Notes from a small taibach

I stop blogging for 5 mins......

2018-05-02T00:15:00.000+01:00

If you’re reading this, then you’re reading my first blog for nearly three years to the day. Also, if you’re reading this then you also somehow have access to the alternate hell dimension that we’re now all living in.

I mean, just what the actual living sodding bastarding fuck happened?? What happened to our lives, our society, the whole mental state of the planet? Did Biff Tannen actually exist, take the sports almanac and skew us into this 1985-A reality? Somewhere along the line we collectively got struck by a metal pole to the head and began experimenting with douchebaggery, because we thought it would be a laugh.

Well it wasn’t. Obviously.

I should probably recap. The last blog I published was urging people to go out and vote in that last (but one) election using a rather shoddy metaphor involving Keith Lemon.

I know you already have questions, but it’ll have to wait…

Later it turned out that the Tories won. By quite a lot as it happened. How that happened is still something of a mystery, as their campaign was essentially a glass house full of stones built on an ancient Indian burial ground. Of course it didn’t help that the man opposing this was Ed Milliband, one determined individual who was taken down with a bacon sandwich and a massive slate of rock.

So once David Cameron swung his landslide back into the driving seat of the country, there was a small problem of the EU referendum, henceforth christened with the ugliest of all the newest words ever to be vomited unto the public consciousness: Brexit.

“If we leave, then it’ll mean a loss of workers, rights and free access to the rest of Europe!” said one side.

“IMMIGRANTS!!! EVERYWHERE! AAARRRGGGGGGHHH!” said another side, possibly on the side of a lying bus.

“Surely common sense will prevail and we won’t leave?” I thought at the time.

Yeah. Thank Nigel Farage for that one. Him and his lies pretty much swayed it in the leave corner and now we’re on our way out. Then David Cameron left, just after opening Pandora’s Box and tossing it in to the main water supply. Then, after using up her entire supply back-stabbing knives, Teresa May stumbled, bloodied and confused from the fight, to lead the Tories on to the world’s podium and hasn’t changed her look since. Milliband faded away like a digestive biscuit in pool of tea, leaving a gaping hole for the next young passionate leader to step forth and unite the masses.

But instead an old aged, jam-making, corduroy-jacket-with-a-beard burst onto the scene. He said nothing for a long time. Too long, some would say and through the EU debate he pretty much just tended his allotment. He then rose up and spoke for a bit. Then he went away again. Rumour has it you can see his face in the crumpled clothes in an Oxfam bin in Cardiff. If you didn't realise I was talking about Jeremy Corbyn.

Also, for some reason the good and the great of the world started to fall off this mortal coil. Bowie, Rickman, Lemmy et al passed away and for a while it was like best of us could see what was coming and said "FUCK THAT" and pulled an Obi Wan on all of us.

And just when you thought that it couldn't get worse, when it was all going downhill faster than a greased up tinfoil baking tray, America stepped up to the plate.

A half-sentient Wotsit with a name that’s a slang for farting came along and insulted every race, creed and culture that was possible to insult. Then he got into The White House and shat over everything, mumbling about a wall or some such.

All of the above made all the closet racists of the world go: “Hey, maybe I should tell people about my beliefs!” and with that the floor cracked open and all the demons rose unto the world and got themselves twitter accounts.

We’re in a word where Nazis are a thing again. Where people are getting gunned down in America and the NRA are having a go at the teenage survivors for not being shot. In this country the government, in between setting up a record for the most foodbanks needed in a week, are trying to ship off people who have lived here for 50 years, after the government (allegedly) destroyed their ID, because: reasons.

But there is hope.

Just as the famous orator Harvey Dent once said “It’s always darkest just before the dawn” and there are a few glimmers of light starting to shine. North and South Korea have announced a reunion tour which will hopefully tour pubs and clubs all around the world. Common sense is prevailing in the courts as former world renowned TV star turned world renowned rapist Bill Cosby is going to jail. The aforementioned kids in America (whoa) have seen the inaction of adults and said “FFS just stop shooting people #illsortitoutmyself” and gone and taken on middle age bullies and a 250 year old amended parchment. Also Amber Rudd got fired/resigned/forgot she had had a job to do. Or didn't. The jury is still out on that one.

So maybe we’re seeing common sense starting to wake up. Maybe it’s a coincidence that it’s come about at the same time that I’m blogging again, but just saying that the last time I did I told people to vote and they did, in droves. Just for the wrong side*. Maybe I have the power to change the world. Maybe it's all just a coincidence. We'll see.

*Again, sorry about that.

The Road to Hell Yes.

2015-05-05T23:13:00.001+01:00

Chris Rea, is a right miserable sounding sod, isn't he?

Recently in work the radio was playing “Road to Hell”. Singing it, he sounds like he’s had a heavy night and he’s been forced to record the vocals clutching his head from his bed, as opposed to sitting in the studio, thoughtfully contemplating the last journey to an everlasting tortuous afterlife.

I don’t know it this is true or not but he wrote this whilst on the way back home for Christmas, which inspired him to write “Driving home for Christmas”. So he was inspired to write two opposing songs on the same journey. I would’ve loved to have been in that car while his moods were bouncing back and fore like a space hopper in a washing machine.

“I can't wait to get get home for Christmas!”

“This traffic is awful...”

“I can't wait to see all those smiling faces!!”

“Look at all these other poor souls, desperately trying to get somewhere.”

“Wish I was on the beach...” (Sorry I've introduced a third Chris Rea song there...)

But anyway.

My point being is that “Road to Hell” was playing after another election based discussion on BBC Radio 2. It made me wonder if it was an ominous sign that we’re heading for another five years of a Tory-led government.

Now, when it comes to politics I will say that I’m not the best informed person on the planet; I tend to zone out and imagine what I'm watching as some part of an episode of The Thick of It. But this time around I’ve been listening more intently to what the leaders are saying. To be honest, they're saying the same old things that most politicians say: NHS this, immigration that, “I never sent those naked pictures, how dare you...”

However one thing I have noticed is that the public (when on Question Time and the leaders' debates) looked pissed off. I mean properly pissed off. To me, that makes the run-up to this election feel different. The public have had enough and want change. It seems we’re calling out the politicians as liars and rightfully accusing them of being unable to keep promises (Hi Mr Clegg).

Now, I’m not going to tell you which way I’m voting (although my attempts will inevitably fail), but I will tell you two parties who won’t be getting my vote. That'll be the Conservatives and UKIP. I was brought up in a house that generally favoured Labour as the party of choice. I imagine it’s what Mrs Thatcher did in the eighties to affect the Welsh that probably did it. I found out later that my parents were so disillusioned with the way she was running the country that they actually wrote her a letter to tell her exactly that. They got a response as well, which if memory serves, stated something along the lines of

“Shut it plebs, I’m the god damn Prime Minister! KNEEL BEFORE ME!! MWAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAH!!!!”

(Well it was a long time ago..)

(It didn't say that. I don't think.)

But anyway, my point is that I won’t vote Tory because of several things. They have punished the poorer parts of the country, to an extent that there’s close to a million people using food banks. They told people with registered disabilities that it turns out they should be working after all. They’ve not denied plans to slash welfare, which will no doubt affect the people who need it the most. Before they got into power my eldest son received a child trust fund to help with his education when he turns 18. After they got into power, they stopped it and now my youngest son did not receive the same opportunity that my eldest did. Now I’m not saying that the small amount of money will make or break my son's future, but the message that it sends is unforgivable. By doing that, they are showing that they have little respect for the education of the generations of the future. It is simply not acceptable.

As for UKIP, I simply don't trust the Hypno-toad leader they call Farage. But, I can see why people are supporting him. It's not rocket science to see that if someone stand up in front of people who says things that a percentage of the population are thinking (and they do, you know they do. You've heard them. You probably know them, I know people who are in the UKIP mindset) then they are going to stand up too and give him the support that he needs. The problem (well there's a ton of problems but I've only got so much space) with Farage is that he's scaring people into voting for him by rattling off a bunch of statistics that sound plausible and he gives the impression that he can sort it all out over a few pints in a lock-in. To me, Farage is a small minded buffoon that is harbouring plans to destroy the NHS, mortally wound the BBC and generally be a total dick. I fear a day when this man has credible power.

Farage (Allegedly)

(Also, not my picture)

But that's why I'm voting. I'm voting because I want a change. Because it a privilege that has been handed to me by generations of people who have fought and died to secure a better, more hopeful future. If by some random chance there are some people reading this who don't vote or this is your first time with the opportunity, go out and make your mark on Thursday. I don't care who you vote for, just make your decision.

If you waste your chance, then you are letting people you probably don't like do what they want because you couldn't be arsed to to down the road and put a cross on a piece of paper. That literally all you have to do to change things. You've probably made more effort trying to find a remote control in your house.

In fact, think about it like that. Imagine Keith Lemon was about to come on the TV. You don't like Keith Lemon. Who the hell does? But the remote is some where and you don't know where. Now, you can make the tiniest bit of effort to find it and affect a change. Or you can do nothing and sit just there miserable, whilst Keith Lemon reigns down you for what seems like an eternity melting your brain with his godawful schtick.

Fuck, I hate Keith Lemon.

Anyway. It's not a hard decision is it?

Vote.

Coisas que eu aprendi durante a Copa do Mundo. (Or things I learned in the World Cup)

2014-07-13T22:53:00.002+01:00

I hate football.

It's a bit of an odd start to a blog relating to the biggest football tournament in the world, but I think that the game is hideous non-sport business-led juggernaut that involves grossly overpaid missing-link specimens, red-nosed gum-chewing managers whose antics in any other profession would get them hurled into a disciplinary conduct hearing quicker than you could say "Fergie time," and who's fans have a reputation that Hitler would've thought was a 'bit obsessive'. But I think that David Mitchell can say it better than me.

