Holiday 2012: Part 2–Day 4 Wall of Corn


Launceston CastleFollowing the mad tour of the east coast of Devon we decided to take a trip inland. Our guide books told us of the wonders of Cornwall and our brief trip across the Taymar on Tuesday showed us that Cornwall was closer than we thought.

But where to go were either of us hadn’t been before? Our first thought was “Oooh where does FJ Warren live? She’s Cornish. But the thought of a another long drive was not appealing. Instead we peeked at the maps and guidebooks and settled on Launceston.

Launceston Castle

According to the guidebooks, Launceston was the ancient Cornish capital. It had a castle, a steam train and other interesting things like cider farms on route. So it seemed like the natural choice. So once more across the Taymar we went noting for the second time that week that people are charged to leave Cornwall and not go in.

Launceston is…boring. Tatty around the edges. Pretty. But boring. After a brief 10 minute walk it appeared we had done Launceston. So we tootled up to the castle to have mooch there. But at £7 each to go and look around some crumbling ruins we thought £14 would be better spent on cake or fun. So way ahead of planned schedule we buggered off back to the car and went to see where else we could get to.

The Bodmin Moor of my childhood was not the Bodmin Moor of my middle age. Either there has been a new road built across the moor in the 30 or so years since my last visit or my dad took us across Bodmin Moor along some weird unmarked B road. So much so, by the time we had reached Bodmin I was like “Oh, we’re here already”.

Bodmin Steam Railway @ Bodmin GeneralBodmin was interesting. Well what we saw through the car windows. But with only shops and more money wanting to be spent we thought another stop mooching round a provincial town was not on the cards. So when the only place to park for free was up a side street alongside Bodmin General, part of the Bodmin Steam Railway, we thought “But a steam train ride might be fun!”

So that’s what we did. We bought 2 tickets to Boscarne and boarded the chuffing chuffer.

It was fun!

IMG_0550Badger enjoyed it too!


When we returned we stopped for a cream tea.

Full of cake and after a bit of geocaching, we hopped back into the car and headed toward Polperro via Lostwithiel. Lostwithiel is described as the Medieval Capital of Cornwall. Again, it was quaint, children were playing in the river and shops seemed open.

One thing we had noticed during our time in the Southwest was that everyone seemed to be so miserable. Shop keepers and ice cream van men were no exception. I can only imagine that the misery was down to the lack of boobs on display. Cornwall needs more boobs. Or cake. Or maybe just a tickle.

PolperroAnyway, before misery got a grip, we headed off again, this time to Polperro. My nan and granddad visited Polperro when they were alive. I remember leafing through their photograph album at the pretty houses and narrow streets. Indeed it was. Narrow, quaint, overpriced and packed with tourists. Having been fleeced £4 for parking we wandered into the village to try and find somewhere to eat. We were a bit early and all the restaurants seemed to do nice fish dishes. Sadly none were open until half an hour after our parking expired and I didn’t feel like paying a further £4-£8 just to stuff my face. Our minds were made up by the time we had reached the quayside that we would head off to Looe and see if there was any other nice places to eat instead.

But before we could turn round and make our way back, a woman offered us a boat ride along the coast. How could we refuse?

So that’s what we did.

looeOn our return we made our way back through the tourists to the car and drove off to Looe. Looe reminded me of Skegness without the wind amusement arcades or Victoriana. It was heaving with tourists of the lower orders. Police men, our first since leaving the midlands, were talking to shouty drunk youths. Haggard teen mothers were dragging their screeching urchins. Young girls with more tattoos and piercings than a freak show jostled with loud shouty short haired scallies for chips from the harbour chippy. But our guidebooks insisted that there was good eating to be had somewhere in Looe.

And yes. They were right. We stopped for dinner at the Smuggler’s Cot in Looe where I had the biggest Lemon Sole (and bones) I’ve ever seen. It was delicious! Meanwhile Zoe struggled with her mammoth 20oz D cut rump steak. She assured me that was delicious too.

Holiday 2012: Part 2–Day3 Touring Torquay

After the rather soggy Tuesday I was three quarter expecting the Wednesday to be a wash out as well. It started off overcast so I wasn’t entirely optimistic about the weather.

