something of a pot pourri today. which is a nice way of saying i'm a bit all over the place. first up here's a very interesting (and long) article from the New York Times about the whether man is predisposed to belief in the supernatural and how this could have occurred from an evolutionary perspective. lots of juicy stuff about what "benefits" shared religious belief could have given early man and the evolution of human cognition. not exactly friday afternoon fodder i'll admit.
which is why item 2 concerns the inventive pop stylings of harlem milkshake maestress kelis. for me she veers too unpredictably between zeitgeist-nailing genius and dull as socks sub-r'n'b noodling depending on who she's working with. this is possibly a factor in her album bombing mightily in the US last year. however, the once thing she seems to have done well is to avoid "the mike skinner trap" (i.e moaning on and on about how hard it is being famous and thinking people will indentify with that as much as they did your early stuff). the single she's just released over here (lil' star) has latched itself firmly onto my consciousness. it's very simple has some great instrumentation and is just a very cheery 3 minutes of pop music.
in another time i'd have had myself beaten up for listening to such lightweight guff, but there you go. i blame lily allen.
and finally, just to ensure that i've annoyed as many ppl as possible in this post, it appears that if we make it past PSV, (and we beat them 2-0 earlier in the competition), liverpool have another semi-final against chelsea to look forward to (i'm assuming they'll get past valencia). bet that'll be a boring, controversy-free match. can we play someone else now please?
Friday, 9 March 2007
Tuesday, 6 March 2007
don't i hate you from somewhere?
i rather like crowds. not the back-of-the-stadium-watching-bon-jovi kind of crowd, more the bustling street of busy, purposeful types weaving in and out of each other in a complex ballet of lunchtime errands, shouted mobile-phone conversations and lateness. it gives you an opportunity to people-watch more surreptitiously than in bars and restaurants where people know they're being looked at and are consequently more guarded in their expressions. plus, in the shifting maelstrom of a thousand ppl with 'somewhere to go', your chances of seeing someone you know/recognise go up massively.
now i work in Oxford Circus, haven for out-of-town shoppers, office workers and anyone else too dumb to avoid it without good reason. however, due to it's proximity to Broadcasting House, if you're sharp, and have a good memory for faces, in amongst the burberry-clad spend-monkeys, you can quite often get a "ooh - it's that bird off X" moment, which i rather enjoy as whilst it proves i watch too much telly, it means the rest of my pattern-recognising, simian brain is functioning ok. also, in these paparazzi obssessed days i think it is important for the public to hassle even the most minutely well-known person to such a degree that it becomes thoroughly undesirable to be even marginally famous.
so i now present for your delectation, all my recent crap spots, rated according to my own, arbitrary criteria. basically - the more famous they are, the fewer points as even my hypothetical dead grandmother would recognise noel edmonds, for example. also additional points if they look particularly different from their onscreen persona or if i think the thing they are famous for is in any way cool. no blurry stalker photos yet - still working past shame issues, just lots of low rent comedy goodness:
matthew holness aka garth marenghi: like whoa. is so hardly famous he was actually glad when i told him i liked Dark Place. frankly, he looked amazed that i'd seen it. 5.32
michelle gomez aka Sue White off Green Wing: this is as close as i've come to seeing someone even vaguely impressive. excellent dealing with public skills - completely ignored my attempts to congratulate her (disappointingly normal-sized arms tho). 7 easily.
jeremy vine aka er...jeremy vine: bbc radio non-entity with a great nose for radio. can been seen every morning hiding in EAT quizzing his assistant on the phone about the days events. tall. 2.43
mark lawson aka the fat bloke off newsnight review: and there was me thinking the bbc costume dept gave him those jumpers for a laugh. another illusion shattered. 2.42
samantha siddall aka Mandy Macguire off Shameless: i'm quite impressed with this one seeing as i've not seen more than 30 seconds of Shameless since the first series. nice beret. 6.2
grace strumpet off BB7 aka the poisonous twiglet: the least impressive (due to her high recognisability and low kudos score) and let me assure you, most unimpressive. so shit she doesn't even rate a page in wikipedia. oh for a ricin-tipped umbrella. 0.2361
steve wright - radio 2 deejay: i'd say he'd let himself go, were it not for the fact that he never really had himself in hand to start off with. a potential food resource in a post-apocalyptic london. 3
simon mayo aka god-bothering BBC stalwart: if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by, hasn't slept for at least 10 years. bet he fucking hates ben fogle. 2.54
right - i'm off to bask in the early spring pollution with a sandwich. avanti!
