Thursday 2 December 2010

a fitting (up) result

So Russia wins. That would be the country described yesterday as a virtual "mafia state" with widespread corruption, bribery and protection rackets.

Very appropriate. Septic and FIFA should get along with them just fine, and there won't be any irritating TV programmes telling people what they're up to. Oh dear me, no!

Wednesday 1 December 2010

follow me, follow you

PhotoBof did what he was told, and trudged the streets. He does have a habit of trying to fit what he's looking at with some theory he has burbling in his head and on this sort of occasion it's usually a theory about police tactics. At the G20 he was convinced that he'd found the safety valve in the kettle. Talking to a policeman about this yesterday (have they all been on media-friendliness courses?) he was told that various students had said they didn't want to be kettled today "so we're trying something different."

That something was pied piper policing. Small columns of police, about fifteen or twenty, would set off in single file, walking to begin with, and then running.

As soon as they were spotted, the crowd would run to follow them. 

This process was repeated in several directions at once, resulting in what was anyway a small crowd being further dispersed around the streets of Westminster. This meant that the agitating fomenters never had enough of a crowd to turn the mood.

Obviously, traditional past-times like Throwing the Cone were a part of things, but even this was frowned upon by many of the students, who stood on the pavement shouting quietly at the more exuberant demonstrators not to give the rest a bad name.

More pictures in PhotoBof later, and the exciting prospect of a little video entitled "Running with the Pipers." Don't miss it.

Tuesday 30 November 2010

put the the kettle on, c*ntstable

Pity poor PhotoBof. The BOF is sending him out on the street today, in the cold and the snow, to find images of the revolting students.

Last time PhotoBof did this was at the G20. He was kettled, but found the safety valve (see 3 April 2009). Despite the fact that this safety valve was quietly giving those involved a way out, it was never reported. Even the police never acknowledged it, though they had clearly sanctioned it.

PhotoBof is under instructions from BOF to see if he can find the safety valve today. Or perhaps modern kettles don't need them...

bum apples

So the English Bid team's response to Panorama's allegations is that "If you hurt one of them of course it has an impact on others, that's just inevitable" or "the others feel it, that's just life". Apparently "the BBC should hang its head in shame."

Translation:"If you have one rotten apple in a barrel it turns the whole barrel bad." So, shouldn't they be applauding the BBC?

There is new evidence, so the programme is justified. The over-riding concern should be that the system is cleaned out and rebuilt, not that England should hold one world cup final, with all the implied corruption.

The extra icing is the side of the story that tells us about the deals FIFA strikes with Governments.

It will be a happy moment when Blatter is finally disgraced; to hope for a foul jail is pie in the sky. Let's have some pie...

Sunday 28 November 2010


The BOF woke at around 4.30 this morning. He's been nurturing his jet-lag since returning from China so that it can keep his body's rhythms in tune with the cricket in Australia.

He turned on just in time to see the captain-opener's dismissal for 110, and then to watch his partner go on past his own century, the first time an English side's Ashes openers have both made centuries in the same innings for 72 years.

Stats like that warm the BOF's cockles. But the event which convinced him that this was going to be good day was the Professor Bumble show. Taking his turn in the Third Man seat (the pontificating position) David "Bumble" Lloyd became frenetic with calculator and pad, attempting to predict a possible English win. The camera cut away from him for no more than a minute. When it returned he was asleep in his chair, mouth open. Cut to a smirking Gower and Warne, who managed to keep talking straight. Cut back to Bumble, slumped on the floor. As the camera lingers an eye pops open, and, as realisation strikes, widens. He leaps back to the chair, pulls the cans on, and busies himself with the calculator once more.

The BOF is even now searching it out on YouTube and will post the link here when it's found. It's worth a look even if it is a prank...

Saturday 27 November 2010

gowerism (1)

deeper innit: 

a coloquial description of England's traditional position at the start of their second innings in the first match of an Ashes series, a position which can be avoided by the captain and opener not completing his pair.

