Dougie Brimson's Blog: A Write Old Life, page 18

Why today is the real test for EURO 2012.

Come on England!

So, it’s underway. Thus far the games have all been great and thankfully we’ve seen barely any of the racism that was so feared pre-tournament.

What we have seen however, are sporadic incidents of violence but of course that was always going to happen wasn’t it. After all, why else are we seeing so many riot police on the streets of the host nations?

And this of course begs the question; why so much talk of one potential problem and so little of the very real one? After all, there have been thousands of inches of print and hour upon hour of television expended on racism whilst the very real threat of hooliganism has received barely a mention in comparison despite the fact that far more people are at risk of being caught up in violence than of being racially abused.

The reason of course, is that the pre-tournament media needed to fill space be it on paper, on line or on air and racism fits the bill perfectly. It is in many ways, the perfect story because we all understand it to be wrong which means that they can say pretty much whatever they like and hype it for all it’s worth sure in that there is no one to provide any kind of contra argument let alone complain.

Conversely, no one cares that some Ukrainian nutter is spewing forth dire warnings of what might happen should any Englishman dare step onto their soil because we all know that such threats are laughable, the media more than most. But they are also well aware that going into hoolie-mode might well attract the wrath of both the FA and the government and why risk that?

No, hooliganism is only news when something happens and then it’s suddenly big news. Occasionally, very big and very bad news.

In many ways, that’s why today is the big test for this tournament. We talk a lot about the Poles, the Ukrainians, the Russians, et al, but thanks to history and our domestic football culture, the English will inevitably always be at the centre of any discussion about hooliganism. They will also be the target. Not just for the local hooligans (and for ‘local’ read Poles, Ukrainians, Russians, Croatians, etc, etc) but for those who seek to soil our nations reputation and undo all the good work that has been done to change the negative perception of our travelling support.

That to me is a real worry. Let’s face it, there are plenty of journalists who would be happy to do whatever it takes to hand Mr Platini our collective heads on a plate and there are certainly enough policemen out there willing to help them do the job. With UEFA hardly being our biggest fans, finding ourselves standing in the dock in front of them is not an attractive proposition.

Don’t get me wrong and make no mistake, England might not travel abroad looking for trouble these days but there are plenty of lads amongst their number who won’t back away if it kicks off. However, those lads are also old hands who know the score and they are well aware of the bigger picture. They know better than anyone how to read an atmosphere but the problems arise when they are placed in a situation where backing off or chilling out isn’t an option left open to them.

As I write this, the majority of the England fans are in place, the sun is shining, the beer’s already flowing and the Police are twitchy. As the day progresses, it may well get more nervy and with our game over early, the fans will have a long evening ahead of them.

Oh yes, tonight is the first real test for this tournament. It’s also a huge test for our reputation. Let’s hope everyone passes it.

EURO 2012 and the folly of racism. Oh, and a little moan……

What we can expect from the locals according to the media.

So, EURO 2012 is upon us and as is routine, it has been preceded as much by talk of potential off-field activities as it has by those we hope for on the pitch.

I don’t even know where to start with any of this because as most of you who will be reading this will know, it has, in the main, been bullshit. Indeed, I’ve had journalists from both Ukraine and Poland contact me almost apoplectic with rage about some of the things being said or inferred about their country these last few weeks.

It’s not like we don’t know that both countries have hooligan and racist elements (as does every country on the planet) or that when tournaments come around, everyone from hotel owners to prostitutes will be seeking to make a pound or two. That’s certainly not unique to Eastern Europe as anyone in Eastern London will know!

Yet the level of scaremongering here has been appalling and worst of all was Sol Campbells assertion that black and Asian fans risk coming home in body bags.

Now we all know Sol is a sensitive soul and that he’s never been adverse to kicking up a public fuss when fans have had the temerity to call him a nasty name or two but this was a step too far for all kinds of reasons (although I suspect it had more to do with his desire for a post-playing career on the anti-racism/media gravy train which continues to chug along quite nicely).

The problem of course, is that when it comes to issues such as racism (and football fans generally) the media and the anti-racist groups can say pretty much what they like sure in the knowledge that they will remain unchallenged.  Fear has always been both the anti-racists biggest ally and their most powerful weapon for the tag of racist is one which is easily applied and difficult if not impossible to remove. Ask Ron Atkinson.