However the world cup that has recently just finished with Germany being crowned the Bestest Kickers of Balls 4 EVA has had me oddly drawn in throughout the whole of the thirty-odd days it's been running (or in the case of some players not running but hurling themselves through the air in a fashion that would get them at least a bronze in the Olympic floor exercise gymnastics). I don't know why this is. Maybe it's the spectacle of the international event that's distracted me from the fact that hundreds of poverty stricken Brazilians have been forcibly removed from their homes to make way for the international money that's been flooding in. Possibly it's because a lots of the top teams have had their arses handed to them by the so-called minnows of the groups. Nevertheless, I have watched and enjoyed a lot of the tournament and learned a few things along the way. Things like this:

Brazil have a Hulk, Fred and Bernard in their squad; which sounds like a Last of the Summer Wine/Avengers crossover.
If you want to melt the brain of Jonathan Pearce, use goal line technology.
The USA will latch on to any sport that they think they're good at for five minutes.
Lots of football players have GREAT beards.
Phil Neville commentating sounds like someone using an electric shaver.
Mark Lawrenson would sound bored in any continent he was in.
Costa Rica disappointingly don't use any connection to Jurassic Park in any aspect of their football, but nevertheless did really well.
Luis Suarez is the name of a football player.
Schweinsteiger is the most satisfying name to say ever.
Luis Suarez plays for Uruguay.
Every camera operator in Brazil appears to be a pervy man.
Luis Suarez is both a terrible actor and a terrible vampire. He is also a complete dick who's (now) bitten three people.
From what I've seen on twitter, nearly every man who watches football would turn for Thierry Henry.
Less so for Gary Lineker (unless he puts his sexy glasses on).
No one watches ITV unless they're forced to.
Shaving foam can now be classed as multi-purpose.
The geeks truly have inherited the earth after this was shown at half time in the final on the BBC.
England took part. No-one noticed.
Christiano Ronaldo has the most punchable face in the world. Except for Piers Morgan.
I still hate Piers Morgan.
Oh, and Germany won.

So That's what I've learned. I also learned that Wales only ever played in the finals in 1958 and were beaten by Brazil in the days when they weren't being thrashed by Germany. That's nice.

So onto Russia in four years when I will possibly give a shit about football again. But four years is a long time to hold your breath.

Until then, Adidas.

An incredibly late thought filled blog about Skyfall

2014-06-27T00:54:00.001+01:00

When it comes to recent films I'm worried that I've become one of two things;

1. I'm worried that I've got to a point where I'm too old to enjoy current big summer/event films without thinking that this "is a bit silly".
2. I'm worried that if I ever watch another Adam Sandler film (or God forbid I actually watch a film by someone like Kevin James) I'll actually enjoy it and my brain will reconfigure itself to this pathetic level and never recover.

If number 2 happens I'll just kill myself. it'll save everybody a bit of time and prevent people having to read a useless blog post, but it's the first point I'm worried about. One of the main things I like about films like that is switching off the brain and just being entertained without having to think too much and seeing how much popcorn you can get in your mouth at any one time. There should be nothing to worry about watching superheroes fighting inter dimensional aliens and then having a takeaway after. I first felt about point number 1 after watching The Avengers. I felt it again after recently watching Skyfall.

The main feeling I felt after watching Skyfall was feeling a bit underwhelmed, but that may be the fact that I was expecting truly great things after hearing so many positive things in the media, specifically in the places that you wouldn't normally expect a good write up (Hello Sunday Times Culture magazine). I mean, it's not bad but it's just......well I'll get to that.

As it starts, it features Bond running after some guy who has stolen a bit of a laptop from another guy who's clearly the victim of the government's new crackdown of leaving flash drives on trains, as he's been stabbed (or shot, I'm not sure but he was bleeding and that, I feel, was the main point). Bond displays an unusual thing on his face called "emotion" and then continues his running. He then gets in a car with Moneypenny (sorry SPOILERS) and he fulfills the sexist requisite of the Bond character by implying she hasn't got the balls to drive like a man and therefore crashes it into the bad guy as much as possible before they both jump onto bikes, because the car simply isn't phallic enough. They then do stuff which ends up with them both on top of the a train and M tells Moneypenny to shoot the bad guy, which makes her shoot Bond (coz, y'know girls cant shoot straight and talk about hair and boys and stuff). He falls into the opening credits and pops up at the bottom of a Heineken bottle in an undisclosed location. Centreparks if I'm not mistaken.

Back in Rainy London, M stops watching Jeremy Kyle because Ralph Fiennes comes into say that she's killed enough people and can now retire. Before she can say "heating allowance" a bomb goes off and blows up MI5 (or is it MI6? what's the difference? is MI6 the "Bond universe" one so to confuse movie going terrorists?) Bond sees this on his convenient Sony TV that picks up BBC news anywhere in the world and decides that he has just enough time to come back before he loses j.bond@mi6.gov.uk email address to Jonathan in accounting and he'll have to resign himself to being j.bond1 forever.

So Bond goes through the Physical and mental test and we're now worried as he can't shoot straight anymore, because he hurt his arm earlier. Probably. However despite having a lower competency score than Frank Drebin, M allows him to go out and try and do stuff without killing anybody before getting information. Something he failed ENTIRELY in Quantum of Solace as he killed pretty much everyone he wasn't supposed to. Luckily this time he finds the guy he's after and catches him before he falls to his death and interrogates him. But as his arm is a bit poorly, the poor guy falls to his death. Bond searches his stuff and seeing there's a contractual obligation that he can't go two films without going to a casino, he find a poker chip. Bond then goes to Shanghai, meets the bond girl "most likely to die in this film" and has an exchange of dialogue so bad Roger Moore would've questioned it before filming.

In "the morning after" Bond and soon to be dead bond girl go on a boat to meet the villain of the piece and somehow wind up as prisoners by the time they get to his bad guy island. The film then actually then begins to turn in to a proper Bond film as Javier Bardem (who apparently was the only one to turn up and have some fun) walks out telling a story about rats and suggests that he fancies Bond.

Bond retorts by flirting back and internally considering that for once sex was not a preferable escape route. The unluckiest bond girls in the world fulfills her destiny as having a completely undignified death and Bond finally thinks enough is enough and kicks the shit out of everyone and takes Javier to Britain.

However the new Q is a complete smug-arse and plugs Javier's laptop into MI6 and all hell breaks loose.

Christ I'm getting bored of this. Look; shit happens, they go to Scotland and Bond kills everyone and M gets in the way and dies. Ralph Finnes becomes M and Moneypenny becomes, well Moneypenny.

As strange as it may seem from the sarky shit I've written I actually did enjoy this film. But there was a lot that bugged me. I think what's really wrong with Skyfall is that it can't decide what it wants to be. Obviously it wants to be a celebration of Bond over fifty years (which in all honesty is something to be proud of. Only Star Trek & Doctor Who is closing in on it's fiftieth anniversary and you get the impression that celebration party would be Bond trying to ditch the Dr and Kirk and Picard with an excuse of having to get up in the morning to fill in paper work on why he's trashed his 15th Aston Martin) and that's not bad thing, but it's playing against the reboot that only happened a few years ago with Casino Royale and by mentioning exploding pens (Golendeye, philistines) and having the Aston Martin DB5 form Goldfinger as a major plot point, then it takes the continuity on a trip through a paradox so confusing you'd want to watch Primer for a more straightforward narrative.

One of the other problems is that Daniel Craig appears to be trying his hardest to accommodate a script with comedy beats in it but he just doesn't look comfortable. At all. I'm not saying he's not a competent Bond, he holds the action brilliantly and looks good in a suit, but there's something about it that just doesn't fully convince that he's Britain's greatest spy. However, on the plus side the cinematography is wonderful, it's truly beautifully shot. Especially Scotland. Also, props must go to Judi Dench who fully conveys the full weight of all that shit that's been thrust upon her (mostly her own doing, if we're honest) and makes Bond cry. I assume Geoffrey Palmer cried as well.

Some smug people in the critics circles mention that the ending is like Home Alone because of all the the traps they set for the bad guys. Except that in Home Alone Kevin doesn't actually kill Joe Pesci as otherwise he would spend the rest of his life in therapy and foster homes.

the thing is with Skyfall, if you hold it up to the rest of the Bond series then it doesn't really work. But the thing is since they rebooted the series with Casino Royale, none of the Daniel Craig films work. Bond grew up and changed. Sure they still have the references and the cars and the weapons that we're all familiar with but it could never continue the way it used to be as those times of raised eyebrows have long gone. Bardem evokes the time when Bond villians were larger than life but it it also goes to prove how dull bad guys are in a millions other sub standard thriller films these days. Barden brings a new kind of fun, that's what the series needs now.

Casino Roayle set a precedent to what the bond films can be. Skyfall doesn't help this cause, but the next few hopefully take the franchise in the way that's it meant to. Forward. But hey, it make a billion at the box office, so what do I know?

a review thing

2013-10-15T23:48:00.000+01:00

So I'm doing a film review.....

Warm Bodies:

So you know that feeling when you're attracted to a walking corpse?

No me neither, its fucked up. But this is one of the situations that's covered in Warm Bodies, the second Zom-rom-com that's ever existed in modern cinema and the first to have a zombie as the male lead (that I'm aware of). Our Undead hero named 'R' has the advantage over other movie zombies of having a Joss Whedon inspired internal dialogue, and despite being dead, being more attractive than everyone you know. (Seriously, his hair in the film is impeccable and he's fucking dead.) R spends his undead days in an airport shuffling about and grunting to his best friend 'M' (sadly not played by Judi Dench) and collecting trinkets and being cool in his Boeing 747 converted home, listening to the films groovy soundtrack. Then, on a food recon mission, R stumbles into Julie (whilst eating her twat of a boyfriends brain) and does what any love struck man would do, smear his entrails over her face and take her back to his home. From here Julie realizes that R isn't going to open her up like a box of malteasers and feast on the chocolaty goodness. What begins is a pathway to what potentially could be a revolution for the lives of every living and unliving thing on the planet.

Having a dead guy for a leading man is something of a risky choice seeing that he's not much of for talking, but having a fully functioning internal dialogue is a genius idea and Hoult delivers it very well.
Of course the internal dialogue was an original idea adapted from the book, Coincidentally called Warm Bodies (written by Isaac Marion, who incidently was interviewed by my brother on his awesome website right here).
Teresa Palmer (who I'd never heard of and imdb does nothing to help me in this regard) plays Julie as a smartarse army brat you'd expect what with John Malkovich has her Dad, but gives her enough depth that you don't want R to eat her limbs.

As with pretty much every zombie film, the metaphors for living your life are thrown around with a carefree abandon. There's a great little moment at the start where R bemoans being able to connect with people which leads to a flashback to a pre-virus time where everyone in the airport are staring into their phones and tablets, completely oblivious to each others existence.

The overriding theme that comes across (not often subtly) is the importance of connecting with your fellow human. As R gets further down the line of potentially regaining his humanity, we get the reminders of what happens if the connection is completely lost if the form of the "Bonies". These skinless super-evil zombies are essentially the poor CGI creations from 'I am Legend' loaned out to a film with a lesser budget, they look out of place but they are indeed, the necessary evil that is needed to inspire an unlikely alliance that propels the story forward.

