Worst

Today. Whilst packing my life up into several boxes and bags, I found a t-shirt with THIS emblazoned.


Low point for me?

No actually. I remember wearing this from the age of around 20 to 21, under the impression that I was incredibly cool and nails, to the dismay of my mother, which only added to said impression. Pair this with Red Stripe, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and black hair dye and you're pretty much on the money.

A prick yes but I had a nice time.

x

All warm.

I won't ever accuse you of being 'samey' again, Arcade Fire.

Let's Regress.

It was only a matter of time before the country went into a cultural depression but a mere 2 months after election and, well, it's happened.



The British Film Industry, is inarguably just as it states. It is first and foremost an industry. Just so happens to be one of the richest in talent, innovation and the most mind-stabbingly able to connect with every angle of society. As film industries go, we've hit it fairly spot on, or not, however you decide to look at it. I'll explain my thought process.

Financially explosive HOLLYWOOD Culturally lacking

Financially lacking INTERNATIONAL CINEMA Culturally explosive.

The British film industry is as I see it, a grey area. A middle ground. Not as booming in the pocket as Hollywood but altogether more original, creative and inspiring. Not quite as creative as international offerings of late but, still has a commercial edge. It's this balance that makes it such a fucking gem. Where the cogs of commercial successes (Streetdance 3D, Last King of Scotland and Bend It Like Beckham) generate funding to allow craftsmen/women such as Loach, Meadows and Arnold to meander, this imperfect machine has been crippled by our new Tory heroes.

During the World Cup, I was close to blogging about national pride. Some of the sights around, the fact that nothing more than an extra hotline was being offered to victims of domestic abuse around this time, open racism and nationalism prevailing. Each time I went to write, my angle was continuously skewed by the fact that I do actually feel proud of this nation at times. To be part of somewhere made up of all races, colours, religions - how the country breathes and feeds off each sector of society, it's something to be quite proud of.

Then there's that NHS thing, amazing.

THEN, there's the arts. The thing that makes me most proud to be British is the cultural richness of the arts. Every person is free to create and have their say, incidentally, a lot of this speaking out is done via the medium of film. I think it's fair to say that I have a fairly broad mind when it comes to pretty much anything, that's.how.broad.it.is. Coming from the background and area that I do, I could have easily been stunted in my personal politics but, I genuinely feel that it is film that has opened me up to different ways of life and shaped me into a more tolerant person. Mother, you may disagree.

Anyway.

The driving force behind these eye-openers, one of the main economic crutches, the UK Film Council, abolished. This is more historic than it seems you know, it's the start of Thatcher's dream - nation of drones. This country needs the industry to create and speak. If the practicalities aren't taken care of, we can all wave goodbye to awe inspiring, eye opening, breath stopping end products.

What next Jeremy? Museums and libraries? Yes? Oh.

It's a day for mourning, film lovers. Or, anyone with a brain.

Better Bend Than Break?

"Over 500 clergy have left the Church of England since the 1990s, when Synod agreed to allow women into the priesthood, receiving payouts totalling £27.4m. Some of them later returned to the fold."

Now, they only want to be bloody escalated to bishop status don't they? I mean really. Who's going to wash, iron and ensure their minor offspring keep quiet about the choir time touching then?

After reading this article, numerous times over (seriously, at least 4 times, I'm not too up on the church so this involved slight disection in a mere bid to understand), I started to pick it apart. Not the language as such, as I'm 100% (if I were the type of cunt who said '110%' I would here, as it goes, I'm not) that that particular element varies from The Guardian, to The Daily Mail, to The Diana Express, to web page to youtube video to retweet.

Apologies, the digression begins.

Anyway, I've pulled it apart and noted that the word compromise is mentioned four times. Might not seem much but it's four times too many in my book. Since when has treating one half of the population as second class citizens been a fair compromise? In the only way possible in contemporary society - in the eyes of the church. This particular argument, admittedly, is between forward thinking religious types (oxymoron if I've EVER heard one) and those cheeky little traditionalists. Those scoundrels! Condemning homosexuality? Contraception? Independent thought, dare I say? It's all horse play to them! All in a days work. What, you're gay? No. You most definitely cannot share my rubbish wafers or red wine. Oh no, wait, save a drop for the little ones.

