The Famous Peter

Dissecting The Funniest Video In The World

2012-01-20T00:41:00.001Z

I'm back, yes, whoop whoop. Started university, got money, got paid and all that nonsense. In my absence as you'd expect I've spent a lot of time on the internet, and only tonight have I encountered the funniest video I have ever seen.

Being from Wigan, anything remotely funny from there is instantly given cult status by my community, purely for the fact Wigan has fuck all else to be proud of. A little YouTube video has reached a bump in popularity over the past few days, popping up on facebook a few times, and finally I decided to click on one of the links. Here it is, anyway.

It really is terribrill (terrible/brilliant). On the surface, it's nothing more than some drunk fool falling down some stairs then getting shouted at. That's funny! But the humour is actually much deeper, and when you look into it, this could easily be one of the most well written comedy sketches of all time.

First of all, the stage is set. A shirtless man stands atop a flight of stairs, dancing like a madman, and the cameraman slurs his words poetically, to let us know that there is clearly a lot of alcohol about. We can tell from the positions of these two men (and of course the title of the video) that there is going to be some sort of stunt, which is beautifully confirmed by the well-dressed chap who makes his way down the stairs, saying 'let me get down bottom', obviously for a better view.

Here we see the first 'hidden joke'. This is something you would expect from the comedy minds of Graham Linehan (Father Ted) or Gervais & Merchant (The Office); brilliantly layered comedy. As soon as the smartly dressed boy makes his way out of the frame of the camera, a sock-bearing individual is revealed. It's just perfect. We know that everyone there is drunk and surely parading around with only a sock hiding your dignity is the epitome of all inebriated antics. The contrast between the shirt wearing boy and the almost completely naked one is almost too good to make up.

I can't quite make out what 'Gordon' is saying to the sock wearing man, but it sounds like he's saying that there's a serious risk of injury, and he wants to try it first to be safe. Makes perfect sense. Furthermore, why is he being called 'Gordon' instead of his real name, Jordan? Surely this is just an in-joke between friends, so it's safe to presume that he has been conditioned to the deliberate mistake, but what if he hasn't? He's clearly drunk enough to mishear 'Gordon' as 'Jordan', so again, this could be the work of a comedian.

Then, we just have the innocent bystander, on the landing with the camera, counting down. A typical element of comedy, he is merely there to observe and add perspective to the situation, clearly the most 'normal' person in the frame and the one you (the audience) are expected to relate to. However, he adds his own little bit of funny with the "on your marks, get set, go". 'Gordon' completely misses his cue and sends himself flying down the stairs like a rag doll. He falls to his knees completely expressionless and tumbles... it is beautiful physical comedy. Landing on his knees, we can see he is completely unfazed, proud even that his trick has worked to full effect, only to discover there are a few stairs left. At this point he just gives up and goes limp, crashing into the banister. The cackle of the cameraman gives the audience the cue to burst out laughing, topped up by his final fall to the floor and clutching of his head.

But now is when we really get professional. As he gets up, the cameraman pans perfectly across, capturing his entire erection (ooh er). The look of quiet confidence is now of complete fear and bewilderment, as a torrent of abuse spills from some woman, with the cameraman's laughter staying consistent.

The woman's foul, colloquial speech touches the funny bone of different people for different reasons. People from Wigan will find it the funniest for the pure rage that is involved; she is absolutely fuming, and the line "I'll phone your fucking Dad" is just the icing on the cake. Others will take only from the fact that we know why he's panicking, and she has taken control of the situation, completely changing the tone of the video. We are no longer laughing for the stunt involved, but at the completely new comedic situation of the muscular, shirtless man being put into submission by the shrieking anti-heroine.

Then comes the killer. "You want see state of our Wes." With the video cutting off in perfect time, the completely useless excuse for his behaviour just tips off the video in such a gorgeous fashion. With 'Gordon' in-jokes, threats to phone Dads and 'our Wes', we can see that this is a sort of family affair, and that taps into our nosy nature. We're laughing at what we can only presume is a typical night in for this household, which makes it all the funnier.

The characters in this 23 second video are so fantastically layered but we don't even notice. This really is the funniest video on the internet. Now it's easy to say that I could do this for any video, but this one just caught my eye, and is perfect. This really is just the best video on the internet. The accidentally professional camerawork, unintentionally multi-dimensional characters... perfect. And why have I written about it? Because I want to. Deal with it.

The Famous Peter is back, thanks kids.

My Personal Hangover

2011-06-12T23:39:00.000+01:00

We've all had a hangover. Whether it be from ale, an overwhelming Christmas dinner or an innocent drugs binge, they're not particularly pleasant. A heavy head, dry mouth and stench of your misdemeanours is never a good way to start off a day, so you're always in a vile mood for the next few hours. They're not particularly entertaining to recount to friends, or to watch someone else have. They also have varying degrees; you can have mega bad ones. These are once in a lifetime hangovers, usually experienced after one's 18th or wedding, where Armageddon is a particularly attractive prospect as you lug your decrepit, aching body round your obliterated bachelor pad you bought to be independent, only to forget a microwave is something you should buy before a plasma telly, you ridiculous cretin. But imagine you have two of these really bad hangovers... in the space of about two years. Where you've pissed the bed, smashed your computer and sent hate emails to every friend, ex, acquaintance and potential employer you can think of. That's shit. Too soon. You still haven't recovered.

Well, I feel like that's happened to me; and I've never even had one of these mega-hangovers. My hangover calls itself a hangover, and even though it's not really, it's just as painful, just as pointless, and it feels like a worse version of stuff I've already experienced. My hangover is The Hangover. The film, The Hangover.

"Peter, that's a shit start to an article. They just share the same name. Fuck off and go and write for a newspaper you gayboy."

The problem is, they share more than a name. Hangovers aren't funny. Hangovers for me are at their worst where you can really feel them for about 90 minutes, then they fade, but the pain is still lingering. You always hear people talking about hangovers, and how they were worth it.

The Hangover isn't funny. The Hangover is terrible for 90 minutes, then stops, but its shitness lingers. Everyone talks about The Hangover 2 and says it was worth the wait and whatnot. The Hangover is having a hangover effect. As someone who uses a popular social networking website reasonably frequently, it's unavoidable. After a night out, I always check popular social networking website to untag photos and the like, and it's always there. Morons 'liking' pages dedicated to individual quotes from the film, and then the abhorrent main page for the movie, which is littered with retards saying things like (actual posts) "ITS LOVE FILM", "i wish monkeys had skype" and "great great movie... alen ur the best ....n drug dealer monkey too". It's sad, really.

What is the point to these films? It's typecasting at its very worst. I actually feel sorry for Zach Galifianiakis, he's actually really funny when he wants to be. Instead, he plays the same character in The Hangover series, Due Date and Dinner for Schmucks (which I know of). The strange, bearded weirdo that you feel you've got to love to enjoy the film. Although I can't complain too much when Tom Hanks has been doing a separate character over and over for the past 20 years. The film itself is drawn out and boring. It's a typical American comedy: unusually different protagonists in a harsh, unfamiliar environment, who are introduced to fucked up and unrealistic side characters in the process of following the story which is usually to find or take control of someone or something just to get everything back to normal. From the greats like Airplane! to the bargain bin select that is Burn Hollywood, Burn!, the formula is being replicated over and over again in today's films. Zombieland, Hot Tub Time Machine, Date Night... the list really does go on. It's easy to say that it's just one of the basic comedy recipes, but there's no proper originality any more. I'm not going to give suggestions but I will slate the whole 'lost/confused in the big (possibly foreign) city' storyline, usually Las Vegas. One of the actors, Ed Helms, had the cheek to claim it was original somewhat: "I think part of what's special about this movie is that none of the comedy comes from the characters being clever, like you see in a lot of sitcoms or movies..." That's original? Stupid people? That shows just how stretched they are for originality nowadays, they have to fake it.

As if that's not enough, I haven't even mentioned (although you've hopefully already noticed) that the Hangover 2 is another sequel. Films aren't films any more, they're franchises. Even if the first film was funny, a tired, unnecessary sequel like the Hangover's completely eradicates any sort of merit or enjoyment. Sequels can be overlooked (Jaws 2, An American Werewolf in Paris), but when they're in mediocre to shit franchises (Scary Movie to the Hangover), therefore liked by complete morons, the idiotic studio gives gigantic quantities of publicity to them, and inevitably become impossible to avoid.

The Hangover has brought upon itself every possible wrong that is prevalent in the film industry today. But it's not entirely the makers' fault. They're feeding the audience which does exist and wants these sorts of films, and to be fair, the films are hugely successful in financial terms, they'll get praise for that. Also, the originality shortage can't be helped too much; most ideas have already been used and because they're original, the imitations have run the concept dry (The Hangover itself to me is just a Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas clone). In the end, I know I'm going to have to compromise by digging through the shit to find a half decent film. Sometimes there are really funny mainstream comedies, the most recent I can think of being Forgetting Sarah Marshall, made by a fantastic Jason Segel performance. But until Hollywood eases itself away from lusting over commercial success and kills Jason Friedberg & Aaron Seltzer, nobody's going to win, and it doesn't look like any of that is happening anytime soon. For now, I'm just going to sit back, relax, and put Jaws on loop.

I Can't Even Explain Why

2011-06-05T00:25:00.007+01:00

I've been away for a while, thanks for noticing. I've had a lot of work, not a lot of free time and sadly, The Famous Peter has been derelict for a good few months. It was going to be that way until about July, but something recently has really made my ears prick up. More than that, in fact; it's sent me fucking livid. I've seen war, famine, poverty and Ince, but nothing could ever prepare me for the abhorrent abomination that is Teenage YouTube Tune Sensations, or TYTS.

The first one (well, it was the first one to be noticed) appeared with Rebecca Black. I don't need to explain her to you (if you've ravaged through the internet long enough to find this dark corner you've no doubt come across her along the way), but she can't go without a mention nowadays when somebody's talking about internet trends. She got a video, x million hits later there's all manner of imitations plaguing my facebook news feed, emails and even newspaper when the cyberbullying "got out of hand". One of the most notorious copycats is a 13 year old girl called Jenna Rose. Jenna is your typical American upper-middle class girl; spoilt by her (probably) single mother and so far up her own arse she can headbutt her gallbladder. So what's special? Well, she indulged in the new fad of making a music video (much like Rebecca Black) paid for by her mother to the princely sum of roughly $2,000. Now, if I were to ask for that amount of money in my house, I'd be branded a puff and thrown into the nearest Byker Grove resembling building to sort my life out. However, she's American (and a girl). The land of the free; Bald Eagles and all that jazz. She can do whatever DA FUHK she wants.

The result was 'My Jeans'. Released on the 1st of October 2010 over the YouTubes (four months before 'Friday'), it was nothing more than a silent fart in the couch of the internet. Of course, the great wankstain that is Rebecca Black came along, so people obsessed over that, and 'My Jeans' saw a revival, as a cult following for shit music developed. Page hits rocketed, as did the media attention. She merited the same amount of celebrity as anyone who has ever been near a Big Brother house. So, when every comment is abusive, your support is purely ironic and an entire hemisphere is laughing at you, what do you do?

FOLLOW IT UP AND WHORE YOURSELF OUT.

Jenna donned some extraordinarily skimpy pants, no doubt recommended to her by a loving, attention starved mother, and filmed this abomination. It's horrible. Out of tune, everything. But I'm not comprehensively reviewing this tripe; for me it doesn't merit the title of actual music. But I will see into a few things.

