Come to Tipton Mall!

Okay, Filthy Eric has a few questionable hygiene habits, but he ain't no Zombie

Today, with pride and honour, the incumbent Mayor of Tipton, Mr 'Baby Doc' Vowel, officiated at the opening of Tipton's only premier mall, appropriately called: 'Tipton’s only Premier Mall'. To inaugurate the inauspicious opening, Mr Vowel threw a half eaten donner kebab at the front entrance. The kebab promptly slipped sluggishly to the floor, whence it instantly congealed into a glistening morass/mass. This momentous event augurs well for the future of this prestigious establishment.

Even before the mall opened, half the shops were boarded up and covered in ill conceived graffiti. The clutch of Pawn/Porn shops are expected to thrive as is 'Mr Khan's Cheap Liquor Establishment of Oblivion'. 'Mr Patel's Pound Store' sits cheek and jowl next to Wang's Cheap Discount, Cut-Price, Cut-Throat, Low-Cost, Boutique'. And no inner city mall would be viable, or replete, without the ever present, 'Super Fags' outlet.

Local itinerants and foreign 'tourists' have already shown their enthusiasm and support by moving in and placing their bed rolls strategically in door ways. Filthy Eric's place lies adjacent to the bolted ‘Emergency Exit’ for quick egress on benefit day.

Filthy Eric, has left the building

  

This well thought out mall provides for every demographic. Posing, intimidating youths, in hoodies can congregate in the poorly lit aisles dispensing drugs and ill gotten gains with aplomb. World-weary, intimidated, superannuated folk, can swap tales of mirth and woe whilst glancing precariously at the turbulent youth and gypos with rheumy beclouded corneas. Thieves abound, and pilfer with boldness and impunity.  

The mall even comes equipped with a fully functioning 'Sick Bay'. A bucket placed at a jaunty angle provides the denizens of Tipton with a receptacle for relinquishing their stomach contents after a Saturday night sampling the delights of the liquor store and 'Fat Mugumbo's Fast Fried Fat Filled Fancies'. Arrrrrrrsssssse.

Teddy, is still in the building. Come save him, please

It can only get better…….

On Cancer

All families are touched by cancer. It is estimated that one in three will contract cancer during their lifetime. There is a perception that the incidence of cancer is rising and that it is a relatively modern disease. But appearances can be deceptive. In times past the condition was under-diagnosed. Furthermore, we are living much longer than our ancestors. The average life span for an Englishman in the 18th century was 40 whilst today it is nudging 80. If cancer is anything, it is a disease of the aged; consequently we are seeing more cases simply because more of us are getting really old.

Until 1900 the only effective treatment for cancer was surgery. If the tumour was contained and not invasive, a cure was possible. More likely the tumour had infiltrated surrounding tissue or spread through the circulation and lymphatic system to other regions of the body. These 'seeds' would then lodge and start to grow. Under these circumstances, the patient was doomed. Radiation therapy for treating tumours came about in 1900. Some tumours are equisitively (definitely, not a real word) sensitive to radiation while others are tenaciously resistant. Normal tissue is also damaged, although there are techniques available to minimise collateral tissue damage.

Chemotherapeutic agents became available in the 1940s. This technique has evolved and proved very effective in the treatment of some cancers. However, it is still a relatively crude approach. The drugs are rather indiscriminate and target fast growing cells, regardless of whether they are malignant or healthy. Therefore, this technique is particularly effective against aggressive, fast growing tumours. Usually it has little potency against the indolent, slow growing variety. Chemotherapeutic drugs will also act on normal healthy tissue, especially if they are relatively fast growing. This is why cancer patients lose their hair and suffer from nausea as the drugs kill rapidly growing hair follicle cells and the cells lining the stomach. Often it is battle between killing the tumour before the chemical regime kills the patient. That said, there have been some notable success stories using chemotherapy. Childhood Acute Lymphocytic Leukaemia (ALL) was invariably fatal before chemotherapy. These days, 90% of children become long term disease free survivors.

