scenes of monday

hello there

well, it's a trifle late and i should be in bed, or possibly watching that show with the dragons, midgets and angry people, but never mind, i am doing this now.

it would appear that i took a few pictures of the day today, so with nothing much else to do with those pictures here they are for your viewing pleasure, or for you to skip past. and no, sorry, no scrolling text, i am too tired to recall how one spells 'marquee' on the HTML side of a blog. wasn't Marquee the name of the theoretical, credited director of that Return Of The Jedi film? the one where Lando knacks the Falcon? 

anywya, here is a Sports Direct bag.

more on that later. don't say i don't give you cliffhangers or suspense here.

actually the first pic i took today (i think) was this next one. although i have several friends who read this and are ardent fans of a bit of cheeky, saucy erotica, this is not printed here for the benefit of their mucky habits and filthy minds.

look carefully and see if you can spot the problem here.

is it me, or are them advertising board things the wrong way around? assuming patrons of this store, which seems to sell some sort of underwear of a sexual nature, read from left to right like almost the rest of us, the above reads

....get out of the bedroom if you can't stand the heat.......

whereas surely

if you can't stand the heat......get out of the bedroom

makes more sense, yeah?

or maybe it is some clever sort of quasi-Yoda approach to advertising. i don't know, i am not too clever with all them words and that, or how effective advertising works. anyway, Sharpy, amongst others, will have liked that picture, so even if my point is, well, pointless, the picture will have been of interest.

a chat with Spiros earlier today drew my attention to the fact that i had not commented or reviewed on the ultra cheap Marlboro the people of Senegal are being encourage to purchase and use.

well, as far as i am concerned, they are the real thing, and taste splendid they do. yeah, all you anti-smokers can go off on one about me all you like, for we are dumb to smoke, but the point of the matter is that we start at some point because it is, or once was, a pleasurable and pleasant thing to do for some of us. very wise, those of you who never started, and exceptionally well done those of you who have managed to go as far as to quit / cut down considerably in a way apparently better than i have yet managed to do. working on it, slowly. well, slower makes it more certain, doesn't it?

what was in the bag from Sports Direct? well, as you can see, a box marked 'Vision Street Wear'.

i have mentioned this before, but i really love spending money at Sports Direct. many of you are aware of my logic for this, but for those of you who are not, the next paragraph is for you. the rest of you can just skip it.

Sports Direct, look you see, is owned by that nice chap called Mike Ashley, or if you prefer, the Ashley of Mike. he also owns that sort of prototype Mos Eisley establishment called Newcastle United. the fans of Newcastle United do not like the Ashley of Mike. at all. so if you spend money at Sports Direct, right, it is money straight to the Mike of Ashley (or similar). for reasons best known to himself, the Ashley uses this money to further upset fans of Newcastle United by giving it to people like Alan Pardew or, even better, Joe Kinnear. so i see it as a moral duty and obligation of all Boro and Sunderland fans to, with a passion, use Sports direct.

here are some absolutely magnificent looking toilets from an unspecified location in Europe.

they are splendid looking, are they not? they unfortunately would appear to be off limits, too. not just because of the slippery when wet sign, no - have a look, they be padlocks and chains on them doors.

it's like someone, like a king, prince or pope, commanded to be pleased by the greatest toilets ever being built, right, and then there was some sort of revolution or something, right, and then the peasant army (for it is they that always do these revolution things and they elevate someone just as bad, if not worse, as/than the one they got shot of) decided "well we should destroy this symbol of opulance and oppression, but it is probably the best place ever to have a p!ss, or in the top ten, so let us just lock it up".

here' hoping the new ruler of the proles decides to unlock it soon, even if only for selected guests and not to the benefit of the masses.

anyway, this happened in the post today.

oooh, yeah. no, i doubt very much indeed this is one of the editions that i purchased, read with passion and somehow parted ways with back in 1983, but never mind. i am thrilled to have a copy of it, and am most appreciative towards the one that is designated the philosopher right over there to the side on the testimonials for giving me a little sort of a push towards purchase.

have i read it yet? no. watched that show with them dragons and nasty people instead. Game Of Thrones, i think it is. tonight there were several moaning wailing soap opera parts to it, followed by some very nasty business indeed. what a horrible miserable bunch they all are, why can't they just have a nice cup of tea and a chat instead of twatting each other.

anyway, inside the box that was inside the bag off of the shop of the Ashley of Mike.

yes, canvas shoes. i strode, or if you like strutted, around in my shiny new boots of yesterday today. it made clear, in particular the way i was not thrown about on the bus as i walked to leave, that all of my other shoes which are not in storage are not meeting the needs of quality walking. so a cheap-ish pair were in order, in particular as the profits of them will go to fund something or other at Newcastle which shall upset the fans a great deal, inspiring their art in regards of making more class banners. good luck to the lads.

speaking of football, my good and talented friend recently "posted" something to one of them group things. it concerned football kits over the years that were of, shall we say, debatable if not questionable style and merit.

this one in particular took my fancy. i am guessing, all things considered, that it heralds from the 70s, or at a push 1981 but certainly no later than that.

70s, i would have thought. brown was it, man. the 70s were the last time of true rock, when the chaps played it whilst wearing the most massive flares possible to stitch and brown leather waistcoats with no shirt on. also a massive, symbolic medallion that represented absolutely nothing except it was the most shiny one that the rock chap spotted down the market.

i don't think, as class as it would of course be to someone in this outfit lift a trophy - ace if the league cup, even better if the world cup - we shall ever see the likes of this kit again. it would be ace, though, if that sort of hairstyle made a comeback, both in the world of professional footballers and beyond.

anyway, it is late and i am tired and i need to be off to verk in the morning. so here is a look at what the inside of that Uncanny Tales looks like, for those of you with some sort of interest.

no, i doubt i will be reading any of it this evening. at some point during the week, almost certainly i shall, look you see.

to bed i go, then. after, i suppose, i have just checked them Senegalese Marlboro again, to be safe and sure.



be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!