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I think the time has come to form some form of agreement with homeless people. I don’t mean one where they get homes – sure that would be great, but they’d only turn it into a drug den wouldn’t they? Plus we all like having them on the streets really. No-one wants to admit it, but no matter whats going on at work or home you can always think “At least I’m not that bearded alky smelling of shit over there (actually that’s just most people, I don’t have that luxury. When I have a beard). No, that’s not the sort of agreement that I’m talking about. I’m talking about some agreement on begging, and when it’s acceptable.
I am fed up of being asked for money when I’m trying to go about my daily routine of ignoring the world and hating the things that inhabit the same planet as me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very sympathetic (I’m not but you’ve got to say you are haven’t you?) for the plight of anyone who has got to the level where pissing themselves is ‘just another thing I do’. I think its terrible that some people don’t have houses (they’re the ones laughing when its very hot though aren’t they? When I’m tossing and turning in my luxury duvet, throwing my Egyptian cotton sheets off because I’m a bit hot – the homeless man is laughing as he sleeps underneath the stars with a slight breeze cooling him, and taking away the smell of shit a bit. Who is laughing then? Its not me I’ll tell you. I already to struggle to sleep, I’d kill to be in a shop doorway with a bottle of cider and a remarkably healthy looking dog.) and that some people smell when they scrape the money together to get a bus and sit near me. Yes, I hear their pain – but I don’t want to be giving them money every fucking day.
What I’m proposing is not abject ignorance or me being mean. I suggest that for a token sum (£5) you could pay for some kind of arm-band or badge which would denote you as someone who could not be begged (to?at?). The money would go to Microsoft or Apple who could use the money to develop the technology to kill homeless people humanely. Haha! I got you, I’m not that evil. The money could be used for the good of the homeless people. I would suggest the homeless community be allowed to vote on what the money was spent on, but it would just be drugs wouldn’t it? So, best we just build them a shelter. In return they would have to promise to leave people alone who were wearing the badge/arm-band. If they ignored ignoring them they would be banned from the shelter – and maybe get a bit of a kicking.
It’s a great system and would improve my life immensely. Last night I walked the long way home from the chippy becaue I didn’t want to walk past a homeless man again. I had already said no once but I knew he would ask again. The twat. I didn’t say I had no change, which maybe would allow him to ask again once I came out of a shop having maybe obtained some change. I said “no”. So, I walked the long way back to my own house. I bet he would (literally) piss his sides if he knew what he’d put me through. “Haaaa! He has walked the long way home, with his chicken and chips maybe being slightly colder than they would have been had he taken the more direct route past me. Its taken him longer to get home, the prick. Nor to mention the fact that in a way he has walked in my house as I’m homeless so everywhere is my house”. That’s the kind of thinking that leads to people being homeless – his very name means he has no home or house, not that outside is his house. And I wanted my chicken and chips to be a bit colder so up yours.
But seriously what do I have to do to be left alone? Walking around with a scowl on my face doesn’t work (that goes for more than homeless people though, normal people don’t leave me alone either). I need to find something that repels homeless people, maybe I should dress up as a house. Or a job. Or not a drug addiction. The only sensible solution seems to be my scheme, at least they get something out of it.
Wow, managed to get through that without resorting to the cliché about them always begging outside Greggs or an ATM. One last thing though, Big Issue vendors, with your little vests ‘It’s not begging, its working’: I suppose it is kind of working, but its like begging to isn’t it? In the way you’re annoying and people try not to make eye contact with you. And you’re asking people to buy the rubbish paper in an annoying mithering way, rather than waiting to be asked.
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: beggars, generousity, hate, homeless, humanity, tagging
Everyone has those odd thoughts don’t they? From time to time, you do – come on don’t you? Whether it be ‘how would I manage without the bendability my knees offer my legs?’ or ‘I think I’m going to murder a load of Norfolk-based prostitutes’ we all have them. The one that I often come back to is how I would react if I walked into a room. Let’s rephrase that, as I know how I react when I walk in a room – I think ‘Am I the only one in here? If not how can I (a) get some attention or (b) make me the only person in the room without these selfish not-giving-me-attention-cunts not devouring my every interesting thought and action as though I was a modern day Jesus. What I mean is, how would I react if I looked up and saw me entering a room. A doppelganger, a clone, a replica; my personality, clothes and memories.