There's not much else to say about this to be honest. It's a great little film that occasionally has a different take on the zombie film and has great soundtrack and a good central performance from Hoult and solid support from Palmer and that bloke from "Hot Tub Time Machine". If your stuck for something to watch then it's a great compromise. I know this as I wanted to see Les Miserables but there wasn't a decent showing for it.

Next time, an attempt to write something about Skyfall and why I was pissed off about there being an advert for a VW Beetle within 5 minutes of it starting.

After that, probably Total Recall again.

Massive Red Granny Pants

2013-02-09T00:59:00.000+00:00

There's nothing quite like being terrified by a nonchalant conversation about nuclear waste.

This happened earlier whilst driving back from my local generic supermarket. Apparently there's enough nuclear waste in the UK to fill four Wembley stadia (because Radio 4 aren't quite pretentious enough not to just say stadium) and a small percent is hugely radioactive still. What fun, eh? I was sitting there and could not help but feel terrified about living in a future where there's millions of tonnes of this glowing shit buried under the earth, no doubt right next to an ancient Indian burial ground. Then the zombie's will come and try to eat us all. But we'll be able to see the glowing undead which will help the revolution.

I don't want to live in a world where there's a potential for my sons to become Radioactive Man. Or Fallout Boy for that matter. Some people have even suggested firing it into the sun. Well, that just creates super villains. I know, I've seen Superman IV and the only thing that I got from that film is that if anything all the copies should should be fired into the methane lakes of Titan. The sun would be too good for them.

As it happens, I've been a bit taken in by the Man of Steel lately. It might have something to do with the fact that the story of the attempt to get Superman back on the big screen in the mid 90's has resurfaced online. It's a fascinating story involving Kevin Smith, (speaker, smoker and occasional film maker) who wrote a great script, which you can read online, and also involved several Hollywood nutters.

One in particular called Jon Peters, demanded that Smith wrote a script in which Superman doesn't fly, doesn't wear his costume and fights a giant robot spider.

Lets face it, nothing ruins a Superman film like one where he wears his costume and flies. I mean, what the fuck were they thinking? The fact that Smith manages to work all that shit in and still make a feasible story is testament to him.

I don't know why I've been getting into the Superman story lately There is, of course, the new Superman film coming out before long so maybe I've been suckered in by the amazing subliminal advertising. It is a possibility, I've been easily led by advertising in the past. Once I was singing to my son to get him to sleep whilst watching TV, and a car advert came on.

I actually sang the words 'Twinkle Twinkle little car' and bought a new Lexus two days later.

But anyway, Superman. I watched Superman Returns the other day and loved it. I fear I may lose any geek points I may have for admitting this, but I did. I thought it was beautifully shot and I thought that Brandon Routh was a brilliant Kal-El. Yeah, Kate Bosworth was miscast as Lois and the kid was a misstep but when Superman was in action it was a joy to behold.

Of course it doesn't help that he wears pants on the outside. It was much worse with Christopher Reeve, the pants were MASSIVE.
They were MASSIVE RED PANTS.
MASSIVE PANTS.
RED PANTS

I know it's been the main joke for nearly seventy five years but what the hell is that about? Is that Kryptonian fashion? Why didn't his Dad tell him before he sent him to earth?

I will leave you with an exclusive extract from the original script that was edited for time at the last minute. You can find the full script online.

Live as one of them, Kal-El, to discover where your strength and your power are needed. Always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage. They can be a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you... my only son. But you'll have wear massive red granny pants over a powder-blue leotard in order to be their saviour. I saw all the kids outside our local Tesco wearing it, so I'm sure that no-one will question it. But, just in case, I've given you my banana-coloured belt to hold up the massive pants. You can't possibly fail. Make sure you wear the red cape as well, just to finish the look. If anyone questions what your wearing, just punch them into the sun.

Questions about Hammers

2013-01-16T23:40:00.000+00:00

I rediscovered the apple trailer website the other day and have got slightly obsessed with watching HD trailers.

Previously I'd been using computers that would would take a day and a night to load up so watching any videos would involve a long waiting time or deleting a lot of programmes in order to free up space.
It's not like I ever used Word for anything important...

One of the trailers I watched was for the latest Die Hard film, the fifth, if you're counting. This time, John McClaine is out in Russia to help his son, who, judging by the trailer, is leading the sort of life that seems to scream out 'father abandonment issues'. By that, I mean he's just doing what McClaine Sr did for twenty years, just on an international scale and his soul shouting "LOVE ME DADDY" whilst snapping a terrorist neck. There's one scene at the end of the trailer that just made me laugh and lose all hope for the film.

Basically they take out a helicopter and fall out a window parallel to a helicopter they've just destroyed that is about to hit the deck and explodes ten times on the way down. They fall for what appears to be two minutes. Bill and Ted had a shorter journey to hell.

It's just fucking stupid.

But on one hand its a nice father/son bonding event for the McClaines.

Watching this however did get me thinking. The Boy started school this week and it seems like the time is just flying by. Soon I'll have to start thinking about our own bonding routines (not only for him but the new boy as well) I don't think that we're going to end up in Russia and take down an attack helicopter anytime in the next ten years, but there might be moments when we'll end up doing "male bonding" things.

By man things of course I mean the institutionalized gender stereotypical "man" things including (but not limited to) car maintenance, camping out and not asking for directions when we're so clearly lost and desperately in need of help.

This worries me. As few may know, I'm not the biggest example of Alpha male that has ever graced God's green earth. I haven't got a football team I really support among other things and I don't like the ever-fun pastime of parking a car, opening the bonnet (or hood as the films tell me) and staring at an engine that's not running. Or running. Either way I couldn't give a tiny monkey shit what that piece of welded metal is doing. As long as it can get me back and fore to work I will respect it, I just don't want to stare at it in the hope that it will offer me some sort of sexual gratification, as many petrol heads seem to be thinking whilst gazing into the twinkly tips of their gleaming spark plugs. If indeed spark plugs gleam. Do they just spark? I have no idea. I'm not James May.

I do worry that I will somehow inexplicably find myself stuck in a situation where I have to defeat some other boys' father by throwing something really far, or answer questions about hammers. I worry about letting them down in front of their friends. But then the fun will be finding out if the boys are going to be sporty, geeky, arty or all of the above.

I have a feeling that they're going to like Star Wars, no matter what they turn out like. I'm looking forward to the first time I watch it with them. They're going to want a lightsabre, everyone wants a lightsabre. I already have one.

I know it'll be fine. I just hope they find adequate guidance from me and not expect a dad can kill helicopters and survive a 100 foot fall and have a snappy quip at then end of it.

Fingers crossed....

Fuck You, Daily Mail

2013-01-14T00:03:00.000+00:00

Generally, I don't read the papers. Not for news at any rate. In this day and age, who needs to?
The only time would buy a paper is on the weekend to read the pithy comments of people who hate the TV programmes they feel compelled to watch. Idiots.

But when I'm in the shop i can't help but feel compelled to read all the headlines of the tabloids to see what
dirge they're spouting off their diseased soapboxes and it's usually the same thing.

"DIANA IS STILL DEAD. WHY GOD WHY?????" shouts the Express.

"WE ARE APPARENTLY THE VOICE OF BRITAIN (BY THAT WE MEAN RACIST ENGLISH PEOPLE)" States the Sun.

"WE HAVE NOTHING INTERESTING TO SAY WHATSOEVER" blurts the Mirror.

"TITS TITS TITS BOOBS.....TITS" slurs the Star.

"...." (thank god the News of the World is dead).

Then there's the Daily Mail. The Mail just sits there on the stand, and nearly every day there's
a headline that manages to boil the blood and enrage the soul. I stand there and I wonder how this shit-rag
manages to get away with some of the things they have written.

So this is a short blog to say fuck you to the Daily Mail.

Fuck you for your unashamedly biased Tory Opinions

Fuck you for your so called crusade against online pornography when your own website features sleazy pictures of women

Fuck you Jan Moir for writing a piece about the lifestyle choices of a man who had tragically died.

Fuck you for endlessley targeting the BBC, one of this country's greatest assets, time and time again.

Fuck you (Jan Moir) For your pathetic non-apology about the aforementioned piece.

Fuck you for "Sashagate''

Fuck you for your pathetic attempts to create a bogus witch hunt for Jack Whitehall

Fuck you for saying that coffee, causes cancer.

Fuck you for giving false hope by stating that coffee can help the fight against cancer.

One that really tugs my shit more than anything, fuck you for apparently fighting for freedom of speech
yet wanting questioning any art/comedy/anything else in the world that you disagree with.

Basically, just fuck you. The day your pathetic waste of paper is taken off the shelves is a day that cannot come soon enough.

If you read this and think of any other reasons why you want to say "fuck you daily mail" then please comment below. I will gladly add them to the blog. This wont take down the paper, more will it make much of an impact. But, I hope that it will just show some people what a waste of space it is.

If it does, then I will feel I have achieved something.

Next time, funny stuff about Die Hard and various other things.

I've got a brain but I'm a bit afraid to use it.

2012-12-31T22:26:00.003+00:00

It's very hard to be reflective on the everyday trials and tribulations of life when you've got toddler wee on your socks.

Nevertheless, it appears to be the time to do the whole looking-back-on-the-year thing. The trouble is I have the memory of a goldfish that's been shot in the head with an adamantium bullet (that's one for the geeks and a frank admission I've seen Wolverine: Origins and yes, I enjoyed it goddammit) and can only remember the year in news with prompting via Google, or a TV end-of-year programme. Incidentally I'm watching one of them right now. I've forgotten most of the news they've talked about in the first hour already.

I think that it may be hard to remember the news if it doesn't personally intertwine with your own life. Obviously the bigger things will shine through, like the Olympics. You couldn't have not noticed that to be honest, and quite rightly too. The London Olympics was possibly the highlight of the year for many. Even if you don't like sport that much, you couldn't help but be sucked in to the pride of seeing British athletes earning their place in history. I'll be honest, I didn't know who Mo Farrah, Jessica Ennis and that bloke with ginger hair who jumped really far was before the summer. But now I do. Except for that Ginger bloke, I still can't remember his name.

