Chris Wood's blog

Cumberbatch and Downey Nail Two Different Sides Of Sherlock

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 07:07:00 +0000

Sherlock Holmes is the most interpreted fictional character on screen, and it takes a distinctly fresh twist on this classic figure to register much of an impression. Holmes is such an entrenched and established part of our culture most of us wouldn't be surprised if cave paintings were uncovered featuring a man with a primitive type of Deerstalker and magnifying glass.

Benedict Cumberbatch's interpretation of the great sleuth is electrifying. A mind orientated psychologically pulsing monopurposed near sociopathic cranial entity, he sits in torpors until a matter of fiendish ingenuity begs for his attention. At which point his senses hone in on only relevant details, his mind reeling for the solution. Every aspect of his appearance seem to positively quiver at the prospect of more scent.

Cumberbatch's Holmes is one of the best takes on the great sleuth. He is compelling – a simple reasoning machine with the social graces of a tank in the January sales. This makes for greatly entertaining television, and the excellent production values and supporting cast are a delight to watch. Whilst the series Sherlock seems to be very brief, it is most welcome and a superb addition to today's TV fare.

The most recent outing, A Scandal In Belgravia, was a delight. It was cheeky, funny, tense and charming. Holmes' female nemesis, the notorious Irene Adler, was interpreted with keen sexy relish by the excellent Lara Pulver, who made a fine impression with her cerebral, survival orientated dominatrix puzzle mistress. Freeman's Watson is entirely perfect for this show, a one man stand of exasperated reliability.

Benedict Cumberbatch is in fine form. According to some female pulses he is clearly sex in one brainy package. As Irene Adler says, brainy is the new sexy, and his fast paced mind and the superb presentation of his obsessive being evidently make for an attractive package. There is a net based fan group (cult?) called the Cumberbitches, and I think it's safe to say that these ladies are self styled groupies for the new Holmes. More power to their elbows and, I suppose, the lusting parts of them also.

Robert Downey Jnr. plays his expected role with mastery, but Guy Ritchie's interpretation of Holmes is geared around great popcorn, which his Holmes films deliver in spades. It is very good entertainment, perhaps not classic Holmes but it certainly makes for an evening of excellent fun.

A third and far less celebrated addition to the Holmes canon is my own Sherlock Holmes and the Flying Zombie Death Monkeys. This also contains an interpretation of The Woman, Ethel Adler in this case in the fiendish A Scandal In Burnley. Belgravia was too expensive for the writing team to visit, and Bohemia no longer shows up on the maps. The volume also includes The Mystery Of The Speckled Wang among other chilling undead mysteries.

Find it on Amazon here.

US readers click here.

Reviews here, here and here.

As a quick taster, one of my gags right here.

Christopher Hitchens Dies, Mourned On Twitter

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 03:57:00 +0000

The polemicist and proudly hard living Christopher Hitchens passed away last Thursday. Cancer killed him years at the age of 62. Among the more surprising responses to his death was the response of Lib Dem quisling Nick Clegg, who managed to work for Hitchens without taking any fire, spirit or integrity from the experience.

I didn't like Hitchens, but I enjoyed some of his work. My view was that his opinions were often brashly formed and that he suffered from intense evidence bias, after having decided his view quickly, he sought only to find support for it.

He was certainly a man true to himself, however, and a writer unafraid of taking unpopular stands. Men like him are necessary and rare, which is all the more pity for me personally as I often found myself disagreeing with him. His books on Clinton and Kissinger are excellent, though, and I would strongly recommend them.

More surprising is the fact that other literary lights paid tribute on Twitter. I'm surprised they did not find this a light or forcibly brief medium. Salman Rushdie in particular raced to this form to offer his outpouring on the man's death.

Not that Rushdie's words were clipped or brief. There was nothing insincere or trite about his moving words of loss, which are clearly heartfelt. I just never thought I'd see a eulogy reduced to 140 characters.

Within the same week, Kim Jong-Il dies. Does anyone have the Twitter feed of the creators of South Park?

General Rules For Life: Don't Dress Up As A Nazi, Especially If You're An Elected Official

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 23:30:00 +0000

It's hard to ignore that the being a Nazi, dressing as a Nazi or chanting Nazi sentiments is a very poor way of going about life. Spitting in the face of millions of victims of genocide is an appalling and ridiculous thing to do. In terms of social acceptability, it's right up there with publicly abusing the disabled and setting fire to the homeless.

Imagine you're an MP, senator or similar elected official. Attending functions where people chant 'Hitler! Hitler! Hitler!' over and over again might strike you as a bad idea. This is rather like beginning a speech by praising Atilla the Hun's people skills. Anyone wanting to be taken seriously needs to avoid this in the same way that Revlon doesn't have spokes lepers.

