The Cat and Financial Fiddle

We interrupt this blog with an urgent message for the Cat and Fiddle, late of Macclesfield... 

This last bank holiday in the UK, the vast readership of this weblog joined us in a visit to the Peak District of Derbyshire and its surrounds, a visit only marred for us by (a) the power failing at the family's beloved Alton Towers and (b) a fine local ale proving more bitter than expected by a request for £100 for the privilege of parking at your historic hostelry between the hours of 14:09 and 14:31, whilst proceeding in a westerly direction.

I understand this operation has been contracted out to an outfit best described as Ozzies-on-the-Make, and am sure that a mutual love of the amber nectar stands me in good favour in relation to this matter?

On the day in question I was wholly unaware throughout the visit that charges were levied against free-riders there for less wholesome pursuits like hiking. In fact if we look at Exhibit A in the illustration (ringed in red), you will appreciate that it's wholly possible to arrive ~ and leave worse the wear ~ at the spot without cognisance of the signs provided. As indeed, your lordship, would happen to us on this occasion.

In fact looking again at the handout, I have located our own vehicle (captured here by your own camera and framed in yellow) at the spot I think it occupied. Imagine yourselves if you would, walking from thereabouts and whether you too might miss the signage provided?

Happily however examination of Google's own photographic record, provided here by their little orange man, shows how customers of the facility ought not suffer a charge should they register a vehicle upon arrival. Might the barman in your opinion not put that to customers in order that they do not end up paying £110 for a round? I think so... as I may you, members of the jury.

For indeed, there it is... the 'smoking gun' in the form of evidence framed in blue that I did in fact purchase a pint of ale (and shandy for a fourteen-year old who was only there to drive me home in the circs).

Ed. The Cat and Fiddle was among the highest pubs in England, located on a pass beloved of bikers. The above is a heartfelt appeal for withdrawl of Parking Charge No. SP60807464 and has been forwarded to the proprietors in the shape of Forest Distilleries, besides those thieving Ozzy bar stewards. If you are affected by any of the issues raised in this post, don't bother me.

Bit of a Wall-y

Captain Geoff Wall has been removed from operations at Air Canada after flying for seventeen years without a licence.

The airline has said that he's not a captain, he's a very naughty boy.

In my considered opinion as a one-time airline training captain, I should like to say that the lack of a licence matters not a bit; with two pilots up front it's soon obvious to their opposite number if either's short of the full ticket.

I'd a friend who joined the A330 operation servicing an RAF transport requirement... as a captain, despite never having been one. After a period I recall of some three weeks, closer examination showed that the reference on his CV was Jabba Desilijic Tiure ~ better known for appearing in Star Wars than for his exploits in airliners*.

Occasionally people walk around in white coats and get to become surgeons, and as with people like Geoff Wall, they're usually more motivated than the average NHS employee instead of less.

* My friend made The Sun newspaper under the headline 'Jobba the Hutt' and later went on to infiltrate the KGB dressed as Darth Vader.

The Angel of the North

I wish to send waves of positivity to whoever handed my wallet ~ formerly of the first cubicle at the gents' toilets, Birch Services Eastbound on the M62 ~ to Costa Coffee for safekeeping, wholly intact.

I cannot ever sit on a public lavatory seat ~ a cross I bear throughout life, so hit the donations button below ~ without recalling a time I relieved myself at Brussels Airport of more than I expected.

I transferred my wallet from rear trouser-pocket to toilet-roll dispenser in the time-honoured fashion, only to leave it there subsequent. I did tho' realise what I'd done prior to leaving the airport, and when retracing my steps am sure I passed someone I shall forever view as the world's luckiest lavatory-cleaner.

Wallet and cards were as they were, minus the 500-Euro note which for a reason I still cannot fathom I'd withdrawn from an ATM some days prior. The EU is likely the only institution to print so large a denomination, which is designed to make the money-laundering at which we excel so much easier.

When in China, I could not help noticing that their own largest note was worth just ten pounds for precisely the reverse... it would mean that I left the country passing through the scanner like Michelin Man on steroids. Other pilots were smarter, simply converting cash into gold coins that would barely register at the security section.

The value of that note from 2005 in today's terms is $900... enough for the guy to have bought his 'forever' toilet-brush.

