Red Leader: Enemy activity has been slight

I wake with a start

like a vampire at sunset

remembering I'm dead

and this stake

in my heart

may yet turn me to dust

but you never heard a single

word

i said

It always astonishes me how many forelock-tugging "squire knows best" Daily Mail-reading morons there are out there.

You should see them exploding on the Mail website in over-excited fury at the Lib/Dem idea of taxing properties worth over a million quid.

It's very funny. And very scary at the same time.

Personally, I could not care less about the Lib/Dems or any of their "policies."

But my point is this - as if anyone who lives in a million quid gaff would even bother to piss on those legions of knobbers writing in feverish support of them.

Not even if they were on fire.

Which they are.

With fury.

Haha.

This is a randomly-selected reader comment about the story published today: "If a person has a million pound house, he has worked hard for the money to buy it or inherited it of (sic) his hard working parents. Both Labour and the Liberals seem to want to punnish (sic) him for doing so by taxing him more. Totally unfair."

Yes guv'nor. If you have a million-pound house you must be a very hard working gentleman, a proper toff and no mistake.

Shine your shoes, guv'nor? And Gawd Bless you, sir.

Bloody peasants.

I hate them - thick as pig shit and maniacally determined to protect their right to be downtrodden and kept in their place by their "lords and masters."

Their "betters."

The "higher-ups."

This is an unfair generalisation, but in 1914, it was THAT attitude which persuaded millions to walk slowly into a hellstorm of German machine gun fire on the orders of some cretinous toffee-nosed upper-class red-tag General git from Eton.

Don't run, chaps. Don't show the Hun you're a-feared of them. Let us fix-bayonets and off we go. Erm. Unfortunately, I just have to get back to my commandeered chateau ten miles away.

Tally-ho!

PS: I KNOW a "million-pound house" isn't necessarily a Palladian mansion set in 5,000 acres of rolling grouse moors, but it doesn't matter.

All I can say is, I'm glad to see the back of it.

No, really.

That IS ALL I can say.

All I can manage to come up with is a tired cliche that is so familiar it's almost invisible.

For I've forgotten how to write; the working week has turned my brain into soup and the bit that used to help me string one word after the other has gone missing.

This should worry me, but it doesn't.

I welcome it, embrace it, snog it and stick my hand up its skirt.

Well. That's me done.

I've used up nearly all my words and the remaining few I have left in reserve I might need in a minute to attract the attention of the barman.

Oh dear. I see the dog has my best guitar in his mouth so, must fly.

Have a fab weekend.

I know I will.

*sobs*

Overlooked. Not in the sense of being left out or ignored.

Just - overlooked - as in, there's nowhere on this planet I can go for a single second without someone LOOKING at me, seeing me, watching me, hassling me, asking me stupid questions, or just plain being RIGHT NEXT TO ME.

Nowhere.

At work I am at the centre, for good or ill. Probably ill.

At home - HA! No chance. It's a warzone anyway so what hope of a solitary second to be, well, solitary?

In the street - Pfftright - some git in half-mast kecks always comes up and says something like: "You haven't responded, YOUNG MAN, to my amazingly excellent and incredibly BRILLIANT email highlighting the problem of this strange race of men in the trees that I alone have spotted. What do you have to say to THAT?"

Online: Oh Dear God. Let's not even go there.

I need a hideaway. Somewhere.

Yeah.

It seems so obvious now.

The only way out of this is MONEY.

I've never been a big fan of the pursuit of it before.

Which probably explains perfectly why I NEED IT NOW!

Any suggestions?

So here we go, flying headlong into the last bank holiday before X Mass, unless I've missed something and the uniquely sinister Lord Mandelson has unilaterally declared Halloween a public holiday too.

Anyway, I thought, I don't care. I'm WELL up for this one.

Barbecue Summer 2009, here I GO!

But then I was not especially encouraged by the Met office graphics on the BBC telly weather reports all day today.

They showed the entire British Isles basking in tropical heat - with the single exception of a flashing yellow graphic cloud depicting The Apocalyptic Storms of HELL hovering precisely over my ACTUAL house. Trufax, fax lovers.

Oh well.

What can you expect when you're ME?

Happy bank holiday.

Mr Simpkins, of Pontefract, West Yorkshire, said: 'The lemon and lime are locked in what appears to be a carnal encounter."

More here.

In so many ways.

I used to maintain this blog with an almost religious fervour - but without all the chanting, incense and Deity-ridden nonsense, obviously.

But as with so many things, I lapsed, and it has been poorly-neglected for many, many months. If not years.

But I think I've found my blogging mojo again.

I'm scraping off the lichen and chucking out the stinky tramps who've been dossing down here, cruelly abusing my lack of commitment.

So. A new look, for free off Bcuk - Ta.

A new and overwhelming drive, a new NEED to show off my brilliance like the rest of you. I'm going to try doing it all again.

This will probably not strike fear into the hearts of GuidoFawkes, Huffenstuff, Juzzzzy and their evil ilk.

But it has struck up something in me again; maybe it's as the darker nights set in and we finally, with a tear in our eyes, wave goodbye to this unforgettable barbecue summer.

Wevver.

I feel the need to get writing here again.

Cazart!

I suppose actions speak louder than words, and I could just have posted up more stuff and got on with it, keeping calm.

But this will spur me on in the many, many dark and empty-headed weeks ahead to

DO

IT!

Barack Obama has sent me an email.

An actual, proper email - not just some crap from "The Whitehouse," on no.

It's a response to my email to him about the extradition of asperger syndrome sufferer Gary McKinnon a few posts down from here.

Cool.

Never had an email off the President before. Never written to him before either.

Ho hum. Must try more often.

Rubychoo is FURIOUS she hasn't had a reply to her letter to him.

Hehehehe!

Nice to know he bothers.

Redleader - Friend to the President.

The venomous "Crime and Justice" campaign "blog" that goads the Madeleine McCann family no longer exists.

Aw shame.

Boo-hoo.