Newgate News

Of all the animals of prey, man is the only sociable one.
Every one of us preys upon his neighbour, and yet we herd together.
The Beggar's Opera: John Gay

Friday, 18 July 2014

"You say black, I say white..."

Here we go again:
An MP has slammed this weekend’s controversial naked bike ride through Clacton as “offensive exhibitionism”.
Yes, it's Clacton's naked bike ride again. According to the subsequent online edition of the Gazette, opinion on last year's one was divided to say the least:
Clacton's first naked bike ride was such a success it could pave the way for the UK’s first naked fun run.
Outraged councillors are calling for a clampdown on naked events, which they said could harm tourism in Tendring.
So, good or bad? And why do it at all? Some supporters describe the ride - last year's was a not insignificant 17km - as an “environmental protest against car culture and a celebration of the bicycle and the body”, placing it firmly in the counter-culture camp, while others attach a more safety-conscious message, claiming it highlights the vulnerability of the cyclist on the road.

Even so, Carswell does have a point; it's likely that the event will primarily attract those already accustomed to appearing naked in public. Few people, after all, would want their first tentative dabble in naturism to take place in the middle of Clacton with the local press photographer on hand.

On the other hand, if people want to take their clothes off and aren't breaking the law, are they really doing any harm? It is, apparently, entirely legal to participate in a mass bike ride while totally harry-starkers, though I wouldn't advise stripping off and hopping onto the nearest Boris Bike in a built-up area to test the rules.

This means that those in opposition - which, according to the press, include the council and the police (who, since they will still accompany the riders, have presumably been ordered to keep their eyes averted) - have no way to prevent the ride going ahead. They have, however, decided to do what they can.

The ride has therefore been re-routed so that the cyclists do not go through the town centre and, in an unusual variation of pre-event publicity:
The council has published the route so people can avoid the bizarre spectacle.

Thursday, 17 July 2014

'The Harem Shuffle'

I can't lay claim to the title (though I wish I'd though of it first); it was an inspired comment at 'Underdogs Bite Upwards' which irresistibly led to the following...

(Image from Daily Mail)

(With apologies to Bob & Earl)

You move to the left,
Put Gove on the shelf.
You move to the right, 
Ken Clark’s out of sight.
Get those women; you know
They do well in the polls
Elections looming fast;
You can’t be last.

You'd sign up a monkey,
If it made you look cool;
With the old guard in limbo,
Your squad's good to go
So call all the papers
Tell them ‘look at me now!”
As you groove it right here
To the harem shuffle.

Update: (with thanks to Mark Wadsworth in comments) Or, if you prefer:

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

That sinking feeling (again)

Another day, another car. The search and rescue team at Brean Beach must be getting sick of having to dig out the stranded motors of people who think the laws of physics don't apply to them.

The driver of the latest unintentionally amphibious vehicle had taken it half a mile down the beach heedless of warnings to the public not to approach the water's edge at low tide because of soft sand and mud.
"I'd just been driving along the beach with my daughter enjoying the sunshine and didn't think I could get stuck."
This is, presumably, the same mindset that causes school run parents in 4x4s to pull out across two lanes of traffic without looking; the hubristic sense that your vehicle makes you somehow indestructible.

Fortunately for the driver and his daughter, they didn't get the opportunity to qualify for a multiple Darwin Award by discovering that quicksand is more than just a handy plot device in adventure films.

Connoisseurs of Schadenfreude can find photos and some highly satisfying video footage at the Burnham news site.

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

All at sea

It is, alas, no surprise that the warm weather has, once more, brought the nautical Darwin Award hopefuls out in force . Exmouth RNLI, for example, were roused from their beauty sleep at 5am on Sunday when shouts for help were heard from the river:
A coastguard spokesman said: “The guy had been to the pub in the evening and decided to go kayaking in the middle of the night. 
“The tide was coming in and he was taken up the river which wasn't the direction he wanted to go. He capsized and the inshore lifeboat found him holding onto a moored boat at Pole Sands.”
A few hours later, the Exmouth crews were out again, this time delivering a stern lecture to one of those parents who, having already contributed to the gene pool, appear to be attempting to remedy the fact with the help of an inflatable toy,  an outgoing tide and an offshore wind.

