Some may see it in bad taste. Others may have fun going round the neighborhood to see who has the best lit up garden, house or roof. Personally I like the ones where the reindeer or jumping into the sky with Santa standing at the reigns.

Well at least all that yearly penny pinching on fuel savings went to a good cause then - if you consider having a competition with the neigbors on the best holiday season light show a good cause. I think so its very considerate to offer free entertainment of such interesting lit up objects that can be seen across the neighborhood. Some even come with sound effects! Its truly amazing what can be done with a bit of electricity and showmanship.

Its probably still important to make sure one chooses cost efficicient lighting that has been tested and is CE certified. This will not only lower the electric bill it will also make sure the lights are safe and don’t blow out and cause the whole streets electricity to blow out.

However if this does happen it will save a lot of fuel and electricity for the whole neighborhood until power is reinstated. Although it might not be appreciated its a sure fire way to reduce electricity costs and a waste of resources this time of year.

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I am not sorry for her because in the video she makes some very stupid comments about being an aristocratic almost as if she feels she is better than anyone else. She does not regret doing what she did and almost wants to suggest that her financial troubles were the reason for doing it. How arrogant can one person be, really.

She seems to be desperate after she got separated from the prince. This is because even though she was loved by many in her glory days people have now come to hate her for the things she has done in the recent past. Her name is now atop the headlines for all the wrong reasons and it seems she does not want to change this at all. It is sad that even her daughter whom she left when she was twelve does not even like her. Because she is educated and has worked with PR and publishing firms she should stop whining get a job and move on with her life

I also do not feel sorry for her because when she first came to the lime light she was being compared to Princess Diana and she was quite the opposite of her where Diana was serene and elegant whereas she was a rabble rouser. She should know how to act better because of her status and title. Just put on any one of your silk kaftans Duchess and sit back and live within your means. You are lucky you are not being charged with extortion.

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BBQ season is upon us. Alcohol and summer weather makes us all talk about things which nobody really cares about but seem slightly intriguing (like Calf implants and why you don’t see baby pigeons) and the air smells of badly over-done meat cooked with that loveable boring quality (no sauces or relish; if there is salad then you can bet it’ll consist of lettuce and tomatoes and that’s about it) that us British people have been forever known for.

And there, amongst the smells, is the smell of vegetarianism, of course. It’s hiding, so you won’t detect it right away, but believe me, if you try hard enough then you’ll see exactly what I mean–

Now, I have no problem with vegetarianism. In fact, I happen to think that not eating the flesh of other animals is the way to go.

But let’s get one things straight: if you think that eating animal flesh is so wrong, vegetarians, why model your vegetarian ‘meat’ upon that which you find so disgusting?

I’m talking about vegetarian burgers and sausages of course, but there are more offenders and more types being produced all the time, ALL which look exactly the same as the real meat originals. Vegetarian kebabs, vegetarian steaks–where will the copy-catting end? All I am saying is this: get your own style of shaped meat, please! Don’t say that our meat is a terrible thing and then model your own upon ours!

This has caused a few disputes among me and my friends. Often I’ll be standing around thinking I am surrounded by meat lovers, and the next I will be coming to terms with the fact that every single meat thing is in fact a fake meat thing. Copied down to the finest detail!

People, sort it out!

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It’s strange how we come up with nicknames for one another, isn’t it? And it will often begin with our parents. Some people have a nickname that has stuck with them right since being a baby! It makes you wonder why parents bother to give their children a proper name in the first place sometimes, doesn’t it?

If your mum and dad don’t call you by an alternative name, then you can be sure to get a new title once you start school! I think every child will get called by some nickname or other. The only problem is that some of them are pretty cruel. And if this type of name sticks then it really is a bummer! But, hopefully, you will end up with some way-cool name that people just insist on using.

But we all have silly names for certain people. A huge amount of us will call our girlfriend, boyfriend, wife or husband by a name we have made up. I wonder why this is. And I’m not talking about bog standard stuff like hun, lover, sugar or diddums either; so many of us will come up with something far more original than that. It can all start off because of something really silly, like your girlfriend asking you to buy her some special moisturizer for acne whilst you’re in town. Because you find it amusing, you will proceed to call her ‘Pimple’ for many years to come!

It’s amusing when you try to work out how certain people got their nickname to begin with. Sometimes it’s obvious and sometimes it’s not.

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As a child there were things you did and didn’t do. For example, if you were a boy you didn’t bring a designer beach bag to school. You also didn’t go over to the other side of the school if you didn’t belong there (we were divided in to two ‘bands’ and it was best to stay with people from your band or risk a thrashing). You also DID NOT do your shoe-laces up properly. This was the kiss of social death. Doing them up properly was exactly the same as going up to a bigger boy and saying “I’ll give you five pounds and you can smash my face in?”

Because of this everyone walked about with untied laces dragging on the floor. Don’t ask me why, but some law of cool said that walking about like this made you look ‘hard’. So that was what we all did. Until a new boy arrived one day, flaunting the shoe-laces rule in front of everyone–

We all stared at him as he walked down through the gates. Who was this maniac? People whispered. Who would dare do such a dangerous, moronic and downright stupid thing!?

But something happened, something unexpected. The boy went straight to a bigger boy and said “how do you like that then, it’s Velcro!”

Velcro? We had never heard of such a thing: that was when we all realized–his shoes had no laces–no laces and they still stayed on!

We had been imagining his neatly tied laces!

That was the day that Velcro arrived at our school. After that nobody had to worry about the shoe-lace rule ever again.

