01-811-8055

McCanns issue new suspect sketch

2007-10-26T11:53:00.000+01:00

Sexy Beast - The Shortened Script

2007-10-16T14:59:00.001+01:00

Sir Ben Kingsley: I'm not fucking Ghandi any more you cunt!

Ghandi is inexplicably shot.

The end.

Another hilarious photograph interloper

2007-04-06T13:15:00.000+01:00

Tut, tut. You wouldn't be doing that in my society.

Elder Abuse - shocking and disgusting

2007-04-06T12:54:00.000+01:00

I was recently alerted by way of a poster advertising campaign to the shocking level of Elder Abuse being committed in our so-called society.

This is disgusting and shocking, but it is an all-too-easy trap for the average man in the street to fall into.

Look at the fucking state of that. What a mess. They just can't look after themselves.

Jeeesus Christ! What the fuck are those supposed to be?

Look, I'm just getting angry now. Are they trying to wind me up?

You fucking cunt!

No, that's enough. Burn the fucking lot of them in a big gas oven, I say.

Fucking Bollocks Arsecrack

2007-04-06T12:49:00.000+01:00

I have a terrible jealous streak and today I'm jealous of Mr Bitches

Fucking Bollocks Arsecrack - that's fucking bollocks arsecrack, I want to be top on Google for a sweary search too.

Does this work?

Disgusted and shocked that this kind of thing still goes on

2007-04-02T13:10:00.000+01:00

Overheard in a pub the other day:

"My friend is going to have to move out of her flat, because she's Jew."

All matter of fact, just like that, like we were all sat in the Bürgerbräu Keller or something.

I was so shocked that I didn't gather who was forcing her to move out (the landlord? the neighbours?) but whatever - surely there's a law against this sort of thing?

I've been on the internets all my life

2006-09-24T01:16:00.000+01:00

This is me in North Tawton in 1981:

It serves me right. What a fat fuck.

Months after it was fashionable...

2006-07-28T11:32:00.000+01:00

...I've noticed the latest big thing the Fools Who Are Easily Parted From Their Money are pissing away their cash on rather than paying tax or giving it to a worthwhile charitable cause: YouTube.

There's all sorts of stuff on there, some of which is actually good because it was made by professional people for broadcast on real television channels. Who knows how long it'll be before the inevitable happens and whole thing is shut down on account of the blatant copyright infringement. It's just like MP3.com all over again - remember that, kids?

In the meantime, here's something you may have missed when it was on BBC3...

Fantastic. Okay, there's only one real joke - but what a joke.

It's not big or clever. Don't do it.

2006-07-12T22:39:00.000+01:00

Looking through my recent holiday snaps I notice something a trifle off colour.

Take these two seemingly innocuous photographs, taken at St Ives and The Eden Project respectively. Both very public places, the sort of places where you would expect to find people using cameras.

Hold on. What's that near the edge? Oh! Ha ha ha, yes, very funny - someone's taking a picture that's not of us, but let's pose for it anyway! Gosh, you're clever! Yes, that'll show me for having the hubris to use a camera, to take pictures of places I'm at, while I'm on holiday!

Hey, here's my toothbrush, want to stick it up your arse before I click the shutter, yes, that'd be really funny! No, I know, just stand there with and pose like an idiot. That'll show how very witty you are.

Look, I wouldn't have minded just the one person, but this looks like a trend. What Sunday-supplement writer suggested it? Or was it Richard & Judy? Well, if you're reading, I hope you feel satisfied.

If you know these people, be sure to remind them what not to do they don't want their grinning (or pouting - I assume that's what her on the right is attempting) faces plastered over some random blog on the Interwebs.

A fine way to spend a morning

2006-06-28T14:18:00.000+01:00

There's nothing quite as satisfying as having a rotten molar extracted by a Greek teenager. A full 50 minutes, a dozen or so assorted tools, several breakages and some drilling later, the stubborn roots (clearly unhappy at being evicted after thirty-ish years) finally relinquished their grip. All for the meagre sum of £42.50. It's amazing what you can get on the NHS these days!

Music Review: Anything by Katie Melua

2006-03-27T23:10:00.000+01:00

It's basically the 'Madame Cholet' song of that Wombles album stretched to the length of a pop career, isn't it?

Yes, I know Mike Batt, Wombles, whatever - it's not an original observation. But considering that was about thirty years ago, you'd think he'd have had time to a whole new song. Either that or he's found a very clever way of worming into the subconcious of those of a certain age...

The Dumbing Down of Britain part n+1

2006-03-13T20:33:00.000Z

I think I'm turning into Peter Hitchens. For one thing, my eyebrows join up in the middle and that can only get worse as I become older and therefore hairier. For another, I also share a vogueish belief that Britain is dumbing down. However, unlike Hitchens, I don't blame the metric system.

No, I can tell you what the problem is: Widespread car use.

That's right. It seems clear to me that there's a certain type of person who, having earned their Passport to Eternal Prosperity, Health, Happiness and Individual Freedom (or driving license as it used to be called) just calls the whole 'learning', 'thinking about things' and 'working out solutions to problems' part of their life a done job and lets their brain go into retirement.

Now, before I go and do a Dr Fox I want to point to some compelling evidence. A primary school near here has noticed they have a bit of a traffic problem each morning as the kiddie winkies are dropped off by their doting parents. It has also been noted that said school is about a hundred yards from a big DIY superstore. So, putting two and two together, some bright spark has suggested that it might be a good idea to park in the big empty DIY superstore car park and walk the rest of the way. So far, so sensible. Just the sort of thing you'd think anyone with a two brain cells might do automatically. Very few people actually attempt to park their car next to the deli counter when they go shopping, after all (no matter how much they'd actually like to).

But no. It was the school's staff who thought of this. They even came up with a pun - "Park and Stride" - in order to make it appeal to their infantile, spoon-fed target age group (i.e. the parents).

Yep, that's right - even a simple statement of the absolutely bleeding obvious needs a clever name these days.

Sadly, I can confidently predict this scheme won't catch on, for a number of reasons. First - being dreamed up by school staff, it is obviously just a bunch of Ivory Tower Nanny State Do-Gooders attempting to dictate where everyday folk put their cars.

