Cardigan Watch (incorporating The Cardigan Research Group)

It’s Cardigan Weather

My parents are both prodigious wearers of the devil's accoutrement, which is difficult enough, but now they’re everywhere.

Yes, as the temperature dips for Autumn, they're back.

Sagging woollen things, weighed down by their Buitoni, dangling in my soup (if I had any).

Particularly egregious examples recently - a very long purple one worn by the receptionist at the opticians, with some weird fussy vertical stitch on both sides. Ghastly

A sagging off-colour cream one, been through the wash way too many times, sagging-sagging-sagging almost to the knees of the wearer. 

I seriously almost puked.

This one in the window of some boutique or other owned by a human coat-hanger who thinks she has good taste.

🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

They’re everywhere. 

Be on your guard.

Baker, Baker, bullshit maker

I was removing some fungus from one of my manly crevices, when I came across some idiotic word dribblings of a certain Gerard Baker in the Friday edition of The Times.

Yes I know - bloody Murdoch press. 

I get it.

But most of the writers have some journalistic integrity.

Ok, SOME.

But this guy is a whole new level of stupid. 

He's the one outed MAGA cheerleader in the paper. And my god it shows.

He joined the Trump filching society and berated Jimmy Kimmel for being offensive in the wake of Charlie Kirk's murder.

Kimmel didn't say anything nasty about Kirk. Quite the opposite.

But he did make fun of Trump's reaction. 

If you don't know, Trump was asked how he was bearing up after his friend's assassination.

" Very well. And if you look over there the bulldozers and diggers are there to make this wonderful ballroom..."

Kimmel added -  superfluously in my opinion - that this was the reaction of a 4 year old mourning his goldfish.

That's what did it.

The Trump appointed leader of their TV watchdog then told ABC - the network responsible for the show - that if they want to do a forthcoming merger they drop Kimmel. 

The same thing happened a few weeks ago to Stephen Colbert of The Late Show.

So comedians and TV networks are already subject to cancellation by the POTUS, simply for making fun of the Trump.

And the C-suite have duly bent the knee to the Dear Leader.

Meanwhile on Fox and Friends, co-host Brian Kilmeade suggested euthanising the homeless.

Nothing.

Despite the first amendment and that being made fun of comes with the territory, Trump is such a snowflake that he has to exact revenge on his detractors.

Just think about that. 

By complete contrast, the most erudite and brilliant writer at the moment is also a Times columnist.

You can read a brilliantly researched article by James Marriott (for it is he) right HERE

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist. 

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew. 

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Hippies

By fucking you over I’m merely exercising my personal freedom. 

It doesn’t matter! 

Get over it.

I shall go ballistic if you infringe on mine.

La la la. I am the Eloi incarnate. 

I shall make daisy chains and be free and live in peace and harmony in my flat in Westbourne Park Road.

I shall look down my nose at your attitudes and lecture you on righteousness.

For I drive an electric SUV and you a petrol car, puking its shit, poisoning my auras.

All my food is organic and vegan. 

I have a checklist with which to judge you.

Everyone should do what I do.

Give up your job and be free!

The universe will provide!

Now I shall reach over you and drape my rainbow cardigan in your face.

...and I shall shit.

Bapspeak

Kill all non-vegan animals!

Start with a headbutt; follow up with a chainsaw

May I stroke your human?

Videos what you can watch

Been looking at 80s videos recently, uploaded from old analogue VHSs and possibly Betamaxes.

This is a great site called Found Footage Fest. 

Not for everyone - it's more of a niche audience.

"Tiger Moves" is just one of many gems.

And here is an instructional video on bowels, and their correct usage.

Being the 80s, Rapping was a new technology, and it was used very effectively in training a variety of skills, including sandwich making. 

Or 'subs' as the Yanks call them.

I've no idea why they call them that.

And this is...well. What it is.

Enjoy, as the hospitality Nazis say.

Elmer in the rain

Friends like buses

Well, insofar as you don't see them for what seems like ages then they arrive in clumps.

