If I have to pay for my own wine with dinner, you can pay your own sodding mortgage.

Aside from a of notable period of unemployment where I went redundancy-package bonkers and enjoyed an extended holiday that ensured my local branch of Threshers met their monthly sales targets for at least a year, I have always had a job of some kind. A couple of these were properly serious and involved things like… Read More If I have to pay for my own wine with dinner, you can pay your own sodding mortgage.

When are the arts not the arts? When there’s no option.

All the way back in July I wrote a blog about proposals to significantly upgrade the existing Desborough Suite in Maidenhead Town Hall and turn it into a multi-function arts centre. Of course, by ‘arts’, all attention is turned to the needs and requirements of performers – music, theatre and, of course, *cough* musical theatre.… Read More When are the arts not the arts? When there’s no option.

Hunger is not funny, you ignorant over-privileged fucks.

After a Christmas/holy-bastard-where-have-all-the-hours- gone hiatus, during which we have seen the death of Nelson Mandela, storms battering the living fuck out of bits of Britain, dead bodies popping up left right and centre and the continued absence of Iain Duncan Smiths smug, empathy-less and eminently punchable fucking head on a spike outside Westminster, I am… Read More Hunger is not funny, you ignorant over-privileged fucks.