Rant of the Week: Sorry is the hardest word

So Tony Blair has uttered an apology "of sorts" then.

"The problem is I can apologise for the information that turned out to be wrong, but I can't, sincerely at least, apologise for removing Saddam," he said. "The world is a better place with Saddam in prison not in power."

But Mr Blair, no-one is asking you to apologise for removing Saddam. Even the most ardent anti-war protestor could not argue that getting rid of Saddam was A Good Thing. He was guilty of countless atrocities against his people, and if Blair and Bush had gone to war citing this reason the protests would not have been on such a massive scale. But no, we went to war because of the alleged presence of weapons of mass destruction, and his contravention of United Nations Resolution 1441.

Hang on, though, we ask. Surely if he was in breach of a resolution, that was a good reason to declare war? No, not really, because resolution 1441 was in relation to allowing weapons inspectors to view all of his stockpiles of weapons. He was in violation of this, we were told, because he was in possession of weapons of mass destruction, and was not revealing them to the weapons inspectors.

But if there were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, then surely he was not in breach of resolution 1441? So therefore, this reason for going to war is invalidated. I know that subsequently, stockpiles of "normal" weapons were found which had not been declared, which strictly speaking put Saddam in violation of 1441, but this was not the case that the US and UK were pressing. The majority of the UN were in favour of allowing the inspectors more time to finish their job. But the US and the UK were not in favour of this - we didn't have time, we were told. Saddam had weapons of mass destruction ready to be unleashed at any moment (possibly even within 45 minutes...).

So the war went ahead, and so did the protests. I was a member of the march in London. I marched because I thought we were not doing things properly. We should have followed the advice of the UN. The majority of us also thought this was a botched attempt at an invasion led by Satan's own bottom-wiper, Rumsfeld, which had given little thought to what would happen after Saddam was deposed. Well, good thing we weren't proven right in this case isn't it? oh....

But back to Tony Blair. It was a joy to hear him on the ropes in an interview with John Humphreys on Today this morning. He received the kind of grilling that has been sorely lacking from any member of the so-called opposition in this country. He was really floundering to justify his actions, but he could have got out of this situation by simply giving the people what they want. What people want is for him to come out and say "I am sorry for leading the country to war on a false basis." We wouldn't mind if he followed this up with "...but I am not sorry for removing Saddam." We just want an acknowledgement of his own error of judgement, instead of a constant attempt to justify his actions on an increasingly fragile basis. And until he admits this, then he will ensure that he goes down in history as the second-most reviled Prime Minister in history (lets face it, no-one will ever be hated as much as Thatcher, loathsome woman that she is).

You're all Mentalists

I happened to look through Guardian Unlimited's front page today. At the bottom is a list of "most frequently visited pages in the last week."

Number one is "Rabbi 'dismembered by rent boy.'"

I am worried about my fellow lefties...

Blown

Apparently, the big news in certain papers today is that the relationship between Tony Blair and Gordon Brown has totally broken down.

Yes, right. And I'm the King of some small island community which specialises in exporting pink fish and worships a minor deity.

Several newspapers are obsessed with turning the top tier of our Government into some real-life version of Eastenders:

TB: "Right, get ahhht nah. I've had enuf of yer backstabbin' ways."
GB: "Ya can't do it t'me Tony. Ya need me."
TB: "Slaaaag"
Cherie: "Leave it, Tone, 'e's not worf it!"

Strangely believable isn't it?

No, actually, it isn't at all. We are dealing here with two highly professional, highly ambitious people. They will not exactly let personal rivalry get in the way of keeping their association at the top of the tree. I'm sure they're mature enough to let personal issues take second place to business interest. Regardless of broken promises, disagreements, you cannot have a functioning Government when the relationship between the Prime Minister and the Chancellor of the Exchequer has "broken down".

Yet we continue to have a functioning Government (despite the best attempts of Lucy Ferry to "bring it down"). The fact is, Blair and Brown both know that if they let personal issues get between them, they are opening the door to the other parties, and risking losing power. Which is something neither of them want.

If there IS a rivalry between Brown and Blair, you can bet that they won't be conducting it in public. Instead there will be a lot of behind-the-scenes manouevering, something which journalists are not privy to observing. And something which, above all, will not damage the health of the party. Who do these journalists think they are, the Conservatives? "Oh, we've had a leader for a year, and we're bored of him now, let's get another one!" I think not...

So here's a message for those people from the Mail, the Express, and other downmarket rags like them. Stick to something you know. I hear Eastenders has a new producer soon...

Behold the C

Congestion charging is A Good Thing.

It has made my life considerably easier, and I think that the more of London which has it, the better. Despite Commuter Boy's repeated rantings, public transport in London is exceptionally good, and most areas are well served.

Which is why those muppets protesting about the congestion charge being brouth to Kensington and Chelsea need to be shoved up their own exhaust pipes.

Anyway, this is just a little link piece really as I discovered this while on a bit of a blog troll. Hope you agree with what she says - she's very good.

And another thing...

Phil Alexander, editor-in-chief of one of the best music magazines on the market at the moment, MOJO, was interviewed on Today this morning in relation to the fact that it's the 50th Anniversary of the first Fender Stratocaster going on sale.

