This is a post office, isn't it?

Happiness is . . .

1. Finding out you've been paying too much income tax for the last 7 years and are due a substantial rebate.

2. Winning £250 on Friday's EuroMillions Lottery.

3. Having a long weekend and not having to drag my lazy arse into work tomorrow.

4. Having a great day out today with the Restless Natives on the mountain bike.

It's been a damn good week.


Unfortunately, every silver lining has a cloud, and mine was going to see the movie 'Taken'.

Liam Neeson plays 'Brian', an ex-CIA agent who has retired from the service in order to spend more time with his 17 year old daughter. Whilst on a trip to Paris with a friend, said daughter goes missing when she's 'Taken' by a band of people traffickers. Liam doesn't like this much and sets off to find her.

The film follows the traditional Hollywood action path that leads to bullets missing Liam, cars exploding after a single gunshot, and dead bodies strewn around him like confetti at a wedding.
None of this is bad news however, but as I see it there are two problems with this film.

Problem 1.
The whole of the first 40 minutes or so is given over to showing the cinema audience just how much Brian (Neeson) loves his daughter Kim (played by Maggie Grace). He talks about it, his friends talk about it, even his estranged wife, played by the godess that is Famke Janssen, talks about it, but call me stupid if you will, but he's her dad - she's his daughter, I'd have taken it as read that he loved her and would do anything for her.

Problem 2.
Maggie Grace.
If there was an Oscar for 'Over Acting In The Role Of A 17 Year Old Daughter' then she's made it her own. I was actually glad she was 'Taken', that's how annoying her giggly "daddy, daddy, daddy" character was. I know that in real life she's 25, but running around flat-footed in plimsols and screeching every 2 minutes does not a teenager make.

The rest of the film passes in a blur of bullets and broken necks carried out by a man of 56, leading to a conclusion that was never in doubt.

5/10

See Below . . .

Juxtaposition

The differences between men and women never cease to amaze me.

Have a look at these two photographs below. One is the bare minimum of equipment that I need on a Saturday morning trip to acquire a new bed*, and the other is the bare minimum that The Demon requires for the same excursion.
Compare & contrast please.
Please bear in mind that everything in the photo above bar the phone is contained INSIDE the wallet.

Also, 99% of my life is spent in jeans, t-shirt and trainers, the other 1% being in a suit or a kilt.

The Demon, on the other hand, has differing ranges of casual clothes for different social scenarios, the rules for which I don't pretend to understand.
Strangely, these clothing selections also have to take into account whether we're likely to bump into somebody we know.

Can anyone enlighten me?

*The bed shop is no more than a 10 minute walk from our house.

*Hello ma baby, hello ma honey, hello ma rag-time gal...

The Demon was off gallivanting again last night. That left me with a whole evening to myself which I decided to spend in the company of an old friend, namely the DVD of Ridley Scott's 1979 masterpiece, Alien.

There's no question in my mind that this is without doubt one of the greatest films of all time. It works SO well on SO many levels and I never tire of watching it. The Demon on the other hand thinks that it's rubbish, mostly due to it's complete lack of flowers or handbags or nice things.
It's sci-fi, it's horror, it's a thriller, it's just an an amazing piece of work, more so when you consider that it's been almost 30 years since it changed Hollywood forever.

I only ever watch the Alien trilogy of films (don't get me started on Alien Resurrection or the Alien Vs Predator shite) on my own nowadays, mostly because I don't want any interruptions and also because I'm word perfect on Alien and it's sequel, Aliens. This leads to me sitting on the couch mumbling to myself like Rain Man. The Demon finds that quite annoying.

I won't bore you with my review of the film, there are far more eloquent people who have done that, but what I will do is tell you some of the trivia surrounding the film which you may, or may not, know:

The majority of the time the Alien is on screen it's being played by seven foot tall Masai tribesman Bolaji Badejo. He attended Tai Chi classes to make his movements in the suit seem more graceful and fluid.

When Jones the cat hisses at the Alien in the scene where Brett (Harry Dean Stanton) is taken into the ceiling (my favourite scene in the film and the one that's at the top of this post), he's actually hissing at a dog that was hidden behind a screen.

The film was originally going to be called 'Star Beast'. If it had, I suspect we wouldn't be talking about it nowadays.