Saturday 20 November 2010

swiss turd

What, precisely, is "not fair" (Herr Blatter's words) about being banged to rights?  It would seem that the slimy Swiss objects to the concept of horses for courses. If you've got a dodgy crew that needs investigating, you offer them some dodgy bait and see if they take it in a clearly dodgy way.

His use of statistics is criminal misrepresentation.  He talks about six people out of three hundred million, or six "personalities". The BOF would like to point out to Blather that this is a meaningless fraction; the important numbers are two out of twenty four, two members of the all-powerful voting executive committee of twenty four members.

The "not fair" can only be taken to refer to the methods used, not the results obtained. If he'd like to get get into an ethical discussion on whether ends justify means, perhaps he'd like to open up the history of his own route to power. How were votes obtained and cajoled in that particular progress? Was that fair?

From time to time,there is a suggestion in what Septic says that there is bound to be corruption within an organisation like this. The unstated next sentence goes something like this: "I therefore absolve myself of all guilt by association, of all previous wrongdoing, and all responsibility for my own actions. I am now above the law."

The BOF would like to reserve front row tickets for his fall, when it comes. Perhaps a double bill with Signor Burlesqueoni is in order, a new bonfire of the vanities.

Friday 19 November 2010


PhotoBof tells the BOF amazing stories of the Mysterious Orient.

"Blog it!" says BOF.

So he has.

Blogged it.

Or will, at any rate. Meanwhile, this:

chartering classes

Poor old BBC! They're in a pickle again, but this latest accusation of un-patriotic programming is just one in a long line of attacks on the institution's independence.

The BOF remembers a close relation of his coming into the house one evening during the Falklands war. The dude had just come back from facing the full wrath of the 1922 committee. An unusually civilized member said afterwards "There was blood all over the floor". Who's was never stated. The dude looked in rude health that evening.

And the dude was happy. He'd managed to defend the wonderful anomaly of the BBC. The uber-conservatives had fallen into the trap of thinking that because it is funded by instrument of government, the BBC is an instrument of government.

It's a witty trick but the BOF is worried. It's starting to seem as if some Beebs think that it might have a tiny bit of what the Monday Club likes in it, that the BBC is on the same benches as government. How else to explain the lightning capitulation to politically biassed cuts demanded by government?

It has none of that in it. It either is or isn't an instrument of government. It's a binary choice, black or white. How has government managed to get into a position where it can dictate the BBC's budget and arbitrarily redefine foreign services?

The funding of what is heard over the airwaves has always been a filter on the perception of its output. The Voice of America is a sinister phrase.

The BBC is not the voice of the British government, although some parts of its overseas output are precisely that, the etherial voice of Her Brittanic's.

The BOF hopes that the forthcoming Panorama show on FIFA does have something new in it. If it doesn't, the Swiss Shit has already won this little skirmish. Of course, that doesn't make Septic any the less guilty, but if the BBC has chosen to air a programme in such a provocative slot, it should only be doing so if it has something new to say. It would be enough to air new supporting evidence for the old allegations which orbit Blatter like a solar system of bad pennies; but without new material it is the shoddiest form of TV, utterly unfocussed opportunism. If they can't say with a straight face that they've been deliberately provocative because they've got something important to say, then they are devaluing the BBC brand, and that's blasphemy in mod mangmt spk.

The fun really would begin if the programme has some new substantiation of a Warner story; there are, after all, a good many to work with. Why is Cameron being so public about lunching such an out-and-out Korruption King? If just one of the ripening stories about him matures now,  hindsight will give the arrangement a look of extremely poor judgement.  Or is this the new face of patriotism, the pragmatic lunching of crooks?

Friday 5 November 2010


The BOF would happily admit that this is not the best time of day to be blogging.


Looking up a person on google got him to wikipedia and a message from its founder, asking for subscriber funds in order to keep the wikipedia thing independent of nasty commerce.

