Once Upon a Time in the West

Once upon a time there was a little boy who could do anything, achieve anything and believed that anything was possible.

It doesn't matter that he was a boy, could of been a girl or a combination of both.

What happened to that boy? Where did he go?
Was he subsumed by the daily inanities of life?

In the back of the little boy's mind was a dream, a vision of how he wanted things to be that gradually unfolded.

With hindsight that little boy saw that all his actions in time were allied towards one basic form, they all had a similar theme to them.

The little boy grew into a man, but inside he was still the same boy looking up at giants beating him with belts. He was still the little boy fighting back against bullies and trying to not become a bully himself.

In his mind's eye that little boy believed that there must be something more to all this than what most people believe.

In his mind's eye that boy still retains a vision of what he wants and what he wants to give to the world and even though he sometimes finds it very difficult to maintain that vision in the face of adversity in many forms, it's still there, bright spark as ever.

Is the little boy or girl inside of you still calling out for you to follow your true purpose?

The Crab Apple

Och you know sometimes life throws you so many curveballs, you start thinking your balls are curved.

I mean take relationships right. What can you do? Sometimes they, other people, completely do your head in right?

You think that you're going along making some headway, building something between two folks, ships in the night, chips wrapped in the same paper, angst wrapped in new knickers and then wham, you're not in the picture anymore.

Suddenly we, is no longer. After all in matters of the heart mostly, regardless of any supposed definites, all you've really got is hope and a prayer.

You meet someone, you like them , there are a few obstacles in the way, you get over those obstacles, you see that person again, maybe you think too much about the situation and then you make a decision.

The decision you make is that you really really like someone and you are going to go for it, you are gonna commit to that person, get to know them much much better, laugh with them, be ridiculous with them and see if they are indeed 'the one'.

And then 'kablowey' 'kaboom' 'karrrccrrrunch', holy cuttlefish batman you are no longer in the picture, it turns out that you have in fact been turned out, as in, no longer the apple of the other's eye, more like the crab apple that nobody wants.

Ah if my heart wasn't set for bursting, it would of burst already.

Rejection comes in threes apparently.

Kenneth Griffith films a wedding

I saw a wedding in the village church yesterday, I almost blubbed.

What is it about weddings that turn us into creampuffs? (Or is it just me?).

Probably because they all look so happy and we wonder will we ever be that happy? Or able to commit? To take that leap of faith?

In the graveyard of the church of the wedding, that I walk past most days, lies the actor, filmmaker etc Kenneth Griffith.

When I first moved to London, I lived in the part of Hoxton that is in Islington. About three hundred yards away, Kenneth Griffith had the office of his film company.

Now that I currently live where I do, Kenneth Griffith has his film office about three hundred years away from me, down the hill, in the graveyard, still no doubt planning his next film, his next performance and his next piece of agit-prop.

I was going to go in and ask him for some advice, but the last time I tried that was in Montmartre cemetery, Paris in Nov 2003, when I sought Truffaut's grave, touched the black marble slab that is over his grave and asked him for some advice regarding my filmmaking.

He replied in a cod-french accent, 'You just have to keep going, mon ami'.

Thanks a bunch Francois. But in his simplisticness, he was right. You just have to keep going, mon ami.

Love in a Gluten-Free World

This week I have mostly been achieving...

I want it so much that that crazy glint in my eye is not Dr. Draze and his new consumer eye test. I want it so much that I feel the very fundament of my soul resonating at the speed of the universe. In short, it shall be mine.

But what are these riches, baubles and trinkets I talk of?

Success.

But what is success? Surely success is everything to everybody.

Example, I used to go out with a girl and the the only thing she ever wanted in life was a Jaguar XJS. That's pretty much it, a Jaguar XJS, oh and never having to take the bus, ever again.

Now they were nice cars, they guzzled a bit, but as far as something that handled like a boat on a sea of slimy cheese, hey why not?

She went on and on about getting a Jaguar XJS, every time we would see one, she'd say, 'i'm going to have one of those'. Preferably a red one.

Now goals are great and important if you are ever going to achieve anything, even if it is to buy what is essentially a toy.

Anyway she probably did get that Jaguar XJS and then mayhap got bored with it or realised that it wasn't really handy around town or that hey sometimes catching the bus is okay, even rewarding and in cities, often a better way of getting around.