Tory MPs have a pretty poor track record for their private conduct. Having affairs with secretaries is one thing, asphyxiating yourself with a stocking round your neck, an orange up your arse and a pair of dwarves dressed as Stalin whipping your genitals is quite another.

Tory scumbag Aidan Burley attended an event where Nazi uniforms and chants were in evident – and abundant – display. This was in France, where such actions are illegal. This is illegal behaviour from a senior MP and Cabinet assistant, mocking and celebrating the SS. How pleasant.

Mr. Burley's voting record shows that he is in favour of the UK buying more nuclear weapons, raising university tuition fees and kneecapping the poor. UK Prime Minister David Cameron, presumably hoping that no pictures of his stag do are available, has dithered hugely. I mean, if Conservative MPs can't dress up as Nazis, what will his party do?

Jeremy Clarkson's Bleeding Heart Views Provoke Fury

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 16:05:00 +0000

Notorious media liberal Jeremy Clarkson aroused swathes of hatred yesterday. Denouncing the striking public sector workers, he called for them to be executed in front of their families. In a characteristically modest and realistic assessment, he denounced public sectors workers as living on a gravy train, that saw them taking large amounts of public money and driving luxury cars every day while still making a fortune writing shit for newspapers and fronting fast car DVDs.

Some of the residents of the Conservative stronghold of Drooly Buggerington were asked their opinion of Clarkson's modest and restrained opinion.

“That damn Clarkson's just too much of a wishy-washy bleeding heart,” according to Fred Mosleygrope, 89. “I'd have killed them slowly on spikes after razing their houses to the ground and blowing up their pets. I don't see how else today's couldn't-give-a-damn, want-a-fair-pension scroungites are going to get the message that life isn't fair and the rest of us don't give two shits if they all have to eat cat food.”

For Edna Piswind, 102, the position of the strikers cried out for vengeance.

“Our state is being molested by filthy anarchist scum who don't want to live in poverty having worked an 85 hour week. It's disgusting. They should be dissolved in vats of acid while killer robots are sent back in time to shoot their parents and prevent them from ever existing.”

This moderate stance wasn't sufficient for Michael Staffington-Ballsuck, 207.

“I'd have moved them all to France. They love Socialism there. Then I'd empty our nuclear arsenal into Paris and blast the Commie bastards to Kingdom come.”

He added, “It's the only language they understand.”

Calls for Clarkson's resignation have echoed throughout the BBC, which, according to a public statement made earlier today, is preparing to burn Clarkson in a giant wicker traffic cone.

That's the emergencies sorted ...

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 15:36:00 +0000

Sherlock Holmes and the Flying Zombie Death Monkeys US

Sherlock Holmes and the Flying Zombie Death Monkeys UK

That's Christmas sorted out ...

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 09:44:00 +0000

Sherlock Holmes and the Flying Zombie Death Monkeys US

Sherlock Holmes and the Flying Zombie Death Monkeys UK

Watch out, Zuckerberg!

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 04:18:00 +0000

Sherlock Holmes and the Flying Zombie Death Monkeys US

Sherlock Holmes and the Flying Zombie Death Monkeys UK

Sherlock Holmes and the Flying Zombie Death Monkeys

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 17:43:00 +0000

It's out! The B movie in a book ...

Here's a little more about it:

Legendary detective Sherlock Holmes is forced to deal with a plague that threatens to engulf the whole country. Victorian London is besieged by a new and terrible kind of creature. Dripping with carnage, mayhem, and some of the worst haircuts in recorded history, see how the great sleuth defies death and deals it out. Will Watson avenge the cat? And can Victorian life ever recover ...

"I may be wrong about this, but I think you've really got something with this Sherlock character of yours...Solving crimes, playing the violin, that schlubby Watson - where the hell did you get this idea?"

Michael Gerber, author, Barry Trotter and the Shameless Parody

The book went live today on US Amazon, it'll be available from the UK site in a matter of days. If anyone has any questions about it, please give me a shout at cjohnwood@gmail.com.

As the villain struck, Holmes realised most of his hula hoop had been stolen.

Sadly it begins ...

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 12:08:00 +0000

Today our Prime Minister and First Lord of the Treasury (get that great pomposity!) gave a speech about the national debt, trying to take the edge off the fact we're all due to get a lot poorer. To reduce the sting with a moment of levity, he spoke of a letter he received from a six year old girl.

This thoughtful young person sent him a letter with a one pound coin taped to it. This was her pocket money, which she wanted to donate to the country, because the financial mess is so bad.

David Cameron mentioned this in his speech. It was the light relief side of things, and his smirk cut to the Chancellor's smirk. Both of these men are rich - Cameron's inherited wealth, and that of his wife, runs into tens of millions of pounds. I doubt he can remember the last time he thought of money in anything like one single pound, the way that umpteen people on a budget will.

