May 31, 2007

Just when you think that life is a tremendous pain in the arse - normally after you've punched in your PIN and seen that, once again, there's still nothing there, and when you've found out a job you were asked to attend an interview for months ago has disappeared, for instance - then something comes along and suggests that things, perhaps, are not quite bad as they seem.

The text came from Hollywood.

"I'm serious here. I want to set up a company, be my own boss and earn the big bucks. Do you reckon I could do it? And would you help?"

Hmm...

May 31, 2007

After July 1, when the smoking ban comes into force, local councils are being encouraged to crack down on the outside-pubs-smokers by issuing them with £80 fines for every dropped cigarette butt.

Aside from the obvious (and fair) point about littering, who in their right mind is going to take a job where they have to approach a man who is ten sheets to the wind, just split up from his missus, had a few lines of cocaine and just watched his football team get beaten by someone as lowly as, erm, Bristol Rovers, and who happens like this:

Nanny state?

No - you'll need a nurse.

May 31, 2007

Nimgimmer, noun
A doctor who cures the clap

"Nipper!" scolded Zeds. "Stop scratching!"

May 30, 2007

My brother, Tim, is 40 today.

All that really says to me is that I'm three and a half years away from being the same, but still:

Happy Birthday, fella.

x

May 30, 2007

Sequacious, adj
Unthinkingly following others

"And here," said Nipper, "is where you jump out."

"Er, hang on a second," said Zeds. "It's just occurred to me. You've got bloody wings."

May 29, 2007

How cool? And how bloody scary, too?

The article and more pix here.

May 29, 2007

Darn 1.

Darn 2.

Darn 3.

Darn 4.

Darn 5.

And just for bloody good, reassuring measure, Darn 6.

May 29, 2007

What-oh, chaps! The bounder has just managed to launch a sorte from under the cover of darkness...

Normal service* to be resumed forthwith.

* Normal service = Lots of comments, an actual post every two weeks, plenty of dental work, and a change of blog name before the day's out.

May 29, 2007

Lowering, adj
Sullen, frowning, gloomy

"House still smell of wee this morning?" asked Nipper, cheerfully.

"Christ, yes," despaired Zeds.

May 28, 2007

In response to the various requests:

I hate these bloody things. What's the point? My entire life is on here anyway. Gripe. Grumble. Moan.

But, of course, I'll do it anyway, if only because there are far more important things I could be doing - practical, creative, hopefully money-spinning things - but it's much easier to avoid them completely by blogging instead.

1. When eating mashed potato - mmm, with cheese and mustard and occasionally a chopped chilli - I have been known to use my fork to mold it into a mountain shape with a flat top, just like that nutter in Close Encounters of the Third Kind (but without half a red face, despite what my profile picture could tend to suggest.) (I obviously don't make mashed potato. I leave that pleasure to others.)

2. I am currently terrified that my hair will not grow back; or that, if it does, it will be entirely grey, and I will forced to take out premature membership at Paul McCartney's Chestnut Pensioner Club.

3. My brother's dog licked a blogger's breasts this morning. I am not entirely sure that she even attempted to stop it.

4. I'm dying for a cigarette, but sheer, wilful laziness is preventing me from going to the shop to get some. Although, now that I've said that to myself, I have opened up the possibility of going to buy some Marlboro "Gold" and knocking on the rustic door of Old Mother Black Soup while I'm at it. Mmm. Black soup. Yes. I can taste it already.

5. There is a ginger cat on the wall outside this window deftly licking its right front paw. I am curious to know if it tastes funny. (It has now been joined by a tortoise-shell friend with white "socks".)

6. Along with the brand new kitten (which has been named, confusingly, Socks - confusing because, as can only happen in this house, we already have a dog named - geddit? - Socks) to add to the seven cats we already have, and the hamster, and the rabbit, and the guinea pig, and the fish, and the three ducks, and the three labradors, and the pathetic King Charles spaniel, our back garden is under siege from no less than 30 gigantic cabbages. And a tomato plant. It's like Little Shop of Horrors meets Day Of The Triffids meets Dr Doolittle.