In the 1960s, the Americans came up with a bold plan. What if they threw billions of dollars at the problem of curing cancer? Certainly the injection of money was welcome to the scientific and medical professions and the subsequent research certainly helped. However, after spending billions and billions of dollars on research a quarter of us are still dying of the disease. The pace of discovery didn't meet the politician’s expectations. Politicians truly believe that throwing money at a problem, solves all; consider the manned Moon mission programme. All falls prone to the mighty dollar. I am not trying to belittle the research work which followed. Much fundamental research occurred and great strides were accomplished. But the politicians and the suitably primed public expected a quick fix and cure. Unfortunately biology decided not to oblige. Those scientists and medics at the leading edge of research surmised that this problem was not going to be quickly resolved, but they kept their counsel, to themselves.

Cancer is not a single disease. Cancer is a multitude of diseases although they have the common denominator of being a genetic disease. Whenever a cell divides there is a preceding event of DNA replication. The fidelity of the process is astounding and an error occurs only once in ten billion base pairs. Even so, all is not lost as the organism has a surveillance system which picks up the errors and initiates a repair process. If the damage is too great, cellular destruct mechanisms come into play and the aberrant cell is eliminated. Why should this matter? It matters because genetic mutation within our cells drives the cancer process. It is an accumulation of genetic mutation which cause a cell to become cancerous. However, the efficient immune system is ever vigilant and detects mutant cells and destroys them. Therefore, cancer occurs when the repair process and the immune system becomes inefficient. As we age all our biological functions decline. Thus as we age we are more prone to cancer. Childhood cancer defies this explanation. There are other mechanisms at work here, but in my brief and simple survey, this will not be considered.

We live in exciting times and new targeted therapies are being introduced. As alluded to earlier, the problem with radiotherapy and chemotherapy is their inability to discriminate between normal and malignant tissue. Drugs have been developed which target the genetic defect. Aberrant mutant genes drive cancer growth. If we can turn off these genes then perhaps we can stop tumour growth and even cause tumour regression. There have been a few success stories. Chronic Myeloid Leukaemia (CML) is a cancer which, in the past, could only be cured by a bone marrow transplant. Only a minority of CML patients were eligible. Most patients were just too old to tolerate the procedure. And then there was always the problem of finding a compatible donor. Hence for most patients, the course of the disease was very predictable. The symptoms could be controlled for about three years, thereafter, the patients invariably developed an aggressive form of leukaemia which was intractable to treatment. And thus life was relinquished. The new drug (Gleevac) stops the gene from producing the protein which causes the blood cells to proliferate. This is not necessarily a cure. Some patients after a year or so develop further mutations which circumvent the treatment. However, second and even third generation drugs are now available to progress life.

Some cancers are close to being conquered although there remains a large group of malignancies which still defy medical science. But with continuing research and the relentless introduction of novel and effective drugs, there is hope that one day, perhaps not soon, most, if not all cancers, will be mastered.

Flaxen Saxon's big day out

I had planned to write a post about cancer, but that will have to wait another day. On a whim, my son asked my wife and I to have a day off work. We were entrusted into his hands and had no idea what was planned.

On a beautiful, but cold sunny day in Wellington, we drove into town. First, my son dropped off my wife at the shopping mall. We then progressed to the Wellington War Memorial. It is set in subdued, beautiful, park grounds. The building has an imposing dignity as befits its purpose. The serenity is palpable and made me silently gasp. To the front lies the tomb of the Unknown Soldier- a soldier, 'known only unto God'. I'm an atheist, and even so, I'm still moved by these words.

Inside there is an extensive, well-constructed, exhibit of the First World War. Each level represents a year. War posters festoon the walls. Huge photographs of men and war, in colour, are everywhere. Mood lighting enhances the tableau. Seeing colour photos of men long dead is uncanny and evocative. These men could have walked out of the wall and shook my hand.

