I want to talk a bit about Martin Luther King, a great man.
I got to thinking about Martin Luther King today because a British MP was shot and killed in Yorkshire. The motives behind this are unclear at present. Some say that the perpetrator said "Britain First", the name of a far-right group in the UK. Perhaps he said "Britain first", a remark aimed at his victim's support of the campaign that seeks to keep the United Kingdom from voting to leave the European Union. Perhaps he said neither. Perhaps nothing. It doesn't matter, does it? Whatever he said, thought or did, his action was the snap of a society that has been stretched and stretched and hectored and frightened and alarmed to the point that it couldn't take the tension any more. Stretched and warped and terrified by the self same politicians and media that will now duly dole out their platitudes of shock and sorrow.
I spent the early afternoon doing the live blog for Twohundredpercent, the critically-acclaimed football website. I was covering England's match with Wales. It should have been a good day. Unfortunately, it was not.
When I checked to see Twitter's verdict at half time, instead I found out about this shooting. Shortly after the final whistle, the MP's death was announced. Her name was Jo Cox. She was 41 years old, 42 in a couple of weeks. She was only 6 years older than me and had two young children. She stood up for lots of causes that I, personally, find very admirable. But that doesn't matter, either, does it? What her political beliefs were aren't the issue here, the reason this is so numbing and horrible.
At moments like these nowadays, I find myself compelled to keep checking Twitter. Twitter - social media generally - has been such a force for good in my life that, when I am feeling lost or hurt, I guess I look to it so it can work its magic. But there was nothing there today. Just my own feelings reflected back at me. A scream in an echo chamber.
I saw all sorts of things being said. People who had never previously expressed any faith wondering if this year had been portentous of some sort of Biblical reckoning. People wanting to leave. People not wanting to come back. The journalist Abi Wilkinson asked "Does anyone have any thoughts about what we're supposed to do?". It's a good question.
Luckily, her erstwhile colleague Martin Belam had an answer. He posted a thread of tweets talking about expressing his thoughts and feelings and finished it with a picture of Ron Mael, from Sparks. It was a bit cryptic, but I assumed that it was an act of defiance. Why not defiance? I immediately went to YouTube and put on This Town Ain't Big Enough for the Both Of Us. It summed up my feeling towards the growing cloud of extremism and extremist views in the UK. This may have been exactly what Martin Belam had in mind, too, for all I know.
Music is one of life's great consolations. When the world outside is raging in tempest, I use it as a coping strategy. Shut out the noise with something I can control. Try to find some calm, some sense of perspective.
Recently, I've been listening to Star Time, a 1991 four-CD compilation of James Brown's most essential work. Out of reflex, I think, I started there. I'm glad I did, because it immediately got me thinking about the Civil Rights struggle in the United States.
I am decidedly pro-EU. Next Thursday I will be voting to Remain and hope that as many of my fellow UK citizens as possible will do the same, But as big an unknown as a Leave victory is, as nauseated as worrying about it has made me feel lately, even Brexit isn't as bad as what black people had to endure up to the middle of the 20th Century in America (and beyond, and elsewhere). Being a member of what is now increasingly angrily decried and dismissed as "the left" is not nearly as niche or as vulnerable a position as it perhaps feels this evening. What it needs - what we need - is leaders.
Which is how I got to thinking about Martin Luther King. Few of us could ever aspire to match King for his measure, calm and constructiveness in the face of the most impossible, virulent and hate-filled odds. But we can aspire to at least try, in our own small way, to remember his example and to act on it.
Above all, leaders are brave people. It takes courage to stand up and speak your mind, to stand up for what you think is right. It is tempting to curl up in a ball and wish it will all go away. Brexit, terrorism, mass shootings in America, hooliganism in European football and now a political assassination on the British mainland. The world seems like it is out of control.
I choose to believe it is not. I choose instead to believe that the media is out of control. There is now infinite space on websites, timelines and airwaves to saturate the world with every single event that is happening. It is quite overwhelming, which is the problem to the greater extent. But it is a reality of life these days. To disengage from it would not be the brave thing to do. Not what a leader would do.
Jo Cox MP was a leader. Let's stand with her. Let's make every Jo Cox who falls doing good for humanity spawn ten more Jo Coxes. Not in a militant sense, but a regenerative one. A quiet determination to see everyone doing a little better, to see a wrong and try to make it right. To be brave. To stand up. To be counted in the best way anybody can: by example and by compassion; with humility and with humour; with humanity. Without ever losing sight of the world we would have our fellow live in.
