Sunday, 28 February 2010

The Love Police Matrix Hacking Squad and rhubarb

Yes (see post title) that's what they are really called. With Hat Tip to Charon QC/Old Holborn, here we have the insolence of office and ignorance of law in perfect synchronicity. Enjoy. They don't like it up 'em...

Plus, the rabbit is delighted to reveal that forced rhubarb has been given official European Union status! Forced rhubab is grown by traditional (and labour intensive) methods in intense heat by candlelit sheds in the 'rhubarb triangle' of Leeds/Bradford/Wakefield. Yorkshire Forced Rhubarb has been granted 'protected designation of origin' status from the European Commission. This calls for a quick Hallelujah Chorus....

This puts forced rhubarb up there with Champagne, Parmesan cheese and - erm - Cornish clotted cream as well as a pile of other stuff. The EU - you gotta love it. What other body would come up with gems like that? From hence, the rabbit will fly the EU flag from the sidebar.

Friday, 26 February 2010

Off to London for the weekend...

So time for some more Vladimir Kush stuff on the hoof. Talking of which, the above is called 'Black Horse'.


Not sure what this is called..
And finally for now, The Elderly Gentlemen's Liberation Front presents, as a parting shot, the old grump himself complete with Tom Petty and Knocking on Heaven's Door

Thursday, 25 February 2010

some surrealism and socialist realism...

The rabbit confesses to being a little time poor at the moment so here is some surrealism to keep you going. The rabbit also confesses a partiality for the surreal (even to the extent that he is regularly to be seen wandering about in an eighteenth century style peruque or periwig). The artist is a Russian called Vladimir Kush. He is 44 and therefore very post Soviet. I can't imagine how his work would have been received in the era of socialist realism. Okay I can - not very well... He now lives and works in the USA. Have a bit of socialist realism for a laugh. Here we have yer actual J.V. Stalin and young admirers...

And here's another one. This time it is Lenin dropping round to patronise - sorry
I mean deliver pearls of wisdom to assorted lucky villagers.

Tuesday, 23 February 2010

And Americans make rude comments about British teeth???

Hat Tip to Mike - link to left. Plus - with Hat Tip to Obnoxio The Clown via Charon QC here is a take from Hong Kong on our beloved Prime Minister and his alleged bullying activities. All becomes clear...

I couldn't help myself here. Nicked from Memphis Steve who nicked it from someone else...

Sunday, 21 February 2010

Debbie Harry and a broken promise...

Debbie Harry caused a great deal of - erm - excitement to gentlemen of a certain age. As a gentleman of a certain age, I'm saying nothing apart from 'nice fish!' Plus 'what is Darth Vader doing in this clip?'

Here is our heroine and pals on German TV, fortified by a slug on a bottle.

A lot of 'embedding disabled by request' for Blondie stuff but here's another that sneaked under the bar.

The fish in the first clip put me in mind of this nice piece of surrealism. I know I said no more spoof posters. I lied. maybe just one more. I promise I'll really stop after this. Jus one more lil poster can't do any harm...

Saturday, 20 February 2010

okayyyyyyyyy politics is banned for a while....

I think I'm confusing overseas readers. By way of explanation, there is an election coming up here and the poster war that has commenced in anticipation of that event has turned into a spoof poster war which has gone completely viral. I hereby ban (a) any more spoof posters and (b) any politics in general for a while. Best to get back to being silly. The above is a fire tender of the San Francisco Fire Department, a splendid looking vehicle, I'm sure you'll all agree. Just above the grille thingy is a logo. Below is the logo close up.

For the uninitated, the skull with the lightning flash and red and blue semi-circles is called a stealie. The stealie is to do with the Grateful Dead, a popular beat combo and former residents of Haight-Ashbury. Now how cool is that on the part of the San Francisco Fire Department? Hat Tip to JoJo whose ankle led me to this discovery (so to speak). Okay, just one more spoof poster

That was totally definitely the last one. I promise to seek professional help. Clifford Singer, the guy who has been doing the My David Cameron stuff has decided enough is enough too. He gives his reasons in the linked piece.

Friday, 19 February 2010

A few more early Biff

The rabbit has been careering up and down the country with far too many very early starts for his liking so blogging has been a bit perfunctory of late. Here are a few more early Biff cartoons to keep the show on the road before I can re-charge the brain for more substantial stuff.

