Monday, 22 July 2013

#13 The Kate Wait is Over!

The following exchange was made between a Sky News correspondent and a medical expert outside the hospital where Kate had just arrived in labour following a confirmation by the Royal Family:
Sky - "Can we take it as some kind of sign that she's soon to give birth now?"
Expert - "Errrr yes she's ready to have the baby."

It's clear from that pow-wow that however many months of preparation the press has had to cover this story, ultimately they only have two real pieces of news to cover. One being the announcement of labour, the other the announcement of birth. Between that is up to them. Dozens of experts have been on standby for their moment in the spotlight but when it was first reported it seemed like the only ones available were the unemployed ones that were up early enough to answer the phone. By lunchtime the real professional experts were preparing to sit down behind their messy academic bookshelves to be beamed via satellite into our homes.

As Sky once more put it ever so eloquently "The Kate wait is nearly over."

Luckily the child is being born into a open society where he/she is free to pursue any career aspirations they so wish and not be forced into any type of occupation...

The baby will be called HRH Prince or Princess X of Cambridge, and will one day be head of the armed forces, supreme governor of the Church of England, and the head of state of 16 countries, as well as head of the Commonwealth.

So a super-soldier, a mega-vicar and leader of over a dozen nations. Not bad for someone who hasn't yet mastered the art of opening their eyes or controlling their bowels.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, The Guardian opened up their live blog coverage almost immediately, usually reserved for middle eastern revolutions and hacking scandals and gave us the advanced credentials of Dr Alan Farthing as seen below:

So who will be there? As far as we know, Prince William is with his wife; also present will be the Queen's obstetrician and gynaecologist team of Marcus Setchell and Alan Farthing. Farthing was the fiance of murdered BBC presenter Jill Dando.

I hope that Alan is able to concentrate on delivering this baby and not dwelling on his murdered soulmate because Kate needs the best and the best she indeed has. A state of the art delivery suite with 'Satellite TV and champagne on ice if the parents wish to celebrate after birth.' Having seen after-birth, drinking champagne would be the last thing I would do to settle my troubling tum.

By 2pm the latest theory seems to be revolving around the fact that a full moon was responsible for kick starting many a broken water but many scientists have no actual proof of this. Due to lack of evidence the cameras turn (literally) to focus on the amount of press situated outside the hospital. ITV's Daybreak seemed to think the whole thing is ridiculous before cutting to their own correspondent who has been given a shit vantage near the bins and the homeless man who claims to invented the speech bubble.

By now the Twittersphere was having a orgy of hashtags thrown at them. #royalbaby #royalbabynames #Diana and most alarmingly #Tescofood. Photoshop creativity went into full production mostly riffing on either The Lion King or that John Terry has struck his sexual balls into the royal goal.

Meanwhile back at The Guardian, the blog appeared to realise the trouble they were in by republishing derogatory comments about its own coverage as if they know it's pathetic but they can't stop now:
@Suzanne_Moore wrote "Things that need banning. Live blogging the dilation of a woman's cervix actually."

Monday 5pm - And still no royal declaration. To fill the blog, The Guardian decided to shame publicly owned properties into showing their patriotism and verbally called out Trafalgar Square and The Shard to put on special events or displays to which they caved almost immediately by turning the lights on blue or pink dependant on the sex of the baby.
Over the pond, the US networks were having a field day drafting in posh looking chaps such Ben 'Typhoo' Fogle to be a special correspondent for the day. Kind of like when Newsround sends some kids to the premiere of The Chronicles of Narnia to ask childish cutesy questions like "what's your favourite colour in a rainbow?".

Breaking news! Nearly 12 hours after the initial labour announcement we have a baba boy. Which means 2% less press intrusion but 277% more sex scandals in the 2033 Sunday People. Less Hello magazine features and more of that horse sport with a stick. So it was all wrapped up in one day which is nice. The worlds media will carry on until Kate leaves the hospital and probably follow her in a tunnel ironically. But before that we get a quick glimpse of the future king when they wheel her out for show. The child's limb movements, according to the following days papers either resembles a royal wave or a two fingered salute.

Tuesday 8am - BBC Breakfast are at Buckingham Palace watching a 200 year old announcement easel just in case it bursts into flames. Suzanne Reid doesn't look as fit in the outdoors, BBC should write that in their annual report. Back in the studio, they've roped in the boss of Mothercare to talk about merchandise having estimated over £200 million will be spent on spin off products but the boss ended up saying it won't make too much difference in his shops so that was useful.

The editors pages are littered with complaints that the royal baby story has been milked to the max and license fee payers will demand the head of BBC news's head on a pike and placed on the bones of Jimmy Saville and Gordon the Gopher.

And so the world finally reverts back to normal. It's now Wednesday 5pm. The royal parents have took their child to one of those counties with Shire at the end to get some Middleton support and its back to the usual 24 hrs news. You know what I mean. Those high court results that you don't really care about but are more interested in what movie posters are on the London buses behind the reporter. Maybe a government U-Turn on something involving a pasty. It's a shame Have I Got News for You isn't on air at the moment as you wouldn't have to look far for some light hearted banter regarding it all. I leave you with the Daily Express letters column and the readers who clearly hate the kerfuffle but love the attention their words will get if printed so they try to act like massive ball-sacks.