However, whereas normally, every utterance from Mr Alexander is greeted with delight by me, unfortunately he proved himself to be embarrassingly wrong about something today.

He claimed that the guitar, and in particular, the Fender Strat, has been the most important muisicla instrument of all time.

This, quite clearly, is arse.

If only he'd qualified that sentence with "of the last 50 years" instead, I'd have agreed with him. But to claim the guitar has primacy over, say, the Piano, is ludicrous. Modern music was founded on the piano. And I sincerely doubt that anyone will ever compose something to rival the sheer techincal virtuosity of Bach's 48 Preludes and Fugues, or to rival the emotion contained in the works of Chopin or Debussy.

But then, I'm a touch biased. I'm a pianist.

(Quiet at the back there!)

Toy Story. On Ice.

Why?

It's a simple question. What is this bizarre obsession with recreating films on ice? It's an American import, I think, which normally excuses most things. But there're adverts for it everywhere in London!

I mean, right, ice skating is extremely entertaining to watch. It's very difficult (I've been skating three times in my life and will be happy if it's an experience which is never repeated), the people doing it are normally very easy on the eye, and there's always the possibility that someone might fall over and have a limb sliced off by another skater.

And films. They're great. Toy Story is a fantastic piece of entertainment, (though slightly inferior to A Bug's Life, I think. Nothing will ever beet Heinrich the fat caterpillar).

But ice...skating...and...films?

Who thought that one up? What vile substance was coursing through their body to make them think this would be a good idea? A comedy cowboy and a space man ice skating? The very idea makes my head want to break down. I mean, surely half the fun is watching Buzz come to terms with the fact he's not a toy. How does that translate to ice-skating? Is he going to be having this mid-toy-life crisis while performing a series of highly technical and advanced pirouettes?

No please, please, please for the love of God and my brain, please keep ice-skating and film separate.

A little message...

Thank you to those of you who posted comments after my last entry. I was feeling a bit out-of-sorts, and going through a blog-related crisis.

It made me realise however, that I'd lost sight of why I blog. I blog for entirely selfish reasons, to let me vent my anger and relieve my stress. The fact that there are people out there who enjoy reading the poisonous dribble that emerges from my brain is a very pleasant surprise.

So anyway, yes, just wanted to say thanks.

And also an apology. I've got two log entries written at home and forgot to bring them in. Well, that's not strictly true. Being the muppet that I am I copied them onto my back-up hard drive, rather than my ZIP disk, but brought the ZIP to work. Great move Dave...These entries had rather drained me of my spleen, but i promise I'll post them as soon as I remember to bring them with me.

In the meantime however...

I must apologise

Yesterday's post was a touch harsh.

Firstly, Belle de Jour didn't deserve such a kicking. She only does what everyone in a blog does and writes about her life. And at least she has a purpose. "Random Acts...", "Belle...", these blogs have a definite direction, detailing events in their work and lives which are compelling. And a damn site better than the vast majority of blogs out there, including this one.

The problem with this blog and many others is that we have no definite direction. I'm just collecting a series of rants, and in writing them down, it proves strangely cathartic. But not that compelling. No-one wonders "oh, I wonder what's happened in U-Bs life since yesterday". And the reason is that it's just not that interesting.

So come on people, how about suggestions of a running theme? Most of you who read this know me - what can I develop as the subject of my blog?

Actually, come to think of it, I haven't yet published one of my conspiracy theories...hmmm, there's an idea...

But back to Belle. I wasn't annoyed at her writing, it was more the people who have appropriated her that I objected to. It's part of my downer on London life in that it's just like being at school again. There's the "cool kids" who sneer at anyone and everyone, and that annoys me.

And then again, I was also still fuming about that git in the Lotus Elise.

Anyway, this is a fairly purposeless meander through my mind at the moment, and I have a lot of work to do. And lunch is coming to an end. So I'll leave you with a recommendation:

My Neighbours are Hoors

Highly entertaining stuff.

Rant of the Week: No-one cares.

I have read that the blogger known as "Belle de Jour" has finished blogging.

Newsflash: NO-ONE CARES!!!!!!

Well, that's not strictly true. Sad London-centric trendies / journalists care. This is the only explanation for the fact that this non-event made page 2 of the Guardian on Saturday. Below is the opening paragraph from this article:

'Her web diaries have intrigued as much as they have titillated. Journalists, literary detectives and showbusiness agents have long puzzled over the identity of Belle de Jour, the blogger who chronicled life as a London call girl. '

Now, there are many things to take issue with here.

Firstly they have not intrigued. There is no intrigue in her writing. It is functional, and it is designed for lots of sad gits to jerk off over their powerbooks too. So I guess, credit where credit is due, it has "titillated".

The next bit: Journalists and showbusiness agents may have long puzzled over her identity, but that's because they have fuck-all to do with their time. The vast majority of them are pointless wasters who should burn in the fires of Hades. I very much doubt literary detectives have given THAT much of a shit to be perfectly - they've got far more important things to worry about.

Now, apparently, on the basis of her blog, she's got a six book deal. Now is this entirely down to literary merit do we think, or is it more likely that they heard the pitch "she's a call girl..." and immediately said "quick, let's sign her!". Let's not beat around the bush - sex sells, and that's why she's making the leap to the big league.

