Michael McIntyre

Click on the links below for the funniest stand-up around.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

It's A Dog's Life

Sadly it seems this is a con. However much I might like to believe that this is the biggest dog in the world, this picture seems unlikely to be genuine. This dog appears to be half the size of the horse. The average horse weight around 1,000 pounds. Hercules, the biggest dog in the world, was said to weight almost 300 pounds.

The real Herc actually existed back in 2001, but for some reason this story has become popular again in March 2007. This picture simply can't be genuine, unfortunately. Still, just imagine if it was...

Cometh the Day, Cometh the Man

I came out to my parents today.

Everyone always talks about how huge a moment in your life it is to finally have the courage to tell your parents that you're gay. And it is. You finally accept your sexuality enough to be prepared to announce it to the very people who brought you into this world, which is a huge leap of faith with, you believe, potentially awful consequences.

There are so many stories of how people get thrown out of the house by their parents. Well, as I have already moved out, that wasn't really an issue. But the social and familial isolation was. I didn't want my parents to hate me. At the very least I thought they'd be pissed that I never told them sooner. Even though I knew - deep, deep down - that they would be fine with it, I still never had the courage to actually tell them.

Until today.

And you know what? It was a real anticlimax.

I finally pluck up the courage after spending most of the Easter Sunday afternoon stewing in my own juices (lovely image for you there). I don't even quite remember what I said; something long the lines of, "I've got something to tell you. It's not a bad thing. At least, I don't think so. I don't know why I haven't told you before [blah blah blah, I can't remember what I mumbled there] ... I'm gay."

"Oh," says my Mum. Not in an "Oh, I'm deeply offended way," but just, "Oh." Then my Dad adds, "So?" and smiles.

Then, of course, I cry. Like a blubbering twat I sit there, trying to talk and making stupid comments like "Are you OK with it, really?" I get nods and affirmative statements. My Mum says something along the lines of, "It doesn't change who you are. You're still the same person. It's normal these days. We just want you to be happy. "

Dad backs this up: "That's all you ever want for your kids; for them to be happy. What do you want me to say? 'Never darken our door again'?"

They find the whole thing a little amusing; that I've had this bottled up for years and had never said anything. I find this is a little amusing, too, although I'm still crying a little bit and can't form coherent sentences.

When I can speak I ask if they ever knew. Mum says she never really thought about it, but she wasn't bothered. Which means something truly remarkable: as a mid-teenager I used to buy Gay Times and brazenly/secretly put it in a drawer, title-side up, so that if my parents ever looked in there, they couldn't help but see it. The truly remarkable thing is this: in all the time I lived there, and when I went away for the weekend to visit my brother or stay with friends, they never once looked in my drawer. They never once pried into my life. Which is pretty damned cool, if I'm honest. They'd have had a lot to see: copies of Gay Times, axm, attitude and the DVD of the first series of Queer As Folk. Enough damning evidence. But they never looked. Not once.

And that's it. We don't really talk about it again. That's not in a we-must-never-mention-this-again kind of way, rather it's a totally-normal-and-it-doesn't-need-talking-about-anymore-unless-you-
want-to kind of way.

I feel, perversely, a little disappointed. I don't know what I was expecting, but this was so...low key. Which is, I guess, my family through-and-through. We keep ourselves to ourselves and we don't make a fuss. I suppose you'd call us reserved (call us conservative and you'll get a verbal punch in the face).

But they are my family. I still have my brother to tell, but I'm seeing him in a couple of weeks so I'll tell him then, face-to-face. I'm just...numb, I guess. I'm not really relieved I did it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not disappointed, but I don't feel like a great weight has been lifted either. I just feel like, well, me.

Which is definitely a start.

An Inconvenient Truth it may be, but it's a Truth nonetheless

I have long been a sceptic of global warming. I've never denied it's happening, you understand; but I have always questioned just how much humanity can be blamed for it. After all, what sort of an ego does it take to believe we affect our planet that much? We're merely a blip in time so surely we can't have that much of an impact?

I believed that until this morning. So what happened, you might ask. What changed this morning? Well, I saw Al Gore's documentary film An Inconvenient Truth. And I want to say thank you to the man who should be President for opening my eyes and removing my prejudices and allowing me to see through the veil of indoctrination. He presented an endless deluge of compelling evidence that shows that we have had a terrible impact on our planet. Perhaps more importantly, he debunked the myths that have been blinding us for years.

I urge you to see this film. It's 92 minutes that will change your life. Forever.

Also, check out the website, www.climatecrisis.net, for more details.

We have to save our planet and we have to do it now.

It's the only one we have.

Swearing Parrot

No, seriously. Click on this link and listen to the foulest bird you'll probably ever hear.

http://www.break.com/index/fowl_mouthed_parrot.html

Fat Attack. And Oops...She Did It Again!

Have you enjoyed any trans-fatty acids recently? Had a nice juicy burger? Or chowed down on a chocolate bar? Bet you have. Good, wasn't it? I know there's a big argument around fatty foods - and for the most part they've got a point - but I bet you never once thought that indulging in a pack of Walker's Ready Salted was on a par with violence, did you?

Yes, you heard me right. After lots of arguing, the broadcasting authority has finally agreed to phase out advertising fatty and junk foods to kids. Which is a good thing. But there was a chappy on BBC Breakfast this morning who said we should be taking this as seriously as graphic violence, bad language and sex on TV.

Now hang on a minute. I fully accept that McDonald's shouldn't be able to advertise their latest McDeath meal in the middle of kids' TV programmes, but the 9pm watershed recommended by this guy is a joke. There has to be a reasonable limit to these far-reaching plans and the fact that, in a couple of years time, it'll be impossible for any company to advertise to anyone under the age of 16, has to be enough.

Onto other things.

Britney Spears is in re-hab. Again. Well, of course she is. There must be something wrong with her - she's voluntarily bald! All of this has put on hold the court case with estranged, and rather cute, hubby Kevin Federline (see pic) over custody of their kids. I think it's pretty clear who should get them.

Kev, you up for it?

The Big Night is Nearly Upon Us

They're getting ready at the Kodak Theatre and it could be an interesting year. There's lots of British hopefuls and, as usual, we'll no doubt be sent packing. But will Martin Scorcese get his first Oscar? After all, The Departed is the first film that actually justified the hype and it'd be the first time he's deserved the statuette. So often he's overrated. But not this time.

Who knows? The Oscars have always been a complete guessing game and, with a few years since any one film stole the limelight, it should be a curious few hours.

Which Polyhedral Are You?

It's a serious question and one that needs a lot of thought. Well, it did until somone invented a test. Now all you have to do is answer a few questions and the results will be provided for you.

This is what it said about me:


"You are a good old-fashioned six-sided cube, otherwise known as a d6. Others know you to be plain, predictable, conservative, average, ordinary, and downright boring. You prefer to describe yourself as dependable, honest, practical and trustworthy. People usually know what to expect from you, since you rarely hold any surprises. You hate to make decisions, and if forced to decide, you'll always fall back on how it was done in the past. You always order the same thing at your favorite restaurant, and your jokes, while funny, are never too offensive. It seems that you are well liked, but maybe that's simply because there's nothing to hate."

I can think of worse things.

Have a go and let me know what it says about you!

http://dicepool.com/catalog/quiz.php

The 3 Minute Management Course

If you read the following lessons, you're sure to succeed in your chosen place of work.

Lesson 1

A man is getting into the shower just as his wife is finishing up her shower, when the doorbell rings. The wife quickly wraps herself in towel and runs downstairs. When she opens the door, there stands Bob, the next-door neighbour. Before she says a word, Bob says, "I'll give you £800 to drop that towel."

After thinking for a moment, the woman drops her towel and stands naked in front of Bob. After a few seconds, Bob hands her £800 and leaves. The woman wraps back up in the towel and goes back upstairs. When she gets to the bathroom, her husband asks, "Who was that?"

"It was Bob the next door neighbor," she replies.

"Great!" the husband says, "did he say anything about the £800 he owes me?"

Moral of the story: if you share critical information pertaining to credit and risk with your shareholders in time, you may be in a position to prevent avoidable exposure.

Lesson 2

A priest offered a nun a lift. She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her gown to reveal a leg.
The priest nearly had an accident. After controlling the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg.
The nun said, "Father, remember Psalm 129?"

The priest removed his hand. But, changing gears, he let his hand slide up her leg again. The nun once again said, "Father, remember Psalm 129?"

The priest apologised "Sorry sister but the flesh is weak."

Arriving at the convent, the nun went on her way.

On his arrival at the church, the priest rushed to look up Psalm 129. It said, "Go forth and seek, further up, you will find glory."

Moral of the story: if you are not well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity
Lesson 3

A sales rep, an administration clerk, and the manager are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp. They rub it and a Genie comes out. The Genie says, "I'll give each of you just one wish."

"Me first! Me first!" says the admin clerk. "I want to be in the Bahamas, driving a speedboat, without a care in the world." Puff! She's gone.

"Me next! Me next!" says the sales rep. "I want to be in Hawaii, relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse, an endless supply of Pina Coladas and the love of my life." Puff! He's gone.

"OK, you're up," the Genie says to the manager.

The manager says, "I want those two back in the office after lunch."

Moral of the story: always let your boss have the first say.

Lesson 4

An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing. A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him, "Can I also sit like you and do nothing?"

The eagle answered: "Sure, why not."

So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle and rested.

All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.

Moral of the story: to be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.
Lesson 5

A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy."

"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?" replied the bull. "They're packed with nutrients."

The turkey pecked at a lump of dung, and found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch. Finally after a fourth night, the turkey was proudly perched at the top of the tree.

He was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot him out of the tree.

Moral of the story: bullshit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.

Lesson 6

A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground into a large field.

While he was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on him.

As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, he began to realize how warm he was. The dung was actually thawing him out! He lay there all warm and happy and soon began to sing for joy.

A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung and promptly dug him out and ate him.

Moral of the story: not everyone who shits on you is your enemy; not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend; and when you're in deep shit, it's best to keep your mouth shut!

This ends the 3-minute management course.

How to Make An Arse of Yourself

Unless you've been living in isolation since yesterday morning, you probably already know that Jade Goody was evicted from the Celebrity Big Brother house last night. Much to the delight of everybody, it seems.

In the post-eviction interview, Jade admitted to Davina McCall after watching clips of herself: "I look like one of those people I don't like." I couldn't agree more: she certainly looks like one of those people I don't like. And not just because of the comments she made. That said, she did then say this wonderfully funny line: "I do not approve of any of my actions and I do not approve of the words that came out of my mouth." I'm not sure if she meant it as such, but I'm taking that as read for anything she says in the future, too.

But the funniest thing wasn't Goody's inevitable and overhyped exit from the madhouse; rather it was London's Mayor, Ken Livingstone, who has managed to come out with lines of such monumentally vacuous grandiosity as to make him look a complete and total tit. He talks about Goody's eviction like he's won an election: "I think everyone is delighted that we got the result we did last night." Yes, but Ken, it's a reality TV programme. It's not exactly a vote to run the country. He then goes on to blather about how, if Goody hadn't been evicted, "the image of Britain across India, which is the second-biggest investor in London after America now, would have been really damaged and it would have done a lot of harm to people's jobs."

I'm not entirely sure I buy into that philosophy, but there you are.

Then Shilpa Shetty's family get in on the act, with a spokesman for them saying: "This vote has shown that goodness always prevails, like in Bollywood films." Oh, come on. Then some bloke from Agence France-Presse news agency stuck his oar in, declaring: "This vote was not about just one contestant facing eviction. It was a straightforward contest between Shilpa and Jade, between good and bad."

While I'm quite willing to accept that Jade may well be an Agent of the Dark Lord sent out onto this Earth to annoy everyone, I have a hard time reconciling this Good Vs Evil dichotomy. It seems like it's all been taken a bit too far.

Not to be outdone, even the MP's have got in on the act, with around 50 of the pointless buggers condemning the programme and, as a result, Endemol and Channel 4. Even Tony Blair and Gordon Brown have given airtime to this ridiculously overhyped non-event of a news story. Carphone Warehouse have pulled all advertising from the show, which must have caused several studio execs to wet themselves simultaneously.

Maybe this will cause TV producers to think about the crap they're putting on. Perhaps there really isn't a need for this sort of arse to be paraded around in mainstream, prime time TV. Get an original idea, for crying out loud.

Oh, and don't get Jade Goody involved.

Eating Out

Ryan Carnes. Has there ever been a more gorgeous man? Ever since he caught my attention in Desperate Housewives playing gay kid Justin, I've had my tongue lolling out at every brief appearance and wishing he'd get more screen time. Well, my prayers have been answered, because Carnes is back in a feature film: Eating Out.

Carnes plays Marc Everhard (I know, I know) - a gay kid who loves to sleep around. He's drawn to Caleb (Scott Lunsford), but Caleb is only pretending to be gay to get closer to Marc's best friend - and ex - Tiffani (Rebekah Kochan). It's Kyle (Jim Verraros) who's really interested in Marc, but with Caleb on the scene, will Marc ever notice him? It's all very Shakespearean.

This is a witty, well acted and very sexy film. Carnes is as beautiful as ever and this time you get to see him and co-star Lunsford completely naked, putting an end to the rumours as to whether Carnes is hung like a donkey or not. (The verdict: he has nothing to be ashamed of.) At 85 minutes, Eating Out doesn't outstay its welcome, but does manage to be thoroughly entertaining. This will probably appeal most to horny teens, but that's no reason why the rest of us shouldn't enjoy it, too.

Eating Out 2: Sloppy Seconds will have to be pretty special to...ahem..."beat" this.

One for gay men and fag hags everywhere.

Useless Facts About Me

Someone sent me this by email. Thought it might make interesting reading and tell you a little bit more about me. Or not. Apologies for the formatting - I've just copied and pasted it in.