now i work in Oxford Circus, haven for out-of-town shoppers, office workers and anyone else too dumb to avoid it without good reason. however, due to it's proximity to Broadcasting House, if you're sharp, and have a good memory for faces, in amongst the burberry-clad spend-monkeys, you can quite often get a "ooh - it's that bird off X" moment, which i rather enjoy as whilst it proves i watch too much telly, it means the rest of my pattern-recognising, simian brain is functioning ok. also, in these paparazzi obssessed days i think it is important for the public to hassle even the most minutely well-known person to such a degree that it becomes thoroughly undesirable to be even marginally famous.
so i now present for your delectation, all my recent crap spots, rated according to my own, arbitrary criteria. basically - the more famous they are, the fewer points as even my hypothetical dead grandmother would recognise noel edmonds, for example. also additional points if they look particularly different from their onscreen persona or if i think the thing they are famous for is in any way cool. no blurry stalker photos yet - still working past shame issues, just lots of low rent comedy goodness:
matthew holness aka garth marenghi: like whoa. is so hardly famous he was actually glad when i told him i liked Dark Place. frankly, he looked amazed that i'd seen it. 5.32
michelle gomez aka Sue White off Green Wing: this is as close as i've come to seeing someone even vaguely impressive. excellent dealing with public skills - completely ignored my attempts to congratulate her (disappointingly normal-sized arms tho). 7 easily.
jeremy vine aka er...jeremy vine: bbc radio non-entity with a great nose for radio. can been seen every morning hiding in EAT quizzing his assistant on the phone about the days events. tall. 2.43
mark lawson aka the fat bloke off newsnight review: and there was me thinking the bbc costume dept gave him those jumpers for a laugh. another illusion shattered. 2.42
samantha siddall aka Mandy Macguire off Shameless: i'm quite impressed with this one seeing as i've not seen more than 30 seconds of Shameless since the first series. nice beret. 6.2
grace strumpet off BB7 aka the poisonous twiglet: the least impressive (due to her high recognisability and low kudos score) and let me assure you, most unimpressive. so shit she doesn't even rate a page in wikipedia. oh for a ricin-tipped umbrella. 0.2361
steve wright - radio 2 deejay: i'd say he'd let himself go, were it not for the fact that he never really had himself in hand to start off with. a potential food resource in a post-apocalyptic london. 3
simon mayo aka god-bothering BBC stalwart: if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by, hasn't slept for at least 10 years. bet he fucking hates ben fogle. 2.54
right - i'm off to bask in the early spring pollution with a sandwich. avanti!
Wednesday, 21 February 2007
analyse this...yourself
i've spent several days trying to finish a long and worthy post about this cartoon and how it highlights some shit or other. i give up. it made me laugh anyway:
from GYWO
from GYWO
Wednesday, 7 February 2007
did you leave your basket unattended at any time, sir?
there can't be many perks to working in brixton sainsbury's local. not because its a particularly rubbish job - lots of jobs are rubbish. you just ask phillip schofield. but it's very busy, everyone is extremely grumpy and it's blatantly only there to stop people going to the market, which sells much nicer, more interesting food but is fractionally more inconvenient. i don't imagine you get many free tickets to film premieres for example. or xbox360s. or respect from the local community for your frankly vital pasta selling work. but if it were me, there'd be one thing i would definitely enjoy and that's psychoanalysing your customers based on the contents of their shopping baskets.
this is obviously a game you can play without working in the shop. and it works in any shop of course, but i suspect there is a richer soup of human diversity in brixton sainsbury's than almost anywhere else i can think of. on my way home. where i regularly shop. (that's enough qualification. ed)
the joy of casually ascribing wildly inaccurate backstories to ppl based on the particular brand of tinned tuna they have purchased. the horror of seeing what groups of flat-sharing girls will actually call a meal in order to competitively out-under-eat each other. the record so far - 1 x pack of rice cakes 1 x small tub of low fat cottage cheese. for 3 of them. the nervous boyfriend trying to impress his bird with a "taste the difference" ready-meal, some salad, a "gu" pudding and a fearsomely expensive bottle of white wine. what better way to have your prejudices confirmed than by assigning them to random ppl based on the fractionally different configuration of the same old sainsburys rubbish you yourself have bought. what larks, pip.