This annoys me, for many reasons. Firstly, this kind of thing has been done before, and in far better a manner. For an example see The Sexual Life of Catherine M, by Catherine Millet (First published in French as La Vie sexuelle de Catherine M. in 2001).

Secondly, it annoys me that someone like this can "jump the queue" because of her content. I have several friends who have been struggling to get their work published and out in the open for years, and a good deal of it in my opinion is far more enjoyable than any of "Belle..."'s pretentious waffle. But they're not talking about shagging so they're not going to get a publisher.

Of course, in all the above I am conclusively disproving my opening point that no-one cares. Quite clearly, I care. Although for entirely different reasons to those envisaged. You'd expect crap like this to get onto the pages of the Sun, but page 2 of the Guardian?!!!!

I'm probably coming across as bitter and envious, as it surely is every blogger's dream that they get picked up on by a publisher, and their works would make them lots of money and famous (I would deny this charge, but I'd be lying - deep down part of me would love that).

But for me this issue, more than anything else, has served to highlight the "too cool for school, London-centric" focus of the media these days. You can imagine crowds of media-luvvy-types stood round at a highly exclusive party going "ya, ya, but who IS Belle de Jour, darling?" and thinking that because they care, surely everyone else should too. These people need to get over it. I'm sick to death of being sneered at by trendy people with their fashion mullets because I happen not to be wearing the latest t-shirt from Abercrombie and fucking Felch. These people need to fuck off and die.

And there's a special message for one of them who drives a silver Lotus Elise, who helpfully gave me the wanker sign out of his window yesterday because I wasn't speeding, but doing the speed limit. If I ever see you again, I will smash your fingers into a bloody pulp using the door of your car, then reverse it very slowly over your head.

The further adventures of Commuter Boy...

After another crappy journey today, I decided that, rather than risk the tales of commuter boy completely overwhelming anything else on this blog, I would create and entirely separate section for him.

It shall be a commuting diary, to record the trials and tribulations affecting the average London commuter. Most of it will be very dull, there may be some praise, but basically it's an excuse to have an entire blog slagging off South West Trains.

Apologies for the lack of posting yesterday, but I really didn't have that much to say. But today is another matter...

The aftermath...

So, children, what have we learned about the world this week?

Thanks to certain members of the Countryside Alliance, demonstrations have been banned from being held in front of the Houses of Parliament. Marvellous. That may seem a bit of a non-event, but when you think about it, it basically means that next time people choose to protest against, ooo, lets say, an unjustified act of war, they will not be able to make their presence felt in the vicinity of the seat of Government.

Thanks to these eight muppets, future protests have been scuppered completely. Did they think about that when they burst in and uttered their inanities at the front bench? No! You'd think that they would have planned what to say in advance, given that they were going to make major news bulletins across the country, if not the globe. But instead, what priceless bons mots did we get?

"This is unjust."

Life changing, eh? And because some inbred chinless wonder decided to do this, we can no longer protest in front of Parliament. They interviewed one of them on the Today programme this morning, and at least he had the decency to sound thoroughly ashamed (though as to his protest that they received no inside help, that's a load of arse. I've been in there - it makes a rabbit warren look like Milton Keynes.)

Actually, to anyone vaguely interested in this issue, the Today programme has been consistently good all week. Even "Thought for the Day" was good today, where the Bishop of Oxford basically said what I've just said, but with less swearing, and far greater articulacy.

Now I agree that the actions of a minority should not be taken as indicative of an entire sections belief. There were probably several thousand protesters who simply made their point peacefully. But I do take issue with the statement released by Simon Hart, that loathsome individual who I have directed so much bile towards previously. He stated:

"The Countryside Alliance does not condone the actions of this minority."

But hang on a minute. Isn't this Simon Hart speaking? Didn't he state the following on Monday:

"The government has chosen the path of prejudice and spite - the reaction it unleashes will be entirely its own responsibility."

This strikes me as a form of tacit approval for any action taken by protestors, as the blame will not lie with the Countryside Alliance, but with the Government.

So the end result of their protest is that the ban on Hunting has been approved, with the only side-effect being a ban on protests outside Parliament. Well done the CA!

If only they'd displayed some of the wit and panache of the anti-hunt protestors on that day. I read today of a group he dressed up as animals (foxes, rabbits, stags) and played a concert opposite the Houses of Parliament. The highlight of their set? A rendition of "Do you really want to hurt me?"...

AAAARRRRGGGHHH!

I'm being driven slowly mad by the noise of hovering helicopters.

ALL BLOODY DAY!!!!!!

I know I'm getting a bit "nimby-ish" here but when you're trying to knuckle down and work (stop laughing) it's not helpful to have the equivalent of a giant bee buzzing conituously in your ear. Just bugger off! BUGGER OFF I TELL YOU!!!

It's at these moments I drift away into my fantasy land and start thinking about rocket launchers...buildings...sending flaming helicopters down into the massed ranks of horse boxes below...MWA-HA-HA-HA-HA.

And what does our beloved Mr Hart say?

"The government has chosen the path of prejudice and spite - the reaction it unleashes will be entirely its own responsibility."