Yes, of course, racism is abhorrent in every way shape or form but having come so far in the battle to defeat the racists, the time has surely come when the population of this multi-cultural country ours of has the right to actually begin to question some of the things being said but we will only ever be able to do that once we can actually speak up free of fear. Because until we can do that, then we run the risk of allowing things to be said which are not only counter-productive but potentially extremely dangerous and that is what we have here.

The reaction to the Panorama documentary in both Poland and Ukraine has been one of extreme irritation but more importantly, those minority groups seeking to make names for themselves will now be well aware that the game and the world will be watching and if they want to make a statement, they already have everyone’s attention.

Thanks for that Sol.

*

The Crew. hooligan thriller

Since I released my backlist online at the back end of last year, The Crew has spent an unbroken 30 weeks at #1 on the Amazon UK sports (free) chart, the Amazon US soccer chart and the iTunes soccer (free) chart whilst Top Dog has been in the top 3 (mostly at #1) on the Amazon UK (paid) football chart. In addition, all of my other titles are selling well on Amazon and if you look at the iTunes soccer charts, most weeks the top 50 will feature at least 7 (usually 8) of mine.

Now, whatever way you look at it, that is not too shabby a record and to say that I am both delighted and humbled by the fact that it is mine gives new meaning to the word understatement.

Somehow, writing has become my career and that is entirely down to my readers who for some reason seem to like my books so not for the first time I would like to thank everyone who has ever read or downloaded any of them and let you all know that I value every single one of you.

However, there is a specific reason why I mention this here and it is not simply to be boastful. You see the other day I was accused by a very well known sportsman of being a ‘wannabe’ writer.

Now I will admit that I had been winding this bloke up a little and it became fairly obvious from the childish way he began using his ‘award-winning’ autobiography as some kind of weapon that he was unused to hearing anything other than sycophancy. But whilst I laughed it (and him) off, it did get me thinking about the literary establishment in general and more specifically, my position within it.

Many years ago, I wrote that those of us who wrote in the so-called ‘hoolie-lit’ genre were not just regarded by the literary establishment as being at the bottom of the literary ladder, but as the rubber bungs on the feet. Sad to say that nothing has changed.

I, for example, despite the fact that I’ve been pumping out work for 16 odd years and have sold a fair amount of books, have yet to receive a single invite to any literary festival or event. I’ve never even been asked to attend the British Sports Book Awards despite the fact that I would guess I outsell pretty much every author there.

Now, it would be foolish to say this doesn’t irritate me at times because it does. However, what I find more irritating is that with increasing numbers of the ‘hoolie-lit’ books being put online and making their way into the charts, by refusing to acknowledge those of us who write about football culture it infers that those people who buy our books don’t really matter. That is incredibly disrespectful.

The only reason publishing exists at all is because people like to read be it in book or electronic form and it doesn’t matter if they’re reading Dan Brown or Chris Brown, every single person who spends money on a book is as important as the last. Lose sight of that and the whole thing will come crashing down.

Personally, I have always kept my focus on my readers but then again, I’ve always tried to understand my market and aimed to give it what it wants. Therefore chart positions have always been more important than invitations because it means books are selling and readers are  happy.

Sadly, not everyone seems to think like that preferring instead to court only the opinions of those who can get their names into the papers. On which note, the ‘award-winning’ autobiography by the household name I mentioned previously isn’t even in the top 100 sports books and can currently be found in a remaindered store somewhere near you.

Which kind of says it all.

 

The Art of Fart!

The Art of Fart – Bargain!

Rather than blog this week, by way of a taster (and a bit of promotion!) I thought I’d post up the opening chapter of my latest ebook, The Art of Fart. 

Please have a read and if you enjoy it, why not download the whole book from either Amazon or iTunes for the princely sum of £1.41 (or $2.99).

 

The Art Of Fart – introduction.

It is one of the most natural of bodily functions. Humans do it, animals do it, birds do it and there is even research to suggest that fish communicate with it.

For most men, it provides a ready sense of achievement and even self-worth whilst as a comedy tool it is almost unrivalled. Yet doing it in public is almost universally regarded as a social faux pax whilst in a few countries it is actually illegal.

It is of course, farting. And I am a huge fan. Well, truth to tell I am more than a simple fan. For having studied the act of breaking wind for most of my life I have come to think of myself as more of a fartsmith than a simple aficionado. I might even go so far as to say that I regard myself as something of a fartologist.

Now I realise that is an arrogant claim so it is only fair that I provide a quick resume of my rectal related record to prove that I have the knowledge and experience to back up the fact that I am a leading authority in the anal art department.