Firstly, the lyrics. Now, I rarely say this as I am rarely surprised or shocked, but what the fuck is going on? This is a ~12 year old girl. Why is she singing "oh my God, she looks good, oh my God, you know you wish you could..." What does that mean? What the hell is she doing? Was this song written in part by Chris Hansen? The song does follow up to explain that she means other girls would wish they could look like her, but again, that's no example to set to kids her age. Without getting all Christian Mothers' Association, she's vile. Really vile. The sexual content of this video is higher than most Gaga or Rihanna flicks. Given that Jenna has made two videos, and 50% of her videos are sexually explicit, this makes her one of the most inappropriate artists in the music business. I shuddered as I typed in music; it's still just noise to me.

Worst of all? She's not even getting any real fiscal benefits from all this. The only good thing she's getting is a lot of attention as goodness-knows-who watches this crap all over the world, only for her to be forgotten in a few years. The studio made the video and the song; her mother paid for the production and the most she'll get is a little over reimbursement (at least this happened to Rebecca Black, although she is rumoured to independently be following 'Friday' up). It's capitalism at its worst. TYTs are pathetic, seasonal fads that plague the internet like an ecstasy tablet. Everyone's happy for the first few hours but then it just gets all annoying and terrifying; you keep getting offered new ones, as everyone else looks like they're enjoying it but you know it's bad for society and against everything you stand for... so yeah, they're bollocks.

And worse still, the rise of the TYTS doesn't seem to be fading away. 'O.M.G.' is only a week old and has already amassed 1.5m views. Mothers all over the place will be trying to get their TYTS out and show them to the world. Luckily, it seems to have contained itself within America so far. Let's keep our fingers crossed that autotune is kept illegal for children on these shores.

How Effective are our Protests?

2010-12-04T15:47:00.009Z

Since the Tories have got back into government, there has been an onslaught of protests and demonstrations against their various moves and proposals. Most significantly, the proposed changes to the tuition fees system. Since the coalition announced plans to raise the cap (currently at £3,290pa) to over £9,000, there has not been a day gone by where it has not made the papers. In my opinion, quite rightly. The Lib Dems lied. Nick Clegg, a PR man much like his senior in 10 Downing Street, chose one of the top jobs in the country over his party's promises and the interests of his voters. I can remember a statistic from the election coverage which claimed that 70% of Lib Dem voters would oppose a coalition with the Conservatives. Still, Clegg managed to put himself first and threw his morals down the well. Now, one of the main, solid policies that the Lib Dems used to get the 18-21 year olds' vote was defied by the man who had pledged to follow it in writing. Since, outrage has been rife.

It started with the main London protest; the march on Millbank Tower which resulted in a fire extinguisher being flung off a roof and a few windows being smashed. And that's all you ever heard about. Forget the thousands of protesters who sat back and behaved, peacefully but assertively protesting against deceit by the Deputy Prime Minister's party; there was some violence going on. There are three possibilities we can draw from this. The first is that the media covered the story in a way that satisfied the bloodlust most British people have. We're viewed as incredibly boring and stuck up by Johnny Foreigner, but there's nothing more we like to see than a fight. The second possibility is that the newspaper writers themselves felt that the story was boring: a load of students smashing shit up. Just go round King Street in Wigan on a Friday, it happens all the time there. Problem is, they're obliged to cover it. Or, it could be that the media outlets strongly opposed the protests altogether, and decided to depict every protester as an ignorant, stupid, extinguisher throwing thug. I would say the latter is the most likely story as most newspapers (The Sun, Telegraph, Mail, Express, Guardian, Times) backed either the Tories or the Lib Dems, and it would be rather hypocritical of them to cover a mini-revolution in an unbiased way when they themselves tried to convince the public to vote how they wanted them to. However, all three possibilities played a part in how the story was covered. Journalists want to sell papers, cover what they have to, and put a bit of opinion and spin in there. That's just the basic ingredients for a good article. God, even I admit to it. I want people to read this website, cover what matters (so it's interesting, by no means am I obliged to) and get my word in. It's just common sense when you're allowed to do it.

But if we zoom out, what does this tell us about how protests are received nowadays? The only truly impartial coverage of the Millbank Tower protests were the live pictures being fed onto BBC News as they were taking place, and even then, the hooligans smashing the windows were branded 'thugs' and 'idiots'. Now, I don't doubt for a second that the minority of protesters who decided it would be a good idea to smash down the front of the building were stupid, but the BBC hesitated to insist that these people were a minority. Not until they interviewed a chap from the NUS did we know that 90% of the people at the protest had no intention of causing criminal damage, and probably half of the people storming into the building and throwing chairs and tables over were not affiliated with the NUS in any way, nor were they even students. They were troublemakers who capitalised on being able to blend into a crowd.

Without the clashes, this story would've received very little coverage. Sure enough as I said before, the papers were somewhat obliged to cover it, but a little paragraph on page 4 would probably have been it in the broadsheets. As soon as they saw the chance to present the mostly peaceful protest as some angst filled rampage by a load of spotty kids, they jumped on it. I was reading the Mail the day after (it wasn't mine, I promise you), and all they decided to show was people kicking in windows. The headline read something like 'THUGS SMASH MILLBANK". Thugs did smash Millbank. But students protested against fees, and that's what's important. The actions of a few minor individuals who join in on what are nearly always peaceful protests manage to make the front pages by doing anything that is immoral. Pissing in the street, smashing a window, putting two fingers up to a policeman... with the sliminess of the papers and the stupidity of the majority of their readers, these little things can make a very meaningful event by thousands of people be personified by one man with his pants down running at a copper in riot gear, and all it takes is one headline in BIG BOLD LETTERS and a blurry picture.

Protests exist to get attention for a cause. To show how many people disagree or agree. There is no better way to get attention than through the media, but when the media is powerful and biased enough to make you look like Gandhi's following or Malcolm X's, everyone has to behave. And let's be honest, that's never going to happen. So the question still stands. Anyone can take a picture. That anyone can send it to a paper. They can write whatever they want. Facts go out the window. The readers decide what they want to decide. And when even our politicians are lying through their teeth constantly, what hope do the sensible, honest people have when they want to make a point?

The Famous Peter Visits The Rugby

2010-10-05T15:16:00.015+01:00

It had just turned midnight. I stumbled out of Wigan Wallgate train station to see the bright lights of Mr Joe's Kebab House and the glistening taxi rank. My head was spinning and there was a huge grin on my face... I had returned to a winner's town. The home of Wigan Warriors, 2010 Super League Champions, and I was there to see them lift the trophy. Strange, considering I only saw my first Rugby match in June.

Wigan's 38-22 win over Castelford just over three months ago was my first taste of Rugby League. It was fast, physical and the crowd really got into it; with the dwindling quality and scandal (not involving the sport itself) surrounding the increasingly celebrity Premier League at the moment, it was a breath of fresh air. Keeping track of the Warriors for the rest of the season, I noticed they reached the Grand Final. Within seconds of doing so, my phone rang. A very excited man answered.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

"Congratulations! And yes, I'm definitely coming."

"Right you fucking are!"

I'd invited myself along, and on the 2nd of October, at 11.35am, I was sat on a train bound for Manchester. I was with my good friend, Jack (the excited man) and his family. I was carrying a sports bag full of ale and wearing a borrowed 08/09 jersey. Me and Jack cracked open our first cans of the day, and supped for good luck and loss of memory.

"Bit early for that?" his uncle protested.

"Nah," Jack replied. "It's nearly midday, I think we're a bit late to be honest."

His uncle grumbled and looked out the window. We discussed our optimism and the past season (I smiled and nodded) whilst the train prepared to leave. Five minutes and half a Tetley's later, we were moving, and the man who had previously protested to our early start on the alcohol had a Foster's at his lips.

Sing-songs didn't work on the train journey. Considering we live in Wigan, a start before 3pm is usually unheard of, so most people were tired and appeared unenthusiastic... still, we tried to chant away, ignoring the glares.

The train pulled up in Victoria station and we headed to our first familiar destination: the pub. As we did so, we spotted a stray bag in the main foyer of the station. My instinct was to be suspicious: an abandoned bag in the middle of one of the busiest areas in the city on the day of a huge sporting event? My party has also noticed. Despite what could've happened, we proceeded to shout "BOMB" and "BAG! ON ITS OWN! CALL THE POLICE!", jokingly of course. We didn't stop to shout, and as we left, I looked back to see a man in a Turban pick up the large black hold-all. I fell silent, then laughed heartily. Does that make me racist? No, I just found it funny due to being brought up in the most terror-fearing age we've ever lived in, and if you can't laugh, what can you do?

The Oyster House by the Arndale was fit to burst when we arrived, but there was still room for more. We'd never heard of the beer they were serving (Samuel Smiths) but it was cheap and we were thirsty... perfect. Jack was on the lager while I stuck to the bitter; I don't mix beers after having learnt the hard way about 4 times this year. Suddenly, a figure appeared on the steps facing the beer garden. A man wearing all black: hoody, gloves, pants, shoes, sunglasses, the works, carrying a hold-all. He strolled around the pub once then placed his bag down on a wall by the steps and surveyed the rugby goers. He had grabbed the attention of most of us by now, and we watched him unzip his bag to reveal a cheap, tatty old boombox. He pressed play, and some obscure dance track blared out. Those of us who weren't already staring at him were now transfixed on his pose: arms outstretched to the sky, legs shoulder width apart and his face like a rabbit in a pair of headlights.

Then he started dancing. It was extraordinary. His wrists couldn't bend. His face didn't change. He looked like an arthritic Rod Stewart trying to get a possum off his back. Now the chanting had begun, from "TAKE IT OFF" to "YOU'RE SHIT, AND YOU KNOW YOU ARE", everyone had an opinion and it wasn't considered valid until you shouted it a the top of your voice... which is typical of this day and age: even if what you're saying is completely stupid, talk loud enough and people will believe you. Away from sociology, this was funny, and 'Ray' proceeded to hold up his big cardboard sign, showing his name followed by "BRITAIN'S GOT TALENT X FACTOR YOUTUBE SUPERSTAR", attracting more cheers. He carried on for a good 15 minutes, even gathering a crowd outside the beer garden and having one or two drunkards join in: his 'fans' only stopped cheering to quite rightly boo any passing St. Helens fans.

4 cheap pints later, we finally headed to the stadium. Of course, we stopped off in another pub on the way. Inside, I came face to face with the one cross section of the Manchester community I did not want to meet. United fans.

This was a rugby day! Not football! The walls were plastered with "MUFC SUPPORTERS CLUB" stickers and the like, as we were a 5 minute walk away from the stadium this was no doubt one of the main watering holes of the Red Devils. I weaved through the fat, sweating fans (trying my best not to touch any shirts, they burn) to the bar, and felt relieved as I ordered in the next round.

On my way to the beer garden, I spotted a man on an electronic games machine. What made it special was he was on Battleships. And he was getting science questions wrong. I did what any sensible citizen would do and stood by him, shouting out answers at the top of my voice to aid him. He didn't win; I gave him a wronganswer intentionally at the end. Why? A, he was wearing a Manchester United top and B, feed the machine! I slotted in 50p. 10 minutes later, I was £1.50 down. I decided to finally head back to my companions. We wolfed down a good 3 beers and after one of the most nomadic drinking sessions of all time, Old Trafford was calling our names.