So that'll be the protestors getting beaten by riot police then? Great move.

What a cock that man is.

I am most pleased...

...despite the evidence to the contrary.

I have added two shiny new links to new blogs on the right hand side - Octagon and Chocolate Digestive. Both are very good friends of mine who I don't speak to nearly enough, and both have lives which are considerably more interesting than mine. Go. Read. Now. It's reading blogs like those that make me think "why do I bother" because they're so much better and more worthy.

The soldiers outside my room are being particularly mad today. They started this morning with continual calls of "Dave" which confused the hell out of me, I can tell you. I think they were trying to get the attention of another of their number, but I can't be sure. Then one of the horses started going mad and threatening to stove in my window. They seemed to think the best way to deal with this was to shout at it and call it a "wanker". Hmmm.

They've quietened down a bit now. But it's a nice little insight into what goes on behind the seemingly regimented and organised front of Horseguards.

They're also closing Whitehall today due to a planned protest. This may prevent me from going home. Strangely, the only thing that annoys me about this is that the protestors are probably the Countryside Alliance led by Simon "The Sun says I'm right"Hart. Oh for a pack of slavering hounds at my beck and call...

Rant of the Week: Stupid People (pt. II)

Two words.

Countryside Alliance.

I'm sure people would be more willing to accept their points of view, and listen to their arguments, if they didn't choose the world's greatest cretins to argue on their behalf.

Case in point: This morning, on Today, Simon Hart (head of the Countryside Alliance) was ebing interviewed. Now, given the grilling you'd normally expect on "Today" from John Humphreys you'd expect that you'd bone up on your subject, get some good examples and facts to hand.

But no.

Not Mr Hart.

What does he do?

His opening, main gambit is:

"All you have to do is look in the Sun today and see that every single person opposes the ban. And what the Sun says is usually indicative of what the population thinks."

Errrr.........NO!!!!!!!!

There are so MANY things wrong with that statement it makes my brain sore just thinking about it.

I loathe the Sun. I mean, I REALLY loathe it, in the same way that Saddam loathes Bush, and Donald Rumsfeld loathes humanity. I really REALLY hate it, and if there was ANYTHING I could do to bring it crashing to the ground, (preferably in an actual sense, burying certain people in News International with it), I would. It is an organ of hatred and perversity. It does more to damage inter-racial relationships, society relationships, and open-mindedness than any other newspaper.

But the thing is, it has to conform to company opinions, and when that company is News International, and the opinions are largely those of a certain CEO who owns most of the Western Media. I find it quite frankly incredible that a paper so against immigration is actually being prompted by the opinions of an Australian emmigrant, but then hypocrisy is quite common really in the media world.

Anyway, the thing is, the Sun no doubt received a great number of letters on the subject of hunting, but given that they take a Pro-hunting stance, they're hardly likely to:

a) cater to or be read by people who are anti-hunting, and

b) print letters that contradict their stance.

So a sample of letters in the Sun is hardly a balanced view of the opinions of society.

Secondly, of course, there's the fact that the Sun is read primarily in the South East. It has a vast readership, but if you go to, say the North West where I hail from, or the North East, you'll find very few people read it. Primarily this is because people haven't forgiven the paper for its coverage of the Miners' Strikes, or Hillsborough. But the point is that again, the Sun fails to account for a large and prominent part of society.

And for the leader of a supposedly serious part to use the Sun as a basis for his argument is unbelievable. Does he realise that people are not fooled by media bias? Does he himself not understand how the partisan press works? If the answer to either of these questions is yes, he should do the decent thing and resign. Or let himself be hunted out of his job.

I'm sure there is a reasonable case for hunting to be put. Personally I am against it, but then, I know that I'm not fully informed. I have never lived in an area of rural England where hunting is prominent, so I don't know the impact it has on local society. But as long as there are stupid, STUPID people like Mr Hart putting forward their case, the Countryside Alliance is never going to make headway, and never going to convince sceptics.

Noble Prize

Firstly, apologies for the dreadful title of this post. Comedy is not my strong point, as regular readers / long-suffering friends will know...

As I mentioned yesterday, we went to see Ross Noble last night. I first heard of him on "Just a Minute" on Radio 4 where he proceeded to ramble aimlessly, and win by a country mile. He struck me as a very funny, possibly unhinged, definitely Geordie man, so when the chance to pop along and see his latest show, "Noodlemeister" came up, I leapt at the chance.

I was a bit worried at first, as there were very few people in the audience, but luckily there seemed to be a mad rush five minutes before the start. One of the reasons I was worried was because it must be hard for a comic to play to a fairly empty audience. But the primary reason was because of my absolute mind-numbing fear of being singled out by a comic and made the butt of their jokes for the entire evening. Or being invited on stage in that resolute stalwart of the unfunny comic, audience participation.

But luckily, by the time Noble wobbled on stage, I was happily masked by a pretty large crowd. And as Noble is a funny man, he didn't rely on audience participation. I say he wobbled onto stage, but that's not the best description. I could say he glided, but that implies too much grace...stumbled, that's the word I'm looking for! And pretty much from the first moment he was off into his own fantasy world. He pinched an umbrella from an audience member and that was it - have prop will caper.