The First World War is a historical event that can be contemplated in a cold intellectual light. No different from the Punic Wars fought over two thousand years ago or the Napoleonic Wars fought two hundred years ago. These wars were also fundamental in changing the course of European history and hence, world history. The difference is the photographs; they insinuate and make the past, tangible. The First World War was probably the first major war where photography was rampant. The images capture men in extremis; their faces tell all. 

Exhibits of equipment, items of war and guns and tanks were scattered throughout. All, cleverly prepared and well thought out and organised. None of the static, fusty museum exhibits of old; no decrepit stuff in glass cases. All was vibrant and enhanced with surround sound. The centre piece was a huge model of a critical battle during the Gallipoli campaign. I gazed intently but could never gain perspective. The whole thing was wonderfully done and poignant. World weary bugger that I am, I confess, I shed a silent tear. My son didn't see it, or if he did, he didn't say.  

Afterward, we went to Wellington's premier museum, 'Te Papa'. If you ever come to the end of the world- come to Te Papa; tis free after all. Well, not really free, as a resident Wellingtonian, I pay through the rates/nose. On reflection, leave a donation. There we queued to see the 'Gallipoli Campaign' exhibition. Wow. Fantastically recreated war scenes and larger than life and perfectly crafted mannequins towered over us mortals. The word mannequin does not do justice to the figures before our eyes. So cleverly fashioned, you can see the sweat on the faces, the protruding veins and the pores on the hand- you need to see it up close to appreciate the sculptors' skill; absolutely stunning.

    

We finished off with a meal and a beer. And then we picked up the missus and my son's girlfriend.

What an awesome day, thank you, son.

Scale and perspective

George and Arthur's Wicked Wheeze- cough

Britain's secret weapon

In the early autumn of 1941, the German army stood resplendent and ascendant on the battlefield, everywhere- all lay conquered before the mighty Wehrmacht. The British looked on in dismay and frank despair. A confidence boosting victory was desperately needed. In Britain's darkest hour, Churchill came up with a bold incisive plan......

What if two washed up, piss poor and excruciating unfunny vaudeville entertainers were parachuted into the heart of enemy territory. When ensconced they would head for Hitler's East Prussian fortress, 'The Wolfschanze' and make a half arsed and inept attempt at assassination. The only suitable candidates who fulfilled all the criteria for this hazardous and scarcely credible mission were none other than our jolly japesters (is this a real word?), Arthur (no arse-in da future) Askey and George (fulsome toothsome) Formby.

At that time, Hitler was protected by his personal bodyguard, the 1^st  SS Seamstress brigade. These infamous Valkyries sewed terror wherever they went. Adept at needlepoint and croquet they were renowned for producing delicate stitch work on the soldiers they had slain. It is to be remembered that it was the 1st SS Seamstress brigade who were responsible for the Russian debacle at Kiev, when the Russian 63^rd Guards army was thoroughly trounced and stitched up like a kipper after some fine and vigorous Bargello embroidery.

Brunhilder Von Mugumbo (woof, woof)

Our mirthless pair were promptly dropped into East Prussia on that fateful Wednesday night. Our George was armed with the latest weapon grade ukulele designed to fire poisoned darts with a twang of a string. Big hearted Arthur was furnished and girded with the ‘Busy Bee’ song which was credited with killing a storm trooper at fifty paces. After a cup of tea and a Marmite sandwich they quickly approached the ‘Wolf’s Lair’. Luckily for our luckless duo, the guards were engaged in their weekly sewing circle and failed to notice our befuddled buffoons negotiating the intricate, wool weave, perimeter defences. Once inside, they dashed to the cabin, helpfully labelled, 'Der Führers Schlafzimmer'. The door was unlocked and our beguiled heroes prepared their respective instruments of doom with suitable aplomb. Just then, the fickle finger of fate intervened and Hitler’s pet ferrets, Donner und Blitzen leapt out of the stygian darkness and savaged Arthur’s ankles. Arthur screamed, “I thank you” and our dozy dimwits were promptly surrounded by a trio of voluptuous shield maidens sporting a tailor's brad awl. The game was up and it was decided to execute the humourless pair by sewing machine. But once again destiny intervened and Hitler (denn er ist) decided that our feeble witted dyad should return to Blighty, unharmed. Wisely, he conjectured that Arthur and George would cause mayhem and chaos to the allied war machine just by performing their hackneyed music hall routine. It was hoped, that single handed, they would destroy the Allied war effort by seriously undermining the troop's morale.