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I love four things in life: chocolate, books, e-marketing (it’s my job) and birds (ones that fly and ones that don’t). I love the blue tits, the birds of prey and the swans, even though my Nan does insist that they break people’s arms for no good reason. But there is one bird that I love that my Nan despises above all else: it is the evil Jackdaw, of course. The crow-like bird that hangs from the bird-feeder in her garden and nicks all the grain.

Now, there’s no point arguing with my Nan. You can leave your “It’s a bird feeder, so why is it in the wrong?” argument at home and you can forget about educating her on the fact that although the Jackdaw looks like a crow, it actually isn’t one. Her point is this: it’s in the crow family and therefore it is a nuisance. There’s just no talking to her as far as this creature is concerned.

I keep my love and admiration for the Jackdaw buried and hidden at all times, of course. It’s tough, but it’s the only way. Whenever I find myself about to open my mouth and say “Look at its lovely silvery head!” I instead must say “horrible evil thing, be gone!” It’s a sad state of affairs but it is the way it is. I can hack it, though. Every now and again the Jackdaws look at me with their beady little eyes and can see I’m on their side. That’s good enough for me.

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Bring this lewd hypocrisy up with a hardcore vegetable lover and you have a problem on your hands: the mere mention of it can turn a peaceful individual in to a Rambo-esque fanatic hellbent on protecting his / her cause. And no matter how many vegetarians I ask, nobody ever has a real answer, which leaves me with this: my theory is that vegetarians secretly hark back to the golden days of meat-eating old. In other words, the manufacturers make them look like sausages and burgers to appeal to the meat-eater buried deep within. Which obviously isn’t something I tend to bring up after a vegetarian has shown me his / her violent tendencies–

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There are only two kinds of people in this world: those who dare to BBQ throughout the year, regardless of the conditions being ideal or not, and the other—those who only BBQ when it is hot outside, those who must learn the error of their ways. Otherwise known as the pretenders. They don’t care about the real morals of BBQing, you see, they only care about looking like BBQers. It’s a blight on our society which needs to be controlled and moderated so much more than it is. Thanks to the BBQ pretenders there are children up and down the country who believe that a BBQ can only be celebrated for two pathetic months every year, when the temperature is at an all-time high! It is thanks to the pretenders that these children grow in to adults with an intense desire to look down upon those real BBQers who BBQ all the year round. If you’re reading this and shaking your head with the knowledge that you have done wrong then I suggest you look yourself in the mirror and see what you find!

Now I can breathe.

Being hardcore is not easy, though. This is so much more than fighting a simple revolution. We are fighting for a cause no less great than racism, sexism, and everything else serious enough to end in ism (I said ism, not asm). It is not a battle that can be won on our own, people, we need to unite. So when you see people turning their noses up because it’s November, freezing cold and atrocious weather conditions, please voice your concern with rage and gusto: say “I want my meat and I want it now, if that’s OK with you dear pretender?” With language like that we can have the world we deserve, for us and our children!

On a completely different topic I am aiming to sort out something for my best friend as a gift. When I was having a chat with her the other night she said that she would like a new set of pink gore running wear. Do any of you know of a place that sells this in London? And also, just because I am rather curious now, what is the difference between gore and not-gore?

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It all started one day in Dad’s office. He had spreadsheets up on his screen and was trying to show me how great they were. This was a nightmare of course! I refused to come closer to the screen, and Dad persisted trying to show me, thinking me to be having a lark. That was when the numbers on the screen organized themselves in to an evil looking face. The face stared at me and that was it: spreadsheet phobia for life! How very embarrassing–

My phobia lay dormant for years, as a child has little need to be near or deal with spreadsheets. But then, as I knew it would, it reared its head at college: the lesson was I.T. The objective? To learn how to use spreadsheets–

I left that lesson after fifteen minutes, not knowing what to do. For years it remained that way, until a friend took me to one side asked what was wrong. I told him and he laughed, but there was something odd about it: he was looking at me very strangely. That was when he confessed his fear of mizuno running shoes, saying that he never thought he would be able to tell anyone, and what a relief it was. After that day I started to try and get on with spreadsheets. It was much easier than I thought, thanks to my friend having even more a ridiculous phobia than me.

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As Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, the first duty I would conduct is to eliminate all opposition. For me to rule under my benevolent velvet-gloved iron fist, I need no competition and no whining in my ear. A quick Soviet style purge is required. The title of Prime Minister would still exist, but in a different form.

Once the ugly business is out of the way, I can now concentrate on making not only my country better, but the world as well. I would also begin by lowering my own salary to a reasonable sum. I don’t need a decadent lifestyle, but more importantly I want to lead by example and feel equal to those that I govern.

In my attempts to be an altruistic leader, I would concentrate my efforts on those in my nation that are less fortunate than others. The poor would be housed, clothed, and employed. Education is now available equally for all (of course intelligence and diligence to one’s studies is still the defining criteria for education). I would insist that everyone look into responsible finances and home equity release. No longer will there be the disgustingly rich, and the wretchedly poor.

No longer would my people be fighting amongst themselves. No longer would they argue Liberalism versus Conservatism, for neither would exist. I will bring the two together, uniting the people to solve the nations (and the world’s) problems as a nation instead of frightened political leaders buckling to the demands of their lobbyists.

I am sure my ideas will not be welcomed by all, and that is when the velvet glove comes off. The iron fist will stamp out any nay saying and partisan politics. Those that don’t want my rule won’t have it, while those that want my rule will see the true beauty of what a government can offer when they are not concerned with their own Machiavellian power.

To sum up, I will rule benevolently over those who are productive members of society, who look after each other and care about the state of the nation. I shall rule malevolently over those who oppose equality and those who seek personal gain at the expense of another. Hmmm maybe I should become King!

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