Order! Order!

I don't know why I spent a load of time in mid-November compiling an Amazon wishlist. Well, I do, it was so that when I got the inevitable question "What do you want for Christmas, Bright Ambassador?" from my sisters, I could just direct them to my wishlist (obviously, they don't call me 'Bright Ambassador', that'd be stupid as it's not my real name). Imagine then, my disappointment come Christmas Day when one of my sisters had ignored the wishlist and bought me a DVD of Wheeltappers and Shunters.
For those not in the know, W&S was TV variety show from the mid-70s supposedly set in a Working Man's Club. Imagine Phoenix Nights - only even shitter. It's truly terrible. I've only managed twenty minutes of it so far and had to switch it off. When you get those turds on telly spraffing off about a lack of variety on TV these days, I suggest they're given a copy of the W&S DVD.

For a kick off, series 1, episode 1 starts with Bernard Manning - the club host - crooning his way through a number about how he'd like to 'make sweet love to you all night.' Form an orderly queue there, ladies. We then get an act involving Cossack dancing - mildly entertaining for about thirty seconds, unfortunately it went on for about three and a half minutes. Then it's straight into a double act called, something like, Lambert and Butler. Oh dear. Get this, the stooge purports to be gay. Cue loads of jokes involving the word 'queer'. Hilarity ensues. Not.
They're followed by 'the barmaid' singing a medley. It's rubbish. After the break it's a knife-throwing act. The thrower of which was wearing the most alarming pair of trousers I've ever seen. His 'prancer' was wearing very little. By that time I'd lost the will to live and switched it off.
It's not all bad news though. The club committee 'chairman', Colin Crompton makes some witty interjections (best of which is "All those going on the Territorial Army weekend next Saturday - please be informed that reveille is at 6AM. Those who don't like Italian food are advised to take butties"). And the clothes and haircuts of the audience are always worth a gander on this kind of thing.

She said "I saw it and thought of you." Is that because she thinks of me whenever she thinks of shocking 1970s televsion? I hope not. Thing is, she'll ask me about it. Then she'll want to borrow it. So I'm going to have to watch all of it because she'll want to discuss it. I've got six hours of it to watch. The DVD cover promises an early appearance by Little and Large. I can hardly wait.

She'd best get me something decent for my impending birthday, otherwise I'll be mardy.

Edit: To help along those who've never seen W&S, like Thumper, here's a choice You Tube clip. It features Norman Collier's famous faulty microphone routine. I saw Norman Collier in summer season in Bournemouth in 1980, on the same bill as Little and Large - he did the sodding faulty microphone routine. The same routine I'd seen him do on TV dozens of times before. Who once called him Norman 'Two Joke' Collier?

Let's have a heated debate!

Do you know what I hate?.......Give up yet? I know that regular readers will know there's loads of things I hate. BUT, listening to the radio an hour or so ago I was throwing things to the sound of, the 'actor', Max Beesley. He was on Richard Bacon's Radio 5 show, a show which was to feature a David Cameron interview later on. Bacon asked Beesley if there was a question he'd like to put to Cameron on Beesley's behalf. The question went something like this: "David, I like your billboards about how you're going to do stuff for the NHS, but please, please can you not raise top line income tax to 50%?" This is Max Beesley who'd, just a few seconds before, been saying how he whoops it up in Los Angeles for six months of the year. So he loves the NHS so much he doesn't see why his uber-rich showbiz mates shouldn't perhaps pay a little bit more to keep it going. It's nice to know where his priorities lay politically. The country's fucked, mortgaged up to the hilt but he doesn't want to see Robbie Williams et al piss off to LA full time. Which would be a shame, wouldn't it? Not.

This followed on from, ugh, David Tennant (I'm getting sick of typing his name now), going on about how he wants everyone to vote Labour in the election. Bear in mind that this was originally said in an interview to a comic. Missing your target there David, I think. In fact, I hate Tennant so much I think I'll do the opposite and vote Tory (Not that it'd make much difference round here. The last Labour MP we had got investigated by the police, got thrown out in the 2001 election and then drank herself to death a few years later).
And Tennant's mate isn't much better, the bloke who writes those lame scripts for the children's TV show has weighed into the debate about who we should all be voting for in 2010. He's weighed into the debate from the side of his LA pool. Well done.

What I'm trying to say is that I hate it when well known people pin their colours to political masts. Just keep acting, making records or whatever, but we're really not interested in your opinions.