Do you know you've got your elbow in your lasagne? You hum it, I'll play it!.... Sorry, couldn't resist that one.

This last one is for Kaz who is apparently under the weather after medical persons have been prodding and poking her. Hope this cheers your Kazness up!

Just one sort of serious piece. There is a new book out called True Blue: Strange Tales From a Tory Nation by two guys called Chris Horrie and David Matthews in which our intrepid investigators set out to offer their services to various Conservatives to see if the brand had been really detoxified as 'Dave' would have us believe.

Guess what? Well let the Conservatives speak for themselves. Campaigning against Susan Kramer, Liberal Democrat MP, the dynamic duo were told endlessly to emphasise that she was an 'outsider' and 'foreigner'. When asked how so the answer was 'she’s a Jewess (sic) but we aren’t allowed to say that. So all we can say is that she got off the train from Hungary'.

One particular charmer was Ian Oakley, former Conservative prospective parliamentary candidate for Watford (former everything now he has copped a suspended prison sentence for offences of harassment and criminal damage but not before unburdening himself of the announcement that he planned to make many trips to Israel where he would take a machine gun and a flame-thrower to destroy Palestinian villages.

Finally for now, I blogged about Dave Stooge Joanne Cash and her travails with the Westminster North Conservatives on the 11th of this month but did not at that point know the views of the local party agent, Jonathan Fraser-Howells, 'it makes me sick seeing pregnant stomachs around'. Ms Cash is pregnant.

Lovely people. These grotesques in government will be Blair/Brown's legacy - or a part of it.

Thursday, 18 February 2010

Very quickly, some new spoof posters...

Fox stew??? Hmmm......
When this thread runs its course, it will be back to bizarre album covers. You were warned.

Tuesday, 16 February 2010

Time for some law methinks plus Biff...

To maintain this blog's universal recognition as being at the cutting edge of - um - legal stuff here are (again, I put this up yonks ago but I'll just do two of my personal faves this time) extracts from real courtroom exchanges from Disorder in the American Courts by Charles M. Sevilla. Bear with me if you've seen these before, they've been round the block a few times.

I start with my personal favourite:

Attorney: Are you sexually active

Witness: No, I just lie there.

And second favourite:

Attorney: All your answers MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?

Witness: Oral.

Right. That's enough law for now. Biff came to mind earlier today, as things do. Biff is a cartoon thingy started by two guys called Chris Garrat and Mick Kidd. The dynamic duo communicate in a very postmodern manner: e-mail, fax and telephone. They rarely meet. Perhaps this is what gives Biff its surreal cutting edge. essentially it deals in incongruity, images reminiscent of 50s comics are mixed with philosophical, academic and psychological pretension to produce a deliciously bonkers mix. Above is one of my favourites from Biff's early work - a rebranding of Sartre's Being and Nothingness as some sort of romantic picture book - now with telescopic towel rail! I like the intrusion of the telescopic towel rail in this work of fiction - erm - existentialist philosophy.

Quite so. I equally like the idea of the laundromat of oblivion... Now for some newer stuff.

Here Dylan is belaboured for selling out - as usual. As will be gathered, Biff is basically about mockery. In this case mockery of the self-appointed pundit. Now bang up to date and in colour!

I just typed something so pretentious I have instantly deleted it. Biff has that effect...

There ya go - Biff meets Bertie Wooster. For the full kit and caboodle, take a look via the link.

Monday, 15 February 2010

lowering the tone

After the outburst of erudition on WR recently some lowering of the tone is plainly in order. What better way to start than a fart joke? Even better, a visual one so as to minimise intellectual exertion. The persons above describe themselves as the 'Royal Family' and the one second from left indulges the whimsy that he is a person named the 'Duke of Edinburgh'. With Hat Tip to His Holiness, the suggestion here is that the Duke of Edinburgh person has - ahem - dropped one.

Notwithstanding the flurry of photoshopped ridicule visited on 'Dave' Cameron's airbrushed poster, the Conservatives have brought out a new lot. The theme is people who have never gone in for voting Tory - a weird kink it has to be said - before. As can be seen above, those naughty spoofers are at it again. Okay then - after this one just one more airbrushed 'Dave' spoof...

