I'm Sincere, Really I Am, Please Buy This Thing

And this month's pretentious tosser award goes to ....

James Veitch who, in an ad running on Youtube, peers into the camera whilst wearing glasses and then takes them off a second later as he mouths some meaningless gibberish about web design.

<sarcasm> Yeah, I'm rushing out to buy whatever it is he's selling because, let's face it ladies and gentlemen, a man who can take his glasses off whilst simultaneously doing a piece to camera is clearly someone who deserves our full confidence </sarcasm>.  And he can have this little bit of html for free.

A Present from Siberia

High pressure is settling over northern Europe and easterly winds are set to bring some severely cold days for the rest of this week. Once this would have been of some concern but with my commuting days behind me I can take relaxed (if not smug) attitude to it all whilst still thoroughly sympathising with those who must still go through it.

Here, courtesy of Twitter, BBC Travel and Jaymesh Patel, are a couple of snapshots to encapsulate this morning's fun and frolics for those attempting to reach central London from parts out west.

We had a little snow this morning in beautiful Ruislip, about enough to disturb any gnats strolling on the pavement and it's all gone now.

Where It's At

Journalism is a tough profession. Deadlines to be met, snarling sub-editors red-pencilling copy, pressures on cramming the text into the allotted two column inches. And perhaps tougher with sports reporting where a story must be filed quickly before it is yesterday's news and unwanted. So we can make allowances for the odd factual slip or infelicitous choice of phrase. But surely there can be no mercy for the following extract which appears in the current issue of the digital newspaper Essex Live (and if you are wondering why I should be perusing this particular publication, it is because on Saturday the football team I follow, Wealdstone FC, achieved a memorable victory over old rivals Billericay Town in the quarter-finals of the FA Trophy, blowing them off the pitch with a 5-2 scoreline, and I was keen to see what local opinion thought of the game).

The result ends Billericay's hopes of a cup final at Wembley Stadium where the final was scheduled to be played at

Ending a sentence with a preposition is not the crime against grammar that it once was but in this case I think an exception can be made. The "at" is redundant and makes the whole sentence clumsy.  Also the final will take place at Wembley. It hasn't been moved because now that Billericay are knocked out there's no need for such a prestigious venue. However my ire is aimed at the entire sub-clause in which the "at" sits. It seems pretty bloody obvious that, if Billericay hoped to play in the final at Wembley, then the final must surely have been scheduled there. It would be really strange to have read the following:

The result ends Billericay's hopes of a cup final at Wembley Stadium even though it is actually going to be played at Dagenham Dog Track¹

I don't know what the word "scheduled" brings to the party either. The final will be at Wembley Stadium. Or you could say the final is to be played at Wembley Stadium. It is more than just an entry on one of those wall-chart/calendar things that hang in the Personnel Manager's office recording holidays and the dates of the firm's outings. It goes well beyond blocking it out on the Google Calendar of the Events Organiser at Wembley. The Trophy Final has been held at Wembley ever since its inception and before that when it was the FA Amateur Cup. Wealdstone, I am proud to record, have won both events (in 1985 and 1966) and wouldn't it be splendid if they completed the hat-trick in 2018?

1. Insert any unlikely sounding venue of your choice if it makes you feel better

Del Trotter, Are You There?

Fans of the Peckham wide-boy whose exploits were documented in the TV series Only Fools and Horses will surely appreciate the following snippet.

In one of my other incarnations, I maintain a website dedicated to the cartoon character Bristow. From time to time collections of the cartoons, originally published in the Evening Standard, were issued in book form. The first one appeared in 1966 and, unusually, comprised redrawn full page versions of some of the original cartoons together with pictures specially drawn for the book to make more of a story. It is rarer than the other books but still not too difficult to find on Ebay and on second hand book search sites.

Recently I saw this book on Ebay. It was for sale for £1601.27. This compares with a "normal" second hand price of between £5 and £15. I assumed this must be a mistake, was tempted to send the seller a message¹ but, as Ebay doesn't make this possible until you bid for something, decided not to waste my time.

Today the following appeared in my web browser, as a targeted ad based no doubt on the fact that I had looked at the book.

I can save £1,375.70!!! according to Messrs. Ebay. Wow, with those savings I could take a week's holiday. I could buy a wardrobe of top clobber. I could... hold on....I'm not actually saving a bean. A book that was on sale for 100 times a reasonable price is now available at a dramatic price cut (but still some 15 times more than anyone with half a brain would pay). I am being invited to pay an unbelievably stupid price for a second hand book of which the seller can't even be bothered to supply a picture of the front cover but hey! it's cool because not long ago he wanted a price so ridiculous he was probably in line to become Regius Professor of Rip-offs and Scams at the Trotter Institute.

And if you're wondering what the front cover looks like, here it is and you don't have to cough up a single bean for the privilege of seeing it.

1. The message I would have sent? Something on the lines of "I don't know what you've been drinking / inhaling / injecting lately but I'll take a crate of it, OK?"

Lines on the Prolonged Departure of Jacob Zuma

Once again this column presents a piece of "verse" skilfully commenting on current events (this time in South Africa) whilst finding clever rhymes for the name of the subject. It is profoundly to be hoped that his successor, Mr Ramaphosa, does not, through either his style of government or the manner of his eventual leaving of office, merit such treatment.


The crowds had gathered in the streets.
They'd heard a tasty rumour.
Their eyes were fixed upon the news
That spelt the end of Zuma

Their mood was turning rather bad
What made for better humour?
'twas support that melted in the night
That did for Jacob Zuma.

It didn't go as fast as planned,
But stuck like an angry tumour.
Still in the end they got him out.
Goodbye, good riddance Zuma.