You might think that I was going to continue with some half arsed review of the year. Instead I'm going to tell you what I'm planning for the new year. I know that talking about new year's resolutions will generally make peoples eyes roll so much that it seems like they are having some sort of a fit, but I will try and make it sound less wanky than other people's.

It started with me wondering about what the boys will do when they get older. I imagined myself feeling proud at what they will achieve and that wishing that I would've actually got around to doing what I wanted to do. Then I realized that I wasn't it wasn't the future and I'm not fucking geriatric.

So I'm going to read more books. I don't read at all. Come to think of it i think I've only read six books and three of them were Red Dwarf novels. I'm going to try and learn some languages, and start with Welsh. It seems like the right thing to do. I want to aim for French as well, possibly, as I know up to (and including) twelve words in French, so it's a start.

But the main thing i want to do is finish something. Anything really. I've always had a dream of doing something creative and I feel the need to see it through. You see, I've never really followed through on anything I've tried. Cricket, music, writing and so on and so forth. Ironically this blog is the only thing I've ever persisted with. So my aim is to try and finish at least my odd short novel about a Private eye in the future, despite the fact that the same idea was used by Charlie Brooker and Futurama. I've also had an idea of another sci-fi story. Well, write what you know, eh?

The thing is, if you want to leave a mark on the world, then you have to at least fucking try. I've not tried, but I will. This time next year I hope to show you a whole bunch of rejection letters from a bunch of people that shows that even if I didn't succeed, I made the effort and I've got something to show for it.

So my new year's resolution is to try and finally apply myself. God know it's about fifteen years too late.

So, happy new year and a genuine thanks to all that have at least read the blog and help me earn thirteen whole pounds.

See you on the other side.

The Apocalypse made me write this....

2012-12-18T00:08:00.001+00:00

So we're going to die this week.

I really should be doing more than watching an old repeat of Have I got news for you and get my affairs in order. But then again, why? If nothing is going to exist after the the 21st of December then this is hardly the time to be sorting out the spare room. This is the time to be either sobbing uncontrollably or finally finding out what it's like to drink cheap whiskey out of a brown paper bag. I've seen films, it's what you do when the world is ending. That it coincides with black Friday means that you wont be able to tell who's drinking to forget their impending doom and who's forgotten what the date is and is drinking to celebrate ten days off work and Dr Who being on the telly in four days time. Well, maybe that last one is just me, but you get the idea. The Apocalypse, of course does bring the conundrum of if you haven't bought Christmas presents yet, should you bother?

The obvious answer is of course, yes. If anyone actually believes that bollocks, then they should just kill themselves anyway to avoid the embarrassment. The same goes for the Flat earth society and people who think that the moon landings didn't take place. I'm sorry I'm normally a forgiving person but those people...

Anyway, go buy your Christmas presents and be with your family, but remember that being with family is the most important aspect of this time of year. It was either this year or last year when I realized that how much the commercial side of Christmas has had a grip on me for much longer than I care to admit. It's ten or twenty minutes of opening presents and after that, well, you tell me.

One of the things I've also realized is that my Christmases are in a state of flux. Since the boys have been born, Christmas has been different. The first one with the boy was when he was only three weeks old, so you on Christmas day you could have told us that it was June 7th 2015 and we wouldn't have known the difference from sleep deprivation. Since then it's been watching the boys and waiting for when they're big enough to understand what's going on. This is probably the last year in which the boy will not be fully aware of the scary elf bastard who sneaks into everybody's house. So next year he'll be full of things for Father Christmas to bring him and us pointing at the cheaper alternatives saying that he might not have room on the sleigh for all that big expensive stuff. The new boy will still be impressed by the boxes.

But I've come to realise this is the exciting part. For the next several years I get to experience the young, untarnished joy of the boys thinking that there's a wonderful selfless person that will give them presents for being good. No doubt it will make me remember things that I had forgotten about that made me look forward to Christmas when I was younger and make me reevaluate the things that my parents did that made some wonderful memories of being young. But one of my best Christmas memories will always be the year that it was just me and my wife, just in the home and sporadically giving each other presents and being in each other's company. Before the boys, after some years with drunken mother/grandmother incidents. It was just us and it was perfect. Plus we watched Die Hard, which is the best Christmas film ever. In your face, Capra....

So as usual, I haven't really got a point, I just hope that everyone I care about is happy on Christmas day; which I think is all that anyone should ever want.

Of course if the world does end on the 21st, grab the nearest bottle and jump off the side of the earth, just avoid the turtle on the way down; he's probably got enough to worry about...

Attempting to cure writers block

2012-02-21T21:48:00.000+00:00

As I'm sure that your aware, it's been six months since the last blog; more or less. I remember that the new boy was a tiny little dude that had just been sick on my shoulder (actually I'm not that sure, but it's a statistical probability). Since then many things have changed. I've started a new job in the meantime which means that there's precious little time for committing random thoughts to a blog.

Well, that's a bit of a lie, I've had time to do it, it's just that I've had a case of not knowing what to write. It's not like there's a shortage of topics. Port Talbot is still Batshit crazy, the boy (and new boy) continue to amaze and exasperate in equal measure and life in general has gone on. But nothing jumps out. Maybe I haven't been looking hard enough, who knows?

So what I'm going to do is just try and literally type my thoughts out as I think them. this could either be amazing or a worrying look into my psyche, either way it might be a hoot.Come to think of it, this may have been how I started the blog in the first place.

Ooh look at me I've come full circle.

Right then. As i write this, the Brits are on. Music scares me these days, well it doesn't scare me as such as turn me into a boring old man who moans about it being better in his day. But it's not just me surely? Music really is shit these days. All the usual pop stuff just sound like that auto-tuned bollocks that you hear ever since the 50s barbie-brought-to-life Cher mangled her vocal track with it. she probably had it installed in her larynx the last time she had her cheeks rotated.
It's not all rubbish of course though, at the moment Adele is performing and her voice is pretty astonishing.

Well I've had enough of that, let's move on...

I very recently turned thirty. I just typed that and I think that it's only just dawned on me now. It's viewed as something of a milestone when you hit the big old 3-0. Maybe it harks back to days of gone when it was the life expectancy.

"You're thirty and not dead! YAY YOU!!!"

Maybe because it's a round number. Maybe because it's dividable by ten. Maybe even because it's the age in Logans Run where you get killed for being too old, I don't know.

Nuts, my brain appears to have stopped.

Well I'm sorry for wasting your time with this one, I'm just easing my way back in after a while off the scene, as it were.

But I have plans.

You may or may not know that The Apprentice is on next month and it happens to be one of my favourite programmes because there's nothing funnier that seeing a very well educated person make a complete tit of themselves, other than seeing Piers Morgan being slapped very hard in the face.

But as I'm yet to see that I've decided to start a new blog. I'm going to attempt to do a blog-along (I'm copyrighting that word so back off society..) When the episode goes out on BBC 1, I'll be writing and posting as soon as I can after it's finished. Not a review, more of my account of what's happening.

There's a fair chance I'll not get around to it, but I'll do my best. I bet you all can't wait.....

Then there were two...

2011-09-05T23:48:00.000+01:00

So, yeah.

Two weeks after his due date, we welcomed the new boy into the world. He sleeps right now, I currently have baby sick on my shoulder. I'd forgotten about the little things like that. But you don't mind, because as long as the baby sleeps you don't care about the various fluids that have been projected onto you like you're the worlds most unfortunate bullseye. He's asleep. That's cool.

Of course, this time around there's the added element of the original boy (aka "The Boy"). He's doing all the things that he usually does. He runs around, he looks at things that look shiny and interesting. He turns off the internet and the phone, because apparently he's sneaky little ninja toddler that if you take your eye off him he'll disappear.

He's like Batman in The Dark Knight. Just when you think that you're talking to someone, giving vital nuggets of wisdom you turn around to find he's run off somewhere. Except I don't remember seeing Batman getting himself stuck between a high chair and the wall because he wanted to see if he'd fit.

But that's not really the point. I wanted to recall (to the best of my abilities) the whole experience of welcoming a child into the world. Except that I wanted to talk about it from the Dad's perspective and talk about it in actual terms that relate to people. not like in those rubbish little pamphlets they give to dads.

I've joked about it in the past, a Dad getting a small piece of paper with "go ask your mother" written on it.
You know what you get? This:

I think my thumb looks weird in this picture....

I mean seriously? How insulting is this? The general consensus that dad's will only need to know what's on a fold out A5 piece of paper. Even more insulting is that most of it is website links.

Fuck that.

I want to talk about what I went through.

Before I continue I'm not taking anything away from what women have to go through because, frankly, I'm eternally grateful that I didn't have to push a tiny person out of me. But there are aspects from a male perspective that are often overlooked. I want to address that. But I'll add a humorous picture or two.

The time came when my wife was scheduled to go into hospital to be induced. At this point the baby was 12 days overdue, my wife being such a good hostess that the little guy didn't want to come out. Thankfully, we had relatives that the boy could go to, otherwise we'd be have to take him in and try and stop him setting a record for pressing the call help buttons.

So we went in and we waited. And waited. This, I had forgotten about. The amount of time just waiting for people to come or things to happen was surreal. The wife wasn't in labour at this point so I didn't feel that guilty about spending a large amount of time on Twitter, busying myself with trying to be witty and taking picture of things that seemed rather odd. If you follow me you might've seen some of them, the best of these probably being the toilet roll holders that looked like breasts.

Don't believe me?

Have a look:

I mean, what were they thinking? Well, I think we all know what they were thinking. How could you not look at the finished product and question why they've somehow designed holders that appear to lactate paper? I suppose the maternity ward is the one place where it would work, but it's not subtle.

Anyway...

The first night, the baby was not forthcoming, and because of the particular hospital I was in, I couldn't stay after 8pm, so I had to go. I got back to make sure that the boy was still sleeping and that he hadn't driven his grandmother insane. Her sanity was intact, and I sat down.

It was weird, being in the house and the wife not being there. It reminded me of when the boy was born. The only difference was that he had already been born at the point where I had to go home. That was hard as well. Knowing my family was in the hospital and coming home to an empty house. But this time I was coming home to my first son, so I could busy my feeble brain with being there for him.But my mind always snapped back to the hospital and my eyes were never far from my phone, waiting for a call to say that I could come.

So into day two. The boy was handed over to grandparents again. I got back to the hospital and had the waiting interspersed with buying the most expensive pasties ever from the cafe (seriously, ten quid for two cups of coffee and two pasties?) and strolling past the hospital radio station that had a surprisingly good choice in music. But there was still nothing happening, so I had to leave again.