The BOF had his hand on his card when he wondered whether there was, er, any more detail.

There wasn't.

It's a Bob G moment: "Give us your fuckin' money!" (No, he didn't say that, but it's what he meant.)

The BOF would love to support a great resource. He's watched it develop from from an utterly unreliable wankdom into a major source of fact-ishness which can be clearly read by those who've used it a few times; that's most of us. Money should pour in to its public-spirited cause.

So why no breakdown of where the money will go? It's just "Gimme dollars!" without any explanation of where it might be used. Perhaps we'd be there a profit incentive or is it only moral investment?


Blat Splat

Oh to be in England when the press are baying!

It's unlikely that anything will be learned from the FIFA  world cup bidding process, in the UK at least. A quick review of the recent weeks would suggest that external forces have lit the blue touch paper and retired.

Feed a few half-substantiated rumours to the British Press and they'll run with them, no matter who suffers: the more the suffering, the bigger the market, is the theory, so anything goes.

Also, they're all so lazy, they'd rather print PR releases and street rumour.

So the Russians prime the pumps then sit back and let the press do the rest for them.

Oh yeah?

The BOF believes all this to be prime conspiracy theory. What worries him is that there may actually be a conspiracy in here somewhere.  He suggests that the first place to look for its source is Blatter's office. If yesterday's reports of damage to England's world cup bid have any substance to them, it has been created in those environs.

Telephone records from FIFA HQ would be fascinating.

Tuesday 2 November 2010

Amazonian warrior

The BOF's mailbox set him chortling this morning. The chortles soon erupted into guffaws.

The story so far: BOF received an email along the "customers who bought..." line, claiming sales for a DVD which was not yet available. Amazon continued to hold their line, until the BOF pointed out that he was only talking to them as a curtesy before going to the relevant trading authority with a complaint.

That last nudge has pushed the slimy sales-addicts over the edge. They have capitulated.

Yup, you read that right. Amazon have capitulated. And, curiously, they've used their war department to do so.

How else can this curious beginning to an email be construed?

Thank you for contacting

My name is Sowmya and I work in the Customer Escalations Team.

Now, we would have expected this to come from the customer relations team. But no: it's from Customer Escalations, clearly a secret division whose purpose is to wind up customers until they make some libellous remark which is then used to silence the original complaint.

Sowmya, however, has other ideas. We can't see her lasting very long in the Amazon culture, for she goes on:

First of all, please accept my sincere apologies for any misunderstanding caused.

I would like to confirm that the "Jim Jefferies Alcoholocaust [DVD]" is not yet released and the message you have received wherein "We've noticed that customers who have purchased or rated The Aristocrats [DVD] [2005] have also purchased Jim Jefferies Alcoholocaust [DVD] on DVD. For this reason, you might like to know that Jim Jefferies Alcoholocaust [DVD] will be released on 8 November 2010.  You can pre-order yours for just £11.93 by following the link below." is sent in error as purchased instead of pre-ordered.

This situation was the result of a technical error, and I'm truly sorry for any inconvenience caused.

Rest assured that the DVD "Jim Jefferies Alcoholocaust [DVD]" is not yet released and the customers have pre-ordered this DVD.

The BOF is highly amused that that the words "technical error" are themselves a technical error: they should have read "company policy". He is disappointed that the lawyer involved in drafting this email has not signed it. No ordinary mortal is capable, without giggling, of using the construction ...the message you have received wherein "We've noticed that customers who have purchased... 

Amazon can "rest assured" that the BOF will try to keep this one alive.


So let's look at this one.

Amazon think it's OK to tell old customers (the email the BOF uses with them tells him it's from at least ten years ago)  that they have a fab choice  for the customer  based on ... predicted sales. But that's dull, so they'll imply that they're real sales.

This sounds illegal, but, hey, correct us.

Monday 1 November 2010

Spot the deliberate mistake...

