Thursday, 26 February 2009
As Twisted Sister once said, I am I'm me.
By the way, since when has Gordon Ramsay been English?
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
Oh, and on the subject of general knowledge and swottiness, whose not-very-fantastic idea was it to punt Eghheads to 6.30 and put the one man personality vacuum that is Nicky Campbell on in its place? I reckon Campbell's got some naughty pics of a BBC boss in his possession and is using them as blackmail. How else do you explain his appearance 5 nights a week at 6pm, once a week at 7.30pm and once a week at 10.00am on the telly and five days a week on the wireless?
Now, if it was the vino-guzzling 'hey everybody, let's P-A-R-T-Y' one-woman-fun-factory that's his Watchdog colleague Julia Bradbury, then that'd be totally different kettle of fish. Besides, she was responsible for one of my favourite ever lines uttered on television: "Ooh, I wish I hadn't had those fish and chips."
Christ on a bike! Here's a crap idea: why not just lock away anyone with a disability - no matter how minor - in sanitariums in the countryside where we don't have to look at them?
Apparently one parent complained that he'd had to confront the issue of disability with his/her children 'before they were ready to deal with it'. What if his/her kids saw someone in a wheelchair or carrying a white stick whilst out shopping? We all know that kids have a tendency to shout rather loudly 'Why is that man in a wheelchair?'
Edit: I didn't realise that Mr Avenues and Alleyways had already blogged on this topic when I wrote and published it, so soz.
*And I know that saying 'Joeys' isn't right, but these are the sort of twats who probably still say it.
Saturday, 14 February 2009
Thursday, 12 February 2009
Anyway, this popped up on my iPod today during a shuffle. I hadn't heard it in ages and it was most welcome. Especially as Metallica use it as their intro music and I'm going to see them the week after next. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up because normally when I hear it I know I'm going to feel the full force of James Hetfield's wrath in a few minutes. It has everything I love about Ennio Morricone's spaghetti western music: Twanging electric guitars, squealing trumpets, a wailing bint, a clanging bell and a huge choir. Pretty good visuals too, courtesy of Sergio Leone and Eli Wallach.
Well, the votes have been cast, the results counted and not verified, and the verdict is that out of ten of you who could be arsed to vote, six of you said you'd follow me on Twitter. Which is bad news for six people as I won't be Twittering any time soon.
I don't know how to access the internet on my phone (which is surely essential for any serious Twitterer; I'm so thick, aren't I?), my life is nowhere near interesting enough for anyone to want to 'follow' it on Twitter (my life bores me so it's bound to bore anyone else) and when you look at what Stephen Fry posts on Twitter (like 'I've just finished a day's filming at Twentieth Century Fox studios in Los Angeles'), then what chance do you stand of getting yourself noticed?
Not only that, there was a Twitter item on The One Show last night and Christine Bleakley said she didn't Twitter and didn't see the point of it. So that's that. I use The Bleakley as a kind of life coach, even though she doesn't know it. Gyles Brandreth did the item and he Twitters. I could rest my case right there.
The thing is, is it just fad? In 2001 it was Friends Reunited (which I may have made myself look a complete tit on last week, but never mind), 2004 it was eBay, 2006 was MySpace's year and a couple of year's ago it was Facebook.
Now I've come to quite like Facebook. You can post videos on there without clogging up your blog. There's some fantastic pictures of me as a kid and adolescent on there and it's enabled me to come back into contact with people I haven't seen for years. As well as come into contact with charming and witty people who share my enthusiasm for early 80s footballers and looking through the CD sale at Sainsbury's.
So, you Twitterers, enjoy yourself and think of all the fun I'm missing out on.
While I'm at it, does anyone here use Spotify?
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
Monday, 9 February 2009
The fun starts at 5m 30s.
I'm not passing comment on the individual case here, but do we really want to see Noel Edmonds spraffing off on our TV screens like some sort of tidy-bearded British Rush Limbaugh? I'd like to say to Edmonds that he doesn't speak for me. I can fight my own battles, unlike the braying Daily Mail readers in the audience.
It's Alan Partridge made real. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Friday, 6 February 2009
I don't regularly watch it, but while listening to Radcliffe and Maconie last night, they said Will Young was going to be on it, so I thought I'd give it a go when I got in.
Billy Connolly once said that the desire to be a politician should automatically bar you from ever being one. Something I agree strongly with. I hate all politicians (except Ken Clarke).
The thing is with QT is that it's just a fancier Mrs Merton Heated Debate. A heated debate with cocks. I think they should just do a Harry Hill and have a great big fight.
Let's look at last night's line-up (we'll come back to Young later):
Geoff Hoon - Goverment mouthpiece. Obviously briefed for hours beforehand by a team of people. Nottingham MP who was recently banned from attending the Latitude Festival. Cock.
Theresa May - Conservative mouthpiece. There solely to argue with Hoon. A career politician of the worst kind. Minge.
Nigel Farage - Oh dear, where to start? UKIP leader. A man who not only looks like a penis but talks like one too. Has an annoying habit of laughing at his own putdowns while playing to the crowd. There to argue with Hoon and May. Arsehole.
Shami Chakrabarti - Head honcho of pressure group Liberty. FC's said it all. But I think I would she'll, no doubt, be glad to hear. There to argue with anyone she bloody well likes 'because that's what living in a democracy's all about, right'? Every time I watch QT, she seems to be on it. Mong.