1. What time did you get up this morning? 6.30.  I got
a half hour lie-in because I was going to a different
office.  It's a pretty poor show when getting up a
6:30 can be considered a lie-in.

2. Diamonds or pearls? Diamonds.  Pearls are so
"granny".

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?  Erm,
Night At the Museum.  Perfect for Christmas.

4. What is your favourite TV show?  Currently, House
M.D.

5. What do you usually have for breakfast?  Bran
flakes with raisins (I make it myself because you can
put more raisins in and you can only buy Sultana Bran.
Raisins are the superior wrinkly dried fruit) and a
big glass of Tropicana orange juice with juicy bits.
That's a weekday.  Weekends it's cinnamon and raisin
bagels and Alta Rica coffee.  Comprehensive enough for
you?

6. Favourite cuisine?  Still Chinese.

7. What are your middle names?  David.  Don't call me
Dave.

8. What food do you dislike most?  Brussels sprouts. I
haven't eaten one since I was about nine.  Urgh.

9. What is your favourite CD at the moment?  It's
still Panic! at the Disco: A Fever You Can't Sweat
Out.  Also, that's my album of 2006.

10. What kind of car do you drive? Ford Focus Zetec
Climate 1.6.

11. Favourite sandwich?  One with bread?  I dunno.
Erm, cajun chicken panini's pretty good.  Does that
count as a sandwich?

12. What characteristic do you despise?  Lacking
common sense - definition, "to be like Jade Goody.
See also: [def.] thick."

13. Favourite item of clothing?  I don't have one.
What a lame gay man I am.

14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation,
where would it be?  New Zealand.

15. What colour is your bathroom?  I call it white but
I believe it's magnolia.  I'm colourblind.  What do I
care?

16. Favourite brand of clothing?  Aussiebaum ;-)

17. Where would you retire?  I'll just be glad if I
can make it that far.

18. What was your most memorable birthday?  My 21st.
Although ironically it's also the one that I remember
least of because I was so very, very drunk.  I had the
most fun, though.  And I snogged a guy.  Shame he
turned out to be a real arse.

19. Favourite sport to watch?  Ice hockey.  It's so
damned violent yet paradoxically family friendly.

20. Furthest place you are sending this?  America.

21. Who do you least expect to send this back to you?
If I was Jeni, I'd've said me, but I was in a good
mood!  I don't expect anyone to reply.  They'll all
think it's a waste of time and I already know most of
them pretty well as it is.

22. Person you expect to send it back first:  See
above.

24. When is your birthday?  1st May.

25. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Morning person.  Just not a 6-in-the-morning person.

26. What is your shoe size? 10.  Oh yeah.

27. Pets?  Nope.

29. What did you want to be when you were big?  I
presume that means when I grew up? :-)  A writer.  Um,
I'm working on it.

30. How are you today?  Pissed off.  The windy weather
has meant that some unidentified flying object has put
a socking great big crack in my car windscreen and I'm
going to have to pay £75 excess to Tesco insurance to
have Autoglass replace it.  Also, the tree in my
parent's front garden uprooted completely (and it's a
big tree) and smashed into their car.  That said, I
also feel rather lucky, having watched the news and
heard about those who've been far less fortunate.

31. What is your favourite lolly/sweet/chocolate?
Hotel Chocolat's 85% Ghanaian Mini Chocolate Slabs.
Take note for birthday/Easter/random gesture of
kindness etc.

32. What is your favourite flower?  Stargazer lillies.

33. What is a date on the calendar you are looking
forward to?  March 21st - officially the start of
Spring!

35. Piercings: no thank you.

36. Place of birth: Sutton-in-Ashfield.

37. Love someone/something so much it made you cry?
Of course.  What a silly question.

38. Favourite Restaurant: El Costello's, Fleet, Hampshire, England.  Best Italian I've ever been to.

39. Favourite Alcoholic Drink: Bailey's.  The normal
one, not one with "a hint of" anything.

40. Favourite ice cream: Ben and Jerry's Fossil Fuel.

41. What colour is your bedroom: same as the bathroom!
It's a rented flat so it has a "blank canvas" thing
goin' on.

42. Before this one, from whom did you get your last
e-mail?  Debenhams online.  I get all the best ones...

43. What do you do most often when you are bored?  I
don't think I can tell you that...Gotcha!  Neh, I
probably eat.

44. Bedtime: weekdays 10pm (I'm up at 6!).  Weekends,
now that all depends on what I'm doing beforehand ;-)

46. What are you listening to right now: Tori Amos: a
collection of songs from her Piano box set.  I had
most of them so I just downloaded the ones I didn't
have.

47. What is your favourite colour/s?  Blue looks best
on me.  Black on a guy I like. :-)

48. Which came first the chicken or the egg?  Fuck
knows.

49. What are you wearing?  Olive Green John Richmond
long sleeved top, combat trousers, black socks (left
on from when I changed out of my suit for work)...I
think that's enough information.

50. What is the greatest place on earth?  Belgium.
Only kiddin'.  Anywhere that doesn't show Big Brother.
There must be somewhere...

51. How would you react to a flat tyre?  What's this?
If a tyre goes flat and no one's around, does it make
a pssssssst sound?

52. How many people are you sending this e-mail to?
Ooooh, at least that many.  Maybe more.

53. What was the last website you were looking at
before this?  Time for a shameless plug.
http://yoda-blogoff.blogspot.com/  I've been rambling
on that blog for ages now.  I doubt if it'll get much
more interesting than this.

Racism or Just Rubbish?

Yes, I'm actually going to talk to you about Big Brother. I know, hard to believe I'd ever stoop so low, huh? And Celebrity Big Brother at that! My god, I must be insane. But no, I feel compelled to chuck in my halfpenny's worth on the whole furor around the racism allegations. Now, I haven't seen the show and have only heard what the news has reported (as the main story this morning - hard to believe that none of the murders in the world warranted higher polling) but I wonder really if this isn't getting out of hand.

Arguably the original comments were racist, although it seems more likely that they were just made by an idiot. And having Jade Goody chip in doesn't help. How anyone can take anything that eminates from the vacuum between Jade's ears seriously is beyond me. Her very voice just makes me want to throw myself out of a third story building. Lucky my flat's on the ground floor.

I can't help thinking that anyone who goes on Big Brother can't be quite right in the head anyway. By now everyone knows what they're walking into so they can't be too surprised when it happens. That said, I am in no way condoning any racist comments, if indeed racist is what they are. I'm just more appalled that BBC Breakfast News could deem this story worthy of the highest position in their programming: the main story of the day.

Random Thoughts

Right, that's it. 2006 is seriously over. And 2007's already shaping up to be quite interesting. Viewing the assorted bits 'n' bobs assembled below should tell you that...

Did They Really Say That?

"We hit on the idea of chewing gum because obese people like chewing." - Professor Steve Bloom on the discovery of gum that might help people lose weight.

Listen to This:

This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race - Fall Out Boy

Watch This:

Jake Gyllenhaal. As you've never seen him before.

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world.

Happy New Year

NB: If you're still on a high - whether medicated or otherwise - from last night's festivities, then you may want to skip this post.

Well, here it is. 2007. Doesn't feel much different from 2006, does it? The weather's still shite. The world's still going to Hell in a handbasket. Oh, Saddam Hussein's gone, which I suppose is one good thing. It's nice to start a new year without a nasty dictator hanging around. Ahem. No pun intended.

I'm afraid I don't get the fuss. Christmas I get. It's a great time when you get all of your family in one place, lock the doors, and wait for the fireworks. Or, in our case, get on like a house on fire and have a great day with the ones you love. But New Year's Eve? What's that all about? Going out and getting bladdered is something that everyone seems to do every weekend of the year, so I don't get what makes this one so special. It's always bloody freezing and it's normally raining, which makes even the most simple of acts - getting from your house to taxi - a real uphill struggle...sometimes literally.

And then there's New Year's Day, which, if I've understood correctly, is spent, at intervals, under a duvet or with your head stuck down the loo vomiting up the five-times-as-expensive-as-it-usually-is-any-other-night-of-the-year booze that you consumed the night before.

No. Sorry. Not falling for that one. I never have and I never will. Early night for me. Until it reaches midnight, that is, and every bugger down the street sets off display fireworks in their back garden and it sounds like the first night of the Somme.

One delightfully irreverent, and totally pointless, activity that I do indulge in, however, is the making of New Year's Resolutions. So I'm going to share mine with you now. I should warn you that come the middle of February I probably won't even remember these, but it's fun to make them all the same. Feel free to list your own if you wish.

1. Lose weight.
2. Get what I want from my career.
   
3. Be nicer to people.
4. Have the courage to say what I think (paying attention to #3).
5. Take more risks.

Well, for what it's worth, and embracing Resolution #3, I wish you all a happy and peaceful 2007. May you get what you want and what your deserve.

Now They've REALLY Got the Hump

Bizarre news story of the day today comes in the form of animal sacrifice. It's usual to celebrate a business success, but perhaps not quite so usual to all club together, buy a camel, and then sacrifice and eat it. But that's exactly what a group of Turkish Airline's maintenance workers did, smack bang in the middle of Istanbul International Airport. The poor beast was offered up for the greater good in celebration of the completion of a delivery of 100 new aircraft, but not everyone - least of all the camel - is happy.

While animal sacrifice isn't uncommon in Istanbul, a spokeswoman from the airline admitted that the group didn't ask permission and that "[they] went too far. We really are quite shocked." 700 kilograms of camel were distributed amongst the men, but no comment was made as to the quality of the meat. One would imagine it's quite fatty.

Camel may be the animal of choice for sacrifice at the moment, but more traditionally sheep are sacrificed at the aptly named Festival of Sacrifice, marking the prophet Ibrahim's willingness to sacrifice his son when God asked him to.

But then that's a whole other topic of conversation that I think I'd do well to steer well clear of.

How To Write A Letter of Complaint

The below was written by a somewhat frustrated ntl customer. It won an award for Best Letter of Complaint and, given the absolute plethora of customers who are unhappy with ntl (whose acronym probably stands for "Not That Likely"), you may feel a sense of camraderie with "John".

Enjoy!

=============================================

Dear Cretins,

I have been an NTL customer since 9th July 2001, when I signed up for your 3-in-one deal for cable TV, cable modem, and telephone. During this three-month period I have encountered inadequacy of service which I hadnot previously considered possible, as well as ignorance and stupidityof monolithic proportions. Please allow me to provide specific details, so that you can either pursue your professional prerogative, and seek to rectify these difficulties - or more likely (I suspect) so that you can have some entertaining reading material as you while away the working day smoking B&H and drinking vendor-coffee on the bog in your office:

My initial installation was cancelled without warning, resulting in my spending an entire Saturday sitting on my fat arse waiting for your technician to arrive. When he did not arrive, I spent a further 57 minutes listening to your infuriating hold music, and the even more annoying Scottish robot woman telling me to look at your helpful website....HOW?

I alleviated the boredom by playing with my testicles for a few minutes – an activity at which you are no-doubt both familiar and highly adept. The rescheduled installation then took place some two weeks later, although the technician did forget to bring a number of vital tools – such as a drill-bit, and his cerebrum. Two weeks later, my cable modem had still not arrived. After 15 telephone calls over 4 weeks my modem arrived...six weeks after I had requested it, and begun to pay for it. I estimate your internet server's downtime is roughly 35%...hours between about 6pm – midnight, Mon-Fri, and most of the weekend. I am still waiting for my telephone connection. I have made 9 calls on my mobile to your no-help line, and have been unhelpfully transferred to a variety of disinterested individuals, who are it seems also highly skilled bollock jugglers.

I have been informed that a telephone line is available (and someone will call me back); that no telephone line is available (and someone will call me back); that I will be transferred to someone who knows whether or not a telephone line is available (and then been cut off); that I will be transferred to someone (and then been redirected to an answer machine informing me that your office is closed); that I will be transferred to someone and then been redirected to the irritating Scottish robot woman...and several other variations on this theme.

Doubtless you are no longer reading this letter, as you have at least a thousand other dissatisfied customers to ignore, and also another one of those crucially important testicle-moments to attend to. Frankly I don't care, it's far more satisfying as a customer to voice my frustration's in print than to shout them at your unending hold music. Forgive me, therefore, if I continue.

I thought BT were shit, that they had attained the holy piss-pot of god-awful customer relations, that no-one, anywhere, ever, could be more disinterested, less helpful or more obstructive to delivering service to their customers. That's why I chose NTL, and because, well, there isn't anyone else is there? How surprised I therefore was, when I discovered to my considerable dissatisfaction and disappointment what a useless shower of bastards you truly are. You are sputum-filled pieces of distended rectum incompetents of the highest order.

British Telecom - wankers though they are - shine like brilliant beacons of success, in the filthy puss-filled mire of your seemingly limitless inadequacy. Suffice to say that I have now given up on my futile and foolhardy quest to receive any kind of service from you. I suggest that you cease any potential future attempts to extort payment from me for the services which you have so pointedly and catastrophically failed to deliver - any such activity will be greeted initially with hilarity and disbelief quickly be replaced by derision, and even perhaps bemused rage. I enclose two small deposits, selected with great care from my cats litter tray, as an expression of my utter and complete contempt for both you and your pointless company. I sincerely hope that they have not become desiccated during transit - they were satisfyingly moist at the time of posting, and I would feel considerable disappointment if you did not experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture. Consider them the very embodiment of my feelings towards NTL, and its worthless employees.

Have a nice day - may it be the last in you miserable short life, you irritatingly incompetent and infuriatingly unhelpful bunch of twats.

John

Hot Fuzz

Click here to see the official trailer from the guys who brought you Shaun of the Dead and TV's excellent sitcom, Spaced. It looks awesome.

