Endorsements

"It was the most offended I've ever been by a Killer Whale story." Mrs. Trellis of North Wales

"I liked the video bit, that was quite good." J. Stephenson of Tucson, Arizona.

"Nope, never heard of it." Business Secretary, Vince Cable MP


Friday 26 February 2010

Friday Pictorial the Fourth: Addiction

Here it is, the fourth Friday Pictorial. This one tackles the complex and often harrowing issue of addiction (and trivialises it for comic potential).

Just a warning, the volume might be quite loud, not sure why exactly.



Just a quick point- For 'written by', read 'idea created and then improvised upon for 4 minutes by'...

Thursday 25 February 2010

Unadulterated Madness and Tragedy...

Right, I'm not sure if anyone's noticed but in the last 15 hours or so, the world has gone completely, off-the-wall, dingo ate my baby crazy. It is very much a mad world (not like the song... well not the Gary Jules version anyway... maybe the Tears For Fears one...).

From what I can remember it all started yesterday evening, when reports came out of SeaWorld that a trainer had been killed by a killer whale. Obviously a tragic event, but I can't help but feel that there is a clue in the title. It's another strong claim for why we shouldn't keep sea creatures in tiny environments. If I was trapped in a bathtub (to try and keep things to scale) for most of my life, I think I'd probably want to kill someone too. PETA have been lobbying SeaWorld to cease and desist in their capture and confinement of sea mammals and this has given them a pretty strong case. Telly, the murderer, had form however. He worked with a gang in the killing of another trainer in British Columbia in 1991 and in 1999 was discovered with the body of a naked man lying across his back. They appear to be dealing with the Godfather of orca- an uncompromising, lethal criminal genius. One eyewitness explained how Telly made it look like an innocent bit of playing. This time however, Telly made the crucial mistake of committing the crime in front of hundreds of people and will surely be tried and convicted. I worry that (as is the form with these kinds of things) Telly may have to be 'destroyed'. That always bothers me- "and the Bull Mastiff has been destroyed". Don't say 'destroyed' Peter Donaldson, you're not Auric Goldfinger; they didn't lock the poor bugger in a room and atomise it with bombs, they put it down.

The trainer was one of SeaWorld's most experienced and died 'doing what she loved', though I'm not really sure that anyone loves being attacked by a whale. That said, I offer (for what they're worth) my deepest condolences to the family and friends of the trainer. A little known fact is that on the cutting room floor of Hollywood is a reel labelled 'Willy kills Jesse, alternate ending'.

The second crazy event of the night (and the one that nearly carried me off) was the brave but ultimately futile effort of David 'the Iceman' Murdoch, Murdy, the Lockerbie Leopard, whatever you want to call him (albeit I came up with most of those nicknames...) and his men's curling team. GB came out to pipers playing 'Scotland the Brave'. It was quite an entrance, but it's fair to say that they had a poor opening 5 ends, with errors coming from the previously immaculate Euan Byers, Third Ewan MacDonald and the Iceman himself. Cram (playing the part of Alan Partridge) announced "I've just been of Dave Murdoch's Facebook page and apparently he likes listening to Oasis." Rhona immediately put him in his place and told the viewers at home to keep the faith. "It's a long way to the 10th end." She reminded us and told us to be positive- one of her catchphrases for the games. Take-out master 'Pistol' Pete Smith had a solid game and in the second half the throws started to come together for the GB team. Murdoch blew the chance for the win in the 10th, but managed a 1 to take the match to an extra end. The tension was palpable now, but GB were on the back foot as it came to Murdoch's final two stones. The Swedish Skip, tiny Nicklas Edin (the man with enormous arms) had hardly put a foot wrong all game and Murdoch was well and truly up against it. Rhona was remaining positive, explaining that if Edin fluffed his lines then it was as good as ours. She never says die, Rhona, it's very easy to see how she won a gold medal. Forget Cram in the commentary box, Rhona should have been down on the ice, dispensing the tactical advice to the boys. Edin made the take-out for the win with consumate ease and the World Champs found themselves ejected from the tournament. Asked what had happened, Murdoch (in true British 'don't admit your own failings' style) explained that "sometimes it doesn't go for you and this week it just didn't go for us at all." It was a plucky effort but no reward for our brave curlers. I was distraught, curling's as good as over, I'll have to go back to hoping that men/women crash spectacularly on ice/snow.

Speaking of spectacular crashes that's exactly what our other world champs did too. Minichello and Cooke in the Two Man Bob flipped over on the 12th corner and rode the remainder of the track the wrong way up. It was a biggie, an absolute peach of a stack (I missed it, because I was bleeding the radiator at the time, but I did eventually see it). Both were unharmed though and there were raucous cheers from the Whistler Sliding Center Crowd as the British pair had a cuddle in the middle of the track. So our dreams of olympic gold are as good as over. Amy Williams did exceptionally well to claim gold in the skeleton but it looks like that's all we're getting.

And finally this morning, in a spectacular bid to become 'Massive Wanker of the Week', UKIP MEP Nigel Farage launched a disgraceful, racist, character assassination at EU President Herman van Rompuy. In his quest for the title, Farage has already made Ashley Cole look like a thoroughly decent chap and Cheryl Cole look like a media-shy shrinking violet. It makes me thoroughly ashamed to be British. When I first heard the rant on the radio news, I expected it to be from the scorn-filled jowells of Nick Griffin, however it was from Farage, probably spurred on by the aforementioned Nazi's usurping of his key electorate. I don't idolise van Rompuy, I'm not a member of his fan club, I don't have posters of him on my walls, but no-one deserved the hideous tirade unleashed by glorified xenophobe Farage. I'm astounded that such brazen disrespect for a president doesn't result in immediate assassination - I suspect if it had been directed at Hugo Chavez instead of van Rompuy, that's what would have happened. The worst part is that the British public voted in this horrible bastard. How does that make us look to the rest of Europe, eh?

While van Rompuy generated more interest in the British media for his amusing name than his political exploits, he is a highly effective politician. Able to steer Belgium from political civil war between the Flemish and the Walloons, van Rompuy was chosen unanimously as the inaugural EU President. Farage claimed that van Rompuy's 'hatred of nation states' stemmed from the fact that van Rompuy came from a 'non-country'. This was the final straw, I practically hurled my radio through my window. As a man with Belgian heritage, whose ancestors died in Flanders fields to prevent the Germans from grabbing any piece of land they wanted in the Great War and had British relatives fight alongside them to take it back from the Kaiser, I feel pretty strongly about Belgium's right to be a 'country' and one hateful, bigoted little man is not going to change my opinion. Farage is an uncouth, attention-seeking racist and the biggest indictment of his ludicrous accusations was the fact that van Rompuy did not rise to them. "There was one contribution that I can only hold in contempt, but I'm not going to comment further." The Belgian said, with a dignity conspicuously absent from Mr. Farage's appearance.

Seriously, Farage was keen to bang on about democracy in his paranoid-delusional bellicose oratory, so perhaps we can remind him of what it means, by removing him from his role at the next election (if we can't forcibly remove him sooner). No man should have to face such unwaranted hateful bilge in any professional capacity and it was a great credit to the president that he was not affected by the comments.

Wednesday 24 February 2010

Counting Down, Rain and Rawnsley... and Curling...

Quick warning: The links in today's blog contain very strong language, if that's likely to offend you... well, you probably should have stopped reading my blog some time ago.

It's very much one of those days. You know the ones, the ones where it's exceptionally dull and rainy and we offer our deepest condolences to those in the construction industry or other areas of work that involve prolonged periods battling the elements. So what can we do to amuse ourselves on days such as these? Well, some people (myself included sometimes) like to watch a cracking little device known as a television or 'TV' for short. One such piece of the endlessness that exists on this 'TV' is a daytime words and numbers-based quiz known as 'Countdown'. I know what you're thinking, 'Countdown' has been in existence for nearly 30 years, what's so special about today's emission? Well, it was won by Burnley Central Defender Clarke Carlisle, that's what.

Premier League footballer Carlisle smashed his opponent (not a premiership footballer) 89-55 and will go on to defend his crown tomorrow with the possibility of becoming an 'octochamp'. Occasionally these magical moments do happen on 'Countdown'. One that sticks in the memory was the occasion when an 8 year old boy earned a wordy and number-filled victory and became the youngest ever winner. Hooray for the 8 year old, brilliant words and numbers from the 8 year old! What people forgot is that the poor 30-something over which he triumphed, probably never showed his face in public/ever left the house again/killed himself. The Guardian website rather wonderfully (and in true football style) ran a live text facility for the defender's appearance on the show, which can be found here.