Greetings from,
We've noticed that customers who have purchased or rated The Aristocrats [DVD] [2005]have also purchased Jim Jefferies Alcoholocaust [DVD] on DVD. For this reason, you might like to know that Jim Jefferies Alcoholocaust [DVD] will be released on 8 November 2010.  You can pre-order yours for just £11.93 by following the link below.

The BOF cannot understand how customers have managed to purchase an item that is not yet for sale. He would welcome explanations.

Monday 25 October 2010

Wazzin a name?

Wazza staying is massive for them says John Terry in the Sun.  Or should that be ...says Tozza in the Sun ?

This particular method of forming a nickname, favoured by footballers and cooks, smacks of laziness but is nonetheless easily adopted. Bozza has been chortling at the coalition's nicknames: Ossy, Cleggy, and Dozza, not to mention Vinny, Gozza Gove,  and Izzy Dunko Smozza. There may be no better way of pricking pompousness and squashing self-importance. Apply it wherever you will, in liberal quantities.

Sunday 24 October 2010

Hart's Eyes

Watch them darting right to fool Fabregas...

still standing!

It'll be referred to as a mature victory.

The BOF hopes Hart's eye game is properly reported. He clearly fools Cesc into thinking he's going to dive right, by forcing a quick, nervous-seeming glance in that direction, a second before the run-up.

Video later


The BOF feels the dodgy digit of fate hanging over his and every other gooner's head today. This may be the moment when Arsenal move from top four to being a mid-table team. On the other hand, it may not be. It may be the moment when City realise that that it takes more than money.  Or it may be something else, like the moment when Andy G gets so caught up in himself and his giant iPad that he drowns in personal pronouns.  Football's like that...

Wednesday 13 October 2010


As no. 28 (Villaroeal) came out, lobbying for redressal began. Mr. President of Chile thinks that miners being rescued from underground will give Chile a new international respect. Mr. Rescued thinks it will give themselves money.

Mr. Bof thinks it's all a bit Diana - hysterical and over-written. It's fab that they're all alive and coming up but we'd be a lot more over-excited if they weren't...


Hmm...Ross may be an arse, but at least he's an arse who knows his onions. These two are wankers who can't even manage a hard-on.

Thursday 9 September 2010


It's quiet for a moment, then all the graves open up and dancing begins.

Go to the new restaurant above the French House, Polpetto. It is what we all want as our neighbourhood eatery, but never get. If you live in Soho, you're lucky. If you don't, get on a bike and go there. No more need be said on this subject.

Guitars, however, require  a paragraph or two.

The BOF's big brother died a bit ago and left him a lovely guitar, a Strat of the finest fret and finish.  BOF had always been a keyboard man, playing at the side of the stage in the Marquee, the Greyhound, the 100 Club, and other little hell-holes of the seventies. He had watched the axe-men in his band, Peaches, grinding it out on Gibsons, a Gold and a Black. He may be wrong, but he seems to remember that the Gold came from the 50s and cost around 2 grand then.

Scouting Denmark Street today, the BOF ended up in Vintage and Rare Guitars, a shop that sells what it says it sells.  He'd tried to avoid it, but Hank's only sells acoustics and the rest seem to have given up on old Gibsons.

The BOF, you see, had decided that he must have the Gibson to complement the Fender, such is his new joy with the electric fretboard. Remembering his days on the loud boards, a Gold seemed to be the answer, preferably from the 50s.


It would appear that they can now set the axe man back a cool quarter of a million. Except, it's probably not axe men who buy them, more likely ghastly Bob Diamonds and the like, who hang them on their loft walls encased in perspex and never so much as strum an Emi7. Investment value, apparently.

Fuck you, Diamond and your ilk.

The BOF will have to settle for something a little newer, when it turns up. But he is now determined to have one, to punch out that hairy humbucker sound. Sadly, the BOF's vile neighbours (more diamond-types) are leaving soon to Chase the dollar, so he won't be able to entertain them at 11 on the dial at 11 at night, unless his new friend from Denmark street calls very soon.

