Thursday, 20th February 1997
Does TV corrupt? Well I watched Brass Eye last night and I have to say I was shocked, scandalised, surprised, then relaxed, aroused, gibbering and eventually homicidal. So yes, it does. The Belgian dwarf in a nappy on the cock-tricycle did it for me.
Phwooaaarrr.
Worried? You should be. I'm not.
And besides. So? Meh. Pah.
B
PS This e-mail was originally a song about a Polish gangster who ate a poodle, so count yourselves lucky.
Thursday, 31 January 2008
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Blue Canary In The Outlet By The Light Switch
Wednesday, 19th February 1997
I haven't heard any world news all week - what's going on? All there is is Liz Taylor's brain tumour and consenting gay s&m practicioners. There must be some real news out there, or has everyone got enough to eat now?
Had a big bowl of microwaved porridge this morning. I'm glowing like a 60W bulb, folks. Come anywhere near me and you'll grow an extra spleen.
In the 1970s, the progressive rock combo Blue Oyster Cult sang "Don't Fear the Reaper". In the '80s, Ultravox gave us "Reap the Wild Wind". And in their 1995 cover of "Perfect Day", Duran Duran sang "you're going to reap just what you sew." That's "Rockin' and Reapin'", a history of pop & wheatfarming techniques tonight at 10 on Radio Fab FM.
We are stardust, but we are not Alvin Stardust.
B
I haven't heard any world news all week - what's going on? All there is is Liz Taylor's brain tumour and consenting gay s&m practicioners. There must be some real news out there, or has everyone got enough to eat now?
Had a big bowl of microwaved porridge this morning. I'm glowing like a 60W bulb, folks. Come anywhere near me and you'll grow an extra spleen.
In the 1970s, the progressive rock combo Blue Oyster Cult sang "Don't Fear the Reaper". In the '80s, Ultravox gave us "Reap the Wild Wind". And in their 1995 cover of "Perfect Day", Duran Duran sang "you're going to reap just what you sew." That's "Rockin' and Reapin'", a history of pop & wheatfarming techniques tonight at 10 on Radio Fab FM.
We are stardust, but we are not Alvin Stardust.
B
Tuesday, 29 January 2008
The Non-Ballad of Thomas Bryer
Tuesday, 18th February 1997
On a cold winter's morning in 1814
Stood a man with a gun and a bottle of gi-i-n
In the rush town of Ratchett in New Mexico-o-o-o
He held a small arrow to destiny's bo-o-ow
Old Thomas Bryer, the town knew him well
He could knock back tequila and whisky like hell
He panhandled coins for his boozing all da-a-a-ay
And done nothin' for no-one that anyone could saa-a-ay
Now history sings of our heroes of o-o-old
How they'd sail to the west and bring back the go-o-o-old
But nobody sings of the people forgo-o-ot
Who did nothing but stay in a small town and ro-o-ot
That cold winter morning was not felt by Bryer-r-r-r-r
His brain was a stone and his kidneys on fi-i-ire
No tears in his eyes with the gun to his he-e-e-e-e-e-e-eaaad
Then his liver gave out and it dropped like le-e-e-ead
Now history sings about kinsfolk who fought
The ones who escaped and the ones who got cau-au-aught
But a pointless existence and pitiful de-e-e-e-eath
Isn't worth a long song or anyone's bre-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eath.
E-e-e-e-e-e-eathhhhh....
E-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eathhhhh....
E-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eathhhhh....
B (prose and cons for better or for verse)
On a cold winter's morning in 1814
Stood a man with a gun and a bottle of gi-i-n
In the rush town of Ratchett in New Mexico-o-o-o
He held a small arrow to destiny's bo-o-ow
Old Thomas Bryer, the town knew him well
He could knock back tequila and whisky like hell
He panhandled coins for his boozing all da-a-a-ay
And done nothin' for no-one that anyone could saa-a-ay
Now history sings of our heroes of o-o-old
How they'd sail to the west and bring back the go-o-o-old
But nobody sings of the people forgo-o-ot
Who did nothing but stay in a small town and ro-o-ot
That cold winter morning was not felt by Bryer-r-r-r-r
His brain was a stone and his kidneys on fi-i-ire
No tears in his eyes with the gun to his he-e-e-e-e-e-e-eaaad
Then his liver gave out and it dropped like le-e-e-ead
Now history sings about kinsfolk who fought
The ones who escaped and the ones who got cau-au-aught
But a pointless existence and pitiful de-e-e-e-eath
Isn't worth a long song or anyone's bre-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eath.
E-e-e-e-e-e-eathhhhh....
E-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eathhhhh....
E-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eathhhhh....