This one is quite irresistible. there's something strange about Blair's teeth, though. Perhaps they have been photoshopped too.

Time to raise the tone again. Mahal draws my attention to a story to the effect that French philosopher Bernard-Henri Levy (bear with me...) has been hoaxed into quoting a nonexistent nineteenth century philosopher called Botul (as in Botulism, geddit?) Levy's reference came from Botul's equally nonexistent volume 'The Sex Life of Immanuel Kant', in which it was suggested that the well-known German idealist philosopher was obsessed with masturbation. This I find hard to believe of the author of Critique of Pure Reason but there's no telling these days, as I'm sure you'll all agree.

Sunday, 14 February 2010


Maybe it was the reference to sand or a sub-text about the impermanence of things in a comment by Daniel Hoffman-Gill (link to left) on my last posting that brought to mind Shelley's Ozymandias. Here it is...

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away

Quality or what? Blake yesterday, Shelley today. Let it never be said that this blog is not culturally enriching!. Here is the prototype for Ozymandias - Rameses II - in the British Museum minus big chunk off the top of his head. These things happen...

I've never posted a Beatles song before and don't hold your breath waiting for another (it's my generation but I was never a huge fan) but I do like this song...

Saturday, 13 February 2010

Guantanamera and national anthems again

I have to confess that I like to listen to the Danny Baker programme on Radio 5 Live on a Saturday morning. Danny Baker is a corpulent Millwall supporter, a sub-species generally to be avoided but he does a very witty and entertaining programme, mostly about football. Today he was musing about the Everton supporters singing 'Fat Spanish waiter/you're just a fat Spanish waiter' to Liverpool manager Rafael Benitez (for the footballingly challenged, Everton are also a Liverpool club - although I think they identify themselves as Merseyside generally - and rivalry is - erm - intense). Baker commented he wondered how many of them knew that the tune they were was using was Guantanamera, which he described - not entirely accurately methinks - as a folk song with political overtones.

Still it's a good song and here it is. There is a wider topic as regards what songs are cannibalised for terrace songs, a lot are nursery hymns but my personal favourite is 'Neville, Neville - your face is a mess' to the tune of David Bowie's Rebel Rebel.

The Six Nations rugby is under way and so my mind returned to the subject of National Anthems. The United Kingdom has a national anthem - God Save the Queen - and there is a universal consensus that it is rubbish. Three parts of the British Isles have brilliant anthems, First Flower of Scotland - damn - this is as good as it gets. Feast your eyes and ears - you don't need a drop of Scottish blood for a lump in the throat.

Then the Welsh have Land of My Fathers/Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau. All together now... 'Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn alwyl i mi / Gwlad bierdd a chantarion, enwogion o fri...' No, I haven't a clue either but brilliant stuff.

The Irish cheated a bit. The Irish Republic has a national anthem - The Soldier's Song - which is standard issue national anthem stuff and doesn't work for the north where the national anthem is - erm - God Save the Queen (the Irish rugby team is an all Ireland one) so they adopted Fields of Athenry as the rugby anthem. Here are the Munster supporters winding up the Sale players with Fields of Athenry. The Sale players look - erm - wound,

Unfortunately, a lot of this is really all about bashing the poor old English pantomime villains - who don't even have a decent anthem - just the gruesome God save the Queen. Now the rabbit has English, Irish and French ancestry so can be promiscuous in his loyalties rugbywise (I take the wonderfulness of the Marseillaise as read) but culturally I am English. where is the decent specifically English anthem? Maybe we don't do anthems.

It's just not English. The best shot is Blake's Jerusalem. It's been tried for cricket but not for rugby as far as I know. Maybe worth a try...

Here is Wild Bill Blake. I like Blake. I like this portrait. He looks what he was - a London artisan dressed up in his best clothes to have his portrait painted.

Friday, 12 February 2010

The rabbit will not be sending Valentine's cards this year...

I do have an aversion for the kind of gleeful Muslim bashing that certain sort of right wing blogs seem to make a life's work of but occasionally something comes up so bonkers that comment is - if not inevitable - at least appropriate.