Second - obviously - is the nonces and traffic. If you don't drop the kids off at the school gate, something bad will happen. What do you mean, walk with them? For god's sake! It's a hundred yards! That'll take at least two minutes each way! No, no, no!

Third (and more importantly), you earn no bragging rights from saying something like "Oh, yeah, it's really easy getting the kids to school. We just drop them off, it only takes a couple of minutes. It's totally not a nightmare or anything, really!"

Fourth, it doesn't cost anything extra, which will never do as it in no way justifies spending another couple of hours each day slaving at work like the good martyr you are, all the while (and it's convenient how this works out) avoiding your vile offspring.

Finally, fifth, it's just too clever for the under-worked brains of these poor hard-working professional folk to comprehend.

No wonder the economy is stuffed and we're going to hell in a handcart.

Note to Peter Hitchens: Sorry about the eyebrow joke. Seriously. If you want to use this, please leave a comment and I'll get in touch.

It's been a long time...

2006-03-11T11:24:00.000Z

(As a great man once said)

I've actually been working quite hard for the last couple of months, which (as FurQ can attest) is very unusual for me.

I think it's been worth it though, not least because it's put some money in the bank. Nope, I reckon the thing I've been working on looks like it could be quite spectacular. Shocking even. More details will follow...

Anyways, I'm not dead. That is all.

Thank you.

TV Review: Half Ton Man

2006-02-07T16:10:00.000Z

Quite an interesting programme, I thought. In many ways quite sad and in others quite uplifting.

The thing that bothered me most, though, was that I really don't remember any documentary film crews ever visiting me.

I must have been pissed at the time.

Indolence

2006-01-07T19:00:00.000Z

Look everyone, he can FLY!

You're not telling me he needed a bike to manage it, that'd be a bit like me saying I need a colander in order to walk.

So... Why didn't he just float back up to the spaceship when it took off at the start of the film?

I'll tell you why - he's just lazy:

"Shall I catch up with them now? Nah, sod it, I'll sit about in this shed eating chocolate and drinking beer instead."

No wonder they accidentally left him behind.

Christ, that was quick

2006-01-07T15:18:00.001Z

So that was Christmas and New Year, was it? I swear the festive period is getting shorter each year. That one only seemed about two days long. Of course, I spent all of it in varying degrees of intoxication^*, so I've probably just forgotten the larger part. If not the Lager part. Ho ho.

Now it's 2006 and (as many others are wont to do) I've put myself on the wagon for a few weeks. Which is just as well because some ~~unsuspecting fools~~ enlightened entrepreneurs have given me some work building a Web Site all about Dildos, Butt-Plugs and suchlike.

So unless you really want to read all about the fun I'm having with SQL Server Table Variables^**, ADO.Net 2.0 TableAdapters^*** or the ASP.Net 2.0 Membership & Profile Providers^****, I'd say there won't be a lot of posting for the next few weeks.

In the meantime, Happy New Year everyone.

* A nearby boozer sells 330ml bottles of Duvel for £2.40, wheras a pint of Guinness is £2.75. Duvel is 8.5% alcohol by volume so... Oh, you do the sums...
** Fantastic idea, those. Precisely what the Doctor ordered. In-memory #temp tables. Just the job for iterative queries, which in this particular case is a real life-saver.
*** A good idea and certainly saves some coding. But what about stored procs that return multiple resultsets, eh?
**** Great idea, it seems like a lot of plumbing to get them working though. I guess they save poncing about with login forms though. The strong typing of Profile properties is nice, too.

Merry Fucking Bastard Christmas

2005-12-23T15:38:00.000Z

Ah, Christmas. Thanks God, you've ensured it's hell out there... The pubs are packed with the one-drink-a-year crowd. The roads are packed with everyone who's not in the pub. Which is why I'm not leaving the house until at least Monday.

Aaaanyway, as we all know the Baby Jesus was born 2005 years and a couple of days ago, so now is the time to listen to angelic children singing Christmas carols. Over to you, Tomas...

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Dear Norris McWhirter...

2005-12-23T15:33:00.000Z

Today I waited ages, then FIVE buses turned up.

Is this a new record?

Lots of Love,

01-811-8055

The Joy of Winter

2005-12-13T11:00:00.000Z

I don't remember eating that.

Travel Review: Brighton

2005-12-08T10:16:00.000Z

Welcome to Brighton! One of the largest and most well-known seaside resorts in Britain, if not the World. One of Britain's newest cities, granted its status by the Her Majesty The Queen at the turn of the Millennium. Home to the rich, the famous and the not so famous. The music! The night-life!

A Brighton Resident

Brighton... London-on-Sea. Nudist beaches. Hippies. Drop Outs. Pickpockets. Petty thieves and hawkers. Pinky and his vicious gang of thugs running amok, slashing faces and flinging vitriol. Plump, rosy-faced prostitutes plying their trade in seedy guest houses. Mods and Rockers wielding chains in pitched battle on the beach. Streets piled knee-high with Class A drugs, dirty needles and used condoms. Shop doorways littered with the writhing, sweaty, sticky bodies of constantly fornicating sexual miscreants. Brighton - a dangerous, decadent, disease-infested crime-ridden modern day Sodom and Gomorrah.

At least that's what I was lead to believe, but it's wasn't like that at all.

I still really enjoyed it though.

It took some getting to, thanks to the exciting bus and rail tour of the Solent area laid on specially for the day by a handful of train operating companies and an unfortunate chap who'd obviously decided that sharing a bath with the fan heater would be far too convenient for everyone else. Eventually the day's fourth train slid to a halt under the impressively huge station canopy (what do they think this is, London-on-Sea or something?) and there was just time to wander down the hill to catch a glimpse of the sea and find our lodgings before darkness fell.

Despite being advertised on the Internet as being located on a charming square a mere stone's throw from the beach and within equally easy reach of the city centre, the guest house we had booked turned out to be located on a charming square a mere stone's throw from the beach and within equally easy reach of the city centre. The room was amply sized, clean and quiet and the staff were friendly and helpful. They obviously need to rectify these shortcomings and iron out some other problems if they expect to compete with the Big Boys of the hotel world. For example, breakfast should not be included in the room rate, while offering a left luggage facility and free wireless Internet are obviously both big no-nos if you ever want to be regarded as a proper hotel.

