Lotus Carlton

. . . for sale on ebay!

£19,995.

that's £19,000 more than I've got in my paypal account.

Bugger!

I thought this was the coolest thing I'd ever seen in 1990, and if my EuroMillions jackpot came up, I'd still buy one.

Here's my Lotto Dream Garage (which we'll limit to only 10 vehicles):

1990 Lotus Carlton - Like Stallone, old but still cool.


1999 Yamaha YZF-R7 0W02 - Pure two-wheeled porn. I'll take mine with the full race kit please.


1993 Lancia Delta Integrale Evolution II - No other car has ever looked as good as this one, especially in white. It'd be THE car from this list if I could only have one.


2008 Land Rover Defender V8 - Modified to full 'Greenpeace Offending' specification.


1969 Chevrolet Camaro SS - Rebuilt from the ground up by the legend that is Chip Foose.


2001 Yamaha YZR500 - The exact bike in this pic, thank you very much, and a team of people to show me how to work it.


1992 Suzuki RGV250SP - This would be my restoration project. Something to pass the quiet winter months.


2008 Nicolai Nucleon TFR - It's a Nicolai. I rest my case.


2008 BMW M3 (daily driver) - It goes very sideways and chicks would dig it.


2 x 2008 KTM 250SX - Bright orange Austrian toys.

I know that technically that's 11 vehicles, but I'm in charge here, ok?!

PS - And a Nissan Micra for the girlfiend.

Feedback

Today I received the dreaded ebay email:

"Dear G*********, I have not received the item I purchased from you two weeks ago. can you tell me if you have posted it yet? Cheers."

But What it actually means is:

"Oi! Fanny Boy! Where's my fucking exhaust hanger, you thieving bastard!"

The truth is, the guy paid in cash (arsehole), and clearly wrote his address with his non-dominant hand, whilst hanging upside-down, in a bus, being driven around the inside of a north sea ferry, in a force ten gale.

With his eyes shut.

In the dark.

Drunk.

I actually guessed at some of the address and can only hope that it turns up in the next week or so.
Bugger!

"I am not mental!"

Aye, right.

I'm loving the Mills/McCartney divorce. It just keeps getting funnier and funnier. It should be God damn pay-per-view and I'd Tivo it every day.
Now I'm not a Beatles fan, never have been, never liked any of Paul's music, with the possible exception of the great 'Mull Of Kintyre' everyone loves that, but you better believe I'm rooting for him right now! Apparently Heather has been turning up at court with an entourage that includes her personal fitness guru and her hair & make-up 'technician'. Paul, on the other hand, turns up with a lawyer! That Paul, he's a madman, so he is!

"I've been pushed to the edge!"

Well you will sit in a wheelchair, Heather.
Excuse me if I find it hard to sympathise with someone who's going to get the equivalent of a Euro-Millions rollover jackpot for only 4 years work! I'd marry Paul for that myself!


. . . anyway, here's something far more interesting, and if you pay particular attention to the part where the bagpipes come in, you'll notice that all the members of the Campbeltown Pipe Band would appear to have their full compliment of legs. Enjoy.

Cheats Never Prosper . . .

. . . unless they are black, can run 60m in 6.57 seconds, and are called Dwain Chambers.

Mr Chambers would argue that he's "done the time to fit the crime, homes". This is true, he's served his 2 year ban for testing positive for the banned performance-enhancing drug THG.

He's still a cheating bastard though.

He won his first competitive event in over a year, and easily beat the 6.90 second qualifying time for the 60m sprint.

He's still a cheating bastard though.

The last time Chambers competed for Britain, at the European Championships in Gothenburg in 2006, sprinter Darren Campbell refused to join him on a lap of honour after victory in the 4 x 100m relay.
Why?

Because he's a cheating bastard.

Dwain Chambers could win a world championship title and it would change nothing. He'd just be a world champion cheating bastard.

Uncle Andy

My Uncle, who lives in Canada, has just retired.
I wish you well in your retirement, Andy, and don't get too bored. Get a Playstation, they're great fun! Please don't start building things out of wood like my dad did when he retired. One fence does not a carpenter make!

"Smile, You Son Of A Bitch!"

Roy Scheider

1932 - 2008

"You're gonna need a bigger boat!"

Class.

Life. It's shorter than you think.

Yes, that's right, life is short. As short as 12 years if you're teenage murderer Jordan Cunliffe, 15 years if you're Stephen Sorton, and 17 years if you're Adam Swellings. We met these three scumbags a few weeks ago. They are the three teenage pieces of shit that kicked a father of three to death outside his home last year, and they've just been sentenced to 'life' imprisonment.

