Radio Gag Gag

We're normally a BBC Radio2 factory, but for some reason we've mostly been tuned into Real Radio at work this week.
For those of you who have never experienced the aural "pleasure" that is Real Radio, it's a commercial station populated sycophants, has beens and drama queens who all float around safe in the knowledge that there is no one in Scotland more popular, funny and damn well talented as themselves.

I'm fine with that of course, because it's the job of a popular radio station 'dj' to be a bit "wacky" and be "a bit of a character", but this week the station is staging the annual 'Real Radio Renegade' embarrassment.
This is a competition that I can only assume is open to the unemployed and those out on bail, given that the rules involve you having enough free time to run around the central belt of Scotland (with or without your children) in an attempt to find, and indeed apprehend, said Renegade who leaves cryptic clues to his whereabouts via the hyperactive dj back in the studio.

Again, all good fun with the possibility of a cash reward at the end for the succesful punter who can then go out and buy booze and fags for his/her/someone else's children.

The real problem, and maybe this says more about me than anything else, is that the screaming dj actively encourages these 'people' to phone into the station where they are immediately put on the air. For example, and this is no joke, it happened this morning:

DJ: "Hi, you're on the air, have you spotted the Renegade?!!!"

*NED: "Pure spotted him oan the corner ae Union Street, he's got a gray jaikit (coat) oan man!"

DJ: "Why didn't you catch him then?!"

NED: "I'm in the back ae ma mam's motor, I'm oan ma way tae court"

DJ" "Oh that's priceless! If you'd caught him you might have paid your fine, ha ha!"

NED: "Aye man, ha ha man!"

Now I'm as patriotic as the next proud kilt-wearing Scotsman, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I was French.


*NED - A slang term for a Scottish urban youth who engages in hooliganism, violence and crime.

A Shower Of Lying Bastards

Hello all, quick question:

Can anyone name me an honest, trustworthy member of parliment?

Anyone?

Anyone??

Bueller??

Two blokes, a flying pizza and a posh bird from Kashmir

Two things have impressed me this week, the first being the magnificent Joanna Lumley and her fight for settlements rights for soldiers from the brigade of Gurkhas. She's been fantastic, and for someone who claims to have no understanding of politics it's been clear to me that Ms Lumley is now running the country and doing a damn sight better job than the majority of the cabinet!
I can just picture Gordon Brown holding his head in his hands as clips of 'Purdey' and a hundred retired Gurkha warriors screaming "Ayo Gorkhali!" were beamed around the globe.

Joanna Lumley herself first came to my attention way back in the seventies with the tv series 'The New Avengers' and, along with Tiswas' Sally James, was right at the coalface when yours truly started to realise that women had an appeal that went further than being able to cook a souffle.

Incidentally, what's the problem with allowing the Gurkhas the opportunity of remaining in the UK after they have completed their service?
If they are prepared to die fighting for this country then not only should they be allowed the possibility of living here permanently, but they should be given a massive pat on the back and subsidised housing at the very least.

The second thing to have impressed me this week is the new Star Trek movie, and be warned, I'm about to get VERY geeky.

As much as everyone who grew up in the seventies claims to be a Star Wars fan, I always preferred Star Trek if I'm honest. I love the tv series and I'll happily hold my hand up and say:

"My name is Inchy, and I'm a trekkie"

I have every episode of Star Trek: The original Series (TOS) on video.
Ditto Star Trek: The Next generation (TNG).
I have all the Star Trek movies on dvd.
I have The Star Trek Encyclopedia and numerous other books.
I have . . . etc etc, you get the picture.

The new film though is fantastic. A decent plot, a great cast, top notch special effects and they have remained truthful to the existing Star Trek universe . . .

. . . but

I feel I have to query some of the decisions made by JJ Abrahms, the director.