And RNLI crews on the Tamar have quite enough on their hands without having to deal with the likes of the Plymouth man reported missing by his wife when he failed to return from a fishing trip by 10.30pm on Saturday night; emergency services finally traced his mobile phone to the restaurant where he was having dinner, though the news story sadly fails to say with whom.

Elsewhere, Man's (or, in this case, Woman's) battle against the tide has claimed yet another automotive victim; since it's clear that individual responsibility is never going to be enough, perhaps the authorities at Brean Beach car park should look into some way to alert motorists to the rising waters.

A few pence on the cost of parking could, with a bit of imagination, furnish a brightly-coloured paper wristband stamped with that day's 'leave-by' time, though personally I rather like the idea of firing a cannon from the nearby fort as the water approaches.

After all, if people need to be protected from the consequences of their own lack of forethought, the rest of us ought to be able to get some fun out of it where we can.

Monday, 14 July 2014

Putting the cart before the alpaca

We're back in Essex today with a phenomenon that appeared in JuliaM's recent post on a news story from the Basildon area:
An alpaca trekking business has had to shut after yobs hurled rocks at the terrified animals.
Leaving aside the animal cruelty aspect for a moment, this sounded intriguing; alpaca trekking? in Basildon?

Pony trekking is well established as a way of looking at spectacular scenery while letting the animal do the walking. Alpacas, however, are far too flimsy for this.
Instead, 'trekkers' must walk beside the animal holding a leading rein, though the alpaca sometimes makes a token gesture by carrying a picnic lunch on its back. Basically, you are paying to take a country stroll slightly impeded by one of the campest animals on the planet.

Alpacas are, I am sure, delightful creatures when you get to know them but it does seem a little odd to hire them by the hour, especially when you are only allowed to walk them round the park under supervision rather than, say, take them shopping or experiment with their capacity for show-jumping.

The owner was, apparently, inspired by Victorian  pictures of llamas pulling cartloads of children at Whipsnade:
She decided she wanted to recreate the scene in her home town of Basildon, albeit with alpacas rather than llamas. 
Alpacas aren't big enough to pull carts so she decided on the trekking model instead at £10 for half an hour.
“It’s very exciting, this could finally be my big break.”
Assuming the alpacas were happy with the arrangement, it would be a laudable effort at free enterprise were it not for two things which suggest a painful degree of misplaced optimism and faith in human nature.

Firstly the surroundings: although businesses like this are springing up in scenic environments such as the Austrian Tyrol, the Pennines or Sudeley Castle, the prospect of plodding round the Essex marshes just north of Canvey Island is rather less thrilling even with a diminutive camelid mincing along by your side.

And secondly, of course, there are the rock-throwers, tangible proof, that, for some local residents at least, civilization is something that happened to other people. I saw 'Gladiator' at the Basildon Empire on a Saturday night and the on-screen barbarian hordes were nowhere near as frightening as the crowd outside afterwards.

The three alpacas have now been moved to safer quarters until accommodation can be found in, one hopes, a more salubrious neighbourhood. It all goes to show that, in the bizarre world of alpaca trekking, it's probably best to start with the ideal location and then look for livestock rather than the other way round.

Sunday, 13 July 2014

Quote of the day - outsize edition

Continuing on the theme of the unfortunate encounter experienced by a late night traveller which was the subject of last Wednesday's post, a comment on the logistics of six women squeezed into the confines of a train lavatory got me thinking, so, in an idle moment, I tried to find out the dimensions involved.

This, it turned out, was easier said than done, though it was almost certainly one of the modern sliding-door affairs with room for a wheelchair or for one of those double buggies that provide such interesting and varied gymnastic challenges for other users of Britain's high streets and public transport.

Incidentally, it is, in theory, possible that the lavatory in question was decorated with the winning image from c2c's design-a-door competition; with commendably creative sadism, the judges chose a large and vivid depiction of a dripping tap sure to be greatly appreciated by travellers waiting cross-legged in the corridor.

Anyway, this research ultimately led to a somewhat startling headline in the South Wales Evening Post:
Port Talbot train station toilets 'too small for portly women' says Llanelli MP 
Political correctness evidently has not yet arrived in Llanelli, at least in describing the larger lady.

Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Six harpies - clean round the bend

At the risk of trespassing on JuliaM's terrritory, we venture into deepest Essex today for the sorry tale of a traveller on the 10.45pm train from Southend who wanted to use the lavatory.

Finding the door jammed, he tried to push it open, whereupon six mini-skirted young women burst out of it and started shouting at him.

One of them punched him in the head and, when the train pulled into Benfleet station immediately afterwards, kicked him out of the carriage door.

As if this were not bad enough, as he fell onto the platform he collided with a 'heavily built' woman waiting there who, despite his frantic protestations, accused him of trying to steal her handbag and punched him in the face.

The unfortunate 54-year-old victim has been left with injuries including a broken nose and two black eyes and, presumably, a vague feeling of having been caught up an episode of The Benny Hill Show directed by Paul Verhoeven.

Though the police say it is 'currently unclear' why the six women were in the same cubicle, their disproportionate anger at being disturbed surely suggests some nefarious purpose. Even if the man gave the door a a hefty shove, his impatience hardly justifies an attack that could have proved fatal.

The story suggests that the women on the train were so intoxicated - whatever the cause - that they were incapable of rational behaviour. Six of them could hardly have felt threatened by a lone man; this was essentially an unprovoked attack by a pack of feral predators.

Without wanting to prejudice any future investigation - always assuming that the police manage to track the original perpetrators down from the interestingly vague description 'early twenties' and 'wearing miniskirts' - it is not unreasonable, given the time of night, to suggest that their final destination was Basildon, a couple of stops further along the line.

It appears that when JuliaM commented here some time ago that 'The Basildon chavs could take Snake Plissken', she really wasn't joking.

Monday, 7 July 2014

Painted Lady

Time was when a glimpse of feminine ankle would have set pulses racing for British men.

These days, things are generally rather more relaxed here (although other parts of the world are still rather less accommodating) and, with the advent of summer, bare ankles are visible in offices up and down the land.

It seems, however, that there is still one last taboo:
A high-flying career woman who lost her job because of a butterfly tattoo on her FOOT [sic] is contemplating taking a legal stand.
This is the tale of a woman, employed via an agency, whose contract was terminated because, over a period of weeks, she 'made no effort' to comply with a ban on visible tattoos at her workplace.
She is consulting a solicitor, on behalf of all professionals with tattoos, to see if the Salisbury’s action constitutes discrimination under inclusion and diversity laws.
How public-spirited of her! Frankly, this dispute with her boss looks like a case of irresistible force and immovable object; he says all tattoos must be covered in the office to project a professional image to customers, she says that disguising it would be impractical...
“The only way to cover it would be to wear a sock. I’m a businesswoman and I wear smart dresses to work, so that would look stupid."
 ... and, on the sidelines, in the best soap-opera tradition, the local paper happily weighs in with some loaded narrative making it clear whose side it is on:
Jo [...] did not deal with members of the public and was praised for her “outstanding” work during her five months at Salisbury.
I, for one, would be interested to know why this thirty-something businesswoman - albeit one sporting a rather un-businesslike tattoo - appears unaware that cosmetic tattoo-covering creams are widely available*; indeed, how could it be otherwise, given the popularity of tattooing and the exorbitant price of removal?
“I suggested covering it with a sticking plaster but thought that would look 
unprofessional and draw 
attention to it.”
And who, in sartorially liberated 21st-century Britain decrees that women must wear dresses to work anyway? A smart pair of long summer trousers would surely hide the artwork to the satisfaction of all but the most draconian of employers.

While the policy is, perhaps, a harsh one in a society where even the Prime Minister's wife is no stranger to the needle, given this lady's persistence and her readiness to seek legal advice (and the ear of the local newspaper), it is hard not to conclude that she was stubbornly determined to flout the rules.

Under the circumstances, her choice of the delicate and ethereal butterfly as a motif seems more than a little inappropriate.

*And that's not all; a quick google reveals a host of specialist websites complete with such quotes as:
"Every bride I encounter now needs/wants their tattoos covered for their wedding, and airbrush is the best way to do it."

Saturday, 5 July 2014

"The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls..."

I know, I know.... it's been a bit quiet around here recently. Still, however severe the demands of real life and the blogging fatigue, sometimes a news story comes along that is simply too good to let go.