"Great." thinks I. "30 years inside is the least that these bastards deserve."

. . . but wait.

It seems that 'life' is negotiable. Life is around about 14.666667 years for these three dregs of humanity, if you take the average, so it's possible that the victim's 18 year old daughter may have to face the first of the men who murdered her father when she's only 30 years old, and the killer will only be 28. Hardly seems fair somehow.
I used to think that a 'Life Sentence' was a minimum of 30 years, but clearly I'm wrong. Surely it can't be right that these 'men' can commit murder and yet still be out young enough for a Club 18-30 holiday!

In the words of Detective Inspector Geoff Elvey of Cheshire Police

"They will have time to reflect upon their actions."

Well well, that'll teach them! Way to go, Geoff!

Reflect?! FFS!

I don't want them to have time to reflect! I want them to be too busy being punished, beaten, and raped!

National Treasure: Book of Secrets

Dear, oh dear.

Where do I begin?

Woke up this morning with a bit of a sore head, the migraine delivery man was well on his way. One of the after effects of such a headache for me is tiredness. With this in mind, we decided to see National Treasure: Book of Secrets tonight rather than No Country For Old Men, a film with a bit more gravitas. I just wanted something to kill a couple of hours, something I really wouldn't have to concentrate on, which was quite a coincidence, as Nicholas Cage, the star of said film, didn't really have to concentrate too much either! To describe him as 'wooden' is like describing Britney Spears as 'confused'.
On the one hand it's a film desperate to be Indiana Jones, and on the other hand it's Tomb Raider, but it manages to become neither. All you're left with is America's abiding desperation to have some kind of ancient history, which is exactly what this film has now become for me. Ancient History.

5/10

P.S. - Nick, just shave it off mate, you're foolin' no one!

My ego's writing cheques my body can't cash!

Got a bit carried away today and thought that it'd take my motorbike out. It's been tucked away over winter so I thought it was a mild enough day that I wouldn't feel cold.

Wrong!

After about 20 miles I couldn't feel my hands! I was holding onto the engine just to get some heat into them, and as for my nipples?!

You could have cut glass with them!

A Punch It Chewie! Top Tip:
If you want to enjoy riding a motorbike, do it in June!

Phoenix From the Flames

So far it's cost me a week, £33.68, a second damaged unit, and some strange looks from my girlfriend, but finally, after more than 28 years lying dormant in a cold, damp, attic, the mighty BigTrak has burst into life once more!

It's SOOOOO cool!

I can't wait to start pissing the burd off with it!

Breaking News: Minor Celebrity Tosser Becomes Yankee!

"It’s a great day for America. Particularly for me. There is a new American in town.
300 million and one. This is my first week as an American citizen. I was sworn in on Friday.
By the way, I’d just like to express my gratitude to all the people of America.
You’re probably thinking “Well there goes the neighborhood.”

Not really. What I was actually thinking was "There goes one less tosser that Scotland has had to put up with."

Craig Ferguson, that well known Scottish comedian, is now an American citizen.
Great.

"Who?" I hear you ask.

Craig Ferguson was a minor comedy celebrity in Scotland during the nineties. He then buggered off to The States in pursuit of 'The American Dream' and no one here really noticed that he'd gone. Living in the US is fine, many people do it, Malcolm McDowell, The Beckhams, even the Mr Claypole of the music industry, Robbie Williams, resides there, but taking citizenship is a different kettle of fish altogether. That is saying to the world that you believe in all the things that America stands for, all the beliefs and freedoms that it's people hold dear. I can only assume that these were the kind of bizarre beliefs that young Craig had growing up in Cumbernauld.

I've no doubt that he'll love the celebrity lifestyle over there where he can bore his L.A. chums with tales of beautiful Scotland, and about how much he loves the place, yet never to return.

Can't say I'll miss him.

Have a nice day, y'all!

The NHS

I love nurses, I really do. I don't know the one in the picture or which hospital she works at, but I know that I love her all the same. They do fantastic work under lots of pressure . . . but . . . . . . . some of them are arseholes.

Now now, before you start to tie the noose, let me explain.

I spent 7 years working in the NHS, and in that time I met some truly exceptional Doctors, Nurses, and members of staff, who would go the extra mile to help someone out, but for every one like that, I reckon there's at least 3 who, much like myself, drag themselves into work and do the bare minimum needed before shuffling off home. The difference is that people don't suffer when I do it. Let me explain further.

