“The rule is: don’t use commas like a stupid person. I mean it.”

― Lynne Truss, Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation

Quite, right, too!!! Where would we be without proper punctuation!!!! Or grammar!!!!! Writing this post in all probability!!!! LOL!!!!!!!!!!!

Having a first-class honours degree in English Language and Literature probably helps Lynne on her quest immensely. Sadly, for those, like me, who don’t know their apostrophe from their elbow, things get a lot trickier. Guess and hope nobody notices is the best it gets here. Oh, yeah!

It is all too easy to make a grammatical gaff though, innit? Even just a few missing comas could mean that Paul, who loves cooking, his wife, and his cats, could soon find himself in all sorts of bother for liking “cooking his wife and his cats.” But a simple proofread would surely tell you that something was amiss, wouldn’t it?

Which made me wonder, while feeding my cats, just what Morrisons were thinking when they made this…

Chunks. Earlier.

Perhaps the serving suggestion should be “with a nice Chianti?”

Fin.

Some things are sent to test you. Crosswords, Sudoku or untangling a tangled slinky, for example. Other things act as a minor irritant, such as a fly excitedly circling your head or Jeremy Clarkson. And some things just make you mad…

Like Michael Gove, who, showing a staunch determination to live up to his (probably not) oft referred to nickname (of Michael Gove the boat ashore, hallelujah – obviously) wants to row a big boat ashore. A £60 million boat no less. As a present for Her Madge. Hallelujah!

Now, and correct me if I’m wrong, I thought we were supposed to be skint. The coffers are empty. As is the piggy bank and the fridge. Aren’t they? Clearly not in the magical Narnia-esque world of the Tories where their overused mantra of “difficult decisions” seems largely to involve deciding on the Bollinger or the Krug. The (not so) poor lambs.

Perhaps I’m been a little harsh and Mr Gove, having seen one big boat sink this week, has seen an opportunity to revitalise Blighty’s manufacturing industry that his predecessors so effectively wiped out in the eighties by building a nice new shiny one? Working on the fact that Poland has essentially built the London Olympics, I somehow doubt it.

And hasn’t the Queen already got a yacht from a previous birthday anyway, so she’s presumably not even got the time to play with two boats and tend to the corgis.

Working on this assumption, I reckon it would be a shame to waste the £60 million. So why don’t we send Liz a nice card with a twenty quid BHS voucher instead and spend whatever is left on something more useful. Like some police officers, or some nurses, or a hospital, or some schools. Or on cutting fuel duty and VAT. Or putting some of the £162 million Gove cut from the schools sports funding back. Or honouring pensions, or giving pensioners their full Winter Fuel Allowance, to think of just a few things while sat in the luggage rack of my severely overcrowded train.

We are all in this together after all. Aren’t we? Yes? Probably.

Fin.

A New Year(ish) and a new blog(ish.) Of sorts. Which you should no doubt savour and digest slowly as it may be the only one this year. Probably.

So, after a week of salad and governmentally recommended alcohol abstinence, it’s time to fill the belly up again. Hoorah! This time at Wolverhampton’s Cafe Maxsim no less, which, despite the confusion caused by my consistent misreading of the name, is not a place to sit supping Weißbier while discussing economic and sociopolitical worldview and method of socioeconomic inquiry, but a rather fine tapas restaurant in Wolverhampton. I should at this point note that you could most likely also do the former should it take your fancy, but you would need to bring your own Weißbier.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yes. My review…

If Jamie’s Italian opened a Jamie’s Spanish it would probably involve serving up the remains of a freshly-thrown-off-the-church-roof-and-subsequently-splatted donkey. Fortunately, no such problems at Cafe Maxsim.

The food was absolutely lovely, the atmosphere warm, the service excellent, the cost an absolute bargain, and the chorizo and tomato dish with the poached eggs was fantastic. So much so that we ordered two. You even get to discover a bit of Oscar Wilde in the toilets, if that’s your bag.

Put simply, this is my new favourite restaurant in Wolverhampton. I will definitely go again. Soon. And you should too.

Fin.

Mystery eggs at Cafe Maxsim. Earlier.

I have a writing commission. I have been commissioned* by some commissioners to write something. The commissioners will pay me oodles of used-oncers if my commission is successful in getting read out on the electric radio. On Steve Wright In The Afternoon’s Sunday Love Songs no less. Probably.

Dear Steve Wright In The Afternoon,

I would be most grateful if you would dedicate a song to my wife of thirty-five years, Doreen, on your Sunday Love Songs show to show her how much I love her. (Or failing that on your Steve Wright In The Afternoon show… I’m not really bothered which.)