Both these politicians had an odious smug gloat in their aspect as they cooed over this minor PR coup. A little girl's thoughtful gesture and generous donation was something to be exploited, and clearly these wealthy politicos found it quite hilarious. The little people. Aren't they sweet?

The arcane terms of our politics are completely at odds with the reality. The "Chancellor of the Exchequer" should be renamed "The Cash Feller," "Chief Swindler" or maybe just "Money Dude."

"The Prime Minister and First Lord of the Treasury" could be redesignated "Main Liar and First With His Mitts In The Till," "The Big Cheese with Cash Concerns," or perhaps simply just "All Purpose Quote Monkey."

The flipside of this is the cuts coming in. The benefits program in this country is being slashed. The country can't sustain it, we're told, and besides, a lot of people on benefits are cheats.

A new idea, shortly to be tried nationwide, means tests anyone on incapacity benefits. It's been tried out in Burnley so far. A great many people had their benefits cut, due to the way they're tested. Most of these findings have been overturned at appeal. One man with MS pointed out that his assessment only considered what he could do on a good day, with no consideration given to how he coped when his condition was at its worst.

Conditions like MS are very variable. I have friends and a relative with MS. It's a very unpredictable disease. Financially punishing those who have it, because on a good day they have, um, more mobility than they have on a bad day (and who would have thought that?) is ludicrously wrong-headed. This brilliant idea is about to be tried across the country.

The usual mouthpieces reeled off the regular response. There are benefit cheats, we're told, and anyway the country can't afford it. This last fact is mentioned with absolute confidence, as though it is an unimpeachable truth, rather than a reflection of what the country prioritises for its spending.

What we aren't told is, why is the budget can't sustain this. Financial crisis? Sure, but we can bail the banks out. Tens of billions will be found for that. A war? Yes, defense spending is being looked at, but the cost of the War On Terror has been extra billions each month for nearly a decade.

A Conservative Government coming to power as two simple criteria. Slash social spending and increase wealth for the wealthy. The first phase is being discussed now, the second will have been creeping forward more subtly since the day the First Lord of the Treasury (and no, that's not a superhero) took power.

The Devil and the Daily Mail

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 22:33:00 +0000

Believe me, anyone familiar with both those two has to agree they fit well together. For those whose lives are happily unblighted by their not knowing of the Daily Mail, it's a poisonous bigotsheet newspaper . Regular editorials confirm the link between single mothers and leprosy and the well known fact that illegal immigrants make it rain more.

More of that later.

I saw the film Devil at the weekend. It's no masterpiece, but it is a short, tight thriller with some effective scenes. Best of all for that type of thriller, it has a great reveal at the end. This particular twist doesn't come as a great surprise (I can smugly point out that yes, I did predict it), but it's done very effectively. It's well timed and presented in a chilling way. And no, Sarah Palin does not play the Devil - she was asking too much money, apparently. And Glenn Beck was busy burning liberals in a giant whicker strait jacket, so he was out ... but the film works pretty well without them. Don't rush out to see it, but it's worth catching.

And on the other hand ...

Last week, the Pope visited Britain. I saw about an hour of this on TV, partly due to nostalgia - I was 8 when the last Pope visited these shores, and I fondly remember playing snooker with my Grandad while other family members went to see him. Perhaps for this reason I kept it on. I

t was a somewhat baffling sight, largely because the televised event I saw had a stage that, apart from a large cross, could have been used at Glastonbury or any other big music event. I half expected to see well groomed session musicians behind the Pope, and I'm sorry they didn't go for pyros. That would have been a great touch.

And no, the crowd didn't get their lighters out during the bidding prayers or anything like that, but there we go ...

It was an odd sight, because it was so carefully staged to present the best side of the Church, which has of course been assaulted from many sides recently because of one or two trifling scandals. The Pope's message - as best I can make it out - was as follows:

Child abuse is bad
Praying is good
So are young people

I'm sure I'd have been more impressed by the whole spectacle if it wasn't so carefully choreographed. Naturally any large organisation wants to present itself well, but with recent scandals I'd just say that the careful staging was probably both a good idea but also one that speaks to my inner cynic.

A petition signed by 50 influential people pointed out their objections to this visit. Part of the reason for this is that it was the first 'state' visit by any Pope. Vatican City does indeed possess the status of a seperate country. A nice gentleman called Mussolini granted them this ... ah well. Not great to play this up, I'd have thought ...

The Daily Mail viciously attacked the signitories of this petition. Evidently these people may not express their view. Clearly it must be a terrible thing for prominent people to state their opinions ... unlike the Daily Mail, the pages of which are full of nothing but toxic rhetoric of an incredibly stunted form.