B (prose and cons for better or for verse)
Monday, 28 January 2008
Good Morning Dave
Monday, 17th February 1997
Strange really, got an early night, woke up just before the alarm fully awake and rested, bounded in and out of the shower etc. and all bright and breezy until about five minutes before I entering the building and now I feel like I've just been dropped off by George Best and Petula Clark after a night of continuous cheap lager and a marathon showing of "Heimat". Bit tired, confused, and vaguely post-bored. So there you go, excuse me If I ramble on a bit.
How was your weekend? No please, tell me, I have to know EXACTLY what you did to keep my surveillance dossiers up to date; the net link with the cameras went down Saturday 2.15pm for some reason, and the listening devices in your cars/bedrooms/jackets all decided to go on the fritz at different times from Friday, so don't spare the detail or I'll have the Agency on my back for crimes of omission. And don't pull that face: it's not easy being a spy, y'know.
What's your favourite biscuit? Mine's original Hob Nobs.
When I click my fingers, you will wake.
B
Strange really, got an early night, woke up just before the alarm fully awake and rested, bounded in and out of the shower etc. and all bright and breezy until about five minutes before I entering the building and now I feel like I've just been dropped off by George Best and Petula Clark after a night of continuous cheap lager and a marathon showing of "Heimat". Bit tired, confused, and vaguely post-bored. So there you go, excuse me If I ramble on a bit.
How was your weekend? No please, tell me, I have to know EXACTLY what you did to keep my surveillance dossiers up to date; the net link with the cameras went down Saturday 2.15pm for some reason, and the listening devices in your cars/bedrooms/jackets all decided to go on the fritz at different times from Friday, so don't spare the detail or I'll have the Agency on my back for crimes of omission. And don't pull that face: it's not easy being a spy, y'know.
What's your favourite biscuit? Mine's original Hob Nobs.
When I click my fingers, you will wake.
B
Friday, 25 January 2008
Red Light For Love
Friday, 14th February 1997
Marcus wakes up smiling, checks to his right, pulled a right cracker for a Thursday night, rolls/jumps out of bed, funky purple dressing gown, leaves the girl sleeping and saunters out of the room down the corridor hop skip jump down the stairs and sees the light through the doorway fall on a pile of variegated red envelopes plentiful enough to cover the door mat. Bending down he scoops them up and walks them into the front room where he pauses only to catch the cards slipping from his arms onto the floor, drops the pile onto the front room table and releases an almost inaudible yap of glee. Marcus loves Valentine's Day.
Ploughs through the cards, all different handwritings, ripping them open to scan the contents, check the jokey pet names people gives themselves and crosses them with their real names, playfully filling in his social calendar mentally and planning to take a week off. Some envelopes contain little keepsakes, falling out like rocks from the sky, hillock of envelope trash forming to one side and cards and gifts to the other. The doorbell goes; Marcus Trembly (38) dashes to answer - three delivery men with assorted bundles of bouquets. He spends a full five minutes signing for flowers and cheerily ignores the look on the second delivery man's face, the familiar "why can't I be you?" look Marcus saw all the time: "you're no different from me" jealousy, the scowl-beneath-the-surface slowly percolating through suppressing features, worn down by lonely years and ignored Valentines dreams - Marcus gives him the biggest smile of all, hoping pragmato-vainly that some of his facile charm and grace will rub off on him.
Door no sooner closed than the phone starts, and this could go on for ages, women, women, women, so many, so little time, so let's take our first caller, who's on line one? He picks up the phone - "Marcus? Marcus?" but the phone's still ringing, what the hell?, and the voice "Marcus? Marcus? Marcus..." and the bell hasn't stopped ringing, and that's when the penny drops, and the reality of Marcus being woken by his mum on Valentine's Day hits him. Breakfast, work, and sadness. But first he's going to check the post. Who knows.
Maybe today.
B
Marcus wakes up smiling, checks to his right, pulled a right cracker for a Thursday night, rolls/jumps out of bed, funky purple dressing gown, leaves the girl sleeping and saunters out of the room down the corridor hop skip jump down the stairs and sees the light through the doorway fall on a pile of variegated red envelopes plentiful enough to cover the door mat. Bending down he scoops them up and walks them into the front room where he pauses only to catch the cards slipping from his arms onto the floor, drops the pile onto the front room table and releases an almost inaudible yap of glee. Marcus loves Valentine's Day.
