Island Parliament

Tony called back in the end, but he wasn't happy with plans to have our own parliament. He suggested it would be an incitement to war if we were to proceed with arrangements. The Plaid Cymru spokesman advised him that we no longer dealt with Westminster and went on to explain that we no longer require interference from London, a city that has about as much in common with our island as chalk does cheese. We are now officially a rogue state according to press reports. Whatever next?

And Bully's special prize!

Jim Bowen...what a smasher. He was on Radio Five Live bless him, and he hasn't lost the gift of the gab. He's got a stage-show and all sorts. Crazy swine.

Outcome

The island has a massive Plaid Cymru majority this morning, winning nearly all the seats at our soon to be completed parliament. The Greens will supply several bodies of their own as a shadow bench. Out on the mainland, Tony has got himself another term. We'll expect to hear from him later today.

Food

Today I have been taking notes from a Pakistani lady on the preparation of food. I may dabble later and attempt a chapati. The world is so colourful today!

Words, that's all...

I decided to settle for a less direct answer to the Starbucks problem and had a persuasive chat with the store Manager. He has decided (of his own volition) to leave the island and never come back. He even insisted that he board up the shop, but I said it would be unnecessary. I took the keys and passed them on to Emlyn. Should he wish to relocate to the unoccupied building he can do so, on the proviso he removes the shit interior first. Homogenisation needs to be stymied.

Corporate trash

A Starbucks has opened on the island. I went there to admire the expert 'identikit' decor and drink what was, surprisingly, a damned good coffee. The coffee was a fresh filter mind you, so it would have been hard to spoil it. Saying that, seeing the staff they have, any number of things might have gone wrong.

Why is everything so fucking expensive in their shops? And why is all the coffee served in such huge fucking cups? We may have to firebomb the place tonight...and safeguard old Emlyn's coffee shop on the Low Street. If he closed, his whole family would be screwed.

Swiss side

There was a debate about suicide on Radio 5 yesterday. A majority of listeners suggested that people who took their own lives were selfish as they had no forethought of the consequences of their actions and the grief it could cause. In some circumstances others died directly as a result of suicide and suicide attempts. An interesting moral affair isn't it, trying to blame a dead person as responsible for other lives lost! Half-jokingly - to a colleague - I suggested booths be installed in certain places around the UK where seriously suicidal people could go to kill themselves after going through a set of questions and interrogations and fulfilling certain criterion. Then it can be done in a specific, readied room with them pressing a button. It's their choice still and at least searching questions are asked and people are perhaps forced to make piece and notify the authorities of what they are doing. Some people simply don't want to live, poor bastards.

As a disclaimer I'd like to say I'm not the person to offer wisdom about this as I know fuck all about people's minds. I ain't quite pompous enough to think otherwise. I'm just talking bollocks.

Market scrawlings

I was selling my wares at the local market earlier, when the urge came upon me to deposit two days of waste into a convenient public toilet-pan. Whilst forcing out a particularly large stool I espied, on the back of the door, lewd sexual remarks of the homosexual kind, mostly pertaining to meeting for good old-fashioned cock action.

Fair play it ain't my bag, but why do they choose such places to advertise and communicate? Where's the romance? Poor buggers.

Two

I've not had a single poo in days that number three or two.

I really need to go.

Underworld

One of the Brothers sneaked a film into the complex last night, a dark Gothic bloodfest called Underworld. I felt strangely drawn to the whole affair, and I may yet wrangle a night out at the Goth club on the island (next to the Post Office). My garb is probably quite acceptable in an ironic way, so getting in should be a piece of piss.

A word of encouragement to the boy Matthew Stevens as well, the young Welsh snooker player in the finals at The Crucible:

Keep your focus and play the way you do in practice. Fluidity and a relaxed demeanour is what you need to finally lift this snooker jinx. Our prayers are with you.

Charity? A fiddle, surely...

Having seen my Taid recently, I have come to a startling conclusion. We discussed the issue of charities and the organisations that front them. He was quick to point out that charities, like most other companies, are bent.

He meant, of course, that they are as crooked as any other money-making organisation in a capitalist world. His point is that people still have to be paid for the work at the top of the charity organisations. Therefore, the system is open to abuse.

I then got to thinking about charities. What if they were all interlinked at the highest level under one umbrella organisation? Think of the money that is pumped into charities by well-meaning folk year by year. What if only some the contributions were utilised...and the rest was kept to fund sinister inter-governmental plots? Think of the money that gets donated to political parties as it is...and is the vetting of such bodies regulated fully?

This is, of course, my mind going walkabout. However, I'll only give my cash to that Scottish Big Issue vendor from here on in. He's a chirpy fellow!