It's interesting to note the increasing influence of football over Countdown. Host Jeff Stelling is famous for being the face of Soccer Saturday on Sky Sports, in which he and a panel of ex-pros (Charlie Nicholas, Paul Merson, Matther LeTissier etc.) watch football matches (we don't get to see the action, just the reactions of the pros. I know it sounds bizarre, but it works better than one would imagine). Two series ago, Notts County midfielder Neil Mackenzie had a storming run to the quarter finals (performing better than his team then... zing) only to lose out to the eventual winner. I remember a lower league goalkeeper also winning a few Countdown matchups but his name escapes me. On the very slim chance that he's reading this, leave a comment if that's you.

Anyway, I've become sidetracked, I only came here to talk partially about Countdown, the other thing that I feel I should mention is the current Bullygate scandal that seems to be gripping. Already it's driven telephone operators to be suspended, Andrew Rawnsley to appear far more than he should do and Paxman to say 'fucking' on Newsnight.

Essentially we've learnt that Gordon Brown is apparently bad tempered, as opposed to all of the other lovely, good-natured, non-thieving politicians, I suppose? This blog is light-hearted fun and I try and avoid getting too political, but to be a politician (at least to be a good one) you do have to be a bit of a bastard. In the same way that you wouldn't want a Lieutenant Colonel going "would you mind awfully taking that stronghold? If it's too much, that's ok, I'll try and find some others to help" you wouldn't want a party leader who's gearing up for election season not getting a bit serious/sweary/angry. Brown is merely the latest in a long line of furious PMs- Palmerston, Churchill and Callaghan have all been responsible for gross lapses in manners and control. Apparently some civil servants phoned the Anti Bullying Helpline (who are now finding themselves up Shit Creek without a boat, let alone a paddle) and complained. Boo hoo, you're in politics, it's a tough field. Had these people never watched The Thick of It? If they can't handle Brown trying to get things done, then they would surely have had to undergo electro-shock therapy to erase the memory of 'Tucker's Law'.

Paxman swearing was terrific television and though he was forced to make an unconvincing apology by the producers, I suspect that he rather enjoyed it. In fact I'd like to see it more often. Paxman is already one of the least compromising, most feared political interviewers in the country, but surely this would give him the edge to get past the fabrications and manoeuvring of the slipperier politicians. "Did you threaten to overrule... did you FUCKING threaten to FUCKING overrule!" for example. Perhaps even slip some profanity into University Challenge. His dressing down of the students who give preposterously wrong answers would be made all the sweeter by Paxo calling them a 'massive twat' or somesuch other insult.

I don't know if the beeb received any complaints but it wasn't really Paxman swearing, it was Rawnsley swearing with Paxo as his proxy. There was a time when Rawnsley (a Spitting Image puppet of Robert Bathurst inflated to actual size to look more like Warren Clarke) was more bearable. He presented a rather insightful Channel 4 politics show with the late Vincent Hanna and used to write straight-talking columns for the Guardian, but he appears to have gone on a power trip with the release of his book. Of course no-one can actually confirm these allegations with hard evidence, all we have is a Helpline breaking their policy of confidentiality as is wonderfully summarised by Steve Bell's latest cartoon. Because of this lack of evidence, Taiwan's Apple Daily (who brought us a marvellous recreation of Elin Nordegrin chasing Tiger with golf clubs and smashing his car) have take it upon themselves to produce a CGI film of what it might have looked like if Brown had turned into Bullock from Deadwood and punched his way to answers. In the video a CGI David Morrissey reprises his role as Brown and performs a hilarious sequence of anger management fails from the Park Chan Wook directed version of The Deal. Every time Apple Daily does one of these it looks like some preposterous Time Trumpet-style spoof but long may it continue, the news has reached the point of satirising itself and may well save me some work.


Winter Olympics Update

Well Eve Muirhead's hopes of a medal were well and truly extinguished yesterday as the GB women took Canada to an extra end after a gutsy performance, but couldn't quite snatch a victory. It wouldn't have earned them a play-off place but there was still the matter of pride. Muirhead was again let down by her draws which had troubled her all tournament. In the post-match interview, Muirhead remained defiant and even jovial. A 19 year old with a bright future ahead, no doubt.

David 'the Iceman' Murdoch's chance of a medal remains alive, despite a 9-5 defeat to colourful-trousered Norway. The GB men's team will face Sweden (against whom they opened their account in the Round Robin matches) in a play-off, with the winner facing the mighty Canadians. If Murdoch's boys can progress against Nicklas Edin's Swedes, they will have high hopes of toppling the Canucks, despite losing to them in the earlier rounds. Murdoch has an excellent record against his Canadian counterpart and with Lead Euan Byers on top form at the moment, there's no reason why the men can't pick up a medal. A comedy moment from last night's match occurred when British Second, Pete Smith sent down one of Norway's yellow stones, instead of his own red. Thankfully the Norwegians were sporting enough to allow a straight shot. Listen out for more classic, clueless Cram commentary.

Tuesday 23 February 2010

And the BAFTA Predictably Goes To...

As many of you will have noticed a little film award ceremony took place on Sunday. The BAFTAs are always good value and I always (in true Dr. K style) have a bash at predicting the results. This year I managed an impressive 7/8 film category predictions (plus a couple of randoms- will it rain on the red carpet, which Rising Star nominee will arrive first, etc.). I know you're thinking that you'll have to take my word on this, but I did also use the handy little predictions tool on the Orange BAFTA website, it doesn't have all of the categories that I made predictions for, but it gives you the gist of things -








As you can see, I did get the biggie wrong, thinking that they would hand Best Film to Brit-flick An Education with Hurt Locker taking the Oscar (plus I didn't expect Bigelow and Hurt Locker to both win awards - Cameron's face was priceless though, so that did make up for my wrong prediction).

I'm not particularly saying that the BAFTAs are predictable (no more so than usual anyway) and I still enjoy watching the academy dispensing their masks, as various movie stars (at varying levels of washed-upness) struggle to read the teleprompter. What I'm not quite so fond of is the red carpet shows that they have now on BBCThree and E!, where George Lamb (half silver-streaked weasel, half Alan Partridge) or Duncan Whatshisname (out of off of Blue) hunt down many and varied bored-looking actors and directors and hound them with questions. A particular triumph was intellectual heavyweight Lamb asking a very fed-up looking Kristin Scott Thomas (who appeared to be wearing a bear) about Nowhere Boy co-star Aaron Johnson. Now, I didn't watch E!'s coverage but I'm told that Duncan's interview with the director of Nowhere Boy, Sam Taylor-Wood, was, to quote Richard Bacon, "Brent levels of awkward", though presumably not as awkward as the fact that she is engaged to the aforementioned star, 19 year old Johnson, a mere 23 years her junior and that the couple are expecting their first child. Now, as an amateur musician, I spend some time on a particular guitar forum where anything goes and people turn up with their problems- were a 19 year old (LennonLives or somesuch other username) to arrive and post "So, my girl (23 years older than me) is pregnant" the response would no doubt be somewhere along the lines of "you can go right ahead and file this under 'shit that fucked up my life', kthanks".

One of my correct predictions was that Twilight star (and winner of the Or So I Thought... Ben Affleck Award for Best Chin-Acting in a Leading Role) Kristen Stewart (or KStew as it's often hatefully put) would snatch the Orange Rising Star Award. How did I know this? Because it's the only award voted for by the 'idiot public' and as such is the award that, more often than not, finds its way into the hands of the wrong person. Honestly you have an Academy of experts in film, don't pander to the public like this, it's embarrassing. It is very much a 'damn popularity contest' hence the fidgety teen taking the famous mask this time around. Her acceptance speech (as also correctly predicted by me) was under a minute long (thankfully) and blog followers won't be disappointed to learn that it was much the same as her acting- all chin, sighs and teen awkwardness (see here for details). To be fair to her, she did credit her success to the horde of Twilight tweens who no doubt voted in their dozens and is clearly under no pretenses about the 'value' of the award.

Mickey Rourke returned to be absolutely tremendous again, this time presenting an award instead of receiving one and having to face the notorious autocue. He squinted into the camera "do you want this bareback or with a raincoat?" He asked. No-one got it (I suspect Vanessa Redgrave understood but was too classy to laugh...). "Their performances have encompassed grace, humility, slow it down... determination..." he continued, eliciting more laughs from the audience than Jonathan Ross managed in the entire evening. It is a truth universally acknowledged that actors are incredibly poor at reading from a teleprompter... except for Peter Capaldi, who was excellent at it.