His act was utterly surreal yet grounded in mundanities - bodily waxing / doodling, and a memorable section about being abused by the Queen of the Seagulls in Liverpool - I really was crying with laughter at that point. The only slight waver was when he turned onto the subject of Guantanamo Bay. It's just a little too scary and horrific or be a subject for comedy. But other than that he reminded us that you need to keep a sense of humour about you in the world. The Guardian review mentioned above refers to the joke about his Dad, who suffers with Parkinsons Disease. His Dad found it extremely amusing, we should point out, but this idea of using humour to overcome problems sums up Noble.

And not only that, he's an excellent diplomat. At the end he took questions from the audience, and one referred to "the irritating tarts" who had done nothing but talk loudly throughout his encore (even their boyfriends turned to them and said "for the love of God shut up!) Now it looked like the audience were going to get nasty, but Noble diffused it, by turning the joke on us. Having said how he would have liked to stab said people in the head for talking, he then righteously lambasted us for applauding us while groaning at an earlier reference to a poo sculpture.

And full marks also for laying into the tosser from Essex who accused Newcastle of being "a shithole". Noble's response?

"Have you BEEN to Romford?"

Commuter Boy 3

It wasn't TOO bad today I suppose...

The 8:06 turned up at 8:20 - no explanation was given as to why it was running so late, and when it did turn up, despite having been one of the first people waiting for the train, I couldn't fit in as everyone else seemed to have positioned themselves miraculously in front of the doors.

The next train that turned up wasn't supposed to stop at Mortlake. It stopped. And sat there. For a good couple of minutes. But the doors remained resolutely shut. So "officially" it didn't stop there.

The 8:24 was a vast improvement however. More-or-less on time, it was fairly quiet (by which I mean there were a couple of empty seats). I had to ask a girl to move her feet from the opposite seat so I could sit down, which did NOT make her happy at all, and resulted in tutting and sighing until she got off in Putney (and hopefully stepped into a large pile of dog poo, which seems to be all pervading in Putney). However, by this time the train had already stopped unexpectedly between Mortlake and Barnes.

Luckily we had a driver with at least an ounce of compassion for his passengers, and he kept us fully informed.

"Apologies for the delay. There is a train ahead performing an illegal emergency shunting manoeuvre."

I could almost sense him going "WHAT is this MUPPET doing?!!!!!" But he was very calm and professional. So this made the journey quite pleasurable, despite it being delayed. But then it seemed we were deposited at Waterloo in the middle of a mini-hurricane. As I stepped out into the street in front of the station, huge swirls of detritus were blown up from the street and into our faces. A strip of toilet roll missed my face by inches and landed on someone's suit (Dear GOD, I hope it was clean). The usual stale urine smell assailed our nostrils meaning that we really couldn't breathe until the Royal Festival Hall. I swear I could see fellow commuters collapsing from voluntary asphyxiation either side of me.

But these are just silly whinges. It wasn't too bad today in the scheme of things (apart from me being half an hour later into work than normal). And I do have a fairly pleasant day in front of me. I like having a big project or two to get my teeth stuck into. And when I can lock myself away in my office to do this while listening to some good music (Chopin Sonatas this morning), you really can't complain.

It's not got much better...

...in fact it's got worse.

The muppets who masquerade as the workmen for our office succeeded in fixing up my white board today. Now bearing in mind the request to do this was submitted four weeks ago, and an estimated completion date was set for the 9th September (if they'd let me have a screwdriver I'D have done it) it wasn't going entirely to schedule anyway. But to top it all off, despite them having a spirit level, they have succeeded in attaching the board at a "jaunty" angle close to 45 degrees, scratching the surface, and breaking the fixings. Why? I was nice to them! I offered biscuits! Why?!!!

I've also succeeded in breaking one of my PCs permanently, and having two people I work with convinced that my software is the root of all evil.

I'm not too pleased with myself really either. Our office is fairly segregated. The senior people outnumber the support staff by about 5 to 1 and are extremely busy, so you don't often see them. Someone new started this week, and at lunch she came up to the normally deserted coffee area. "Hello"s were exchanged, and then I retreated into a shell and said nothing more. I thought about this for a long while afterwards. Regardless of the fact that I often clam up when our senior people are around (they scare me), this person was new, and I should have been more friendly.

I have since attempted to make amends for this by going up and apologising for being rude, and introducing myself properly. She probably thinks I'm weird and a stalker now.

Never mind, at least I'm not one of the soldiers who patrol outside my room and regularly get abused by their seniors. I thought that was the stuff of Monty Python sketches, but apparently not...

Ah well, off to see Ross Noble tonight, all being well, and he's a funny man. I shall report back on him tomorrow.

Have fun y'all.

Coffee...must have coffee...

I think my brain is broken today. So far I have managed to:

1) Spend 5 minutes trying to swipe into work before the security guard came and kindly pointed out that I needed to use my work pass to do this, not my Oyster card.

2) Been beeped by a scooter - A SCOOTER - to hurry up when crossing the road. Oh the ignominy...

3) Managed to comprehensively break my PC so that I need another.

4) Managed to burn myself on my morning cup of tea.

5) Finished all my chocolate for the day before mid-day...Nooooooooo!

