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23rd December There won't be much (if anything) uploaded for a while - the disappointing final part of Brenty Four excluded of course. I was hoping to launch the new serial over the Christmas weeks to bring back that school holidays glow of exciting adventures and rib tickling cliff-hangers. Alas, I got twenty minutes into the first episode of...
...with its exciting all-action hero...
...and its fiendish masked villain...
...when the DVD stopped working entirely and not only the rest of chapter one but the whole of chapter two to seven were knackered. I emailed the guy I bought it from and he promised a fortnight ago to send a replacement but none has arrived. Which is a shame as the opening twenty minutes were quite good. So that's it really. The site will return when there is something to post. I'll leave you with my favourite bit of (non-Izzard) stand up of the last decade. I've given the impression of late that I can't abide stand up comedy. It's true that I find most of it unbelievably lazy and tedious but that's only because the modern stand up doesn't attempt to evolve the genre. It was fine in the early 80s to go on stage and ramble about "what is it with socks and pants in the washing machine, aye? Socks and pants aye? You put them in the fuckin' washing machine don't 'cha and every time, aye, there's always one missing. Where is it? Aye? Where's the fuckin' sock, aye?" and so on. From the moment Eddie Izzard did a routine about socks and pants in the wash which involved giving socks and pants personalities and having them stage POW style escape plans the traditional stand up was screwed. Once Izzard (and to a lesser extent those who trod his path such as Alan Davies) showed that you could do comedy which began as observational but which took a detour into surreal without losing the audience's train of thought, straight observational material had to be very strong to compete. Most of it isn't. Watching Ben Elton's latest DVD is a sad reminder of what happens when you come back after 10 years, older, richer and sticking of betrayal and think you can do exactly the same sort of stuff. So the future of stand up, in my not so humble opinion, is in two types of show. You have the neo-gag tellers like Jimmy Carr and Sarah Silverman whose clever, offensive, savage and potent material is a world away from the "blue" comics of the last century. And you have those who don't just rely on every days stuff to base their routines on - they tell a story (Dave Gorman), they make a point (Rob Newman) or they simply find things that no one has ever used in comedy before and build a routine around it. Which is what David Baddiel does in this routine about bills of mortality from his "Too Much Information" video released many years ago (and which Virgin Megastore in Manchester covered with the censorship stickers normally reserved for pornography). The above is rather rambly because I'm ill. One day I hope to fashion the thoughts - such as they are - into something which makes sense. Now, back to the 16th century.
19th December I've never especially liked Sol Campbell - aside from that brief moment when he appeared to have scored a last minute equaliser or winner in some game or other in a recent tournament, the details of which escape me. It was disallowed. But I'm extremely pleased to read this story in which he says many of the things I've been saying for years.
Lord knows, Ashley Cole is a contemptible little twat with My First Sinister Beard For BoysTM but his recent issues have been a laughable indictment of the modern football fan. These fine, witty and intelligent people spend an hour or two hurling furious abuse at a player because he committed the sin of playing for another club after theirs. They shout their moronic threats and insults which would be enough to get them arrested fifty times over in the real world, and when he aims the mildest of hand gestures at them in return, the wankers report him to the police. "Officer... officer" they cry like Charles Hawtry at his pathetic best, "that nasty man made a rude gesture at me." "Which gentleman?" asks the police officer. "The one I've been calling a greedy fucker, a black bastard, a shitty little faggot and a cunt for the last hour." "Point him out to me and I'll feel his collar." Or something like that. So good for Sol Campbell speaking out on an unfashionable subject. He even says
Well said that man. Hopefully it won't fall on deaf ears at the FA. In other football news, the alleged rape at Monday night's Christmas party is a difficult story to understand. Obviously, the first thoughts most people had when they heard a 19 year old had been arrested were "Oh no - I hope it isn't Anderson". Luckily it wasn't the dynamic young Brazilian but rather an Irish lad with a bit of a reputation. The story seems to be that a woman got very drunk, went up to a player's bedroom, came down some time later, bumped into her boyfriend and then claimed she was raped. Or, to put it another way, at some point between entering the bedroom and bumping into her boyfriend she decided that having sex with Evans was a bad idea. Was it before, during or after? Of course there are those so desperate to convict more men of rape that they want to make consent something revocable before, during or after sex so as long at sex took place, the woman can decide she it was a mistake and call the police. But the wrongness of the law's current and proposed attitude to rape is another subject for another day. There are stories in the papers about how the party was "a cattle market" with the players treating the women there as objects. Well duh. There were 25 players and 100 women, all of whom were invited because they were - by their own admission - desperate to get off with a famous footballer. They dressed like slappers and drank far too much of the free booze. Is it any wonder the thing became a little seedy? It was like a stag night with 25 grooms-to-be and a lot of very desperate women with no restraint and no self-esteem. A little personal responsibility wouldn't go amiss here - if you dress like a slut and act like a slut and talk about yourself as if you are a slut then it isn't entirely unreasonable if people treat you like a slut. Is it? Elsewhere, I heard the most remarkable noise today. We have a grotty chap who works far too near to us and he was walking past when he saw something which amused him. His laugh is normally painful but this time it was like hearing someone tickle a donkey with a squeaky door. Such things should not exist in nature. Him or his laugh.
