Please Boycott Google Mars until Google adds Cornwall’s Capitol City to it’s Weather Gadgets Now!

Today I was outraged by Google. I found that in it’s Weather Gadgets, Google lists ZERO locations in the Nation-state of Cornwall. These weather gadgets are used in the Google Homepage and in Google’s popular spying application, Google Desktop. This is injustice.

The Continent of Cornwall is used to such exploitation by search engine giants. Most residents of Kernow still refuse to use Yahoo search since it’s 1996 mistake of suggesting Cornwall was, in fact, a part of England. And indelibly etched on the expatiations of Cornish IT companies is the shortly lived askjethro.com; after pioneering multi-layered Cornish search heuristics in 2003 askjethro.com was obliterated by the legal canons of A very nameless corporation. I can’t even wrote that coperation’s name from within the Cornish internet without being sued or a getting mundane rendition to Abu Ghraib.

Tread carefully, said the badger.

Whether it is marauding mercenaries, mercenary missionaries or men from Microsoft, Cornwall is used to getting shafted. But until now (excluding the infamous “Grampound Line”), the proto-omniscient Googemon has remained on the side of the Kernotropolis.

We have always felt deeply at one with “The G”. When Cornish citizens needed to find out about things in other counties, and sometimes even other times, Google was there. When Cornwall petitioned for a modern progressive online democracy instead of disinterested Westmister-quangol scrag-ends, Google was there with the technology to facilitate and liberate... wouldn’t it be great.

So why... now... have they forsaken us?

The injustice that the closest weather information Das Googen can supply is Plymouth is a bitter injustice. And anyone who has ever been to both Plymouth and Cornwall will know how much better the weather always is in Cornwall. Plymouth isn’t Cornwall. They can’t even swim there.

Outrage at injustice often leads to action. I took action. I decided that I would Boycott all Google Services. I would give “The G” “The Bird”.

After less than a minute I realised that this would not be possible. On an Information and Communication Hunger Strike I made a shoddy Bobby Sands. Simply, the sacrifice of my protest wasn't worth the victory.

However, not one to give in totally, I "fine tuned" my anti-Google protest to the totally encompassing and lifelong new protest: The Boycott of Google Mars.

Whilst they mock and ridicule the people of the Empire of Kernow I shall not be looking at their Online map of The Red Planet. And in this I shall be steadfast - Unless, say, the kids are using it for their homework and they need my help?

It doesn’t matter if you live in Cornwall or not, this is an almost global issue. If you don’t believe me, simply imagine the slight annoyance you would feel if your Capital City wasn’t listed in the Weather Gadgets. I rest my case, and... with you, I pick up my war flag.

My clarion call that shall rattle down these digital ages shall also echo aeons across my small and badly lit office!

I am Lexographically Famous!!

I have always been interested in words, as a child I was even taught some.

Until yesterday I had only discovered three new words in my life. These being:

1. "Bumgollier" - A homophobic term for a homosexual ("gay") man.
2. "Architechtonics" - The art of creating deep/complex technical systems.
3. "Flangeina" - Like a "mangina" but on a female human.

An impressive trio, I am sure you will agree. But it gets better...

Yesterday I came up with a new term that in a matter of hours, powered by its own etymological etiology, became wrought into the semantic framework of an entire planet. Not bad for a boy from the wrong side of the Grampound Line.

You can see the word here: http://tinyurl.com/ctmgf8

Note: Although the Dictionary doesn’t state this, the term is also synonymous with "anticlimax"

Reminises: Taking Tramps for Dinner

When I was about twenty seven and a half I took two homeless men to dinner in Chinatown, London.

I met them in Leicester square one Friday evening. We were sharing the lawn and they started chatting to me, as tramps tend to.

I had just been paid and so a few "starter cans" of Stella in it was like "I'm hungry, do you guys want a Chinese". (I had recently finished reading Songlines where the narrator does the same, only in the Outback (In Australia not the Franchise Antipode bar))

They accepted. I remember one was called just "Billericay" and he was, you got it, Oirish.

I assume the cause of their acceptance was the sound of a free meal rather than any desperate need to spend more time with a lanky "student twat type" (My quotes) but nonetheless, as a trio, we did go.

Hing Loon’s was our destination, it’s still there and remains my fave - I was there last time in London. I had been going there for years with friends and family and, on that summer in the late 90s, two pissedup tramps. Both of whom, in the confines of a building it was revealed, stunk like they had been living on the streets for decades.

We sat on a big round table.

We sat under a drizzle of uncouthness that gradually, by the time the Won Ton's had arrived, increased to an embarrassing torrent of uncouthness.


I don’t think the tale needs the details.

It was a truly educational experience. One I was keen to end fast (I think we skipped the ice-cream with Lychees) and even more keen never to repeat.


Don’t ever take drunken tramps for dinner.