Now I often think that 99% of people I’ve ever met are utter cunts and I don’t view myself to favourably about half of the time. So, odds suggest I would take one look at myself and dismiss myself as a strangely familiar, definitely handsome, cunt. (Yeah, I know how accurate). But, seriously how would I handle it? Would you freak out? Would you instantly consider yourself insane? I am sure for one or two people on the planet their version of insane is being absolutely certain that one day an identical being to themself would walk into a room as though it were the most normal thing in the world, and thus this occurring would make all seem right after years of misery and therapy. But I’m not talking about them mad bastards, I’m talking about this mad bastard.
If we got talking (would small talk be necessary?) surely we would get on? Would my sometimes self-loathing manifest itself in loathing this other Phil? I mean I can be pretty annoying, and my voice….have you heard me? It’s not great, that would grate on me surely. I’ve got used to it from inside my head but when I hear it on a video or phone, Jesus – it’s terrible. Then again, when I’m not loathing me I’m pretty much loving me so this could be amazing – a chance to experience the glory of me in full flow from the non-first-person POV, I could just relax and listen to me go on and on about utter shit. Loving every minute of it, ‘what an intelligent and funny fella’ I’d muse.
How long would the love-in last though? It would get a bit weird when he started touching all my/his/our things. I don’t like people touching my stuff. But I like touching my stuff so he’d be doing it. He’d go on my laptop. Mainly not really doing anything, just idly browsing the internet or reading some article he’d maybe read already a few months ago (I’d know because I did, it was a good article – that Kubrick eh?)…I’d start staring him down with my evilest eyes. He’s fucking ignore me the prick (I would – I’d ignore anybody staring at me, the stupider they are the more it winds them up) and I’d start to get wound up to my limits. “Are you fucking finished on there or what you goggle eyed, fat bastard? [I know what winds him up, ha!] I want to go on it”, I’d scream after reaching the end of my tether because newly created twin was using my/his laptop for five minutes. Come on – it’s mine, why shouldn’t I use it? Five minutes later and I’d be picturing smashing his stupid fucking face, American History X-ing my own mouth on the kerb outside and then jumping on my skull until I was dead because he’d used my computer for 5 minutes when I didn’t even really need to use it. At this point other me would realise it was driving me insane, and because I’m not pure evil he’d cede the laptop too me, admittedly begrudgingly and muttering ‘cunt’ under my breath. When I got the laptop I’d not have anything to look at and check my hotmail that I’d checked half an hour ago before looking at the sale section of HMV for the ninth consecutive day.
Let’s cut to the chase: is wanking this clone off masturbation or a homosexual sex act? How long could we both last before one of said it? We’d probably go about 13 minutes before both saying it simultaneously like people do in romcoms before going “no, no, no you say what you have to say, I insist”. At first it would be jokey, but we’d both be intrigued by the idea – and we’d both know the other one was as well. I mean, we both know the instrument intimately- surely we would get one hell of a tune out of the beast? Or more to the point one of us would. Or wouldn’t. No matter what one of us was turning down, neither of us would do the wanking first. “If I’m going to wank someone’s cock, it’s going to be mine now wank me off you downs syndrome looking bastard”, I’d argue to the selfish bastard. But he wouldn’t, because he’s stubborn. And only looks out for number one. Inevitably, we’d retire to separate rooms before angrily committing the act of onanism.
The day went badly. Pertubed by the lack of any sense of kinship I’d shown myself, annoyed by his stupid daft face, sickened by his voice…and yes bloody frustrated that he wouldn’t wank me off, I would creep into the spare room as he slept (at about 5 in the morning, why doesn’t he go to bed at a reasonable time?) and slowly put a pillow to his face and suffocate him. I’m not sure he put up much of a fight, it was half-hearted at best. He is now in a shallow grave. Or is it me?? Ohhhhhhhhhhh Twilight Zone ending! Der-der-der der-der-der.
