What the...?

If it wasn’t so offensive, the party political broadcast by the British National Party the other night would have been hilarious. The opening shot is of the leader of the party sat at a desk with a book case behind him – was this shot on location at the ‘home office’ area at IKEA? Nasty Nick looked his normal manic self and, whatever you think of his unfashionable politics you had to admire his sporting of an unfashionable suit – it takes a certain something to appear before the nation, asking for your vote, wearing a polyester blend.

Of particular interest was the picture of Churchill behind the buffoon frothing about immigration. Was I alone in thinking that Churchill was going to actually come out of the picture, like the girl in ‘the Ring’, and throttle the tinpot bastard addressing the camera while muttering ‘narzzzzzzzzzi’?

As for the hilarity – well, whoever provided the BNP with the clips for their ‘WWII’ montage obviously had a sense of humour. The message of the broadcast was ‘we fought against Europe and now Britain is being taken over by people who are not British’. The soldiers hitting the beach in the newsreel footage were Americans. The spitfire pictured was probably flown by a Pole.

But by far my favourite bit was the interviews with people on the streets. This is the British national party, right? So why were all the interviews with people from Essex?

I suggest it’s because outside of England, nobody in their right mind would even think about voting for fascists. The Welsh are too busy being anti-English and the Scots and Irish are far too busy with sectarian violence to even bother about nationalities.

Nocturnal wanderings

The B3TA QOTW this week is ‘ever had an adventure sleepwalking?’ In the usual fashion, the question has been interpreted just widely enough to ensure that replies are offensive but on topic.

What’s startling is the number of stories from men about nocturnal unconscious peeing in wardrobes. It’s a bloody epidemic. Indeed it seems to be so common an occurrence that I’m amazed Mr Tumnus was not described on his first appearance as ‘dripping wet and reeking of piss’.

If anyone from Ikea reads the messageboards then I imagine in a few months time their range of bedroom furniture will include the ‘Piskabinet’, a wardrobe with a pressure sensor on the floor that, on sensing the presence of an unconscious inebriated loon stepping onto it, opens a compartment containing a galvanised bucket with an inch of bleach in the bottom.

It’s bad enough when you pee in your own wardrobe but a lot of the stories seem to be about peeing in the wardrobes of others. Actually, given a choice this seems to be a sensible option but it does mean that there may also be a market for the Piskabinetdelux which, on sensing moisture on the floor of the wardrobe, opens the trapdoor to the crocodile pit. The only problem with this approach is the health and safety loops through which you have to jump to get planning permission for a crocodile pit these days.

A friend of mine has actually peed in a wardrobe. In fact I think he’s done it twice. In his defence he was drunk and asleep both times (can you be drunk and asleep?). the first time it happened he was in his very-soon-to-be-ex girlfriend’s bedroom. Actually I think the episode may have started the countdown clock on her ex status. Maybe he was trying to engineer a break-up and this was a cry for help - although I would have thought that the actual cry for help was made when he came to standing upright in a wooden box in the pitch darkness up to his ankles in urine.

The second time was in a posh hotel’s wardrobe. This was a sturdy oak job and the hotel was so posh it probably came with its own toilet attendant sitting in the corner to spritz you with scent afterwards. The fact that he’s still married to the lady he was sharing the room with at the time points either to her tolerance or her amusement at the look on his face when he pulled on his anorak the next morning, the pocket of which he had directed most of the stream into.

God knows it could be worse, you could wake up in a wardrobe your unconscious mind thought was a cubical, in a crouching position, reaching for the loo roll and wondering where the hell that vile smell is coming from.