Course, last night we had another pointless conversation. Yet another one to add to the mountain of sh.it thats been exchanged between she and I. If ever the art of talking rubbish ever becomes an Olympic event then we two will most definitely medal.

I mean there she is laid in bed scratching and sniffing at one of those girlie magazines that allow the sniffer to smell the odours of the latest fragrance gifted to the world by the bloody latest winner of Celebrity Big Brother, when she suddenly gets it into her head that the Council may kidnap me.

'Say you were fishing for Barbel on the Wye and the Council kidnapped you. What should I do. Should I negotiate with them'. I said, 'bloody hell! Where did that come from'. She said,'Oh come on. You never know it could happen. Should I open up a line of communication or completely ignore them'.

Course the sides of my pit of despair began to crumble didnt they. I got myself hauled into this pointless exchange didn't I. I said, 'don't bloody ignore them. That's the last thing you do when your dealing with hostage takers. Ask them what they want. If they want next to buggar all. We're in business because we've got buggar all. Pay the buggar all and get me back'.

Course, then it all gets worse doesnt it. She says, ' I'd need proof of life wouldn't I. I think I'd ask them to post me a leg'. I said. 'Not a bloody leg. A photograph of me with the Admag will do thank you very much'.

Mind. It then progressed to an area where I became highly concerned that she would actually communicate with them, say, 'yes I'll pay the fifty quid but before I do I demand you post me his right leg.' I said. 'Listen you rotten old bag. Whatever happens, as unlikely as it is, don't ask for me right leg or even the left leg. If they start suggesting severing my body parts then just ask for a finger. Not a bloody leg'.

But that wasn't the end of it was it. No! Not in our bed. She says, 'say I got you home. Say they did cut your leg off. What would you do to make a living'. I said, ' bloody hell! I don't bloody know do I. If I've got home without me bloody leg then planning a future career in the private or public sector would be the last thing on me mind'.

Course, then I got thinking about it didn't I. I mean losing a leg is a big thing. Popping out one day with two legs is one thing but hopping up the street is an entirely different proposition. I said, 'I'd becomea street beggar. Yes! That's what id do. I'd become a street begged. Folk would throw money at me because I'd only got one leg. It's a money spinner. I couldn't fail'.

Was that the end of this pointless shi.te? No! Not in our house. She said, 'say another beggar moved onto your patch and lets say he had no legs. You'd lose a lot of custom. Folk would pay him with no legs more than you with one leg. You'd have to lose another leg and an arm to get back on top of your chosen profession'.

I said. 'Right. Stop sniffing that bloody perfume. Im going to sleep. I refuse to continue on this journey that sees me getting cut up into tiny pieces simply because the Council chose to kidnap me.'

Bloody woman!

Thank you for voting for me as the new county councillor, but you're stupid. Sorry, but you're not interested in knowing any detail about the councils proposed budget. You're apathetic, too.

I've just been, as a Parish Councillor, to a presentation from the Council, chaired by the conservative deputy leader Cncllr Morgan. I felt they were treating us like children in the sense that we were given overall figures about what it is proposed to spend (like mummy and daddy tell you about running a house) and then told to go and sort your precept out (tidy your rooms and count your pocket money).

Ms Morgan did not agree that we should all be treated as adults and given the full facts!

Goodness I feel a blog coming on! RANT, rant, grrrr.

Taken from Hereford Times
 

WORK on the Hereford city centre Link Road is anticipated to begin next Spring, after today being given approval following a public inquiry.

Results from the inquiry, which concluded in May, have given Herefordshire Council the OK to seize the land needed to built the route.

Set to link Edgar Street with Aylestone Hill the road is also essential to plans to build up to 800 on and near the Merton Meadow.

It is getting closer, our Co-op is getting a new look, so exciting :)

Who says that nothing ever happens up the College?

Mind you it is about time something was done about it as it was getting tatty, but something needs to be done about the parking as people park in stupid places on the corners and I can see someone getting injured or killed on day.