Unmitigated Drivel

I've been having a perusal of some of the other blogs out there and I have come to a conclusion: the vast majority of what is posted on web blogs is utter crap. Which means, by my own reckoning, that the vast majority of what I write is also crap. I'd like to kid myself into thinking that what I drone on about is of interest to you, Dear Reader, when in reality I know that there probably aren't that many of you and you more than likely get bored before finishing an article. The only people who read the whole thing are likely to be my friends or family. So, if you're neither and you've read this and you like it, let me know. If you don't...well, I refer you to my first ever post.

The Greatest and Best Movie in the World

Jack Black is one of those guys that you either love or hate. And I fall into the first category. But it wasn't always that way. There was a time when I couldn't stand him - I didn't like High Fidelity when I first saw it, mainly because of Black - but luckily I came to my senses and now appreciate him for the God Amongst Men that he is. So you can imagine how much I love Tenacious D.

Rock music has always been a part of (in particular American) life and the mock-rockers Jack Black and Kyle Gass are the eptiome of this. Their music is awesome and their titular debut album was a massive hit. From bizarrely emotional love song Fuck Her Gently to the plain bizarre Keilbasa, the album was a triumph. So when I heard that they were making a movie, I was practicing cock push-ups in preparation for the biggest movie event of the year.

OK, so I wasn't, but you get my drift. I was looking forward to it.

Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny sees Kyle and JB set off in search of the mythical pick, supposedly created from one of Satan's (Dave Grohl's) broken teeth. The greatest bands in the world have all played with the pick - Van Halen, Black Sabbath - and JB wants it for himself. So they decide to break into the Rock and Roll Museum to take it for themselves.

This is daft. Obviously. The budget's tiny but its heart is huge. JB and Kyle are fantastic, giving you everything you come to expect from the album, only with the added bonus that you get to see them acting loopy as well as hear them. Also, watch out for cameos from some pretty serious Hollywood names, including Ben Stiller, Tim Robbins, Meatloaf, Amy Adams and Colin Hanks.

And, as if that wasn't enough, the music will rock your fuckin' socks off, as JB often promises. It's simply awesome - particularly Kickapoo, Dude (I Totally Miss You), Beelzeboss and POD. I defy any hard rocker not to love it, both for its tongue-in-cheekedness, but also for its serious rock quality. These are talented musicians who don't take themselves seriously, rather than merely comedians who think it's funny to play bad music.

I think I'll leave it to Mr Black to sum up his film himself: "37 hard laughs, 27 chortles, three mind-blowers and two disgustipations."

Go see it. You know you will be rockin' 'cos it's fuckin' insane.

And it is better than Citizen Cane.

Line Up Here to Join the Covenant

"In 1692, in the Ipswich Colony of Massachusetts, five families with untold power formed a covenant of silence. One family, lusting for more, was banished; their bloodline disappearing without a trace - until now. This thriller tells the story of the Sons of Ipswich, four young students at the elite Spencer Academy who are bound by their sacred ancestry. As descendants of the original families who settled in Ipswich Colony in the 1600's, the boys have all been born with special powers. When the body of a dead student is discovered after a party, secrets begin to unravel which threaten to break the covenant of silence that has protected their families for hundreds of years."

That's the blurb from a film site. I've seen a trailer for this and I'm sure it will be a pile of steaming poo, but look at all the pretty boys...It's almost worth going anyway.

The 20th Century Fox Film Studio Ident

...as you've never heard it before. Click on this link and prepare yourself to laugh very, very hard.

World Wide Wank

The internet is a fantastic thing. If it wasn't for the web, then you wouldn't be reading this now. If it wasn't for the internet, I'd currently be out battling through the Christmas shopping crowds rather than waiting at home for the postman to arrive. If it wasn't for broadband we wouldn't get porn.

Oh yes, porn. Let's not even kid ourselves about this. Around 50% of all internet traffic revolves around horny people viewing large amounts of porn. Whether gay, straight, animal festishists or sadomasochists, the 'net has it all. But won't the world come to an end? After all, porn has been blamed for violent murders and general discontent for years now. No one ever stops to consider one important question: explain the cavemen. They were violent - far more violent than any person is now. Well, on average anyway - and porn didn't even exist. No one's found dodgy carvings in a cave of a huge dick and two hairy balls now, have they? (Sutton Coldfield doesn't count.)

The internet provides a great service to sexually frustrated teenagers (and adults) the world over. I wish I'd had access to it as a teen. It would have made life a lot easier.

Which brings me on to my point. The dearth of information surrounding sex, the sex organs and forms of self pleasure is staggering. You can find out anything you want; nothing is too weird. A drunken foray to the world of Google, dared by my friends to type in any one of the many key phrases surrounding sex, and I learned 10 Things You Can Do to A Goat and 15 Things You Wanted to Know About Your Penis, But Were Afraid to Ask. It's a bizarre scenario, but also probably very healthy. There are also some rather more upmarket websites, such as the ones that state "stylish photography" that is in fact just soft homoerotic porn disguised as art (see pictures, inset).

Nevertheless, it gets people talking about sex in a whole new way and also means that adolescents learn a lot more about sex a heck of a lot earlier than my generation ever did - and "my generation" were teens only a decade ago. Parents will freak out, but the 'net is the perfect way for those who are going through puberty and all the hardships that entails to learn a bit about themselves. It's a healthy outlet for angst, frustration (of many forms) and a general feeling of community.

And that doesn't change no matter how old you are. The gay community in particular appears to be taking over the internet. You can go to a multitude of sites and talk to people from all around the globe. It's a multicultural, polysexual society exisiting purely in hyperspace and it's unlike anything any of us have ever seen before.

And it's good for the odd five finger shuffle as well.

Clue, or No Clue?

OK, what's Deal, or No Deal actually about? I've tried to watch it - really, I have - but I haven't got the foggiest what the heck the point actually is. Even more worrying is the almost religious fervour with which Noel Edmonds refers to the luck, or lack thereof, of the contestants as they fail to pick, to all intents and purposes, the right box with a load of cash in it. I don't understand what the skill is, or even how they seem to come to the conclusion they do. There are no questions to be answered, no way of showing your skill or that you're better than the other contestants. I also don't understand why it has become so incredibly popular and why everyone else seems to understand it apart from me.

And even more baffling, it's on seven days a week. Seven days! Even soaps aren't on that often. I just don't understand and nor do I want to. That said, if anyone out there feels like enlightening me, feel free to do so.

Something to Remember

Do you know where the money raised from selling Remembrance Day poppies actually goes? To the veterans of war - past and present - and their families, right? Well, yes. But that's not the only place. The money also goes towards helping convicted criminals get set up in society again after they have been released from prison.

Now I don't know about you, but that doesn't sit well with me at all. I don't give money so that some person who has broken the law and been locked up for it can have a better life when they get out. I'm sorry, but I strongly object to my hard-earned cash going to such a "cause". I am perfectly happy for war veterans and families to get the donations - that is after all what it's all about - but I'm afraid that I will never again buy a poppy because I can't bear the thought of any of my contribution going towards ex-cons. It's just wrong.

I Got Chills...They're Multiplyin'

Yes, it's that time of year again. The one night of the year when happy-slapping thugs with ASBO's can legitimately intimidate their elderly neighbours without anyone batting an eyelid; when kiddies the world over get to beg for sweets and cash from unwitting homeowners.

OK, so you've probably guessed I'm a cynic when it comes to the trick-or-treat aspect of Halloween, but I do enjoy a good scare.

If you're headed to the multiplex, may I suggest Saw III? It's as unpleasant as the first two and also just as ingenius. While bizarrely being slated by critics, I loved it and besides, anything that can make grown men faint (click here) has to be worth a viewing, surely? Saw IV is in pre-production and is due for release October 2007.

If that's a bit too much for you and you like your scares a little less, well, gross, then I recommend The Grudge 2. Again, this has been slammed by critics when in fact it is almost as scary as the first. If you liked the American remake of the original, then you'll love this. If you didn't; well, then you'd have to be stupid to go and see this. I loved it and it acts as a nice antidote to Saw III's extreme take on horror. I saw both in the same afternoon. Oh yeah. Hardcore.

My evening? Well, I'm having some friends round and we're hosting the Third Annual Horrorfest. Showing tonight will be Scream (starting 6pm), The Descent (starting 8pm) and Final Destination 2 (starting 10pm). If you want to match me film for film, feel free.

Whatever you get up to this Halloween, don't have nightmares.

London Calling

I'm back.

It saddens me to say that my almost-week off work has come to an end and I am suffering the Sunday Evening Blues - albeit on a Monday - at the prospect of returning to work tomorrow. So, to cheer myself up I thought I'd post this for you lovely people to enjoy.

Thursday 26th October 2006 - Infamy, infamy! They've all got it infamy!

As you may have gathered from previous gushings, I rather like London. It's everything a big city should be - bustling, lively and, yes, anonymous. I found myself arriving at Waterloo train station at around half twelve last Thursday afternoon, full of anticipation at the prospect of two great films and some sight seeing.

I never tire of walking through the West End. Yes, it is full of tourists, but there's a reason why they all congregate there: Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly, Leicester Square, Whitehall, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey...the list goes on. This is the London everyone knows and sees on TV. So my journey began with a quick stop off at Subway at Charing Cross (the Sub of the Day proving to be a delightful combination of salami, ham, chicken and cheese - like a meat party in my mouth. Hang on, that ended up sounding dirtier than it started...) before my brother and I headed for Tate Britain, via Leicester Square. We were trying (sadly without success) to get last minute tickets for another film at the Film Festival, so thought we'd have a quick go before heading off for an afternoon of art.

We walked down to Tate Britain in a rather circuitous manner, due to neither of us being exactly sure where it was. It turns out that it's more or less opposite MI6 headquarters. We wandered around, taking in some spectacular paintings by the likes of Turner, as well as some less inspiring work. Art is subjective, but I really didn't get the point of Phil Collins' installation - a large darkened room in which two videos play, showing people dancing to an incessent - read, annoying - beat.

After expanding our artistic leanings for an hour or two (we refused to pay £5 to view the Turner Prize entries - if I want to see fluff in a box I'll look round my brother's flat) we headed back, via Pimlico tube station, to Leicester Square for our six o'clock screening of Infamous. As I've mentioned previously, this film focuses on Truman Capote and his writing of the book In Cold Blood.

We walk down the red carpet - always a delight when you watch the envious fans gathered behind the security guards and railings - and enter the cinema at approximately 5.45pm. There is an immediate buzz as people gather in anticipation of what is about to commence. Unbeknownst to us, we stand briefly beside the director, Douglas McGrath, as he is interviewed by some magazine or other. Then we head downstairs and, after being confronted with free glasses of wine, enter the cinema. It's pretty soon full and Sandra Hebron, chief bod at the BFI, introduces the director and actors Toby Jones (who plays Capote) and Juliette Stevenson. McGrath introduces his film with such self-deprecation that he is an immediate hit: "So, it's autumn here in London. Time for your annual Capote movie [...] I used to work on a show called Saturday Night Live in the States. I joined pretty much the same time it started going downhill." The introduction lasts some fifteen minutes, and then they leave the stage to rapturous applause and the lights dim.

What follows is both funny, sad and truly superb. Philip Seymour Hoffman really nailed the character of Truman in last year's Capote, but here Toby Jones does an equally astonishing job. The performance is absolutely perfect and a joy to behold. He is funny and poignant, often at the same time, and the stellar cast that surround him - including Sigourney Weaver, Sandra Bullock - add to make this a wonderful film. The relationship between Truman and killer Perry (Daniel Craig) is touchingly realised, going further than Capote to suggest an actual relationship between them. Their inevitable demise, and the ruination of Capote's life, is heartbreaking. McGrath has directed a powerful film that deserves to be every bit as successful as last year's Oscar winner when it is released in the UK.

On exiting the cinema, we found ourselves in front of the main doors just as the stars of Bobby, the film we had sadly failed to get tickets for, arrive. Christian Slater is walking barely feet away from us, shaking hands and signing autographs. In the background, director Emilio Estevez (Martin Sheen's son) is standing for photographs with Freddy Rodriguez (from Six Feet Under). It's a bizarre experience seeing these people so close up and, as they tend to be, they all seem smaller in person. That, my brother explains later over dinner, could have something to do with my stature - at six feet two I'm not exactly short - but that's not it. These people have been idolised and put on a pedastal, so there is so much more to them than just the person. That's why it's nice to see them as normal people and find out that they're as nice as you'd hope.

After dinner at the Bella Italia just off Leicester Square, we headed home and readied ourselves for another full day tomorrow.

Friday 27th October 2006 - Breaking...and a little bit of entering (oooh! Suits you sir!)

Friday dawns sunnier than Thursday, but also a little colder. We arrive in Waterloo at about 1pm (problems with South West Trains par for the course) and begin a long, roundabout walk from Leicester Square to Covent Garden, then round to Oxford Street, back through Soho and then on through Chinatown and down Charing Cross Road, stopping off at Murder One to look for books, not that either of us need any more. We have plenty unread on shelves.

Once that was done, we then found ourselves passing Starbucks and so partook of their delightful mocha frappucinos. Then we headed for the Imax cinema just outside Waterloo train station. My brother had free tickets to be used at any BFI cinema, so, never having experienced 3D film before, we headed off to see Open Season, the latest CGI kiddie film. Well, the place was crawling with scrotelets (the under eights), scrotes (eight to twelve) and young ruffians (thirteen plus) as it was half term, but we were still in for a treat. If you've never been to Imax before then I urge you to do so. It's incredible how everything really does seem to jump off the screen at you. Earlier attempts at 3D have never worked - remember that dodgy Doctor Who years back? - but the whole Imax experience proves that the technology is there, and boy is it good.

