grumpyf1

If irony is your thing, you’ll have hit the jackpot this week, following the news that a big game hunter has been killed by an elephant. The idea of a professional hunter justifiably fills most people in the UK with a sense of revulsion. Over in Zimbabwe, Thuenis Botha made his living doing just that, leading hunting groups on private ranches. His website features charming images of him (and/or his children) and his clients, grinning next to assorted recently deceased wild animals such as leopards and elephants, whilst holding the gun they have presumably just used to finish them off. So far, so morally repugnant. Mr Botha’s demise occurred whilst he was leading a group of hunters in the Hwange National Park. They managed to bumble into a herd of elephants, which included pregnant cows. As several of the panicked animals stampeded toward them, Botha was apparently picked up by one elephant using her trunk, after they opened fire (the hunters, not the elephant). Another of the

As Donald “I’m really great, everybody says so” Trump is so fond of pointing out, there is a lot of fake news around nowadays. Honest. Your friends at Facebook think so too, and have recently been publishing their top tips for spotting false news – by placing them as ads in newspapers. Considering they came in for considerable criticism themselves, that’s like shouting “Squirrel!” and pointing at a tree whilst you hastily kick away the prize begonias you just trampled. To help you make sense of this (and because I’m a caring person), I thought I’d run you through their suggestions and help to explain them for you. I know. I’m lovely. 1. Be sceptical of headlines READING THIS ARTICLE WILL IMPROVE YOUR SEX LIFE!!! And explain that catchy headlines, or stuff all in capitals might be a bit iffy. 2. Look closely at the URL You can find out more about this at www.wowyouregullible.com if you want to understand how phony web addresses are a sure sign of dodgyness. 3. Investigate

“You’re only as old as you feel” goes the saying. Well, I feel really old – and here’s a significant birthday to prove it. By the time you read this, I will have passed beyond the threshold. In an instant, I’ll have gone from under, to over, 50. I know that’s hard to believe from my youthful good looks, but that photo of me at the top was actually taken just after they invented cameras. I look more like a badly crumpled Father Christmas on Boxing Day now. Turning fifty is remarkably similar to your hamster dying. You feel sad, lost, bereft and angry. “Why?” you yell, whilst waving your fist impotently at the sky. “Why has Hammy McHamsterface gone?! I should have paid him more attention! We should have had more fun! All those years – wasted!” Like mourning Hammy (RIP), it isn’t something that your friends and family can help with much. They don’t share your sense of loss and bewilderment. They won’t tell you that you’re over-reacting to your face, but you know they’re thinking i

I had a lovely holiday - thanks for asking. No I didn’t being any rock back. But the de-stress started with an unscheduled defrost. We were really looking forward to our break. A relaxing seven days of walking, eating cakes, drinking cappuccinos, eating cakes, mooching around shops and eating cakes. Did I mention the cakes? A short hop to the Yorkshire Dales meant no middle-of-the-night alarm call to struggle through the dark and hang around at an airport. No “who’s got the passports?!” moments. No wondering why people are drinking at breakfast time whilst you’re looking at a pile of Toblerone. We had coffee in bed, then after a leisurely shower I went downstairs for breakfast. Devouring my cereal, something seemed odd. The flakes and milk tasted fine, but something was... different. It was very quiet, too. On putting the milk back in the fridge, the penny dropped. The fridge wasn’t fridgey any more. It was room temperature. As were the contents. The freezer section was still

Great gosh almighty - I've been a newspaper columnist for five years. Shut. The. Door. It's five whole, actual, year type things since my first outing sullied the pages of the North West Evening Mail, preceded by the "Finalist becomes columnist" piece you see here (exceptionally poorly scanned - I was obviously over-excited and/or over-caffeinated). I'm not actually that colour, honest. A rambling, nonsensical brain-dump of weirdness , it's interesting how, in those early days, I was already writing in exactly the same way I have continued. Strangely, column number 255 appeared on their website today (a day ahead of the print edition) which is a nice, unintentional, anniversary marker. Spoiler alert: It's about our fridge-freezer breaking down. I know - cutting-edge, hyper-topical, journalism, eh? On a less celebratory note, visits to this blog (where it all began, of course) reached a low point in April not seen since November 2010. I guess I ne

All together now! "Na na na na, na na na na, hey heeeey..." Proving the world isn’t as gloomy and miserable and I tend to make it by appearing in a room, there were two happy and positive stories that caught my jaded attention this week. For those whose age can be neatly categorised with the prefix “Middle”, the name Bananarama conjures up happy, youthful, memories of the toppermost of the poppermost of 1980’s girl bands. With ten top ten singles, the trio danced their way (questionably) through the decade, with such cheery pop confections as ‘Cruel Summer’, ‘Love in the First Degree’ and the deeply complex and sesquipedalian ‘Na Na Hey Hey (Kiss Him Goodbye)’. Well, guess what? Keren, Sara and Siobhan are back together and going on their first tour. Ever. Records sold = 40 million. Number of gigs = zero (to date). True, a line-up of the band without Fahey did hit the road, but this will be the original trio’s first live outings. Heading out on a 15 date tour l