Another Url, Another Planet

The Official Narrative

Factual errors:

• I was wearing a Marston's Pedigree t-shirt, not a London Pride t-shirt.
• I thought the UK equivalent of Ohio might be East Anglia or Lincolnshire, not Devon. Come to think of it now, it's probably Wales.
• Andy had plenty of change in his pockets, but by this time he was being restrained by his carers.

Fantastica Four: The Fall and Rise of Laconica

Norman Brightside, a personal shopper with Paper Sun - the innovative clothing range for women and made in his own image (spirited, sexy, stylish and affordable) - at The Oracle shopping centre in Reading. Special powers - able to transform himself into his alma mater Joanna Lumley.

The Reverend Frank Einstein Jones (not his real name), an unemployed lexical plumbing and drainage consultant with the Church of the Missing Pointy Ears in Vulcan Mountain, Colorado. Special powers - able to communicate directly with God Evan and to invoke Josh Wood.

The Reverend Robyn Fantastica Herr, a devotee of a mysterious 'non-prophet' breadmaker specialising in raising dough and feeding hungry souls on the streets of San Francisco. Special powers - Biblical knowledge of Biblical euphemisms.

Richard Stallman, a Free Software enthusiast..., wait, sorry, David Marsden, just a regular foot-fetishist out to have a drink with his hitherto imaginary friends....

THE IDƎNTEVƎNT

405 years earlier... Guy Fawkes, known as the undercroft bomber, failed to blow up even himself. Possibly the world's best-known and least effective terrorist/Catholic, Fawkes is posthumously responsible for combining children's entertainment with possible death and permanent disability and for the rise of the Chinese economy.

19:25 I arrived at the Cleveland Arms in Bayswater, conveniently located for a quick getaway just around the corner from Paddington station and the Heathrow Express. On entering the hostelry I tried to avoid the gaze of the mad staring man until I realised it was Mr Brightside (clearly a pseudonym based on a song of the same name by a popular music group sinisterly known as The Killers), who I recognised from the FBI's Most Wanted, at the far end of the room. According to the FBI, Brightside is known to fly to the Middle East on 'business'.

5 days earlier... Frank and Robyn fly into Heathrow Airport from San Francisco for their 'belated honeymoon.'

19:35 Having introduced ourselves and got a pint of Adnams ale for myself, I listened as Mr Brightside, wearing what appeared to be a prison uniform from a Nazi concentration camp, inform me that he had been discussing the nature of reality with Mr Jones and Frau Herr. Mr Brightside seemed to find it amusing that reality 'was often, like, running up that hill', which I took to be a coded reference to 70s warbler Kate Bush, the bastard lovechild of George Bush Snr. and Margaret Thatcher.

33 years earlier... Larry Ellison forms his new software company Oracle, named after the ultimate pub quiz database project he has been working on for then CIA Director George Bush Snr. at Ampex.

19:40 Mr Jones and Frau Herr told us that they had been to a 'Fall' gathering near Waterloo, which could only mean that they were conspiring to bring down the UK government the following day. Indeed, Frau Herr confessed that her father Herr Herr was active in the student riots at Kent and Jackson State universities in 1970. Both Mr Jones and Mr Brightside asked me if I was familiar with the fall of Sparta and although I studied some of the classics, it was all Greek to me. Subsequent research has confirmed, however, that Sparta was the original codename for Laconica, the Free and Evan-sent alternative to Oracle. Subsequent interrogation of Mr Jones, using simulated beer-drinking techniques allowed by the Geneva Convention, elicited information about Evan's identi.ca that cannot be revealed here for reasons of global security.

56 years earlier... In a recording studio equipped with an Ampex reel to reel tape machine, an unknown truck driver named Elvis Presley records the never-to-be-released "I Wanna Be Your Hound Dog" at Sun Studios in Memphis.

20:25 Mr Jones distributed coloured cards with strange esoteric 'status' symbols on them and we laid them out on the table and urging me and Mr Brightside to 'take them, take them!' Mr Jones began moving his arms about wildly and I believe we entered a trance-like state during which the two reverends conducted an occult marriage ceremony ultimately leading to Mr Brightside's cold-hearted break-up the next day with his long-time long-distance lover Michael Twofish. It was at this point that I induced a tactical self-soiling in order to prevent any immediate consummation that evening. (I was also secretly thankful for the experience and knowledge of adult incontinence aids I gained from working with confused elderly people in the late 1990s and the extra protective under-clothing layerage I had had the foresight to wear.)