Say hello to Egyptian cleric Hazem Shuman. I wonder if he is any relation to Robert Crumb's Shuman the Human. Anyway our man has a view on St Valentine's day. He is against it. He has called on Muslim youth to 'confront [the] Valentine virus' - which is apparently worse than AIDS or Ebola. Our man elaborated that while 'everything red will become more expensive' for the holiday, 'one red thing will become cheaper: the blood of Muslims. All this is the result of the sins committed by Muslim youth'.

Oh dear! Apparently St Valentine's day 'destroys our relationship with God'. I am beginning to ever so slightly suspect that our man has a talent for exaggeration.

His Shuman-ness is not alone in the Muslim world. Saudi Arabia has asked florists and gift shops to remove all red items until after Valentine's Day, calling the celebration of such a holiday a sin.

Unsurprisingly, a black market in red roses has flowered (so to speak).

'As Muslims we shouldn't celebrate a non-Muslim celebration, especially this one that encourages immoral relations between unmarried men and women', Sheikh Khaled Al-Dossari, a scholar in Islamic studies, helpfully explained to the Saudi Gazette.

Sometimes a sense of proportion would come in handy. I'll refrain from further comment save to say that St Valentine's day really has become a pile of overblown commercial tosh (but that's all - I'd sooner have Valentine's day than Ebola, thank youuuu...). When the rabbit was a small rabbit, the idea was to send Valentine's cards anonymously to the discreet object of desire who then may or may not have sussed out who the sender was. Now it seems to have become a kind of super Hallmark Holiday to the delight of chocolatiers, florists, restaurants (full with glum looking couples eating in near silence) and of course the manufacturers of greeting cards. The cards are not sent out anonymously to women with whom the sender desires - or dreams hopelessly of - a relationship with any more but rather seem to be sent to renew existing relationships. Sort of like the relationship equivalent of renewing the TV licence or MoT. The rabbit will not be sending Valentine's cards this year. Below is a Victorian Valentine's card.

Oh and for JoJo and Fleur...

Thursday, 11 February 2010

Do not adjust your mind, there is a fault with reality!

I sometimes wonder if everyone else in living in some parallel universe and I am peeping in from the outside. Yesterday and the day before the front page headline in the Sun (a loathsome tabloid 'newspaper' owned by the ubiqitous - and odious - Rupert Murdoch, I explain for overseas readers) concerning someone called Vernon.

I have no idea who 'Vernon' is.

Apparently Vernon has been having textsex (sic) with a page 3 lovely (Tuesday's front page) and 5 other women (Wednesday's front page). Someone called Tess Daly is very upset.

Should I be concerned that I have no idea who Vernon is or why anyone would wish to know this information?

The sense of unreality was acclerated on the concourse at Waterloo railway station yesterday morning where I saw a woman with a pink heart shaped balloon in one hand and dragging a rocking horse behind her with the other.

No, I've no idea why.

I have to confess that however much I despise New Labour and all its works, the prospect of a government led by preppy pillock 'Dave' Cameron fills me with increasing nausea. There is an amusing spat going on the the Westminster North constituency. 'Dave' has the habit of parachuting his mates into winnable seats, mostly pneumatic blondes in early middle age. They would appear to have some sort of production line somewhere. Recently something called the Turnip Taliban cut up rough over the splendidly named Elizabeth Truss being dumped as candidate in some Norfolk constituency when it emerged that la Truss had been at it with some married Tory MP or the other. The equally splendidly named Sir Jeremy Bagge led the unsuccessful resistance.

The latest spat is nothing to do with adulterous liasons but a hate/hate relationship between Conservative candidate Joanne Cash (above) and the constituency big bug and chairwoman Amanda Sayers. The bitchslapping has reached a deafening crescendo and Conservative Central Office has had to intervene. The brawl reached a crescendo when Cash resigned as candidate and then unresigned, tweeting triumphantly 'RIP dinosaurs'.

Presumably, we are supposed to treat this shower seriously as a party of government. The rabbit's pen is dipped deep in vitriol in anticipation.

The bloke above is married to la Cash, went to Eton with 'Dave' and is called Octavius Black. He is one ugly fuck! With all his money, couldn't he arrange for a new face?