We had decided to have a trip over the Dart Moor and visit Widecome in the Moor where there is a haunted inn. I had this romantic image of Dartmoor. Rolling plains with Tors and rocks and ponies and goblins and ruined crofts and weirdness and Kate Bush and floaty types and a scary gothic foreboding Victorian prison and a sign saying “Abandon ye hope” and a solitary pub called “The Slaughtered Lamb”, Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all.

I guess I spent too much time in Yorkshire.

Sure we saw some ponies and some stones and some tors, but the lack of crofts, pubs and prisons almost outweighed the lack of Kate Bush prancing about in a floaty dress.

Anyway, we made our way across the moor and into the sleepy Yorkshiresque village of Widecome in the Moor. You might know Widecome from the folk song Widecome Fayre or you might not. Or you might know Widecome from the Great Storm of some time long ago where the Devil blew up the church. Or you might know Widecome in the Moor from page 7 of your 1976 AA Road Atlas. Either way it is a lovely place. It was there we had breakfast. Our second and last, Full English breakfast of the week. All that meat blocks your insides you know.

Widecome has loads of interesting things like the old church and ancient wells. The Old Inn in Widecome is a haunted inn from Marc Alexander’s Haunted Inns (1973).  The story goes that you can hear the cries of a child and possibly even see the spectre of a man. Bollocks or not? Who knows.


From Widecome we headed back into civilization and into Torquay.

I’m sorry but my next statement might upset some people.

Torquay is a dump.

There I’ve said it.

My mental image of Torquay is sandy beaches and long sweeping promenades lined with palm trees, cafés and a harbour full of luxury yachts.  Instead it was streets full of chavs, tattooed Tommys and indiscreet Escorts. Sure there were some palm trees and yes there were some yachts but the streets had handy information notices warning the residents that their excessive drinking threatens the safety of their children and their development. Not “It’s so Bracing” or “Buy our Rock” more like “Drinking makes your children into awful people like you” and “Chavviness is born through nurture not nature”.

IMAG0723We walked to the breakwater and bawked at the cost of entrance fee to the Sea Life centre – £11.75. So £23.50 better off in pocket, we decided to try and find some geocaches. Our searching took us to a little stony beach behind the Sea Life Centre which, incidentally, we could see inside from the outside. It was on the beach we were shortly joined by a dark haired woman in her late 40s walking her dogs. She was talking on her telephone giving the caller assurances that she was good looking and that he wouldn’t be disappointed and that she lived in a discrete house and discretion was her watchword for the price he would be paying.

We left.

Made our way back to the car via an amusement arcade where Zoe won me a gold £ on the tuppenny pushnshoves followed by a direct run to the car and a continuation of our journey southward.

The roads took us towards the misnamed Slapton Sands. Misnamed because Slapton Gravels doesn’t have the same ring to it. The weather had brightened and there were lots of people there enjoying the sun and sea. In such situations I crave ice cream so joy lightened my life when I was able to buy a 99 from the ice cream van there.

Now I was always of the opinion that the top five of miserable people doing jobs went something like this:

81 bus driver
Post office counter clerk
Surly Pot man in a dodgy pub

But I now have to move Ice Cream Van Man at Slapton Bits of Stone Sands to the top. I actually felt like apologising for wanting to give him my money for his overpriced wares.

From there we went via Start Point (another overpriced place; £4 parking and another £5 for a look round the lighthouse) to Salcombe.


IMAG0731Salcombe is a bit like Torquay should have been only without all the posh wazzaks poncing about at the Regatta that was taking place there. It was a complete polar opposite to Torquay only with awful children instead of awful parents.

Hunger got the better of us so we made our way back to Plymouth searching for a Chinese restaurant that wasn’t full.

Censor this

It started about the 17th September. Groups of people from all walks of life gathered in Wall Street in America in protest of the growing corporate culture. The movement is called Occupy.


There has been frighteningly little news about this in the British media. I’m not saying it has not been reported; it has. I am not shocked by this as unless children get hurt or someone famous gets arrested at the event it was unlikely it would get reported.


