Monday, 20th January 1997
How our perception of language is shaped by society and advertising! To think, there is probably a foreign tongue in which "Pay nothing until Spring" translates as "Live freely forever", which is a pretty bold offer for a mobile phone company. As was the famous case with the slogan "Pepsi makes you come alive" which translated back from the Japanese became "Pepsi brings your ancestors back from the dead", why are people ever surprised by war....
Spent Saturday lying in a darkened room, sporadically throwing up. You?
Remember: when in doubt, mumble.
Monday, 31 December 2007
Friday, 28 December 2007
Say Something Else
Thursday, 16th January 1997
The pay-me girl's had enough of the beeps so she takes a drive into the country. Although she's got herself rosy cheeks, she didn't leave enough money to pay the rent; the landlord says she'll be out in a week (what a shame - she was just getting cosy) and now she's eating chocolate to induce sleep.
The peeping tom's got a very nice view, across the street at the exhibitionist. These townies, they never speak to you, just stick together so they never get lonely. Feeling left, feeling quite light-headed - have to sit down and have some sugary tea.
But in a chemical world - in a CHEMICAL world - it's very, very, very cheap.
"And I don't know about you, but they're putting the holes in."
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"Until you can see right through."
The pay-me girl's had enough of the beeps so she takes a drive into the country. Although she's got herself rosy cheeks, she didn't leave enough money to pay the rent; the landlord says she'll be out in a week (what a shame - she was just getting cosy) and now she's eating chocolate to induce sleep.
The peeping tom's got a very nice view, across the street at the exhibitionist. These townies, they never speak to you, just stick together so they never get lonely. Feeling left, feeling quite light-headed - have to sit down and have some sugary tea.
But in a chemical world - in a CHEMICAL world - it's very, very, very cheap.
"And I don't know about you, but they're putting the holes in."
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"Until you can see right through."
Thursday, 27 December 2007
Brass Buttons
Wednesday, 15th January 1997
Definitely a good way to wind down, as I discovered the other night. Whilst sifting through the tons of cack I'd brought with me in the move, I thought I'd put on Gram Parson's "Return of the Grievous Angel" which I'd recently seen mentioned in Nick Hornby's book "High Fidelity" in the character's top five best side-one-track-ones. It didn't do anything for me until I stumbled upon a balloon animals kit I received in my stocking one year (1995) and still had about a dozen balloons left, and DISCO! A strange, daft, melancholic witch's brew of calm and centredness filled the room and stirred me with it; the Southern brooding voice of the late GP duetted with the squeak and pop of bendy rubber balloons... niiice.
There was a rush of people at the Uxbridge Station ticket barriers today. One man stayed in line. One man pushed in. One man went with the flow. Guess who got out first.
Oh and Jez - your temp's back (Sarah, was it?), she's working in finance.
And remember, if you can't say anything nice about anyone, drop me an e-mail.
Definitely a good way to wind down, as I discovered the other night. Whilst sifting through the tons of cack I'd brought with me in the move, I thought I'd put on Gram Parson's "Return of the Grievous Angel" which I'd recently seen mentioned in Nick Hornby's book "High Fidelity" in the character's top five best side-one-track-ones. It didn't do anything for me until I stumbled upon a balloon animals kit I received in my stocking one year (1995) and still had about a dozen balloons left, and DISCO! A strange, daft, melancholic witch's brew of calm and centredness filled the room and stirred me with it; the Southern brooding voice of the late GP duetted with the squeak and pop of bendy rubber balloons... niiice.
There was a rush of people at the Uxbridge Station ticket barriers today. One man stayed in line. One man pushed in. One man went with the flow. Guess who got out first.
Oh and Jez - your temp's back (Sarah, was it?), she's working in finance.
And remember, if you can't say anything nice about anyone, drop me an e-mail.
Monday, 24 December 2007
My Unifying Theory of 1997
Tuesday, 14th January 1997
WARNING: Deep and heavy. Do not approach lightly.
So here's the momentary universe argument again. It states that all past, present and future occupies the same physical space, and therefore there IS no past, present or future, just this infinitely capable NOW. Within the physical universe, there are an infinite number of virtual universes which occupy the same space, and that every moment we enter a new one. THAT suggests that all the other momentary universes still exist, one on top of the other. We do not realise this because our consciousness shows us only one path through what we call "time".
If we accept that there are an infinite number of universes one on top of the other, it is safe to conclude that there should also be an even more innumerable different universes sharing the same moment, that for every different possibility starting from Day One, and from every possibility on from that, that place exists too.
Now let's talk about you. Between your birth and now, there have been dozens (for some maybe more) of moments when you touched on your own demise, the thousands of times you didn't make it across the road, the hundreds of times you didn't come out of the coma, the brushes with death that you didn't survive.
So how come you're still here? In these moments of extreme peril, your conscious is jogged from one universe to another; we've all felt that strange lurching feeling associated with vertigo, the pull of the earth from a tall building, the tide of the traffic, and we've all pulled ourselves back. That feeling is the jump your conscious makes as you are closer than normal to the brink. Sometimes the jump is late, sometimes you do get hurt, but you jump and you pull through.
Not everybody jumps at the same time. And some potentially fatal errors we don't jump from, we can't because we didn't know what would happen. And then in our reality we do die. But if the conscious is strong enough to survive a million different deaths by jumping between associated universes, then there's more than a slim chance that reincarnation could be the answer.
Choose life? There is no choice.
WARNING: Deep and heavy. Do not approach lightly.
So here's the momentary universe argument again. It states that all past, present and future occupies the same physical space, and therefore there IS no past, present or future, just this infinitely capable NOW. Within the physical universe, there are an infinite number of virtual universes which occupy the same space, and that every moment we enter a new one. THAT suggests that all the other momentary universes still exist, one on top of the other. We do not realise this because our consciousness shows us only one path through what we call "time".
If we accept that there are an infinite number of universes one on top of the other, it is safe to conclude that there should also be an even more innumerable different universes sharing the same moment, that for every different possibility starting from Day One, and from every possibility on from that, that place exists too.
Now let's talk about you. Between your birth and now, there have been dozens (for some maybe more) of moments when you touched on your own demise, the thousands of times you didn't make it across the road, the hundreds of times you didn't come out of the coma, the brushes with death that you didn't survive.
So how come you're still here? In these moments of extreme peril, your conscious is jogged from one universe to another; we've all felt that strange lurching feeling associated with vertigo, the pull of the earth from a tall building, the tide of the traffic, and we've all pulled ourselves back. That feeling is the jump your conscious makes as you are closer than normal to the brink. Sometimes the jump is late, sometimes you do get hurt, but you jump and you pull through.
Not everybody jumps at the same time. And some potentially fatal errors we don't jump from, we can't because we didn't know what would happen. And then in our reality we do die. But if the conscious is strong enough to survive a million different deaths by jumping between associated universes, then there's more than a slim chance that reincarnation could be the answer.
Choose life? There is no choice.
Friday, 21 December 2007
A Bit Part In Your Life
Monday, 13th January 1997
Merry Monday one and all, and how was your weekend?
How did the party at the New Offices go? I must say I was impressed by the range of sausage rolls and savoury eggs available. Who brought the popular mid-twenty-something VH-1 highlights of their CD collection? And wot's the goss?
Shocked to discover this morning that I had been e-mailed by my mother, with the simple yet eerie message: "MUMMY'S SURFING". You can run, but you can't hide.
Odd coincidence; going through some boxes at home over the weekend, I discovered Kevin Keegan's autograph on a dinner menu from the 1982 Annual Sports Awards dinner. Didn't know I had that. And now he's been spotted in Florida. Or somewhere. No, sorry, I still can't bring myself to give a toss about football.
Merry Monday one and all, and how was your weekend?
How did the party at the New Offices go? I must say I was impressed by the range of sausage rolls and savoury eggs available. Who brought the popular mid-twenty-something VH-1 highlights of their CD collection? And wot's the goss?
Shocked to discover this morning that I had been e-mailed by my mother, with the simple yet eerie message: "MUMMY'S SURFING". You can run, but you can't hide.
Odd coincidence; going through some boxes at home over the weekend, I discovered Kevin Keegan's autograph on a dinner menu from the 1982 Annual Sports Awards dinner. Didn't know I had that. And now he's been spotted in Florida. Or somewhere. No, sorry, I still can't bring myself to give a toss about football.
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Clique Wique
Friday, 10th January 1997
"Desmond has a barrel in the market place, Molly is the singer in a band, Desmond says to Molly 'Girl I like your face' and Molly says this as she takes him by the hand:'O-bla-di, o-bla-da, life goes on, bra, la-la how the life goes on."
Paul McCartney wrote that. Give me a grand and it's yours.
Liam Gallagher's doing his bit to keep drugs off the street - he's buying them all! I love that joke.
Why didn't anyone (cept Chris) mail me back with a suggestion for an award? There must be someone you want to embarrass!
"Desmond has a barrel in the market place, Molly is the singer in a band, Desmond says to Molly 'Girl I like your face' and Molly says this as she takes him by the hand:'O-bla-di, o-bla-da, life goes on, bra, la-la how the life goes on."
Paul McCartney wrote that. Give me a grand and it's yours.
Liam Gallagher's doing his bit to keep drugs off the street - he's buying them all! I love that joke.
Why didn't anyone (cept Chris) mail me back with a suggestion for an award? There must be someone you want to embarrass!
Wednesday, 19 December 2007
Youth Culture Killed My Dog
Thursday, 9th January 1997
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit's... Thursday!
So, it's the Pharma Balimo Christmas Do, and our director Billy "Monkhouse" Johnson steps up to the mike with a handful of gold envelopes for the company award ceremony. Who would YOU like to have seen nominated for WHAT?
Best Hair? Lonest Running Cold? Outstanding Tits? This is a Democracy - vote or die!
If you don't like it, go back to Russia.
Anyone for a sing-song?
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit's... Thursday!
So, it's the Pharma Balimo Christmas Do, and our director Billy "Monkhouse" Johnson steps up to the mike with a handful of gold envelopes for the company award ceremony. Who would YOU like to have seen nominated for WHAT?
Best Hair? Lonest Running Cold? Outstanding Tits? This is a Democracy - vote or die!
If you don't like it, go back to Russia.
Anyone for a sing-song?
Tuesday, 18 December 2007
He's Getting Rather Old But He's A Good Mouse
Wednesday, 8th January 1997
Evita, right, incredibly moving throughout, brilliant movie however many times you watch it, the last fifteen minutes being particularly poignant, and what happens last night during the end? This bloody pair of two-hats burst into the cinema, stand right in front of A and I and start scanning the seats for their mates, knifing the atmosphere in the podge! Then they leave, and we're just waiting for Madge to pop her clogs when some R-sole's mobile phone rings with a twee "Fleur de Lys" tune. By now there's bits of atmosphere growing cold all over the auditorium, people are saying to each other "so, what, did she die then?" and frankly I can complain about ANYTHING.
Twenty-four million people watched the last ever episode of Only Fools & Horses over Christmas giving it the UK's largest ever TV audience. And yet I still managed to miss it.
I'd love to stay and talk but it's time for my aubergine. Oops! There go my shoes...
Evita, right, incredibly moving throughout, brilliant movie however many times you watch it, the last fifteen minutes being particularly poignant, and what happens last night during the end? This bloody pair of two-hats burst into the cinema, stand right in front of A and I and start scanning the seats for their mates, knifing the atmosphere in the podge! Then they leave, and we're just waiting for Madge to pop her clogs when some R-sole's mobile phone rings with a twee "Fleur de Lys" tune. By now there's bits of atmosphere growing cold all over the auditorium, people are saying to each other "so, what, did she die then?" and frankly I can complain about ANYTHING.
Twenty-four million people watched the last ever episode of Only Fools & Horses over Christmas giving it the UK's largest ever TV audience. And yet I still managed to miss it.
I'd love to stay and talk but it's time for my aubergine. Oops! There go my shoes...
Monday, 17 December 2007
Zig-a-zig-arrrrse
Tuesday, 7th January 1997
Don't the Spice Girls look like they should be fighting crime perpetrated by costumed villains?
Having successfully predicted the arrival of the UK's latest pop phenoms two years in advance, these are my new pop forecasts;
Mel B
Don't the Spice Girls look like they should be fighting crime perpetrated by costumed villains?