Here at the Tavern, we try to do our bit in chronicling Man's battle against the elements and, in particular, his lack of even the most basic grasp of tidal dynamics so we were naturally most diverted to learn that:
Jedward, the Irish pop group, has been rescued by the Irish Coast Guard after they became trapped by the incoming tide in north Dublin.
For those who managed to escape it thus far, Jedward is a pair of twins - John and Edward (are your toes curling yet?) - gifted with truly astonishing hair and dress sense. It plays the guitar and, arguably, sings and burst onto the music scene some years ago in series 157 of 'Britain's got X-rated Opportunity Knockers' before becoming Ireland's secret weapon to avoid having to host the Eurovision Song Contest again.

A quick trip to Youtube may help to account for the delicious sense of Schadenfreude elicited by this tale of Jedward and its cousin stranded amid the rising waves:
"The boys were getting more and more desperate as the water was coming in. Thank God the Coast Guard sent the helicopter up and it found them trapped on sands near Malahide."
So was Jedward airlifted to safety, plucked from the rising waters in the nick of time? Reader, it was not:
The helicopter crew spotted the stranded Grimes family members and used a floodlight to point out their location to rescuers on the ground.
Skerries coast guard members reached the group on foot shortly after midnight and reunited all three with the rest of their family.
This escapade was, it appears, the result of a late evening stroll along the beach in blissful ignorance not only of the incoming tide but also of the fact that night follows day.
The Irish Coast Guard received a report that the three had become "disoriented in the area due to the falling darkness and unusually fast incoming tide".
Such a startling lack of self-preservation instinct should surely qualify for some kind of award. Still, all's well that ends well, and, being well-brought up, Jedward had the good grace to thank its rescuers publicly and exhort other Darwin Award hopefuls not to follow in its soggy footsteps.

Sadly for the rescue services, past experience suggests that the appeal is likely to be in vain.

My thanks to those of you who have turned up and rattled the Tavern door on a regular basis during my absence - the bar should be opening for business on a more regular basis for a while so please drop in and join me for a virtual pint.

Friday, 13 June 2014

World Cup ruminations

Remember this from 2010?
"Worried about your waistline while you watch the football? Concerned you might be piling on extra pounds as the tension mounts? Fear not, help is at hand!"
Now once again, spurred on by the 'obesity crisis', Nanny has girded her formidable loins and issued stern warnings to those of you intending to spend the next few weeks wallowing on the sofa in a calorie-induced stupor.

This time her organ of choice is not the Food Standards Agency - they are busy nagging us about the dangers of raw meat - but the spuriously-named NHS Choices website which has helpfully published its 'World Cup 2014 Healthy Snacking Tips'.

The advice is much the same as last time, starting from the interesting premise that British audiences are incapable of watching a televised sporting event without some form of hand-held sustenance.
While you are glued to the TV for a few weeks following the fortunes of Hodgson's men, here are 10 healthy snacking tips to make sure your diet stays match fit.
All the usual hair-shirt suspects are there - oven-baked low-salt crisps, reduced-fat humus and unsalted peanuts, along with some new additions like air-popped popcorn (no sugar, butter or salt, of course) and fat-free yoghurt.

It all rather begs the question of who is the target audience, since NHS Choices is largely preaching to the converted and the worried well. Those who trawl its pages are surely in search of medical advice -the site's valid raison d'être - rather than a condescending lecture on 'Living Well' - unless, of course, they are fully paid-up Puritans seeking tangible approval for their ascetic lifestyle.

Even the most optimistic healthy-eating evangelist could hardly expect that, having discovered the page by accident or design, readers who have eagerly stocked up on beer and Pringles will experience a Damascene conversion and rush out to buy rice cakes and low-fat humus instead.

What is really galling about this is that someone was presumably paid to write this patronising drivel - if write is the correct word to apply to a piece in which 'snack' is used as a verb. It's something to bear in mind next time you hear about reduced NHS spending leading to cutbacks in patient care.

Saturday, 7 June 2014

He shoots, he scores!

Once again, the World Cup is upon us, a phenomenon easily recognized by ubiquitous England flags, a plethora of pointless memorabilia and an alarming tendency on the part of devotees to talk in meaningless cliches.

