...since Toadygate, there seems a degree of reluctance to congratulate the FP. Or perhaps everyone thinks they're all crap. Well today's is most certainly not - well done Peter90210 - lovely idea.
(82 posts) (25 voices)
Quality FP, sends a slight shiver
I liked the picture, too, by red
Agreed, nice FP.
What was Toadygate ? I was probably on holiday .
Either way , it sounds exciting.
Someone got rather jealous and complained about how nice we are to each other. We all (myself included) took the bait and completely over-reacted, sending the chatroom into all sorts of dark corners.
For my part I no longer praise FPs as in general they are not written by me.
I have to celebrate you, jp, I have to praise you like I should.
Actually I haven't been praising anything recently because I have been off doing acting and making real people laugh, weirdly. But I'm back now to stop all that.
Nice brace of milibandular FPs recently, too, as well.
Definitely! Lovely FP. Actually, I don't get the second-to-last paragraph, but that's probably just me missing the point. A fine, fine FP, anyway.
And yesterday's triumph/disaster one was also really, really good. Who is this mysterious 'newsbiscuit' who wrote it?
Really, Mary Evans?...
…......perhaps it would be best not to know........what do you find funny in that?
From my understanding of life in Blighty it is tragic, a testament of ignorance:
I worked in a nationalised industry and was proud to do so.
The first job I had on leaving school was with British Rail....(Secondman, Haymarket Traction Depot, 1971).
It was a publicly owned service that ran trains, you wandered into a station, bought a ticket and off you went, and if you wished to spend the journey leaning out the window and enjoying a fag, that was your own business.
What the fuck is it now?
The people who worked in the industry were ”Railwaymen”, a term as meaningless now as “miner” or steelman.......they were good people, the miners, railwaymen and so on, almost all of them.
Worked hard all their lives for the public good and for bugger all, or nearly so.
They were of course despised by the Tories for that reason.........as Thatcher said “.....if they were any good, they wouldn't be working for the railways...”
Though it was John Major finally destroyed the public railway, in the dog days of his Govt... in effect stealing assetts worth billions, paid for by us over many decades ….then simply handed for a few token pounds to bankers who could scarcely believe their luck...... the situation still obtains to this day......
Train operators do not in the main own their own rolling stock here.
Mostly it is leased from these bankers.
The stock was actually paid for new by the taxpayer in
the first place and is now leased back to them at grossly inflated
prices. Where an operator is unlikely to make a profit from running the trains and requires a subsidy (Operators like Northern rail or Arriva Trains Wales, for instance) the taxpayer foots the full bill for the leasing.
In the case of a Class 158 DMU, this amounts to around £250K
per annum for a 2 car unit.
The units only cost around £1m to build inthe first place.
This is AFTER the actual running tracks had to be re-nationalised in all but name once the murderous greed and incompetence of RailSpiv became impossible to deny (dead bodies on the line)..
….but never mind all that: the working classes are contemptible.
And they wear polyester suits, don't they, Peter90210?
“..........There will be those who will accuse me of being in the thrall of the Unions,’ continued the new leader, as a shadowy group of rotund, polyester suited men gathered in the background, ‘But by re-nationalising the railways, the steel factories and British Airways, I will ensure that all productive workers receive a fair wage or an equivalent in air miles’...................”
…..................... well done Peter90210 - lovely idea.
…......”Asked how he planned to handle bankers’ bonuses and reduce the budgetary deficit, Mr Miliband said that ‘the People’s Bank’ launched by Citizen Mandelson before the election would be reintroduced to assume control of all state and private finance, ‘especially mortgages’. He also insisted that those in the City had a key role and responsibility to participate in finding the solution to the complex macro-economic fiscal problems that had contributed to the current difficulties. …...”
…..................... well done Peter90210 - lovely idea.
….........”He then donned a donkey jacket and, flanked by two muscular agricultural workers stripped to the waist and waving red flags, unveiled a poster showing how by turning London’s Royal Parks into state run fruit and vegetable plots, he would render capitalist concepts of debt and private enterprise redundant, before leaving the stage accompanied by music from a Welsh miner’s choir, led by Billy Bragg. …............”
….................... well done Peter90210 - lovely idea.
Do you think that Peter90210 could do the work of a Welsh coal miner?
Or work in any heavy industry?
Do you imagine that if our lives depended on it and we had to re-nationalise anything that millions of men and women accustomed to hard work would somehow reappear?
The truth is, the Thatchers and Peter90210s of this world have won, arseholes rule at every turn.
Its too late now to think of anything based on honest hard work..............the very notion would likely bring a sneer to Peters' face.
Blimey, afternoonslow - you might be ideologically fab, but you're bleedin' hard work.