This post is dedicated to Jo Cox MP (1974-2016). Here is a link to Oxfam's Syria appeal donation page, one of the many good causes she supported during her life.
Showing posts with label Dark history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dark history. Show all posts
Thursday, 16 June 2016
Tuesday, 1 March 2016
Disaster Film Olympiad: Flight 90: Disaster on the Potomac
Strange though it may seem, real-life disaster tends not to be a particularly fertile ground for the creation of disaster movies. Reality tends to either be too tame for entertainment or too horrific for imagining, plus it has the unfortunate habit of continually confounding any conventional narrative structure, through its dedication to happenstance and dumb luck. It's more of a challenge to build a decent story arc when historical accuracy dictates that the character you have spent time establishing has a date with destiny at prescribed stage in events. Yet take too many liberties and your film isn't worth a brass farthing: a disaster film can either trade on its creativity or its adherence to reality, there's really no in-between.
Flight 90: Disaster On The Potomac's hands were tied from the beginning. The decision of whose stories to feature has already been taken by history, the ascription of the values that arose from them a done deal. The result is an odd mixture: the preamble is a bit boring, but only in the way that everyday life can be a bit boring. The drama is fraught and tense, but no more so than the historical event on which it is based. Essentially you are left with a compromise: either a news report with additional characterisation or a soap opera with limited dramatic license.
The event on which the film was based took place in Washington DC in January 1982. Air Florida's Flight 90 was scheduled to fly from the capital to Tampa, Florida. The weather was as wintry as a January day in Washington is wont to be, and take off was delayed by an hour and three-quarters due to snow and ice. This was not good news for the real people involved in this incident but its value to the screenwriter cannot be understated: a delay is prime territory for expositional dialogue. Lives are fleshed out and the stakes made abundantly clear. Were I a normal person, I would surely have started to relate to these people, their hopes and dreams.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, the pilots of Flight 90 were inexperienced at dealing with such arctic conditions and their failure to properly de-ice the wings prior to take-off led to the deaths of 74 of the 79 people on board. Their hobbled aeroplane failed to reach adequate speed on the runway, stalled and swiped into the 14th Street Bridge, killing an additional four people stuck on the ground in a snowbound Washington DC traffic jam. The Boeing 737 ended up in the frozen Potomac River below, as though it were nought but a common salmon. The stragglers bob to the surface and their battle for survival begins.
The film is fairly formulaic, cheap and cheesy stuff but it makes a number of key decisions which perhaps raise it above other examples of its type. Most notable amongst these is the fact that the crash itself is not graphically reconstructed: a neat reminder that this is a character piece rather than a Hollywood blockbuster, that each of the characters you are watching was a person you might have bumped into on the street not two years before had life taken a few different turns. The fact that five of the people involved in the accident still were people you could bump into on the street is the film's real point for celebration, rather than any florid displays of special effects mayhem. It's an admirable decision, one which arguably costs the film in terms of its overall effectiveness but saves its soul.
It is not, by any means, a great film. It is not really a good film or a bad film, either. As a faithful account of a traumatic day and as a memorial to the good in humanity that such days tend to reveal, it does pretty much everything that you would assume it should. Flight 90: Disaster On The Potomac gets FIVE out of ten disaster points.
Flight 90: Disaster On The Potomac's hands were tied from the beginning. The decision of whose stories to feature has already been taken by history, the ascription of the values that arose from them a done deal. The result is an odd mixture: the preamble is a bit boring, but only in the way that everyday life can be a bit boring. The drama is fraught and tense, but no more so than the historical event on which it is based. Essentially you are left with a compromise: either a news report with additional characterisation or a soap opera with limited dramatic license.
The event on which the film was based took place in Washington DC in January 1982. Air Florida's Flight 90 was scheduled to fly from the capital to Tampa, Florida. The weather was as wintry as a January day in Washington is wont to be, and take off was delayed by an hour and three-quarters due to snow and ice. This was not good news for the real people involved in this incident but its value to the screenwriter cannot be understated: a delay is prime territory for expositional dialogue. Lives are fleshed out and the stakes made abundantly clear. Were I a normal person, I would surely have started to relate to these people, their hopes and dreams.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, the pilots of Flight 90 were inexperienced at dealing with such arctic conditions and their failure to properly de-ice the wings prior to take-off led to the deaths of 74 of the 79 people on board. Their hobbled aeroplane failed to reach adequate speed on the runway, stalled and swiped into the 14th Street Bridge, killing an additional four people stuck on the ground in a snowbound Washington DC traffic jam. The Boeing 737 ended up in the frozen Potomac River below, as though it were nought but a common salmon. The stragglers bob to the surface and their battle for survival begins.
