Archive for the ‘Global Beer Festivals’ Category

It’s rather disheartening for me to find after a good few months of not posting anything to this blog that during the time I haven’t added anything new the numbers of my readers has inexplicably doubled!
I suppose I find myself in good company, Vinnie Van Gough, Van Gof or Van Hoof however you want to say it would probably be lending me his ear over a pint of absinthe, after all he too wasn’t appreciated in his lifetime or even his lunch time.
At this point I’d like to reassure my readers that I am neither dead nor insane or so the voices tell me, of course by the time you read this that status may have changed. Just keep watching Sky ‘breaking news’

That leads me on to next perplexing conundrum – who does actually read this stuff?

Does my boss? I don’t think so, not unless there is an internet connection in his colon which after all is where his head seems to be most of the day. If you are reading this and you know who I am don’t expect me to come quietly, I have a stapler and I am not afraid to use it!

Does my Mum? Yes she does, hi Mum. Actually she doesn’t. Mum thinks the internet is used for fishing and webs are for spiders. I think the internet is for porn and the web is for, well, more porn. Let’s hope we don’t meet in a chat room which luckily is highly unlikely as a chat room is something they have at old people’s homes for the Grannies to watch television and play pass the colostomy bag.

Is it more of my Chechen friends from last year? Somehow I doubt it, if it is they happy Jihad guys, spread the word and thanks for all your support. Of course if it is my beardy friends then I get double bubble because I can include the people who follow this lot around the internet and kick down doors in the middle of the night. Please note I have a new front door, if you are going to pop round for tea and a spot of interrogation let me know and I’ll leave the keys under the flower pot.

So who are you, where are you and are you willing to donate large amount of cash to my ‘lifestyle’ fund? My Uncle the Nigerian General would be very interested to hear from you and for a modest finder’s fee I can put you in touch, THIS IS NOT A SCAM.

Anyone that replies saying something nice will be added to a free prize draw – prize to be donated by my Chechen fan club.

Over (the hill) and Out.

PostScript – Yes I know the ‘Chechen’ bloke is actually a British copper but I liked the picture…..alright?


My boss has invited me to take up the challenge of arranging our department Christmas party, when I say invited I mean ordered, I don’t get a choice – those of you that know me will realise this is about as clever as asking Myra Hindley to baby-sit. This is a ridiculously bad idea for two key reasons, firstly I don’t really like Christmas and secondly I don’t really like the majority of the witless dribbling unwashed masses I am forced to interact with at work, a recipe for festive related disaster me thinks.
The princely sum of £20 per head is available for me to blow on this soirée so an evening at the Ritz is out, incidentally the term ‘per head’ is on the conversational ban list here as it is seen as being derogatory to minorities who were born without heads and also latterly victims of Al Qaeda like that scouse bloke Ken, anyway as usual I digress.
So, I have decided to come at this from a multi faith ethnically diverse and non exclusive approach which for those of you who do not work in directorate three of the thought police (ethnic festival management) means I am going to make it as un Christmassy as humanly possible. Not for the benefit of the PLO sleeper agent in our architecture team although he will be pleased but more because its my party and I don’t like Christmas.
In Bygone years Christmas in an office environment used to be a time of long pub lunches paid for by grateful management, time to bond as a team, to buy each other presents and if your luck is in or you have a spare fiver a ten minute knee trembler in the stationary cupboard with Janet the bike from accounts, all before going home to get ready for the big gratis evening dinner dance, partners welcome.
Christmas isn’t even called Christmas anymore, the ‘Festive period’ is no longer about peace and good will to all men (sexist statement) nor is it about management making that extra effort to make staff feel appreciated and included. It’s all about making sure your dates don’t slip, projects still march inexorably forward and people who know what they are doing are on call over the holidays to assist our offshore friends. As for the knee trembler with Janet well, the stationary cupboard has been rearrnaged into a windowless office with 8 desks crammed into it and even if it wasn’t Janet and her Yule tide duties are now being carried out by someone called Ranjeet in India, at least the post it note ordering part is anyway.
All in all celebrating Corporate Christmas is crap (alliteration mega streak!) its more about making sure work isn’t effected and minority groups aren’t in some way offended, not that any of the ‘minority’ individuals I work with care, the cynical amongst us might say its our paranoid directorate three friends keeping themselves in work and I would have to agree.
All that said at least my boss will be pleased that his year and probably slightly suspicious as I have for once decided to tow the company line, embrace our mission statement and ethos and pull in the same direction as management – in other words I have arranged for our department Christmas to be at our local curry house! Pint of Kingfisher anyone?