Meanwhile, every commercial enterprise which can squeeze in some connection, however tenuous, is making use of World Cup fever to bring in the punters. Thus Hatton Country World decided this week to anticipate England's first fixture with a match between two opposing teams of guinea pigs.

The idea, apparently, was to predict the result using animals; this is always a crowd-pleaser during the football tournament and guaranteed to draw the visitors. The ancient Romans, of course, had much the same idea, only with more entrails.

Twenty-two of the little animals were selected for the England-Italy match, dressed in tiny team strip and given a ball full of grass to play with. (The final score, for anyone who may unaccountably be interested, was England 0 - Italy 1.)

However, much as often happens in the human game, events on the pitch have been overshadowed by the headline-grabbing priapic antics of one of the squad.

To the surprise of staff, some of their carefully-segregated females were recently discovered to be pregnant. Further research revealed that a lone male had somehow found his way into their pen, where he clearly made the most of the opportunities on offer:
"We don’t know how long Randy was in the female enclosure but it could have been several weeks which would have given him time to go round the entire female population."
The park, according to reports, is currently home to around 300 guinea pigs housed in an assortment of anthropomorphic settings to entertain youngsters, though one might have thought that, after the first hundred or so, guinea pig fatigue must surely set in for even the most obsessive child.

Now, thanks to Randy's contribution of up to 100 potential pregnancies (outstripping - one hopes - even Tyneside bus-stop Lothario Keith MacDonald), the population looks set to double over the next few months.
Staff are now looking to build an extension to the guinea pig farm to accommodate Randy’s huge brood.
Hence all the media publicity, presumably; it will surely take a fair few entrance fees to house and feed them all.

Unless, of course, the management have other plans. From Wikipedia:
Guinea pig meat is high in protein and low in fat and cholesterol, and is described as being similar to rabbit and the dark meat of chicken.

Wednesday, 4 June 2014

Double your money

Looking for a new investment opportunity in a growth industry?

How about this one, endorsed by no less than an associate professor at the University of St Andrews School of Business Management?
“It's a brilliant business model because it creates its own demand.”
And what is this sure-fire success story? Those cynics still in possession of all their marbles* may not be surprised to learn that he's talking about tattoo parlours which offer a removal service as well.

We've commented here before on the rise of the tattooist on Britain's high streets; now, with the advent of mass-produced laser tattoo removal equipment, you can now pay someone £100 to ink Miley Cyrus onto your left buttock, then pay the same person ten times that amount to erase it when the embarrassment gets too much (although, by all accounts, you won't be able to sit down for a week afterwards).

The future pain, however, is irrelevant; in much the same way that the advent of the gastric band appears, for some at least, to be a licence to overeat in the certainty that a perceived quick fix is available should they require it, laser tattoo removal offers the possibility of indulgence today and redemption tomorrow, possibly even at public expense.

This, presumably, is why we are seeing headlines like 'What is tattoo roulette? Fearne and McBusted lay down the rules'. Who Fearne and McBusted may be I neither know nor care, but 'celebrities' drawing lots to decide which one of them gets a silly tattoo is an idea with Zeitgeist written all over it and will doubtless be emulated in bars up and down the land.

As fashions change, all those oh-so-trendy early 21st-century doodles are going to start looking decidedly out-of date and inevitably, as time (and gravity) takes its toll, that deliciously ironic My Little Pony peeping coyly over your waistband will begin to resemble a leering elderly cart horse in drag.

If you can get rid of it, you probably will, which is why tattooists everywhere are investing heavily in expensive removal equipment. With surveys suggesting that 17% of people with tattoos subsequently regret them, there's going to be plenty of work out there.

While an average-sized tattoo will set you back around £50-£150, removing it may well run into the thousands. It's a win-win situation; studios can happily cater for the most egregious whims of their clients secure in the knowledge that every tattoo today is a potential goldmine ten years hence.

 *a story handled with efficiency and style in Bucko's post and the attached comments

UPDATE: While we're on the subject, from today's Metro:
A woman who set up ‘the world’s first tattoo parlour for children’ was surprised to receive genuine enquiries from parents keen to ink up their kids.
Sadie Hennessy created the thought-provoking art project by placing an ad outside a high street shop in Whitstable, Kent. Her aim was to incite discussion about the sexualisation of children, but the controversial ‘business’ actually had ten genuine requests.