Lloyd Woolf Says

Do Kids Today Know About...

2010-10-28T03:42:00.001-07:00

Tom and Jerry?

I'm worried that maybe they don't.

From what I can tell, it's just not on anymore.

It used to be that if a TV channel had a spare five or ten minutes in its schedule, they'd stick on Tom and Jerry. Or Daffy Duck. Or Bugs Bunny. Or Foghorn Leghorn. Or Porky Pig. Etcetera etcetera.

Now they just rub their hands together with glee and think, "Oh yeah. Now we can trail some shows. Like, really trail some shows".

I can't help think this is all connected in some way to the decline of Grandstand.

Anyway.

Maybe kids have a vague idea of these cartoons, maybe they half recognise them from t-shirts and references in The Simpsons.

But think about it.

Many, many seven year olds will never have sat through an episode of Roadrunner.

The country truly is a colder and crueler place.

Rage Induced Whimsy.

2010-10-12T07:48:00.000-07:00

I'm cross about the government again.
Today it's because of this University funding business. Especially about the way in which a series of (pretty technocratic) arguments about the best way to charge tuition fees are being used to used to distract from a really dangerous proposal- setting Universities against each other in a free markets.
Henceforth we will have good Universities for people with money, and poor Universities for people without.
It's horrid, and only those with a frankly religious belief in the power of markets to make everything better would think otherwise.

But I don't want this blog to turn into a bitter whinge hole.
So I'm going to distract myself by imagining basset hounds performing various roles in society.

A basset hound helping the vulnerable onto a council mini bus for a day trip!

A basset hound putting in a shift at a Royal Mail sorting office!

A basset hound logging information about peregrine falcons in the London area! With a little doggy clipboard!

A basset hound chasing pigeons off a cricket square!

A basset hound dressing in women's clothing and "singing" Cabaret to entertain our brave fighting men and women in Afghanistan!

Feel better?
Me neither.
Not really.

In The National Interest.

2010-10-11T05:18:00.000-07:00

I was delighted to hear that David Cameron (our Prime Minister, married) has decided to give people tax breaks if they are married.
Even though we're in a financial emergency so severe it apparently justifies slashing benefits, closing services, and introducing regressive VAT hikes, it really is important that we make a point of giving a chunk of our wages to people lucky enough to be living in matrimonial bliss.

In the National Interest, I've come up with some other good ideas for tax breaks he might like to consider.

TAX BREAKS FOR THE TALL
It's been proved time and time again that tall people do better in life- they get the promotions, they impress at parties, and they drive our economy. It's about time they got rewarded for this.
They've been taking up the slack for dwarfish drunks like Dennis Wise for long enough.

This might have to be limited to those between six foot three and six foot five however, we want to encourage suave, golden age of Hollywood height, not overly tall gangliness as advocated by Peter Crouch or that Chinese fellow in the NBA.

TAX BREAKS FOR THE OTHERWORLDLY BEAUTIFUL
They make you feel good. They even smell nice. They'd never ask, but they really do deserve some of your wages.

TAX BREAKS FOR PARENTS WHO DRESS THEIR CHILDREN IN A CUTE MATCHY-BUT-NOT-IDENTICAL-EXACTLY WAY
Aw. Her bunny dungarees go perfectly with his chick romper suit!
These children are more stable, happier, and grow up to contribute the most to our country. Let them be honoured. Let them be honoured by, ooh, I don't know, £3-something a week.

Tsk.
Cameron.
Idiot.

Valerie.

2010-10-07T05:20:00.000-07:00

Here's a fact.

The song "Valerie" becomes hilarious if you pronounce the word "Valerie" correctly.

Try it.

Make the "ie" rhyme with "pea".

"Why don't you come on over Valerie".

Funny.

Now put the stress on the first syllable, like you would if you were saying the word "Valerie" in a chat.

"Why don't you come on over Valerie".

Hilarious.

Popular Valeries have included SIngleton and Leon.

Ahem.

2010-10-06T05:22:00.001-07:00

The problem with having a blog is that if you neglect to write anything in it for about six months, it's very hard to start up again.
Or at least, it's very hard to start up again without feeling like a dick.

When you're in your blogging pomp, you can quite happily knock out three paragraphs or so on, say, why you think cheese on toast is pleasant. You don't care and neither does anyone else.
But if you haven't said anything for about six months, well, you feel like you need a pretty momentous reason to break your silence.
A six month pause followed by, "oh, guys, by the way, cheese on toast, eh?" is awful.

And so the silence gets longer and longer, and stronger and stronger.

Anyway.
Hello.
Isn't cheese on toast pleasant? Not roast dinner pleasant, but pleasant. Better than a fistful of Doritos and a cry.

And what's with all the weird spammy comments that have grown like weeds on my blog in my absence?
Is it because I said willies too much?

What I Think The Leaders' Willies Look Like.

2010-05-06T05:28:00.000-07:00

If you're still undecided, this blog might just help you decide how to vote.
It's basically some speculation about the leaders' penises might be like.

If you don't like picturing willies, look away now.

BROWN.
A powerful, but stubby willy. It peers out at you from a thick, untamed, expansive, and wiry bush (jet black with flecks of grey). Not unlike one of those startlingly ugly fish you get deep, deep beneath the sea where the sun never shines. It has a look of startled ambivalence and vague, disquieting menace.
Circumcised, just to keep on the right side of Old Testament God.

CLEGG.
Long, thickish, and fleshy. Strangely untextured, like a cheap sausage. The gingerish pubes have been trimmed a little aggressively, giving the willy the air of a schoolboy fresh from his reluctant, quarterly haircut. The balls are pendulous but narrow.
Smells faintly of Nivea.

CAMERON.
A thin plastic tube, light blue in colour. At it's "head", a SCART plug.
Above it, a neatly tatooed bar code.

Do vote. Please.
And vote for someone who doesn't think awful bullshit thoughts.

What To Think.

2010-05-05T06:16:00.000-07:00

Hello lovelies.
It's decision time for all you sexy voters.

And here's what I think you should do-

ANYTHING TO KEEP THE TORIES OUT.

Vote Labour, vote Liberal, vote SNP or Plaid or whoever has the best chance in your area of keeping these odious fuckwits out of office.

Pretty unambiguous, but the time for faffage is long past.

There are plenty of good reasons to keep these slithering arses as far from power as possible. This piece by Jonathan Freedland and this piece by Johan Hari are pretty terrifying (and accurate) descriptions of what Cameron and his (oddly hairless looking) gang plan to do to poor people.

Rather than repeat what they've written so powerfully, I'm going to make another, rather overlooked point.

IF YOU ARE RICH AND SELFISH, DON'T VOTE TORY EITHER.

It's a myth that rich selfish people are better off under tax-cutting, public-sector slashing governments.

Your extra money in the bank doesn't save you from being burgled by the guy who's been out of education, training or work since he was sixteen, or being mugged by the kid who's youth centre has been closed down. If you have a heart attack in the street and someone calls you an ambulance, it won't get to you any quicker because you've got fancy private health insurance.

One of the most important functions of government is to save rich people from themselves. Inequality hurts those at the bottom most, but it'll hurt you too. Unfair societies are dangerous places to live. So if you're a millionaire licking your lips at the prospect of, say, the Tory inheritance tax break, think carefully about what you'll need to spend the money on. It might just be a new cctv system, or an electric perimeter fence for your charming residence.

Toryism isn't just nasty. It's thick. It's as thick as shit, and it terrifies me.

That's all I have to say about that.

Cause for cheeriness however: it looks like we might finally get a bit of electoral reform.
That's huge.
Don't listen to any of the anti-reform spin- it's basically anti-democracy spin. The same kind of arguments that have been used against electoral reform since the 1830s and before.

And yes, I know I said I'd write about the election every day. And I know I've managed it about five times. But, y'know, it's been sunny and I've been employed.

Tomorrow's polling day special: I will finally speculate as to what the leaders of the three main parties' willies look like.

Nick Who?

2010-04-19T11:49:00.000-07:00

Nick effing Clegg, that's who.
He won the going on telly competition by a country mile, and now everyone's obsessed with him.
He just looked so unflustered on the telly!

I understand why everyone was impressed, although he generally reminds me of a GP who appears weekly on daytime television to give advice to callers.

I am a little surprised at quite how big his spike in popularity has been though.
Some polls say the Liberals have had a ten point boost.
That's loads.

And there's only one reason I'm surprised.

His name.

His name's Clegg.

It's the dullest name imaginable.

Duller than Brown, which is not only a dull name, but a dull word for a dull colour.

There hasn't been a high profile Clegg in Britain since Norman "Cleggy" Clegg lit up our screens in Last Of The Summer Wine.

Perhaps that's part of the appeal, on some subliminal level?
Especially as by his side is Vince Cable, the nation's own Foggy.

They've already powered into second place. To take top spot, all they need to do is find a Compo.
If they can persuade Simon Hughes to don a ripped tweed suit, a pair of wellies and a tea cosy, they might just be unstoppable.

Predictions.

2010-04-15T10:54:00.000-07:00

So.

Tonight's the night.

The first ever American style TV debate for our would-be-PMs.
(I think, in the style of those BBC shows with Lloyd-Webber where they try and find a Joseph or a Maria or whatever, I'm going to refer to the would-be-PMs as "the Tonys" from now on).

Our Tonys are going to go head to head to see who's the best at going on the telly.

I'm going to make a bold prediction about each of their performances.

BROWN.
On at least nine occasions Brown will be glowering because it's someone else's turn to talk, and then suddenly remember that he's supposed to smile. He will then break into a "six year old girl trying not to vomit in a beauty pageant" grimace for all of three seconds, before returning to his default scowl.

CAMERON.
"Dave" will jeopardise years of careful image management by making a hunting analogy when answering a question. (Something about hounds, or "getting the scent of a fox but having to jump a brook", I don't know). And then spend the next few days insisting that it's a phrase "also used in football".

CLEGG.
Having crept up in the credibility stakes thanks to his double act with Cable, and having been cast by the press as the election's "king maker", Clegg will blow it all by showing up with an overly extravagant new haircut. Probably blond streaks. An instant drop of ten points.

Feel free to tick them off as you watch.

Do It Yourself.

2010-04-14T10:54:00.000-07:00

Well.

The manifestos are out.

It's mainly the usual stuff- lots of words like "fair" and "future" and "lovely us!", and lots of promises about saving money without cutting services/raising taxes (it involves telling public sector workers to pull their socks up, apparently).

The most interesting play* comes from Cameron and the Tories**.
They've decided that more "power" should be given to "ordinary people".
If they decide that their local hospitals/schools/roadworks aren't up to scratch, they should be allowed to wade in themselves. Roll their sleeves up and take over.

The message is clear.
You guys, the prospective voters, you're the cleverest most able people there are.
Much cleverer than, say, qualified professionals.
And the best way to stop the qualified professionals (who frankly litter our public services these days) from spaffing our taxes up the wall is to get rid of them, and for you to start doing their jobs yourselves.
You're our only hope.
You're so bloody great.
Never mind how busy you are. You. You, the floating voter. You're so damn capable, and you know so much about literally everything. You're Britain's last chance.

And it's clear why that's the message.

It's flattering.
It's a very appealing narrative.

Much more appealing, for example, than saying "You're probably quite thick and should have less of a say in things".
A politician with the balls (or ovaries) to say that would really impress me.

For example, I've always found the idea of school governors pretty weird.
It seems kind of silly to me that a Headteacher, an education professional with years of experience, isn't allowed to choose which teachers to employ.
They can make recommendations, but the decision itself is left to a group of amateur enthusiasts.
Well meaning folk all of them. But they don't definitely know what they're on about.
They're just keen to get involved.
Isn't that odd?
But it's exactly the sort of thing the Tories supposedly want to see more of.

Well, it doesn't sound smart to me.
The rise of the busy body.

Urgh.

Sorry these blogs aren't happening quite as regularly as advertised. I'm rehearsing a play and am as tired as a simile.

That hypothetical willy comparison is in the pipeline, needless to say.

*For "play" read "fairly desperate throw of the dice by a man watching a nearly invincible lead dwindle by the minute".
**Worst band name ever. Including The View.

National Service?

2010-04-08T11:53:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you'll have heard about this already, and read/had any number of amusing thoughts on the matter, but the election has produced its first big, shiny policy.

The Tories want to introduce a non-military version of National Service for sixteen year olds.
Sort of like a compulsory Duke of Edinburgh Award.
Or being community service for the crime of being a bit spotty and sullen.

They've managed to find a youth spokesman to back the idea- Michael Caine.
As many people have pointed out, he's an elderly millionaire.
He's described himself as being "representative" of Britain's disadvantaged youth, on the grounds that when he was young all those years ago he was quite a tearaway. And he recently made a film that involved going to Elephant and Castle. So you know. Fix Up Look Sharp, kids! He's jus' like Dizzee!