Having successfully predicted the arrival of the UK's latest pop phenoms two years in advance, these are my new pop forecasts;
- Geri, Mel C, Mel D, Mel E and Trevor will be given their own TV show and cartoon slot by the year 2000.
- Keith Prodigy and Rusty Lee Spice Girl will marry briefly in 1998. Their Malibu wedding is marred by the couple unfortunately locking tongue-studs shortly after the ceremony, ending in casualty.
- Backflip is kicked out of the UK Millenial Women's Olympic Gymnastic team for being a bloke.
- The blonde one gets her GCSEs and becomes an apprentice hairdresser in Lowestoft.
- Geri (37) gets her old job back to make a brief guest appearance as a dolly bird on the Turkish TV game show hit "Come Into My Shop And Buy A Carpet".
- Victoria reveals through her friends that she was in fact born without a tongue.
- After five years of success and three albums, the Spice Girls sadly tell the press and millions of tearful boys that they are in fact splitting up. Record sales for Irish girl group Girlzarea go through the roof.
Mel B
Friday, 14 December 2007
Politically Incorrectable
Monday, 6th January 1997
A very happy birthday to Caroline, who is nineteen today! May you return many happy... um, things. Do excuse my lack of perspicacity, I downed a bottle of Mezcal on the train and I'm still picking bits of hallucinogenic worm out of my teeth. The walls are not melting, the room is not spinning, but everything seems to be subdividing into tiny cubes which spin round to reveal a differently textured surface before reassembling into the original shape, and this is happening about fifty times a minute.
-
Did you know that if all the girls in Essex were laid end to end, no-one would be the least bit surprised? Thank you Dorothy Parker.
-
And remember;
Money be tight, and time may fly,
Laughs few and far between,
Friendships flicker, sputter and die,
The world seems cruel and mean
The downward spirals never end
Except in sorrow and failure.
Cheer up, and don't go round the bend:
At least you've got genitalia!
Love y'all.
A very happy birthday to Caroline, who is nineteen today! May you return many happy... um, things. Do excuse my lack of perspicacity, I downed a bottle of Mezcal on the train and I'm still picking bits of hallucinogenic worm out of my teeth. The walls are not melting, the room is not spinning, but everything seems to be subdividing into tiny cubes which spin round to reveal a differently textured surface before reassembling into the original shape, and this is happening about fifty times a minute.
-
Did you know that if all the girls in Essex were laid end to end, no-one would be the least bit surprised? Thank you Dorothy Parker.
-
And remember;
Money be tight, and time may fly,
Laughs few and far between,
Friendships flicker, sputter and die,
The world seems cruel and mean
The downward spirals never end
Except in sorrow and failure.
Cheer up, and don't go round the bend:
At least you've got genitalia!
Love y'all.
Thursday, 13 December 2007
Tomorrow Never Knows Nuthin'
Friday, 3rd January 1997
Today will be a day like any other.
So how were your respective festive seasons? Did you have a ravenous, hedonistic binge (mentioning no names), or did you opt for a soothing, vegetative state of being? Was the whole thing wasted on you, not as fun as it used to be, do you feel on the brink of becoming a different person? Or was it a celebration of your wholeness, karmic aura intensifying la-di-da balls pond road arse pants what am I blethering on about?
Oh yeah, did you have a nice Christmas? Or should I have asked that yesterday? Or did I already? Did you, though?
Next week will be no different.
Today will be a day like any other.
So how were your respective festive seasons? Did you have a ravenous, hedonistic binge (mentioning no names), or did you opt for a soothing, vegetative state of being? Was the whole thing wasted on you, not as fun as it used to be, do you feel on the brink of becoming a different person? Or was it a celebration of your wholeness, karmic aura intensifying la-di-da balls pond road arse pants what am I blethering on about?
Oh yeah, did you have a nice Christmas? Or should I have asked that yesterday? Or did I already? Did you, though?
Next week will be no different.
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
2.1.97
Thursday, 2nd January 1997
Lovely, thanks. And yours?
Walk with me, and let us leave momentary footsteps in this crisp, fresh mantle of virgin time. Feel the leaves of an old year crunch under your feet, snapping the twigs of the past. See the denuded trees covered in whole new days, the lake frosted and iced with the promise of exciting beginnings; hear the rush of water somewhere underground from the river of forever. The wind is bright, bracing, brilliant, blowing iced cobwebs from yesterday's houses. Everything is cold and still, holding in its warmth: because everything is waiting to be born.
Happy New Year.
Lovely, thanks. And yours?
Walk with me, and let us leave momentary footsteps in this crisp, fresh mantle of virgin time. Feel the leaves of an old year crunch under your feet, snapping the twigs of the past. See the denuded trees covered in whole new days, the lake frosted and iced with the promise of exciting beginnings; hear the rush of water somewhere underground from the river of forever. The wind is bright, bracing, brilliant, blowing iced cobwebs from yesterday's houses. Everything is cold and still, holding in its warmth: because everything is waiting to be born.
Happy New Year.
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
Wahey!
Tuesday, 24th December 1996
Morning, you boozy snoggers! Top craic at the Christmas Party or what? I'm still a tad peshed, the line above this one took me five minutes to type.
Need more coffee.
For those of you who stayed over: HOW much for a sausage? And the staff - what a miserable bahnch of cahnts, not a Merry Christmas from any of them!
But what a great night, A & I haven't got that airsoled in ages. And I haven't seen so many unexpected tongue sarnies since the last student May Ball. Much comedy goings-on. And I'm very flattered you liked the poem - shucks, you guys!
Keep taking the Resolve.
(Hangover's started just now - I feel like a pig has shat in my head)
Morning, you boozy snoggers! Top craic at the Christmas Party or what? I'm still a tad peshed, the line above this one took me five minutes to type.
Need more coffee.
For those of you who stayed over: HOW much for a sausage? And the staff - what a miserable bahnch of cahnts, not a Merry Christmas from any of them!
But what a great night, A & I haven't got that airsoled in ages. And I haven't seen so many unexpected tongue sarnies since the last student May Ball. Much comedy goings-on. And I'm very flattered you liked the poem - shucks, you guys!
Keep taking the Resolve.
(Hangover's started just now - I feel like a pig has shat in my head)
Monday, 10 December 2007
Dearly Departed
Monday, 23rd December 1996
"Dis place (aah-aaaah) is 'comin' like a ghost town...."
On a quick visit downstairs at Pharma House I was disturbed to hear a lonely breeze carrying the sound of distant churchbells. No movement, save for the intermittent tumbleweed rolling alone to who-knows-where. I found Old Man Hudson sitting in his rocker, in his battered straw hat and faded yankee uniform chewing on cheap baccy, swearing and spitting at his dusty monitor.
"All the young folk's've up'n'gone," he rasped through his bathtub whiskey. "Just ain't thuh same 'round these parts."
He offered me his bottle; I politely declined, saying I'd just been.
-
HOW'S the new offices, oh brave adventurers?
Are all the tales that we heard about true?
Do they have swivel chairs, desks for the asking?
Plenty of coffee, no need for a queue?
Tell of facilities; bright, new and sparkling,
Cubicles smelling of fresh alpine air.
Water dispensers that bubble divinely,
And sandwiches, sandwiches, never a care.
Tell of computers that work ever faultlessly,
Crashless, and seamless, and faster than sound.
Our blond IS chaps, and that young Robin Dawson,
All blue-arsed fly-like in their rushing around.
Do you miss us, oh our fearless departadours,
Busy as anything, this must be true.
Think of us back here in old Pharma House, fellows;
Sat on our arses with shag all to do.
"Dis place (aah-aaaah) is 'comin' like a ghost town...."
On a quick visit downstairs at Pharma House I was disturbed to hear a lonely breeze carrying the sound of distant churchbells. No movement, save for the intermittent tumbleweed rolling alone to who-knows-where. I found Old Man Hudson sitting in his rocker, in his battered straw hat and faded yankee uniform chewing on cheap baccy, swearing and spitting at his dusty monitor.
"All the young folk's've up'n'gone," he rasped through his bathtub whiskey. "Just ain't thuh same 'round these parts."
He offered me his bottle; I politely declined, saying I'd just been.
-
HOW'S the new offices, oh brave adventurers?
Are all the tales that we heard about true?
Do they have swivel chairs, desks for the asking?
Plenty of coffee, no need for a queue?
Tell of facilities; bright, new and sparkling,
Cubicles smelling of fresh alpine air.
Water dispensers that bubble divinely,
And sandwiches, sandwiches, never a care.
Tell of computers that work ever faultlessly,
Crashless, and seamless, and faster than sound.
Our blond IS chaps, and that young Robin Dawson,
All blue-arsed fly-like in their rushing around.
Do you miss us, oh our fearless departadours,
Busy as anything, this must be true.
Think of us back here in old Pharma House, fellows;
Sat on our arses with shag all to do.
Friday, 7 December 2007
Permanently Yours
Friday, 20th December 1996
I've recently had some good news and now that all the red tape's been well and truly wrapped up into little bows and sent to the starving in Somalia, I can confirm that, after seven months of temping at Pharma Balimo, and oooh, some six years on and off of being a "Kelly Girl":
I have been offered and has accepted a permanent position of employment!
This is large Maris Pipers for little old me, I've never had a proper job before. So say "hello!" and "huzzah!" and "brandy and coke, B?" to your new Graphic Designer!
I th'nk y'.
B, GD CRG, PB Int Ltd
I've recently had some good news and now that all the red tape's been well and truly wrapped up into little bows and sent to the starving in Somalia, I can confirm that, after seven months of temping at Pharma Balimo, and oooh, some six years on and off of being a "Kelly Girl":
I have been offered and has accepted a permanent position of employment!
This is large Maris Pipers for little old me, I've never had a proper job before. So say "hello!" and "huzzah!" and "brandy and coke, B?" to your new Graphic Designer!
I th'nk y'.
B, GD CRG, PB Int Ltd
Thursday, 6 December 2007
No-one Knows My Plan
Thursday, 19th December 1996
With the vim and vigour which I pursued the translation of a song lyric from the original Portuguese, I now MUST know to which story this lyric pertains:
"They're like the people chained up in the cave
In the allegory of the people in the cave by the Greek guy."
WHAT allegory? WHICH Greek guy? These questions demand answers!
Here's today's sport section:
--- --- ---
--- -X- ---
--- --- ---
G
Let the games commence!
With the vim and vigour which I pursued the translation of a song lyric from the original Portuguese, I now MUST know to which story this lyric pertains:
"They're like the people chained up in the cave
In the allegory of the people in the cave by the Greek guy."
WHAT allegory? WHICH Greek guy? These questions demand answers!
Here's today's sport section:
--- --- ---
--- -X- ---
--- --- ---
G
Let the games commence!
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
Morning of the Living Dead
Wednesday, 4th December 1996
Don't look so resigned to your fate, all veneer of alertness over a blockboard body of sleep, brain humming quietly to itself like an old fridge. What was it you dreamt last night, that should have such power over your daydreams in the waking hours?
Think of a warm bed, a hot drink, a comforting breeze on a summer's night, a fluffy blanket, a cushioned cot, a safe, dark place of peaceful colourlessness and knowing little; the sleep before life, the gentle lull before the storm of light and cold. Whatever gets you through the day, it's okay.
Don't look so resigned to your fate, all veneer of alertness over a blockboard body of sleep, brain humming quietly to itself like an old fridge. What was it you dreamt last night, that should have such power over your daydreams in the waking hours?
Think of a warm bed, a hot drink, a comforting breeze on a summer's night, a fluffy blanket, a cushioned cot, a safe, dark place of peaceful colourlessness and knowing little; the sleep before life, the gentle lull before the storm of light and cold. Whatever gets you through the day, it's okay.
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
This Light Is Here To Keep You Warm
Tuesday, 3rd December 1996
Great night last night folks! Triffic food, brilliant craic, and rigourous tariff auditing all in one evening.
Comedy highlights included:
- Jon's first Peking Duck roll - mmm, precariously floppy!
- Dan whispering "I've got a uniform at home" into my ear
- The frozen birthday cake (it's still defrosting, folks!)
- Steve's Miraculous Eternal Smile
- and many more, available from Ronco on double LP...
*
The best thing about chinese food is that if someone can't finish their dish, it's open season for the food hunting enthusiast. I thoroughly recommend that Cantonese sizzling sliced steak.