The film is fairly formulaic, cheap and cheesy stuff but it makes a number of key decisions which perhaps raise it above other examples of its type. Most notable amongst these is the fact that the crash itself is not graphically reconstructed: a neat reminder that this is a character piece rather than a Hollywood blockbuster, that each of the characters you are watching was a person you might have bumped into on the street not two years before had life taken a few different turns. The fact that five of the people involved in the accident still were people you could bump into on the street is the film's real point for celebration, rather than any florid displays of special effects mayhem. It's an admirable decision, one which arguably costs the film in terms of its overall effectiveness but saves its soul.
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| Alternatively you could forget everything I just said and look at the official movie poster. Cor lummy. |
It is not, by any means, a great film. It is not really a good film or a bad film, either. As a faithful account of a traumatic day and as a memorial to the good in humanity that such days tend to reveal, it does pretty much everything that you would assume it should. Flight 90: Disaster On The Potomac gets FIVE out of ten disaster points.
Tuesday, 23 February 2016
Pictures for sale
It's that time again, when Spring is starting to spring and I look around my cave of bewilderment and pencil shavings and see artistic output strewn everywhere. Maybe you or someone you know might be able to give any of these pictures a home?
If any of the above have caught your attention, you can email me or contact me via Twitter or Facebook. Alternatively, you can do the whole thing via Paypal, although do remember to leave a note stating which picture or pictures you would like.
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| ADELAIDE TERRACE, HOVE. 28 x 38cm, acrylic on 300gsm watercolour paper. WAS £120, now £80. |
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| CHIN UP, LOVE - IT'S THE PRESIDENTIAL INAUGURATION. 9.5 x 28cm, acrylic on 300gsm watercolour paper. WAS £50, now £30. |
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| NIKI LAUDA. 21 x 27cm, acrylic on textured white card. WAS £70, now £40. |
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| STREET FIGHTER 2: REUNION EDITION. 38 x 28cm; pen, ink and watercolour on 300gsm watercolour paper. WAS £120, now £80. |
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| SWAN RUGBY. 10 x 15cm; pen, ink and marker on 220gsm cartridge paper. WAS £25, now £10. |
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| WESTERN. 21 x 30cm; pen, ink, watercolour and pencil on white card. WAS £35, now £20. |
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| ZINEDINE ZIDANE. 21 x 29cm; acrylic on reclaimed book page. WAS £70, now £40. |
If any of the above have caught your attention, you can email me or contact me via Twitter or Facebook. Alternatively, you can do the whole thing via Paypal, although do remember to leave a note stating which picture or pictures you would like.
Wednesday, 2 October 2013
My favourite photograph and the glacial creep of world evil
The other day the wife was looking at a thread on Reddit. She said, "have a look at these, it's a thread about people's favourite photographs".
Every single one was donkey porn.
Nevertheless, it gave me an idea for something I could potentially address you peasants about, because I was able to quite quickly think of a number of photographs that fit into that category for me.
Every single one is donkey porn.
In fact, they are not. I do not find donkeys particularly appealing sexually. Even really good-looking donkeys with great big gopping arseholes or big wangers or anything. However, a number of the photographs that I thought about instantly are probably just as unappealing to some people, if for slightly less bestial reasons. This is because, as you will all probably be aware, I have rather morbid tastes in things. Or rather, things that are rather morbid hold a particular fascination for me.
And so we come to perhaps my all-time favourite photograph. I think it is one of the most dramatic pictures ever taken, full of action and yet crystallising the last seconds of innocence on a day that changed the world forever. It was taken nearly 50 years ago by Associated Press photographer Ike Altgens in Dallas. It was 12.30 p.m. on Friday 22nd November 1963.
It mesmerises me. There's an awful lot going on, yet at the same time it is so still. In four seconds time, the President of the United States will be dead. And yet here is the moment just before that, frozen for all time. Some people clearly realise there is something untoward going on, others are still wrapped up in the excitement of seeing Kennedy in the flesh. Every single person in this photograph is about to have the most dramatic story of their lives to tell forever.
As with the majority of the pieces of documentary evidence concerned with the assassination of John F. Kennedy, over the past half-century this photograph has variously been used to definitively establish every single possible argument and theory, particularly those which are diametrically opposed to one another.