Case 1.

In the last two weeks I've had cause to visit Stirling Royal Infirmary every single day. My father has recently been diagnosed with a yet unknown cancer and has been confined to a bed for most of that time until 3 days ago when he was allowed to go home to continue his treatment back in Falkirk.

Brrring Brrring!
Click!
Me "Hello?"

"Hello son, it's your dad. Can you run me through to the hospital to get my medicine?"

"What medicine?"

"The medicine I've to get to fix ma heid (that means 'head' in Scottish slang)."

"Why didn't they give you it when you were discharged?"

"They were busy."

"Whit?!"

"Aye son, the nurse said that they were awfy busy and didnae have time to make up my prescription. She said I could go home and just come back in for it."

It's at this point that I should point out that my elderly father doesn't drive and lives 20 miles from the Hospital.

"Aye, ok. I'll pick you up in 5 minutes.

Fast forward an hour and I've been waiting outside the hospital for 30 minutes when my dad returns minus his medicine.

"Where are your pills, Dad?"

"They can't find them."

Case 2

It's Monday morning, it's 9:15am, and I'm waiting in the que outside the Blood Donors lorry.
'PSSHT!'
9:30am. The doors hiss open and we all troop inside.
9:45am. I've registered, filled out my questionnaire, and am waiting to have a sample taken.
10:00am. Sample taken.
10:10am. We're told that the vehicle has left Glasgow without any bags to put the blood in, but they were being sent by taxi. This would take an hour.
"Bugger that!" thinks I. I'll come back tomorrow, the lorry is due to be here for another day.
"I'll come back tomorrow." says I.

It's Tuesday morning, it's 9:15am, and I'm waiting in the que outside the Blood Donors lorry.
'PSSHT!'
9:30am. The doors hiss open and a head appears "We're running a bit late and are still 'getting ready', come back in 30 minutes."
'Getting ready'???
For what? All that's in these trucks are a few beds, some needles, and some Tunnocks Tea Cakes!

The problem is that these women are all volunteers. It's just one big blood-sucking coffee morning to them.
"Oh aye, son, I used to go on holiday to St Andrews."
I don't give a shit. Stop making small talk, take my B negative, and let me get the hell out of here!

If only everyone who worked in the NHS really wanted to work in the NHS, what a wonderful world it would be, but until then it'll just plod along like the wounded animal that it is. Sadly.

Cloverfield

Went to see Cloverfield tonight, but first I'd like to mention the adverts. If you're a regular cinema goer, like myself, then you'll no doubt have see the Orange Film Board adverts featuring American actor Brennan Brown as Mr Dresden, head of the Orange Film Funding Board, and British actor Steve Furst as Elliot, his faithful assistant. The latest in the long-running Orange cinema campaign, created by the agency Mother London, I've posted below. This has been an excellent series of adverts for Orange, and has never failed to make me laugh.

Anyway, back to the much hyped Cloverfield. I thoroughly enjoyed it, which surprised me a bit given that I thought that The Blair Witch Project, which is filmed in the same 'voyeuristic' style with only a single hand-held camera, was utterly shite. It gave Cloverfied an intensity and pace that I think would have been lacking if it had been filmed conventionally, and helps to turn what is essentially a fairly straightforward 'Godzilla-attacks-New York' disaster movie into something a wee bit special. Monster movies are generally very predictable, "don't go down the dark corridor" and "it's behind you!" sort of stuff, but the extremely amateurish camera work ensures that even these old move clichés still have life left in them. Well worth a watch.

9/10

War Of The Worlds

This is scary.
The yanks have developed a "non-lethal weapon" for riot control called A.D.S. or Active Denial System. Basically it's a heat ray that sends out a beam of approximately 54 degrees centigrade from as far away as half a kilometer. A bit like a long range microwave. Now this is all well and good, but it occurs to me that if they can set the system to deliver a beam at 54 degrees, then it would probably be easy to get it to deliver a beam at 500 degrees. Scary stuff.

Why can't America be more like Canada?

Gentlemen, start your engines!

It's that time again.
Time for the MCN Fantasy Road Race 2008.
Myself and some friends have entered this for the last couple of seasons, not with the intention of winning the top prize, but of just beating each other.
It's a free night in the pub for the winner at the end of the season!

I'm going to be keeping a running total of our scores as the season goes by (see right).