Is anyone Councillors representing the College, ok Aylstone post on here? i can't see NICK NENADICH doing so, to be honest. I doubt it it is his sort of thing. I do not know about Brian Willcox as I know very little about him. but maybe they should look at the parking at the Co-op.

Whatever the rights and wrongs of our Clubs current predicament, and the wrongs are many in number, I ain't boycotting my team any longer. I'll be damned if I do! From hereon, I'm going to watch a game and being labelled a 'scab', a 'rotter' and a 'stinker' holds no fears for me.

They can do what they like to me. I'm going back to watch Hereford United and I'd urge every single one of you to gather up your common sense, stop being lead by fools who've little of no association with logic and rational thinking and return to support the youngsters who are wearing our teams colours.

The Leases that are at the heart of the problem? Now, I couldn't care less. It's now of no concern to me and if in the fullness of time my attendance supporting my team turns into a huge mistake on my part, then still, I couldn't care less. I'm going to watch my local team before its all to late.

And the lads who choose to boycott the Club? Well I ain't scared of them either. They can do whatever they wish to me and still I'll continue to hand my money over and go into the Street to support my team.

They can deploy there finest lads to monitor my movements from the Commercial, into the Old Burial Ground, and witness me staggering along Blackfriars Street full of ale shouting,'I'm going to watch the game' and its of no concern to me.

They can surround me, tie me up in United scarves and with the aid of a long wynch and hemp rope they can hoist me upwards and tether me to the floodlights and it'll be of no concern to me. In fact, rather than bemoan my predicament I'll shout down, 'thank you lads. A little bit higher please. I can't quite see the Merton End of the ground.

And even then it won't stop me. Never! They can scale the floodlights holding a bucket of Lugg water and a Cattle Prod and subject me to intolerable cruelty as I hang there submitting my ravaged body to fifty thousand volts of electricity and I'll howl with laughter throughout the terrible ordeal, screaming, 'we've just won a corner. Give me more voltage. I'm having the time of my life up here. Thank you all so very bloody much'.

And several hours after the game, when some Steward spots me hanging upside down tethered to the floodlights and finds it within himself to show me a little mercy and cut me down from my suspension, I'll do what I normally do.

I'll stagger back home, sink a few more pints, buy my large mixed kebab, rush home and still have enough energy left to tell my wife why she was so lucky to have found me amongst all the other idiots that were so readily available some forty years ago.

Stop being lead by people who know even less than you. They are wannabee's who want to run a football club and its you that'll pay the ultimate price of having no Hereford United to support.

Go back to the ground. Stand in the place they you've stood in for years and support what might be the last few weeks of Hereford United.

Think for yourselves instead of being carried along on a wave of bile, spite and hysteria that'll only serve to speed up the decline of our football club and see us playing Sinkums in some top of the table clash at Aylestone Park as our team battles to get promoted from League Three in the Herefordshire County League.

...and come and enjoy a joyous evening of music at Hereford's Richmond Place Club, Edgar Street, on Saturday 27th September, starting at 7.30pm.  Admission is only £5, payable on the door on the night, with all proceeds going to the Rose Tinted Rags textile recycling and arts centre, which recently re-located from the Tann Brook Centre to Union Walk by the Country Bus Station.

As well as rubbing shoulders with many of the other mendacious oddities who post on The Voice (they'll be easy to pick out as they'll all be wearing false beards!), you'll be treated to some wonderful live music.  On the bill will be star accordionist Richard Adey (he frequently plays outside Marks & Spencers in High Town, drawing big crowds).  Richard was priviledged to be chosen by the organisers as one of the official entertainers who performed in London's Green Park this summer, when the 2014 Tour de France swept through central London.

But the night's main attraction will be Hereford's very own The Boy And The Flatpack Band, featuring their special blend of electric blues and eco-reggae.  This summer they played successful gigs at Staunton-on-Arrow's 'Spring Greens' music festival and Chepstow's 'Green Gateway.' 

The new strongbow advert filmed in Hereford and our friends at the Sweet Chilli fed all 50 crew members!

http://youtu.be/KCBfEdMXK-g

From this weeks printed Hereford Times.....

"Readers will have the chance to quiz some of the county's most influential decision makers during a debate next month!