From my point of view (as a sane man), I think it very clearly proves that Lee Harvey Oswald was the assassin from his window on the 6th floor of the Texas School Book Depository. All the people concerned with safety surrounding the caravan are looking over their shoulder to that location, having obviously just heard a sharp sound. In the Presidential limousine itself, we are clearly able to see Kennedy and Governor John F. Connolly have both been hit by Oswald's second shot, the one which conspiracy theorists term "the magic bullet".
My particular favourite conspiracy theory surrounding this photograph in particular is The Man In The Doorway. If you look almost immediately behind Kennedy in the limousine, you can see a gaggle of people stood in the entrance to the Texas School Book Depository, probably mostly on their lunch break and deciding to watch the parade. But some have claimed that one of their number is Lee Harvey Oswald, the Book Depository's most famous ever employee, thus establishing his status as the ultimate patsy for the most brazen conspiracy ever perpetrated.
There he is, look!
Could this be the world's most infamous political assassin, making a dramatic last-gasp bid for a not guilty plea? Or is it, as many other researchers have argued, another employee of the Texas School Book Depository? It would certainly seem to make sense, especially as Oswald was otherwise occupied at the time elsewhere in the building. Furthermore, the man in the doorway doesn't half resemble one of Oswald's colleagues, Bill Lovelady:
Compared to the more angular features of Oswald, it does make a compelling case:
However, the beauty of all these conspiracy theories is that they are born out of an inability to find absolutely definitive proof, so everyone can continue to idly speculate for as long as they like. What do you think? Lovelady or Oswald? Let's have another look:
Oh hold on, it can't be, surely? IT IS!
We've seen this face before:
It's Cher, from the front cover of the single Walking In Memphis, the worst ever rendition of the worst song ever written! Thus definitively establishing the link between the assassination of President John F. Kennedy and World Evil.
No room for conspiracy theories there.
Every single one was donkey porn.
Nevertheless, it gave me an idea for something I could potentially address you peasants about, because I was able to quite quickly think of a number of photographs that fit into that category for me.
Every single one is donkey porn.
In fact, they are not. I do not find donkeys particularly appealing sexually. Even really good-looking donkeys with great big gopping arseholes or big wangers or anything. However, a number of the photographs that I thought about instantly are probably just as unappealing to some people, if for slightly less bestial reasons. This is because, as you will all probably be aware, I have rather morbid tastes in things. Or rather, things that are rather morbid hold a particular fascination for me.
And so we come to perhaps my all-time favourite photograph. I think it is one of the most dramatic pictures ever taken, full of action and yet crystallising the last seconds of innocence on a day that changed the world forever. It was taken nearly 50 years ago by Associated Press photographer Ike Altgens in Dallas. It was 12.30 p.m. on Friday 22nd November 1963.
 |
| (Click it, it will go bigger) |
It mesmerises me. There's an awful lot going on, yet at the same time it is so still. In four seconds time, the President of the United States will be dead. And yet here is the moment just before that, frozen for all time. Some people clearly realise there is something untoward going on, others are still wrapped up in the excitement of seeing Kennedy in the flesh. Every single person in this photograph is about to have the most dramatic story of their lives to tell forever.
As with the majority of the pieces of documentary evidence concerned with the assassination of John F. Kennedy, over the past half-century this photograph has variously been used to definitively establish every single possible argument and theory, particularly those which are diametrically opposed to one another.
From my point of view (as a sane man), I think it very clearly proves that Lee Harvey Oswald was the assassin from his window on the 6th floor of the Texas School Book Depository. All the people concerned with safety surrounding the caravan are looking over their shoulder to that location, having obviously just heard a sharp sound. In the Presidential limousine itself, we are clearly able to see Kennedy and Governor John F. Connolly have both been hit by Oswald's second shot, the one which conspiracy theorists term "the magic bullet".
My particular favourite conspiracy theory surrounding this photograph in particular is The Man In The Doorway. If you look almost immediately behind Kennedy in the limousine, you can see a gaggle of people stood in the entrance to the Texas School Book Depository, probably mostly on their lunch break and deciding to watch the parade. But some have claimed that one of their number is Lee Harvey Oswald, the Book Depository's most famous ever employee, thus establishing his status as the ultimate patsy for the most brazen conspiracy ever perpetrated.
There he is, look!