The rules are simple: pick 6 riders, 2 from each of the current big bike racing series, MotoGP, World Superbikes, and British Superbikes. You have a budget of 10 million and each rider has a different cost attached to them, the better riders costing more and so on. Picking a decent team ain't easy, believe me.
Here's my squad:

MotoGP
Nicky Hayden #69 (Repsol Honda)
Jorge Lorenzo #48 (FIAT Yamaha)

World Superbikes
Ruben Xaus #111 (Sterilgarda Ducati)
Keenan Sofuoglu #54 (Hanspree Ten Kate Honda)

British Superbikes
Leon Camier (Airwaves Ducati)
Atsushi Watanabe (Rizla Suzuki)

Restless Natives

There are some things us Scots do well. Whiskey, Haggis, heart disease. And there are things we're pish at. Health care, football, and movies.
There's been the odd gem, Grayfriars Bobby, Trainspotting, Whiskey Galore, to name a few, but for me there is one film that towers above them all, 1985's Restless Natives.

The story of Will and Ronnie, two Edinburgh lads who decide to hold up tourist buses for a living, and if you ever wanted to show someone the kind of scenery we're (rightly) proud of here in Scotland, well this is the film to recommend to them.
I love it. I've always loved it. I own a tattered ex-rental copy of the film on VHS that I've had for as long as I can remember, but now have it on DVD.

It's a harmless wee film that romps all over Scotland's countryside. It pokes fun at the Scottish mentality, it boasts the finest soundtrack to any movie EVER by Big Country, and is probably the only film ever to feature the line:

"Geez that back, ya fanny!"

Genius.

If you're Scottish and don't have a wee place in your heart for this film, then you're either Alan Hansen or Lulu. In which case, you can fuck right off.

Big Trak

1979.

It was the year that Scotland voted for home rule, the first space shuttle, Columbia, was built, and Margaret Thatcher became Prime Minister.

. . . all of which was small potatoes compared to the excitement of getting Big Trak as a Christmas present that year, and here he is, 28 years later!

Now Biggie has been parked up for the best part of 25 years, so I think it's only fair that I treat him to a service and MOT before taking him for a test run.

Watch this space!

"I thought Europe was a country, y'all?"

Americans.

I rest my case.

Death Race 2000

Get the bastard, Seb!

Virgin Media

Brrring Brrring, Click!

(Cue barely understandable ethnic accent)
"Hello and welcome to Virgin Media, how can I help you?"

"Hi, I've just upgraded to a High Definition TV and would like my free HDMI cable please."

"An H...D...M...I... cable, sir?"

"Yes. I'm a High Definition TVDrive subscriber and am entitled to a free HDMI cable, as per your website."

"Just bear with me . . . . how long have you had your TV package with us, sir?"

"Nearly 5 years."

"Just bear with me . . . . and your cable has been missing?"

"No, I've just upgraded my TV to a HD one."

"Just bear with me one moment . . . . is your cable broken, sir?"

"No, I never had a cable."

"Do you have TVdrive, sir?"

"Yes!"

"Just bear with me . . . . it comes with a HDMI cable, sir."

"I know it does! When I had it installed I didn't have a HD television, therefore I didn't need an HDMI cable!"

"Did the engineer not leave you a cable, sir?"

Decision time. Do I calmly answer my Asian brother's ridiculous interrogation, or do I go for the obvious "Do you think I'd be asking for a fucking cable if he'd left me one?!" answer?

"No. . . He. . . Didn't."

"Just bear with me one moment, sir . . . . ok sir, I will have one sent out to you within 5 to 10 days. Would there be anything else, sir?"

(Learn to speak English maybe?)

"No, thank you."

"Ok sir, thank you for calling Virgin Media and have a nice day."

Cunt.

Retail Happiness . . .

. . . is a new SONY Bravia KDL32T2800 LCD Television.

"It has a contrast ratio of over 8000 to 1" says the shop salesman.

"That's pretty good then" says I.

"Oh yes" replies salesman "that Philips one there has only 4000 to 1"

"Well I think I'll be taking the SONY one then" quips I.

"You won't be disappointed, I have one of these myself" says my new friend.

. . . and on we go with the traditional electrical goods soap opera.

"Remember and try to get me to buy an extended warranty!"

How we laughed!



P.S. - Yes, that is Home And Away that's on, but at least it keeps her off the PC!

Saint David

"Saving these children's lives is a top priority for Unicef and as an ambassador I hope I can help to draw attention to this issue across the world"

Poignant.