7. I can't remember the last time I ironed anything at all, other than it was prior to last August. This is not good, I know, but then ironing is the devil's work and people like me - lazy, slovenly people who rely on others to wait on them hand and foot - really shouldn't have to do any, while people like you, mum, take great pleasure in the act, (presumably) seeing it as a cathartic exercise that adds structure to your day, and with that being the case, who am I, really, to stand in your way?

I'm not tagging anyone because it looks like you've all been done.

May 28, 2007

Pawky, adj
Sly, shrewd; dryly humorous

"So Zeds," said Nipper. "Tell me what Mojo was licking this morning."

"Erm," coughed Zeds. "Can I tell you later? When she's gone?"

"Oh, okay then."

May 27, 2007

Thelyphthoric, adj
That which corrupts women

"Oi!" shouted Nipper.

"What?" said Zeds, entirely unconvincingly.

May 26, 2007

Youthquake, noun
A shift in cultural norms influenced by the values, tastes, and mores of young people

"I don't care," said Nipper. "I'm not going anywhere with you in roller blades."

"Darn," said Zeds.

May 25, 2007

I just took a call from someone wanting to publicise their friend's new tattoo parlour.

"Why would I want to do a free advert for a profit-making business?" asked your ever-frisky correspondent.

"Because it's a great story," said the person. "I know this, because I studied journalism." *

"Ah. And what 'story' is that, then?"

"He was born blind!"

[Pause]

"And you think promoting the fact that the tattooist is blind is going to help his business?"

"Oh."

"Yes?"

"I hadn't really thought about it like that."

"Bye."

* I studied physics at school, but as some of you may know, I am very much not a physicist.

May 25, 2007

From MediaGuardian:

A contestant on the Australian version of Big Brother has not been informed that her father died a week ago.

The producer of the programme, Endemol Southern Star, said, according to Australian press reports, that the information has not been passed on in accordance with the family's wishes.

The female contestant, a former model from Adelaide who is now a personal trainer, has been competing in Big Brother for the past month.

Her father died last week from cancer, but it is understood that his dying wish was that the producers of Ten Network's reality show not pass on the news to his daughter.

The woman's partner said in news reports that it was her estranged father's wish not to have her leave the house.

It emerged yesterday that Ten Network is meeting to discuss whether the news should be relayed to the contestant.

The Australian version of Big Brother has courted controversy on a number of occasions in the past.

Last July, Australian broadcasting rules were changed to bring live webcasts within the remit of content regulation, following the live internet streaming of an alleged sexual assault during Big Brother.

The footage was not shown on TV, but appeared on the show's live internet streaming service.

The Australian Communications & Media Authority moved to close a "loophole" in broadcasting rules which allowed the Ten Network to avoid censure because the images were streamed on the internet to a paid-for, adults-only service.

May 25, 2007

Oeillade, noun
An ogle; a flirtatious glance

"Just stop it, will you?" said Zeds.

"No," said Nipper.

May 24, 2007

"Zeds?" comes the plea. "Zeds? I'm at my wits' end. I've nowhere else to turn. No one else to run to. Bereft. Frightened. Alone. Incomplete. [Erm] Incontinent."

*Zeds squeezes the top of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, sighing as prepares to lay down his life, once more, for the unfortunate*

He spakes: "Yes, my child?"

"What are you doing at the end of June?" cometh the plaintive response.

*Zeds flicks through empty bulging diary of social engagements*

"Well," he says, "it would appear" - he pauses, double flicking through his bus tickets executive Filofax - "absolutely bugger all. Why?"

"I might have some spare tickets to go to Wimbledon. You know, men's singles finals and all that. For free. We can get wankered and watch the matches from the bar, just to piss off the poor people. Fancy it?"

*Zeds pauses the pause of a refined and unaffected man-about-town*

*He glances out of the window, drinking in the sight of small fluffy birds chirruping merrily in the branches*

*He watches rich green leaves rustle, and flutter, in the sporadic May breeze*

*He gazes, appreciatively, at the stained glass windows of the church across the way and makes a mental note to visit soon*

*He closes his eyes, and thinks briefly of the suffering of African orphans, a grimace of Bono-style pain etched across his granite-like face*

*He offers up a prayer for the dying, and the dead, and for all the babes around the globe whose world is a less than happy place*

"Well," he says, after his priestly contemplation, "do you mind if I bite your fucking hand off?"