My love affair with farting began at an early age. In fact one of my earliest and fondest childhood memories involves an enforced overnight stop at my grandparents house in Tottenham where thanks to a particularly impenetrable pea-souper settling over North London, myself and my four brothers were forced to top and tail in a double bed overnight.

As you can imagine, the inevitable emissions soon created a pea-souper of our own but they also provided us with a great deal of quality entertainment. It also proved conclusively that a fart cannot render you unconscious. Quite the opposite.

However, it is fair to say that the greatest influence on my life as a fartologist has been my father. Not simply for his own proficiency in this area, but for his ability to extract as much enjoyment from the process as is humanly possible.

Initially, this involved relating tales from his own youth and in particular, his period of National Service when whilst undergoing his basic training, he met a fellow conscript who was able to fart at will.

This was the kind of thing legends are made of. For example, whenever they would go on parade, which back then was often, this chap would station himself in the row either behind or in front of my old man who, knowing what was going to happen, would invariably be forced to try and suppress giggling as the inspecting officers approached.

Of course the anticipation coupled with the odd hissed comment from his tormentor would make his struggle even harder and by the time the

Single women do fart

inevitable trouser roar arrived, my dad would be almost beetroot with pain. Occasionally he wouldn’t be able to help himself and would simply collapse in a heap of laughter which would result in him receiving a major league bollocking. Indeed, given that my dad went on to become a comic, I have often thought that this was where he developed his comic timing.

In later years, as his tribe of kids grew older and the tales of his youth became increasingly boring to us, he was forced to find other ways of amusing himself, usually at our expense. I certainly can’t recall him letting one go and not apportioning blame to me or one of my brothers but as time passed and we became more used to the old mans tactics, his anal activities became limited to a witty post-gruff comment.

Yet even though we were growing increasingly proficient ourselves and were frequently using our gruff grenades on each other both for fun and in competition, my four brothers and I always knew that he was the master. We were also well aware that if we were ever going to extract the long-overdue revenge we sought, we would need to find a new delivery method. It finally arrived when we discovered the art of fart-capture.

Initially, we would fart into our hands and imprison the smell between our palms before pushing our hands into the faces of our victims. However, the problem with this method is that the gas is able to seep through the fingers quite quickly and shoving your non-smelly hands under the nose of an angry sibling was hardly worth the punch it inevitably attracted. As a consequence we moved first on to the use of tea cups -although we were forced to stop this by an extremely unhappy mother- and then screw top jars. The latter proving extremely effective as they not only allowed us to store the farts until required but provided an excellent delivery vehicle. Place under dads’ nose and unscrew lid as he inhales. Simple.

This was fine when he was asleep but things were very different when he was awake because given that he once held a black belt in Judo and had boxed for the Army, only a Kamikaze pilot would contemplate such an attack when he was conscious. As a result we eventually developed what would prove to be our best and most efficient delivery method; the crisp packet.

Fart into bag, twist neck and then approach target from behind. Leap onto back, stuff bag over nose and cling on for dear life.

It was crude but effective and had the added bonus of providing an exciting ‘Bucking Bronco’ style ride for a minute or so. However, it is fair to say that any success was more to do with the actual delivery process as opposed to the forcing of any actual odour ingestion. After all, a Salt & Vinegar flavoured fart is hardly much of a weapon.

Yet the fact that we were not only becoming more proficient but increasingly on the offensive clearly unsettled the old man and as the level and quantity of attacks grew, my increasingly nervous father came up with a new idea. Rather than utilise the fart as a weapon he decided that we would do something together as a family and employ our collective guffs as a form of family entertainment. We began recording them.

It was a genius idea and with a cassette recorder kept on permanent pause and a microphone ready to go, it was not unknown for a C60 tape to fill within two to three days. I cannot tell you the fun we had playing these tapes back much to the utter disgust of my mother and sister. Some years later my brother even put together a ‘Best Of…’ CD complete with titles. It was quite simply awesome.

But by this time the family had started to drift away from the home and I soon joined the exodus by enlisting in the Royal Air Force. However, if anything my interest in flatulence actually increased from that point on. You try living in a 22 man room and not having farts impact on you!

Ironically, it was the area of Chemical, Biological and Nuclear warfare which most often served to provide me with the best fart related entertainment whilst in the military. The gas mask in particular proved to be an important tool in my education as when you are forced to wear one for up to ten days at a stretch, the absence of odour soon teaches you to appreciate and develop other elements of the anal art.