BTW, a quick visit to the Mail's website tells me that their standards are everything I might expect. Lead stories include intruding into someone's grief at the death of a close friend (with pictures! How sensitive), a delightful story about prostitutes on TV, labelling a welfare cheat as being 'weasel faced' and so on and so forth. Must be great to hold the moral high ground.

Space, tidiness and elbow room

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 16:17:00 +0000

In the last two weeks my house has been irreversibly changed. No, the roof hasn’t been replaced with a clear plastic sheet so I can watch the rain fall. Nor has my living room become fully automated so I can push a button and have robots pop out from neat compartments and change CDs for me.

Instead, my accumulations of mess have been artfully rearranged into neat clusters of focused order. There used to be a sea of papers competing for attention gathered in poorly arranged piles. Now there are precise arrangements of documentation. Even my notes are looking ordered, instead of the usual collection of random scribblings arranged by a poltergiest with a grudge.

A friend of mine has been instrumental in this, and when I say instrumental, I mean he did it all. I am not a tidy person. I’ve seen landfill sites and driven off thinking, ‘What an efficient use of space.’ This friend’s skills have been essential.

Now I can really feel the benefits of having tidy work areas. It’s made me a lot more focused, and the ease with which I can swing from one task to another is notable. I’m striving to maintain this, as the benefits are clear. It’s also a booster in other ways, as I now feel more energetic and spend less time on my entertaining digressions.

Bizarrely, the man who did this is one of the world’s all time ranting champions. His vitriolic opinions on everything from mobile phones to government practices are biting enough to be a form of assault. His coffee and nicotine consumption is prodigious, well beyond what I would imagine the lethal limits for both would be.

Bizarre that such excellent help would come from such a strange source. Why is he doing this? Firstly, we agreed a reasonable fee. Most people would demand well into six figure sums to deal with such matters. Secondly, he’s compulsively tidy, and for him to spend time at my place in its former state would be the equivalent of a maestro listening to Mariah Carey.

The World Of Bollocks – updated

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 20:01:00 +0000

Strange, mysterious and at times downright creepy events unfold every day. All over the world, bizarre tributes to human gullibility are exhibited with a seemingly constant rate of renewal. The world isn’t getting stupider, just that some of its leading proponents of the daft, the risible and the outright ridiculous are jostling for place in our daily lives.

New Mac computers are now presented as ‘toxin free.’ Since when did anyone ingest their computers? If I’m spending over a grand on some fluffy electronic tinsel, I doubt very much I’ll be eating the bastard.

Nissan have introduced a car which moisturises the driver during a journey. How? Through vitamin C air con. Obvious, really.

“Let’s take the long route. I want my skin to look fresh when we get there!”

Lindsey Lohan’s creativity will suffer in jail. Oh, the pain.

Leonardo DiCaprio has pulled out of the new Mel Gibson movie. Gibson, a newly outed racist (apparently) isn’t too popular at the moment, with his forthright distaste for … so many people … putting him firmly out of favour. The film in question was about Vikings. Having just seen Inception I have to wonder, was it ever real? Sounds like Mel on a rant. Those damn Vikings. Watch out for them.

Nicolas Cage once took magic mushrooms with his cat. Let’s just thank God that at least one of our Hollywood representatives behaves in a reasonable, acceptable, moderate fashion.

Nic recently shot back to outstanding form with his turn in Bad Lieutenant: Port Of Call, New Orleans, a stunning film. In light of that, I wish him and the cat a very good evening.

Life at the moment is ...

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 19:45:00 +0000

... very very busy! So much work, so much wind down from work, so many times I've sat snoozing quietly in my chair trying hard to motivate myself to crank up the wordy part of my brain once more and get some stuff written.

Here's an insight - my daily routine:

6 am Get up, shower, coffee
6.30 am Zen chanting, kick boxing exercises
7 am Drive to work, swear at motorists
8.40 am First class of the day. Inspire pupils with my astonishing wisdom. Decant a modicum of said wisdom into their noggins.
1 pm Astound and delight colleagues with witty repartee
1.05 pm Colleagues threaten to throw me out of the window for being a smart arse
5pm Arrive home, eat, snooze, procrastinate

And so on and so forth. Very exhausting.

With all this, I can hardly cram in all the meandering, dozing off drooling and musing that makes for the rich inner core of an author's life. However, somehow I am managing to do a little of this and over the last two weeks have written a reasonable amount every night.

It's my new ambition, and a reasonable one - get something written every single day, without excuse.

Unless it's such a stunning, inspired, jaw droppingly unignorable excuse that not to use it would be a major crime.

Pulling It All Together

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 20:32:00 +0000

This week has been a busy one so far. I'm off work at the moment and luxuriating in it.