47 years earlier... Ampex technology is used to show replays of the live assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald. Oswald had been brainwashed by the CIA, using an early prototype of the Oracle pub quiz database, to believe that he was John F. Kennedy's killer.

20:45 In a shocking twist to the night's events, Mr Brightside revealed his true identity to be Andy C, who hates quizzes, presumably because he knows all the answers as he got three out of three as we made for the exit, forfeiting our chance to share the prize of a tin of beans.

15 seconds earlier... Oh, forget that.

21:05 Chuntering happily down the road towards Paddington in search of food, we were accosted by a young man in a waiter's outfit who guided us into a room with a table and chairs and invited us to sit down. He brought us beer, wine, pizza and pasta, which we consumed with gusto.

10:30 By now, the drugs were wearing off. Frank and Robyn bade us farewell while Andy and I wished them well on the rest of their stay in Olde London Town. In typical British fashion, Andy and I managed to sneak in a final snifter before closing time at the Pride of Paddington where they serve their own ale called the Pride of Paddington. I believe Andy asked for two pints of Paddington Bear. We discussed tactics for the following night's Manchester derby before going on our way to our separate homes.

Three days later... The Pride of Paddington is, apparently, a gay pub.

I haven't slept properly, naturally, for weeks. I can't remember the last time I slept. Having spent a good fifteen years of my life, at a guess, sleeping like a baby, it's hard to take. And my brain is somewhat fried as a result. Fried like the onions that weren't on my hot dog. But that's another story.

While I've always had the occasional tendency to lose it over what I might ordinarily consider to be trivial matters, today was a frightening example of why I should not be allowed out of the house unaccompanied. Today I went into work for an important meeting, the first time I have been outside beyond the cornershop in a few weeks while I've been ill.

I walked the ten minutes to the bus stop, or rather the ten minutes to the busy main road, which I have to cross in order to get to the bus stop opposite. There is no pedestrian crossing, unless I walk for a further ten minutes to the next bus stop, which I think I will do in future. God knows, I could do with the exercise. I can barely pull my socks on without getting out of breath and I have only one pair of jeans left that I can wear without losing all feeling in my legs.

The traffic on the busy road that I have to cross ebbs and flows according to the lights up ahead and the build up on the bus stop side that I want to get to means that it is generally very slow or even at a complete standstill. When there is a break on  the nearside it's pretty safe and easy just to walk out into the middle of the road into the gridlocked lane. It's not quite so simple, however, as it is actually two lanes, one being marked for buses only. The double-deckers are of course easy to see, but the car drivers that zoom in an out trying to cut 0.3 milliseconds off their journey times are not.

I stand in the road and make eye contact with the driver moving into the queue at all of five miles per hour. She nods that I should cross in front of her, but I can see the bus coming. Buses do not stop to let you cross the road, ever. Bus drivers have targets to meet and they must cut at least 0.5 milliseconds off every journey time or risk losing their bet with their mates back at the depot. So I start to cross, but then have to stop for the bus. I'm stood right in front of the lady car driver. The traffic in front of her and me is not moving at all as the lights are on red, but there is a gap of about two car lengths up ahead. She notices the gap in front of her car bonnet and must move into it, so she swerves around me shaking her head at me standing in the way rather than allowing myself to be crushed to certain and immediate death. As she passes I turn and mock applaud her manoeuvre.

I cross to the bus stop and move around so that I can see the lady driver, now stationary, once more, wave to her, smiling and give her the thumbs up. She flicks me the Vs. I laugh and wave some more.

I look for my next victim. It is another lady driver. I see her zoom out of the car lane and into what is now my bus lane. I move out into the road in front of her. She stops. I make some weird hand signals indicating that I am in fact sane and that she is crazy for being in the wrong lane. She looks embarrassed and moves back into the centre lane of traffic. I am victorious! Everyone around me looks at the ground.