*
Oh yes, and sorry there was no chap cum on the menu.
Great night last night folks! Triffic food, brilliant craic, and rigourous tariff auditing all in one evening.
Comedy highlights included:
- Jon's first Peking Duck roll - mmm, precariously floppy!
- Dan whispering "I've got a uniform at home" into my ear
- The frozen birthday cake (it's still defrosting, folks!)
- Steve's Miraculous Eternal Smile
- and many more, available from Ronco on double LP...
*
The best thing about chinese food is that if someone can't finish their dish, it's open season for the food hunting enthusiast. I thoroughly recommend that Cantonese sizzling sliced steak.
*
Oh yes, and sorry there was no chap cum on the menu.
Monday, 3 December 2007
World Leader Pretend
Monday, 2nd December 1996
Happy Birthday to Gary "Moscow on the" Hudson, who turns thirty in the year 2000. Message: minimise your Windows.
Danny Allegro update (like anyone's interested): for anyone who can remember what's going on in the story, who should be highlighted in the next chapter?
1) Danny Allegro - the protagonist
2) King Movie - the junkie
3) Sheel - the dying girl
4) Tom - the landlord
5) The Girl with the Dan Dare Eyebrows
I'm really keen to write another bit, you see, but being shy and of low self-esteem require words of encouragement from my peer group.
And remember: if you can't stand the heat, sit down.
Happy Birthday to Gary "Moscow on the" Hudson, who turns thirty in the year 2000. Message: minimise your Windows.
Danny Allegro update (like anyone's interested): for anyone who can remember what's going on in the story, who should be highlighted in the next chapter?
1) Danny Allegro - the protagonist
2) King Movie - the junkie
3) Sheel - the dying girl
4) Tom - the landlord
5) The Girl with the Dan Dare Eyebrows
I'm really keen to write another bit, you see, but being shy and of low self-esteem require words of encouragement from my peer group.
And remember: if you can't stand the heat, sit down.
Friday, 30 November 2007
Is he Ys? Is he Rs!
Friday, 29th November 1996
That's what it says here: "A credit card with excellent benefits for everyone interested in STAR TREK... issued by a highly reputable race of bankers collectively known as Bank of Scotland... an easy way to show your commitment to STAR TREK." I mean, £ú@< off or what.
Good craic last night at the Three Tuns - soon to be renamed the 2,947 Kilos in harmony with Europe. I didn't have much at all to drink last night, and therefore was not full, yet I cannot remember a thing. Help please.
My cat's name is Mittens.
That's what it says here: "A credit card with excellent benefits for everyone interested in STAR TREK... issued by a highly reputable race of bankers collectively known as Bank of Scotland... an easy way to show your commitment to STAR TREK." I mean, £ú@< off or what.
Good craic last night at the Three Tuns - soon to be renamed the 2,947 Kilos in harmony with Europe. I didn't have much at all to drink last night, and therefore was not full, yet I cannot remember a thing. Help please.
My cat's name is Mittens.
Thursday, 29 November 2007
Chocolate Cereal
Monday, 25th November 1996
Morning tharr, arr.
How did Friday night go then? Any tales of embarrassing drunken debauched behaviour? Inquiring Minds Want To Know.
I haven't had any coffee yet and I feel strange, in the same way that finely corrugated sheet metal feels strange.
Today's Superghost starter is: V
Did anyone use the lottery numbers I predicted? Turns out I picked 5 out of 6, so that wasn't too bad. I'll see if I can get all six for you next week.
Pack the bowl
Morning tharr, arr.
How did Friday night go then? Any tales of embarrassing drunken debauched behaviour? Inquiring Minds Want To Know.
I haven't had any coffee yet and I feel strange, in the same way that finely corrugated sheet metal feels strange.
Today's Superghost starter is: V
Did anyone use the lottery numbers I predicted? Turns out I picked 5 out of 6, so that wasn't too bad. I'll see if I can get all six for you next week.
Pack the bowl
Wednesday, 28 November 2007
He Curses His Virtue Like An Unclean Thing
Friday, 22nd November 1996
Tomorrow's lottery numbers will be
2 7 14 39 43 44
And remember, you have to be in to win.
A priest strolls into a bar on a Sunday and orders a pint of lager. The barman isn't sure and says "Are you sure you're allowed to drink lager on a Sunday, father?" The priest says nothing, and pulls out a bell, a book, and a clockwork monkey. "Let me show you something by way of explanation" says the priest, and he lifts the bell in one hand, the book in the other, and I can't remember the rest of the joke but I fell off my chair in tears when I heard it, the punchline's got something to do with the monkey.
Tomorrow's lottery numbers will be
2 7 14 39 43 44
And remember, you have to be in to win.
A priest strolls into a bar on a Sunday and orders a pint of lager. The barman isn't sure and says "Are you sure you're allowed to drink lager on a Sunday, father?" The priest says nothing, and pulls out a bell, a book, and a clockwork monkey. "Let me show you something by way of explanation" says the priest, and he lifts the bell in one hand, the book in the other, and I can't remember the rest of the joke but I fell off my chair in tears when I heard it, the punchline's got something to do with the monkey.
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
I Wanna Be A Drill Instructor
Wednesday, 20th November 1996
Scientists in Canada working on the communicative structure used by ducks made a breakthrough last week by completing their first translation. The completed sentence read: "This water's f***ing freezing".
-
Four blind men describing an elephant.
-
Copies of the videotape lifted by a construction worker from the home of Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee showing the couple having sex will be available to purchase at lunchtime by the Coke machine. The quality of the reproduction may affect viewing pleasure, and to the untrained eye the content may look a bit like old episodes of "CHiPS", but at £9.99 a go this is a must have.
-
Got any salmon - sautéed!
Scientists in Canada working on the communicative structure used by ducks made a breakthrough last week by completing their first translation. The completed sentence read: "This water's f***ing freezing".
-
Four blind men describing an elephant.
-
Copies of the videotape lifted by a construction worker from the home of Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee showing the couple having sex will be available to purchase at lunchtime by the Coke machine. The quality of the reproduction may affect viewing pleasure, and to the untrained eye the content may look a bit like old episodes of "CHiPS", but at £9.99 a go this is a must have.
-
Got any salmon - sautéed!
Monday, 26 November 2007
Romanticizing the past
Tuesday, 19th November 1996
What I Was Reminded Of This Morning.
Going to work at Brick Lane Market at six o'clock one still-dark winter Sunday morning, the train for some reason stopped at Baker Street. Passengers were advised that there would be no service for another hour. Turning up late for stalling out wasn't popular, so reckoned I'd leave Baker Street and think of something else.
Cold, sleepy, worried and fifteen, on a freezing day when the sane world was in bed, I stepped out of the station onto the Marylebone Road, and I saw the snow.
It wasn't normal London snow, the kind you hoped would settle but never did, or the kind that there's too much of and gets in the way. And, you know, I'd seen snow before and snow was snow. But this was different. Christmas was just around the corner. The length of Marylebone Road, stretching off in both directions from the West Way to King's Cross, the roofs, the buildings, the lampposts, the bus shelters, the dustbins, the pavements, the road itself, all covered in six inches of picture-postcard perfect snow that still fell in festive arrays, filling the sky. There wasn't a car in sight, nor any evidence of them passing. I'd walked out of Baker Street into a London that only existed in movies, the world of Peter Pan and Father Christmas, or the London of Dickens, toy shop windows, where it is always snowing but the cold makes you smile, and everything is always and forever blanketed with snow, snow, beautiful snow.
I stood there and, for a few frozen, priceless minutes, took it all in before the first taxi of Sunday morning arrived and ferried me away, on time, to Brick Lane.
What I Was Reminded Of This Morning.
Going to work at Brick Lane Market at six o'clock one still-dark winter Sunday morning, the train for some reason stopped at Baker Street. Passengers were advised that there would be no service for another hour. Turning up late for stalling out wasn't popular, so reckoned I'd leave Baker Street and think of something else.
Cold, sleepy, worried and fifteen, on a freezing day when the sane world was in bed, I stepped out of the station onto the Marylebone Road, and I saw the snow.
It wasn't normal London snow, the kind you hoped would settle but never did, or the kind that there's too much of and gets in the way. And, you know, I'd seen snow before and snow was snow. But this was different. Christmas was just around the corner. The length of Marylebone Road, stretching off in both directions from the West Way to King's Cross, the roofs, the buildings, the lampposts, the bus shelters, the dustbins, the pavements, the road itself, all covered in six inches of picture-postcard perfect snow that still fell in festive arrays, filling the sky. There wasn't a car in sight, nor any evidence of them passing. I'd walked out of Baker Street into a London that only existed in movies, the world of Peter Pan and Father Christmas, or the London of Dickens, toy shop windows, where it is always snowing but the cold makes you smile, and everything is always and forever blanketed with snow, snow, beautiful snow.
I stood there and, for a few frozen, priceless minutes, took it all in before the first taxi of Sunday morning arrived and ferried me away, on time, to Brick Lane.
Friday, 23 November 2007
Psychotic Breakdown Double-edge Axe
Monday, 18th November 1996
Time pressure
My fourth year primary school teacher Mrs Bainbridge, at every opportunity, told us "more haste, less speed". She eventually left to become one of the first female priests in the country. Thus, sod it. Move at your own speed. You can rev it up but don't go faster than you feel safe. I wonder how much it pays, being a female priest...
Saw the Oasis calendar in Woolies yesterday, and it's bloody typical. The frontispiece is a photo of the band standing still but cracking up. The Arsetwat is pointing out of the picture and guffawing. The message is clear; not only does Liam not give a toss about the fans, he's laughing at them.
Tinfoil, see, the radiation can't get through, that's how you know it's safe to eat, she can't poison uz now......
Time pressure
My fourth year primary school teacher Mrs Bainbridge, at every opportunity, told us "more haste, less speed". She eventually left to become one of the first female priests in the country. Thus, sod it. Move at your own speed. You can rev it up but don't go faster than you feel safe. I wonder how much it pays, being a female priest...
Saw the Oasis calendar in Woolies yesterday, and it's bloody typical. The frontispiece is a photo of the band standing still but cracking up. The Arsetwat is pointing out of the picture and guffawing. The message is clear; not only does Liam not give a toss about the fans, he's laughing at them.
Tinfoil, see, the radiation can't get through, that's how you know it's safe to eat, she can't poison uz now......
Thursday, 22 November 2007
Wet Cigarette
Friday, 15th November 1996
It's Friday. You know what that means, don't you? That's right: in three days it'll be Monday again.
-
Chris Evans' researchers aren't worth shite. "How Sweet To Be An Idiot" was either a Neil Innes solo song or a Bonzo Dog Band song - it was most certainly not a Rutles song.
Hey, and if Neil Innes could get an out-of-court payment for Oasis ripping his song off for "Whatever", then it's lottery rollover week for Colour Me Badd, the estates of Marc Bolan and Karen Carpenter, the Stones, Blondie, George Harrison, and probably about thirty other musos. Hope Noel's got deep pockets...
And the Smashing Pumpkins kissing Noel & Liam's sweaty, purulent arses on the MTV Awards last night - "oh, thanks for the Best Rock Band award but really Oasis should've won it, they're the best since the Beatles, oh, oh, I'm going off to write some poetry" - please Jimmy, put your tongue back in your gob...
-
"Get out your leadpipe pipedreams, get out your ten foot flags, the insects are huge and the toilets are full and the drugs won't kill your day job..."
And if THAT don't just say it all.
It's Friday. You know what that means, don't you? That's right: in three days it'll be Monday again.
-
Chris Evans' researchers aren't worth shite. "How Sweet To Be An Idiot" was either a Neil Innes solo song or a Bonzo Dog Band song - it was most certainly not a Rutles song.
Hey, and if Neil Innes could get an out-of-court payment for Oasis ripping his song off for "Whatever", then it's lottery rollover week for Colour Me Badd, the estates of Marc Bolan and Karen Carpenter, the Stones, Blondie, George Harrison, and probably about thirty other musos. Hope Noel's got deep pockets...
And the Smashing Pumpkins kissing Noel & Liam's sweaty, purulent arses on the MTV Awards last night - "oh, thanks for the Best Rock Band award but really Oasis should've won it, they're the best since the Beatles, oh, oh, I'm going off to write some poetry" - please Jimmy, put your tongue back in your gob...