Acceptance speech of the night was (despite a touching tear-filled one from Moon director Duncan Jones (David Bowie's son ((because you can't say one without the other apparently)) which proved popular) Colin Firth. He is excellent- intelligent, witty and humble (a particularly good interview on Kermode and Mayo's film reviews a few weeks ago showcases all this) - and his speech about how Tom Ford had made him "better groomed, more fragrant and more nominated than one has ever been before" was suitably charming. A wonderful soundbite, though A Single Man has received mixed reviews (many critics somewhat prejudiced by Ford's stylistic background), all are in agreement that Firth gives a superlative performance, though he admits he was close to turning down the part. "What Tom Ford doesn't know," he explained "is that I have the email in my outbox, telling him that I couldn't possibly do it and I was about to send when a man came to repair my fridge. Well, I clearly don't know what's best for me, so I'd like to thank the fridge guy and..." Needless to say the delivery was perfect and the audience charmed and amused. A worthy winner (as I predicted) though one would not be advised to bet against Jeff Bridges at the Oscars.

Best Supporting Actor, Christoph Waltz- he of Inglourious Basterds fame, where he gave a bravura performance in 4 languages as SS Colonel Hans Landa- had also prepared a humble acceptance speech, crediting Tarantino (who he appears to worship) with reigniting his passion for acting and supporting him. Going so far as to say he was the Best Supported Actor (see what he did there? supporting him, best supporting actor, best supported... oh, never mind...).

While we're on speeches an honourable mention has to go to BAFTA fellow Vanessa Redgrave who gave a tremendous acceptance, though we had all aged terribly by the time it had finished. Still, I think she's probably earned the right to give such a speech, dropping in superfluous French maxims and Shakespeare quotes, though it did not have the entertainment factor of Terry Gilliam last year. The award gave rise to one of Peter Serafinowicz's (who was running a BAFTA twittercommentary) many funnies of the evening - "Such a shame they have to assassinate her tonight." The best one of the night being "Eddie Murphy did a fantastic job as the cast of 'Precious'.

Best Foreign Language Film went to Critic's fall over special 'A Prophet'. Regular readers can guess that I was somewhat miffed by Let the Right One In missing out. The speech from the cast was entertaining though, featuring a rather... groovy translator which resulted in a chorus of 'I'll have what she's having' on the twittercommentary. Up (as I predicted) won Best Animated Film, Avatar (unsurprisingly) won best visual effects (to be fair, that's all it's got), Carey Mulligan (as I predicted) won Best Actress and Best Short Film still didn't go to The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island (I know it was nominated 3 years ago but it should have won then and I am yet to see a better short film since).

Poor old Jonathan Ross had an exceptionally tough gig though. It was the most spectacular 'dying on arse' moment since Elvis Presley entered the water closet for the final time. Every joke flatlined horribly, I expect writers' heads will roll after this one. James Corden happened to be presenting one of the awards and made a joking claim to present next year's ceremony. God, if you're up there and you happen to be a member of the academy, please don't let that happen. Bring back Stephen Fry, I say. He presented the ceremony with wit and panache and was revered by many of those performers picking up the awards (something which I doubt could be said for Wossy). Can we campaign for this? Fry for BAFTAs?


Winter Olympics Update
The plucky British Women's Curling team, led by 19 year old Skip Eve Muirhead (last night sporting an excellent headband) lost out cruelly to the Danes (skippered by Chloe Madeley...) and their hopes of qualification are now very much in the lap of the gods. It wasn't without controversy however, as in the 10th end one of the Danes nudged a moving stone with her foot (seemingly inocuous, you might think, but Rhona was incensed about it immediately and absolute in her condemnation). Eve attempted a gutsy quadruple take-out with her last stone to pull an unlikely victory from the jaws of defeat, however one stone remained counting for the Danes... none other than the 'nudged' stone. Cue furious reaction from the British fans. That said, apparently both skips and the ref saw the incident and carried on play. Perhaps Eve's inexperience showing there- it's not the British way to accept cheating, you need to have a massive benny at the officials until they let you win.

David 'the Iceman' Murdoch and his clan fared better however, with a convincing 8-2 smashing of the Germans, taking their tourney record to 5-3. Having only watched video highlights, I can't really give you an in depth commentary but from what I could tell canny play from the Scots overcame aggressive and error-ridden tactics from the Germans. A slight worry was the departure of Euan Byers at the opening of the 8th end, illness or injury suspected, but nothing confirmed yet. Bring on the Norwegians tonight, I say! Davey Murdoch's Barmy Army!

Monday 22 February 2010

Everybody's Sporting For the Weekend...

Yeah, this one's mostly about sport again, sorry about that. It was a rather hectic weekend of sport and most of my Saturday and Sunday were spent watching various sized men/women pushing/kicking/throwing balls/stones or travelling quickly downhill on skis/teatrays/bobsleighs.

Let me paint for you the picture of Saturday morning. I came home to find my beloved blues playing Manchester United on the tv. Ordinarily I avoid watching live games on TV as they invariable result in losses, but I was knackered and slumped down in the chair to see the expected happen- Man U went 1-0 up in the space of 16 minutes. Right, business as usual, I thought, seeing as Everton had won just 1 of their 28 Premier League meetings with SAF's team. The United faithful began singing a chant which would be sacrilege for me to even breathe on here (needless to say it raised my hackles) and I was fully prepared to head upstairs and cut myself off from all sources of sports news, when the ball fell to much-maligned winger Diniyar Bilyaletdinov (that's easy for you to say...) and he hammered an absolute purler past a static Van der Sar from 25 yards. The Mancs were silenced instantaneously by the Russian's stunner and hope began to return to the Goodison faithful. Before long Gwladys Street was rocking and we were acquitting ourselves well, despite a couple of shaky moments. Some heroic defending by captain Phil Neville prevented Rooney from smashing it into an open net after rounding Tim Howard. When the half-time whistle went, I'd had enough. I've seen enough Everton-United games in my time to know that we are always cruelly denied a draw in the final moments.

I retreated upstairs and had a lie-down, avoiding the feminine wiles of the internet super highway and it's easily accessible sports updates. I bided my time and returned downstairs to check the final result only to see young Jack Rodwell charging, upright and majestic towards the United box, he coolly bamboozled Jonny Evans and placed a terrific right-footed strike beyond a sprawling Van der Sar to make it 3-1! I couldn't believe my eyes. A shirtless Rodwell charged into the crowd to receive the adulation of the Evertonians. I fell to my knees, fearing the 'play injury time until Man United win' rule would be enforced by referee (and Sky 4 sympathizer) Howard Webb. "I'm not a praying man," I uttered, eyes firmly shut, "but if you're there, Big Dunc, for Christ's sake don't let them score!"

They did not score and we had earned a remarkably convincing victory over the champions, after having beaten title-race leaders Chelsea in our previous game. I was on a dizzying high for the remainder of Saturday and knuckled down to watch some Winter Olympics. The night previously skeleton-bobber Amy Williams had sealed Great Britain's first (and only - you'll see) gold medal of the games and the first individual gold since Robin Cousins danced on ice in 1980. Williams gave a superlative performance on her sled, Arthur and sealed the medal on the tricky Whistler circuit with consumate ease. The skeleton is just a ridiculous event (I know I'm not exactly the first one to point that out) and my personal favourite bit is where they crash into the foam sheets at the end- it's basically a glorified level of Pat Sharp's Fun House (that dates me...). As they waited for the final runs to get underway, Auntie showed some promo vids - Williams was basically Charlie from Top Gun with a teatray and a big hill. Again have a look at my Twitter feed for yet more details.

My true Winter Olympic obsession has however been the Curling, which has well and truly sucked me in. The weekend was somewhat of a mixed bag for the plucky Scots as 19 year old Skip, Eve Muirhead, played some dodgy stones to throw away what should have been a routine win over the Americans and David Murdoch's boys lost to Canada for the first time in 5 matches against the Canucks. There were however dramatic victories, with Murdoch triumphing over the Chinese and last night the Americans. It's not necessarily the action of Curling that is so very charming, but the presentation. The belt and slacks combo sported by every curler, Rhona Martin keeping Steve Cram in line in the commentary box, Byers and MacDonald sweeping furiously as Dave plays another smashing stone to clear the house. There was a bizarre point during yesterday's match when Rhona had (for reasons which I still don't fully understand) disappeared and Cram collared American track and field legend Carl Lewis to join him in the box- yup, you heard that right, for a surrealist ten minutes the Beeb's curling commentary team were Steve Cram and Carl Lewis. What next? Lord Coe sitting alongside Ed Leigh for the Women's Ski Cross?