Look - I'm as left-wing, Thatcher-hating, nu-Lab despising, BR-mourning, cool-tasting pepsi-tastic as anyone you'll meet, but I thought the FP was FUNNY BECAUSE IT'S NOT REAL!!!
It's NOT taking the piss out of socialism, it's ridiculing the fact that Ediband's reputed 'swing to the left' is likely to put him just to the right of Enoch Powell - if there was any chance that the socialists would take charge of Labour, the joke wouldn't work!
Question - has socialism ever produced a really funny comedian? And I don't mean Alexi Sayle. Does ideology drown the fun? Maybe Rob Newman?
Anyway, hope you're OK and your anvil's in good shape.
I thought that,with all those numbers after his name, Peter was a train
None of this is real?!
Ahem! As a disinterested party (ie. hasn't got a cat's chance of a front page let alone a WOM award) I have been congratting front pages as and when they amuse me.
I spit on your Toadygate!
Ah now, Dr Moptop. Your Mills and Boons features were rather splendid. I toadied you lots. There is still some love around here. You just have to pull back the hair, that's all.
Yes, you did SingingHinny, and I was deeply grateful!
I have found my place in the world: subbing deliberately (or was it?) bad prose in the style of Antonia Blair.
Ooh, I feel another chapter a-burbling ...
Whatever your views on the FP, afternoonslow, stick to criticising the writing, not the author. We are all entitled to our opinions, but personal attacks are totally unnecessary and I suspect deterring people from contributing to a site that relies on their efforts.
Peter - I commend you again on a funny idea really well written. Lovely edit too.
And Rob Newman is a God. He should have been the father of my children. Sadly, he's not even on the longlist.
Spitting is a dirty habit - I would expect a member of the medical profession to know that Dr Moptop. Off to the naughty mat with you.
Really, Mary Evans, take your own council;
afternoonslow: You're absolutely right, there is far too much toadying on this site.
So let me be the first to say I think you're an utter prick. Oh, and your subs stink too.
Golly gosh, you're right. That feels so much better.
And Salty darlilng... Do fuck off.
1. Something said or done to evoke laughter or amusement, especially an amusing story with a punch line.
2. A mischievous trick; a prank.
3. An amusing or ludicrous incident or situation.
Well well well, a joke, whatever next?
A Poem........from when railways were railways;
Yes, I remember Adlestrop --
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop -- only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
God, I wish I hadn't asked now. All the same, thanks JP.
I'd best piss off because they're getting all arsey about internet usage again.
I think Mary was hinting that this is meant to be a fun website.
Can we draw a line under this thread, please ?
I would draw a line but there's leaves on the line
This is my favourite poem at the moment - its name is called "Haddock's Eyes", but it is really "A-sitting on a gate":
I'll tell thee everything I can:
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.
"Who are you, aged man?" I said,
"And how is it you live?"
And his answer trickled through my head,
Like water through a sieve.
He said "I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton-pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men," he said,
"Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread --
A trifle, if you please."
But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
To what the old man said,
I cried "Come, tell me how you live!"
And thumped him on the head.
His accents mild took up the tale:
He said "I go my ways,
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowlands' Macassar-Oil --
Yet twopence-halfpenny is all
They give me for my toil."
But I was thinking of a way
To feed oneself on batter,
And so go on from day to day
Getting a little fatter.
I shook him well from side to side,
Until his face was blue:
"Come, tell me how you live," I cried,
"And what it is you do!"
He said "I hunt for haddocks' eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat-buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold
Or coin of silvery shine,
But for a copper halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.
"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs:
I sometimes search the grassy knolls
For wheels of Hansom-cabs.
And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
"By which I get my wealth--
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honour's noble health."
I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that he
Might drink my noble health.
And now, if e'er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe
A very heavy weight,
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know--
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo--
That summer evening long ago,
A-sitting on a gate.
'The poem now standing at platform 2 is the delayed 1917 service...'
It's more hygienic to spit than to swallow, Mary.
Now, I'd like to take this opportunity to publicly congratulate all the front-pagers this month and the Editor for running a simply marvellous website.
For all the undiscovered geniuses: there's a lot of us out there, but at least if we stand close to each other we can keep warm.
Afternoonslow, put some of that venom into writing an FP - or take it somewhere else and use it to more constructive purposes. Turning up here once every month or so and telling people to fuck off is a bit pointless, not to say childish.
Ahem. I would like to congratulate IABP on yesterday's 'Out of body/Lithuanian squatter' NiB.
Made me laff, it did.
Trains, poetry and stern socialist lectures.
Come back Bernard Manning, all is forgiven.
Yeah, its like being stuck in a lift with Jimmy Knapp (but sans the joie de vivre).
More like being stuck in a lift with Jimmy Krankie...
...while being rescued from a Chilean mine.
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