So we stepped out into the night and made our way in the vague direction of town, before getting thoroughly lost in the narrow shop, pebble and pub lined pathways that are The Laines. One of these pubs looked particularly inviting. So that the sightseeing pretty much over bar a stumble around the corner onto a main road where we found another pub with a Turkish theme and Leffe on tap. Then there was the and a lively place with swishing wicker fans, a happy hour and (even more to my delight than the cheap booze) Orbital's back catalogue playing on the sound system. Then there was the curry buffet then I took some photos of the pier all lit up and that was it for the day.

The Pier, all lit up. Guess who's just worked out how to do long exposures?

We rose early on day two, took breakfast in the neat little basement restaurant, left our bags with the very cheerful receptionist and headed out to the seafront. Sadly Volks Electric Railway (apparently the oldest in the world) had stopped running for the year, ruling out a trip to the Marina, so instead we walked in a westward direction, passing the Pier and a big metal doughnut thing with the shapes of some different countries stamped into it.

Doughnut thing and Sea. One of the blotches is Australia. I think.

Then there were the Big Hotels – the Metropole and the Grand Hotel. These are both absolutely incredible looking buildings – tall, wide and ornate. Sadly, though, someone has almost utterly ruined the Grand with a shocking act of terror. No, not them - I'm talking about whatever firm of architects it was who decided to attach a sixty foot high lump of concrete to the side of the place and call it a conference centre. I mean, why? Couldn't you build something vaguely similar to the existing building? Surely party conferences don't pay so badly that you need to crib leftover building designs from behind the Iron Curtain?

The Grand Hotel with its Ugly Sister. Note the newly added Santas.

The West Pier got burned down or got knocked down in a storm or possibly both. I could Google for it but I doubt I could add any insight so I won't bother. It was weird to think those big iron stantions once carried a wide board walk over our heads, though. It was all a bit depressing really. So we went off to the shopping bit of town, which was a lot like the shopping bit of town you find in most other towns. Obviously it has a branch of Waterstone's, but this one is about ten floors high, which is something a bit different, isn't it? And it had a book I wanted for half price so it was worth the climb.

West Pier: from The Minimal School of Pier Design.

After that and some eating and some drinking, we had a bit more of a walk around. The Pavilion was boarded up for some reason so it didn't photograph too well. The Pier was a good laugh, though – there are rides and stuff like that, and a pub in halfway along called Victoria's, which has a Royal/nautical theme. It must have taken them ages to decide on that. It also has Sky Sports, so I can imagine it acts as a sort of crèche for bored fathers during the holiday season.

A couple of pints later it was time to leave Brighton. The journey home was perfectly uneventful – very possibly because we took a longer route, avoiding the more direct, but perversely slower (even when it runs on time) service offered by the still-steaming coil of dog shit in a sandwich bag that is Wessex Trains.

In summary: I thought it was going to be an overpriced, pretentious dump with an overbearingly hostile atmosphere - like London. But it's actually quite a nice place. I bet it's hell in the summer though.

Foaming Head - Epilogue

2005-12-07T14:35:00.000Z

Bit of a pisser, this: The Stout has gone flat.

The first little bit still comes out of the tap under its own steam, but then it stops and glugs out at a snails pace, presumably filling the barrel with that nasty air stuff. It then proceeds to sit there in the glass looking lifeless and a bit unappealing. It still tastes okay, but it's just not the same any more.

I still have around a gallon of the stuff left, so I cast around on Google for solutions, which turn out to be:

Fit some complicated carbonation apparatus to the barrel.
God knows how much that'd cost and no good at this stage anyway.
Serve the stout from a soda syphon.
These appear to cost fifty quid. Why?
Mix the stout with some sparkling mineral water.
Two litres of which costs about 20p a bottle.

So there you have it, I'm effectively drinking shandy. Quite shocking behaviour (and I'm sure fur q will back me up here) for a sometime Special Brew fanatic such as myself.

Of course, the proper course of action is to finish the next barrel quicker.

Damn, it's a hard life.

James Blunt: Wasn't he in Viz?

2005-12-06T22:21:00.000Z

If not, he should be. As it stands, he'll just have to be satisfied with his entry in the Modern Lexicon alongside Pete Tong.

At the risk of coming over all b3ta, it has to be said that this needed saying.

A Kindred Spirit

2005-12-06T11:35:00.000Z

Glad to know I'm not the only one.

George Best

2005-12-04T01:20:00.000Z

Great footballer, failed man, great shame, etcetera and so on. I'm sure I'll probably go in the same way or in some way roughly similar, only without the tragic waste of talent, having never had any talent to piss away in the first place.

But was it really necessary to curtail Saturday Kitchen in order to show his funeral?

Foaming Head - The Verdict

2005-11-29T10:25:00.000Z

So it came to pass at 2pm on Saturday November 26th 2005 - The Stout Was Opened:

The Stout, having just been opened

I'm more surprised than anyone that it has turned out fantastically well, especially considering most of the kit has been lying around gathering dust and dead spiders for the past 15 years.

It tastes just like stout and looks just like stout and turns your shit black just like stout. All for around 25 pence (and a bit of elbow grease) per pint.

Stout, note the stout-like colour and head

In summary, I can recommend this hobby to anyone without a yeast infection. Especially if they want to get pissed on the cheap.

Google is morally degenerate

2005-11-26T10:18:00.000Z

I wanted to find out how long it takes to cook the nice bit of organically raised beef recently obtained from the Farmer's Market*.

Google thinks I should go out and do something less boring instead:

Perverts.

* Yes, what a hippy... Whatever you say.

Some Questionnaire thing

2005-11-24T00:06:00.000Z

I wouldn't normally do this kind of thing (but Larr y did it first). I like the results though - apparently, I am a...

Haymaker

You are one of life’s enjoyers, determined to get the most you can out of your brief spell on Earth. Probably what first attracted you to atheism was the prospect of liberation from the Ten Commandments, few of which are compatible with a life of pleasure. You play hard and work quite hard, have a strong sense of loyalty and a relaxed but consistent approach to your philosophy.

Yep, I'm with this so far. I'm almost flattered.