Categories: Uncategorized
What does a man get up to on his day off? It needs chronicling. I rose to find the sun nosing its way through the gaps in the curtains. ‘Why its practically the summer’, I thought, ‘the world is my oyster – no work. I shall not throw this away, this chance to enjoy this amazing land of liberty and freedom. I think I will sit in the dark for several hours, watching a film I’ve heard mainly negative things about. Perhaps making this the tasty filling of a fun sandwich. What could be my bread? Perhaps a visit to Specsavers to get my glasses altered (they’re a bit loose and slide down my nose), and a run on Friday evening?’
So I was in the shower and inevitbaly listening to the station. Parry was on there with one of the presenters who is interchangeable. They were hyping their great new feature, possibly reprising it from 12 months ago. It was a take on the Apprentice. ‘Sir’ Mike Parry was taking the Sugar role. And…well if you’ve seen The Apprentice, you know the deal: budding entrepeneurs compete on a weekly basis in order to land a job with his Sugarness. They sell things, they market things, they research things and of each episode one of them gets to be pointed at while SAS gives it the old ‘You’re fired’. The Talksport version entailed three listeners (morons) giving Parry a pitch for an idea a product that could be produced and make money – they also asked for a hypothetical sum of money to produce said product. If you’re thinking ‘that sounds quite like Dragon’s Den’ (or possibly Dave Gorman’s Genius, seeing as they were hypothetical products and not fledgling business or prototypes), then that’s because that’s what it did sound like. BUT….they played the music from The Apprentice in the background, so – y’know – it was like The Apprentice. Incidentally, the winning Apprentice/Dragon’s Den person suggested that he would produce a kind of mop-shoe for cats and dogs – so they could clean your house as they walked around, you fool. He said he could produce these for ‘about £4′ and as he had £4 he didn’t need Sir Parry’s hypothetical investment. He had clearly done some thinking about these animal mopshoes as he had the answers – how would they be attached to your pet? “Masking tape or something”.
I had agreed that my friend Ste would come and pick me up at 12.30 for our sunny day trip to the cinema. I had got into the shower at about 12.40. I then sat on the settee in my towel for about 20 minutes, slowly thinking how rude it was of Ste not to be on time. Sat in my towel, showing no urgency in moving to put the clothes on that would see me in a position to have any high-ground on the situation. I wasn’t really annoyed about the tardiness but I did have those petty thoughts about it while sat there not getting ready. Kind of sums me up in many ways.
That’s one hell of way to spend your day off, you’re thinking. Well there’s more…I went to watch Watchmen, but that’s a separate blog.
More? Ok, I did more – I went for a four mile run. I know it was four miles because I looked on Googlemap. I don’t know because of my Nikeplus running thing. As has become the norm it tries to stiff me. 3.18 miles it claimed. But I have Goooglemap and know the truth. Perhaps this is something I should take some of the blame on, though normally the gadget undermines me, this time I think I anadvertently paused the workout while carrying on running for about ten minutes. So, if the big cheeses at Nike are reading this, and I am 99.7% certain they are: your Nikeplus Ipod thing is not necessarily a tool of evil sent to undermine my exceptional running abilities. To be fair all the other times it undermines me are probably due to the little widget thing being a bit loose in my sock. But I’m not buying the special trainers for it to fit in. Though Big Cheeses, who ARE reading – unless the 0.03% error possibility comes into play – if you send me a pair of these trainers (size 8, uk size eight) I will edit this blog to say how amazing the Nikeplus thing is, all the time ..and isn’t evil.