15th December This made me grumpy.
I guess it just goes to show that the death of radio was a little premature. When the show disappeared for two months I think most of us suspected there was a problem with Wippit - the company hosting and selling the shows. I wondered at the time why they needed a fairly inept middle man at all. They have a strong website - run by his son - and people with far less broadcasting experience have successfully run their own shows. You don't need a studio - a decent PC with quality microphones and something as simple as WinAmp for sound effects. Brian does it over at F4Wonline and his shows sound as professional as Danny's despite having only a fraction of the equipment. He takes subscriptions by PayPal and offers a huge amount of audio content without his site running into technical problems. If Dan is serious about doing podcasting he should fund the initial start up costs himself and then let people subscribe direct to his website. Wippit have always been the weak link from their ridiculously complicated website to the shocking bad download speeds. Now it looks as if their owner is not to be trusted. Let's just hope he hasn't screwed up his BBC gig by going so far down the unauthorised podcast route. Every so often something happens to remind people that the internet isn't nearly as advanced as people assume it is. Pornographers aside, content providers seldom make a fortune. If you aren't selling advertising, conning people or shipping real life goods for less than the cost on the high street, you won't make money online. There is still the BBC London show but since I moved to Vista I haven't been able to convert the RM downloads to MP3. Every converter I've tried has produced silence, produced unlistenable babble or hasn't even tried to do what I wanted. I'm having to put the files on a memory stick and use father's laptop when the chance arises. Not good. **Update** I've solved the problem eventually. It was Real Player 11 causing the problem. Uninstalling it and installing version 10 has freed Jodix RM to work its magic. In the slightly less virtual world, love letters are being read out in the so called "enquiry" into the death of television's Diana, ex-Princess of Wales. Can anyone tell me what this enquiry is for? Its costing millions of pounds and it serves no purpose. Normally, this kind of repulsive wasting of public money would get the tabloid press up in arms. They'd be writing frantic editorials about how many nurses we could buy with the tax money being frittered away. The Daily Mail would be getting its calculators out and telling just how many more immigration officers we could employ (or how we could give proper weapons to those we've already got) if we weren't spending millions on a fake court case. Except the papers love it. This is Christmas come early to them. For once they don't have to stretch themselves to fill page after page with non-news about a long dead blonde woman who lived an exciting life. The Daily Express must be masturbating, to a man, every single time this enquiry meets to rake over more things that should be left alone out of respect for the deceased. Do enquiries like this reach any sort of verdict? I really don't know - it's being treated as if it is a trial but no one is on trial. It's just a bunch of extremely well paid people making accusations against the other side and reading private letters. If the enquiry comes to a verdict it will be that a drunk driver was going too fast through the streets of Paris, a twat on a moped distracted him and he crashed into a wall. People died. That's what happened. Which is great because it's the truth and the truth is good. But those whose constant moaning brought this enquiry into being won't accept that verdict. They'll claim the enquiry was rigged and controlled the entire time from the Palace. So, again, what is the point of having an enquiry when the people who want it aren't going to accept its decision? If this was a court case and Mohammed Fayed (the "al" should never be used as it is an honour he bestowed upon himself without having been given it - it is no more authentic than "Prince" Naseem Hamed) was the one bringing the action he would have costs awarded against him when his absurd claims were thrown out. Hopefully this enquiry will have similar powers (which it won't) and the money that has been wasted on this tabloid wank-fest will be repaid by that loathsome little man. I'm pleased at the appointment of Fabio Capello as England manager. He meets the criteria I set out some days ago (though this may not have actually swayed the panel) and while he may not succeed, he'll certainly be less abject than the McClaren era. He won't take any nonsense, he won't let anyone get an easy ride and he may well get some of them to try a bit during matches. And - this is the important bit - he won't be afraid to drop people if they don't perform. The cheaper newspapers are more concerned with how much he's being paid (because the press love to stir up antagonism between fans and professionals by highlighting the latter's' wages) but he's arrogant, fearless and he's achieved at the highest level. Everything we needed. It was Banana's birthday on Thursday. She's such a 21st century girl - she's only two and she got a toy laptop and a toy mobile phone. She carried the latter with her, occasionally pressing the ring button, flipping it open and saying "No!" before hanging up. Here she is playing on her laptop, waiting for her next phone call.