The blue laser lights that were used in the alien ship's egg chamber were borrowed from The Who. The band was testing out the lasers for their stage show in the soundstage next door.

The slime used on the Alien was K-Y jelly.


*There are 5 bonus points to anyone who can tell me the link between Alien and the title of this post.
(PS - This question isn't open to Andrew Glazebrook as it's like asking other people "what's 2 + 2?")

Answers on a postcard . . .

Mickey Mouse Is Evil. Official.

As anyone who's heard me rant before will know, I'm a big fan of the concept known as 'Common Sense'.
In fact, when I rise to power, it will be my mantra and the only law I'll bring in.
It works for 100% of the population 100% of the time, but let me highlight a wee chink in my sensible armour.

As some of you may be aware, there is talk of introducing aspects of Islamic law, known as Sharia law, into British constitution. I've had a car insurance quote from Salam Halal Insurance so I know what I'm talking about, but there are certain laws that just ain't going to work here in old Blighty.

Apparently mice are "agents of Satan" and should be exterminated on sight, which I'm sure came as a bit of a shock to Mickey & Minnie Mouse.
Sheikh Mohamed al-Munajid, a former Egyptian diplomat and popular TV cleric, thinks that:

"Sharia law calls for the extermination of all mice. That includes the rodents as well as the famous cartoon mouse"

No 'Disneyland Fallujah' then?

Come on, without Mickey Mouse we'd never have had the twin gifts of Britney & Justin, or the vocally gifted pop hobbit Christina Aguilera.

The world is clearly a better place for having had a six-foot make believe mouse that speaks like he's had a swift kick to the family jewels, in it.

Sing along: "M.I.C. - K.E.Y. - M.O.U.S.E.!"

Firsts: A Brief History Of Me

It's amazing what you can find whilst rummaging around in your parents attic. Some of these photographs haven't seen the light of day for at least twenty years, so lets start at the beginning.

First Memory: Meeting my sister

I was 3 and a half when my sister arrived in the world and my earliest memory in life is getting in a taxi with my father to go pick her and my mother up from the local hospital. I'd just like to add that I have no idea what my father's hair is doing in this photo.

First Girlfriend: Leanne

Her father and my father are best friends so we were forced together at an early age. We dated briefly in the 70's, for about ten minutes, but then we drifted apart. She got Lego and I got a tricycle.
We're still friends and bump into each other now and then, but thankfully photographs like this one don't get mentioned anymore.

First bath

Common practice round our way was to be bathed in the kitchen sink instead of the bath.
Nowhere near as much fun when you're fifteen.







First school photo

I was a gorgeous kid . . .




. . . for a short while!










First friend: Finnie

Finnie and I lived next door to each other and we grew up together. We played and we fought like boys do and we're still good friends. We don't see each other as much nowadays, we both headed off to do our own things in our twenties, but when we do it's just like it was back when a sheet of polythene and some soapy water was more fun than any Playstation.
He had a heart attack a few months ago which scared the shit out of me. I'll still take the piss out of him next time I see him though.

First book: 'Conrad's War' by Andrew Davies

My mother forced me to read from a very early age. It didn't matter what, she would make me read everything from The People's Friend to Oor Wullie, and on one particular occasion, the Haynes Workshop Manual for a 1976 Hillman Hunter, but this was the first novel that I ever read way back in 1978.
I must have read this book at least 10 times and it always brings a smile to my face. If you have a little boy with a novel-shaped hole in his life, then this should fit the bill nicely. Still funny, still inventive and where it all started for me.

First album: 'Crepes & Drapes' by Showaddywaddy (1979)

If you can't get up and shake your ass to 'Sea Cruise' then you're dead inside.

First gig: Bryan Adams, Glasgow SECC (1987)

Pock-faced Canadian rocker Bryan Adams was my guide into the world of live music way back in 1987. My friend, Fat Nappies, had a spare ticket, but the memory I'll always have is of the support band T'Pau and the camel's toe that their lead singer Carol Decker sported in her black satin ski pants!

First pet: Bonnie, the three legged wonder dog

Wee dog versus small car = three legged mutt. Not that it ever slowed her down, she could hold her own with some of the other dogs in the street . . . for about 30 seconds.
I had other pets before, fish mostly and a single canary that nearly killed me, but this was the first one that could fetch a ball.

