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


Thursday 29 July 2010

Thorts Hurt My Brain...

Ok, to cut a long story short, I've been hiking around the landscape of Stonehenge for 5 hours and now my feet are less than pleased with me. Now, I know what you're thinking, you don't type with your feet... and I don't, however I do type with my brain, which has also been left quite drained after all that excitement, so instead of me attempting to think of things here's an interesting article about the upcoming 'Thor' movie.

To which I say: "Come on, Guardian... it's Thor... directed by Branagh. It will almost certainly be fantastic... almost certainly..."

Wednesday 28 July 2010

Anyone for Pétanque...?

Unlikely sports comeback news now. I'm reliably informed that pétanque is very much now the summer game of choice, whether you're one of those trendy, slim actress-y types in hats or even a trendy, slim actor-y type with your own belt. Fancy chucking a ball into a collection of balls aiming to hit a tiny ball? Then pétanque is very much the game for you. What?... Pétanque, it's French and obviously very classy...?... Fancy chucking boules into a collection of boules aiming to hit a very tiny boule? Non?

And just when you thought this assertion couldn't be any more from the pages of Sugar Ape magazine, Olly Dixon of London synthpop group Filthy Dukes recently co-founded the East London Pétanque Association, staging "guerilla pétanque" events at selected summer festivals. I know I say this a lot but THE MEDIA HAS EATEN ITSELF blah, blah, blah HELL IN A HANDBASKET.

Tuesday 27 July 2010

Cause...

Ok, time to champion a cause. What a bunch of Jeremy Hunts the Tories turned out to be yesterday as they revealed their plans to abolish the UK Film Council which brought us films like In The Loop and Man On Wire as a 'cost-saving measure'.

Let's just think about that for a second. The UK Film Council which creates films, one of the most lucrative businesses in the world, which produces £5 for every £1 spent, is being abolished as a cost-saving measure. Don't stand for this, folks. We didn't stand for the planned closure of 6Music and we effected change, so why can't we do it now.

So why not contact Jeremy Hunt at the Department for Culture, Media and Sport and tell him what a fucking moron he's being? Maybe in slightly more diplomatic terms though. And also whack your signature on this petition.

We can't let the Tories win again.

Monday 26 July 2010

Hayward Ho...

Well, happy axe news emerged this week with the revelation that head of BP and walking PR Mr. Magoo Tony Hayward would be leaving his post. Sadly this also means that he'll be able to collect a no doubt sizeable pension for mainly fucking up a large section of the Louisiana coast.

This is the man who, fresh in the wake of the disaster, said "nobody wants this to be over more than me. I want my life back". Really, Tony? You know who else want their lives back? The residents of the Gulf of Mexico... oh and all the pelicans and ducks that you covered in your godawful, crude slop, but something tells me that they can't all go to a yacht race and then receive a bung to leave a job that they frankly should have been fired from to 'get their lives back'.

Here are a few of the candidates for the top job at BP-

Mssrs. P & B Chuckle

Mssrs. S Laurel & O Hardy

Mr. B Keaton
All of whom are vastly experienced at royally cocking up almost everything they do and would be very much a like-for-like replacement for the outgoing Hayward. But of course, it's not all male candidates. Similarly qualified are:

Ms. K Woodburn

Ms. A McKenzie
Who are eminently experienced in cleaning up other people's fucking mess. Ooh burn.




And Finally....
The Answer to the puzzler in last week's 'Still Got the News...' was that they were all true. A bit of a trick question you might say, but then the media is pretty much beyond parody these days and enough of the papers already make up their stories *cough, cough* Daily Star *cough* without me adding to the mire of nonsense.

Friday 23 July 2010

Friday Pictorial the Twenty Third: Birds

People with iPhones (unlike me) will get this... as will, I hope, people without them (like me), but if you like apps and all that malarkey then this will be right up your street...


Thursday 22 July 2010

Still Got the News...