We entered the stadium positively buzzing. I sprinted up the stairs, looking like a retard, but I didn't care. For once, unlike a football game, all of the fans were talking about the game ahead. They were talking about players, stats, and the opposition through their teeth, rather than beer and the latest affairs of their reserve striker. I skipped buying a £4 programme and settled down in my minimum-legroom seat, which was perfect for me, a six foot twobloke. We chilled for twenty or so minutes, until it began. The players came out to an unbelievable amount of noise. A sea of cherry and white dominated my field of vision, and the sound of manic passion drowned out the speaker system.

Then, the players lined up to dedicate a minute of silence to the deceased Terry Newton, who had died a week earlier. Now, I always stay quiet, no matter who it is. Munich air disaster, Hillsborough, Alan Ball, when they were remembered I was silent. But anyone who was at Old Trafford on the 2nd of October will know how disgraceful that minute was. I don't know who they supported or what they were saying, but about a dozen retards were asking for a kicking... you never interrupt a silence.

Either way, the game was nearly underway. I grinned to everyone around me and they all replied with an even bigger smile. The teams were lined up, and the Super League XV Grand Final was ready to go.

And the rest is history.

It was good. Very, very, very good. We headed back to Wigan (after two more pubs) with our heads high from euphoria and hanging from excessive alcohol and tiredness. My voicebox was shredded and my eyes were fuzzy, but it was worth it. To see my hometown team win the biggest trophy in the country was just excellent. There was not a single sad face on the train home (because it didn't go through St. Helens) and the singing continued right up until the crowd filtered away outside the train station. A portion of chips and cab ride later, I was home at the admirable time of 1.30am. I collapsed into bed and fell asleep smiling.

It was a great day, and one that 35,000 other people alongside me won't be forgetting anytime soon. I'm a Warrior, and it's going to stay that way for as long as I can see.

Mark Ronson & The Business Intl. - Record Collection (Review)

2010-09-26T01:19:00.005+01:00

Mark Ronson released his first album, Here Comes The Fuzz, without diverting much attention. Apart from the single stand out track, ‘Ooh Wee’, it was a typical ‘East Coast DJ with a record label’ album: nothing special, but still adorning the collections and lounges of old-school hip hop fans, including myself.

In 2007, he reached mainstream status. Abandoning the sampling and guest rappers, he opted for jazz inspired covers and rising stars in the pop world to provide vocals. Version was held in high regard by critics, being seen as a breath of fresh air amidst the influx of god awful rappers and remixes topping the charts. A cover album, yes, but it felt oddly original; he managed to completely convert Radiohead and Coldplay songs despite receiving numerous death threats along the way, and even 5 years later tracks from Version are still heard during nearly every ad break on telly.

Now, in 2010, Mark goes by the moniker Mark Ronson & The Business Intl. for some reason: whereas before his band would receive a mere mention on the back of the CD, they’ve now been promoted to accompanying his renowned name on the front cover. His pseudonym’s first album is Record Collection. The name and sleeve suggest he’s following the fashion of 80’s synth artists, such as Gary Numan, The Pet Shop Boys and possibly Lou Reed. It’s nothing special, instead just reminding me of the recent Real Radio adverts.

The first track is ‘Bang Bang Bang’, also the promo single. It’s clear from the first few seconds this is no follow-up to Version; a lovely synth riff and drum beat make it very catchy indeed. Ronson is a guitarist by nature, and the bass underneath is very lively in the chorus and does well to accompany its counterparts throughout. Q-Tip puts on a good performance, as do MNDR, even if I can’t tell what they’re saying half the time.

The next track, ‘Lose It’, features Mark singing for the first time. Clearly auto-tuned, but he only repeats one line over and over, so his voice is treated as an instrument, producing some good sounds. However, the rapping is awful. It just sounds thrown in, as is the case with the ‘The Bike Song’. He’s rapping about tandem bikes... there’s no need.

‘Somebody To Love Me’ is the closest you’ll get back to Version. The vocals are soulful and sound very natural... they clearly enjoyed making this one. In contrast, Rose Elinor Dougall’s backing is unnecessary, the song would sound much better with another black voice: the addition of an echoed white female voice adds a pop element that spoils the chorus.

‘You Gave Me Nothing’ sounds like a bad Europe B-side, and ‘The Colour of Crumar’ is just a shit filler, as with ‘Circuit Breaker’.

‘Glass Mountain Trust’ is a Gnarls Barkley rip-off which is clearly trying to be the album’s defining fusion of classic synth loops and modern rap, but it fails badly.

‘Introducing The Business’ does manage to pull it off, but then for some reason Ronson has brought in Simon Le Bon for the title track. If you’re trying to integrate modern vocals and 80s instrumentals it’s not a good idea to try and convert Duran Duran’s frontman to fit the former. Oh, and there’s another awful rap section.

‘Selector’ reminds me of ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ by Simple Minds, and whilst ‘Hey Boy’ again has the obligatory poor backing singer this time in the shape of Theophilus London going “HEY BOY HUH HUH”, the verses from Rose Elinor Dougall are fun.

‘Missing Words’ is a follow-up to ‘Bang Bang Bang’ before the final track, ‘The Night Last Night’. A nice drum beat welcomes the choir vocals from Alex Greenwald, and another nice verse from Rose. However, this track is clearly one for the remixers... there’s a sort of emptiness to it.

Overall, the latest outing by the hottest producer Britain has produced in a long time doesn’t do anyone justice. He’s stayed true to what’s influenced him but poorly added the modern element that makes albums fly off shelves. Trying to please everyone will never work; this is a very mainstream album.

To be honest, if you want good, original electronic music, instead of buying Mark Ronson & The Business Intl’s Record Collection, look through your Dad’s.

2 / 5

Leeds Festival 2010 Review

2010-09-01T23:16:00.003+01:00

I headed into Wetherby on the minibus with adrenaline dribbling out of my ears. I had to be giddy; you can't head into these things with a level head. If I did that, things would hit me too hard. The plentiful mud, constant fires, smell of marijuana round every corner... nothing would be conventional or necessarily safe. But this didn't trouble me. This excited me.

I'm tedious. I can be boring. I can very easily be incredibly annoying. But believe it or not, I like nothing more than a release; a few days of lounging, mucking about so to speak... not a care in the world. Leeds Festival is my opportunity to do so, as well as appreciate some banging tunes along the way. The tent was sorted, food, drink (lots of drink) and clothes were in abundance. The weekend was ready to flourish and go runaway.

I arrived in Bramham Park at around 10am. The air was clean, the grass green, and the people were energetic and cheery. The official wristband was tightly attached to my forearm, and I relished the lovely new design. After a quick scanning of the landscape, I took in what would probably be my last, long, clean breath for 4 days, and picked up my bags. It was roughly a mile and a half to the campsite where I was staying; not usually a massive trek but considering my bags had a combined weight of about 15 kilograms, it seemed longer. Eventually, I reached my destination and settled down with a can of Boddingtons. The tent was already set up (thanks to Bryony for that) and all was well. But you're not interested in this... it's the music you want to hear about. Well, that's coming now.

The next morning, I only needed a glance at the programme to select who I wanted to see first. The Cribs, Dizzee Rascal and Arcade Fire had no competition. I would be in the audience for all of them. Of course, these wouldn't be my only viewings... I was taken to The Futureheads first. A quarter to one kick off was the perfect time. Just enough sleep, just enough time to get fed, and just the right time to catch a few rays, man. The Sunderland band were impressive, I hadn't listened to them at all (intentionally) before the festival, but I recognised a few tunes. They were energetic and interactive, all you could really ask for from a band way off headlining.

Then we got hungry. We missed Mystery Jets and The Gaslight Anthem, apparently not missing much. We were determined to return in time for The Maccabees; my second favourite discovery at last year's festival (The Living End being the best). We watched Modest Mouse first in order to get a good place, and were entertained by their inventive utilisation of classical instruments, such as a Cello, a real rarity (that made The Living End so special last year with their Double Bass). The Maccabees came on straight afterwards and played their set, meeting all expectations, not exceeding by any means. The crowd were giving it all; they were loving it, jumping around, screaming... it was a fun riot already.

We exploited gaps made by raving fans to move closer to the front, and by the time The Cribs took to the stage, I was less than three feet from the front barrier. Johnny Marr walked on, with his head down, raising a small smile to the crowd as he threw his guitar strap around his neck. The lead singer of the band announced who they were and how much they were loving their time at the festival, but the crowd's eyes stayed fixed firmly on Marr. I, a die-hard Morrissey fan, felt out of place. I was worried I would be sniffed out and bludgeoned to death by twenty-somethings in sombreros and hot pants. Luckily, I survived the performance and was impressed. They encouraged the crowd to dance and sing along, even though they were already doing so, which made it seem a little scripted, however at least they were doing something.

By the time they finished, I was more or less at the front of the crowd. I squeezed myself in between a cockney and hipster to reach the barrier. I now had a full view; no blockages (for vision or sound), no pushing from all directions (just from the back and sides now!) and most importantly, no chance of being dragged into some lacklustre mosh pit started by ex-public school children who see the filthy festival toilets as the worst sight since their poor pony Tiddums died of tuberculosis when Daddy forgot to close the stable doors and the badgers got in... anyway.

Dizzee Rascal walked on to huge applause. They were all cheering for him; the new godfather of British hip-hop. I was interested in another man who walked on with him. The godfather of the Electric Guitar. My jaw dropped in shock and I started jumping around like a schoolgirl: "IT'S GUTHRIE GOVAN!" I repeated at the top of my voice. Once the cheers for the rapper died down, a chap behind me bellowed "who?", as you do. I explained excitedly he was the greatest guitarist of all time. The aforementioned chap didn't believe me, nodding his head and saying "right" with a smirk on his face. He can be forgiven; Guns N' Roses were performing two days later, he may well have been a massive fan of Slash, but judging by his fluorescent blue Henri Lloyd shirt, I had my doubts about him too. Dizzee started with his trademark track, 'Jus' A Rascal', followed by 'Fix Up, Look Sharp'. The crowd were really getting into it now. More importantly, Guthrie showed his stuff. A solo in the middle of 'Fix Up', lasting about thirty seconds, triggered the fellow mentioned earlier to tap me on the shoulder and say in disbelief, "you're right." The set finished with an encore (rare for a band not headlining) of 'Bonkers'. That bass is horrendous when you're that close to the speakers... the security at the front looked like they were being electrocuted.

Being at the front for so long took its toll: I was hit by a full can of Relentless on the shoulder blade, and decided it was in my best interests to evacuate, so I was pulled out by security, which was fun. As I knew The Libertines were on next, and I was slightly drunk, I shouted "Pete Doherty's a cunt" to the crowd while walking across the front row before scarpering to the first aid tent for a soothing (and free) ice pack. One £4.50 burger later, I headed to the tent for more beer. It was a short stay, as me and my portly companion Alex voyaged back to the arena for Arcade Fire. I had been teasing him earlier that the only song of theirs I had listened to was 'Haiti', and if that they didn't play it I'd sulk for the rest of the festival. Luckily they did (and I've actually listened to all of their songs bar their new album), and it was amazing. A lights show accompanied their energetic performance and their use of around 20 different instruments wowed everyone. The crowd was much calmer, but the love of the music was still there. Because there were not too many similar bands to Arcade Fire in the line up, fans of theirs did not choose to buy a ticket just to see them, so the crowd was smaller than that of even Dizzee Rascal (I have been told), but everyone there sang along to ensure a full, warm atmosphere. They performed an encore of 'Wake Up' before bowing out, sweaty and exhausted from a long day's work. I did the same.