That is not to say that we did not have any aroma related fun whilst masked up. Indeed, on a number of occasions I actually utilised a needle and syringe to deliver a small amount of self-generated nerve gas through the canister of a sleeping colleagues respirator.

That takes nerves of steel let me tell you. Not to mention a great deal of quick thinking and/or speed when your victim wakes up mid-injection!

Indeed it is fair to say that my time in the military was instrumental in my development as a budding fartologist. For not only did my various duties provide me with long periods of time during which I would ponder and plot but it also afforded me access to all kinds of wonderful machinery and chemicals.

At one point, whilst working on a plant which produced liquid nitrogen which as you will know freezes on contact with air, I even experimented with the creation of fart-cubes. Through the simple act of fart-capturing into jars half full of water, shaking to aerate and pouring the contents into condoms before freezing I soon had a ready supply of arse-cubes which I would sneakily take with me whenever I went out.

Sadly, even though I would place them in all kinds of drinks –mostly to be fair, belonging to people who had pissed me off- the results were questionable to say the least and what satisfaction obtained derived simply through the pleasure of ‘knowing’ what I had done. Nothing wrong with that of course. It is after all what stealth-farting is all about.

Post military, I have continued to hone my skills primarily on my own children and it is fair to say that I am rapidly turning into my own father.  Yet the humour derived from farting has never tailed off and if anything, as the years have passed I have become even more interested in other aspects of the anal art.

That in essence, is why I finally took the decision to write this book. It was I felt, the perfect way for me as an experienced fartologist to not only impart some of the knowledge I have accrued over the years but to extend the fun. My fun.

Because it is fair to say that I love farting. After all, what’s not to love? With the obvious exception of sex there is surely no other activity that can provide as much amusement, entertainment and self-satisfaction as letting one go. Just as importantly, you can do it on your own or in company and you can do it anywhere. In fact location often provides an additional source of humour! That’s not just a double or triple whammy, it’s quadruple!

To that end, I have put together a book which I hope not only explores pretty much every single facet of flatulence from why we do it through to the delights of fart porn, but which I hope will encourage you to follow in my footsteps and develop some of the skills and knowledge associated with colon cologne.

Equally, I have tried to explain just what it is about the cry of the colon which holds such an appeal for we males whilst at the same time generating such angst in females.  Although in many ways, the fact that women don’t ‘get’ farting is one of the major attractions of tootery for me because farting provides a link with childhood and being told to grow up whenever I do it reinforces the fact that I haven’t.

I don’t know about you, but I’m actually quite happy with that. Long may it continue.

The Crew. Still #1

Thanks to everyone who has kept The Crew and Top Dog at the top of the charts for the last 7 months! I am both humbled and proud. Indeed, so successful have they been that I plan to write the third book in the series later this year.

 In the meantime, if you have read either book, please take the time to leave a review on Amazon or iTunes. They really do mean a lot and are extremely important when it comes to ranking.

Finally, I have recently been writing for the all new Lad Bible website which is full of lad based humour. I won’t do into the content too deeply, just take a look. It’s genuinely hilarious.

The Lad Bible

The Lad Bible

Hi all, just a quick note to apologise for the lack of any updates recently.

I’m currently snowed under with work on my new book ‘Wings of a Sparrow’ as well as being involved with the development of four different movie projects.

I’ve also been writing material for the brand new website, The Lad Bible which went live last night. Amongst the work I’ve been doing for that are a lad-diary based on my novel Billy’s Log. In effect, it brings the adventures of our sad hero up to date and has been such fun to write that it’ll almost certainly form the basis of the much requested sequel which I’ll hopefully have ready to go by this time next year.

Normal blogging service will be resumed in short time (honest) but in the meantime please click on the picture on the left to visit The Lad Bible. Some of the stuff on there is simply hilarious.

PS: On the subject of lads and laddy things, The Art of Fart continues to sell well so thanks to everyone who has downloaded a copy. If you haven’t and you like your humour both un-PC and gross, this is almost certainly the book for you!

Chelsea FC – The Samantha Brick of football.

Same old Chelsea, cheating again.

Not for the first time, the great game finds itself dragged into the news for all the wrong reasons.

Thanks to Ashley Young and his shameful theatrics for Manchester United we have calls for retrospective punishments for cheating –something I have always championed and fresh cries for goal line technology in the wake of yet another goal that never was. This time for Chelsea at Wembley.