Ploughs through the cards, all different handwritings, ripping them open to scan the contents, check the jokey pet names people gives themselves and crosses them with their real names, playfully filling in his social calendar mentally and planning to take a week off. Some envelopes contain little keepsakes, falling out like rocks from the sky, hillock of envelope trash forming to one side and cards and gifts to the other. The doorbell goes; Marcus Trembly (38) dashes to answer - three delivery men with assorted bundles of bouquets. He spends a full five minutes signing for flowers and cheerily ignores the look on the second delivery man's face, the familiar "why can't I be you?" look Marcus saw all the time: "you're no different from me" jealousy, the scowl-beneath-the-surface slowly percolating through suppressing features, worn down by lonely years and ignored Valentines dreams - Marcus gives him the biggest smile of all, hoping pragmato-vainly that some of his facile charm and grace will rub off on him.
Door no sooner closed than the phone starts, and this could go on for ages, women, women, women, so many, so little time, so let's take our first caller, who's on line one? He picks up the phone - "Marcus? Marcus?" but the phone's still ringing, what the hell?, and the voice "Marcus? Marcus? Marcus..." and the bell hasn't stopped ringing, and that's when the penny drops, and the reality of Marcus being woken by his mum on Valentine's Day hits him. Breakfast, work, and sadness. But first he's going to check the post. Who knows.
Maybe today.
B
Thursday, 24 January 2008
Snootchy Kootchies
Thursday, 13th February 1997
Avast ye landlubbers! Hoist the mizzenmast, batten down the 'atches an' lock up ye daughters. Arrr, it be blowin' a howlin' gale, force ten it be, the old girl's being tossed about in the water like anythin' and the ship ain't too stable neither, arrr...
You know how you always think you forget something when you leave the house in the morning and when you get to work you remember what it was? Well, today I forgot my trousers totally, like they're hanging up at home, and didn't I feel a wally when I got in to work. Fortunately Jon had bought in a spare ankle-length skirt, so he's lent me that. I was very grateful, I mean, can you imagine the embarrassment?
Speaking of embarrassment, there's a rather nifty scanned photo going around of a certain wee lad with the demeanour of one recovering from much tequila and lager. Stevie, take a bow!
And remember: an arm and a leg cost nothing.
B
Avast ye landlubbers! Hoist the mizzenmast, batten down the 'atches an' lock up ye daughters. Arrr, it be blowin' a howlin' gale, force ten it be, the old girl's being tossed about in the water like anythin' and the ship ain't too stable neither, arrr...
You know how you always think you forget something when you leave the house in the morning and when you get to work you remember what it was? Well, today I forgot my trousers totally, like they're hanging up at home, and didn't I feel a wally when I got in to work. Fortunately Jon had bought in a spare ankle-length skirt, so he's lent me that. I was very grateful, I mean, can you imagine the embarrassment?
Speaking of embarrassment, there's a rather nifty scanned photo going around of a certain wee lad with the demeanour of one recovering from much tequila and lager. Stevie, take a bow!
And remember: an arm and a leg cost nothing.
B
Wednesday, 23 January 2008
Clams Don't Have Teeth
Wednesday, 12th February 1997
The man and the dog story, coming to your mailboxes soon. I was going to do it at home, but I've taken the machine in for an oil change and refurb, excuses excuses.
Let other pens dwell on misery and guilt, wrote Jane Austen in her magnificent Mansfield Park. A wonderful book, I remember the York notes well. In the borrowed copy I borrowed from a semi-literate classmate, he had written "Fannies a tawt" in the section on Characterisation. Never actually have read the book proper, I cannot find it suitable to comment on the veracity of the book's heroine Fanny's tawthood, but from the intricate synopsies which helped me on the path to whatever English exam it was, she was certainly a bit of an asre.
The response to yesterday's poll on the wantedness of the morning mail message was staggering. Thank you all so much. You all deserve bollocks for breakfast, and shall have nothing less.
Eat, drink, and don't forget to chew well before swallowing.
B
The man and the dog story, coming to your mailboxes soon. I was going to do it at home, but I've taken the machine in for an oil change and refurb, excuses excuses.
Let other pens dwell on misery and guilt, wrote Jane Austen in her magnificent Mansfield Park. A wonderful book, I remember the York notes well. In the borrowed copy I borrowed from a semi-literate classmate, he had written "Fannies a tawt" in the section on Characterisation. Never actually have read the book proper, I cannot find it suitable to comment on the veracity of the book's heroine Fanny's tawthood, but from the intricate synopsies which helped me on the path to whatever English exam it was, she was certainly a bit of an asre.
The response to yesterday's poll on the wantedness of the morning mail message was staggering. Thank you all so much. You all deserve bollocks for breakfast, and shall have nothing less.
Eat, drink, and don't forget to chew well before swallowing.
B
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
Re[0]:
Tuesday, 11th February 1997
The story about the man and the dog can wait. It's not very nice and if you have an aversion to animal cruelty or blood then it could ruin your morning: but it comes together rather tidily in the end and when I get time I'm looking forward to writing it.