To prove my day doesn’t come round to Talksport and thinking how shit the people who phone in are: I had Talksport on in the shower after my run. One of the subjects for phone-in was along the lines of ‘What footballer would you have on your sunday league team to show off something?’ They wanted people to say like ‘Rene Higuita – to do his scorpian kick’ or, if they were funny ‘Diego Maradona – to cheat’. The two I heard were ‘Paul Scholes – for his dignity’ and ‘Ryan Giggs – for his professionalism’. I’m not saying they wouldnt impress your mates on The Fox and Bull XI, turning up with their dignity and professionalism but what drives someone to ring in to a phone in and say something like that? Yeah I am the one writing this stuff down for no-one to read and they are the ones with attention seeking problems. If the two people who phoned in are reading random blogs about peoples’ day-off and recognise themself in what I have just written, can I just say I mean no disrespect to you, you sad fuck(s).
So that was my day off. And that was a good one. Maybe one day I will recount one of the ones where I get up around half one, go to Tesco for a wrap and play Call of Duty for 5 hours.
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: Ipod, Jamie Oliver, Mike Parry, Nike, Nike Plus, omlette, running, shower, Sir Alan Sugar, Specsavers, Talksport, tardiness, The Apprentice, Watchmen
At long last it has been confirmed that I need spectacles. Unfortunately, it means that I am probably wrong in my self-diagnosis; although I have not ruled out the possibility of still having a brain tumour (I am pretty sure someone with glasses must have had a brain tumor before- if not, Doctors, why not look into this? There is surely some correlation here, stop wasting your time on cancer). I am sure I will get over being wrong ….though I don’t agree that you can have a migraine without the head pain bit, no matter how many fancy-pant Doctors want to tell me this is the case.
For some bizarre reason I have wanted glasses for some time. I wore them as a child. I stopped at about 5 or 6 (not through choice, I believe there was an eye test involved but my memory seems to only stretch back to when I was about 10) so I dont think I experienced the negative end of the spectacle wearing stigmatism (pun not intended but acknowledged). I definitely would have mocked others for wearing glasses though, I was like that. I am like that (I’m a prick). But, I like glasses wearers: Caine in the 1970s was consummate, I liked Evans i the 90s (I am aware he was pretty much Zeitgisting Caine though) and I dig the girls in the goggles (I’m not shallow enough to omit non-glasses wearing cartoon characters from my top 10 but fittest cartoon character is Thelma from Scooby-Do). I’ve also just started watching Mad Men so there’s another tick for cool 4 eyes. Maybe there is a bit of geekness in there too, I was reminded today of my childhood dream (other than playing for United) being to work in a Stationery shop. Surely the dream of someone who should wear glasses.
I was quite surprised how poor the vision in my left eye is/has been for x years. Imagine how good I could be at some things from here on in. Well, from when I actually get the glasses. I mean a lot of the things I do could really benefit from me having better vision. I mean my vision isn’t that bad, I’m not Mr Magoo or anything. But lets be honest, other than staving off the odd migraine and meaning I have something else to look gorgeous in, it shouldnt really effect my life too much. That said if my life dramatically improves at the moment I start wearing glasses then so it will be. There is no way it will get significantly worse you idiot: if it starts to get worse (a bit) I shall stop wearing glasses, or at least look on Google for how you get rid of the bad luck brought on by starting to wear glasses.*
* * * *
There’s certainly something about Come Dine with Me that I can’t argue with. I fucking like it, is what I’m trying to say. And I can fucking say what I want. No-one reads this, and why would they to be fair? To busy checking of Jade Goodey has managed to squeeze a divorce/Bar Mitzvah/Satanic Sacrifice before she passes on. I’ve digressed again, note to self: stop digressing (ha ha! Very clever). I know its got more to do with the people on it, which is what is good about all the good things involving real people. As much as I enjoy judging people it does make me want to cook a little bit, though. Well – not cook. It makes me want to do a few things that all the people do that I’ve never done: I want to separate an egg and I want to serve something in a ramekin. Much like most people’s ambitions these are achievable – I have eggs in my kitchen but I can’t be bothered, and I walked past ramekins today in Tesco. I could have bought one but I didn’t. The lesson is if you achieve all your dreams what have you got to work towards? [Alternatively maybe set the bar a bit higher than some incredibly mundane cookery related acts you've seen on a Channel 4 programme].
