Rail firm admits track failings at Potters Bar
I think this article speaks for itself and I'm constantly appalled and can find no humour at attempts of whitewashing 'accident' enquiries in this country. Pray tell me why highly 'Mossad' trained Metropolitan Police marksmen (equipped with special special 'hollow point' dum-dum-style bullets that intentionally kill instantly at high velocity hitting the victim but not coming out the other side), needed to fire seven hollow tip bullets into Jean Charles de Menezes' head and one into his neck. Three other bullets missing - when they were in close proximity? Nobody ever wants to accept the blame for anything in this country. And if they do it's only as a last resort at the end of a long protracted legal battle.
And ummm, the UK government wants to sell its stake in a company that makes enriched uranium for nuclear power, to help fund the new green investment bank, which is being set up to invest in low-carbon technology.Hmmm.
Oh, and un-checked anti-social behaviour in social housing just gets better and better. I know where that last laugh is gonna fall.

But let's think about the Oscars and watch the scathing reality of Winter's Bone (just out on DVD), or watch our economic woes Inside Job in which everyone (especially in the UK, hello Ireland), thoroughly bought into and was ruthlessly exploited by the unregulated capitalist infrastructure. Or the underbelly of Melbourne, Australia in Animal Kingdom. And Oscar ninjas have refused Banksy an animal disguise (nominated in the Best Doco section for Exit Through the Gift Shop). Or Brazilian garbage pickers in Lucy Walker's doco Waste Land on artist Vik Muniz who creates art out of them.

Heartening to know that protesters were inspired by my last photo and found their 15 minutes of Warhol fame at Sothebys. Better to enjoy the 'ride' perhaps and not think the logic through of that one to its painfully disillusioning end. Perhaps not so painful if you're rich, though. Any one who says money doesn't buy one happiness...

And if you've never met a 14 year old girl packing a shotgun that you'd remotely trust then meet her Oscar nominated performance inTrue Grit. And resist the temptation after the film to shoot your nasty neighbours, or the government nor..??

So the world turns and so more films get made and so the same people feel good about seeing them. But a few lone voices in the wilderness will be left to tell the aliens how life really passed on this planet. Even if they are a farting genius like Paul.
Would Paul cast a spell on Transport for London who rejected one of the original marketing posters of animal penises from the Natural History Museum?

If the extra-terrestrials had any sense they'd be reading Allen Ginsberg's Howl, mesmerised by John Giorno's incantation that life never gets any better.
Unless you're in a musical.

Ask yourself why?