New Year is cancelled

The Hogmanay celebrations in Edinburgh have been cancelled.

Arthritis in my bawbag couldn't stop me from the street party, nor could the fact that I've broken both my legs, but hey nonny, nonny, the pigs have decided driving rain and seventy mile per hour winds are not good conditions to stage an open-air pop concert. The nellies.

I've fought wars (sure, they were computer games) and trudged the streets in full drag. The weather has never stopped me yet... Until tonight.

I was so excited, but now am quite sad. I'm actually considering drinking a herbal beverage - from a mug! It's either that or suicide, dear reader. What should Minge do? You decide.



Mary's so cheesed off, she's gone to bed. I told her to stay up for the booze, the bells and the bonkers behaviour, but she took off to her room before I had a moment to beg. I think she's mostly upset because she was going to invite some of her wild friends around here as soon as Ian and I were out the door. I've a secret notion they drink absinthe, smoke pot and wrestle in the mud.

I was so looking forward to seeing Pet Shop Boys. I don't suppose they'll perform tomorrow or in the next few days and wonder if I'll get my money back for the tickets. I doubt it. They'll call it an act of God. An act of Satan, more like.

Happy new year, y'all. Let's hope it turns out better that it's beginning.

Runaway success

I adored The Runaway Bride, the 2006 Doctor Who Christmas Special.

"Why?" I hear you cry, dear reader.

Well, it was good standard Doctor Who, on the whole. And when it tried to be different, it was good. I was very relieved and strangely excited by this. In the previous two series, trying new things have been a bad idea, on the whole and in my humble opinion. This time, it worked.

The best of the new:

A potential new assistant preferring to stay home and out or the TARDIS.

Donna was a real breath of fresh air. The Doctor's relationship with Rose was beautifully crafted throughout the past two years, but her not being there did not feel wrong and I did not spend the entire sixty minutes wishing she was. In fact, I kind of wish Donna had agreed to go off with The Doctor in his ship. She'd have made a fabulous companion, being quite different to Rose.

I have a nasty feeling that Martha will be something of a Rose carbon copy, especially now that we've been introduced to her family. My only hope is that her relationship with The Doctor will be different and, dare I say it, not as strong. I'm half hoping that she'll be dropped or resign before the last episode. I don't really care to see more character development and soap, thanks all the same. More sci-fi, less soap, please!

Who knows, perhaps Donna might reappear some time.

Can you believe I just said that, dear reader, considering my dislike for The Catherine Tate Show?

It's her programme I dislike. She's a good woman as was the character she played in The Runaway Bride, Donna. She's a good actress and the piece was well written. Perhaps she should get RTD to write some sketches for her show. They might be funny, then. Oh, no, having said that, perhaps she shouldn't. They'd all be toilet gags, agout farting or weird sex. No, Catherine, don't do it.

Oh, and wasn't the Racnoss Empress both scary and as camp as knickers? Fabulous!

The special effects blew my tiny mind: the formation of the earth, the Racnoss ship, the draining of the Thames and the Empress herself... Marvellous!

The whole thing: very Doctor Who with a touch of panto and comedy thrown in. I'm nervous of comedy in Doctor Who, especially when RTD is pushing the pen, but this time, it worked. I still have no idea why and I might change my mind. I've only seen the episode once and will require further viewing before making my mind up. On the whole: 9/10.

Hurrah!

Of course, it could have been better. I was on call as a transsexual Cyber-person to appear in The Runaway Bride at a moment's notice. Sadly, my telephone refused to ring. I must remember to call Telewest, the cunts.

Hogmanay

Glasgow and Stirling have cancelled their Hogmanay celebrations because of the terrible weather.

Will Edinburgh be next?

I sincerely hope not. I've got my cha cha heels out and everything.

Alan-chan and Junya

Two outrageous bum-feelers from Yokohama came to visit us a couple of days ago.

While I generally approve of outragous behaviour, I do not approve of dogs wearing wigs. But Meg was insistent.

We had a high old time. It seemed only days since we'd seen Alan and Jun-Jun.

After arriving, I got the dressing up box out. We pretended to be pervy women and pervy cyber people. It was fantastic. We then went out for a meal. The waiting staff thought we were outragous, even the Nazi bint from Denmark.

I'm happy, I'm carefree and I'm gay. I was born this way.

