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.

Glentress Black Route

Myself and the rest of the middle aged teenagers did the Black Route at Glentress today, a trail that's almost universally acclaimed as the best in the UK. Well, anyone who thinks so is universally wrong. It's shite. Yes it's demanding, yes it's very technical, and yes, at 29 kilometres and with an overall ascent of 870 metres, it's very long, but one thing it certainly is not is fun. Climb after climb after climb, and I'm thinking "there's gonna be some serious descents coming up" but nay! Another climb and yet more pain!

Glentress overall is a fantastic place, with well thought out trails, friendly knowledgeable staff, and all completely free (almost, apart from £2 for the car park), but today was just a case of 'I've started, so I'll finish'

Trust me, do the Red Route . . . twice.

I Am Legend

Just been to see the new Will Smith flick 'I Am Legend' and it's quite good. Not earth-shatteringly good, or career-definingly good, or even buy-it-on-DVD good, but just good old fashioned good.
Big Willie carries the film well and manages to pull off a typically strong performance as Colonel Robert Neville with not a wise crack or a USA!USA! in sight, and his portrayal of a man suffering from extreme loneliness and isolation is way above his usual slapstick and cool-comedy fare, but as it's a remake, comparisons to 'The Omega Man' are inevitable, and I think the old Charlton Heston number has a slightly better ending. Nevertheless 'I Am Legend' proves that there's a fair bit of versatility left in The Fresh Prince.

The dog, on the other hand, gave an outstanding performance worthy of an Oscar!

7.5/10

I love the smell of Napalm in the morning!

Santa's been, and this year he was on the ball! I have my very own helicopter. It's only 17cm long and weighs 10 grams, but I'm already in love with my PicooZ Micro Chopper! 20 minutes of charging time and then it's up, up, and away! It's especially useful for frightening dogs, knocking over ornaments, and generally pissing girlfriends off!
The second it's airborne, I become Stringfellow Hawk and start to hear the theme tune to Airwolf!

I wish it had machine guns.


P.S. - This isn't my kitchen below.

Old Age

As most of you know, I'm a keen mountain biker, amongst other things, and due to an iffy landing at the Spooky Wood section of the Glentress 'Red Route' a couple of weeks ago, I've been a regular at my local chiropractor to get the pain in my back looked at.

"When are you next out on the bike?" he says,

"I think we're planning for this coming Sunday" says I, "providing we all feel up to it."

"You should be ok" replies the spine guru "just remember your back's not as young as it used to be!"

Talk about a kick in the bollocks!
I've just been told that I'm getting old.

I could cry.

2Girls1Cup

If you want to know what he's watching, then search for 2 girls 1 cup on Google, but trust me on this, you DO NOT want to see it!

You have been warned!

Merry Fucking Christmas.

I love surprises, so you can imagine how delighted I was to discover that overnight some wankfuck, inbred, mongo, fucktard, pig-vomit, urinary-tract infection, ballsack, had decided to remove the wing mirror from my car and leave it strewn about the road 20 feet or so in front of my car. Luckily I had the foresight to tuck away £250 - £300 that I was intending to give to the wee brown babies of Burkina Faso so that they may enjoy something other than cardboard for their Christmas lunch, but sadly that cash will now have to cover the cost of a new wing mirror. £151 + VAT + painting + fitting.

In the spirit of Christmas, I wish I could give the prick who's inability to drive a car has led to this event a present. I'd like to give them bowel cancer.