I asked for an engine. I take it all back.
Twelve years ago I laid down a RepressedBritRule™: no grown man on a scooter unless he straps an engine to it. They did it. Several thousand of them. In Surbiton.
An unread writer, unwatched actor, unseen artist & unheard singer. Just another moaning, insignificant old git on the internet!
I prefer to write from personal experience and try not to get too serious about stuff. I acknowledge my stupidity and selfishness whilst at the same time absolutely relying on the apparent stupidity and selfishness of others to inspire topics for my often ill-informed and entirely jaded and cynical opinions.
My meanderings have reached literally 10s of people across the world. I feel heard.
Now leaving 50 behind me all too rapidly, I’m stuck in England (that’s the bit south of Scotland) and finding the world just a bit not entirely to my liking.
So I’ll be here to rant on all the things I deem rant-worthy and to praise the very few things I deem worthy of praise.
I’ll have a go at Life, the Universe and Everything all the while trying to remember that Douglas Adams has the copyright on that and that The Girlfriend v2.0 has just as sharp teeth, strong nails and handy right hook as v1.0
I hope you find my outpourings funny or at least readable.
If you do then please X/Tweet, Facebook, Insta, or whatever so I become widely read, hugely popular and pick up an astonishing publishing deal that’ll keep me in yachts and strong drink in my old age.
If you don’t, then please just quietly move on to something that interests you.
Twelve years ago I laid down a RepressedBritRule™: no grown man on a scooter unless he straps an engine to it. They did it. Several thousand of them. In Surbiton.
Everyone agrees the NHS is broken. Nobody is allowed to say which bit. So let’s say it.
How our national allergy to ambition is screwing us on the global stage