Ok, seeing as very little of blog-inspiring importance seems to be happening, we're going to play a little game. I'm going to give you a selection of headlines and synopses of news stories and you have to decided which ones you think are legit and which ones are simply imaginative fabrications from my brainbox.

'Transvestite Had Sex With Dog at English Heritage Castle'
The cross-dressing man, wearing a black dress, mounted the pet in the dry moat of the almost aptly named Pendennis Castle after it had chased him out of sight of its female owner. A spokesman for English Heritage is quoted as saying "this is a very rare incident".

'Mears Hired by Police in Moat Hunt'
News has reached us that Northumbria Police used overgrown public-schoolboy and semi-fictional, forest-dwelling 'survivalist' Ray Mears in the hunt for gunman Raoul Moat. Supposedly, Mears tracked the killer after Moat's campsite was found abandoned, all the while teaching some handy fire-starting and shelter-building tips to the officers.

'Failed Britain's Got Talent Singer Sues Simon (Cowell)'
A rejected act from Britain's Got Talent in the process for suing Simon Cowell for around £2.5 million. Emma Amelia Pearl Czikai started legal proceedings, arguing that she was humiliated and degraded by the judging panel. Cowell's rather watertight defense is believed to be "What the fuck did Czikai think was the point of the show?!"
In other BGT news, there is no resolution as yet as to whether the format will be pulled after a discrepancy regarding the Trade Description Act...



Annnnnnnd... GO!

Wednesday 21 July 2010

You've Got A Friend...

So, I was leafing through the Guardian (mostly the G2 and Sport) as usual this morning searching for something to blog about (yup, it's one of those days again) and happened across this article by the excellent Tim Dowling about renting a friend. As one might imagine, being a unsuccessful comedian and blogger doesn't pay particularly well, so the idea of renting myself out for companionship without having to perform sexual favours for a client is a rather appealing one.

Here are some of my qualities:
  • Good sense of humour - Particularly with regard to my own jokes.
  • Not so good-looking that I'll show you up, but also not so ugly that you'll be ashamed to be seen with me - Sort of fair to middlin'.
  • Vast and eclectic musical tastes - Can discuss comfortably all periods of music from Early, Baroque Classical and Romantic, to Rock, Blues, Jazz, Soul, New Wave and Indie. NO HIP HOP. (Can't stress that last one enough)
  • Experienced actor - So it'll seem like I'm enjoying your company, even if I'm really not.
  • Bad at the whole 'eating out' spiel - Coffee or pub is fine though. Don't bother with a fancy restaurant or something like that... it'll be embarrassing for all involved.
  • Accomplished guitar and piano skills - (While no extra fee is demanded for serenading, a donation is appreciated...)
  • Owner of no less than 4 pairs of shoes - Basically equipped for any situation.
  • Decidedly average at most sports - If that's your cup of tea.
  • Knowledgeable about many periods of history - Useful for broadening your horizons or simply engaging in a heated debate (preferably shouted in a public area).
  • Once gave a presentation (in German) about the proposed accession of Turkey to the EU.

So, if all that floats your boat, a very reasonable, sliding payscale according to your social status is offered. If you're interested (and, hey, why wouldn't you be... don't answer that), then contact me here.

Tuesday 20 July 2010

Changing the World...

Before Mark Watson disappeared on holiday, he left us with a challenge. To simply 'change the world'. No mean feat, I'm sure you'll agree. Now, he did make clear that it could be only little things, he wasn't expecting us to negotiate peace between Israel and Palestine, just to bring some happiness to the local community.

This world-changing happened to coincide with the weekend of the charity bike ride. I've done it for quite a few years now, but this year I took a slightly more active role in helping to facilitate the running of it, which consisted of clearing some paths of nettles (with a scythe... the manly way to do it) and volunteering to be back marker. Something which goes completely against my nature when it comes to cycling and mostly consisted of making sure no-one got lost and helping tiny kiddies up hills on their little bikes. To handicap myself, I used my new second-hand mountain bike where the top big wheel gear doesn't work and the cadence required to keep up with people on road bikes makes Lance Armstrong's look like Jan Ulrich's. (That's a cycling joke there, for you cycling fans... what do you mean none of you are?!)