I digress, the main point is that it is genuinely nailbiting stuff. The tactics are incredible and we have some tremendous players. Euan Byers (the British lead) has an astonishing accuracy rating for the tourney, I'd venture one of the best of any team and Murdoch is a tough, canny general, playing those oh so crucial final shots. As they took on the USA, featuring one player with a cap... indoors and another with a tattoo (where the hell do they think they are?) , their ability really shone through. Though the talent evident within the team has been conspicuously absent against several opponents (Canada included) it did return against the US. A lone woman roared "Davey Murdoch's Barmy Army!" and no-one else even seemed tempted to join in. I was singing along at home, as David 'the Iceman' Murdoch played a marvellous draw to seal the 9th end. I think I actually understand some of the technicalities of curling now (shame the nearest rink is Tunbridge Wells...).

There were some hectic thrills and spills in the other events too. Ski Cross was essentially carnage with home favourite Delbosco just falling out of the sky on the penultimate jump, while Ed Leigh and Graham Bell basically just had a laugh on commentary. Bobsleigh provided numerous painful looking prangs- one including the British pair (you just knew it was going to happen). My suggestion to improve Bobsleigh: instead of calling them things like Germany 2 and Liechtenstein 1 (who also took a tumble), give them proper names. Cool Runnings had the 'Rasta Rockett', why not have the 'Berlin Bomber' (actually that one might not be so good in the current climate) or the Spirit of Vaduz? Monaco could be the 'Monte Carlo Flyer', wouldn't that be so much better? Speaking of Monaco, (an inclusion every bit as bizarre as the Jamaicans, where's 'Monte Carlo or Bob'?) a famous Bob-pilot of theirs in the golden age was none other than Prince Albert II, who now enjoys a behind-the-scenes role. This got me thinking about the days when royalty had a proper go at things- when the King would ride in the Derby or play cricket for the Gentlemen, there was a wonderful 'What we miss about...' in the Guardian today about the 1928 St. Moritz games, in which plucky Brit, David Ludovic George Hopetoun Carnegie, 11th Earl of Northesk snatched a hard-earned bronze in the skeleton bob. So Williams is but the most recent in a long line of British people deranged enough to hurl themselves down a twisty track on a teatray and well done to her. It does strike me that the events that Britain are capable of winning medals in play to our natural strengths: idiocy, marbles, housework etc.


Plan for the Week
40% (of time) Writing Blogs
30% Tweeting about and watching the Winter Olympics
30% Learning 'Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau' before Friday

Friday 19 February 2010

Friday Pictorial the Third: Sport

Friday's here and that can only mean one thing - more audio visual delights for you delectation!

I did promise a video of the magnificent Anja Paerson crash from two days ago, but sadly the IOC Copyright Fascists (yeah, stick it to the man!) have been hot on the heels of those who tried to upload the footage to Youtube. So, instead I bring you this (think of it like the BBC boxing news coverage in the good old days):



I warned you I'd bang on about the Winters and here I am.

Thursday 18 February 2010

Insomnia - Why I'm On Vancouver Time...

It's been some time before I've managed to fall asleep in the same day that I woke up on, so it's just as well that there's plenty on to keep me occupied. Aside from the Winter Olympics, I'm also a big believer in radio and particularly 5Live's nightly phone-in hosted by Tony Livesey. As part of the 5Live reshuffle that saw Mayo move to the Radio 2 Drivetime slot vacated by Chris Evans, Richard Bacon, who had hosted the 10.30-1 show for over a year, moved to the afternoon and Radio Lancashire breakfast host and former Daily Sport editor Livesey took the reins of what had become a cult hit.

I'll be honest, with the announcement of his appointment I was a little skeptical about the Burnley man taking a slot which Bacon had made his own, but 2 months have passed and Livesey is really starting to hit his considerable straps. He's managed to win over a large percentage of Bacon disciples by giving central roles to listener favourites, newsreader Rachael Hodges and Nick Cosgrove from the prestigious 5Live Money department and it's this core of Team Livesey that provides the real entertainment. Whereas one might find other shows such as Victoria Derbyshire or Stephen Nolan to be dominated by their hosts alone, Livesey is keen to share the floor with Hodges, Cosgrove and the presenter's friend, invariably resulting in lively banter and a good deal of comic potential. The Livesey/Cosgrove relationship harks back to a golden age of radio comedy and Hodges keeps the pair in line masterfully. If you already listen or fancy listening at some point, there's also a lively Facebook Community (I say lively- me, Bri, Besty, Brock-man, Tatters and Abid all post regularly). Yesterday was a real cracker, with Punmaster General Bri McIntosh and myself wearing down Brock-man's patience (here's the best exchange of the night). I personally think that Livesey's got a real calming style about his presenting and that the show is going from strength to strength (and that's not just because I get my comments read out all the time...).

Ok, I know I went on about it yesterday, but the Winter Olympics are still happening and I'll be damned if I won't comment on them endlessly. Expect a lot of blogs to at least feature something about Vancouver 2010 for the duration. Last night, as I wondered if I'd be able to get to sleep before I had to get up, I was kept company by yet more Curling and the Men's Snowboard Halfpipe (featuring American prodigy Shaun White). Again the real highlight was Ed Leigh, they should let him commentate on every sport in the games (Cross-Country Skiing would be a lot more shouty and jargon-filled with the magnificent Leigh at the helm), though I'm sure most other people (the kind who know things about sport and don't use it to further their own comedy blogs) would say that the highlight was the remarkable new trick thrown down by White- the Tomahawk (or the Double McTwist 1260 *insert own 'do you want fries with that?' joke here*). Leigh practically had a coronary when White pulled this off on his final run. White didn't have to do it, the medal was already his, but like Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler he gave everything for the crowd (this is my bid to be Leigh's co-commentator for the 2014 games...). Other things that you might hear from Leigh are "an enormous double grab Stiffy" (stop sniggering), "Huge Double Cork 10!", "Sweet 720!" and "Only managed 4 tricks there. Absolutely gutting." I get the impression that he could literally be saying anything and we would be none the wiser.

Another highlight of the Halfpipe was the weird X-Factor-style promo vids that each boarder had, featuring Bonnie Tyler wind machines and shiny backlighting. Some sold it more than others (expect Loreal to come calling for Shaun White soon) but it was another bit of preposterously decadent, superfluous techo-wizadry that one suspects landed the Vancouver games in their current state of financial meltdown. One event that didn't feature competitors heads appearing Big Brother (1984, not crap reality show) style on a massive screen (although some would argue it was poorer for it), was the Women's Downhill, featuring British hopeful Chemmy Alcott. Alcott acquitted herself quite well, finding herself in the gold medal position at one point (by virtue of being the second person to go... the first having crashed and then got up to complete the course) but was soon outclassed by the super-quick, tiara-wearing Californian Jennifer Mancuso and then by eventual winner, shin injury-carrying, poster-girl Lindsey Vonn. Though Alcott finished an eventual 13th, she did make somewhat of stir and was trending on Twitter within seconds. She also found a wider audience- one American viewer commenting that "if she was the President, she'd be Baberaham Lincoln." I'd like to think that Ed Leigh would have said the same, had he been the commentator for the event. I imagine screengrabs of Alcott hugging Vonn were made desktop wallpapers throughout the Minnesota area.

The highlight of the Downhill though (and it really has to be seen to be believed) was Anja Paerson's spectacular crash, featuring what Ed Leigh would call "pre-jump" and "big air" before travelling 60m and, as Ed Leigh wouldn't say on air, eating shit in spectacular fashion. It's incredible - a ridiculous, astonishing crash that will no doubt be hailed as the 'moment of the games' (by me, at least). I will try and find a video for tomorrow's pictorial featuring it, it will enrich your lives. As the commentator rather rudely pointed out "she probably flew further than Eddie 'the Eagle'!". A close second was this effort, scoring far lower on the impressiveness scale but picking up a hefty nincompoopery bonus. The best bit, is where the male commentator just laughs towards the end and the classic "oooohh" noise from the ex-pro.