Well that'll do it for now. Stay tuned for another exciting window to my soul soon . . . or not, as the case may be.

Southland Tales

I like strange. Strange is good.
The music of artists like Bjork and Bis, the writings of the late Ivor Cutler, the art of H.R. Geiger, all strange and all wonderful in their own special way. Therefore it should be no surprise that I rate the 2001 movie 'Donnie Darko' extremely highly.

This is why I was so looking forward to Saturday night.
The Demon was out larging it and staying at her friends house in Glasgow, so yours truly had the whole evening to himself to watch 'Southland Tales', writer/director Richard Kelly's first film since the afore mentioned 'Donnie Darko'.
I remember seeing the trailer for this film last year and thought it looked very interesting. It then seemed to slip off the radar, but thanks to the wonder of On-Demand TV from Virgin Media, Saturday nights entertainment was assured.
Here's wikipedia's description of the film:

"El Paso and Abilene, Texas have fallen victim to twin nuclear attacks on July 4th, 2005 – a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions which has sent America into World War III. The PATRIOT Act has extended authority to a new agency known as US-IDent, which keeps constant tabs on citizens – even to the extent of censoring the internet and using fingerprints in order to access computers and bank accounts. In order to be able to respond to a newfound fuel shortage in the wake of global warfare, the German company Treer designs a generator of inexhaustible energy which is propelled by ocean currents, called "Fluid Karma." Unbeknownst to them, the generators alter the currents and cause the Earth to slow its rotation, ripping holes in the fabric of space and time.

In Los Angeles, a city on the brink of chaos overshadowed by the growth of the underground Neo-Marxist movement, we follow the criss-crossed destinies of Boxer Santaros, an action film actor stricken with amnesia; Krysta Now, ex-porn star in the midst of creating a reality tv show; and twin brothers Roland and Ronald Taverner, whose destinies – on one evening – become intertwined with that of all mankind."

Now that sounds just my kind of thing, and when you combine that with a cast comprising Sean William Scott, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, John Lovitz, Mandy Moore, Kevin Smith, Miranda Richardson, Janeane Garofalo, and of course Justin Timberlake to name but a few, then I'm already sold.

It's now 12 hours since I finished watching this film and I still have no idea what it was about, and when I say "no idea what it was about" I don't mean that I found it difficult to follow. No, I sat staring at the TV screen like a dog that's been shown a card trick.

Don't get me wrong, there's fine acting going on, especially from 'The Rock' who is probably the best thing in the film, but I honestly have not got a clue what the fuck was going on. Sure, there's the obvious condemnation of The War On Terror and the 'Big Brother Is Watching' culture so prevalent in the US, but the story is just SO disjointed, SO vague, SO plotless, that I'm not surprised that from a $15 million dollar budget it's only managed to recoup less than $400,000 dollars in its US release. Honestly, it makes George Clooney's 'Solaris' seem like a teen comedy in comparison.

Trust me when I tell you that whoever came up with the synopsis for the film mentioned above earned every single penny of their fee, because that sure as shit ain't the film that I watched last night. I really wanted to like this film but I honestly think that even George Michael after a night on Hampstead Heath with his crack pipe would struggle with this one.

Mr Kelly, for future reference please use the key bellow:

Strange = Good

Abstract plotless shite = Bad.

2/10 (that's one point each for John Lovitz and Kevin Smith)

Rocknrolla

Guy, Guy, Guy . . . where do we go from here?

Let Mr Inchy clarify his position on Guy Ritchie's new film 'Rocknrolla'.

I liked it.

It's a good cast. Not a great one, but a good one.
It's a good story. Not a great one, but a good one.
The problem is that Guy Ritchie is painting himself into a corner. He's a bit of a one trick pony.
He does modern, slick, sexy London gangster movies very well indeed, but we've seen it all before, and it was better the first time round.
'Lock, Stock' was a ground breaking film. It was something new, something fresh, it was confident and had a swagger about the way that the plot twisted and turned before depositing you, breathless, at the knockout-punch ending.
'Rocknrolla's problem is that it's not new, it's not fresh, and it neither twists nor turns quite enough to break sweat, let alone leave you breathless, and as for the twist at the end, well, you don't exactly need Frizz-Ease to straighten out the plot.