Doreen and I met way back in 1965 when our paths crossed at her workplace, Dudley Leisure Centre, where she worked as a part time trampoline instructor. I was employed as a lift engineer at the time and our eyes first met as I prised open the door of the lift she had spent the afternoon trapped in. It was love at first sight and, once she had completed a course of counselling for acute claustrophobia, we were married later that year.

We spent a wonderful honeymoon in the Scottish Highlands and the Isle of Man and went on to have two children, Skye and Doug, who have now left home and have families of their own.

Over the years we have had our ups and downs – like the time where we were mistaken for Neil and Christine Hamilton and captured by Somali pirates while holidaying in Torremolinos, or when I accidentally locked Doreen in the back of a refrigerated lorry for six hours at Stafford Services – but we always come out smiling in the end.

Doreen loves the show and listens every week in bed while I get on with more useful things like creosoting the fence or unblocking our problematic outside drain, which backs-up most Sunday mornings after our Saturday night Indian takeaway. Doreen loves a vindaloo!

I am sure that Doreen would be delighted to have any song as her dedication, although she finds Susan Boyle a bit too political so better to avoid her songs, especially that one about Argentina. Maybe avoid Minnie Ripperton’s “Loving You” also as our cocker spaniel, Bouncer, takes to the shed every time Minnie hits the top F Sharp.

Perhaps “Lady in Red” would be a nice choice? Not only would playing it make a nice change for your listeners, but it is a most suitable choice as Doreen often wears a red dressing gown.

Anyway, keep up the great work!

Your fans,

David and Doreen Davidson (from Dudley)

So there we go. My dedication may get on the radio. My dedication may well be the best dedication ever read on Sunday Love Songs. Or it may not be and may not be**. I wait with baited breath. Probably.

Fin.

(*) Challenged
(**) This is, of course, extremely unlikely since I accidentally sent the BBC the whole blog post and not just the dedication bit. Let’s hope that Steve Wright In The Afternoon’s people have a sense of humour. I am utterly useless. Probably.

It’s October and, with an unexpected and stifling Indian Summer now gone, we find ourselves catapulted back into the throes of autumn.

October is a month that many of us lose enthusiasm for as everything suddenly turns dark and miserable. When ghosts, witches, and terrifying phantoms are said to be especially active in their evil quest to get us all.

Yes, it’s Conservative Party Conference time again…

As Dave frantically flaps about, redrafting his leaked speech that has been unceremoniously ripped to shreds by this morning’s media, it gives us chance to reflect on what’s been happening. I won’t keep you long…

The many faced Dave. Earlier.

Earlier in the week, George went on Radio 4 to tell everybody that foreign investment is going up. Which is good news for everybody, as figures showing an 11% drop in 2010-2011 testify. Maths and economics were never his strong point though, bless him.

Grant Shapps, the thinking man’s idiot, also went on the wireless but ended up in a bit of a flap over whether the House of Commons bar and restaurant are subsidised or not. He thinks that the former isn’t but latter may be, which is perfectly fine as many firms subsidise their “staff canteen.” He also completely failed to convince a caller, who borrowed money from a neighbour to pay his gas bill, that the Tories were the only party that truly understood what poorer members of society were going through. When quizzed, it turned out that Mr Shapps had never had to borrow money to pay the gas bill at any of his properties.

Dave takes to the telly, telling Jon Snow that “I’m well paid in this job… but I don’t live in some glass bubble” tapping maniacally at his Georgian Lead Crystal sphere in agitation. He is also at pains to deny being a male chauvinist pig. OK, OK… Calm down dear. We believe you.

Boris (or “Biros” as my iPodTunesPhone insists he should be called) was on telly too, in a rather bizarre interview with Jeremy Paxman, guffawing when Paxman asked whether he considered himself the intellectual inferior of Dave. As if.

Meanwhile, Universities Minister David Willetts got down with the kids by mentioning the social media website “Spacebook” that they’re all so fond of. Groovy.

Ken mumbled something about needing to eradicate the increasing feral classes (presumably Clegg et al?) before trying to reel Theresa May back in. She told conference that

“All illegal immigrants – and I’m not making this up – were let into the country by the previous Labour government, who deliberately opened the huge wooden cat that they were all hiding in at the port of Dover.”

And I’m not making this up. Probably.

But at least they’ve addressed the two biggest issues of Britain today. Bins and increasing the speed limit. Oh, and politicalscrapbook.net noticed that books about Britain being overly Political Correct, featuring a photo of some golliwog dolls on the front, are being sold at conference. That’s that one sorted too then. Bang in touch there, boys and girls?

Sadly, I have no idea what imaginary MP Paul Uppal has been up to due to a strange media blackout of his activities that has occurred since May 2010. Long may it continue.

And finally, Nadine Dorries got to the end of her abortion bill amendment speech from September.

So where does this leave us as citizens of Blighty as Dave prepares to address his minions? Still all in this* together I would imagine.

Fin.

(*) May be an anagram.