Other | Guy Portman's Blog

Fajitas, Fascists and The Future

Jul 11 2014

London – Thursday – I get on the bus and take £2.40 out of my pocket for the fare. The driver informs me London buses are now cash free.

‘So you’re a comedian now,’ reply I, attempting to hand over the money as I do so.

He shakes his head glumly and says, ‘No cash’.

A number of the other passengers nod in agreement. I ask, ‘Why?’

The driver tells me 99% of passengers find it more convenient to pay with Oyster cards (travel cards). My Oyster card is at home.

‘And the other 1%?’ I enquire.

My question is met with shrugging, gesturing, perplexity. I find myself back on the pavement, where I proceed to complain vehemently to any people waiting for a bus who care to listen. A teenaged girl says I can use her spare Oyster card for a fee, which is slightly in excess of what the journey actually costs, but needs must.

On the upper deck of the bus I find myself in a reflective mood, contemplating what it will be like living in a cash-free Britain. It is only a matter of time. In my mind’s eye I see myself aged about a hundred remembering the nostalgic days of my relative youth when money was still used. No doubt I will be met with shrugging perplexity when I tell youngsters about those distant memories.

So deep in thought was I that I missed my stop and was forced to hurry back on foot so as not to be late to meet a friend. We went to a Mexican restaurant, where I ordered chicken fajitas, and my dining companion a seafood enchilada, or was it a burrito, or perhaps a fajita – I forget. There was a group of very friendly Japanese lawyers on an adjoining table, who communicated with us in broken English. There was also a table containing amiable, smiling Spanish tourists, who were also keen to converse. I couldn’t remember London ever seeming so friendly and welcoming. Then I looked up and saw this group (see below). Note the individual with his back to the camera wearing a West Coast Choppers biker t-shirt bearing Nazi insignia (Eagle and Iron Cross).

I was so astounded that I took a photograph of the group, much to the chagrin of the baseball cap wearing one (facing camera). Several of them stormed over to our table and made various threats to our wellbeing, instantaneously destroying the restaurant’s friendly ambience. It was evident from the not particularly threatening nature of their threats that they weren’t genuine West Coast Choppers, but rather English wannabe bikers, which was most fortunate, as otherwise I suspect I would have lived to regret my actions.

Banks, Politics and The World Cup

Jun 06 2014

Tuesday Morning 11:50am – I am walking to the bank. There is a newspaper discarded on a bench at the bus stop. I pick it up. The queue at the bank stretches nearly to the door. I take the opportunity to peruse the paper. It appears that half of Europe is in the midst of political change. The Greeks are refusing to accept austerity measures. Marine Le Pen’s far-right National Front scored its first victory in European Parliament elections in France. And over here the rise of UKIP, could be the final nail in the coffin for the Liberal Democrats, if this paper is to be believed. A scruffily dressed woman with a wheel trolley standing behind me, points at the article I am reading and says, ‘Innit it sad so many idiots voting for that UKIP.’

‘Quite,’ reply I.

‘Is that all you got to say, you can do better than that.’

Looking up at her I remark, ‘Are you aware that you are wearing a beige jumper with floral motif tracksuit bottoms?’

She looks down at her ensemble and then up at me. She says, ‘Err yes, I put them on didn’t I.’

‘Oh, you do know, okay.’

After leaving the bank I stop off at a pub, where I continue reading the newspaper whilst sipping on a pint of Fosters. At the other end of my table two men are partaking in a jovial conversation. A man with a Scottish accent, who from the look of his bulbous nose and thread veined cheeks, drinks full time. The other, a gentleman in an expensive looking linen summer suit, who sounds like he is from West Africa.

Soon after they engage me in conversation. The newspaper is laid out on the table in front of me, and the Scottish man and the other, who transpires to be a Nigerian, make comments about its various articles. It is a sort of impromptu ‘Question Time’ (broadcast on the BBC). The Nigerian, name unknown, has a quick wit, which I appreciate. On turning to the political article from earlier, he complains about the ‘ineptitude’ of British politicians compared to his home country of Nigeria. I tell him, ‘I’ve got two words for you, Boko – Haram’.

On turning to the finance pages it becomes apparent that he is something of a minerals expert, as he offers some fairly detailed analysis about the state of the Australian bauxite industry and Congolese coltan mines. The Scottish man finishes his drink and bids us farewell.