-
"Get out your leadpipe pipedreams, get out your ten foot flags, the insects are huge and the toilets are full and the drugs won't kill your day job..."
And if THAT don't just say it all.
Wednesday, 21 November 2007
It's Too Darned Hot
Thursday, 14th November 1996
Anyone fancy a game of superghost? I'll start:
F
Here's the rules; you have to put a letter at the beginning or the end of the word being made without actually finishing a word. So if you were to put 'O' before the 'F', you'd lose because you finished the word 'of'. But with every letter you put down, you must have a word in mind, or your opponent can challenge you. If you don't have one, you lose. If you do, you win. Otherwise the game goes on until one player is forced to finish a word.
-
I've got Episode VII of "Danny Allegro" bubbling about in my head. Let me know if you're interested or not (ie mail me back or not).
-
And then... some
(This is crap, wot's on the uvver side?)
Anyone fancy a game of superghost? I'll start:
F
Here's the rules; you have to put a letter at the beginning or the end of the word being made without actually finishing a word. So if you were to put 'O' before the 'F', you'd lose because you finished the word 'of'. But with every letter you put down, you must have a word in mind, or your opponent can challenge you. If you don't have one, you lose. If you do, you win. Otherwise the game goes on until one player is forced to finish a word.
-
I've got Episode VII of "Danny Allegro" bubbling about in my head. Let me know if you're interested or not (ie mail me back or not).
-
And then... some
(This is crap, wot's on the uvver side?)
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
God Save Us All
Wednesday, 13th November 1996
How many roads must a man walk down? In my case it's eight. It could be seven but I'd miss my train.
Why did people suddenly stop wearing hats in the 1950s?
Where does Bob Monkhouse get off doing nob gags in front of the Queen? I saw him. It's a disgrace gawd bless er she does a wonderful job...
What will the Queen Mum get on her 100th birthday?
"Here you go, mum."
"Oh thanks dear. How nice, a hand-delivered telegram..."
And how many did YOU get right on "Never Mind The Buzzcocks" last night? I tell yer, if Phil Jupitus had me on his team instead of that edgy bint from the Sunday Show, we'd've knocked Richard "Right Said Fred" Fairbrass, Sean "Guitar" Hughes and Fat Bloke out of Dodgy
into a particularly cocked hat. I may not know much, but I know me pop.
How many roads must a man walk down? In my case it's eight. It could be seven but I'd miss my train.
Why did people suddenly stop wearing hats in the 1950s?
Where does Bob Monkhouse get off doing nob gags in front of the Queen? I saw him. It's a disgrace gawd bless er she does a wonderful job...
What will the Queen Mum get on her 100th birthday?
"Here you go, mum."
"Oh thanks dear. How nice, a hand-delivered telegram..."
And how many did YOU get right on "Never Mind The Buzzcocks" last night? I tell yer, if Phil Jupitus had me on his team instead of that edgy bint from the Sunday Show, we'd've knocked Richard "Right Said Fred" Fairbrass, Sean "Guitar" Hughes and Fat Bloke out of Dodgy
into a particularly cocked hat. I may not know much, but I know me pop.
Monday, 19 November 2007
Violently Happy
Tuesday, 12th November 1996
Remember that
Forever above the clouds
The sun always shines
Well, the move was a breeze (or was it a 60s pop combo?) and A and I are settling in fine. We've got a club and a 24-hour Esso within spitting distance, and the nearest pub is currently selling beer at 65p a pint. I'm five minutes from my favourite bookshop... what more can I say?
Love is the world and the world is love.
Remember that
Forever above the clouds
The sun always shines
Well, the move was a breeze (or was it a 60s pop combo?) and A and I are settling in fine. We've got a club and a 24-hour Esso within spitting distance, and the nearest pub is currently selling beer at 65p a pint. I'm five minutes from my favourite bookshop... what more can I say?
Love is the world and the world is love.
Friday, 16 November 2007
Songs from the New Album
Wednesday, 6th November 1996
overkill - short story.
....
The single got its UK release on the Monday after three weeks of airplay on national and commercial radio. "Beast" by The Riders was received by the musical community with some disdain at first, being as some thought a multi-sampled over-produced mishmash and, at first, a rip-off of "See Emily Play" by Pink Floyd. At first.
But the song was a grower. And no-one could deny that. NME described it as "eclectic", Smash Hits as "'Bohemian Rhapsody' for the end of the century" and Q as "*****". The song "Beast" seemed to take its references from modern pop, dino rock, classical, you name it, it was there. People reported playing other CDs in their collection and hearing echoes of "Beast" in all of them, then switching off.
A strange coincidence: during the weeks before the single was released, the music industry suffered its worst month for nine years. Companies which relied on radio advertising for its customer revenue experienced a slight downturn in profits. And possibly the oddest; Radio 1 lost three million listeners while Radio 4 gained two.
Our Price, Virgin, HMV, all the big chains noticed this inexplicable dip in sales. Shelves stayed full. Singles went unbought. As a leading statistician of his time was noted as saying, "you could hear the crickets in Woolies and see the tumbleweed roll through the Megastore aisles."
Then Monday came. "Beast" by The Riders, on a small independent label, came in and flew out. Re-order history was made. There was little doubt it would go straight in at number one the following week, and at this rate, stay there to be the first number one of the millenium.
Interviews with The Riders were scarce; they seemed to have disappeared from the address the label had on record, and no-one had heard from them since the recording of "Beast". The engineer for the session claimed the four-piece band had said little between the eight takes or the re-mixing and post-production. And then they'd left. Did they seem happy, the interviewers had asked him, did they seem sad? No, said the engineer, they just looked like they were doing their job.
From cities everywhere in the UK, and then Germany, France, and then Japan, and after a week, the US, reports of "Beast"'s similarity to other pieces of music avalanched in. A mum from Luton told of her sixteen-year old son throwing out all his records saying "it all sounds the same. It all sounds like 'Beast'". A Tokyo violinist said the noted conductor Daisuke Kimahoto had hurled his baton into the orchestra at random and caught her forehead by accident, before storming out shouting "that infernal song, when will I stop hearing that infernal song?" Everywhere people were burning their Springsteen, their Stones, their Dylan, their Mudhoney, their Tchaikovsky, their Hawkwind, their Velvet Underground, their Oasis, their Beatles, their Spice Girls, their Beethoven, and finally their Riders....
Within a month, music radio had proved unprofitable. Movies had become soundtrack-free. Nobody, anywhere, played music, nowhere could it be heard, nobody sung. The earth had been robbed forever of what one poet has called "the language of the soul". For perhaps six days it was very quiet everywhere.
And within a year, it was silent.
overkill - short story.
....
The single got its UK release on the Monday after three weeks of airplay on national and commercial radio. "Beast" by The Riders was received by the musical community with some disdain at first, being as some thought a multi-sampled over-produced mishmash and, at first, a rip-off of "See Emily Play" by Pink Floyd. At first.
But the song was a grower. And no-one could deny that. NME described it as "eclectic", Smash Hits as "'Bohemian Rhapsody' for the end of the century" and Q as "*****". The song "Beast" seemed to take its references from modern pop, dino rock, classical, you name it, it was there. People reported playing other CDs in their collection and hearing echoes of "Beast" in all of them, then switching off.
A strange coincidence: during the weeks before the single was released, the music industry suffered its worst month for nine years. Companies which relied on radio advertising for its customer revenue experienced a slight downturn in profits. And possibly the oddest; Radio 1 lost three million listeners while Radio 4 gained two.
Our Price, Virgin, HMV, all the big chains noticed this inexplicable dip in sales. Shelves stayed full. Singles went unbought. As a leading statistician of his time was noted as saying, "you could hear the crickets in Woolies and see the tumbleweed roll through the Megastore aisles."
Then Monday came. "Beast" by The Riders, on a small independent label, came in and flew out. Re-order history was made. There was little doubt it would go straight in at number one the following week, and at this rate, stay there to be the first number one of the millenium.
Interviews with The Riders were scarce; they seemed to have disappeared from the address the label had on record, and no-one had heard from them since the recording of "Beast". The engineer for the session claimed the four-piece band had said little between the eight takes or the re-mixing and post-production. And then they'd left. Did they seem happy, the interviewers had asked him, did they seem sad? No, said the engineer, they just looked like they were doing their job.
From cities everywhere in the UK, and then Germany, France, and then Japan, and after a week, the US, reports of "Beast"'s similarity to other pieces of music avalanched in. A mum from Luton told of her sixteen-year old son throwing out all his records saying "it all sounds the same. It all sounds like 'Beast'". A Tokyo violinist said the noted conductor Daisuke Kimahoto had hurled his baton into the orchestra at random and caught her forehead by accident, before storming out shouting "that infernal song, when will I stop hearing that infernal song?" Everywhere people were burning their Springsteen, their Stones, their Dylan, their Mudhoney, their Tchaikovsky, their Hawkwind, their Velvet Underground, their Oasis, their Beatles, their Spice Girls, their Beethoven, and finally their Riders....
Within a month, music radio had proved unprofitable. Movies had become soundtrack-free. Nobody, anywhere, played music, nowhere could it be heard, nobody sung. The earth had been robbed forever of what one poet has called "the language of the soul". For perhaps six days it was very quiet everywhere.
And within a year, it was silent.
Thursday, 15 November 2007
Alligator Sonnet
Monday, 4th November 1996
Blind, white, in tunnel darkness they parade
In New York City's festerance of sewers.
Now feasting, marching; those taken away
From Florida, from swamps in Everglade
And sold as "next new things" to faddish Pops
And given to the kids, given to play,
Then tired of. But a new water game lures
The kids to dangle over toilet tops
Their baby alligators. Flushed, and down
To feed on waste and grow fat on dead things
That float around. To march, and swim, and eat.
So don't play by the outlet pipe; don't clown
Around by manholes, else end up a treat
For New York's blind white alligator kings.
B (in under 9 minutes)
Blind, white, in tunnel darkness they parade
In New York City's festerance of sewers.
Now feasting, marching; those taken away
From Florida, from swamps in Everglade
And sold as "next new things" to faddish Pops
And given to the kids, given to play,
Then tired of. But a new water game lures
The kids to dangle over toilet tops
Their baby alligators. Flushed, and down
To feed on waste and grow fat on dead things
That float around. To march, and swim, and eat.
So don't play by the outlet pipe; don't clown
Around by manholes, else end up a treat
For New York's blind white alligator kings.
B (in under 9 minutes)
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
Gorblimey
Thursday, 31st October 1996
'Ere, it's a right old how-de-do an' no mistake, it's a jolly 'oliday wiv Ma-er-ry Puppins, chim chim cherooo, beat the wife, torch the pub, one careful owner she was an' I'm cutting me own throat, put a monkey on "Fanny Batter" in the 4.20 and 'kin 'ELL have yer seen the price of tripe, I'll 'ave yer yer bastard callin' me a poof or what, and you'd get change out of 'alf a crown, where's me washboard?
Orl tagevva naahh...
'Ere, it's a right old how-de-do an' no mistake, it's a jolly 'oliday wiv Ma-er-ry Puppins, chim chim cherooo, beat the wife, torch the pub, one careful owner she was an' I'm cutting me own throat, put a monkey on "Fanny Batter" in the 4.20 and 'kin 'ELL have yer seen the price of tripe, I'll 'ave yer yer bastard callin' me a poof or what, and you'd get change out of 'alf a crown, where's me washboard?
Orl tagevva naahh...
You'd Better Not Shout, You'd Better Not Cry...
Thursday, 31st October 1996
VI
Bryan McGovan had been in full operative surgery for 107 hours solid. Drugs had been pumped into his body through a drip that was once a colostomy bag to keep him awake but immobile throughout the surgery. The Surgeon himself had needed no drugs; he hadn't slept in quite awhile and was perfectly used to being consistently alert.
There was considerably less doner matter hanging in the antechamber to the instrument room. What was left twitched intermittently in the near-dark. The Surgeon knew what to retain and what to throw away, and Remnant, his assistant, was living lumbering proof that the Surgeon never really threw anything away.
Remnant ran a double-nailed finger over the Bryan's face. The touch was loving and kind, like a sister to her newborn brother. Remnant smiled.
"You're beautiful," it said in her choral voice - the girl, the man, and the crone. Remnant rarely spoke in all voices at once, unless he really meant it. She knew she wasn't beautiful.
