Our kid's done this Desert Island Discs thingy, so I thought I'd nick the idea and give it a go. You can take albums, right?
First up, the whole album, mark you, not just these two songs.
Perfect indie pop.
An-gus!
Perfect, er, pop.
Two for the price of one here. Going to see this lot a week tonight.
Dave Grohl never bettered this. Recently covered by Glen Campbell.
Doesn't outlive its welcome.
Genius.
Luxury - an iPod to render this whole exercise pointless.
Book - The Deeper Meaning of Liff. I've read it hundreds of times and it never fails to make me 'LOL' (eergh). It'd make me realise how much pleasure used to be had by laying on a settee on a Sunday afternoon, absent-mindedly picking yourself.
Thursday, 9 October 2008
Dum-di--dum...
...la-di-da...oh, hello there, you've just caught me deep in thought. I was thinking that how is it, as a British tax payer, I'm having to fork out to help some greedy bastards who put their money into Icelandic bank accounts? You see, I'm only a humble factory worker, but I was always told that high financial returns usually involve some sort of high financial risk. Now I may be very old-fashioned, but I thought it would have been the Icelandic government's job to sort this mess. Perhaps they're too busy planning on how to start another war over fish, or working out how to charge even more for a bottle of beer.
As you were.
Wednesday, 8 October 2008
Sexist comment from 1993 alert!
This has been written by Esther Rantzen, but don't let that put you off (mind you, I saw her daughter do a documentary the other week, and very good she was too), it gives me hope. Nearly as much hope as when Christine Bleakley followed Adrian Chiles to an empty flat for an hour. That means the Bleakley's into pudgy-faced, broad blokes from the Midlands who support unfashionable football teams. I think I may be in there.
The Rantzen article reminds me of something one of my better-looking-than-me friends used to say to me when I'd to travel to Bath to visit him at university, usually just after he'd copped with a complete siren: "Don't worry, Rich, the fat birds are better in bed. The skinny ones take it for granted you fancy 'em so just lay there like a starfish". That never explained why I was always left with the less attractive one though. Never mind, beauty's only skin deep, ain't it? Attractiveness takes so many forms, I only hope he enjoyed himself. His un-PCness seems so very decadent these days, doesn't it?
In other news, I found out today a colleague of mine likes, and is going to see Uriah Heep. Oh dear, I needed a laugh today.
And I know Joe Brown isn't exactly fashionable, but I kind of love his new single. Hear it here at track no.5.
The Rantzen article reminds me of something one of my better-looking-than-me friends used to say to me when I'd to travel to Bath to visit him at university, usually just after he'd copped with a complete siren: "Don't worry, Rich, the fat birds are better in bed. The skinny ones take it for granted you fancy 'em so just lay there like a starfish". That never explained why I was always left with the less attractive one though. Never mind, beauty's only skin deep, ain't it? Attractiveness takes so many forms, I only hope he enjoyed himself. His un-PCness seems so very decadent these days, doesn't it?
In other news, I found out today a colleague of mine likes, and is going to see Uriah Heep. Oh dear, I needed a laugh today.
And I know Joe Brown isn't exactly fashionable, but I kind of love his new single. Hear it here at track no.5.
Monday, 6 October 2008
Birds, burgers and bastards
Quite a productive weekend for me, all in all. Normally I like to sit on my fat, lazy arse at the weekend and do absolutely fuck all.
Saturday saw me rise quite early and nip into town. I needed the bank and some gentlemen's toiletries, so thought I'd give the great unwashed a swerve and go in early. Got home and thought I'd erect one of my purchases, my latest toy, namely a deluxe birdfeeder. I know, I know, calm yourselves, it's not all thrash metal and Bacardi Breezers at chez Ambassador you know. I'm not one given much for pets, I can never see the point of them, especially sodding cats, but I do derive some pleasure by watching small birds gorge themselves at my expense. While I was in the garden I packed away the garden furniture. That's a job I hate because it means the summer's finally gone, not that we had much of one this year. I'm a BST person, not a GMT person. Anyway, there's a small orchard on the other side of my back fence and I get a slow but steady supply of wind-blown Pippin apples at this time of year. Food tastes better when it's free, no?