It's pretty big of Cameron.
He's dreamed up a vote winning policy by making sure that you become eligible to vote immediately after it stops affecting you.

I really do mean to do this daily.
Eventually I'll not be able to think of anything to write.
On that day, I'll speculate about what the three main leaders' willies look like.
Until then, adieu.

The Election's Been Called!

2010-04-07T10:26:00.000-07:00

What does that mean?
It means that the politicians are going to start campaigning.

What does that mean?
It means that they pretend that they haven't been campaigning solidly for months (things like televised debates between would-be chancellors certainly weren't examples of campaigning), and switch to "official campaigning".

What's "official campaigning"?
It means instead of doing normal politician things, like making comments on the news, you have to go on a bus.
A big bus, with your logo on the side.
You then have to have your picture taken getting on and off the bus.
Every day.
For a month.

Well. I think I'm going to use this humble, neglected blog to record my electoral thoughts as the grim procession of (strangely creepy, laminated-looking) buses ploughs through our lives for the next thirty days.

Things have started as you might expect, with all of the party leaders publicly stating that they "stand for" absolutely lovely people.
Hard working people. Decent people. Etc etc.
It's a pretty good tactic, so they're all making use of it. I call it the Good Sort Tactic. Basically, they say "people who vote for me are really good sorts" and you think, "hey! I'm a good sort! I should be bloody well voting for that guy!".
I'd quite like Brown/Cameron/Clegg to enter into a bit of an arms-race with old Good Sort Tactic.
"I stand for people who really know how to barbecue!"
"I stand for vibrant, effortless conversationalists!"
"I stand for people who may not be attractive in a classical, Hollywood sense, but nonetheless possess a quiet, understated yet undeniable sexual magnetism!"

More thoughts as they happen.
Hopefully, on a daily basis.

Meanwhile, I should probably point out that meu apreentage del Catala esta avancant penosament lenta.

Baby Steps..

2010-03-25T12:27:00.000-07:00

I'm busy so it's baby steps.
Learning tiny bits, and doing my best not to forget them.

Catalan involves a pretty nifty accent.
You basically have to talk like there's a fair bit of gravy in your mouth.

I find it useful to pretend that I've got a moustache.
Helps me get "into character" pronounciation-wise.

Es util per pretendre que tinc un bigoti.

Passos de bebe.

Right.

2010-03-22T07:02:00.000-07:00

This Catalan thing is ON.

I'm going to learn Catalan, go to Barcelona in May, and bloody well speak it.
I'm go to order the shit out of some tapas and absolutely nail asking for directions to the bloody wall, all in the local lingo.

Sure, they'll all reply to whatever I've said in English.
Sure, they'll start speaking to me in English at the first sight of my pallid forearms and the nervous quiver of my upper lip.

But at least I'll have tried.

It's an hour a day from now on.

Oh yes.

I'm certainly not going to lose interest and drift into not bothering.

Oh no.

Not this cowboy.

Apologies, And All This BBC Business...

2010-03-02T06:06:00.000-08:00

Firstly, I'm sorry about the fact that I haven't written anything here for ages.
Really I am.
In truth, I've just been a bit busy and having a nice time. Sorry.

Anyway.

All this business about the BBC cuts.
I just wrote a really long post, all about the situation. Sort of bringing you up to speed and offering some measured analysis.
But how arrogant's that? You know the score. You're the cool kids.

It's obviously very annoying- not least because the anti-BBC cats in the commercial media seem to be landing their punches pretty cleanly at the moment. They seem to be doing so by simultaneously arguing, "What's this obscure bollocks? Stop wasting my money on it!" and "What's this populist bollocks? That's our job, stop wasting money on it!".

It's also annoying because the Asian Network and 6Music have always looked like pretty solid bits of BBC. Quality stuff that the commercial sector can't/won't go near.
And 6Music was really good.
You don't need me to tell you about that.

So here are some positive thoughts:

Radio1 will probably have to "get it's John Peel on" more often now that there's no specialist Nick-Hornby-Circa-High-Fidelity-Network.

Likewise, the BBC will supposedly have to up it's Asian programming across the network. Ideally in a non-patronising way.

BBC2 is going to have more money to spend. Hopefully on excellent things. BBC2 used to be my favourite channel in the world. It's had a funny few years (it had a major identity crisis when BBC3 and BBC4 came along and took away it's YOUNG hat and it's CLEVER hat) but could be finding it's feet properly again.

£100m less will be spent on bureaucracy. That's tough on the bureaucrats who'll lose their jobs, and I don't want to sound insensitive, but anyone who's dealt with the BBC will tell you about how crazy the organisation can seem at the moment. Presumably the cuts will be implemented by circulating a memo that says "If your job reminds you of a Kafka novel, please resign".
£100m is loads. You could make loads of programmes for £100m. You could even run 6Music for over a decade.

Ladies And Gentlemen.

2010-02-15T05:09:00.000-08:00

It dawned on me yesterday evening that TV presenters never say "Ladies and Gentlemen".

Live performers say it all the time. Live performers have got "Ladies and Gentlemen" tourettes. Even the most tawdry pub stand-ups. They use it like a bloody comma. But TV presenters never, ever use it.

They never start the news with "Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the BBC News at 10".

I'm not saying they should all be in black tie, I'm just saying that a little respect would make me feel better about things.
News of earthquakes and stock market crashes? Ok. I'll listen. But address me correctly, Edwards. I'm not your skivvy. I'm a gentlemen.

Actually, scratch that.

I am saying they should all be in black tie.
TV presenters should all be in black tie.
Chiles, Inverdale, Kay.
Lamb.
All of them.

Update!

2010-02-11T09:58:00.000-08:00

I got in touch with the wonderful Paul, Chief Executive of the Royal Meteorological Society, about National Weather Forecasters' Day.

Here's what he had to say:

Hi Lloyd – good to hear from you again.

You’re right we don’t have an equivalent but there is a World Meteorology Day which is 24 March each year and we usually do something of an event each year. We have a dinner this year but perhaps next year with a bit of planning we could do something with you that’s a bit different to our normal activities.

Kind Regards

Paul H.

What a truly cracking man. Let's hope that by next year we can organise some sort of ticker tape parade for Weather Forecasters. Maybe down the Mall, or Wooten Bassett or something. Or at least get newsreaders wearing weather awareness badges.

Sorry I've been blanking you all.
Normal service will be resumed shortly.

Happy National Weatherforecasters' Day.

2010-02-05T07:06:00.000-08:00

Wave at a cloud.
Loudly halloo a short burst of rain.
Beam at the sun.
And email your heartfelt regards to your local weather forecaster.

They spend their days doing hard maths, so that you know how many layers to wear.

And they've got lovely, reasonably priced suits.

And they do little tongue twisters to make sure they don't trip on their words (I assume).

Let them know you care.

Let them know you care.

Spendingtons'.

2010-02-02T05:33:00.000-08:00

Hello lovelies.

A while back I made this sort of soap opera spoof, for BBC online.
It's finally been released.
If you like things like bad acting, poor plotting and shoddy production values it should be right up your street.

It's got some excellent people in in it.
Like Jesse Wallace, who used to be Kat Slater.
And Shaun Williamson, who used to be Barry.
And Kerry Howard, who's been in things like Reggie Perrin.

It's being marketed as a spin-off of Eastenders spin-off "Eastenders E20".
Which is a gas.

Here's the first episode.
It mainly sort of establishes the premise.
More to come shortly.

Please do have a little look/get a tattoo of the logo.

Quick Question....

2010-01-28T07:28:00.000-08:00

Ladies.
I don't seem to hear the phrase "tit tape" half has much as I seemed to a few years back.
Has the phrase fallen out of favour? Or the tape itself? Or am I moving in more refined circles?

I don't even know why I'm asking.
I'd like to think that it's because of my keen interest in the ebb and flow of the English language, rather than my interest in tits or tapes.

Maybe it's because I haven't done my tax yet, and I must do my tax, and I must do it right now.

Hmm.

Doing one's tax return is long.

At least the labels for this post will be "tit tape tax".

Very sorry for having wasted your time this afternoon.
I expect this is so nothingy it almost comes across as avant garde.
Almost.

Briefly:

2010-01-26T03:44:00.000-08:00

You don't hear so much about the Bermuda Triangle these days.
Why is that?

As a youngster, it was pretty much my most pressing concern.
It ranked far higher on my mental list of Things I Fear So Deeply It's A Physical Sensation than more conventional 80s fears like the impending nuclear war between NATO and the USSR.
I'm pretty sure that most of my peers felt the same.

Has all that business died down then?
Has it just sort of stopped happening?

I suppose that would be a comfort, but the not knowing is somewhat disquieting.

It pains me to think that kids today might not even know what the Bermuda Triangle is.
How can they live in such blissful ignorance?

Awful.

2010-01-22T08:34:00.000-08:00

My flatmate found this website the other day.

The company is called Talk It Better.
It's basically a telephone counselling service- call up, unburden yourself, feel better- but with a clever hook.
The hook is, nobody's had any training.
That's their big boast.

They're not "experts" or "people with any idea what they're talking about".
No way, man.
These are just regular Joes and Joannes.

Isn't that better? Wouldn't you prefer that?
And a half hour call costs just £11. A one hour call is £21 and a two hour call is a sensational bargain at £41.

It seems to me to be a particularly grubby example of a baffling recent trend.
The rise of NOT KNOWING WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT BEING THE BEST QUALIFICATION THERE IS.

It's everywhere. From news channels asking us for our videos and emails, to ads consisting solely of deliberately cheap footage of people going "yeah, it's, uh, really good. I'd recommend buying this. Yeah".

It's the geist of the zeit, or the zeit of the geist. Whichever it is.
Anti-Expertism.
Ok. So I don't "know anything". I may not have any "qualifications" or "relevant experience", but speaking as a parent...
And it's sinister.
It's one thing to use this shoddy nonsense to sell car insurance, but it's also become the language of politics (Y'know, we have a lil saying back in Texas....) and all the dreadful pseudo-science that's knocking around (Creationism in schools, "natural" therapies, climate change denial).

If I was going for some counselling, I think I'd feel better about it if the councilor had been on some kind of course. Even if it was just for a long weekend.

But I can see which way the wind is blowing, and am ready to pounce like an entrepreneurial tiger.

If you're suffering from depression, I'm more than willing to chat to you for half an hour for only £9.99.
Get in touch below if you'd like to take advantage of this service.
I promise that I'm in no way qualified to be dealing with your problems. I hope that's encouraging.

Haiti Helping.

2010-01-20T09:35:00.000-08:00

Hello lovelies.

Short notice I know, but if you want to do a little Haiti helping, then an enjoyable way to do it would be to come to the Proud Galleries in Camden TONIGHT, 8pm.

Lots of excellent bands - details here. In an article in the NME. So it must be pretty cool, as well as worthy.

I shall be the host.

Do, do come. Haiti's in a right state, and you can help by having a nice night out.

Monday Rumours.

2010-01-18T05:56:00.000-08:00

Mondays are good days for monging, especially rumour monging.

Nothing in life is quite so pleasurable as starting a completely baseless rumour. Nothing. I implore you to spread some absolute tittle tattle today.

Me? As of today I'll be occasionally claiming that in one of the James Bond books, Bond sleeps with a Chinese guy. I'll probably use the phrase "Bond bonks a Chinaman", in a gleefully un-PC flourish.
If I'm feeling a little puckish, I might even claim that it happens in one of the films. "Which Bond film is it when he bonks that Chinaman?", I'll slur as I spill a bit of my pint on my shoes. "I think it's one of the Roger Moore ones, but when Roger Moore was too old".

As a rule, it's quite funny to refer to "the Bond books", and then pretend to be a little surprised to be reminded that they've turned them into films now.

And Bondwise, why does he wear brogues? Why not trainers? He knows there's going to be running around. If he wants to maintain a smart appearance, why not maybe wear those shoes you get from Clarks that look like "shoes shoes" but have trainer soles?

So, You've Probably Seen This, But...

2010-01-15T09:09:00.000-08:00

Hola, lectors.

Thought I'd reccommend you something for the weekend.

By doing so, I'll be revealing myself to be extremely un-cutting edge, as you'll almost certainly have heard of it ages ago.
What can I say. Despite appearances to the contrary, I'm not very internetty, not very down with the kids, and a little bit older than you probably are.

But never mind. I've only just discovered this, and am now obsessed with it.
If just one of you sees it for the first time, then I've done a good thing.

It's called Wizard People, Dear Readers.
Basically, this cat* has recorded audio commentory of the first Harry Potter film.
And it's remarkable.
Remarkable.
Have a look at it here.
I suggest setting aside enough time to watch the whole thing, and watching every chapter in order.