I really hope this isn't going to set the tone for the rest of the week.

RE: I really don't care...

I don't want any mention of the word "hypocrite"...

I'm touching on football again because I think here are two erudite and fairly amusing contrasting views on the England squad blanking the media on Wednesday night.

Scott Murray thinks they should 'put up or shut up'.

Richard Williams offers the case for the defence here.

I'm inclined to agree with Mr Williams. Just criticism is something that any figure in the public eye should expect and should not complain about. Comparing someone to a donkey however, is taking it a touch too far - no human being should have to put up with the amount of abuse that David James has had heaped upon him recently. Yet our press seems to forget that we are dealing with human beings. Just look how Emile Heskey was treated.

So go on, lets have a quick straw poll. Who's for and who's against?

The Von Detroit Soledad Stripes

I figured, now I have a blog, I have permission to rant / rave as much as I like about gigs, concerts, performances I go to see.

Recently we've been going to a succession of concerts by bands from a fairly closed community in America. It all started when, a couple of years ago, my dear friend Andy loaned me "De Stijl", the second album by a then-unheard-of band called the White Stripes. It was pretty good, and I acquired a couple more of their records. Of course, this was about the same time they made their great break through, but before they achieved the position of "the NMEs favourite wet dream" which they occupy now. And through listening to them, and reading what they had to say, my friends and I discovered a host of similar bands: The Soledad Brothers, the Von Bondies, the Detroit Cobras, etc. They're all vaguely similar, but pretty good to listen to.

Now, we've managed to see each of these bands once in the past 6 months (we've seen the White Stripes twice - not necessarily a good thing), and one very interesting thing has come out of it. It seems the better the band, the smaller the venue. Let me explain...

We've seen the White Stripes twice, as I mentioned. The first time was at Brixton Academy. Now, I'd had my knee operated on, and was fairly immobile, so not in the best of moods for the gig. But they were OK - the acoustics didn't do them justice, and they were slightly po-faced when compared to the inspired lunacy of their support band, Whirlwind Heat (utterly dreadful, but very funny. The bassist had his instrument stolen from him mid-gig by the singer, then spent the rest of the time alternately giving the drummer a shoulder massage and kicking the singer who was writhing on the floor in ecstasy).

The second time was at the Alexandra Palace (I refuse to call it "Ally Pally" because that sounds ridiculous). It's a massive venue and they were mediocre at best. The crowd was full of Hoxton trendies (that's me being as polite as I possibly can) who shoved to the front for "Seven Nation Army" and then buggered off to the bar. Jack White though was a gimp. I swear, I thought many times I was at a Darkness concert. He was wearing skin-tight lycra and every song had a 15-minute guitar solo appended to it. Which is OK for a couple of songs, but gets thoroughly tedious by the tenth song.

So all-in-all, fairly poor.

The next biggest venue was the Astoria, where the Von Bondies played. Here they were supported by The Subways, who were pretty good, in a cut-price-Pixies kind of way. They won the Glastonbury unsigned band competition, and have been touring ever since. Of course, it didn't hurt their chances that the female bassist was wearing the shortest denim skirt since Jordan last stepped outside for a fag...Anyway, so far so good. The next band, Auf Der Maur, were not to my tastes, but lots of people enjoyed them. I maintain that no band needs three guitarists, a keyboard player AND a bassist, but Melissa Auf Der Maur was a compelling frontwoman - she was pretty chatty and engaging.

Then the Von Bondies headlined. I think the NME summed it up best when they said that "there were about 11 songs that couldn't be told apart except for DNA testing". It was a nice trick to have the female backing vocals around the Jason Stollsteimer wail, but there was very little interaction apart from a totally limp "blues-preacher-man" plea at the end "to feel the love". It was totally hackneyed and unconvincing. Coupled with the fairly middling standard of most of the material, you come away with the result "fair-to-middling".

The Soledad Brothers played Jongleurs. Small, and very sweaty, but far more suited to the rootsy blues they were doing. Again they did the "blues-preacher-man" thing, but the difference was, they kept it up from the start of the gig to the end. They chatted, they bantered, and never let the personae drop, thus making it a lot more convincing. That coupled with the mental Baritone sax playing led me to decree that this was a Good Gig.

Finally, we saw the Detroit Cobras last night in ULU. They were far more countrified than any other band we'd seen, but the lead singer was engaging, sarky, and chatty. It made the atmosphere totally different, and consequently, everyone enjoyed the gig far more. Again, another Good Gig.

I'm rushing here a bit, because I'm conscious this is a mammoth post. But basically my point in all that the smallest venue we were at was Jongleurs, and it was the best gig by far, despite the fact that not many people had heard of the band. Conversely, the biggest gig was the Alexandra Palace performance by the White Stripes, and it was limper than Kenneth Williams' left hand. But it got the most coverage, which is slightly unjust. It just goes to show, that although a lot of people may have heard about a band, it doesn't necessarily mean they'll be good live.

It's clear that you can't expect to enjoy a gig by a band on the basis of their reputation alone. Unless they're the Pixies...

Commuter Boy 2

The sheer beauty of this morning's incident on the train could not be passed up for posting, hence this sequel to "Commuter Boy".