Next up is the sports section. Inevitably the conversation turns to the forthcoming World Cup. In a very sincere voice he tells me that he believes that the Super Eagles (Nigeria) will win the tournament. I laugh out loud and then exclaim, ‘Absolute nonsense, Nigeria won’t even get out of their group. Bosnia and Herzegovina will go through in second place behind Argentina.’

‘How can you know these things,’ responds the man in a menacing tone, encroaching into my personal space as he does so.

I reply, ‘I just do.’

He proceeds to preach to me about the qualities of the Super Eagles, in a very loud and aggressive manner, using hand gestures liberally, pacing up and down as he does so. His comments include, ‘You cannot understand these things.’ And ‘We have Mikel, Moses and Emenike.’ And ‘God is with the Super Eagles.’

Then, quite unexpectedly, he pulls up the trouser legs of his white suit to reveal green Super Eagle socks. This is concerning.

A barman walks over. He tells us a customer has complained, and we have to leave, which seems unreasonable, as I haven’t uttered so much as a word in quite sometime. I down my pint. Outside in the fresh air the man is instantly calm again. We go our separate ways.

New Curtains and Blinds

May 30 2014

Tuesday Morning – The new curtains and blinds finally arrive. It seems an eternity ago that I ordered them, probably because it was. An hour or so later curtains and blinds have been erected downstairs. They look great, well worth the wait.

The fitter is putting the finishing touches to the Roman Blind when I walk into the upstairs room that serves as my study. I like it. He explains that it is the legal requirement that the string pulley system be at least 150cm from the ground. This is to prevent youngsters becoming entangled and potentially strangled by the string. He demonstrates the height with a measuring tape, then hands me a form to sign. The form states something to the effect that the fitting is in keeping with European standards for blind and shutter safety regulation EN13120:2009+A1:2014.

I shake my head glumly and say, ‘Perhaps I should have told you this earlier. My doctor has exempted me from all EN13120:2009 blind and shutter regulations.’

‘You have a what?’ replies the man in a surprised tone.

‘An exemption. You see a pulley system with fittings in excess of 120cm in height poses a potential threat to my wellbeing. I’m an asphyxiation fetishist you see.’

‘Excuse me.’

‘An asphyxiation fetishist.’

‘What’re those?’

‘Asphyxiation fetishists, or gaspers as they are commonly referred to in the trade, are people who get sexual gratification from the intentional restriction of oxygen to the brain.’ My gaze never leaves his face as I say this, and there is not even the faintest flicker of a smile.

‘No, I err don’t know anything about that’, replies the courteous, professional, if rather timorous man.

I stride up to the blind and wrap the string around my neck. Now I’m smiling.

‘Don’t do that,’ he replies holding his arms out.

‘I’ll have to phone the shop,’ he says. ‘Do you have a doctor’s certificate? The shop might need a copy for their files.’

‘Don’t worry I’ll sign it, but be warned, if it results in misadventure this will be landing on your doorstep.’

Having signed the form I hand it back to him, thinking that perhaps I should tell him that I’m joking, as I’m feeling increasingly embarrassed. However it is evidently far, far too late for that. After refusing the offer of a cup of tea he completed the erection of the blind in the final room in less than half the time it took him to do any of the others. Then he was packing up his tools at a frenetic pace and heading out the door. I was surprised that he never questioned my preposterous and irrational lie. After all would a lower pulley system really prevent a gasper’s activities, and at any rate wouldn’t they consider ordering curtains instead. I put it down to the fact that when we are in a state of shock we often don’t think rationally, and simply go into panic mode.

The curtains and blinds look fantastic.

The Brompton Cemetery

Feb 28 2014

My second book, Necropolis ~~(Release Date: April 24th)~~, is a humorous plot driven work of dark fiction about a psychopath, who works for the Burials and Cemeteries department in his local council. Due to the cemetery theme I am dedicating this blog post to the cemetery closest to my own heart, the Brompton Cemetery. I was born in a hospital adjoining the cemetery, spent countless hours of my childhood there – walking, skateboarding, feeding its many squirrels and inspecting its grave sites. To this day I continue to live in the vicinity and regularly visit this remarkable sanctuary. Perhaps one day I will find a permanent residence here. Below is the Old Brompton Road entrance to the Brompton Cemetery.

Consecrated in June 1840, the cemetery covers 16.5 hectares (39 acres). This necropolis is one of the ‘Magnificent Seven’ set of cemeteries that were built during this era, others include Kensal Green and Highgate Cemetery. The Brompton Cemetery (originally called The West of London and Westminster Cemetery) came into existence due to concerns that churchyards in central London were getting too full and that they posed a health hazard (London’s population doubled to 2.3m in the first half of the 19th Century). Since 1840 over 205,000 people have been interred in the Brompton Cemetery.