After an overnight, Alan and Junya did some touristy things. They visited Roslyn Chapel (it's a ten minute drive from here) while Ian and I walked mes filles then they took a look around The Palace Of Holyroodhouse while Ian and I spent some of our Christmas vouchers.

I was sad to see them go. Why do all the nice people live so far away?

Mum's kitties

Christmas Eve on Sandbanks beach

Quincy's

Someone, wishing to remain anonymous, left a comment for me in a previous post, advising me to pop over to Quincy's on Seamoor Road in Westbourne, Bournemouth. I'd see some gorgeous young hunk, apparently.

I went, as directed. Sadly, the store was closed.

Power

I was sad to learn of the death of President Ford a few days ago. Hypocrisy and double standards abound, Dubya said of Gerald, America's only unelected President to date, "He was a great man..."

How many people, do you suppose, dear reader, will say that of Dubya himself?

Dubya, however one looks at him, is a most dreadful individual.

As a self proclaimed Christian, he has sent thousands of people to their deaths in the full knowledge that Christ teaches us that on being struck on one cheek, we should show the other.

While President, Dubya has made unprecedented claims of executive power. He has asserted, for example, that the president may imprison foreign nationals and US citizens without judicial process and may hold such persons incommunicado.

In rejecting these claims in 2004, Justice Sandra Day O'Connor wrote for the Supreme Court, "History and common sense teach us that an unchecked system of detention carries the potential to become a means for oppression."

Click here to read What the Supreme Court's ruling means.

I aim to make it to Grand Rapids one day, not only for the Judy Garland experience, but to visit the Gerald Ford Museum. I hear it houses a most fabulous disco mirrorball. I might also bump into Betty.

2007

Guten tag, dear reader, og bon chance!

2007 is literally around the corner. I'm going to pop out in a few moments and get it. Once I've had my fun with it, I'm going to pass it on. Should anyone want it, please get in touch. I don't want any money except P&P (that's shipping for you Americans - although I can promise I will sent it airmail).

I usually avoid making new year resolutions, but this year I intend to break the habit of a lifetime and make one. I resolve to try to think about my actions, each and every one of them. I'll ask myself if they're ethical or not, if I'm being selfish, if these actions are exacerbating any problems or helping to solve them... Basically, I hope to think more about the things I'm doing. Of course, this may have no impact on my actions. I know I'll be selfish from time to time, I'll cause problems for myself and for others, I'll leave lights on unnecessarily... But I will think. And many good things start with a thought. So, there is hope, dear reader.

BT used to say it's good to talk, I think it's good to think. Click here and you will.

Whatever you're doing to bring in the new year, hen, I hope it's fabulous, even if it's a nice deep sleep, tucked up in bed. And I hope 2007 is wonderful.

I'm hoping and praying that the weather doesn't mean the cancellation of the party in Edinburgh. This news article is currently claiming it's going ahead, but it's all subject to change. I'm desperate to see Pet Shop Boys and I refuse to be stopped.

2006 has been an outlandish year, positive and negative...

Thanks to Aaron, I started blogging and made some good friends along the way. Something sinister grew within my poor tongue, Ian and I went to Japan, Brian came to see us in August amid his tour of Britain, Steve Irwin was killed, Borat hoaxed America, Saddam was hung, Heather and Paul split up, Brokeback Mountain missed out on the best picture Oscar, officials in Tokyo allowed an image of Britney Spears in the nude to be displayed on their subway, James Brown passed away, Daniel Craig shone as James Bond, there was an explosion on the moon, cartoons of Muhammad were published (with an ironic reaction), that French lady had a face transplant, Gary Glitter was put back behind bars, Two Shags admitted to having had an affair (what the hell did she see in him?), the Italians finally saw sense, Bird Flu came to Scotland, I found out what made me gay, two Israeli soldiers were captured by Lebanese guerrillas... Remember the train bombings in Mumbai? And the Austrian kidnap victim who was found after ten years? Another spate of school shootings began in the USA, Dubya was given a bloody nose, A cold war style spy drama unfolded in London, five prostitutes were murdered in Ipswich, a tornado ripped through London and fog stopped me (and thousands of others) from travelling by air.

My favourite story of the year, though, however sad, has to be the poor whale who took a wrong turn North of Scotland and ended up in London.

What do you suppose 2007 has in store for us, dear reader?

Kieran Bracken

Ici

J'habite ici, dear reader.

