I Hate People

. . . especially the people who work in the marketing department of Busters Motorcycle Accesories.
I bought something from them about 4 years ago and since then I have received enough unsolicited mail from them, electronic or otherwise, that would fill a bin bag, virtual or real.

I have clicked on the "unsubscribe" button more times than I can remember.
I have left scathing remarks in the "please tell us why you wish to unsubscribe" box.
I have emailed them directly.
I have even phoned them, begging, pleading not to be sent any more junk from them.

The postman has just been at my door, dropping of his usual pile of bills and, lo and behold, the latest Busters Motorcycle Accesories catalogue.

I now see that I have no alternative but to make the long journey to Swansea in Wales and do a Michael Douglas 'Falling Down' reenactment


PS - It's almost the season "to be jolly", and nothing makes me jollier than other people's misfortune, so join with me in enjoying the aquatic antics of those crazy Ukranian ice swimmers.
(It's funnier with the volume turned up.)

Heroes (No, not the tv show)

Fit looking South African thespian tottie Charlize Theron is to become a United Nations "messenger for peace".

Great.

I can't think of anything more worthy than yet another celebrity, most famous for being pretty, travelling the planet telling people "hey, can't we all just get along?"

According to Yahoo news "In her new role she will join the nine other UN messengers of peace: Israeli conductor Daniel Barenboim, American actors George Clooney and Michael Douglas, Nobel Peace Prize winner for literature Elie Wiesel, Chinese-American cellist Yo-Yo Ma, British primatologist Jane Goodall, Princess Haya Bint Al Hussein of Jordan, Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho and Japanese violinist Midori Goto."

Now I'm sure that like me, you're all accutely aware of the vital work that these personalities have done in . . . erm . . . the important issues that they've . . . er . . . highlighted on . . . eh . . . on the . . .

Well I can't remember all the details, but I'm SURE that they've all been working really, really hard on whatever it is that Ban Ki-Moon says it is that they do.
For example, as soon a someone mentions the name "George Clooney" I immediately think 'humanitarian', and if I see a photo of Michael Douglas I don't think of him banging Glenn Close, oh no, I think of all the charitable pro-am golf tournaments that he and his wife Cathy ZayJay play in solely to raise awareness of . . . . . stuff.

*These poeple aren't celebrities, they're Saints.




*This is called sarcasm. Use it.

Under House Arrest

I am currently unwell.
I have a chest and nasal infection and feel thoroughly miserable. I've been coughing my lungs out for the last two days and my nose is running like a leaky tap, it just won't stop.
I decided yesterday that I wouldn't be going in to work today, I really don't feel up to it and don't fancy passing on my misery to my colleagues, therefore I've had the pleasure of daytime television keeping me company today.

This is not a good thing.

I'm not really sure who daytime tv is aimed at, women probably. It's universally terrible, no matter what channel you happen to be on. Be it Phillip and Fern on 'This Morning' or the living hell that is 'The Paul O'Grady Show', it's all complete shite.
Thankfully, Virgin Media and Sky TV are good friends again so Sky News has saved the day.

Nothing like universal doom and gloom to make you feel better.

Top Tottie Tuesday: Nov '08

This months unattainable tantric yoga partner is the lovely Jessica Biel.

I've mentioned my "appreciation" for Miss Biel before, just over a year ago in fact, but she's definitely worth a second look.
A model, a singer, an actress and a woman that looks just as good leaving the gym with no make up and sweaty armpits as she is strolling down the red carpet for a Hollywood première. Is there no end to her talents?

She's been in a good few movies by now and, in my opinion, she's given a good account of herself, but she has also been in two of the worst films of all time, 'Blade:Trinity' in 2004 and 'Stealth' in 2005, stinkers both of the highest order.
She's currently hated by women the world over for being the personal 'squeeze' of Justin Timberlake, but that just shows me that underneath all the manufactured personna he actually has good taste.

Well done young man, I salute you and despise you in equal measure.

Moore's Law

Purely by accident, tonight I caught the Michael Moore documentary 'Sicko'.
If you haven't seen it, it's been out now for just over a year, it's about the American healthcare system and predominantly the HMO companies that have the power, quite literally, of life and death over the citizens of the good ol' US of A.

I know Michael Moore has his critics, and only a fool would believe that his stunts aren't scripted or staged, but you can't argue with the powerful message that he gets across.

He spends time here in the UK to take a look at the NHS and marvels at the concept of free heathcare for all.
Now I spent 7 years working within the NHS and I always considered it to be like an old decrepit dog, lurching from one cash crisis to the next, waiting for someone to put it down, but after watching Mr Moore's Docu-movie, I have to admit, right now I'm feeling the love for the National Health Service.

I, touch wood, don't have much need for it myself, but my father is currently being treated for cancer and I dread to think how much the radiotherapy and chemotherapy that he's receiving would cost across the pond.

I suddenly feel lucky.

Jimmy B.

Well I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Much has been written about the latest instalment of the James Bond franchise, Quantum Of Solace, and a lot of it has been negative, so last night The Demon and I decided to see for ourselves.
I felt that the director wanted the plot to be slightly ambiguous right from the start, leaving you wondering for a good portion of the film where Bond's loyalties really lay. None of this really matters though, as at it's core it's just a good old fashioned thriller.
What it definitely isn't is a James Bond film, not in the traditional sense anyway, although this probably says more about my age and less about the film.
Bond films, like the Carry On films, were stand alone works that didn't rely on the audience having seen the previous film to follow the plot. They featured aristocratic and extrovert villains who almost always intended to take over/destroy the world, they featured gadgetry that, to my mind at least, always seemed pointless, let alone far fetched or futuristic and they always had a dastardly plan that could only ever be thwarted by an undercover spy who everyone knew and whose sole talent seemed to be his ability to get his end away with almost any woman he met.