So, how do we feel about not receiving an e-mail full of inane bonkers arse (which it is) to start your day? Remember, this is a democracy (of sorts). And I've got to write the thucking fing. Mail me back if you want to continue subscribing (as it were) to this marvellously pointless (let's face it) service.
The new Blur album: it's a lo-fi classic! Hear them impersonate Neil Young! Laugh as they copy Beck! Gasp as they rip off the Beatles (again)! Howl with derision as they repeat themselves! Howl with derision as they repeat themselves! Blur - the album: it's fart!
Btlebum
The story about the man and the dog can wait. It's not very nice and if you have an aversion to animal cruelty or blood then it could ruin your morning: but it comes together rather tidily in the end and when I get time I'm looking forward to writing it.
So, how do we feel about not receiving an e-mail full of inane bonkers arse (which it is) to start your day? Remember, this is a democracy (of sorts). And I've got to write the thucking fing. Mail me back if you want to continue subscribing (as it were) to this marvellously pointless (let's face it) service.
The new Blur album: it's a lo-fi classic! Hear them impersonate Neil Young! Laugh as they copy Beck! Gasp as they rip off the Beatles (again)! Howl with derision as they repeat themselves! Howl with derision as they repeat themselves! Blur - the album: it's fart!
Btlebum
Monday, 21 January 2008
Feeling Hot Hot Hot
Monday, 10th February 1997
Who can tell the mad man from the sane? Who are we if we are not ourselves? From where does the concept of "dead time" originate? If a tree falls in a forest and no-one is there to hear it, does it make an attractive Edwardian tea chest, a leaf-fold dining table with matching guest and carver chairs, a sturdy hi-fi cabinet and this marvellous sauna room with adjoining hot-tub. If you're getting a bit hot, sit a bit lower down, and do the water on the coals while you're at it.
That's better. Actually, I've been in for longer than ten minutes, might run into the pool in a second.
Did you have a good weekend, or were you tempted to opt for something else completely? I wouldn't blame you: good weekends are becoming somewhat passé. Next weekend I'm planning on having a remarkable Easter, or perhaps a fanciful seal torching season. No, sod it, a good weekend's a hell of a lot easier. Did anyone have a shite weekend?
If I may be serious for a moment: "When We Dance" by Sting, there's a message from Satan in the first line of the second verse: when played backwards one hears the words "I Shave Arseholes and There Sucks Evil".
Keep worshipping Leviathan!
Who can tell the mad man from the sane? Who are we if we are not ourselves? From where does the concept of "dead time" originate? If a tree falls in a forest and no-one is there to hear it, does it make an attractive Edwardian tea chest, a leaf-fold dining table with matching guest and carver chairs, a sturdy hi-fi cabinet and this marvellous sauna room with adjoining hot-tub. If you're getting a bit hot, sit a bit lower down, and do the water on the coals while you're at it.
That's better. Actually, I've been in for longer than ten minutes, might run into the pool in a second.
Did you have a good weekend, or were you tempted to opt for something else completely? I wouldn't blame you: good weekends are becoming somewhat passé. Next weekend I'm planning on having a remarkable Easter, or perhaps a fanciful seal torching season. No, sod it, a good weekend's a hell of a lot easier. Did anyone have a shite weekend?
If I may be serious for a moment: "When We Dance" by Sting, there's a message from Satan in the first line of the second verse: when played backwards one hears the words "I Shave Arseholes and There Sucks Evil".
Keep worshipping Leviathan!
Friday, 18 January 2008
Truth is the Ultimate Name of the Maker
Thursday, 6th February 1997
The world is split:
1) Those who believe that "Brass Eye" geniunely sets up celebrities to say stupid things without them knowing; that Noel Edmonds is prepared to believe and to tell the public, that a ludicrously large yellow pill is the new drug called "cake" that it affects the part of the brain known as "Shatner's Bassoon", causing a condition known as "Czech neck".
2) Those who believe that "Brass Eye" is a set-up; that the celebs involved know exactly what's going on and it is the gullible public who are the fools.
3) Those who say "Brass what?"
And if you missed Jas Mann answering the question "Are you a genius?" with the sincere answer "I hope to become one", then the series should be coming out on video in a month or two.
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B.
The world is split:
1) Those who believe that "Brass Eye" geniunely sets up celebrities to say stupid things without them knowing; that Noel Edmonds is prepared to believe and to tell the public, that a ludicrously large yellow pill is the new drug called "cake" that it affects the part of the brain known as "Shatner's Bassoon", causing a condition known as "Czech neck".
2) Those who believe that "Brass Eye" is a set-up; that the celebs involved know exactly what's going on and it is the gullible public who are the fools.
3) Those who say "Brass what?"
