Musings From The Padded Cell


“I am just going outside and may be some time.”
Capt Lawrence Oates

Shock Horror

In a recent T&A poll readers were asked a simple question: Does Bradford Council spend its money wisely?

Ninety-two percent said no but some people refused to believe this.

“I don’t believe it!”

Man Flu


Surrounded for the last two months by people sniffing and snorting, it was a minor miracle that I avoided man-flu for as long as I did.

Clearly a healthy approach to life with lots of walking – to the pub – and regular hydration – beer – is good for you. I prefer not to tell anybody if I am ever struck down because invariably this results in the following.

“Oh God I’ve had that ten times worse! Nearly killed me it did!”

This unprompted revelation is normally followed by the subject’s entire medical history making you wish that you had taken a whole packet of Paracetamol downed with a bottle of whisky.

Even if it is weeks since they were last “close to death” they will then cough louder than a Boeing 747 just to make a point.

Those of us happy in denial ignore sage advice to stay at home and sweat it out watching crap telly. Instead we go to the gym which has the same effect of trying to speed on a motorway in a Nissan Note.

We do this safe in the knowledge that there are others here happy to display red noses and pale faces, glad that at least nobody will attempt to compare medical histories.

My Mum

Many moons ago I was bedbound for a week – hard to believe I hear ye faithful readers – only to be quizzed by my Mum.

She was aghast that I’d not told her but what could she have done? Turned forty a mother’s helping hand has it’s limits; best to hunker down in silence and hope she really had thrown her bedpan and sandpaper flannels away.

During my recent wobble, I sought the comfort of Wally Water Bottle and just to prove I was having a shit day off came his cap and he was no more.

So bye bye Wally and if you’re reading Mum how about a new one for my birthday?

What Women Don’t Want

Lover Boy

After rather too many drinks last weekend my old mate Patch confessed to feeling in an amorous mood; love was in the air. Sadly, things did not quite work out as intended for lover boy.

“I waited for Mrs P to get her nightie on, stuck on old faithful Lionel Richie, gargled a bit of mouth wash, sucked in me belly and splashed on her favourite Hai Karate!” he confessed at Sunday prayers.

Big Al put down his Wotsits, Uncle Andy stopped playing with his fire engine and Young Bet leaned provocatively over the bar, the tip of her full belly dragon tattoo slightly exposed.

“She slapped me around the head and told me not in a month of Sundays! I got kicked out and left on the landing.” he said dismayed to relate the tale. “Trouble was I got lost! Couldn’t even find the bloody spare room!”

Wandering around the house like an abandoned dog in a desert he eventually settled for the sofa and Oscar the pooch, waking to a feeling akin to have being assaulted by a baseball bat. Time to change that Hai Karate?

The Death Of Radio

It seems that Daily Mail columnist Quentin Letts agrees wholeheartedly with my sentiments re the Brussels Broadcasting Corporation (BBC).

My piece a few weeks ago – The Death Of Radio – is amplified in this column by Letts.

Instead of being assailed by the latest Project Fear alarms about how Brexit is going to consign us to ruin…life has become much less itchy.

Instead of having to hear ministerial half-wits trying to claim the HS2 railway is a good idea, or professional grievance-mongers moan about the health service, or a gloopy-voiced reporter trotting out cliches about food banks, my mornings started with music from various centuries and cultures.

In pressured times why hard-pressed folk have to pay £150.50 a year to pay the wages of a bunch of self-important nonentities defies belief.

I honestly hope it’s days are as numbered as the fat cats in Brussels because it has become a shameless propaganda machine, unrepresentative of so many who pay it’s wages.

Have You Seen This Man?


A local man has been reported missing and may be hard to spot. He will be noticeable by a slow walk and a desire to tell crap jokes every ten minutes. His wife sent this urgent plea.

“Keep ‘im!”

Car Crime

Despite many articles suggesting that you need a second mortgage to insure a car in Bradford, the truth is often not quite as bad.

This article tried to offer a snapshot of car crime in the city but it is impossible to draw many firm conclusions here.

It tells us nothing about the perpetrators, where they live for instance. Equally, it suggests that busy main roads are popular with the local scumbags but offers no explanation why?

Nor is it possible to wholly rely on the assumption that car crime is restricted to less affluent areas. If the figures were contrasted with the respective area populations this would also be more illustrative.

Car crime is a soul destroying event which can leave the victim feeling as hopeless as they are out of pocket.

If you want to gauge how your car rates security wise, scroll down this article and take the test.

One Hundred Years Ago

“At a meeting at the New Inn, Idle, on Monday night, a new society called the Idle and District (Poultry) Utility Association was formed with shares at £1 5s.

A working sub-committee was elected to inquire into the purchase of poultry and pig foods and the next meeting of the association is fixed for 8 o’clock on Monday night at the Great Northern Hotel, Thackley.”

In a different world.

The Art Of Delusion

Whilst reading a rare thought provoking article in the local rag regarding Bradford’s twin railway stations, there was the usual claim regarding the potential of my struggling city.

“With a population of more than 530,000 (almost a quarter of which is under 16)…the district is poised to take full advantage of the opportunity the Northern Powerhouse presents.”

Hapless Hinchcliffe loves to trot out similar stuff but what evidence is there to back up these claims? If the existence of this abundance of young people is such a positive please would someone explain two things to me?

Why we have not got an influx of hi-tech, high value companies into the city? And why is it that escalating social care budgets demand an inflation busting 6% increase in our Council Tax?

Come On Harry!

I think Harry Gration is one of the few things to celebrate about the BBC. So why they stuck him on some remote moor on this week just to tell us all it was snowing and freezing who knows?

Typical of the BBC they also had Owain telling us just the same utterly bleeding obvious stood next to Harry whilst Keeley told us exactly the same stuck back in the studio.

Imagine the bill to sort out Owain’s quiff? As ever with the BBC, why use one presenter when you can use three?

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