Halo Stickman

Don’t you believe it, Tokes! Russia? No, she likes to take her time. Ukraine your neck this way and you can see my house from here. This is getting so sad, I want to Crimea river

Thanks Bear – see, I fight it but I can’t stop myself.

Fixtures? No, mine's still not working.

Forum – as they created this place for him, you’d think um pahars would post more often.

Cheers bletch, problem sorted – I was previously browsing with Internet Explorer, which doesn’t seem to open svg files. Those plots are a good graphic illustration of something that has long been a source of wonderment to me, namely, how do people with work, family and other commitments find so much time to post on here? It’s not as if pap and Tokyo are even amongst the most frequent posters on here – not by a long way, compared to some, I suspect.

If you stare into a mirror in a dimly lit room, so that you can only see a rough outline of your face, after a while your brain fills in the missing bits, but it’s not always you. For instance, the other day I turned into Hannibal Lecter complete with muzzle. So that’s my answer. Is it right, bletch?

I’m missing out on bletch’s latest chapter of hilarious word fun – try as I might, my silly little netbook won’t open those bloody dot pictures. What can I do?

KRG, as I think it was probably me who introduced the flight simulator into this discussion, perhaps I should attempt to clarify. I’m not suggesting that owning a flight simulator per se is suspicious; indeed, if I had the money and the technical know-how I would quite like one myself! The theory I’m positing is that an airline pilot who spends his spare time on flight simulators and flying remote control aircraft might be displaying signs of being an obsessive control freak - an obsessive flying control freak. Of course, he might also simply enjoy flying! Now, as pap has already said, there have been previous incidents of airline pilots committing suicide at the expense of their passengers. The Moorgate tube crash is suspected by some of being a similar event, although never proven as such – in truth, it’s often very difficult to prove the cause of such tragic incidents. Then there are the numerous incidents of serial killers committing suicide. There is often a grudge element to these killings, but it is also well documented that some of these killers enjoy their short-lived moment of being in total control – a god-like ultimate control over people’s lives. Perhaps, the pilot falls into this category? It’s just a theory. Perhaps not the most outlandish theory you’ve ever read on here?

Fair enough, pap, although I would like to dissociate myself from your Fast Show sketch analogy – until you mentioned him, I hadn’t even heard of Colin Hunt!

The thing is, pap, many of us will have known someone – or, at least have heard of someone – seemingly in the same kind of happy circumstances, who, nevertheless, have ended up committing suicide for no obviously apparent reason; albeit, thankfully, not normally with such devastating consequences for others. For the sake of the pilot’s family and friends, I really hope it isn’t the case with this missing flight; however, IMO, sadly, it seems the most likely scenario at the moment.

Don’t suppose papairlines does cheap flights from Devon to Southampton by any chance?

No, pap, I was alluding to the madness of Mr Kurtz in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, or, if you prefer, Colonel Kurtz in Coppola’s Apocalypse Now. It’s just my opinion as to the most likely explanation. Hopefully, for the sake of their loved ones, the mystery of what happened to those poor sods on that plane will be solved sooner rather than later, one way or another.

A pilot, obsessed with flying for more than 30 years; with his own self-built flight simulator and remote control aircraft; finally freed from the shackles of auto-pilot, flight paths and ground control; at last, with total control, over machine and passengers on a seven hour ride of the valkyries into the heart of darkness – the horror, the horror. No terrorists, no hijackers, no governmental assassins, no alien abductors: just a single deranged mind. This is the most likely explanation, in my opinion.

The nearest I’ve ever lived to Southampton was years ago on the Isle of Wight. Apart from queuing for cup final tickets in the 1970s, cup final night itself, and the odd occasion when I missed the last ferry, I’ve never spent a whole night in Southampton. But, on Saturday, I took Mrs Stickman on her first ever trip to St Mary’s. We decided to make a weekend of it, so drove to Southampton on Friday night, checked into The Dolphin, had a few drinks, and then set off down the High Street in search of somewhere to eat. On the way, we met a woman, and had the following conversation: Me: Excuse me; are you familiar with this area? Woman: Yes, I live here. Me: Is this the quickest way to Oxford Street? Woman: Why would you want to go there? Mrs Stickman: I’ve heard it’s a good place for restaurants. Woman: It’s full of ex-cons and druggies. You wouldn’t be safe there, luv. Mrs Stickman: Oh dear, is there somewhere else you could recommend? Woman: Me and my husband always eat at the Golden Lion. Mrs Stickman: Great, where’s that? Woman: Winchester. I’ve no idea what this woman was on about – Oxford Street seemed fine to us – but if this is typical of Southampton residents’ attitude towards their city, then heaven help the place. Perhaps she worked for the Winchester tourist board. Anyway, FWIW, our Saturday itinerary: full English breakfast at The Standing Order, coffee and newspapers at No 4, Canute Street, pre-match drinks sitting in the sunshine at Banana Wharf, stroll to St Mary’s, Saints win, celebratory drinks back at the Wharf and in town – there’s definitely worse ways, and places, to spend a day.

Custard – up north is full of clowns.

RIP Mr Benn – an iconic figure who always spoke his mind. Although, to be honest, he was never quite the same after the second Eubank fight.

Breaking News: Road kill munching Middlesbrough resident fears today’s lunch may not have been a squashed slow worm after all.