A far cry from last year where my Cavendish-like sprint past several miffed looking middle-aged cyclists on the home straight is still local cycle legend to this day. 'It's not a race' They clearly thought. It was so a race... in my head (nothing wrong with a bit of impromptu bike racing... next time you're out on your bike and you see one of those office types on their bikes, race them, they'll thank you for it one day...). I didn't cry like Cavendish though, just sank into a bath and rubbed cream on my perineum. I imagine the HTC Columbia riders have someone to do that for them. Ah, how the other half lives...

As I say, this year was different, this year was about helping everyone achieve their goals, whether it be make it to the halfway point in the forest or full circle to the finish line. The ultimate goal was of course to raise as much money as possible for Children in Distress, a wonderful charity that cares for suffering children in Eastern Europe. And by all accounts, this year's ride was a roaring success on that front. At the finish line we were presented with medals (like the marathon, but without Sue Barker and Brendan Foster, stopping us every few metres), a nifty new addition for the 2010 ride.


Me with the aforementioned medal. Will update you when I have confirmation of final total raised for Children in Distress.

Monday 19 July 2010

Mr. Big...

Well, Cameron's launched the Big Society. So, how are we all? Do we all feel bigger? No, of course we don't. From what I can tell, 'Big Society' is essentially Thatcherism for the predicitive text generation, for a generation lazier and less intelligent than that of the 80s.

Just how big is this 'big society'... oh wait, it's not really all that big and it's not much of a society either. It's just an evolution of the classic Cameron "don't like how your local hospital is being run by the NHS? Take it over yourself" presumably followed by the bit we never hear but is every bit as valid: "Because we're too fucking lazy to do it ourselves, even though it's our job." It's the same as, "don't like your school being accountable to some form of government? Are you a completely underqualified, but reckon you could probably have a go because Tarquin's GCSE predictions weren't quite as good as you thought? Well, you can set up an academy."

It's been underway for less than 24 hours, but I'm already tired of it. It's political bullshit of the rankest and most indolent nature. I now have a bit of stand-up where I 'go political'. I didn't want to do it, but thanks to this excuse for a policy I'm now essentially Ben Elton. Elton, you hear me? Bloody Hell!

This day was obviously going to turn out to be ridiculous when Michael Gove (about whom I have made my feelings known on numerous occasions) went on the Today programme and had a go at the Beeb. He's presumably just bitter about them cancelling his children's TV show Pob's Programme, in which he played the titular Pob with Olivier-like aplomb. The BBC remains one of very, very few things to be proud of about this country (a list that doesn't include Gove, one might add) and already Twitter is abuzz with the #proudofthebbc hashtag.

I can't believe he's failed to understand something that was made very clear earlier this year - People like the BBC. They tried to take away 6Music and people got angry. In a war of words between Gove and the BBC, you'd be hard-pressed to find someone to side with the Education secretary a man who, and I hate to shoot a low blow like this, looks as though he has just opened the Ark of the Covenant and the wrath of God has begun to melt his face like a candle.

Viva la Revolucion!

Friday 16 July 2010

Friday Pictorial the Twenty Second: Advertising

So, what can you expect from FriPic XXII? Well, the usual really: comedy accents, satire and a wee bit of Curb Your Enthusiasm thrown in for good measure.

When Kraft took over Cadbury it was seen as a bitter blow struck by American big business. But we hadn't seen the half of it...


Thursday 15 July 2010

Get Me to Get Him to the Greek...