But to her getting that Jaguar equalled success, it meant that she had arrived, she had made it, look at me world, I am a success, I don't have to take the bus hahaha (and she used to accuse me of being a snob).

So a couple of weeks after we split up I was walking down the road.

I had a decent amount of cash coming to me and I wanted to invest most of it, but as I passed a car lot, a funny mischievous thought popped into my head and I liked it.

Said ex-girlfriend called me a few days later, mostly as an excuse to see how I was doing.

You know, one of those 'hey I hope that you are doing great'.

But secretly hoping that I was, even just briefly;

'a wasted husk of emotional wreckage doomed to wander the landscape in a state of learned helplessness'.

Anyway I agreed to go over and give her back a couple of books that I had of hers. Yes it's true that the books were a metaphor for 'a damn good seeing to', but I really did have some of her books.

So I pull up in my new car, shiny, polished, waxed and gleaming, it's a nice new car, didn't cost me that much, as you can pick up those things pretty cheaply.

And she is waiting for me on the doorstep and the look on her face says more than I could ever impart to you in a lifetime.

As I glided seamlessly up to the kerb in my beautiful, sleak, powerful, red, Jaguar XJS...

Foreign Correspondent

The contagion spread. Just like 28 Days Later.

It's bechamel sauce trying to be too clever metaphor got out of hand and the next minute we knew, we were two moldy friends left out in the rain.

So there we were, me and my subconscious standing at the bus stop waiting for the mythical X30 service to 'Future Aspirations via Irrelevant Trivia'.

Like a Souffle

Today I am learning to step outside of time.

'WTF?' some of you might be thinking. But bear with me a minute.

Is it a luxury to be able to work on yourself and make yourself better? A better person? In whichever way you find that works for you?

In a physical, financial, spiritual, emotional etc way?

Surely society, your friends, neighbours, family etc all benefit from having a better, more productive you in their lives?

So how is this 'better you' meant to manifest itself, if the prevailing attitude is one of not allowing such 'daft things' to come into your life in the first place. To just knuckle down and accept the prevailing idea that 'that's reality' 'that's the way it is' etc.

Apparently to most people in 'this' culture or mindset, the answer is no, that is not allowed, it's not 'normal', it's self-indulgent to engage in such things. And then we wonder why so many people are apparently being prescribed anti-depressants (Cause and Effect in plain action).

Apparently you should just get on with it and stop thinking about such things, settle for the lowest common denominator, the turgid mass of non-stop glottal flummery.

The idea being that you should be a good little worker and soldier on through years and years of mundanity and delirium in order to reach some middling ground of half-arsed ideas.

Retire then die, being not only utterly unfulfilled as a person, but also never having allowed yourself to ask the powerful questions that matter, or rather never allowing yourself to seek answers.

I'm not painting a bleak picture here, i'm suggesting that there is more available to me and you if we want it, that the majority of content of the mainstream of society is vapid useless crap, just watch the news on any big corporation 'the voice of authority'. It turns your power down.

It saddens me to think that most people would consider any time spent on bettering themself in any way, other than the purely financial (and that is usually the straight trade of time for money) as being self-indulgent or in some way lazy, not right etc. Are their minds really that small?

It's difficult to not be effected by it, you have to charge your batteries with a different way of thinking.

Not normal? Normal is Boring. Not Reality? Reality is boring.

In the words of a whole bunch of wise people 'The past does not equal the future'.

As in my past, your past, our past, does not equal the future. Rise Up.

Once Upon a Time in Wetwang

Years ago when I still owned a house and ate take-away vegetable birianis, I had a fantasy (one of the only ones that didn't involve x-rated content), which was to get a camper van and travel to all the places in the British Isles and beyond, that had amusing, daft or interesting names.

I yearned to see Upper and Lower Slaughter in Gloucestershire, England. My loins ached to hit the streets of Dyfatty in Carmarthenshire, Wales (yes, achieved it, tick it off my list) and I had to go down on Cuntis, Galicia, Spain (yes it exists-have a look for yourself).

It later became a whim, downgraded from fantasy to something I would do someday (not even in the days of the week).

Had I failed to realise a burning desire?? Not really, goals change and some things aren't really that important.

I would like to point out that I have in fact been to Upper and Lower Slaughter, although not in a camper van, and I have yet to savour the pleasures of Cuntis, but hey soon mayhap?