The next day was a little harder to decide the agenda for. The Dance Stage was very alluring. Sub Focus, Rusko and Roots Manuva brought up fond feelings, but so did Kele, We Are Scientists and The Klaxons in the NME Tent. Each trio were performing within a few bands of each other on their respective stages, so in order to get a good place, I had to choose one or the other. After some thinking juice (beer) I decided the NME would provide a more memorable day. I started late, chilling in the tent until half 4, when we headed to Kele (lead singer of Bloc Party). I had my doubts about him. The image he put out when releasing his album was pretentious; it seemed more distant than how he appeared when with Bloc Party, so I felt he would not be engaging with the crowd, possibly ignorant and evasive. However, instead he was the opposite. He welcomed the crowd, expressed his love for them and was casually dressed: shorts, a Public Enemy tee shirt and baseball cap. However, his musical performance was awful in the first half. His voice was flat and dull. It was only after he performed 'The Prayer' his voice started to pick up, just in time for him to wonderfully sing his biggest hit 'Tenderoni', however he struggled on the high notes, which made me fairly confident he used autotune on the single.

I needed more beer so went back to the tent, missing Foals and Band of Horses, neither of whom I was remotely interested in. When I returned for We Are Scientists (after catching a quick glimpse of Angelos Epithemiou), the tent was clearing as the morons headed to Paramore and Blink 182 on the main stage. I managed to get a decent spot, leaning back against the second barrier in maximum comfort... nice. They opened with 'Ghouls', to a massive cheer. The two engaged in humorous banter throughout the set and thoroughly entertained the crowd: there were no disappointed faces as they left and they rightfully looked pleased when leaving the stage.

The Klaxons were next. They came on, wearing what can only be described as glorified curtains; not greeting the crowd, they went straight into a song. Their lead singer seemed to stare over the audience throughout their entire set, which they caught on to. There was nowhere near as much energy as was in the We Are Scientists gig, with 'Golden Skans' unsurprisingly receiving the largest cheer. I was so disappointed with them I left two songs before they finished, beating the crowd.

The final day beckoned. For me, it was the peak. Guns N' Roses on the main stage at Leeds Festival. I can safely say I had no interest whatsoever in watching them; my excitement was reserved completely for LCD Soundsystem, once again in the NME tent.

Once again however, my day only began around one o'clock. A contributing factor to all the late starts was no doubt the DJ stage a hundred yards away from my tent, which played non stop rave, dance and pop music (from as early back as 1980 with Funkytown by Lipps Inc.) until six in the morning, every morning, without fail. However, when it was bearable, it was enjoyable. A thirty second walk to an energetic party you can enter and leave at will was perfect, even if it did take two Red Bulls a night to stay awake.

At about five o'clock I headed to the NME tent. Delphic were performing. The stage was set up emphatically: there were 3 huge mirrored domes with powerful lights in the middle, alternating in sync with the music. It was impressive visually, but sounded a little flat. This was probably the fault of the speakers or the acoustics of the tent, but their set only sounded as it should very near to the front. They engaged with the audience well and seemed to be enjoying themselves, however most of the crowd were waiting for the next act, Mumford & Sons.

It was a large change, going from the fairly fast, synthetic sounds of Delphic to the acoustic wailings of Mumford & Sons, so the crowd who came to watch both bands took a while to settle into the folk band's set, however those who had turned up as soon as Delphic left got straight into it. After half an hour, everyone was on their feet, singing along, bar a few. The frontman seemed awestruck at how many people were watching, even expressing his gratefulness, which was nice. Much like Arcade Fire, all the band members are skilled instrumentalists and provide a good chorus, although there were sound problems during the first song with regards to the EQ of the microphones, but that was quickly sorted out. Overall, my opinion of them was improved.

As soon as they finished, there was a mass exodus. This saddened me; although I said I liked Mumford & Sons' performance, anyone with two ears can tell Phoenix are a far better, more accomplished band, and the size of the audience for them was only about 75% of the former. A bloke next to me told me the amount of people leaving was "a disgrace"... I agreed. Luckily I saw the bright side and seized an empty space on the barrier to lean on, once again in maximum comfort.

Phoenix took a while to set up. Spotlights were calibrated, equipment was placed perfectly, and the stage lights were tested. I could tell we were in for something special. As the band entered, the crowd (however small it was) made a huge amount of noise. These people were the true believers, connoisseurs of music, and I joined in with them. Phoenix are the cream of the crop, and by no means did they disappoint. Their frontman was energetic and interactive, throwing himself into the crowd three times, as well as other band members giving their all. Not only was the music spot on and euphoric, but the light show that accompanied it was amazing. Perfectly in sync with the music and at times psychedelic, it emphasised the showmanship of this band who have already proven themselves to be some of the best songwriters (and performers) in the world with their album 'Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix', the cover of which hung as their backdrop. That performance was by far my favourite of the festival.

LCD Soundsystem were set up much more simply. This band have never really been about aesthetics; the music they make is good enough. I heard someone describe them as 'disco-punk' a few years ago, had a listen at home, and I've been in love ever since. 'Sound of Silver' is one of my top 25 albums, which is a very hard group to get into, so well done LCD. Because of all this my expectations were high: I had a setlist in my head I wanted them to perform, how the live versions should differ from the album ones and I was even beginning to think what James Murphy should be wearing. The band entered first, kicking off a tune, before James himself walked on to immediately get into the lyrics of 'All My Friends'. He was using an old, 50's style microphone. It gave his voice an interesting, fuller sound: the sort you'd hear on old vinyl records, which went really well with the tracks where he was the sole singer, however on 'Get Innocuous' it started to sound off. The live rendition of 'Daft Punk is Playing at My House' was unusual, sounding nothing like the album version. Instead it was much more jazzy, reminding me of 'Train In Vain (Stand By Me)' by The Clash. As it was the last gig of the festival for everyone there, the crowd gave it their all and James appreciated that, acknowledging their energy and thanking them for showing so much support despite being "so cold and tired after three days". When they exited, the crowd was still pumped with adrenaline, and demanded more. Little did any of us know, LCD Soundsystem did not have an encore planned. This was a real disappointment. Never has a headliner at any stage failed to give an encore during my tenure at Leeds Festival, so for one of my most heavily anticipated acts to leave the entire crowd hanging was a let down and a half.

However, I headed back to the camp satisfied. It was Leeds 2010 over, and I was more than ready to go home. We defaced the tent and started numerous fires, consumed as much alcohol as possible and had yet another lark about.

The weekend had closed, and everyone was happy. In between the mud, £5 plates of chips, constant shouts of "butt scratcher", "Alan", and at times just screaming crowds, there was a real, full festival. Few (if any) bands truly disappointed. You can't ask for too much consistency no matter what you pay or who is on (especially if it's Guns N' Roses), but everyone got their £180's worth.

More than Glasto, Leeds has a charm; it's all about the music. It's not about the record labels or the egos of the musicians: you can weave between stages at will and you're never tied down. You're not forced to watch the most well know band because nine times out of ten there'll be a welcome alternative somewhere else in the festival. With Leeds, you can sit down, open your beer, chill, and take in the tunes you want, but you are reminded that it is the music you're here for. And for that reason, Leeds 2010 was excellent, and you'll see me there next year.

Peter Richards

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Individual performance reviews:

The Futureheads: 6/10
Modest Mouse: 7/10
The Maccabees: 7/10
The Cribs: 8/10
Dizzee Rascal: 9/10
Arcade Fire: 8/10

Kele: 5/10
We Are Scientists:9/10
The Klaxons: 4/10

Delphic: 6/10
Mumford & Sons: 7/10
Phoenix: 10/10
LCD Soundsystem:8/10

The Kid: An apology

2010-07-02T23:59:00.001+01:00

I would like to apologies for my actions over the past few weeks, indeed months, in not posting any vaguely amusing articles for your perusal (any comments about all of my articles being not even vaguely amusing are NOT welcome). I feel that I have let not just you, the reader, down, but also the owner of the site, The Famous Peter himself, and, perhaps most importantly, I have also let myself down. I hope that in the future, I will learn from my mistakes, and will avoid disappointing anybody else in future.

OK, enough with the bullshit. I've had exams, and they were hard, so I've been revising. Now I'm back. And I'm annoyed with public apologies.

Is it just me, or are they absolutely everywhere at the minute? The most famous example that I can think of is probably Tiger Woods, who used the fact that he's a world famous sportsman with a few million quid in the bank in order to sleep with lots of women. While married. But, naturally, it's all alright, since he's apologised for it. Have you seen that apology?It's an absolute piss-take.

They seem to be the latest craze among any famous wrong-doer. Everything is OK as long as you apologise for it afterwards. I could spend the next few paragraphs chatting about how this is nothing new, and the catholic church has been doing that particular scheme for centuries, but, well, I can't be bothered (it'd be a bit dry).

I think that I have three real problems with the whole apology thing. The usual one is the fact that the apologiser isn't actually saying anything with the apology, and if they are, they don't really mean it. It's all choreographed by the spin doctors, and is usually read in the kind of flat monotone that you used to use when your parents forced you to apologise to someone at the age of six. The apologies themselves all seem so formulaic (i.e. mine), and it's not as if the person making the apology has actually put anything into it. It's simply a case of "read these words."

The second is what the apology is for. Recently, Wayne Rooney issued a public apology after the Algeria game for all six seconds of these remarks. Does that really warrant a public apology?He's a bit frustrated, yes, but does he need to apologise for it? The same goes for Tiger Woods. Does he need to apologise to his wife? yes. Does he need to apologise to everybody else? Well, no, not really. To be honest, I couldn't give a toss.

The final reason, though, is that these apologies are done purely for the benefit of one person. Woods' apology was done in order to try and save himself a few million in sposorship deals. Rooney's to avoid getting booed at England's next game. Essentially, these people don't apologise because they are genuinely penitent. They just don't want to look bad. A few MPs apologised for the expenses scandal, purely to try and save face (yes, I read the Daily Mail, how could you tell?).

And anyway, what happened to the people who simply would refuse to apologise? Or is that not politically correct (see, Daily Mail again)?

The Famous Peter Isn't Leaving The House

2010-06-25T00:00:00.006+01:00

Scary times, kids. Right outside your front door is the biggest threat to mankind ever. EVER. It's invisible. It clogs up engines. It can transform into glass. It can get into your lungs and KILL YOU. And what's worst? It's cos' o' 'dem bloodeh' foreigners. Specifically the Icelandic. Ooh, yes. Those islanders who owe US, the British taxpayers, £3,300,000,000 (split with the Dutch)! The cheek they have to blow up a volcano JUST as we're on our holidays. Conspiracy? Yes. Definitely.

Turn to page 94 for more, plus an interview with Kerry Katona, who's worried to death that her kids may develop asthma due to the amount of ash in the atmosphere!

See, I could write for The Daily Star. The Daily Star that I admit to buying (I always end up with 20p spare otherwise) and enjoy reading, if only to laugh at the piss poor quality of journalism. A month ago, a leading article was entitled "ONLY 5% OF BRITONS WANT THE BURKA!". I had to read on. As somebody who is completely indifferent to the Burkha (not my style but who am I to impose) the amount of fuss over it in this country that seems to have been started by Jack Straw a few years ago intrigues me. Some see them as oppressive, others as plain ugly, even recently being seen as a paper bag according to a Tory MP. To me, it's like wearing jogging trousers casually; feel free to, but don't be a tit about it. Anyway! This article claimed that 96% of people according to a poll wanted the Burka banned. As you are probably thinking now, that is an extraordinary figure, and contrary to the typical vox-popping subjects' opinions on the BBC News, not to mention the fact that around 9% of the population is of an ethnic minority. I continued to read. Amidst all the references to a broken Britain and how immigration is crushing our "flourishing economy" (they must've written this in Germany) a little footnote mentioned:

"Figures from a poll of Daily Star readers, question: Do you want the Burka?"

