Jason Junior

Could you tell me which do you consider to be the best two or three and worst two or three US presidents since the beginning of the twentieth century, with brief reasons for your choice?

From calling door to door, peddling their particular brand of religion?

Surely if their religion is so good, the word would have got around by now and they would not need to hawk it door to door like double glazing salesmen or dodgy diddycoys offering cheap tarmac driveways.

When the actual saying is "The proof of the pudding is in the eating".

It seems of late, that hardly a week goes by without some 'celebrity' or other, on the TV or radio, misquoting this idiom and making themselves sound a bit thick.

When, I presume, they really mean the exact opposite - that they couldn't care less.

I've often heard this said in American TV shows and films and it has never really made any sense to me. To say that one could care less suggests that one does care to some degree, whereas to say that one couldn't care less states a total lack of interest.

As the various regimes across the Middle East who have historically tortured at the behest of the USA such as Syria, Egypt, Yemen and Jordan undergo major upheaval or collapse, and relations with Pakistan remain strained; will America be forced to resort to 'in house' torturing?

One may suspect yes, if the inhuman treatment of Bradley Manning is anything to go by, clearly there are those in the US are not averse to handing out cruel and unusual punishment when they want to.

Police have started an investigation after gardening experts on BBC Radio Scotland’s popular long running radio phone-in gardening programme, ‘The Beechgrove Potting Shed’ spent more than three minutes giving advice to a caller who rang into the programme (which invites listeners to "come in from the garden, take off your wellies and relax for an hour every Sunday") to ask about growing cannabis.

They discussed the best way to water and feed the plants and even suggested the most suitable compost for the ‘Northern Lights’ strain that he said he intended growing. The call ended with the Frieda Morrison, the host of the show, telling the caller, "OK, much success then. Keep going."

You may be thinking that this was irresponsible behaviour by the BBC whatever next, building bongs on Blue Peter? Something worthy of interest from ‘The Boys in Blue’ then you may feel. Until, that is, you find out that Jim McColl and his team had misheard the caller, thinking that he was in fact growing cabbages.

This misunderstanding was further deepened by the fact that there is a flowering variety of cabbage that is often grown as a ‘pot plant’ and shares the name of ‘Northern Lights’ and it was this charming ornamental Brassica that the panel thought they were giving growing tips for.

The funniest, however, is yet to come – This on-air gaff is now being investigated by not one but two Scottish police forces. Strathclyde Police because the show is broadcasted from Glasgow and Tayside as the caller is thought to be from Perth.

Given the high probability that the call was a prank and that the advice given was applicable to cabbages, not skunk weed what is the point of wasting valuable police resources in such a trivial pursuit, particularly at a time when budgets are being slashed and, we are told, resources are stretched to breaking? You couldn’t make it up!

Do you suppose that he might have regrets about enabling and encouraging the supply, to Saddam Hussein, of WMDs which included biological agents such as anthrax and bubonic plague and chemical weapons like the poison gas used in the slaughter of upward of a quarter of a million Iraqui Kurds and Shia Muslims?

Or do you think any regrets he may have are purely selfish?

I find myself, one might say, caught on the horns of a dog-dirt dilemma.

Last week whilst rushing out to meet up with mates, I managed to step in dog muck which, as I was wearing boots with a very deep tread, proved really difficult to clean off.

I tried the normal tried and tested removal methods such as shuffling around on the grass, scraping on the kerbside and raking with bits of stick, all with limited success. Even running it under the hot water tap failed to shift the s**t. I needed a brush, I tried the toilet brush but it was too big to fit into the grooves and in any case, tended to ‘sprink’ the muck all over the place.

It was then that I hit upon the brilliant idea of using an old toothbrush, I searched the flat but couldn't find one but as my girlfriend had bought a new one in the weekly shopping a couple of days earlier, I decided to use her old one. It worked like a charm, not a trace remained and my soles had never looked so clean.