*I didn’t investigate too thoroughly, but there doesn’t seem to be much on Google about this phenomenon (that I have no reason to believe exists). When you look its just people worrying about being ugly because they have to start wearing glasses. Sounds to me like they were ugly to start with.
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: 4-eyes, glasses, spectacles
There was a girl on my bus this morning, and yes she was over 16 (I can prove this as she got off the bus near a college, Your Honour) who was dressed what I would call nicely. If i was trying to describe her accurately ,though, I would probably used the word dirtbag or similar. Anyway, I’m digressing and making myself sound like some kind of perverted old (I’m 30 you cunt, OLD?) man leering at attractive 18 (17) year-old girls on a bus in revealing attire. Which would be misleading as i’m mearly making a pre-amble to a not altogether interesting observation.
Anyway when she got off the bus I noticed she was carrying a bag that was embossed with the logo ‘100% Rock Chick’. A couple of thoughts struck me, (1) I don’t think someone who was 100% Rock Chick would wear a handbag declaring this (she would probably carry all her worldly goods [spare pair of knickers, gram of speed] in a used hypodermic needle or something) and (2) This was a girl making some attempt at rebellion or personality* in a way that highlighted the immaturity of youth (fucking hell what else is youth meant to be? I’m only saying….Yeah well you were ready to marry her a minute ago…I was not etc).
She was unlikely to be sporting a handbag with slogan on it that read ‘I’m kind of rebelling and trying to find my own style and I’m going for this rocky goth image – that isn’t really rebellion anymore, if anything its quite conventional so many girls do it – as I’m like becoming a woman and i like men looking at me as it makes me feel attractive but if I wear it in the right way i can pretend I’m just empowering myself rather than doing it for attention.’ I would like someone to wear that handbag. It would have to be quite a large handbag, or have quite small writing on it which would make it hard to read from anything other than close up. Then again would someone so wise as to have such a statement be interested in letting other people know how incisive and mature their views of their won youth were? Well yes if it was a 18 year-old girl in a short skirt with fishnet stockings on, she probably would and then would want to get fingered by someone in My Chemical Romance or something.
*This reminds me of an idea I had years ago of mass producing a t-shirt with the slogan ‘individual’ (I suppose ‘unique’ would work just as well) and laughing at the irony of everyone wearing it. Of course it is ironic that I’m probably the 566, 894th person to have this oh-so-world-weary slight at people. I did think of an extra tweak on it though (probably making me a member of a group of just 20,348 or so) that you could have a number on them i.e. 12/10,000. But i couldn’t decide which was more delicious with my satirical eye – actually having 10,000 of them numbered (in a way making the t-shirt somewhat more selective and quirky, but actually making it unique so undoing all the society crumbling satire my messiah-esque mind unfolded) or having them all numbered something like 128/10,000. Given the point I’ve made in the brackets its got to be the latter option really hasn’t it? And i did just have another thought, numbering it something like 334,756/6,000,000,000 would be like really meaningful and shit – but again ruins the point of my Chuck Palahunik styled anarchy though, god damn my innate populist soul.
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: bus, herd, individuality, rock chick, unique
I never really thought anything of me da not going to the pub or having any friends. I just thought that’s me da. He just worked and came home and read a paper and had some tea and sat and did a crossword or something, he didn’t play much wi; me or our Kenny or Lindsay. We didn’t really ask him to so it wasn’t like he was denying us owt. That’s what someone said to me once when I were saying what me dad were like. They said something like he sounds cold and distant it mustn’t have been very nice growing up in a household like that. It were all I knew though and I’m sure I could have been very different person now had I played Connect4 with me da every night or we’d gone on family trips an that but we didn’t and I think I’m ok.
Anyway I’ve digressed – I was gonna tell you about how I found out why he were like that. Suppose you needed to know he were like that first though. My English teacher said that’s what Charles Dickens did though s it cant be too bad. I cant remember what its called though – but its like having dead long sentences cos loads of stuff is explained and it goes off at angles and stuff. I’m just saying if Charles Dickens can do it then I can. I’ve done it again. I’ve digressed about digressing. Our Kenny would say that were clever and I wouldn’t admit that I had just done it by accident – so I were looking clever by being stupid. I never admit to it though, I just pretend I meant it.