This made me happy. You see, people who will actually spend the money it costs to send a text PLUS the charge put upon the texter by the Daily Star when they vote in one of these polls tends to be stupid. As mentioned before, I only buy the doormat with spare change. What the Daily Star has done is targeted it's mainly couch bound, patriotic audience with a rather imposing question, the sort of thing you'd hear from a Kurdish street vendor. It wasn't a fair poll, nor was it a very controversial one (not forgetting the dire quality of writing), it just reinforced the fact that British people are scared. Scared out of their little minds.

How do you tackle fear? Therapy say some, others are in favour of medication, but feeding it? That's what newspapers seem to do. Every day there is a new threat to our health/civilisation as we know it. Remember bird flu? How it would wipe out our whole society, reducing us to barbarism? Peter thinks the world's doing quite well for 2 years of scavenging and cannibalism.

Another massive problem is the media's problem with consistency. Very rarely do they stick to one scare story for more than a year (except for things like cancer, which the Daily Express jumps on at every given opportunity), because they know that the only thing that gets people remotely interested in this sort of story is the first time shock factor. There's only so much that can be discussed about Bird Flu before things move into a more scientific description, something people really aren't generally interested in. Sure, it can be simplified massively but this quickly gets repetitive, so it's back to hunting for a new story. Bird Flu and Swine Flu were of course massively overshadowed by the banking crisis, something (although terrible for Wall Street) that was blown well out of proportion by the papers, suggesting people would lose their houses and savings at the drop of a hat. This led to the famous mile long queues outside Northern Rock banks as people hurried to withdraw their hard earned cash, despite being told their money was more than safe, and the best way to secure it and the future of the bank (plus because of the Government bailout and nationalisation) and the economy was to keep it in there. Instead, the panic factor came back into play and more or less everyone had their cash in hand.

The media seem to feel as if they defend the people; if they smell something that could be of even the slightest risk to the public, they immediately jump into action and plaster warnings all over Fleet Street. But rather than help them gear up for action against whatever threat has arisen, people just get scared. The British public is fundamentally stupid, Great Britain is a stupid place. The papers seem to be milking this, nobody apart from the misguided editor who thinks he's doing the world a favour by telling us that spark plugs give you cancer really cares past making money, or getting their way among the public. Look at Rupert Murdoch and his rag, The Sun. Through this paper he has effectively manipulated 2,000,000 voters in the elections since 1992. Turning from red to blue at will, he favours whoever will give News International the best deal at the time. Of course, this is most often the Conservatives, hence the shock in 1997 when they supported Labour. In fact, that probably is an example of a paper caring about the people, as things certainly weren't tip top at that time. But, as soon as Labour announced they would be clamping down on the corporations and foreign companies (News International being American and owned by an Australian-American) to stimulate the local economy, The Sun turned blue and started spinning shite up about how things for the public would gradually get worse under the current government, when in fact it was the fault of foreign companies there was any mess in the first place and living conditions for average Joe Sunreader would stay more or less the same.

Still, away from the newspapers, films and television are constantly giving us a worst case scenario. 'Threads' by Barry Hines portrays a massive nuclear attack on the UK, with horrific consequences. Made in 1984, a time of very high Cold War tension, the worst case scenario shown in the film still petrifies viewers to this day. Other films such as 'Outbreak', '28 Days Later' and little known Spanish thriller 'La Cabina' all represent domestic horrors, and whilst some are more farfetched than others, the public can still believe there is a possibility of each happening.

To summarise, the rather idiotic public believes anything a higher, respected body tells them, and sadly, these bodies can be as pathetic as tabloid newspapers. I know I'm whining for a lost cause, but if the public were to decide to think for themselves, keep calm and carry on we'd be living in a better place. So really, peace.

Thank you very much for reading, very long one that was.

The Famous Peter has a Vuvuzela!

2010-06-20T18:21:00.011+01:00

Seems everyone is writing about them, I might as well give it a pop.

The World Cup in 2010 is by far the most anticipated footballing event of all time. Not because it will be the best, not because it has the best hosts, and certainly not because England are "definitely going to win it". No. The World Cup is heavily anticipated purely because it is the most accessible of all time. As is every single one when it comes along, technology advances, more people get to see it, it goes without saying. Well, not without the media saying. The amount of pathetic headlines I've seen in the past few months: "BIGGEST WORLD CUP EVER!" "WAGS BANNED AS FABIO CLAMPS DOWN!" "BAN THE BERKER!" All these headlines from the Daily Star, Mirror and Rune respectively.

As usual, seeing as the England team is involved, on pitch shenanigans are overlooked in favour of ridiculously uninteresting and demeaning stories that involve coaches, wives and girlfriends of players and fans to name a few culprits, and why do papers do this? Simple, people don't want to read about a match they've probably already watched on the television. With games being broadcast on terrestrial television and Sky Sports News (or 'Sky Sports Football and other Sporting News' as I like to call it) available for nothing on Freeview, all you could ever want from a newspaper is right in front of your eyes, even being forced into your options with the impending digital switchover. Plus let's not forget the internet, but if you're reading my website you probably already know what's available.

Whilst I fully support the openness of the World Cup and its commercial availability (even if it does mean more money in the pockets of corporations) this triggers gimmicks, instantly forgettable one-offs that annoy the public for the duration of the event but disappear into obscurity soon after. For the 1970 World Cup, it was the Zaire team. For the 2008 Olympics, it was 'fake' fans, and for the 2010 World Cup it will be the Vuvuzela. The blaring, annoying, 'native' instrument has become and international symbol of hatred and mockery, being purchased by retarded children the world over to mimic the sound that overshadows their lacklustre heroes (unless you're Dutch).

Luckily, clubs have been quick to stamp down on the non lethal WMD's. At the time of writing German club Borussia Dortmund have banned them from their stadium permanently, with Cardiff and (unsurprisingly) Wimbledon following suit. For those of you who didn't know FIFA have also banned the sale of Vuvuzelas inside World Cup stadiums, backtracking on Sepp Blatter's confessed love of the "enhanced atmosphere" they bring along. I can safely say they're probably the only thing to make the JJB Stadium worse, and the JJB is one shithole. On top of the entire sound of the crowd leaking out of the gaping corners, the introduction of some buzzing horn is sure to make me drop my meat pie in disgust.

What's worse, they've actually been importing these into the UK since September 2009, and they've been used at Sheffield Wednesday matches frequently. Retailing at £10, any retard can buy them... notably my brother. I've already informed him, if I see it unattended at any point in my lifetime it will not remain in one piece. He has since hidden his noisemaker.

But this gimmick has highlighted for me the thing football has lost over the past couple of decades: passion. Whereas tickets were once cheap and the only way to see your team in acceptable quality was on the terraces of your local ground, the cloud of Sky Sports has spawned the armchair supporter, big money in the game and glory hunting. Players no longer pledge their loyalty to their childhood club, seeking the bigger paycheque instead of the personal pride and bringing happiness to their neighbours, and small clubs who depend on one player get paid peanuts to have themselves sent off into obscurity as someone who could have been put down as a legend instead sits on the bench at some club owned by an oil baron.

Still, referees are always the same. So don't argue with them. And don't bring in video refereeing.

Thanks for reading, sorry for the wait, exams are harder than they look!

UK!? Are You Mad?

2010-04-21T23:10:00.005+01:00

Just a quick post to say thefamouspeter is now available at http://www.thefamouspeter.co.uk as well! Deep joy ensues.

Peter

The Kid: Football Idiots

2010-04-15T12:40:00.014+01:00

I generally regard myself as being quite intelligent. There, I just said it, and there is absolutely nothing that any of you can do to stop me. It stands to reason, therefore, that I generally don't like it when people get things wrong. Usually, I just correct them (politely), or ignore it. Sometimes, though, it just becomes too much.

My inspiration for this particular article is the bloke who sits behind me at the football. I don't know his name, and to be honest, I don't really want to know it. I am an unashamed Wigan Athletic fan (unlike the Famous Peter, who claims to support Wigan, but is actually a closet Liverpool fan *Editor: watch it wooly*) and have been watching the side, with a season ticket, for about seven years. I have sat in my current seat, in the East Stand, for five of those years, and during that time, this man has sat behind me.

Not Pictured: The annoying bloke who sits behind me.

Let me first make it abundantly clear that my footballing experience is limited to Sunday League, Fifa, and Football Manager. However, I understand everything to do with the game from the adverse merits and faults of pressuring and containment, to the pros and cons of wing play as opposed to long ball (or "Bolton Tactics").

The man behind me, however, believes himself to be a footballing genius. He is wrong. Completely wrong. Let me explain why.

Under his way of playing, there is no such thing as a flair player; every man should run around after the ball, chasing every single lost cause, and not giving up anything. They should also, while chasing every single ball, remember to mark both their man, and their zone. Now, in fairness, zonal vs. man-marking is one of the main talking points of a defensive game. However, you can't have both, it just doesn't work like that. He also doesn't seem to understand containment, or holding position in defense. Every player should, literally, run after the ball like a headless chicken. This is one of the main reasons for Wigan's plight this season.

The other thing that he hates is every single player. Every single one. Kirkland? "Needs kicking practice." Bramble? "He makes me nervous." N'Zogbia? "Should stop trying to do everything on his own." All of those are genuine quotes. He is not quite as bad as the woman next to him, who insists on announcing to the entire ground who Martinez is bringing on as a substitute (five minutes after the fourth official holds up the number board), but is still pretty terrible. You sort of get the general feeling that if we won every single game for the rest of football, he would still find something to complain about. Most likely Kirkland being a "dozy sod" for not throwing the ball to N'Zogbia as soon as he has made a save, despite the fact that N'Zogbia is marked by two men.

His solution? Apparently we're lacking "someone who'll put their foot in," despite having the likes of McCarthy, Diame and Thomas in our midfield, and he often bemoans the lack of a "genuine goalscorer," as in Hugo Rodallega, Victor Moses, or the yet-to-settle-in Marcello Moreno. By the way, Moreno is pronounced "Mourinho," (seriously) and Rodallega is "Rodalleho." And I have to sit there and listen to this, because I am such a nice, sweet, polite, person.

Ultimately, I don't understand why he bothers showing up. The people I sit near, who seem to understand that chasing the ball incessantly = conceding agree with me about this bloke. If all he does is complain, why does he even bother? The answer?

To annoy the rest of us.

The Kid: Car Insurance

2010-01-30T00:01:00.001Z

As you may or may not have noticed (to be honest, I don't care either way, except that I'll kill your children and eat your pet hamster if you didn't notice) I turned 17 this week. I've had my provisional driving license for a month, ready for last Tuesday when I'd finally be able to put it into practice. I got some L-plates for my birthday, and have been promised lessons by various relatives (Dad's probably the best bet, he can actually reverse park).

And then the problem arose.

The car that I was intending to use to learn how to drive is my mother's Ford Fiesta, circa 2003. It's not exactly an Enzo, let's put it that way. The amount required to get insurance to learn to drive said car? About £4,000. £4,000. Seriously.

Pictured: The car I wish I was learning to drive.

