obviously.
Little do you realise when you tip such a small pebble over the edge of the precipice what momentum it will pick up. So we all took the rest of the afternoon off to come up with vole-related song titles (as you do – and if you didn’t get a paper last week, sorry ’bout that).
Here are most of the clean ones I can recall, but feel free to add your own in the comment field below.
And perhaps we should thank heavens the story wasn’t about that beaver running around Cornwall.
Stand By Your Vole
I Wanna Hold Your Vole
Dark Side of the Vole
Court of the Crimson Vole
Vole over Beethoven,
Vole in My Shoe,
O Vole Mio
I’ve Got You Under My Fur (by Vole Porter)
There’s a Vole in My Bucket
Vole With It, by Liam and Vole Gallagher
Baby, There’s Voles Outside
I Got a Vole, But I’m Not a Voltmeter
You’re a Pink Toothbrush, I’m a Vole
Vole not Dole
Vole City Walking
Love Volercoaster (little-known funk number by the Ohio Players)
Vole Lotta Love
I Knew the Bride When She Used to Eat Voles
19th Nervous Vole
Get off my vole
Good Volebrations
(And no, I don’t understand half of them, either. My age, I suspect).
Thursday 29 January 2009
Thursday 22 January 2009
Oh! What a lovely recession
How’s your recession going? Having a good one or is it all becoming a bit of a nightmare?
Many years ago it would often be heard said of someone: “Oh, he had a good war, y’know.”
This usually meant he did his fair share of shooting at Germans but managed to get back to dear old Blighty pretty much in one piece and found that his wife wasn’t pregnant by an American GI – either by luck or judgment.
We will soon be doing the same about this credit crunch malarkey, you mark my words.
“Oh yes, he had a good recession” will, in days to come, mean he stayed in a job, his firm stayed out of bankruptcy and his wife didn’t become pregnant by a bailiff.
But make the most of it, mes braves, because the tide will turn before you can say “Repossession, repossession, repossession.”
‘Ere long, mortgages will start to go up, just when you were harbouring thoughts that the building society may start paying you to live in your own home, and all those special offers will begin to dwindle as businesses realise that the more they discount, the less profit they are making.
You will know we have reached the turning point when Honda announces the closure of its Swindon plant and relocates its entire production to some bloke’s shed in Nempnett Thrubwell; when Domingo’s pizzas are offered at two for the price of three; that we see the arrival of the BOGO – a recession version of the BOGOF - which stands for Buy One Get One; and the 50% Off Sale – yes, everything’s half size.
Mrs A is trying to do her bit by spending her way out of the recession, although I have pointed out that a wild and reckless spree in the Pound Shop probably isn’t going to kick-start the economy.
No matter – her heart is in the right place. Not sure about various other body parts, though.
I, for my part, have decided to play an heroic role in saving our local pub by diverting a larger chunk of the housekeeping into the landlord’s coffers. I have been joined in this philanthropic gesture by several other brave souls who are eternally grateful to have a new excuse.
It’s reminiscent of the Dunkirk spirit in as much as we will soon be in deep trouble with the enemy and need a great deal of help to get home safely.
Many years ago it would often be heard said of someone: “Oh, he had a good war, y’know.”
This usually meant he did his fair share of shooting at Germans but managed to get back to dear old Blighty pretty much in one piece and found that his wife wasn’t pregnant by an American GI – either by luck or judgment.
We will soon be doing the same about this credit crunch malarkey, you mark my words.
“Oh yes, he had a good recession” will, in days to come, mean he stayed in a job, his firm stayed out of bankruptcy and his wife didn’t become pregnant by a bailiff.
But make the most of it, mes braves, because the tide will turn before you can say “Repossession, repossession, repossession.”
‘Ere long, mortgages will start to go up, just when you were harbouring thoughts that the building society may start paying you to live in your own home, and all those special offers will begin to dwindle as businesses realise that the more they discount, the less profit they are making.
You will know we have reached the turning point when Honda announces the closure of its Swindon plant and relocates its entire production to some bloke’s shed in Nempnett Thrubwell; when Domingo’s pizzas are offered at two for the price of three; that we see the arrival of the BOGO – a recession version of the BOGOF - which stands for Buy One Get One; and the 50% Off Sale – yes, everything’s half size.
Mrs A is trying to do her bit by spending her way out of the recession, although I have pointed out that a wild and reckless spree in the Pound Shop probably isn’t going to kick-start the economy.
No matter – her heart is in the right place. Not sure about various other body parts, though.
I, for my part, have decided to play an heroic role in saving our local pub by diverting a larger chunk of the housekeeping into the landlord’s coffers. I have been joined in this philanthropic gesture by several other brave souls who are eternally grateful to have a new excuse.