The boy was still up when I got back, and after he went to bed I got a text from my wife saying that she was officially in labour. I hit the bed and thought I'd get in some sleep while I still could. I was laying in bed, phone in hand, checking the signal and the battery to make sure it was in optimum condition. It probably wasn't due to the fact that I was checking it every two seconds. I wondered if I would get to sleep at all that night.

Seconds later, I fell asleep.

I was awoken around one in the morning to find that my wife was phoning me. At this point I was still ninety percent asleep and my brain was telling me that she was downstairs, and questioning why she would be calling. After the conversation reality slapped my brain across the head with the dad pamphlet and I kicked into gear. Grandparents were summoned once more and I made my way to the hospital.

The car journey was the scariest one I'd ever had, mainly because it was the heaviest rain I'd ever driven in and, between Port Talbot and Bridgend, there aren't many lights on the motorway. I got there in one piece, parked, unclenched my buttocks from the hair-raising trip and tried to figure out how to get into the now closed hospital. I got there through A&E, which was surprisingly empty considering it was a Friday night in South Wales.

I got to the birthing room and all the memories for the first time came flooding back. My wife was lying there, gas and air pipe in hand (which despite my the best efforts, they never let me try) and I sat.

It was in moments like this when I felt I could pretty much do nothing. All other times I could get things, go to the shop, let people know what was happening. But when it came to down to it, my wife was having the baby and I couldn't help.

And then comes the weird emotional roller coaster, because even though it turned out wonderfully and we had a new baby, that time before he was born, those hours and minutes, you're watching someone you love go through so much pain and suffering and there's nothing you can do. So you're excited that you're about to meet the offspring, but you're utterly heartbroken and distraught at seeing her having to go through this.

But then she took my hand and I felt useful again. I told her to squeeze as hard as she wanted. She could break my fingers off and shove them up my nose if it helped in any small way. If it helped, then I was happy with that. I was watching her giving birth and I fell so in love with her all over again. And again. She fucking rocked. At this point my hand had gone from being held to being bitten. I was a man, I could take it. Until she really went for it and I said (and I think this is how you spell it) MMEEAARRRH!

And he was there. The new boy, all kinda purple and crying. You will never forget or experience anything like the first time you see your child. Thinking about it now I remember the exact same feeling of shock of seeing both of them, the feeling of "Oh my god, it's an actual person" kinda thing.

The next part is when you just sit there and look at him, and take in the last moment of quiet normality you're going to experience for a fair few years. This point is when the Dad file downloads in your brain. The dad file helps you get your head around the fact that you're now a father and disables the parts of your brain that gags at the sight of poo or sick or objecting when someone urinates on you. It also alters your way of thinking and your perception of reality. It will makes you think that this child has been with you al your life. This was version 2.0 for me, which is a refreshers course and a resigning of the agreement.

I went home again. I sneaked in a quick hour of sleep and then me and the boy went to see the other half of the family and there we were. Our family of four. That phrase still makes me smile with joy and bewilderment.
We came home and it was like there had been the four of us all along.

So to sum up, if your a man and your going to be a dad, this sort of thing will happen to you. You will travel around, you will keep family members updated. But right at the point of when you other half is actually performing this amazing miracle of nature you will feel useless. You will want to tear open the sky to find the entity that is subjecting the woman you love to the pain that she is going through. But you will be strong for her and as soon as you see the little boy or girl every emotion other than love will drain away. You will be a family.

So there you go.

Next time, stuff about Dr Who. Probably....

The answer to the question of the meaning of life and the correct amount of cakes to have at any one time

2011-07-28T00:13:00.000+01:00

So it's potentially hours to go until the birth of the new boy.

Chances are that this post will have a rather large gap between me starting it and finishing, pending on when the time comes. Nevertheless I'll push on with it.

So, two boys. Brothers. Siblings. Cohorts. No matter what, it's going to be interesting. Prep has been done, Wotsists and Jaffa Cakes have been bought. Special Agent Oso has been recorded. When the time comes the boy will be spoilt rotten and basically kept quiet by whoever is watching him with the aforementioned tasty treats. That is if I can keep my hands off them myself. I swear those wotsits are laced with cocaine (have I said that in a previous post? I can't remember...). Once the new boy is in the world I'll wrench the then orange faced toddler away from his favourite animated TV panda to come and meet his sidekick and then we come home and we are a complete set. The four of us.

Four is a number that seems to fit. The thought of us all in the house together instantly makes more sense that just the boy as it is now. The more I think the more it seems such a perfect set up. Also I'll have the right amount of children to explain the amount of grey hair I have. Sweet.

Life is funny sometimes and most people ponder the eternal question, what is the meaning of life? I used to, but I don't any more because I have my own answer to that (I'll tell you later).

The things I ponder these days are stupid things. I've pondered that phrase about having your cake and eating it too. Is that not what a cake is for? To be eaten? Why would you just have one and not eat it, it makes no sense.

Before you starting thinking that I've missed the point I'm aware of the phrase and what it actually means, but fuck that I want to take it literally. And if you ever have someone say that to you, tell them that you want two identical cakes. That way you can have one and eat it too. Simple.

Anyway, enough of that. I ponder other things but I can't think of anything other than cake right now so I'm off to go and get one.

By the way you might notice some minor Amazon related changes up top and below the blog. I'm just trying something out. If you think it's a getting in the way or something let me know I'll take it off. I'm here for the art dammit.

Just click on the other adverts a million times so I can buy an iPad2.

Unless inspiration hits I'll probably post after the new boy has been born, so God only knows what time it'll go up.

Oh yeah, the meaning of life. If someone ever asks me that, my answer?

To live. So go live it. Preferably with two identical cakes.

Ultra Violence & a very angry man: My love for Total Recall

2011-07-06T00:14:00.000+01:00

There are films. You know this of course, you might've seen one or two of them in your time.

Sometimes these films are good, sometimes bad. Sometimes they're the most amazing pieces of visual artistry that you will ever see and they will move you to tears, and sometimes you get Battlefield Earth.

But then sometimes you get films that are so bad, you can't help but enjoy them and like to watch them again and again just to laugh at how poor it is but you thoroughly enjoy it every time. They're generally referred to as guilty pleasures.

Total Recall is not one of these films, mainly because it's awesome.

An explanation might be in order here then. Total Recall has been a favourite in this house for a while now. I can't remember where it started but I'm assuming it had something to do with large quantities of alcohol and a lack of things to watch on TV. There's something about the combination of story, acting, the fact it was made in the eighties and Arnie (I utterly refuse to type his surname; whos got the time?) that is truly magical.

You might think it's rubbish, you may have a point. But then I'd want to throw a piece of Austrian oak at you and see that you got the irony as it bounced off your head.

If you haven't seen it, it's a classic story of a man who dreams of going to Mars, but can't afford it. He then hears that he can have a memory implant in his head that'll make him think he's been on a nice holiday, but he also has an optional extra that make him think he's a spy and has a dream-like adventure. Unfortunately due to the fact that this is Arnie's head, the implant knocks out all that was in there (which probably amounts to thoughts about guns, boobs and a monkey starching his arse) and unlocks the fact that he's actually a spy in real life but he can't remember anything else. So he does what anyone else would do and kicks the shit out of anyone who looks at him funny.

And that's essentially it. From this point on the plot goes out the window and he just goes and get's the biggest handgun I've ever seen and blows snooker ball sized chunks out of anonymous henchmen whilst trying to get to Mars to meet a girl and help some Jim Henson creations. Or something.

I never thought about the plot that much, it's just waiting to get to the bits that you remember and cheering him on as he inexplicably manages to kick to people in the face at the same time whilst being held down. The film is an example of the eighties style 'ultra violence' that was popular in other films like Robocop and Scarface, which is so so over the top you can't help but laugh at seeing someone getting his head blown off. Or in the case of one of Recalls most iconic scenes using a fake head to blow up other peoples heads. You know the one, right?

An everyday occurrance in eighties cinema...

One of the key ingredients to making this film awesome is Michael Ironside, who plays the (almost) main bad guy Richter. I'm sure he's a great actor, but this is one of those 'have fun and get paid' roles for him .

Richter is a very angry man indeed. The main problem is that he can't seem to be able to shoot a man who is six feet wide and stands out like a giant ogre in a pub full of hobbits

Pulling this face for a two hour film deserves an award in itself

But it's his pure fury (and to be honest I don't think he even knows why he wants to kill him after an hour) that leads him to his down fall and possibly the most missed opportunity for a quip in cinema history.

Basically he get's his arms ripped off by a lift. Arnie is left waving said arms and he says "See you at the party Richter!" This is an Arnie film. No arm quip? Seriously? This is the guy who shot a crocodile and said "You're Luggage"

*sigh*

Which lead to the main attraction of Total Recall; Arnie Himself.

Lets face it, any Arnie film without him would be a straight to video affair. But eighties Arnie could do no wrong. His huge range of emotions he shows is without equal.

Actually he has two expressions, one of which is:

How has this man never won an oscar?

He's is without doubt, awful. When he's supposed to be in pain he sound like he's reading it straight from the script.

But that's the charm of big dude. People didn't want to see him act, they wanted to see him destroy things. And people. And dialogue. He was at the peak of his powers doing this film and it shows. The effects may look rubbish now, the music and script is terrible and the acting is not even phoned in. Faxed in would be more appropriate.

But it's just perfect for what it is. You know the saying two wrongs don't make a right? Well a shitload of wrongs apparently is what it takes it to make one of the most unforgettable and entertaining films your ever likely to see. It's probably on ITV2 or one of the sky channels now. Go watch and enjoy.

Plus how can you not enjoy a film that gives you a moment like this;

It's good, but it's not right....

2011-07-02T23:29:00.000+01:00

I saw a man having the fat sucked out from behind his nipple. I'm hoping it's the one and only time.

That was Embarrassing Fat Bodies on Channel 4. Sadly, there's not an amazing story that culminates in me having to witness the aforementioned operation to figure out how to stop the terrorists by recreating the moves of the surgeon to disarm the nuclear bomb on the way to the White House, It was just on when I walked in the room.

At first I thought there was some sort of uncooked pizza on the TV. Then, the horror. The horror when I realised what I saw.

This is today's entertainment. It shows how TV has changed in the last twenty-odd years. I'm not going to rant on about it being rubbish compared to TV "back in my day" because my my day there was a lot of filler as well. It was called ITV.

