We’re delighted to announce that the judge for the International Willesden Herald 2017 New Short Stories competition will be none other than...
Saturday, November 29, 2003
Friday, November 28, 2003
and have legislated to prevent them.'
That is a direct quote from the manifesto of the Labour Party for the 2001 General Election. (Full text.)
In the Queen's Speech this week announcing their program of legislation for the next parliamentary year, they included a measure to bring in... top-up fees. But don't worry - it won't come into effect unless they're re-elected! That will be their excuse, but that is also our opportunity.
This is another ill-thought-out initiative by the 10 Downing Street team that proposed instant fines collected by frogmarching miscreants to a cashpoint. That idea was quietly binned. This time it's future generations of students they want to frogmarch to a cashpoint.
Thursday, November 27, 2003
their own names
anything that sounds like eating
Words that dogs have difficulty with:
Things that dogs like to chase:
just about everything
Things that dogs like to go down:
Things that dogs like to sniff:
Things that dogs hate the sound of:
schoolchildren en masse
Things that dogs distrust:
shadows that move
Things that dogs really love:
Things that dogs find fascinating:
the other side of walls
There are more. Life is short. Shorter now.
£5,000 was burned as part of a moronic publicity stunt by Galaxy FM Radio in Birmingham. Phone-in voters were asked to decide whether the money should be given to a contestant to have a boob job and hair extensions, or burned. They said burn it. Radio by the stupid, of the stupid, for the stupid.
Hear him talk! See him walk! Feed him formula with the toy bottle and watch him pee pee, and cry tiny tears! So lifelike!
Watch out for future collectors' editions, with flak jacket, nuclear briefcase, Sand Table and indestructible toy soldiers.
*Would suit elderly people with moderate to severe dementia.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Sunday, November 23, 2003
I write in the hope somebody who is with a knowledge of Denmark Road in Willesden [It's actually in Kilburn, here. Ed.] will kindly share their understanding of the street and the area with me, please.
My great grandparents, Francis and Fanny Simmonds lived at #77 Denmark Road for more than 37 years, between 1877 and 1914. Francis is shown, living there still on the 1914 Electoral Rolls, although neither were found at this address in 1901 at the time of the census. Fanny died at Willesden in February 1893 attended by her sister in law, Caroline Pearce, from Kilburn. Francis worked as he always had, in the capacity of a carpenter and in 1893 was a carpenter journeyman.
Their grandson, Herbert Guy Fawcett Simmonds, was my grandfather. In 1912 aged 27, Herbert, with wife and first born son voyaged to Australia aboard the SS Armadale which docked in Fremantle on the 4th January 1913, in the middle of summer.
I would very much like to learn a little of the history of Willesden if possible and also, hopefully learn if the original houses in Denmark Road are still standing.
My appreciation would be magnanimous should there be a reader who may assist.
Thank you for your time.
Sincere thanks and best wishes
Saturday, November 22, 2003
Message to the folks in Britainamerica
The folks in Britainamerica have volunteered to be our native guides in the war on Turr. They have grit. They have steel. Our enemies are illegal noncombatants. Either your folks are with our folks or they're with the enemies' folks. Make no mistake. We are under attack. By killers. We have to use violence against them, and you have to join in with us or else you're with them. To parrotphrase your great former leader, "We need a little less understanding, and a little more violence."
George (aged 57 and 1/2)
Thursday, November 20, 2003
Oh, did you want some tedious pictures of placards? Here's one made out of pretzels. You ain't nothin' but a Hoondog.
It was nearly 6 p.m. when we reached Trafalgar Square. There were speeches and music. Here's part of what George Galloway had to say: listen (1.29 mb.) Here is a message from the wife of a US soldier set to stay in Iraq till next June: listen (648 kb.) And this is the Ballad of Joe Hill: listen (969 kb.)
Report: F. Mooney. Pictures: O. Lennon. Sound: S. Moribund.