I can see my bus a coming. There is a big black shiny four-by-four in the way. I step out in front of it. It stops right in front of me so that I am leaning with my hands on it's bonnet. The gentleman driver looks mightily affronted.

'Get out of my fucking way, you fucking fuck fuck,' he says. Or something like that. I make the hand signals again and point out that, in fact, he is in my way. For a moment I think he is just going to run me down. He opens his car door and gets out. He looks much bigger than me, shaven-headed and really rather angry. I move back towards the relative safety of the pavement. He moves back inside his car and shuts the door. I move back in front of his car and we exchange obscenities. My bus is here and I don't want to upset all the people waiting for it as well, so I move out of the way to let him past.

The important meeting is one that I haven't been looking forward to, partly because I'm not well and partly because the email exchange in the build up to it has been tetchy to say the least. But it is a very amicable meeting and we all seem to agree on a way forward. A lesson for the future about doing business in person whenever possible.

It's raining. I'm cold, tired and hungry. I'm crossing the road as I see my bus coming. It passes before I can cross, but it is stopping to pick someone else up. I put down my umbrella and run. As I get within touching distance of the doors, I'm sure I've made it in time. But just as I think that the doors close. He's going to drive off without me! I reach out with my brolly and bang on the glass doors. The driver opens the doors and I get on. 'What the fuck are you trying to do? Break my windows?'

[caption id="attachment_358" align="aligncenter" width="480" caption=""It's all gone quiet." said Roobarb. "Too quiet." said Custard."][/caption]

Day One

Upset stomach, bathroom, wash hands, upset stomach, bathroom, wash hands, blackcurrant drink (the electrolyte kind, replaces your depleted water and body salts), Lomotil, bathroom, wash hands, random chest/lung pain, upset stomach, bathroom, wash hands, drink, generally feel unwell, pooter, microblog, pooter, microblog, UPSET STOMACH, go to bathroom, wash hands, go to sleep.

Day One

Wake on two hours sleep, cry, no cough, no coffee, no cereal, no blow, walk around, bathroom, wash hands, electrolytes, Lomotil, stuff kleenex up nose, wash hands, nap, more stuff up nose, wash hands, try to eat, nap, wake up not eating, nap, drain, wash hands, read side effects, load Spotify, make playlist for neckbeard people, no dinner, dry toast, change clothes, blow nose, sniffle, cry, take Lomotil, sleep. But not before Lomotil Poodle visits and makes a few suggestions, like “you should shit in your pants and install Windows!” Ignore Lomotil Poodle, sleep.

Day One

Sleep fitfully for 3 hours, wake up way past 3 am, no breakfast, forget to drink coffee, try to get up, curse the darkness, lay on bed, groan, move to sofa, groan, go back to bed, sleep, groan, cry, rumble, bathroom, wash hands, cry, rumble, bucket, wash hands, sleep, get up before lighttime, stare at food, groan, find out you’ve had another shift, wash clothes, wash hands: “5AM – ???”; consider career as sith and/or Lomotil Poodle, complain to no one in particular, no beer, chocolate croissants, inevitable comeback, mood improving, intestines still, (there may or may not have been dancing at this point), spin superhits of the Super 80s, “neckbeard guy from identi.ca thanks you for the Awesome Cool,” thank them for their support by playing Robert Smith whining over Gothic new wave, juice, microblog, soup, dry bread, microblog, Lomotil, sleep.

Day Two

Stay home. Sleep. Think about how much fun it is cooking rhubarb.

[caption id="attachment_360" align="aligncenter" width="420" caption="I didn't have any custard."][/caption]

With apologies and credit due to Frankenstein Jones' 'How To Double Your Blog Readership In One Mighty Pretty Cute Cat Picture Post'.

Disclaimer: no kittens were harmed during the making of this blog post.

The death of a nightclub bouncer. A man, we're led to believe, with a history from an early age of bullying, violence and intimidation of others. A man known to mental health and social services for refusing to take up the offer of the help that he had asked for. A man with connections to known criminals and a long list of arrests and charges against him including conspiracy to murder. And, up until his recent conviction and imprisonment for assaulting his own child, a man who seemed to have somehow 'got away with it all'.