I can't remember the last time I liked something this much, so I don't care if it's "so two thousand and whenever it was".

Hope you enjoy it, and your weekends, and your treasured memories etc.

Mantingues la classe, la meva lovelies.

*That's "cat" in the beat sense, rather than the feline. He's called Brad Neely and is rather bright.

Ok.

2010-01-14T03:39:00.000-08:00

So, my flatmate challenged me yesterday.
He challenged me to spend an hour a day learning Catalan.

Don't know why. I think he had a hangover or something.

Anyway.

He's now upped the stakes by saying that if I "do well" he'll buy me an easyjet flight to Barcelona.

So I'm quite determined, now.
Quite determined.
I'll be giving this a lash.

At very least, I'd like to learn to say "The human heart is a dangerous country".

I'd sign off by saying "bye!" or "wish me luck!" or "stay classy!" in Catalan, but as of yet I don't speak Catalan.

I'm Outraged.

2010-01-12T07:55:00.000-08:00

Y'know (or maybe you don't) how on gmail, it puts little adverts up that it thinks might interest you?
Tailored to your supposed interests and traits?

Well mine just displayed the following ad-

Mark Knopfler Tickets! Great Stall Seats For The Albert Hall + VIP Blocks For Manchester!

I'm outraged, and not a little hurt.

Maybe you don't loathe Knopfler. Either because you're a gent of a certain age who uses the phrase "driving music" without twitching, or because you're a girl and you really like that one about Romeo And Juliet.

But I do loathe Knopfler. Sultan? Of Swing? Arsehole of Arse more like it.
And I'm hurt that my email activities have singled me out to the megatitan of capitalism that is google as being "ripe for flogging Knopfler tickets to".

Apologies.
I know that wasn't rational.
Sometimes the heart rules the head.

February 5th.

2010-01-11T08:42:00.000-08:00

Sounds a pretty nothingy sort of a day, doesn't it?
I mean, sure, it's the birthday of Robert Peel, Christiano Ronaldo and Russel Grant, but so what? Right?

Well, I can tell you for nothing that you wouldn't be looking quite so slack jawed if you were from the USA.
Any American worth his or her salt would, I'm reliably informed, have sprung out of his or her seat and yelped, "Far Out! Februaury 5th?! That's TOTALLY National Weather Forecasters' Day!".

We don't have National Weather Forecaster's day in the UK. Yet.

I think we should.

As I've said before, weather forecasters are a cracking breed. They can tell you what the weather's going to be like in advance. Which is incredible whichever way you slice your bacon. Also, they're remarkably chipper, and usually well turned out.

They deserve our recognition. So let's get recognising.

This February 5th, please remember your humble weather forecasters.
It doesn't take much.
A warm email to your local forecaster.
Starting chats with "Happy Weather Forecasters' Day".
Things like that.

I'm going to do what I can to raise awareness. I'd love it if you did the same.

Also, if you'll forgive your blogger a moment's sentimentallity, I'd like to dedicate this year's NWFD to the late George Cowling.

A big thank you to Vickey Howell for flagging up the true significance of February 5th.

This Marriage/Tax Business.

2010-01-07T08:57:00.000-08:00

I'm a bit on the baffled side, because Cameron (bookies' choice for next PM) seems very keen on giving tax breaks to people if they're married.
This is at a time when there's rather a large budget deficit- I know because he's told me so. Budgets are going to be squeezed across the board. Money will be tighter than we've ever known.
But Cameron is very keen on giving tax breaks to anyone who gets married.

This is because he wants everyone to get married.
Everyone.
And it's a priority. "We'll find the damn money. This matters. I want everyone to get married".

First of all- and this should be read in a shrill, nasal, New York Jewish accent- What is he, my Mother?

Secondly, doesn't it seem just a little fucking harsh, David?

I mean, I'm not married.
It's not my fault.
I don't go around willfully dodging proposals like Bertie Wooster, cocking a snoot at the institution.
I've just never had the pleasure. It's never quite come up.

Now, some of my friends have got married.
By and large, they seem very happy indeed.
We've had big parties to celebrate.
In fact, I've had to buy them presents to celebrate the fact that they're happier than I am. Usually things like dinner services, as if to say, "Oh no, I can't have you eating of chipped, mismatched plates like I do. You're happy".
I was absolutely fine with that, happy to do it. It felt good to know that as I hacked away at my still largely frozen lasagna for one, they were staring lovingly into each others' eyes and dining from tasteful earthenware plates.
That was fine.
But I'm not sure I want to start earmarking a chunk of my taxes for them.
I mean, they're nice and all.
But they're not schools. They're not hospitals. They're not social workers. They're not the police. They're not pensioners.
Those are the sorts of things I'd like my tax money to go towards, thank you.
Not just taking a little off some of my friends' tax bills on the grounds that they have found their soulmates and are living in blissful union, and so are probably due some financial reward.

By way of justification, Cameron and his mob talk about how married people and their children are much more likely to contribute positively to the country than non-married people and their bastard offspring.
Perhaps, David. Perhaps. I'm sure this can even be statistically demonstrated. But I wonder, did anyone ever talk you through that melon scratcher about the chicken and the egg? Y'know, trying to work out which came first? The statement, "Happy, successful, well-adjusted people are more likely to get married" sounds pretty convincing too, doesn't it?
I mean, I'm sure that people who went to Eton contribute more to society than those who didn't. I'm sure you could prove that statistically too. Tax breaks for people who went to Eton?
I'm sure you take my point.

If you really want to spend money on tackling social breakdown and the like, I'm sure it can be better achieved than by paying people to get married.

I don't quite buy the idea that marriage is some sort of horrible pill that needs to be sugared at the tax payers' expense.
Because anybody who gets married for tax reasons probably shouldn't. Realistically you'd just giving money to people who want to get married, and would have done anyway. Which makes things extra lovely for them, but seems rather tough on those of us handing over the cash.

Of course, another of my new years' resolutions is-
HAVE GRAND LOVE AFFAIR LEADING TO MARRIAGE, TO STAVE OF FEAR OF DYING ALONE AND UNLOVED, AND TO TAKE THE EDGE OFF TAX BILLS.

I Resolve...

2010-01-06T06:01:00.000-08:00

....that in 2010, during chats, unless there's an explicit reason why I need to be doing something else with my hands (I'm cooking, operating a machine, in court swearing on a Bible) I will furtively make pencil sketches of whomsoever I'm chatting with.

The sketch will then be presented to them at the end of the chat. A keepsake, if you will.

Of course, my utter lack of ability will lend my sketches an almost hurtful quality, but that can't be helped.

If nothing else, it might help people learn to be less thin-skinned.

Tomorrow, I resolve to blog about my incredulity at all this "tax cuts for married people" business.

Good afternoon.

Let's Do Some More Resolving!

2010-01-04T02:30:00.000-08:00

How else do I plan to shake things up in 2010?
Like this.

MAKE BETTER USE OF AWKWARD PAUSES.

Life is full of awkward pauses. I don't have too much of a problem with them- I have a zen streak that lets me coast through them without too much bother- but I understand that lots of people dislike them intensely.
Well, we're never going to get rid of them. The world is as it is. Every so often conversation will dry up. We can't change that fact, but we can change the way we deal with it.
Next time there's an awkward pause, I'm going to make sure I make the best of it.

I could seize the time for admin. Each awkward pause could be a burst of efficiency. Floundering in a party near the nibbles, locked in eye contact with a tongue tied acquaintance? Whip out your receipts and sort through them. Get the old iphone out and shop around for the best deal on household utilities.

Alternatively, I could take the opportunity to say something really odd.
A childish pleasure, perhaps, but one I find utterly irresistible.
A pause, a lengthening pause, a noticeably difficult pause, and then BLAM!
"I am big news".
See where the conversation goes from there!
Things like that. Things like that amuse me.

Of course, I could just be humanitarian about it, reach out and gently hold my conversation partner's face, and whisper "It's ok. The chat's going ok. We'll get through this bit".
That would perhaps be the kindest thing to do.

Welcome, Welcome.

2010-01-03T03:59:00.000-08:00

It's 2010, I'm grasping the nettle and realising that the reason flying cars haven't been invented is that they wouldn't be very useful, and I have a renewed appetite for the blogged word.

In the time honoured tradition, I'm going to begin the year with a series of lofty resolutions for self improvement.

Starting with-

MAKE MORE SNAP JUDGEMENTS ABOUT PEOPLE, BUT TRY TO MAKE THEM REALLY INTERESTING ONES.

Like everyone else, I make snap judgements about people.
I don't think this is any bad thing, really. People who say they object to snap judgements are really just saying "Help! I'm bad at chats!".
But I am aware that my snap judgements tend to be a bit on the dull side.
I almost exclusively jump to the conclusion that people are lovely.
"Have I met so and so? Yes I have! She's lovely".
What do I even mean by this? I suppose I mean that during my brief meeting with this new person, they didn't get up to any completely unacceptable behaviour.
"Oh yes she's lovely. I met her at Nick's party. She didn't spit on the carpet once. And she wasn't racist, and there was no shoving. Lovely".
I mean, come on! I can do better than that!
This year, when I make my snap judgements, I'm going to go out of my way to make them interesting. I'm going to focus all my powers of deduction, and pick up on some small detail of their behaviour and use it to paint a lurid picture of them in my mind.
For example, if someone drinks a cup of coffee during our first meeting, I'll think to myself, "Oh ho ho ho. What have we here? Coffee drinker. Little girl lost wants to mix it in the big bad world. Little fishy wants to swim with the sharks. Wants to sip her coffee and nod her head and sound important, but all the while she's that scared little girl from Scunthorpe with Minnie Mouse pyjamas and too thick spectacles. She's a fraud. A quivering, scared fraud".
See? Or if someone glances at their watch a little too often, I'll assume their involved in a blackmail scam "up to their pretty little neck".

There's a risk I'll get a few things wrong along the way. But I'll be happy. And that's the main thing from my point of view.

I Would Like It If...

2009-12-14T10:11:00.001-08:00

...next year Bob Dylan released an album of Bond themes.
It would be great for Christmas.
Just imagine ol' sandpaper and glue getting stuck into Goldfinger.
Lovely.
Nobody Does It Better?
Goosebumps time.

That's all you're getting today because I have to get up at five, have a slight cold and possible concussion.

(I don't think I have concussion).

Quick Game.

2009-12-10T08:24:00.000-08:00

A quick game for you to play this evening:

"Pretend Not To Understand A Word Australians Say".
It's as easy as it sounds.
Claim to find their accent impenetrable.
Keep 'em repeating things.

Even if you don't meet any Aussies today, you can still join in the fun eg insist on rewinding that Nicole Kidman dvd over and over again until you get the gist of each scene.

This game is especially fun to play if you are yourself Australian.

The World's Not Right.

2009-12-09T06:46:00.001-08:00

Ok.
Back me up on this.

If I went down to an airport, yeah, and I went onto the runway, yeah, and I smeared the front of an aeroplane with jam to make it look like the aeroplane had jam all over its face- that wouldn't cause an accident, would it?
It would be fine, yeah?
It wouldn't cause a plane crash, would it?
It wouldn't bugger up the aerodynamics and cause a plane crash.
It would be fine!
Planes get more dirt than that on them, just from flying around! All that grit, and the pollution in the air! A bit of jam is nothing!

It would be fine!

And yet.
And yet.

If I did that I know for a fact that I'd get arrested.
Definitely.
I'd possibly even be looking at jail time.

That's not right, is it?
A perfectly harmless bit of fun, making a plane look like it's got jam all over its face, and they'd lock me up for it.

That's not right.
The world's not right.

Afternoon.

2009-12-07T08:40:00.000-08:00

Just to let you know, I'll be starting this nonsense again shortly.

Um.

Hello.

Apologies.

2009-11-30T06:24:00.000-08:00

Sincerest apologies.
I haven't done this in, oh, days and days and days.

This is just a simple note to say that I will be back, and soon, and stronger than you can possibly imagine.

I hope you're all as wonderful as I assume.

Today...

2009-11-20T05:30:00.001-08:00

...I'm spending an entire day putting things in boxes.

(And occasionally doing things like having a coffee or writing a blog).

In my head, I know that boxes of books are heavy.
I've moved lots of times, and I've learned this from experience.

If you fill a large cardboard box with books, it gets very heavy.

I know this.

But.

Nothing can prepare you for how shockingly heavy a box of books really is.

Books are such wussy items. They can't be super heavy, right? Wrong.
They are super heavy. Infinitely heavier than things like TVs and stereos.
But with things like TVs you're allowed to sort of go, "Oh, the TV, that'll be a big job. Let's get hold of this, one at either end. 1,2,3, hup!", even though they don't weight a great deal.
For some reason, if you bought it at Dixons, it gets a lot of "heaviness respect".
Not so with boxes of books.
With boxes of books, you have to sort of "suck it up" and "man up" and go "It's ok, I've got it" as tears stream down your face.