These are the words, not of Kofi Annan, or Mother Theresa, or even Bob Geldof. They are the sombre musings of that other great humanitarian of our times, David Beckham.

But wait . . .

Exactly whose attention is he trying to get?

Is there anyone on the fucking planet that DOESN'T know that people die in Africa from things like starvation, war, disease, etc etc?

Don't get me wrong, I think it's great that he's deciding to do a bit for charity, but I also think he damn well fucking SHOULD do a bit for charity! This is a man who gets paid $1 million dollars a week. A WEEK! But spending 4 days in Sierra Leone? Nah, that's just not good enough, Dave.

Becks and his missus are worth an estimated (and probably a conservative) £112 million, so have acquired enough folding to see them through their lives, and probably through the lives of their kids, in the lifestyle to which they have become oh so accustomed.
If he really wanted to help Unicef, an organisation which is deserving of as much help as possible, he'd say "Right, I'm fucking loaded. How about from now on I donate all my wages and sponsorship earnings for the next decade?"

Overnight, he'd become a lifesaver a thousand times over, he'd possibly start a celebrity trend worth having for a change, not just rehab and handbag dogs, and he'd certainly do a lot more good than just visiting a war-torn African nation for 4 days, posing for photos with cute little orphans, and spouting rehearsed charity propaganda.

Like him or loathe him, but Bill Gates of Microsoft fame has the right fucking idea. Money. It's sad to say, but it's all about money. You have too much cash Dave, give some away you media whore.

I give a monthly donation to the charity 'Riders For Health'. It's not a lot, but it's what I can afford. They do a great job under difficult conditions. They get money, I get a clean conscience, everyone wins.

Preach to me when you're actually doing a bit, you ignorant cunt.

Totally Lentil!

The humble Lentil.

We all love this tasty little thing in our soups and stews, but whilst eating my delicious lentil & bacon soup today, I realised that I had no idea what it was and where it comes from.

Luckily I happened to stumble across Lentilfest.com (yes, really!) which has a page impressively entitled 'Letil Facts & Lore'.

Lore!

Cool!

Here we go:

The lentil is a cousin of the bean, and both are a part of the legume family. All legumes are seeds that grow within pods.

Lentils are shaped like a lens. In fact, lens is the Latin word for lentil. The size and appearance of lentils varies depending on the variety.

Lentils have been found in Egyptian tombs that date from 2400 BC. It may have been used as an aphrodisiac. They also thought that the lentil enlightened the minds of children, making them more cheerful and studious.

During World War lI, Americans were encouraged to eat lentils to help the wartime economy.

Fascinating, I'm sure you'll agree!

I've signed up for the weekly 'Lentil News' email, so expect more lentil-based trivia soon!

P.S. - Should anyone be interested, the 20th annual National Lentil Festival is on Friday & Saturday, August 22-23, 2008 in Pullman, Washington.

See you there!

Chieftan o' the puddin race

Haggis.

You either love it or loathe it. There is no middle ground.

I spent my entire life being disgusted at the very thought of Scotland's traditional dish, right up until the 12th of June 2004. I was part of the wedding party at my friend Jason's wedding to his lovely wife Jennifer, and being an usher, I was kept pretty busy all day. This meant I didn't get much chance to have food, so when I saw a waitress strolling around the reception with a platter of hors 'douvres I thought salvation had found me:

"What have you got there, little girl?" Says I.

"Just some haggis balls left" says waitress.

Fuck.

"Ok, gimme one" I reply.

5 minutes later I'd scoffed the fucking lot and my love affair with the mighty haggis began. Since then I've become a regular haggis muncher and try my hardest to follow Burns Night tradition and have haggis on or around the 25th of January every year, but it is with some concern that I have discovered that not all the nations of our world unite under the haggis banner. The US, for example, has haggis on the 'banned substances' list and has done since 1989!

You can eat a Chicken McNuggets which contain little or no chicken, but you can't eat haggis, the most organic of foodstuffs?!

Lets just go over the contents of this ambrosia:

Ingredients:
1 Set of sheep's heart, lungs and liver (cleaned)
1 sheep or lamb's stomach bag (cleaned)
3 cups finely chopped suet
1 cup medium ground oatmeal
2 medium onions, finely chopped
1 cup beef stock
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon mace (which I thought was something used to incapacitate muggers)

What's not to like?

If you're disgusted at the thought of eating this, then just consider what you're chomping into the next time you order a Whopper meal.

Food of The Gods

Ben & Jerry's?? Haagen Dasz?? Baskin Robbins??

Ha!