So me dad then. Well the first I time I heard someone talking about him being the life and soul were when I was at someone’s birthday party and some old fella asked me how me dad were and to say hello. I didn’t say hello, but anyway he said something about how me dad used to crack him up in the pub. Which I thought were weird as he never went to the pub. So, I thought maybe he’d got it wrong then once Our Kenny said he’d been in the pub and some guy said something about da and the landlord had got pictures out and they were like da laughing in the pub and one of him singing with a microphone and everyone was looking at him like they were paying attention and not just him singing and being ignored. Kenny didn’t say anything to ma or da because he was only fifteen and he’d get it if they found out he’d been in the pub.
I didn’t hear anything else about da being fun or anything. But i couldn’t stop thinking about it every now and then and one night when he went to bed and i asked ma about it and was it true that da used to go out and have loads of friends and be normal and that. She said she couldn’t really say anything about it but that Da did used to go out and that something had happened and that I couldn’t know. This just made me want to know loads. But I asked ma more times and she started to get angry about it and said sleeping dogs lie. Then one day I saw the man from the party and asked him why da had stopped going into the pub and he said no-one really talked about it much but that he’d tell me as he thought it were better that I know. So he bought me a coke at the café on the high street and he told me. I wont use speech marks or owt but until I tell you then its in his words.
It were quite odd what happened really and I’m not sure why it did or why it never got sorted out. It’s quite embarrassing for most people really. Now I cant say as to why it started as I just cant recall but fellas in the pub started wearing bits of womens clothes. It started off with a couple of the guys wearing like a blouse and maybe a necklace. Like I say I don’t know why. It seems really daft now i think about it. (He started laughing here so I started laughing too, a bit out of nerves but it did seem funny men dressing like women for no reason.)
Your dad was one of the main guys in the pub. He was always one of the jokers and everyone thought he was pretty much the main guy. At first all him and his mates ripped into these guys calling em puffs and stuff and saying how they were barmy and should be embarrassed. But then a few more started doing it and things like earrings and makeup were used at weekend or stuff. Before you know it there’s just a couple not wearing some women’s clothes. And one of them’s your old man. He started getting used to the others though – yeah I were one of them, couldn’t say why i did it. Everyone else was doing it and I don’t know you just kind of go with the flow and then you get used to it. Some fellas started wearing like dresses and stuff and the odd skirt. I don’t know what the women made of it, I’m a bachelor. Was then and still am but most of the folks was married like your dad. Don’t know what the women thought at all.
Anyway its become like your dad’s odd cos he wont join in. The others all gave in – even if its just wearing a bit of blusher and some leggings. But your dad wouldn’t – he used to get some stick. And it must have been hard for him because slowly he got left out of stuff because he wouldn’t join in. He had a few rows with people and one night he stormed out and didn’t come back for the next few days. The lads all felt a bit bad on him and were having a chat saying how mean they’d been. This leads someone to say what we doin here? We’re all dressed like fuckin women what are we doin? And its like we’ve been snapped out of a trance or something and the next day we were all dressed normal it was kind of forgotten straight away. Then your da phoned and he said to make sure everyone was there on the Saturday as he wanted everyone to be there cos he was going to come back and he wanted everyone to be there.
Well we were all in on the Saturday, we were every week but no-one wanted to miss your dad coming back – we all wanted to buy him a drink and listen to his opinions about the football and horses. Anyway we’re all sat there and the door starts to open and your dad walks in in a mini skirt and tight top and tights and high heels. I feel bad telling you this but he had gone to town and he must have bought it all himself cos as you know he couldn’t fit in your mother’s clothes. It was good clobber too he must have spent a pretty penny and the make-up was done well and it was said he’d spent a couple of hours getting ready. Well we weren’t expecting it and we all just laughed. And your dad took it the wrong way. We’d all dressed normal and there he was dressed like a tart and he’d really made an effort and everyone just laughed at him. Anyway he just turned round and walked out and never came back. If he see’s any of us in the street he just walks on by, a few people have thought it should be sorted out but everyone one of us is too embarrassed. So i hope that explains whatever you needed to know.