Monitoring the news this week has been interesting. Very little in the way of actual news. Slow news week. Slow news. Nothing to worry about…move along…But scratch beneath the surface, read between the lines and you notice things.


Little things. Like the problem with the Blackberry mobile phone network. Curious that it happens here just as the Occupy movement swells in Europe and, indeed the UK. Cast your mind back to the events in August. Riots organised by youths….USING BLACKBERRYS. Cut off the network. Invent some crap about a server malfunction. Cut off the communication of the youth. Prevent gatherings and organised flash protests. Then what happens? The problem spreads to the US. Coincidence? Maybe.


Then there’s the disappearing links on Facebook. I tried sharing a link to a news story drawing attention to the movement. Mysteriously it vanished a few hours later. I pasted a link in a comment to a friend. It too mysteriously vanished. Paranoia? Cake?? Misdirection?


Something stinks. I don’t like it. When people start disappearing, it will be too late.



Further reading:

World Cup

On my journey southwards on Friday I witnessed several pranged cars, idiots undertaking, buffoons changing lanes late and several near misses. It got me wondering why, in an early Friday evening, people seemed to be in a rush to get places. It also struck me that most of the drivers, if not all of the drivers, were men.

Then I realised….


They were all in a rush to get home/to the pub/to their mates in time for kick off.

I cannot understand the urgency. I mean if it’s that bad…record it on your PVR or whatnot. It’s like people who queue all night for devices. People that queue for sports/music/signing events overnight. WTF?

“It’s all part of the experience” they say. Arse I say.

Are you safe?


Easily mistaken for smarties The news that a school is banning ties and the news that stepping stones might be bad for your health has really got my blood pressure up of late. I blame the litigious society we now live in. I hold my hand up now and confess that in the mid 1990’s I helped to propagate this terrible affliction upon the British public by working in a solicitors office that mainly dealt with tripping incidents.

This is where your money goes People living in the UK pay a tax which helps pay for the upkeep of the area in which they live. This tax is called the Council tax [Incidentally, this year Barnsley council have levied residents a £1095 annual charge for the privilege of living in Band B houses within the district] and is paid annually. The tax funds the local services such as police and fire and coastguard (if you live in a coastal area),Derek Hatton’s new car refuse collection, holidays for the councillors and general maintenance of street furniture (signs, lamp posts, bins), pavements and public areas.

My job as a legal clerk was to gather evidence against Liverpool council for "Breach of duty of care". Usually this would involve Joe Scrotum calling into the office, all bandaged up, to say that he had tripped over a raised paving slab and caused distress and discomfort to his person. I would then get Mr Scrotum (or his brother or his cousin or some bloke that knew his Aunt once on a Friday afternoon in June) to sign a "Green Form" which allowed Mr Scrotum to claim legal aid and allowed the firm to earn some healthy dosh to pay its employees with.

Mr Scrotum yesterdayIn reality, Mr Scrotum had probably gotten beaten up in the pub for shagging Mr Knutfukker’s wife up the bum; and on the way home from the pub notices a pavement slab which happened to be a bit sticky uppy. Of course some of the clients were obviously genuine, some had actually fallen or had had some kind of truly accident with a piece of council furniture. But the majority were scam artists.

A good 60% of these people put claims in as a supplement to their unemployment benefit and often the solicitor that dealt with these cases would be heard to say "Oh Mr Scrotum? Again? He is a clumsy clopper". Anyone else probably would have taken a bit more care walking down the road but because the compensation available was sometimes in the £1000’s (Yeah your Honour. Falling down that manhole has put me off sex) there was a healthy income to be made. Indeed some of the injuries certainly didn’t look like they were caused by "sticky up pavements".

Lethal Unless, of course, these people had been travelling along a super sonic speed and the pavement slab levitated and twatted them across the head and limbs several times. Of course the compensation had to come from somewhere. Liverpool, at the time, had one of the highest council tax charges in Britain and possibly some of the most unsafe streets in the whole North West. Not because of gun toting dudes in blacked out cars but because of the actual potholes and broken pavements. However, the money to fix the pavements was being swallowed up by Mr Scrotum and his kin, who didn’t actually pay any council tax anyway because of their employment status.



