Baffle Bursts Banks

                                  On-The-Spot Flood Special From Our Helicopter Team

Much of Bafflesby is underwater today after weather conditions described by an official source as “exceptional and unprecedented” caused the River Baffle to overflow in what locals say is now an annual event. When asked why the department of forecasting science had been axed in the austerity cuts, an Environment spokesperson said: “Nobody could have predicted this.”

Mobile-phone footage sold to the media by distraught residents has brought the rising floodwater into millions of homes nationwide. One dramatic clip captured the moment a newspaper reporter asked for a house-owner’s reaction:

… (sound of rushing water) … “So how does it feel to watch the river swirling up your garden, pouring through your back door, streaming through your lovely home and ruining all your gorgeous furnishings and precious family keepsakes?” … (sound of lachrymose sobbing) …

It’s not all doom and gloom, though. One enterprising organisation has managed to turn tragedy into triumph. Shard & Froyd Travel Tours Inc. has taken the plunge where others shiver on the side, bringing a cascade of visitors to the most severely flooded areas where they can experience all the torment and misery at second-hand. “There’s always somebody worse off than you,” said Hugo Smirke of hilltop village Upper Crustleigh, “and this is a welcome break from campaigning against wind farms.” The tour company said the catastrophe had come in the nick of time. “To be honest,” said their spokesperson, “it’s a case of sink or swim. Luxury travel has been in the doldrums since the recession. After this deluge, we’re home and dry.”

The firm who built many of the swamped estates was Floodplain Fabrications Limited Liability Company. They declined to comment and told us to contact Bafflesby and District Council who had put the land out to building tender. No council spokespersons were available but an automated message referred us to the national government agency that originally approved planning permission. The only person actually authorised to comment was the head of the agency but he was still on holiday in the Seychelles and pending his return we were advised to check back with Floodplain Fabrications that they had adhered to official guidelines.

Back in Bafflesby, confused residents awaited the arrival of a swat-team of junior government ministers on an urgent fact-finding mission.  A rain-soaked crowd perched on duckboards in the town square, all eyes peeled for the ministerial convoy. The cry went up but cheers turned to jeers as fingers were pointed across the still-swollen River Baffle at the politicians and their frantically-phoning aides – 20 minutes later than promised – gazing down with apparent surprise at the impassable wreckage of the town bridge.

Their reset SatNav route took a further 20 minutes, by which time most residents had wearily resumed their property reclamation leaving a few stragglers to heckle the motorcade. The ministers leaped from their cars, donned brightly-coloured protective-wear and began to point in all directions with expressions of decisive intent and looks of pained empathy. Another mobile-phone recording captures the responses of one minister to inquiries from disgruntled bystanders:

” … and so at the end of the day, madam, when push came to shove it boiled down to hard choices and I have it on unimpeachable authority that allowing Bafflesby to flood in order to save Nobsford made perfect economic sense under the circum … (muffled interruption) … well, yes, Bafflesby does have more homes than Nobsford but when you consider market value it’s crystal clear that … (muffled interruption) … ah, yes, I see where you’re coming from but … (muffled interruption) … no, madam, what I meant was that I understand your point of view but we have to consider the British taxpayer in every … (muffled interruption) … oh well, sir, as a Nobsford taxpayer you will certainly appreciate your brand-new state-of-the-art high-water flow-containment spill-proof flood-barriers … (muffled interruption) … dear me, flooded too, you say … well, let’s not forget we’ve had exceptional and unprecedented weather conditions and I’m sure your flood defences performed brilliantly right up until the point where they failed … “

Here water penetration appears to bring the recording to an abrupt end.

Coming Soon

We seek answers to the key questions – why, what, where, when and who?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last Post … of 2015

Well, this year has been a bundle of laughs … not, as the kids would say. Continuing this downbeat theme, I’ve not posted for 9 whole days so thought I’d better not leave it any longer. The festive season has left me (and you, perhaps) feeling somewhat jaded and certainly not up to anything original, so here are ten Christmas cracker type jokes for you not to laugh at. And to help you keep a straight face, I’ve included several pictures of people not having a good time.