And it did. So that’s why my da stopped going to the pub. I never said anything to anyone. Not even our Kenny.
Categories: Uncategorized
Watching the Bluetones in the same venue as I saw them do basically the same set about 12 years ago was (a) perhaps a signal that I am living in the past, and (b) an interesting chance to look at a band on the opposite side of the climb to fame. When I first saw them Slight Return had just hit the charts, Expecting to Fly was about to be released and – with some reason – The Bluetones were hailed as one of the brighter things that ‘Britpop’ wanked out. There was certainly something about them, the music had a certain Stone-Roseyness that never hurts and Mark Morris had a way with words, not to mention the cocky charm a good frontman needs. In short: I really liked them. So, it was with some excitement that I trundled along to the Students Union at the University of Manchester to my first proper standing up gig. I wasn’t let down either, they were awesome (as were their SUPPORT act The Cardigans) and though my affections waned somewhat over the years The Bluetones, and Expecting to Fly in particular, have remained close to my heart.
When I saw that they were playing a celebration tour consisting of playing their debut album from start to finish I was understandably keen to go and see it. It meant missing an almost meaningless United game and people laughing at the fact that I was going to see a Bluetones concert in 2008, but it would be worth it surely? Well yes it was. I know most people reading this would probably settle for me finishing there but unfortunately for the 3 or 4 people who will read this I’m going to carry on for a bit. A couple of aesthetic points – the room seemed so much smaller as a 30 year old at the back of the room than it did for a 17 year old at the front. Yes, I’ve been to numerous gigs in the SU (it’s not even called that anymore it’s the Academy 2 now) but this was the first time I’ve compared it in my head. Also, the band – as with any indie band- they were essentially three normal looking guys with some guy with that bit extra drop of looks/charisma stood in front of them, they didn’t look too different, but Mark Morris looked 12 years older: and not in the way a lot of singers look better going from mid-twenties to late thirties. He just lacked whatever extra he used to have in terms of appearance.
What he didn’t lack was the voice. He had a great voice then and he’s got a great voice now. His voice and the musicianship of the band were great, augmented by a keyboard player, The Bluetones sounded fantastic live, as ever. They played their debut album in order and played a few other b-sides as an encore. Time may have expanded waists and withered their standing but it cannot dilute the quality of that album. Peppered with bitter swipes at a former lover and laments to a dead relationship every song on Expecting to Fly stands up today as it did back in the crazy days of the mid 90s when people could survive without a mobile phone and Peter Kay was still funny.
Having seen Gomez tour their debut album in a similar fashion already this year its kind of hard to have a go at the idea of these reminisce-fests. On one hand you can kind of feel sorry for the bands, they can dress it up as they want but they are doing this because it guarantees people have interest in careers that have faltered somewhat as they only want to hear ‘the good stuff’. Alternatively you can see it as a fun walk down memory lane for band and crowd alike, and what’s wrong with a bit of nostalgia?
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: Bluetones
Oh …yeah I meant to write, my dog ate my keyboard. Ok, I’ve been lapsing into being a lazy bastard again. Though, yes I did break my laptop the other day. So I’ve made the decision to upgrade to a new model as any repairs would have meant i would have spent more money on it in repairs than i did in buying it, plus the battery being dead was really getting on my nerves and i like the idea of having it by my bed to sit watching US tv shows illegally, while lay in bed, rather than wait another 12 months until they are on in England.
This is why I get put off writing anything – i just lost about 400 pages about what I’ve been watching in the weeks while I’ve not written anything. Not literally everything you understand, just what i felt worth commenting on. I hate trying to recreate things so I’m just going to gloss over what i said and sulk a bit at the rubbish pc I’m using while i wait for my new lap top. What did i say now? Ok – started watching the wire and I’m with the consensus: it’s fucking awesome. I think I’ll write something more comprehensive than that when I’ve watched it all, currently I’m four or five into season 3 so I’ve broken the back of it. Still wouldn’t like to say if it’s any better than The Sopranos though.