* Uber Geek Alert! *

Plot: The young James T Kirk rides his motorbike across the Iowa plains to watch the Enterprise being built.
Hello?! The Enterprise was quite clearly built at the Starfleet Utopia Planitia fleet yards on Mars, everyone knows that and it even states that fact on the commissioning plaque on the bridge!

Plot: The Enterprise, and indeed the remainder of the fleet, leave Earth orbit and go immediately to warp speed.
Erm, correct me if I'm wrong, but a starship cannot engage warp drive when in the vicinity of a planetary body, ie a planet*. (*Star Trek: The Motion Picture)

Plot: The paint on the Enterprise has barely dried, indeed it's her maiden voyage, when young James Tiberius takes command of the helm, but, like me, you're probably thinking, "Wait a minute, the Enterprise was commanded by Captain Christopher Pike for the first 10 years of its operational life before Jim Kirk took over?!"

Having said all that, it's brilliant, and I fully understand and accept that the film had to take my beloved Star Trek in a new direction. The film itself is really about three heroes, Kirk, Spock and the Enterprise itself. It also has to be said that all the cast definitely add something to the mix without taking away from what has boldly gone before, even Simon Pegg.

Live long and prosper.

Oook!

It doesn't take much you know.
One crisis or important issue in your life and before you know it blogging has taken a back seat. For a time it feels refreshing, liberating almost, free from the requirement to dissect X's latest post or Y's funny video clip. This is where I've been for the last four months, in a blog-free world with no monkey on my back saying "What are you going to talk about today, Inchy?"

It's funny though, feeling a desire to take a peek, see what I'm missing, find out what's going on. It's a bug. So I'll dip my toe once more in the cyber water and paddle around the shallow end for a while. Say hello if you see me.

Merry Christmas!

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Me and the guys I work with would like to wish everyone a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

What The F**k Are You Looking At?!

It's just after 8 am at the moment and I've just woken from a particularly troubling dream which saw me looking after The Demon's 4 year old nephew only for him to go missing "on my watch".

Every parents worst nightmare, I know, but I think I know the reason for this particular nightmare scenario.
If you've read my blog before or even glanced at my profile pic you'll know that I eat, sleep and breathe mountain bikes. As usual, Sunday saw myself and my friends at Britain's premier mountain biking venue, Glentress forest just outside Peebles. After a wet but enjoyable day which saw me fly over the handlebars just the once, we returned to the car park for a shower, a change of clothes and some of the now famous millionaires shortbread.
As I made my way back from the changing rooms I happened to glance over at a man who was packing his car and getting ready to leave.
"I'm sure I know that guys face" I found myself thinking, but it was only when I saw his wife and realised that I also knew her face too that the penny dropped.
Kate and Gerry McCann enjoying a day out, cycling in the countryside.
I immediately looked away, but then found myself staring, something that I noticed every single person in the car park who passed them also do.
I cannot think of anything worse, to be stared at and spoken about in hushed tones wherever you go. It must be like being a celebrity but for all the wrong reasons.
Whatever you're opinion of the McCanns, and I know that they have their critics, you just cannot help but feel sorry for them. Yes they courted the media in the wake of their daughters abduction, yes there is a case to be argued that they should never have left her alone, but without a doubt Madeleine McCann is easily the most well known, if that's the right term, missing child on the planet right now, proving that their choice to use the media was arguably the correct one.
Anyway, they packed away their kit, started up their little silver Honda, and left.
That's when all four of us turned to each other and said "Was that who I think it was?"

As I said, nightmare.

3 2 Go

Nearly there now, we're on the home straight.