And if you missed Jas Mann answering the question "Are you a genius?" with the sincere answer "I hope to become one", then the series should be coming out on video in a month or two.
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B.
Thursday, 17 January 2008
Guilty My Bell-End
Wednesday, 5th February 1997
Now I don't claim to know the law, let alone American Civil Law, however:
a) after a lengthy court process a man is found not guilty of murder;
b) following this he is brought before a civil court for a private action brought by the families of the deceased;
c) this time he is found guilty of murder, the same one he was already cleared of, even though no new evidence is presented;
d) he is sentenced to pay $8m in compensation to the families and punitive damages to follow.
But
1) how can he be tried twice for the same crime on identical grounds;
2) don't judges normally sentence murderers to prison;
3) $8m;
4) Santa Monica is full of angry middle-class white folks, any court action there would get a jury of the same;
5) what in the name of pants and string vests is going on here?
O B Simpson
Now I don't claim to know the law, let alone American Civil Law, however:
a) after a lengthy court process a man is found not guilty of murder;
b) following this he is brought before a civil court for a private action brought by the families of the deceased;
c) this time he is found guilty of murder, the same one he was already cleared of, even though no new evidence is presented;
d) he is sentenced to pay $8m in compensation to the families and punitive damages to follow.
But
1) how can he be tried twice for the same crime on identical grounds;
2) don't judges normally sentence murderers to prison;
3) $8m;
4) Santa Monica is full of angry middle-class white folks, any court action there would get a jury of the same;
5) what in the name of pants and string vests is going on here?
O B Simpson
Wednesday, 16 January 2008
I Palindrome I
Tuesday, 4th February 1997
Enough babbling, let's give people the FACTS:
In tests, the Rover Metro came bottom of the table in safety. What hasn't been as widely publicised is that the Fiesta and the Polo are 73% more likely to suffer from alien abduction and attack from sharks.
The father of missing TV presenter Zoe Ball has been taken into police custody accused of the murder of custard pies and small fluffy animal toys during his reign as children's television's comedy/science anchorman in the 1970s. Johnny "The Hat" Ball will be tried and executed on Thursday.
Fashion, and Being Rescued At Sea is the craze that's sweeping the world. It's 1997 folks, and if you're not out in the middle of some immense ocean facing certain death then you're NOWHERE. Two headline cases so far in January. Hardcore rescuees favour ridiculous methods of staying alive, such as stapling their hands together with knives to prevent losing precious energy to the rigours of morris dancing.
Those were the news, now over to Caroline for the weather.
B
Enough babbling, let's give people the FACTS:
In tests, the Rover Metro came bottom of the table in safety. What hasn't been as widely publicised is that the Fiesta and the Polo are 73% more likely to suffer from alien abduction and attack from sharks.
The father of missing TV presenter Zoe Ball has been taken into police custody accused of the murder of custard pies and small fluffy animal toys during his reign as children's television's comedy/science anchorman in the 1970s. Johnny "The Hat" Ball will be tried and executed on Thursday.
Fashion, and Being Rescued At Sea is the craze that's sweeping the world. It's 1997 folks, and if you're not out in the middle of some immense ocean facing certain death then you're NOWHERE. Two headline cases so far in January. Hardcore rescuees favour ridiculous methods of staying alive, such as stapling their hands together with knives to prevent losing precious energy to the rigours of morris dancing.
Those were the news, now over to Caroline for the weather.
B
Tuesday, 15 January 2008
I Don't Want The World, I Just Want Your Half
Monday, 3rd February 1997
A weak is as link as its strongest chain. The type of tenet upon which one can base a whole system of living.
Monday is a state of mind - in this spirit, Thank God It's Friday!!!
It has been said that overuse and multiplicity of exclamation marks at the end of a sentence is a sign of imbalance and insecurity. You may observe that I limit their use and therefore can be considered perfectlyHELP ME I NEED HELP IM FALLKING APASRT EVERYTHINGFS ISD IT TOO STRANGE I CANT GO OPJN HUL;P- ME PLEASZE HELP MEEED,.,.;[[[sane despite brief attacks of paranoid frenzy which fortunately limit themselves to these morning messages. Oh, and I almost forgot, !!!!!!!!!. Ha-ha.
B Army
A weak is as link as its strongest chain. The type of tenet upon which one can base a whole system of living.
Monday is a state of mind - in this spirit, Thank God It's Friday!!!
It has been said that overuse and multiplicity of exclamation marks at the end of a sentence is a sign of imbalance and insecurity. You may observe that I limit their use and therefore can be considered perfectlyHELP ME I NEED HELP IM FALLKING APASRT EVERYTHINGFS ISD IT TOO STRANGE I CANT GO OPJN HUL;P- ME PLEASZE HELP MEEED,.,.;[[[sane despite brief attacks of paranoid frenzy which fortunately limit themselves to these morning messages. Oh, and I almost forgot, !!!!!!!!!. Ha-ha.
