"Control my means of production," she breathed

[After Italy's 1935 invasion of Abyssinia] from Bari in southern Italy a radio station beamed forth in Arabic bursts of anti-British propaganda and concluded each broadcast with a juicy pornographic anecdote. This novel mix of the seditious and the salacious enjoyed a wide currency throughout the duration of the [Palestine] Revolt.

John Keay, Sowing The Wind: The Mismanagement of the Middle East 1900-1960

What the...? That’s genius! It’s one thing for wannabe libertines and shoddy eroticists to earnestly bruit about the revolutionary potential of sex; quite another to find an effective way of putting it into practice. A more high-octane version of The Bottom Line, this combination of revolutionary propaganda and lustful filth should be a winning formula:

“‘The press should be not only a collective propagandist and a collective agitator, but also a collective organizer of the masses,’ she moaned as his forceful sliding their knees over the had broken the egg whisk.”

Perhaps some of you have your own ideas how this technique would work.*

* We regret we cannot return entries without a stamped addressed envelope.

"We regret to inform customers..."

London Underground in a bloody nutshell, from drummygirl:

At Bank, on the Northern line platform, there was smoke everywhere. Everyone was standing around. First the train driver announced that it was a track fire at London Bridge and there was nothing to worry about. Then the Station Announcer gave an update over the PA: All Underground lines were running with a good service. We all smiled and waited to board the train. Then a recorded message: A fire has been reported - evacuate the station immediately.

Bank station was indeed on fire. To be fair, on past form it’s a miracle they weren’t also told that the smoke was due to a signal failure at Camden, or a passenger smoking on a train at Kennington four hours earlier, or the unavailability of staff, or a broken train at Euston, or any more of the hundred different excuses they seem to be programmed to come up with at random rather than establishing what’s actually going on. “There are minor delays on the Northern Line due to earlier equipment failure at London Bridge. There is a good service on all other lines,” the announcer would still be burbling as a tower of flame blasted its way up the escalators and engulfed the ticket hall.

Profoundly Misleading Headline award

“Whale spotted in central London”

What, leaving Stringfellow’s with an unnamed female friend? “She’s my niece. No photos!” cries the whale as it bundles her into a taxi.

My Norwegian relatives will be devastated to learn that, despite living 10 minutes from the Thames, I have no intention of haring up there with a harpoon, a knife and fork and a napkin tucked in to my collar. This is partly because I’ve been struck down with gastric flu and am incapable of haring anywhere, and partly because a pilot whale makes a tasty snack for ABOUT TWO YEARS. I’d be sick of it after a fortnight; plus I’d have to buy several more freezers. Monstro’s going to have to find itself another Ahab.


H R Geiger's original design for the pilot whale