Managed to get a big chunk of my book read on Saturday afternoon. I've been wrestling with Andrew Marr's History of Modern Britain since the beginning of August, and I've only just reached the chapter on the 1984 miner's strike. I'm left with the impression, after getting this far into the book, that since 1945, Britain's been run by a bunch of clueless fuckwits. I'm surprised we're still here at all. It may turn me into a Thatcherite yet. Anyway, I'm trying to hurry it up now, I need to finish it because I read an excerpt of Frank Skinner's new book yesterday and I'd like to read the whole thing.
Saturday night was spent at the Odeon watching How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. It's based on Toby Young's book of the same name. I don't know much about Young, but I gather he's an odious little turd. I only really know him from his appearance on Come Dine With Me, and I quite liked him. And his house.
The problem I had with the film is that they had to put a romantic element into it. Why do that? To get women in I suppose, because we all know that women walk around all daydreaming about romance and chocolate, don't we? Not a bad film, could've been better.
What bugged me though was that it was stated to start at 18.10. What time did it start? 18.40, that's what time. That was after we'd had to sit through 30 minutes of ads for Radio1, mobile phones, Scotland, Stella Artois etc. Then, after they'd finished we had to sit through trailers for a load of shit-looking films I don't want to see. And why are films so loud these days? I know cinemas want to show off their sound systems, but really.
Finished the night at somewhere called Ultimate Burger. Don't know whether it's a chain or not, but let me tell you, they don't serve the 'ultimate burger'. Any ultimate burger to me involves lashings of brown sauce. Ultimate Burger don't serve brown sauce.
Yesterday saw me pottering around doing minor DIY jobs. I say minor because when you're in Homebase buying a hose for a shower and some other small bits, and someone passes with a large trolley groaning under the weight of internal doors, long planks of wood and a lethal-looking power tool still in it's box, you know what you're doing is small fry. Still, even the smallest of DIY jobs gives me satisfaction, especially if I've managed to do it without getting mad or trapping a finger.
Yesterday afternoon I took my car down to the jet wash. Normally I wouldn't mention this, but some bastard had been there before me with a car that must have been caked in mud. Which he'd left all over the floor. I then spent the next ten minutes gamely trying not to slip over in the mud. I've noticed that just lately, I've started talking to myself. I found myself cursing the owner of the previous vehicle by saying, what I thought was quite quietly, "The dirty fucking bastards". Obviously it wasn't quiet enough because I attracted the attention of an elderly couple looking round some second-hand cars. Oops.
Went home, had to put my jeans straight in the washing machine. When I emptied the washer, after its cycle, I found my wallet in there, such was my haste to get the jeans in. Cash, credit cards, debit cards, AA membership cards, the lot. And it ruined my 100% leather wallet. And all because of that bastard with the caked-up motor. Bah!
Anyway, managed to get some stuff watched off the PVR. Saw Friday's Jools Holland and found a new group I liked called TV on the Radio. Then started filling up at the denouement of Tess of the D'Urbervilles. I didn't cry though, I'm a man
Went back to work today for a rest.
Saturday saw me rise quite early and nip into town. I needed the bank and some gentlemen's toiletries, so thought I'd give the great unwashed a swerve and go in early. Got home and thought I'd erect one of my purchases, my latest toy, namely a deluxe birdfeeder. I know, I know, calm yourselves, it's not all thrash metal and Bacardi Breezers at chez Ambassador you know. I'm not one given much for pets, I can never see the point of them, especially sodding cats, but I do derive some pleasure by watching small birds gorge themselves at my expense. While I was in the garden I packed away the garden furniture. That's a job I hate because it means the summer's finally gone, not that we had much of one this year. I'm a BST person, not a GMT person. Anyway, there's a small orchard on the other side of my back fence and I get a slow but steady supply of wind-blown Pippin apples at this time of year. Food tastes better when it's free, no?