Now, Mr Will Young. Whoever thought he'd make a good choice for that show needs sacking. I gather they do it to go after ver kids. Well perhaps they should have got her off the Ting Tings or Dizzee Rascal to do it because Young appeals to...oh, I don't know, does Young appeal to anyone? What's going on with that chin? You could get pickles out of a jar with that monster.
All his answers started with "Mmm...now...yes...err...", which left Chakrabarti with golden opportunities to come in and start shouting about what she thought. Which she was loving. And to justify it she was saying stuff like "Well, I agree with Will on that point, but..."
And I'm surprised you didn't hear me laughing at your house when Will came out with this little corker: "This whole snow business makes me so angry!" There's no business like snow business, clearly.
I won't tune in again in a hurry. Mind you, Monty Don's on next week, so the curiosity of seeing how his stroke's affected him might get me to have a gawp.
Oh, and yesterday I had the highest number of returning visitors ever to this blog. Thank you, I love you all.
Thursday, 5 February 2009
A lot of this has come about because Stephen Fry is a compulsive Twitterer. Why, only this week he was trapped in a lift and Twittered on about it to the 750 million people who follow him on Twitter. Now I'm not good in a crisis involving myself, I tend to panic. And although I'm not a lift-phobic, I do have a sense of relief when the bell goes, the doors open and I can step out of one. So the last thing I'm going to do if I'm trapped in a lift is to start Twittering (besides, I have an internet-enabled phone, but don't ask me how to access the internet on it). In reality, what would happen to me is that I'd be crying and pissing myself so much the lift would gradually fill up with water so that only my head would be exposed at the top of the lift carriage, like in a disaster film.
And why would you want to follow the minutiae of someone's life like that? You might as well move in with them.
Things came to a head last night when my preferred Forest blogger announced that he was going to Twitter match updates from the stands. When I go to football I go to watch the match and have a laugh with my mates. Not to stand there staring into a mobile phone all night Twittering. Mind you, I'd have loved to see some of last night's entries after half time, probably something like "Oh God, I'm going to jump off Trent Bridge if Kris Commons scores" leading on to "Oh shit, goodbye cruel world..."
And what if nobody wants to follow you on Twitter? How depressed would you be? Who the hell would be interested in what I've got to say:
07.00 Got up for a shit, shave, shower and shampoo
07.15 Preparing porridge.
08.00 Having a lazy wank
08.15 Watching Freshly Squeezed on Channel 4 Plus One
09.30 Watching To Buy or Not to Buy
10.00 Having a lazy wank
12.00 Preparing dinner. Heinz Ravioli on toast I think
See? How mundane is that? Let's have a little straw poll, who'd follow me on Twitter? I bet nobody. Anyway, I'm a Faceberk man, and going on Twitter would be like sleeping with your best mate's missus.
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
1 - He kept banging on about it being fifty years since Buddy Holly wished he'd took the bus instead. This kept being referred to as 'the day the music died', it clearly didn't. I know this because 99% of my record collection is made up of records written and made after February 1959. He'd obviously been told to promote something that was on later called The Hour the Music Died, which dramatised the hour leading up to Holly's death. The clips made it sound awful, like a cross between the Radio Ham and Airplane. Holly would have been so proud. Not.
My parents went to see Holly at Nottingham Palais when they were still courting (What a lovely term. Do people still 'court' each other, like deer?). True to form, Dad fell asleep. Only Dad could fall asleep at a rock 'n' roll gig. He was deeply uninterested in music and probably only took mater to keep her quiet. Dad did anything for a quiet life.
2 - Much as I loathe Wright, he does sometimes play some good records which you can tell he likes because you don't hear anyone else play them very often (see here). Yesterday he played Is it Like Today by World Party. Like XTC and The Auteurs/Luke Haines, I love everything I've heard by them but have never got round to buying the catalogue. The other thing is, what happened to World Party? I know they were mainly an ex-Waterboy called Karl Wallinger, but what's happened to him? Like Talk Talk's wonderful Mark Hollis, he seems to have disappeared without trace. Here's the other World Party songs I know and love (And I know She's the One but only because the fat dancer from Take That covered it. Wasn't Guy Chambers in the World Party orbit at some point?).
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
I know I shouldn't allow myself to get wound up by Eurovision, but this year it really is the limit.
If you aren't aware, Andrew Lloyd Webber's took it upon himself to write the UK's entry for the 2009 contest in Moscow. Lloyd Webber, quite rightly, thinks that the UK's involvement has been seriously undermined over the years by people like Terry Wogan and the block voting of Eastern European countries. The problem is that the song he's written is, in a word, pants. As you can see, if you watch that video, it's one of those oh-my-God-I-don't-believe-I've-won-this X Factor winner's efforts, complete with histrionic vocals. It'd probably sit well in a musical, but this is about pop records, and ALW doesn't write pop records. It's the sort of song that's so easily forgotten when mixed in with a Croation band of accordianists and jugglers and intense Gallic chanteuses (is that a word?) on the big night.
In an earlier show we witnessed ALW trolling around Eastern Europe begging people, including, get this, Vladimir Putin to vote for the UK. I'm sorry, but you can't moan about block voting and then expect people to block vote for you. Apparently ALW's popular in Eastern Europe, which is apparently why he thinks people will vote for a song he's penned. Wrongitty wrong. On that reasoning, Iron Maiden are massive in Eastern and Northern Europe, so they should be a shoo-in, surely. Besides, they've got the stagecraft down to a fine art already, Bruce Dickinson loves running around a stage waving a Union Jack (including, rather insensitively, at Dublin's Croke Park stadium) So, next year, can we have Iron Maiden represent us please? Remember Lordi?