You can’t see the point of abstract principles and probably wouldn’t lay down your life for a concept though you might for a friend. Something of a champagne humanist, you admire George Bernard Shaw for his cheerful agnosticism and pursuit of sensual rewards and your Hollywood hero is Marlon Brando, who was beautiful, irascible and aimed for goodness in his own tortured way.

Never read any George Bernard Shaw. In fact, I know shit all about him at all (see below). For champagne, substitute Stella. As for Brando, well, I prefer DeNiro - hardly the same at all. Overall though, still close enough.

Now we get onto the good stuff.

Sometimes you might be tempted to allow your own pleasures to take precedence over your ethics.

Yeah, fair enough.

But everyone is striving for that elusive balance between the good and the happy life. You’d probably open another bottle and say there’s no contest.

Yeah, fucking right. This is the best online question thing I've ever done!

So, George Bernard Shaw. Apparently (and I looked this up [1]) he's remembered cheifly for his superhuman sacrifice for the sake of an epigram:

Lady Asquith: "Mr Shaw, you and I should make love - with my looks and your brains we'd have great children."
Shaw: "Aha, but what if it had my looks and your brains?"

At which point Shaw retired to the garden to exclaim "I've just blown out a definite shag! What a stupid fucking wanker!"

[1] Baddiel, D Newman, R (1991, back when they were funny and that cunt Skinner hadn't yet shown up) The Mary Whitehouse Experience Encyclopedia, Fourth Estate Limited

Cow Orking Is Not A Crime

2005-11-23T14:19:00.000Z

Although the parents get a bit funny if you do it to their calves.

Virgin Wines: Marketing Geniuses

2005-11-21T13:08:00.000Z

I got this email from them last week:

Here's a £30 voucher for you to spend before Monday. Now any chance you could you do us a favour?

[snip]

In return, we'd really appreciate your feedback on what we're doing right, and more importantly, wrong...

Now let me think... How about some more of these £30 off vouchers, for starters?

Anyway, the wine just arrived. Night night.

Foaming Head (Update)

2005-11-18T14:49:00.000Z

It's been a great day in the world of home brewing.

The mixture, complete with ring of yeasty scum.

The beer mixture finished fermenting at a final gravity of 1.006. Subtract that from the original gravity of roughly 1.043 and divide by a magic number and you find this stuff has around 5% alcohol by volume.

Siphoning into the barrel

This was the fun bit - I managed to cop a mouthful of the stuff while getting the siphon going. By some miracle, it tasted a bit like stout. Flat warm stout, but stout nonetheless, not vinegar. Which is what I was expecting.

Adding the sugar solution for secondary fermentation

The remaining yeast in the beer turns this extra sugar into carbon dioxide and, as a total bonus, another 0.2% alcohol, bringing our total up to a robust 5.2% Alcohol by Volume. No messing about here.

Fucking clever stuff, yeast. Where would we be without it? Sober and eating cake, probably.

Some leftover yeast stuff, today

So, next Friday then...

Album Review: You Always Hurt the One You Love by Clarence 'Frogman' Henry

2005-11-16T22:21:00.000Z

Christ only knows what it sounds like, because I certainly don't. But isn't that the best cover, ever? It's just so ambiguous: Has despairing man hurt Sybil Fawlty there? Or is she hurting him? Is the hurt physical or emotional? Where does the Mysterious Third Man come into it? Is he her Dad? Did Sybil break up Despairing and Mysterious' beautiful but forbidden relationship?

The possibilities are endless. Suggestions welcome in the comments box...

Every office should use this

2005-11-16T09:58:00.000Z

www.cynicalbastards.com/wankometer

It would save an awful lot of shite being distributed...

Foaming head

2005-11-15T14:58:00.000Z

Look at that! Isn't it a beauty?

Don't worry - it's not a picture of my excrement. Not yet anyway. No, it's my Coopers Stout home brew, fermenting like a bastard. If you put your ear to the barrel, you can almost hear the little yeasts shrieking with joy as they run around converting the sugar to alcohol. While all the time reproducing. What an ace job they've got!

The next stage (which I estimate will be tomorrow or Thursday) will be putting the stuff in a barrel then leaving it for at least a week. That's going to be the really difficult bit.

Dreadful taste in music - FACT

2005-11-14T11:06:00.000Z

I've just installed a (hopefully benign) bit of Spyware on my machine that will enable all you people (yes YOU people) to see what I've been listening to. I hope you're all excited!

Now rush off over to my last.fm user page and start asking questions like 'Who?', 'What?' and 'Why?'.

Terminator X(-Factor) To The Edge Of Panic

2005-11-13T18:34:00.000Z

Sad to see the lovely Maria leave the X-Factor last night. But can you believe they got her to sing the Rolling Stones' Brown Sugar? I know Sharon Osborne must have, all things considered, a well-developed sense of humour - but that's ridiculous.

I'm looking forward to the celebrity version of the show - apparently they'll have Jennifer Lopez doing Fat Bottomed Girls (which will definitely be worth seeing). Even better, the newspaper columnist Mad Mellie Phillips will be working her way through Public Enemy's greatest hits.

Cereal Review: Kashi Original

2005-11-10T21:58:00.000Z

Sugar Puffs. Without the sugar. Or the taste. Or the Honey Monster.

A bit shit really.

Album Review: Timeless by Goldie

2005-11-09T11:05:00.000Z

Sounds dated.

(apologies to Hungbunny)

It's political correctness, GONE MAD!

2005-11-09T10:59:00.000Z

He's right, you know.

Book Review: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams

2005-11-06T16:03:00.000Z

I first read this book donkey's years ago – back when I was far to young to understand most of it, to be honest. But now I am older and wiser and I understand all about quantum physics and computers and that, so I thought I'd give it another try. I have to admit not much of it was very familiar, must have been skimming it first time in an attempt to appear well read. Kids, eh?

The Dirk Gently of the title is a private detective who specialises in seeing the bigger picture, to the extent that he doesn't really care about the thing he's supposed to be investigating. Not that it really matters as it's all really just an excuse for Douglas Adams to fit whatever was on his mind at the time into a completely ridiculous set of coincidences (not unlike a certain plot device in his earlier stories) in his characteristically entertaining Cambridge-educated Englishman who is a rather witty and observant writer kind of fashion.