Managed to get a big chunk of my book read on Saturday afternoon. I've been wrestling with Andrew Marr's History of Modern Britain since the beginning of August, and I've only just reached the chapter on the 1984 miner's strike. I'm left with the impression, after getting this far into the book, that since 1945, Britain's been run by a bunch of clueless fuckwits. I'm surprised we're still here at all. It may turn me into a Thatcherite yet. Anyway, I'm trying to hurry it up now, I need to finish it because I read an excerpt of Frank Skinner's new book yesterday and I'd like to read the whole thing.
Saturday night was spent at the Odeon watching How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. It's based on Toby Young's book of the same name. I don't know much about Young, but I gather he's an odious little turd. I only really know him from his appearance on Come Dine With Me, and I quite liked him. And his house.
The problem I had with the film is that they had to put a romantic element into it. Why do that? To get women in I suppose, because we all know that women walk around all daydreaming about romance and chocolate, don't we? Not a bad film, could've been better.
What bugged me though was that it was stated to start at 18.10. What time did it start? 18.40, that's what time. That was after we'd had to sit through 30 minutes of ads for Radio1, mobile phones, Scotland, Stella Artois etc. Then, after they'd finished we had to sit through trailers for a load of shit-looking films I don't want to see. And why are films so loud these days? I know cinemas want to show off their sound systems, but really.
Finished the night at somewhere called Ultimate Burger. Don't know whether it's a chain or not, but let me tell you, they don't serve the 'ultimate burger'. Any ultimate burger to me involves lashings of brown sauce. Ultimate Burger don't serve brown sauce.
Yesterday saw me pottering around doing minor DIY jobs. I say minor because when you're in Homebase buying a hose for a shower and some other small bits, and someone passes with a large trolley groaning under the weight of internal doors, long planks of wood and a lethal-looking power tool still in it's box, you know what you're doing is small fry. Still, even the smallest of DIY jobs gives me satisfaction, especially if I've managed to do it without getting mad or trapping a finger.
Yesterday afternoon I took my car down to the jet wash. Normally I wouldn't mention this, but some bastard had been there before me with a car that must have been caked in mud. Which he'd left all over the floor. I then spent the next ten minutes gamely trying not to slip over in the mud. I've noticed that just lately, I've started talking to myself. I found myself cursing the owner of the previous vehicle by saying, what I thought was quite quietly, "The dirty fucking bastards". Obviously it wasn't quiet enough because I attracted the attention of an elderly couple looking round some second-hand cars. Oops.
Went home, had to put my jeans straight in the washing machine. When I emptied the washer, after its cycle, I found my wallet in there, such was my haste to get the jeans in. Cash, credit cards, debit cards, AA membership cards, the lot. And it ruined my 100% leather wallet. And all because of that bastard with the caked-up motor. Bah!
Anyway, managed to get some stuff watched off the PVR. Saw Friday's Jools Holland and found a new group I liked called TV on the Radio. Then started filling up at the denouement of Tess of the D'Urbervilles. I didn't cry though, I'm a man
Went back to work today for a rest.
Friday, 3 October 2008
John, have a word with your wife
I know John Lydon really doesn't give a toss what I, or anyone else, thinks of him. But why, why, why? His last piece of dignity gets flushed down the toilet of life. To which, no doubt, he'd reply with "I ain't never 'ad no digni'y in the first place."
Of course, it was much simpler in the 1981.
Of course, it was much simpler in the 1981.
Thursday, 2 October 2008
Registered at the Post Office as a comic
I was in a petrol station earlier, and thank God I was, otherwise I'd have missed out on this Earth-shattering news staring up at me from the newspaper rack. It's good to know that with all the depressing news at the moment, the Daily Star have got their finger on the throbbing pulse of all the world's top stories. Great news for mongs everywhere, no doubt.
Wednesday, 1 October 2008
Band meeting
Now I can take or leave comedy songs; in my book they're either hilarious or tedious. But I have to say that I'm really loving The Flight of the Conchords on BBC4 at the moment. I think it's on a repeat run, I didn't see it the first time around for two very big reasons. The reasons being that a) as I already said I can take or leave comedy songs and b) I heard the awful sitcom they did for Radio2 a few years ago. Now sitcoms on the radio I definitely can leave*, there's no ifs or buts about it. I used to listen to it late at night when I was doing shift work and just didn't 'get it'. Besides, it had a very annoying narration by Rob Brydon.