B Army
Monday, 14 January 2008
Shaggy & Scooby Got Married
Friday, 31st January 1997
Congratulations to Alastair on his promotion to DC 2. Nobody told me he was a Detective Constable of any sort before, and now look. There's an ITV Drama series in that, "DC Alastair", or perhaps a gritty urban documentary. Ideas on a postcard, please, to the usual address. Or just send it round on a post-it note stuck to a zebra, that normally works.
Swab & Nettle for celebratory drinks at lunchtime? Or is it the Crush and Toetread? Al, the decision is yours.
Walked out of "Laughter on the 23rd Floor" at the interval last night. Gene Wilder let down by a cast of crap American and Russian accents and fewer laughs than the papers (or the title) would have you believe. So that's two ducks in as many weeks - sod the theatre, I'm going back to Hollywood. Anything good on at the movies these days?
Ain' bin nuthin' since Bad Boys, n Boyz N Th' Hood, n shet, I smoke yo ass byatch, a'm da man, a'm da maaan...
Congratulations to Alastair on his promotion to DC 2. Nobody told me he was a Detective Constable of any sort before, and now look. There's an ITV Drama series in that, "DC Alastair", or perhaps a gritty urban documentary. Ideas on a postcard, please, to the usual address. Or just send it round on a post-it note stuck to a zebra, that normally works.
Swab & Nettle for celebratory drinks at lunchtime? Or is it the Crush and Toetread? Al, the decision is yours.
Walked out of "Laughter on the 23rd Floor" at the interval last night. Gene Wilder let down by a cast of crap American and Russian accents and fewer laughs than the papers (or the title) would have you believe. So that's two ducks in as many weeks - sod the theatre, I'm going back to Hollywood. Anything good on at the movies these days?
Ain' bin nuthin' since Bad Boys, n Boyz N Th' Hood, n shet, I smoke yo ass byatch, a'm da man, a'm da maaan...
Friday, 11 January 2008
The Word "Cruel" Starts Flashing
Thursday, 30th January 1997
The fluouououorescent tube above my desk is on the blink and it's giving me a headache. I must fetch Tom the Office Technician immediately. However, first let me rave about Fortean TV and Brass Eye.
Bangin', those programmes, largin' it, Chris Morris, viiibe, Lionel Fanthorpe, mingin', top telly, satan satan satan satan. Perhaps not to everyone's taste, but if you like watching clips from Iranian TV of live cows being shot out of cannons, mermaid autopsies, strange goat killing monsters and celebrities being humiliated then this is the TV hour for you. I particularly enjoyed watching Paul Daniels film endorsements for a campaign to get an East German elephant's trunk from out of its guts.
And if you don't, then it isn't.
The fluouououorescent tube above my desk is on the blink and it's giving me a headache. I must fetch Tom the Office Technician immediately. However, first let me rave about Fortean TV and Brass Eye.
Bangin', those programmes, largin' it, Chris Morris, viiibe, Lionel Fanthorpe, mingin', top telly, satan satan satan satan. Perhaps not to everyone's taste, but if you like watching clips from Iranian TV of live cows being shot out of cannons, mermaid autopsies, strange goat killing monsters and celebrities being humiliated then this is the TV hour for you. I particularly enjoyed watching Paul Daniels film endorsements for a campaign to get an East German elephant's trunk from out of its guts.
And if you don't, then it isn't.
Thursday, 10 January 2008
Punching Airholes Through the Dying Throat of News
Wednesday, 29thJanuary 1997
TV tonight: Channel 4 between 9 and 10. Fortean TV, presented by possibly the worst sci-fi novelist in the world (so bad he writes under at least 12 different pseudonyms) Lionel Fanthorpe, documents the strange, the unexplained, and the made-up phenomena that haunt our world.
Followed by BRASS EYE. Pulled at least twice from Channel 4's schedules, dangerous Chris Morris - banned from broadcasting for publicly announcing the deaths of Jimmy Saville and Michael Heseltine - gets public citizens and politicians to make arses of themselves and tackles issues THEY said were too tasteless to... er... tackle.
Bow down and worship the gods of cult TV. You might as well.
TV tonight: Channel 4 between 9 and 10. Fortean TV, presented by possibly the worst sci-fi novelist in the world (so bad he writes under at least 12 different pseudonyms) Lionel Fanthorpe, documents the strange, the unexplained, and the made-up phenomena that haunt our world.
