El Niño Is Coming

The strongest El Niño in living memory is how the MET Office are describing the upcoming event in the Pacific Ocean but while Climate Change is not to blame for the event itself, it happens every 2-7 years and fluctuates in strength each time, it is taking place in a warming world which will increase the effects of the resulting extreme weather.
An EL Niño is declared when sea temperatures are more than 0.5C above average and are already measuring 2C above normal and still growing with latest forecasts suggesting that this warming could exceed 3C later this year at its peak and some other climate groups have projected something even stronger than the Met Office's forecast, perhaps even 4C above average.
There is growing evidence that weather patterns around the world are already being affected, with below-average monsoon rains in India and suppressed hurricane activity in the Atlantic Ocean but for the UK the effects will come during our Winter and puts us at risk of a very wet and stormy season although the MET are keen to point out that this is an almost unprecedented event unseen for 500 or even 1,000 years  and they will only know nearer the time what is heading our way.
The World Meteorological Organisation (WMO) says there is no evidence that climate change increases the frequency or strength of El Niño events although a 2021 report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) said that the intensity of El Niño appears to have increased since 1950, when compared with the period dating back to around 1400.
The effects will be felt most keenly in the areas close to the tropical Pacific with a greater risk of drought, flooding and wildfires in South America and Australia and disruptions to crop yields and the UN's Food and Agriculture Organization have already warned that this El Niño could threaten food insecurity for tens of millions of people.

Meh, Harry's Back

Harry and Meghan coming back to the UK you say?
Yougov polling shows that a massive majority of British people are not interested in where he lays his ginger nut at night as only 21% said they welcome the couple back to this green and plesant land.
To be fair it does seem more of an obsession for the press and the media than it is with the British public and if there was an option titled: 'Couldn't give a Toss Either Way', that would be where my vote would go but as they have put their kids names down at local schools, i guess it is happening.
Unfortunately, Meghan was subject to some good old timey racism from the right wing press last time she was here so that isn't likely to change but to most it is a non story about people who should be left alone, no matter how hard they will try not to be.

Special Guest Blogger: John Sykes

One minute you’re a scrawny kid in Blackpool, trying to make your cheap amplifier sound like a stadium, and the next you’re… well, still trying to make an amplifier sound like a stadium, but now there are actual stadiums involved, and a road crew to fetch your tea.
My journey began, like many aspiring rock gods, in the unglamorous confines of a garage. Or a shed. Or possibly my mum's spare room, much to her chagrin. I remember my first guitar, a cheap, plywood affair that sounded less like rock and roll and more like a disgruntled badger being throttled. But I loved it. I attacked it with the ferocity of a starving wolf, convinced that if I practiced enough, eventually it would transform into a glorious Gibson, spewing forth torrents of molten rock.
The early bands we mostly played covers, badly, but with enthusiasm where our stage presence involved a lot of head-banging and not falling over and then came Thin Lizzy. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a kid in a shed anymore. I was playing with the Thin Lizzy. Talk about a step up. I remember the audition
with Phil Lynott, a man absolutely dripping with charisma, watching me tear through some exercises. I was sweating bullets, convinced I’d trip, or my guitar would spontaneously combust. But I didn’t. And I got the gig.
Those years were a blur of incredible music, endless touring, and the kind of rock 'n' roll antics that would make your average health and safety inspector faint. Phil was a genius, a poet with a bass guitar, and Scott Gorham, well, he was the calm eye of the storm. Me? I was mostly trying to keep up, soak it all in, and make sure my guitar didn't sound like a badger again.
We played some legendary shows. Some less legendary. I recall one particularly boozy night where I almost walked straight off the front of the stage but it was only the length of the guitar lead that just stopped me. Then Whitesnake. Ah, the 80s. The decade of excess, of power ballads, of hair that defied gravity and probably required its own post code. Slide It In and 1987 were huge. Suddenly, we were MTV darlings. Meaning, we had to wear a lot of eyeliner and look intensely serious while miming along to songs in front of green screens but that's part of it, the ability to look competent on camera despite feeling like an absolute muppet.
The tours were insane. Stadiums packed with screaming fans, pyrotechnics going off, and the sheer joy of playing those riffs. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of until David Coverdale went mental and thought i was trying to take over the band and fired me.
After Whitesnake, there was Blue Murder, a band I poured my heart and soul into. That was a different beast altogether, a chance to really explore my own vision. Then solo work, guest spots, the never-ending pursuit of the perfect tone, the elusive riff that makes the hairs on your arm stand up.
I mean, let’s be honest, the music industry is a fickle mistress. One minute you're lauded as a pioneer, the next you're vaguely remembered as the bloke who was in that band with the bloke who wasn't the bloke, just the one who always seemed to be wearing leather trousers, even in summer  
So, what’s my conclusion on this grand business? Honestly, I don’t know. And maybe that’s the point. I never set out to create a legacy, I just wanted to play guitar, make some noise, and hopefully not have to get a proper job.