Staying on the theme. I saw a teaser trailer for an interview given by Arsenal's short-arsed, annoying-shushing-motion-goal-celebrationer, Andrey Arshavin. Apparently the Russian made clear his displeasure at having to have a UK bank account. Oh, boo-hoo, you live and work here and have to pay UK tax, oh woe is you, sob, wail...

Tennant's Extra

Well, that's Christmas over with for another year. Mine was, seemingly like everyone else's, quite quiet.
What a shite year for festive telly though. I know people say that every year, but this year, Jesus, it was abysmal. Obviously your luck was running on empty if you don't like looking at David Tennant's hatchet fizzogg. He was never off - I saw him on, and immediately switched off: Never Mind the Buzzcocks, The Catherine Tate Show, QI, Alan Carr's crap chat vehicle and a load of other stuff I've forgotten about. I certainly didn't see him on that children's sci-fi drama thingy he does. Because it's for children. And I don't like sci-fi. And I don't like David Tennant.

Other Xmas TV lowlights (bear in mind I spent a lot of Christmas in other people's houses so didn't have a lot of choice in the televisual delights on offer):

• The Catherine Tate Show nan thing. Get her off.


• That Victoria Wood thing. Probably would have found it mildly amusing if I'd ever seen that Lark Rise to Cranford. But I haven't.


• Ant and Dec's Christmas Show. No, you're not Morcambe and Wise. Especially when you're show just features a load of other ITV-promoted divvys.


• The All Star Impressions Show. Where to start with this? Imagine the worst impressions you've ever seen multiplied by ten and done by 'some of Britain's favourite celebrities.' By 'Britain's favourite celebrities', they mean, for example, twat-in-chief Tony Blackburn doing Prince Charles, Chesney Hawks (that's right, Chesney Hawks, 'Britain's favourite celebrities' remember?) as Prince William and Mackenzie Crook as Albert Steptoe. I couldn't work out whether it was serious or not. And it was a joint venture by the production companies of Steve Coogan and Vic Reeves. There was one glimmer of hope in a sketch, with 'proper' impressionists, revolving around those warring Gallagher brothers appearing on Jeremy Kyle. Otherwise I had to keep checking to make sure it wasn't April 1st instead of December 26th.


• All Star Mr and Mrs. This had Joan Collins who kept being described as 'a legend.' How is she a legend please? She was best known for appearing in B-Movies and for marrying Anthony Newley. Then she got her minge out in two films and went into Dynasty. That does not a legend make, in my book at least. The other 'stars' involved were a bit-part actor off of Coronation Street and someone I've forgotten.


• The Royle Family. Had its day. I don't particularly want to see Ricky Tomlinson's skidmarks on Christmas Day, thank you very much.
  

So, what did I enjoy?

• Queen at Hammersmith Odeon 1975. I'm not a massive Queen fan, and I certainly don't like anything they recorded after 1980, but this was rather good. Plus it's always fun looking back, isn't it? Especially as when this was recorded they were just breaking through, with Bohemian Rhapsody at no. 1. Watching the video for Bohemian Rhapsody, week in, week out, on Top of the Pops, is one of my earliest memories.


• The Not the Nine O'Clock News documentary. I used to love the TV show and books when I was a kid. And who knew that Stephenson and Atkinson hated each others guts? Not I. Pity the 'classic' episode shown after was just a load of 'best bits' spliced together.


• Wallace and Gromit in The Wrong Trousers. Never get tired of watching that.


• Some Like it Hot.


• Knowing Me Knowing Yule with Alan Partridge.

So there you go, a 34 year-old concert, a thing about a thirty year-old satirical TV show, a fifteen year-old kids animation, a fifteen year-old spoof chat show and a 50 year-old film. They don't make 'em like they used to, eh?
The rest of the time I spent getting addicted to an Xbox game my sister bought me for Christmas. Who needs Catherine Tate when you can race a Bentley Speed 80 around Le Mans?

By the way, here's the first irritation of 2010: those two smug, 'look at us, aren't we beautiful?' idiots the Redknapps on that Thomas Cook advert. Where's my AK47?