I was waiting with the insanely huge throng of very tired, mostly miserable looking people at Mortlake station (and getting quite a few glares from the millions of be-suited clones because I was going into work in my civvies, having left my smart stuff in the office last night). The usual eight carriage train turned up....

Credit where credit is due, eight carriage trains are a very sensible idea. Some Londoners look at me strangely when I say this, but anyone who has traveled on....ooo....First North Western will appreciate the advantage of running slightly more than two carriages.

...but anyway, I digress. The carriage we're waiting in front of (yes, myself and a lot of commuters are very sad and have specific carriage strategy) was deserted, and all the doors were locked and labelled out of use. B*gger. So we frantically disperse, running up and down the platform to try and find another carriage with space. One carriage shouldn't make that much of a difference, you'd think, but in actual fact that means there's in the region of 100 people trying to cram themselves in elsewhere - roughly, an extra 14 people per carriage. And bearing in mind that it's nigh-on impossible to run from one end of the train to the other before it leaves, most people go in the surrounding two or three coaches...mmm, 30 extra people on an overcrowded train...

Consequently, a lot of our journey was spent with our noses crammed into other people's armpits (luckily I was crow-barred between two lovely, sweet smelling ladies, which I though was my due reward as normally I get stuck behind the guy with flatulence problems). About midway through the journey, this woe-begone voice comes over the PA.

"We would like to apologise to passengers in the rear of the train for the severe overcrowding.

This is due to the out-of-use carriage in the back portion of the train. We have absolutely no idea why this carriage can't be used. It was like that when we picked up the train this morning, and we can't find anyone to ask about it.

We are sorry for the inconvenience this will cause."

Priceless.

Reasons to be cheerful...

I'm conscious that, far from being a barrel of laughs, my recent posts have had all the humour and joie de vivre of a 4000 page treatise on wallpaper paste.

I'm not naturally so miserable, you know. True, I feel that the most spectacular things I've done in my life are behind me, and I dwell on every single little mistake I've ever made until they each develop the proportion of huge craters in the path of my life. But the fact is, I'm (relatively) healthy, I've got reasonably secure employment in a job that is interesting and provides me with the opportunity to learn, write my blog etc. I've got some of the greatest friends anyone could ever wish for in life, and I've got a girlfriend who suits me better than anyone I could ever have dreamed of, and who consistenty surises me with the amount of love and support she gives me.

I actually started this blog partly as a form of relief for her, as by ranting into empty space it relieves my stress, and means I'm not beinding her ear with all the things that annoy me today. It's strangely cathartic and I enjoy it. I don't know if anyone reads it at all, and I'll be thoroughly embarrassed if they do, but hey...it's fun.

Partly I feel I need to put my comments into perspective every time I read one of Tom Reynolds' entries on his blog. Here is a man who has more than enough reason to complain about existence, but he rarely does so without a good natured literary wink and a smile. And scrolling throuhg the blogs I realise that quite a few people do what I try to do, but far better than I do, (check out Justin Horton - very good, very witty, and far more thoughtful than i could hope to be).

But anyway, I'm waffling. At lunch, I was trawling through a random section of blogs and came across the blog of one Hector Padilla. It seemed pretty good, and then I came across quite possibly the best quote I have ever seen. It's from someone called Tucker Max, but I think it sums up life quite wonderfully.

Enjoy, and speak soon.

'Sometimes it takes a dominatrix in your living room to make you sit up and think "what the hell am I doing with my life?"'

Rant of the Week: I really don't care...

My feeble attempts to not care any more about football are...well...feeble, to be honest.

I can't help it, it just assails my senses like perfume saleswomen on the first floor of John Lewis (not that I ever go near the perfume counter. Oh no, not me).

It's just that when you know a little about it, people ask you what you think, and it's very hard to state "I don't care" when in certain matters, I do.

I succeeded in missing the England game on Saturday, having about one million and one better things to do with my time (paying a visit to my oft-neglected friends in Lancaster just one of them). But honestly, you would think that it was the end of the world. Seeing all the papers on Sunday I thought "wow, we must have been thumped 4-0". Then upon checking the paper, I discover that actually, all we had was a 2-2 draw.

Yet this result has been appropriated by some of our wonderful organs of news dissemination as a clear indication of the decline and fall of Eriksson's England. This has, of course, nothing to do with the fact that said same reporters have loathed Eriksson from day one because he is - shock, horror - Not English (Newsflash for these little gibbons - a large proportion of the world is Not English, I'm afraid. Therefore I'd advise you to lock yourselves away in your little hovels and avoid any contact with the outside world. Except to buy a noose with which to end your pitifully bitter and sad lives.).

I thought that the press had a particularly appalling approach to the world that day, actually, when you consider what had gone on in Russia. Alan Green (normally good value just for being more bitter, twisted and angry than I am) was deeply offensive in the grand scheme of things, talking about "disasters" and the suchlike. I won't detail things unnecessarily, but instead direct those of you with a little time to Martin Kelner's "Screen Break" column in the Guardian on Monday - he puts it far better than I could.