Having said all that, it's enjoyable, in a 114 minute long music video sort of way. Just don't expect to be talking about it at work tomorrow.

6/10

Top Tottie Tuesday: September '08

This months Top Tottie is painted lady, Anne Lindfjeld.
She's Danish, she's a model/MTV presenter and she likes tattoos, as you can clearly see.

She first shot to prominence whilst modelling for the website Suicide Girls in 2004. This led to her starring in music videos, working for West Coast Choppers in the US and finally releasing her own calendar for 2008.

I think it's fair to say that taking her home to meet your mother might be a wee bit tricky.

New Moon On Monday

I'm liking this.
It's 'Impatience' by We Are Scientists.
Great video too.

I Hate My Gay Neighbour

...but let me be clear, it's not because he's gay, it's because he, his 'chick' and all his friends, are arseholes.

Picture the scene.
It's 4:13am, I've been blissfully cocooned in cloud cuckoo land for about 5 hours when a loud banging pervades my vital slumber.
"What can this be?" thinks I, before realising that it's someone banging on Siegfried & Roy's door which is approximately 7 feet from my head as I lie in bed.
It continues for another 5 minutes.
On with the slippers and out I go.

"What the fuck are you doing, it's 4 o'clock in the fucking morning?!"

says I to the blonde party chick banging on the door.

"I'm trying to wake my friend, I've phoned and he's not answering"

says the tit.

"He's not answering the phone, he's not answering the door and his car's not there. He's not fucking at home!"

I point out.
The tit contemplates this information before staggering down the path and leaving.

This is the sort of thing I've come to expect from 'them'.
Dragging furniture across their wooden floor at 3 in the morning, flooding my kitchen by leaving their taps running (twice), burning wood, cardboard and rubbish when everyone around them has their washing hanging out to dry, having a new toilet suite fitted and leaving the old shit-stained one in the communal path for 6 months, parties, parties and more parties, etc etc, on and on.

Here's some funny pictures to lift my mood.

"I Feel The Need . . ."

. . . the need for an effective car parking policy and/or a park 'n' ride system.

Ladies, a small tip. Most, if not all, men are mentally still 16 years old. Sure, we cut the grass, make you dinner and other responsibilities, but underneath it all we still get excited by planes, trains and automobiles.
It was this line of thinking that found myself and The Demon making the 90 minute journey from Falkirk to RAF Leuchars for the 2008 Scottish Air Show held there.
I'd been preparing since early morning. The waterproof trousers were in the bag, along with the camera, big lens, spare battery and the packed lunch that The Demon had prepared (well I say prepared, but it was just 2 rolls on cheese and a 2 packets of salt 'n' vinegar McCoys. She's no Nigella).
As soon as she'd put the face on, risky given the weather conditions, it was into the ebay car, sat-nav primed with the coordinates of the base, and off we headed.
Some time later we joined the queue for the car park with the sat-nav showing 15 miles to go.
An hour later we still had 13.5 miles to go when a sudden bout of common sense hit me and I turned the car 90 degrees and came home.
I'd promised Her Demoness that I'd have her home by 5 0'clock as she's going to a discotheque in Glasgow tonight with some other middle-aged ladies, so by my estimations we'd only have had about 90 minutes at the show, missing the Avro Vulcan XH588 (surely one of the most amazing and beautiful machines ever made) which was really my sole reason for going, so it seemed a bit pointless even trying. I'm quite disappointed nonetheless.

Still, it's a pretty effective way of foiling an Al Qaeda car bomb attack.

PalinWatch: Day 14

Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, Sarah Palin was interviewed on US tv last night. It's quite scary.
On increasing tensions with Russia:

"It doesn't have to lead to war and it doesn't have to lead to a Cold War, but
economic sanctions, diplomatic pressure, again, counting on our allies to help
us do that in this mission of keeping our eye on Russia and Putin."

It doesn't have to lead to war?! WTF!

On the war in Iraq:

"I believe that there is a plan for this world and that plan for this world is
for good. I believe that there is great hope and great potential for every
country to be able to live and be protected with inalienable rights that I
believe are God-given."

There's a fucking plan alright, but it had bugger all to do with this God she keeps going on about.