Finally I was carried off by the Curling. Team GB enjoyed a rather successful day 'with the hammer' yesterday, with both the Men and Women's teams winning their matches. 19 year old Skip Eve Muirhead led the Ladies to a remarkable victory over world champs China, whereas things were looking a little rocky in places for David Murdoch's team as they overcame minnows France. The canny French were keen to place the corner guards and 'thousand yard stare' Murdoch called for a big play. "They don't want to get into a guard war and risk losing a big end." Explained 2002 hero Rhona Martin. Well who would? (If you want a more play-by-play description of last night's curling action, have a peek at my Twitter feed). There were a few cutaways to a rather cosy looking Martin and Cram in the commentary box. The legendary Skip was clad in some impressive BBC Sport winter merch, while Cram seemed to be getting a bit handsy (cabin fever?). Murdoch's brave clan eventually overcame the plucky Gauls and the coverage finished with some techno and screen advertising the Luge Doubles, a hilariously unnecessary event and officialy the least favourite sport of Nick Griffin and the Westboro Church.

In other news, I was alerted to this marvellous blog, a must for fans of Wittertainment.

Wednesday 17 February 2010

Vancouver 2010 - Fun and Frolics... and Fatal Accidents (But We Don't Talk About Those) - Why I Love the Winter Olympics

Good afternoon, sports fans! (Don't worry, the blog won't all be in this tone). So, have we all been keeping up with the Winter Olympics? I know it takes a lot of flack and that the Britons have as much hope of topping the medal table as they do of recalling Eddie 'the Eagle' Edwards to the team, but I personally can't get enough of them. I have stayed up until 1 in the morning watching the Snowboard Cross and Curling and I'm not ashamed (well, maybe a little bit, but generally no more than usual). It is generally looked upon as the mildly-retarded, Yukon-dwelling cousin of the summer games, but it has bags of charm with its preposterous 'sports' and, best of all, the fantastic BBC commentary team.

As previously mentioned, my last two late nights/early mornings have consisted of the Mens' and Womens' Snowboard Cross competitions. Both were exceptional. For those who've never seen or heard of the sport (probably quite a lot of people), it's essentially a race on a downhill course. What's special about that? That's just like all the other winter race sports, right? Wrong. Snowboard Cross makes deliberate attempts to cause as many accidents as possible by inserting jumps, 'kickers' and 'four-packs' along the course. The procedure is a number of qualification runs take place- a time trial where individual riders attempt to make it through to the knockout stages, before a number of four-rider races occur until eventually we have a winner.

As I say, the course is very much the star. Commentator Ed Leigh (the Motson of Snowboarding, but with more jargon and impressions) explained that there 'had been tears backstage when some of the riders saw this Cypress Mountain course'. Now, in what other sport does that happen? I'm pretty sure that Nelson Piquet Jr. didn't break down into tears when he saw the Singapore track (well, not until Flavio Briatore told him to deliberately drive into a tire wall, anyway). It's a daunting, high-speed, freestyle-oriented course and plenty of the alpine riders seem to have come a-cropper with a number of favourites falling by the wayside. The Men's event was eventually won by veteran American Seth Wescott, who reeled in Canadian Mike Robertson with a remarkable turn of pace.

It was however the women's event that the expectant eyes of the sports media were fixed on. Lindsey Jacobellis was setting out to make amends for the most hilarious and idiotic blunder in Snowboard Cross History in the 2006 games. Britain had high hopes for 'medal-contender' Zoe Gillings (I don't suppose she was being touted as such in Canada or America...), who did a remarkable front-flip to recover after a dodgy air during one of the quali runs. Now, it was a foggy day yesterday and there were a hell of a lot of crashes, most of which are featured in this handy catch-up vid (sadly they miss out Leigh's masterful commentary on the very last crash in that film - "Did she go through the gate or did she go through the gate?"). Well it was non-stop drama, several bumrushings from the snow, a couple of headlong catapults into the safety fences and Jacobellis crashing out on the first corner of the semi-final. It was a fairytale finish however (expect a low-budget Canadian film about this one) as local-girl Maelle Ricker brought home gold for Canada.

Undoubtedly the highlights of Snowboard Cross are the massive wipeouts, but Leigh's commentary has to come a close second and he has already earned a cult following of people tweeting his best quotes as they happen. A happy evening was spent seeing comedians Lloyd Woolf and Mark Watson recommending people to watch the snowboarding and quoting the Ski Sunday co-presenter's (he's the one who isn't an ex-Olympic downhill skier) best bits. Take a look at Lloyd's Twitter feed for some terrific comic nuggets. My two particular favourites were "Again that four pack separating the ladies from the girls" (where have I heard that before) and "Pelvis-first into the back of that knuckle" which sounds like a rejected line from Carry On X-Games.

Also yesterday, some Curling happened. You know Curling, the one with all the Scottish people. It was Team GB vs. the dastardly Swedes in a game of what is essentially icy marbles with cleaning equipment. What's curious is that the Curlers are actually fairly athletic-looking. The British 'Skip' David Murdoch looks as though he could easily be doing a real sport and his Swedish counterpart, Niklas Edin, had biceps the size of a baby's head. They certainly don't need to be that large. Perhaps it's the sweeping that does it, the preposterous cartoon-style sweeping, I just don't know. It's a bit of a comedown from the Boarder X (as the cool kids call it), but it was a tense afair with canny Scot, Murdoch, just barely outsmarted by the hulking Edin. Excitement? I thought my trouser leg would never dry.

We are, of course, rubbish at the Winter Olympics. Speaking after veteran Swiss Didier Defago powered to a technically-perfect shock win in the Blue Riband event of the games, the Downhill Skiing, ending a 22-year Downhill gold drought, Briton Ed Drake said he was 'pretty pleased' with his 38th place. In other words, we've a ways to go before we produce any form of true skiing contender (though Chemmy Alcott is being touted for a top 10 finish in the women's event). Our best medal hope is Pewsey's own Shelley Rudman (just a short way down the A338 from the Or So I Thought... HQ) in the Skeleton Bob. The problem comes in the fact that the competition (of people throwing themselves downhill on tiny trays of carbon fibre) takes place on the same course that tragically claimed the life of Georgian Luger Nodar Kumaritashvilli in practice. They have since made the course slower and put up safety barriers, but the ghost of that incident is likely to feature in the minds of all the competitors not least for Rudman, whose young daughter will be trackside to watch, but the slider has stated that: "I would always think of my own safety and what happened was very difficult for everybody. But I felt more at ease when I saw the changes made and now I don't feel it is a dangerous track. Ella is my number one priority and I wouldn't do something that was absolutely high risk. If there's been an accident on the road, am I not going to drive my car any more? I'm here, I'm safe and I've just got to perform."

So we might not win anything, but it's the taking part that counts (in this case, it isn't loser talk) - the greatest thing of all about the Winter Olympics is the plucky underdog spirit. Very rarely do they win gold, or even make it onto the podium, but they have a dignity about them. Whether it's the Captain of the Indian team, a luger who's been to 4 Olympic Games, but had to rely on the charity of Vancouver residents to afford a lycra skin-suit or the legendary 1988 Jamaican Bobsleigh team, immortalised in the Disney film Cool Runnings, who punched so far above their weight and despite a horrific crash, walked across the line with the very dignity that I earlier spoke of. A lot of athletes could learn a thing or two about how to conduct themselves from the Winter Olympians (yup, that means you John Terry and just about every other England footballer out there).

Tuesday 16 February 2010

No Blog Today...

Blog silence will be maintained today in memory of Chris Wilkinson (1946-2010).

Monday 15 February 2010

Get Your Hands Off Of Me, You Damned Dirty Ape...

This'll just be a Lloyd Woolf-style quickie today, for reasons which will become apparent.

Right, well today is a little thing I like to call a slow news day, but fortunately from the depths of my beloved Guardian website, I managed to haul this little gem. A story which very much speaks for itself. Well, it's less of a story and more just a wishlist generated from the brain of Noel Edmonds or perhaps a typed up mind-map from an 'ideation' meeting.

Essentially Edmonds wants to create a quiz show, nothing new there then. But wait, here's the twist, it'll be hosted by a monkey (life in no way imitating I'm Alan Partridge). Worse than the idea of a quiz show being hosted by a simian, it'll also be hosted by a monkey (see what I did there... I implied Edmonds was a mon- oh never mind). Seriously though, Edmonds wants to call it Beat the Monkey (quick, someone phone the RSPCA and then stop thousands of teens from performing onanism on the suggestion of a quiz show title) and it will feature a monkey picking questions at random.

As the article says, it's one of 5 new ideas being touted to broadcasters by Edmonds' latest TV company venture, Feel Good Television (isn't it just the kind of name that makes you want to hurl things at your screen... or possibly Edmonds). I'm no TV exec, but it seems to me that these 5 ideas were pitched to broadcasters in exactly this manner.