Last night I had the pleasure of venturing to the cinema to see the latest offering from the Judd Apatow stable 'Get Him to the Greek'. Referring to GHTTG as a 'spin-off' from Forgetting Sarah Marshall doesn't really do the film justice and despite the excellent Russell Brand reprising his role as rocker Aldous Snow from the 2008 comedy, this is very much a self-sufficient piece of which Brand is undoubtedly the star. Alongside the hirsuite comedian, is frequent Apatow colllaborator Jonah Hill as Aaron Green, a talent scout for Pinnacle Records run by Sergio Roma (Sean 'Diddy' Combs... think that's the most up to date one, who knows it might have changed to 'The Artist Formerly Known as Diddy' by the time you read this).

I should point out before we go any further that I've been an enormous fan of Brand since his 6Music days with Matt Morgan and Trevor Lock and that this review will perhaps be coloured by that.

We begin with Snow (aided by his girlfriend Jackie Q ((Rose Byrne))) preparing to release 'African Child', an ambitious (if misguided and self-indulgent) album dealing with the problems facing the African continent. For the fans of Snow's band Infant Sorrow and indeed for all and sundry, African Child proves to be the straw that broke the camel's back (or should I say, in that case, 'The Single Factor'. Right, prog fans?). Labelled 'the worst thing to happen to Africa since Apartheid' African Child effectively kills Snow's career and relationship with Jackie, sending him spiralling back into a life of drug-fuelled hedonism.

With the 10th anniversary of Snow's legendary concert at the Greek Theater in LA looming large, Green begs his boss Sergio to let him stage a concert at that same venue, jump-starting the flagging career of Snow who hasn't performed live for 3 years. Roma eventually agrees and orders Aaron to London, but not before his relationship with his live-in girlfriend Daphne, an intern on unthinkable hours, effectively falls apart over an argument about moving to Seattle. Left little time to wallow, Green hops on a plane to London in attempt to get hard-partying Snow to New York for The Today Show and ultimately to the titular Greek Theater in LA. Cue a race against time filled with sex, drugs, rock and roll and hilarity.

At heart, Get Him to the Greek is a buddy movie. Hill and Brand enjoy magnificent on-screen chemistry. I've seen reviews criticise the film for being overly referential, but I, a big fan of cheeky pop culture references it has to be said, found the script (although it would seem that large chunks of dialogue were improvised) to be strong. The film crashed through the 7 laugh test with consumate ease (admittedly I laughed more than several others in the cinema, but then that's their fault for not getting the jokes... ahem... I imagine I'm a nightmare to go to the cinema with; I laugh like a Hyena watching Jonny Sweet live) and kept on giving. Brand is magnificently willowly like a hairy Jagger and more believable as a rock star than many an actual musician. Hill gives a very solid performance, showcasing his more sensitive dynamics and proving that he can carry a film instead of being a Apatow bit-part player. But perhaps the breakout comic performance is from the Diddy man. Aided by some fantastic lines, Combs gives a truly laugh-out-loud turn as media mogul Sergio. Other ones to watch out for are Rose Byrne, who gives a wonderfully self-aware, vacuous performance as Snow's estranged partner, Colm Meaney as Snow's philandering father, Elisabeth Moss as Green's overworked girlfriend Daphne and an inspired cameo by Lars Ulrich (who is on the receiving end of one of the best lines in the film, but I shan't ruin it for you).

Speaking of Colm Meaney, Snow's relationship with his father is not dissimilar to that of Brand and his own father. A good deal of credence is lent to Aldous Snow by virtue of the fact that Brand has been there, taken that, done that and got the t-shirt. The rather humorous rockstar excesses showcased in the film are performed by a voice of experience, but by a voice that has been through it and come out the other side, which brings me on to another, rather interesting point.