Yes, CLUMPS of friends. That is the collective noun.

My old mucker Will and his partner Marie came down from Epping, where those noble patriots are currently protesting.

Will and I started a company called London Stonemasonry. Will bought me out as I am essentially not a businessman and Will is. 

It was quite an atomic split, but we have remained good pals in the fallout.

We did the Glastonbury thing on Saturday. It was a beautiful day and parked our car in Dod Lane. 

I spoke to a lady watering her plants and she said to look out for the fairies and not to annoy them, and that Chalice Hill was far more powerful than The Tor, but it's private land.

I thanked her for the advice and we headed on. 

Up the Tor we went. I wasn't out of breath but I quickly realised my thighs weren't used to inclines.

As you can see, our Chakras are happily realigned 

We then did the High Street; cafés, shops (we'd run out of crystals) and a brilliant art gallery called Heart of The Tribe showcasing some excellent artists - not the usual New Age rubbish you see in Glastonbury.

Beautiful Spanish hippy ladies everywhere. No idea why but I'm certainly not complaining.

On Sunday Will and Marie left to be replaced by stepson Ben & Dr Becks - who I met at Niche.

We had a big catch-up over lots of cake and coffee. They're both doing really well and are about to buy their first house in Oxfordshire. 

I'm really pleased they're doing so well - super bright hard workers and lovely people with it.

Hurrah for everyone!

Putting the cxxt in country-club

Once upon a time an invite came through the door to join a private country club. They’d obviously got my name from one of those lists and I’d no doubt just scraped into the bottom of their demographic.

2 of my former family were very excited. 

I was of course, appalled. 

Clubs like that are full of social climbers, all tidy and shit, talking about their boring jobs, waxing the corporate bollock, boasting about their exotic holidays and their A* kids, but how disappointed they are that Hattie is not as good as her sister in maths and that she’s only interested in music, drama and painting. 

Row after row of brand new black SUVs. 

The bottle-blonde Surrey wives judging everyone before you're deemed worthy of smalltalk and passing acquaintanceship.

I spent my life avoiding these people. Why the hell would I want to hang out with them, given the chance?

Sorry - living in SW London for 15 years just brings the worst out in me.

And all in a ‘Private,’ ‘Exclusive’ surroundings.

Talk about everything that’s wrong with society: the middle classes shutting the gate behind them as they ascend the social ladder.

Give me oddballs, weirdos and eccentrics any day of the week.

#socialdiver

Growing up in the 70s

Huge windows, short ceilings. 

Windows iced on the inside with wrapped towels on the sills.

Storage heaters.

Coal delivered Tuesdays

Vosene shampoo.

Rise and Shine (powdered orange juice).

Orange.

Lavender.

Dark Green.

Light blue.

Brown suits with yellow shirts.

Huge lapels, ties and flares.

Zip-up cardigans.

Big flowery typography on programmes about horses. 

Boxy, pointy cars with underpowered engines. 

Pull out the choke most mornings.

Walking everywhere. 

No single family owned those mansions.

Chopper bikes. 

Velour sportswear. 

Dunlop Green Flash.

Market knock-offs worn with pride.

First division football played in the mud.

Hairy adults and shocking hairdos.

Back before it gets dark.

Polyester slacks.

Gritty. 

Cheapness.

Vinyl seats and wooden dashboards.

Climb the tree.

No. I’ll die.

Children’s TV presenters in bright dungarees.

Marley tiled floors.

The last breath of formality.

Stone-fights.

Scrambling in the woods.

Matchbox cars and Tonka toys.

Big chunky Lego.

Avon Ladies.

Punk rockers.

Hairy metlers.

Colour TV.

Barely any fat people.

Doughnuts like Fanny’s. 

Bapspeak

I’ll retain it anally and we can exchange juices in a future pleasant. 

I like orange. It’s a pleasant colour and it tastes nice.

I air-dried my anus in a gentle breeze. T'was most pleasing.

Competent but hideous. 

My best friend’s Gary Stupid.

Skirting boards are gay.