Here's a clip of 'Party Fears Two' by The Associates to help calm you all down.

"Ihre Papiere Bitte, Schnell!"

As anyone who has read my blog in the past will know, I'm not a big fan of the tabloid media. I think they print whatever they like, be it truthful or otherwise, they spin everything to their own agenda, not considering the ramifications of their actions, and when they do get it wrong, as they so often do, they hardly ever admit to it, so it is with some scepticism that I read a report today on the Daily Mail website.
I quote:

"Telford Town Park wardens have been ordered to stop and interrogate anyone who is not accompanied by children. The visitors who are quizzed have to explain their presence and risk being thrown out or reported to police if their answers are not satisfactory. The policy has been introduced at Telford Town Park in Shropshire. The council which manages the 420-acre area says it is a 'common sense approach' aimed at safeguarding children."

So, just to clarify, if I happened to be walking through Telford town park, whistling a jaunty tune and at one with the world, I run the risk of being a potential sex offender at the very least, or worse a paedophile, because as we all know, thanks to rags like the Daily Mail, paedophiles are EVERYWHERE!!!!

Every stranger that walks down your street is a kiddie-fiddler just casing the joint to snatch your little darling as soon as you turn your back, every wrong number that calls your house is hoping and praying that a child answers, and Gary Glitter has a home no more than an hour from you (if he were travelling by Eurofighter Typhoon).

The media are disseminating THE FEAR so well, that the vast majority of the public, who are good natured I'm sure, would think twice before helping a child in distress, I certainly would.

I remember fracturing my arm as a primary school kid. I man in a car saw me fall, and stopped to make sure I was ok. Realising I wasn't, he lifted me into his car, drove me home, then drove myself and my mother to the casualty department of the local hospital, whereupon my mother thanked him.

Would I do the same nowadays? No chance.

Welcome to Britain, 2008.

The End Of The World

Q. What does the Large Hadron Collider and Republican vice-presidential nominee Sarah Palin (pictured above with family, minus non-photogenic offspring) have in common?

A. Both are a bit scary and could spell the end for humanity.

I don't normally have anything to do with warmongering, gun-toting, anti-choice hairspray nazis, but the thought of Mrs Palin being the most powerful woman in the world scares the hell out of me.
"But why, Inchy?" I hear you cry:

1. Her answer to the gun problem in the States is not less guns, it's more guns!

2. If her daughter was brutally gang-raped, she would force her, by law if necessary, to carry any resulting pregnancy to full term.

3. Most scary of all, she's a Creationist, and therefore thinks that The Bible is a factual document and not a novel written 2000 years ago, and that God put dinosaur fossils in the ground just to test our faith.

She's 44, John McCain is 72, so there's a damn good chance she'll be the first female US President.

The Large Hadron Collider, on the other hand, well that's just a big giggle!

SWITCH IT ON!
SWITCH IT ON!

Cheater Or Champion?

Does anyone really give a shit?
These idiots do.

I actually hope he did cheat, because that might possibly make F1 interesting again, instead of the snoozefest that it currently is.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz...........!

When I was a kid, my world revolved around Formula 1. I used to sit, every Sunday, inches from the tv to watch my hero, the late James Hunt, turn into superman behind the wheel of his car, but how things have changed. I think I'd probably prefer to watch cricket*.






*This is a lie.

Kids

I don't have them and and don't have any intention of having them, but to those of you who do, I salute you.
I've just spent virtually the whole weekend with The Demon's niece and nephew, 2 and 3 respectively, and I am more exhausted, mentally and physically, than at any time that I can remember.
Play guitar, play Ben 10, play fighting, play horses, play football, play Power Rangers, draw pictures, paint faces, dance, dance more, eat food, spit food, sing, play bouncy castle, go pee pee, dance again, cry for a bit, play Star Wars, play fighting again, hide, seek, hide & seek, dance a bit more, repeat until bored, etc etc, on and on, ad infinitum.
'Knackered' is an understatement at this point, so I think it'll be a bath and an early night.

Thank God for the amber nectar that is Kronenbourg 1664 premium French lager

Too Much Free Time . . .

. . . leads to things like this.

Pretty good all the same.

Fanzone 2

This is never not funny.