The leader of Herefordshire Council, Cllr. Tony Johnson is among four panellists chosen to debate issues that matter to Herefordshire residents during a Question Time style debate.

He will be joined by Lucy Hurds,the Lib Dem candidate, Cllr Anthony Powers, leader of IOC and Liz Morawiecka,fron the Here4Hereford group."

"We hope it will be a bit like the TV programme," said John Bothamley, chair of Hereford Civic Society which has organised the event.

The fun and games will take place at St Johns Methodist Church on St Owen Street, on September 18th. Start time - 7.30pm.

Some of us will remember that a similar event took place last year....the now infamous Kindle Centre Debate....with Jonathon Bretherton and Patricia Morgan. (Bus shelter slide show anyone????)

Anyone who wants to ask a question on the night, needs to first submit it to HT editor Clive Joyce.

Sooooo.......What would we like to ask then????????????

The incinerator proposed as the future for the county's waste, with people claiming the PFI funded plan (look what happened to the hospital that was PFI funded) with costs well into nine figures - is now thought to be wasteful itself and can no longer be sustained by Herefordshire council. At the Overview and scrutiny committee on September 3rd  the committee heard some compelling evidence that the proposed incinerator at Hartlebury was now out of date, expensive  and inefficent.

At a meeting this month  we heard from Dr David Slater ( a former director of the environment agency and head of polution control) who presented the opportunity for Herefordshire to make use of a state of the art and proven pyrolysis based treatment plant to be based at Rotherwas. This plant would not only deal with all our biomass streams, but would produce 13mw electricity  and provide a district heating system for the complete Rotherwas Industrial Estate. This would be at no capital cost for the county, and would only cost the equivalent of landfil for the actual processing of the biomass. This plant could be up and running within two years.

Herefordshire Independent councillors were given a full  presentation of the system and process, we were all impressed!

Let us hope the Conservative administration will take careful notice, millions of pounds could be saved, and we would be masters of our own fate - for a change!

Whats with all the power cuts in St James (and beyond for all I know)? It went off last night about 11pm for 10-15 minutes, stuttered back on, went off, came on, went off and finally got back to normal about midnight. Street lights out as well. It's just gone off briefly again about 15 minutes ago. Plays havoc with the computers!

You'd think that ordering Stationary from a local firm would be bloody easy for the Council wouldn't you. I mean, you employ someone who, every so bloody often phones the local company up and says, 'send me a box of your finest A4 paper my dear good man' and the local company says,'Yes, we'll deliver it. That'll be ten pounds thank you very much'.

And until very bloody recently,this was the way in which this paper eating bureaucratic beast of burden the Council acquired their paper. They'd phone up, the local firm would say, 'hoorah! More paper for the Council to eat through and ten bloody quid from our pile of wealth was taken and paid for the endless piles of paper this parasitic beast consumes each and everyday of the week.

Well, not anymore! No bloody Sir'ee. They've outsourced that little head scratching excercise. Now, the Council employee phones the little local firm to be told, 'We cannot deal with you directly. You must phone the company who now deal with the Stationary, tell them you want a box of paper, they'll phone us up, place the rotten order and they'll say how much it'll cost you, when it'll be delivered and that's all you now need to know.

Course, the sting in the tail is, because the agent acting for the Council likes a lump of bloody sugar that box of A4 paper that we once paid ten quid for,now costs us fifteen bloody quid. The local firm still get their ten quid, the Council still get their bloody paper but now, because of an outsourcing firm that may be Balfour Beatty, they get five quid for arranging the transaction.

It makes you want to hurl phlegm. A curse on this Council!

I would like to ask Cllr Johnson,

Since January 2013

How many new management positions have been created and what is the combined salary?

How many new posts have been created which command a salary of £30,000 but with no line management responsibility?

How many existing managers received a pay increase?

How many front line staff were made redundant and what was the salary savings?

Finally how much money did the Council save by reducing the grass cutting?