My company gratiously gifts its employees a whole two days holiday at Christmas, yes that's right, two whole days holiday, followed by another two days off for New Year! Are they mental?!
This leads to machiavelian plotting by me and my fellow colleagues to see who can take the days between Christmas and New Year off using the allocation of annual holidays that we can all elect to take. The company policy is that no more than two people may be off at any one time and this year I'm one of them. The problem has been that I elected to take those three days as holidays way back in January of this year but I used up the rest of my annual allocation at the end of August. This has meant that I have had to drag my sorry arse through the last four months without a day off, focusing solely on the upcoming eleven day Christmas holiday without my 80 mile daily commute to Glasgow, without the 4:30am alarm, without the doom & gloom of the UK manufacturing industry, without Simon Mayo on Radio 5Live and Bryan Burnett on Radio Scotland, without the bio hazzard yellow chicken curry from the staff canteen and without the £60 of diesel that I'd need to enjoy all these little pleasures.

Instead I shall eat enough food to feed a small township in Botswana, I shall drink more alcohol than Jaggy goes through in an average week, I shall, I'm sure, be required to play various games with a couple of small children that I know, I shall endure much dancing and singing and I'll enjoy every second of it.

Three more days to go, three more days to go, three more days to go, three more . . . . . . .

Come And Have A Go If You Think You're Talented Enough

I don't watch X Factor, never have. I think it's car-crash television that perpetuates the "get rich quick" culture so prevalent in todays youth, but I have been reliably informed that it's been won this year by a highly emotional young lady named Alexandra.

Great.
I'm happy for her, but I'm sure she'll be no more than a memory in 18 months or so.

But . . .

. . . for her first single she, or rather her management, has decided to cover Leonard Cohen's 1984 masterpiece "Hallelujah".
Now having a crack at one of the greatest songs of all time shows either bravery or sheer folly on the part of her and her management team, after all such talents like Allison Crowe, Willie Nelson, John Cale, K.D. Lang, Rufus Wainwright, the late Jeff Buckley, Bon Jovi and even Aled Jones have all had a go, to varying degrees of success.

For me though it's the Jeff Buckley version that is the definitive cover, it's as near to perfection as any song can be, that's why it's at number one in my list of 'Top Ten Cover Versions That Improve On The Original'.

1. Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley
2. Redemption Song by Chris Cornell
3. I Fought The Law by The Clash
4. Sweet Jane by Cowboy Junkies
5. Common People by William Shatner
6. Tainted Love by Soft Cell
7. Suspicious Minds by Fine Young Cannibals
8. All Along The Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix
9. Lost In Music by The Fall
10. Hounds Of Love by The Futureheads

That's right bitches, the Shatner is in there at number 5. Bask in his magnificence.

Actually, I'm not entirely convinced about number 4.

Weather Forecast For Tonight: Dark

Is it just me?
Am I alone?
Am I the only one who thinks that the weather forecasts of, say, the last five years are completely and utterly unreliable?

For example, over the last three days Central Scotland has been gripped in fear of the dreaded "blizzard". Now the name blizzard conjures up images of the Antarctic, polar bears tearing seals asunder, snowdrifts the height of your house.

"Blizzard warning! Blizzard warning!"

Today I awoke to some light drizzle.
Apparently it's chaos theory at work, the overnight temperature being half a degree too warm for the killer snow to form. Small consolation to the people who made and adjusted their plans to account for the mountains of icy precipitation that we were almost certainly guaranteed to have.

Predicting the weather, pah!
Jeremy Paxman was right!

St Andrew's Day

St Andrew.
Patron saint of Scotland, Apostle, brother of Saint Peter, whatever, he's the reason that I decided to make 'tablet' yesterday.
Now for those of you that are new to the world of Scottish confectionary, tablet is basically sugar, more sugar, condensed milk, butter and sweetened with sugar.

Ironically I ended up following an American recipie as the Scottish ones I could find on t'internet went along the lines of "throw all your ingredients in a pan, boil it, that's it done".

The problem seems to be that only old grannies know the timings involved in making this most calorie controlled diet unfriendly of sweets. Pour the mixture too soon and it won't set right, boil it too long and it turns into a substance rivalled only by carbon fibre in it's strength to weight ratio.

Mine ended up SO hard that I could cut diamonds with it.
Tastes nice though, just dont expect to swallow any of it.

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