As I see it, the problem when discussing unions is that things are never clear cut; there are always two sides to the argument. Indeed, based on my own personal experiences with the unions, I can’t even make up my own mind where I stand on this subject. FWIW, I’ve outlined some on my experiences and thoughts below. Apologies for the rather lengthy nature of this post – I’m awaiting a delivery and have got rather too much time to kill today. My father was a staunch left-winger and shop steward for the boilermakers union, so when I started my engineering apprenticeship in the 1970s I was more than happy to follow his lead and sign up for the union. My first personal experience with the union occurred during a lunch-break when I was serving time in the company’s drawing office. I’d eaten my sandwiches and read the newspapers, when, for want of something better to do, I picked up my pencil and carried on with my drawing. Bloody hell, anyone would have thought I’d picked up my pencil and stabbed the chief draughtsman in the eye with it! The union rep came charging over, shouting and hollering like a banshee, and spent ten minutes lecturing me on how the unions had fought long and hard to gain better working conditions for their members, and that hour-long lunch breaks were one of those conditions, and that no one, but no one, should ever spend even one minute working outside of company time. Well, this dressing down certainly did the trick: never again did I give that company one minute of my own time! A few years later, when I’d finished my apprenticeship, the same union rep asked me what grade I was on, and, after I told him, this time, went charging off to the works manager. Ten minutes later he returned to tell me he’d secured me not one grade rise but two! As this meant more pay, I was well chuffed, and thought: yep, the unions are a damn good thing. And, let’s face it, anyone who has ever read anything about the terrible working conditions prior to the unions will find it difficult to argue that the unions have been anything other than a force for good when it comes to improving working conditions. But, as the years went by, I started to see another side to the unions that left me feeling a little more ambivalent towards them, especially their restrictive working and demarcation practices. For example, two colleagues and I sometimes worked nightshift at a remote test facility several miles from the company’s main premises. Even though all three of us were fully qualified and time-served test engineers, we were not allowed to change blown light-bulbs or fuses. Instead, we had to phone for the duty maintenance electricians; but, if they were otherwise engaged on another job, a card-school, or asleep in one of their hidey-holes – believe it or not, I’m not being facetious with those last remarks! – then we were supposed to spend the rest of the shift doing nothing. In truth, my colleagues and I weren’t too bothered about this – after all, we still got paid, whether we did anything or not – but most of the time we simply surreptitiously replaced the light-bulbs or fuses ourselves. That was, until the day when the security guard saw my mate changing a fuse, and grassed us up to the union. All hell broke loose: my mate was black-legged, the entire maintenance department threatened to walkout, and refused to have anything to do with us for several months. From that day on, something as ridiculously mundane as a blown light-bulb or fuse had the potential to write off an entire shift! Of course, it’s important to say that restrictive working practices came about as a result of negotiations between the unions and the company, so it’s not fair to hold the former exclusively responsible for their introduction. However, I think it is fair to say that restrictive working practices such as these contributed to the company becoming uncompetitive. Eventually, the inevitable happened: large scale redundancies. And, for me, as a fully paid up member of the union, this bought a final irony. You see, the company wasn’t a closed shop: some of their workers were not in unions. But, because the unions insisted on ‘first in, last out’, union members like me were shown the door, whilst older non-union workers stayed on! So, in summation, my experiences with the unions – albeit mainly from the distant days of the 1970s and early 1980s – were a mixture of good and bad.

Woe betides anyone wishing to visit Liverpool on Christmas Day or Boxing Day

That’s bad news, GM – this damn hotel has been blighted from day one. Zero chance of it being completed for this summer’s test match, I suppose. Any implications for that match, or subsequent internationals?

It’s Taff’s first day at work and Farmer Llewellyn sends him out to cut the grass. At the end of the day he checks to see how Taff has got on: Farmer Llewellyn: Evening, Taff, looks like you’ve done a lovely job – no wait, look you, there’s a spot of grass in yonder valley completely un-cut. Why have you not cut the grass there, boyo? Taff: See, Mister Llewellyn, that spot of grass has got great sentimental value to me. Farmer Llewellyn: Great sentimental value to you, Taff? What on earth is that then, boyo? Taff: See, Mister Llewellyn, that spot of grass is where I had my first experience of sexual intercourse. Farmer Llewellyn: Your first experience of sexual intercourse, Taff? Well, I suppose I can understand why you haven’t cut that spot of grass. But wait, look you, I spy another spot of grass on yonder hillside you’ve left un-cut. Why have you not cut that spot, boyo? Taff: See, Mister Llewellyn, that is where her mother stood and watched us. Farmer Llewellyn: Her mother stood and watched you, Taff? In all my long years in the Valleys, I’ve never heard the like of that before. What on earth did she say to you, boyo? Taff: See, Mr Llewellyn, she said: ‘Baaaaa Baaaaa’.

I was wondering whether it was some weirdly staged porno re-enactment of when Smirking and Bear had to change out of their soiled undergarments – but I can’t spot a sh!tty pair of ‘who ate all the pies’ boxers, so perhaps it isn’t.

I'm starting to suspect this as well.

… and it doesn’t look like that tee-shirt’s been properly ironed. Everything’s pointing towards this woman being a complete slut.

Yep, I see what you mean, 3B, you’re well shot of her in my opinion! BTW, you haven’t got her forwarding address, by any chance?