But thats a tangent I didn’t really intend going off on. Instead, today I got thinking about the numerous things that I probably wouldnt have experienced had I been a cotton wool wrapped child of today. Such as:-


Pipes like this can disfigure kids Sitting on hot central heating pipes in the cold winter


Not only is it not like the Arctic in the winter anymore but someone might just get burnt.


Possible Reason

Oh poor little Jonny! He sat on a pipe and now has a disfiguring blister on his thigh. This has (will) cause(d) him to have a lack of  self confidence and all the other children will call him names and he’ll grow up to be Charles Manson or someone.


Instead of

Stupid child. It was hot, you got burnt. Here have some Germoline and stop your whinging. You’ll never do that again now will you. Hot pipes indeed!? Didn’t you get up once they felt a bit hot?


Mind out they may be sharp Cutting paper with scissors


The child might cut his or her or someone elses fingers off!


Possible Reason

 Oh poor little Milly! She was cutting paper unsupervised when she cut her finger. Now she has no end of playground taunting and she’ll never be able to play the Harp again. I mean fancy leaving a child with paper! That paper cut will never heal. It will go gangrenous and cause her to have some tropical infection like lassa fever or beri beri

Instead of

Stupid Child! Its only a poxy little paper cut. Just suck the blood off and you’ll be alright. You’re not going to die.

20080208_blackboard Chalk on the blackboard


People are allergic to all sorts of things these days: cheese, peanuts, mucky fat, aspidistras. Chalk is no exception.

Possible Reason

I had to take my little Gary out of class indefinitely because of the dust in that class room. He would come home with his eyes streaming and his face all puffy. It stressed me so much I  would have to smoke a further 20 cigarettes in disgust. How dare that school give my child an allergy! How is he going to take over the family asbestos removals company when his Dad retires?


Instead of

Oh stop your whinging. Smoke this and go out and play.

conkersPlaying conkers


Conkers are notorious for removing peoples eyes. In fact in some hospitals conkers have been used in eye removal operations. The game of conkers is no exception and only increases the risk.

Possible Reason

 That Tommy, he’s normally such a nice boy. But you know the other day, after his drink of Sunny Delight, he went out with his friend Eddie to play conkers and within five minutes he was going round and punching things and kicking things and pulling the heads off puppies. I can’t imagine why he would do such a thing. Must be because he was playing conkers. Thats such a violent game


Instead of

Calm down. Stop kicking that boy like that. How many times have I got to tell you. When you are kicking children go for the goolies! Do it properly or not at all!

told Being told off by an unknown adult


Strangers. Are dangers. So they say. I always thought they were a crap indie band from Preston. But it seems that any person other than a member or friend of the family that speaks to a child is a paedophile and possibly an axe murderer or nail beautician. Or all three.

Possible Reason

 That Mr Jones of number 86. He told our Jade to get off his garden today. He’s a dirty shifty man. He has all those pictures of those children on his mantelpiece and wall. I just know he’s watching me from behind those net curtains. He did away with his wife anorl you know? Chopped her up with an axe made out of a nail file….


Instead of

How many times do you need to be told? Stop annoying the neighbours and stop doing parkour on Mr Jones’ front garden. He’s old and doesn’t like it. Go and apologise and ask him if there is anything I can get him from the supermarket.

303114 Sticking things with Gloy Paste


Glue as we know is bad. According to recent social studies sniffing glue is bad for you. It makes your nose all spotty, fucks your head and leads on to hard drugs like. Gloy Paste sniffing is  the precursor to glue sniffing it seems though smelling the back of a postage stamp isn’t quite in the same league really is it?

Possible Reason

 I caught our Billy making a tissue paper collage last night. I was so shocked. I was passing his room on my way to get my Crystal Meth when I saw through his door…there he was all sprawled out on the floor sticking pieces of scrunched up bits of tissue paper onto a piece of card using GLOY! Things looked so promising for him. I always thought he’d be a dealer you know.


Instead of

Aww thats lovely Billy. Are you making that for your gran? Arrrey! You’ve got it all over the carpet. You stupid little child. Give it here!


sn Nativity


It seems that childhood is not innocent. It is guilty of offending people from other walks of life and cultures. The nativity, the seasonally traditional account of the birth of Jesus, offends not only non-Christians but the papier mache rights people get offended at the use of a papier mache sheep instead of a cardboard cut out. It might also be instrument to child pornography as it seems those people with the cameras might not actually be filming or photographing their children for family posterity but for actually more nefarious purposes.