(It still is, by the way. ITV is fucking terrible. All that needs to be done is for the BBC to buy TV Burp, and then ITV can be shot in the head and buried at sea, like that guy was the other day. You know the one, that beardy guy?).

The embarrassing bodies series actually quite deceptive. You can look at it and think that it's just to laugh at fat people, but if you actually watch it, it shows the full extent of issues that some people in society face. It shows surgery as well, something I can't watch because I'm a bit squeamish.

It also shows that TV is these days quite deceptive. I only realised the other day that a few of the programmes I watch are essentially game shows in disguise.

I watch The Apprentice. (In fact next year I'm thinking of setting up a blog to run alongside the series, but that's another thought for another day) and the appeal for me is to watch supposedly the best business minds in Britain making complete tits of themselves. But then I thought that they're competing for a prize, complete tasks and a few get knocked out every week.
Is that not what crackerjack was all about (I think, I'm actually too young for that one...) or The Generation Game? Or Big break? Or EVERY FUCKING GAMESHOW EVER!?!?

The only difference is that it has a shiny business like veneer instead of novelty buzzer noises and the chance to see what they could've won. Well they know what they could've won, it's 250k and Lord Canderel as a matey blokey-bloke business partner instead of a 1978 Vauxhall Astra, or a weekend away for two to Benidorm.

I love it though, Nick's expressions alone are TV comedy gold.

Another one I watch is Four Rooms. A new one from Channel 4 shows people bringing in all sorts of stuff to try and sell to dealers who presumably flog it off for a huge profit and laugh like a manically insane bond villain whist kicking kittens through an electric fan. I assume. They may just go home and eat their tea, I'm not sure.

This one is quite compelling. Basically people want to sell their stuff. They get greedy and usually go home with nothing. Four people make them offers. These people include someone who looks like Sean Lock, someone who looks like Phil Jupitus's Dad, the 'Simon Cowell' of the group who's surname is a breed of fish I can't remember and a woman who looks like she's a big fan of Tim Burton's work.

The main draw on this is the fact that you can see people go into these rooms and have a game plan and as soon as they get a whiff of an offer more than they thought you can practically see the pound sign in their eyes. But again, it's nothing more than a game show. It's a game show that's a unholy hybrid of Deal or No Deal, Dragons Den & Cash in the Attic (love and hugs to my wife for this comparison) but a game show nonetheless. They go in to win a prize and they either win or lose. It should be hosted by Roy Walker, he's a legend.

So if I think about it, I watch Sci Fi, cleverly disguised game shows, QI & American sitcoms about people who watch Sci Fi.

I still haven't seen Werner Herzog eat his shoe yet.

Thoughts about Future boy

2011-06-25T23:55:00.000+01:00

So there's about six weeks until the new boy is born.

I have an apparent sense of unnatural calm. The ministry of clichés tells me that it's the calm before the storm, but I'm not sure that's the case. It could be, I'm frequently wrong about things including, but not limited to, correct lottery numbers and government legislation.

I think my brain is going with the fact that since we have a son already that the knowledge contained is backward compatible. To an extent I think this is correct. But of course everyone is different, and the situation wont be exactly the same. For a start there's also the fact that there's going to be a new baby and an twenty month old toddler, so that's different. But my boy has a good soul (and a cheeky smile that'll get him out of any situation) so I have no worries about him reacting to the new addition to the household. He'll probably just think it's the norm and just carry on dancing to Chugginton.

In a practical sense the fact that we're having another boy is good as we have several layers of baby clothing that can be used again. Looking at the tiny t-shirts and sleep suits have questioned my sanity. Did we ever have a son who was that small? Surely not, he's a big, walking toddler now. Was he ever a little sleepy thing that can't support his head and is discreetly sick down my back? There is lots of photographic evidence that proves me wrong, yet part of my brain states that this wasn't the case.

There's another part of my brain that clearly remembers him sleeping in a Moses basket next to the sofa right next to where I was sitting, whilst I was blubbing (like a marine I might add) whilst Thor was giving up his life to enable Captain Kirk and his Mother to live on another day.*

I think it's fair to say that on occasion that my brain can't be trusted. For God's sake just this second I literally just stopped writing because I remembered that I wanted to watch the new Captain America trailer and watched that instead of finishing my sentence.

I'm sure I had a point when I started writing this, but it's gone. So I'll leave with this.

I love my family. For all the irrational fears I may have about what's to come I can't wait to meet the new guy and welcome him into the world.

Then the consensus between me and my wife is that we'll be investing in large amounts of contraception and Googling: "vasectomy procedures".

*In plain English I was watching Star Trek.

Clowns, bears & vomiting trains (aka I'm not ripping of Charlie Brooker, it's a more of a sycophantic homage) .

2011-05-27T22:43:00.001+01:00

In the last 17 months, I’ve watched a lot of kids TV. It’s been there to on occasion to distract the boy whilst being changed or just general to keep him quiet while me and my wife catch a breather.

Originally there were mutterings of these programmes not being as good as they were in our day, but it took an absurdly long time to realise that these programmes weren’t aimed at me, rather the children.

I also realise that there was a lot of terrible programmes on in my day. Finger mouse springs to mind, it was just some middle aged guy with a piece of paper wrapped around his finger for God’s sake. At least the Tellytubbies put a bit of effort in.

But we did have Dogtanian, Thundercats, Dungeons & Dragons, MASK and Going Live among other things. So it was pretty good.

So if it's okay with you I'm going to a poor man's screen-wipe style look at some of the programmes I've seen on the last year and a half.

In the beginning there was nothing. Then there was Disney. Specifically Playhouse Disney and it was colourful and weird. Disney was a good place to start because you know that they’ve been entertaining kids ever since they took over Korea with a bunch of heavily armed animators.

They know their stuff, but you do notice that it’s pretty much all CG. Not even good CG, it looks pretty basic; like someone is using a mouse to drag the arms back and forth and doing their best to try and not makes any wanking gestures. But again, you remember it’s for infants and toddlers and they don’t care if the texture on Special Agents Oso’s fur is correctly lit. They care if he falls over or not in a funny way.

Speaking of Oso, he’s been the biggest hit in this house. Maybe the boy has an appreciation for Sean Astin’s body of work, I’m not sure. Whatever the reason he’s the go-to bear around here. To start I was concerned that Oso was a special agent who forgot nearly everything that he’d been told literally seconds ago. He wouldn’t last two seconds in the real world, he’d be picked off by rival agents and water boarded for information. But he would’ve forgotten everything anyway so he might be alright. Or killed instantly. So to begin with I was dismissive, but then something happened that made me smile. I think it was Oso jumping a bike into a tree. After that it began to grow on me and now I consider it positively Shakespearean in its design. It’s the little things that get you.

Mickey Mouse was a big hit for a while too, the same level of CG and that chirpy voice that will make you develop a nervous twitch every time you hear it. He’s got a club house that looks like someone has chopped him up and planted the dismembered corpse randomly in a field. He’s also got a train that’s vomits its own rail track piece by piece when it moves. What a horrible tortured existence that poor fucker has. He’s in his garage somewhere shying away from daylight begging not to be made to move for fear of losing his mind and whatever he's eaten for lunch.

The writers in this one are a bit cheeky. I swear they put in innuendo that goes over the kids’ heads. I noticed a few but my wife caught the best one. Minnie Mouse was on the hunt for her missing muffin (the cake, but you can see where this is going). She asked Daisy Duck if she’d eaten it. Yeah they went there, the dirty bastards.

This one made a bit of a comeback due to the hot dog dance they do at the end (I have no idea so don't ask), and my boys burgeoning dancing skills.

(He’s a right little mover and got a shoulder wiggle that’ll melt your heart.)

There's also the Imagination Movers. An American kids' band who work in a TARDIS warehouse and one of them has a TARDIS hat. They're awesome. I'd love to say something funny about them but they're the most likeable Americans I've ever seen and they're music is really good. Sometimes a bit Kraftwerk inspired which is a bit weird, it's a bit like seeing Bob the builder covering NWA.

More recently Cbeebies have been incorporated into the viewing. The BBC has still got it when it comes to entertaining the kids, but it took me a while to notice the quality. I was instantly charmed by Disney and their cheap thrills but the beeb have got class.

They incorporate proper presenters and have great shows to learn with. Stuff like arts and crafts and cooking and gardening and reading.
With Cbeebies one of the biggest and still one of the best for the boy is Alphablocks. It’s still the only thing that he sits there for the entire episode; it’s just a shame that the episodes are only three minutes long.

A happy accident from the recording of Alphablocks overrunning was catching a programme called ‘Something Special’. At first it looked like some random bloke dressed up as a clown called Mr Tumble and falling over, much like those cheap ones you saw in school that would tell you about traffic awareness. But as I watched it showed that it was about taking children with disabilities out on a day they wouldn’t forget. Any snide sarcastic quips I might've made were washed away by a double wave of guilt and shame.

One of the elements of the programme is clown dude using sign language and teaches it we the episode progresses. I’ve learnt a fair bit myself. Granted, I should’ve paid more attention to more important words other than “barbeque” but it might come in handy one day.

So in your face Disney, the Beeb are showing equality and tolerance to children from a young age. You don’t see Mickey doing that do you? They’ve got a presenter with a disability as well which shows that Cbeebies have got more balls than nearly all other TV channels put together.
Kudos.

They also have Rastamouse. 'Nuff said.

The only one I’ve got an issue with is in the night garden. It’s just mental, frankly. There’s a ninky nonk, a plinky plonk and others that defy any logical and grammatical explanation.
I’m just glad they stopped when they did otherwise you’d have splinky wink, a minky mank a tooble tum and one day they’ll maybe show the unaired episode involving the gropy pope.

It seems that kids TV is in good hands. You’ve got the kind of programmes that you can use to catch 5 minutes for yourself and you’ve got the usual BBC quality, the same as it ever was.

Of course, you should probably take them outdoors once in a while as well…

Hope I die before I get…..oh bugger.

2011-05-24T20:07:00.000+01:00

My son can eat like his old man, I’m very proud of this.

You can tell when he likes something by the simple “mmmmmmmmm” noise he makes. It’s awesome and man, can he pack it away.

Using Sherlock Holmes’ deduction methods I’ve come to the conclusion that he is some kind of human TARDIS.
There’s no other explanation. He simply must be bigger on the inside.