Now, the average 17-year-old is either in college, working part-time, or has a job at entry level or an apprenticeship. I don't think that they have £4,000 just lying around to pay for insurance just to learn how to drive (David Cameron probably did when he was this age, but anyway). That is, of course, on top of the cost of the car, road tax, fuel, fuel duty, and the myriad other charges levied on every other driver in the land. Even a provisional license costs £50 that I don't have, and had to ask for as a birthday present. (On top of the aforementioned L-plates. I had to sacrifice Mass Effect 2. You have no idea of the anguish that that caused me.)

Now, I understand that the insurance companies need to make money. They wouldn't exist otherwise. They do, however, have something of a captive audience, in that it is illegal to drive anything without insurance.

Can they not give learners a break though? Of course we are logically quite likely to have an accident (as in a car crash, not what you were thinking). But then, are we not the most careful, the most tentative, the most cautious drivers, simply because we have to concentrate so hard on the road? It's because young drivers, particularly teenage boys, break the law so often in cars, is what the statisticians will tell you. Idiot boy racers ruining it for everybody. Except...

The majority of lads I know wouldn't bother trying to do handbrake turns or be first off the mark at the traffic lights. We don't have the cars to do it, and are conscientious enough to know that we have to pay for any damage. The Insurance companies will say that we need a no-claims bonus, to prove that we are good drivers. Yep, we have to pay through the nose for the privilege of proving that we shouldn't have to pay so much. That makes perfect sense.

My more conspiratorial side, however, suspects something more sinister is afoot here. Everybody is quick to point the finger at the corporations being the obvious bad guys again. But what if there is something deeper going on, something with a little more meaning. Tinfoil hat time, people.

The penalty for driving without insurance does not come from the insurance company. The real penalty is not in what you have to pay to have your own car fixed, or that of the other party. No, the real penalty is the maximum £5,000 fine that can be levied on you just for driving without insurance, as well as anything between 3-8 points on your license.

Let's put that into perspective. The fine is the same as Drink Driving, (although you don't have to go to jail for driving without insurance), twice that of Driving Without Due Care, and five times the amount for driving without a license.

Hmmm, so I pay £4,000 for learner's insurance, or risk a £5,000 fine. The choice seems pretty obvious, little more than basic maths. But why is the fine for driving without insurance so high? It's like fining people for not having a bank account (Watch this space) . Even after learning, the premiums drop to an altogether more manageable £1,500 per annum.

Are the government up to something here? Obviously they rake in a couple of billion a year through taxing insurance companies, but why go so hard on young drivers? Surely they want us to grow up, drive safely, and pay our car tax, fuel duty, road tax, MOT, and all the rest of it.

The only conclusion that I can come to is that they are playing a long, green game(no, not golf). By making it so hard financially to learn to drive, at the same time as introducing University fees, they must be trying to stop people learning to drive. It makes sense. They can charge quite a bit for public transport, and appease the green lobby at the same time. They continue making money off of people who continue to drive, while the NHS gets a bit of relief from the lack of road traffic incidents. Surely though, they are better going after public drunkenness than kids wanting to get behind the wheel? (That might have to wait for next month, though).

It's just a bit crap for the victims of such a system. Ah well, looks like I'll have to not bother with the Enzo. Pity.

Crime Is Cheap, In Fact It's Free

2010-01-23T00:00:00.005Z

The 'noughties' (forgive me) have brought on massive technical advancements. Who can forget the first adverts from '3 Mobile' bragging about their cellular phone video calls and the first time you could actually download sound and video at a reasonable speed? Dial-up to Broadband, fax to email, Linda to Heather Mills; it's been a crazy decade. And of course, like everything, we the people were not allowed to have our way with these advancements, oh no, as the governments of the world decided to get their grubby hands all over the new tech. Why? Because billions of dollars was at risk in one industry. Would you like to hazard a guess?

It's these fellas. The music industry in the US alone was worth $15bn in 1999, which is an absolutely gigantic amount in anyone's terms. Everything was coming up peaches, and the corporations were raking it in. Then, out of nowhere, revenue fell. Not by a little: takings from the US were only £10.5bn in 2008. How did this happen, you ask? How can one of the biggest consumer industries in the world just lose 30% of its money?

Because Napster came along.

In June 1999, things went wrong (for the businesses, at least). People could now get free music whenever they wanted, as long as they had an internet connection (which would pay for itself after a few downloads). Napster was the first massive file-sharing website that allowed people to give away their tunes. Shawn Fanning and Sean Parker were two American university students who dreamt of a world where you could have what you want, when you want it. They decided to do their bit by creating a piece of software that allowed you to put any data you wanted onto a server and have it downloaded by anyone, anywhere in the world. And of course, things went a bit crazy.

Millions of people used the service to get the latest music albums and those with a fast enough connection the latest films, and before they knew it music corporations were being bled to death by computers. Napster had twenty-seven million users at its peak, making it one of the most popular websites in the world. However, with all this traffic, comes attention.

American band 'Metallica' had their song 'I Disappear' leaked onto Napster a few days before its commercial release, leading to them filing a lawsuit against the service. Dr. Dre saw one of his songs on Napster, and filed a lawsuit as well as delivering the names of users who had downloaded his single to the Ninth Circuit Court. A&M Records also sued Napster, claiming it had infringed copyright. Notice anything about all of these cases? They all involve money. The artists didn't speak a lot about the tracks being leaked: it was more the record labels, i.e. the money spinners. But whoever it was, Napster was shut down and only saw the light of day again after a bailout from a German company following a $26m fee.

And that was the end of Napster as we knew it. But this wasn't the end. People liked what Napster did, and wanted more. £0.79 for one song? Are they joking? £7.99 a dozen? For some people that's disposable income for a whole week. So people sought out different ways to download their music, and huzzah, Limewire, Kazaa, Filetopia and others popped up to help people trod along and search for their free entertainment. But nothing was quite as big as The Pirate Bay.

The Pirate Bay was new. Big. Cocky. Swedish. It was basically an index of the internet. And it was all free. Music, films, applications, books, TV shows, all there. It was more than just a breakthrough: it was a whole new society. And it hated the corporations.

The Pirate Bay showed available torrents (files used to tell your computer what data to download and from where) from all over the world to get you free stuff. And oh my, people lapped it up. To make a long story short, TPB was epic beyond belief and everyone loved it. Well, of course, not everyone, which is why in 2008 the International Fedaration of the Phonographic Industry tried to shut it down. Now of course, the IFPI is a government organisation, so this was purely down to them breaking the law. Don't bring up the fact that the IFPI's American branch is the RIAA, which represents 90% of all music sales in America. I'll just let you think for a minute.

Okay. Now, if you watched the news or went on the internet at all in 2008 or early 2009, you'll know that it was a very long, drawn out case and it ended up in the owners having to pay the absolutely humongous sum of $13m! Which is about 0.05% of music revenue worldwide... anyway! The IFPI got excited, and started demanding that TPB be blocked by internet service providers, with which the cooperative chaps replied "no". So things once again went crazy, and 'Pirates' as they are affectionately known around the world started rebelling, epitomised in the cleverest cartoon I've ever read, posted on The Pirate Bay during the trial:

(click here for a bigger version)

So, after it all calmed down The Pirate Bay kept running and people kept downloading music, and the corporations stuck there thumbs up their arses and carried on whistling. The convicted had their fines reduced to $3m: the labels had been done. People had had enough: no more monopoly! No more shitty number ones! No more paying for music! It had all happened so fast, and we are yet to see just what else the record labels will pull out of their hats. Coin operated speakers? iPods with a credit card slot? Who knows, but eventually one of two things will happen: one music label will gain a massive monopoly and control the whole industry, or people will act again and see free music be free to be free. Yes. Thank you for reading.

The Kid: Music Today

2010-01-16T00:00:00.006Z

At the risk of sounding like a grumpy old coot, music has really lost it's edge. I think it's because songs aren't really about anything anymore, or are just about love, leaving little or no variety in terms of what people are actually singing about.

In the past year, what have the most successful songs been about? Let's have a look...

According to itunes, the top 10 best selling singles of 2009 were as follows:

1. "I Gotta Feeling," Black Eyed Peas
2. "Poker Face," Lady Gaga
3. "Just Dance," Colby O'Donis / Lady GaGa
4. "Boom Boom Pow," Black Eyed Peas
5. "Fight For This Love," Cheryl Cole
6. "In For The Kill," La Roux
7. "Number 1," Tinchy Stryder
8. "Bad Boys (feat. Flo Rida)," Alexandra Burke
9. "The Fear," Lily Allen
10. "Use Somebody," Kings Of Leon

I'll give credit where credit's due with this one... "I Gotta Feeling" and "Just Dance" are both about partying, as far as I can make out, and "Boom Boom Pow" doesn't appear to actually be about anything.

This only leaves Lily Allen's "The Fear" that is actually about something, the curse of celebrity. Something that the public knows a lot about and can relate to. OK, so it goes slightly deeper than that, about the changing aspirations of girls in Britain in the past decade or so, and our obsession with getting famous at any cost. But it is just one song out of ten, on that list.

Other songs last year seem to have focused mainly on the areas of:

women looking nice dancing in clubs,
women being attracted to men dancing in clubs,
being on fire

OK, so Kasabian did quite alright with "Fire" and, other than Snow Patrol's "Up to Now album", it was the only song I have bought that was made in 2009. Of course, I am a bit retro in terms of music, but even I liked The Arctic Monkeys at the height of their powers, and fell in love with The Kaiser Chiefs and their Jam-reminiscent style. Undoubtedly there were some good tunes from artists I haven't heard on the radio, and I'd be the first to admit I'm not that big on any particular music scene at the moment.

This leaves us with the question of why. Why are pop musicians, the voices of the younger generations, singing about such mindless crap? Go back forty years, and the Beatles, the Who, the Kinks and the Stones were singing about political revolution (er, "Revolution") and social struggles (a special nod here to "Shangri-La" and "Won't get Fooled Again"), changing the world. Go forwards ten years, and we get punk rock, with the Sex Pistols advocating anarchism, and The Clash calling for political upheaval. The Jam did some damn fine work in the late 70s/early 80s with "That's Entertainment," "Going Underground" and "Town Called Malice." Morrissey was so successful because he combined good music with lyrics that actually meant something, rather than just the usual twaddle about how good it is to get drunk. In the Nineties, Britpop made a few social statements as well, notably "Cigarettes and Alcohol," "Parklife," and eventually "Bittersweet Symphony" in 1997. Even as much as two years ago, the Kaiser Chiefs sang that "Everything is Average Nowadays," and a few years before, The Arctic Monkeys looked at everyday life and gave us the likes of "Brianstorm." Even Razorlight chipped in with "America".

My main point, however, is this: do we, as a generation, simply not care about the world around us anymore? Or is life so good, the government doing such a good job, that we don't want to change anything? Let's just hope that this generation gets its act together pretty soon.

The Famous Peter Will Buy Any Car

2010-01-07T00:04:00.010Z

First of all, sorry about the lack of posts, it's exam season. We'll be back to normal by February at the latest.

It's advert season. The time of year when we've got a bit of cash in hand from Christmas presents, and in between the big department stores shoving their January sales up your nostril a few gems come through to get you to spend your (not) hard-earned money.

First of all, here is Guinness's big budget effort, showing a bunch of farmers prancing around a grey planet proving there is no God.

I prefer the drink itself... I don't think Arthur Guinness had this in mind when he created a dark ale in his little Irish shed, but nevertheless it rakes in the awards and makes the odd pub-goer for once proclaim: "Actually love, I'll 'ave a Guinness", which is alright with me.