Followed by BRASS EYE. Pulled at least twice from Channel 4's schedules, dangerous Chris Morris - banned from broadcasting for publicly announcing the deaths of Jimmy Saville and Michael Heseltine - gets public citizens and politicians to make arses of themselves and tackles issues THEY said were too tasteless to... er... tackle.
Bow down and worship the gods of cult TV. You might as well.
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
Working on My 3D TV Tan
Tuesday, 28th January 1997
"Got a call from an old friend, we used to be real close..."
Over the weekend, using what's called a Yahoo! e-mail address search, I looked up an American friend, a good friend with whom I lost contact almost three years ago, to see if he was on the system. Bit of a long shot as he was a confirmed technophobe when I knew him. However, a name matching his in a plausible US location appeared in the search, so I sent a tentative e-mail and waited.
Call me Bob Hoskins, but it is true: nobody wants to be the first to get in touch, to pick up that phone or write that letter. Nobody wants to be disappointed, to find out they've been forgotten, or that they're being inconvenient, or thought of as sad for doing such a thing, by the person they once called a friend. Sometimes it's laziness that stops people from making that connection, but mostly it's fear. And people don't remember how warming and wonderful it is to get a bolt from the blue from someone they once thought a hell of a lot of (maybe because it's never happened to them, but can you think why it's never happened?). You risk losing a lot of face calling on a friend you haven't seen in ages. But then...
Checked my mailbox last night when I got home to find I'd received a long mail from Philadelphia that began "Dude, it's about time..."
"Got a call from an old friend, we used to be real close..."
Over the weekend, using what's called a Yahoo! e-mail address search, I looked up an American friend, a good friend with whom I lost contact almost three years ago, to see if he was on the system. Bit of a long shot as he was a confirmed technophobe when I knew him. However, a name matching his in a plausible US location appeared in the search, so I sent a tentative e-mail and waited.
Call me Bob Hoskins, but it is true: nobody wants to be the first to get in touch, to pick up that phone or write that letter. Nobody wants to be disappointed, to find out they've been forgotten, or that they're being inconvenient, or thought of as sad for doing such a thing, by the person they once called a friend. Sometimes it's laziness that stops people from making that connection, but mostly it's fear. And people don't remember how warming and wonderful it is to get a bolt from the blue from someone they once thought a hell of a lot of (maybe because it's never happened to them, but can you think why it's never happened?). You risk losing a lot of face calling on a friend you haven't seen in ages. But then...
Checked my mailbox last night when I got home to find I'd received a long mail from Philadelphia that began "Dude, it's about time..."
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
It's Only Castles Burning
Monday, 27th January 1997
There are literally thousands of massive natural objects floating around the solar systems with orbits that randomly intersect the Earth's. Click! The barrel's empty - this time...
Just to recap - in the last episode Dai Gwchllogh was arrested by the heavily pregnant WPC Willis for the accidental murder of Mr Bwrrrccchl the gardener during a bungled sheep rustling. Meanwhile Gavin McSprout-Yeovil the wealthy yuppie of the Rhonhddhda has forced his adopted son and his wife, Pam, to get out of the valley by midnight after discovering their illicit affair that had been going on since Josh was 12. However, WPC Willis's Rover is heading down the only link road, with Pam & Josh in a Vitara coming in the other direction. And with Mr Bwrrrccchl dead, there is no-one to light the warning flares on the narrow stretch of Shepherd's Passage. Who will end up burning to death in their upturned vehicle? Find out tonight on "Barmy Welsh Tossers", UK Living at 7.30pm.
There are literally thousands of massive natural objects floating around the solar systems with orbits that randomly intersect the Earth's. Click! The barrel's empty - this time...
Just to recap - in the last episode Dai Gwchllogh was arrested by the heavily pregnant WPC Willis for the accidental murder of Mr Bwrrrccchl the gardener during a bungled sheep rustling. Meanwhile Gavin McSprout-Yeovil the wealthy yuppie of the Rhonhddhda has forced his adopted son and his wife, Pam, to get out of the valley by midnight after discovering their illicit affair that had been going on since Josh was 12. However, WPC Willis's Rover is heading down the only link road, with Pam & Josh in a Vitara coming in the other direction. And with Mr Bwrrrccchl dead, there is no-one to light the warning flares on the narrow stretch of Shepherd's Passage. Who will end up burning to death in their upturned vehicle? Find out tonight on "Barmy Welsh Tossers", UK Living at 7.30pm.
Monday, 7 January 2008
Everything's Happy Underground
Friday, 24th January 1997
It was Radio 1's morning news anchorwoman Tina Richie's last day today, and do you know, in the scant 45 minutes I was listening, she managed to say "Dog's Bollocks" three times. The Chris Evans Bridge-Burning Technique thrives yet.