Here's hoping...

Wednesday 8 September 2010

burn the priests

If rev Jones were a good man he would be burning not just the Koran but also the Bible. The transformation of folk history and self-help systems into Religion, no matter the name, is at the root of so much that is disgraceful about humanity. The self-important posturing of the priesthood then cements this disgrace in a formal hierarchy.

When the disgraceful behaviour is not attached to a specific "god" we seem to find it easier to reject. There is very little difference between the behaviour of the German hierarchy in the middle of the last century and the destructive self-interest of a priesthood. Yet we can easily reject and condemn "the Nazis" while shying away from the same condemnation of the disgusting Christian fundamentalists who seem hell-bent on dragging civilisation backwards.

The BOF suggests a little test. Every time a story such as that emanating from rev Jones hits the headlines, substitute a name from the German High Command, and watch your own reaction. If you turn blue with anger, it is a bad thing that is being written about. If, however, you merely turn pink with indignation, it is probably just the writing that is a bad thing; indeed, you are probably reading the Daily Mail.

But remember this, Mail reader: in order to burn his books, the bible basher has to have bought them. Money for old soap. Hah!

Sunday 5 September 2010


An 'orrible mutation has occurred. Somehow, the yoof product of the sink estates and the loud public schools have combined.

The result is a loathsome object, the RaRaChav. Watch out for it, and do all in your power to grind it to a powder under your heel.

You have been warned.

the major's map

The BOF is big on Barclays' Bicycles; he uses them most days for scooting around on short journeys. Even on the slightly longer treks, it's very hard to work up any kind of sweat: the rewards for pedalling harder are so small that it's not worth the effort.

He has been puzzled by the apparent lack of rational behind the placement and spread of docking stations, the places where the bikes live. Heading south, the casual rider cannot even approach the river until Dolphin Square, location for many a twin-bedded research meeting. The same curious barrier occurs westward: Holland Park is your limit.

It is perhaps a worthwhile exercise to consider the daily routine of the scheme's larger-than-life chief proponent,  Major Boris. If you were to draw a line on the map between his home and his office, and if you were then, for decency's sake, to pad this out by an equal amount to the north and the south of the line, until a pleasing rhomboid is evident, you have the exact distribution of the bicycle stations.

The BOF hopes that the same technique is being applied to CrossRail, and is even now preparing a letter to the Major, suggesting a slight re-routing and a station outside his own front door.

Saturday 4 September 2010


So there's a facebook group dedicated to moving Blair's book to the crime section in bookshops. Let's hope it gathers some momentum.

The BOF is reminded of a conversation that took place between John Birt, loathed BBC boss, and a putative publisher of his memoir. Much to the publisher's surprise, he suggested not just one book, the memoir, but two, the second to be a tome on management, Birt-style.

Recovering from the shock of this unexpected announcement, the publisher had the presence of mind to reply as follows: "Ah! John Birt on management, eh? And where would you expect the bookshops to place this? On their comedy shelves?"

That was the end of the negotiations. It may be the last time the management book was mentioned. It hasn't been published, although the grimy memoir has been and gone.

Go on, move a book today.

"I am a non..." etc.

Day 2, and the BOF is still holding out. Looking a little smug, in fact. He's currently using the delusion of it'll-all-be-ok-after-the-first-three-days-of-nicotine-withdrawal in order to lurch from needful moment to moment.

Before Stop Day he was aked by the WitchDoctor to list particular smoking moments that he reckoned he would miss the most. On Day 1 each of these moments reared up like a cornered sabre toothed tiger. But Day 2 sees them as already anachronistic.



What's certain is that the BOF has developed a new interest in food. So many new eating opportunity moments open up. No sign of the fabled re-awakened palette yet, and the cough stays just as hacky.