It thought of the tales of missionaries who came back from Darkest Africa in the earliest days of the Age of Discovery, publishing fantastical woodcut drawings of men with no heads and faces on their chests, women with one enormous leg each, the misappropriations of features and limbs abundant. How these pictures haunted history, nobody for once believing the stories of these encounters were anything but fantasy brought about by hunger, thirst, or madness.
They were all true, of course. And the Surgeon was justly proud of his work.
During the Bryan surgery, the patient had been awake, screaming and whispering as the secrets had been torn from his flesh. Remnant, in her role as secretary, had filled eight ringbound pads with notes of the conversations Bryan McGovan had had with Danny Allegro, forming a profile of the man and his movements. The Surgeon had once told it that a man's life, however fascinating, however long, was still only a man's life and could be cut from the tree taking its secrets with it. And lost secrets, the Surgeon said, were a crime against life.
Life was a gift. Remnant should know. Especially today, the Day of All Souls. She bent over and kissed the Bryan on the forehead with her many-hared lip, her one mouth of three throats. The creature on the table stirred, the new soul of All Souls, thought Remnant, and it will lead us to Allegro, and the Surgeon will have a friend to talk to. Another "antidesomething" - Remnant was no good with long words.
Or at least that's what it had been told. He turned and headed for the door. Tonight was the only night of the year Remnant could leave the surgery. Her friends were out there, abroad, tapping shoulders, screaming, pulling people silently from streets, showing their faces and scaring them; Masilei, the Lone, Oddfellow, Sister Triplet, the Family October... all having a lovely night out.
Remnant switched off the light as she left the surgery, and in the crone voice, scratched and ugly, bade the Bryan:
"Happy Hallowe'en."
VI
Bryan McGovan had been in full operative surgery for 107 hours solid. Drugs had been pumped into his body through a drip that was once a colostomy bag to keep him awake but immobile throughout the surgery. The Surgeon himself had needed no drugs; he hadn't slept in quite awhile and was perfectly used to being consistently alert.
There was considerably less doner matter hanging in the antechamber to the instrument room. What was left twitched intermittently in the near-dark. The Surgeon knew what to retain and what to throw away, and Remnant, his assistant, was living lumbering proof that the Surgeon never really threw anything away.
Remnant ran a double-nailed finger over the Bryan's face. The touch was loving and kind, like a sister to her newborn brother. Remnant smiled.
"You're beautiful," it said in her choral voice - the girl, the man, and the crone. Remnant rarely spoke in all voices at once, unless he really meant it. She knew she wasn't beautiful.
It thought of the tales of missionaries who came back from Darkest Africa in the earliest days of the Age of Discovery, publishing fantastical woodcut drawings of men with no heads and faces on their chests, women with one enormous leg each, the misappropriations of features and limbs abundant. How these pictures haunted history, nobody for once believing the stories of these encounters were anything but fantasy brought about by hunger, thirst, or madness.
They were all true, of course. And the Surgeon was justly proud of his work.
During the Bryan surgery, the patient had been awake, screaming and whispering as the secrets had been torn from his flesh. Remnant, in her role as secretary, had filled eight ringbound pads with notes of the conversations Bryan McGovan had had with Danny Allegro, forming a profile of the man and his movements. The Surgeon had once told it that a man's life, however fascinating, however long, was still only a man's life and could be cut from the tree taking its secrets with it. And lost secrets, the Surgeon said, were a crime against life.
Life was a gift. Remnant should know. Especially today, the Day of All Souls. She bent over and kissed the Bryan on the forehead with her many-hared lip, her one mouth of three throats. The creature on the table stirred, the new soul of All Souls, thought Remnant, and it will lead us to Allegro, and the Surgeon will have a friend to talk to. Another "antidesomething" - Remnant was no good with long words.
Or at least that's what it had been told. He turned and headed for the door. Tonight was the only night of the year Remnant could leave the surgery. Her friends were out there, abroad, tapping shoulders, screaming, pulling people silently from streets, showing their faces and scaring them; Masilei, the Lone, Oddfellow, Sister Triplet, the Family October... all having a lovely night out.
Remnant switched off the light as she left the surgery, and in the crone voice, scratched and ugly, bade the Bryan:
"Happy Hallowe'en."
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
Last Resorts
Tuesday, 22nd October 1996
THE CAMEL
A large inflated camel
Is a surreptitious mammal
When found floating 'round the pools found in hotels
It lies undisturbed for hours
Eating Haagen Dazs and flowers
It will look at you and say "Oh, that's what smells."
But the camel, when deflated
Is not very highly rated
And indeed is rather boring to its friends
So it sings a sad lamenty
When the hotel pool is empty
And repressurises to avoid the bends.
THE CAMEL
A large inflated camel
Is a surreptitious mammal
When found floating 'round the pools found in hotels
It lies undisturbed for hours
Eating Haagen Dazs and flowers
It will look at you and say "Oh, that's what smells."
But the camel, when deflated
Is not very highly rated
And indeed is rather boring to its friends
So it sings a sad lamenty
When the hotel pool is empty
And repressurises to avoid the bends.
Monday, 12 November 2007
A Finbarr Saunders Moment
Monday, 21st October 2006
The subtle nuances of the English language strike again. Maria Arbeitsplatz walks past my desk and sees me working on her project; a form document redesign which is proving problematic. Noticing what I'm doing, she says with Germanic directness:
"Ah, you are PLAYING WITH IT!"
(fnarr fnarr)
Spotting the "dooble ontondrer" I am at a loss for words, and manage to mumble "yes, and it's, err..." before she says:
"It's COMING!" and walks off.
(kyuk kyuk gibber gibber)
Those wacky Europeans, no?
The subtle nuances of the English language strike again. Maria Arbeitsplatz walks past my desk and sees me working on her project; a form document redesign which is proving problematic. Noticing what I'm doing, she says with Germanic directness:
"Ah, you are PLAYING WITH IT!"
(fnarr fnarr)
Spotting the "dooble ontondrer" I am at a loss for words, and manage to mumble "yes, and it's, err..." before she says:
"It's COMING!" and walks off.
(kyuk kyuk gibber gibber)
Those wacky Europeans, no?
Bad Dreams and Excellent Nightmares
Monday, 21st October 1996
Over the weekend I'd come up with so many epiphanous titbits with which to fill my morning messages that I've totally forgotten all of them. So I'm reverting to big words instead.
Here's a goody:
steatopygiosedentarily - pertaining to one sitting around on their fat arse all day.
e.g.
Yours steatopygiosedentarily,
B
Over the weekend I'd come up with so many epiphanous titbits with which to fill my morning messages that I've totally forgotten all of them. So I'm reverting to big words instead.
Here's a goody:
steatopygiosedentarily - pertaining to one sitting around on their fat arse all day.
e.g.
Yours steatopygiosedentarily,
B
Friday, 9 November 2007
Pop Goes Madonna
Tuesday, 15th October 1996
M...bongos...
Yes! After nine long months of waiting, Madonna has popped a sprog. Hurrah for reproducing hit artists! Mark Owen is currently proud of his "Child", only it isn't a baby human "Child", it's his new single CALLED "Child"! Yes! His first single since leaving Take That, and it's... it's... actually it's very good. The girly-haired one has come back from the Pop Dead sounding not unlike John Lennon, with a song that could have been written by John Lennon. Only it wasn't. But it could've been. But it wasn't.
Hurrah anyway.
M...bongos...
Yes! After nine long months of waiting, Madonna has popped a sprog. Hurrah for reproducing hit artists! Mark Owen is currently proud of his "Child", only it isn't a baby human "Child", it's his new single CALLED "Child"! Yes! His first single since leaving Take That, and it's... it's... actually it's very good. The girly-haired one has come back from the Pop Dead sounding not unlike John Lennon, with a song that could have been written by John Lennon. Only it wasn't. But it could've been. But it wasn't.
Hurrah anyway.
Thursday, 8 November 2007
Hypnotizing Chickens
Monday, 14th October 1996
Lying on the floor with his head for some reason propped up against his hand, King Movie's attention was distracted momentarily by the discovery of a new scab on his forehead. He ran his finger around its perimeter to gague the size, and was about to start picking when he thought: "hang on, something was happening just then, something not good, it's still going on...." King Movie felt a hand grab his collar, lift his body from the concrete, and watched as a blurred figure in front of him slammed a boot into his stomach. Then King Movie remembered. He was getting the shite kicked out of him.
-
He wasn't a bright boy by any stretch of the imagination, but in the time it had taken him to become a full-time smackhead and contract the plague, King Movie had it all pretty much figured out. The moment he had changed from a regular Joe into Charlie H Smacko. That had now become clear.
He'd had part of it figured out a while back, when he was in the room in Clapham; a mumbling idiot off his head at times with h, at other times with pain, and other times.... He couldn't remember getting to the room, or where he'd been before; he woke up and found himself being prodded by a girl with all metal bits stuck to her face, saying "Oi, King Movie, cup of tea?" Turned out the girl was called Sheel, he'd been found slumped on the steps outside the building, and through an act of extreme junk-inspired philanthropy (and horniness) she'd brought him inside.
She called him King Movie. He thought, that must be my name. He hadn't asked her why for a while, but that was just part of figuring things out, wasn't it? And all the while, at the room in Clapham, bits of his life were coming back to him, bits of his life before the experimentation with chemicals he could barely say let alone spell, and a face; a face on a man, the bald man in the long coat he could blame for his inevitable untimely demise. Then he left the room in Clapham and went on a search.
-
Having the shite kicked out of him was par for the course. It had nothing to do with himself or the man, it was just random and violent and of course it hurt, but he'd had a substantial hit shortly before and it lessened the effect. The thugs eventually got bored and threw him against a wall and left him. Everything was blurred, but it always was. Then eventually footsteps. A shadow outlined in the daylight that broke into the tunnel behind it, and a halo. King Movie squinted; not a halo, just the sun bouncing off a hairless head. King Movie smiled.
The shadow spoke. "Today I'm facing people."
And, not for the first time in his life, King Movie passed out.
Lying on the floor with his head for some reason propped up against his hand, King Movie's attention was distracted momentarily by the discovery of a new scab on his forehead. He ran his finger around its perimeter to gague the size, and was about to start picking when he thought: "hang on, something was happening just then, something not good, it's still going on...." King Movie felt a hand grab his collar, lift his body from the concrete, and watched as a blurred figure in front of him slammed a boot into his stomach. Then King Movie remembered. He was getting the shite kicked out of him.
-
He wasn't a bright boy by any stretch of the imagination, but in the time it had taken him to become a full-time smackhead and contract the plague, King Movie had it all pretty much figured out. The moment he had changed from a regular Joe into Charlie H Smacko. That had now become clear.
He'd had part of it figured out a while back, when he was in the room in Clapham; a mumbling idiot off his head at times with h, at other times with pain, and other times.... He couldn't remember getting to the room, or where he'd been before; he woke up and found himself being prodded by a girl with all metal bits stuck to her face, saying "Oi, King Movie, cup of tea?" Turned out the girl was called Sheel, he'd been found slumped on the steps outside the building, and through an act of extreme junk-inspired philanthropy (and horniness) she'd brought him inside.
She called him King Movie. He thought, that must be my name. He hadn't asked her why for a while, but that was just part of figuring things out, wasn't it? And all the while, at the room in Clapham, bits of his life were coming back to him, bits of his life before the experimentation with chemicals he could barely say let alone spell, and a face; a face on a man, the bald man in the long coat he could blame for his inevitable untimely demise. Then he left the room in Clapham and went on a search.
-
Having the shite kicked out of him was par for the course. It had nothing to do with himself or the man, it was just random and violent and of course it hurt, but he'd had a substantial hit shortly before and it lessened the effect. The thugs eventually got bored and threw him against a wall and left him. Everything was blurred, but it always was. Then eventually footsteps. A shadow outlined in the daylight that broke into the tunnel behind it, and a halo. King Movie squinted; not a halo, just the sun bouncing off a hairless head. King Movie smiled.
The shadow spoke. "Today I'm facing people."
And, not for the first time in his life, King Movie passed out.