Could this be the world's most infamous political assassin, making a dramatic last-gasp bid for a not guilty plea? Or is it, as many other researchers have argued, another employee of the Texas School Book Depository? It would certainly seem to make sense, especially as Oswald was otherwise occupied at the time elsewhere in the building. Furthermore, the man in the doorway doesn't half resemble one of Oswald's colleagues, Bill Lovelady:
Compared to the more angular features of Oswald, it does make a compelling case:
However, the beauty of all these conspiracy theories is that they are born out of an inability to find absolutely definitive proof, so everyone can continue to idly speculate for as long as they like. What do you think? Lovelady or Oswald? Let's have another look:
Oh hold on, it can't be, surely? IT IS!
We've seen this face before:
It's Cher, from the front cover of the single Walking In Memphis, the worst ever rendition of the worst song ever written! Thus definitively establishing the link between the assassination of President John F. Kennedy and World Evil.
No room for conspiracy theories there.
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
Tuesday, 5 February 2013
The busy world of assassination pictures
I want to share three of my all-time favourite pictures with you. I think they are magnificent, not only because of the exceptional technique and draughtsmanship they exhibit but also for what they represent and the significance of the event that each depicts.
They are remarkable things, aren't they? Each powerful in its own right, pregnant with the drama of one of those rare occasions where history definitively changed over the course of a moment. Sadly, aside from the picture of the shooting of William McKinley (by which point the United States was averaging a Presidential assassination just under every 20 years, a poor batting average by anybody's standards) which is by T. Dart-Walker, I do not know the identities of the other two artists. Such was the way of it in the days when photography was a luxurious plaything.
The sharp-brained among you will, of course, realise that there's something incomplete about this series. Because to the best of my knowledge, there is no such image of the fourth Presidential assassination in the United States, that of John Kennedy on 22nd November 1963. By then, celluloid had assumed its primacy over the pencil or the engraving, a position which it shows little sign of relinquishing any time soon.
What we are left with instead, of course, is the silent 8mm cinefilm taken by Abraham Zapruder in Dallas that day. There's always a witness to history, argued the Naudet brothers, who inadvertently captured the initial aeroplane strike in New York City on 11th September 2001. Zapruder is perhaps the most famous example of this truism. But oddly, a moving record of the event has proved so much more equivocal than any of these three artist's impressions. Perhaps it is by virtue of the nature of the shooting, by long-distance sniper rather than by the up-close-and-personal approach favoured by John Wilkes Booth, Charles Guiteau or Leon Czolgosz. But common sense states that the more data is available, the easier it should be to draw conclusions from it. The Zapruder film has, in the past fifty years, been used as sure proof of almost every theory, conceivable or otherwise, relating to the Kennedy assassination. It's a peculiar state of affairs.
But it was more from the point of view of completism, however, than in the spirit of providing any definitive proof, that I decided that I needed to finish the set. So today I am proud to unveil the first ever artistic impression of those terrible events in Dallas half a century ago this November. Will it stand the test of time in the same way as the others? Only history can tell.
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| The assassination of Abraham Lincoln, 14th April 1865 |
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| The assassination of James Garfield, 2nd July 1881 |
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| The assassination of William McKinley, 6th September 1901 |
They are remarkable things, aren't they? Each powerful in its own right, pregnant with the drama of one of those rare occasions where history definitively changed over the course of a moment. Sadly, aside from the picture of the shooting of William McKinley (by which point the United States was averaging a Presidential assassination just under every 20 years, a poor batting average by anybody's standards) which is by T. Dart-Walker, I do not know the identities of the other two artists. Such was the way of it in the days when photography was a luxurious plaything.
The sharp-brained among you will, of course, realise that there's something incomplete about this series. Because to the best of my knowledge, there is no such image of the fourth Presidential assassination in the United States, that of John Kennedy on 22nd November 1963. By then, celluloid had assumed its primacy over the pencil or the engraving, a position which it shows little sign of relinquishing any time soon.
What we are left with instead, of course, is the silent 8mm cinefilm taken by Abraham Zapruder in Dallas that day. There's always a witness to history, argued the Naudet brothers, who inadvertently captured the initial aeroplane strike in New York City on 11th September 2001. Zapruder is perhaps the most famous example of this truism. But oddly, a moving record of the event has proved so much more equivocal than any of these three artist's impressions. Perhaps it is by virtue of the nature of the shooting, by long-distance sniper rather than by the up-close-and-personal approach favoured by John Wilkes Booth, Charles Guiteau or Leon Czolgosz. But common sense states that the more data is available, the easier it should be to draw conclusions from it. The Zapruder film has, in the past fifty years, been used as sure proof of almost every theory, conceivable or otherwise, relating to the Kennedy assassination. It's a peculiar state of affairs.