Tomorrow I have my car MOT'd. For readers outside the UK, that means it's basically being checked to make sure it doesn't fall to bits on the road, which is useful. In the Channel Islands, where my sister lives, there's no MOT. Motorists have been known to abandon old cars by the side of the road if they break down for the last time.

I've a book I'm working on, and that's taking quite a bit of my day and a lot of my thought. It's now routine to eat meals and watch TV with a laptop on the table in front of me, looking at me with an accusing glare. I'm not quite on my own schedule of where I want it to be, but the thing seems to be making some kind of progress. So far, so good.

I'm still thinking of what to do with my house. Stay in it, maybe have a tidy up? Clean some of the piles of crap I have? Put all my CDs in one place, not have them float around in their own surreal orbit?

I bumped into an old friend today, a writer. He's been trickling along quite happily and it was good to see him. He's much happier than when I last saw him, the poor feller was a nervous wreck then. Now he's a lot more his old self, and I couldn't be happier. He has a couple of books due out soon, which I'll be happy to plug here.

Tomorrow I'm meeting up with a relative for lunch, while the folks at Toyota have a squint at my engine to see if the damn thing's going to fall out or explode.

I strongly recommend you read ...

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Thu, 27 May 2010 20:08:00 +0000

The Redemption Factory by Sam Millar

Feast your eyes on the beauty of death and you will know this place has no equal …

The Redemption Factory begins with a bleak presentation of the ending of life. It does this twice – the torture murder of a man accused of betraying a hard line political group, and then a job interview in a slaughterhouse. Trying to be impressive and employable in such a position can scarcely be easy at the best of times, but with a feared loan shark presiding, a combination of threat and dread sweeps over the reader.

The book’s events are themed around a small, unnamed town. The characters know of each other by reputation, by their haunts and in some cases, by the terror or revulsion induced by their deeds. Goodman, the main character, a former boxer who lives for snooker, finds himself embroiled in matters he cannot control or even fully understand. His life has the void of never knowing his father, and the surrogate family he is drawn to at the slaughterhouse unnerves him.

Millar has great skill in maintaining unease. The Redemption Factory is a book woven around grotesques, but stays away from becoming any kind of freakshow. All of the characters are physically or psychologically unusual, and this is used as both an explanation for their behaviour as well as a means of preventing the reader from predicting their actions.

These characters are held in position beautifully by a precise, finely controlled prose that spins ideas past the reader with a deft hand. There is a deliberate art in reeling through the most unsavoury things and presenting them to the reader with honed language. Here the writer’s eye settles on details that bring each scene potently alive.

The book’s final act accelerates deceptively. Laying out the ground in question while avoiding melodrama is quite a feat. The Redemption Factory is a powerful slice of a rare kind of noir – believable, plausible, cliché free and difficult to forget.

For more writing on crime fiction, check out The Ingredients Of A Good Thriller.

Modest? Nah ...

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Tue, 20 Apr 2010 20:41:00 +0000

I was wondering how to let people know about some fine things which are being said about me, right at the moment. You may well be thinking this is arrogant. Hear me out.

Yes, it may look immodest to link to sites where people are bigging up my writing. That could well be your reaction, and naturally you're entitled to that, just as you're entitled to slam your fingers in hour car door if it gives you pleasure, or listen to Westlife.

(Seriously folks, that last suggestion is a joke. On no account do me or my willing staff of thousands endorse, recommend or suggest playing sonic offal, even if it is the only way to drive away that one insistent friend of yours who will spend the next 32 hours recounting how great his new phone is.)
It does what now?

Firstly, the excellent and strongly recommended Noir Journal lists my book The Ingredients Of A Good Thriller at the end of a superb post that begins with 550 femmes fatales. That should sort out the weekend.

Secondly ... and this one is bizarre, but recently I came home and found myself face to face with an intruder. He was clothed head to toe in some bizarre attire the colour of camel vomit (true, I had the Dulux team verify this) and was babbling about collaborating on a stage musical based on Baywatch and Crime And Punishment while trying to insert a tape recorder up my nose.

It turns out this was an interview, and the wild eyed figure keeping a close eye on me (it was mutual) and pocketing CDs was none other than Mr LOBO of Predator Press fame.

(Apparently I did have real house breakers earlier in the day, but they were frightened off by some raving figure in a ghillie suit waving an empty whiskey bottle over his head and yelling 'Fuck Larry King.' Saves me a job.)

We sat down and chewed the fat, then the dinner and finally the furniture. It was an odd evening but a rewarding one, as I got most of the CDs back and woke up in a hedge in Wales. My recollection of the experience is clouded, but I'm glad the neighbours stopped complaining. Or was it that I was too far away to hear? I don't know, but the guy in the next hedge was moaning about having broken his "brainbone" (?) and how the hell was he ever going to look the cat in the eye?

Beats me too, but the interview can be found here.

