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Does this look like the end ? half of the biggest democracy in the world with no power.

A slow decay into a wretched demise is upon us, not one of nuclear bombs or listening to Metallica, but a collapse of infrastructure and political inaction.

It appears the plug was pulled on Northern India and plunged some 600 million people into darkness and a Vindaloo misery. 

A ghastly grab by the south of the country that used more of their share of electricity - is this how civilizations implode?

That wouldn't complete the conspiracy, for climate change has contributed too, in some areas, weak monsoon forces farmers to use more electricity to irrigate thus adding burden on an already archaic system.

And for the emerging middle classes there is a price to pay for Smartphone’s, computers and air conditioning. What use are these gadgets if the load cannot be sustained?

No power means (without backup generators) standstill, utter chaos and no Facebook or Twitter to narrate the suffering.

It’s wonderful for Apple and Samsung to rent us sexy gizmo's  salacious as they are. But despite less consumption than Canada and the USA combined, India has to have a reliable grid to run these things; Talk about the cart before the horse.

On Tenth and 42^nd many miles away, gleaming stumps in the sky wait for new occupants, the New World has it all worked out, Really ? – and the new power plants are where exactly?

One can look mighty foolish in a fancy apartment with no electricity - Bike lanes can only do so much.

A blackout of the system is a blackout of the spirit, and unless sanity prevails we all could meet a suffocating and sweaty end.

Cheerfully yours … Stuck in the Mud. 

Boris the Bike Engine

A very British Cock up is emerging, this time it pertains to the unfolding drama called ‘Which way to the Olympics?’ Recent reports from the motherland indicate shades of Monty Python at play.

Olympians arriving at Heathrow on route to the Village have been caught up in a marathon like expedition, compromising of four hours worth of detours by bus drivers who clearly don’t have GPS or the ‘Knowledge’. 

The ‘Knowledge’ incidentally is the urban exam every London cab driver has to take in order to drive a cab. Quite unlike anything a New York cabbie has to endure. 

And talking of Cabbies, there seems to be a protest among them to foul up the City because of denied access to the Olympic lanes designed for crap bus drivers and high minded officials to whiz by in their BMW’s. A fine of 130 Pounds Sterling is in the offering for any undesirable who breaks the law.

One would suggest a running prosthetics issued at every terminal for arrivals for a smooth passage into London. 

But Michael Johnson the former US Olympic champion deems them to be unfair.

All this confusion must stem from the bloody genius who designed the games logo – anyone who can decipher that deserves a gold medal. 

Not with content with traffic woes it has now been realized that the security firm G4S (Good 4 Shite) in charge of protecting all and sundry can only produce a handful of chaps to preside over a small nations worth of people. It has been left to the Army to pick up the slack just when they thought returning from Afghanistan and spending quality time with their families was on the cards. 

As a side note Nick Buckles the head of G4S only gets almost a million a year for his talents and swiped two hundred and eighty four million of tax payer’s money to do the job. Evidently he should be in banking and this makes the British government looked efficient!

Ah but wait! Redemption is at hand, in light of fresh shenanigans at Barclays; a glorious proposal has been put forward by chief sycophant ‘Boris the Bike Johnson’. It is rumored that Boris Johnson the Mayor of London sleeps with a Barclays bedspread and matching pajamas, but never mind the imperfections this is his finest hour. Due to the resignation of top executives, Boris has hatched a plan to salvage the fine name of Barclays and render it back into the good graces of the public by the Diamond Refund.

The Diamond Refund by way of ‘giveback’ will use the former CEO bonus to offset British taxpayer’s troubles by giving every Olympian and a spectator a free Barclays bicycle for life with the added incentive to reopen or open a checking account at your local branch.

Just think of the benefits, Olympic lanes with its very own peloton, anticipation for a first GB Tour de France win, good health for the bulging British waistline, seamless  access to events across the city and no exorbitant taxis rides – heavens it will look like Amsterdam or Copenhagen, it’s an effing Gold medal !

Well done Boris you magnificent buffoon.

Wheel of Fortune

A funny thing happened while on route to my pole dancing class today, I found myself in my local bank making a quick cash deposit, a rare occurrence I have to say when I noticed something different.

First of all the noise, along the walls stood rows and rows of EGM’s (electronic gaming machines) and carpeting had replaced the linoleum, although it could not dull the sound, it felt reassuring under my feet.

The Citibank logo had been changed to Casino Bank® with bright flashing lights. A roulette wheel sped by in a whippet frenzy manned by the former security guard. The blackjack tables sat where once the deposit slips stood - local depositors hugged the edges with rapt attention. 

The ATM’s lined up in a cynical row beckoning you to withdraw. Keisha my usual counter Associated had slipped out of her corporate slacks and was bursting out of her ‘barely there’ cocktail dress wearing a wicked smile. 

“We have free drinks for any checking account over 1,000.00 dollars”. I didn’t, but sampled them anyway.

There was the Bank of America cocktail called the Dirty Mortgage Martini laced with vodka, crushed Greek olives, and grenadine.

Not bad, although not a fan of olives, Greek or otherwise. Next was the “Citibank” a concoction of Baileys, gasoline and peach schnapps with a red umbrella. This aptly was called the “Baileys Bailout” and I had three thanks to being a local branch member.

Keisha knows exactly how much money I have in my accounts but continues to let me drink regardless. She handed me a “Captain Morgan Chase” I was mildly surprised by the Dark rum, bitters and self regulatory jalapenos.

By now my head was spinning in tandem with the roulette table but I was on a roll. Next, the Barclay’s Rig, a lovely blend of Bacardi, Blue Curacao and Bollinger, every Trader recommends them I hear.

There were two more left and I was in great peril of missing my class, time was of no importance seeing all clocks on the walls had been removed.

Keisha said this was her favorite the HSBC, Hire Shady Bankers Committee; this was punitively prison worthy, Grappa, Saké, Tequila and lighter fuel. Ghastly, but like most bankers ‘It puts you in the red’.

Lastly and in need of the ‘All you can eat buffet’ I spotted in what used to be the manager’s office the RBS (Royal Bank of Scotland) this fittingly was called the Robber Barons Scotch comprising of Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Talisker and Haggis - Need I comment?

In this ‘Winner - takes - all - World it is heartening to know that whatever money you deposit will be matched with a thriving 0.0100 % interest rate just about the same odds as winning in Las Vegas.

It’s hard to see the difference anymore, the house always wins.

Burpppp!!!  Now’s where’s my pole?