A beautiful piece of art that whilst not measuring up to their 'Horse Surfers' ad of 1999 (which is wrongly regarded as the best advert of all time) still shows that the advertising industry can still boom and wow the public even in a recession as deep as this one. Why? Because in a recession there are two choices:

Get the drinks in
Sell your stuff

And as I try to keep this a neutral website, here is the ad industry's contribution to aiding number two.

Yes! Now, you can sell your car to people having seizures! From £50 to £100,000! Isn't it delightful? See how he made a cheeky joke about how boring silly newsreaders are and burst into dance so it appeals to the kids? N'aawh! And look at the dancing! Epilepsy looks great. Do you reckon it was all spontaneous and he was actually expecting to do a proper report? It looked like it. Oh, I've been fooled!

Enough of that. The retards at WeBuyAnyCar.com (if you hadn't guessed the name) have concocted the most brain-dead vomit on television since Kerry Katona. From 0:05-0:09 he genuinely looks like he's having a fit, which is probably why his speech didn't match his lips. Now, I could go on for pages about every aspect of the stupidity of the 41 seconds you'll never get back (not to mention the final dance move that made Michael Jackson spin at 1000rpm in his grave), but first I'm going to ask the question that really should have come up in the director's meeting before the abomination was put out: who does this appeal to? Let's do a checklist.

Teenagers (17-21)

Most likely they'll just talk about it on facebook, with excessive use of the word 'wanker', 'tosser', and 'car'. The sad thing is that this could be regarded as a commercial success, as "any publicity is good publicity", said the Priest to Gary Glitter.

Young Adults (22-29)

These people will just hang their heads in shame and thank the lord they aren't anything to do with WeBuyAnyCar.com, and if they know anybody who is they'll instantly disown them whilst trashing their car, driving license and draining their bank account. Probably.

Adults (30-55)

Some of these will fall for it. If it makes them laugh, they'll look into it: their best years are behind them and they'll do anything anybody under 30 tells them to do if it's hip and cool. Which this advert isn't, but they think it is.

Pensioners (55+)

Pensioners will shout at the telly for being too loud and demand to OFCOM that the 'newsreader' be given an ASBO.

Well, that was exhausting. Notice that I've missed anything? You should. I've not mentioned the actual purpose of the advert. You can make preposterous adverts that are a success (Compare The Market did it fantastically), but when you cross the line it's indicated by people talking exclusively about the idiots on the advert and not actually what it's advertising. The 'Meerkat' campaign increased site traffic to CompareTheMarket.com by 80% despite being completely stupid, so who can fault it?

All in all, television is even dumbing down in between actual television. The fad of just getting people talking and being vaguely memorable instead of actually getting a product sold has taken hold and isn't leaving any time soon. I'm off to the pub.

Thank you for reading, I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and New Year.

The Kid: Healthy Bloody Eating

2009-12-14T11:58:00.013Z

Nowadays, people are doing absolutely everything that they can think of to take away our enjoyment of life. They (and by they, I mean, you know, them) have decided to ban pretty much everything on the grounds of either health and safety or it being unhealthy. Usually both. The final straw, however, is food.

I can categorically say this, and I defy any medical or scientific expert to disprove this: food is bad for you. I have overwhelming evidence to support this. Every person who has ever died has eaten, at some point in their lives, food. Every person who currently eats food on a regular basis is going to die. Every single one. Why? Because that’s what happens in life: you are born, you live, and you die.

Why, then, are some people obsessed with denying themselves one of the most basic, innocent pleasures of life - that of good food - for an extra few years of putting off the inevitable? Now, let’s get one thing straight; I have no quarrel with people who decide that they would rather extend their lives for a few years by eating tasteless mush instead of real food. That’s their choice. I take issue, however, with the food fascists who decide that this is the only acceptable choice for everybody. Yes, Jamie Oliver, I’m talking about you.

At my old High School, there was no such choice. One day, the deputy head simply up and decided that Standish Community High School was going to go “healthy.” This might have something to do with the extra funding that the school received as a result, but I digress. All of a sudden, there was no more chocolate. Fizzy drinks were banned, and what was once known as the “burger bar” became, I kid you not, a “pasta bar .” Yes, in the style of those other world famous pasta bars, like “Fusilli King” and “McSpaghetti.” The only place that it was possible to find anything with any taste was in the office of the aforementioned deputy head. The choice of being unhealthy was entirely removed, replaced instead by dietary doctrines of having a low amount of salt, because salt is bad for you; a low amount of fat, because fat is bad for you; and a low amount of taste because, obviously, taste is bad for you.

My point is this. Every single type of food is bad for you. A new study is published almost daily, suggesting the long-term damage that every single foodstuff under the sun will cause you. They want you to be healthy, and eat only the good things. What I propose is this. Choose your method of death! Whether you feel like succumbing to high cholesterol, bowel cancer, or just a heart attack, simply find the right foods, and eat only those, giving you an “increased risk” of dying from a particular ailment! Alternatively, just eat whatever you feel like eating. After all, it’s not going to make too much of a difference in the long run, is it? Besides, I could really go for a KFC right now...

The Kid: The Christmassy People.

2009-12-05T00:00:00.002Z

They were everywhere. I dashed through the canteen, barely managing to balance my chips in their polystyrene plate, looking left and right at my pursuers. Red Hats bobbed up and down, with little white bobbles that looked like nothing but obnoxious, demon-possessed snowballs. The lights twinkled and flashed, reflected a thousand times in the tinsel decorations that swamped the walls, ceilings, and anywhere else that they could conceivably be hanged from. And a few places that were simply mad. Simply mad.

The access ramp to the door was clear, and I pressed on, viciously tearing a chunk out of the paper sachet with my teeth, releasing the salt that would soon flavour my chips. They were the cause of the consternation. And by God they were worth it. The room stank of turkey, cooked too long and then re-heated in a microwave, before being sold to the masses for far more than it was worth. I thought again of the countless multitudes lost in the great slaughter. Those had been some damn fine turkeys.

I continued my lone sprint up the ramp, as much salt flying up my coat sleeve as went on my meal. The white granules fell to the floor, and would doubtless soon be seen as a small amount of the fabled snow, falling as it had in years gone past. The door opened agonisingly ahead of me, the heavy, fireproof portal that would allow me to escape from them.

I reached the door, and with a final, heroic effort, launched myself through the opening, chips cradled like a child at my chest. NO! One of them barred my passage, a girl my own age but a hand shorter, blocking my exit to the promised land beyond. She wore an elf's hat, and smiled at me, as if to say that there was nothing that she would rather do than than keep me prisoner there. I had been taken by them.

The Christmassy People. That is the only name I would give them, for they never named themselves, and even claim to be the real men and women who's guise they take for one month a year. I remember a time when their coming was not a grievous tragedy, but instead a celebration, a time of thanksgiving, and good will to all men. Now I know different. They are monsters, monsters who wish to enslave us all through annoying jingles, over-priced goods and gaudy, ridiculous decorations. They set up flashing lights to dazzle us, and sing songs that are specially trained to permeate even the strongest of wills.

I have noticed something else, too. They stay here longer each year. At first, they traditionally arrived at the start of December, bribing us with chocolate to ignore their entry. Now, the earliest arrive in October. The Christmassy People take away some of our best and brightest for months at a time.

I began the fightback years ago. Simply ignoring them proved effective at first, although my lack of Christmas cards served to alienate me from them. I have looked into the history of Christmas, found the deceit at the beginning, but proving them wrong serves only to infuriate them. Their blood-red hats soon became an augury that I could not ignore.

I often wonder how it is that I am not taken and used as a masquerade by the creatures. It is clear to see the ones who are taken, for they are forever asking why. Why are you not in The Christmas Spirit? Maybe that is the key. One must want to be taken. But people deny that anything has happened to them. They deny that they have changed, just that it is a "special time of year." They deny their own existence. And that is what scares me most.

"Excuse me," I muttered, and attempted to brush the elf-girl aside. She simply carried on smiling that inane smile, friendly and yet somehow seductive, and refused to budge. More of them came, some in the bodies of my fromer friends, each pretending that nothing had happened to them. I was offered turkey. Was that the secret? Eat the turkey breast, and become one of them? The turkey looked good, but I resisted the urge to take it.

I tried again to brush elf-girl aside. I was accused of lacking spirit, the great weapon of the Christmassy People, their ace in the hole to quell their enemies, to force them into submission. It was exactly what I wanted them to do.

I summoned my courage. The words formed in my mouth, and they leaned forward eagerly, awaiting my surrender. Instead, I uttered my catechism, the three words that would save my life.

"I don't care," and, despite their gasps of astonishment, I left the canteen. Chips had never tasted so good.

Disney's Dark Past

2009-11-28T23:49:00.007Z

Over the years, Walt Disney has given the world some of the most magical films of all time. 'Snow White', 'Steamboat Willy', 'Pinnochio', 'Peter Pan', and 'Song Of The South'. Sorry? You haven't heard of the classic 'Song Of The South'? The delightful musical set in a plantation in the south of the USA? Well of course you haven't: it was never released on home video, and has only gained cult attention because of its rather racist undertones.

The plot circles around Uncle Remus, a black plantation worker for a rich family. When a young boy visits his grandmother whilst his father works away he is befriended by Remus, who tells them stories of Br'er Rabbit, Fox and Bear. Seems timid? It is. It really actually is. But this is a kid's film, and critics have called it a "depiction of a perfect master-slave relationship". Remus happily works his days at the plantation whilst he receives seemingly no pay, and worst of all this film is set more or less straight after the American Civil War. However, the film is charming, and the animation scenes are some of the best I've ever enjoyed and the original song 'Zip-Ah-Dee-Doo-Dah' even won an Academy Award. The film does try to get out a good message, but is completely insensitive in doing so. And for those of you who think I'm displaying a little hypocrisy can think again: it isn't a fair film. Watch it and you'll see. Even when Walt himself was commenting on the making of the film he would use the word 'negro' ("old negro philosopher") to describe Uncle Remus. Disney, being a primarily children's entertainment corporation should be telling kids that all people are equal and should be treated fairly and as friends, however this film (although everyone is happy together) sets a complete stereotype of working African Americans at that time. Maybe certain elements are true, in that he would've been employed and treated in such a way, but surely it's not right to put this in a kids' film? And if that's still not enough for you, Walt Disney has included several racial stereotypes in some other media in the past.

The crows in 'Dumbo'
The red indians in ''Peter Pan'
The numerous black characters in the old 'Mickey Mouse' films and books

Walt Disney himself was a mad anti-semite too, and constantly made fun of the Jews, even having the 'Big Bad Wolf' from a rendition of the 'Three Little Pigs' be depicted as a Jewish peddler, and having Mickey Mouse do a little jig dressed up as a Hasidic Jew. Back in the days of pre-Martin Luther King America racism was rife and anyone with half a brain knows it. Anybody who accused others of being a racist back then had the first amendment wrongfully slapped in their face despite hardly anybody ever having read it (go to 5:00). However, soon things went quiet and now we're being strangled if we even sing 'Baa-Baa Black Sheep', and we laugh at the apparently risque but actually completely shit Little Ms. Jocelyn.