Thirdly, a fine feller called Gregg Eldreg reviewed Sherlock Holmes and the Underpants of Death on his excellent blog, which can be found here. Among other observations, he states:

If you were looking for good taste, look elsewhere. If, however, you are looking for a rollicking good time and a serious dose of bathroom humor, this book is for you.

My thanks to all involved, except LOBO, who owes me millions in damages. Some of that furniture was genuine tat of the kind which is so difficult to replace, and most of it's soggy.

Onwards and downwards!
Yes, it's death or glory. Or maybe dessert.

Without New Bathrooms We Are Nothing

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 14:30:00 +0000

Occasionally, a collective symbol of the time is unconsciously elected. In the ebb and throng of life we have little time to ponder on what symbol defines our day to day existence. Small wonder, then, that these items emerge from our thick fog of busy confusion. This is apparently a sign of success.

In recent years, of course, it has become the bathroom. Or rather, the new bathroom suite. Property prices have a lot to do with it. Any savvy investor knows that the gleam of new marble styled fixtures make estate agents drool liquid currency.

Because we have all become amateur property tycoons (cue the top hats and cigars), everybody understands the value of a new sink. Take away yesterday's bath mat and zeroes go on the end of the asking price.

I was reminded of this today. As I'm enjoying a spot of leisure at the moment, it struck me as a good plan to spend the day in the salubrious, upmarket town of Bramhall. I just wanted a quick change of scenery, a good place to sit with a coffee and read. Bramhall is a fairly quaint place, after a fashion, and enjoys the lightly indulgent village feel I was after.

This was fine, as far as it went. Sadly, Bramhall enjoys a keen sense of its own aspirant sophistication, and I was dressed like I slob (I often am). In several places people shuddered in visible horror at my unpolished exterior. This can't be helped. These are shallow people with a narrow, designer obsessed sense of aesthetics. The wandering scruff clutching a book is a recognised sign of sophistication, and as they didn't recognise it, I suppose they aren't sophisticated.

This brings me to their restrooms I was savouring the hugely overpriced coffee at one fancy locale, and after the owners had swept up the mass of patrons who had fainted at the sight of my unironed trousers, I decided to use the bathroom.

It was beautiful, in a polish black marble surfaces, cost a small fortune kind of way. It was humbling to dilute the floor. Sniffing a little, for the sight had moved me inside in a very special way, I left feeling that I would never belong in Bramhall, at least not in their toilets.

Part of me is secretly rather glad.

The sands of time are getting stuck in my toes

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 17:08:00 +0000

Today is Palm Sunday, and it reminds me of when I was a child. I attended Mass then, and it always fascinated me how many people could take the thin sliver of palm leaf and fold it into a cross. I don't mean to be sacrilegious here, but was funny to see the older members of the congregation suddenly adopt a gleeful 8 year old's expression as they quickly set to work. It was the most pleasure I saw in some of the parishioners. A little creative activity does you a power of good.

It's been a lazy weekend. I saw some friends yesterday, spent today reading and have been putting off my decorating. Always good to have plenty of things to put off; it helps me savour my free time. I also played guitar until I couldn't blot out of the screams of my neighbours. I'm kidding. They're great people, - friendly and cheerful, without being cloying. I just wonder if they can hear me. They assure me they can't, but I can't help wondering if the strains of my practise filter through.

Mr Neighbour: Hey, he is he trying to play Hendrix tunes again? He's deluded! Half of the time when I hear that, I want to send for a vet.

Mrs Neighbour: Nonsense, dear. I love hearing Purple Haze being massacred as we watch the news. It makes the pancake makeup on the presenters' faces wobble.

Only kidding.

I did a little web surfing, and it's amazing to see how many right wing blogs have some gun love tied into it. I just saw one that has home footage of a guy shooting at various brands of cars to see what happens. (Clue - their value goes down) This is great, because it gives me some idea of what goes on in the minds of people who think Obama is worse than cancer and that George Bush guaranteed their freedom of speech.

Mr Nitwit: I think I'll go and shoot up a car, see what happens when I fire 30 rounds at a Honda.
Mrs Nitwit: Good for you, dear. We never know when that Stephen King book about machines coming to life and trying to kill us will come true.
Passing Talent Scout For An Asylum: There they are!

On a lighter note, many of you may know Ann Coulter as a skeletal, rhetoric spewing hate monger. Her fascinating political views would keep psychologists (and anthropologists) busy for quite some time. Recently she was barred from speaking in Canada - after a fashion. She was due to speak, but there were many people protesting her presence and her bodyguard couldn't get her past them. Is that opposing freedom of speech or promoting good taste?

A Great And Stupendous Event - Set Your Browsers On Wow!