Unfeeling Bastard

I try not to get too concerned with other people's musical tastes, but I really have to ask:

Who is buying anything by 'The Feeling'?

Is there a more beige band currently performing anywhere on the planet?

The thing I don't understand is that quite a few people seem to regard them as the next big thing. Something I can't really get my head around given that their music far from fills my little world right up. 

They played Glastonbury, they played T In The Park, they played the iTunes Festival, and I'm sure that they must have played others, which leads to the inescapeable conclusion that someone is booking them thinking:

"Let's book The Feeling, they're grrrreat!"

No. They are shite.

Look at them up there, with their little androgenous faces, and their metrosexual product-controlled fey hairdos. They look about as much fun as irritable bowel syndrome.

You'd never get Lemmy turning to the camera, throwing back his hair and saying:

"Because I'm fucking worth it."

Undefeated

Some days you just wake up feeling golden. The sun was shining, 'Leisure Noise' by Gay Dad was on the car's CD player (one of 1999's most underrated albums), and life was good. Little was I to know it was about to get a whole lot better!

As per usual, I stopped at the SPAR minimarket on the way to work. For those unfamiliar with the SPAR chain of stores, they only ever seem to be placed in the seedier parts of town, where the customers seem to resemble Amy Winehouse minus the voice and millions.

As I enter the store I see two old Grannies deep in conversation about someone's tumour or the price of beetroot or whatever. We'll call them Granny Fran and Granny Anna.
I'd like to point out that I generally consider old people to be like zoo animals that someone has released into civilisation in order to annoy me and get in my way, but I digress.

After selecting my tasty treats I make my way to the cash register, manned as always by young Imogen. Granny Fran is explaining how bad her gout is so I take up station behind her. Almost immediately I'm aware of someone joining the queue behind me. A sneaky glance behind shows a pair of steel-toed workboots, leading me to believe that a tradesman of some kind is there (it's called situational awareness, the RAF are big into it).

As I look back up Granny Anna is sideling up to the queue at my 10 o'clock. She turns to me and flashes me the Granny equivalent of puppy dog eyes, clearly expecting me to allow her into the queue ahead of me!

From that moment on she became my adversary. She had engaged me in silent competition, people, and it was on!

I started formulating my tactics on how to beat her, but these urban combat situations are fluid and sometimes you just have to take the initiative when fate throws you an opportunity.

Granny Fran has finished paying and as she turns round, bitching about having to pay 2p for a bag, she drops her walking stick.

Bullet time.

Here was my moment. I drop, blocking Granny Anna between myself and the cardboard Lucozade display, pick up the walking stick, then I stand up and step forward to the till, AT THE SAME TIME!

It's all over bar the singing. Imogen starts ringing up my Irn Bru, cheese Doritos and my Kellogs Nutri-Grain bar (it's like an entire breakfast in one wee bar!) and Granny Anna is looking at me like I've pissed on her favourite armchair . . . . but my story is not yet over, dear friend.

Granny Anna, knowing she's been beaten by a worthy adversary, now turns the puppy dog eyes on Bob The Builder behind me who says, and I quote:

"On ye go, hen. I'll let you in!"

Oh happy day!

With a cheery "See ya!" I about face and walk out of the store with my head held high.

Still got it.

Salvation

Thank God/Allah/Buddha/The Flying Spaghetti Monster for The Plain English Campaign.
I really don't know where we'd be without them. Their tireless work has not gone unnoticed in Casa Inchy and both myself and The Demon both feel grateful that they have managed, through hard work and determination, to get Tesco to change the wording on their express checkout tills from:

"10 items or less"
to
"Up to 10 items"

Well I'm glad that particular dog's dinner of confusion has finally been cleared up.
Here's what The Plain English Campaign had to say:

"Saying up to 10 items is easy to understand and avoids any debate, "Fewer" should be used when you are talking about items that can be counted individually, for example, "fewer than 10 apples" and "Less" is correct when quantities cannot be individually counted in that case, e.g. "I would like less water".

Have these people really got nothing better to do than wander around pointing out grammar, syntax and compositional errors in shop signs? Can you imaging living with someone like that? When did you last 'debate' whether you had more than 10 items in your basket?

"Does a pack of Yakult count as one item, or is it 6 separate ones?!"

Arseholes.