Possible Reason


 I couldnt believe it! I was mortified! Imagine having a 6 year old talking about birth. It is obscene! Especially as I don’t believe a word of all that "Christ is born" nonsense and I only had our Tanya baptised so she could get into the school (you know its fairly high up on the league tables). I find it all so offensive. Just wait until Julian sees the education minister when he plays golf on Thursday. I shall also be complaining about the use of the cameras in during the nativity. I mean I don’t know any of those people. They might be axe murderers or nail beauticians or something and they have film of MY child! It’s horrific!


Instead of

Aww look at them all act. Aren’t they sweet. I mean I know I only got them baptised for educational reasons but still they did a damn good job of the birth. I think little Tarquin played Joseph so well. He should get an oscar lovey!! I’m so glad most parents seemed to be filming the event as, when Tarquin becomes an internationally famous filmstar, they’ll all sell their films to the press and it will be excellent publicity for him darling.

stre Playing in the street


God forbid if a child ever went out on the street. There are all manner of dangers. Cars. Drug pushers. Muggers. Rabid snow leopards. Level 15 Dun Modr Dwarfs. Religious nutters. Knives. Sharp pavements. Fresh air. Pollution. Things to do. Mischief to be had.

Possible Reason

 I dare not let Jimmy out to play in case he falls over and damages his knee. I certainly don’t like him talking to those other children. I mean what sort of dreadful and awful parents let their children out to wander the streets unsupervised. You see them all the time playing football, sitting around drinking Tenants Super, swearing at old ladies, running round Mr Jones’ garden. I’d say something but I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was a dirty paedo or something. Instead I’ll just keep Jimmy here with me. I’ll give him a nice PC to play with and he can go on the internet all day. Or I can get him a television and some of those Conker films he likes so much.

Instead of

Go on. Bugger off out. What do you mean you’ve got homework? GCSE’s? What are they? You dont want them they cause nothing but trouble! Look at me do you think I’ve got GCSE’s? Now fuck off out and let me watch me reruns of Trisha in peace…


This post originally appeared on Livejournal in 2007

Chav School


Every year, in Britain, thousands of young people struggle to find things to do.


The more fortunate can often be found wandering the streets aimlessly like mindless zombies looking for a tiny piece of recognition or attention from anyone who cares to give it whereas the less fortunate, hanging around off licences threatening adults into purchasing them alcohol, wearing ill fitting clothes and occasionally sat on mopeds paid for by their unloving, uncaring, sofa bound TV addicted parents .

chavs However there are those teenagers who are not so fortunate. Those that stay at home, watch TV, do homework, use the internet, read books or meet up with friends at the local park for a chat and maybe some harmless play. It is these youths that really need your help.

We at CHAV School offer numerous educational, nutritional and rehabilitational services to empower these poor unfortunate bedroom, park and library bound youths to become less functional and less valuable members of the community. With your donation of just £1 (less than the price of a quality Saturday board sheet newspaper) we can help to provide the following:

Car Wreck/vandalism


Our ill equipped and badly supervised classrooms encourage the youth to become less focussed on their work and more focussed on craving attention. We educate and train these youngsters on our highly acclaimed courses such as:

  • Damaging Cars
  • Litter Dropping for Beginners;
  • Ch@ 5p33k Is kn0t 4 1am0rzzz wtf omg lollzzorzz;
  • Successful and Offensive Graffito;
  • Shoplifting;
  • How to Swear at Passers-by;
  • The Child Act & You – How Adults Are Unable to Do a Thing to Stop You Doing Things;

and our increasingly popular course

  • Knifing People and How to Get Away With It.

Street Skills

– We train youths in valuable Street Skills including:

  • The art of loitering at bus stops in a threatening manner;
  • The correct way of vandalising a phone boxes;
  • How to appear cool by doing things that would normally be seen as ridiculous;
  • Dropping takeaway meals so as to cause an obstruction.