Special Guest Blogger: David Johansen

My life was one long, glittering, loud, and occasionally very damp hallucination in three parts, The Dolls, the tuxedo, the taxi cab through time.
Let’s start with the New York Dolls. People talk about us now like we were some kind of grand architectural plan for punk rock. Trust me, there was no plan, just five guys from the outer boroughs who looked like we’d been kicked through a thrift store backwards and came out looking like the baddest broads on the block. We weren't trying to change the world, we were just trying to find a world that wouldn't arrest us for wearing spandex.
I suppose  the fact was that we proved you could play three chords, look like a glamorous train wreck and still manage to scare the hell out of your parents. We were the Ghost of Christmas Future for rock and roll, showing everyone that the future was going to be loud, messy, and wearing very uncomfortable shoes. I look at some of these bands today, with their perfectly curated distressed look, and I just want to hand them a tube of cheap lipstick and tell them to try doing this while someone is throwing a beer bottle at your head.
Then came the middle act. The Buster Poindexter years. Believe me, Buster was a riot. I went from being a punk icon to a lounge lizard with a pompadour that defied the laws of physics and gravity. I traded in the torn fishnets for a tuxedo and started singing about rum. It was the ultimate prank. People thought I’d sold out but my philosophy was if they think you’re a punk, become a crooner. If they think you’re a crooner, go play the blues with a jug band. Keep 'em guessing.
Now, we have to talk about the movie. You know the one. Every December, like clockwork, my face pops up on TV screens across the globe, looking like I’ve been plugged into an electric socket and haven't slept since the Eisenhower administration.
Playing the Ghost of Christmas Past in Scrooged wasn't just a gig, it was typecasting. Driving a New York yellow cab, smoking a stogie, and terrorising Bill Murray? That wasn't acting. That was just a typical Saturday night in 1978.
There’s something poetic about being the Ghost of Christmas Past. Because, in a way, I am the Ghost of Christmas Past for a lot of people. I’m the guy who reminds them of that one wild night they can’t quite remember but will never forget.
I did reach the National Treasure phase of my life. The part where people stop throwing things at you and start giving you awards for lifetime achievement. It’s very touching, really. It’s also a great way to remind you that you’re old.
I look at the music industry today, the algorithms, the TikTok dances and it’s all very shiny, very polite and very, very boring.
My legacy, I hope, is a lack of politeness. I hope the legacy I left behind is a reminder that rock and roll is supposed to be a little bit ridiculous.
I’ve been a Doll, a Poindexter, a Ghost, and a Harry Smith. I’ve been a millionaire, a mendicant, and everything in between. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that the music stays, the clothes eventually go out of style (and then come back in twenty years) so stay gorgeous, darlings, and keep the volume the hell up.

Time To Start Sowing The Seeds?

Thankfully we are starting to see the end of summer adverts and as someone who is not a fan of this season anyway, i can only say thank whatever God is in charge of these things because it has been an awful Summer with temperatures nudging towards 40°C and wildfires springing up everywhere in the woods and forests.
In my area in the South of England we haven't seen rain since 15 June, 63 days, and amidst hose pipe bans and use water responsibly adverts as reservoirs fall dangerously low, it has been a feat of endurance to not climb inside the fridge and stay there until September but as the Climate is changing and we are finally getting what Environmentalists have been saying is coming since i can remember in the 80's, it is something we will have to get through every year which Governments will have to somehow deal with.
I keep hearing about Cloud Seeding which is basically a weather modification technique that adds tiny ice-forming particles into existing clouds to bring rain so maybe that is something which may be considered.
The UK government has stated it is not deploying weather modification technologies and has no plans to do so but i still asked at the MET Office who were sceptical as not only are there environmental concerns regarding chemical dispersal such as silver iodide in the atmosphere but the results are inconclusive and cloud seeding requires pre-existing clouds with moisture, it cannot make weather out of a clear sky which is what we have had for almost the entire Summer.
Research shows that cloud seeding operations take place in more than 50 countries worldwide with China and India the main users to combat water scarcity, boost mountain snowpack, suppress hail and clear localised pollution so maybe we should send some experts from here over the one of them to discuss things because the alternative is to start building desalination plants in our cities because something will have to change because we sure as hell are too stupid to stop Climate Change ourselves. 