May 24, 2007

When my mate moved his shop three doors down the road in Hoylake recently, he forgot to mention - knowing I would be spending a considerable amount of time here - one very important point.

If I walk out of the front door, on my immediate right is a chemist, which is of course extremely handy for when I get my lady cramps.

On our immediate left, however, is an Indian restaurant. That sells curries. And onion bhajis. And poppadums. And naan breads. And pickles and raita and chutney. And at the end they give you an After Eight mint after they accidentally short change you (every single time I go in there, funnily enough).

And in the mornings, every morning, starting around 9.30am, as I sit nursing a gentle hangover and my stomach rumbles the slow groan of a poorly bear, the guys next door have their daily onion, garlic 'n' ghee cooking competition, which among other things involves them racing to the kitchen window, opening it, putting a Great Big Fan next to it, and blowing the resulting garlicky guff in huge plumes out of the window, across our back yard, through our back door, past the new kitchen, into the corridor, round the corner, through the store room, across the back office, over the counter, into the shop, over my legs, up my chest, into my nose, through my brain, around my head, into my lungs and my stomach and my heart, before resting finally in every single blood vessel of my ravaged frame.

Yes, I'm hungry. So here - share my pain...

May 24, 2007

Courtesy of Holy Moly.

From: news@prhq.co.uk
Date: 12 May 2007 10:06:23 BDT
To: XXXXX
Subject: Two UK psychic detectives have arrived in Portugal in a bid to help track down missing toddler Madeleine McCann.
Reply-To: xxxxxxxxxxxx

Hi,

We've just had this great story come about a couple of our clients and thought that it may be of interest to you.

Two UK psychic detectives have arrived in Portugal in a bid to help track down missing toddler Madeleine McCann.

Amanda Hart from St Albans and Ben Murphy from Watford believe their psychic powers could provide the missing key in finding the three year old who has been missing since last Thursday.

Madeleine is believed to have been taken from her bed while her parents were eating at a nearby restaurant close to their holiday apartment in the Algarve village of Praia da Luz in Portugal.

They had been regularly checking on her and their two-year-old twins, Sean and Amelie, before she went missing.

Amanda Hart, who has appeared on Tricia Goddards Psychic Challenge and regularly presented her own psychic radio show, says she has been receiving vital clues as to the childs whereabouts. Her partner, Ben Murphy who was involved in helping track down the murderer of teenager Sally Anne Bowman last year, has also had psychic impressions of her location.

The pair arrived in Portugal on Friday and are hoping to use Amanda’s ability as a psychic ‘tracker’ to help find Madeleine.

Spokesman Kizzi Nkwocha said: “Both Amanda and Ben have proven their psychic abilities beyond any doubt. They now hope to use these powers to help find Madeleine. Any information they get will be made available to the authorities in Portugal.”

If you'd like any further information about Amanda and Ben or news of their progress, please feel free to contact Kizzi Nkwocha on the following number or email.

Kizzi Nkwocha
Tel: xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
www.prhq.co.uk

May 24, 2007

A highly successful New Zealander who works in advertising (yes, I know, but bear with me) has written a book about coping with depression.

It's called I Had A Black Dog; it's a series of cartoon-like sketches depicting how his depression - in the symbolic form of a black labrador - buggered up his life; how he started bringing his dog "to heel"; and how he copes with it these days.

One of the 38 sketches shows the author, Matthew Johnstone, lying in bed with his wife, both of them awake, him facing her, her facing the wall, both awake, both miserable.

Between them lies the dog, facing him, showing how his depression was suffocating their intimacy.

Anyone who's ever had a bout of this crippling illness will recognise the scenarios he lays out.

It's quite brilliant. Read more and see some of the cartoons here.

May 24, 2007

Verbophobia, noun
Fear and dislike of words

"Athens," said Nipper.