Despite it being a raucous comedy, GHTTG has a rather melancholic and serious undercurrent that I find comparable to The Wrestler. Now, I imagine that one wouldn't glean such a link from the trailer or the bumph, but like Mickey Rourke's Randy 'the Ram' Robinson, Aldous Snow is a lonely, broken man who's last refuge is the simple adoration of his fans. Much like The Ram, Snow has ruined his relationships with friends, lovers and family, he's abused his own body to the extreme and has found only emptiness, but if he can't fill the void within himself and provide his own mind with satisfaction, he can at least spread joy to others. As we reached the denouement I did well up a little (because I'm pathetic like that when it comes to films) and for all the laughs (of which there are many during the course of the adventure) there is a rather beautiful ideal resting just below the surface.

For me, this is the funniest comedy of the year so far but far more than that it becomes a rather poignant tale of redemption with (and call me a sentimental old fool) a hugely satisfying resolution and is most definitely on the coveted Or So I Thought... 'Must-See' list. Blackly comic at times and featuring some hilarious comic set pieces, brilliant performances and a marvellous parody soundtrack penned by rock and Britpop luminaries including Caral Barat and Jarvis Cocker, Get Him to the Greek is certainly up there with the very best Apatow comedies. That said, even if it was just Russell Brand improvising on his own for 109 minutes I would still have loved it.

Wednesday 14 July 2010

Agents...

Right, this might be a boring one for people, however today's topic of ranting is football agents. Now, they've been around for a while, so why bring up the topic now? Well, two separate incidents in the last week have rather piqued my interest.

The arrival of agents in the game has been much maligned and I can assure that over the next 5 or so minutes (or however long it takes to read this) they're only going to get more maligned. The first incidence was that of ex-Everton player Dan Gosling. A fairly promising young midfielder and occasional full-back who stunned the club by walking out after only being offered a verbal contract and taking the case to the Premier League, who ruled that the Toffees should miss out on the £4 million compensation they would otherwise have been owed (a drop in the ocean, one might think, in this age where many premier league board rooms are suffering from a sever case of the Sheikhs... ahem... however for a club such as my beloved Everton, where our chairman still has to have a Radio 2 show and put on Blood Brothers in the West End for another year to keep the wage fund ticking over, it's rather a pain to miss out on such an amount).

Us football fans are notoriously fickle and as the story developed, the reaction went quickly from 'let's just wait and see, it's probably just the papers stirring, as usual' to 'I hope the lad never walks again...'. While it's true that the club never submitted an offer in writing, it's also true that Gosling has reneged on a 'gentleman's agreement' offering a contract worth nearly double his existing one, probably in no small part due to his agent. For me, agents have no place in the game and especially not representing players younger than perhaps even 24.

Perhaps it is too much to expect footballers to be anything more than overpaid mercenaries (latest news was that Gosling's Newcastle contract was more than triple his old Everton one) however the agent-led machinations in this case leave a sour taste, that's for sure.

Reason number 2 for agents having no place in the game, is illustrate very nicely by Michael Ballack's agent, Michael Becker, who, quoted in the latest issue of Der Spiegel, refers to the Detusche Nationalmannschaft as 'a bunch of gays'. Reason number 2 is 'because agents say really fucking stupid things.... alll the time'.

Now, manager Joachim Loew may look as though he's stepped straight from the pages of the H&M catalogue, but to assert that most of the team (I say most, he referred to one of the newer members ((not to be named obviously)) as being 'half gay') is gay simply because of their footballing performance is a link which I don't quite follow. He claimed that their more elegant and lighter style of play stemmed from the fact that they were all homosexuals and that they missed out on the final because they didn't have the aggressive edge of the teams of the 70s and 80s.

Now, this delusional nonsense is exactly the kind of thing I would have expected to see Alan Partridge report on The Day Today and yet I find it on the Guardian website. Homosexuality in is seemingly one of the last taboos in football. The point that should be made really is that Germany fielded an ethically diverse team that played an incredibly incisive and eye-catching brand of football. Whether their players are heterosexual or homosexual is neither here nor there and certainly none of the business of the public or Michael Becker and to imply that they missed out on the final simply because they didn't resort to the hatchet man and cheating tactics of both this year's finalists, only leads me to believe that football would be a better place if more teams were 'a bunch of gays' as Becker so tastelessly puts it.