but then, sometimes, someone comes along who makes you stop and take a good long hard look at them and yourself:
a squeezy bottle of tomato sauce and a bottle of martini cinzano bianco. WTF? what kind of meal could you have possibly prepared where those are the only 2 items you are missing?
is this some new cocktail? am i hopelessly out of touch for not regarding this as a normal combination? what's in the suspicious white bag?
to give you something to go on, this guy was heavily southern european, bordering on native american. fashionable jeans, ubiquitous but expensive "racing-style" motorbike jacket, large but also fashionable woolly hat and fake ray-ban aviators. i am fresh out of ideas. answers on generic supermarket receipt to this address, please.
as an aside, whilst finding a link for martini cinzano i found this fantastic archive of lots of leonard rossiter stuff including the cinzano adverts he did with joan collins. advertising as telling social commentary. with gags. those were the days. hurrah.
this is obviously a game you can play without working in the shop. and it works in any shop of course, but i suspect there is a richer soup of human diversity in brixton sainsbury's than almost anywhere else i can think of. on my way home. where i regularly shop. (that's enough qualification. ed)
the joy of casually ascribing wildly inaccurate backstories to ppl based on the particular brand of tinned tuna they have purchased. the horror of seeing what groups of flat-sharing girls will actually call a meal in order to competitively out-under-eat each other. the record so far - 1 x pack of rice cakes 1 x small tub of low fat cottage cheese. for 3 of them. the nervous boyfriend trying to impress his bird with a "taste the difference" ready-meal, some salad, a "gu" pudding and a fearsomely expensive bottle of white wine. what better way to have your prejudices confirmed than by assigning them to random ppl based on the fractionally different configuration of the same old sainsburys rubbish you yourself have bought. what larks, pip.
but then, sometimes, someone comes along who makes you stop and take a good long hard look at them and yourself:
a squeezy bottle of tomato sauce and a bottle of martini cinzano bianco. WTF? what kind of meal could you have possibly prepared where those are the only 2 items you are missing?
is this some new cocktail? am i hopelessly out of touch for not regarding this as a normal combination? what's in the suspicious white bag?
to give you something to go on, this guy was heavily southern european, bordering on native american. fashionable jeans, ubiquitous but expensive "racing-style" motorbike jacket, large but also fashionable woolly hat and fake ray-ban aviators. i am fresh out of ideas. answers on generic supermarket receipt to this address, please.
as an aside, whilst finding a link for martini cinzano i found this fantastic archive of lots of leonard rossiter stuff including the cinzano adverts he did with joan collins. advertising as telling social commentary. with gags. those were the days. hurrah.
Tuesday, 6 February 2007
i am a weak-minded fool
goodness me, it's been 2 weeks already. i'm probably taking self-censorship to unnecessary levels here. however i spent much of last week recovering from various hang-overs and i believe all evidence suggests that if you're not safe to drive, you're not safe to post.
however, sobered as i am by all the salacious carnage the world has conjured up in the last few days, it is my skills as a rat catcher that has inspired me to post.
according to Desmond Morris, who knows a thing or two about cat behaviour, the little dears have a few problems dealing with the complexity of human/cat relationships. as domestic cats are descended from mostly solitary cat species, their little catty brains only really have 3 templates to base their relationships on: parent to child, child to parent and competitor to competitor.
so jah is very happy to be a kitten sometimes in order to get fed and have her tummy tickled, but there are times when the fact that she is a rock-hard mother of 9 takes over and she attempts to address the fact that, tho perfect in almost every other respect as one of her offspring, i do not catch rodents.
this is obviously a serious failing on my part. how can i be expected to survive in the real world without this elementary skill? jah frets. and wonders if maybe i'm a bit thick. so she responds in the only way she knows how.
cue screaming rodent dropped at your feet and a look of encouragement bordering on the patronising from jah.
now i have laughed in a smug, human sort of way at this behaviour. silly cat i have thought to myself. trying to teach me to catch mice. ridiculous. but until last night i had not perceived the subtlety of her scheme.
