Paradise with Barry

I've really got to stop buying the Observer. For the £2 I waste on this rag every Sunday I could instead invest my funds in any of the following selection:

- 2 Toblerones from Poundland
- 6 Wings and chips
- 70% of a 10 pack of B+H Silvers
- A Gregg's Chicken and Mango Sandwich
- A King's of Leon ringtone (SEX ON FIRE)

The main supplement seems to consist of nothing but wafty features on green issues and numerous pictures of tearful third world matriarchs. This week the the main piece focused on celebrities and "their very personal al fresco spaces" (gardens). Below is a picture of Barry from Eastenders having a relaxing Sunday ruined by an inflatable dolphin:


Check out the OTT description of Barry's garden/Secret Kingdom:

"Walk through the garage door and you enter Shaun's Secret Kingdom, where honeybees feast from abundant blooms, apple and quince trees ready their branches for fruit and hens cluck around in dappled sunlight...

..."Peonies, magnolias and camellias", shouts his wife, Mel, from behind a fence. It's capable Mel who really gets her hands dirty around here, and Shaun who jumps in the pool with children Sophie, 11, and Joseph, 8."

Observer knobhead Cath Rapley is really going to town with the descriptive language here. Anyone who has ever been to Sevenoaks will tell you that it's not that interesting, yet Cath Rapley is going on like Barry and his obnoxious wife Mel have cultivated a contemporary Eden. Thankfully Barry isn't nude, and an inflatable porpoise has usurped the gobby serpent as tormentor-in-chief.

Another source of beef is sultry agony aunt Mariella Frostrup, and her continued refusal to respond to my repeated pleas for help. I have sent her dozens of letters regarding my 'night terrors', yet not one of them has made it on to the problem page. Every week it's yet another thirtysomething whining about how they're not sure whether they are in the right relationship. What about my night terrors Mariella!?

Eco-Twats

I made the mistake of choosing a recent issue of The Observer Sunday supplement as an accompaniment for today's afternoon shit. Before I had even reached the toilet I realised that I had made a grave error when I clocked the cover feature:
"IS YOUR CHILD AN ECO-WARRIOR"
This was accompanied by a picture of 12-year-old boy Cato Tallis-Lock (!) modelling a 'Save the Sea' T-shirt; while assuming the hands on hips position. At this point, I was beginning to relish the possibility that we had run out of toilet paper.


Instead of doing the sensible thing and flicking straight to Mariella Frostrup's bland, yet vaguely gratifying relationship column, I attempted to read the article about the eco-brats. Apparently rage serves as an effective laxative, and an unusually swift poo followed. I have posted a link to the article, which I guarantee you won't be able to finish. As not only is the article severely irritating, but it is also fucking boring.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2009/feb/01/ethicalliving-family

While Cato's antics do pain me, it is clear that the blame should reside predominantly with the parents. The fact that they put Cato Tallis-Lock on the birth certificate is conclusive evidence of this. I would love to drive to leafy Redland (the 'greenest' aka 'smuggest' place in the UK) and abduct young Cato. I would take the lad to the Catford Mcdonald's drive-thru and treat him to a large Chicken McNugget meal. At first, due to his misguided parental loyalty, he would reluctant to eat the McNuggets. No worries, I would perservere, and through a potent combination of verbal encouragement and the tacit threat of physical violence, young Cato would finish the meal. I would then return the boy to his loving family.

The beauty of this scheme is that the boy's parents are the only ones truly damaged by my actions. The Redland community will ostracise Tallis-Locks once they find out that one of the brood has consumed junk food. While if I had given the boy a mild bludgeoning, the Tallis-Locks would still be able to depend on the support of their twattish community.