"ARGH!" said Zeds.

May 23, 2007

And yes, Bill Shankly did.

He was utterly wrong about one thing, though.

Football is not "more important than life or death".

It's just a bloody game.

That said, may the best men win tonight.

And may the people, very much, whoever they are, be happy.

May 23, 2007

..or at least, we're supposed to.

But my money's on this guy.

Six of the best please, Stevie - for an old friend of mine, if nothing else.

May 23, 2007

What?

WHAT?

It'sss all liessss!

Night...

x

May 23, 2007

Lypophrenia, noun
A vague feeling of sadness, seemingly without cause

"And you expect me to believe that?" questioned Nipper, vexed, worried, and quizzical all at the same time.

"Not really," said Zeds, who'd lately taken on the weary air of someone who'd aged suddenly and incredibly. "But that, my feathered friend, really is the best you're going to get."

May 22, 2007

It's last Tuesday evening, and I'm stood in my friend's rather smart apartment on the beachfront at Hoylake.

We've been to Sainsbury's to get food, and (inevitably) booze, and while he sees to his kids and his girlfriend, I'm stood at the table in the middle of his swanky kitchen unpacking the shopping.

Then, I start to feel grey.

Light-headed; hazy.

I see the range in front of me but wonder where the sink is.

I'm thirsty. Very, very thirsty.

Now I feel properly faint. And I'm reaching out for the chair in front of me, and feeling suddenly hot...

...and then the stranger in the bright green jacket is speaking gently, but forcibly, to me.

What's my name? Easy.

Who's the Prime Minister? Easy.

How old am I? Simple.

Where are you? [Pause]

What happened to you? [Pause]

What day is it? [I don't know]

And the van I'm in is driving swiftly: With care, but purpose.

We're going fast, and I don't know why.

Then, I ask: "Where am I?"

My head really hurts.

"You're in an ambulance, mate," says the man, who I guess is an ambulanceman. "You've had a fall."

***

Mike had watched me fall as he walked into the kitchen. "Like a sack of spuds," he said.

I collapsed from within, apparently. Face crumpled, chest concave, arms limp and forgotten.

My head whacked - *smacked* - loudly against the side of a cupboard handle, breaking, tearing the skin on my thinly-covered skull.

Mike's hand caught the rest of my head before it hit the floor.

Then the frothing, gibbering, fitting began. And the writhing, and struggling, and my lips turning blue.

And his three-year-old son was asking what he could do to help Juzzzy, as his teenagers waited anxiously for the doorbell, as Mike held me tight trying to stop my convulsions.

***

No, I haven't been sleeping.

Yes, I've had things on my mind.

Yes, I've been drinking.

Yes, I've been smoking.

Yes, I've been stressed about work.

And then reality to the doctor: "I don't know."

***

It's happened once before, of course.

At the Sunday Sport. One Tuesday morning, sat with a coffee and a banana and a chocolate-covered plum, all News Editored-up and armed with a day's papers, water cooler water, and an empty office.

That time, I slid off my chair and ended up in Manchester Royal Infirmary.

But the CT scan found nothing.

Neither did the heart monitor.

So I'm obviously just a bit shit when it comes to faints.

***

But does it scare me?

A little.

Be strange if it didn't.

But.

So I froth when I faint. It's a little embarrassing, but it isn't going to kill me.

Cockayne Syndrome, on the other hand, will kill my friend Amy.

So sponsor her, please.

Twenty six days to go.

May 22, 2007

Paralipophobia, noun
Fear of responsibility

"So Nipper," whispered Zeds, a light sweat cloaked across his furrowed brow, "this is the final test, old boy. Do we cut through the blue wire, or do we cut through the red?"

"I have seen Juggernaut, you know," hissed the buzzard.

"And?" encouraged Zeds.

"And you must be bloody joking. There are reasons why I've got wings, you know."

May 21, 2007

And lo, once they'd tossed Juzzzy's head in with those of the other decapitated lunatics, it was hard to tell which from which...

In yet more other news, I'm so unbelieveably bored that I'm highly tempted to post a picture of me wearing a Liverpool FC beanie.