I am excited reader, something truly wonderful and ground breaking has occurred. No – I haven’t won the lottery, no Mrs Dilbert hasn’t developed a fondness for ‘that’ (chance would be a fine thing!) and no the cat has not been abducted by my new fan club and dressed in a tiny feline orange jump suit, worse luck.
Wondering aimlessly round my local Tescos yesterday lunchtime looking for pink moulded girls hand weights to use with a Divina MacCull fitness DVD (unfortunately true) I happened to notice that they have started stocking the holy grail of hot spicy food, the Dorset Naga Chilli.
For those of you not wise in the ways of the Chilli Pepper the Dorset Naga (not to be confused with the Dorset Nagger, my little pet name for Mrs D) is THE hottest chilli on the planet, this little bundle of love would make a South American Gaucho weep blood and run back to Mummy.
So then in homage and with the greatest respect, here are the top5 uses for a Dorset Naga, in the work place as compiled and tested by me, yesterday:

1) The Blind Taste Test
– You would be amazed at the amount of naïve souls here that as they walk past your desk and when you say ‘here eat this’ do just that…… they won’t be doing it again in a hurry though!

2) The Ambush
– My personal favourite, leave chilli spiked cakes or biscuits in plain view on your desk – it won’t be long until the fatty from down the office can’t help herself (I am fine with being this big, its who I am!) and tucks in without asking – queue screaming and a fast wobble to the toilets to splash her tubby face with water.

3) The Booby Trap
– Take a everyday common or garden office object and wipe liberally with chilli (I would recommend telephone headset boom mikes) for added effect replace the contents of the victims water bottle or cup with cheap vodka.

4) The Bum Bum
– Not the most hygienic but fun from a distance, simply wipe our fiery friend around the toilet seat rim, not the disabled though, that’s just cruel. For a Bum Bum / Ambush combo also coat the taps so when your victim rushes out to splash water on their smoking genitals they just add fuel to the fire.

5) The over the top
– Not much finesse here really, gaffer tape a chilli to a Scottish Broadsword and run amok in the office, add insult to injury of that severed arm with a mildly irritating sting.

Got any better uses for Chilli? let me know via the comments.

No pork products were used in the making of this public information bulletin.

I have a new hero and his name is Gunter Voelker…….

Gunter doesn’t have super powers or a special Lycra outfit with matching cape, he hasn’t ridden a harp seal across the English channel to raise money for dusty fly ridden orphans in some tinpot African swamp, he hasn’t even invented a cream that cures genital warts in one handy application, something my dear old Mum would have crawled over hot coals for (which she insisted was a cure for genital warts, corns, and hairy ankles – its amazing the knowledge you can pick up from that back of a Gin bottle)
Herr Voelker has done something special, something that his Grandchildren will be able to be immensely proud of, a legacy that will truly resonate through the annals of time, unlike Gunter who isn’t proud of his grandparents, they were SS Sturmbahnfurhers and led the sacking of numerous Russian hamlets. Whenever he stayed with then in their retirement home in Argentina they made him wear very tight lederhosen and sing the Horst Wessel, Gunter doesn’t like to talk about it.
Gunter (drum roll please) has, in the Iraqi city of Irbil, held the country’s first Beer Festival, yes you read that correctly the loopy German has held a Beer Festival in probably the most volatile country in the world with electricity and real women (I made that distinction deliberately to disqualify Afghanistan) and he has not only survived unscathed but has made money in the process!
You can picture the scene now, A tent in the silent windswept dessert, busty mustachioned women with forearms like popeyes buttocks delivering stein after stein of frothy fermented camels milk (known in the West as Budweiser) to local cut throat dervish types wearing off white dish dashas, Tyrolean felt hats and sporting silly little toothbrush like facial hair (modelled on Angela Merkel I might to add) in the background some Bavarian oom-pah folk music to accompany the haunting cries calling the faithful to prayer.
The Crazy Kraut has succeeded where some of the most powerful men in the world have failed, the greatest Politicians (George Bush notwithstanding) and Religious Leaders have tried and failed to bring East and West together, to find common ground, to bridge the gap between Western decadence and Eastern fundamentalism but all have failed, till now.
Its all getting a bit like an episode of Red Dwarf if you ask me, all Osama and his merry men needed to do to bring down the West is take out shed loads of sub prime mortgages on their caves and all we in the West needed to do to combat Middle Eastern regional destabilisation and terrorism is to hold the odd OktoberFest in Khandahar and Kabul.

So in Homage to my new hero I shall leave you with a quote from the great man himself
“We can make this festival with Iraqi people, Turkish people, Kurdish people, American people, German people, with [people from] all over the world in peace and in a real good mood.”

* Just in case you thought I made this shit up – here you go