Charles Garland, manager of Feel Good Television, had this to say: "We want to create a new model rights creation business developing Noel's ideas. That is where the real value is." Yup, definitely. Noel's ideas- monkeys hosting quiz shows, a rip off of The Price is Right based on exotic supermarket goods- that's where the money is. Oh God. I know he was able to lure thousands of gibbering buffoons into a Bristol cellar to watch other buffoons opening boxes and Noel himself conversing with his conscience by means of a big red phone, but not even a man of Noel's towering genius could make a show where the questions are selected by a monkey work. Alright, the monkey probably will be more intelligent than a good number of the contestants, but this is a non-starter - they couldn't make Monkey Greyhound Racing work in the 1930s and they can't make Beat the Monkey work now.


Redundant Internet Question of the Day
Courtesy of Ultimate-Guitar.Com

And I quote "Any1 got hot teachers, i got at least 3 with asses to die for" ? from a Mr. Manualx of no fixed abode.

The first few answers were the customary internet "Pics or it didn't happen."

But the best answer of the day was from webbtje:

One of our PhD students, who teaches, is a trans-sexual. Does that count?

Quote:
Originally Posted by Manualx
Any1 got hot teachers, i got at least 3 with asses to die for

"...and instead of a mouth, it's got four arses!"

There's a prize if you know where the quote comes from and what it refers to.

Friday 12 February 2010

Friday Pictorial the Second: Literature

Yup, that's right, the Friday Pictorial is back with a vengeance ready to give you audio-visual blog-based entertainment.




Factoid: The book I'm wielding in the clip is in fact the Penguin History of Canada by Robert Bothwell, which I use for my novel writing.

Yes, I'm aware that Garth Marenghi has kind of been there, but I don't have a budget and a TV show, alright?

Thursday 11 February 2010

Bite Me: Staring Through Windows At Teenage Vampires

As many of you will have doubtless noticed, the crazy worlds of TV, film and literature are awash with tales of teen vampires. What with the Twilight Saga, the Vampire Diaries and various other pointy-toothed, chastity- (or otherwise in the case of the latter)fests flooding the shelves and screens. In Let the Right One In, last year had a terrific genre-redefining vampire movie, sadly most of the bajillion dollar tales of whiny adolescents and their obsessions with the creatures of legend garnered all the attention.

So, just over a year late I saw Twilight on the recommendation that it would be one of the most unintentionally hilarious films that I'd ever seen. I have to say, I was impressed. It was much tackier and cliched that I'd anticipated. There are more genuine belly-laughs in it than in your average Judd Apatow film and that's just at the writing and performances, before we've even examined the plot and concept. Many of you will have already seen it but I'm going to wade in with my trademark clumsy, flailing arms of cynicism.

The opening is a classic 'deer drinking from a pool' scene, fair enough, every vampire film should have one but it's not the most inspiring you'll ever see and it's not exactly the tapir from Apocalypto (probably for the best really). Now we get onto the most important part of the film, the characters (because plot is for losers in teen cinema). From what I could discern the story follows Mary Sue, a teenager who goes to live with her father in rainy Washington. There follows several, pointy-chinned, jerky exchanges with other annoying teenagers including the nerdy asian, the token black guy and the fashion-obsessed blonde (hasn't civil rights come a long way in the last few years...? Seriously, I can't believe stereotypes like this are still allowed), but most importantly with pale, strange-eyed Cedric Diggory. Now, at first Cedric can't bear to be in the same room as our Mary Sue (this is important to the characterisation, as is explained, at length, later in the film) but eventually old pallid-chops comes round and the two bond over a science lesson in one of many 'teenage' conversations. Now, these 'teenage' conversations mostly consist of awkward sighing and scoffing noises with the occasional gormless look thrown in. Kristen Stewart, who plays our bold Mary Sue, is very much from the Ben Affleck and Nicholas Cage school of acting (would love to see and Inside the Actor's Studio with the three of them, all chins and gormlessness. Well guarded secret that the key to acting is in the chin).

We also meet Mary Sue's friend, Rafael Nadal, who is from the Quileute tribe. Oh, right, the Quileute tribe, you say? Must be one of those famous werewolf tribes that I've heard so much about... She warns him that the werewolf tribe has legends about the cold-ones (vampires). Mary Sue then duly Googles this, because that's what young people in films do these days (that has to be one of my movie pet-hates, people Googling things, it's just not necessary). Then more stuff happens and for plot contrivance reasons Mary Sue is about to be hit by an A-Team van, driven by the token black guy (because obviously he would be the one who'd clumsily near run her over - did Martin Luther King Jr. die in vain?) but fortunately Cedric swoops to the rescue with superhuman speed and strength- wonder what that could mean? Anyhow, Mary Sue is taken to hospital where she's examined by Coop from Nurse Jackie, who's blonde and pale for some reason and when I say pale, I mean really pale, like Cedric pale (wonder where that's going?)- in fact so pale that I wouldn't trust him to examine and evaluate my health without insisting that he spent a few hours outside to get some vitamin D. But wait- pale, knows Cedric... oh my sweet lord, it's Dr. Acula!

Well, Mary Sue's fine and the token black guy's a little shaken up. Mary Sue then dreams about Cedric and then they go to the forest and... oh Christ, this bit was rather drawn out and depressing. "Ask me the most basic question," Cedric says- there's a pregnant pause. "What do I eat?" He adds for clarification. Ok, firstly, it can't be the most basic question if you have to tell Mary Sue what the most basic question is and secondly, the most basic question would be "What the fuck are you?" (but worded in a more tween-friendly way). Essentially, Cedric's a vampire. No shit, Sherlock. Then, after 33 tedious minutes of relentless teenage awkwardness, a sliver of plot slips through the net. Some more vampires kill a man on a boat or something. Then after that brief slip-up we're back to yet more weird Mary Sue/Cedric conversation and even more of Cedric driving his Volvo. Yup, you heard that right, Volvo. Cedric, a vampire so impossibly attractive, enigmatic and powerful that his car of choice is naturally a Volvo. From here-on in, the film becomes a massive bleedin' Volvo advert.

For reasons that can only be described as lack of decent ideas, Mary Sue is off to play baseball with Cedric and his family (Coop/Dr. Acula, Coop's wife, Chunky Jock Vampire, Kooky Cassandra (premonitions, I mean) Vampire, Twisty Smile Vampire, Plastic Vampire) in a thunderstorm- they have to wait for storms to play, you see. One of them hits the ball with a loud crack. "I can see why you have to wait for storms!" Says Mary Sue. I can't, they're in the middle of fucking nowhere anyway. Evil vampires turn up and ruin their fun, one of them notices Mary Sue and decides to hunt her down (despite having the pick of all of the other humans in Forks, who aren't protected by vampires - apparently she smells nice or something).

Oh no, Mary Sue's in trouble, let's go to Arizona. Oh no, the vampire's still chasing us. Oh no, the vampire's got Mary Sue's mother and wants to meet Mary Sue alone. Oh no, Mary Sue's gone alone and the mother isn't there (surprise, suprise). Oh no, Mary Sue's being slapped around by the vampire. Oh no, he's bitten her on the wrist. Cedric's here to save the day, but, oh no, he's losing the fight and being slapped around. Coop's here with Chunky Jock Vampire and Twisty Smile Vampire to save the day properly. Oh look, Kooky Cassandra Vampire has torn off the evil vampire's head in a single twist, not so tough now, eh Cedric, you got beaten up by him but she just tore off his bloody head with her bare hands. Oh no, Mary Sue's still dying, quickly, Cedric, suck on her wrist, but not too much or you'll kill her. Oh no, Cedric, you're killing her. Oh no, Coop, why the fuck aren't you stopping him?

Mary Sue's in hospital. "You fell down two flights of stairs and went through a window" explains the mother (because naturally that's entirely fucking plausible). Cedric's there though, everything's fine. Fade to blac... hang on, what do you mean there's more, the fucking plot's literally just finished, you can't possibly need more bloody character nonsense. Oh, it's prom time, unenthusiastic hoorays all round. Rafael Nadal is having a heart to heart with Mary Sue before Cedric turns up and goes "The fuck are you talking to her, Rafa?" (not verbatim) and they go to the prom. Then there's some dancing and a Dawson's Creek credits sequence.

The two heroes of the film? The Volvo and Mary Sue's Dad, who just tried to be a good person and was ignored and accused of being fat by his daughter.