I realise now that I should have thrown the toothbrush away as soon as I had finished cleaning but I was in a hurry and forgot. You can imagine my horror then the next morning, when I got up after my girlfriend had gone off to college, to see the toothbrush back in its holder on the bathroom windowsill. This meant that, presumably, she had used it that morning as well as the night before.

Now I don’t know what to do. Although I know that if she finds out she will freak-out (she is really girly in that way), because we are usually very honest with each other about everything, the guilt is gnawing away at me and I feel really uncomfortable keeping this secret. I now suspect that she may have picked up on this and I’m worried that this, coupled with my reluctance to kiss her over the past few days, might lead her to the wrong conclusion. My mates all say that I can’t undo what’s done and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

So do I follow my mates’ advice and say nothing but carry the guilt or do I come clean, make myself feel a bit better but risk a domestic meltdown?

It’s hardly believable that Burns Night is upon us once more (Yeah!) but at this time of gaiety and celebration, let us spare a thought for our American cousins, cruelly deprived of the delights of genuine Scottish haggis.

In England, the arrival of Burns Night is usually heralded by the appearance on the TV and in the shops of all things Scottish.

In the TV news slots we may be treated to a visit to some shortbread factory in Mid-Lothian or to the spectacle of an outside broadcast reporter, resplendent in a kilt which he has donned for the occasion, having a bash at caber tossing with hilarious consequences or reporting from a little known distillery in the back of beyond where, pie-eyed, he is joining in the spirit of the occasion by indulging in the delights of a 50 years old single malt whiskey, the cost of which per bottle, we are told, would set you back as much as a modest semi-detached bungalow in East Kilbride.

In addition to the news items we may also notice the infiltration of our TV schedules, by the odd Scottish or Burns themed programme which will inevitably include bagpipes. Now let me say straight away that this is all fine, after all, who among us can honestly say that at some time in their lives they haven’t, thrilled to the strains of Andy Stewart complete with bagpipe accompaniment, singing “Wi’ A Hundred Pipers a’ a’ an’ a’ “, and dancing wi’ all the grace and the gait of a Gerry Anderson puppet.

Then there’s the haggis, an entire year’s production of which appears to be dumped onto the shelves of our supermarkets a week or so before Burns Night and most of which is still languishing there a month later.

Now it occurs to me that if the import ban on haggis, which for some insane reason the US government have seen fit to impose, were to be lifted, everyone’s needs would be served. The Scottish haggis industry would have access to the lucrative US market; the Americans would be able to indulge in this eccentric Celtic delicacy and the English could fill the shelf space freed up by this migration with something that we enjoy to eat.

Many Americans are probably horrified at the prospect of eating haggis, believing that it is a wee tartan creature with legs of unequal lengths which can be found scurrying across the hillsides of the Highlands of Scotland. If this were true I could fully understand their reluctance (yuk!) but it is not. According to my Scottish neighbour, this is a scurrilous lie put about no doubt by ‘those Sassenach softies south of the border’ to put people off the idea of trying it.

Nothing so terrible. A haggis is in fact a mixture of a sheep’s heart, lungs, liver and any other bits that happen to be hanging around, which is boiled, ground and mixed with oatmeal, onion, herbs and seasonings, stuffed into a sheep’s stomach or an ox secum (Yum!), boiled for a couple of hours and then served with tatties and neeps.

So I think that he time has come to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with our Trans-Atlantic friends to pressure politicians, lobby governments and join in public protests and fight for their right to freely partake of this tasty and wholesome treat.

The thought of Sarah Palin as President of the USA or the fact that there are, apparently, many otherwise seemingly sane Americans who think that this would be a good idea?

Recent presidential nomination surveys would appear to show that she is leading in West Virginia, Texas, Maine and Wisconsin unlike, it would seem, Alaska where only 33 percent of Alaska voters have a favourable opinion of her.