5.30pm - hunger strikes. Wagamama's in Leciester Square, or more accurately under it, does the trick (yaki udon for me, yaki soba for my brother, along with some duck gyoza. Well, you have to, don't you?). Then we wander down to Piccadilly and look round Virgin, previously Tower Records, listening to songs by My Chemical Romance, and then it's time for another Starbucks and then to head back to Leicester Square for our next film of the Festival, the European premiere of Breaking and Entering. I walk within feet of Jude Law and desperately have to fight the overwhelming urge to molest him right there in public, or at least get a snog. He's wowing the fans and answering media questions as we enter the theatre. Again, that electrifying air that you just don't get anywhere else, and then we're down into the auditorium. "Oh, free crap!" my brother exclaims at the site of goody bags on each armrest. There's a bottle of (very expensive) spring water, some divine Green & Blacks chocolate, a free copy of this month's GQ, because Jude is on the cover looking as gorgeous as ever, and some other promotional gumpf.

Director Anthony Minghella introduces the film - and seemingly the whole cast and crew - and then we get to see his latest effort. It's superb. Law is great, Juliette Binoche is wonderful as usual, and the film manages to subtly handle the issue of immigration and the many colliding cultures in a major city. There is also quite a buzz because the film is set entirely in London, so to be watching it at the London Film Festival really is something quite special. When the lights come up, Jude, Robin Wright Penn and Anthony Minghella all return for questions. They are selfless to a fault, answering questions from the audience with enthusiasm.

All things must end and, by 11.10pm, we're back on the street and headed for Piccadilly tube station. Then we're back down the escalators, that musty smell that you only get on the Tube permeating our nostrils, buzzing from what we have seen and glad that, once again, we've seen some cracking films before anyone else.

The Times BFI 50th London Film Festival

It's that time of year again. The nights are drawing in and there's a definite nip in the air, so what better time to watch a load of famous people in skimpy clothes parade down a red carpet, an icy wind blowing through their perfectly coiffed hair, only for your pleasure.

The London Film Festival has quite rightly won itself worldwide renown. While offering the average Joe and Josephine the perfect opportunity to get up close and personal to the big stars, the festival is also a popular springboard for debut directors. A large proportion of the films shown are first efforts and it's a great experience to be able to see something before anyone else.

This year I'm off to see two potential big hitters. The first, Infamous (pictured left), focuses on the relationship between Truman Capote (Toby Jones) and the killer Perry Smith (Daniel Craig) who Capote investigated for his true crime novel, In Cold Blood. Pipped to the post by last year's excellent Capote, it should be interesting to see how Jones handles the part so wonderfully played by Philip Seymour Hoffman last year. The film also stars Sigourney Weaver and Sandra Bullock. Hopefully some of the cast and crew may even make it to the gala screening on Thursday evening.

On Friday it is the turn of Anthony Minghella's latest, Breaking and Entering. The director of Cold Mountain and The Talented Mr Ripley has always been one to watch, so hopefully this will not prove to be the exception. Starring Jude Law, Martin Freeman and Ray Winstone, Breaking and Entering promises to be an intriguing mix of drama and humour.

The London Film Festival is always a highlight of the year for me. It's become a tradition - this will be the third year running that I have attended - and being, as it is, held in one of the greatest cities in the world, it makes for an enjoyable and exciting few days. The festival itself runs for around a fortnight (it started on the 18th October and is due to come to a close with Brad Pitt's latest, Babel, on November 2nd) and if you can make it, I urge you to do so.

It also makes you feel a little bit special when you get to walk behind the barrier and cross the red carpet, while those without tickets are forced to gaze longingly from behind the security guards as you walk within feet of stars and celebrities. It really is a unique and unrivalled experience.

Lunar Park

Bret Easton Ellis. If you know the name then you're already way ahead of me and thinking all sorts of things that, frankly, no decent person should be thinking. If you're not familiar with his work, then I'll just say this: American Psycho. If that doesn't mean anything to you, well, jeez, leave the cave every once in a while. Get out into the real world and kill you some mammoth.

Bret Easton Ellis isn't particularly prolific when you consider how long he has been writing. Part of the '80's Brat Pack, Ellis is responsible for some of the most controversial writing of the 20th century. The Rules of Attraction, which follows the lives of several Camden college students through nights of debauchery and partying, is a bleak, empty novel. And that's very much the point. Everything the characters do is utterly pointless. American Psycho - which was made into a successful film starring Christian Bale as murderous businessman Patrick Bateman - for all its gruesome, sickening violence and outrageous scenes, is also essentially about nothing. Nihilism sits central to all of Ellis' work and it is easy to get caught up in the controversy and miss that.

Which makes it hard to stomach sometimes, because if you're essentially saying that nothing matters and that your life, work and thoughts mean nothing, then what's to stop any maniac going out and blinding a homeless guy, or fucking two women before gutting them, or cleaving arms from torsos with an axe?


A lot of people argue that this is fuss about nothing. Ellis deserves, in their view, little of their time and even less of their worry. His work is pointless and perverse, nothing more.

Ironically, that's quite probably what he's aiming for.

His new book, Lunar Park, is part autobiography, part fiction. It's quite difficult to tell the two apart at times, although certain events in the novel obviously don't stem from reality, and it leaves you wondering what sort of a person Bret is. His style, as always, is infinitely detailed yet very readable, and some of the tension he builds is surprisingly uncomfortable. However, the ending does leave you with a, "Oh, is that it?" feeling.

Of course, that's the whole idea. You'll finish the last page and sit there for a minute, wondering what the point of it all was. You haven't learnt anything about the author - it's impossible at times to decipher between the reality and the unreal - and the plot is meagre at best, non-existent at worst. There's some interesting stuff on the father/son relationship, families and married life in general, but it's never really taken far enough as he - or, rather, the character of Bret Easton Ellis - spends most of the book on one kind of illegal substance or another.

What you make of this depends on how you take the rest of his work. He's one of the most infuriating writers working today but also one of the most interesting. OK, so Chuck Palahniuk and Douglas Coupland are more consistent and perhaps better overall, but when Ellis is on form, he truly shines. Sadly, with Lunar Park, I couldn't help but feel that he's not. The Rules of Attraction was his high point, wonderfully styled without being too self-conscious, fast-paced and with characters that you could hate and love at the same time. American Psycho paradoxically works well as a film, but as a book is too repulsive to read.

All of this discussion and agonising is pointless, as you'll never get the answer you want. Nihilism is about the pointlessness and emptiness of everything. Perhaps that is what Ellis writes: pointless, empty novels.

But somehow I think there's a lot more to it than that.

Got His Goat

A Sudanese man was forced to marry a goat after he was caught satisfying his carnal desires with the animal. The goat's owner surprised the man in flagrante delicto and captured him, tying him up. When the man was taken before the village Elders it was decided that he should not be taken to the police, but that he should instead pay a dowry to the goat's owner, as he had used the goat "as his wife".

As to what the goat made of all this we can only guess.

While the man is believed to be the first to marry the animal, it would appear that this rather unusual series of events is not as uncommon as you might think - or as the goats might hope. Stephen Hall from Bridlington lasooed a goat with his belt and had sex with it on his allotment back in 2002. A rather unfortunate turn saw the whole act witnessed by a train full of passengers headed for Bridlington. Unlike the Sudanese man, Hall was taken to court. When it came to sentencing, the baffled Judge Jacqueline Davies admitted, "I do not know what sentence the court should impose on you."

Hall, who is gay, says that he has never done anything like this before and that his friends have been giving him a lot of stick about it. Well, yeah. Also in a slightly bizarre twist to what is already a rather odd tale, he was having sex with a female goat. Now I know this is pretty much a moot point in the matter, but if he's gay wouldn't he be favouring a billygoat?

I'm not going anywhere near this, however, as I don't quite feel qualified to comment on the possible merits of goat shagging. Maybe we should ask the Welsh.

Ha ha! Got you there. You were going to get all offended, weren't you? Well fear not.

I know with the Welsh it's sheep.

Bush Whacked

The broadcast of controversial mockumentary Death of A President (DoAP) appears to have passed without much fuss. Airing on More4 last Monday (and set to be repeated no fewer than three times over the next seven days - starting tonight) the mock documentary follows the story of the assassination of George W. Bush at a Chicago rally in October 2007. I commented on this a while back and was waiting with great anticipation to see what it would actually be like. Much to my surprise, it's far more intelligent and thought provoking than I'd expected.

The scene itself is shocking and well crafted. It's worth recording while you watch just so you can rewind and try to see how they did it. The archive footage is merged seamlessly with the actors as the President is shot. The scene is chaos and very well realised. Even though you know what is coming, it still comes as a shock when the fake news footage declares that the President is dead. The ensuing investigation unsurprisingly heads towards Al Quieda and it isn't long before a Muslim man is arrested. But that is merely the beginning and to say any more would ruin the surprise.

At first it seems as if DoAP is going to be a vacuous exercise, just an excuse for sensationalism and nothing more; but it turns out that there is a lot more to this mock documentary than meets the eye. It's no great surprise that George W. Bush is upset by this - it does push the boundaries of taste, if I'm honest - but the questions it asks are necessary and the findings and resolution are thought provoking. The biggest shock, which shouldn't really be a shock at all, is when you realise that Vice President Dick Cheney is going to be the President of the United States. And that's a scary thought.

DoAP really is worth watching and, given the amount of times it seems set to be repeated over the next week, there should be plenty of opportunities for you to catch it. Watch it if only to satisfy your curiosity, but also watch because there are questions we all need to find answers for.

F*** Off I'm Fat

Did anyone else watch this last night (BBC3, 9pm)? I missed it the first time around but found myself idly channel hopping. When the titles came up, I thought why not? I was amused and horrified in equal measure.


I agree entirely with the presenter, a 21-stone comedian by the name of Ricky Grover, that it is unfair how little companies and businesses cater for the larger customer. The fact that Top Shop don't stock anything bigger than a size 16 is ridiculous, and the practice of having to ask a member of staff to get the larger sizes from the back is both humiliating and offensive.

But, there was a lot in this programme that worried me greatly. The people Ricky spoke to were all - and I'm afraid there is no other way to say this - absolutely huge. One lady tried to get into several small cars but found that she couldn't even fit behind the wheel in some and the seatbelt didn't click shut on any. Now she was a wonderful lady, bubbly and bright and clearly intelligent - she's a successful businesswoman - but she is deluding herself on this issue. She seems to think, along with Ricky et al, that it is the world that needs to change and not them.


Ricky states that it won't be long before 70% of the UK population is overweight or obese. This is a truly terrible statistic, but what is his response? That doctors must help patients to lose weight and the government should promote a healthier lifestyle in a more vigorous manner? No, he says we need bigger loos. An American invention is an extra-large toilet capable of taking, and these are Ricky's words, "a tonne of fat". It has to be seen to be truly believed.

Now I accept that we are far too body conscious and far too much emphasis is put on the "thin is beautiful" school of thought, but these people are morbidly obese. They aren't just a little podgy, or even very overweight, but so overweight that it seriously endangers their health. It's all very well saying that they should be able to enjoy life the same as everyone else - eat in a restaurant without wondering how you're going to walk between the tables, go to a theme park without worrying if you'll fit in the seats on the rides, drive a car without having to struggle in behind the wheel - but the unfortunate truth is that they're not like everyone else.

It is not healthy to be that big. Fact. I know that people can be obese for many different reasons, not all of them the fault of the individual, but these people need serious help. We're talking stomach stapling and severe medical intervention. If not they'll be dead long before their time. Fact. I was horrified that all of those who appeared on the programme really didn't see their weight as the problem at all, rather that the rest of the world should be more accepting and not stare.

And we should be more accepting and we shouldn't stare. No one should be excluded from a job because of their weight any more than they should be for their age or sexuality, but this goes much further than that. Weight is a serious issue in this country and Ricky admits it's only getting worse. He even admits how his weight rules his life and he doesn't sound happy, but there seems to be no willpower on his part. He says he has tried every diet going, and quickly finds an "expert" to back his belief that diets don't work, but we see him eating constantly throughout the programme. It's such a shame to see people so lost in life, so excluded from society and from the help they desperately need. Maybe I'm as bad as those who stare - I certainly don't mean to be - but to be as large as some of the people on this programme and to not take action seems unthinkable to me.

So the solution? Yes, there should be more acceptance and facilities should cater for all - so bigger loos (perhaps not the one tonne version), bigger cinema seats and so forth - but there should also be a lot more emphasis put on obese people getting help. It's a terrible shame that these people should have to be paraded on a television programme like some sort of freakshow. They are all wonderful people, but they need to seriously ask themselves if they are happy.

I think we all know what the answer would be.

Commander in Chief

OK, imagine this. A woman in charge of the Free World. I'm serious. A female POTUS - President of the United States. Seem unlikely? Well that's exactly what has happened. At least, on TV. No one was sadder to see The West Wing go than me, so it's not that surprising that someone has tried to jump on the bandwagon and spark off the next big political drama. Well, they had to do something with those ruddy big White House sets, didn't they?

Commander in Chief sees Geena Davis (star of...stuff) as the Vice President. The victim of a rather cruel political stunt to win voters, she was never intended to ever take over the Presidency. Unfortunately for the President, he's got a rather nasty brain aneurism distracting him and he pegs it; but not before asking the Vice Pres to stand down and let a man do the job of running the country. Well, good for her, once the old codger's dead she feels no guilt in stepping up and taking the Oath. She has become in a matter of hours the very first female President. At least she isn't black, else they'd have a heart attack.

Needless to say the whole thing is a little contrived. Some of the dialogue sounds like stuff Aaron Sorkin (creator of The West Wing) threw out with the trash, but there's some pretty emotive stuff and a fantastic turn by Davis. It's also rather fun hearing them refer to her as Madam President and her husband as the First Lady. It shows how patriarchal the whole thing is. Perhaps it's an obvious shot, but a valid one nonetheless. Commander in Chief shows promise, even if it's not quite hit the ground running. It's early days and it has a lot to live up to, perhaps unfairly so, as The West Wing was pretty much the best thing on TV. Ever.