Wednesday, 7 November 2007
Can't Say No to the Beauty and the Beast
Friday, 11th October 1996
Cold, alone and scared to the end of his wits, Bryan McGovan shivered in one corner under the thin blanket. He was finding it harder by the day not to retreat into madness and shut out the suddenly cruel world. The walls around him were untiled jagged cement which he couldn't rest against, the floor cobbled and uncomfortable to stand upon. Through the tiny window in the steel door came the antiseptic flickered glare of cheap phosphourescent lighting.
Days (weeks? how long was it?) ago, while he still had the courage to stand head height, he had looked out through the thick glass into what could pass for a hospital corridor, lined with regular doors, leading out of site, and not a soul to be seen. Then something moved into sight from the left of his field of vision, filling it in a second, and it took Bryan a moment to realise it was a face. Bryan jumped. It was the face of a woman, but it was all wrong. Her eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks even; every part in itself fair enough, yet in some places too far apart, too close together. Bryan remembered a book Danny had once lent him which explained continental drift; now as he watched this face, it moved, eyes and nose as continents and mouth a gaping abyss adrift on a sea of skin. He doubled over, retched and threw up, the face on him all the time; even when his back was to it, he could feel the eyes staring through him.
He had recovered himself, stood up and looked out again. A nurse in a clean white uniform stood two feet away, writing on a clipboard. She looked up at him; it was the same face as before, only settled and normal, quite pretty really. And a little tick shape to the ends of her eyebrows, which made her look very futuristic in a 1950s kind of way. Normal, but before ...
Drugs, he thought. They must've gave me drugs. Did she do it? Why?
The nurse gave a quick, nervous smile, turned on her heels and walked away down the corridor.
But that was only the first strange thing he saw, and it happened a time ago, an age, when he was still a man. Now he was a wreck.
Who were they? And why were they doing this to him?
A noise: steel on stone. The door opened. Bryan pulled the sheet over his face.
A child's voice said, "The Surgeon will see you now, Mr McGovan."
Bryan pulled the sheet down from his face and looked in horror at his visitor. He opened his mouth, and began screaming.
Cold, alone and scared to the end of his wits, Bryan McGovan shivered in one corner under the thin blanket. He was finding it harder by the day not to retreat into madness and shut out the suddenly cruel world. The walls around him were untiled jagged cement which he couldn't rest against, the floor cobbled and uncomfortable to stand upon. Through the tiny window in the steel door came the antiseptic flickered glare of cheap phosphourescent lighting.
Days (weeks? how long was it?) ago, while he still had the courage to stand head height, he had looked out through the thick glass into what could pass for a hospital corridor, lined with regular doors, leading out of site, and not a soul to be seen. Then something moved into sight from the left of his field of vision, filling it in a second, and it took Bryan a moment to realise it was a face. Bryan jumped. It was the face of a woman, but it was all wrong. Her eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks even; every part in itself fair enough, yet in some places too far apart, too close together. Bryan remembered a book Danny had once lent him which explained continental drift; now as he watched this face, it moved, eyes and nose as continents and mouth a gaping abyss adrift on a sea of skin. He doubled over, retched and threw up, the face on him all the time; even when his back was to it, he could feel the eyes staring through him.
He had recovered himself, stood up and looked out again. A nurse in a clean white uniform stood two feet away, writing on a clipboard. She looked up at him; it was the same face as before, only settled and normal, quite pretty really. And a little tick shape to the ends of her eyebrows, which made her look very futuristic in a 1950s kind of way. Normal, but before ...
Drugs, he thought. They must've gave me drugs. Did she do it? Why?
The nurse gave a quick, nervous smile, turned on her heels and walked away down the corridor.
But that was only the first strange thing he saw, and it happened a time ago, an age, when he was still a man. Now he was a wreck.
Who were they? And why were they doing this to him?
A noise: steel on stone. The door opened. Bryan pulled the sheet over his face.
A child's voice said, "The Surgeon will see you now, Mr McGovan."
Bryan pulled the sheet down from his face and looked in horror at his visitor. He opened his mouth, and began screaming.
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
Changes
Thursday, 10th October 1996
Danny Allegro considered himself a regular at the White Wolf. Always a genuine, warm welcome; always a conversation to be joined; always good beer and spirits. Tonight was little different; his friend Bryan had obviously moved down to Devon like he always said he would "to run a smaller pub", and although it had been a number of months since his last visit, he felt relaxed. He had some business in Tavistock coming up and could track Bryan down then; tonight it was just him and the Wolf.
From his stool at the bar, he talked sporadically with the new landlord, a tall, golemic lump of a man from Cardiff named Tom. "I like the timbers," said Danny, indicating the stout oaks straddling the ceiling. "Where did you get those from?"
"Got those put up in the spring," Tom replied, stacking the empties on the bar. "Found them in the cellars. Good nick. Old. Sturdy."
"How do you think they got there?" Danny asked innocently, sipping his Guinness. Guinness agreed with Danny; since his stomach was sewn back up after the nasty business along the Auchtertour Road, he couldn't drink gassy beers. And he didn't miss them.
"Reckon they were up there before. Long ago." Tom the Landlord switched on the glass rinser; the TV in the corner went fuzzy, causing the football watchers to tut and curse. He turned the rinser off, and normal service was resumed. "Old pub, you know. Historic."
"Mmm, I know, I've been coming here a while." Something stirred in the cuffs of Danny's coat, he ignored it.
"Building's at least three hundred years old. Built when the old place burnt down. Same foundations. Pub. Same name."
Danny smiled at the thought of the old pub burning down, the landlord running outside with his doxy wench, cursing the jack o'lantern bastard who torched his livelihood.
"Thomas Grigg." mouthed Danny to himself. Then to Tom; "The last landlord told me; Thomas Grigg ran the White Wolf when it burnt down in 1686. Bryan knew a lot about this place, did he tell you any of it?"
"Never met him, sad to say."
"You should get in touch with him. He's a Guinness man, brilliant storyteller, great laugh. I ..." Tom was staring at him.
"You didn't hear about Mr McGovan, then. I'm sorry."
"What?"
-
Danny didn't say much for the rest of the night. "Suspicious circumstances". He thought Bryan had just moved to a different pub, he used to say as much. Landlords come and go at the White Wolf, but he'd known this one and trusted him. And Danny Allegro didn't have many friends left. Nobody knew as much about him as Bryan had.
Suspicious circumstances.
It was almost closing time.
Danny Allegro considered himself a regular at the White Wolf. Always a genuine, warm welcome; always a conversation to be joined; always good beer and spirits. Tonight was little different; his friend Bryan had obviously moved down to Devon like he always said he would "to run a smaller pub", and although it had been a number of months since his last visit, he felt relaxed. He had some business in Tavistock coming up and could track Bryan down then; tonight it was just him and the Wolf.
From his stool at the bar, he talked sporadically with the new landlord, a tall, golemic lump of a man from Cardiff named Tom. "I like the timbers," said Danny, indicating the stout oaks straddling the ceiling. "Where did you get those from?"
"Got those put up in the spring," Tom replied, stacking the empties on the bar. "Found them in the cellars. Good nick. Old. Sturdy."
"How do you think they got there?" Danny asked innocently, sipping his Guinness. Guinness agreed with Danny; since his stomach was sewn back up after the nasty business along the Auchtertour Road, he couldn't drink gassy beers. And he didn't miss them.
"Reckon they were up there before. Long ago." Tom the Landlord switched on the glass rinser; the TV in the corner went fuzzy, causing the football watchers to tut and curse. He turned the rinser off, and normal service was resumed. "Old pub, you know. Historic."
"Mmm, I know, I've been coming here a while." Something stirred in the cuffs of Danny's coat, he ignored it.
"Building's at least three hundred years old. Built when the old place burnt down. Same foundations. Pub. Same name."
Danny smiled at the thought of the old pub burning down, the landlord running outside with his doxy wench, cursing the jack o'lantern bastard who torched his livelihood.
"Thomas Grigg." mouthed Danny to himself. Then to Tom; "The last landlord told me; Thomas Grigg ran the White Wolf when it burnt down in 1686. Bryan knew a lot about this place, did he tell you any of it?"
"Never met him, sad to say."
"You should get in touch with him. He's a Guinness man, brilliant storyteller, great laugh. I ..." Tom was staring at him.
"You didn't hear about Mr McGovan, then. I'm sorry."
"What?"
-
Danny didn't say much for the rest of the night. "Suspicious circumstances". He thought Bryan had just moved to a different pub, he used to say as much. Landlords come and go at the White Wolf, but he'd known this one and trusted him. And Danny Allegro didn't have many friends left. Nobody knew as much about him as Bryan had.
Suspicious circumstances.
It was almost closing time.
Monday, 5 November 2007
Stuck Out in Heaven's High
Thursday, 10th October 1996
'Cha folks.
Saw a newsclip of the Tory Party Conference with John "Appropriate Nickname" Major in his shirtsleeves leaning against a podium on stage, basking in sycophantic applause. Then I noticed the guy standing to his left, very familiar, I thought "who is this man?" and then the penny dropped - it was our very own Billy Foster! [UK Director of Pharma Balimo]
Or someone who looked like him, I wasn't really concentrating, more interested in my Coco Flakes, to be honest.
Only one thousand, one hundred and seventy-eight days of the century left, folks. We are half way between there and 20th July 1993 - what were you doing then?
Hitting an all-time low.
'Cha folks.
Saw a newsclip of the Tory Party Conference with John "Appropriate Nickname" Major in his shirtsleeves leaning against a podium on stage, basking in sycophantic applause. Then I noticed the guy standing to his left, very familiar, I thought "who is this man?" and then the penny dropped - it was our very own Billy Foster! [UK Director of Pharma Balimo]
Or someone who looked like him, I wasn't really concentrating, more interested in my Coco Flakes, to be honest.
Only one thousand, one hundred and seventy-eight days of the century left, folks. We are half way between there and 20th July 1993 - what were you doing then?
Hitting an all-time low.
Friday, 2 November 2007
Scary Monsters and Super Creeps
Wednesday 9th October 2006
Danny Allegro, coot-bald at twenty, black features on a white face, in a long coat of one colour, sat on the last train of the rush hour, which was packed in a semi-leisurely way with stragglers and office Joes who turn up ten minutes after the rest. Danny wasn't going to work. His seat was in the aisle at the back of a carriage, and today he was facing people.
His attention was drawn to a girl with Dan Dare eyebrows sitting down with a parcel wrapped brown and plain in her lap, and the old woman standing and smiling patiently next to her, an orange ribbon in her dust grey hair. As far as Danny knew, the girl had been on the train when he boarded, she wasn't moving for anybody, and this old bag could just stand there until her legs gave way, he imagined her thinking.
That was when she looked at him, briefly, but definitely. Then she turned to look for the first time at the old woman, who looked down to smile an old smile, then back up to stare in the direction the train was going. The girl with the Dan Dare eyebrows leant forward over her parcel. Danny squinted, was she kissing it? He was a good twelve foot away. Something in his long coat moved.
He whispered "shhhhh", stroking out a wrinkle he'd just noticed in the fabric, and craned his head back up to look at the girl with the Dan Dare eyebrows.
The old woman wasn't standing any more. A further check showed the old woman wasn't on the train any more, though he'd looked down for less than three seconds. He watched the girl smile.
She shifted in her seat and looked at him. The parcel in her lap was larger than before, and tied with an orange ribbon. The carriage lights flickered and went out.
Danny Allegro, coot-bald at twenty, black features on a white face, in a long coat of one colour, sat on the last train of the rush hour, which was packed in a semi-leisurely way with stragglers and office Joes who turn up ten minutes after the rest. Danny wasn't going to work. His seat was in the aisle at the back of a carriage, and today he was facing people.
His attention was drawn to a girl with Dan Dare eyebrows sitting down with a parcel wrapped brown and plain in her lap, and the old woman standing and smiling patiently next to her, an orange ribbon in her dust grey hair. As far as Danny knew, the girl had been on the train when he boarded, she wasn't moving for anybody, and this old bag could just stand there until her legs gave way, he imagined her thinking.
That was when she looked at him, briefly, but definitely. Then she turned to look for the first time at the old woman, who looked down to smile an old smile, then back up to stare in the direction the train was going. The girl with the Dan Dare eyebrows leant forward over her parcel. Danny squinted, was she kissing it? He was a good twelve foot away. Something in his long coat moved.
He whispered "shhhhh", stroking out a wrinkle he'd just noticed in the fabric, and craned his head back up to look at the girl with the Dan Dare eyebrows.