I bring all this to your attention as Disney have cast their first Afro-American Princess in their latest animated film, 'The Princess and The Frog'. Now for me, this is great news, as instead of those who will obviously highlight it as a some sort of sign of an "immigrant invasion" (I'm watching you, Griffin), I see it as a corporation embracing the wonderful fact that the USA is a vastly diverse multicultural society. By 2012 America will be less than 50% white, and some predict in the next 20 years Spanish will be the most spoken language there. Although I've grown out of the Disney animated films to an extent, their main purpose is to educate children and diversify their outlook on life. 'The Princess and The Frog' does this excellently, however 'Song of The South' certainly does not. Disney does have a dark, mischievous past, and it's criminal to ignore it, but those times have gone and they're back to helping one of the best causes in the world, educating kids.

Thanks for reading, I just thought I'd bring up a little snippet of info for all you Disney lovers out there, and I hope I haven't ruined too many childhoods in the process. I hope to see you here again soon!

Hello All

2009-11-28T12:45:00.013Z

TheFamousPeter.com is expanding, and today brings the joyous news that I, The Kid the famous Peter sits next to in English, have been given permission to write articles for the site. Whether or not Peter will come to regret this decision remains to to be seen. What I can promise, however, is general hilarity and a decent counterpoint to Peter's political views. I see myself as more of a Little John, from the Mail, as opposed to Peter's Charlie Brooker.

I am not partial to the long-term plan for the site, but now at least I have somewhere to vent my frustration at the fact that the thought police in our country won't let me vent my frustration anymore. Anyways, expect my first article soon, probably on something about British society etc. and how its not as good as it used to be.

What's The Fuss About Warfare? Part 2

2009-11-11T10:51:00.017Z

I'm continuing this little snippet of interest as it's something I can really get my teeth into. I believe that the majority of the British public are not as stupid as they seem, and when a team of video game producers, sometimes a hundred men and women strong, their efforts should be available to the public. And if the game is "brutal" or "violent", people will be intelligent enough to know whether it is suitable for the children, or themselves. Before you say it, I know that there are people too stupid to understand this, and those will be the ones who will copy a games example and bring on such acts as the murder of Stefan Pakeerah. However in this day and age people are more educated than ever, so restraining them is not the answer in my opinion.

However, I'm a reasonable man, and I will look at both sides of the argument. There is a tragic side to violent video games in isolated if heartbreaking cases, and it would be disrespectful of me not to look at them.

The man responsible for all this is Keith Vaz MP, Labour Member of Parliament for Leicester East. Vaz first brought up video game violence in 2007, following the death of Pakeerah.

"According to Giselle Pakeerah, the mother of Stefan Pakeerah, the young Leicester boy who was stabbed to death in a park in Leicester when aged only 14, the 17-year-old killer copied exact scenes from “Manhunt 1” to lure Stefan into the park and stab him 17 or 18 times with a knife."

I'd be a very bad person to argue with this. Stefan was innocently partygoing, and upon being lured into a park to be mugged by his older friend was stabbed to death. My heart goes out to Giselle: she's obviously very strong to get through this and should take pride in herself. If for a minute we take the 'Manhunt' out, there is obvious grounds for mental illness here, and the murderer is obviously very impressionable, so it's unfair to blame it wholly on the game, like Vaz was insinuating. However, I'm not a psychologist, and I don't want a Jan Moir case on my website.

In my opinion, Manhunt is a devilishly brutal game and I wouldn't buy it, however some people are into that sort of simulation, in that you harness the vast power of taking life, so they're free to buy it. And there we go: someone who is aware of the aspects of the game has chosen not to buy it on the grounds they find it morally objectable, yet has accepted that others may wish to. In a free country like this, if a few dozen grown members of the public develop a detailed, enjoyable and controversial game they should be celebrated for artistic triumph rather than quashed under rules. This murderer was obviously a member of the tiny, tiny minority of people who are impressionable, and no matter what it is, if there is some violence there is a chance that they could copy it. Nowadays, with everything there will be a risk factor.

This toy contains small parts: children may choke.
Speed kills.
Smoking kills.
This chewing gum may have a laxative effect.

The last one was silly I know, but it's a risk. Eventually, with the vast crusade of political correctness poisoning the nation this could be the government's main aim for 2019 (if you want more, check the front page of the Daily Express from time to time). There's no doubt that the murder of Pakeerah and several others brought on by video games are terrible, but the government is just highlighting it in the wrong way. The government being behind on technology has brought on thousands of deaths, the most notable example being asbestos. The first recorded death in the UK was in 1906, however asbestos was not phased out until the 1980s, and only completely banned in 1999 following the EU's outlawing of Chrysolite, the only form still legal at the time in Britain. 'Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2' is if anything a deterrent to war; the bloody, depressing battles you are involved in throughout will probably only appeal to the top 0.01% of the hardest people in Britain. If the government still insist on having these games tones down, maybe they could just ask the producers to put a few extra warnings in, tell store clerks to advise parents on the content of the game or just move all the adult games to another area. I do believe in the age rating system, as a 6 year old having 'Grand Theft Auto IV' bought for him (like I saw just a few weeks ago) is plain wrong.

For me, this is much like the great cannabis debate (which when you look at the evidence is better for you than alcohol, cigarettes and some say caffeine) maybe this is an area which the government is too conservative to really look into for the social benefits, and should be left to public choice, so those who don't like it should adopt the traditional British attitude of "if you don't like it, ignore it" (or "if you can't beat them, join them": whichever is easier for you).

***EDIT*** It turns out that the Pakeerah case had no relation to video games, instead it was drug dealing. I'll leave the post as it is as I aimed to highlight the reaction by the government more than the event itself.

What's The Fuss About Warfare?

2009-11-10T10:44:00.009Z

Today sees the release of 'Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2', across many a gaming platform. A game splattered with violence, gore, grit and guns, it sounds perfect to put under the tree for a little six year old. However, before I start getting into detail, let's look at the basics. The first game was notorious to say the least. Instantly slammed in the House of Commons for being too "realistic", it seemed that the aims and efforts of video game producers were seen as taboo, and that maybe games should steer clear of this area of real life. But maybe it's not because the games are realistic: in 1993 'Cannon Fodder' caused mass hysteria by being a blatant exploitation of wartime grief, never mind the uproar from the British Legion due to the use of a poppy on the front cover.

Video games will always have something said about them for as long as they are around, simply because they play such a big part in the lives of kids nowadays. Children are known to spend up to six, maybe seven hours a day on their consoles instead of doing something productive; no wonder the world is getting tremendously fatter.

I hear you saying "you must be some nerd to be saying all this, video games are great!" However, I agree, video games are great, but in the last year I have felt their wrath. Throughout the time I should have been revising for my GCSE's I tried to crack open Fallout 3, and still failed. My results felt the full blow and it's given me a chance to reflect on video games as a whole. But enough of that demoralising tripe!

This week, the political effect of video games was seen again with Keith Vaz MP bringing up the subject in Parliament. (Thank you to Graham Murkett for this) Vaz, who voted for the invasion of Iraq, claimed "it [Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2] contains such scenes of brutality even the manufacturers have put warnings within the game". Ironic? I should certainly think so. War is a horrible, horrible thing, whether it be necessary or not, and war on an XBOX is far more timid, I think Mr. Vaz. The game has an 18 certificate from the BBFC, so the law on this is as heavily enforced as on film. Vaz's argument was not really to have it pulled from the shelves but instead to make 100% sure that children don't get their hands on it, but when I turn on the news at midday on a Saturday when some juveniles are bound to be watching, I see reports of another British soldier killed brutally in Vaz's name.

So I ask, what poisons a child more? Shooting a few pixellated Russians witha joystick or seeing dead men just a few years older than themselves paraded down a road in a coffin draped with a flag? With the power of the media and the ease of gaining information, the effect on the British public from the wars in the East are catastrophic. This is total war, as everyone has a feeling or opinion about Iraq, Afghanistan or Iran.

To put it simply, 'Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2" is just leisure. Instead of debating about a product which is playing a bigger and bigger part in our economy, maybe, especially so near to Rememberance Sunday, MP's should think about what is going on a million miles away and how that is affecting our children at home. We all know Britain is in social decline, and maybe taking a step back could be the best answer.

As you can see, this is a far more serious piece, brought on by Keith Vaz MP's little falsh of hypocrisy (I love writing about powerful people contradicting themselves). Thanks for reading, I'll see you soon.

The Relaunch and Morrissey

2009-11-09T13:22:00.022Z

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, today is a momentous day.

Today is a great day. Today is a day our children, our children's children, and our children's children's children will remember forever.

Today, The Famous Peter is relaunched.

Welcome back! If you've been wondering where I've been, the simple answer is being lazy. When my exams finished I just wanted to relax, and at that time my idea of relaxing was not writing blogs, sadly. Instead I've been working hard at college, getting a few things sorted out and now it's okay. And the surprising thing is that's probably the most you'll ever hear about me on this blog.

The old 'Famous Peter' used to be about me. I bleated on and on about myself, what I was doing,what I had planned, and now it's about interesting things. I've taken very nicely to Charlie Brooker, and aim to take his job at The Guardian in a few years. Therefore, I'm starting where he did, and writing about good stuff. And we'll get right into it, shall we?

Morrissey performed at The Liverpool Echo Arena just last Saturday. It was the biggest venue in the North of England he played at all through the tour, so one would assume it was the most well policed/guarded. Instead, some yob managed to get through the "inpenetrable" bottle inspections into the standing area and throw a plastic bottle at Morrissey's head (by the way, I write this as I was literally six feet away from Morrissey when he was hit, and about a metre away from the bloke who threw it). A slurry line from 'Black Cloud' and rub of the head later, despite being less than two songs in (This Charming Man, Black Cloud) he proceeded to leave the stage along with his band and not return.

The arena went black and boos drowned out any other sound. People turned to one another, some frantically panicked, and others like me just laughed a little at how it sort of bobbed off his head. However, I didn't laugh for long. When the steward came to the front barrier and shined his torches in the vicinity of the thrower, my heart started beating a mile a minute as he scanned me. Before long, a dozen people were chanting "Here he is, here he is, here he is the fat bastard!" to the tune of 'You're Not Singing Any More', which were so enthusiastic they went over the thousands singing "Morrissey! Morrissey!" in a full hearted attempt to get him back on stage. One fat, middle aged man in a blue shirt had a face as hard as rock, frowning, eyes filling up. Staring mindlessly into the torch of accusation that was blinding even me. As a drunk fellow wearing a suit (who had in fact earlier offered to go to the bar for me) pointed at him, shouting "Him! Him!" Immediately, the fat man grabbed his arm and shook his head mouthing "No." This was like some horror film. My heart was racing and a fat man was about to cry. Just as he was about to be hauled out, I heard a furious voice raging past to my left, headed for the fat man. "Where is he? I'll fucking kill him." A skinheaded man tore through the crowd, pointing at fatty. He grabbed him by the neck and shouted something I couldn't make out. Blue shirt was still mouthing "No. No. No." The steward quickly broke it up, and hauled him out. He was very, very, very lucky. Ten minutes later (yes, ten) a man came on the stage.

"Morrissey has been hit on the head with a beer bottle. The show will not continue."

For the next minute, hell broke loose. The witch hunt stepped up. Anybody who was drinking beer at the time was on death row. Grown men pushed each other round like children in a playpen, not swinging punches but just going pig mental for space in this tiny area. I just shouted at the stage. 9 months of waiting and £32 wasted by one dickhead with a plastic beer bottle. After that, not much happened. The crowd dispersed, the stage was cleared and Twitter went crazy. It was a bad night.

Aside from that depressing story, I will be mainly writing comedic stuff on here, although I felt obliged to cover that event. So, thank you for popping in again and I hope to see you soon!