What I'm saying is- and I don't know whether I've been entirely clear on this - boxes of books are really heavy, and carrying them to and from a van is probably the worst thing about moving.

I wonder at what point I came to the conclusion that I needed to share that with the world?
I wonder at what point I decided that this sort of behaviour was fine?

10 Phrases I Like Hearing But Don't Hear Very Often.

2009-11-19T09:02:00.000-08:00

1. Fur Coat No Knickers.
2. Spit And Sawdust.
3. Spit And Sawdust- Only Without The Bladdy Sawdust!
4. No Better Than I Ought To Be.
5. Do As I Say Not As I Do.
6. He/She Is All Talk No Trousers.
7. It's Not The Cough That Carries You Off, It's The Coffin They Carry You Off In.
8. He/She Is "Touched".
9. I Don't Want To Teach My Grandmother How To Suck Eggs.
10. He/She Is All Potatoes, No Pan.

The last one is a fabrication, but sounds utterly plausible.

Those phrases are, incidentally, ranked in order of how much I like them.

I'm going to sit here for a little while, drinking my Kenco, wondering how the hell "I Don't Want To Teach My Grandmother How To Suck Eggs" became a phrase.

Good afternoon? Hope so. Hope so.

What I Think About Rupert Murdoch.

2009-11-18T04:14:00.000-08:00

Rupert Murdoch seems to be getting a lot of attention lately.
I'm going to tell you what I think about him, in the hope that Paxman or someone acccidentally reads it and I eventually get to go on Newsnight as some sort of leftfield pundit.
If it occasionally comes across as serious, so be it. That's the way you have to roll on Newsnight.

Right? Right.

What with Rupert Murdoch being a big bastard and everything, it's easy to enjoy the kicking he's getting in enlightened corners of the press and internet at the moment.
He's decided he wants to start charging for all his websites, and keeps threatening to do things like "pull out of Google".
Which is, of course, mental.
If you run a website, "pulling out of Google" is surely a bit like a jellyfish "pulling out of the sea".
He has, of course, been called a mad/greedy old bastard who doesn't understand the modern world.

In a way, I feel a bit sorry for him.
Being able to charge for the fruits of your labour is, after all, fair enough. Isn't it?

Once you can get something for free, you inevitably start to feel like you deserve to get it for free. It's your right to get it for free.
So once you've read a newspaper online for nothing, you feel pretty cross with the idea that you might have to start paying for it.
The same applies with music- Lily Allen got absolutely pilloried earlier this year for suggesting that young/struggling musicians are getting ripped off by the fact that people don't pay them for their music anymore. And to be honest, I've never heard a convincing argument that against that. People splutter things like "Yeah, but, like, I go to more gigs than non-music-downloaders, so, if you think about it, err, I should be encouraged", or "Rock stars have swimming pools". But nothing very convincing*.

But what are you going to do? Scrap the internet? Burn laptops in townsquares?
Why of course not.
What you have to do is think cleverly.
Think of a new way of generating income that means people get paid for their work.

In terms of music, a service like Spotify looks like a pretty good stab at it. We'll see how that works out, but it looks like a good effort to me. Clever.
In terms of news etc, Murdoch's neck of the woods, he's got a bit of a problem.

Because when you coldly look at the facts, you come to a conclusion that Murdoch is absolutely, ideologically, maybe even pathologically opposed to.

Ahem.

In a world where advertising revenues have collapsed and are unlikely to ever fully recover, and subscription models are likely to be technologically flimsy (not to mention wildly unpopular), the obvious conclusion is this- the licence fee is a really good idea.

A reasonable fee is charged to all the users, to create a fund. This fund is used to create "content" (that's the world's worst word, I'm sorry). An independent body scrutinises this content to make sure that it's of the highest quality and is politically impartial.

What a brilliant idea!

And so the BBC glides into the brave new world of scary new media pressures like some sort of brilliant swan.
And Murdoch gets angry.

To understand why he gets so angry, you have to understand what he wants, what he considers important about the media.
Let's take a typical Murdoch whine- "The Angling Magazine Website". I think it's an example his son used in bashing the BBC.

The BBC decide it's a good idea to start an Angling Magazine website.
They use a chunk of their money to set one up- they pay knowledgable Angling journalists to write about the joys of Angling. Anglers then read these articles on their little computers, free of charge.
Awful! Splutters Murdoch (or his son or whoever). That squashes private enterprise. That stops a businessman from opening a similar website, because he can't compete. He can't pay the journalists that sort of money -advertising won't support the site, so he might have to start charging to read it (some sort of "paywall" perhaps?) and how can he do that if the BBC is giving the stuff away?

Who loses in that situation? The Angler? Nope. He can read his little articles on his little computer before heading out for an Angle. And for free! (He is, of course, a licence fee payer, but aside from that....)
The journalists? Nope. They're getting paid a decent wage for writing their niche little articles.
So...

We can see what Murdoch hates about the licence fee, and what he considers the most important thing about the media.
He's not thinking about the people who make the "content" (urgh, sorry), or the people who "consume" the "content" (urgh, urgh, sorry, sorry).
He's only thinking about the ability of businessmen- tycoons, moguls etc- to make money out of it.
That is, and always has been, his only concern.

The frightening thing is, his buddy boys are about to form a government.
And they're of the same irrational, ideological bent as he is.
And they've got their sleeves all rolled up, ready to give the BBC a punch in the adam's apple.

Brace yourselves.

*I'm not being preachy, I've downloaded music illegally too. I'm just saying that getting indignant about our right to nick things doesn't make it any more justified.

Apologies.

2009-11-17T06:14:00.000-08:00

I've been neglecting you, haven't I?
As I say, apologies.

I'm moving, you see (did I mention that? I'm moving), and I keep getting busy/stressed/messed around, and find myself not bothering with writing the old blog.

Also this week-

The Western Mail published its list of Wales' 50 Sexiest Men.
For the twenty-eighth year running I was unplaced.
As well as being deemed less sexy than people like Jamie Roberts, Steve Jones and Nicky Wire, I am less sexy than Huw Lewis, the Welsh Assembley Member for Merthyr Tydfil and Rhymney.
Here he is talking.

I have coped with this kick in the self-esteem nuts by getting an unusually sensible haircut, and ordering thirty quid's worth of cardboard boxes off the internet.

We all react to things differently, I suppose.
Most Welshmen probably didn't even notice that they'd been snubbed, yet alone freak out and over order cardboard boxes.

Anyway. Hope your weeks have been good. I'll leave you with some wonderful slang that's been brought to my attention.

Long- adj. - Rubbish, boring. "Oh man, moving house is long". "Tsk. Lord Of The Rings is really long, man". "School is well long". "Huw Lewis AM's video biography is long".

I like that a lot.

I'm Moving...

2009-11-12T04:24:00.000-08:00

...in just over a week.

I'm now at the stage where everything I do takes on a sentimental weight of significance.

"Ah, taking the bin bag out. How many more times will I take a bin bag out, and throw it in this big wheelie bin?"
"Oh, microwave. I think I'll miss you most of all".

I need to get through it, and move onto the ruthless "My God, I can't wait till I'm out of here and living like a Prince in Finsbury Park" stage.

Then life will be mine for the taking.

Every time I move, I hope that my new flat will somehow morph me into a hustling, on-the-make go-getter.
I'm always stunned to find, even after a few days of being at my new address, that my personality hasn't altered.

Maybe this time.
Maybe this time.

My Weekend...

2009-11-10T07:43:00.000-08:00

...involved going to Glasgow, to go to the Scottish BAFTAs.

We didn't win of course.

Our show was a Scottish production, filmed in Scotland by Scots, but unless you were local and recognised locations I'm sure you'd never have known it. It was probably one of the least Scottish programmes ever seen. And we were up against a show about Rabbie Burns, Rab C Nesbitt, and an interview with The Big Yin. The room went very quiet when our clip was played....
(Rab C Nesbitt won. I think it's a wonderful show, so that made me happy).

The best thing about the whole affair was that it took place in the Glasgow Science Centre, which is one of those places you get these days where you can go and learn about science in a hands on way. So after we'd sat through the ceremony (long, in all honesty. There, I've said it.) we got to strut around with our little bottles of beer looking at optical illusions and having the principle behind aeroplane wings demonstrated to us with ping pong balls.

Also, I got to have an after dinner chocolate in the shape of a BAFTA.

And I got a free Tunnocks.

Tunnocks is like a Kit-Kat only nicer, not to do with Nestle, and mainly aimed at Scottish people.

Div.

2009-11-06T08:47:00.000-08:00

That's probably my big, catch-all shortcoming.

Div.

Div-boy.

Silly little Div, much of the time.

Flapping about the place, hobbling from mini-crisis to cock-up to faux pas.

Quite good at dolling out advice, very bad at actual behaviour.

But never mind.

If this week's taught me anything, it's that shortcomings are generally no big deal.
Everybody's got them, and whilst it would be nice to iron them out, if they don't kill you or maim you then they're not causing too much trouble.

Have nice weekends. Mine is going to feature televised sport, a long train journey with my friend Stefan, and going on a Glaswegian red carpet.

I'm Aware....

2009-11-05T08:22:00.001-08:00

...that focusing so unrelentingly on my shortcomings might be making me look a bit, well, bad.

So I'll freshen things up for today's shortcoming.

If I'm completely honest with myself, I have to admit that I'm a good looking rebel who plays by his own rules.

It's tiresome, and it's tiresome for those around me, but that's the way it is.

I guess some cats just weren't made to dance when the man plays the polka on his conformity violin, y'know?

I wish I could do something about it, but hey ho. Don't judge me too harshly, I beg of you.

Fear Of Looking Keen.

2009-11-04T08:30:00.000-08:00

Isn't that a terrible thing?

I hate being early for things, in case it makes me look keen.
And I pretend to remember things/people/events less clearly than I do, in case I look too keen.
Do I want to go and do x, y or z? Sure, like, yeah. Ok. I mean, I'm not super keen or anything, but yeah. That'd be ok.

What awful behaviour.

From now on I'm going to sprint across crowded rooms and say, "Hey buddy! We met briefly at a house party once! Remember? You work in finance, yeah? Yeah! I remember!".
If I'm early to meet someone, there'll be no more mumbling, "Hey, that's no problem, I just got here myself. Drink?" From now on it's "Hey! I got here ten minutes early because I'm so excited to see you! Let's get you a drink and let's get chitty chatting!".

At worst I'll over compensate for a few months and come across a bit Ned Flanders. But even that would be an improvement, wouldn't it?

What the Jimmy Hill is wrong with being keen?
Nothing at all.
Nothing. At. All.

The Most Commonly Shared Shortcoming There Is.

2009-11-03T05:54:00.000-08:00

Laziness.

Of course.

Laziness.

If people don't force me to do things, I usually don't.

It's awful. Especially as people don't force me to do things nearly often enough.

Isn't that a terrible thing? In a world of beautiful opportunity? When life is so fleeting? Isn't it terrible to sit, expressionless, staring at whichever patch of wall I happen to be facing?

There are lots of things I love to do.

Whenever I can muster the emotional energy to break my cursed inertia I always have a nice time.

But unless I take conscious, evasive action, I will just sit. Sit and fester.

I don't like sitting, or festering.

Awful.

And I know you're almost certainly the same.

(Some people aren't, of course. Some people are wonderfully active little balls of energy, who say things like "I just can't stay still", "I just don't know how to switch off, that's my trouble!". I adore and envy these people).

Another shortcoming tomorrow.

This week...

2009-11-02T03:22:00.001-08:00

...I'm going to admit to some shortcomings.

One a day. In no particular order, and for no particular reason.
I'm not sure why, really. I suppose if I admit them, they might go away. Or get smaller. Or I might stop minding about them.

So. Let's get the inadequacy ball rolling.

I don't know anything at all about classical music.

I know, I know. This is coming from a boy with grade two violin and grade three piano. But I don't.

I can't even recognise the really famous ones (pieces? ditties? tunes? I think I'll just call them "ones"). Apart from Beethoven's Fifth. And the "Hallelujah Chorus". And even then it's only because it's got lyrics, and I'm not 100% sure who wrote it. I certainly couldn't recognise any of the "Hallelujah Verses".

I'm sure it's brilliant. If it wasn't brilliant, it wouldn't have taken off as well as it has. And it does sound nice. Calm etc. But I just don't have a clue about it.

I don't know why.

Maybe it's because there are usually no lyrics. Lyrics are sort of like the pictures in ordinary songs.
Maybe it's because it's so long.
Maybe it's because it's a bit posh. Don't deny it- it is posh. If it wasn't posh then there wouldn't be allocated seating, and you'd be allowed to wander to the bar, and dancing would be perfectly acceptable.