I laugh in the face of all these so-called luxury ice cream makers!
Not one of them has a product that can hold a candle to the mighty Mackie's Of Scotland 'Traditional Luxury Dairy Ice Cream'. It is without a doubt the best that money can buy, fresh from the farm in Aberdeen.
I actually think I could eat a whole tub in one go. All I need is the right amount of beer and the right friend to dare me.

Twang!

Ahh . . . the mighty Forth Road Bridge!

Magnificent, isn't it?

A feat of civil engineering completed in 1964 connecting North Queensferry in Fife to South Queensferry and Edinburgh. It cost £11.5 million to build, was the fourth largest suspension bridge in the world when it was completed, and is now a Catagory A listed building.

. . . and it's fucked.

Yep, it's knackered, kaput, wasted, shagged, and whatever other adjective you wish to use to describe it's deteriorating condition.
The problem is the suspension cables themselves, which are made up of approximately 11,000 strands. Strands which are now snapping at the rate of one a month!

It's looking increasingly likely that HGV's will be banned from using the bridge from as early as 2013, and that another bridge will have to be built pretty damn sharpish.

The rail bridge, on the other hand (completed in 1890), is doing just fine.

Who the fuck funds these people?

They've done it!

People said they'd never do it, but they proved them wrong!

Hungarian scientists have developed software that can translate the growls, yaps, barks, and grunts that your dog makes!

Let's just mull over this snippet of earth-shattering news:

In Hungary, there are 'scientists' who have decided that the cutting edge of research isn't hybrid embryo cloning or spintronics or even the 'Large Hadron Collider', but talking to your dog? That's the edge, God damn it!

Now apart from the fact that this software is the most useless piece of shite since 'The Sims', most dog owners are already pretty adept at knowing what their dog is trying to tell them. When my dog barks and wags it's tail, it's happy. When my dog barks and growls, it's up for a fight. When my dog yelps, it wants me to stop standing on it's paw. You're getting the picture here, right?

If they win a Nobel prize, I'm buying an airline ticket to Hungary and a gun.

The Waiting Room

I was at my Doctor's surgery today, which meant I had to spend 20 minutes in the waiting room. Now this is a great place for observing social convention, the unwritten rules by which we all live. I'll explain:

Upon entering the waiting room you will head for the first seat you see that has an empty chair either side of it. You NEVER sit down next to someone as this would mark you down as a weirdo. Only if every other seat in that God damn room is taken can you sit there without everyone else judging you. This is Rule 1.

Once the heat has died down, you are the new bloke in the room after all, you can start to casually glance around you, speculating on what conditions all the other fellow waiters are suffering from, but you must NEVER make eye contact! This is Rule 2.

You may sigh loudly, or tap your feet, or read the posters, but you must NEVER speak to anyone else in the room, even if you know them. You must do your time in silence. This is Rule 3.

There will be a woman with a child who cries a lot, and there will be an old person who has a cane or a stick of some description. There will be a strange mix of TV magazines and golf magazines, and at least 1 box of children's toys in a corner.
You will find yourself wondering if the carpet really is hard wearing, or that maybe you really should go for the 'Men's Health Check', or any other random thought that boredom induces in you.

You are now one of the group, and can scrutinise fresh waiters as they enter, daring them to take a seat next to someone.

Suddenly, the buzzer goes, the tannoy calls your name, and it's all over too soon. Until the next time.

San Quentin here we come!

I should warn you, I'm about to sound like someone's dad, but what the fuck is going on with the 'Youth' of today? I'm referring to today's conviction of three teenagers for the murder of 47 yr old Gary Newlove.
As the BBC put it:

"Garry Newlove, 47, died two days after being "kicked like a football" when he confronted a gang in Warrington in August 2007, Chester Crown Court heard."

In my day, whenever that was, if someone my parents age gave me a row, or said those terrifying words "I'm telling your dad!", I'd be shitting myself, because I knew that if that person did indeed tell auld Andra what I'd been getting up to, then I was in for a right good kicking when he got home from 'The Club'!

Young people nowadays bask in the safety net that is The Law. That being that if some young shite is trying to steal your car stereo, you catch him, and in the words of Scotland's national hero, John Smeaton, "put the boot in!" then it is you, my friend, who shall be spending time at Her Majesty's Pleasure.

I hope these murdering wee bastards get a monster prison sentence handed down to them, or at the very least raped in the showers, but experience has shown that time and time again the punishment does not feel remotely severe enough to match what is a shocking crime. I'd send the bastards to Jaggy Island!