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 22:07:00 +0000

I have a significant announcement to make, one that will blow your world off its fragile axis. Something that makes trivial, piddling matters like JFK's death, the moon landing and the demise of Friends seem like minor matters. Something you will remember until the day you die, one of those "Where were you when ..." moments that come along so infrequently.

It's this: another blog. "What," you cry? out of desperate, near rabid disappointment? "A blog? But there's like, at least, oo, 3 of these in the world? Why should another one make any difference?"

And you're right, you're right. Ordinarily this would not be big news. However, this blog contains - and is set to include even more of - the right stuff, things you need to be aware of. Like game shot contestants making fools of themselves, politicians coming out with that telling slip that suggests they really were taking bribes, throwing bricks at the elderly and getting it on with diseased interns all the while.

What would be worse than a world where good and concerned men and women can't hoot at fools and poke them in the eye? I quite agree, so please go here.

Thank you.

Win A Brand New iPad ...

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 18:56:00 +0000

... on a different site. I'm going to introduce you to two stunning new innovations.

1. The eHammer

Just like a conventional hammer, the eHammer is specifically designed to smash its way through many of the irritating gimmicks that plague modern life.
So yesterday.

Revolutionary ergonomic design.

The eHammer can interface with the full spectrum of modern technology, including:

Smashed.
Knackered.

Completely buggered.

Also compatible with most modern desktops.

2. e.r.Plugs

This fine new device helps the modern consumer ignore gimmicks and friends with complete ease.
Compatible with ignoring both Microsoft and Mac OS X, and all major telecommunications devices, major sporting events, pop music, celebrity scandals ...

By Thunder, It's Cold!

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 22:41:00 +0000

Those of you with access to Google Earth may want to check England for one simple reason: it's not there.

Now, I don't want to alarm you. It's not like we all took the island out for a quick spin round the Adriatic and got lost. Nor has some rabid Bond villain type blasted these fine shores into dust with a Doomsday device that turns our dandruff corrosive, or some such.

No. Instead, you'll see a white triangle shaped blob where England used to be. It's been snowing and with our classic British efficiency, each shop has only one (1) loaf of bread and each city one (1) can of de-icer. We are fuckwits when it comes to emergencies.

According to the weather, last week was as cold as the Arctic circle. I woke up one day with a frozen penguin stuck to my arse. Not good. Tomorrow I may have a polar bear hugging the duvet, who knows. Like this I do not.

School was cancelled for three days as too many penguins were stealing the chalk. Most days I sat inside, safeguarding my stash of baked beans and canned tomatoes in case some rabid hoards decided that absolutely no substitute for pasta was acceptable.

As such, I was watching a great many of those crappy B-movie DVDs nobody wants to admit to owning. Particularly enjoyable are films like Mullet Cop 27 and He Never Spoke Clearly.
What split ends?

There's something about easy trash that I love. Can't beat it. When it's cold and miserable outside, a blazing fire and some televisual swill are a great combination. There's supposed to be more snow. Mullet Cop 28, anyone?

Who's A Nitwit, Then?

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 09:32:00 +0000

For those of you in the US who may not know this, most of England is covered in a blanket of thick snow. Now, while I love Christmas, I have a long drive to and from work, so the frosty yuletide benefits are a little overwhelmed by skidding all over the roads with a windscreen made of ice.

This morning I hit the road at 7 am, not wanting to be caught in a thick mass of overheating drivers ricocheting across the skating rink that is the road.

What happens? An hour and a quarter later, I pull up at the school which is currently blessed with my inestimable teaching abilities (ie it's the place where I pretend to know what I'm doing - more or less successfully). The school is closed, dark and not a light on. A cheery lady from over the road comes over to say, "You'd think they'd have called."

Well, I'm on supply. They don't have my number. I check my phone - the agency rang half an hour ago, but being on the motorway, I didn't hear the damn thing. I have 106.1 Rock Radio on in the car, one of those few stations which plays decent music not crap. I don't want Fuzzy and the Gonads' latest sonic offal, I want Metallica in the morning while I'm muttering under my breath about the whole indecency of alarm clocks and early hours.

First thing in the day to make me crack a smile - scratch that, make that a wall to wall shark grin - is that Rage Against The Machine got to number one. Simon Cowell's shit factory anti-music corporate bastardmobile came unstuck thanks to the dedication of a few hundred thousand rock fans devoted to not listening to that bollocks any more.

This is wonderful. I meant to buy it, but forgot. Not to worry, the right work was done by the right people. Good one. A victory for common sense, people power and a reaction against the usual indifference people offer to the already done deals that pump bland crap across our airwaves. Superb.

I was in a good mood as I drove back, carefully, with cars careening left right and centre, trying hard to duck the fireballs and twisted pieces of blasted wreckage hurtling about like a ... well actually it was a dull slow ride home.