As the youth progress through our courses they may even move on to advanced topics such as:

  • Urinating and Defecating without Shame,
  • 1001 Things to Do When Intoxicated


  • Giving Cheek to Teachers, Elders and Police Officers. 101

We also encourage our children to display their handy work in local bus shelters and telephone boxes.


stockphotopro_69355543VNP_no_title  Science has proven that balanced diets of fruit, nuts and vegetables, clean water, protein and carbohydrates are detrimental to a child’s development.

It is well known that growing teens require a steady intake of hydrogenated fat, sugar and alcohol.

Your CHAV School donation allows us to provide sustenance to our rescued children in the form of Kebab meat, pizza, fizzy pop and sweets.

Our highly skilled nutritionists help advise the youth on how to adapt their diet, for example Diamond White instead of apple juice, chips in curry sauce instead of banana sandwich on whole-wheat granary bread. We also encourage children under our care to consume vital behaviour adapting additives, flavourings and colourings. This then encourages successful social and physical development.



6a00d8341c793d53ef00e5503cae5a8834-640wi Many of the children that come to us are, unfortunately, well dressed, courteous and polite. Brainwashed by uncaring, antisocial parents who concentrate selfishly on their own status amongst their peers.

We at CHAV School provide correct and suitable garments for teenagers copied from leading designs and supplied to us by a bloke off the market who can do us a good deal on Burberry.

Our highly skilled youth workers encourage the teens to express themselves in mumbles and grunts rather than clear, enunciated vocabulary. At times this can be traumatic but we believe this is for the child’s own good.


Preparation for Life after 18

We educate our chavs and chavettes into becoming valueless members of society, without whom society would not be able to provide such social services as Policing.

We even help them customise their cars with flared exhausts and subwoofers. We help them find a suitable mating partner (if they haven’t done so already) so that they can propagate this important way of life.

Family and Community Work

594073694_b78341cd63 We don’t just do stuff for kids. We work closely with affected families and help provide parents with widescreen plasma TVs, educate them into being thoughtful adults that care that they don’t know where they children are and what they are doing.

We also provide courses for parents such as:-

  • Apathy: How Not To Give A Shit;
  • Your Kids are As Good As Gold Anyone That Disagrees is obviously a Paedophile;
  • Shouting Matches for Beginners;
  • Swearing at Children the Healthy Way;

and our most popular

  • Making Eastenders More Important than your Child.

We also work with communities in the following ways: by encouraging the construction and development of derelict buildings for arson attacks; removal of litter bins; Provision of bus shelters and telephone boxes for social gatherings and art displays and by reducing harmful facilities such as youth clubs, organisations and the like.

But without your donation we cannot do this most important work. We know you care and we know our schemes are valuable to society as a whole. So make your donation today. Because Britain needs more chavs.

This post originally appeared on Livejournal

A message from our Sponsors

Every year, in Britain, thousands of young people struggle to find things to do. The more fortunate can often be found wandering the streets aimlessly like mindless zombies looking for a tiny piece of recognition or attention from anyone who cares to give it whereas the less fortunate, hanging around off licences threatening adults into purchasing them alcohol, wearing ill fitting clothes and occasionally sat on mopeds paid for by their unloving, uncaring, sofa bound TV addicted parents . However there are those teenagers who are not so fortunate. Those that stay at home, watch TV, do homework, use the internet, read books or meet up with friends at the local park for a chat and maybe some harmless play. It is these youths that really need your help.

Dig deep you heartless bastards

Local chavs

Surely there is some legal way of administering obnoxious little shits that clearly need a sound clout across the head a sound clout across the head.

Without getting into trouble.

Local chav kids are being shits again. I fear no matter how many youth clubs, social schemes or the like councils provide for them they’re still going to be little shits needing a sound clout across the head.

Maybe it can become a new Yorkshire tradition.

Chav clouting.

Yes I approve.

Ghosting Images

Supernatural, occult and folk horror on British TV

The Haunted Generation

"Elastic time to stretch about the eternal moment..."

The Chrysalis

"For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern" -- William Blake

Late to the Theater

Florida women take on culture and stuff.


Come & visit our beautiful, unknown County

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