My gut feeling - and without professing any expert knowledge - is that he was what I would call a vicious bully with a highly controlling, suspicious and self-centred personality. It seems clear he planned the murder of his ex-girlfriend's new partner and the attempted murders of his ex-girlfriend and a police officer while in prison. He 'forced' or manipulated several others to help him. It sounds like he had every intention of killing or maiming more. He had every chance to hand himself in peacefully and every chance not to kill himself.

I don't doubt that he may well have been depressed, angry, frightened. Especially when cornered by the police. He may even have been paranoid and rightly so, given the incredible and heavily armed forces of the state out to get him. But at no time did he ever show any inclination to accept responsibility for his own actions. His pitiful apologies to his ex-girlfriend for shooting her while claiming it was her fault for provoking him were shallow in the extreme. A desperate attempt, by a desperate man, to evade responsibility and put the blame others.

I also don't doubt that he was highly adept at presenting to his so-called friends and acquaintances a charming, friendly, helpful front, while privately abusing those weaker and much more vulnerable who were closest to him - his girlfriends and children.

I don't doubt that it's a miracle his then three year old daughter survived a fall from their flat several stories up after she somehow dragged her bed to the window and climbed up to the open window from where she fell.

If this all sounds terribly unsympathetic, that's because I don't have any sympathy for someone who did what he did. His was NOT a crime of passion. It was planned, cold-blooded murder and attempted murder. Not the behaviour of someone with mental health difficulties.

Any time someone commits an horrific act of violence, mental illness seems to be assumed by the media to be a factor and often 'confirmed' retrospectively by the authorities in the course of legal proceedings.

I'm not saying that it doesn't happen. Mentally ill people do sometimes commit horrific acts of violence. But it's actually quite rare despite the sensationalised and stigmatising media coverage that goes with it tarring with the same brush the vast majority of people with mental health difficulties who, in my experience, are some of the most honest and gentle people you could wish to meet.

Having said all of that, any loss of life is sad. And I do believe that our society has a lot to answer for in terms of people's upbringing, emotional development and mental welfare. Things could have been very different, I'm sure, with a bit more love and care. I hope we can all do our bit to change how things are.

One final point. Many people seem to be trying to say the police 'executed' him by Tasering and causing him to involuntarily pull the trigger on himself. My guess is that they have a plan for such situations and when he started talking about saying sorry and goodbye they knew he was about to shoot himself. That's why they tried to Taser him in a last-ditch attempt to save his life and bring him to justice. Maybe they could have tried other strategies. Maybe some of this will come out in the inquiries.

Of course, I could be entirely wrong. I'm only going on what's been reported in the media, like everyone else, and my own interpretation of that. It's almost certainly much more likely that he was a CGI character created by psyops to send a message to the lizard people about starting the next world war with Iran.

Fabio Capello's master plan to take England to the World Cup final is finally taking shape.

On the evidence seen so far, truly it is something of a fantasy.

The sorry bunch of posers (Wayne Rooney, our only hope and Sid Vicious-like talisman ready to self-destruct at any moment, excepted) that represent our once proud nation may fail even to qualify for the 'It's A Knockout' stages let alone reach the final for what would be our finest hour-and-half (plus extra-time and penalties, if needed) for 44 years.

If by some bloody miracle we do reach the final, I just hope we don't live to regret not thinking about a master plan to actually win it.

But our preparations - highlights of which include being thoroughly outplayed at Wembley by Mexico and only winning by virtue of having taller players and then today in Austria being thoroughly outplayed by the equally diminutive Japan and only winning by virtue of two fortuitous own goals - are now over.

Even if he won't be singing God Save The Queen, at least Capello now knows who his 23 will be. Here, I can exclusively reveal who they will be and why.

In goal

In reverse order, building from the back as all England teams do, Capello already knew who his three goalkeepers would be.

David James, who has made something of a career littered with often hilarious yet calamitous mistakes (which must give hope for the future to Ben Foster), was first choice until his injury at Portsmouth allowed Rob Green, who seems to be compiling his own personal back catalogue of often hilarious yet calamitous mistakes, to take over.

Ironically, the best of the lot could be the young but inexperienced third choice Joe Hart.