You get the feeling Adams was describing his own interests here – not only are we treated to descriptions of his beloved Apple Macintoshes, but also a magazine essay about music and nature and, relatedly, a rather lovingly rendered list of samplers, synthesisers and sound modules. This not only boring if you're not interested in the history of electronic musical instruments, it also dates a book which could otherwise be set yesterday. This writing from knowledge continues with the appalling Islingtonism of the central characters - these are the people we've come to know and love from all those Richard Curtis films (not to mention the uber-Islingtonite we call Prime Minister). The men are bumbling and scatty and/or motor mouthed and the women are supernaturally witty even in the heat of an argument. You can almost hear Emma Thompson speaking some of the lines and let's face it, that's never good.

That aside, there's an enjoyable fantasy-cum-sci-fi-cum-comedy story here. Really clever stuff encompassing ghosts, time travel, computer software, generative music, alien civilisations and, well, pretty much everything the author could think of. So we hurtle through many twists and turns to an ending which sort of makes sense. I say sort of. So feeling a bit dim, but certain I hadn't missed anything, I looked it up on Google. This is where things gets eerie: I found this forum post from the 25^th July 2000. Yup, that's the man himself putting his hands up and saying “I don't get it, either”. Then eleven months later, he was no more. Clearly, there are forces abroad of which we have all too little understanding.

In summary: Not bad, but could do without the smug middle-class-isms and Apple advertisments. 7/10.

It wouldn't happen here

2005-11-06T12:40:00.000Z

I'm currently reading some American history*. It would seem that Idlewild Airport (now New York JFK) was built on the site of Idlewild Golf course.

I had a double take at that.

Idlewild Golf Course had an Airport built over it. As I say, it wouldn't happen here. Fine, pave over the odd village if need be (and by god we needed to, naturally).

But a Golf Course? What are these people - savages?

*Wiseguy by Nicholas Pileggi. That's all about history, isn't it?

Damn

2005-11-02T11:34:00.000Z

Foiled again...

Agony

2005-11-01T22:38:00.000Z

If there's one thing worse than explosive diahoreah, it's indigestion. This is a short post, because I am in pain.

The Future of Rock and Roll (Part 2)

2005-10-28T13:02:00.000+01:00

I wonder why I bother buying CDs sometimes - pay a visit to myselecta (found via the mighty Tomas Szbarro) for a whole slew of stuff to listen to.

Particularly this slice of Morris-inspired lunacy.

See. You wouldn't find that down HMV, would you?

Word of the day

2005-10-27T12:50:00.000+01:00

It's not often someone as old and jaded as me finds a new word for a sexual act. I did today though, while researching the unique restorative properties of the humble ginger root:

Figging

You get a piece of ginger, peel it and... Oh, look it up yourself if you really want to know.

Great Train Journies of the World: Stourbridge Town to Stourbridge Junction

2005-10-25T21:38:00.000+01:00

How to start?

Stourbridge - the legendry home of Ned's Atomic Dustbin, The Wonderstuff and Pop Will Eat Itself. Surely a Mecca for any self respecting music fan. Having sampled the delights of the town's myriad pound shops, estate agents and hair dressers it is finally time to return to civilisation.

Getting to the station is a hazardous experience requiring a choice of two disparate, but dangerous, routes. The aromatic passages of the mugger's paradise known as "the subway", or the 5-full chambered Russian Roulette of the overland traversing of the 3 lane motorway known as "the ring road". Whichever way you chose, you can be sure of an endorphin rush that no Class A could ever come close to.

Once safely on the other side (assuming you aren't on "the other side" by now!), one can attempt to locate the train station. The first obstacle is that paradise for disaffected youth, the bus station. Truly a pit of despond. Try not to be lured away by the dubious delights of the "coffee bar" (a garden shed selling lukewarm slurry and a fine selection of out of date chocolate bars). To arrive at the entrance to the train station one must first cross 8 bus lanes each of which is inhabited by a charabanc piloted by a psychotic Mr Magoo with the patience of a hungry hyena and the willingness to commit gross acts of barbarity worthy of a Nazi concentration camp doctor.

Assuming you have passed this stern test, you next have to locate the hallowed portal which will transport you to the mythical train station. And there it is, before you...a small gap between a brick wall and a white wooden fence. Hallelujah!

Passing the abandoned ticket office cum pill box you step out onto the bare concrete platform. There is only one direction of travel, which would indicate that Stourbridge is the centre of the known universe! To your left, an imposing brick wall of Berlin-esque proportions impedes progress, to your right the infinite sweep of the silver rails taking you to unknown pleasures (Smethwick).

As you wait for what seems to be a lifetime for your train out of this nirvana, you hear the colourful native chatter "'Ow's yow're oncle Bill, then?" "Ay yow erd? E woke oop jed laz Sundee" "E dain, did e?" "Ar, e did, otellyer. If e adn't ave died, e'dve been alive ter tell yer imself". Charming.

Finally the gleaming carriages of burnished rust wheezes majestically up to the platform. It is a single self propelled coach - frankly it could be the wreck of the Mary Rose and you'd still get on it. Boarding said conveyance the first thing that strikes you is the malodorous stench of McDonalds, stale urine and the subtle hint of ejaculate - maybe it's what they lubricate the bogies with. Not being a railway engineer, it is not for me to say.

Your next test is to find the least damp / sticky seat. The fake velour is notorious for being held on using nothing but the snot of a thousand unplanned brats. Actually, the stick factor does have a health and safety benefit as it acts as a very effective restraint in the case of derailment.

Finally your journey is underway, and as you pray that the driver has remembered to move off in the correct direction (it is not unknown for the train to end up going through the Black Country Wall (see above) rather than head off towards freedom....still at least the 'Centro snot-belt' really comes into its own at this point...) you can start to relax and look out through the perspex safety windows frosted by years of hallitosis, cigarette burns and genuine hand-carved graffiti at the truly breathtaking vista of a magnificent Victorian brick-lined cutting of Corinth Canal proportions. A true wonder of the mechanised age. Here and there a spindly, diseased tree grips to the brickwork like a one armed man above a pool of unfed piranhas. A metaphor for life in modern society, if ever I saw one.

Breaking through the cutting our eyes alight on a blasted copse of stunted, soot mottled trees. If they are the lungs of the planet, then poor Mother Nature has ventolin requirements which are not to be wheezed at.