Her public image, though, was probably not greatly helped by recent the footage of her standing, amid blood stained snow, over the steaming carcass of a dead moose that she had gunned down in her reality TV show 'Sarah Palin's Alaska'

What a gal!

Or is this an example of British journalism plumbing new depths?

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-1347621/...

And do you think that certain elements of the press should accept that they have behaved very badly in their reporting of this case and apologise for the terrible damage that they have undoubtedly caused to this poor man’s life?

Following The Announcement that Dutch national Vincent Tabak has now been charged with the murder of Bristol landscape architect Jo Yeates, should the newspapers, and in particular the Daily Mail, who profited from filling their column inches with defamatory comments and speculation about her landlord and neighbour Christopher Jeffries, be made to pay a very high price in the hope that they will finally learn the lesson that in England a man should be regarded as innocent until proven guilty in a court of law?

From the time of the retired school master’s arrest until his release without charge, we were treated to a daily diet of ever more lurid details about this man who, in one article alone, was described as being “lewd”, weird”, “creepy”, “disturbing”, “strange”, “angry”, “odd” and “eccentric”.

We were also shown a variety of pictures which included one from almost thirty years ago in which he is apparently sporting ‘a blue rinse’ hairdo, I suppose to cement his ‘weird’ credentials, and an altogether more sinister picture, taken through the window of his car as it was being removed for forensic examination, which showed a pile of road maps for the Bristol area on the passenger seat and bore the legend, “Seized: Road maps inside the Chrysler which was taken away by police”. Presumably the inference being that these were maps that may have been used to plan where to dump a body.

Some elements of the British press seem only too willing to resort to this cheap form of sensationalised journalism, pandering to those members of the British public who are equally willing to lap it up. This type of irresponsible reporting is, however, not a new phenomenon, we saw previously with the character assassination of Colin Stagg in the Rachel Nickell murder case and the more recent victimisation of Robert Murat in connection with the disappearance of Madeleine McCann; who apparently is, due to his 'press lynching', still receiving death threats to this day, despite being cleared of any suspicion by the police.

So maybe only a punishment of catastrophic proportions will finally make these newspapers exercise a little more care in the future and rein in some of their less responsible journalists within our supposedly self regulating Free Press. What do you think?

A vicar was invited out for dinner to a very swanky restaurant by a favourite nephew and his wife. They perused the menu and all decided on soup starters and steak, cooked very rare, with all the trimmings for their main courses.

When the waiter came over the nephew offered to order for the three of them; "We'll have three soups and three bloody steaks with all the trimmings", he announced. "Oh my goodness", said the vicar with a horrified look on his face, "Surely there is really no need for language like that!"

His nephew smiled and trying to reassure the gentle old man he said, "No uncle, you don't understand, that is the correct way to order very rare steaks in a restaurant of this calibre". "Really?" he asked. "Yes, look here", he said, motioning to a nearby table. "Two bloody steaks waiter", ordered the man on the table next to them, "Certainly sir!" said the waiter. "Well I never", said the old vicar, "You learn something new everyday".

A week later the vicar received the news that a new bishop had been appointed and as part of getting to know the clergymen within his diocese, he was going to pay him a visit on the following Thursday and that the vicar would be expected to entertain, wine and dine him. The vicar, wanting to make a good impression, decided that he would take the bishop to the same restaurant at which he had eaten so well the week before and so he immediately rang the restaurant and booked a table for two for the evening of the bishop's visit.

The day of the visit soon came round, the vicar spent the day showing the bishop his very picturesque church and giving him a conducted tour of his parish. This all went down very well with the bishop and he went up even further in the bishop's estimation when, in the evening, they arrived at the very posh restaurant and were greeted at the door by the smartly dressed Maitre d'. "You are certainly a very impressive host", congratulated the bishop, "And a man of rather sophisticated taste it would seem", "Why thank you, that's very kind of you to say so, I do try to keep abreast of the times", replied the vicar, glowing with pride.