Another reason for watching is Matt Lanter. Never heard of him? Me neither. He was in Point Pleasant (which was cancelled mid-run, despite actually being rather good) and he's done some other things, but this looks like his first big break. Here he plays the President's son, and my god is he gorgeous. There are so many fantastic photographs that I just had to put them all on.

Take a look at these.





Frankly the programme could be utter pish for all I care. I'll keep watching for him.

But it's not utter pish. And that perhaps is the most surprising thing of all. I was expecting to hate it with a passion. How could they possibly try and be The West Wing Mk II so soon after it had ended? But they're not trying to be that. It's quite clear that the tone for this is different and the end game...well, I guess we'll have to wait and see.

As long as they put more of Matt in there, I'll be an avid fan.

The Turner Prize - Continuing to Baffle

It won't come as any surprise that this year's entries for the oddly coveted Turner Prize are as bizarre as ever. Last year we had the shed/boat/shed creation that, while I'd struggle to call it art, did at least have a certain something about it. It was functional and served a dual purpose, so I could see the skill involved in making it.

This year we have, well, something totally useless. Rebecca Warren (pictured) has a neon-lit box filled with fluff from her carpet. Phil Collins (no, not that one. At least I don't think so) has made a film about Turkish people discussing how their lives have been ruined by reality TV. Apparently Fluff Girl, as I will now refer to Rebecca Warren, has hit on genius. Her work is "dirty and dysfunctional" while being "strangely melancholic." What? Are you mad? The only way it migh be strangely melancholic is if you are a vacuum cleaner forced to look at all that mess. How do these people come up with this stuff?

You could say I'm only jealous. The winners, after all, do get £25,000 for their troubles. And therein, as the great William Shakespeare said, lies the rub. It's not as if they've gone to a great deal of trouble to create these things. How long does it take to run the Hoover over the floor and then sort through the detritus looking for weird bits of fluff?

I'm going to enter next year. I'm getting a cardboard box and cellotaping it shut, with air inside. As the air stagnates it will be a telling reminder of how we, as a nation, stand still and let terrorism happen all around us. It's a melancholic reminder that to stagnate is to miss an opportunity and fail in what makes us human.

Or it'll be a box full of air.

The result of this year's Turner Prize will be announced on 4th of December. If you fancy a laugh. Don't be surprised if Fluff Girl wins.

The Appreciation of the Male Form, or Phwoarr! II

As part of my ongoing, increasingly-less-infrequent postings of rather attractive men, I submit this for your delectation.

I'll fight you for him. No seriously. You'll lose. You'll go down in pain. I can be cruel when I want something.

Dearly Departed

Taxi Driver. Raging Bull. Goodfellas. Gangs of New York. What do they all have in common? No, I'm not talking about director Martin Scorsese. The connection is that I don't like any of them. I've tried to, really I have; but I just can't get into them. I find them...dull. So why, you may ask yourself, did I want to go and see The Departed, Scorsese's latest, so badly? I can sum it up in one word: Jack.

The Departed is a complicated crime drama/thriller based on the Hong Kong trilogy Infernal Affairs. The film stars Leonardo DiCaprio, Matt Damon, Ray Winstone, Martin Sheen and the man who sparked my interest: Jack Nicholson. I'm glad to say that I wasn't disappointed. This is Jack's film. His character is so deeply rooted in violence that it comes as second nature to him. He thinks nothing of twisting an already broken arm or causing someone so much pain that he ends up up to his elbows in blood. His character, charismatic and terrifying in equal measure, is the thing that holds this film together.

Kind of.

To say that would be to do the rest of the cast a grave misjustice. While Nicholson is awesome, he is equally matched by Leonardo DiCaprio (no longer just the pretty boy, but instead an intense, moody and downright sexy actor) and Matt Damon. Also, seeing Martin Sheen on screen is a welcome return since he finished The West Wing. It's a credit to him that he can hold his own for the few brief moments he appears on screen with the Jackster, but he really can.

This is an ensemble cast to die for. And this is what makes Scorsese's film so engaging. All the characters are flawed and their morals are somewhat flexible; but there is a violent, beating heart to this film that has such a raw primal energy that demands to be watched. OK, so the old complaints I had with Scorsese still stand - he can't create good female characters for toffee - but this is a tour de force of filmmaking and acting gravitas.

See. It. Now.

Makes Thornton's Look Like a Bar of Dairy Milk

I like chocolate. No surprise there, you might think. It even fills in some of the gaps as to why this whole dieting thing is proving a tad difficult. Self-control is something that I don't possess much of. There is something called the delayed pleasure principle. The theory goes like this: you delay having something you really want because you know when you eventually get it, you'll enjoy it even more. Now, that may be true of orgasm, but when it comes to chocolate, I'll enjoy it just as much now as if I get it in half an hour's time.

Don't misunderstand me. I am particular as to what I eat. I may love chocolate and all things cocoa related, but I only want the best. Until recently, the best had comprised of Thornton's chocolate and, in particular, rum truffles. But now they have been usurped by another.

Thornton's is dead, long live Hotel Chocolat.

Until you've eaten their chocolate, you haven't lived. At Easter they made fantastically elaborate Easter eggs of every kind imaginable. And these aren't filled with rubbishy cheap chocolate. Oh no, they're filled with truffles and eggs and marzipans and liqueurs and every other type of chocolate you can think of. They sell 500g slabs (and I mean slabs) of chocolate so thick you'd break your teeth trying to take a bite out of it whole. The cocoa content of their darkest chocolate is 85% and surprisingly mellow, while their white chocolate is divine. There is something for everyone.

The only down side is the price. Those lovely Easter eggs I mentioned were c. £17 each. That said, they were also worth every single penny. I kid you not; this is chocolate for the serious addict.

Check out their website, www.hotelchocolat.co.uk, if you don't believe me. Just be warned - once you've made your first purchase, you are destined to be poorer - but satisfied - for life. It's not better than sex, but it's seriously as close as you're going to get. And you can eat chocolate in public, while sex isn't really appropriate on the number 47 bus.

Hostile towards Hostel

I'd be lying of I said that all the extreme reviews for Eli Roth's (Cabin Fever) new film didn't make me want to see it more. The Daily Mail trying to rally the troops against this "sick film" also amused me greatly, but then again I've never felt exactly alligned with that...ahem..."newspaper". But the reviews were to be expected. Hostel is produced and introduced by Quentin Tarantino, himself no stranger to controversy, and Eli Roth showed in Cabin Fever that he can handle the yuck and still make a good film. Now that the film has been on DVD for a while, I thought I'd check it out. None of my friends were brave enough to see it at the cinema (cowards) and so I thought, what the heck, I'll watch it. I wanted to see if it was a bad as everyone made out.

Well, it's bad, yes; just not in the way that is intended.

Hostel delves into the world of killing-for-money in some eastern European country that nobody goes to very often. You can do anything you want to someone, provided you pay for it. So, two American, highly unpleasant (but one rather cute - see picture), completely unlikeable backpackers find themselves in search of women and sex in Europe. They find it, but then things go very wrong, very quickly.

The first 40 minutes are laughable. With a plot unworthy of a soft porn flick, Hostel staggers from one drunken shag to the next. The lucky guys are sharing their room with three big breasted, constantly naked women and get to enjoy more than just a sauna with them. But when one of them goes missing (don't worry, it's not the cute one) the other starts to think something unusual might be going on. Soon he finds himself tied to a chair in the basement of some massive disused factory.

And not in a kinky way.

The gore, which follows pretty soon after the half way mark, is impressive in places but hardly the festival of blood and sickness we were promised. Following as it does a risible first half, it's a case of too little, way too late. There's also no real explanation of why these people are doing what they're doing, and being so plot-lite with utterly unpleasant characters makes the whole thing feel sordid and more than a little sick.

I'll say just one thing that will make anyone who has seen the film turn green: yokey eye. And that's far and away the worst bit in the film. Frankly, you'd be better off going to Blockbuster and renting Saw and Saw II, both of which did a far more intelligent job of it. They're also far more unpleasant and squirm-inducing. And you don't mind the characters. Well, some of them. Well, OK, one of them. Maybe.

Hostel is over-rated, over-sexed and over here. Don't waste your time on this half-arsed, tedious film. It'll be an hour and a half of your life that you'll never get back. Re-visit a classic horror instead, or as I say, try any of the Saw franchise. The third installment is released at the end of this month.

Quite Simply, Because I can [sigh]

If You Had One Wish, What Would It Be?

I, as my friends can attest, have always been a huge, huge fan of Roxette. Go on, if you feel the urge to mock me, mock me now. Go on, I can take it.

Right, now that you've got that out of your system, I'll continue. I think they're great. Musically, they're great, lyrically, they're (normally) great. They're just so much fun. I saw then in concert on their Crash! Boom! Bang! world tour back in 1994 and I can still remember the event vividly. It was one of those life altering concerts that lasted two and a half hours.

Of course they've not exactly been in the limelight much recently. Marie Fredriksson, the voice behind It Must Have Been Love and I Wish I Could Fly, was diagnosed with a brain tumour on September 11th 2002 and had to undergo some pretty intense treatment. But now she's better and Roxette are back, coincidentally just in time to celebrate their 20th anniversary with yet another compilation of greatest hits - and they've had a few.

There are two new songs on the album, Reveal and One Wish. And it's the video for One Wish which is now available to view. It's catchy, yes, but unfortunately Roxette don't look set to climb back to the heights they reached in the 1990s. Which is a shame, because I've still got a bit of a soft spot for Per and Marie; and I probably always will.

21st Century Shoe Shopping

When did buying a pair of shoes become a high-tech military exercise? Seriously. I went into Clarks this morning on the highly distasteful mission of buying work shoes. Now, can there be a more unpleasant way to spend your money? This extends to all work attire. We go to work to earn money and then have to spend shedloads of it on the clothes that are needed to meet the minimum sartorial elegance required of our employer.

But I digress. Clarks used to be one of those little shops where personal service really mattered. However much I wish to be left alone to go about my shopping, I secretly quite like having someone waiting on me hand and foot - on in this case, foot and foot - seeing to my every need. But no longer. Upon entering the store (which is now about the size of Tesco; when did that happen?) you are left to wander aimlessly from aisle to aisle, picking up and putting down identikit shoes while none the wiser as to what you should actually be purchasing. Having found a shoe I liked the look of, I approached a friendly member of staff and asked if they had the shoe in a size 10. I expected to see her hurry off to the store room to check, but instead she raises a walkie-talkie to her mouth and says, "Product check on Line Reaction, Black, Size 10 please. That's Line Reaction, Black, Size 10," followed by a short, sharp burst of static.

I'm stunned. It all seems awfully high tech for what is actually a relatively simple thing of checking if they have something that will fit me. You're then also left with a rather awkward silence as you stand and wait for some poor soul in the back to respond to the sales person and confirm or deny the availability of said shoe. You can't begin taking off your shoes because you don't know if you'll have anything else to try on, so you stand, hands in pockets, and pretend to be interested in another pair while you wait.

In the meantime, the sales assistant has buggered off to help someone else. Another request is barked through the walkie-talkie and I have a vivid mental picture of several small children hurriedly climbing ladders and retrieving shoes at the requests of the overlords on the shop floor. But I'm sure that doesn't happen. Well, not with children anyway.

A few more moments pass and then another blast of static and a semi-distorted reply: "Foxtrot Alpha Whiskey, Line Reaction, Black, Size 10 located. Repeat: Line Reaction, Black, Size 10 located. I'm on my way."

OK, so that Foxtrot Alpha Whiskey bit is an exaggeration, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if that's how they did it.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the shoes appear. I don't know who brought them out and gave them to the sales assistant, but they are, indeed, there. Smiling, she hands them to me and then leaves. Now hang on a second; what happened to prostrating yourself in front of the customer, taking the shoes out of the box, loosening the laces and handing them to you? No such luck. They don't even come in the box anymore! You have to ask for that specially when you pay. You're handed two shoes and left to it. So, I put them on and warily begin to pace the shop floor, for the first time appreciating the floorspace. In the old days you used to feel like a hamster trapped in a cage, forced to complete three or four high speed laps in order to ascertain whether the shoes were crippling or not. (And let's face it, that's all you can tell as two minutes isn't enough time to figure if you're going to feel the same about them after eight hours on your feet being shouted at by your boss.) At least with increased floorspace one lap is enough.

They seemed fine, so I managed to hunt down the sales assistant (a walkie-talkie of my own would have been handy for attracting her attention), who took the shoes and put them on the counter. I hurriedly put my pre-worn shoes back on and went to the counter, only to be served by another person.

Which made me think; the sales assistants in Clarks have the easiest job in the world. All they have to do is smile and stand there, demanding information from the unfortunate schmucks in the back and then plonking the shoes on the counter. They don't have to do anything anymore. The cashiers do the transaction bit and we never see the little elves in the storeroom. And for this they get paid! Admittedly I bet it's not much; but, Christ, I wish my job was that easy.

It's almost absurd how cover-complicated the whole experience has become. They don't need walkie-talkies. They could easily go and check the shoes themselves. It's just there to make them look happening and up with the times. It's kind of like those Nat West adverts that show those rather inept fictional bank employees trying to dance like Michael Jackson and act as if they're down with the kids. It's highly amusing and ever so slightly sad.

So please, Clarks, can you go back a step and re-instate some of the customer interaction you use to have? I don't need you to act like James Bond; I just need you to help me get through a highly unpleasant experience as quickly, painlessly and cheaply as possible.

Over and out.