After (death) rattling past this wretched woodland we look down upon the hallowed seat of learning that is Redhill School. Sapientia itself is surely entwined in its very fabric. Hark! A bell, and the little scholars fall over themselves to take the fresh air and immerse themselves in Ancient Danish studies (rape and pillage) - now part of the national curriculum since British Bulldog was banned.

The final part of our journey involves traversing a true monument to Britain's industrial golden age. A cast iron viaduct crosses the valley and allows birds eye views of the Seven Stars public house. This pub is truly the traveller's rest - possibly final resting place if anything is consumed on the premises.....

All too soon your destination of Stourbridge Junction hoves into view and as you decelerate into the magnificent architect unspoilt by paint in over 100 years, you can look back at the preceding 90 seconds of travel safe in the knowledge that you have embarked on one of the great journeys known to man.

Retail Experience Review: IKEA

2005-10-24T14:01:00.000+01:00

What the hell was I thinking?

This is probably a well-worn comedy cliche, but why do they build their stores right next to major traffic problems? More importantly, how the hell do they turn the insides of a rectangular tin shed into the sort of labyrinth Lord Bath would be proud to own? We must have walked past the same spot about eight times before we finally escaped through the children's section. Now I understand what Dante was getting at - I reckon this must be the fourth circle although I'm willing to be corrected.

In summary: Never again.

The Future of Rock and Roll?

2005-10-20T16:55:00.000+01:00

I was playing about with that Next Blog thing up there in the corner just now (yes, there's never a dull moment round here). Anyway, after about the fifth lot of cats or surfboarders I came across this offering from The Tomas Szbarro Family, which appears to be a bit of a gem.

They've got their christmas single out already, which is maybe a little bit proactive for my tastes, but the gifts on offer more than make up for that slight indiscretion. As they suggest, I have added a link thing to this blog and I suggest anyone who loves good music should pay their site a visit, listen to the tunes and do the same...

Great Railway Journeys of the World: Cardiff Queen Street to Cardiff Bay

2005-10-18T09:40:00.000+01:00

Having tired of the shopping opportunities offered by the City Of Arcades, some travel is in order and where better to start than the conveniently-located Queen Street station – the gateway to the Valleys and also to the recently-modernised Cardiff Bay area. Having fed a pound coin into the ticket vending machine, we pass the barrier and make our way to platform three where the 11.29 is waiting to depart.

The first half of the journey describes a wide clockwise arc around some of the city centre's western landmarks: The whitewashed and angular Ibis Hotel, the red brick and metal of the Cardiff Indoor Arena, the dark blue reflective box-on-legs that is the Big Sleep Hotel (itself the former Gas Board headquarters). Here the train diverges from the path which would take us onto the main line and into Central Station, instead heading southwards over them on a curved flyover. A glance to the right offers a view of the Brains Brewery and some of the City's newer commercial buildings. Shortly we reach the bridge over Herbert Street and looking ahead and to the left we catch our first distant glimpse of the enormous copper dome of The Welsh National Opera House.

From here the track straightens, the four-wheeled carriage thudding into each joint in the rails as we hold a steady pace, albeit one noticeably slower than the cars running down the adjacent boulevard. Never mind, it means we can enjoy the sight of the nautical ornaments placed beside the tracks and the explosion of new apartment buildings to our left as well as the small terraced houses and large towers to the right, many of them in a state of some dereliction but hidden from the shame of their newer cousins by the very embankment we are running along.

Soon one's view to the of the left is obscured by a tall, bluish-green panelled fence, for it is here that the the long platform of Cardiff Bay station begins. Clearly designed for the future, it is several train-lengths before we come to a gentle halt at the buffer stops and disembark, some three minutes after we departed. From here it is a short walk to Roald Dahl Place and onward to the Bay area's many fine views and leisure attractions.

Gig Review: Gonzo on Tour Birmingham

2005-10-16T00:16:00.000+01:00

Gig was at the Barfly in Birmingham (the downstairs bit of what used to be the Institute / Sanctuary), a very 'intimate' venue for quite a big gig.

Three very different bands formed the bill. First up were The Morning After Girls, who despite the name only had one female member (a buxom keyboardist / 3rd guitarist / percussionist) who was the only good thing about the band. Pointless indie dirge seemed to be their stock in trade. Avoid.

Next up were Be Your Own Pet - a bunch of 17 year olds all the way from Tennessee fronted by the whiling dervish blonde bombshell Jemina Pearl. This lot were the real deal - I thoroughly enjoyed them and according to my old mate Zane Lowe the debut album is out early next year and could well be a must have. In the mean time try and track down either of their excellent singles Damn Damn Leash and Fire Dept. Great fun.

The headline act were the mighty Goldie Lookin' Chain. It's just as well they don't have any instruments / drum kits / amps on stage as the seven members had barely enough room on the tiny Barfly stage to let rip with any of their wicked hip hop moves! What a fantastic band - top choon after top choon. Anybody that doesn't like this band is a humourless cunt and should be forced to listen to C**dplay permanently from now til eternity.

Fur Q's rating 8.5/10 - great value for £12.

When I was young P.C. meant Police Constable

2005-10-13T01:01:00.000+01:00

Now it forms the first part of the name of a shitty computer shop where they put £9.99 on the shelf edge but try and charge £19.99 at the checkout.

So I spent the money down the pub instead. Another satisfied customer.

Drink Review: Gin

2005-10-11T15:48:00.000+01:00

Now here we have a real treat. I found this particular bottle in Sainsburys, where it was (perhaps not surprisingly) the cheapest Gin available. Notice that they couldn't even be bothered to put any Sainsburys branding on the label, instead opting for an austere design which Winston Smith would surely recognise (assuming he could remember anything after the lobotomy). Perhaps they're ashamed of it.

Despite not being the strongest or most pleasant tasting drink I've ever taken, this does have a number of properties that set it apart from other alcoholic beverages. First is a powerful narcotic quality that kept me awake and lucid for long enough to write about turds at three in the morning. Second was an equally powerful narcotic effect that had me forget all about having done this until I noticed the blog post all about turds. Third is the brutal nausea it induced and from which I have only just recovered, a good 36 hours later.