Wow, what a phenom we've created. You know who I feel sorry for? Darren Shan, he was writing interesting teen vampire novels way back before this idea came to Stephanie Meyer in a dream (because obviously it has to come in dream form to a prophet, not everyone can have the idea of 'get this, right? Vampires, but teenagers') and all he got was a shitty Hollywood re-imagining of his first book. He deserved better.

Wednesday 10 February 2010

Bowling For Letherbridge...

Right, not sure if this one will mean much to most of you, but I’ll do what I can. The week before I departed for skiing daytime BBC soap Doctors was running a week-long special regarding a school shooting. Monday opened with shots of Dr. Simon Bond and lovable Police Sergeant Rob Hollins running through the campus, with fireworks in the sky, searching for someone, while a mysterious voiceover talked of apocalypse and destruction. All of a sudden we travel back, to 4 days earlier in the Hollins house, where it all began.

Now, Doctors is one of those programmes that has become a mainstay of the daytime slot (1.45- when I eat my lunch, otherwise I wouldn’t be watching it) garnering an impressive audience share for it's slot (albeit not a huge amount in comparison to primetime shows). It has a good reputation for a bit of knockabout fun and can have a good laugh at itself sometimes, but this year opened with a bizarre story about Dr. Jimmi Clay being captured and imprisoned by a mad Texas Chainsaw Massacre style family, Sissy and Ivor Juggins, which led to one wonderful Sky+ synopsis ‘Jimmi is still being held by the Juggins (oo er missus, bet that’s painful)’ (it didn’t say that last part). Turns out that (after about 4 weeks of it, I should add) there was a message to be had about the nature of the mentally ill, as revealed when a defiant convalescing Jimmi (who himself suffers from OCD) tackled the questioning of a slimy news reporter. This was unquestionably one of the most mental storylines I have ever witnessed (and for soap standards that’s really something), so the idea of week of episodes of day-by-day build-up to Thursday and Friday’s nightmarish crescendo about the difficult issue of school massacres and mental illness was fairly high-concept by daytime soap standards. Convieniently of trailer of the 5-day arc, entitled Master of the Universe (makes me think of Princes of the Universe everytime I see it. That or He-Man...) can be viewed here.

Needless to say there was a fair amount of plot over the course of the first four days, but I won't bore you by recounting it, instead I shall thrust you directly into the action on Friday. Troubled teenager Lewis has gathered in a seminar room those of whom he harbours the most hatred - Jack Hollins (erstwhile best friend and son of Rob and Mill Health Centre receptionist Karen), his lecturer Sia (who shot down his writings as blunt, violent and devoid of any symbolism or required elements), a girl (who I can't remember the name of, but he had already attempted to knife her... it's a long story), Ned (his younger half-brother, his father's favourite) and Karen (who found herself literally caught in the crossfire). Lewis, brandishing the assault rifle, began his rant about society and was being generally angsty when the girl made a run for the door- a rookie mistake, you hate to see it happen- then, in one of the biggest misinterpretations of the line between bravery and idiocy since Nick Griffin's appearance on Question Time, Sia leapt in front of her - another schoolboy error- and was consequently pumped full of lead (well, shot once by Lewis). Upon hearing the gunshot, Rob and Simon ran in the direction of fire and made it to the door only for Rob to be sent packing back downstairs and Simon to choose to help Sia at the risk of his own life.

The tension was ratcheting up, Lewis began checking the news channels. 'In Columbine it took 28 minutes for the story to break' he announced as he watched Midlands Today in the hope that his mentalist Virginia Tech-style home-video rant would be broadcast. Simon told him that they wouldn't show anything like that on the news. He's right, as proved by the German school-shooting details and footage of the perpetrator with his weapon only serve to glorify the violence, the best way to deal with it is to starve them of that attention. Meanwhile the police had set up a cordon outside and quite a crowd was gathering. Lewis and Ned's father had turned up (Gavin and Stacey's Steffan Rhodri... this was a little distracting, kept expecting bystanders to approach the hostage situation and go 'alright, Dave. What's ocurring?') and was yelling at the windows and being restrained by the Inspectors (as you do). Inside Simon, after stabilising Sia, was attempting to talk down Lewis. 'You're a first year, on a difficult course...' he began, as if he was suggesting 'you're under a lot of stress, I understand. We've all wanted to round up our enemies in a seminar room and kill them in cold blood, we've all been there'. Naturally, this had little effect.

Karen was the next to attempt negotiations, but this failed when Jack took a swing at Lewis with a fire extinguisher, a kerfuffle ensued, shots were fired into the air prompting Rob to disobey orders and charge upstairs to face down Lewis. Several kerfuffles later Ned ended up with the gun and pointed it a Lewis, oh how the tables hath turned. The police sniper trains his crosshairs on Ned. Surely not? Well, no, the sniper didn't fire. An acute case of daytime drama bottling it at the point in which the narrative could have become really interesting. Lewis is weaponless and being counseled by both Mr. and Mrs. Hollins, police officer and receptionist in perfect sanctimonious harmony. Our teenage gunman wanders to the window and reaches into his jacket pocket. Bang. One dead unarmed teenager. Why on earth he intimated that he was reaching for another weapon when the police sniper had a clear shot, we shall never find out. Perhaps he was attempting to recreate the airport scene in Bean: The Ultimate Disaster Movie (unlikely).

We end with a traumatised Hollins family, Rob informed that he'll face suspension for disobeying his inspector's orders, Karen and Jack having lived through the hostage situation and daughter Immie having seen it all from the sidelines while being endlessly tearsticked (uninitiated, see here). How did they cope with it all? Well, Rob kept his job, but kissed his hopes of promotion goodbye. Karen just bloody well got on with things. Jack... well, I didn't see many of last week's episodes, what with being on holiday and all, but I suspect he's just tickety boo. Immie became a lesbian to deal with the trauma- well, who wouldn't after all that?

Did Master of the Universe provide a revelation about 'lone gunman' shootings, a genuine insight into the troubled mind of the ruthless perpetrator? No. Did it provide an entertaining drama about it, sustained for 5 episodes? Just barely, with a few large contrivances along the way. Was it much better than most of the other programmes on at that time of day and the ludicrous month of Jimmi kidnap plot? Hell yes.

Tuesday 9 February 2010

The Catcher in the Sky – Why J D Salinger Was Right

J.D. Salinger 1919-2010

Were it not for the holiday this would have been the first blog of the week. As reported on Twitter (by me at roughly the same time the news networks got hold of it- how’s that for public service) and every news network, the original voice of 20th century teenage angst, J.D Salinger, died aged 91.

Salinger perhaps became, despite being one of the most celebrated literary figures of the last century, more famous for his reclusive nature. But it is, I feel, unfair to view one man’s desperate hatred of intrusion into his private life as a ‘reclusive nature’. If Salinger was a true recluse, he was one of the media’s making and this is nowhere better illustrated than in the picture that many of the papers chose for their front covers. Salinger’s aged face is a rictus of shock, disappointment, despair and his wide, dark eyes show something yet more primal, simple terror in a man who suffered through the very worst sights of the Second World War and finds this public obsession and intrusion on a nightmarish par with it. Staring into Salinger’s eyes, one does not find a window to the soul of the great man, but an abyss, which reflects the vacuous nature of the human soul right back into the lens of the paparazzo’s camera.

I’m not suggesting that all ‘celebrities’ should be exempt from the public interest, today’s modern surgically enhanced and inflated breed court fame so fervently that it is a just punishment for their every move to be criticised by the public, but here was a man who did not seek fame, he simply had a story to tell and told it in such an original, engaging manner that he became a hero of the teen counter-culture and whose literary creation became an idol to millions- someone who said (if not always acting upon) all the things that we thought in the same situations. Holden Caulfield reflects the base nature of every unstable teen who thinks himself far more mature than he is (I should know, I am one) and Salinger has created an enduring, insightful blueprint that will likely never fail to be applicable to a large cross-section of society.

The novel reflects upon innocence, ignorance (and the difference, or rather lack thereof, between them) and the ‘phony’ nature of the society that would haunt Salinger for the rest of his life after the book’s publication. Perhaps the true mark of Salinger’s genius was not only finding the ‘voice’ of the precocious teen, but shooting down his own protagonist’s innocence. Mr. Antolini, Caulfield’s erstwhile English teacher claims, in a speech that is as prophetic and insightful as you’re ever likely to read (for author and narrator alike), that strong men live humbly with all their disillusion and vitriol, instead of martyring themselves to a noble cause. Well, Salinger lived humbly, leaving his own account of his moral and spiritual troubles in the 1951 novel that would go on to become somewhat of a self-fulfilling prophecy for the disturbed author. Now, I’m far from the first person to suggest a link between Salinger and his most enduring creation, but sadly in creating Caulfield’s narrative, Salinger too created the very surrounding climate which his had so vehemently criticised and for the rest of his life sought to escape.

