A man was arrested today after what is thought to be a serious terrorist attack on Bobbin Hood International Airport.
We understand a man was seen inflating a spent crisp packet before then going on to pop the device.
The attack led to the closure of the airport, and although no serious casualties were reported, early eye witness accounts indicate "several people may have been startled".
A spokesman for Bobbin Hood Airport issued the following statement:
"It is our belief that some time between 09:45 and 10:15 an as yet identified man was observed inflating an empty packet of undetermined corn-based snacks before exploding the device between the palms of his hands"
Later this morning amateur video footage emerged showing the assailant munching on what we now believe to be a packet of 'Scampi Fries'. Upon finishing the snack he can be seen to raise the bag to his face in order to inflate it. He then proceeds to bust the bag causing a loud 'popping' sound. You can see members of the public closest to the blast being slightly startled as the device is detonated.
Security services immediately apprehended the man and a statement has been issued.
"We now have the man in custody and he is currently being questioned with the hope we can determine the motive for the attack. We treat these bag poppings very seriously, it's a miracle no one was more seriously startled"
A CPS spokesman also confirmed "This individual will feel the full wrath of the UK justice system, no resources will be spared"
***********************************
OK, so the above news article is clearly fabricated and indeed totally ridiculous, however it is not a million miles away from what is happening out there in the real world right now.
Unless you've been in a nuclear bunker (or a CPS judge's house) for the past few months you will be aware of the #TwitterJokeTrial and the fact that an appeal against the conviction of Paul Chambers has just been overturned in court.
But if you have, here is a link to the story: Twitter Joke Trial
Long story short, Paul posted a joke on his Twitter feed about blowing up the airport, 4 days later a member of the airport staff found it by doing a random search on Twitter, reported it to the police, and Paul was arrested.
Anyone who knows Paul through the site or even indeed just reads the comment in context can see it is no more than a flippant remark at worse. Yet this remark, and the subsequent prosecution, has destroyed a promising career and made it virtually impossible for him to find a new job.
At the appeal Judge Davies described the Tweet as "menacing in its content and obviously so. It could not be more clear. Any ordinary person reading this would see it in that way and be alarmed."
Although popular opinion might suggest otherwise, I like to consider myself an 'ordinary person' and I can assure you, upon this reading the Tweet I was neither menaced or alarmed by it's content. I took it exactly as it was meant, just an fictional articulation of the frustration felt by Paul at the prospect of not being able to fly to Northern Ireland to meet his now girlfriend.
People use Twitter in different ways. For many, myself included, it is just a medium which allows thoughts to spill from their head out into the digital ether. It's a release, better out than in as they say. For me the whole joy of tweeting is the spontaneity of the experience, if I have to start considering and censoring my Tweets then it defeats the object. At the end of the day I'm not forcing people to read my ramblings and vented frustrations, if they don't like it they can unfollow, block, or dare I suggest...stop reading!
The thing that concerns me most about this whole affair is, if this judgement stands, where does it stop?
I overheard a lady on the train this week saying "I'm going to kill my husband when I get home". Should I have been frozen with dread to be sat so close to a crazed killer? Should I have called the police so she could be apprehended at the next stop?
And lads, next time you are out for a few beers in a crowded pub and are feeling a bit peckish, think vary carefully before uttering the words "I could murder an Indian".
Sounds silly doesn't it,and that's exactly what it is, silly. Yet the CPS persist and Paul's conviction stands, for now at least anyway.
Let us hope in the end common sense will prevail.
If you have been affected by the issues raised in this Blog you can find details of how to make a donation to the #TwitterJokeTrial fund at: Joke Trial Fund
Friday, 12 November 2010
Friday, 15 October 2010
Train of thought
"What the hell am I going to write about?"
This was the question I asked myself whilst sat on the train, heading home at the end of yet another wholly uneventful day.
Gazing out at the blurred landscape through a ran-splattered window offered little inspiration, so I drag myself away from my musings for a few seconds to see if I had a clear line of sight to 'Gorgeous Train Lady'
I do not.
She's sat a few seats in front of me, facing me, but my view is obscured by a forest of hairstyles belonging to fellow commuters. I catch a brief glimpse of her centre parting as one of the hairstyles is caught off guard by an explosive cough...but that's my lot.
I first spotted Gorgeous Train Lady (from herein referred to as GTL) a year or so ago. The daily commute has no shortage of attractive souls to distract the eye and the mind, but I barely give them a second thought these days. GTL however, was different. There was something about her, something I cant distil or explain, but something none the less.