A Creaking Hips production in association with Double Pneumonia.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
The leader of the Labour Party (a socialist party) is calling on people in Britain to come out and support the far right wing US regime leader (Ref: Guardian.) George W. Bush was elected on a technicality by a minority of people who voted in the American presidential election. His opponent Al Gore received a majority of the votes cast. The most unpopular US President in history is also the first to receive a full state visit to Britain, meaning he gets to stay in Buckingham Palace with the present monarch. He has the smug glow of a leader like Hitler, visiting Paris or Prague, and the British leader has the demeanour of a Quisling who knows that his capital city can be crushed on the say so of his master.
Sunday, November 16, 2003
Ossian was humming "On a Clear Day" and trying to take a picture from the roof garden of Willesden Herald House, when he lost his balance and fell over the parapet. Luckily he landed in a large holly bush and got away with just a few scratches and bruises. He discovered this picture in his camera when he landed. He says you can see Gladstone Park in it.
Friday, November 14, 2003
Exercise: Show that Bush & Blair know they are Terrorists
Given that Awe = a form of Fear, and Fear = a form of Terror,
and Shock = Fear + Suddenness ~ (approx. equal) Terror,
Therefore the US and British "Shock and Awe" campaign in Iraq was a Terror campaign,
therefore they are Terrorists,
and given that they condemn Terrorists,
therefore they condemn themselves, from their own mouths.
First year high school Maths student
Those who live by the sword...
If one of the honour guards goes temporarily sane and bayonets George Bush during his forthcoming state visit to Britain, I doubt any jury in the country would convict him. It would be a case of self-defence.
Name withheld by request
St Raphael's, Wembley
Thursday, November 13, 2003
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
"Don't bet against George Soros..."
The man who practically broke the Bank of England when he called Norman Lamont's bluff, and who made another killing on the value of the US dollar this year, has decided to use his wealth to achieve what is now "the central aim of his life" - the riddance from the White House of George W. Bush. He says pronouncements of neo-conservatives in the administration now remind him of Nazi, and later Communist rhetoric from his youth in Hungary. He has donated $15 million so far to Liberal campaign groups for what he says is now "a matter of life and death," the November 2004 US presidential election.
Willesden World Desk
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
They're very good at saying Sorry
Is there some memo going around telling everyone to say sorry everytime their incompetence is noticed in the media? There must be another one circulated to Labour MPs telling them to parrot the concerns that focus groups are revealing. Hello? It's the service and the solutions we're paying you for, not for saying Sorry and repeating our own demands back to us. Just do your damn jobs, you shower, or resign. Sorry is no good.
Disgusted, Stonebridge Park
Monday, November 10, 2003
Sunday, November 09, 2003
Thursday, November 06, 2003
MSN Arabia Real Estate
See our lovely London homes here, for sale in Arabia. Admission to the country is no problem if you own expensive riverside flats, so why don't all you refugees and asylum seekers buy them, and you'd be much more comfortable? Nobody would bother about you then, and you could bring your Filipino slaves. It seems so simple - and it is! So what are you waiting for? Contact us today!
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
If policemen and women make tea and use cartons with stupid caps that don't work properly, why don't they charge whoever designed the blasted things with wasting police time? While the designers are in court they can ask the judge to take into account piddly motorway services teapots that pour mostly on the table instead of into the cup, lousy vendor machines that mug people, and sundry other counts of obtaining money under false pretences. I never thought I'd come to appreciate the original wing-flap spout as a brilliant triumph of design by comparison with these untested piles of suppurating ordure masquerading as helpful devices.
Tuesday, November 04, 2003
Sunday, November 02, 2003
The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon;
And, if the sun looks through, 'tis with a face
Beamless and pale and round, as if the moon,
When done the journey of her nightly race,
Had found him sleeping, and supplied his place.
For days the shepherds in the fields may be,
Nor mark a patch of sky— blindfold they trace,
The plains, that seem without a bush or tree,
Whistling aloud by guess, to flocks they cannot see.