Ed. The halo above the signage is not photo-shopped but a reflection of the lighting above, and now attracts pilgrims from all over the world who seek to cure their prostates.

Scrappy Mondays

You won't believe it but influencers like me are actually paid to spend time at places like this while you have to go to work. Was a bad start tho' because I came across a low bridge enroute and had to reverse a 40-foot trailer back to the intersection in the rush-hour. British motorists are indulgent in such circs, whereas in the US you'd be shot dead... leaving a semi in the way and no-one to move it.

This though is where your tinnies go to their final resting place before being shipped to India now that we'd be struggling to smelt a Mars bar here in the UK. The place is full of flies though, attracted to whatever was left in the tins, and on a happier note this actually attracts swallows... a long way here tho' from the setting for Swallows and Amazons.

On an unhappier note the cab is now full of flies, a pair shagging on my dashboard.

English Lit Set Text 15 Jun

Examine the following to discuss a deterioration of language due to smartphones:

William Shakespeare: The wren goes to it, the gilded fly doth lecher in my sight.

Colin Hilton: There's a couple of flies here shaggin' on my dash!

Straw Poll Man

This simply lowers the tone of the debate, and the British should bow their heads in shame at including Carol Vorderman. I've no idea who James O'Brien is, Bonnie has fucked a thousand of us, and Kier Starmer 69.940,978 at the last count.

The Salt Path-ology

I listened to the podcast ~ not having gone near the book, film or tee-shirt.

Scandalous the way this pair of chancers has been treated though. In a country that looks more fraudulent by the day, we should celebrate this salty couple for doing a runner at every opportunity except perhaps along the path itself.

What I most enjoyed, as I told the Times Literary Supplement, is the way it made shysters like the UK's publishing industry and piss-poor press look equally stupid.

Ed. And where's OUR invite to Hay-on-Wye's literary festival?

Trial By Firestick

It's high-school exam season and I thought it wise to subject followers of the 'blog to similar strictures, designed to separate the transport top-guns from those short of the full ticket.

Accordingly, examine the hand-out on your desks, which is the content Google's AI thinks that a good friend of mine might be interested in on a Friday evening after a hard day lying on the bunk of an articulated tractor-unit... like my good friend.

Select the vid of your choice, and then sit back and listen to what our own native AI program ~ DeepShit ~ has to say about your choice and whether you're a good fit, or need to leave the room quietly and take the bus home like me at RAF recruitment.

Do this before scrolling further down beyond this line, because I can't be bothered with a separate results page.

Now hand in your papers please, with the four most-watchable vids in sequence.

(The examination board is not going to analyse the permutations involved, as that's too hard and we love a quitter.)

Accordingly, simply examine your first choice and read on to discover whether you shape up, or feature at the invertebrate end of the spectrum:

The Bra-Less Ladies of Turkmenistan: no escaping the fact your a disappointment to the blog, not least because they've spelt 'uncensored' wrong but also because that cleavage looks to our minds to be AI-generated and not worth the feeling. It is also Google's highlighted choice, which is decidedly suspicious and embarrassing should your parents be in the room... as will be the case with most of our readers.

Unseen Vintage Photos: it's a pass, but you've barely scraped through.That woman is not vintage, has been seen often at Wetherspoons in Ormskirk and borrowed the SS uniform from a fancy dress-shop. The composition was also staged in a section of IKEA, where she was briefly arrested for nudity and impersonating a member of the UK's special forces.

The Andoni Iraola Problem: go home and enjoy the summer because you made the cut with this analysis of the new coach at Liverpool FC, but we want you back before next term for remedial training.

Why It Failed: or why we don't use hydrofoils anymore. The perfect Friday-evening fare, and you've aced the test. You are invited to the blog's summer-camp at China's Shaolin Temple, where the monks will demonstrate how to terminate a Ted-talk in short order.

(Whilst working in Shanghai the airline treated us to a jamboree and banquet during which there was a Kung Fu demonstration by a man dressed in loose black clothing. Having imbibed several litres of Tsingtao I was minded to join him on stage and naked from the waist up, saying 'Come over 'ere if you think you're hard enough.' Though it's one thing I regret not doing in my flying career, at least I'm still alive.)

Ed. A reader has asked if that's a 1:1200 scale RMS Titanic on the mantelpiece, and qualifies for a free ticket to our summer-camp.