Fantastic stuff.

Quantum Of Solace on the other hand, like Casino Royale before it, brings Bond bang up to date. The days of fat Chinese butlers with hats that could take your head off, tall men with metal teeth and guns made of precious metal are long gone, as they should be, this is Bond 2.0 after all, but I can't help mourning the loss of the comedy.
James Bond films always had moments that played for laughs, never delivered better than by Roger Moore, but NeoBond has none of this.
Daniel Craig himself is perfect as the agent for the 21st century and certainly does his bit to take Ian Fleming's character to places that no Bond has been before, having a conscience being one, but I can't help feeling sorry for any actress who plays a bond girl, they are instantly forgettable and totally disposable. When the improbably named Strawberry Fields, played by Gemma Arterton, bites the dust, I found myself struggling to remember what she looked like.
The rest of the film has its faults of course. It's quite short at only 106 minutes and product placement by the Ford Group is absolutely rife, but as I said right at the start, I enjoyed Quantum Of Solace, helped in no small measure by watching Casino Royale on Friday afternoon before heading off to the cinema, but lets be clear . . .

Bond is dead.
Long live Bond.

Hair

As you can see, I don't have much of it.
In fact, I often consider taking an open bladed razor and getting rid of what's left of it, but The Demon has told me that a separation will swiftly follow. Apparently another tattoo would illicit the same response also.

I digress.
I always had thin hair and started to go bald in my late teens, but once I reached my late twenties the progression of my forehead seemed to stop and I've been the same level of "baldiness" since then, I just cut it shorter now.

It used to be such a big deal, the one thing I hated about myself, that I'd change if I could, but one morning I woke up and realised that I'd been a bit of a tit.
My friends weren't my friends because of my hair, the girls I'd shared 'moments' with didn't warp my fragile little mind because I had a cool hairstyle covering it, no one cared except me, so I immediately bought a set of clippers, stuck the shortest guage on the end of them, and shaved the whole lot off.
The relief was immeasurable.
The only thing worse than going bald is pretending you're not.

Nowadays I love having my hair as short as possible, it's just SO convenient and easy to live with. I wake up in the morning and hay presto, I'm ready to go. No faffing about with product.
A quick once over once a week and the job's done.

But...

In the last two or three years my body has exploded in a hair growing frenzy the likes of which I haven't seen since my plums dropped way back when Bon Jovi were still 'Livin' On A Prayer'.

My ears, the back of my hands, my nostrils, one eyebrow, the mole on the back of my neck, and especially my fucking big toes, all have hairs sprouting from them like something from An American Werewolf In London.
I'm not sure what forces of nature I'm supposed to confront in my late thirties that would necessitate such follicle over production, but it's good to know I'm covered should the event take place. My big toes alone look like Nigel Mansell's eybrows have somehow been grafted onto them.

Damn you pituitary gland, get your house in order!

Cheerio

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye . . .

Infected With A Poison

Just when you thought it was safe to go into your email . . .

Steve has "kindly" tagged me again for yet another of the memes that are doing the rounds at the moment, although this one is relatively simple.

Name your most embarrassing record/cd/track ever.

Easy.
I ripped all my cd's into iTunes many years ago and it conveniently has a play counter so you can see how many times you've listened to any one track. All I'll say is that the one that I'm cringing over has had 317 moments of glory.

Is it 'What is love' by Haddaway?
No.
Is it 'Human Nature' by Gary Clail and The On-U Sound System?
Not even close.
Is it 'Real Love' by The Time Frequency?
Nope, although having just listened to those three tracks again, I'm wondering what the fuck I was thinking about during my dance phase.

In fact it's 'Out Of Touch' by Daryl Hall & John Oates from their snappily titled 1984 album 'Big Bam Boom'.

I love this song, I'm not sure why, but I have at least 5 versions of it, from vinyl to cd to mp3.
It's still fantastic today, and if I've had a few drinkypoos then I'll happily sing along at the top of my voice, imagining that I'm hirsute Daryl himself, strawberry blond locks flowing on the wind.
Damn, he had good hair!

I never really liked anything else they did, and in fact the rest of Big Bam Boom is utter shite, but Out Of Touch . . . a moment of genius.
Both men still tour and perform together as Hall & Oates, but both have diversified in later life. Daryl Hall now restores and preserves historic buildings and homes, both here in the UK and in America, and John Oates is a midget in the circus.

Enjoy, you can thank me later.


Ok, lets hear it Jaggy, Roman Empress, Misssy and EmmaK

Good vs Evil

Let the games begin!

Rent-A-Ghost

My friends, today I speak to you from the depths of my latest hangover, and it's a very dark place indeed.

Last night saw the Batman costume being wheeled out again for what may be it's last public appearance. It has served me well over the last couple of years, but I think it's time to consider something new.
The party at The Big 5 kicked off around 7:30 last night, with a host of costumed tomfoolery taking place.
We had witches in abundance, a couple of ghouls, John Rambo, a particularly convincing Heath Ledger, a sexy wee fairy and even an Alex DeLarge from A Clockwork Orange, although it had to be explained to most of the party goers who he was.

All in all, my friend Adrenaline Rush and his lovely wife BatClaire threw a top shindig, but if you don't mind I'm going to lie on the couch now for the rest of the day.

Toodle pip.