My point is that some things are the eternal desires within us which drive me/you/us to achieve certain things, to break through our limitations.

These are musts. As in I (me personally) must write scripts and screenplays every day because I am compelled to, even though there have been many occassions, where it would of been far more practicable for me to have been a plumber, carpenter or double-glazing salesman.

But no, none of these remotely interest me, whereas living a creative wonderful life does. Gosh am I deluded, should I lower my expectations?

Short answer: No.

Will I ever get do my tour of the British Isles in a Camper Van visiting all those places with daft place names? Yes, in fact I've done quite a bit of it, again, not yet in a camper van, but the camper van will come when I want it enough.

In fact I might just get a camper van and forget about buying another house for the time being, after all if you don't like the view in Dyfatty, you can always move to Machynlleth or for that matter Wetwang (it's in the north of Yorkshire, England).

For the record I also like Garstang (also in that North Yorkshire/ Cumbria/ County Durham nexus), whose name refers to stabbing someone with a spear (i'm not just a pretty face you know?).

You'll Rhu the Day

I looked across the inkyblue ocean. There in front of me was Thailand, land of the Siamese, but not joined at the hip.

Paddling the canoe out from the bay shaped like the horns of a Stag Beetle, I figured that it was less than seven miles across the straight to the mountainous tropical island in front of me.

I was so glad that I had packed my beany hat and pieces of colourful fabric to keep the sun off me. It was seering hot and the humidity was awesome, like standing in a warm shower.

Stoked up on bananas and fantasies about finding an island full of nubile women all gagging for me to pleasure them senseless, I rowed on heroically I thought.

I imagined being one of our ancestors, facing the unknown thousands of years ago, crossing oceans on the back of beer matts and prehistoric pool tables.

Three Miles out and I was leaving Malaysia behind, sure was pretty, I hope they let me back in.

At a rock outcrop a very large fish passed by, a Marlin I think, it was whopping, I had to stop to and watch it glide beneath the boat.

My friend Iqbal had always told me about Marlin fishing in Mauritius and how dangerous they are, how powerful.

It was all that and more. An eye stared intently from beneath the crystal water and then with a nonchalant flick of its tail it shot away.

'Hey Matt Saleh!', 'Matt Saleh', 'Excuse me Sir' came the cry from thirty feet away.

A Malaysian Fisherman pulled his small boat up to my canoe, big smile on his face, he asked me what I was doing, curious rather than nosy. We chatted-in broken english and I got to use the smattering of Malay that I had learnt-for a few minutes and then I continued with new vigour.

If Tryfan was Cnicht and Cnicht was You.

Tryfan is a beautiful pyramidal peak in the north of Wales. It's jagged smashed outline is that of a classic iconic mountain.

In summer's light we looked up at the top. Red Kites and Buzzards circled the high crags, a perfect spongy doughnut cloud ringed the head, like a giant cockring poised for the saturday night sky.

We ate our camping store meal, rehydrated on the fuel block stove. One more cup of tea and a choccy bar and then we would set off.

We'd talked about climbing this peak for years, we'd talked, talked, talked. 'We should do that you know, we should go to north Wales and climb a few proper peaks'. We talked some more for a few months at least.

Until I got so sick of talking that I said that we had to do it. I made it a must, so I nicked a good lightweight tent and sleeping bags from the Army Stores where I worked and thought about how the hell were we going to get there from the south Wales to north Wales. Us two kids no transport, only a few tins of beans between us.

We got there. Dropped off by a bus that was out of the 1940s, which rattled our bones over miles and miles of mountain scenery, dodged clagged-up sheep and kids on wild horses, no saddle, just clinging to their manes raging wild across the mad scree of the land.

On the comfy grass the warmth of the sun lulled us into a nul-state. I daydreamed fucking that girl who worked in the bakers.

Get up, because we have seven more hours of daylight and it's three thousand feet of sheer up.

We made it a must, we set out, across the alpine-meadow, across rhyns and over boulders that have been there since dirt was young.

Clambering up over huge slabs, along ledges, sharp stones, up up up up up.

Strange Lights in the Sky (Part 1)

Opportunity sometimes comes from the most unlikely of sources.

I mean, if you are anything like me, you throw yourself one hundred and fifty percent into something, focus like a laser and smash down the walls of Jericho with a toffee hammer and spoon, until you have reached your goal in a blaze of triumphant tub-thumping and orgasmic waves of gristle.