Anyway. I feel like a toddler whenever the subject comes up.

I don't like being ignorant about things (and I hate it when people try and wear ignorance as a badge of pride), but I am. I'm totally ignorant on this.

I suppose I need some Henry Higgins figure (perhaps a lady Cellist) to take me under their wing and educate me on this. But the crushingly sad truth is, I'm not sure if I would be bothered.

What a shortcoming.

AA Gill.

2009-10-27T02:23:00.000-07:00

Like everyone, I'm pretty shocked.
I just watched the press conference where AA Gill publicly admitted, after some weeks of mounting speculation, that he isn't a person at all. He's a hoax.

"It's time to come clean. I'm entirely fictional" he announced to the world's press. "I'm actually written by satirist Chris Morris. I'm an extremely caustic critique of modern journalism and the middle class incarnation of the cult of celebrity or something. I don't really understand it myself, you'd have to ask Chris".

Gill was thrust into the limelight this weekend when he wrote an article describing the time he shot a Baboon "to get a sense of what it might be like to kill someone, a stranger". This article was then published in a newspaper, even though it wasn't information or analysis of current affairs or anything like that.

"Perhaps this was a step too far", he mused. "I mean, some guy braying about shooting a Baboon? In the paper? Like, a proper paper, not one with tits. I mean, really? We were bound to get rumbled I suppose".

He confessed that he was "pleasantly surprised" to have got away with it for as long as he did.
"I thought people would be suspicious from the off. I mean, claiming that Saying Whether Or Not Your Dinner Was Nice is your full time job is a fairly audacious start point".

The spotlight will now inevitably fall on other people who claim that Saying Whether Or Not Their Dinner Was Nice is their full time job. Michael Winner is widely tipped to be next to admit that he is a hoax.

I'm shocked, but I can't say I'm surprised.

Game Time.

2009-10-22T02:57:00.000-07:00

Let's play a game, lovelies.

For the next 48hrs, if anyone says the phrase "the thin end of the wedge" to you, you have to smile, ruffle their hair, say "I just can't stay furious with you!" and hand them all the coins you have on your person.

Hopefully it will be a boss, policeman, ex-lover or drunk.
Someone like that.
A "fun time" person.

Come on!
Games are fun!

Every Now And Then...

2009-10-20T07:37:00.000-07:00

...some issue pops up and you're supposed to have an opinion on it, even though it's really hard.
It's such a hard and complex issue, that it's generated a lot of debate.
You might think that we'd all take this complex and sprawling debate to mean that the issue is probably too hard and complex for us, and that it's alright not to have a firm opinion on it.
Far from it.
The more complex and sprawling the debate, the more we feel obliged to adopt a definite position on it. Because we know the score, actually. We know exactly what's what. Yeah? We've, like, read a newspaper article on it, and, like, we've got to the bottom of things. Yeah?

Usually it's about things like hard science. Stem cells and the such.
Or about complicated admin, like "first past the post versus proportional representation".That sort of carry on.
The most recent one is about the BNP.

The BNP are a nasty group of racists, who've got together to form a political party.
Recently, they've done alarmingly well.
They've done well in local and European elections, that sort of thing.
Not as well as their equivalent parties in many countries, but still alarmingly well.

Now.

The BBC has got a programme called Question Time.
Question Time is about an old man getting some politicians (and a "wildcard", usually a journalist or a comedian over forty) to sit in a row and answer questions from a studio audience. They travel the country, letting studio audiences nationwide grill these political heavyweights on the issues of the day.

Now.

Because the BNP have done so well of late, the BBC says it's obliged to let their leader make an appearance on the show.
Not to do so, they argue, would be to editorialise. To breach their all important, constitutional impartiality. They cannot play favourites, they argue. The electorate has spoken, and they must treat the BNP just as they treat any other minor party.

This has got lots of people upset.
Understandably.
Televising a racist just doesn't seem right.
Letting him sit next to a Lib Dem and shoot his mouth off as if he's some sort of "person worth listening to" is a pretty hideous prospect.
He'll sit there scoring cheap shots, say the critics, getting an illusory respectability from the fact he's on TV.

But what about free speech? Say others. We may abhor what he says, doesn't he have the right to say it?

Sure, comes the reply. But he doesn't have the right to do it on TV. Why extend the invitation to him? Why give him a platform for his filth?

Ah, but who's to say what's filth and what isn't? Shouldn't we win the argument, rather than censor it?

Yeah, but, y'know, it's the fucking BNP!

These are the arguments.
I don't know what's correct.
It's too hard.

I've been trying to work out my position on the matter and I just can't.

Thinking about it has made me realise one thing.

I think I hate Question Time.
I know. I know.
Everyone's supposed to think it's great.
It's supposed to be a wonderful piece of democracy in action, a crown jewel of British broadcasting, yeah yeah yeah.

It winds me up.

The politicians are always stupid. The questioners are always stupid. The questions are always stupid, and never answered. There's always someone like John Sessions in his smartest clothes. When people say stupid, uninformed things, it's "ok" if they get a clap. A clap counts as a point scored, even if what they've said is clearly, evidently the braying of a thicky thicky.

I think the only way Question Time could be rescued as a format would be for me to come out at the end of every show, slap each of the panel and audience one at a time, and then slowly and calmly sum up why everything they've been saying is utterly stupid.
They could invite whoever they want on then.
It wouldn't matter.
It would be fine.

I'd be good at that job.
I've, like, read newspapers and stuff, and like, y'know, got to the bottom of things.
I'd sort it all out.

A Ray Of Pleasant Sunshine.

2009-10-19T06:14:00.000-07:00

After a weekend of having my phone stolen (two in two months! Boom!) and house hunting in the near arctic gloom, a little gem of good news has bounced my way.

COWARDS is up for a Scottish BAFTA.
This will surprise many people, not least because none of us are Scottish.
It was, however, a Scottish production, with a Scottish crew, filmed in and around Glasgow. Lots of splendid Scots worked splendidly hard on it.

I expect a far more obviously Scottish show will win, but it's nice to be considered.

I hope you're all having lovely mondays, are even more attractive than usual, and are forcing involuntary gasps from colleages .

Righteous Twanger.

2009-10-16T06:35:00.001-07:00

For years, rabid uppity right wingers have kicked off everytime they've been offended. Or everytime they've heard about something second hand that they think would probably offend them. Or, more recently, everytime they've heard about something they think would probably offend them, looked it up on youtube, and subsequently been offended by it.

They've written their letters.
They've created their media storms.
And they've had a bloody good time.

And foppish lefty types like me did nothing but tut.

But all that seems to be changing.

Because foppish lefty types have something very powerful on their side-
Foppish lefty types actually get, and even like, Twitter.

So when a "journalist" (note my devastating use of "") like Jan Moir writes a piece of poisonous, scarcely veiled evil for the Daily Mail claiming that there was "nothing natural" about the death of Stephen Gately because, er, he was gay, and, er, had been out that evening, she doesn't get away with it.
Nope.
Within minutes, thousands of people know about it and thousands of people are angry about it.

Thanks to Twitter, "us lot" can complain too.
And we can do it better, faster, and with a modicum of rationality behind what we're saying.
Dig?

As I type this, I'm trying to log onto the PCC website. It's crashed. Fry, Brooker et al have mobilised the angry and the website just can't cope.
Surely, rightly, this can become a bigger story than Jonathan Ross and Russel Brand being mean to Andrew Sachs.

Look out, Daily Mail.
You're being watched.
And every time you print this sort of evil, we're gonna get you.
We're gonna get you with our RIGHTEOUS TWANGER.

Some Gushing.

2009-10-15T02:19:00.001-07:00

Now. I'm not really much of a gusher, I don't think.
And I'm certainly not one of these people who gets all quivvery and divvy about Pixar's "latest classic"s.
But.
Last night I saw UP.
And oh my sweet lord.

It's a fantastic film.
Genuinely, staggeringly good.
Anyone who ever wants to make a film, or a tv show, or even a sandwich should be forced to watch it over and over again.

It's got none of the "Hey! A celebrity cameo!", "Hey! A joke for the Dads!", "Hey! This animal is like waaaay ethnic!" smug attempts at postmodern-ness or grownup-ness that so often blight these cgi films.
It's a funny, touching, brilliantly told story.

I kept welling up with tears under my 3D specs.

(The 3D specs you get these days are BRILLIANT by the way. I was expecting those red and green efforts that Biff's henchman used to wear all the time in Back To The Future. Instead I was given a pair of Woody Allen glasses, with a strange futuristic tint to the lenses. BRILLIANT).

If you haven't already, rush along to see it.
It's a DOOZY, which isn't a word I use likely.

If you don't like it, you're probably some sort of emotionally stunted Idi Amin figure.

Grey.

2009-10-14T06:43:00.000-07:00

It's so dark and grey in London today that I've had the light on since about 2pm.
Which is appalling.
I understand that the planet has to do it's thing, solarsystemwise, but this really won't do.
And it's only going to get worse.

Surely we could come to some sort of arrangement with Australia and a large mirror?

10 Ways To Make Gordon Brown More Popular.

2009-10-13T04:56:00.000-07:00

Poor old Gordon Brown. I don't like seeing him like this. I think it's because I don't like seeing a man that fat who doesn't look jolly- it offends my sense of the natural order. He constantly looks on the brink of tears. I get the impression he probably spends quite a lot of time mooching around Cameron's facebook page.

So I've come up with a quick ten ways to make him more popular. If he was more popular, he'd be happier. Call him shallow if you want, but we all want to be liked.

1. Ditch the suit. Get leathers. (Also, would it kill you to chew gum? It would give you something to do with your mouth).
2. Get a tattoo. Doesn't have to be faddish or trendy, it can be something genuinely personal. Like "Presbyterian Sense Of Social Justice" in Sanskrit.
3. Cameron seems to have wrung quite a lot of publicity out of riding a bike. Up the ante. Get a pogo stick.
4. "Accidentally" leak a staged photo of yourself wrestling a bear on holiday. It'll offend a few people like Joanna Lumley, but the rest of us will respect it.
5. End all letters, phone calls, dispatches and chats with "Kisses, Gordy".
6. Keep pretending to forget Cameron's name. It's a powerplay Gordon. Imagine how he'd take to being referred to as "your man" or "you know him, quiffy guy", especially in a televised debate.
7. Switch Britain from person years to dog years. People will be delighted to discover they're suddenly entitled to retire! (Countdown for them tomorrow!). And children will be over the moon about being allowed to smoke (at long last!).
8. All Labour MPs to wear capes.
9. It's time Big Ben went digital. What a legacy! Imagine it! A great Casio in the sky! Tourists gathering underneath on the hour to hear the famous "beep"!
10. Put the old glass eye on a spring. More goggly. Lighten things up.

Lists of ten things really get my motor running.

10 Historical Re-enactments Using Animals Instead Of People That I'd Like To See.

2009-10-12T01:34:00.000-07:00

In no particular order-

The 1966 Football World Cup Final, using Bulldogs to represent England and Schnauzers to represent West Germany. This would be wonderful. "They think it's all rover. It is now".

Margaret Thatcher's "Where there is discord..." speech, using a Duck. (A brown/female/dowdy one, not a drake).

The Snail Somme.

The Beatles' famous "gig on the roof" using Giraffes. Imagine a Giraffe on a roof! Imagine the height!

An underwater version of the Salem witch trials, using Stingrays. Stingrays in wigs? Yes please, cap'n!

The assassination of Julius Caesar using a bunch of Guinea Pigs (murderous Romans) and a Rabbit (Caesar). Rodents in togas. If that doesn't get the kids interested in the ancient world, then I really don't want to contemplate our nation's future.

The episode of Friends that's set entirely in Monica's apartment and Ross is trying to get everyone ready for a black tie function, using Gibbons. I'm not 100% sure if it counts as an historical event, but I'm sure we can all remember where we were when it was first broadcast. I quite wanted to use Shire Horses, but the bit when Joey puts on all of Chandler's clothes because they're fighting over a chair is pretty key, so I thought it would be best to go for animal with "person limbs". So...

The hanging of Peter Anthony Allen, the last man in Britain to be executed, using Shire Horses. They'd be all clumsy looking, which would lighten the mood pleasantly.

The abdication of Edward VIII, using a Slender Loris.

The moment Prehistoric Man discovered fire, thus beginning the march towards civilisation, using some caterpillars in the chrysalis stage which would emerge as beautiful butterflies at the exact moment fire is discovered. See? It would be, like, a metaphor. Yeah? Get it? Yeah?

There we go. A list of ten things. I think I'm ready for a column now.

And The Winner Is.....

2009-10-09T09:28:00.000-07:00

....10 Historical Reinactments Using Animals.