It’s reminiscent of the Dunkirk spirit in as much as we will soon be in deep trouble with the enemy and need a great deal of help to get home safely.
Friday 16 January 2009
Initially a good idea
Acronyms, eh? Who’d have ‘em?
When I wur nobbut a lad in short pants and smog mask, we only had three – BBC, ITV and TCP. Mind you, we were very poor.
But kids today – they don’t know they’re born. Just look at the acronyms they have to choose from – SWAT, ASBO, YOI, CRB, TWOC, ITV – and they are just the criminal ones.
The trouble is, a catchy, user-friendly acronym is now a must for any organisation that wants to be taken seriously and, in some cases, for ones that don’t.
But, oooh my, we get so twee.
The tyrants who are apparently running this country love stuff like Ofcom, Ofwat, Ofgem etc, but when it comes to Foreign And Commonwealth Office, do we get FACOFF ?
Not a hope – it’s far too accurate.
So come, brothers and sisters of the revolution, let us act as one mighty sword to prick the balloons of pomposity (put than sentence in Google and see what you get) and make the case for FACOFF.
If the Government had any sense, it would see the error of its ways and instantly put the Immigration Office under FACOFF’s control so that, the next time the EU phones with the intention of asking if we can take another couple of million asylum seekers, whoever answers the call at our end simply announces the name of the department …
* Just in case you ever wondered, TCP stands for trichlorophenylmethyliodosalicyl. See – educating you as well !
When I wur nobbut a lad in short pants and smog mask, we only had three – BBC, ITV and TCP. Mind you, we were very poor.
But kids today – they don’t know they’re born. Just look at the acronyms they have to choose from – SWAT, ASBO, YOI, CRB, TWOC, ITV – and they are just the criminal ones.
The trouble is, a catchy, user-friendly acronym is now a must for any organisation that wants to be taken seriously and, in some cases, for ones that don’t.
But, oooh my, we get so twee.
The tyrants who are apparently running this country love stuff like Ofcom, Ofwat, Ofgem etc, but when it comes to Foreign And Commonwealth Office, do we get FACOFF ?
Not a hope – it’s far too accurate.
So come, brothers and sisters of the revolution, let us act as one mighty sword to prick the balloons of pomposity (put than sentence in Google and see what you get) and make the case for FACOFF.
If the Government had any sense, it would see the error of its ways and instantly put the Immigration Office under FACOFF’s control so that, the next time the EU phones with the intention of asking if we can take another couple of million asylum seekers, whoever answers the call at our end simply announces the name of the department …
* Just in case you ever wondered, TCP stands for trichlorophenylmethyliodosalicyl. See – educating you as well !
Monday 5 January 2009
Good Lord ! Who ?
Well what a disappointment.
OK, that thingy bloke may turn out to be the greatest Dr Who in the history of …er… Dr Who, but what a let-down it all was.
All the Whovians in my local pub said he knew the latest incarnation would be a female doctor (no, you didn’t read that bit wrong, he is a lonely, sad character).
Somebody else was trying to convince us all that we would witness the first black doc. Or even a gay one in the form of John Barrowman.
But none of the mentioned favourites were in with a sniff.
Personally, I would have gone for Peter Kay.
One stroppy 18-stone lump of Lancashire lard would be more than a match for any Dalek invasion of Cyberman infestation.
The sonic screwdriver could have been transformed into a stick of garlic bread and his mum’s new bungalow could have doubled as the northern base for Torchwood.
Ah, but ‘twas not to be.
Instead we have mi-laddo wotsisface – who, don’t you think, looks remarkably like Michael York in the film version of Caberet ?
Perhaps he is a time traveller after all.
OK, that thingy bloke may turn out to be the greatest Dr Who in the history of …er… Dr Who, but what a let-down it all was.
All the Whovians in my local pub said he knew the latest incarnation would be a female doctor (no, you didn’t read that bit wrong, he is a lonely, sad character).
Somebody else was trying to convince us all that we would witness the first black doc. Or even a gay one in the form of John Barrowman.
But none of the mentioned favourites were in with a sniff.
Personally, I would have gone for Peter Kay.
One stroppy 18-stone lump of Lancashire lard would be more than a match for any Dalek invasion of Cyberman infestation.
The sonic screwdriver could have been transformed into a stick of garlic bread and his mum’s new bungalow could have doubled as the northern base for Torchwood.
Ah, but ‘twas not to be.
Instead we have mi-laddo wotsisface – who, don’t you think, looks remarkably like Michael York in the film version of Caberet ?
Perhaps he is a time traveller after all.
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