Now I'm sat in my warm house, with a cup of coffee, a doughnut and a cigarette for company. Trouble is, I'm agency - I don't get paid for today. Tomorrow, I may not be in either. I welcome the time but not the lack of cash. Then again, most schools have already finished for Christmas, so if I'd got it, it would be a bonus. As it is, today I don't have to work, so I've a few things to do then, I dunno, cinema?

Tomorrow is a win-win. If there is work, I get paid. If there isn't, I frisbee the alarm and have a late snooze, followed by a lie in and maybe get up in time for forty winks.

Also on the plus side, Purple Haze was playing on the way back. Nice one.

Don't forget, Sherlock Holmes and the Underpants of Death and The Ingredients of a Good Thriller are available now, ideal gifts for people with great taste, or people with bad taste that you don't like.

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 22:45:00 +0000

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 23:36:00 +0000

Yes, But Is It Art?

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Wood) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 21:14:00 +0000

As I write this, a program about the contemporary world of installation art (or "bollocks," as it's often known) is airing. This follows a bunch of preening, self-satisfied pseuds inspecting the wares of new talents as the latter hope like hell to be discovered, and the former sit there swelling noticeably with ego fuelled glee. It's like watching gigantically conceited people sitting on various sides of the "in/out" divide, where one makes the other dance. In fact, that's exactly what it is.

The works of art in question are of dubious quality. The following examples are not made up.

One involved a handwritten copy of War and Peace (and no, the 'artist' wasn't pretending to have written it - I was rather hoping he would). This was mystifying. Having written the whole book out by hand, onto more than 2,100 pages, what was this inventive buffoon going to do? Eat it? Memorise it? Engrave the Houses of Parliament with an image of him grabbing his wrist in agony? Shove it up his arse?

No. The artistic part was .... copying out somebody else's book, one of the most famous and notoriously difficult to read ever written. This was his piece of art. Talk about a let down. No chance of him chewing it up into spit balls and firing out of his nostrils at passing clowns that have set on fire by enraged tabloid readers who mistook them for immigrants? Nah. Shame.

If that sets the tone for the level of trivial, dull and self-regardingly flatulent offerings, we're in for a fun hour.

One enterprising lass had positioned a branch, held back in place by traffic sign supports and hovering over several rolls of toilet paper, which was dyed yellow. I mean ... words fail me. I'd remind you that these are genuine examples of this level of free fall "anything I pull out of my arse is art" school of thought.

Somebody else made a display out of folding chairs, putting them in a circle. On the floor. By hand. This was his statement on ...

This spectacle was in aid of Charles Saatchi's art collection. Saatchi is an advertising mogul (ie, cunt) who specialises in paying a fortune for weird and silly tat that has a few desperately self regarding dullards cooing in glee, while the rest of the world is staggered at the gall of claiming a crate full of tinsel is in any way art.

A visual installation artist - in this case some bloke with a camcorder and a lot of cheek - is quoted here on making a piece about his father:

" ... I filmed him for a bit but he didn't really do a lot ... he was just sat there, Googling affordable property in North Yorkshire ..." Okay ....

One of the phrases that is cropping up a lot in this navel gazing TV show is, "Tell me why it's art?" Some wannabe with all the trappings of oily self regard (silly glasses, daft beard stylings, hair that looks like a goat has ram-raided the back of his head and got stuck) responded with this stunning reply: "Tell me why it's not art?"

I'll tell you what art is. Art is any activity where the quality of the work is the main reason for doing it. So anything done to a high standard, with that as its main goal, is art. I know. I looked it up once while some similar type of show was on, when people dribbled on about the whole art debate.

Another random quote: "I'm surprised it's not a better drawing ..." In other words, the feller can't draw very well. Or at least his style is not conventionally good. Or something.

The whole "new" school of art has been debated endlessly. At the end of the day, I can see the point of some of these pieces - Hirst's shark suspended in formaldehyde is a daring idea - but a lot of it is just pretentious twaddle.

I raise this subject because the more observant of you will have noticed two new side bars, just to the right of this, advertising books of incredibly high quality (mine). This daring neophyte installation is the work of a newish name in the art world, one Mr Lobo, a groundbreaking talent whose commitment to his craft is such that he spent over four years painstakingly hand-crafting these images from lumps of finest Italian pixel, blessed by the Pope and unblessed again by Mr Terence Worthing of Flixton.

The enormity of effort and commitment these images represent is a bold new statement on the direction of web art the upcoming new decade has to offer. My thanks and a cheque for $400,000 has been sent to Mr Lobo, who is even now reclining exhausted on his artist's couch.

The originals are of course in the Louvre, guarded by savage Parisians wishing to preserve their timeless beauty and face-achingly gorgeous appearance.

Thanks Lobo!