The old woman wasn't standing any more. A further check showed the old woman wasn't on the train any more, though he'd looked down for less than three seconds. He watched the girl smile.
She shifted in her seat and looked at him. The parcel in her lap was larger than before, and tied with an orange ribbon. The carriage lights flickered and went out.
Thursday, 1 November 2007
Leonard Bernstein Leonid Brezhnev Lenny Bruce & Lester Bangs
Monday, 7th October 1996
Birthday party cheesecake jelly bean BOOM!
-
UXBRIDGE ON TV: on last night's "The Legacy of Reginald Perrin", through a restaurant window could clearly be seen that statue you pass on your way into Uxbridge, the one of three people jumping for a ball while fountains piss all over them. Otherwise, programme not worth watching.
-
Bob Dole is a man who likes to be seen brushing a non-existent bit of fluff off Clinton's tie and talking emotively about "crack babies" by an indulgent press and an easily fooled nation. He's got Nixon written all over him.
-
WARNING! According to a 14th century monk who predicted recognisable characteristics within popes to come until the end of the world, we've only got one pontiff to go after JPII! Hang in there, Popey!
Right? RIGHT!
Birthday party cheesecake jelly bean BOOM!
-
UXBRIDGE ON TV: on last night's "The Legacy of Reginald Perrin", through a restaurant window could clearly be seen that statue you pass on your way into Uxbridge, the one of three people jumping for a ball while fountains piss all over them. Otherwise, programme not worth watching.
-
Bob Dole is a man who likes to be seen brushing a non-existent bit of fluff off Clinton's tie and talking emotively about "crack babies" by an indulgent press and an easily fooled nation. He's got Nixon written all over him.
-
WARNING! According to a 14th century monk who predicted recognisable characteristics within popes to come until the end of the world, we've only got one pontiff to go after JPII! Hang in there, Popey!
Right? RIGHT!
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Wood-for-trees Obfuscation
Friday, 4th October 1996
Message at Preston Road Station today: "THERE WILL BE NO NORTHBOUND SERVICE FROM HARROW-ON-THE-HILL DUE TO A BODY UNDER THE TRAIN."
-
Q: What three records would you take to a desert island?
B: I'd take them all.
Q: No, but what if you could only take three?
B: Then I wouldn't go.
-
"Tell her that experiments have shown celibacy drives mice mad."
My favourite definition:
CELIBACY - female singer from Wales, whose hits include "Goldfinger" and "Big Spender" .
-
Now rinse.
Message at Preston Road Station today: "THERE WILL BE NO NORTHBOUND SERVICE FROM HARROW-ON-THE-HILL DUE TO A BODY UNDER THE TRAIN."
-
Q: What three records would you take to a desert island?
B: I'd take them all.
Q: No, but what if you could only take three?
B: Then I wouldn't go.
-
"Tell her that experiments have shown celibacy drives mice mad."
My favourite definition:
CELIBACY - female singer from Wales, whose hits include "Goldfinger" and "Big Spender" .
-
Now rinse.
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
Binky the Doormat
Thursday, 3rd October 1996
Have you seen those Benetton posters proclaiming "a new shopping experience" in Oxford Street? A new shopping experience??? What's so 'king innovative about going into a building, buying a jersey and buggering off again? Bunch of emmanuels.
"The Lighter Side of Human Suffering": Why have people been sending sample AEs to everyone in the world TWICE?
Bah, humbug.
Have you seen those Benetton posters proclaiming "a new shopping experience" in Oxford Street? A new shopping experience??? What's so 'king innovative about going into a building, buying a jersey and buggering off again? Bunch of emmanuels.
"The Lighter Side of Human Suffering": Why have people been sending sample AEs to everyone in the world TWICE?
Bah, humbug.
Monday, 29 October 2007
Big Spoon Baby Balloon
Wednesday, 2nd October 1996
They say the average man has 12,673 thoughts a day. Well I woke up fifteen minutes ago to find myself fully dressed, in front of my computer, about to switch it on. That's two hours of thoughts successfully bypassed. If I continue at this rate I reckon I can get down to three thoughts every two days within eight years and conceivably live to nine-hundred and four.
Think about it.
Got a message from Lil' Timmy S*********d.
Time to start thinking again.
They say the average man has 12,673 thoughts a day. Well I woke up fifteen minutes ago to find myself fully dressed, in front of my computer, about to switch it on. That's two hours of thoughts successfully bypassed. If I continue at this rate I reckon I can get down to three thoughts every two days within eight years and conceivably live to nine-hundred and four.
Think about it.
Got a message from Lil' Timmy S*********d.
I didn't think he'd fold so quick.Hey there - Yes I am learning from people like you, I'm very new to the world of computers so this is my way of saying "hey world out there". My comments have no intent but to spark thought and conversation. The reason for the "just you" statement is that you and a few others responded positively and I hope to learn from you. Thanks.
Time to start thinking again.
Friday, 26 October 2007
Find The River
Tuesday, 1st October 1996
Did anyone see "Cutting Edge" last night? I almost fell out of my chair! The recently-passed driving examiner who couldn't spell "visibility" and the woman taking her test for the 42nd time! Class programming, top stuff...
There was a crane in the river today; not the big yellow metal type, the birdy type. It looked a bit lost, and I was reminded of the Camel in the North Pole joke, but then forgot it again.
Timmy "the Tosser" S*********d hasn't contacted me yet. I'll give him another day before following it up.
No-one better even THINK of telling me any "dead octuplet" jokes. That kind of stuff is just not funny. It's sick.
T'raa.
Did anyone see "Cutting Edge" last night? I almost fell out of my chair! The recently-passed driving examiner who couldn't spell "visibility" and the woman taking her test for the 42nd time! Class programming, top stuff...
There was a crane in the river today; not the big yellow metal type, the birdy type. It looked a bit lost, and I was reminded of the Camel in the North Pole joke, but then forgot it again.
Timmy "the Tosser" S*********d hasn't contacted me yet. I'll give him another day before following it up.
No-one better even THINK of telling me any "dead octuplet" jokes. That kind of stuff is just not funny. It's sick.
T'raa.
Thursday, 25 October 2007
Let the Children Lose It, Let the Children Use It...
Monday, 30th September 1996
... let all the children boogie.
Realised something quite disturbing walking into work today. Just past the Swan & Bottle, watching the swans, and there was a female swan; and I could tell it was female because it looked like shit. Now hold your horses; think about the difference between a male peacock and a female peacock (or peahen, if you must), then consider the mallard, both genders; in fact, think of any bird of note, whether for its gaily coloured plumage or gaudy physical abnormality, then look at his missus. Invariably smaller and smeary poo brown.
So am I decrying the female of the species? NO! This simple display of nature is showing us something very clever and obvious and rather telling. It is showing us this; for while women choose their mates with taste and aesthetics as considerations... men will shag anything.
I th'k y.
... let all the children boogie.
Realised something quite disturbing walking into work today. Just past the Swan & Bottle, watching the swans, and there was a female swan; and I could tell it was female because it looked like shit. Now hold your horses; think about the difference between a male peacock and a female peacock (or peahen, if you must), then consider the mallard, both genders; in fact, think of any bird of note, whether for its gaily coloured plumage or gaudy physical abnormality, then look at his missus. Invariably smaller and smeary poo brown.
So am I decrying the female of the species? NO! This simple display of nature is showing us something very clever and obvious and rather telling. It is showing us this; for while women choose their mates with taste and aesthetics as considerations... men will shag anything.
I th'k y.
Wednesday, 24 October 2007
I'm Martin Sheen, I'm Steve McQueen, I'm Jimmy Dean...
Thursday, 26th September 1996
Today's got one of those "first day of term" feelings, don't you think? Bit colder, starker light, little bit emptier everywhere. Right now Australians are wearing shorts to work and slapping on zinc cream. Rather daft if you live in Earl's Court, but that's our colonial cousins for you.
Any more songs for people? Why not?
Drink at least one pint of water today if you don't already. And remember, each day we are one day closer to the end of the world.
Cheers then
Today's got one of those "first day of term" feelings, don't you think? Bit colder, starker light, little bit emptier everywhere. Right now Australians are wearing shorts to work and slapping on zinc cream. Rather daft if you live in Earl's Court, but that's our colonial cousins for you.
Any more songs for people? Why not?
Drink at least one pint of water today if you don't already. And remember, each day we are one day closer to the end of the world.
Cheers then
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Talking Loud and Clear
Wednesday, 25th September 1996
I had a good nine-hours sleep last night and now I'm knacked. Someone explain.
Songs pertaining to people at work.
Stevo - "Are Friends Electric?" by Gary Numan
Caroline - "Can't Stand Up (For Falling Down)" by Elvis Costello
Gilles - "Come Up To My Lighthouse" by Pulp
This is mandatory: if you think of a song, you must join in.
La di da
I had a good nine-hours sleep last night and now I'm knacked. Someone explain.
Songs pertaining to people at work.
Stevo - "Are Friends Electric?" by Gary Numan
Caroline - "Can't Stand Up (For Falling Down)" by Elvis Costello
Gilles - "Come Up To My Lighthouse" by Pulp
This is mandatory: if you think of a song, you must join in.
La di da
Feast of Maximum Occupancy
Tuesday, 24th September 1996
Hello folks, wasn't in yesterday, religious holiday. It begins the night before with a take-out meal containing undercooked meats and a bottle of corked red wine. Once the feast is finished, we have to wait for the food to digest and react badly with the wine, before we give thanks by throwing up until about 4am. The Day of Further Illness and Recuperation follows.
Vernal equinox over the weekend. That's right; 12 hours of day, 12 hours of night. The dark now officially has dominion over the light.
Saw my first daddy-long-legs of the season on the train home last Friday. 1996 is gradually dropping down the Karpofsky scale.
kEEP SMILING
Hello folks, wasn't in yesterday, religious holiday. It begins the night before with a take-out meal containing undercooked meats and a bottle of corked red wine. Once the feast is finished, we have to wait for the food to digest and react badly with the wine, before we give thanks by throwing up until about 4am. The Day of Further Illness and Recuperation follows.
Vernal equinox over the weekend. That's right; 12 hours of day, 12 hours of night. The dark now officially has dominion over the light.
Saw my first daddy-long-legs of the season on the train home last Friday. 1996 is gradually dropping down the Karpofsky scale.
kEEP SMILING
Monday, 22 October 2007
Happy Happy Joy Joy Happy Happy Joy
Friday, 20th September 1996
In the words of John Lennon "I've got nothing to say but it's okay, good morning."
How was your Thursday night? After the pub I stayed in and ate Thai food - yeuck! There's like lime and lemon and fennel twig in everything, it's all too much.
In the words of John Lennon "I've got nothing to say but it's okay, good morning."
How was your Thursday night? After the pub I stayed in and ate Thai food - yeuck! There's like lime and lemon and fennel twig in everything, it's all too much.
Friday, 19 October 2007
Hey, Such a Lovely Day...
Thursday, 19th September 1996
So there I was on the train, just popped out the earphones and settled down to me book, and this bloke sits down in the seat over the aisle. So I'm reading, it's chucking it down outside, and I can hear the familiar crackle of a walkman on on a train. This annoys me until I remember "oh hang on, I'm normally the annoying git playing his music too loud", so I carry on reading, and try to ignore it. But I can't, because it sounds familiar. I decide to play the Game and try to guess what this chap's listening to.
For non-consecutive split seconds I know what it is, but I can't pin it down, and we go Ruislip Manor, Ruislip ... Ickenham, and as we pull into Uxbridge the whole carriage goes quiet like it normally does as the commuting population prepare to rush the doors and I catch three crackly uninterrupted seconds of the music. It is familiar, very familiar; it's only the same bloody album I was listening to before I got me book out.
Don't tell me I don't need coffee in the morning.
B (Shorking Tite Again)
P.S. Apropos of nothing, watch NEVERWHERE tonight BBC2 9pm. There's a precis before it starts so you can catch up if you missed last week's.
So there I was on the train, just popped out the earphones and settled down to me book, and this bloke sits down in the seat over the aisle. So I'm reading, it's chucking it down outside, and I can hear the familiar crackle of a walkman on on a train. This annoys me until I remember "oh hang on, I'm normally the annoying git playing his music too loud", so I carry on reading, and try to ignore it. But I can't, because it sounds familiar. I decide to play the Game and try to guess what this chap's listening to.
