Posted by: Splosher | 13/02/2010

Youth of today? Give me yesterday’s childhood anytime

The youth of today and the death of tomorrow. Is this an accurate hypothesis or am I speaking after the fact; indeed, as I’ve had and enjoyed my early years, am I justified in not equating anything I see in today’s culture as being worthy for tomorrow’s foundation due to looking back in anger across my wasted years that started half a century ago in the middle of the 1980s? We all go through teenage rebellion and we can always pinpoint particular incidences that spoke to us, helped create who we have become, for good or bad, and to recall these memorable learning curves is a fascinating experience in trying to understand your former self through post-analysis.

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Posted by: Splosher | 06/02/2010

BT Broadband: welcome to the dribbling trickle


It is my great misfortune to live in an area within the UK that has never had fibre-optic cable piped beneath its streets during the great flurry of work which was undertaken many years ago, to future-proof our communication infrastructure. With our insatiable appetite for technological wonders perpetually advancing and creating more complex design, the time has now arrived that we can truly utilise these pre-laid cables: spreading out as neural pathway tracts and connecting billions of silicon brains around the globe means blisteringly fast broadband connections for everyone, everywhere, all the time… except if your area never had the cable laid in the first place.

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Posted by: Splosher | 30/01/2010

A trip to the Doctors… Pt 1

Having not been to a Doctor for many a year due to being relatively illness-free, I found it surprising that just after New Year I had to ‘phone up my local surgery and make an appointment because of a long-lived-with-and-ignored ailment which had suddenly bloomed out of all proportion. This ailment has taken on the form of swollen Parotid glands at the back of my jaw-line over the last ten years and during this time they’ve flared up and subsided so inconsistently that whenever I’ve actually sought medical attention the diagnosis is eclectic to say the least: Glandular Fever, a compressed Wisdom tooth, Tonsillitis – even though they’ve been whizzed out along with my Adenoids years ago – and even Mumps at the age of 32 have been forwarded as causes! Also, once the glands begin to billow it’s not just medical personnel who fail to grasp what they’re looking at: I begin to take on the appearance of swollen-headed, thyroid-afflicted chubby and have had friends and acquaintances refer to me as “Moon face”, “Slobbers”, “Throat-master” and my own personal favourite putdown/ compliment regarding this look with a week’s stubble thrown in being a “Turkish Baths’ proprietor!”

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Posted by: Splosher | 21/01/2010

Windows 7 UK adverts: anyone for an anal lobotomy?


The Personal Computer. If you are like me and exist within the PC realm as opposed to flouncing around in Apple’s i-nonsense, designer wonderland then just the mention of those three words can fill the vast majority of people with technophobic dread. It’s just the thought of trying to fix your own Windows-based system when the inevitable problems arise that brings about a spate of fevered brows, cold sweats and panic attacks across the world’s Microsoft users, much like how Apple users are confabulated when faced with the bewildering option of a second mouse button. Now obviously as PC users, we all have our own personal favourite version of Windows – which can be anything from ’95 to Millennium, ’98 to NT and even 3.1 or MS-DOS thrown into the mix – but what most people will be more than happy to be using is XP, their most successful operating system to date.

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Posted by: Splosher | 11/01/2010

Christmas, New Year & the Big Freeze

All across the United Kingdom during Christmas and New Year, we’ve had the worst snowfall for 30 years and we’ve basically been unable to do anything but watch our newly-adapted “Global Warming” infrastructure grind to a complete halt. Obviously this has come about due to the boffins in the white coats convincing the Government over a period of time that winters as we used to know them are a thing of the past, assigned to the history books along with things like Yew tree reverence, an English national identity and the Marathon peanut chocolate bar. However, the big brains appear to have got this one wrong now, so are trying to back track and change the term “Global Warming” into the non-specific “Climate Change”: underneath this aegis of terminology, we can now rest easy in the knowledge its title will cover all eventualities, from hot to cold and all the in-between.

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Posted by: Splosher | 23/12/2009

Cheap adverts and the death of TV

With the cancellation of the old analogue terrestrial signal across the UK and the advent of the new digital “Nought and Ones” signal, we as viewers are now flooded with a bewildering amount of new channels being beamed directly into our homes via various set-top boxes and televisions, either through electron-accelerated CRT tubes, plasma, LCD or even LED screens. These extra channels all look good on paper and their selling points are more choice for the consumer plus freedom to pick and choose our own favourite programs to create a weekly personal playlist we then follow religiously. Ironically, the problem with all this variety stems from the programs’ origins: it’s cost-effective to produce or even just to repeat away from the original channel and so we find ourselves being swamped by a mediocre pyroclastic flow of stale, episodic releases.

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Posted by: Splosher | 25/11/2009

Join Josh’s band? Pass me a gun instead…

Our pain and suffering returns with a vengeance as T-Mobile rolls out not one, not two but three new televisual, 20 second feasts of purest sh*t for us all to enjoy. Each is being shown in virtually every continuity link across all available channels, which just goes to prove they must have more money than sense if they can afford to bankroll yet another assault against our common sense, so no matter which side you flick to you’ll always find a Solo advert waiting to absorb you sanity.

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Posted by: Splosher | 16/11/2009

Kingsmill Confessions

kingsmill confessions

With the power of today’s media, there always appears to be a new way of dredging slutch from the bottom of the consumer barrel via some ad-agency’s latest idea, presumably thought up by their newest, hippest and Twittering whizz-kid, which is then patted into a mould and crammed down our wanton throats. From this month comes a duo of semi-hardened sculptures of slop – their thin Crème Brule crusts straining to contain their fetid stench – that are the latest exponents from Kingsmill the bread maker entitled “Kingsmill Confessions”; a collection of jovial little 10 second snippets that revel in the concept of Humanity’s Selfish Gene and its unerring, primordial urge to look after oneself above all else.

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Posted by: Splosher | 11/11/2009

Just when life couldn’t get any worse… pt2

In deep water

Just an hour after my fall from grace onto the pointed gravel – see “Just when life couldn’t get any worse… pt 1” for more details – which had resulted in torn flesh and what felt like cracked bone, I slowly began to allow the tumble to ebb into my subconscious memory box entitled “horrible but now acceptable parts of your past” as I aimed for home and drove. The six mile journey ahead weaved along amber-dappled, darkening roads but I felt cocooned with the soothing warmth of my BMW’s purring heater and the only noticeable discomforts were my left-hand knee, which was becoming more agonising each time I pushed in the clutch and my left-hand elbow that jutted at an angle as I slotted gear to gear. “Oh, if only my pre-cognitive powers actually worked” I thought as my face’s capillaries began to flush in the interior warmth, “I’d now be without a massively swollen leg and misshapen arm-bend” and this reflection continued to grow as I found myself in an increasingly painful driving position due to locked-up limbs and frozen joints.

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Posted by: Splosher | 04/11/2009

The end: is it really all that bad?

Silence of the Lambs

Even as we nakedly enter this world, soaked in womb-juice and screaming for the lost universal Pool of Consciousness, the sand grains in our hourglasses have already begun to trickle towards the Grim Reaper’s deathly clasp. Whether we are taken after a single moment’s breath at the end of a new heart’s first beat or His scythe reaps us after eighty-plus years of pain and suffering, we become acutely aware of the one constant that swells to consume us as we age: we’re all living on borrowed time.

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