...drivel drivel drivel - will it always be thus?

Friday 3 September 2010

but me no butts

The BOF is attempting to give up smoking.

That way of putting it would annoy his WitchDoctor.  "I am a non-smoker, and shall be so for the rest of my life" is the given line. The BOF told the WitchDoctor that, no, he would not be responding to the offer of a cigarette with these exact words.

Offered a cigarette later in the day, those were the actual words with which he replied. The BOF believes it to have been a slightly long-winded ironic joke; but we have to ask: is it programming? Was there really any choice? Could the BOF have replied in any other way?

The system is called hypno-therapy, but it's more like suggestion and relaxation. The possibility is now there for the BOF to get himself into exactly the state that is so terrifying while driving on a motorway, although the WD insisted that this would not occur as an accidental by-product.

Should you read of the BOF being found in the smouldering wreck of a car on the side of the motorway, blame the WD. Or perhaps it's an attempt to start smoking again which has gone wrong. The sheer pleasure of that first, deep, drag on the stick, which sends a ripple of pleasure through the...AR-R-RGH!

Saturday 21 August 2010

the tip of the dung heap

The BOF has sent word from St Tropez, where he is currently trapped. To leave the town by whatever means, one must endure the crawl along Boulevarde des Escargots which takes the traveller through the seven circles of hell that make up the Riviera. The satNav proclaims a journey of twenty minutes duration but each minute on its screen takes 5 real minutes to reduce by one.

The town (or village as they like to call it) has as its patron saint Brigitte Bardot. Seemingly without irony, her picture appears on the doors of shops selling nothing but real furs and expensive leathers. Those who wear these clothes saunter arrogantly down the cobbled streets, or cruise in Bentleys and Porsches and Ferraris and Lamborghinis and Maseratis. The BOF counted seven Range Rovers in the public car park on a quiet morning.

He is staying in a hotel which can only be described as a Eurotrash Centre of Excellence. To misquote Dylan, outside the hotel, avarice goes up on trial.

It is the casual commerce in human flesh which so astonishes. A delightful driver who has ferried the BOF to the beach with informative chatter confesses that the hotels have a real problem: they cannot, these days, distinguish the mothers from the whores. And whores there are aplenty. Mrs BOF, sitting quietly at the bar, overheard a permatanned gentleman explaining to two attentive beauties what would be required of them during the course of each day, and how he wished his companion to be treated. Later, clearly pleased by their performance, the BOF could not avoid hearing the John promising "a bonus for that!" whatever that might be.

Disgusting old men in their vile brequins are everywhere trailed by underdressed and overheeled prostitutes who make little attempt to hide their trade. At the top of the Place des Lices, the town square, is a shop which sells ludicrously overpriced and flashy clothing (more leather and fur), the sort of clobber that these revolting specimens buy as trinkets for their whores. It is called Mission Accomplished. Down at the beach, maybe at Ciquante Cinq, the women come and go. They do not talk of Michelangelo.

Wednesday 11 August 2010


Just in case anyone's forgotten it, the BOF has suggested a quick listen to this.

on yer bike. not.

The BOF's determination that he won't be left behind by the novelties of the modern world saw him attempting to use the new public bicycle scheme in London. He'd applied for his key and it duly arrived this morning. Having lunchtime business (i.e. lunch) in Soho, it seemed a perfect opportunity for  an inaugural ride.

It was not to be. At the local dock, he chanced to meet a couple of men who were on the implementation team. They offered the tip that one should always lift and spin the back wheel before unlocking; some of the bikes have sticky back wheels, resulting in the flattest of rides still feeling like an uphill struggle.

