Fantasist attacks a fantasy
A trainee vicar who
told primary school children that Father Christmas
did not exist has been criticised for spoiling the magic of Christmas.
Of course Santa is a nice Christmas tradition, along with all the others, but how many school children literally
believe he exists? Recall conversations at primary school when I was 6 or 7 and I know I didn't. Or fairies either.
Still, I would not tell other people's kids there's no Santa these days. If kids believe in him before they are old
enough to be expected to have some grasp of science and reality, it's not a problem. Some of the crap that adults
believe in, on the other hand... You can see the malignant effects of that in the news every day.
Hmmm. On second thoughts, maybe letting children believe in harmless things like Santa or The Tooth Fairy is not
training their minds the right way. Perhaps we should drill it into all kids from birth that they should only believe in
things which they have experienced or for which there is convincing evidence, that they should only follow or support
ideas which have been found effective in raising human wellbeing.
Rational education will never happen of course, too many irrational idiots will oppose it, so maybe we should
just concentrate on the issue here, poor little kids having their fantasies ruined.
Oiiii (trainee) Vicar! Santa makes as much sense as the bollux you believe in anyway!
PS Anyway, God and Santa Claus are clearly the same bloke. He just drinks and gets a bit more jolly at Xmas
like the rest of us.
xoggoth Rules of Life - 1
The more ancient you get the more often you lose things. No, that isn't the xoggoth rule, that is a general rule
that every knows. The xoggoth rule is as follows:
Whenever you lose something small, it is always the least valuable thing you have with you.
Lost something again today. Fortunately, it was only a comb, cost about 60p. Just think, if I had not had it
with me, I might have lost my glasses that cost me a whole £2.75 from the local hardware shop. I lost a pair last week
because I had not replaced my last lost comb. Not carrying the various cheapest things in turn could have cost me
my Tesco £17 mobile phone, my scratched old £23 plastic strap watch, and finally my wallet.
PS Sorry little comb, I will go and look for you in the car park tomorrow! I am not made of 60ps.
Suicide - not being arsed
If people are suicidal how can they summon up the enthusiasm to actually bother to snuff themselves? Surely that
takes a degree of determination that is incompatible with the desire?
Ring! Ring! Hello? Assisted suicide line? Can you send me a taxi to take me to the railway bridge please?
What? I have to fill in an online health and safety assessment? Never mind.
Christmas - not being arsed
We at bloggoth could not be arsed to buy a Christmas tree this year. Bunged all the tree decorations in an old
fish tank - much easier and cheaper.
Off to buy christmas presents tomorrow. Used to get them from The Pound Shop. What a rippoff! The 99p Store
is much better.
Learning from nature
We at bloggoth are very selective about removing weeds from the garden as some are very decorative. Why waste money
on cultivated plants when you can get wildflowers for free? This little daisy on our patio was rather nice so we
One year on and daisies are spreading in every direction:
Bit like immigration really. Let a few useful migrants in from poor countries and it will not be long before
you have hordes of them and parts of our nation become scarcely recognisable.
Stay out of my milestones, you bastards!
In student days, just a few times, we sang blues at a local club. Our favourite was "St James Infirmary" but, today,
we cannot find the version we remember. We recall it was on the B side of a record by a singer of rather brief fame
and can almost, but not quite, remember his name. Google brings up umpteen versions by famous performers, The Animals,
Arlo Guthry, Cab Calloway, Van Morrison etc etc but FUCK IT! none of those are the version we remember.
Now we cannot find the singer of another song, "Ghost Riders in the Sky" It has been done by Marty Robbins,
Duane Eddy, Johny Cash and many other famous singers but, FUCK FUCK FUCK IT, none of these are the version we remember.
Look, you bastards, those were milestones in xoggoth's life and you have no FUCKING rights to intrude on them without
my permission! I bet Kim Jong-un will never have this problem.
Tonight's local crime news included a CCTV of a robbery in a jewellery shop.