At least 6 large Caravans with their towing vehicles have set up camp on Widemarsh Common

The Common on a weekend is full of young children playing a football match or being trained . It appears that due to these travellers the weekend will be spoilt for a large number of children and their parents .thats a great pity because it's right and proper that children of all ages need to be participating in sport.

http://www.heart.utest.thisisglobal.com/torbay/news/local/torbay-child-sex-abuse-claims/

No dates given yet.

50 officers working on case.

Major inquiry involves 20 children of 12 and upwards.

It's true and I'll fight any man who says it ain't. Last night I was laid on the bed, flat on me back dressed up in one of my wife's collection of uniforms. As she writhed, wriggled and generally thrust about upon me, I lay there nibbling upon a platter of Cornish Clams dressed from head to toe in an undersized World War Two Japanese Naval Admirals uniform. Minding me own bloody business, eating me Clams and swigging back the Ale, her right knee hit the hilt of my Decorative Sword causing discomfort to my left ********. I said, 'Sweet Lord! Take care. You'll give me a Torsion of the Testcle. At the very least writhe around and display some care and consideration toward me you brazen and wanton strumpet'.

Course, this then develops into a pointless conversation doesn't it. Wished I'd never bloody mentioned it. She says, 'what's a torsion of the ********'.

I said, ' I'll tell you what that is. It's something you wouldn't want. That's what that is.'. Course, she wants to know more doesn't she. I said, 'fair enough. You're thrusting up and down in pursuit of personal gratification, your knee forces the hilt of this fine sword into my scrotum and me testcles can get all knotted up. That's what that is'. Course, the bloody woman then says, 'I wouldn't want that' leading me then further into this pointless conversation explaining that the last time I checked she hadn't developed a scrotum and therefore it was highly unlikely shed ever suffer the whole torsion of the testicles thing.

Happily, this bag of boll.ocks of a meaningless and pointless conversation was disturbed by a tap, tap, tap on the bedroom window. Keen to end this physical violation of my human dignity, I shouted, 'dismount. I'll see who it is tapping on the window'. And I did. I opened the curtains to see Bill Norman clinging onto me window sill. I said, 'clear off Norman. Im a diligent recycler of rubbish and I'll be damned if I tolerate you scurrying up my bloody drainpipe, disturbing the brackets that affix my drainpipe to my wall and have your bloody feet and knees scraping off my rendering'. I told him, 'be gone or I'll come outside and box your ears'. Wasn't going was he! Determined wasn't he! Said, 'you want to fight me. Get out here now Emperor Horihito and I'll kick your head in'.

Anyway, I popped me little Admirals hat on, hurtled down the stairs, opened the door, slammed the door, which, given the benefit of hindsight was a huge mistake, to find Bill Norman stood there in the company of Geoff Hughes, Jonathon Bretherton, Alistair Neil, Tony Johnson and Pat Morgan. I thought, 'hi up. I shouldn't have slammed me door shut.'

To cut a long story short, they all gave me a kicking, beat me with short pointy sticks and dragged me away for questioning. Course getting dragged up Commercial Road dressed as a World War Two Japanese Naval Admiral was'nt the easiest of experiences, particularly the scorn and ridicule that poured out from the Ale houses that all had the phrase ' you stupid tw.at' incorporated into them.

Once in Plough Lane, they got to work on me. Tied and bound and wired up to the domestic electricity supply the questioning began. 'Give us Paul Cardin'. Over and over again, 'Give us Paul Cardin and the agony of this encounter will end.'Course, being a black plastic bin bag man, a man who refuses to shop within the new development or eat produce that was purchased from within the new development and being someone who's not intimidated, I said,'Get stuffed. Never. I'll never give Cardin up'.

Then after three hours of being head butted, thumped, slapped, pinched, electrocuted, shot, stabbed, poisoned and having my fat face jumped on, Hereford Councils Chief Legal Officer Bill Norman cried, 'we've gone to far. We've abused our positions of power. We'll release him and buy his silence with a generous Compromise Agreement'.

And they did. With a Tax Free Lump Sum of sixty two thousand pounds tucked inside me tight white Naval Britches I staggered back home richer than I was before vowing that I'd never talk about my beatings within Plough Lane. And I won't. Never!