I'll get onto that, and pop it up on Monday. That way you can read whilst drinking Kenco, or whatever it is you do.

In the meantime, I've come up with a new phrase for falling over.
"He went belly over briefcase".

Enjoy your various weekends.

Lists Of Ten Things.

2009-10-08T08:44:00.000-07:00

Lists of ten things are the life blood of journalism.
Without lists of ten things, magazines just wouldn't happen.
(Ten Albums That...., Ten Slimming..., This Season's Ten Most...).
It strikes me that if I want to get anywhere at all in life I'm going to have to start making lists of ten things.

Here are some ideas for lists of ten things.
I'd like you to choose one that you'd like me to write.
Tell me which one, in the comments bit below.
Then I'll write it.

See? Get it? Yeah?

Ok.
You can choose from-

Ten new male grooming tips.

Ten good wedding "first dance" songs.

Ten historical re-enactments using animals instead of people that I'd like to see.

Ten alternative kings/queens.

Ten energy saving tips.

Ten people I’d like to be haunted by.

Ten new Hollywood biopics.

Ten suggested roadtrips.

Ten ways to make a prison term pass quickly.

It's up to you. Just like those telly programmes you get that feature texting.

Gadding About In The Rain.

2009-10-07T07:49:00.000-07:00

I've been gadding about in the rain all day.
Everything from "drizzle" to "driving".

There are obvious downsides to this, but there are some positives too.

Getting a really wet face, and feeling like Mouth in his "This was my wish, and I'm taking it back" speech in The Goonies.
Weeping floods of tears with impunity.
The windows of the bus steaming up completely, turning it into a magical mystery tour.
Randomly generated hairstyles, courtesy of dear old mother nature.
Lingering under shop awnings with strangers, and thinking that it must have been what the blitz felt like.
Getting a warm glow of nostalgia (if you grew up in South Wales).

Yep, there's a lot to be said for Rain Gadding.
Frankly, gadding about is always enjoyable. Whatever the weather.
Don't just sit there.
Get out and gad!
Gad!

(There'll be a reward for the first Gary Glitter joke).

Hello Friends!

2009-10-06T09:30:00.000-07:00

Sorry I've not written anything in a while. I've been sort of distracted.
I'm sure you've muddled by without me. You're an emotionally resilient bunch.

Anyway.
I thought I'd throw you a quick "what's the deal with....?".

(Slap bass, please).

What's the deal with The Football League Show on BBC1?
For those who haven't seen in it, it's on after Match Of The Day, and is a round up of the day's action from football's less glamorous leagues.
It's generally a good thing.
It means getting to see things like Leyton Orient and Lee Trundle on the telly.

For some baffling reason, it's filmed on one of the biggest sets ever.
A huge, echoing warehouse.
You could probably house a dozen needy families in it.
All Manish, the presenter, has to do with himself is sit at a little table and ask Steve Claridge what he thinks about West Brom. But he has to keep getting up and going for little walks, just to try and make sense of his cavernous surroundings.

But that's not what I'm asking "what's the deal" about.

They've got a young lady to read out the viewers' emails.
It's her only job.
And they force her to do it in a separate room, all on her own.
There's banks of computer monitors, to suggest that she's doing something staggeringly high tech. But we can see that she's just reading from a print out.
Why can't she come and sit with Manish and Steve?
Is it because she's a girl?
What's the reason for this absurdity? They chat to her and everything, but they have to sort of shout through earpieces and microphones, because she's hidden behind a completely unnecessary wall.
I feel so sorry for the poor girl. She obviously knows loads about football too- she keeps desperately shoe-horning trivia into her links, just to try and prove that she's not some bimbo. She's, like, one of the boys. She can hold her own.
But it doesn't make a difference. She's exiled. She's a second class citizen. She's kept "below stairs".
Poor lamb.
Poor, poor lamb.
What's the deal with that?

Aw, Raspberries.

2009-10-01T09:49:00.000-07:00

I had a very good morning.

I was working like a Scandinavian, really getting things done.

Ever so pleased with myself.

And then I got an email informing me that I'd have to move out of my flat in two months time.

Oooph.

What a kick in the kidneys.

I've only been here since February.

I like it.

Now I'm going to have to start wondering into estate agents and saying "Hello, I'm as poor as a church mouse, would you mind awfully demoralising me a bit?".

Sorry about this whiny little missive. But I'm as sad as a convict. I'm as sad as a convict.

I wish I could just sort of live somewhere.

Is that too much to ask?

Really?

To just sort of live somewhere? Without having to box up all my possessions and get stung for hundreds of pounds every few months?

And why has it come to pass that I only ever move house in the winter months?

Oh, readers. I'm as down as a dowager aunt.

Following On From Yesterday...

2009-09-30T04:04:00.000-07:00

...here are some vaguely 1950s "enemy" words I'm going to start slipping in.
(The opposites of "matey terms").

Just you watch your step, Charlie.
You better watch that mouth of yours, Goosie.
Tough guy.
Pencil neck.
Crumb bum.

And of course, I'll move onto entirely made up ones.

Ok, lunchtime, I think you've had enough.
Ah, shove it maple.
Buzz cut.
High ball.
Cuffs.

Yep. Life's looking pretty good.

Everybody needs interests.

(With thanks to Doogewallah for the suggestion).

Me?

2009-09-29T03:31:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be using far more vaguely 1950s "matey terms" from now on.
That's right.
That's right, pally.
That's right, ol' pal o' mine.
You've got it, sportsfan.
Scout.
Skip.
Buddy boy.
Stretch*.
Cap'n.
Daddio (not sure I'd actually pull that one off, realistically).

I'm hoping that if I do it enough, I'll be able to throw in entirely made up ones of my own and people won't find it odd.
Well, they will find it odd, but no odder than when I normally talk. They'll have got used to tuning out whenever I use a term of endearment ("Just so much white noise", they'll inwardly sigh).

It'll be great.
You'll see, Beef.
It'll be great fun, Feathers.
Absolutely out of sight, huh Mittens?

*A couple of years back I dallied with calling people Stretch if I didn't know their name. It was a wonderful time. I felt really alive then.

Last Night...

2009-09-28T10:50:00.000-07:00

....I had a lovely time in a garden in South London.
The World's Smallest Festival.

Just thought I'd say well done to the organisers and everyone involved.
Nice to see something very unlikely achieved every now and again. Good stuff.

I don't know whether they'll succesfully blag a million pounds, but they've certainly organised something excellent.

It was nice doing stand-up too.
I used to do it all the time. I realised before the show yesterday that I'd only done two gigs since Edinburgh last year.
That's remiss.

I think I might start doing it regularly again. It's good, clean fun.

Don't Go...

2009-09-24T07:47:00.000-07:00

...to the Darwin Centre.
It's rubbish.

You just see a lot of videos of scientists telling you that they put things in drawers.

It was free, which is some consolation. But I came pretty close to demanding that a member of staff gave me a few pounds to make up for my iffy afternoon.

Never mind.

Today I saw two lion cubs. Much more my sort of thing. They were sort of pouncing, that sort of business.

This Afternoon....

2009-09-23T05:29:00.000-07:00

...I'm off to the Natural History Museum with my cousin.
Because that's the way I roll.

We're going to a new bit called the Darwin Centre.

Apparently what happens is you go in and get to spy on scientists as they work.
Like Big Brother! Only in the flesh! And with clever, fulfilled people!
I wish more workplaces ran similar schemes.
I'd love to go to some centre where I could just gawp at a cobbler.

Also, it looks like it's a really futuristic building.
Which means I'll be constantly fighting the temptation to talk in a robot voice.
Which is always fun.

All in all, things are looking pretty darned swishy for me this afternoon.
Pretty, pretty swishy.

What Have You Done With My WIFE?

2009-09-22T06:03:00.001-07:00

I don't know why I found this so funny.
But I did.
So I thought I'd share it.

Problem with that?
Didn't think so.

This is strangely relaxing, actually. Might be useful to play at a low volume to help an insomniac or child fall asleep.

The World's Smallest Festival.

2009-09-19T07:30:00.001-07:00

I'm going to publicise this, because I think it's excellent.

I'm going to take part in "The World's Smallest Festival".
It's in somebody's garden.
Music will come from the Pipettes, The Popsocks and others.
There'll be comedy from Arthur Smith, Ali Cook, Tim Fitzhigham, me, and others.
There'll be a DJ set from Howard "Mr Nice" Marks.

You can only get a ticket by entering a raffle by text.
Text "Blag" to 60777 (which costs £1.50, but hey, think about what you could be in store for).

It's all part of this divvy art stunt/piece of grasping called "Blag a million", where these chaps have given themselves 90 days to try to blag a million pounds.
Good luck to 'em, I say.

I'd like a million pounds too, so I can completely get where they're coming from.

Find out more here.

EDIT: Goodness! This exciting! Like being an old fashioned newspaperman! "Hold the press!".
Anyway. It's been brought to my attention that the link I've given you says the festival was on 09/09/09. (My birthday, irrelevantly). Anyway. They told me it's 27/09/09. Obviously, this is a pickle. I'll investigate and find you the truth asap.
Sorry! L x

Oh!

2009-09-17T08:41:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to share this for a week or so now, but keep forgetting.

When Sir Terry Wogan announced he was retiring from his Radio 2 breakfast show, it generated some unintentionally hilarious front pages.
Because the papers ran photos of Sir Terry Wogan next to serious headlines about serious subjects.
It made it look like dear old Terry was responsible for all sorts of terrible crimes.

This was my personal favourite.

Not the best picture, but you see what I mean.

Made me laugh, anyway.

Urgh.

2009-09-16T07:59:00.000-07:00

I've just heard that Hollywood is going to make an A-Team Movie.

Now, I've been in chats with other boys. Sure I have.
And, sure, those chats have occasionally gone all "Who'd you have in an A-Team Movie?". Sure.
And yeah, we've been all like, "Clooney! Pitt! Like in those Ocean's Movies!". Oh, sure.

But it was only talk.
Nobody really wants to see that happen.

But it is. It is happening.

Not with The Ocean's Gang.
But with Liam Neeson as Hannibal (fair play, I hope he's ok emotions-wise etc) and some guy who does Ultimate Fighting Championships as B.A. Baracus.
For the uninitiated, "UFC" is a bit like wrestling only it's aimed at men who would enjoy putting little animals in blenders if only it was a little more violent and gory.

Actually, maybe that's selling it a little strong.
"UFC" is aimed at men who find that time and time again their choice of weekend activity takes them to the Birmingham N.E.C.

Anyway.

I've got my doubts about this character.
I googled him to learn a little more, and found this creepy little tape.

Urgh!
Dirty boy!
B.A. can't be doing that!
Urgh!

Don't like it.

It's almost as bleak as Hollywood's desperate self-cannibalisation.
How long before we get a summer blockbuster remake of Hanging With Mr Cooper? Or a Tim Burton "re-imagining" of Dude, Where's My Car?

Tsk.

Less Interesting Than Yesterday's Rantings...

2009-09-15T09:07:00.000-07:00

...but very important in my little life.

I just stood in a puddle and it wasn't my fault.

As in- I was walking down a street in the rain, and stood on what looked like a normal paving slab that was actually a wonky paving slab, and found myself ankle deep in a hidden puddle.

I've got disappointed toes.

Thank you for reading.

All This Tosh About Adverts.

2009-09-14T10:07:00.000-07:00

Now then.

Over the last few days a little mini-controversy has exploded, or at least fizzed quietly, on the internet about whether or not doing adverts makes comedians evil/bad/morally bankrupt or not.
It's basically come about because somebody got upset that Mark Watson has made a series of ads for Magners Pear Cider.

Well. As much as I'd like to rise above this sort of carry on, I really feel annoyed by this nonsense and feel the need to stick my oar in.

My basic opinion is this: Of Course Doing An Advert Isn't Evil.

The reasons for this are many, and most have them have been covered already by people like Carl Donnelly and Mark himself- Mark has never claimed to be a capitalism-bashing comic, he does sort of whimsical riffing on everyday nonsense, so how can he be selling out? Comedians have massively insecure incomes, so when someone offers you money it's best to take it and hope that it doesn't run out by the time somebody else decides to give you some more (Mark, for example, has a baby on the way, and his "first duty" is emphatically not "to his audience", it is "to his family")....

But I'll throw in another few points.

Firstly, a comedian endorsing alcohol is about as un-hypocritical as it gets. I'm generalising of course. But a stroll around Edinburgh's Brooks Bar at 3am any night in August will pretty much back me up on that one.
I love the way people who complain about these ads have to try and get all outraged by whatever the product is, regardless of whether or not they'd normally get outraged by it. They teeter rather dangerously on a knack-kneed high horse. The article that started this carry on mumbled something about Magners being "linked to underage drinking" in a desperate attempt to whip up our moral concern. What is this guy, from the Temperance League? "Lips that touch liquor shall never entertain me!".

