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the edinburgh rascal, issue the eighth, third month of two thousand and twelve
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The [maga]zine is an inherently implausible construct: fantastical and intangible, a crush of what is ultimately pulped wood stained with chemical darkness. Whilst an explorative definition, this is unavoidably reductive. These pages contain what could be called, a la Edison (1968:14), the 1% of invention alongside the 99% of perspiration. That is to say there is a 'simultaneity' of processes (part exertion, part stunted genius) soaked into the fabric and metafabric of this "pseudo laughicalmuckrag" (Debord, 1969:32).
"Laughter is a psychospatial phenomenon" (Lefebvre 1972:04). This conceptual [re]framing of mirth is something endemic in (and to) the Rascal, with which it moves temporally forwards. The Rascal is a product of 'Where?'; 'What?'; "How?"; "When?"; "Why?" [and the more populist]; "Huh?". The Rascal enables its participants [or, to use the neoMarxian idiom, its lumpen service class] to develop what one might call a sense of hyper awhereness, whilst being hyper awhere of sense. As such the Slippery Truth is bound in this wood pulp, [re]arranged ephemerally into a form which the eye at once consumes and is satisfied by, for the pure purpose of plummeting through the proverbial abyss into the sticky treacle of the ontological pit. Positivist? No. The satire held within these pages is meaningless, but it is meaningless to say it is without meaning. Front cover illustration by Kim Cruickshank. Check out her blog at http://kimcruickshank.blogspot.com/
I get my friends to call me Nigel Hi there! My name is Greg - thoughfort o years now, and thought I'd Gresley!!! I've been trainspotting for ally-tw Lovers of the Art of share some of my pearls of wisdom to you aspiring 7. Watch The Railway Children. Learn the Spotting!!! certain benefits of always wearing a red
1. Don’t talk about trainspotting. 2. Choose life. This means maintaining a safe distance from trains in motion and not publicising this newfound hobby, lest the ‘haters’ hunt you down and stone you with balledup, outofdate train timetables and soggy tuna sandwiches. 3. Learn about trains. Having a miniature track in your back garden doesn’t count. Nor does a dissertation in your name about the secret migration routes of slaves in the USA during the nineteenth century. 4. Dress appropriately. The iconic anorak and handknitted hat are essential. Highvisibility wear is recommended, e.g. reflective jackets, nurave gear, sequinned miniskirts etc. 5. Know your tracks (the train routes, the beats you lay down, the ones up your arms, etc). Cover if necessary. 6. Speaking of, pick a soundtrack to keep your energy up. ‘All Aboard’ by Chuck Berry, ‘Flying Scotsman’ performed by the Sidney Torch Orchestra, Woody Guthrie’s ‘Hobo’s Lullaby’ and Biggie Small vs. Thomas the Tank Engine are a few of our favourite suggestions/personal favourites.
petticoat for trainhalting emergencies. Re enact the ‘Daddy, my Daddy!’ scene at will for heartbreaking results. 8. Send The Rt Hon Theresa Villiers MP some fan mail and hope that she’ll light a fire under East Coast so that one day their vehicles might make their destination in time, saving you (and overpaying passengers) valuable time. 9. In direct discordance of Rule 1., load yourself with as much photographic and recording equipment as possible. If you are to keep your work for posterity, documentation is key. So be it if this means you are unable to run from speeding trains 10. Scag first, questions later. Most importantly, remember this quote from Irvine Welsh, founder and cochair of the ETU (Edinburgh Trainspotters United):
“People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shit which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking stupid.”
PrivatiseAfter Everything! my upstart French
cousin upset these fine column inches last month, I am proud to be back writing my column of reasonable discourse. This, I admit, is but a mere drop in the ocean, given the proliferation of wishy washy, left-wing detritus clogging the myriad media networks. Handwringing, sentimental brainwashed morons, sobbing about the much needed carve up of the "dear old NHS", whining about funding cuts to such venerable ancient institutes of learning such as Croydon University or the Toxteth Academy Of The Arts. For a start, the mythic virtue of the NHS is bunk - rather than a grand old lady, it is moreso a wizened old crone with bar-charts and performance targets sprouting from its scabby arse. And as regards these risible so-called universities (in fact, glorified state subsidised community centres!), these are useless for academic pursuits, unless you want to pursue made-up degrees in "Chaka Demus & Pliers Patois Studies", or "Being a Grotty, Zit faced Football Hooligan". But facetiousness aside, the coalition's leading lights are doing a damn fine job in these times of much needed austerity. The Three Magnificent Marketeers Andrew Lansley, Theresa May and David Willetts - are cutting through the chaff of the public sector with
admirable zeal. Firstly, Mr Lansley has been attempting to put healthcare in the hands of those who understand it best entrepreneurs! Those who understand that one must use their own enterprise in order to make the best of one's life. Health is a privilege, not a right, dear friends! Keep those irritating riff raff types out of hospitals; they are merely a sponge on our resources. That'll teach them to be so wretchedly, irresponsibly poor! Indeed, I can envisage something quite noble coming out of this proposal also. Low income dregs, realising that their lives are a burden on our good selves, will simply take their own lives. They've already quaffed a lifetime's worth of Benson & Hedges by the age of 30, eh? This neat act of proletarian hara kiri would cream off the high unemployment statistics also.
The Glorious Three Musketeers
JIF GHK
Mrs. May's approach to the bloated P.C Plod sector is also instructive. For too long there have been instructions imposed from on high about the nature of "law and order", often mitigated by the namby pamby jurisprudence of the Brussels (Cock) Sprouts. If the richest
and most business savvy were to provide the police service for their local areas, they could tackle the most insidious of crimes, by coming down with brass knuckles on the ASBOHoodie Mafiosos, with their illicit Druggeries and offensive shell-suits. I am sure the Kentish silent majority are with me on this! For some of the white collar crime, of course there must be COMMON SENSE applied. Solve problems with a gentlemanly handshake, and perhaps a brown envelope to boost the local Crime Prevention PLC's net profit. And should a Lord of the Realm murder a whore, it has to (of course) be viewed as a minor indiscretion! There is no room in our overcrowded jails for WELL BRED PEOPLE! Finally, David "The Wild Winking Wonderous Whizzkid Wizard" Willetts is proving a menace to that cabal of sociologists and bureaucrats who clog up our once (in the middle ages) venerable university system. We must return to the elite nature of these institutions as they once existed - to train the best and the brightest in the finest traditions of marketing and management consultancy which have been a bulwark between Britain and the barbarian hordes without for at least a 1,000 years. We must rise again to the top of the university league tables and prove that the Yanks are still the spittle on our intellectual boots - more MBAs and less MFAS, for God's sake! Lest I be accused of being a cruel-hearted old traditionalist, I do indeed think that some of the bizarre idiot-savants of the lower orders be included in this new fold. We need a modicum of the muck in elite institutions - they may be poked and prodded for our amusement, used as a human piùata, or ritually buggered (again, a tradition that has been sorely lost!). Such methods, of course, reinforce the class bindings which some have worked so hard to eviscerate...... EXCELSIOR!