Now both of these cases have two specific things in common. The first is that they resulted in goals and the second is that they involved cheating. In the Young case, it was disgustingly obvious but at Wembley it was less overt but equally shameful.

Post game and to their credit, both Frank Lampard and John Terry did the decent thing and admitted that the ball hadn’t crossed the line for the second goal. A fact that was proven by the numerous angles provided by the media. Yet if they knew that, why did they not point it out to the referee at the time? Indeed if Terry knew it wasn’t a goal, why was he actually seen claiming it?

Yes, I know there is an element of ‘win at all costs’ and like many football fans, I’d happily take a dodgy goal be it for Watford or England. But these were two former England captains remember and so is it that unreasonable to expect that they would have some concept of the idea of fair play? Especially since like all footballers they would have been instrumental in the establishment of the FA’s laughable ‘Respect’ initiative.

Of course having given voice to this ideal on Twitter I have now been accused of having an anti-Chelsea agenda which is exactly what happened

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Enough said.

when I wrote about John Terry and the charges of racism levelled against him. Indeed, whilst I admire their spirited defence of their club and their captain I am always bemused by the reaction of Chelsea fans to anything said against them.

In many ways, the West London giants are the Samantha Brick of the football world. They have long considered themselves to be a cut-above the rest and always believed that not only are we all jealous of them because of their former status as the ‘glamour’ club but that these days we should all love them because of their achievements. However, what they have never understood is that it’s their very arrogance which is the reason so many people dislike them.

Liverpool are another club in danger of following the same path. Their refusal to play on the anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster is understandable in many ways but the petulant way in which both the club and the fans have acted in recent weeks has been uncomfortable to observe. Not least because if they insist on marking the anniversary of the death of 96 lost souls in this manner, why not the death of the 39 at Heysel? Were they any less worthy?

Equally, does this infer that the deaths as a result of the Munich air crash or the Bradford fire were any less important because those clubs do not refuse to play on the anniversary of those tragedies?

Let’s be honest here, football is in desperate need of a bit of positive PR at the moment and to have a top flight player actually playing fair during a show-piece game at Wembley could well have been it.

It certainly wouldn’t have done either Chelsea or John Terry any harm either. Who knows, maybe those of us who follow other clubs might actually have begun to start liking them again.

My next book Wings of a Sparrow is coming along nicely with a planned ebook release early in June 2012. Full details can be found on the official Dougie Brimson website. Just click on the link.

The Crew.

In the meantime, if you haven’t read it yet, why not download The Crew. It’s been at #1 in the Amazon soccer charts for over 6 months now and is totally free so what do you have to lose?

And finally, could I respectfully ask everyone who has read a book and enjoyed it to take a few moments and post a review on either Amazon or iTunes? They really are important and are a great way to let us authors know that we’re doing an OK job! Or as someone else put it recently, a fabulous way to say thanks!

Hillsborough. RIP the 96.

Never forget

On this most awful of anniversary’s, please take a few moments to remember the 96 souls who died at Hillsborough 23 years ago today.

I’ve written much about that fateful day over the years, much of it admittedly controversial, but the bottom line is that people died simply because they wanted to watch a game of football. Even now those words seem shocking.

Thankfully, we will never see the like of Hillsborough again in this country again and tragic though it was, as a lasting legacy that’s a pretty damn good one.

Never forget.

Samantha Brick – A male perspective on a very public bitchfest

I love me. And quite right too!

Like many chaps, I have looked on bemused as the drama (or should that be saga) of the Samantha Brick story has unfolded across the media.

Now for those who do not know, Samantha Brick is an average looking woman who wrote a piece in The Mail telling the world that she thought she was beautiful and that she received all kinds of compliments and attention from men who clearly agreed. As a consequence, other women not only felt threatened by her beauty but they were often less than friendly. If you haven’t read it, the initial Samantha Brick article can be found here and speaking as a bloke it’s worth a perusal for one particular reason. I’ll get to that later.

Whatever the truth of her claims regarding blokes walking up and paying for cabs or buying coffees etc, (and I don’t know, nor really care) what is fascinating about this story is the reaction from the sisterhood of women because to say she attracted a negative response is an understatement. In fact vitriol doesn’t come close whilst even hate could be judged ‘abuse-light’. Both in the media and on social networking sites women went for her with a ferocity the like of which I haven’t seen since my days living amongst the legendary hunting females of South Wales! The notorious Valley Commando’s.