But it was more from the point of view of completism, however, than in the spirit of providing any definitive proof, that I decided that I needed to finish the set. So today I am proud to unveil the first ever artistic impression of those terrible events in Dallas half a century ago this November. Will it stand the test of time in the same way as the others? Only history can tell.
 |
| The assassination of John Kennedy, 22nd November 1963. (Click for bigger) |
Friday, 21 December 2012
Eschatological problems
The suicidal, new-agers and Gozer worshippers alike, try not to be too downhearted. It's galling, I know, to still be alive and having now somehow survived the dual threat of both the year 2000 and 11.11 a.m. on December 21st 2012. Common sense dictates that at least one of them must have brought about the end of the world, surely? Does the planet not know what day it is? Nevertheless, be of good cheer: remember that all the governments of the world possess enough weapons of mass destruction to carry out the complete destruction of the planet hundreds of times over any time they fancied. And you might get hit by a bus while crossing the road. Nearer my God to thee, indeed.
However, for those of you having an existential crisis at the prospect of living out the next tens of thousands days of your life without any prospect of end times, I have provided a series of alternative dates and scenarios for those amongst us whose sole ambition is to die screaming to cling on to, like a pissy blanket. This is a free service and, as ever, you are most welcome.
24th December 2018
Father Christmas finds out the truth about his own existence during his annual delivery run, causing a terminal rift in the space-time continuum.
18th June 2026
The amount of cow farts in the atmosphere reaches critical mass as a friesian called Jessop cuts a particularly thick one and all the air on Earth boils.
2nd February 2029
Mars Attacks.
11th October 2037
The planet Earth is discovered to in fact to be subject to the same laws of physics as were depicted in Roadrunner cartoons with catastrophic, if hilarious, consequences.
30th November 2040
Bees.
1st January 2050
A robot Judith Hann arrives from space to reveal that we should have heeded all her warnings from the prophetic Tomorrow's World, which is in fact revealed to have fallen under the remit of religious broadcasting.
16th September 2062
The sun tires of the continual repeats of some programmes but not others on ITV3 and decides to find another galaxy with better telly.
30th July 2066
Everybody in England kills themselves due to the horror of having not won any major international football competitions for exactly 100 years and everything else on Earth dies of grief at the loss.
5th July 2075
Everything just goes to tits.
14th April 2080
My 100th birthday.
20th April 2089
Adolf Hitler reappears from hiding in Argentina on his 200th birthday to fuck us all right up.
Now one of those has got to cover it.
However, for those of you having an existential crisis at the prospect of living out the next tens of thousands days of your life without any prospect of end times, I have provided a series of alternative dates and scenarios for those amongst us whose sole ambition is to die screaming to cling on to, like a pissy blanket. This is a free service and, as ever, you are most welcome.
24th December 2018
Father Christmas finds out the truth about his own existence during his annual delivery run, causing a terminal rift in the space-time continuum.
18th June 2026
The amount of cow farts in the atmosphere reaches critical mass as a friesian called Jessop cuts a particularly thick one and all the air on Earth boils.
2nd February 2029
Mars Attacks.
11th October 2037
The planet Earth is discovered to in fact to be subject to the same laws of physics as were depicted in Roadrunner cartoons with catastrophic, if hilarious, consequences.
30th November 2040
Bees.
1st January 2050
A robot Judith Hann arrives from space to reveal that we should have heeded all her warnings from the prophetic Tomorrow's World, which is in fact revealed to have fallen under the remit of religious broadcasting.
16th September 2062
The sun tires of the continual repeats of some programmes but not others on ITV3 and decides to find another galaxy with better telly.
30th July 2066
Everybody in England kills themselves due to the horror of having not won any major international football competitions for exactly 100 years and everything else on Earth dies of grief at the loss.
5th July 2075
Everything just goes to tits.
14th April 2080
My 100th birthday.
20th April 2089
Adolf Hitler reappears from hiding in Argentina on his 200th birthday to fuck us all right up.
Now one of those has got to cover it.
Monday, 8 October 2012
Friday, 5 October 2012
Thursday, 4 October 2012
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
Monday, 1 October 2012
Friday, 28 September 2012
Thursday, 27 September 2012
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
Monday, 24 September 2012
Friday, 21 September 2012
Thursday, 20 September 2012
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