I doubt that either of these unconnected commentaries will win me any friends but both are highly topical and I’d rather go to my grave speaking the truth, discussing hard facts then saying nothing. The Christopher Booker/Cape Town water shortage reference is HERE
Back in the days when, as a supportive straight, I marched against Clause 28, in the days of Aids stigma the LGBT community had a tough time. Discrimination was widespread. But thankfully times have changed. Outside certain other minority communities who might not understand Queers for Palestine, the UK is a pretty tolerant place.
With almost everything at the Greek Hovel fixed, I headed into the village of Kambos for supper opting to go to the ouzerie opposite the olive press. 4 Euro for two skewers of pork drizzled in lemon, what a bargain. Sitting outside, in the cold night air was my friend Vangelis and two old geezers who greeted me warmly. But inside…
I have so far named two paedophile teachers from my time at Warwick School: Alan Wilkins , who is dead, and Charles Watmough who is alive and who I tried to doorstep a year ago. In both cases Warwick covered up what it knew and allowed both nonces to move on to fresh fields without a stain on their character. Wilkins, I believe, carried on noncing in Harrogate while Watmough gave private piano lessons to kids in Scarborough. That is Warwick’s shame. Last night a chap from the year below me got in touch having read this website.
English Rugby seems to be a financial mess. As an Ireland supporter I cannot say that I shed many tears and my Welsh speaking younger kids will be delighted about this. These days Wales supporters have little to cheers so allow them this rare dose of schadenfreude.
As you can see, I have a co-worker. While I hammer away at my keyboard he has been sitting here all day quietly dozing away. It is a hard life for some.
LinkedIn suggests to me about once a day a job that I might wish to apply for and have suitable skills for. Very rarely are they posts that I’d have the slightest interest in but today’s suggestion takes the biscuit. Would I fancy working as a Senior Advisor on Peace & Security at…
You may remember the grotesquely anti semitic mural on Brick Lane in London’s East End which Jeremy Corbyn liked so much. It seems those bearded hipsters, and that is just the women, have done it again as you can see below.
On days like this I am 100% convinced that this will be my last ever Sharestock. I just feel rotten. But the Shipmans insisted this morning that if I keep taking the medicine but in ever larger doses I will have a new lease of life, albeit one that involves shooting up every day and so never say never. We shall see. Anyhow I am working hard to make 6 September 2025 a bumper day and we have a new speaker to announce…
The idea came from daughter Olaf who had this ice cream in Tuscany, the sort of place young ladies from Islington go to on holiday. Joshua says it tastes amazing. Have you guessed yet?
Those who like to troll me and attack me for my day job of exposing frauds often claim that I used to work in a pizza shop or, in some cases, they suggest that I still do. The truth is that I once bought a loss making Italian restaurant, turned it around and sold it at a profit back in 2015. But truth is a four letter word for some folks.
I went to Oxford. Sister T went to that other place in East Anglia and sister N also went to Oxford. My father scored an Oxbridge hat-trick and was rather proud of that. Two of T’s three boys made it in and N’s eldest got to Oxford. As for me…
This is more of the work of my fellow olive harvester Tim, a keen photographer and astronomer. Taken from the South facing balcony of the hovel it is the stars known as the Monkey’s head. I can’t think why.
Day five was my birthday and we did some harvesting in the morning anyway. We had been warned by mad lefty L that rains would start by noon and so had accepted an invitation to head up into the mountains for a celebratory lunch. L is a good cook and I was happy to accept although his weather forecasts are about as accurate as the Met Office on global warming. That is to say they are invariably proved wildly inaccurate.
In terms of the harvest there is not a lot to report. There was no rain, Tim and I ploughed on and we are on track. But Tim is a bit of a photo genius and I bring you two quite amazing photos to entertain you.