Having found one with a free wheel, he inserted the key. Instead of the expected green light and a comforting click, a red light appeared. No go. Several bikes and three docks later, the BOF had to abandon his plan and leap into a taxi, as he was now running late. The journey was enlivened by throwing the words "bicycle hire scheme" at the taxi driver and getting exactly the hoped-for response. The cabby went straight into taxi drivers' fault-finding mode. After prodding and probing the subject for at least ten minutes, he closed the subject by saying: "You mark my words: the bleedin' idiots will get hold of them, and before you know it, the Serpentine's going to be full of 'em."

Upon his return, the BOF telephoned the scheme's offices and, as he had suspected, discovered that the key needed activation, even though the website was devoid of any information alerting the user to this vital fact.  He was told that "We are currently experiencing some IT problems." The telephonist did not sound too pleased when the BOF replied with "You mean the system's fucked?" but she reluctantly agreed that this was indeed the case.

It's not really surprising, and some ways comes as a relief. The whole scheme has been rolled out under a stealth blanket, with the docks springing up seemingly overnight. If it had worked perfectly, immediately, it would have appeared rather sinister; and the BOF feels that it would have set a bad example of efficiency to future public schemes reliant on IT. There seems to be a rule that any roll-out of IT in the public sector must take three times as long as an equivalent private scheme, should cost at least five times as much, and be so fundamentally flawed in concept and execution that it is abandoned twenty two months after delivery.

The BOF feels that this scheme is largely a Good Thing. It's a pity that one of the loathsome banks sponsors it, but then, they are the only people with any money at the moment because they won't lend it to anyone. By this time next year, we'll all know what it means when a potential visitor asks "Have you got a dock near you?" It won't be a shipping question.

Wednesday 14 July 2010

Tuesday 13 July 2010

Oh no! Oh yes!

The result of the x-ray said "lesion on the lung" and so the BOF looked it up...

There can only be one conclusion when looking up an ailment on the Internet: you're going to die. So, for several days before judgement, he was preparing himself for the cancer announcement. 45 years of smoking made it inevitable.

One doctor said to him: "...but you knew there was something, didn't you?" Put like that, the answer has to be yes, even if you didn't previously know you knew.

More waiting, more tests, more time to engage the internal drama queen.

Enter the loquacious Irish expert. His statement early on in the meeting that "only the good die young" had the BOF scratching his head. Was this a nugget of wisdom mined from experience, or was it a resentful swipe at smokers who should already be dead dragging their arrears-ridden bodies into his rooms? Probably both, as Dr O'Lungs seemed to be working a version of hope for the best, expect the worst.

The machinery in modern hospitals is as reassuring as a doctor with a good bedside manner. There's a sense that something as complicated and expensive as that can't possibly be wrong. Lights flash, powerful hums throb in the background, hoops of metal and plastic traverse the body, peering inside at the engine. At the end, instead of a sealed envelope to be given to to the doctor, a CD is presented, almost as if this were the same as a trip to HMV.

Dr O'Lungs teased out the process, pausing to examine his screen like a witchdoctor consulting entrails, stopping at every possible point to meander off on another observation on the body and lifestyle. The BOF sat further forward on his chair, resisting the urge to blurt out: "Well? Is it or isn't it?"

Eventually, he got there.

"Now: it should be cancer, but it isn't."

Sweet words. Life is not a rehearsal, but it does contain many opportunities to rehearse. Given that death is the final act of every performance, the BOF thinks it useful to have had a peek at the script.

Thursday 8 July 2010

Sepptic Jack

Sepp wants to see cheating driven out of football, so let's start by driving out the cheats.

Bye bye, Sepp.
Bye bye, Jack.

Meanwhile, the sepptic side-kick gets badgered here.

Tuesday 29 June 2010


It's in the BOF's nature to welcome new technology rather than dissing it. When Apple announced the iPad he was initially onside but soon started to wonder what it was for.

He now knows. It's for subterfuge. WAGs have long known that text messages are a man's worst friend. They sit in a phone, and the phone often sits away from its master because it is small and easy to forget for a moment. That would be the moment that the wife or girlfriend, the WOG, picks it up and expertly scans the contents. Computers (desk or laptop) are too cumbersome for secrecy. Nobody can hide an attempt to keep WOGs away from them.

