Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Seven for a secret
Tesco: I for one am quite prepared to believe that it's possible to get mixed up between the cows and the horses during a busy day at the abattoir. That's the food chain for you. I also don't understand the apparent outrage at mixing up bovine and equine meats, it happens every day in France and they are far more civilised than we'll ever be. As the vegetarian butcher once said "It all tastes the same to me, I just never swallow any of it".
Tax the poor: Twenty five million pension plans will go up the spout when they double the price of a Lottery ticket to £2 later in the year. Hours or even seconds of pointless amusement strangled for the masses. They'll be turning to religion next. I can't be bothered with the stupid games, quiz panels and rubbish that surrounds a ridiculous raffle with hopeless odds. Having said that the £25 for three numbers has a certain attraction.
Growing old gracefully: The eternal question at these difficult ages, which strategy or role model do you follow?
David Bowie: Geriatric reflections on 80s Berlin. Dressing as a stuffed teddy and looking sour with a Chinese pal. Dull synth dominated songs with mournful lyrics and dense drums. A backing band of anonymous session guys happy to take the money and run. Sense of humour failure (or so it seems).
Mick Jagger: Gangley, wrinkled, cocky blues boy at a fancy dress party in a silly hat. Still shouting rubbish and strutting like you're 21 but not really meaning any of it. No new ideas for material, just reruns of years ago. Worn out riffs and a baffled and battered Keef fronting the ugliest looking band you ever saw.
I'm settling for the Groucho method - whisky, red meat and obscurity.