Où habitez vous?

BC

Before Christmas, Mum, Pat and I had an afternoon out in Bos Vegas.



Other things happened before Christmas, too, dear reader. Yes.

I took a trip to Portsmouth to see Kapitano.

Above, we see the Guildhall.



This, my lamb, is St John's Cathedral, a Catholic place of worship. Spookily, it's located on Edinburgh Road.



HMS Warrior. We thought and hoped that it was Victory.



Kapitano and I.



Here we see Minge inside Spinnaker Tower. Our trip to said tourist attraction was outrageously fabulous, affording us views of The Isle Of Wight and practically the whole of bloody Hampshire!



Other visitors to the tower, like me, must have thought they were flying.



L'autre cathedral.



Here, in the distance, we see Spinnaker Tower. In the foreground, we see a man. For the blind among you, he is a black man.



This delicious mode of transport is a hovercraft, dear reader. It carries passengers from Portsmouth to The Isle Of Wight. I intend to take a trip on it sometime soon. I am currently a hovercraft virgin and desire to be broken in!



I had a wonderful day in Portsmouth with Kapitano and feel in some small way that a wish had been granted. What wish? I felt confidence in copious amounts, loves.

I'd usually be a bag of nerves going to meet someone in a strange and foreign city, ladies, but this time, all was well. Pourquoi? Je ne sais pas. I really have no idea, but I do know my confidence grew with every moment spent with Kapitano as we walked about the place, stopped for lunch and photo opportunities, drank and talked (practically without pause) on every topic known to humankind.



My journey from Bournemouth to Portsmouth went without hitch. Sadly, in reverse, everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Trains we cancelled and others delayed, meaning a two hour journey became four.

I was as stiff as a board on reaching Mum's house. I'd not known such cold temperatures in goodness only knows how long. I swear, if I should have fallen over, I'd have smashed.

Irn Bru Snowman

Pandora's box

Eh-oh, dear reader - and welcome to the world of flying Minge.

I've missed blogger, I really have. I'm a real bloghead.

First things first: do you know where this is? Do you?

Very sad news: Gabby's Mum died while I was down in Bournemouth. Please keep her and her family in your thoughts and prayers. Click here to read about charitable donations.

I've had a nightmare(ish) journey to Edinburgh today, all courtesy of FlyBe and the great British weather, ie: fog. Click here to read all about it.

I rose this morning at 0400, took a taxi to the train station in Bournemouth at 0445 for the 0515 train to Southampton Airport Parkway. No delays. Phew. Then I got to the airport. My flight up to Edinburgh was delayed, but only slightly. The flight leaving five minutes earlier for Glasgow had been cancelled. The result was combining the two flights, the aeroplane making a brief stop in Glasgow.

Of course, the reason for my day trip to Edinburgh was to see the surgeon at the hospital about my tongue. I got there, if you'll excuse the pun, dear reader, by the skin of my teeth.

I was treated to good news, but not as good as I'd have liked.

The tumour on my tongue was indeed cancer, but not the aggressive type, treated easily and with a very high success rate. The lovely Doctor assured me that it had been, "...removed, completely and utterly..." A blood test will hopefully prove this. I can barely remember the name of my famed cancer and attempting to spell it proves a fruitless exercise with any search engine. I will therefore have to remain ignorant until I see the good Doctor again at the end of January.

I see my GP for the blood test results early in the new year.

And I'll be seeing the fabulous surgeon every six months for the next two years for check ups, just to be on the safe side. But she's confident. As am I.

Minge didn't exactly dice with death, but I am glad to have only seen The Grim Reaper out of the corner of my eye and not a close-up, nose-to-nose encounter.

Ian and I will have a chinky for tea and then he'll drive me over to the airport for my return fluges to Southampton. I'm crossing my fingers that there will be no late cancellations nor delays. Hanging around in the freezing fog is not my idea of fun.

On my way to the bus, after having left the hosptial, I took a wee walk along Princes Street here in Edinburgh. Pandora's box by OMD was pumping out of HMV. I wondered if a manufacturer of porn had realised the possibilities of this title. I hope it went under the porndar, though. I love OMD and pornographing their back catalogue would be an absolute disgrace. Did that sentence actually make sense?

I had a few newspapers to read this morning and was even offered a free copy of The Daily Mail on the aeroplane. The offer was met with a polite, yet firm, "No thank you," from Minge. I do not read Nazi rags.