Ok. So you think that it's bad that Mark "whored" out his talent to sell cider.
Right. Let's see who else is a "big morally crippled sell out agent of evil" for helping to sell cider.
What about the graphic designer who drew up their logo and designed the label for their bottles? Is he a bastard? Should he be using his god given flair for visuals and layouts to peddle cider? Surely he should be out making anti-war murals instead? Or painting chapel ceilings?
And what about the guys who worked on the recipe? Why were they spending all that time making cider taste nicer, just so they could flog more of it, when they could have been making ice-cream? Ice-cream for orphans?
And what about those sell out fruit pickers? Picking apples and pears so that those bastards Magners can sell cider? Why aren't they picking fruit for nice home made jam?
My question is basically this- at what stage does trying to sell the product for financial reward become bastardy? At which point in the manufacturing and marketing process does gainful employment become being a bastard? If the comedian in the ad is on the hook, which of us is off it?

And why is it only the young comedians who really do need the money who get it in the neck for this? Why don't people whine about Stephen Fry's constant endorsements, or Dawn French's efforts to get us through the doors at Tescos?
It seems to me that it's something to do with wanting your favourites to be "cool", in a very narrow conception of the word, ie poor, struggling artists, shivering in their garrets but kept warm by the knowledge that their tiny army of fans loves them very much. I get it. I've felt that way about any number of bands etc, but really, you can't blame someone like Mark for putting his unborn baby before your vague notions of how he should live.

Of course, a lot of this is to do with Bill Hicks.
Bill Hicks was a very, very good comedian. He is also, in a very Kurt Cobain way, fanatically venerated and even (dare I say it!) overrated by his fans on the grounds that he is dead.
He made his name by (brilliantly) lambasting advertising, marketing etc and railing against it's supposed evils. Fine. But for some people this has become the very definition of what a stand-up is and should be. It isn't what a stand-up should be. It's just what someone you like used to do.

And while we're on the subject, let's ask ourselves how many packets of Marlboro cigarettes were sold to impressionable sixth formers on the back of Hicks' impassioned pro-smoking stand-up routines? How many cases of cancer were caused? And how much money did he make for the (multi-national, multi-billion dollar, third world buggering, genuinely evil) tobacco companies?
Let's compare that to Mark helping Magners claw back some of their market share versus Bulmers.
Hmm. Quite.

I don't usually write blogs this long, or wade into online debates. But like I say, this has annoyed me. There's a lot of lazy thinking going on, and it just won't do.

So there.

(Also, in this blog, I used the construction "What is this guy, x?". I liked it. I felt like a New York Jew).

Just While I'm Thinking Of It...

2009-09-11T05:40:00.000-07:00

...how good it Man City's away kit?
I think it's their "3rd" kit, officially, and seems to be based on their '70s shirts.

Now, Manchester City mean nothing to me. But look at this! How cool is this? If Mark Hughes sat the squad down at explained that sideburns were "going to be compulsory this term" I wouldn't be any happier.

Anyway. That was me seeing a t-shirt and liking it.

Future blogs will include- me remembering a pie (delicious); me deciding to open a window (a bit stuffy); and me having a slight crick in my neck (I want to know where the word "crick" comes from).

Also, I haven't forgotten about my pledge to put Weather Party footage up. It'll happen. Meanwhile, there's a photo that Lauren Mooney has posted on facebook you can look at/tag yourself in etc. If I was to give it a title, I'd probably go with "Those Still At The WeatherParty At Throwing Out Time Display A Quiet Sense Of Mania". Thank you, Lauren.

Oh, bye!

Ups And Downs

2009-09-10T10:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my birthday, which was nice.
And then some awful bugger stole my phone, which wasn't.

Still.

All experience, I suppose.
All part of life's rich tapestry.

Why is that such a common phrase? How often do you think to yourself, "Y'know what this reminds me of? Tapestry. Really intricate tapestry."?

Anyway.

I get baffled by the ads that google chooses for me.
This one popped up next to my emails earlier. "Wedding Socks: For all your entourage".
I'm not certain what Wedding Socks are, but I am certain that I don't need any.
I prefer this one, which was next to my blog, for making your own solar panels.
I like the fact that they use the phrase "as seen on youtube", as if it's a prestigious guarantee of quality.

Right. I'm off to find some yoghurt pots and string. Try and get my life in order.

Shmautumn.

2009-09-08T11:04:00.001-07:00

It's hotter than heck in London.
I'm off out to loiter.
Loitering RULES.

Autumn? Autumn.

2009-09-07T08:43:00.000-07:00

Well bloody hell.
It's changed season. At the click of some cosmic fingers somewhere in the heavens, it's gone from being muggy-then-sunny-then-underwhelming but certainly summer to being absolutely, unequivocally autumn.

It's frightening, if you let it be.
It's easy to find yourself staring down the barrel of a long, cold barren winter. Constant dark. Cold. Rain. Illness.
All that stuff.
All to come.
Soon.

But we can't live like that, can we?
We're the shiny, happy, 24hour party people.
We don't know the meaning of pissing and moaning. (We do as individual words, what I mean is, we're not grumblers. We're better than that).

All you have to do is get excited about autumn.
As follows.

Autumn smells terrific. It just does.

Walking through fallen leaves is excellent. And if someone is being annoying, and making a great big song and dance about how much they love walking through leaves (because they're oh so alive), and they stand in a hidden dog turd? Well, that's even more excellent.

If you have a grudge against a particular dog or cat (I don't know, maybe they bit/scratched you or something), just remember that they'll be having a pretty torrid time come November 5th. "What's that Fido? Don't like the bangs? Things a little festive for you?".

You look better in coats and hats and scarves than you do in skimpy clothes. Probably*.

British cities are horrible in the summer. The country is great, but the cities are wretched. They just weren't built for heat. People lose their heads. It's an ugly scene.

You can go for a bracing stroll in the park without treading on a barbecue, or losing your sight to a twat's frisbee.

Pints of ale.

Soup.

People's cheeks looking excellent.

Collecting leaves, conkers and acorns to make an "Autumn Display" for your wall.

Also, the march of the seasons means you're hurtling towards the grave ever faster.
Don't let that get you down either!
There's loads of upsides.
For example, the length of time you've known your friends sounds more and more impressive.
"I mean, we've been friends like ten years now".
Sounds pretty good, doesn't it? Beats all that bragging about having known someone for nine years!
And you're ever closer to free bus travel, cheap cruises and choice remarks.

Keep smiling, lovelies.

*If you do look better in skimpy clothes than in layers of winter garb, you've got things pretty much under control and don't need me to cheer you up.

Weather Success!

2009-09-06T06:08:00.001-07:00

One of the weathermen who couldn't make the Buy A Weatherperson A Drink party has sent me a recorded message, like an BAFTA winner or This Is Your Life pal who can't make it.

It's Derek Brockway of BBC Wales.

If you're Welsh, you'll understand why I'm quite so excited.
Derek is a cracking weatherman. A real character, and a national treasure west of the Severn. The sheer amount of time he commits to children's pictures of snowscapes every winter is testament to his ebullient sense of humanity.

Here he is, making some beautifully grandiose claims for the weather party-

Beautiful.

Well.

2009-09-03T05:58:00.000-07:00

That went better than I expected.

People came.

Including two weathermen: affable ex-weatherpresenter Benn and the wonderfully informative and charming Professor Paul Hardaker, Chief Executive of the Royal Meteorological society.

There were badges, really good badges.

And a dog.

And a zombie.

I did a bit of videoing, and will put the footage up here shortly.

There's now a clamour to hold the events on a seasonal basis. It's tempting. With the glowing testimonials of Prof. Hardaker, who know how many weatherpeople we could pack into a pub?

Oh My.

2009-09-02T06:05:00.000-07:00

The Weather Party is today.
Will anyone at all show up?
Will I be staring into the middle distance in a roped off bit of pub, all alone?
My goodness. My goodness me.

It's Tomorrow....

2009-09-01T01:15:00.000-07:00

....don't forget.

Buy A Weatherperson A Drink.
The Old Nick, Holborn, London.
8pm.
In a sort of roped off area.

You come to the pub. There's a weather forecaster. You buy them a drink. You chat about things like "the so called barbecue summer". You put a coin in a pot for UNICEF's climate change campaign.

You mint a shiny new memory.

That's right.

A New Hope....

2009-08-28T13:19:00.000-07:00

I've been pretty down about the weatherpeople party of late.
I've been worried that nobody would come.
"When will I catch a break?" I shouted at the heavens.

And then this evening I received an email.
It's excited me so much that I'm going to unembarrassedly write a blog on a friday night.

(I don't think it's an abuse of privacy to share this with you. It's shared out of genuine excitement, and besides, you're all involved in the weatherpeople party).

Hi Lloyd

Sorry for the delay but I’ve been out of the office on a couple of weeks leave and IO think the office was at a bit of a loss to know what to do with this note. I can say that yours is the most interest email I had waiting in my inbox, and not quite sure what to make of it. But happy to try and help if I can.

We are a bit of a conservative bunch in meteorology and a large proportion of UK meteorologists aren’t based in and around the London area, but I’d be happy to send out your invite and to see what response you have. Will try my best to see if I can get anyone from the Met Office’s London office and the BBC weather centre to come along, and will try to get there myself – if I’m the only one there it sounds like I might end up having to drink quite a bit!

Do you have a time for the event that I can send out with the details.

Paul H.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Professor Paul Hardaker, FRMetS CMet CEnv

Chief Executive, Royal Meteorological Society

How exciting is THAT? He's a PROFESSOR and is THE MAIN ONE at the Royal Meteorological Society.

I am beside myself.

Things are finally looking up for your humble blogger.

Every Now And Then...

2009-08-27T06:28:00.000-07:00

...I see an advert that must, must be pilloried. At once.

I give you the Peugeot 308 Verve.
"Drive Sexy", is the slogan they plumped for.

A car salesman who would very much like to be Ben Affleck loiters in his showroom. He doesn't wear a tie.
An expensive looking Dubai based escort, 38, walks in and announces that she's "looking for something kinda..." (she searches for just the phrase) "drive sexy".
Affleck juts out his chin to indicate arousal. "We have a 308 Verve in your size", he purrs.
She spins to face away from him, and looks back over her shoulder. "Fact me", she chirps.
Affleck strides towards her, all confidence, all man. "We take a regular 308 and we pour on the goodies" he says.
A shot of her legs, all a-tremble.
Affleck oozes a list of "sexy" car features. Like the type of lights it's got.
"Ya da, ya da, ya da" he concludes, with languid sexual aggression. They're both leaning forward to look at the same bit of car (the steering wheel perhaps). Are they going to kiss? She giggles, with the world weary sexual knowledge her years of servicing wealthy business men have afforded her. She floats off to look at the front of the car.
"You give me twelve and half K and we-" he stumbles slightly, a crack in his armoury? No, he's back on top- "And we give you change".
She spins round to look at him again, smiling. The little fly is caught in her web.
"Any other colour than black?" she asks.
"We have noir", replies Affleck. With the blank, hard boiled cool of a Chandler hero.
Peugeot 308 Verve. Drive Sexy.

It's about the most hideous advert I've seen in years.
It's no exaggeration to say that I quite seriously questioned the point of living at all the first time I saw it.
What do they think people are going to think? "Oh hey! I'm an arsehole! I should get one of those!".

Urgh.

Urgh, urgh, urgh.

My Wonderful Colleague...

2009-08-26T05:50:00.000-07:00

...Tim Key has been nominated for the Edinburgh Comedy Award (formerly the Perrier, then the if.commedy award, back in the days when companies had so much money they used to just strut about naming things after themselves).

This is bloody terrific news.

He thoroughly deserves it.

If he wins, it will say something absolutely brilliant about the state of British comedy.

Meanwhile, I'm contemplating a haircut. Always a frightening time for me.

One Of The Tories...

2009-08-25T07:27:00.000-07:00

...has publicly stated that Britain is "a bit like The Wire". Presumably because it's the only way to guarantee coverage in The Guardian. (To have made double certain, he could have said it on Twitter).

I suppose he wants to make Gordon Brown look like bent old Baltimore political hack Clay Davies, and to paint David Cameron as some hard drinking, authority baiting maverick cop McNulty .

That second bit could never work. Never. (Although actor Dominic West is, of course, an old-Etonian like Cameron. For all I know they might have been friends, and indulged in intense bouts of after dark personal development together). Cameron is the least Mcultyish man alive. Imagine him drunkenly banging a lady over the bonnet of a police car. Go on. Try it. You can't, can you?

Politicians should never, ever try to say anything to do with pop culture.

And they should certainly never try to say anything about something cool.