Sorry to drag law into this but the US Government are not happy bunnies following revelations in the case of Binyamin Mohammed, a British resident and former Guantanamo detainee, that he was tortured and that MI5 (the British Secret Service) knew this. 'Not helpful' complain the US Office of the Director of National Intelligence (sic). The (UK) government had tried to suppress the relevant documents but to its great chagrin failed. The White House pronounces itself 'deeply disappointed'.

The judgement of the Master of the Rolls and all round good thing Lord Neuberger says a number of highly disobliging thisgs about MI5. To such an extent that Jonathan Sumption QC has written to him on behalf of the government seeking the judgement to be toned down. Unfortunately the letter went to other parties to the litigation and the cat is out of the bag. Here is the gist of Mr Sumption's complaint.

Who would have thought such bad things? For those whose idea of as much fun as can be had with your clothes on is reading a very long law report feast your eyes at the link.

Sunday, 7 February 2010

Ponting gets it in the face

In the latest instalment of my plucky but doomed attempts to educate Americans in the delights of cricket, I have been parading for the edification of Mrs Hall (link to left) Ricky Ponting being hit in the face with a cricket ball. Ponting thus discomfited cheers up all people of goodwill greatly so here are two samples: one of our man fielding and one of him batting. The result is similar. A cricket ball in the face. Teehee! Trust me, it hurts. Snuck! (explanation; he is the captain of Australia and thus a total pantomime villain in England. His chippy personality doesn't help in this respect. To put it mildly.

There is an odd belief among Americans that cricket is some soft game for wusses. Trust me, it's not. Try this last clip...

Saturday, 6 February 2010

I can't help posting this...

This (nicked from Blue Heron Blast) is a restroom - don't the Americans have the coyest euphemisms! - in New York. Any suggestion that this blog has degenerated into cheap smut of late is to be deprecated. To prove the continuing high tone of WR here is a story Jailhouse Lawyer draws an unsuspecting world's attention to. A fine looking fellow, the former Mayor, I'm sure you'll all agree.

On a completely different topic, it's time for some soul music. Below is Arthur Conley with Sweet Soul Music.

Followed by the early Supremes and Come See About Me

And finally some Ronettes...

I tried to post Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On - the song that does what it says on the tin ;) - but paste was seriously greyed out for some reason. Not to be defeated here is the link.

Friday, 5 February 2010

For the sake of completeness...

...and prompted by Kaz, there is a town in France called Condom. It appears to have a nice Cathedral (see above). It is on the River Baise. Spookily, Baiser is French for - um - doing it. The French for condom, however, is preservatif - which sounds like jam or somesuch.

It's amazing what I'll do to avoid finishing this poxy written advice...
Changing topic, I don't know what I think of this story. A man named Robert Fidler lives on a farm in Surrey. He has built a mock Tudor style castle on his land (see below). I think it's rather nice. Additionally, it cost him £50,000 to build which is a tiny fraction of what a comparable house would cost to buy in leafy Surrey.

The catch? He didn't have planning permission. Now I know nothing about planning law save that planning enquiries happen in odd little places, that counsel can wear light coloured suits at them and it is a good idea to have a pair of wellies for site visits. Oh - and that it is not the least lucrative area of law. Doubleoh - and that the view that planning regulation and enforcement is a touch heavy handed is widely held. To say the least.

Mr Fidler argued that the bales and tarpaulin he hid the castle type dwelling behind were not part of the structure of the house (this apparently matters - the counter argument which succeeded in court was that the house was not completed until the bales and tarpaulins were removed and further therefore he could not rely on the argument that the building had been there for over four years without objection and was thus okay planningwise - I think it goes like this anyway). I probably end up on Mr Fidler's side despite the fact that it could be objected 'why does he think the rules don't apply to him?' It's a nice building, it was hugely cheaper than it would otherwise have been and how can it said to detract from anything. I also like his anarchist, two fingers raised attitude. He's appealing the decision. More power to his elbow!

Oh and something for the weekend. Beaker's rendition of Ode To Joy. Very tasteful, I'm sure you'll agree.

Wednesday, 3 February 2010

Continuing to lower the tone...