A woman gets on a bus with her baby. The bus driver says: ”Ugh, that’s the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen!” The woman walks to the rear of the bus and sits down, fuming. She says to a man next to her: ”The driver just insulted me!” The man says: ”You go up there and tell him off. Go on, I’ll hold your monkey for you.”

“I can still enjoy sex at 74 – I live at 75, so it’s  no distance.”

I want to die like my father, peacefully in his sleep, not screaming and terrified like his passengers.

One day a waiter fell sick and was rushed to hospital. He was lying on the table in great pain. When a doctor passed by the waiter said: “Hey doctor, could you do something for my pain?” The doctor said: “I’m sorry this isn’t my table.”

I said to the Gym instructor “Can you teach me to do the splits?” He said, ”How flexible are you?” I said, ”I can’t make Tuesdays.”

A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse. ”But why?” they asked, as they moved off. ”Because,” he said ”I can’t stand chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.”

I went to my doctor and asked for something for persistent wind. He gave me a kite.

I was in my local pub the other night. I said to the landlord: “This beer is flat, warm and full of sediment”. He said: “You’re lucky – you’ve only got a pint. I’ve got a bloody cellar full.”

I backed a horse yesterday at ten to one.  It came in at quarter past four.

The people next door are awful. At three o’clock this morning they were banging on the walls and screaming. Good job I wasn’t trying to sleep — I was playing my drums at the time.

OK, I cheated on the last picture … couldn’t leave you with another miserable mush when you’re supposed to be feeling festive, could I? And while I’m on an upbeat note – geddit? – here’s wishing you all the best in 2016 … Happy New Year!

There’s A Whole Generation …

When we first heard this kind of music, we little thought that we’d still be listening to it half a century later.

50 years ago, old people in Britain sang sentimental music-hall songs like ‘Nellie Dean’ and cherished wartime performers like Vera Lynn and Gracie Fields. Old men wore their de-mob suits on the beach and old ladies ate bread and dripping and wore whalebone corsets. This was the world of charabanc outings that the Beatles satirised in their underrated film Magical Mystery Tour. They – along with most of their musical contemporaries – believed that pop culture was ephemeral, something you did before you got a proper job. And when you retired with your gold watch, you’d be sipping warm Mackeson in a smoke-filled pub singing along to ‘We’ll Meet Again‘ …

But something had shifted. A fault line opened up. Pete Townsend and Roger Daltrey still perform ‘My Generation’ with its now ironic line Hope I die before I get old. The Stones continue to defy gravity and strut their stuff to thousands of new young fans. Even the warring Davies brothers have buried the hatchet in a Kinks reunion. And tomorrow night I’m off to see the Pretty Things perform their still exciting 60s-style blend of rhythm’n’blues and psych-rock, with a new album described by Mojo magazine as ‘almost unfeasibly vital’.

As the great Bill Hicks used to say, ‘Who woulda thunk it?’

 

Sleep Disturbance

Last night I dreamed a wonderful new word.
This morning I awoke and wrote it down.
I knew it had a power which, once heard,
Could bring an end to fighting in the town.
I sold my gun to buy a megaphone
And spread the word across the battlefield.
To my delight I saw their weapons thrown
Upon the ground. By evening peace was sealed.
They said I was a hero, set me high,
And drank my health a hundred thousand times.
But soon enough the drink made tempers fly –
I wake before old feuds beget new crimes.
I cannot sleep, hearing the town scream.
Waking up this morning was a dream.

Dave Kingsbury

 

 

Tribes Without Passports, People without States

Click on the link below for a stimulating post from a sharp and thought-provoking WordPress blog. I love any attempt to come up with new thinking and this endeavours to break up the consensual log-jam. Its idealism reminds me of my first ever post, which I present below as a naïve introduction.

My voyage of exploration begins. I want to recapture the spirit of childhood, when we would set out from home with the deliberate aim of getting hopelessly lost. No point in going over old ground, after all.

Source: Tribes Without Passports, People without States

Night on a Bare Mountain

There comes a point in every life online

When laughter dies. We sense the biting storm

That others feel beyond our virtual home.

The dispossessed cry O for such a voice

But we fall silent, waiting for their word.

The question, my friend, is trembling on their lips –

Our answer still blowing in the wind.

 

(with apologies to Bob Dylan and the multitudes even he failed)

Dave Kingsbury