So instead of an unmarked grave our duet foisted their unbridled and talentless enthusiasm on the poor unsuspecting British Army- thus are the vicissitudes of war and fate (arsch). 

To be continued……   

                                                               Take it away, George 

The Beginning of Critical Thought

Time for a very sensible post

'Aristotle, Aristotle, was a bugger for the bottle'

When young, I followed a strain of mysticism. I was trying to make sense and comprehend this strange 'thing' we call existence. Also, like many young men, I was a fool. The mysticism I consulted had ready made answers for everything. At first I accepted this, but as I matured intellectually, the solutions started to appear superficial and glib. I started to ask questions, such as: 'On what basis is this belief supported'? My burgeoning experience and training as a scientist reinforced my doubt. Eventually, I evolved and sometime in my mid twenties I emerged as a fully fledged sceptic and rationalist. Even as I rapidly approach my dotage I remain firmly fixed that knowledge remains with the rational. There are no short cuts. For those who seek a quick fix for life's conundrums, mysticism will, no doubt, provide answers.

Rational thought began with the ancient Greeks. Sometime in the 6th century BC something amazing happened in the small city states which comprised the Greek 'nation'. Although never a nation in the conventional sense, as each city was passionately and fiercely independent, however, they were bound by a common racial and cultural identity. Why the Greeks became rational is something of a mystery. Older and more sophisticated civilisations should have beaten them to it, but they didn't. We have no written record of whether an Egyptian in 1400 BC reflected on why the sun traversed the sky, in a scientific sense. Of course the Egyptians had explanations, but these were based on the 'God Explanation'. Thus god, or gods, made everything happen. Magic wands are a powerful instrument to stunt intellectual thought. To these folk, to ponder on how gods make things happen would have seemed impious and tantamount to heresy. They were not stupid, however, their smarts were channelled into ritual and 'knowledge' which was considered profound and important, to them.

The ancient Egyptians and Assyrians had knowledge. It was a practical form of knowledge often worked out by trial and error. The ancient Egyptians couldn't have built the pyramids without a sound grasp of geometry. They never made the intellectual leap to consider the abstract and build on concepts. If things were not useful for religious or building purposes it was not worth considering. In a way this is what happened to the intelligentsia in the middle ages. Learned Monks were consumed with doctrinal religious minutiae and therefore, contributed to intellectual progress, not at all; pity. As an example, regard the works of Thomas Aquinas, the supreme medieval Catholic scholar. This remarkable man focussed absolutely on religious matters and dogma. Shame he didn't focus his formidable intellect on answering the world's conundrums with scientific principles. Religion always stultifies intellectual thought and progression, it never helps. When has a papal bull resulted in a longer lasting light bulb? I rest my case.

So the Greeks, somehow, became speculative. We can sense their wonder and gape at their genius from our established and rational perspective 2,600 years later. The Greeks were the first people to consider mechanistic and none wand waving solutions to the mysteries of life. Their tentative foray was fascinatingly wrong. It was a start, and those who followed built upon admittedly weak foundations. It is understandable that the first exploration into the rational was shaky. What really mattered was the methodology. A methodology which did not submit to unsupported assertion; everything was questioned and scrutinised. By the time we come to the apex of Greek thought in the 5th and 4th centuries BC we are confronted with the vast intellects of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. Plato and Aristotle pondered deeply on everything. Socrates, with brief forays into other disciplines, maintained he was only concerned with ethics.  