An even bigger splash

I love overhearing snippets of other people's conversations. Yesterday I was getting cultured up in Nottingham Contemporary Gallery (I've seen better Hockney exhibitions, by the way. Yeah, get me, the culture vulture) and overheard two women in their mid-twenties: "The trouble with Jen is that she's like a dog on heat. She's moved back here because there aren't enough men for her in Sheffield". At which point I had to restrain myself from asking for Jen's number.

Mind you, I quite often find art galleries a sexually charged environment. Especially that Tate Modern.

May I extend Yuletide felicitations to you?

Well another year over, and 2009 was a right old bag of shite: the death of a parent, a massive disappointment selling her house (thanks a bunch Ms fucking Miller of 15 Dunghill Mansions, Newark. You knew the circumstances under which we were selling the house, you sow) and then topped off nicely with a redundancy scare (I'm still in gainful employment, unlike forty of my ex-colleagues, poor sods). So it'll be a massive relief to see the back of it. I'm not normally one for New Year's Eve but I'm going to buy the biggest firework available to let off this Dec. 31st/Jan. 1st as a final 'piss off' to a shit year.

Anyway, I know I don't normally give much away on this blog, but I've been thinking about Mum and Dad a lot these past few days. Things reached a peak when I heard this on the radio last night. It's a song I remember from my childhood and surprised myself by knowing all the words. It's lovely.

Add to that all the Alan Bennett stuff that's been on telly lately (both Mum and Dad loved him, and as a tribute I'm going with sis to see one of his plays with Alison Steadman next year, which Mum said she'd liked to have seen), Ed Stewart promoting Junior Choice on Radio 2 ("'Ello darlin'!") a general air of melancholy and the fact we won't taste her trifle this Christmas has left me feeling incredibly sad. I daren't even watch that Oliver Postgate documentary that was on last night, I'll save that till after Crimbo, I think. Postgate's voice just transports me back to the front room of our 1930s three bed semi on Elm Avenue with Mum in the kitchen making something yummy. And don't even get me started on the organ, flute and Richard Baker intro to Mary, Mungo and Midge "A town is full of buildings..."

I'm not one to burst into tears - I'm a man after all, and not given to tears - but I think Christmas has highlighted the fact that I'm now, technically, an orphan. Boo-hoo for me.

Anyway, enough of the self-pity, which I normally hate, and may I wish you a Merry Christmas and a spiffing 2010. I'll see you on the other side, hopefully a bit more regularly than of late. Sorry this post's a bit depressing. To cheer you up have this Top Tip from Viz: "Former member of 10cc Lol Creme, don't sign your name at the end of text messages conveying bad news." Aah, LOL!

Have this for Christmas too, Mark Radcliffe always used to play it at Christmas and I love it.

Thanks to Mr Clearbrook...

...I've been reminded how shit this advert it. I seem to remember blogging about the Iceland Christmas ad last year, and this year they've really surpassed themselves.
For starters they've made all the food look completely unappetising, surely not the desired effect.
Secondly, why are they still obsessed with prawns?
Thirdly, how can Coleen Nolan push all this crap food when she's been banging on in the Daily Mirror all year about how to lose weight?
Fourthly (is that a word?), why is everything miniaturised? Mini this, mini, that, mini the other. Is it so the mouth-breathers who buy this cack don't know how to eat with cutlery and so have to shove everything in whole?
Fifthly (okay, that's definitely not a word), why the aside about smoked salmon, as though it's some new innovation? Or is it because the people eating this shite regard smoked salmon as something a bit swish? I don't know why if that's the case, I can't stand the stuff.
Sixthly, chocolate-covered frozen strawberries? What sort of sick mind came up with that?
Seventhly, who'd like to give Coleen, Jason and that twat who says "Yer not kiddin'" a miniature vile of paraquat?

Enjoy:

Get me out of here. Please.

I had the grave misfortune of watching the last half hour of I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here last night. Hopefully you didn't see it. I don't know what it is but I was slightly shocked at what was happening to Katie Price during her so-called 'Bush Tucker Trial'. Regular readers will know that I don't hold her in particularly high regard but some people must surely have gained some pleasure in seeing her get a ton of cockroaches shoved down her coat, boots and hat, wretch over a beetle smoothie and tip her head into a school desk full of frogspawn and live meal worms. Surely this is just some kind of masochism for the masses watching on TV? Yes, I know it's her choice to do it and she's getting paid well blah blah blah, but quite frankly I went to bed a little disturbed about what we've become as a nation of telly watchers.

Here's something much more palatable, because it really is nice to be nice.