They sat at their table, looked at the menu and both decided on the fish starter and the fillet steaks - very rare. The vicar, rather allowing the bishop's earlier compliments to go to his head, decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to further wow him with his recently gained knowledge of restaurant etiquette. "If he's impressed now", thought the vicar, "How impressed is he going to be when I order the steaks?"

The waiter came over to their table. "Shall I order?" asked the vicar, "Please do", said the bishop. "Right", said the vicar, "We would both like the fish starter, followed by two bloody steaks", "Yes", added the bishop, "And make sure there's plenty of f**king peas!"

and which were the towns and states on which the 'crosshairs' were drawn on her now infamous map?

Annoyingly, the map seemed to disappear from her website soon after the tragic events in Tucson on 8th January. I think that the states were named but I don't remember if the town/city names were mentioned (maybe she is revising the list).

With each Israeli atrocity being swiftly followed by the USA’s unswerving support and arguments of justification, with no politician of any political complexion seemingly having the guts to even mildly criticise Israel’s actions, regardless of how heinous the crime, I just wondered what ordinary decent Americans feel when they see their leaders emasculated by the Israeli lobby?

Do YA contributors, like me, also find it rather ironic that the USA, a country that has talked much about its ‘War on Terror’, should choose what is tantamount to a terrorist state as one of its closest bedfellows and sponsor them to the tune of some $3bn per year whilst acting as their main apologist?

I know that there are many people involved in protests and in trying to organise boycots of goods such as produce etc from the illegally occupied territories. but I and many others that I know would like to be able do something that could offer direct help to those in need. For example, does anyone know whether there is an address to which financial contributions can be sent in the sure knowledge that they would reach the intended recipients and would not fall into the wrong hands en-route?

As each season, we see increasingly desperate attempts by contestants to garner sympathy with their heart rending tales of tragedy and loss. Suggestions please for a killer sob story for a talentless hack.

Or is she a waste of space? (Albeit not much space).

This truck driver was delivering a load of animal feed to a farmyard. When all of the sacks had been unloaded, he asked the farmer for a signature on the delivery log.

“Oh, by the way”, said the truck driver, “six of your hens have stopped laying”,

“Really”, said the farmer, “are you sure”?

“Yes”, said the driver, “I’m pretty sure”.

“Are you a poultry man yourself”, asked the farmer?

“No, not at all”, said the truck driver.

“Then how could you possibly know that six of my hens have stopped laying”, asked the farmer with a puzzled look on his face?

“Well”, said the driver, “I ran over them on the driveway on the way in”.

A sailor and a pirate were drinking in a coastal tavern one evening. The sailor asked the pirate, “How did you come to have a peg leg?” To which the pirate replied:

“Ah well you see, it was a stormy night, the rain was lashing down, the lightening was flashing all around and me old ship was being tossed about like a cork, when suddenly, a wave the size of a mountain, crashed onto the deck and swept me over the side”. “Well me gallant lads battled the waves to get a line to me and then mustered all their strength to pull me back on board - but just as they had got me above the water a shark, the likes of which no one had ever seen before, rose up from the foaming brine and bit off me leg like a breadstick.”

“Holy cow”, said the sailor, “but how did you come to have a hook”?

“Ah well”, said the pirate, “we had battled a gold laden Spanish galleon into submission and just as me and me shipmates were boarding to claim our spoils, one of the enemy, the scurvy knave, upped and cut off me hand with his razor sharp cutlass, just like he was slicing a cucumber”

“Good grief”, said the sailor, “and the patch on your eye”?

“Ah well”, said the pirate, “that’s a sorry tale of a different kind”. “It was a calm sunny day, we had no one to fight and our holds fair bulged with plunder, I looked up to the sky to get my bearings from the sun and a seagull shat in my eye”!

“Oh”, said the sailor, “but surely that wouldn’t cause you to lose your eye would it”?

“Ah well”, said the pirate, “it was me first day with a hook”!