Amongst other things she was accused of being self-centred, having a mirror made of beer goggles and being seriously deluded. It was to be fair, quite funny primarily because it did kind of prove her point! However, looking at it objectively as I am want to do, there was one simple reason for this bitch-fest and that is that she had broken the golden rule of womanhood; she had admitted that she is happy with her looks. Or to look at it another way, the female way, she’d become arrogant.

Oh yes, women spend their lives trying to feel great about themselves and read countless magazines and books packed to the gunnels with information on how to try and achieve it. Indeed, it’s the fundamental ideal which underpins the entire chick-lit genre! But for a woman to actually come out and say that she feels fabulous and that men adore her….. well, that’s not on. Especially when she’s only average looking.

And that is the fundamental reason for this jealousy –and that’s what it boils down to- because it’s not her looks but her confidence, her self-belief even. If she’s that secure in her appearance, why aren’t I? If random men pay her attention, why don’t I get it?

A female brick.

I, of course, made this point frequently and was shot down for my trouble. I wasn’t the only one either. When she was interviewed by Ruth and Eamonn Holmes on ITV’s This Morning, Ruthie was almost struggling to control her fury whilst poor Eamonn was clearly fearful of saying anything which might result in retribution from his angry wife later on. Fair play to Ms Brick though, she gave as good as she got in pretty much every interview she gave.

In the following days, Samantha Brick wrote more articles about her life and provided more explanation for her self-confidence. She lives in France where men are more attentive and has a loving husband who adores her. But most importantly she also has a father who told her from a very early age that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Now other than providing me with a great deal of amusement as I’ve watched (and heard!) the wrath of women unfold and leaving aside the fact that as a career maker, Samantha Brick’s original article was as fantastic a pitch as I’ve ever seen, for me as a male this last sentence is the one which struck a chord. Because speaking as a proud dad, my two daughters are the most beautiful girls/women I’ve ever seen and every father I know thinks the same thing. And quite right too.

And the more we tell them, the more we hope that they believe it because I never wanted my girls to grow up feeling anything other than fantastic about themselves and I’m proud to say that they don’t.

Writing in her autobiography Dawn French makes great play of the fact that her father told her every day that she was beautiful and Gwyneth Paltrow says the same thing. Both took it as gospel because it came from their dads and it shaped their lives which is exactly what it should do. Yet neither of those attracted any condemnation when they put those words into the public domain because they are famous. Yet Samantha Brick isn’t or wasn’t and so she is an easy target.

Yet rather than have a pop at Samantha Brick, shouldn’t we all be giving a hearty pat on the back to her father because whilst his daughter might be lacking in the humility department, in terms of instilling confidence he did a fantastic job with her.

And sadly, there are an awful lot of dads and indeed mothers who could learn a huge lesson from him.

Still #1

Could I once again say a very humble thank you to everyone who has kept my books so high up in the various online charts. The Crew and Top Dog have been at the top of the Amazon football download charts for over 6 months now which is some achievement so thanks to you guys for downloading them.

A new book is on the way and this will almost certainly be followed by the third book in the Billy Evans trilogy!

More news and details on my website which you can visit via this link!

General Galtieri – my part in his downfall.

Reblogged from The Thoughts of Chairman Doug.:

Victory in the Falklands. Take that you Argies.....

I am a Falklands Veteran. Yes, that's right, 30 years ago I was one of those brave souls who headed south to drive the invading Argentinean scum off of our land.

However, I have a confession to make. You see I wasn't one of the amazing Para's who yomped across the Islands carrying a weight akin to a medium sized child on their backs nor was I one of the sailors who spent their war bobbing up and down on waves which from the films I've seen gave them a ride like a non-stop trip on the Big One at Blackpool.

Read more… 980 more words

General Galtieri – my part in his downfall.

Victory in the Falklands. Take that you Argies.....

I am a Falklands Veteran. Yes, that's right, 30 years ago I was one of those brave souls who headed south to drive the invading Argentinean scum off of our land.

However, I have a confession to make. You see I wasn't one of the amazing Para's who yomped across the Islands carrying a weight akin to a medium sized child on their backs nor was I one of the sailors who spent their war bobbing up and down on waves which from the films I've seen gave them a ride like a non-stop trip on the Big One at Blackpool.

No, my war was easy. And more importantly, it was fun.