I used to be like that, but lately I’ve feel like it’s no longer happening. When I have a curry I tend to spend the rest of the night propped against the sofa like a tree that hasn’t quite fallen over. Well, either that or the foetal position, but that’s mostly reserved for when the boy accidently kicks me in the gonads.

He’s got a hell of a kick by the way, once I was changing him and he delivered a kick so powerful that it made my balls bounce of the top of my ribcage and back down again. I sounded like Frank Spencer for the best part of the day.

But anyway, I may have mentioned it before but using Holmes’ methods once more I think I’m getting old. Not just old but premature mid-life crises. There’s plenty of evidence.
First of all, I’m going grey. But that’s been happening for a while. I’ve got a line of white in my hair that would make peppe le peu jealous. Or possibly aroused.

(Great now I’ve got the disturbing mental image of peppe le peu trying to hump my hair).

I don’t like much new music, mainly because its horrible generic Godawful shite. The stuff I like I thought would still be cool. But then one day I saw an advert. That advert has for the “Best Dad rock album in the world, ever!!!” and my insides died a little when I saw that it had a lot of stuff on there that I like. I know I’m a dad, but come on. Those albums are for stuff from the sixties surely?

I often think the dreaded phrase “in my day”. But it’s true, have you seen the price of a chomp these days? Seventeen pence? Surely they’re only supposed to be ten pence. Fifteen at a push.
Teenagers annoy me, I’m looking to see what’s on G.O.L.D far too much and I make a very old man noise when I sit down. There really is no hope.

Technology I’m still ok with though, but I fear it’s only a matter of time before it’ll get the better of me. I imagine it’ll happen when I have to ask one of my boys to help me with a computer or phone, and when that day comes I’ll buy myself a rocking chair, a cardigan with leather elbow patches and blow my brain out with the nearest ray gun.

But I’ll probably need help with that too.

Meet the card carrying members of the numpty-verse

2011-05-22T19:45:00.000+01:00

As previously mentioned, Port Talbot is bat shit crazy. But it appears we are not alone.

Don't get me wrong, since I last mentioned it I've seen some fantastic shout outs from the nutter posse (as some "yoof" might say...well I think. I'm not exactly on the same wavelength).

I was wondering down the shop; probably for the second time that night because I've got a memory like a sieve that been massacred by an AK47, and I overheard someone clapping. This you may think is not uncommon, but the claps were getting louder. As I wondered what to expect when I turned the corner, a man walked past. As he was walking he was clapping in time with his steps (concentrating very hard I might add). He looked up and saw me and instead of looking embarrassed or giving something of a sane explanation, he simply gave me an approving nod. For what I have no idea.

Why would he approve me? Was he respecting my choice to walk normally? He also had a crutch hanging from his arm, something that just added to the hundreds of questions that popped into my head in the space of those two minutes.

The other particular highlight was when I was taking the boy to town. During one of his games of "Lets see how many times I can throw my hat on the floor and get Dad to run over it", two men walked past on the opposing pavement. Usually I wouldn't listen in to other people’s conversation but it’s hard not to when one person says: "And then he went like this...."

He then proceeded to hop backwards down the pavement like a New Zealand player doing the Hakka who's been stuck on rewind on the TV, and the spun around and did what I can only assume was an impression of a javelin thrower and making a noise that can only be written thusly:

"FNNNEOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWMMMMMN"

His companion said nothing. Neither did I. Frankly I was bewildered by the whole thing. The only thing that would've compared to that level of madness would've been if a leprechaun had appeared out of thin air, jumped up and slapped me and rocketed off to the moon.

But that's Port Talbot.

I was in Swansea the other day. At the start it was relatively sane, but it was only when I got on the train that things went a bit strange.

Turns out it was rather packed, and rather than walk through all the carriages and catch a line of people on the back of the head with my bag (my record is seven in a row), I took one of the seats by the door. I figured that I’d be getting off in fifteen minutes or so it wouldn’t be an issue.

Unbeknownst to me, I had chosen a seat that had ‘toilet attendant’ written above it. I assume I did considering the situation that unfolded. A middle aged woman approached and asked if anyone was in there. After stating that there wasn’t (that I was aware of) she proceeded to press a button to open it.

Well, that’s what she thought. She was pressing a part of the wall that was quite clearly blank. Maybe she thought it was one of those magic wall buttons that blend into the background that we all use on a day to day basis. There’s not a day goes by where I don’t see someone franticly groping a wall to get into buildings that don’t exist. I pointed out the clearly marked button. She went in.

Going back to my world blocking out music, I noticed when she came out that she began pressing this newly discovered wonderful non-camouflaged button. She pressed a lot of times. She then asked me if said action would close the door. Avoiding the billion sarcastic comments that entered my head I said that it probably closes by itself.

She went away. I sighed relief.

Not two minutes later a man walked up and pressed the button to open the door. This guy was obviously ahead of the curve. Except that he was standing outside the cupboard doors that were right next the actual door, patiently waiting for them to open. Meanwhile the actual door was (loudly) opening mere millimetres away. I waited for as long as I could before my newly self-appointed toilet attendant instinct kicked in and I had to point out the three foot gap that had suddenly appeared to his right.

He entered. I stifled a laugh to myself.

Another two minutes later the first middle aged woman showed up again, only to have who I assumed to be her mother in tow. She began to show her mother the wondrous button she’d discovered only five minutes previously and pressed awaiting a gasp of amazement from her mother. Except that it didn’t open. She turned to me as the keeper of the gates and asked if there was anyone in. As she asked me I couldn’t help staring that the massive red “TOILET ENGAGED” sign just to her left.

I was biting my lip so hard that I almost felt blood dripping down.

I pointed out the sign. The doors then opened and the guy left and the mother and daughter went in.

Thankfully the train pulled up at the station and I exited pondering if I could be the best toilet attendant the world never knew about.

I’m not looking down on the people around here. Well, maybe a little bit but no more than other people probably do to me when I’ve been out. I’ve been in town sometimes and when I’ve got back I’ve noticed my hair. On occasion when it’s long enough and I haven’t done anything to it I can look like Wolverine who’s let himself go and got baby sick on either shoulder. Then I’ve noticed it down my back and front.

I’m sure that there’s a genius on every street, it’s just I’ve got a habit of seeing the card carrying members of the numpty-verse.

But I can’t complain, it gives me something to write about

Herds and herds of geeks and nerds...

2011-05-02T13:12:00.000+01:00

Going slightly off topic on this one. I'm not normally this abrasive (my anger management counsellor will tell you that) but the stuff below really does annoy me.

As previously mentioned, I kinda like gadgets. Grown up toys and generally things that are shiny and bleep. Me and the boy have this in common. But sometimes people can spoil this by taking so-called sides to rival tech firms.
For example; recently the Playstation network game thingy went down (or it broke, as normal people would say) and the Xbox crowd went mental. Not as mental as the Playstation users that had to cancel their credit cards, but still they were rather boisterous. They were going on about how shit Sony are and how Xbox live and Microsoft were far superior.

Hmmm....

My brother handily pointed out that Microsoft (aka Bill Gates' empire of nerd) owns and operates Internet explorer. you know, that amazing blue 'e' symbol that sits on the desktop and has never broken down or been infected with viruses for crashed unexpectedly or....I forget my point.

If it sounds like that I'm taking Sony's side, I'm not really but I do tend to go for the their consoles over Microsoft. But it's not like I'd not get an Xbox either. If I was offered an Xbox I wouldn't go on about how I wouldn't dare have such a thing in my home and then pledge my allegiance to Sony by having the Playstation symbols carved into my forehead. I'd probably say "ta very much" and lose the next 3 hours of my life to it.

It just the snobbery of the people who decide the open source/more techy/more likely to get them to see boobs tech is the best and spend their time shaking their head in disbelief and snorting contempt at the lowly folk who dared to show the ability to express free choice.

you can also get into this type of conversation:

You: "I have this console"

Tech snob: *snort* "why did you buy that?"

You: "I had a look at all the options and decided this was the best one for me"

Tech snob: but that can only do (drones on about processing power or some bollocks) whilst my
machine can (even Goddam longer) and also (your now thinking of ways to kill him).

At this point they're explaining everything they know about coding and other things, by which time you've already made the mental note to de-friend them on facebook.

The one that really gets me annoyed it the whole shebang that I'm going to call "the apple-android smackdown" (I may change that).

Why this "grinds my gears" more than anything is that I've had experience of both sides. I'm currently with an android powered phone. I have had an iPhone in the past but made a change (for reasons i'm not going into). I can already hear the pro android army making approving noises, but I prefer Apple. I just do.

I've literally read people saying that the iPhone is rubbish. Well no, frankly. It's clearly not.
If it were rubbish it wouldn't sell, and it has sold lots.
"But wait" I hear the tech snobs cry, "the Apple service is a walled garden environment and you can only get software through itunes".
That may be, but the app store is great. and correct me if I'm wrong but I'm pretty sure you can download music from other places like Amazon and then put them on your phone.
Besides, Eden was a pretty big walled garden, that seemed like a nice place to be.

Yes, I will concede that the lack of flash support on the iPhone was on occasion a pain in the arse. "At least" I thought "Now I can do all that flash stuff I didn't realise I wanted to do or never really thought about now with my android powered gadget".

Yeah. My phone doesn't support flash. My Android phone.

So I cant use the BBC iPlayer (fuck me there's a lot of things with an "i" in front of it these days) on it to catch up on any TV & radio stuff I might have missed, LIKE YOU FUCKING CAN ON THE IPHONE!!!!!

I'm not saying that Apple is perfect. It's not. iTunes can be a right fuckwit a lot of the time, and registering the phone itself is a pain. But I think it's better. Granted, I havent got the best phone for the android experience but I can't see how it would make much diffence. And before you say anything you can take the words "widgets" and "customisable" and "open" and source" and shove them up your arse. I don't want these things.

I suppose there is a point in this uneven stuttering rant.

The point is, people choose things that right for them. If you force an opinion on them and bully them into thinking they're stupid, then fuck you. You are no better than the people who probably bullied you in the past because you could set up a computer and they could throw or kick a ball really well and yet somehow they get to be more popular.

By the way it may appear to some that I'm focing my opinion on you. I'm airing what annoys me about this topic. The next time you want to get something (whatever it may be, a phone, a car, a gimp mask) but have doubts about what people might say, ignore them do what's right for you. Don't conform for other people, you'll never be happy that way.

Or something. I don't know I'm just some idiot with a blog...

(Also I realise the title makes no sense.)