small mice don't present much of a challenge as they are far too much fun for jah not to bat around for a good forty minutes. consequently by the time they are presented to me for training purposes all that is required is that they be taken to an outside bin. this however is but the first step in my indoctrination.
next a very large rat will be brought in and dispatched with terrifying ruthlessness. again my job is purely to dispose of the corpse. jah hides her disappointment that i didn't take the opportunity to practice some neck bites or even a two handed pounce. but she knows what she is doing.
finally a medium sized rat is recruited to the cause. this, jah brings in and then "accidentally" lets go of it for a second. rat, sensing it's fate might not be as tightly sealed as it thought, makes a bee-line for cover. jah feigns indifference. "rat? what rat?". "that fucking rat, jah - the one behind the stereo. get rid of it!"
we then spend ten minutes as i flush the rat towards jah in the hope of her dealing with it. H informs me this is an exceptional spectator sport. sometimes jah can be persuaded to remove the interloper and sometimes she'll pop outside to lick flowerpots importantly and this is where her trap is set.
left with a decent-sized, uninjured rat in the house the only course of action is to don a gardening glove and go after the fucker. after some swearing, furniture recalibration and comical, high-speed twister-style manoeuvres, the rat can then be hurled through the cat flap to make it's merry way off to wherever it likes. prolly the nearest rat bar to relate this tale to some slinky lady rats in the hope of getting laid.
now this has happened a few times without me making the connection. then, last night, the same drill: medium sized rat makes a break for the back of the chest in the living room. i take a look at jah and, realizing help is unlikely to be forthcoming, trudge to the kitchen, retrieve my glove, and catch the rat by it's tail within 30 secs or so. hurl rat as far as possible down the garden in the hope of killing it without having to watch it at the same time. as i walked back up the garden, i registered the expression of pride on her catty face and i knew.
i have been trained to catch rodents by my cat.
the shame. me - top of the food chain and everything. still, good rat eh? still wriggling too.
next week H teaches me to clean the cooker using subliminal messaging.
however, sobered as i am by all the salacious carnage the world has conjured up in the last few days, it is my skills as a rat catcher that has inspired me to post.
according to Desmond Morris, who knows a thing or two about cat behaviour, the little dears have a few problems dealing with the complexity of human/cat relationships. as domestic cats are descended from mostly solitary cat species, their little catty brains only really have 3 templates to base their relationships on: parent to child, child to parent and competitor to competitor.
so jah is very happy to be a kitten sometimes in order to get fed and have her tummy tickled, but there are times when the fact that she is a rock-hard mother of 9 takes over and she attempts to address the fact that, tho perfect in almost every other respect as one of her offspring, i do not catch rodents.
this is obviously a serious failing on my part. how can i be expected to survive in the real world without this elementary skill? jah frets. and wonders if maybe i'm a bit thick. so she responds in the only way she knows how.
cue screaming rodent dropped at your feet and a look of encouragement bordering on the patronising from jah.
now i have laughed in a smug, human sort of way at this behaviour. silly cat i have thought to myself. trying to teach me to catch mice. ridiculous. but until last night i had not perceived the subtlety of her scheme.
small mice don't present much of a challenge as they are far too much fun for jah not to bat around for a good forty minutes. consequently by the time they are presented to me for training purposes all that is required is that they be taken to an outside bin. this however is but the first step in my indoctrination.
next a very large rat will be brought in and dispatched with terrifying ruthlessness. again my job is purely to dispose of the corpse. jah hides her disappointment that i didn't take the opportunity to practice some neck bites or even a two handed pounce. but she knows what she is doing.
finally a medium sized rat is recruited to the cause. this, jah brings in and then "accidentally" lets go of it for a second. rat, sensing it's fate might not be as tightly sealed as it thought, makes a bee-line for cover. jah feigns indifference. "rat? what rat?". "that fucking rat, jah - the one behind the stereo. get rid of it!"
we then spend ten minutes as i flush the rat towards jah in the hope of her dealing with it. H informs me this is an exceptional spectator sport. sometimes jah can be persuaded to remove the interloper and sometimes she'll pop outside to lick flowerpots importantly and this is where her trap is set.