Taking an opportunity to visit during a lull in the relentless rain this week, I came across this fox (see above). The lustre coat of this specimen bears testimony to the fact that it is not only the dead that thrive here.

I am not the only writer to have sought inspiration in the Brompton Cemetery. Beatrix Potter lived close to the burial ground and would often take walks here. She named many of the characters in Peter Rabbit after those buried in the cemetery, including Nutkins, McGregor, Jeremiah Fisher and Peter Rabbett.

Amongst the many famous people interred here is Dr John Snow (see picture above). Snow was a pioneering anaesthetist and the discoverer of the cause of cholera. In 1887 two Oglala Sioux Native Americans, Surrounded By the Enemy and Red Penny, died whilst on tour with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. They were both buried in the cemetery. To date I have been unable to locate the site of their graves.

The Brompton Cemetery abounds with magnificent architecture including a number of family crypts or mausoleums (see below).

The main character in my ~~forthcoming~~ book Necropolis wishes to be interred in a mausoleum and I think I would too. Seclusion is a wonderful thing in life and one can only assume it is also in death. The Brompton Cemetery’s gravestones, tombs, plinths and mausoleums embrace a blend of grandeur, sombreness and good taste (see below). This is not always the case in modern burial facilities, much to the chagrin of the main character Dyson in Necropolis.

Many soldiers are buried in the cemetery. Below is the memorial to the Brigade of Guards.

The catacombs were originally added to the Brompton Cemetery as a cheaper alternative to burial. However of the thousands of spaces available, only about 500 were ever filled. Below is one of the catacombs as observed from ground level.

The catacombs really don’t seem that enticing as a final resting place (see below)

(Courtesy of www.thebohemianblog.com)

Below is the cemetery’s chapel as viewed from the colonnade.

Surely there can be no better place to be laid to rest in this great city than the Brompton Cemetery.

Tax Return Deadline Day

Jan 31 2014

Friday 13:05 – The Supermarket Queue

I am clasping a basket containing some oranges, six eggs and a newspaper. Whilst I wait I contemplate what I will blog about this afternoon, prior to being collected by a friend at 15:45, destination the countryside. My weekly blog post goes out at 16:03 every Friday. I am stringent about this; it must be 16:03. Perhaps my blog will be the final instalment of my Bizarre Author Deaths series, or possibly my proposed Amazon KDP Select promotion for Charles Middleworth, my humorous and insightful novel about an actuary named Adrian, or something about my forthcoming book Necropolis, or perhaps…. I am at the front of the queue. I place the basket in front of the checkout person.

‘Good afternoon,’ she says.
‘Ten silk cut purple.’
Turning to the cigarette shelves she reaches out and clasps a packet.
‘Not those, the purple ones ………… yes those.’

Something catches my attention on the back page of my newspaper. It is not the football transfer day related headline that grabs me, but the date printed at the top of the page. I bend towards it, muttering, ‘no no please no,’ as I do so. Despite drawing ever closer, the date still reads, January 31st. Perhaps it is a misprint. Looking up I ask the checkout woman, ‘Please tell me its not January 31st, tax return deadline d-a-y?’ the words petering out towards the end.

‘It’s January 31st,’ she states somewhat gleefully.
Turning around I am faced by the next in line in the queue, a sombre suited man. ‘Tell me it’s not,’ I say in a pleading tone.
‘It’s January 31st,’ he says.

I take my iPhone from my pocket. It too states it is January 31st. And then I am throwing my items into a shopping bag, snatching my change and running for home, lamenting as I go how tax return day could have snuck up so stealthily, without the slightest concern for my wellbeing, me who always has everything meticulously planned well ahead of time. There is no way I am paying the fine for a late filing of my return, not this year. Due to time constraints my blog post will have to be about my quest to get my tax return done on time. As I run let me explain the need for such haste. The house where I am staying in the countryside is fairly remote and has no internet, the only internet is twenty minutes away in the ah the ah local ah ah town …. in the ah ah the public, the public ah ah library, next to the ah ah supermarket and it ah ah ah closes at six or seven and it is too ah ah far away ah ah … to, to ah ah make on time, as it ah ah three ah hours drive ah from London. It’s ah ah ah now or ah never for ah ah ah complet…ing the ah return….