These great men sincerely believed that all knowledge could be achieved by thinking very hard. Now there are some problems which are suited to this technique. Mathematics and formal logic come to mind. However, there are some problems not so easily solved by the pondering, ponderous, intellect alone. Knowledge based on experience was completely dismissed, or given scant regard. This is a great shame as we now know that most of our practical problems are solved this way. The 'experience' method, or as it is better known the 'scientific method' is based on the critical observation of the real world.

                                                                                                 

Thus, the ancient Greeks made great strides in the realm of logic and mathematics. As for the rest, apart from ethical issues, they contributed little. Their delving into the real world was astonishingly naive for men of such penetrating intellect. Sadly, such was the authority of Plato and Aristotle, that their stultifying influence lasted 2,000 years. During the enlightenment and scientific revolution every discovery had to refute some Plato/Aristotelian doctrine. Remember, Aristotle stated that flies generated spontaneously from rotting meat.

Sadly, critical thought in the Western World died with the subjugation of the Greeks to Rome. The Romans cared for philosophy, not at all. It was a mere diversion in intellectual sophistry for the elite before they went off to kill people. The Romans made straight roads, strong swords and armour. This made them great. Let the oiled effeminate Greeks pontificate on things not related to war or the land. Thus the Romans contributed absolutely nothing to abstract thought. They contributed to literature, no doubt. Read Tacitus and tell me you are not moved!  Intellectual energy was channelled into prose and the practical. A Roman noble could recite Homer whilst stabbing a Teutonic barbarian, east or west, of the Rhine. 

           

So we come to the final point and perhaps, tragedy. Western society is supposed to be founded on sound scientific principles. Strange, as most folk couldn't define 'principle' and if it disappeared from the lexicon they would not notice- fucking shame.

The Ancient Greeks were astonishing. Although they contributed greatly to intellectual thought, most of what they said was wrong. Apart from their contribution to mathematics and logic, most of what they said, was complete bollocks. But it was a start.     

'Socrates himself, is particularly missed, a great little thinker especially when pissed'

The Impending Royal Visit



Who's Ya Daddy

The Palace has just announced the impending visit of Prince Harry to the Municipal town of 'Dudley on da Canal'. Royal protocol demands that the proletariat of 'Dudley on da Canal' should abase themselves in the presence of the Royal opulence. In times past a simple genuflection from the waist was deemed sufficient. But as we move into more enlightened times, full proskynesis is thought more appropriate and prevents the expansive security personnel from applying a cattle prod to the miscreant’s genitals.

Prince Harry, 'The People's Prince', will arrive by motorcade. He will travel in a gold plated jewel encrusted Rolls Royce as befits this humble, simple down to earth, billionaire. The first stop will be 'Dudley on da Canal’s', Town Hall. For the occasion, the town hall will be lavishly bedecked in ermine and dripping in luxurious drapes. No expense will be spared as the furnishing of said building is coming directly from the local rate payers. Once inside this facade, Harry (for it is one) will enjoy a sumptuous banquet fit for a king. Sweetmeats and enticing viands are to be imported as far away as exotic Birmingham. As you have probably guessed, no expense will be spared. Afterwards, Prince Harry will meet up with those who have paid vast amounts of gelt to meet the Royal Ginger. This will include the rising ‘Coronation Street’ starlet, Miss Fagash (call me ‘big tits’) Mugumbo. Not since 1911 have the good burghers of Dudley etc have been enthralled by an exulted Royal presence. As you will no doubt recall, in 1911, the municipality had the pleasure and privilege to entertain the beloved German Emperor and King of Prussia, Kaiser Wilhelm II.       