Her cutest new habit is saying "Oh no!" whenever anything goes slightly wrong. She says it in such a posh voice. Very Audrey Fforbes Hamilton.
12th December It's only fair after the last entry about AngryDave not knowing about Morecambe and Wise that I make the following statement. I was watching or listening to something - it doesn't really matter what because they were all doing to same thing - and Led Zeppelin's reunion concert was being hyped as the second coming. "Hmm" I thought to myself, "I've heard of Led Zeppelin but know absolutely nothing about them." It's true - I couldn't tell you anyone who is/was in the band and the only song I know is the one Rolf Harris covered. And I've only heard Rolf's version. Which I quite liked. It's no "Court of King Caractacus" - which I can do - but it's all fine and large. This is only the beginning - the breadth and depth and range of my musical ignorance would stagger anyone with feeling in their ears. I hide it well beneath an assumed veneer of total ignorance which no one believes can possibly be real but most of it is true. United are playing in Rome this evening. Well, sort-of-United are playing in Rome this evening. Which means I'm suffering lots of patronising radio adverts. Sky - the bastards - have put the game on Sky One which we can't get on Virgin Media so XFM is the only option. Every ad break includes an absurd piece about how "qualifications" mean you get paid more. Well, statistically that's true but it also has something to do with working hard. I dare say many thousands of people with considerably less in the academic trophy cabinet than me are earning a hell of a lot more because they have that Branson drive which makes a mockery of certificates. Worse than that is a horribly acted vignette about using a condom. Two young people who can't act slog through a script which ends up telling us that if you use a condom, you'll get sex. If you don't, you won't. Which is a good message but anyone who has ever met a young person knows that isn't true. My absolute least favourites have been some "jocular" infotainment about the digital switchover. I don't know how they should approach the switchover but I don't think this is the way. The latest figures are that somewhere around 76% of people currently receive digital TV. Which means you're aiming your adverts at the remaining 24% who patently have no interest in the subject. It can't be a money thing because you can get a Freeview box for £20. The adverts contained useful information about looking for the "digital tick mark" to determine whether a TV is digital compatible. Either that or just make sure you don't accidentally buy a television ten years ago. "Digital compatible" literally means "has a SCART socket". It isn't magick. News from Rome is that five United fans have been stabbed. It's a bad thing of course - UEFA should get off their moral high horse and do something about organised violence on the continent rather than bleating about racism being the worst thing in football. They won't of course because banning a club like Roma or Juventus could cost UEFA television revenue so they'll turn the latest in a long series of blind eyes. But I don't understand why any United fans would go to an environment they know is extremely dangerous. We have this belief that fans who go to away games are to be admired. They are the "real" fans, the hardcore fans, the super fans. I'm less impressed when it means knowingly going into danger and risking their lives just to watch a football match. If a second English teacher went over to Sudan today and started naming random objects Mohammed we wouldn't be terribly sympathetic if they got arrested and thrown into a Sudanese jail. They knew it was a silly thing to do but did it anyway. Fuck 'em. There was violence at last season's United game in Rome - fans were attacked by Roma supporters and Italian police alike - so I'm afraid I don't have a lot of sympathy. Until the authorities make places like Rome safe, Roma shouldn't be allowed to compete in European competitions. But until they get kicked out, English fans shouldn't go near the place. It's a beautiful city most of the time but - like most places in the world - football makes it violent, hate filled and dangerous. And finally, the time Danny Baker and Danny Kelly decided to go to Amsterdam and try cannabis for the first time. There is something vaguely like Dennis and Francois about their exploits.