Goodnight you prince of Cambridge, future King of England. May the lullabylic tone of The Archers send you into a 5* sleep on a bed filled with dodo feathers.

Adam Yates

Monday, 15 July 2013

#12 I'm Hired

With The Apprentice reaching its conclusion last night it seems fitting to announce my intention to enter the entrepreneurial club in the near future. If bloody Luisa-flash-tits can have 73 successful businesses then why cant I? I don't need the retail politics, unnerving amount of job losses and general negativity that surrounds the work minority. That being said, It would only be a small online biz so my full time position would still exist but any profit would be amazing.

It all started when I checked for the domain name of my daughter to check if its available for purchase. My reasons being that if she became a child actor or tennis sensation, then I would have the website already rather than barter with some meow-meow fuelled troll who's looking for his next fix. From that initial search I went to my own name, maybe for the blog you're reading right now and then I began to plunder through my wacky business ideas I've had over the years.

Space is dwindling people! Have you ever seen a new cemetery being built? Me neither. Some may want to visit their loved ones on their dinner hour. Well now you can with this all new City Centre  facility. Pray and Display! Artificial grass on 8 floors of heavenly respectful mourning, HD tombstones showcasing the memories of the deceased and a video guestbook available to all visitors. Visit 3 or more graves on the same day and parking comes free on your next visit. The RIP-VIP store provides biodegradable flowers, wreaths and magazines for those kids who just get bored.


Need I say more? The customer who enquiries as to the late whereabouts of their taxi gets through to the switchboard and starts off saying...
"Hiya I rang a taxi..."
"Hi, I rang a taxi..."
"No I'm not saying your company I'm telling you my problem"
"Oh ok"
"Right, I rang a taxi..."
"Hello? (Sniggers)"

It's comedy gold, maybe to be followed by liquidation but it would be a humorous caper. Plus the orangatuan mascot in a ford escort would be hysterical.

To my surprise, none of these fabulous ideas had been snapped up however I don't have the real estate nor access to a  fully licensed Orangatuan so those schemes have been put back on hold. Copyright Adam Yates.

So I went on Facebook to share my experience and casually asked a friend of mine that we should set up a small business but the moment I clicked send, I got excited at the prospect and within an hour, the recipient replied to say that he had been wanting to start such a business for a while and that we should start tossing ideas around which we have done for a few days now. At this present time I have come to the conclusion that such a plan requires £1000 start up money, a website/marketplace and creative unique designs which skirt on the border of copyright infringement.

Over the last 24 hours I did begin to doubt myself as I always do but I sell 'be your own boss' books to so many mong-jockeys that I wonder how they can have the self belief and not me? When you walk home after work, everywhere you look there's a person who took a chance and owns their own shop, van or greasy spoon. The business I'm looking into is minimal risk as I'm not aiming to have a physical shop or apply for any loans. If it makes me £50 a month I'd be fucking chuffed as beans.

So keep an eye out for my attempt at world domination, support me where you can, accept my begging requests for  Facebook 'likes' and maybe even buy something on launch day even if you don't want it. Besides you never know when you'll need a kilo of Grade D Cocaine. Kidding.

Adam Yates (wannabe businessman)

Wednesday, 10 July 2013

#11 Hot Air of Desperation

Whoever likes the Sun is a buttmunch!

There I said it. How can anybody like that ball of hot plasma interwoven with magnetic fields? It's a space hazard that should be put out like a pikey bonfire. Yes I know it would be the end of days but I just can't stand the heat.

I've never enjoyed hot sunny days but I've grudgingly dealt with it because a) I was a child so I didn't have a choice or b) I was married so I didn't have a choice. As a acne free youth I played out a lot and although the sun shone, I was having too much fun to notice but I wasn't having fun BECAUSE of the sun but despite it. Then in my teens on holidays abroad, I would walk to the local tourist shoppe and buy myself a 2 day old Daily Mirror and hide under the parasol until the moon came to scare the star away.

But my hatred of sunshine was at its worst in Las Vegas. I was under age so I couldn't gamble or drink so all that remained was to sightsee. The heat was UNBEARABLE! The hottest place I have ever stood. The whole family ran from bus stop to bus stop to keep out of its wrath before we ended up in one of the strips many air conditioned resorts. After that experience I spent most of my time in the hotel room even at night when the rest of the family enjoyed Vegas shows.

Someone told me this week, ironically whilst we were sweltering in a city centre beer garden, that the sun is technically only 20 years old as its cycle around the solar system has only occurred some 2 dozen times in its lifetime. I do tend to hate 20 somethings pretending to be older than they are so maybe this is the reason for my heat rage.

This week I've had a week off work and it's been nothing but sweltering, baby minding, fan altering, perspiring hell. The missus believes the summer heat is a godsend as do millions of like-minded fools. I've always felt that my sweat glands are broken (line up ladies!) and that perhaps I'm just not designed to cope with high temperatures.

I'm writing this under the protection of a 1ft fan blowing cold recycled wind on my ankles whilst my shirt is open similar to a Take That music video, then I shall soon retire to the bedroom which houses a more powerful ceiling fan with 3 glorious speeds. Now if only Apple can produce an app that can blow refreshing air through the iPhone's orifice's because if that was to happen, then I would let that phone do whatever it wants to me and I hope it finds my 3G-spot and blows on it like soup of the day. Boy did that last paragraph get weird?

Adam Yates