You see I was in the RAF and so my war was spent on the relative luxury of Wideawake Airfild on Ascension Island which for those that don't know, is a pile of volcanic rock in the middle of the Atlantic. Being close to the Equator, it's also quite warm. Well, very warm.

Now I won't go into what my actual job was (I'd have to hunt you all down and kill you) but after a very exciting flight down most of which was spent in the cockpit of a VC10 talking UFO's with the crew –well at least those who were awake-  it involved a lot of sitting around and waiting. Now this sounds fun and to be honest, as someone who does pretty much that for a living now, it generally is! But when you're at war and both chaos and uncertainty are all around you, you do kind of get caught up in things and so in an effort to do my bit I ended up working with the American Fire Crews who, it's fair to say, pretty much ran the Island.

As a result, I would be tasked with all kinds of odd things from dragging extremely stubborn donkeys from the runway with a Landrover through to

Where my war was fought. Happy days.

sorting through the endless pallets of gifts which had been sent down to the Task Force from the fabulous people back home. Gifts which included everything from beer and fags to hard core porn! And when I wasn't doing that, I spent my time doing everything from swimming with what I later learned to be sea-water Piranhas (really!) and trying to break into the NASA station in the middle of the Island to being spied on by the SAS. And that really is a tale!

I was also prone to playing practical jokes on people. Jokes which included placing a huge landcrab in my bosses sleeping bag which he only found when he climbed into it after a 24 hour shift and scaring the shit out of the intelligence officers by hiding in their porta-loo in the middle of the night and screaming 'BOO!' when they pulled the door open. Trust me, the impact that can have when you've been told to expect an Argentinean Special Forces attack is quite dramatic!

Of course things changed dramatically when rumours of the Vulcan raids began to break and I cannot even begin to descibe what it was like to be involved with those. Then, once our fabulous soldiers had actually landed and the fight to reclaim the Islands began, even those of us thousands of miles away felt like we really were at war. Which of course, we were.

And then the losses began and when the injured started to drift back I started to actually understand the realities of war for those who had been on the front line. That really was an experience I will never forget nor is it one I would ever want to repeat. Humbling doesn't come close.

A Vulcan. Given the lack of Victor tankers in this picture, I suspect they might have been 'orf somewhere!

Victories were of course, celebrated in time honoured style but oddly, the actual surrender came as something of an anti-climax. And whilst I remember exactly where I was when I heard it nothing much changed for me, at least not initially. My job, such as it was, continued whilst supplies still had to sorted, planes still took off and landed and donkeys still had to moved! When troops started making their way back it actually became even busier and in fact one of my most emotional periods of the entire war came when a Hercules full of Harrier lads landed en route back home. Some of them lads I knew and had worked with.

And then out of the blue came the news that I was to go home. In fact I was the first person on Ascension Island to be told that their job had been stood down which is something I'm quite proud of.

Within days, I was geared up to head back to the UK. Thankfully, on the very plane that the new (and first) Station Warrant Officer arrived on and those of you with experience of the RAF will know what that means!

My arrival back at RAF Brize Norton was unintentionally hilarious as I flew back with a group of men from Hereford who had no intention of hanging around for the waiting ceremony to welcome back the other soldiers on the plane (Cue potentially very violent stand-off!). This being followed by a three hour wait for a car to take me back to Abingdon and a row with the orderly Sergeant who refused to take my rifle off me. Hence my having to sleep with it in my bed. And that was that.

But not for me the civic receptions nor the big parades. For various reasons I wasn't invited to attend any of those but I cherish my South Atlantic

A handsome chap!

campaign medal and am as proud of that as I am of anything I have ever done.

And given half a chance I'd do it all again. War may be hell for some but for many it's also where they feel more alive than you can possibly imagine. Even those of us who played only a minor part.

 

To all those who lost loved ones or who have endured untold suffering since 1982, please do not think for one second that I am trying to belittle what you have gone though. Nothing could be further from the truth as I am and continue to be in awe of you all.

The joys of wind and women….

It is fair to say that few very few things have the capacity to impact on an individuals' status more than a fart.

Sometimes this can be a good thing. After all, if one is in the company of a group of lads out on the lash the ability to let one go -especially if accompanied by an odour with the capacity to strip wallpaper- can quickly elevate you to legendary status.

In most other social settings however, it is not a quality to be admired and therefore it is vital that farting etiquette is both understood and observed.

However, before we dive into the 'do's, don'ts and how to's' we should examine just why the two sexes react so differently to flatulence because it is fundamental to pretty much every aspect of this section if not the entire book.