Worst UK Prime Minister In My Lifetime

During one of our lunchtimes chats, we got around to who is the worst UK Prime Minister in our lifetime and seeing as i was born in 1969, this gives me 15 to choose from.
I can leave out the first first few up to 1979 (Harold Wilson, Edward Heath, Harold Wilson again and James Callaghan) as I only really began noticing who was in Number 10 during the Margaret Thatcher years so of the 11 left, and 7 of those have come in the last 10 years, my worst top three in my lifetime are these.
At three i would put Boris Johnson (2019-2022), what he did during Coivid where he lied and cheated and told us to stay at home and not meet anyone while hosting wild drunken parties in Downing Street is bad enough, to but then lie and swear blind it never happened until the photographic evidence came to light pretty and then STILL tried to deny it, pretty much not only destroyed the Conservative Party (which is no bad thing), but saw him booted out of his job by his own Party who refused to work with him any longer.
Second would go Margaret Thatcher (1979 - 1990), she privatised anything that wasn't nailed down whilst spreading the myth that privatisation would provide a more efficient and cheaper way to provide services and set about selling off nationalised utilities such as gas, water, and electricity and allowed the private companies to snap up British Rail, British Telecom, British Aerospace, British Airways, British Steel as well as the coal mines, ports and British Petroleum.
In practise, however, it increased bills, lowered the quality of services and led to rising unemployment and the disastrous consequences of her policies resonate still today as a look at your rising utility bills will show while the bosses of the Privatised companies rack up millions in bonuses.
She was removed by her own Party finally after she introduced a Poll Tax which led to riots but as Privatising the NHS was next on her to-do list,  not before time.
My number One and worst Prime Minister in my lifetime would be Tony Blair (1997-2007) of who i was a great fan of when he swept into power amid much cheer and with the introduction of the tax credits system, raising funding for public services, signing the Northern Ireland peace deal and giving us the minimum wage, it was a moment when us lefties thought brilliant, we finally have a proper Socialist who will make Britain a better and fairer place and from 1997 to 2002 i was one of his staunchest defenders, then Iraq and Afghanistan happened and his name name changed from Blair to Bliar.
He lied to take us to war with some of his justifications unraveling almost immediately such as Saddam developing nuclear, chemical and biological weapons and having links with Al-Queada in his dodgy dossier of so called 'intelligence' before dropping any pretense and just throwing his lot in with the then American President, George W Bush, to order out the Weapons Inspectors who kept coming back from sites empty handed and despite 2 million Brits marching against the action one Saturday morning, invaded Iraq to take out Saddam anyway.
As i said at the time, Saddam said he never had any WMD's Blair and Bush said he did but as it turned out, only one of these were telling truth.
Over almost the next decade an estimated 1 million Iraqis died and terrorists piled into that country and as warned by the Governments own intelligence, terror attacks increased tenfold around the globe including in the UK so anybody who is responsible for lying to oversee the wholesale slaughter of innocent civilians in their own country for no good reason, is deservedly my number 1.

Here's My Bind Steve From Kentucky

Oops, someone took offence to my post regarding if the Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, had spent less time committing a Genocide against the Palestinians he maybe wouldn't be so ignorant on other things.
Turns out my anonymous emailer (hi Steve from Kentucky, nothing is anonymous on the Internet remember) disagrees with me that it is a Genocide and makes a few suggestions.
Obviously a ranty email is almost certain to change somebodies mind every time but here is the bind i find myself in Steve, on the one hand we have an emailer who's facebook page describes himself as being in Leisure & Hospitality who says what Israel is doing is NOT a genocide.
On the other we have the World's leading authorities on Genocide such as The UN, International Association of Genocide Scholars, B'Tselem, Physicians for Human Rights - Israel, Amnesty International,Doctors without Borders, European Centre for Constitutional and Human Rights, Human Rights Watch, International Federation for Human Rights and the Lemkin Institute for Genocide Prevention who all say it IS a Genocide.
You can see the spot i am in Steve, it's your word against pretty much everyone else who studies these things so sorry Mr Kentucky but i think i am going to have to go with them on this one.
As for your assertion that it is people like me that are fueling the antisemitism raging around the world, unfortunately a country that continually links being Jewish with Israel while committing a genocide will do that i'm afraid which, as you may have noted as you say that you have read all my 'antisemitic posts', is something i have pointed out numerous times and even urged my 'fellow antisemites' on the left not to do, to not look at Israel and blame Jews as many Jews are also against Israeli actions.
Finally, i'm no biologist but you parting words are anatomically impossible but still I hope you have a nice day doing your Leisuring and Hospitaliting in Kentucky and thank you for reading my little corner of the blogosphere and just a tip, not giving your name when your name is included in your email address kinda invalidates your anonymity. Just saying.