But lo, what's this?

Whilst you were trebucheting yourself over the escarpment again and again and again, behind you, trying to get your attention is a very large billboard saying 'this way please'.

A few years ago in the late summer/ early autumn I was not a happy bunny. Everything that had been going right in terms of momentum, career etc, had suddenly started going kerwrong, because I had taken my eye off the ball etc etc (insert other trite metaphor here).

One day, it was a thursday or friday in September, I was walking up the top of Grays Inn Road in Kings Cross, London, where I was living at the time, seemingly the weight of the world on my shoulders, when a voice popped into my head.

'You should buy The Stage you know'.

The Stage for anyone wondering, is the leading 'theatrical' newspaper in the world and sometimes has a few 'Situations Vacant' jobs listed in it, in amongst the looky-likey Elvis impersonators and ads for strippers to go to Greece and Turkey.

Anyway I carried on walking down Euston Road pissed off, thinking too much, deep in self-immolation.

'You should buy the Stage you know' came the voice again.

I turned around and looked across the race track that is the Euston Road/ Pentonville Road dissolve, at the newstand where I always bought my magazines etc.

Should I bother? I mean there's never anything in it, that's why I haven't bought it for a couple of months, I mean really, what's the point?

(More in Part 2 that follows, sometime)

Who Were You Today?

Walking along the beach in the dark, the water lapping at our beautiful Welsh shore, I was struck by how nature lulls us one minute and buffets us the next.

The pebbles under my feet, were once boulders and will one day be sand and glass. The driftwood pieces wedged into cracks and strewn over the high water line were once part of great ships, of houses, trees and ballustrades.

The water itself playing here in Carmarthen Bay may well of come from many miles away, other continents, other places.

God's eye cracks no tears just wise when asked for all the answers. No great portent casts its way down the wire to ever eager souls in situ. Nope, nothing external was forthcoming.

Do the monks on Caldy (Ynys Byr) pray for their own redemption as much as ours. In their darkest moments do they stare into the great unknown and just slightly, imperceptibly, shudder.

Who were you Today?

The Fool of Bute Park pt3

I sat there for at least an hour on the wall at the corner of The Boulevard de Nantes in front of the museum gardens, opposite Park Plaza Hotel, immobilised by thought, thinking about someone something some situation.

What if? Maybe? Touched very deeply and feeling it so.

Not strictly in Bute Park I know, but close enough to be the Fool anyway and close enough for my arse to eventiually go so numb that my only connection with the universe was the feeling of being compacted.

Then I led under a Pine Tree and listened to snippets of conversation.

Cardiff was buzzing and felt like a real city(again), as people lolled about in the sun, or kicked balls around in front of the museum.

I watched the people in their spring and summer finery, they all seemed so happy, with a sense of distinct purpose and I wondered whether it was all true, or whether it was 'front', 'keeping up appearances'? What hidden neuroses lay dormant below their surface?

Is it better to strive for your own way in the world or is it better to knuckle under, knuckle down? It's a question that I have asked myself everyday for a long time.

What tastes better? Success on your own terms? Or the Stability that a regular lifestyle provides? Does that stability in itself have a price to pay, a compromise to keep?

I feel and think too much and apparently ignorance is bliss.

I love bliss but have never been particularly fond of ignorance.

I am not a dreamer.

Couldn't Even Get a Job Writing Porno Movies

A Few Years ago I wrote a Porno Movie satire about a girl with an unfeasibly large arse who becomes a world celebrity icon and a symbol of hope for humanity. I still feel that it's a great idea.

It would of been, like the arse, huge in Italy.

Needless to say its radical retake upon the whole hump 'n' grind movie scene did not-unlike the heroine-go down well with the sort of companies who make regular smut. Shame.

It would be a shining star of genius in what is otherwise a morass of excremedia.

Lately I was reminded of this Movie idea by watching two people having sex in a car.

I must pointout that it was not my purpose to actually watch two people blitzkrieging, but I walked along a very quiet lane at night and there in my eyeball was a couple of arses bouncing about boing boing boing in the back of a very nice Red Subaru.

Now, you know the way that eating an entire box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts is very bad for you (do they still sell them in Kings Cross Tesco's I wonder?) but you still do it anyway?