As I have already stated, I love farting and to be honest, so does pretty much every male I know. There is nothing quite like the feeling of brewing up and the satisfaction of letting one go is frankly, unrivalled.

In fact, given that the vast majority if not all of people reading this book will be male and will be doing so because they too have an appreciation of the anal art form, do I really need to spend time explaining why we love it? After all, you will already know pretty much everything I can ever say or write if not a great deal more!

Women however, are a different beast entirely and if ever there was a subject that confirms the belief that we are indeed from two different planets, it is the subject of farting.

Or does it?

After all, women fart. I know that might come as a shock to some of you but they do. All of them. That gas has to be removed somehow and it's certainly not taken away in the dead of night by fairies using Tupperware pots. Therefore it stands to reason that it is ejected in one of only two ways, one of which is fart form. And occasionally they smell. Not like Pot Pourri either.

Yet generally speaking, the vast majority of the gentler sex would have us men believe that they regard farting as nothing more than a basic bodily function and a disgusting one at that. Yes, I am well aware that there are exceptions to this and I know a couple of females who are more than capable of clearing a

The stuff of nightmares!

room if the mood takes them. Furthermore, as the father of two daughters I am also well aware that in private there are plenty of women who enjoy a good gruff just as much as most men even though they might feign embarrassment if overheard or one slips out by accident. So why do the so-called gentler sex seem to have such a problem understanding why we males are able to derive such humour from farting?

Well to me, the answer to that question is fairly obvious when you think about it. It's because we enjoy it.

Yes, that's right. It might come as something of a shock to discover that women don't actually like men to have fun doing something which doesn't involve them. Why else do you think so many of them have started tagging along to football? It's not because they enjoy it, it's because they want to make sure we don't!

However, since unlike football, farting is an activity that we can enjoy on our own they are forced to try and discourage us from partaking by brainwashing us. A tactic they do by repeatedly telling us from very early on in our lives that we only do it because we aren't clever enough to find humour in anything else or that it is 'disgusting'. It's bog standard word association hypnosis: Oven = hot = burn, road = traffic = death, fart = bad =stroppy woman.

But the primary tool employed by women as a brainwashing tool to discourage the enjoyment of anal activity is the suggestion that it is childish. The key weapon used here is the phrase 'grow up'.

This expression is important for many reasons and it is vital that all men understand why. Because it is fundamental to the acknowledged truth that when a woman gets her claws into a man, her primary goal is to mould him into the 'man' she actually desired as opposed to the one she ended up with. Central to this is the modification of his behaviour and the separation from both his past and especially his mates. Hence the concerted efforts to discourage any behaviour which might be perceived as being either 'childish' or 'blokey'.

The sad fact is that it is women who are missing out. Not just because a happy bloke is obviously going to be far more fun to be around than an empty shell of a 'new man' but because they are unable to enjoy one of the natural wonders of life.

Indeed, it is my belief that women are secretly jealous of us in our love of the anal art form but having backed themselves into a corner, they dare not admit it because that would mean admitting that they have been wrong all along. And we all know what a problem that is for women.

Ironically, they had the perfect opportunity to do just that when the so-called 'Ladette' culture took hold back in the 90's. For that period in our great nations history provided the female with the ideal point to embrace what I regard as being quite possibly the greatest of all human habits.

Yet instead, they blew it. Preferring instead to adopt the delights of getting shit faced, swearing in public and thinking shagging anything that moved was a good idea. All things which they had spent decades slagging us off for and which most blokes eventually grow out of anyway!

And so when it comes to women and farting, we are where we are and it is unlikely that things will ever change at least where they are concerned. However, the fact of the matter is that it is not our fault, it is theirs. They after all are the ones missing out because there is nothing wrong with enjoying farting. It should be celebrated as a sign of confidence but above all, of honesty. If you take nothing else from this book, take that simple truth because it will change your life.

After all, as the legendary rapper P. Diddy once said, "you can't trust a woman until she farts in front of you" and that says it all.

 

The Art of Fart - Bargain!

 

The above was a full extract from my latest book The Art of Fart which is available to download for just £1.14 at http://www.amazon.co.uk/Art-Fart-Joy-Flatulence-ebook/dp/B006MISNFI/ or $1.81 at http://www.amazon.com/Art-Fart-Joy-Flatulence-ebook/dp/B006MISNFI/

It is also available via iTunes and all online retailers.