left with a decent-sized, uninjured rat in the house the only course of action is to don a gardening glove and go after the fucker. after some swearing, furniture recalibration and comical, high-speed twister-style manoeuvres, the rat can then be hurled through the cat flap to make it's merry way off to wherever it likes. prolly the nearest rat bar to relate this tale to some slinky lady rats in the hope of getting laid.
now this has happened a few times without me making the connection. then, last night, the same drill: medium sized rat makes a break for the back of the chest in the living room. i take a look at jah and, realizing help is unlikely to be forthcoming, trudge to the kitchen, retrieve my glove, and catch the rat by it's tail within 30 secs or so. hurl rat as far as possible down the garden in the hope of killing it without having to watch it at the same time. as i walked back up the garden, i registered the expression of pride on her catty face and i knew.
i have been trained to catch rodents by my cat.
the shame. me - top of the food chain and everything. still, good rat eh? still wriggling too.
next week H teaches me to clean the cooker using subliminal messaging.
Tuesday, 23 January 2007
full of the joys of schadenfreude
it's funny what can cheer you up isn't it? i mean, there are so many wonderful, heartening, warm-glow inducing things in the world: the news that your friend's long awaited baby has arrived, being given an extra couple of slices of chorizo by the cheery lady who made your lunchtime sandwich, an amusing anecdote in David Niven's autobiography. any of these things could be enough to stop you feeling sorry for yourself and remind you of the quixotic joy of life here on earth.
so, it is a sad reflection of the depths my black, heathen, smug-bastard soul has sunk to, that it was none of these things that made stop my self-absorbed strop.
it was Richard Dawkins being rude to creationists.
70 life-enhancing minutes of it. priceless. via the Guardian
as bill hicks would say, sit down and strap in.
you can see talk he actually gave here but that's just a boring mix of rational philosophy and science. nowhere near as fun as watching as his responses become terser and terser till he can eventually stand it no more and transmogrifies into a giant, raging, axe-wielding yeti and slaughters half of lynchburg in a bewildering orgy of atheistic destruction.
fantastic.
i was further gladdened by the cursory research i did into Liberty University, the source of all these imaginary-friend sharing lunatics. check out their statement of purpose. aside from some jolly reasonable stuff about contributing to a knowledge and understanding of other cultures, it contains this gem:
2. Promote an understanding of the Western tradition and the diverse elements of American cultural history, especially the importance of the individual in maintaining democratic and free market processes.
yeah, i remember Jesus being really hot on the free-market.
Matthew 12 vs 34: "Jesus sat down with the temple money changers and discussed the possibility of increasing their margin by introducing a traded exchange for sacrificial currency and perhaps diversifying their portfolio to include sacrificial property."
this venerable institution was setup by none other than Jerry Falwell, baptist bible-thumper extraordinaire. after the September 11 attacks he came out with the now classic, "I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen."
thanks jerry. we are feeling the love.
one of the other purposes of this bastion of educational rigour has been to provide academic justification for intelligent design. and they even have some "3000 year old" dinosaur (or as they call them: dragon) fossils dug up by this joker to help prove their point. to give you an idea of the strength of his argument, here's a sample quote:
"There is just no way that the theory of evolution can be reconciled with the truth of creation as recorded in the Bible."
well that's that dealt with then.
so yes, i'm a lot happier now. there's nothing like a load of intelligent, educated people spending millions of pounds, willfully disregarding logic and the accumulated knowledge of the panoply of human scientific endeavour in order to create a scientific basis for a bronze age creation myth they had the dumb luck to be brought up believing, having the piss ripped out of them to put a smile on my face.
hurrah!
now coffee...
so, it is a sad reflection of the depths my black, heathen, smug-bastard soul has sunk to, that it was none of these things that made stop my self-absorbed strop.
it was Richard Dawkins being rude to creationists.
70 life-enhancing minutes of it. priceless. via the Guardian
as bill hicks would say, sit down and strap in.
you can see talk he actually gave here but that's just a boring mix of rational philosophy and science. nowhere near as fun as watching as his responses become terser and terser till he can eventually stand it no more and transmogrifies into a giant, raging, axe-wielding yeti and slaughters half of lynchburg in a bewildering orgy of atheistic destruction.
fantastic.
i was further gladdened by the cursory research i did into Liberty University, the source of all these imaginary-friend sharing lunatics. check out their statement of purpose. aside from some jolly reasonable stuff about contributing to a knowledge and understanding of other cultures, it contains this gem:
2. Promote an understanding of the Western tradition and the diverse elements of American cultural history, especially the importance of the individual in maintaining democratic and free market processes.
yeah, i remember Jesus being really hot on the free-market.