We all know that, if anything, Britain is a bit like The Bill. Before the Bill went "edgy". When it was half hour episodes about two separate shoplifting stories that turned out to be connected right at the end. Britain is a bit like Dick and Dom In Da House. Britain is a bit like The One Show. Britain is a bit like Vernon Kay's Brave Dying Angels Say The Funniest Things*.

And when some Tory says "Britain's a bit like The Wire", I don't think, "Goodness, what a zeitgeisty insight into the plight of Britain's urban poor", I think "Oh, eff off".

Apparently it's the Tory press machine's "Broken Britain week", which will mean a week of engineered stories about how very awful absolutely everyone is, and how uncharming our urchins have become of late. "Broken Britain". Urgh. What a horrible phrase. I suggest digging out the "Crime" and "Decline" episodes of Brasseye, and waiting for them to move onto something else.

*That's a hypothetical one. But you know what I mean.

Something I'm Trying Out.

2009-08-22T07:29:00.000-07:00

I'm far too cheerful for angsting about weatherpeople today. The heck with them. If they come, they come. If they don't- well, like I say. The heck with them.

(If you're a weatherperson reading this- please, do come).

I'm experimenting at the moment with coming across as sexist.
Specifically, coming across as a cold hearted, old fashioned sexist.

I'm not one. Not at all. I just like their speech patterns.

For example, I'm experimenting with saying "in a cheap way" or "in a cheap sort of a way" whenever I praise something or someone.

"She's pretty, in a cheap sort of a way".

You have to say it with icy disdain.
It makes you sound really sexist. Like a sexist in a Graham Greene book.

You don't even have to be talking about a woman. You can say that a restaurant is "cheerful, in a cheap sort of a way" and you'll still sound sexist.
"That guy is almost certainly a sexist", people will think to themselves.

Occasionally, no more than once a day, you can ramp up the effect by adding "I suppose".
"She's pretty, I suppose, in a cheap sort of a way".
Very sexist.

Having these fads/manias is exhausting.
I can't wait til I get sick of this and knock it on the head.
People keep thinking I'm sexist.
I can't wait til I stop it.

Every Night....

2009-08-21T07:42:00.001-07:00

....I light a candle, and place it infront of my framed picture of Peter Cockroft (BBC London weather).

And I hope.

There is little else I can do.

Weatherpeople.

2009-08-19T10:52:00.000-07:00

Well, it seems that an enormous number of Britain's weatherladies are on maternity leave.

And an awful lot of weatherpeople are on holiday (until about the 23rd or 24th).

And I'm getting a steady stream of emails from weatherpeople thanking me for the invitation, informing me that it's a charming idea for an evening, but saying that unfortunately they are unable to attend.

Often they're too busy forecasting and broadcasting.

One weatherperson got confused about what the phrase "have a drink on me" means, and said "have a drink on me" as part of their "I'm not coming" message.

So far the weatherparty looks like having a rather low turnout.

Dark clouds ahead.

Weatherparty: It's On.

2009-08-18T06:35:00.000-07:00

I've done a few of things today.

First I abused twitter so appallingly that lots of people started to dislike me, then found the patronage of several celebrated figures and won a raft of new supporters, then had a chat with John Prescott.

Then I set about SORTING OUT MY WEATHERPARTY.

For those of you who don't know, I've recently developed a mania for wanting to meet weathermen and women.
I just do.
I think they're great.
I'd like to build lasting friendships with a few.

So I decided to organise a "Buy A Weatherperson A Drink" party.

We all go to a pub.
Some weatherpeople show up.
We buy them drinks and chat to them.

(Also, partly because it's a good thing to do, and partly because it makes it sound more acceptable to weatherpeople, I'll be using the occasion to collect money for UNICEF's climate change campaign. So this is for charity, not just my own selfish whims).

Today I emailed a huge number of weatherpeople about it.
A couple have already declined.
Many emails failed.
But I live in hope.
If you organise it, they will come.

Here's where and when it's at-

The Old Nick, Holborn, London.
September 2nd.
From 8pm.

Please come. Please. Meet some weatherpeople.
We'll have a ball.

Hello!

2009-08-17T07:18:00.000-07:00

In the words of a thoroughly discredited troubadour, did you miss me?
Well, it's good to be back.

I've been to Edinburgh, to visit all the lovely buggers at the Fringe Festival.

If any of you have the pleasure over the next couple of weeks (or however long there is left), I can heartily recommend the following (in no particular order)-

Two Episodes of Mash.
Paul Foot.
The Hotel.
The Party.
David O'Doherty.
Superclump.
Nick Mohammed.
Johnny Sweet.
The Umbrella Birds.
Fergus Craig.
Colin Holt.
Anna and Katy.
Will Andrews.

not to mention

Tom Basden: Now That's What I Call Musical Comedy
Stefan Golaszewski Is A Widower
Tim Key: The Slutcracker

All marvelous shows by marvelous people. Apologies if I saw and liked your show but forgot to mention it. I saw loads, and am an absentminded typist.

To keep things interesting, I've also recommended a show that I haven't seen but that I'm sure is splendid.

The oblique reference at the start was to the frankly horrid Gadd.

Gadabout.

2009-08-10T02:09:00.000-07:00

I'm off to Edinburgh to piddle about for a few days.

Brace yourselves, but as a result I might not blog that frequently over the next few days. I know. I know. Sssh. Sssh. It's ok. It's ok. Sssh.

This weekend I got thoroughly freaked out by the news that gangs of teenagers are now wielding snakes. As weapons. The journalist even used the word wield (when someone wields something, it's pointless mincing your words I suppose).

Do they carry them in holsters?

Are rival gangs going to have to start tooling themselves up with mongooses?*

Send in the army, I say. Send in the army.

*I wish the plural was mongeese too. But it just isn't.

Sometimes...

2009-08-07T08:03:00.000-07:00

...I feel like I've made something up, but I haven't, it's real.

Like this.

Yup. Michael Jackson made "E.T. the Storybook". He won awards for it.

And it's one of the reasons that some people think he was excellent.

I'm sure you're all much more pop-culturally savvy than me, and you've seen that before. But I'm a simple soul, and was genuinely taken aback.

Any suggestions for pop-stars to narrate popular film classics?

I'll start the ball rolling with Elton John doing Taxi Driver: The Storybook.

In the meantime, I'm very down about the cricket.

Today.

2009-08-06T09:20:00.000-07:00

Today's been a pretty quiet one.

It's been a question of, "Oh, isn't it muggy".
It's been a question of, "I'm going to walk all the way to Islington to buy a doughnut, because I'm stuck with my writing".
It's been a question of, "You know what I could do with? A new dustpan and brush".
It's been a question of, "Twitter's stopped working. I bet Stephen Fry has to keep leaving the room to shout witticisms into his pockets".
It's been a question of "Top off, marigolds on, let's see if I can't get that kitchen floor sparkling".

You know the sort of day.

No complaints. No complaints.

Lying For Pleasure.

2009-08-05T01:11:00.000-07:00

Hello friends.

One of my chief pleasures in life is spreading untruths.

Often quite spectacularly implausible untruths.

But sometimes it's good to try a faintly plausible lie, and see how far you can take it.

Let's try this one together:

Top Gun is based on a book of the same name by John Grisham.
The lie should be phrased, "Top Gun is a Grisham".

Once that's been swallowed, try adding some detail.
The book is about tank drivers, but Hollywood changed it to fighter jets because they thought planes were more cinematic.
You might want to namecheck "hotshot Jerry Bruckheimer" at this point.

Start having fun with it.
In the book, Tom Cruise has nine girlfriends and they all get pregnant.
In the book, Goose is Cherokee.
In the book, Tom Cruise is referred to as Tom Cruise throughout.

See when the credulity snaps.

Not Going To Edinburgh.

2009-08-04T10:50:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival this year.

Well. That's not quite true. "I'm only going to the Edinburgh Fringe for a few days this year" would be more like it. What I meant was, I'm not doing the Edinburgh Fringe this year. There's a world of difference.

I've basically been at the festival every summer of my adult life.*
"Pre-Edinburgh" and "Post-Edinburgh" are a bit like the clocks going forward/back in my head. I'm used to pretty much building my year around it.
And not doing so, well, feels a bit odd.

It's lovely in many ways of course.
Life is a stress-free dream.
And in many ways, the festival is (and I'd say this to it's face, if it had one) a preposterous arse. A ridiculous way for comedians to bankrupt themselves, and an unfathomably popular opportunity for audience members to pay over ten pounds to see a set by an unknown comedian in a small metal box.

In other ways it's the most fun thing in Britain, and none of those downsides matter very much.
Sometimes the unknown comedian will be the best you've ever seen. The metal box might feel "intimate".
And what else are comedians going to do with their money? Become homeowners? Start families? I doubt it.

So now, as everyone else trundles north in a flurry of stress and anxiety, I'm feeling a little left out.

Next week I'll visit for a few days, and feel like a recently retired footballer swanning from corporate box to commentary box, enjoying the freedom to have a leisurely lunch and a second pint. But all the prawn sandwiches in the world won't make up for not strapping the boots on....

Oh. And please watch COWARDS tonight. 9.30pm. BBC4.

*Bearing in mind that I'd never normally use that phrase, I don't consider myself an adult, or at least not an Adult, and what I actually mean is "since I was twenty-one". I suppose I could have said, "since I had my majority", which a splendid, underemployed phrase.

Oh I Am Sorry.

2009-08-03T05:34:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted a blog for days.

That is remiss.

Still. I'm going to push the limits of your goodwill still further by using this one for a "shameless plug".

COWARDS is being repeated, starting this week.
Tuesdays, 9.30pm, BBC4.
Please do watch it, or get involved with the iPlayer.

I feel a bit shoddy just "plugging" like this, especially as I haven't said anything faintly entertaining for ages. But this is just about my only plugging outlet. I can't get on Jonathan Ross.

Yesterday I saw Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen.
I was impressed that they managed to make such a shiny, complicated film without the help of any adults.

Yesterday....

2009-07-29T04:38:00.000-07:00

....I took my Mum to the Natural History Museum. She wanted to look at dinosaur bones, and who can blame her?

We had lunch in a small Moroccan restaurant.

To the delight of the proprietor, Hollywood big hitter Antonio Banderas came in for a bite to eat.

He sat with his cap and shades on, even though he was indoors, and insisted on pouring his own mint tea. Then he had his photo taken with the manager, and left. The manager assured us he was delightful.

I was as cool as a cucumber about it, as was my Mum.

Part of me wishes we hadn't been. Part of me wishes we'd stood and applauded the man, and wiped hot tears from our eyes.

That would have been a lovely thing to do. Hollywood big hitters need that sort of positive reinforcement.

Anyway, mainly I'm delighted that there used to be such things as dinosaurs. Bloody great big unrealistic monsters. Evolution occasionally throws up doozies. I wonder what unrealistic animals will evolve in the future? Chickens with eight feet tongues? People with car seat shaped buttocks?

You Know How....

2009-07-27T08:19:00.000-07:00

....supervillains sometimes hypnotise people, so that when they hear a certain phrase or sound they'll suddenly carry out a dastardly deed? Like, when they hear the shipping forecast they'll suddenly assassinate the President, or something?

I'd like to have a go at that. But for the forces of good.

Please do my bidding-

The next time someone uses the phrase, "It's a vicious circle, really", I want you to slowly and tenderly sing this song.

I want you to stare meaningfully into their eyes as you sing.

If you're feeling confident, you can cup their face in your trembling hands.

And then I want you to live with the consequences.

You have to do this whomsoever uses the phrase. It could be a stranger, a loved one, an enemy, a police officer, a tourist, or even a mugger*. You have to do it.

I say, "You have to do it", but of course you don't.

What I mean is, I'd really like it if you did.

*It probably won't be a mugger, unless you get into a conversation with your assailant that takes a few unexpected turns.

This Is Getting Too Real.

2009-07-23T08:31:00.000-07:00

The whole sci-fi apocalypse headline thing is really getting out of control.

Here's another one.

I mean, this isn't a wind up is it?

These stories aren't just the set up for some hideous, hideous prank?

Say, twenty years of nuclear war against the cyborgs, followed by a half machine/half Jeremy Beadle creature emerging from the dark side of the moon to tell us it was all a "bit of fun"?

"I had to pretend to die to pull this one off. If all these freaky sci-fi events had started happening whilst I was still alive someone would have put two and two together. Seriously guys. Your faces".

I don't really know what's going on.

The news is getting less and less realistic, that's all I've got to say about it.

I Thought It Would Be Fun...

2009-07-22T09:37:00.000-07:00

...to press Wikipedia's "random article" button.

This is what I got.

Ah, well.

Some days I suppose you're just not meant to stumble upon dazzlingly esoteric gems of whimsical trivia.

Tomorrow is another day.