Anyone want the Spice Girls screensaver? It's shit but it's spicey. And the shock news is that Geri's dumped her two-timing boyfriend - SHE HAD A BOYFRIEND? I heard she was into alsatians.
Oh the wind may blow and the sun may shine
And the rain may fall forever
That's why you hear the British whine
About the British weather.
Put it on, put it on...
It was Radio 1's morning news anchorwoman Tina Richie's last day today, and do you know, in the scant 45 minutes I was listening, she managed to say "Dog's Bollocks" three times. The Chris Evans Bridge-Burning Technique thrives yet.
Anyone want the Spice Girls screensaver? It's shit but it's spicey. And the shock news is that Geri's dumped her two-timing boyfriend - SHE HAD A BOYFRIEND? I heard she was into alsatians.
Oh the wind may blow and the sun may shine
And the rain may fall forever
That's why you hear the British whine
About the British weather.
Put it on, put it on...
Friday, 4 January 2008
The Price of Freedom is Eternal Vigilance
Thursday, 23rd January 1998
Well it's a bit of a pisser that you didn't get the earlier message, but that's the information jollygooddonkeytrack for you; as fast as it is, it's slower than you think. And I think loads, me.
Hah! Richard Branson met with The Pube on a transatlantic flight to JFK on Monday night to talk about Ginger Productions doing Virgin Radio. Chris said he only wanted to do the breakfast show, but NoelEdmonds-features told him they were perfectly happy with Russ and Jonno. Evans and Branson were reported to have returned separately. And now Radcliffe and the boy Lard are taking over - huzzah! Wonder how long THAT'll take to get old....
I'm pleased because next month both Blur and They Might Be Giants are releasing new albums. What tidbit of emergent charivari has pleased you recently?
That pianist joke doesn't work so well when it's not written down. If you try to tell it you suddenly remember how bad you are at telling jokes, you realise the punchline won't be funny and about halfway through you wish you hadn't started telling it in the first place. Well, not you, me. Bugger.
May we remind you that refreshments are available throughout the flight. On behalf of the captain, we sincerely hope that you do enjoy your holiday and look forward to seeing you again soon.
Well it's a bit of a pisser that you didn't get the earlier message, but that's the information jollygooddonkeytrack for you; as fast as it is, it's slower than you think. And I think loads, me.
Hah! Richard Branson met with The Pube on a transatlantic flight to JFK on Monday night to talk about Ginger Productions doing Virgin Radio. Chris said he only wanted to do the breakfast show, but NoelEdmonds-features told him they were perfectly happy with Russ and Jonno. Evans and Branson were reported to have returned separately. And now Radcliffe and the boy Lard are taking over - huzzah! Wonder how long THAT'll take to get old....
I'm pleased because next month both Blur and They Might Be Giants are releasing new albums. What tidbit of emergent charivari has pleased you recently?
That pianist joke doesn't work so well when it's not written down. If you try to tell it you suddenly remember how bad you are at telling jokes, you realise the punchline won't be funny and about halfway through you wish you hadn't started telling it in the first place. Well, not you, me. Bugger.
May we remind you that refreshments are available throughout the flight. On behalf of the captain, we sincerely hope that you do enjoy your holiday and look forward to seeing you again soon.
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Jellicle Cats, One by One, Picking 'Em Off with a BB Gun
Wednesday, 22nd January 1998
Saw "Cats" last night and it was pants. Too much dancing and not enough prancing. A little mincing would've been nice. There were very good bits, and the rest was a bit dull. So generally, kecks.
How do you address a cat? With a mallet.
Saw "Cats" last night and it was pants. Too much dancing and not enough prancing. A little mincing would've been nice. There were very good bits, and the rest was a bit dull. So generally, kecks.
How do you address a cat? With a mallet.
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
Alien Schmalien
Tuesday, 21st January 1997
I dreamt I ran all the way home to England from Turkey, stopping only to admire some of the world's greatest electrical bridges, however I later realised that I had left my shoes on the boat, and that my passport wouldn't allow me back on the boat to get them back. So, y'know, pretty medium. How's your subconscious?
Did you see "Dark Skies" last night on Channel 4? It's like "X-files" with all the suspense, mystery and credibility taken out, but otherwise it's just as bad.
Gloom and doom.
I dreamt I ran all the way home to England from Turkey, stopping only to admire some of the world's greatest electrical bridges, however I later realised that I had left my shoes on the boat, and that my passport wouldn't allow me back on the boat to get them back. So, y'know, pretty medium. How's your subconscious?
Did you see "Dark Skies" last night on Channel 4? It's like "X-files" with all the suspense, mystery and credibility taken out, but otherwise it's just as bad.
Gloom and doom.
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