For non-consecutive split seconds I know what it is, but I can't pin it down, and we go Ruislip Manor, Ruislip ... Ickenham, and as we pull into Uxbridge the whole carriage goes quiet like it normally does as the commuting population prepare to rush the doors and I catch three crackly uninterrupted seconds of the music. It is familiar, very familiar; it's only the same bloody album I was listening to before I got me book out.
Don't tell me I don't need coffee in the morning.
B (Shorking Tite Again)
P.S. Apropos of nothing, watch NEVERWHERE tonight BBC2 9pm. There's a precis before it starts so you can catch up if you missed last week's.
Thursday, 18 October 2007
More Garbled Nonsense
Wednesday, 18th October 1996
Hello.
If you've seen "Clueless", don't bother with "Emma". It's like a period-costume remake starring Gwyneth Paltrow as Alicia Silverstone and Muriel out of Muriel's Wedding as the Hispanic girl. Cah, when a writer like Jane Austen starts ripping off teen comedies, you've got to wonder about the state of the world. Good movie though, sags a bit in the middle, but then again who doesn't?
You know "Neverwhere"? It's out on video already. How 'bout that? The people at MVC are going to give me the display stand ...
The cariyu: if you get caught short by the banks of a river, beware!
Hello.
If you've seen "Clueless", don't bother with "Emma". It's like a period-costume remake starring Gwyneth Paltrow as Alicia Silverstone and Muriel out of Muriel's Wedding as the Hispanic girl. Cah, when a writer like Jane Austen starts ripping off teen comedies, you've got to wonder about the state of the world. Good movie though, sags a bit in the middle, but then again who doesn't?
You know "Neverwhere"? It's out on video already. How 'bout that? The people at MVC are going to give me the display stand ...
The cariyu: if you get caught short by the banks of a river, beware!
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
Chooseday
Tuesday, 17th September 1996
So how was your evening? Mine was great, you know, watching vids and looking forward to Film 96, when in comes our friend (A's brother's friend to be precise) Winston. His wife's just given birth. Congratulations - tell us about it. And he starts talking. And talking. A "look of interest" fixes on my face, I'm too polite to stop this guy's tale of medical incompetence, septicaemia and a battle for life. The clock ticks by, he talks with the dogged resolve of a murder lawyer, covering the same ground over and over like he's telling it to the judge.
Eventually I start scratching the furniture and realise that the evening is slipping away. I try to look bored but it feels rude. A voice in my head says "shut up shut up Shut Up SHUT UP!", this story is interminable in detail, my compassion fatigue has full grip and by now I couldn't care less about streptococcus and vaginal swabs, just tell us the kid's alright now and f**k off.
Two hours later, after ten minutes of me going "ah well", "all's well that ends well", "you've really gone through the hoops" and "at least he's okay", all those little conversation killers that come before "honey, fetch me the gun", he stops talking! He leaves! He goes upstairs to play Quake! I switch on the telly...
...and Barry Norman's slagging off "Escape from LA" - I missed the "Striptease" review. Bugger!
Yipee-kai-ay, feathermuckers.
So how was your evening? Mine was great, you know, watching vids and looking forward to Film 96, when in comes our friend (A's brother's friend to be precise) Winston. His wife's just given birth. Congratulations - tell us about it. And he starts talking. And talking. A "look of interest" fixes on my face, I'm too polite to stop this guy's tale of medical incompetence, septicaemia and a battle for life. The clock ticks by, he talks with the dogged resolve of a murder lawyer, covering the same ground over and over like he's telling it to the judge.
Eventually I start scratching the furniture and realise that the evening is slipping away. I try to look bored but it feels rude. A voice in my head says "shut up shut up Shut Up SHUT UP!", this story is interminable in detail, my compassion fatigue has full grip and by now I couldn't care less about streptococcus and vaginal swabs, just tell us the kid's alright now and f**k off.
Two hours later, after ten minutes of me going "ah well", "all's well that ends well", "you've really gone through the hoops" and "at least he's okay", all those little conversation killers that come before "honey, fetch me the gun", he stops talking! He leaves! He goes upstairs to play Quake! I switch on the telly...
...and Barry Norman's slagging off "Escape from LA" - I missed the "Striptease" review. Bugger!
Yipee-kai-ay, feathermuckers.
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
Danger: Karaoke
Monday, 16th September 1996
I should point out the dangers of not knowing what a song's about before you sing it; you can hear a song a dozen times without knowing what the specifics of the lyrics are.
A sang "Salvation" by the Cranberries, both of us hitherto unaware of Ms. O'Riordan's graphic lyrics regarding heroin abuse. It was a bit of an eye-opener; A came off saying "I'm not doing that again".
I should point out the dangers of not knowing what a song's about before you sing it; you can hear a song a dozen times without knowing what the specifics of the lyrics are.
A sang "Salvation" by the Cranberries, both of us hitherto unaware of Ms. O'Riordan's graphic lyrics regarding heroin abuse. It was a bit of an eye-opener; A came off saying "I'm not doing that again".
Saturday, 13 October 2007
Macbeth Walks Under a Ladder and Sees a Single Magpie
Friday, 13th September 1996
Joyous Friday 13th to yiz.
Are you well? Like the shoes - are they new? What have you done to your hair, it looks different! You've got an eyelash on your cheek.
Heights, pigeons, rats and blood. I had a good time last night. And unlike everyone else, I feel fine this morning.
Anyone see that documentary about those women who had been taking testosterone to become men? If you did: you never see Blue Peter make anything like they did, frighteningly realistic. Strange days have found us, strange days have tracked us down....
So how unwell do you feel?
"I feel like a pig shat in my head." Name the film and win a banana.
Jai guru deva om
Joyous Friday 13th to yiz.
Are you well? Like the shoes - are they new? What have you done to your hair, it looks different! You've got an eyelash on your cheek.
Heights, pigeons, rats and blood. I had a good time last night. And unlike everyone else, I feel fine this morning.
Anyone see that documentary about those women who had been taking testosterone to become men? If you did: you never see Blue Peter make anything like they did, frighteningly realistic. Strange days have found us, strange days have tracked us down....
So how unwell do you feel?
"I feel like a pig shat in my head." Name the film and win a banana.
Jai guru deva om
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
Day of Thor
Thursday, 12th September 1996
Morning.
Well, I hope you're all going to be good girls and boys tonight and start watching "Neverwhere" on BBC2. I doubt it will be anything less than unusually brilliant. Written by Neil Gaiman and starring absolutely no-one you've heard of, oh sod it you can read the Radio Times, can't you ...
Watched "Dead Poets Society" last night, haven't seen it in years, still good. Carpe diem - seize the fish.
Five words of warning. Tesco's Lamb Rogan Josh - don't. It's ghastly. It's tinned. It contains "bouillon", which is the secret ingredient that makes all tinned foods taste of phlegm. If served,
shoot host.
Back to the future.
Morning.
Well, I hope you're all going to be good girls and boys tonight and start watching "Neverwhere" on BBC2. I doubt it will be anything less than unusually brilliant. Written by Neil Gaiman and starring absolutely no-one you've heard of, oh sod it you can read the Radio Times, can't you ...
Watched "Dead Poets Society" last night, haven't seen it in years, still good. Carpe diem - seize the fish.
Five words of warning. Tesco's Lamb Rogan Josh - don't. It's ghastly. It's tinned. It contains "bouillon", which is the secret ingredient that makes all tinned foods taste of phlegm. If served,
shoot host.
Back to the future.
Monday, 8 October 2007
The First Day of the End of the Year
Wednesday, 11th September 1996
Afternoon, I'll keep this brief.
Today's the first day of the end of the year. The air coming to work today had that damp, dull car-metal tang to it, not a sense of a tree or fresh breeze. I bumped into my old TD teacher from school today, I last saw him about ten years ago and already he's turning into an old man. The edges of the sky are filed down and dusted over, sharp and indistinct at the same time. The convenience stores have stopped selling ice. And somewhere in Scotland is the hottest part of the country.
Get your jumpers out.
Afternoon, I'll keep this brief.
Today's the first day of the end of the year. The air coming to work today had that damp, dull car-metal tang to it, not a sense of a tree or fresh breeze. I bumped into my old TD teacher from school today, I last saw him about ten years ago and already he's turning into an old man. The edges of the sky are filed down and dusted over, sharp and indistinct at the same time. The convenience stores have stopped selling ice. And somewhere in Scotland is the hottest part of the country.
Get your jumpers out.
Friday, 5 October 2007
Attacked by a lawn mower
Tuesday, 10th September 1996
They got Steven ... they got me too. Arm yourselves, no-one's safe... THE UXBRIDGE SCISSORS MASSACRE!
-
D'you know, despite telling everyone and e-mailing the notice board about my absence yesterday, I got a call from my agency yesterday saying that HR at Pharma Balimo had just called them asking where I was.
What I couldn't understand was why they'd called at 5.15pm, by which time I would've gone home anyway! Mungously barmy.
They got Steven ... they got me too. Arm yourselves, no-one's safe... THE UXBRIDGE SCISSORS MASSACRE!
-
D'you know, despite telling everyone and e-mailing the notice board about my absence yesterday, I got a call from my agency yesterday saying that HR at Pharma Balimo had just called them asking where I was.
What I couldn't understand was why they'd called at 5.15pm, by which time I would've gone home anyway! Mungously barmy.
Thursday, 4 October 2007
Thank Twix It's September
Friday, 6th September 1996
... or something like that.
Pop quizzers: "Staying up playing cards, Henri Winterman cigars"
Give my regards to Nun Ine, Own. I'm tidying the house this weekend and it should be great fun, oh yeah, I'll be lucky if I see a tree before Tuesday.
Saw "Bed of Roses" last night.
The first half hour was a delight.
The rest of the movie
Was far from too groovy
So therefore I'd say it was shite.
... or something like that.
Pop quizzers: "Staying up playing cards, Henri Winterman cigars"
Give my regards to Nun Ine, Own. I'm tidying the house this weekend and it should be great fun, oh yeah, I'll be lucky if I see a tree before Tuesday.
Saw "Bed of Roses" last night.
The first half hour was a delight.
The rest of the movie
Was far from too groovy
So therefore I'd say it was shite.
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
Remember, remember, the 5th of September
Thursday, 5th September 1996
Merry Thursday.
So what's new? Anyone see those leeches on TV last night? Ewwww! The worst was when they had all the baby leeches - errrggh! Like something out of "The Search for Spock". "Natural remedy" my arse.
(Suede. The new album by Suede. Buy the new album by Suede.)
They had Backflip out of the Spice Girls on Radio 1 this morning. God she sounds interesting. No offense from anyone from the midlands, but that bloody mithering accent ...
("Coming Up")
Who remembers commemorative coins at primary school?
I'm off, got to rehydrate.
Merry Thursday.
So what's new? Anyone see those leeches on TV last night? Ewwww! The worst was when they had all the baby leeches - errrggh! Like something out of "The Search for Spock". "Natural remedy" my arse.
(Suede. The new album by Suede. Buy the new album by Suede.)
They had Backflip out of the Spice Girls on Radio 1 this morning. God she sounds interesting. No offense from anyone from the midlands, but that bloody mithering accent ...
("Coming Up")
Who remembers commemorative coins at primary school?
I'm off, got to rehydrate.
Tuesday, 2 October 2007
Pop Quiz
Tuesday, 3rd September 1996
Morning all.
Has anyone ever written a song about Tuesday? I wouldn't be suprised if they hadn't.
And what kind of rain do you call that? Jeez, it's hardly worth putting your brolly up and before you know it you're wringing out your wig. It's arse, that's what it is.
Anyway, you're all busy so I'll let you get back to it.
See yeh, t'raa.
Morning all.
Has anyone ever written a song about Tuesday? I wouldn't be suprised if they hadn't.
And what kind of rain do you call that? Jeez, it's hardly worth putting your brolly up and before you know it you're wringing out your wig. It's arse, that's what it is.
Anyway, you're all busy so I'll let you get back to it.
See yeh, t'raa.
Monday, 1 October 2007
Light Bulb Joke # 2680949
Thurdsay, 25th July 1996
Q: How many mice does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Two, if they're small enough.
Think about it.
Q: How many mice does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Two, if they're small enough.
Think about it.
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