8th December AngryDave appalled me on Thursday night. Danny Baker does a category about amazing gaps in people's cultural knowledge and I think I may have stumbled across one. Though, having followed the business for twenty years, I remain convinced (deep down) that pretty much everything is a work and nothing can ever persuade me otherwise because working the work is all part of the work. But he has a way of grinning and giggling when he's pulling legs and this time there was no grinning and no giggling. Morecambe and Wise were brought up - it being Christmas and they are a Christmas tradition acceptable to both vegetarians and carnivores alike. "Who are they?" asked AngryDave. Some of their finest moments were recounted. "Did they do 'Four Candles'?" he asked when I was done with Andrew Preview and all the notes being in the wrong order. "No." Material, routines, hair styles, catchphrases, physical descriptions, audience figures - none of it meant anything to him. "What about Peter Cook and Dudley Moore?" asked another colleague, less sober but no less appalled. "I've heard of Peter Cook" says AngryDave. "Did he do that show where he turned up at businesses that had ripped people off?" "That was Roger Cook." "Oh. Then I haven't heard of Peter Cook." AngryDave is no callow youth - he's in his upper-mid 20s, drives a BMW and once lost a shoe in a field while out walking his husky. "What about Monty Python?" I asked once I'd regrouped. "I've heard of them" he answered, not doing the obvious joke about having heard of him. "Do you know who was in it?" I demanded. "Eric Idle" he began. Of all the Pythons that isn't the first that would spring to most minds. "Erm... Peter Sellers?" "No." "Eric Sykes?" "No." I gave him some clues and he got Michael Palin. I gave him some more clues and he didn't get John Cleese. "He was in Fawlty Towers as well" I said helpfully. "No he wasn't, was he?" came the reply. There was probably more but I forget the rest. I don't know what they teach in schools these days. I really don't. I had double Morecambe and Wise every Tuesday afternoon. It was much better than physics. And then - became that's how the universe works - this evening I turn on HIGNFY and find Russell Brand is a guest. He is, it is far to say, one of the bigger stars of modern comedy. I realised when he opened his mouth that I had never heard or seen him before. I'd seen pictures but had absolutely no idea what he did. I think I'd always assumed I wouldn't like him but on the evidence of this debut I think I might. The show was interrupted by the most staggeringly painful cramp I have ever had - one foot refused to move from its rather awkward position for several minutes. I won't let that taint my new opinion about Russell Brand. I might even watch that DVD of his I've got somewhere. Comedy night was dire. It was only a third as dire as I thought it would be because I left in the first intermission and so only had to sit through one act. It was a genuine reason for leaving - I'd stupidly left my umbrella in the restaurant and since its going to rain every day for the rest of my life and I've not intention of going near a shop until January I thought it best to pick it up. I've also got a streaming cold and the dingy little comedy room was so hot that my sinuses had started to bang against my face. I Googled the top two acts before going and the reviews said they were basically competent but their material was uninspired and predictable. They quoted some of the tired and banal gags and naturally the comic did them all. The big hilarious climax of his act was telling us about a website set up by gay women who hate the US President. www(dot)lesbianswhohatebush(dot)com. Because Bush has more than one meaning you see. It is the name of the President and it is a slang term for something I won't mention because I'm going to use the word "cunt" in the next bit and I don't want to seem gratuitously filthy. TheArtist made me laugh so much on the way from restaurant to pub. I don't know why I found it so funny but even now I'm chuckling. "[his girlfriend] had a go at me when 'This Morning' came on. I saw Fern Britton and asked 'Is she married to that cook?' and she had a real go at me. She thought I said 'Is she married to that cunt?' and was being really abusive about Philip Schofield." It so obviously isn't that funny but I'm still laughing. Days after the event and I'm still laughing. And I don't know why.