At home I rummage through my filing cabinet, scouring for anything vaguely resembling tax related paper work. Receipts, statements, last year’s returns, pages of notes, more receipts – all are extracted at a feverish pace. My end of year bank statements are nowhere to be seen – panicked I scour the contents of the cabinet again – to no avail. Then I remember I have online banking.

2 mins later – The page does not load. I wait pleading for what seems an eternity, hitting the return button with increasing ferocity. Still the page does not load. The modem’s orange flashing light reveals there is a problem. ‘Not here not now,’ I shout aloud whilst shaking the modem vigorously with one hand, as if it were a maraca. It does not respond. I set off at haste for the bank.

13:23 – The Bank
2 hours 22 mins until Departure
11 hours 37 mins until Tax Deadline
2 hours 40 mins until Blog Post Deadline

The queue stretches almost to street. Wintery gusts of wind howl through the door, as I bend down hands on knees fighting for breath.

The minutes pass like an eternity, five…………ten…………….fifteen…………sixteen………..seventeen. I am now next in-line. A customer is walking away from till 1. I approach. The cashier is walking off. Despite my loud protestations she continues, a mere shrug of the shoulders her only response. Crumpling a piece of paper in one hand, I wait patiently, pacing in circles as I do so. The customer at till 2 – a smiley female in a garish anorak holding one of those shopping wheeled trolley (c.f. similar to the one in the picture but with a floral pattern) is chatting with the cashier about the weather and the forthcoming weekend, banalities that have no relation to banking. Why now when I am in such a rush does the impersonal, unfriendly nature of the city have to desert me. It is as if these two are chatting in the friendly village shop. I clap my hands. The woman turns. She glowers at me. I tap my wrist where a watch would be, if I had one, with the index finger of my right hand before doing a fast-forward rolling motion with my arms. It is quite sometime before she leaves, trolley trailing behind her.

(Courtesy of www.goognightlittlespoon.com)

15:27 – Home
18 mins until Departure
8 hours 33 mins until Tax Deadline
35 mins until Blog Post Due

Completing fields related to income and tax, calculating complex calculations, estimates, creating equations, cross referencing previous years – I navigate the Inland Revenue’s self assessment online tax return form with a consummate ease, in a similar manner to how my protagonist, actuary Adrian would in my humorous tale of the unexpected, Charles Middleworth (Available from Amazon in paperback/Kindle). Periodically I alternate to Word and type this blog post at a feverish pace, all the while keeping a close eye on the relentlessly ticking clock. Multi-tasking is my middle name. In our hectic modern world this is an essential attribute, and I am its number one exponent, I also have great timekeeping skills and always exude a calm, composed professional air in everything I do, even when under intense pressure such as now.

The Inland Revenue states at the top of the page how far one is into the return:

30% complete, ………….. 50% …………80% …………….. 90%

The page is not responding and I am left languishing at 90%. I hit the return key several times – still it does not respond. A flickering orange light flashing on the modem confirms my worst fears. I thump my fist on the desk and then mutter an Our Father and two quick Hail Marys’. The modem light turns green. In no time at all I am checking my completed tax return – cross referencing amounts, checking figures, liabilities, net, gross and estimated figures. I press send. The page is sending, sending, sending…sent. I punch the air victoriously and then it is back to the blog. Yes that picture of the HM Revenue and Customs logo is appropriate (see picture) and that one of the trolley with wheels will do (see picture 2) .

15:42
3 mins until Departure
8 hours 18 mins until Tax Deadline
20 mins until Blog Post Due

The doorbell rings. I open the window and shout out, ‘one minute’. Back in my revolving office chair, I scour the blog post for typos, reduce the size of the images by 30%, insert tags, categories and schedule it for 16:03.

……………………………. UPDATE – 2 mins until blog post due – I am furiously typing this blog post update on my friend’s iPad in the car, hurrying to get it done by my 16:03 deadline. 18 minutes ago when I finished the post, I grabbed my suitcase, ran down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it behind me. Standing in the near freezing, cold precipitation, I realised I had forgotten my coat. I reached into my pocket for the house keys to let myself back in. They were not in my pocket. I was locked out. My wallet is in my coat pocket. Looking up at my friend I explain that I will have to borrow money from him for this weekend. The smile dissipates from his face. In the car he hands me an iPad, instructing me in no uncertain terms that I am to transfer money to his bank account before he lends me any. After I finish this blog post extension I will do exactly that. He has 3G you see, so I can use the internet in the car, which means I could probably have completed my tax return here in the passenger seat and I needn’t have been in such a hurry after all….