Since then they've relocated to New York and bagsied themselves a contract with HBO, and mightily pleased I am to boot. If you're unfamiliar with The Conchords, the premise is that they're a musical duo from New Zealand trying to make it in America with their hapless manager, Murray, who works for the New Zealand tourist board. They also constantly try and spurn the advances of their only fan and groupie, Mel (played to perfection by Mad Men's Kristen Schaal*, who I'm becoming slightly obsessed with, I'm a Mel to Kristen Schaal. I love a woman with a divvy favce). As well as trying to get gigs and convince Americans that they're not English.
Anyway, watch it, I haven't 'done' an American sitcom since Cheers finished, but this is incredibly subtle and 'unwisecracky'. Constant wisecracks and smartarseness are what put me off most American sitcoms. It probably helps that the Conchords aren't American in that respect.
Check out their brilliant Pet Shop Boys pastiche.
And another thing, what gives with giving celebs road trip series at the minute? We've got Charley Boorman, Russell Brand (in which we were 'treated' to the sight of everyone's favourite sex addict desperately trying to get into a girls undercrackers outside a bar, while his mate was inside on his Jack Jones), Stephen Fry and even Paddy 'No Discernible Talent' McGuinness all taking trips around various parts of the world. So, I thought I'd do my own road trip, if any TV commissioning editors are looking in. The idea is this: I go around the world sampling the finest five and six star hotels available. But there's a catch - there's always a catch in these types of telly shows - the only forms of transport I'm allowed to use are first class seats on scheduled airlines or by Aston Martin. That's it. I'm tentatively going to call it Emptying The World's Swankiest Mini Bars with Bright Ambassador. I can almost smell the tie-in book deal...
*I mean, have you heard Miranda Hart's Joke Shop? I presume the title's meant to be ironic given the severe shortage of jokes on offer.
**Isn't Kristen Schaal the most American name you've ever heard?
Since then they've relocated to New York and bagsied themselves a contract with HBO, and mightily pleased I am to boot. If you're unfamiliar with The Conchords, the premise is that they're a musical duo from New Zealand trying to make it in America with their hapless manager, Murray, who works for the New Zealand tourist board. They also constantly try and spurn the advances of their only fan and groupie, Mel (played to perfection by Mad Men's Kristen Schaal*, who I'm becoming slightly obsessed with, I'm a Mel to Kristen Schaal. I love a woman with a divvy favce). As well as trying to get gigs and convince Americans that they're not English.
Anyway, watch it, I haven't 'done' an American sitcom since Cheers finished, but this is incredibly subtle and 'unwisecracky'. Constant wisecracks and smartarseness are what put me off most American sitcoms. It probably helps that the Conchords aren't American in that respect.
Check out their brilliant Pet Shop Boys pastiche.
And another thing, what gives with giving celebs road trip series at the minute? We've got Charley Boorman, Russell Brand (in which we were 'treated' to the sight of everyone's favourite sex addict desperately trying to get into a girls undercrackers outside a bar, while his mate was inside on his Jack Jones), Stephen Fry and even Paddy 'No Discernible Talent' McGuinness all taking trips around various parts of the world. So, I thought I'd do my own road trip, if any TV commissioning editors are looking in. The idea is this: I go around the world sampling the finest five and six star hotels available. But there's a catch - there's always a catch in these types of telly shows - the only forms of transport I'm allowed to use are first class seats on scheduled airlines or by Aston Martin. That's it. I'm tentatively going to call it Emptying The World's Swankiest Mini Bars with Bright Ambassador. I can almost smell the tie-in book deal...
*I mean, have you heard Miranda Hart's Joke Shop? I presume the title's meant to be ironic given the severe shortage of jokes on offer.
**Isn't Kristen Schaal the most American name you've ever heard?
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