In short: Well worth £6, I award it a full 10/10.

The postman sometimes rings once

2005-10-11T15:10:00.000+01:00

The postman usually turns up around these parts at a suitably indolent quarter past eleven in the morning.

This morning, though, he had something that wouldn't fit through the door, so he turned up an hour and a half early, hence disturbing my sleep. I was having a good dream too - for some reason they were filming Top Gear in my garden and I was having a friendly chat with Jeremy Clarkson in my shed^*, lulling him into a false sense of security while I decided what to use as a weapon.

Worse still, back in real life I was in such a hurry to get the door (in case the fucker just puts a delivery slip through the door and wanders off) I managed to pull my trousers on the wrong way around. The long-haired prole is probably still laughing about it now.

Postman? Postcunt, more like.

*Weird, because I don't have a shed. The mind works in mysterious ways.

DVD review - Old Boy

2005-10-10T10:06:00.000+01:00

Korean take on the revenge story with added far Eastern wierdness, a twist borrowed from a famous Greek tragedy and some cracking cartoon-style fight scenes. Some impressive nastiness, but I'd been led to believe it was harsher than Baise Moi. It's not.

Update

2005-10-10T03:24:00.000+01:00

I apologise in advance to my faithful reader for the lack of detail in this post.

I was hoping to bring you the full, gory detail of my latest bowel movement – a written image of how, if one could imagine oneself in the bottom of the toilet pan staring upward (like some drowning insect or perverse spy camera) one would find oneself watching a pair of flabby, pockmarked buttocks parting just for long enough to reveal a distended sphincter, dilated as if to to form a laughing mouth, its joyous countenance rapidly contorting into that of a nauseated face, violently vomiting half a gallon of vile brownish-yellow foaming liquid, the consistency of over-watered boiling porridge, flecked with half-digested peppers and the remains of barely chewed mushrooms.

But sadly, I cannot. For I passed that yesterday.

Since then and despite a healthy intake of Thai Green Curry, my stools have been perfectly manageable, to the point of my actually enjoying passing them.

Again, my apologies.

DVD Review: The Wicker Man

2005-10-07T08:21:00.000+01:00

Fucking hell! I'll have some of that!

Do RyanAir fly there?

Bang

2005-10-05T10:40:00.000+01:00

Seems like fireworks season is upon us again - some cunts put on a display last night between midnight and half past. They'll be doing it right through into the new year now someone's made the first move.

Something needs to be done and ASBOs clearly aren't doing the job. No, what we need is a glut of dangerously faulty fireworks with a few mis-labelled cluster bombs thrown in for good measure.

They wouldn't do it again.

FUNEX?

2005-10-04T22:09:00.000+01:00

RC: LO
RB: LO
RC: RUBC?
RB: SVRBC
RB: LO
Waitress: LO
RC: LO
Waitress: LO
RC: FUNEX?
RB: SVFX
RC: FUNEM?
RB: 9
RC: IFCDM
RB: VFN10EM
Waitress: A! VFM
RC: R!
RB: O?
Waitress: C-DM
RC: OK - MNX
RB: MNX
RC: FUNET?
RB: 1 T?
RC: 1 T
RB: OK - MNXT - MNXT41!
Waitress: VFN10EX
RC: UZUFX
RB: YFNUNEX?
Waitress: IFE10M!
RB: SILLYCOW

Graveyard One-upmanship

2005-10-04T20:45:00.000+01:00

Both my parents have unfortunately snuffed it, which is a bit shit...but not as shit as the attitude of my fellow bereaved. My family have been very tasteful and post cremation we bought a small plaque to place next to the local church. This just had names, dates and a small, personal message on a 6"x4" brass plaque. Very tasteful and understated, especially with 2 nice (and small) vases of flowers.

Some people, however, seem to take the death of a loved one as an excuse to indulge in some sort of competitive outpouring with huge plaques, massive (yet very tasteless) bouquets, which never last as they are shit, but big, and in one memorable case fairy lights. Honestly, I ask you when you snuff it, do you want to be commemorated by what appears to be a frigging chav xmas decoration.

What happened to genuine emotion, rather than the fake Diana-isms that seem to pass these days. Makes me bloody mad, it does......

Travel Tip: Booking a Travelodge

2005-10-04T11:09:00.000+01:00

Wherever possible, book a family room - it's bigger and it means a family can't have it.

Update
You also get three sachets of coffee. Six if you count the decaf type.

Book Review: The Men Who Stare at Goats by Jon Ronson

2005-10-04T10:50:00.000+01:00

Reading this directly after finishing Closing Time, it was sometimes easy to forget this book was not set in the same Crazy General infested world-gone-mad of the Heller's novel.

Nope, this is a journalistic effort, describing a world that is, well, infested with Crazy Hippy Generals, willing to try just about anything to gain an edge, win wars and win hearts and minds: Wearing a beatific smile while carrying a lamb, walking through walls, remote viewing, Uri Geller... Truly the stuff of a million conspiracy websites (but with added citations).

Of course, dabbling in this kind of claptrap has to end in tears. So the story hurtles headlong into the all-to-familiar modern world of suicide cults, apparently suicidal scientists, novel new forms of torture and, sadly, a distinct lack of lambs cradled in soldiers' arms.

Ronson's Give-em-Enough-Rope style of exposition is always worth reading. So read this.

DVD Review: Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy

2005-09-30T16:07:00.000+01:00

So the film adaptation of the book of the radio series finally got made, after the author had been working on it for god knows how long. So long, in fact, he got around to dying first.

It had some stuff from the book and some new stuff. I'm sure real fans would get all precious about this, but for the normal people amongst us who, you know, just enjoyed the daft story and the sense of humour, well, it's all good stuff and I enjoyed it. So screw you, squares.

It was pretty well cast - for example, Zooey Deschanel was not profoundly irritating, unlike Sandra Dickinson in the TV series. Even Martin Freeman was okay, although he did occasionally revert to his 'um, ah, um, ah, mmmm' persona from The Office and Love Actually.

Which reminds me - I gather this film was a joint-British production and as such it features a number of the usual (compulsory?) faces such as Chancellor, Nighy and Rickman. So where the hell was Andrew Lincon?

In short: Not as bad as they say.