Nowadays, one can even get fairly cheap CCTV for one's premises that allows you to use the internet and monitor
your property remotely from your smart phone or other device in real time. One can control devices remotely too,
one commonly advertised system allows you to control your home heating.
So why are we not taking the obvious steps, in both law and technology, to allow proper defence of our property?
Went to the Tate Modern art gallery with my weird religious lady today. Some good stuff there but there was also an
awful lot of utter crap!!!
There were at least three "artworks" that consisted of entirely blank canvases. Maybe the first person who
came up with the idea of a blank canvas as art can be credited with making an original point about the futility of life
or some such bollux but how many times can this same bloody nonsense be regarded as meaningful? Surprised he/she is not
suing the many others who have done it since for breach of copyright! Even when the artists actually bothered to do
something much of it was utter shit, scrawls that looked like the work of infants, old car engines with shiny bits on
them, rough lumps of clay that looked like big dog turds etc. One "sculpture" was this piece of galvanised
steel ducting much like I have on my hot air central heating.
Wow! I didnt know I had a valueable artwork in my garage! Surprised we haven't seen an "artist" exhibiting bits of
his used toilet paper yet.
Still, there is a plus side, if crap like that is the work of a famous artist it makes one feel much better about
one's own crap. Here's a biro sketch I did recently at a U3A art session. Off top of head, not copied.
Comments so far:
Have you read about that cannibalism case? Bloke caught eating a woman's face, how awful! If it was me I'd have
been caught eating her bottom!
Seriously, why is insanity always such a bad thing? Even when they don't commit crimes, the insane are always a
burden on others and are nearly always unhappy themselves. Wouldn't it be great to have a benign form of insanity?
A form that allowed you to experience fantastic feelings and visions without taking any drugs but come back into the
real world whenever it was necessary.
Nice sunny morning today so went for my walk early. Ducking under a Holly tree and a spikey leaf poked me in the eye
so I said "bloody Holly!" If I suffered from benign insanity, all the Holly trees would have started singing
"It Doesn't Matter Anymore" to accompany me on my walk.
Bloody Holly trees are still rehearsing, so Buddy Holly's version will have to do.
As bloggoth moderator I have to warn you that your comment about eating a woman's bottom is in poor taste.
Rubbish! Womens' bottoms taste fantastic!
Brought some cheap jeans at Sainsburies the other day. Took the label off the front but failed to notice there
was a stick-on label low down at the back. Have been walking about in public for a couple of days with a large gold
circle reading "With stretch" over my bottom!
Could have been worse I suppose, I could have been in Brighton and there could have been a stick-on price label that
I also failed to notice. Oooooh! You don't get xoggoth's bumhole for £10 ducky! Cost you 15 quid at least!
Old age and cancer
What fun they are. Remember talking to an elderly lady up the club a few years ago who said, with a wry smile,
that her main social events these days were funerals. Know how she feels, when you get to a certain age, funerals seem
to be the main events in life. First the mother in law, then the missus, then my sister's husband,
all in the space of less than two years. Not to mention an aunt and a cousin of the missus's that I did not know well.
The late missus's brother just phoned to say his father has died so there will be another soon.
Oh well. At least I'm getting a lot of use out of the black suit I spent a whole £99 on at Burton's!
Darn it. When will I get any real sense of life back? Probably going out more than I ever did in the
last few decades when it was so much nicer to spend time with the missus. When we weren't doing anything special
and just did our own things she was around for those little meets over coffee, wine, vodka/whisky according to
mood and time of day, in the garden, conservatory or in front of the TV.
I go drinking up the village club (me and Mr Pikey Scum actually exchanged a grunted hello the other day), spend
time with various wierd women, wander the country for hours, do countryside volunteer stuff, force myself to go
to choir or art sessions but none of that is really living in my view.