Christmas Book Quiz Results

Dec 29 2012

Cup

Thank you to everyone who took my Christmas Book Quiz. The winners are as follows:

First Prize – (£20 Amazon Gift Certificate) – Yukio Yamashita

Runner-Up – (£10 Amazon Gift Certificate) – Claudia Reiss

Ben Falkner, Sandra Edwards and Aravind Singh each receive a Kindle copy of Charles Middleworth.

The correct answers are marked below in bold.

1). Who is the main character in Charles Dickens’s novella The Christmas Carol?

a). Elijah Stingy

b). Ebenezer Scrooge

c). Elisha Scrimp

2). Who wrote the Christmas themed novels Finding Noel and The Gift?

a). Richard Paul Evans

b). Mark Haddon

c). Agatha Christie

3). Who wrote the best selling novel Skipping Christmas?

a). John Grisham

b). Dan Brown

c). Bret Easton Ellis

Happy New Year!

See what reviewers are saying about Charles Middleworth:

‘A sardonic delight. If Thackeray had lived in the 21st century, then he might have written Charles Middleworth.’

‘A wonderfully funny, dark and sardonic snapshot into the world of the much maligned actuary.’

Available in Paperback and on the Kindle (£1.96/$3.14)

The Christmas Book Quiz

Dec 21 2012

In keeping with the season for sharing and giving, I, Guy Portman, the author of Charles Middleworth, am having a Christmas Book Quiz.

Take part in the fun Christmas Book Quiz for a chance to win a prize:

First Prize: £20/$33 Amazon Gift Certificate.

Second Prize: £10/$16 Amazon Gift Certificate.

Three Runners Up: Each get a copy of the Kindle version of Charles Middleworth, a humorous and insightful tale of the unexpected.

(Winners will be announced next Friday – 28/12/12)

To take part click on the link below.

Take The Christmas Book Quiz!

Good Luck and Happy Christmas

See what reviewers are saying about Charles Middleworth:

‘A sardonic delight. If Thackeray had lived in the 21st century, then he might have written Charles Middleworth.’

‘A wonderfully funny, dark and sardonic snapshot into the world of the much maligned actuary.’

‘Charles Middleworth is a literary masterpiece with a carefully woven plot.’

Available in Paperback and on the Kindle (£1.96/$3.14)

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

(Please note: competitors are eligible from any country that has the Amazon Email Gift Certificate scheme. Prizes will be sent in the given winner’s currency and will be rounded up to one decimal place. Any currency conversions will be computed using the rates published on the currency converter www.xe.com on 28/12/12 – the day the winners are announced).

December – New Follower Month

Dec 14 2012

Xmas Holly

Christmas is nearly upon us and in keeping with the season for sharing I would love for more of you to follow my blog. I currently follow dozens of interesting blogs on a whole range of subjects and would very much like to find out more about your blogs. I post about a diverse range of subjects ranging from travel experiences, social media and even London 2012. The only thing all my blog posts have in common is that they are lighthearted, informative and hopefully humorous.

There is also a book review section on this website, where you’ll find a whole host of reviews, including titles by iconic authors such as Orwell, Steinbeck and Brett Easton Ellis, in addition to books by up and coming authors you may not have heard of such as Stuart Ayris and Leon Puissegur.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

If you are looking for something to read you might be interested in Charles Middleworth, a humorous tale of the unexpected.

The following is the blurb for Charles Middleworth:

What happens when Adrian, an actuary, has his banal and predictable existence turned upside down by sinister forces that he can neither understand nor control? How will he react to a revelation that leaves his life in turmoil? Will he surrender or strive for redemption in an altered world, where rationality, scientific logic and algorithms no longer provide the answers?

Charles Middleworth is available from all regional Amazons in both paperback and on the Kindle (only £1.96/$3.14).

See what reviewers are saying about Charles Middleworth:

‘An insightful and humorous tale of the unexpected’

‘A sardonic delight. If Thackeray had lived in the 21st century, then he might have written Charles Middleworth.’

‘A wonderfully funny, dark and sardonic snapshot into the world of the much maligned actuary.’

‘Charles Middleworth is a literary masterpiece with a carefully woven plot.’

Hope to see you here next Friday for the Christmas quiz, there will be a range of prizes including Amazon vouchers and free copies of Charles Middleworth.