Bargain hunting tip

2005-09-30T15:54:00.000+01:00

You get this leaflet (badly reproduced below) inside DVD cases these days warning how bad the quality of pirated films is:

“90% of all pre-release pirate DVDs are filmed from the back of a cinema...
That can mean wobbly, obscured footage and muffled sound.”

Yeah, cinemas are shit like that – and they charge about eight quid.

Yet there's a bloke at work who can offer me much the same experience on DVD for a couple of quid! How is that not a bargain?

Charles Clarke has it spot on

2005-09-29T22:25:00.000+01:00

We definitely need to clamp down on the culture of disrespect in this country and I think I have the solution: Get rid of all the twats, wankers, cunts, fuckwits, pricks and all the other assorted useless, annoying shitbags who conspire to annoy and bang - sooner than you know it there'd be nobody left to disrespect. Simple, is it not?

Travel Review: Nottingham

2005-09-29T21:12:00.000+01:00

My journey to Nottingham started at the boarded-up building site that is London St Pancras station. This is a little short on facilities (no Burger King, for example). The toilets were protected by a burly attendant and it cost 20 pence to get past him. Perhaps because of this, I found them to be a clean and tidy place to void my bowels. My only complaint would be lack of ventilation, so I beat a hasty retreat once the movements were over.

Suitably relieved, I boarded one of Midland Mainline's new Class 222 Meridian trains. Having taken advantage of some very reasonable weekend offers, I took my First Class seat and sat back to enjoy journey ahead. My feelings are mixed - on the plus side, it was comfortable and very spacious, not least because I was lucky enough to have a whole bay of four seats for the entire journey. This was especially enjoyable since the rest of the train was jammed to the rafters - something I found out while trying to get to the buffet (or MM Bar as it is known round those parts) which is a couple of carriages away from the first class accommodation, for some odd reason. On the minus side, these trains have diesel engines under each carriage, so they do tend to rumble and vibrate when accelerating. Also, by the time the journey was nearing its end, only one toilet was functioning and this was at the opposite end of the train. Nonetheless, it was a perfectly pleasant place to defecate, despite the nagging fear that a queue might be forming outside and that the person at the head of the queue might be attractive and in posession of a functioning sense of smell.

Nottingham itself is very much like Bristol or any other medium-sized city, only with an added opportunity to be run over in the shape of a tram. It has the obligatory branch of Pizza Hut - one where the toilets are frankly not up to scratch.

Nottingham Rock City is a good place to go if you want to go deaf listening to 1980s-vintage Heavy Metal music. I will be sure to take some Immodium should I ever visit again as the toilets are diabolical. No locks, pools of water (?) on the floors, you name it. Luckily there was paper, so this man got to do what he needed to do. The attendant was even kind enough to hand me a paper towel to mop my brow. I declined his offer of aftershave though. On balance, they the club was actually not too bad - the entry fee and drinks were not extortionate, and there was other entertainment on offer in the large upstairs room in the form of an eclectic DJ. So eclectic, in fact, that he couldn't play any single record for more than about a minute before spinning it back and replacing it with something from a totally different genre. He obviously had a lot of records to get through.

By 2am, we found there was only one fast food outlet open, a rather dire fried chicken shop. Given my precarious internal state, I declined this delicacy.

The journey back the next day was actually better than the outward one. Again, the seat was first class and was actually even more comfortable than the newer train I rode on the journey north, mainly due to the lack of engine noise in the venerable InterCity 125 carriages. Of course, the buffet was next to the first class, where it always was and always should be and Midland Mainline have done them up rather nicely, with modern lighting and some very nice clean, modern aluminium toilets. You will be glad to hear that by this time I did not need to go beyond 'number one'.

So, in summary: Nottingham - not a bad place by any means, but probably not the best place to go if you have the runny shits.

Pea Soup Update

2005-09-29T11:55:00.000+01:00

Faeces back to normal colour. Remaining soup stored in freezer (self-imposed ration of one portion per week).

CD Review: Safe As Fuck by Goldie Lookin Chain

2005-09-29T11:50:00.000+01:00

It's all just a lot of childish swearing; the joke's worn thin; one-hit wonders; novelty band; blah blah blah... Oh fuck off you miserable fuckers! This is great stuff!

Highlights are R'n'B, Hit Song (both far too good considering they're 'just' pisstakes) and Sister.

Book Review: Closing Time by Joseph Heller

2005-09-29T00:50:00.000+01:00

I liked Catch 22. Not an original thought. I didn't really like this book, its sequel. Probably not an original thought, either.

This is a shame because, thanks to the wild variations in pace, it took ages to read.

There were some characters who shared their names with characters from the earlier book. There were some far more interesting characters who weren't in the original story, but they all fitted together in the end, just like in that clever film Love Actually.

There was also some heavy-handed satire and some in-jokes.

Remember, remember the 14th of October

2005-09-28T23:20:00.000+01:00

I hope everyone remembers Boss' Day!

It is very important that you let your boss know how much you appreciate them. So buy them a card, it really is the least you can do. Maybe flowers too, whatever you feel is appropriate. Just do whatever it takes to let them now that you actually like them, rather than just tolerate them each day so you can collect your wages, pay the mortgage and feed the kids.

I hope this catches on to such an extent that next year Clinton Cards invent "employee's day" - where the management give their charges a reward for their sterling service!

Update
Ignore the last paragraph. I forgot - that's what salaries are for.

This week I have mostly been eating...

2005-09-28T15:38:00.000+01:00

...Pea and Ham Soup.

Homemade pea and ham soup, that is, none of your tinned rubbish:

Take two boxes of dried peas and soak them overnight
Fry an onion and some garlic in a large pan
Add some bacon bits
Add two vegetable Oxo and a kettle full of boiling water
Simmer until the peas are mushy
Put a blender thing in the mixture and blend until smooth
Add some more bacon bits
Add cornflour if necessary
Cook for a bit
Eat the soup

Not only does this taste great and cost little, it also turns your shit green!

Seriously. My shit last night was sort of yellowish green and had a consistency pretty much like the soup (probably due to excess lager consumption). By this afternoon, the stool was firm again and much darker green.

Result!

Welcome

2005-09-27T21:48:00.000+01:00

This is a new blog all about books and music and films and things. All bought to you by THE best phone number, ever.