Just want to get back my imagination and some enthusiasm for the things I used to like doing, writing stupid short
stories, cartooning, surreal paintings, posting bollux here, making wierd things out of junk or looking at bugs in my
microscope but I just can't get interested. When not going out, I just work through my list of little DIY jobs, tiddle
on the computer to no obvious purpose, watch some drivel on TV or read horror stories, finishing each with "What a load
of crap". There don't seem to be any quick solutions, alcohol does nothing. When I'm on my own I think I fancy a vodka
and don't always finish it.
Life starts inside. If that isn't there, the life around us is nothing more than a TV screen, a lot of dull Sky
TV Channels that you idly flick through, only to find nothing that grabs you.
Talking of horror (?)
Brought a couple of collections the other day. Read about 20 stories so far and one or two are ok. The stuff
Henry James or others of his era wrote were genuinely creepy because they stuck to the point of the story. Modern stuff
is so full of padding that goes beyond just characterisation and setting the scene.
In the one I read last night a man had a car accident that killed his wife and also filled him with glass fragments
that were working their way out. There is some sort of link between those and his wife trying to be free and and an
undiscovered cave, erm, fair enough I suppose. But quite why there are two pages about him looking round his old school
and remembering how it was and being asked if he had seen a missing child I have no idea, it has nothing to do with
Ah, but maybe I am just being old fashioned, too stuck in the ways of a career spent writing concise technical
reports. I need to learn that irrelevance. Let's see, this item is about horror stories, so er um. Did you know that
a lightning bolt generates temperatures five times hotter than those found at the sun's surface?
Isn't religion lovely?
Who among the non-existent old fart readership of bloggoth does not remember "Rivers of Bablylon" by Boney M?
The lyrics are from the bible Psalm 137. The part that was not included in the song was this:
O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed;
happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.
Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones
PS Oi! Moses! Sue em for copyright infringement!
Bit of a loose end last night, not in mood to be on me tod but getting fed up with the village club so
went to the cinema club in nearby village. Fantastic! Film about a bloke dying of cancer! Didn't stay, then walked
back to the van past two funeral directors including bloody Ballard & Shortall!
On plus side it started with this bit of music I've never heard before.
Shoulda been me
Advice to the non existent readers of bloggoth who are not old farts. (The only two I know of are old farts!)
Memory gradually fades. Think twice before you throw anything away, no matter how unimportant it seems at the time,
it could be an important bit of your own history, summit to look back on when you're sitting drooling in the sun
outside the care home.
I never watch anything on TV these days except the news and cartoons like The Simpsons but decided to try New Tricks
tonight and it covered something from the cold war days when selected people were contacted with a view to them
helping to organise things in Britain in the aftermath of a nuclear armageddon. I got an invite to be part of such a
group *Note 1 and I ignored it, thought "how stupid" and chucked the letter.
Darn it! If only I had replied in the affirmative and the world had really been blown to smithereens I might have
been one of the world leaders today! If I had at least kept the letter it would have been a great bit of my personal
history. I've still got my post war ID and my Edward Heath petrol rationing book but they ain't the same.
*Presumably because I was one of the few in those days to get a first class honours degree.
PS: Having an M.Sc (distinction), being more successful and having a much bigger conservatory does not come close!
The Independent reports on "the dowry violence shaming Britain". Don't blame me sunshine. The shame lies with the minority communities who
bring this backward crap into Britain with them.
Of course our governments deserve some criticism for not outlawing this practice, especially given that
it is outlawed in India and Pakistan, two of the main nations from which we import it into the UK.
What our PC establishment constantly fails to grasp is that, when fear of appearing racist makes them turn a blind eye to
migrant and minority problems like dowries, black gang crime, honour killings, FGM, the cast system,
forced marriage, child beggars, abuse of children during witchcraft rituals or whatever, it is the members of those
minorities who feel the consequences.
Given the reality of "the wall of silence", tackling these things comes at an immense cost to the British taxpayer
of course, yet another cost which is never included in those estimates of the "benefits" of immigration. If our
governments deserve blame for these problems, the biggest share of it should be for their failure to have firm immigration
policies to ensure, as far as possible, that they never entered the UK in the first place.