As that orgasmic hit of carbo-pleasure is sailing it's way down those grooves at the side of your mouth next to your tongue that provide salivation, you know that in about twenty minutes you will be hanging off the lampshade doing Clive the Gorilla impressions (or is that just me?).

Anyway there's me transfixed, watching this fellas big arse smudging against the window whilst he delves into a woman smeared somewhere below him, the car squidging on its suspension-four wheel drive very good for that sort of thing I should imagine-and I thought back to my foray into the Porn world a few years earlier and all the dodgy geezers that I had contact with and how I could still smell the pomade and easylube.

I was snapped out of my trance by a woman on a bicycle coming past me and shouting 'pervert'.

Bloody cheek, me a pervert, i'm not the one making stains on the turbo racing seats am I? Bastards.

The Hero Perishes with Dignity for the Sake of the Radiant Future

For life to have meaning.

We must rise above the mundane mapped out mediocrity that existence has become and be, even for just a moment, truly alive.

To let the full scale and scope of an un-ending universe into our feeble animal brain soup. We must experience everything real in an instance.

Metaphysical Bollocks? (Oh look a Photo).

Malteaser Angry Mob

Has the world turned to idiocy whilst my back was turned? Or am I just turning into a snob who thinks that he has better taste than the rest of 'them'?

It's always stated that if you feel disturbed, get excited because that's when a change is coming. Often i'm overexcited you can tell by the way I walk.

Apparently energy in men rises up the kundalini pathway in the spine and when it gets to the heart chakra it brings up many many issues to do with emotions, love etc.

Christ alive the secret to life is not another plasma screen TV you idiots!

(well maybe a Plasma screen TV to play games on with your kids or friends to share some amazing experiences is...but you get my point don't you??).

It's like 'Dawn of the Dead' without the comedy bits. (The original Romero/ Savini one you chav!)

Q) Seriously why does everything have to be bloody complicated?
A) I know I know, it's journey to achieving the goal and what it makes of us as people.

The Fool of Bute Park pt2

In the wilds of Alaska there is a place called Akiak. I have this on good authority and Google Earth, as I have never been there mind you.

But apparently it is a small town at the confluence of the Kushokwin River, on the Kushokwin/ Yukon Delta.

Despite, or maybe because of being surrounded by a landscape of extreme grandeur and really wild majesty, Akiak has a problem.

It is being eroded by the power of those rivers raging through the countryside. It is being worn down, dis-located, torn to pieces.

Dramatic and elemental stuff. The residents fight a daily battle to stop their river destroying their community.

It's as if they have upset god and now they have to make amends.

I once planned to write a Love Story set in Akiak, Alaska.

Where two people who only knew each other from afar-opposite sides of the river-knew that they were in Love and yet were seperated by not only the raging torrent of the River, but also by the impossibility of Love itself.

They fight to bridge the gap between themselves and their mal-state. With nature and the River in particular, as the arch antagonist.

If you've ever seen a Michael Mann movie ('Thief', 'The Keep' 'Manhunter' and even later stuff), then you will know what I mean about 'the impossibility of love'.

Just like Akiak, this week I have managed to upset a couple of people who really deserve better, by not being able to give them what they wanted at this particular time, or by having given them the impression that things were different than they really were.

And just like Akiak, I find myself standing at the river of my emotions, wondering why there's so much flotsam floating by.

For the upset I can only apologise, profusely.

Sometimes we make things so bloody complicated.

Feeling Pretty Alkaline

They are on my beach now, yes they are.

Suddenly spring has sprung here in south-west Wales and instead of being windswept and buffeted it is blow-dried and manicured, but still on west-walian time.

I refer of course to the tourists, who god bless them, bring in the tourist pounds euros and dollars and keep this corner of god's green acre in underwear and latex mini-gloves.

I was almost shocked when coming along the sandy path that spills out through buckthorn trees onto the top of the beach, because there in front of my personage were people.

But not just any people mind you, say walking their dogs or throwing stones, or the dedicated runners who run for ultimate pleasure and solemnity, but holidaymakers!

Lots of them. Holidaymaking.

How dare they! I felt like the grumpy farmer shaking his angry fist and saying 'gerroffmoiland!'

This of course means that the tourist season has begun, the boarding houses and hotels are all being painted and the caravan parks are cutting their grass.