Coro starlet, in repose

Due to recent changes in the rules of accession/succession, Prinz Harry is no longer in the first rank to succeed King Charles Spaniel. Under Charles’s influence, female royalty as well as royal pets and even vegetation have been enrolled. Thus Harry finds himself beleaguered and in 112^th position to become King. He is below in the order, following Bessie the Corgi, a pot plant called Bertie and the ever popular, Shagger ‘The Ferret’. Shagger on hearing that he is 12^th  in  line to the kingdom promptly showed his enthusiasm by gorging on assorted blocks of polystyrene and plastic insulation- ‘Go Shagger’.   

After consuming several bottles of champagne, Prince of ‘Hearts’ will mingle with the hoi polloi in an impromptu and unstaged/upstaged, meet and grate. It is expected that Hazza will challenge several members of the public to an arm wrestling contest before relinquishing the royal stomach contents over a proffered baby.

It was hoped, by almost no one, that he would have been accompanied by his father. But as the possibility remains endless, this was not to be. Bugger nuts. 

The beloved Prince

We certainly live in wondrous times.  

'Shagger' in waiting

Japanese Sniper Unearthed in Tipton Sewer

Lucky, Gator got him

Unnerving news from the quaintly unattractive town of Tipton. For today, it can be revealed that Tipton has been harbouring a dangerous enemy within its midst. An evil malingering Japanese sniper has been nestling in the town's capacious bosom and suckling at its expansive teat. It is conjectured that Private Honda Suzuki entered Tipton sometime in 1944 in a midget submarine, which is just as well as he was very small. After navigating the waterways of the West Midlands he alighted in Tipton's sewer system via the Dudley to Birmingham canal. Once sequestered in the fetid underground tunnels he quickly gravitated to the stairwell leading directly to Tipton's main thoroughfare. There he set up his sniper position with verve and aplomb.

His mission was simply defined: To lie in wait and when the opportunity presented he was expected to lift the man-hole with his cunning inscrutable, sloping forehead. Thereupon he would rest his buck teeth on the metal lip of the hole thus gaining purchase, traction and stability. Henceforth, he would place his thick pebbled glasses atop his retrousse, button nose. Due to his diminutive stature it was necessary for him to perch precariously on a hat box which, when not in use, was secreted within a fold up his small but perfectly formed arse- on the second shelf next to the udon noodles. Suitably imbued he would reach for his Arisaki sniper’s rifle and take pot shots at the passing citizenry. Luckily for the Tiponites, Kendo Origami, like all Japanese snipers, was a very poor shot. No one became enamoured or incapacitated. During his 70 years ingrained within the stygian septic conduit, Yamaha Katana, managed to remain undetected by Tipton passerby's who never guessed that below their feet lurked a loyal soldier of his Imperial Majesty and odious Chief Nip, Hirohito.

The sniper subsisted on a diet comprising/composing entirely of chicken 'fried' nuggets  (sans chicken) which alighted in the sewer via the grill after cascading from a cunningly fashioned hole in Mr Khan's deep fat fryer. As you will recall, Mr Khan, of 'Mr Khan's Halal Greasy Food Emporium' had a takeaway poised lasciviously above Tipton's main drain. 

Dem pesky specs

However, unbeknownst to our intrepid sniper there lurked within a deadly nemesis. For many years past, Tipton residents had been flushing down their toilets, exotic reptiles, including alligators.  One fateful day, Mitsubishi Sushi came face to face with a 4 foot alligator. After a brief struggle, our intrepid Lilliputian Nipper was devoured whole. All that remained of Nissan Aston Martin was his pebble glasses neatly folded in their resplendent spectacle case. Those who witnessed the event, including Mr Mugumbo, thought the final result reminiscent  of Geisha's work at its finest. Geisha's would often distract their clients with subtle origamic (not a real word) work of exquisite form, in order to delay the inevitable and unrequited, finality. 

Later that day, the alligator was hanged by neck until life was relinquished for harbouring a war criminal. There are some who thought there was a Nip in the air, but as it was June, it was considered, unlikely. Arse.      

Depiction of the intrepid event, in bronze