The Times and Metro, however, made for interesting reading. I read that Dubya may boost the number of US troops in Iraq...
In the months before the invasion of Iraq, General Eric Shinseki, the army chief of staff, told Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld that three hundred thousand to four undred thousand troops would be necessary to bring about a stable Iraq. Rumsfeld, who had no personal experience with ground war, dismissed Shinseki's estimate as, "...far off the mark." Rumsfeld insisted that one hundred and forty thousand troups could accomplish the mission. Four years later, despite secterian violence, lethal attacks on American troops and mass murders, American troop levels are less than one hundred and fifty thousand, a figure called insufficient by, among others, General Anthony Zinni, former Centcom commander; Colonel John Agoglia, planner for Centcom and Senator John McCain.

Was cash a problem for the Federal Government and Defense Department?

In 2006, Dubya's tax policy resulted in an average tax benefit of $23.00 for Americans in the lowest 20% of personal income. The middle 20% of Americans received a benefit of $748.00. The top 1% of Americans received an average tax benefit of $39,000.00. Individuals making more than $10,000,000.00 a year saw their tax bill decrease by an average of HALF A MILLION DOLLARS.

Perhaps Dubya should stop looking after the rich and concentrate on the military personel and poorest Americans. It's just a thought, dear reader.

Still in the news, I'm amazed at how many Americanisms are appearing in the press and slipping into everyday usage:

Gotten
Thru
Hookers
Happy Holidays
Pain in the ass

Gotten just isn't a word. Thru is a lazy way of spelling through. Hookers are prostitutes. We'll say, "Merry Christmas," thank you. I've never had a pain in my donkey, but I have had a pain in my arse.

Ooh, I'm being a total bitch today, dear reader.

Oh, but my heart was gladdened to see someone use the term dear reader in a report in the Times, dear reader. Its catching, I tell you.

Something that does upset me, even as a committed republican, is the way some people in the media, who should know better, label our head of state The Queen Of England. I'm planning on sending a nasty letter to those concerned.

Fib Sunday will be taking a well earned rest until the new year, dear reader. Meanwhile, you can still play, if you would like, by clicking here. Expect a new edition on 7th January 2007.

Until my next meeting with a computer, may I take this golden opportunity to wish you the most fabulous of Christmases and all the best for 2007.

But before I go:

A primary school teacher decided to introduce her pupils to the sciences.

"Now children," she began, "I want you to think for a moment. If you had no skin, what do you think would make a good substitute?"

Little Suzie piped up, "Please, Miss. I think gold would be good. I could pick off a little bit, sell it and buy a Mercedes."

"Very good," responded teacher.

Raising her hand, Julie offered, "I'd have platinum. It's rarer than gold. I'd get more money. I could pick off a wee bit, sell it and buy a Mercedes and a BMW."

"Oh! Good!" replied teacher.

Johnny now stepped in with, "Please, Miss, I'd have pubic hair!"

"Why on earth would you have that?" asked teacher.

"Well," said Johnny, "My sister's only got a wee bit around her chuff and you should see all the cars outside our house."

Oh, and just enough time for my annual un-PC Christmas joke:

A wee girl goes into a department store to see Father Christmas. She sits on his knee and he asks:

"So, little girl, what would you like for Christmas?"

"I'd love some hair around my vagina," she replied.

"Oh," said Santa. "Will a little white beard do?"

Merry Christmas.

Tanzen madly backwards

Today is a strange day.

Yesterday was better.

Minge went to Portsmouth
Minge went on the train
Minge went to see Kapitano
Then came back again

I'm a poet and I wasn't aware of that.

More about my trip to Hampshire when I can upload photographic evidence. I promise. I'm not very clever, you see, dear reader, and rely heavily on imagery because of my meagre vocabulary.

Today is strange because the bus bringing me into Bournemouth town centre (where I now am) was involved in a wee crash. A woman pulled out onto a main road in front of the on-coming bus. Oops. And the silly cow had a baby on board sign in the back window. Perhaps she should have had an idiotic twat sign instead.

Now, this in itself isn't strange, but when I tell you that on changing buses, two young lads did weird 80s robotic dancing in celebration of no-one being hurt, you too, dear reader, will think that this is strange. And you'd be right.

I'm off back to the shops, now, hen. I have to buy eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog. It is Christmas, after all.