Soon people will flock to this beach and you won't be able to move for creamy bodies and mewling babbies. Ah well, good luck to them.

The Fool of Bute Park

After an excellent constructive and pleasurable weekend in Cardiff, Wales (the Capitol city of my Country), I return afresh.

Admittedly I spent a few bleary hours sat on a bench in Bute Park awaiting the coach, but hey at least the sun shined and people were Sunday happy. It all looked very civilised and it made me want to live in a city again (the time is well approaching).

Talking mostly to myself, I have just finished rewriting yet another of my Feature Film Scripts and by god Watson! I think I might be getting somewhere with this writing malarky.

I know that I can barely tie my shoelaces but writing scripts comes naturally to me and it has done since I started on this particular journey with some very tenuous steps back in some 12 years ago.

Admittedly for the first few years I wrote scripts in spurts of intensive activity one or two projects at a time. Now I write project to project and rarely take any time away from writing scripts, because I don't want to, as scriptwriting (despite the vaguaries of the business and the uncertainties of the activity itself) loves me like a puppy loves its doggiechocs.

And so, I continue onwards, a hero in my own underwear, remember me in your prayers.

Notes on How to Be Free part 1

You’ll often hear it said amongst people you talk to that you or they are ‘lucky’ to have a job.

Only someone with a Slave or Serf mentality thinks that they are ‘lucky’ to have a job. Instead of thinking like a Serf or Slave, think like an entrepreneur.

A job is not a gift from god (although life is), or some magical prophecy, it is you trading your time for money, it is a transaction like any other.

Most people don't like the job that they are in, or they have certainly done many jobs that they 'hated' and surely all of us have worked at one time or another, for an arsehole. 

You are the CEO of You. Inc, therefore you need to maximize your profits, you need to bring in as much money per hour for your time as is possible.

How do you do this? By adding value to your worth.

How does someone add value to their worth to an employer or client?

Take the example of a Labourer on a Construction Project or Building site.

Most Labourer’s are badly paid, do heavy physical work that can destroy the body over time and are seen as being something that is easily replaced.

Of course this is a shortsighted attitude on behalf of the employer, but nonetheless it is true.

So how does the lowly Labourer add value to their worth?

They add value by gaining more skills and being a fantastic all-rounder, by being able to do concrete’ing, kango’ing, floor sawing etc, they can add industry approved qualifications and first aid certificates etc. All this will add potential negotiating points.

In general, they get much better at what they do and make sure that what they do is appreciated for being a valuable asset to the company they are working for.

They make sure that the potential employer knows that they are skilled in many things and would be a very useful asset and so, the employer thinks ‘we’ll we’ll have him, what can we offer?’

By increasing their value to an employer or client, they raise their monetary worth, but also force the employer or client to start thinking about what extra incentives they can offer the employee in order to attract or keep hold of him or her.

The same mentality is applicable to all employees and their negotiations in terms of salary etc.

Think about what you can do today to add value to your worth as an employee.

If you are a Copywriter, how can you add value to your worth? What can you do to improve not only your skill as a Copywriter, but also your Marketability?

How then can you exploit that and publicize the fact so that you’ve got people coming to you to get your services?

This is the essence of increasing success, making yourself more valuable than the norm within your chosen profession or the one you find yourself in, in order to bring yourself more opportunities.

Alternatively if you hate it that much and you feel so undervalued, you can just leave and do something far more interesting instead.

Love and Kisses.

Killer Toasters and the Milk Cartons of Death

Apparently we are all doomed, and not for the first time, Whitey.

As the TV News gleefully shows us images of stupidity and devastation that we are encouraged to 'emote now' to.

It's saccharine demi-tas moral message of 'best not leave the house in case anything bad happens' becomes a self-perpetuating prophecy.

As you skulk about in paranoid distemper hiding from killer toasters and the milk cartons of death.

Never has there been a more destructive negative self-masturbatory system in place, than the 'de facto voice of authorititive coverage of world events'.

Good Evening and welcome to 'Turn Your Power Down and Mindlessly Consume'.

So the big news this week was again Global Warming.

But not just any Global Warming, no, we are talking about ultimate doom Global Warming mind you.

No this is Special. The sort of Global Warming you get when you turn that three bar electric fire up to 'just about warm your nads' level and a village in Uzbekistan disappears under a mud slide because you put too much money in the meter you selfish toad.

Really?