Next time, my theory on how my son is a human TARDIS.

"Assemble the Pentagon of Comfort..."

2011-04-18T23:08:00.000+01:00

The boy is now walking. This is cool.

He's got a Frankenstein's Monster walk going on at the minute, with occasional stops to do the occasional squat or he'll just turn around and toddle off the way he just came. This however brings it's own new set of issues. There are now things that are head hight that that weren't before.

I'm considering buying 5 new matresses that I will assemble around him and I will dub this "The Pentagon of Comfort" so he can bounce back and fore all day long without him giving his mother and I terminal migranes.

Also the door handles are now not mere conundrums, just objects that provide access to previously unacessable parts of the house (which is what they are designed for I suppose) The table is a climbing frame, on which trying to get up he does a fantastic karate style kick movement.

On the stairs he's reached a level of speed comparable to this.

The teething is still an issue. They're slowly getting there, but knowing that he's suffering from it has made my brain imagine a situation where I'm threatening to punch out the tooth fairy. This might be unfair however, as I'm not sure if the tooth fairy is responsible for putting the teeth there in the first place. So I could be threatening a poor mythical creature who's just doing their job without having to worry about Kato style attacks coming from all angles.

I can't wait for him to start speaking properly. At the moment he's got "Mam" under his belt (despite the fact I've been told that "Dad" is quite often the first word. I'm not bitter...), a selection of quizzical noises that combines with a hand expression that's reminiscent to someone discovering a series link recording of The Wire has actually turned out to have recorded Dad's Army instead.

For reasons my brain can't explain, I sometimes expect him to start reciting the opening passage of Pride and Prejudice (though I'd have to check with my wife first as I've never read it). But whatever his next foray into language may be, I'll adore him for it. I'll hug him and ask him to say again and again.

Of course I'll be cursing the day I wish for him to start speaking when he's said "cake" three hundred and fifty two times in the space of 5 minutes.

Things you never thought you'd say: Volume I

2011-04-13T13:38:00.000+01:00

-In the last year and a half, conversations have gone a bit wierd.

Along with the usual kinda things, there's a whole sub directory of things have been added that when you hear it back make you wonder if your brain realises you said it out loud. So instead of a normal blog, here's a list of some of the strangest things said in the last 16 months:

Don't sit on curly!

This doesn't belong in the stickle hippo...

How's the consistency of the poo?

That amount of sick isn't too bad...

He shot me with his poo cannon!

That crocodile sounds terrible.

The school bus driver doesn't go in your mouth.

I think this toy should be called pineapple B skellig...

They've stopped doing the jiggle wiggle!

The nappy exploded...

Mickey looks like he's planning something...

I seem to have forgotten how to count up to 3.

I think we should name the Zebra, Winston. Do you think anyone will get the ghostbusters reference?

I think the cookie jar is melting my brain...

That bear should be called pierre.
Why?
I think he looks French.

That's some of the highlights, there'll be more posts with this sort of thing on the future as soon as the subconscious unlocks it.

All Hail the Sheen! (Not that one, the other one..)

2011-03-30T20:19:00.001+01:00

I watched Quantum of Solace again the other day, as part of my continuing 'Bondomania' thing, and also partly because when I saw it the first time I didn't really like it. I thought it was too dull and pretentious and just... meh.
But I wanted to give it another chance as Casino Royale was pretty darn cool, and I'm sure it wasn't as bad as I thought.

And it wasn't. I enjoyed it this time around, but there were still a few things that bugged me. First was the fact that I thought I was watching an Aston Martin advert at the start, which made me think that I've never actually seen an advert for Aston Martin. Not that they need to, they've got $150 million dollar film with the hero driving said car every two years.

Speaking of advertising, the other thing that really bugged me was Bond breaking into an apartment, but as I was watching I realised that I was staring at his watch. For ages. The realisation was that staring at his watch was probably what I was meant to be doing, and I felt used, dirty. But more than that I appeared to want to buy a new watch.

But yeah, other than that, and aside from Bond dropping on a car and shouting "We have a mutual Friend!" at a man he then killed an instant later (seriously, what the hell was that about?) it was good. I just hope for the next film they're going to get Q and Moneypenny back and start being proper Bond again. Just not too much like the Roger Moore era, in which we saw a fiftysomething running around who only apparent skill was to turn up an eyebrow whenever a woman said something a bit rude. For the next one I've heard from my sources (i.e read on the empire website) that Michael Sheen is going to play the main villain, which is awesome purely as he's from Port Talbot. Might not be true, but I hope it is.

Thank's to Michael "I'm always playing real life people, me" Sheen, Port Talbot has a bit of a buzz about it at the moment. If you go into the town there's posters up with his face on it asking if anybody's seen him as he's gone missing (I saw him in town the other day funnily enough, his hair is fucking huge). It's all for this new play he's doing in the town. Well, I say play, but I was looking at the flyer for it and he's taking over the town on the Easter weekend. There are staged events everywhere and the scale of it is pretty big.

Whilst in the town I took some pictures to show non Port Talbot people (aka the norms), the sort of shenanigans that's being going on:

oooooh!

Of course I've seen him, He was in Tron: Legacy....

This is why I've got a huge amount of respect for the guy. He's doing something that everyone can be involved in, something that is not an everyday thing for pretty much everyone around here. It'll be something that children can watch, be inspired by and be a part of, and they'l talk about it for ages and show them what they can do if they put their mind to it. I only wish my boy was older so he could watch or be a part of it.

I'm looking forward to it, and I can't wait to see what it's all about.

I may just end up staring at his hair (it's fucking huge).

Wonders of the Whoniverse

2011-03-22T20:57:00.001+00:00

One of the advantages of being a Dad is being able to play with toys for longer than you can otherwise get away with.

Every male like to play with toys, but as they get older the terminology changes and "toys" become "gadgets". When a male is 12 they want the latest computer or console. Add another 10-15 years to that and they want the latest smartphone, which with the first look they try to find a simulator for the computer they wanted when they were 12. So these days it's not uncommon to see someone hunched over an iPhone trying to get a world record time on act two of the Green hill level on Sonic the Hedgehog, only to curse the name of the person who's just interrupted their attempt by calling their phone asking why their 2 hours late for work. Of course if their playing angry birds that's a different matter.

There'll be a bank holiday for that game one day, mark my words.

But sometimes when your older you can get away with being bought toys with the "irony clause" (i.e. being bought as a supposed joke). This is generally for a) geeks and b) fans of programmes that handily have fantastic merchandise. Which funnily enough is normally sci-fi programmes, which lands you back in the a) geeks category. The thing is that the irony clause is, like a government general election pledge, a thinly veiled lie that you go along with in the slim chance it might actually turn out to be true. The male just wants the toy. Subconsciously everyone knows this.

I tend to opt out of the irony clause, mainly because I have a very understanding wife who knows my geek nature (she refers to me as 'her geek' which is something that makes me fall in love with her all over again) this is why I have an unashamed love for Doctor Who, and as a result I own two sonic screwdrivers.

Yes, I know that a 29-year-old owning a toy generally aimed at the younger fans of Dr Who can be seem as, well weird. But it's not like I put a huge scarf or bow tie on and prance around pretending to be a 900 year old alien who has a fucked up time machine. Sometimes you've just got to make concessions for the child in you because otherwise you'll become another person who wears beige and drives a Vauxhall Astra, and everytime you buy a coffee on the way to work wearing a shirt and tie you die a little inside. And probably burn your tongue.

Also having said toy is a reason why I'm looking forward to when the boy gets older and starts watching Dr Who for himself. If he's ever scared I can use the screwdriver to check under his bed for monsters and assure him that I can get in touch with the Doctor if the need ever arises. When your that age your Dad (or Mam) needs to be your hero, and if a part of getting there means using a plastic toy for kids I'm not going to argue.

So yeah, I'm looking forward to the new series. When it finished the first time around (I believe in 1989) I was seven. So since it kicked off again in 2005 I'm making that concession for my inner child and geeking out with the Doctor. And why not? It's a well written sometimes thought provoking, fantastic piece of family entertainment. Go seek out the episode "Blink" and "The Family of Blood" two-parter from David Tennant's second series and tell me the're not brilliantly constructed stories. They also contain great performances including one from an oscar-nominated actress.

So come the Easter weekend, I'll be there watching. But I'll be longing for the day we can sit with our kids, each of us with our own sonic screwdriver and we can watch it as a family, as it was always meant to be.

(The new version of the theme music is a bit rubbish though...)

Dear son, your going to have a sidekick...

2011-03-17T22:34:00.000+00:00

I've been outwitted by a one-year-old.

A few times as it goes. It's mainly sneaking past me to get to the staircase. He never gets a chance to get up them but what signifies the "win" is the laughing as he wings it around the corner. Other times I'm trying to play with him but there's something on the TV, and so he gives me a toy to play so he can get on with it.

I worry about when he gets older, when he starts asking lots of questions about all the random things I wont have the answers. One option is to make up spectacular lies, another would be to actually learn everything in the world. I think the former has more potential for fun, but ooh he'll be angry when he gets older.

But it'll be fine. I know this, he's a smart boy and I just feel he's going to do well. I also know he's going to be a great older brother as we found out this week there'll be a new boy in the house in the summer.What's great is that all we've learned is backward compatible for the new baby so we're confident in what we're doing.

Of course that's the theory.

Also the one-year-old will be going on all sorts of trips with various grandparents for some peace.

I'm only kidding of course, I fall in love with that cheeky monkey every day. Every day he'll try to outwit me and every day he does something that makes my heart glow and, when the new baby comes, seeing them together will probably combust into a waterfall of tears and other patchy metaphors.

*Serious bit*

Not that I'm under the impression that this blog will be read by millions or even hundreds (I'm hoping maybe dozens...a man can dream), but I've noticed that I've gathered some readers that are in other than the UK. Tomorrow (Friday 18th of March) is the day for the charity Comic Relief and if you ever saw the films that they do showing what the living conditions for some people in Africa are like, you'd want to do whatever you can. I've posted a link below to the site where, if you can spare *anything* you can donate some money. £5 can buy books for schools, help get running water for villages and help prevent needless deaths of children. Check out what's being done and what some people are doing to help. It's well worth it, it can save lives.

I'm not being preachy, I just want to help.

s://www.comicrelief.com/donate

I'll try and be funnier next time and talk about How I'm childishly excited about the new series about Dr Who, and how I've got two (yes two) Sonic Screwdrivers.