Here's Hoping the Hamster Gets Back Behind the Wheel

I'm sure I wasn't the only person to wake up shocked at the terrible news that Richard Hammond, one third of the presenting tour de force of Top Gear, is seriously ill in hospital after a high-speed accident yesterday. He was driving a jet-powered dragster, similar to the Vampire, at around 300 miles per hour when onlookers said the car drifted to the left, flipped, and crashed. Hammond had to be cut free of the car and was airlifted to a hospital in Leeds. It now looks likely that he has suffered brain damage and doctors, while quietly optimistic, still say his chances of survival are still "50/50".

Top Gear will no doubt come under fire for this, even though I am sure every possible precaution was taken, and people will call for the show to be cancelled. But that would be a terrible shame. Yes, it's silly and, yes, it does get a bit obsessed with speed at times, but can you think of another programme that is so damned entertaining? The three presenters are petrolheads to the extreme and their fascination and infectious enthusiasm for all things motoring is what makes it stand out from its competitors. Hopefully, regardless of the outcome, common sense will prevail and the show will be allowed to continue.

My concern is that Hammond, who has a wife and two children, has never seen the need to tame things back. When you have a family you have to become more responsible. You can't go off doing once in a lifetime things if those things are potentially life threatening. You're not just thinking about yourself, you are thinking about your family. At 36 Hammond should be thinking about taking on less daring aspects of the role. Perhaps, if he makes a full recovery, he will consider this.

It's impossible to berate him for doing what he loves, though. Yes, it's easy to say that he should do this or shouldn't do that, but you're not going to stop him from doing the very thing that makes him so excitable, so likeable and so downright entertaining. And nor should you want to.

Let's just hope that his recovery is a speedy and full one.

Scissor Sisters - Ta Dah

Can't wait until the official release tomorrow? Mosey on over to www.myspace.com/scissorsisters and you can hear the complete album now! Yes, that's right people: the whole twelve track extravaganza, right now and for free. And I urge you to do so.

I watched the show in Trafalgar Square last night and was blown away. The Scissor Sisters are the consummate performers. Of the new tracks, Kiss You Off is my favourite. There's just something so "attitude" about it: "That's why I ain't just kissing you / I'm kissing you off!" It's also got some fantastic music to boot. It's not often I'm envious of anything, but I wish I could have been in London last night - it must be an incredible experience to see them perform live. Jake Shears is the perfect front man, but Ana Matronic lends something unquantifiable to the proceedings. The whole atmosphere was so charged that you could feel it, even through your TV.

The current single, I Don't Feel Like Dancing, is also superb. It's such downright enjoyable pop and...well...gay. Gay men the land over will be rejoicing as much as they did when Madonna started confessing to some stuff on the dancefloor last year. Ta Dah is equally worthy of your queeny screaming praise. Direct it thusly.

"Ieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! The Scissor Sisters are like, so great! I loooooooooooooove them!"

You may show your appreciation.

Scissor Sisters were propelled onto the music scene two years ago and they prove once and for all that they weren't just a one-album wonder. Ta Dah surpasses their previous work by miles, and that's quite an achievement when you consider that their self-titled debut contained the likes of Laura, Take Your Momma Out, Filthy/Gorgeous and The Return to Oz.

Go and buy this as soon as possible. Play it with pride and play it loud!

Right At Your Door - Right Load of Pish

**********WARNING! MAJOR SPOILER ALERT!**********

In a world where terrorism is a fact of life and fear is becoming the norm, you'd think there wouldn't be a need for films like Right At Your Door (RAYD), the latest in a line of apocalyptic thrillers that began way back when with the likes of Independence Day and Armageddon. But, as Steven Spielberg showed last year, there is still room for disaster movies and RAYD aims to exploit that.

To lump Chris Gorak's claustrophobic thriller with the likes of ID4 and Jerry Bruckheimer's more-bang-for-your-buck-fest is unfair. This has more in common with Spielberg's War of the Worlds, although this operates on a far more low key level altogether. The plot is this: a series of 'dirty bombs' are detonated all over Los Angeles, scattering a poisonous ash over the city. Brad (Rory Cochrane - who recently appeared in A Scanner Darkly) follows official instructions and seals his home. Being an out of work musician, he's home in the day; while his wife Lexi (Mary McCormack - star of, most recently, The West Wing) is headed down the freeway for her office. When Lexi is covered in ash and returns home, Brad is forced to keep her out for fear of infecting himself and the neighbour who seeks refuge with him.

The first hour and a quarter of this film is fantastic. By ignoring the easy option - showing the audience massive disaster shots in place of actual character development - we can actually care for the people involved. This is a story about two lovers, separated by an uncrossable divide. It's timeless in nature and this is merely another take on it. Also in its favour, RAYD never once speculates about who might have planted and detonated the bombs. Al Quieda never even gets a mention. It's irrelevant to the plot.

The problem, and it's a lethal one, is the "surprise ending". If you don't want to know the ending, look away now, as they say. The Big Twist is that, while trapped in the house, the small amount of poisonous ash that seeped into the house builds to such toxic levels that Brad has to be sealed in forever and dies, while Lexi, who's been running around in the stuff for two or more days, seems to having nothing worse than a nasty cough. This is, to be blunt, absolutely ridiculous. The only reason that "you never see it [the surprise] coming" as the poster proudly proclaims is because it's absolutely absurd and, I'm sure, scientifically a load of twaddle.

Which is a shame, because there is a lot to be admired. Its release so close to September 11th may grate with some, but this film really does have something to say. If only it wasn't for that ending...

Couchie This!

An oldy, but definitely a goody.

It's Human Nature. Obey Yours...

Check out www.paulbellmusic.com for the debut album by Paul Bell. Living with his wife in Kirkby-in-Ashfield, Nottinghamshire, Paul's musical career began at the tender age of five and has blossomed ever since. His debut album has enough pizazz and flare to make it stand out. Clearly influenced by his religion, but not overwhelmed by it, Paul's 50 minute album has something for everybody.

Visit the site for samples and to get in touch with him if you want a copy. I'm proud to say he's a very good friend of mine going back to the age of 13. I urge you to check it out and support his CD.

Blair's A Gonna - Any Way You Look At It, It's Brown Trousers Time

So, it's official: His Tonyness will be gone by this time next year. Shock. But no awe. Everyone's treating it like some massive revelation when in fact it's nothing we didn't know before. He still hasn't set a date, which is what everyone wants, and it has the potential to drag on for months. It seems most likely, according to the media at least, that he'll set a date in February next year and be out of office by the May local elections, giving time for his successor - who will obviously be Gordon Brown, even if the pair continue to dance around the issue with all the poise and grace of Johnny Vegas doing Swan Lake - time to prepare for the last year leading up to the general elections.

Gordon Brown spoke to Andy Marr this morning on Sunday AM (BBC1, 9am) about a wide range of issues, but refused to be pegged down on the central issue: how a Brown government will differ from a Blair one. It could be that they won't - he did allude, rather worryingly, to sustaining the current pally relationship between the PM and the President of the United States - but it seems likely that he doesn't want to fire his guns too early. Better to keep something under your hat, which is no small feat in Whitehall, frankly.

Jug Ears, a.k.a. Charles Clarke, the former Home Secretary, has been airing his grievances in a rather tasteless manner, accusing Brown of all sorts of things that are quite, quite dull. He has accused Gordon of grinning like an idiot after leaving talks with Tony last week, when in fact he was talking about something completely un-work related: his children. Heaven forfend he smile! Jesus Christ, what does he think he is? A person? My god, disaster looms! Mr Clarke would do well to pipe down.

You may interpret from this that I'm pro-Brown, but don't be too hasty. I have nothing against the man personally - I don't smoke and I don't drink excessively, so his Budgets don't really affect me - but he has yet to prove himself. I'm all for giving him a chance.

In the mean time Tony Blair has been said to be on jovial form. Well, why not? He's been given carte blanche and he's got a year to try and fuck up the country before he leaves office - he's like a kid in a sweet shop! But seriously, perhaps he just wants to get on with his job. Controversial though that idea might be, maybe we should all just settle down and let them do what we elected them to do.

The media, take note.

Achtung! Guerilla Artists at Work

No, this has nothing to do with the stars of the so-so movie Congo. Instead, this relates to the newly released debut album by, gulp, Paris Hilton. Now thankfully I have been spared the undoubtedly painful experience of having to listen to it, but an article on the BBC News' website did baffle and amuse me in equal measure.

The apparently "well known" guerilla artists "Banksy" has spent his precious time switching 500 copies of Hilton's new album for remixes of his own. The mixes, which include versions of songs called Why Am I Famous?, What Have I Done? and What Am I For?, were inserted in the cases by Banksy at the various stores nationwide. He left the original barcode on so that unsuspecting buyers wouldn't know they'd been tampered with.

This doesn't say much for music store security. It must take a bit of time to remove those fiddly security strips, take out the CD and then put your own in and reseal it. You'd think someone, even an overweight, ageing bodyguard who's had one too many donuts and hasn't exercised since Maggie Thatcher was PM, would notice and stop him. Apparently not.

According to an HMV spokesman, "I guess you can give an individual such as Banksy a little bit of leeway for his own particular brand of artistic engagement." Riiiiight. 'Cos that's what this is. It's art.

The ultimate irony is that no one has returned a single doctored copy to the stores. Perhaps it's better than the original.

Bunglers in Crime

Does anyone else remember these guys? Victor & Hugo was the best kids TV programme of my childhood. Why can't we buy it on DVD? Please release it! I've got a ropey old video that I still watch and it's as funny as ever.

Click here for the titles.

Let's Not Beat Around the Bush

Yes, you are seeing what you think you're seeing. It's the assassination of George W. Bush. But don't worry because it's only a work of fiction.

You can't have missed the best piece of news from last week: a new drama to be premiered at the Toronto Film Festival and then aired on More4, entitled Death of A President, shows the assassination of the POTUS at a Chicago rally in 2007.

The programme, which uses a mixture of archive footage, actors and digital effects to portray the death of the Big Cheese, is understandably causing some upset in Texas, Washington and other parts of the US. The White House is refusing to comment as they say the programme "does not justify a response". I have to admit that it is in rather bad taste. More4 defend the programme by saying it shows further insight into the ongoing War on terror. But Gretchen Essell, a spokeswoman for the Republican Party of Texas, has asked More4 not to show the drama. I think it's fair to say that it won't have much appeal within the US and it will probably leave a bitter taste in the mouth of any who watch it. George Bush is not my favourite person in the world, as regular readers of this blog will know, but I'm not sure anyone can justify showing the assassination of the incumbent President of the United States. It's, well, tasteless. And, frankly, something I'd only expect from the Americans.

This has, of course, led to some spectacularly dumb comments from several US officials, the pick of the crop being this little beauty: "There's a lot of feeling against President Bush and this may well put ideas into people's heads."

Yeah, 'cuz like, no one's ever thought about shooting him before. Obviously.

Unbelievably, they are looking to sell the broadcasting rights to the US. I should think it'll be what's known in the trade as a Hard Sell. But, my misgivings aside, I'll still be watching it along with everyone else when it's broadcast on More4 on 9th October.

Affleck in Good Film Shocker

Ben Affleck's career got off to a promising start. Winning an Oscar with longtime pal Matt Damon for Good Will Hunting back in 1998 was the best of beginnings. Unfortunately, the expectation was so high that Affleck couldn't possibly live up to it with his next film. The problem was that he never really tried. Pearl Harbor (not as bad a everyone made out, actually) was critically derided, as were many of his follow up films. However, that didn't prevent some real gems from sneaking through in the form of Dogma, Changing Lanes and The Sum of All Fears. But then something terrible happened.

Jennifer.

Yes, you all know who I mean. Ms. Lopez came into Ben's life and everything went horribly, horribly wrong. Pretty soon they were making insipid romantic comedies (Gigli) and Affleck found himself labelled "Beniffer" by the press. His career was, effectively, over. Which explains why we haven't heard much from him of late. But now that his relationship his over, things might be about to change.

Hollywoodland, which examines the death of George Reeves (the first Superman, who died under unusual circumstances), sees Affleck play the aforementioned Reeves with, apparently, surprising maturity. Critics are hailing him - and not with stones, but praise galore. He's back and all is forgiven.

Not surprisingly Ben has been driven to speak out about fame and the trials and tribulations that come along with it. He's been moaning how people expect more than just "a person" from celebrities. "Being me just isn't enough...especially in the UK." Well that's rubbish for starters, but never mind. What I'd like to suggest to Mr Affleck is this: if you want to be treated like a normal person and not be expected to be any more than that, then don't get paid millions of dollars to make a film. Earn a normal wage and you can be a normal guy. For my ten million bucks I want to see a man who's lived at the gym, put some effort into maintaining those washboard abs; who keeps his appointments at the dentist to get those pearly whites as white as can be. If he wants to continue earning that sort of money then he has to accept that more is expected of him. I expect the same of footballers.

To complain about the very thing that can, by his own admission, make him successful (i.e. the press and public attention) is a little hypocritical. I understand his complaints and even sympathise a little, but the fact of the matter is that he has to expect it if he wants to be as successful as he is. Yes, the press are too intrusive and, yes, he deserves to be able to do his own thing, but to believe that he can be like a normal guy is a tad naive.

Severance - Another Bloody Office Outing

An August Bank Holiday weekend can mean only one thing: dodgy weather. As a result I found myself going to see Severance, a wonderfully nasty little horror movie starring Tim McInnerny, and Dead Like Me's Laura Harris. The plot is simple and simply bonkers: when the weapons multi-national Palisade Defense reward their European sales division with a team-building weekend in the mountains of Eastern Europe, comedy blends with horror as the team fight first amongst themselves and later for survival against a group of war-crazed killers intent on revenge.

At times completely incomprehensible, Severance has such a barmy premise and delightfully grotesque set pieces that you'll be squirming and laughing at the same time. The blend of comedy and horror, so hard to achieve, is spot on. Each of the characters more than likely matches the stereotype of someone from your own office and there is a surprising level of suspense from a film that wears its humour on its sleeve as proudly as its gore. And what gore. Bear traps, decapitation, death by flamethrower...all are present and correct.

