Shoping does not equal f-ing

Some people love to go shopping.

Not El D.

He despises it.

Whether online, in store or via a phone directory (what's that?), there is no pleasure in it for El D.

Maybe it is because he is evil and stingy.

Maybe it is because he has no cash on him.

Or maybe it is because he sees the futility in such purchases (blame Archaeology for that one).

El D. has shopped today.

He is not happy.

Welcome to Shepherd's Bush! (or how Captain Goldtop eventualy reveals himself to London)

For the residents of the Democratic Republic of Hammersmith and Fulham, I come in peace, with an this alien development that has now been inserted into your most eclectic neighbourhood, Shepherd's Bush. What is currently a locale that is a thriving hub of culture, a fusion of funk and seemingly oblivious to the credit crunch has now been taken over by me, Captain Goldtop.

Yes, welcome to Shopping Mall W12, a place devoid of culture, filled with a distinct lack of fun and extremely susceptible to the credit crunch. But who cares, with over 40 eateries (all Brake Bros./3663 filler to pop in the re-heater and hey presto it is done cuisine) tons of shops and of course open until 10pm, it is to die, Die, DIE for darling!



There are no Somalis/Ethiopians/Poles/Indians/Arabs/Iranians to be seen unless they are behind a till serving your shopping needs. For we could not have a thriving community by the Green making a success out of one of our most deprived areas and botched up pieces of planning from the 1960's. Nor could we see our former Olympic site now an essential piece of industrial land in West London go to waste. So here at the Milky Democratic Plov Republic of Hammersmith and Fulham I have pursuaded your former masters to let this:



take over your planet. And yes, it is the Space Ship that I, Captain Goldtop use! This was the true reason why this place was built. Yes, it is not only to facilitate the invasion of Earth, but also the invasion of your soul. There is no need to believe, when everything can be bought, even happiness and joy! Yes, it is Westfieled, it is here to stay, and you better get used to it! Hahaha!

Shepherds Bush is a State Secret!

After a mighty fine portion of Lebanese cuisine on the Uxbridge Road, a friend and I waddled merrily to down to Shepherds Bush Green. The place is awash with roadworks in preparation for the opening of the S@@tfield Centre. Needing to get South of the River, we ventured to the newly consecrated gateway to the Bush (only a year late, due to four feet of space) and waited patiently for our train to arrive.

In the meantime I took a snap of the overbearing pile of concrete.

Then my friend and I kept on talking.

'Excuse me, you're not allowed to take photos here.'

I looked down and saw the smartly dressed guard. After all, this is a brand new station.

'Oh sure mate, sorry about that'.

And I tucked my camera into my pocket.

'You are going to have to delete that last photo.'

I looked at my friend. It was 'that' look. The look that I get whenever a man tells me what to do.

Now, I am not outwardly confrontational (my cast may disagree). I work in transport so I am not going to mouth off on this guy, but I quite clearly believe in the greyness of such regulations and so realise the sometimes futile nature of actually enforcing some of the rules. I appreciate his stance, so of course I put away my camera. But I have a severe problem whenever a man insists that I do something. If it is a woman, I will bed over and obey. But for a guy...

So I smiled at my friend.

'No mate.'
'You have to.'
'Look, I appreciate that you're doing you're job. But I ain't deleting no photos. Now if you want me to delete the photo, you will have to throw me onto the tracks.'

The guard looked stunned that I had made such a suggestion. In a calm voice, I continued.

'I don't mind, I understand that you have a job to do. But there is no way I will delete this photo. Now, if you want to get rid of this photo, throw me onto the tracks. I don't mind.'

Shocked, the guard began to back away from me. He realised that I am actually nuts.

'Or if you don't want to throw me onto the tracks, then call the police'. They can get rid of the photo.'
'No, no, I won't call the police.'
'Okay.'
'The British Transport Pigs have an office up there. Theyll be down soon.'
'Okay mate.'

So I turned to my friend and continued talking.

'Yeah, I work in the transport, I understand it's a s**tty job.'

My friend looked bemused.

'Wait a minute, did I tell him to throw me on the tracks?'

We burst out laughing and our train arrived. Oh, and I suppose you want to see the offending photo:



(It really is a crap photo)

---

So, continuing my journey home, I saw this poster for sausage meat. I am not a pork eater, so this advert really does not turn me on, but I thought it would be great to share with you:



What attracted me to this ad? Was it the blazing red? The patriotic piece of phallus thrust in my eye line? The fact that it was quite clearly a London Thing?

Nope, it was the exclamation that this sausage contained 72% British Pork!

I wonder what's in the other 28%...suggestions?

(El D.)

La Producer designs and is Online!

Just a quick hello! And to say that the funky jewellery that you see Kay magnificently giving to Jay in The Gift is now available online at:

www.oliviaantoinetteduke.com.

As I progress, I will be adding more jewellery and very soon, T-Shirts and clothes from the world of Caution Wet Paint