Tuesday 13 July 2010

Fashion is Danger...

Right, this'll be another short one, as I'm called away to rehearse for a show as part of HADCAF (the very same festival that allowed me to chat to one of my comedy heroes Alex Horne last week). Now, this isn't the kind of show you'll be used to seeing me in. In fact, it's a fashion show, which me and my friend (the radio presenter) have somehow been coerced into presenting.

I'll come out and say it. I know sod all about fashion. I've never seen the attraction of Size Zero and I've never watched America's Next Top Model, nor do I understand why anyone would spend more than, say, £20 on a t-shirt. A stumbling block, one might imagine (but then one would be forgetting me and my friend the radio presenter's ability and indeed propensity to bullshit our way through upwards of an hour of stage time). That said, it would help if we perhaps had some basic grounding. We are yet to be informed, what exactly it is that we are supposed to do. Whether we have to just introduce things and keep people entertained or do a kind of Jason WhatshisfaceoutofoffofThisMorning and describe the 'lovely maxi dress that Suzie's wearing, made entirely of hemp' or however it works.

I would imagine all will be revealed tomorrow. I hope. Me and my friend (the radio presenter) do have form for being called in to drag disastrous shows kicking and screaming towards the right side of competency, but then a fashion show? I fear it may be a bridge too far... If anyone needs me, I'll be reading the entire archive of Ask Hadley on the Guardian website...

Feel free to post messages of advice, you'd be hard-pressed to know less about clothes than me...

Oh, and a quick 'Get Well Soon' to friend of the blog Simone.

Monday 12 July 2010

They Think It's All Over... And, Well, It Is... Definitely...

So, another World Cup final has gone by. What did we learn, kids? Well, we learnt that Howard Webb shines his head for special occasions (possibly), that octopi are psychic and will surely enslave us all over the coming months (potentially), that Mark van Bommel has to produce a gun and threaten at least 3 opposition players with it to receive a red card (probably) and that when Ivory Coast players fall over to get someone sent off it's terrible but when men with faces much too small for their heads do it (*cough* Iniesta *cough*) it's genius.

What a thoroughly disheartening spectacle. The final was poor, no two ways about it. There were a handful of clear cut chances. Arjen Robben, through on goal numerous times, must surely now be thinking that it's time to dedicate more of the training regime to dinking it over the 'keeper and less to falling over like Tom Daley with pins and needles in both legs. Not even David Villa could score this time and we rumbled through a turgid 90 minutes, with the prospect of penalties looming large. Neither team looked like breaking through. It was a team of hatchet men versus a team of divers. Both cheats, but at least one goes about it in a more distinguished way than the other. Let's face it, kicking Sergio Busquets in the testicles is much, much more impressive than falling to the ground clutching your face like a nancy.

Anyway, as it happens, cheating small-face Iniesta bore down on the box only to hit some manner of ethereal hurdle in the time-space continuum, resulting in the sending off of Everton's John Heitinga, by Rotherham's Howard Webb. Now, I'm just going to put this out there... World Cup conspiracy theories... You can do what you like with that. 6 minutes later, that same shrunken Spaniard was in the box and rifled home the winner.

It was a poor game, not England-Algeria poor, but it nonetheless made me hope for serious injury or some kind of pitch invasion just to liven things up a bit. Highlights included Nigel de Jong letting Xabi Alonso know he was there... by kicking him square in the sternum and a Spanish fan being punched in the face after attempting to put a hat on the World Cup trophy.

Friday 9 July 2010

Friday Pictorial the Twenty First: Fox

Here we are, Twenty First Pictorial Fox, you could say (if you wanted, your choice really). Here's a no doubt sensitive and insightful channel Five documentary to look out for.



Fun Fact: Stripes is only the second ever guest star in a Friday Pictorial. (Alright, so 'fun' might have been a strong word...)