Special Guest Blogger: Clem Burke

It all started, as many good stories do, with a simple desire to make a lot of noise. And let me tell you, I excelled at that from an early age. My poor parents. Bless 'em. They probably thought it was a loud phase but the call of the rhythm was too strong. It was elemental. Like a caveman discovering he could make a pleasing thud by hitting a hollow log, only my log was usually a pillow and my cave was the family living room.
Then came Blondie. Oh, Blondie. A glorious, chaotic, beautiful mess of ambition, talent, and questionable fashion choices. We were all a bit rough around the edges, held together by sheer willpower and an unwavering belief that we were making something special. And guess who was holding the whole thing together, literally and metaphorically? Your humble servant, at the back keeping time.
People always focus on Debbie, naturally. She's the face, the voice, the icon. And rightly so. She's phenomenal. Chris was the wizard behind the curtain, the musical architect. Jimmy and Frank, the rhythm section's other half, laying down the grooves. And then there's me. The engine room. The bloke who ensures everyone stays in the same postcode, tempo-wise. It’s like being the designated driver for a bus full of wildly talented, perpetually distracted artistic geniuses.
The early days were a blur of sweaty clubs, dodgy sound systems, and the constant fear that my kick drum pedal would spontaneously combust mid-song. We were young, hungry, and probably a little bit insane. We’d play a gig in some grimy dive bar, then pile into a van that smelled like stale beer and drive halfway across the country and there were moments of utter boredom, long stretches of highway, and plenty of questionable catering. But then there were the moments when it all clicked.
Take Heart of Glass, for example with its disco beat and then there was "Rapture." Suddenly, we're doing hip-hop. Did I know much about hip-hop drumming? Not a sausage. But you adapt. You listen. You experiment. and that was the beauty of Blondie, really. We never stayed in one lane. We were constantly swerving, often without indicating, into different musical territories. And every time, I had to figure out how to make my drumming fit, how to be the bedrock for whatever wild musical adventure Chris and Debbie had concocted. From punk snarls to disco struts to reggae riddims to hip-hop beats, it was a constant masterclass in musical versatility. My hair might have been all over the place, but my beat had to be tight.
During the 1980s and 1990s when Blondie was on hiatus, I played drums for the Romantics, Pete Townshend, Bob Dylan, Eurythmics, Dramarama, the Fleshtones, Iggy Pop, Joan Jett and The Stranglers amongst others and stood in for the Ramones a few times under the name Elvis Ramone.
So i  hit things hard and mostly in time"? Hopefully, with a bit more flourish whether in a packed stadium or a tiny club where the stage was so small my cymbal stand was practically in the bass player's armpit but  I was just this tiny cog in a massive, beautiful machine.

Duh

 
The Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, called the UK: 'The Islamic republic of Britain' in a podcast interview, where he also described the country as: 'The first Islamic republic to get a nuclear weapon'.
Duh...Pakistan, or officially known as the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, has had a nuclear arsenal since the 1990s.
Maybe if he had spent less time committing a Genocide and ethnically cleansing the Palestinians off their land and dodging arrest by the International Criminal Court over War Crimes he may have learnt something.

Farage Wins

 
Nigel Farage has won back his seat in Clacton, beating the guy with the bin on his head and the Monster Raving Loony Party to claim his prize which is, as confirmed by the Parliamentary Investigation Committee, the resumption of the inquiry into his dodgy financial matters and the £5m 'gift' he received and tried to keep quiet about.
Amusingly the Reform leader didn't turn up at the reading of the results to take the applause as the potential representatives usually do because he was advised by Essex Police not to due to: 'An organised campaign to disrupt and degrade the result'.
Essex Police then came out and said that they had not told him not to attend at all and had no indication that a campaign to disrupt and degrade was being organised which  led to the sight of Reform members on the TV this morning trying to explain how he didn't actually mean the police had 'said it' but rather that the Police meant it that way by not saying it which was as clear as why the frog faced Farage hadn't declared the millions he received from a foreign Crypto-billionaire
It is hard not to conclude that it is too much time with his special friend last seen in a Turkish Catering Truck that has caused Farage to overplay his hand in precisely the way he is. Maybe he believes that he will somehow osmotically absorb his political gift of getting away with the sort of stuff (pedophilia, corruption, lies, sexual assault, profiteering) that only he has and continues to do.
As Farage is finding out the UK and the USA are very different beasts and the US president’s ability to defy various laws of politics had not rubbed magically off on him because the media, other politicians and most of the general public here are not so awfully suppliant of power as our US colleagues and we will hound and dig and generally not allow him to fob us off as he found out to his own bemusement.