The point is, as I may have mentioned before, football is ONLY A GAME. It's not "Our National Game" as a large portion of the national press like to think. For one thing, there are many others which could lay claim to that title, and I for one would choose Cricket. If England lose tonight, so what? No-one will die because of it (unless our exemplary fans conduct themselves in their usual manner again), and it's barely even likely to affect our chances of qualifying. Yet the press have decided, having destroyed Emile Heskey's career, they now want both David James and Sven Goran Eriksson to be destroyed too. I think really, we should sack Eriksson and let the newspapers pick and coach the team. That'd solve a lot of headaches.

Anyway, sorry to go on about football again, but it's bugging me. I'll really try to ignore it, honestly. Well, at least until tomorrow...

Commuter Boy

AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That just about sums up my recent experience of England's FANTASTIC train system. £40 to travel on the rail equivalent of a push bike. If said push bike was slower. And colder. And full of annoying, vaguely psychopathic people. I would DEARLY love to be locked in a room with a selection of weaponry and the CEOs of both Virgin and South West Trains tied to a chair. Whimpering. Begging for mercy. And I would give them NONE!

Actually, what I'd really like is to confine them to an eternity of travelling standard class on their railway trains. Laugh as the baby vomits over them. Sneer as the announcement "we're extremely sorry for the severe delay to this service" comes over the PA while the scary drunk sharpens his knife and leers ominously at them.

Let me explain.

On Wednesday evening I had to travel to Cumbria (via an overnight stay in Preston) for a wedding (which was highly enjoyable). This neccessitates a trip on the infamous West Coast Main Line. Now I'm used to the legendary crapness of this service, hailing as I do from Blackpool, but working in London. However, on Wednesday, they surpassed themselves. First of all, I was allowed to book a train in advance from Euston, for the princely sum of £37 (apparently, despite booking three weeks in advance, the cheap tickets had all gone. I have been booking on these trains for four years and NEVER managed to get a cheap ticket, despite booking on occasion three months in advance). Anyway, they failed to tell me that Euston station was closed to long distance traffic. The nice people on National Rail Enquiries informed me of this after I rang the night before to make sure there was no delay. So I then found out that, instead of going direct from Euston, I would have to get a train from Marylebone to Banbury, chenge at Banbury, get a train to Stafford, change at Stafford, and then get a follow on to Preston. This journey takes about 5 hours, as opposed to the three it should have taken from Euston.

But with good grace, I made it to Marylebone, where I caught a hideously overcrowded local service (no replacement services laid on by Virgin, you note). The train left on time...and consequently broke down after 15 minutes. They kept us nicely informed, but this didn't help as the minutes ticked on. Eventually they fixed the fault on the train, and I arrived in Banbury 50 minutes late, having missed my connection.

So next I hopped on the next northbound train, which happened to be for Manchester. Now, Manchester is much easier to travel home from, (which begs the question why National Rail Enquiries didn't tell me about this). And it would have been easier, had the train not stopped for no reason. Several times. With no explanation. We saw the guard once, at which point he informed me "well, you can go to Manchester if you want, mate, but most of it's closed off due to a bike race" (at 8:30 in the evening?!!!!!!!!!). Anyway, by this point I'd arranged a lift from my dear sister from Manchester to Preston. And I would have loved to have told her we were running late, had we known. But instead, the first indication we were very late came when we went through Crewe 5 minutes before we were due to arrive in Manchester (note for Americans and other aliens - Crewe is NOT 5 minutes away from Manchester).

Upon arrival at Manchester, and having verified that the next train to Preston didn't get there until 20 past midnight, we left to discover that, contrary to what we were told, Manchester was very quiet, and not a single road was closed off due to a Bike Race, or anything. We eventually arrived at Preston at 11:30, six-and-a-half hours after we set off, but still 50 minutes quicker than if we'd stayed on the train.

Now normally, you would expect money back from a journey which should have taken three hours, but took nearer to seven. But Virgin Trains being Virgin Trains, I'll probably get a derisory 25% back (as has happened in the past - they always find a reason to wave their obligations to fee-paying passengers which are laid out in the Passenger's Charter). This time, I'm not going to take it though. I'm going to scweam and scweam until my head falls off...

Needless to say, for the return journey (Euston still being closed), I opted to drive back. More stressful, but reliable, on-time, and it only stops when you want it to.

And South West Trains? Well, I commute every day on them into Waterloo. There is what I have described as a black hole outside Waterloo, where trains get swallowed up (usually due to the fact that "we're waiting for a platform to become available" - for GOD'S SAKE, surely the same number of trains arrives every day - can they not do anything about this?!!!!!!). However, today this really took the p*ss. 20 minutes sat outside Waterloo station doing NOTHING! We could have walked there in that time. I know 20 minutes is nothing compared to say, ooo, 3 and a half hours, but proportionally, it's only a little less (for Maths Bods among you, the journey should take 25 minutes maximum).

So this is why I hate trains. And the thing is, it'll never get better unless the Passengers all go on strike. There really should be a general passenger strike on offending train companies - see how their CEOs like the fall in profits. i'm sure there are other ways we could get into work. Or perhaps everyone should take co-ordinated annual leave. But that's never going to happen. However, something needs to be done to show these fat little rich men that enough is enough, we will not take their cr*p any more.

Personally, I blame Thatcher (whenever anything is bad I always blame Satan's daughter).