"Round, round, like a record, baby!"

Some days you just open the paper, and everything seems good in the world.
Robbie Williams, everyone's favourite talentless prick, has announced that he is 'on strike' due to not sharing the vision of his record label's new owners.

This is a tragedy!
How is the poor lad going to put food on the table?!

Oh aye, with that £80 million pound record deal he has, that's how!

Don't be so naive. Lets do a CSI on this story:
Robbie has fell from the limelight recently, but he allegedly has a new album ready to go which he is now holding back, but maybe it's not so clear cut. I'd like to offer a different hypothesis. Robbie gets other people to write almost all of his songs. His most successful writing partner has left him. Any publicity is good publicity.

I think you can see where I'm going with this.
When it comes to Robbie Williams, the only talent he has is a gift for media manipulation.

On strike?!

It's all spin, baby!

Blasphemer!

GodTube. It's fuckin' hilarious!

Charlie Wilson's War

. . . is probably the only film I've seen Tom Hanks in that I've enjoyed. The true story of Texas Congressman "Good Time Charlie" Wilson who, in the early 1980's, conspired with a rogue CIA agent to fund the Afghan Mujahadeen in their war against the Soviet armed forces. The fact that this film is a true story made it even better and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Tom Hanks gives a typically understated performance, but Julia Roberts, who many consider to be a top flight actress, just didn't do it for me and felt out of place in her role. Philip Seymour Hoffman on the other hand, who plays Gust Avrakotos, the CIA agent, completely steals the show with a fantastic performance.

8/10.

You don't have to be gay to be a wanker . . .

. . . but the guy who lives upstairs from me is both. Not only is his old shit-stained toilet STILL lying at the back of the house, not only is his wheelie bin STILL filled with rubbish because the pillow-biter put the wrong stuff in it and the bin men refused to lift it, not only does he STILL insist on dragging furniture across his wooden floorboards at 2am, but for the 3rd day in a row now we've had 'Spirit' by Leona Lewis playing extremely loudly ALL. FUCKING. DAY!

Looks like it's time for another round of 'Gay Bar' by Electric Six.

"Just hit the dash, that'll stop the rattle"

Most of you would recognize the Grumman F-14 Tomcat as the big plane that Tom Cruise flew in 'Top Gun', but what you might not know is that only one other country bought the F-14 for it's armed forces, and that country was Iran.

Pause for irony . . .


. . . carry on.

The Nirouyeh Havaiyeh Shahanshahiye Iran, or Imperial Iranian Air Force bought 80 F-14A's and began to take delivery in 1977. This lucrative contract was worth approximately $300 million to Grumman, and helped save the entire F-14 programme from being cancelled.
Following the overthrow of the Shah in 1979, the US decided to impose an embargo upon Iran, holding back on all deliveries of parts, spares, and also the 80th and final F-14 itself.

Fast forward to 2008, and Iran is alone in continuing to use the F-14, the US having retired the aircraft in March of 2006, so this means that the Iranians have continued to keep their fleet operational from 1977 onwards with no access to parts and spares.
I can only assume that these once formidable air-superiority fighters are currently held together with copious amounts of Duct Tape, Hubba Bubba, and Pritt Stick!

You could probably take one out with an air rifle!

Jehovah! Jehovah!

This is Stephen Green. He's a Christian fundamentalist campaigner, leader of the UK's 'Christian Voice' organization, and he's fucking mental. I can say this for two reasons. One, the UK basks in the safety of the freedom of speech laws whereby I can say pretty much anything I like, and two, he's fucking mental.


This is Dr Evan Harris, he is the Liberal Democrat Member of Parliament for Oxford West and Abingdon, and has recently proposed that the UK's blasphemy laws be removed on the basis that there are many other laws that would protect groups of people and not just the Christian Church.

For example, Mr Green believes that portraying Jesus (a character in a novel written 2000 years ago) wearing a nappy is blasphemy and should result in a prison sentence or a public stoning, whereas naming a teddy bear Mohamed is fine because this Mohamed character isn't in the Bible.
In other words, Stephen Green wishes to take the UK back a couple of hundred years to the time when censorship was rife. His organization is attempting to take the BBC to court for showing 'Gerry Springer: The Musical' on the grounds that it's blasphemous, portraying Jesus, as I've said, in a nappy and sporting an erection, but surely if the Bible is true, and that Jesus was a real man, then surely he woke up one morning with a boner!