What else? Heroes. I was ready to give up on the Petrellis et al. I really thought season 2 was poor, the highlight (other than anything with Clare in her Cheerleader outfit/anything) was Ali Larter’s shit evil reflection character being killed off. So hip-hip-hoo-fucking-ray she’s back as her own triplet, at least she had a proper power this time I suppose. The season started poorly for me and I was literally ready to cut it free (Fringe got 2 episodes before I gave up), but gave it one last go and watched about 6 or 7 over a couple of days and think it had finally returned to form, Robert Forster has proved a much better sinister figure than that attempted by Malcolm McDowell’s Linderman as the patriarch of the Petrelli clan. I still think Matt Parkman is shit as is Suresh but the rest of the cast are more than making up for it at the moment.
Which brings me to 24:Redemption, a reminder of the brilliance of Bauer come trailer for the new season. I needed a bit of a reminder to be honest, a year without a 24 fix wasn’t too much of a hindrance, the show was declining with quality over seasons five and six and was in need of a reboot. Which seemingly we were getting, the trailer for season 7 (the one that never happened due to the writer’s strike) with Almeida in it!! Tony ‘Dead’ Almeida. Yes, thats more like it. Dead people coming back is NOT a sign of desperation, it’s awesome – ok?? But it was not to be. One thinks that they would have struggled out a season last year had it not badly been in need of an excellent run. Which brings us to this 2-hour special, set mainly in a fictional war torn African country. The screen time was shared between Jack tackling his demons and Druglords with the help of Robert Carlyle and the set-up of the mulligan for season 7. In 24-universe we are of course 2 black Presidents in, so what next??? A woman, that’s right a woman in the White House. The US part of 24:Redemption focused on the comings and goings of the incumbent female President and the drug addict friend of her son who was embroiled in the African war via work for a sinister John Voight. Hopefully Voight will get more screen time in the new season as we didn’t get to see much of him here. 24 wasn’t out of this world, but it wetted the whistle.
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: 24, 24:Redemption, Heroes, laptop, PC, The Wire
There are a number of questions that arise from the Brand-Ross-Manuel farrago. Most of them are obvious to most people. For my part I wondered what Sachs knowledge of contemporary celebrity culture is. Is he sufficiently aware of the reputation of Russell Brand to the degree that by being informed that his grand-daughter was a conquest that she was little more than a piece of tissue that Brand had masturbated his ego on? Is he savvy enough of his grand-daughter’s life to know that being in a group called Satan’s Sluts and moving in the circles that means you end up with Mr Brands well used pistol cocked at your modesty mean that he’s hardly crest-fallen nay embarrassed at the information.
But is this the point? Or is it the manor/method employed. There is a certain lack of dignity to the whole thing, for sure. It’s certainly not something any girl would want anyone bragging about in most circles, let alone to the voicemail of her grand-father and simultaneously to listening millions on national radio. And another thing…when she decided to sleep with a man whose fame is (at least partly) built upon his open, frank and funny – not to mention relentless – discussion of his drug and sex shenanigans, did she think it was somehow confidential?
The whole thing is not a job losing thing though is it? Well I don’t think it is. There’s plenty of people I don’t like being sexually suggestive to the public/celebrities about themselves or their families. Chris Moyles is a cunt, for example. Because it has offended someone is it that much worse to be a leading news story for a week? There is this further point – that the whole issue has been magnified and thrust into the spotlight because of the decreasing esteem the BBC is held in. Why are these two men being paid so much money to shout obscenities down the phone to an old man? Well one of them is very funny, very intelligent and is not Jonathan Ross. The other is Jonathan Ross. If anyone’s main concern is the stagnation of our public broadcasting institution then a campaign to reinstate Russell Brand should be the next step. And a big question should be raised over why Jonathan Ross is paid so much to shout swear words.
But moreover – why is Chris Moyles a cunt?
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: brand resignation, brand sacking, Jonthan Ross, moyles is a cunt, Radio 2, Russell Brand, Slut