Not for the fainthearted, and occasionally veering unnervingly close to being plain nasty, Severance just about manages to stay the right side of palatable. Laura Harris proves, as she did with Dead Like Me, that she is a fantastic actress, so often underrated. McInnerny is also great, but the real highlight has to be the annoyingly chirpy Andy Nyman, playing Gordon, the office motivator and first aider. His character is the best thing by far and it isn't giving anything away to say that his inevitably drawn out demise is a highlight.

This film has come out of nowhere, devoid of a grand advertising campaign. Therefore word of mouth is going to be the only way Severance makes any cash. For the record, then, this is one of the funniest and scariest horror films for a good few years and you should go and see it. Now.

In case you need any more convincing, click here to watch the trailer.

Mr Schafernaker - Update

I can only assume that the post, supposedly made by Tomasz after I had quite a hefty go at him, actually was from him, because there's been a noticeable change in his weather forecasts. He's been bright, cheery and actually rather good. So I partically retract my previous blog - I said partially - and say thanks very much. My mornings have been getting off to a far better start, which has got to be good for everybody. My work colleagues wholeheartedly thank you, Tomasz.

Student Loans - and How to Cheat Them

OK, so this isn't strictly cheating them as you are still paying something back, but it's by far and away the cheaper option.

As many young people prepare to head off to enjoy the studious, often inebriated, atmosphere of university life, some may already be worrying about how they are going to pay it off. The average student now leaves with around £13,500 worth of debt for a 3 year course. Well, fear not for I have a solution!

I'm sure you're not all so naive as to believe that every student walks out of university and into a fantastic job. If you do, then great. You've got nothing to worry about and so certainly shouldn't mind paying back a bit of a loan you tight, greedy bastards-

Sorry, don't know what came over me there. As I was saying, if you're in a well paid job it's not going to be an issue. If, however, you find yourself at the lower end of the job market, then here's something to bear in mind. When you reach the age of 65 any outstanding debt, provided you have been making payments when possible, is cancelled. Now, if the average student graduates at the age of 21, that means 44 years of paying their loan. Now, if you earn £16,000 then the Student Loan Company takes a meagre £8 a month. Now for the quick-witted amongst you that equals £96 per annum. Now go on, you mathematicians, multiply £96 by 44 years. What's the answer?

£4224.

Yup. Provided your salary never changed, you would only pay back roughly one and a bit years' loan. Even if your salary does change, it'll have to change by a heck of a lot before you pay back anything like the full amount over your lifetime and, as said before, if you're earning that much money stop fucking complaining.

I made the foolish mistake of making additional payments to try and clear my loand, scraping together batches of, say, £500 and sending it off dutifully to the lovely people in Glasgow. I was stupid. I should have just stuck to the minimum and saved myself a lot of cash. I'm surprised other people haven't worked this out themselves. All this talk of debt and people not going to uni - hell, why not? Yeah, so technically you'll have £13,000 worth of debt, but student loan related debts don't affect anything in life. You can get a credit card, a loan, a mortgage, anything you want.

So what's stopping you? Get the loan, get to uni, have the time of your life and then leave. Even if it doesn't land you the job of your dreams you can still have a good time (although not too good a time - see pic above) and get a qualification at the same time. My uni years were the best of my life (so far) and I'd do it again in an instant. Just don't be conscientious like me - just rack up the debt and pay back the bear minimum.

And hope the SLC doesn't cotton on to my way of thinking.

Porn Again

Ah, the Swedes. You gotta love 'em. Abba, Roxette, Sven...heroes of our time. Now they've turned their attention to making the news interesting. The Swedish broadcaster SVT managed to transmit a 5 minute bulletin that included graphic scenes from a porno on the big screen behind the newsreader. The whole "showing" lasted no more than thirty seconds as a horrified producer quickly spotted the, ahem, "action" and dashed to switch off the monitor.

Apparently, the channel that was broadcasting the porno, Canal Plus, shows sports programmes during the day and it was this that the employees had been watching. They then forgot to turn the channel over when they'd finished. Right.

The truly ironic thing is that the 30 seconds of hot action didn't provoke one complaint from a member of the public, but there was "enormous interest from the media". I bet there was.

Once again, you gotta love 'em. Whatever next?

So, Who Won Big Brother? Only Kiddin'

I couldn't give a crap and, yes, I genuinely don't know who won. And don't want to. So don't tell me.

So, a new working week. Yikes. It's also dawned on me, in the way that it does, that it's now pretty much half way through August, meaning September's next and then it's downhill all the way until Christmas. Christ, it's practically 2007.

I've become aware that, over the past six months, I've been slowly morphing into a fat person. OK, so I'm not really fat (I suspect my height helps to distribute the wealth around a bit more than if I was five feet and a gnat's fart) but there's definitely more there than there was, say, this time last year. Well, enough is enough. Cue the Diet.

I use the capital letter because it's a grand undertaking worthy of the title. It's not something to be undertaken lightly. I've done some proper reading on the subject, even purchasing a copy of Men's Health magazine (although I may have been swayed more by the photograph of a ripped Paul Walker on the cover). It seems there are fad diets, plain stupid diets, and then the sensible option.

Take this example: my boss is going on holiday at the end of the week and so, for the last three weeks, she's been skipping breakfast, eating an apple for lunch and then having a full meal in the evening. Which is truly stupid. When you miss meals your body goes into panic mode and prepares itself for starvation. It converts more food into fat to store for the lean weeks ahead. But you're not going to have lean weeks, it's just until you've been on holiday. Also, eating your main meal in the evening, when you're likely to be least active, means that you're going to store even more fat in your body.

The next surprising fact is that the best diets involve eating six times a day. Now we're not talking six Little Chef Olympic Breakfasts here, rather a series of small to medium sized meals that keep you full all day. There are loads of Power Foods that everyone should eat for a healthy lifestyle, including legumes, proteins (from fish and lean meats), fruit and all sorts of other, actually nice, foods. The trick is to keep yourself full so as not to snack on unhealthy things. People obsess with cutting back on the calories they take, which leaves them lethargic and unable to excercise. Far better to eat properly so you can train properly.

Finally, something to prove these Excercise Nazis aren't all that bad: they recommend that for one meal a week you cut loose and eat whatever you want. It's a well known fact that if you say you can't have something you want it even more. So better to let rip one night a week and then be healthy the rest of the time. Genius. So enjoy that curry, just behave the rest of the week. Over time they say you even lose the urge to eat the junk because your body adjusts to the Power Foods routine.

All this stuff is really quite fascinating, so I've got the bug. Who's going to benefit? Well, apart from me, obviously, Argos. I've got a rowing machine on order, arriving Wednesday, so expect me to be bitching about how knackered I am from excercising come Thursday evening. Wish me luck.

My goal is to end up looking like this rather gorgeous chap.

What? I can dream, can't I?

Please Accept My Apologies

I'd like to most humbly apologise for my use of obscene language throughout this blog. Those of you who know me will attest that it is uncharacteristic of me to be so profane in speech. By way of apology, please accept this image of fluffy sheep.


Thank you.

Who the Fuck Are These People?

Am I the only person in the land who couldn't give a flying fuck who wins Big Brother? It beggars belief that this is Big Brother 7, suggesting that there has been something suitably gripping as to ensure that the series has been renewed year after year after sodding, interminable year. What is wrong with you people? Why do hou watch it, year in, year out, ensuring that every summer is a torment for me as people I don't know, and don't want to know, strut about on the TV in the hope of winning some pretty major moolah.

And what is it with the queers? OK, so I'm pleased to see us represented in the house, but how many do you need, honestly? And why so camp? That's the least of their problems, though, as every single one of them, from the short clips I have seen, seem to be annoying in every single goddamned detail.

You see? I've never even seen more than five minutes of it and still I get so irrate that all sense of decorum and good manners is sent hurtling from a fifteen fucking storey balcony, obliterated in a pile of steaming shite on the ground. Charlie Brooker was talking about this yesterday in USA Screen Wipes (BBC4, 10pm). He had a Yankie critic on there saying that you could play a cartoon image of a steaming pile of shite and people would watch it, come back to watch it, and even ring a number to win something if they thought they could. Well, BB is our big, overflowing, reeking bowl of steaming shite. Thank fuck it'll all be over by the morning.

Just in time for The X Factor to start again.

Fuck me.

Lordi Lordi!

Yes, finally! Finnish rockers Lordi are to have a brand of cola named after them in their native country. The headbangin' monster rockers are to receive the, ahem, "honour" after becoming the first Finns to win Eurovision. Ever. They were also worshipped for throwing the whole insipid contest on its head with their inspired hit Hard Rock Hallelujah! Mr Lordi, the lead singer, has been busy designing cans to feature each of the five band members.

All we need to do now is convince Pepsi to ditch Britney, Pink! and co. for Lordi. Now that's what I'm talkin' about!

And just to show they aren't one hit wonders, check out this video of another of their songs - and actually far better than the Eurovision effort, Blood Red Sandman. It's an actually quite respectable rock song and a fantastic video, so click the link to watch it.

Oh, and don't have nightmares.

Tomasz Schafernaker - Patronising Git

Now, I'm the first to admit that at 6:45 on a Monday morning I'm probably not at my best. It's been a fun-packed, alcohol-fuelled weekend and I'm lagging behind a little. However, this does not give the BBC leeway to have some little shit present my local weatherforecast in a manner that suggests anything with more than two syllables might lose me. I am talking, as the subtle title of this piece suggests, about Tomasz Schafernaker.

I first noticed this trend a couple of weeks ago when he declared bluntly, "Good morning. It's Monday. In case you hadn't noticed," and then went on to present the weather as he might to a collection of mentally retarded goats. This trend has continued ever since, culminating in this morning's presentation on East Midlands Today where he once again called into question the viewer's intelligence: "Good morning. Rise. And. Shine. Let's see what the weather's got in store for us today."

Now perhaps it doesn't come across in words, but the next time he's presenting your local weather, listen - actually listen - to what he says and how he says it. I could have so easily punched his lights out if I'd seen him this morning. I almost wrecked my TV I was so angry. Not the best way to start the week. Let's get a petition going to rid the world of The Man Who's Name None of the Presenters Seem to Be Able to Pronounce. Jesus, they're only weathermen and -women, they shouldn't act as if they're smarter than the rest of us.

Bring back Michael Fish. OK, so he got it wrong, but at least he was a nice guy.

The Baptist Church Turns Against George Bush

Sweetie, not for all the money in all the world.

Is George the Largemouth Bass?

Just in case you were under the mistaken impression that George "Dubbya" Bush had stopped dropping verbal clangers, here's a list of some of the most recent ones:

"I would say the best moment of all was when I caught a 7.5 pound largemouth bass in my lake." On his best moment in office - interview with the German newspaper Bild am Sonntag, May 7, 2006. Makes you proud, don't it?

"The point now is how do we work together to achieve important goals. And one such goal is a democracy in Germany." D.C., May 5, 2006. Erm, George, pretty certain they done got their own democracy.

"That's George Washington, the first president, of course. The interesting thing about him is that I read three -- three or four books about him last year. Isn't that interesting?" George W. Bush, while showing German newspaper reporter Kai Diekmann the Oval Office, Washington, D.C., May 5, 2006. Interesting? It's a fucking miracle. I didn't even know he could read.

"I believe that a prosperous, democratic Pakistan will be a steadfast partner for America, a peaceful neighbor for India, and a force for freedom and moderation in the Arab world." Erm, George, Pakistan isn't an Arab country. That didn't stop him saying this while in Islamabad, Pakistan, March 3, 2006.

"I'll be glad to talk about ranching, but I haven't seen the movie. I've heard about it. I hope you go -- you know -- I hope you go back to the ranch and the farm is what I'm about to say." This was George's response after being asked whether he's seen Brokeback Mountain. Hell,if Jake Gyllenhaal's gonna be there, you trying stopping me!

"It's a heck of a place to bring your family." Where is he talking about? Disneyland perhaps? Nope. New Orleans. Very nice place to visit, I'm sure, but not so much on January 12th, 2006. Small matter of a hurricane or two...

And my personal favourite:

"I think -- tide turning -- see, as I remember -- I was raised in the desert, but tides kind of -- it's easy to see a tide turn -- did I say those words?" George W. Bush, asked if the tide was turning in Iraq, Washington, D.C., June 14, 2006. And yes, Georgy-boy, you really did say that.

The World's Greatest Leader, ladies and gentlemen. Still unable to say a single coherent sentence after six years in office. God Bless America, 'cos no one else will.

"What the hell's an Aluminum Falcon?"

For your viewing pleasure. Cracks me up every time. I may just be a simple soul.

Please click here.

Filthy Pussy

So, what am I going to talk about today? The obvious choice would be the heightened threat to the UK from terrorism (now at the highest level possible - meaning an imminent attack is suspected). But no, I'm going to tackle an even more important news story probably not getting coverage on any of the multitude of new channels now available to us through digitial technology. Yes, I'm talking about the Pussycat Dolls.

They've been naughty moggies while in Malaysia, flouting decency laws in the country. The Pussycat's promoters Absolute Enertainment were fined 10,000 Ringgits (£1,436) for allowing the Cats to perform sexually suggestive dances. Ooooooer! The Malay Mail described what the Pussycat Dolls did as tantamount to an act of "gross indecency". Well, if I were straight I might be trying to find out what they did. A spot of gross indecency sounds fun. Can't help but feel that they might have been a little over-sensitive.

Right, I'm off to see if I can't smuggle my handbag and a can of Coke Zero onto a flight bound for New York...