Ooh, before I forget, this is a prologue to a longer sketch by me and Tommy Isaac, so hopefully you'll get to see the full feature sometime in the future.

Thursday 8 July 2010

Topical Sketch...


While thrilled by the news that human remains found in the area dating from 780,000 years ago had revised archaeological theories on the subject of prehistoric Britain, Norfolk Tourist Board were beginning to wonder if their new poster might be sending out the wrong impression...

Wednesday 7 July 2010

Hit the Flapjack and Don't You Come Back No More...

Ok, today we're going to do some baking. MAAAN baking. Flapjacks, specifically.

Things you'll need -
Butter
Condensed Milk
Golden Syrup
Caster Sugar
Porridge Oats

  1. Whack 300g of butter (you could weigh it on scales or approximate. It's essentially much more than you think, but not quite a whole slab) into a saucepan and heat it.
  2. Chuck in about 340g of Caster sugar (again you could measure it, but measuring is very much for losers) and stir -I used a plastic spoon, you can use whatever you have lying around (ruler, table leg etc.).
  3. Fetch your Golden Syrup (if you can get the fucker open, fiddly, so it is) and throw in 4 tablespoons of the stuff.
  4. Get it all over you hands and clothes.
  5. Swear profusely.
  6. Add in 200ml of Condensed Milk, if you can bear to watch it slop into your already slightly sickly mixture (especially the squeezy kind, awful consistency, awful) and take the pan off the heat.
  7. Add in 500g of porridge oats (go for the manly jumbo oat variety advertised by burly Scotsmen in kilts) and stir until all the oats are covered in your frankly disgusting-looking yellow caramel mixture.
  8. Heat up your oven to 170 degrees (if you have one that doesn't work in degrees, then I'm sorry, I can't help you, you shouldn't have got this far without checking).
  9. Pour your disgraceful, oaty slop into a high sided pan, lined with baking parchment (parchment? What is this? Harry Potter?) and pat down vigorously with a spatula (the fun bit, go nuts, son, go nuts).
  10. Shove in the oven for 15-20 minutes and grab yourself a beer, soldier. You've earned it. (Definitely don't forget about it and leave it in the oven though. Definitely don't do that)
  11. Remove from the oven and cut into 16 or so pieces.
  12. Cut self accidentally.
  13. Bleed profusely.
  14. Swear profusely.
  15. ?????????
  16. Eat.





Tuesday 6 July 2010

Bicycle Race...

Well, I think I can probably assume that none of you have been watching the Tour de France (by all means prove me wrong by leaving a comment), after all, cycling rarely gets the coverage afforded to other sports (unless it's the kind of cycling where you ride fixies in circles for many laps and Scots win gold medals). But I would suggest that there is a good deal to promote cycling as a spectator sport.

This year's Tour de France is but 3 days old and already there have been more crashes than a stock exchange full of sozzled bankers. Yesterday saw the wet conditions claim a number of high profile victims, including Christian Vande Velde (who was described brilliantly in today's Guardian as a rider so accident prone it's surprising he hasn't reverted back to stabilisers), both Schleck brothers (one of whom managed to crash and then crash into a motorbike seconds later), Lance Armstrong and Alberto Contador. In a Tour that had already seen Brit David Millar (among others) topple over a stray dog in the first stage. Interestingly enough, no the first time a dog has had its say in the standings of the General Classification, only 3 years ago Marcus Burghardt's progress was halted spectacularly by a slightly befuddled mutt wandering in front of a group of riders.

People have been pointing to the difficult stages taking place in the Low Countries, but if they thought yesterday's slightly sodden, hilly venture was bad, then they may struggle to cope with the cobbles of today's stage. There was a time when any self-respecting pro cyclist would partake in the classics including the notorious Paris-Roubaix, known affectionately as 'The Hell of the North', which might as well be held on the streets of Weatherfield. However many GC riders in this age of rolling and face clutching in sport tend to avoid it these days. It should be interesting to see how they cope today...