Of course I'll never speak to her, oh no that's not how I do things. I may risk the occasional fleeting moment of eye contact, but even that can lead to disappointment, if my gaze is not met with similar sentiment, or even worse...horror of horrors...I see deep in those pale eyes the seed of disgust.
I'm jerked back into the carriage by the tonnes of iron which surround me, it shudders as it enters the dark gape of tunnel. Looking around I see silent conversations, silent because I'm listening to my ipod. As my ears a denied the content of these exchanges my eyes take over, carefully reading each expression.
My seat is comfortable, and most importantly free of moisture (a subtle swipe of the hand before being seated is essential on public transport). The seat next to me lies empty, an advantage of being a scruffy smoker with paedophillic facial hair. Nothing worse than being cramped in a seat next to a 'seat hog', every stroke of their finger on their mobile phone screen delivering a painful jab into my ribs.
Most trains have a unique fug, one which can punch it's way through to my smoke damaged nasal receptors. Usually a heady combination of halitosis, BO, perfume, and the occasional hint of turd. But not this one, not today, this train is eerily fug free, again this pleases me.
I allow my eyes to wander around the carriage again and they fall on a cocky shaven-headed bloke, actually cocky isn't a fair description, bit too heavy on the letters...cock...cock is a far more accurate accolade. Now don't go berating me for being judgemental, books by their covers and all that. I know this man is a cock because I have encountered him many times before, usually brushing me aside as he dashes off the train to get to wherever he's going. I often assume he must have a human kidney in his pocket, and those vital few seconds he saves by barging through a sea of passengers could mean the difference between life or deaf to a poor little orphan boy...little orphan boy Timmy "Little Timmy needs a new kidney and there is not a second to spare!"
I've held my gaze too long, and my face has lapsed into an involuntary scowl, he's noticed and is returning the favour with a scowl of his own, not as impressive as mine I'll wager (I scowl in my sleep), but a scowl none the less. How to get out of this one? A cough maybe, let my eyelids fall as if in a drowsy stupor? In the end I opt for the 'sneer and window stare', that way I get to back down but still have the final word...so to speak.
I see him again on the way home, the light catches a lawn of fiery stubble on his chin...
..he is an angry ginger in denial.
This was the question I asked myself whilst sat on the train, heading home at the end of yet another wholly uneventful day.
Gazing out at the blurred landscape through a ran-splattered window offered little inspiration, so I drag myself away from my musings for a few seconds to see if I had a clear line of sight to 'Gorgeous Train Lady'
I do not.
She's sat a few seats in front of me, facing me, but my view is obscured by a forest of hairstyles belonging to fellow commuters. I catch a brief glimpse of her centre parting as one of the hairstyles is caught off guard by an explosive cough...but that's my lot.
I first spotted Gorgeous Train Lady (from herein referred to as GTL) a year or so ago. The daily commute has no shortage of attractive souls to distract the eye and the mind, but I barely give them a second thought these days. GTL however, was different. There was something about her, something I cant distil or explain, but something none the less.
Of course I'll never speak to her, oh no that's not how I do things. I may risk the occasional fleeting moment of eye contact, but even that can lead to disappointment, if my gaze is not met with similar sentiment, or even worse...horror of horrors...I see deep in those pale eyes the seed of disgust.
I'm jerked back into the carriage by the tonnes of iron which surround me, it shudders as it enters the dark gape of tunnel. Looking around I see silent conversations, silent because I'm listening to my ipod. As my ears a denied the content of these exchanges my eyes take over, carefully reading each expression.
My seat is comfortable, and most importantly free of moisture (a subtle swipe of the hand before being seated is essential on public transport). The seat next to me lies empty, an advantage of being a scruffy smoker with paedophillic facial hair. Nothing worse than being cramped in a seat next to a 'seat hog', every stroke of their finger on their mobile phone screen delivering a painful jab into my ribs.
Most trains have a unique fug, one which can punch it's way through to my smoke damaged nasal receptors. Usually a heady combination of halitosis, BO, perfume, and the occasional hint of turd. But not this one, not today, this train is eerily fug free, again this pleases me.
I allow my eyes to wander around the carriage again and they fall on a cocky shaven-headed bloke, actually cocky isn't a fair description, bit too heavy on the letters...cock...cock is a far more accurate accolade. Now don't go berating me for being judgemental, books by their covers and all that. I know this man is a cock because I have encountered him many times before, usually brushing me aside as he dashes off the train to get to wherever he's going. I often assume he must have a human kidney in his pocket, and those vital few seconds he saves by barging through a sea of passengers could mean the difference between life or deaf to a poor little orphan boy...little orphan boy Timmy "Little Timmy needs a new kidney and there is not a second to spare!"