Signs of the Apocalypse

Things are getting pretty creepy in Scandanavia. As what can only be seen as a signal of the beginning of the End, giant crabs are invading fjords and the waters of the Norwegian coast. The king crab - I suspect an abbreviation of the full name, (fuc)king (huge) crab - is apparently a sociable creature and can be found with his mates in colonies up to 10,000 strong. And, as you can see for yourself, if you stumbled across 10,000 of these you'd be pretty damn scared.

Lars Petter Oeye takes gourmet tourists on fjord crab safaris near the border with Russia, high up in Norway's Arctic north. The crustaceans are apparently quite a luxury. The red king crab is native only to the north Pacific around the Kamchatka peninsula and neighbouring Alaskan waters. It was introduced by Soviet scientists to the Russian Barents Sea near the border with Norway in 1960. They wanted to increase the yield from local fisheries. Since then, like the grey squirrel, the king crab has bred and spread in their millions and, according to WWF environmentalist Rasmus Hansson, they need to be stopped. "They don't belong here. The biodiversity convention states specifically that introduced species are one of the four most important factors for species extermination in the world. With the king crabs, we know that they are an enormous crab, today it's about 20 million of them in the Barents Sea. Twenty years ago there were zero."

Hansson says the present annual fishing quota of 300,000 crabs must be increased and local fishermen are in agreement as too many king crabs ruin their nets. Frankly, I'd be too terrified to do anything to them in case they got pissed and decided to attack. They could, you know. I'm sure there was a documentary on the Discovery channel about it - When Crabs Turn Ugly.

And, let's face it, this is one attack of the crabs we could all do without.

When it comes to livin', dying is the easy part

In my bid to keep things varied and, hopefully, interesting I wasn't going to write about two TV shows so close together, but this one is so unique and compelling that I thought I'd make an exception. What? They're my rules, so I'll break 'em if I want to.

The series I'm talking about is Carnivale. Set during the 1930s in dustbowl America, the series follows the lives of the Carnies - misfits, oddballs and outsiders who come together to travel the country, putting on performances to wow the locals with their weirdness and then clearing out as quickly as they had appeared. Ben Hawkins (Nick Stahl) finds himself travelling with the Carnivale after his house is bulldozed by the bank who had forcibly bought the land on which it stood. While travelling he gets to know the assortment of characters - from the bearded lady to the dwarf, Samson (Michael J. Anderson), and the Siamese twins - and begins to appreciate that they are people who live on the periphery, forced there by scared, ignorant people. At the same time, Brother Justin (the excellent Clancy Brown) tries to show his flock the righteous path. But there's far more to him than meets the eye and he has a terrifying knack for delivering the unholiest of holy diatribes. Take this for example:

"The clock is ticking, brothers and sisters, counting down to Armageddon. The worm reveals himself in many guises across this once great land; from the intellectual elite cruelly indoctrinating our children with the savage blasphemy of Darwin, to the craven Hollywood pagans, corrupting them in the darkness of the local bijou, from the false prophets cowering behind our nation's pulpits to the vile parasites in our banks and boardrooms and the godless politicians, growing fat on the misery of their constituents. The signs of the end times are all around us, etched in blood and fire by the left hand of god. You have but to open your eyes, brothers and sisters. The truth is that the Devil is here. The Anti-Christ, the Child of Lies, the Son of Darkness walks among us cloaked in the flesh of a man. Does the Lord not weep at this degradation? Does He not tremble with righteous fury? And shall he not seek retribution? I open my eyes and I see a black sky that tears apart and screams with a voice that is thunder, 'Rise up, rise up brothers and sisters and take your place at my side. For you shall be my scythe and your face shall shine like a thousand suns and the streets shall be sanctified by the steaming black blood of the heretics.' And together brothers and sisters, together we shall build a shining temple, a kingdom that will last for thousands and thousands of years. "

Safe to say that Brother Justin is "crazy as mud bugs on a griddle." These two stories - Brother Justin's and Ben Hawkins' - overlap and interact in the most unexpected of ways, constantly surprising you with each new twist.


This is unique, breathtaking and compelling television. It will come as no surprise that the company responsible for Carnivale is HBO, who have brought us great TV in the form of Band of Brothers, Six Feet Under, Deadwood and, just wrapped up on Five, Big Love. All are challenging programmes that don't conform to the glossy, commercial norm of US TV. They demand more of the viewer than just to sit back and watch mindlessly.

Carnivale, inexplicably, was cancelled after its second season, but still deserves to be seen. The second season is about to be released on DVD here in the UK and both are well worth checking out (for a very reasonable price as well if you shop around online). OK, so it might not be as quotable as your more mass-market television, but you'll struggle to find anything more rewarding. The show constantly asks you to question and challenge everything it talks about and that's what makes it interesting. The biggest question, though, has to be this: why was it cancelled?

I, Claudius

I don't know if anyone else has been watching this, but BBC4 are broadcasting the complete, seminal series of I, Claudius for the first time since it originally aired in the 1976. Affectionately referred to as "I, Clavdivs" by Derek Jacobi (due to the way that, in Latin, U's are written as V's) it was adored by the Americans, who see it as a kind of British version of The West Wing. I, Claudius has a fantastic cast and focuses on events in Rome between approximately 24 BC (the death of Marcellus) and 54 AD (the death of Claudius). The series, showing most nights at 9pm, was praised for its historical accuracy. This is mainly due to Robert Graves, who wrote I, Claudius based on his own translations of scriptures from the time. This makes for a near faultless grasp of the historical context and setting of the series and means that historians have a hard time hating it. The series also came in for harsh criticism for its open displays of nudity and homosexuality, but when you focus on Caligula it's kind of difficult to leave them out. By today's standards it is a bit tame, although you might be surprised just how cutting edge it is. Remember, this is 1976 we're talking about.

The cast are absolutely superb. Derek Jacobi plays the titular Claudius, mastering his tics, stammer and mannerisms perfectly. He makes for an intriguing guide through the murky, mafia-style world of the Romans, for let us not forget they were very much the mobsters of their time. Just because history has portrayed them as sophisticated, knowledgeable and advanced people doesn't mean they were - after all, history is written by the winners and the Romans won. Jacobi is ably assisted by the one and only Brian Blessed as Augustus, the Emperor, and Sian Phillips (ask your mother) as his wife, Livia.

I urge you to watch this if you aren't already. Considering it is 30 years old it hasn't aged at all and there is so much humour injected into it that it's very difficult not to like it. There are some goofs (see http://imdb.com/title/tt0074006/goofs for some examples) but only the most stuffy little historian would hold them against this epic masterpiece. Years before Gladiator and the BBC's latest series, Rome, I, Claudius is a work of art that deserves to be seen by all.

For more information go to http://www.bbc.co.uk/bbcfour/cinema/features/iclaudius.shtml

Has the World Gone Mad? Or, The Gay Olympics

Montreal has played host to the first ever World Outgames, involving 12,000 lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender athletes. By all accounts the closing ceremony appears to have been a bit of a party, which is only to expected with all those dancing queens, and Liza Minelli (I kid you not) even got up on stage for a sing-song. Quite how well her rendition of New York, New York went in Canada, I can only guess.

Now, I am not in any way belittling the well-meaning attempt at getting greater understanding for all people from all walks of life, and I do understand how much being gay and playing sport are far from accepted, but isn't this going just a little too far? Confusingly, the World Outgames are separate from the Gay Games, which were held in Chicago last month, but you have to ask yourself one question: if we want to be accepted as the same as everybody else, why do we go to such great lengths to have a separate Olympics? We do it everywhere - gay bars, gay builders...for crying out loud, even a gay directory enquiries! - so it's not wonder that we're still seen as second-class citizens by some less liberally-minded individuals. It's the same as black people being separated from white on a bus.

We need more people like Rosa Parks. People who will get on with it and vocally take part and protest in normal everyday situations. We need gay athletes who are currently competing in the Olympic Games - and if you don't think there are any, you're being naive - to stand up and say, "I'm gay." Now, I appreciate it's easy to say and hard to do, but it doesn't get any easier if we all just ignore it and frolic off to our own special event. It's like saying either a) we don't want to play with all you straight types or b) we're too scared to play in the "straight" Games. Either way, is that really what we want people to think?

If we want anything to change we have to be the driving force of that change. While we're far from in a tolerant society, I am constantly amazed at how little people seem to care that I find myself attracted to other men. I tell people I'm gay and they accept it without question. I understand it may be more difficult for transgender individuals - we unfortunately haven't quite got to the same stage of tolerance yet - but we have to show the world that we are as deserving of everything they have as they are. We're "normal", too. Well, OK, perhaps normal is the wrong word. Normal is boring, but you get the idea.

So come on, please. Let's stand up and say, "I'm gay and I'm an athlete." It's the only way to change anything.

Call Me When You're Sober

You can hear a 2 minute clip of the new single from Evanescence's upcoming new album, The Open Door. Go to www.evanescence.com for more details. First impressions? It sounds, well, a little dull. Not really enough to bring me back to life, I'm afraid.

Art, for Fuck's Sake

Disaster in the art world! Two fragile masterpieces have been destroyed in an accident at the Pompidou Centre in Paris. The first is a painted piece of plexiglass (I kid you not) by Californian artist Craig Kaufman. It fell off its mountings on the wall and shattered on the floor. The second piece, an untitled sculpture by another Californian artist, Peter Alexander, was knocked over and smashed back in March.

Michael Govan, the museum's chief executive, said, ""We are saddened that such a significant work of art in our collection has been destroyed. We have informed the artist and are working closely with the Pompidou to investigate the cause of this accident and to recover the market value of the piece through insurance." Well, judging by the photograph of said piece of art, they should get about 4 Euro's for it. Yes, that rhubarb-and-custard boiled sweet pictured above is the so-called work of art.

One can't help but think that perhaps some disgruntled artist - someone actually good - has become so pissed off by the crap on display that he sneaks in at night and goes about smashing up plexiglass turds like this. Now of course I can't comment on Alexander's sculpture as I haven't seen it, but if it's half as daft as this then it's no great loss to the art world. But then again, that's just my opinion.

Phwoar!

It occurs to me that my last post was awfully serious and actually quite depressing. So I thought I'd counter this with a nice pic. One for the ladies and queer guys only. Enjoy. Oh, and if you happen to look like this, please get in touch. No, seriously.

We're All Doomed

I, like thousands of others, have been trying to get a look at the newly digitised Domesday Book. At least, I can only assume thousands of you are trying to look at it, because I bloody well can't. The website, launched today, constantly times out, presumably due to "unprecedented levels of public demand". But never mind, because I think I can guess what it'll say. Anybody familiar with the Mansfield area of Nottinghamshire will admit that, while not exactly the Bronx, it's not the nicest place in the world. A few years back it had the highly dubious honour of being dubbed "the most violent town in Europe." Funny that the quote didn't make it to the tourist brochures.

This is nothing new to the locals and Nottingham's reputation isn't much better (although in the case of Nottingham it's a little unfair as two districts - St Anne's and The Meadows - are responsible for most of the trouble). But that got me to wondering; what was it like in 1086 when the Domesday Book was "written". (I say written, but it seems to have been an amalgamation over the years rather than a single event.) I guess not a whole lot different. OK, so Mansfield - then likely to be known as Maunsfield due to the River Maun running through the town centre - was probably little more than a hamlet, but I bet there were the same problems. You know the kind: instead of stabbing someone over a pint or someone's move on your girlfriend, it'd be stabbing someone over a cow or a blade of corn. I mean, maybe it is still a cow for some people.

What? I don't judge.

It's interesting how we always assume that we're all evolving and getting better when in reality I suspect we're pretty much the same as a species as we were 1000 years ago. Which I actually find pretty fucking depressing, to be honest. My naivete allows me to believe that people want to be better, when in fact every day we witness things that suggest strongly to the contrary. But perhaps, if we decide to be better, it will spread and "infect" everyone. It could happen - crikey, if a load of rage-infected monkeys could send the world to hell in a handcart then we should certainly be able to spread some love around.

But then we might be wiped out by STD's. It's a vicious circle.

Madonna Crucified!

As a gay man I feel an unavoidable affinity with Madge. She's enough to send even the straightest-acting gay man like myself into a queeny pique, so the news that she's doing a fortnight of performances in London has made me more than a little bit excited. But dear Madge is up against it from the Catholic Church for her mock-crucifiction on stage. "In the sequence," explains news.bbc.co.uk, "Madonna appears on a giant cross wearing a crown of thorns." The Church has declared that Madge must be the spawn of the devil and that "[b]eing raised on a cross with a crown of thorns like a modern Christ is absurd." Yet if it is so absurd, why are they making such a fuss?

Anyway, in the usual ballyhoo surrounding anything Madge does, every gay man is loving her even more. What do we care if the Catholic Church doesn't like her? If anything we feel closer to her for it - because let's face it, the Pope isn't lining up to shake the hands of every man who ever paid an inordinate amount of attention to another man's bottom now, is he? No, we're destined for Hell and, according to reports, Madge might well be there when we get there. Which would be fantastic. All night sodomy to the strains of Confessions on a Dancefloor.

I'll see you there.

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

There can be no more self-absorbed an act than that of blogging. So of course I signed up right away. I've resisted the urge to blog up until now, but the idea of having a part of a site so completely devoted to me and my random, unexpurgated thoughts appeals to my narcissism too much to ignore. So here I am. Hello. This is pretty much as profound as it's going to get. Then again, profundity is over-rated. There is also such a thing as too much knowledge, not that I'd know.

OK, let's try and sell this to you. As I've never done this before I'm quite likely to make some quite spectacular cock-ups, and quite often. It's almost worth bookmarking this site just for that reason. However, if I manage not to make a mistake, I promise to try and be insightful, funny, weird or a combination of all three. Note I said try.

So, stick with me/don't stick with me. It's entirely your choice. Hopefully it'll be fun. If it is, let me know. If it isn't? Fuck off and tell someone who gives a shit.