If you're one of those people who tune into F1 on the offchance that someone does a Kubica (or perhaps that should be a Webber now) then dip into cycling for a change.

Monday 5 July 2010

Start the Week...

Those of you who follow me on Twitter will know about my friend the radio presenter. He's very good at it and I'm very happy that he's climbed the ladder.

However, it does also remind me that I'm basically still very much at the bottom of said entertainment career ladder. Amateur comedian and blogger is a fairly low rung. Local radio DJ is definitely higher up. He gets paid to talk. I don't get paid (and sometimes pay other people) to be amusing.

The good news is however, that I now have 8 pages of material (plus a brand new poem and a brand new song) to sift through and polish down (plus add in other already written poems and songs) into a hopefully hilarious end product. Easier said than done sadly.

The other interesting news on the writing front is that the man in the picture with the equally pouty face has returned to write sketches with me. With all that and my play to be written, it's going to be a fairly busy week, but hopefully productive, so if there are some feeble topical posts on this blog this week (like this one), then that's why, folks.

Friday 2 July 2010

Friday Pictorial the Twentieth: International Men of Mystery...

Well, we've already discussed my favourite story of the week and here's a FriPic dedicated to that. Join outspoken political commentator Benn Gleck for his take on the scandal.


Thursday 1 July 2010

Get Up, Stand Up...

My sleep habits are unhealthy, that's for sure. Last night entailed me going to bed as it was actually getting light (about 3.21). (This is written on roughly 6 hours sleep, so I managed hopefully just enough to fuction properly). The night before I managed about an hour earlier (the point where the moon disappears from the view of my window.

These bouts of insomnia are filled with (and quite possibly, in no small part, down to) writing comedy material. Now what with Friday Pictorials, attempted witty tweets and various sketches/sitcom drafts/plays all kicking around, one would imagine that I might have had just about enough of comedy writing, however there's one bit of ground I'm yet to break. The big 'un, the comedy grail: Stand-up.

Now, as primarily a writer, I subscribe to the old literary adage of 'get it writ, then get it right'. I'm very much still at the 'get it writ' stage. It's basically rambling and not funny enough and the 'get it right' stage is very much a pipedream. Like all things, I imagine a good deal of it comes down to practice.

It's fair to say that I have an unusual style in the sense that my influences are incredibly wide-ranging. I've talked before about the profound influence of Cowards on my writing style and indeed Messrs Key and Basden in their own right. Add in touches of Mark Watson, Tim Minchin, Russell Brand, Dave Allen, Willie Rushton, David Mitchell, Dylan Moran and Graham Linehan and you can see the massive melting pot of genius comedians arguing in my head for precedence. This makes writing a rather inconsistent and tricky process.

Fortunately, last night a good deal of potential material was served up by the ever reliably outragous talkSPORT. While waiting for Matthew Crosby to appear in his 'presenter's friend' role, myself and Katie and Zoe from Twitter heard all manner of preposterously outlandish opinions on conspiracy theories regarding 9/11. One man actually said, and I quote, "it's only an airliner, a building like that, the damage would be 'negligible'."

Let's just ponder that point for a moment. 'Negligible'?! At best this man was a cluelessly misguided, if a little offensive, man who spends too much time on the internet. I think the basic principle when it comes to any kind of vehicle crashing into a building is that it will definitely do some damage. If that vehicle happens to be a plane, then 'negligible' is probably not one of the words one should be grasping for. 'Devastating' perhaps, but not 'negligible'. To paraphrase Inigo Montoya, I don't think that word means what you think it means...

That said, if you really want to lose faith in a large section of humanity, then it's worth a listen. Fordy certainly attempts to offer the voice of reason in the face of simply staggering unbelievable bullshit, but there's only so much one man can do. The show certainly picked up for the hour when Crosby was in attendance however, once he had left the airwaves, I followed him (by which I mean, I switched stations, instead of, say, stalking him across the Big Smoke).