While I think Capello must have been tempted by James's much greater experience, I think he will stick with Rob Green to start knowing that he has capable back up if needed due to loss of form, injury or suspension.

1  Robert GREEN

At the back

Lazily rolling the ball out to the defence, Capello knows his preferred back four of Glen Johnson, captain Rio Ferdinand, John Terry and Ashley Cole, the two Chelsea players competing for the role of Johnny Rotten.

The question is, how does he balance the ideal of having like-for-like back up while making sure he has enough options to cover for lack of form and fitness after injury?

That will depend to some extent on Gareth Barry's injury as he would be the natural choice to cover for Ashley Cole and a better option, if fit, than the specialist left back Leighton Baines, who has looked out of his depth at this level.

2  Glen JOHNSON 3  Ashley COLE 4  Gareth BARRY 5  Rio FERDINAND 6  John TERRY

In the middle

Calmly passing the ball out to the midfield, again Capello knows his first choice is for Frank Lampard to partner Gareth Barry in the middle, with Steven Gerrard and Theo Walcott out wide.

With Barry's injury it's likely that Gerrard will be asked to fill in centrally in preference to an out-of-sorts Michael Carrick or the impressive but still inexperienced James Milner, who will be trusted to take Gerrard's starting place on the left in England's first game against the USA.

7  Theo WALCOTT 8  Frank LAMPARD

Up front

Desperately hoofing the ball up to the forwards now and giving the ball away, bizarrely we once again have the lovely Emile Heskey as our first choice centre forward.

It's like being back in 2002 all over again, except that back then Heskey was just a lumbering hulk of long-ball fodder who couldn't score a goal even if you put it in front of him and offered him £50,000 a week.

Heskey's England career, like Gareth Barry's of course, was reconstructed by former England manager and still object of derision (mostly for being so wet, despite sensibly opting for an umbrella to keep the rain off while his England team failed not to lose their must-not-lose game against Croatia) Steve McLaren.

Even so, Heskey is believed to be Rooney's preferred strike partner, presumably because he makes him look even better.

9  Emile HESKEY 10 Wayne ROONEY 11  Steven GERRARD

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJmouowPH5k

Left back at home

I think Capello must have been tempted to take only three specialist, but versatile central defenders as cover - King (who can also play a holding role in midfield), Jamie Carragher (who can cover both full-back roles as just as badly as centre back) and Matt Upson (who could conceivably cover at left-back if needed).

The advantage of taking Baines as well is that even if we had three players out with injury or suspension we would still have a defender on the bench.

But Capello must surely think that better options, in the unlikely event they are even needed, are the versatility of Michael Carrick, who has played a central defensive role a couple of times for United and James Milner, who can fill in on either flank as a full-back. Christ, I'd rather have Gerrard and Rooney at full back than Baines.

Stephen Warnock and Michael Dawson are untested alternatives and I don't see the point of Leighton Baines so I don't see how Capello can either.

12  David JAMES 13  Jamie CARRAGHER 14  Ledley KING 15  Matt UPSON

Passed out

The other benefit of not taking Leighton Baines is that it frees up a place for a more attack-minded player.

While Capello has a had a good look at Tom Huddlestone, who has played well for Spurs this season, I think he will miss out along with Scott Parker who was the injury reserve and stick with the experience of Michael Carrick, despite his fairly miserable recent run of form.

Aaron Lennon is the preferred like-for-like replacement for Walcott.

16  Aaron LENNON 17  Michael CARRICK 18  James MILNER

Bent over

Peter Crouch and Jermain Defoe were always certainties to go and Darren Bent never really had a chance.

19  Peter CROUCH 20  Jermain DEFOE

Tossed off

Joe Cole, who must think he looks more and more like a fat Joe Cole with every pie he eats, offers experienced and creative cover in any attacking midfield role.

That leaves exciting new boy Adam Johnson fighting for a place with his little big-club team-mate Shaun Wright-Phillips, who, like Glenn Matlock, can feel a little hard done by.

Just like at City, expect Johnson, who can genuinely play on either wing, to get the nod in the potential-matchwinner-who-won't-even-get-on role.

21  Joe COLE 22  Adam JOHNSON 23  Joe HART

So there you have it, to put you out of your misery two days early.

Thank me in the comments.