5th December We're going out for Xmas tomorrow night. Which is fine. Apart from the comedy night. Someone guessed that I wasn't too thrilled at the outing and concluded "well maybe you haven't got a sense of humour." An interesting observation and one I'm not going to dispute. Everyone thinks they have a great sense of humour so disagreeing with him just sounds like something everyone else could do. I have a strange inability to say things that everyone else can say. Its like when someone suffers a bereavement. I can't just say "I'm sorry to hear that" because everyone says that and I have the overwhelming feeling that there is no point saying it again. If I can say anything vaguely original or useful then I will but mostly I don't say anything. Which comes across as not caring. None of which has any relevance to pub comedy. It is true that I've gone off stand-up big time. Just because someone has the guts to get up on stage and speak into a microphone doesn't make them worth listening to. I don't want to listen to most GOOD stand up comedians these days. Ken Dodd - bless him - is a treasure and for ten minutes is the funniest thing on Earth. But his obsession with six laughs per minute means that after ten minutes you never want to hear another joke for the rest of your life. Ben Elton helped to redefine stand up comedy twenty five years ago. Maybe his selling out everything he believed in has blunted his wits slightly but his latest DVD was so tired. Yes, there were some good lines but it was mostly just tired, insipid and (frankly) rubbish opinionating. I think there are four comedians on this planet right now I would pay to see perform. Five if you count Eddie Izzard (which I don't because he's an actor now). They are, in no particular order - Sarah Silverman because she is fearless, her material is jaw-dropping and she's gorgeous. Jimmy Carr because he has the best jokes full stop. Barry Cryer because he's the best old school comedian we have since Bob Monkhouse left us. I've seen Barry Cryer perform and would do so again any day. Unlike Doddy he doesn't rush through his material. He has a relaxed and warm pace which you can't help but enjoy. Sue Perkins because its Sue Perkins and if you don't know why then you really haven't been paying attention. Obviously if Stephen Fry were to take the stage I would be there like a flash but that's about all. I've seen Ross Noble and I can appreciate his talents, I just don't find him funny on stage. He's great on panel games but given two hours to ramble away to himself he doesn't make me laugh. I'm going back and forth on Jack Dee - his last DVD was very good and showed that television hadn't blunted his edge. He's a maybe. And I'm waiting for Marcus Brigstoke's new DVD to arrive - he's been great-to-awesome in everything I've ever seen him in so I'm hoping his stand up will be the same. I do agree that I over-analyse comedy and might sometimes forget that it is meant to make you laugh. That's probably the writer in me - I want to take things apart, find out how they work and use that knowledge to be better. On the other hand, we're talking about a night of pub comedy and that means witless swearing, banter that doesn't go anywhere and material which could only be funny if you've drunk so much that your own mother falling down the stairs, landing on a small child and starting a fire which burns down a laboratory which is about to cure cancer is hilarious. We were moved from our former position on the fringes of real life to someone more central to other people not that long ago. Generally it has been fine and only the timing and lack of communication surrounding the move grated. The team sat immediately behind me are... well I don't really know what they are. They aren't annoying as such. They just have conversations which are 95% fine. It's the 5% which irritates me. Today they stumbled across the subject of Yes Minister. They talked about a particular episode. They didn't get the details or the dialogue quite right. But, because I don't know them, I can't turn round and correct them. In the recent past they've had discussions on history and again minor things were out of place. Lazy suppositions were made. I think I'm missing having anyone to talk to so I spend too long listening to other people's conversations. My sidekick is away this week, camping for his sins, and our line manager is secreted away in a project room with people infinitely more important than me. So I'm on my own and becoming vexed. One of the people behind me follows the England football team to away matches. I can think of few things I would like to do less than follow the England team to away matches. If I wanted to see some of the great cities of the world (and I don't) then doing so from behind a police cordon with foreign nutters wanting to stab me isn't the way I'd choose to do it. Rome, Paris, Moscow - all have something to offer the traveller but barbed wire fences, riot squads, tear gas and dodging fireworks isn't the best way to experience it. My little Banana is two next week. I've bought her "My First Laptop". This isn't entirely because I am a loser geek who can't see past computers into a world of dollies, Ninky Nonks and Mr Maker Fun Sets. I was making m'brother's wireless network work last weekend and Banana was fascinated by his laptop. So fascinated that she kept pressing lots of buttons. Lots and lots of buttons. When she was whisked away and told she couldn't touch the computer she cried and cried and cried like I've not heard her cry for months. So maybe giving her a toy laptop might satisfy her craving for pressing lots and lots of buttons. Or not. It may well be or not. Who knows? Here is an action shot of her trying on daddy's furry for-when-its-cold-at-the-football hat.