Salinger has gratefully escaped the prying eyes of the clamouring, intrusive media, only for an expected raid on a ‘treasure trove’ of unpublished stories to sully the memory of a man who just wanted to be left alone. The fact that this was not respected in the ‘interest of the public’ reflects upon us all very poorly. We consider reclusiveness to be a negative trait, that there’s something wrong with someone if they would rather spend their time pursuing their own passions than interacting with volatile society but Salinger was right. One of the most influential literary figures of the 20th century simply wanted to live on his own terms- like Caulfield and anyone reading this blog- and yet the public would not allow him this and the curiosity of the ‘public’ and their phoniness hounded him until the end (and it would seem, even after it); quod erat demonstrandum.

I hope that in death Salinger perhaps leaves behind the world of phonies and at last can live by his own creed. Something that, in the age of surveillance and reality shows, very few of us will ever be able to manage.

Monday 8 February 2010

I Know What You Did Last Week...

So, what did I do with my week away from the feminine wiles of the internet? Why, I, like all the other horribly middle-class people, opted to throw myself down snowy mountains on planks of carbon fibre literally for fun.

Disclaimer: I spent much of the time that I wasn’t skiing or eating/drinking watching Deadwood on DVD (inspired in no small part by my own recent blog about it), so this post is likely to be littered with Swearengen-style ‘cocksuckers’ and possibly one or two Tolliver-esque ‘Jesus fucking Christ’s .

Going skiing is a little like being a Timelord, not because you end up looking like Timothy Dalton(though actually, you’re half right) but because its equivalent to travelling back to the 1970s. People in many-coloured jumpers (myself included) sit around a fireplace with paisley curtains, surrounded by a faint aroma of fondue, but not just fondue- fondue, Raclette and Pierrade- literally so many ways to enjoy what is essentially melted cheese. On the slopes, people in garish, pastel-coloured onesies cut you up a treat and slalom their way down a blue (though they should really be on a more challenging slope the way they bloody fly past) and perms are kept hidden below novelty fleece hats. There are even tributes to the toys of the age- children on skis are very much like Weebles (if you don’t know what I mean, then you should have spent your childhood more productively, alternatively, view this) flapping around and teetering agonisingly as they shufty down.

In order to survive this adventure into the past, one must plan extensively. There are two priorities in skiing, make it down the hill without breaking something and try and avoid looking a massive arse. To this extent, it’s best to know your limits and not opt to go off-piste on the first day. The other plan is to hit the pistes at times when there won’t be much traffic- this means up early for breakfast each morning (so early that the only other people at the tables were Germans- yup, that early- presumably they’d already popped down to the ski room to lay their sallopettes on the benches) and wolf down a croissant and some baguette before heaving oneself into the skiing paraphernalia and ascending the mountain in the telecabines.

So, the first obstacle is walking in ski boots. This forces you to develop an awful swagger and makes negotiating stairs a near impossibility, meaning the 2 minute walk to the telecabines becomes an grim march of death, with the hair on your shins being rubbed away by the second. The second obstacle is carrying the blasted technology. Indeed carrying the skis and poles between telecabines is one of the real hardships of skiing, fortunately the very stops that prevent the skis from careering downhill once you have parted company with them (voluntarily or otherwise) are the same that hold them locked together for carrying – unfortunately mine did not fulfil this purpose and consequently my skis held together about as well as a celebrity marriage, meaning that I was forced to adopt a taxing, unorthodox method of carrying (either that or stop every few yards to push them back together).

There’s not much to be said about actual skiing really. It’s very much lean forward, bend ze knees and shift your weight properly if you don’t want to end up in A&E. This is intersected by a stop at one of the restaurants on the slopes for a chocolat chaud and some meat and frite-based meal before carrying on until your legs canna take no more. At which point, you return to the hotel for a hefty glass of après-ski.

The hotel is a confusing place full of different nationalities (most of them German), different ages and different card games (Uno being a prevalent favourite of the aforementioned Teutonics). Different culture too- odd cookery shows fronted by a mysterious, sage-like figure in sunglasses who orders his minions to prepare a soup, an Austrian detective show in which the dog appeared to be the star and no apparent censorship at any time of the day (boobs ahoy in all the dramas despite it being 5 o'clock in the afternoon). Musical tastes are odd – A rotation of Depeche Mode and Frank Sinatra in the hotel, Last Christmas by Wham! (this was on the 1st of February) in the cafe and rap backed by avant-garde jazz (still not sure if this is pure unadulterated genius or the end of western civilisation) in the mountaintop bar.

That is the very heartbeat of the skiing holiday- diversity… well, diversity and trying not to end up with your leg in plaster.

The next part of the blog is a journal kept of the day’s skiing.

Day 1

Excited, but a very strong feeling of trepidation. It’s been a while and the last time wasn’t particularly inspiring. First lesson with a man by the name of Laurent, who reminds me of the basics and by the end of the day I was probably skiing better than I did 3 years ago (doesn’t really say much for my younger self).

Day 2

First day of Ski School, the only male in the group and also the only Englishman, will have to dust off my SATs level French (this doesn’t bode well). Good progress made, can parallel turn right, but not left very well. Didn’t fall over skiing but fell over standing up at one point, somehow I think that’s worse.

Day 3

Made it through a whole day without falling over, terrific. Bit of a lull in terms of finesse though, my parallel turns still leave much to be desired. Never mind, making sure I don’t die first, then technique can come later.

Day 4

Definite improvement, didn’t fall over again though I lost a ski at one point (go figure)- what’s that thing about work, men and tools... oh, that’s right, the tools never bloody work, right men? Still not exactly Didier Cuche... or Chemmy Alcott for that matter, but getting there. Enormous, furry dog at the Chez Gaston, fed on frites, biscuits and those that come a cropper on l’Olympique (a straight but packed black down to Jonction), very friendly and sweet in the mildly stupid way.

Day 5

Great day carving the slopes with aplomb before, as they say in sport, ‘tweaking a hammy’ during a wipeout on the straight bit of a blue that left me looking, as they say in Deadwood, ‘a total fucking cunt’. Seriously, crashed out at some velocity right next to the nursery piste where the tinies are wobbling around. Picked myself up and limped to telecabine, boarding with ignominy and hobbling back to the hotel.

Day 6

Total whiteout today – nope, not Richard Hammond’s latest venture into winter-based public humiliation but rather incredibly heavy snow fall and visibility of less than 100 metres. I thoroughly earned my chocolat chaud after carving my way through sense of hearing alone to the cafe. Nice cushion of powder on the reds today, visibility even worse over the other side, opted to play it safe and take a blue down. Returned the gear in time for a quick après ski and a chinwag with the Belgians in the hotel. One of them had ruptured his knee (on a blue- see, happens to the best of us) and had to be rushed down the mountain on a stretcher pulled by a mountain-rescue skier (what a job that must be).

The next day was the journey home to find that the Northern Line was closed for the weekend, don’t you just bloody love public transport? Managed to make it to my train home in the nick of time and slumped into my armchair to find that my battling Everton side had lost the Merseyside Derby. I should have stayed in the Alps.

Vital Statistics

Times fallen over – several, though increasingly less as the week went on and nowhere near as many as I anticipated. I reckon about 7 or 8 in total.

Frenchmen seen in berets – 4

Tramps in the Gare de Lyon – Many more than I expected. One even had the gall to rile a Gendarme and another looked exactly like Seasick Steve.

Injuries – bit of a hamstring pull, bruise on left calf from an aggressive chairlift, severely rubbed shins and Skiers’ Thumb (I’ve made one of these up). Sore shoulder from carrying bags and was hit in the eye on the train back (accidentally). I sustained worse injuries on the journey home than I did skiing. Is that a good thing? (probably not).



Redundant internet question of the day courtesy of Gamefaqs (regarding the PC TPSRPG Mass Effect 2) from Toastmonster – ‘Does anyone have a model patch to fix Miranda’s overbite?’

Suggested answer from yours truly – ‘No, she’s just a videogame character- get a life or a girlfriend, preferably both, but let’s take things one step at a time.’