Hyper Japan 2012

Nov 30 2012

Last weekend I went to Hyper Japan at The Earls Court Exhibition Centre in London, an event that celebrates J-culture. There were numerous stalls, contemporary and traditional exhibitors and many people dressed up in cosplay.

さいたまチェーンソー少女
Saitama chainsaw girl

Saitama Chainsaw Girl was an ordinary school girl by the name of Kirisaki Fumio, who after finding out that the boy she liked was interested in someone else went on a killing rampage, culminating with the taking of her own life, harakiri style with a chainsaw. Did I mention she’s a fictional Manga character.

Below is The Fat Princess, eyeing the food items in front of her lustfully. At least I assumed it was the Playstation game character by that name, but thought it best not to ask her.

Here are some other characters present at the event.

There were numerous Japanese culinary delights on sale, including Takoyaki (see below), which have octopus (Tako) in the middle.

(Courtesy of http://recipe4you.blogspot.co.uk/2011/01/takoyaki-cute-balls-from-japan.html)

To date eighty different flavours of KitKats have been created in Japan. Personally I am of the opinion that the original version would have sufficed.

Below is a photo of a shelf of KitKats from one of the stalls.

Each variety of KitKat represent different prefectures.

Top Row (left to right) is Azuki beans (Tokai), Blueberry Cheesecake (Koshin) & Sweet Potato (Okinawa).
Bottom Row (left to right) is Wasabi (Shizuoka & Kanto), Apple (Shinshu) and Strawberry Cheesecake (Yokohama).

La Pandilla Basura

Nov 23 2012

Having written 38 blog posts (this is my 39^th), I was interested to find out how often each post had been viewed, where the visitors were coming from and why. Fortunately my advanced data skills were not required as Word Press kindly provide a range of statistics. As anyone who reads my blog will know, posts are about everything from social media to travel, book reviews, London 2012 and random stuff such as crabs (not those kind of crabs) and even Justin Bieber. Considering my original intention was to use the blog to market my book, Charles Middleworth, it appears that I may have got a little side tracked.

These are the three most viewed posts to date and the number of page views they have received:

1). Garbage Pail Kids 673

2). Wenlock & Mandeville 336

3). Twitter Viruses 270

Amazed that a nostalgic trip back to a childhood experience about Garbage Pail Kids stickers could have garnered so many views, I was intrigued as to where the visitors were coming from. Total visitors to the blog have come from 71 countries to date, though evidently no one has told WordPress that The Isle of Man and Guernsey are not countries.

Bizarrely however the majority of viewers of the Garbage Pail Kids related post have been originating from Colombia. By the middle of October, it appeared the whole nation had gone Garbage Pail Kids ‘loco’ as the phenomenon spread like wildfire through Latin America with considerable Garbage Pail Kids related traffic coming from neighbouring Venezuela, Mexico, Ecuador and Peru, though the Brazilians remained largely unaffected.

With the quantitative analysis now complete it is time for the qualitative, to gain an understanding as to the reasons for Latin America particularly Colombia’s 1980’s nostalgia for all things Garbage Pail Kids or La Pandilla Basura (The Garbage Gang)/Bandistas (Trashlings) as they are known in Spanish speaking Latin America.

Relations between Colombia and Reagan’s America became increasingly strained over the course of the 1980’s, as Colombian cocaina or yeyo (the term made famous by Scarface) flooded the U.S. In the other direction, in addition to American political and military interference in Colombian affairs came La Pandilla Basura. By the mid-eighties the ‘American Product’ had become an epidemic, surging through schools and barrios from Barranquilla to Bogota and Cali to Cartagena. In this Latin American melting pot the ensuing buying and dealing in all things La Pandilla Basura reached a crescendo rarely witnessed even in its American homeland.

Perhaps this plague can be understood as a reflection of the era, as Colombian society at large mirrored the sinister, rebellious and unpredictable nature of La Pandilla Basura’s parody of the ‘saccharine cuddliness’ of The Cabbage Patch Dolls, which had been their inspiration.

This might explain why these adults now desire a nostalgic trip back to their childhoods and are scouring the net for all things La Pandilla Basura.

Or perhaps not.

Category - Other

Fajitas, Fascists and The Future

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Banks, Politics and The World Cup

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New Curtains and Blinds

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The Brompton Cemetery

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Tax Return Deadline Day

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Christmas Book Quiz Results

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The Christmas Book Quiz

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December – New Follower Month

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Hyper Japan 2012

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La Pandilla Basura

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Category - Other

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