Matthew 12 vs 34: "Jesus sat down with the temple money changers and discussed the possibility of increasing their margin by introducing a traded exchange for sacrificial currency and perhaps diversifying their portfolio to include sacrificial property."
this venerable institution was setup by none other than Jerry Falwell, baptist bible-thumper extraordinaire. after the September 11 attacks he came out with the now classic, "I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen."
thanks jerry. we are feeling the love.
one of the other purposes of this bastion of educational rigour has been to provide academic justification for intelligent design. and they even have some "3000 year old" dinosaur (or as they call them: dragon) fossils dug up by this joker to help prove their point. to give you an idea of the strength of his argument, here's a sample quote:
"There is just no way that the theory of evolution can be reconciled with the truth of creation as recorded in the Bible."
well that's that dealt with then.
so yes, i'm a lot happier now. there's nothing like a load of intelligent, educated people spending millions of pounds, willfully disregarding logic and the accumulated knowledge of the panoply of human scientific endeavour in order to create a scientific basis for a bronze age creation myth they had the dumb luck to be brought up believing, having the piss ripped out of them to put a smile on my face.
hurrah!
now coffee...
Monday, 22 January 2007
still grumpy...
well wrap me in magnesium foil and set fire to me with a blowtorch if i am not the grumpiest bastard alive. i have been moping around since my last post making H's life hell and generally finding the glass not just half empty, but with the wrong pissing stuff in it to start off with so take it back and give it to someone who gives a haemorrhaging fuck. the reason for this stream of super-heated, petulant man-bile? anyone? bueller? exactly. nothing. not the slightest genuine ripple in the smooth-flowing stream that is my life. and yet. and yet.
i've been tagged to tell you 5 things you probably didn't know about me and i will once i've calmed down enough to type past the glowing red mist that currently envelopes me. however, in the meantime, i will treat you all to 5 things that have absolutely made my blood boil last week:
1. these 3 prematurely louche, denim-ridden cock monkeys were about 14 weeks old. dressed to a man as if they were speed-tottin', hard-livin', groupie-fuckin' roadies with no conception of anything beyond summer 1982, they were walking down regent street in a manner that suggested their band had just scored a 24 date world tour supporting the Ramones. feet at 90 degrees to each other. shoulders rolling like someone with dentures eating a caramel baguette. conversation so drawn out that any normal person would have had to have recorded it and then replayed it at twice the speed in order to catch anything vaguely intelligible, let alone comprehensible.
then they went into macdonald's. and one of them's mum rang. presumably to remind him to drink his breast milk. god i hated them. so much i could hardly hold the phone steady as i chased them down the street.
2. Ruth Kelly. i mean. really. never mind the fact she looks like henry kelly's lesbian sister, this woman is responsible for our govt's flagship made-up Dept for Communities and Local Govt. to quote from the number 10 website: "DCLG will be the successor department to the Office of the Deputy Prime Minister (that's the one they had to take back off John "Moronic Fat Twat" Prescott for being an incomprehensible philandering knob-jockey). It is an expanded department with a powerful new remit to promote community cohesion and equality." the irony of her being a member of cartoon-villain catholic sect Opus Dei was presumably lost on our dear leader when he gave her the job, seeing as Opus Dei are as much about promoting ecumenical understanding and community cohesion as they are about handing out free condoms and smoking crack. now she's undermining some pretty reasonable legislation on gay equality by lobbying for her catholic chums to be exempt from bits of it they don't like. THE POINT OF EQUALITY LEGISLATION IS THAT EVERYONE HAS TO ABIDE BY IT OR THEY'RE BEING DISCRIMINATORY YOU CLUELESS HARPY. AND YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO LET YOUR PERSONAL RELIGIOUS VIEWS EFFECT THE IMPLEMENTATION OF GOVT POLICY. aaarrrgh. matron! bring me laudanum, a pint of absinthe and an illustrated copy of the Da Vinci Code.