She's wearing the "Rejected - Too Cute!" t-shirt Grandma brought her back from Alcatraz. Awwww.
1st December I think its fair to say that the biggest news story on the planet right now is the impending divorce of Hulk and Linda Hogan. The BBC sent Nicholas Witchell over to Florida and he's been a regular fixture on News 24 this week. Any time of the day or night, the anchors can hand over to the Witchell and he'll update them with any morsel or titbit of news coming out of the estranged Hogan camps. It seems that the British public can't get enough of this story. ITV, the opportunistic little so-and-sos bought up the complete run of "Hogan Knows Best" and have been showing it as a grim-but-nightly reminder of happier times. God knows what the "celebrities" out in the jungle will say when they discover their gruesome ordeal was shunted to ITV4 as soon as the Hogan story broke. The most interesting part about it (aside from imagining a Hulkster moustache on Brooke Hogan's doll-like face) is the way the media (by which I mean both the real media and the made up media in paragraph one) are taking it all at face value. To them it is just another celebrity divorce - the sort of thing which fills papers and air time as the assets and behaviour of the rich and famous are laid out and apportioned before our envying eyes. The likes of Entertainment World and Celebrity Tonight are content to break exclusive news about how the couple's real name isn't actually Hogan while ignoring the single most important point in the whole case. It's not real. At least that's the verdict of people who have written about Hulk Hogan on a weekly basis for the past twenty five years. People who make their living writing about pro wrestling don't believe a word of it. Yes, there are court papers. Yes, they probably will get divorced. Yes, their assets will be divided and papers will be signed. But, yes, it is a work. Because the Hulkster is in serious legal trouble after his son nearly killed someone and when the inevitable lawsuit is filed, money will change hands. What better way to limit the damages awarded than to get divorced? Because when you get divorced, an inventory is done of the couple's assets. An inventory done by the couple themselves (and their lawyers). Normally there is at least one party determined to make the asset ledger as large as possible with every secret account and stuffed mattress made public. But what if the couple wanted to keep some secrets? Without animosity, they could agree a legally binding set of assets which barely scratched the surface of what they really own. As works go it is a pretty good one. No one ever said the Hulkster didn't know exactly what he was doing. You won't get that kind of reporting from Nicholas Witchell, live in Florida will you? Nor from Trevor McDonald (who has been hanging around the Hulkster's gym for the last week hoping to grab a word). Changing the subject entirely - utterly and completely for legal reasons - I saw this story about how young men, boys even, are taking steroids to get attention.
Obviously we shouldn't blow this out of proportion - 200,000 people have "tried" them and most of them will be gymrats with nothing better to do. But equally we shouldn't dismiss it as a cosmetic fad which doesn't really have a downside. Steroids flood the body with testosterone to such an extent that the natural production of testosterone is reduced. Long term use can permanently damage testosterone production. Imagine how dangerous is is then to take steroids during puberty. One wrong dose and their bodies may never develop properly. The late Chris Von Erich was one of the famous Von Erich boys in Texas. His brothers were all well over six feet tall and all took steroids to enhance their physiques. Chris wanted to be like his brothers and he started taking shots earlier than they ever had. He ended up with an impressive physique but wasn't much over 5'6" and ended up killing himself because he was too small to be a wrestler like his brothers. Not to mention the obvious social problems of already hormonal young twats roaming the streets with levels way over what they should be. Testosterone makes you aggressive - combine it with binge drinking and our streets get less and less safe. But, like any public health campaign, it will never work. Give a fifteen year old boy the choice between the chance to appear with his shirt off on Pop Factor and get a few skanky girlfriends and he'll risk his entire future without even thinking about it. He's never heard of hormones, he couldn't spell testosterone and if you told him his testicles would stop working he'd stab you. To be honest, such people becoming infertile is probably a good thing. Let them throw their health away for quick wins in exchange for their moron genes dying with them. I know what you're thinking - I know too much about steroids. Just be thankful I haven't mentioned testosterone-epitestosterone ratios. And, to end on a happy note, here is my little Banana from last weekend. She couldn't find her little teddy bear and was hunting high and low for it.
Am I evil? |
 
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