The blasphemy laws are ridiculous. There are plenty public order offences that offer pretty much the same protection to much more people.

I don't believe in God. I think anyone who does is misguided or weak-minded, but I certainly uphold your right to believe in whatever deity you want, but in no way should you be able to decide what I am allowed to read, watch, listen to, purely on the grounds that YOU may find it offensive. It's called the off button, and you're free to use it.

Nostalgia: Heroin for old people.

Today, for your viewing pleasure, I have posted what I consider to be some of the greatest tv theme tunes of all time. Enjoy.


The Professionals


Airwolf


Fraggle Rock


The Rockford Files


Pole Position


Metal Mickey


Admit it, you sang along to Fraggle Rock.

I may be The Stig, but I'm definitely not The Ari.

Every time I watch Top Gear I always think that I could do a faster lap than their so-called celebrity driver. I've been driving for over 20 years, have a thing for fast cars & bikes, and generally consider myself to be a bit of a petrolhead.

This, on the other hand, is true genius at work. The year is 1988 and Peugeot have decided to make an attempt on the Pikes Peak hillclimb record with the 800bhp 405 T16 GR, and Finnish rally driver Ari Vatanen (MEP Ari Vatanen, Chairman of Mobility for Prosperity in Europe). His subsequent record stood for 6 years.

Road Rage

. . . is something I definitely suffer from, and it's been getting noticeably worse over the last couple of years. Let me paint the picture:
Today I had the misfortune to journey into Glasgow city centre, a trip of some 25 miles or so. I didn't want to go, knowing that it was Saturday, the sales were on, and the weather was foul, but I had to go, so I'm already at Defcon 3 by the time I hit the motorway.

There are road works near Cumbernauld which slow the traffic down to just under 40mph in both lanes = Ding Dong! Defcon 2.

Then some nob in a brand new BMW X5 decides to sit in the fast lane at 55mph. At first I assume that it's because the driver in front of him is slowing, but after glimpsing ahead of him round a bend, I see that the road in front of BM Boy is empty! = Hello Defcon 1!

At this point I'm calling the driver of the Chelsea tractor every name I can think of, and I'm sure that if my mother had been in the car at the time, then she'd have started crying. Once said arsehole finally moves to the inside lane, I'm further angered to see that he's no older than 19/20, has a baseball hat on that's about 8" tall, and at least 3 sovereign rings on each hand.
By now I've convinced myself that 6 months in jail is a small price to pay for happy slapping homie all the way home.

Thankfully the comedy show on Radio2 stepped in to diffuse the situation.
I now know why millionaires all buy helicopters.

I don't want to get my hopes up . . .

. . . but things are definitely looking good for a Britney Spears total F.U.B.A.R. meltdown!

With a bit of luck it might be a case of one down, two to go!

Ok K-Fed, lawyers at the ready, boy! . . . and don't blow it this time!

Barking mad!

As I lay on my couch yesterday in my post-celebratory hangover, I found myself surfing the airwaves in a vain attempt to find a tv program that could hold on to my attention for more than 2 minutes, when I happened to find something called the E! Channel, and no its not about class 1 drugs. This channel is devoted to the phenomenon that is Celebrity. Now I've voiced my opinion and open contempt for this concept in the past, but this show had something that actually amazed me. They had a reporter inside P Diddy's New Year party, and I swear that every second female 'celebrity' strolled up the red carpet with a fucking dog either tucked under their arm or stuffed in a handbag!

What the fuck is that all about?!

I've had dogs all my life, but I'm pretty sure that the last thing that a small Shi Tzu really needs is flashguns going of in it's face, being carried everywhere by it's ribcage, and forced to listen to dance music on a bejillion watt P.A system!

This, once again, reinforces my belief that these people have way too much power and status attached to them. You know something's wrong when most school kids aspire to be simply 'famous'. Not a famous musician or actor or footballer, but just to be 'famous'.
It's possible to be incredibly famous and live a 'normal' life, many people do, but the vast majority seem to feel the need to throw common sense straight out the penthouse window and take their pooch for a pint.

Arseholes.

Hogmanay

Well 2007 has come and gone. Good, get rid of it. It's obsolete already.

I hope everyone had a good time and I'd like to wish you all the very best in the coming year.

2007 will go down as the year that . . . well, nothing particularly memorable happened, in my opinion. I can't recall a single event that sticks in my mind that would give me reason to put 2007 in the 'Outstanding' file. It just happened, that's all. Well I'm off to lie on the couch to let this hangover run it's course.

Wish me luck.