I've held my gaze too long, and my face has lapsed into an involuntary scowl, he's noticed and is returning the favour with a scowl of his own, not as impressive as mine I'll wager (I scowl in my sleep), but a scowl none the less. How to get out of this one? A cough maybe, let my eyelids fall as if in a drowsy stupor? In the end I opt for the 'sneer and window stare', that way I get to back down but still have the final word...so to speak.
I see him again on the way home, the light catches a lawn of fiery stubble on his chin...
..he is an angry ginger in denial.
Friday, 8 October 2010
So we meet again...
So here I am, blogging again, back by popular demand!
Well I say popular demand, in truth two, maybe three people have expressed a desire to read my ramblings again. It baffles me as to why. But hey, I not complaining I enjoy writing. It's just sometimes it's hard, not the writing bit, the writing bit is fairly easy, its the finding stuff to write about.
Truth is...not a lot goes on in my life, and what does go on is fairly dull. Sure, I can pad it out a bit, use a bit of creative license, but you can only polish a turd so much. Be too eager, vigorous with the brush and you're left not with a shiny coprolite, but with a gooey brown mess on your hands and a bit of explaining to do.
So why did I stop before?
There are a few answers to that question.
Firstly, and probably most significantly, I'm lazy, very lazy. Like I mentioned before, writing takes effort, and effort can be easily avoided. Why spend hours wracking my brains for something to write, when I can just lay on my beloved sofa and soak up whatever shite the tellybox chooses to spray in my direction.
Secondly...Twitter. Twitter gives me instant access to vent my frustrations and thoughts, why bottle it up and keep the best bits for a once weekly feature, when I can blurt out 24-7 any old crap I choose to whenever I like. Sure most of it's chaff, but every now and then there will be the odd grain of wheat tucked in there too.
Lastly, as I touched on before, my life is incredibly dull, mostly my own doing but what chance do I have with such a predisposition to chronic laziness and loafing. And although I'm relatively content...no...resigned to the dullness of life, it doesn't really make good reading.
But I'm back now and I'll do my best to keep you entertained. Failing that I'm sure I pick up a few readers who will linger for the 'car crash' factor, just popping in now and then to look on in awe and disgust at the text which befalls their eyes.
Anyway that's more than enough for now. Don't want to overdo it, peak too soon, fly too close to the sun etc etc.
Also I want a drink.
Ta Ta for now
Stoaty X
Well I say popular demand, in truth two, maybe three people have expressed a desire to read my ramblings again. It baffles me as to why. But hey, I not complaining I enjoy writing. It's just sometimes it's hard, not the writing bit, the writing bit is fairly easy, its the finding stuff to write about.
Truth is...not a lot goes on in my life, and what does go on is fairly dull. Sure, I can pad it out a bit, use a bit of creative license, but you can only polish a turd so much. Be too eager, vigorous with the brush and you're left not with a shiny coprolite, but with a gooey brown mess on your hands and a bit of explaining to do.
So why did I stop before?
There are a few answers to that question.
Firstly, and probably most significantly, I'm lazy, very lazy. Like I mentioned before, writing takes effort, and effort can be easily avoided. Why spend hours wracking my brains for something to write, when I can just lay on my beloved sofa and soak up whatever shite the tellybox chooses to spray in my direction.
Secondly...Twitter. Twitter gives me instant access to vent my frustrations and thoughts, why bottle it up and keep the best bits for a once weekly feature, when I can blurt out 24-7 any old crap I choose to whenever I like. Sure most of it's chaff, but every now and then there will be the odd grain of wheat tucked in there too.
Lastly, as I touched on before, my life is incredibly dull, mostly my own doing but what chance do I have with such a predisposition to chronic laziness and loafing. And although I'm relatively content...no...resigned to the dullness of life, it doesn't really make good reading.
But I'm back now and I'll do my best to keep you entertained. Failing that I'm sure I pick up a few readers who will linger for the 'car crash' factor, just popping in now and then to look on in awe and disgust at the text which befalls their eyes.
Anyway that's more than enough for now. Don't want to overdo it, peak too soon, fly too close to the sun etc etc.
Also I want a drink.
Ta Ta for now
Stoaty X
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