3. anyone living in London who complains about it being cold. if you are cold in london, either you are not wearing enough clothes or you're dying slowly of blood loss. with 10 million ppl all smoking marmoset and cranberry frappacinos, carrying round their own personal patio heaters and burning 4x4s to keep warm, even on the rare occasions when some vaguely less than warm air heads our way, it's still only about as cold as a chain-store coffee about 30 seconds after you get it. shut up.
4. the coaching Jade Goody received for her CBB exit interview. yes i know, but by this point my rage was such that i was deliberately seeking out sources of annoyance in order to fuel my fires of hate. i am not so naive that i think the whole thing isn't a massive pile of hastily pre-arranged cock, but at least, C4, try and maintain the illusion. try and carry out the whole thing with a teensy amount of skill or forethought. remind the bigoted, kebab-flashing bimbo you're exploiting to not start sentences with "when they told me, i mean when i just saw..." or edit it better. or just fuck off.
5. my inability to write blog posts i am in anyway happy with.
there. i feel better now. oh. no i don't. grrr.
i've been tagged to tell you 5 things you probably didn't know about me and i will once i've calmed down enough to type past the glowing red mist that currently envelopes me. however, in the meantime, i will treat you all to 5 things that have absolutely made my blood boil last week:
1. these 3 prematurely louche, denim-ridden cock monkeys were about 14 weeks old. dressed to a man as if they were speed-tottin', hard-livin', groupie-fuckin' roadies with no conception of anything beyond summer 1982, they were walking down regent street in a manner that suggested their band had just scored a 24 date world tour supporting the Ramones. feet at 90 degrees to each other. shoulders rolling like someone with dentures eating a caramel baguette. conversation so drawn out that any normal person would have had to have recorded it and then replayed it at twice the speed in order to catch anything vaguely intelligible, let alone comprehensible.
then they went into macdonald's. and one of them's mum rang. presumably to remind him to drink his breast milk. god i hated them. so much i could hardly hold the phone steady as i chased them down the street.
2. Ruth Kelly. i mean. really. never mind the fact she looks like henry kelly's lesbian sister, this woman is responsible for our govt's flagship made-up Dept for Communities and Local Govt. to quote from the number 10 website: "DCLG will be the successor department to the Office of the Deputy Prime Minister (that's the one they had to take back off John "Moronic Fat Twat" Prescott for being an incomprehensible philandering knob-jockey). It is an expanded department with a powerful new remit to promote community cohesion and equality." the irony of her being a member of cartoon-villain catholic sect Opus Dei was presumably lost on our dear leader when he gave her the job, seeing as Opus Dei are as much about promoting ecumenical understanding and community cohesion as they are about handing out free condoms and smoking crack. now she's undermining some pretty reasonable legislation on gay equality by lobbying for her catholic chums to be exempt from bits of it they don't like. THE POINT OF EQUALITY LEGISLATION IS THAT EVERYONE HAS TO ABIDE BY IT OR THEY'RE BEING DISCRIMINATORY YOU CLUELESS HARPY. AND YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO LET YOUR PERSONAL RELIGIOUS VIEWS EFFECT THE IMPLEMENTATION OF GOVT POLICY. aaarrrgh. matron! bring me laudanum, a pint of absinthe and an illustrated copy of the Da Vinci Code.
3. anyone living in London who complains about it being cold. if you are cold in london, either you are not wearing enough clothes or you're dying slowly of blood loss. with 10 million ppl all smoking marmoset and cranberry frappacinos, carrying round their own personal patio heaters and burning 4x4s to keep warm, even on the rare occasions when some vaguely less than warm air heads our way, it's still only about as cold as a chain-store coffee about 30 seconds after you get it. shut up.
4. the coaching Jade Goody received for her CBB exit interview. yes i know, but by this point my rage was such that i was deliberately seeking out sources of annoyance in order to fuel my fires of hate. i am not so naive that i think the whole thing isn't a massive pile of hastily pre-arranged cock, but at least, C4, try and maintain the illusion. try and carry out the whole thing with a teensy amount of skill or forethought. remind the bigoted, kebab-flashing bimbo you're exploiting to not start sentences with "when they told me, i mean when i just saw..." or edit it better. or just fuck off.
5. my inability to write blog posts i am in anyway happy with.
there. i feel better now. oh. no i don't. grrr.
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