The timid hare seems half its fears to lose,
Crouching and sleeping 'neath its grassy lair,
And scarcely startles, tho' the shepherd goes
Close by its home, and dogs are barking there;
The wild colt only turns around to stare
At passer by, then knaps his hide again;
And moody crows beside the road forbear
To fly, tho' pelted by the passing swain;
Thus day seems turn'd to night, and tries to wake in vain.
The owlet leaves her hiding-place at noon,
And flaps her grey wings in the doubling light;
The hoarse jay screams to see her out so soon,
And small birds chirp and startle with affright;
Much doth it scare the superstitious wight,
Who dreams of sorry luck, and sore dismay;
While cow-boys think the day a dream of night,
And oft grow fearful on their lonely way,
Fancying that ghosts may wake, and leave their graves by day.
Yet but awhile the slumbering weather flings
Its murky prison round— then winds wake loud;
With sudden stir the startled forest sings
Winter's returning song— cloud races cloud,
And the horizon throws away its shroud,
Sweeping a stretching circle from the eye;
Storms upon storms in quick succession crowd,
And o'er the sameness of the purple sky
Heaven paints, with hurried hand, wild hues of every dye.
At length it comes along the forest oaks,
With sobbing ebbs, and uproar gathering high;
The scared, hoarse raven on its cradle croaks,
And stockdove-flocks in hurried terrors fly,
While the blue hawk hangs o'er them in the sky.—
The hedger hastens from the storm begun,
To seek a shelter that may keep him dry;
And foresters low bent, the wind to shun,
Scarce hear amid the strife the poacher's muttering gun.
The ploughman hears its humming rage begin,
And hies for shelter from his naked toil;
Buttoning his doublet closer to his chin,
He bends and scampers o'er the elting soil,
While clouds above him in wild fury boil,
And winds drive heavily the beating rain;
He turns his back to catch his breath awhile,
Then ekes his speed and faces it again,
To seek the shepherd's hut beside the rushy plain.
The boy, that scareth from the spiry wheat
The melancholy crow—in hurry weaves,
Beneath an ivied tree, his sheltering seat,
Of rushy flags and sedges tied in sheaves,
Or from the field a shock of stubble thieves.
There he doth dithering sit, and entertain
His eyes with marking the storm-driven leaves;
Oft spying nests where he spring eggs had ta'en,
And wishing in his heart 'twas summer-time again.
Thus wears the month along, in checker'd moods,
Sunshine and shadows, tempests loud, and calms;
One hour dies silent o'er the sleepy woods,
The next wakes loud with unexpected storms;
A dreary nakedness the field deforms—
Yet many a rural sound, and rural sight,
Lives in the village still about the farms,
Where toil's rude uproar hums from morn till night
Noises, in which the ears of Industry delight.
At length the stir of rural labour's still,
And Industry her care awhile forgoes;
When Winter comes in earnest to fulfil
His yearly task, at bleak November's close,
And stops the plough, and hides the field in snows;
When frost locks up the stream in chill delay,
And mellows on the hedge the jetty sloes,
For little birds—then Toil hath time for play,
And nought but threshers' flails awake the dreary day.
The C.R.A.P. has put its hacking weapons beyond use, and apologised. The acts took place in a secret location with nobody else present according to The Great Suspendo, an independent observer generously sponsored by the Magic Circle. So it's all settled then - back to work! Let bygones be bygones.
Thanks to all wellwishers who inundated me with card while I was indisposed. I'm now back to my old self. Ed.
Note: "Ed" above refers to Ed Woodward, or Red Woodward for short, not "Ed" as in Editor. Ed.
Everyone in Ireland is issued with a pack like this, containing potassium iodate for use in the event of "a nuclear accident." Why are people in Britain not issued with survival kits such as this - are we expendable? What about some gas masks, chemical suits and gaffer tape while we're on the subject? Free flights to Australia? Well, what do you suggest we do when we are attacked? Die? You just don't care do you, you lot. You so-called "government." Mass slavery steering committee for the plutocrats, more like.
Malachy Dunhill's views do not unnecessarily represent the views of this paper. Ed.