The iPad is different. In its little rubber case (SO bdsm!)it sits stylishly in the crook of a man's hand as he meanders around the home. She loves it because, frankly, your average Ashley is anything but stylish, and a WOG loves stylishness. Ashley can carry his filthy cargo with impunity because it's disguised as a pointless man-toy.

The iPad is a philandery enabler. The size and resolution of its screen makes those sordid phone movies into real porn and that makes the iPad the ultimate wank-companion. Ashley ain't gonna leave that one lying around.

Sepptic wank

The absurdity (and BOF thinks it's beyond ironic) is that all the replays in world cup coverage are topped and tailed with the FIFA logo.  These are the replays which show the need for football hawkeye, the replays which are inevitably more far-seeing than the officials on the field, the replays which simultaneously demonstrate the fallibility of human referees and FIFA corruption. The criminal Blatter's complacent apology is a shoddy attempt to disguise the real reason for the lack of technological aids: FIFA generally and Blatter in particular have no financial involvement in the technology. We hear that Blatter is allegedly involved with a competing, inferior, technology, one that he hopes might come good so that he can make personal profit from inevitable progress.

Watching the fat skunk's face as he attends matches in South Africa, the BOF is convinced that dollar signs flash in his eyes every time the vuvuzelas crescendo. Remember, the reason he's been so anodyne in his remarks about the plastic tubes is that FIFA sell them for $8 a horn. The BOF alleges that Blatter himself pockets a percentage of that, but we can't be sure...actually, we can be sure if we look at his history.

All the pundits hate him, yet they seem to be frightened of naming him when they splutter about FIFA's ineptitude. It would be a positive and progressive outcome if this summer's world cup ended with Blatter being exposed as the money-grabbing egotist that he really is. Sadly, he won't be. More likely is that he'll orchestrate a chorus of approval for his "fair-mindedness" when he allows a little technology in after the "enquiry".

The BOF would be happy to save FIFA a significant sum of money by writing the report without the aid of a "committee".  But that won't happen either, because Sepptic will have already promised seats to those who have lined his pocket.

Thursday 24 June 2010


The BOF has been awakened by an insult alarm. He understands that the most statistically extraordinary tennis match that is ever likely to happen anywhere, ever, has just taken place, at Wimbledon.  He also understands that the Wimbledon committee of decision has decided to present the players (and umpire) with some "mementos" for this achievement.

The illustrious choice as the presenter? Tim "failure" Henman! Sitting not 10 metres away was John "The Greatest Ever" McEnroe.

British up-my-own-arse parochialism strikes again. strikes again. strikes again. strikes again. strikes again. strikes again. strikes again. strikes again. strikes again. strikes again. strikes again.

Tuesday 27 April 2010

Monday 22 February 2010

The referee's a wanker (part 1,717)

That arch-BOF of the post-match interview, Arsene 'Dieu' Wenger was at it again last week. The BOF, true to form, has been back to the Laws of the Game, and he thinks Wenger may have a point.

In the following pictures, illustrating positioning for referees at free kicks, the important thing to notice is the zone around the ref: FIFA doesn't say he has to be in the exact position indicated, but there or thereabouts. And they don't claim that these are the only places free-kicks ever get taken (although arch-criminal Blatter might like to make it so). The images should be self-explanatory, something refs never have to be.

Now, which one of those positions corresponds, even approximately, to the following action?

Watching the notorious France - Ireland game on French TV, as the handball happened the BOF heard the following exchange between the two French commentators:
Commentator 1 (on mike): "Oo la la!"
Commentator 2 (off mike): "Oo la la, la la!"

To which might be added, now: "Oo la la, la la, la laughable!"

But it was Fabianski's fault, of course.

Who's a prat?

Is it bullying
To call Mrs Christine Pratt
Only by surname?