Now children, let's see if we can get all the pottymouth out of our systems in one go! This is a respectable and erudite blog, I'll have you know! After the lapse of good taste relating to - ahem - wanking yesterday, Laci the Chinese fluffything (link to left) draws my attention to the Austrian town of Fucking.

The sign above is proof of this curious fact, the sign below says 'please not so fast' - always good advice in the context I pause to comment without further elaboration. British tourists, you will be shocked to hear, keep stealing the sign thus obliging the good burghers of - erm - Fucking to fix it in concrete.

Local Police Chief the splendidly named Kommandant Schmitberger enquires testily 'It may be very amusing for you British but Fucking is simply Fucking to us. What is the big Fucking joke? It is simply puerile'.

Quite so.

Tuesday, 2 February 2010

Oh dear meeeeeee.....

Petit Fleur - bless her! - asks what 'wanker' means. Ermmmm.......

Wikipedia to the rescue. I copy and paste.

'The term wanker originated from British slang in the 1940s, based on the verb wank. Wanker literally means "one who wanks (masturbates") It is normally intended as a general insult rather than as an accusation. It conveys contempt, not commentary on sexual habits. Wanker has similar meanings and overtones to American pejoratives like jerk and jerk-off. One connotation is of someone self-obsessed or a show-off. Another implication is that the wanker is unable to find a sexual partner'.

Now continuing the educational function of this posting, I further report from Wikipedia.

'Wanker may be indicated by a one-handed gesture usually to an audience out of hearing range It is shown by curling the fingers of the hand into a loose fist and moving the hand back and forth to mime male masturbation, which is equivalent to saying, "[you are a] wanker". Some motorists show the "wanker" gesture in front of the rear-view mirror, where other motorists from behind can see it'.

The picture above will help practising this gesture. It is the most common gesture exchanged between British motorists. It may be that some intrepid North American readers may care to introduce it to their continent.

It is further recorded that The - Erm - Winker's Song by a person named - Double Erm - Ivor Biggun made it to number 22 in the British Singles Chart in 1978 despite, or perhaps of, being banned by BBC 1.

Further gems from Wikipedia: 'Wanker is also a German surname, according to the 1990 census "Wanker" is the 53,492nd most common surname in the United States' Quite so...

Some sitcom called Married ... With Children featured a fictitious Wanker County in Wisconsin.

It further emerges that there was a saloon in Oregon called Wanker's Corner.

As regards usage, Wikipedia further reports 'In December 2000, the Advertising Standards Authority published research on attitudes of the British public to pejoratives. It ranked wanker as the fourth most severe pejorative in English. The BBC describes it as 'moderately offensive' and 'almost certain' to generate complaints if used before the watershed. In Australia it is considered mildly offensive but is widely accepted and used in the media'.

'Mary Cresswell, an American etymologist, describes 'wanker' as "somewhat more offensive in British use than Americans typically realize. The word was used twice to comic effect in the Simpsons episode Trash of the Titans which caused no offence to American audiences, but prompted complaints on occasions when the episode was broadcast unedited in the United Kingdom'.

I'd better stop now. I'm doing this in chambers (my place of work) and my colleagues have got the giggles.

I note that Don Everly - not a wanker I hasten to say - was 73 yesterday. Here he is (complete with Phil)...

I had vaguely thought of posting what Blair really meant before the Chilcot enquiry 'Okay stooges, now you're not here to make any trouble are you? good!' Etc. Etc. But here is Beau Bo D'Or's comment. Link to left as usual. Nuff said.

Monday, 1 February 2010

Lullaby of Broadway

More years than I care to remember I lived in a tumbledown house in Kennington (inner south London for those unacquainted...) There were six bedrooms over four floors and an indeterminate collection of permanent and temporary residents. We once had a complete rock band fom Hull resident on the living room floor but that's another story. Anyway, we inevitably had a huge pool of rock albums, one or two classical albums that sneaked in one way and the other and a black vinyl version of Lullaby of Broadway from Busby Berkeley's Gold Diggers of 1935. I haven't a clue where it came from but when people came back over refreshed on the turntable it would go! Quality!

A random factoid I was told by a Crystal Palace supporter yesterday: Neil Warnock (the Crystal Palace manager for the footballingly challenged) is an anagram of Colin Wanker. I have double checked this. It's true.

Erm... Colin Wanker