Women? BISHOPS? Ha ha ha! Oh.

Since reading around this, it's become apparent that to be involved in the church at bishop level does take a certain amount of intelligence, no matter how misguided and limited. So, you do have to wonder where these women that actually want to flex their brainpower, on some false pedestal, being taken seriously by less than half of their peers... are. Surely they're missing the point, somewhat?

The fact is, even if legislation started now, to ordain women, they would not be able to practice priesthood until at least 2014. That's a lot of faffing. In this context, it goes to show that where there's progression, there's compromise. Where there's compromise, there's regression. It is only the ability TO compromise that shows skill and ability. The nature of a compromise in many situations such as these, stands as weak and impenetrable, in a bad way.

(I'm going to take a breather here)


If your argument gains sufficient votes and support, surely you shouldn't have to compromise? In the case of the church, women shouldn't compromise. True to the nature of democracy in the Western world, a fetish for compromise seems to have occured. Compromise in the US government is as convoluted and obscure as any and, the less said about compromise in the UK government, the better. We seem to be embarking on a world where compromise is a pre-requisite to any decision - it's debatable on so many levels whether this is a positive or negative but when it comes to general ethics and equality, should the mere idea of compromise even be entertained by a progressive society?

In summary. Government, church, all leading superpowers - you don't have to pretend to compromise. It's so transparent. Ladies, if you want to be priests, good luck but don't say you weren't warned.

The end.

xxxx

Photoblog

It seems that I haven't had much to say of late.

In a bid to keep this blog alive and still tending to the 'can't be arsed' side of my nature, I'm going to attempt a photoblog. Just images, simple.

At the moment, I'm too hungover for that nonsense, so, just saying.

Tra.

Like A Sausage Up Leek Road

I'm referring to this.

On initial read, it's fairly amusing to the more juvenile of us. A MAN having SEX with a HORSE! LOL!!1!!1 ZOMG.

Secondly, the URL "pensioner-guilty-sex-donkey-horse" - how impersonal. How do they think that this would make said horse and said donkey feel after all they've been through? They don't even name aforementioned animals, probably due to data or victim protection.

This brings me nicely to my third query - victims? However impartial and fact based this mini article seems to be, which is amusing in itself, we can't help but find victims in every story, in this case, beasts of the equestrian flavouring. Who knows who came on to who? You know how those little flirts on Blackpool beach are, who knows what goes on backstage at the Grand National and, see below... that's love.


These romantic intervals may have caused emotional pain for said horse and donkey, splashed over the papers, realising you're not the only one etc but, I very much doubt that there was any physical injury accrued. 1. If they didn't like it they should have said no and 2. One has to wonder if the tail was lifted by the buggerer or the buggeree? Just saying.

On another note, my sympathy in all of this goes to the donkey. It's like some bloke (pensioner at that) doing a kiss and tell on you AND Beyoncé at the same time, can't help but feel slightly overshadowed.

"Pensioner imprisoned..." - somehow this packs more of a punch, does it not? If this were a healthy 28 year old man, it'd be acceptable would it Guardian, wouldn't bat an eyelid? Pensioner however, he should know BETTER.

Consequently. Horses should stop being so heavily sexualised, full stop.


Imagine. That. (You already are) - that's quite enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday Musings #2

Hello!

It's been a fairly eventful week consisting of the following:

- Attempting to give blood and being told that this will never be possible due to past blood transfusion - boo.
- Death of a grandparent.
- Half Hearted previewing at Cannes - yay! Hi famous (Ange), it's famous here (me)... this made me do an actual lol at the time.
- Haircut - this is a biggie.
- iPhone that i'm still uncomfortable with and, will never ever say 'there's an app for that' and I don't mean to be a cunt, but that's reminded me of this one application that puts different lenses and films effects on the camera - AMAZING.
- Santorini difficulties, issues, change of circumstances if you will, but it's back on!

(I realise this isn't really in the spirit of my usual blogging)

- Broseph's 20th!
- Few more dresses.
- It's 10:40am on a Sunday morning and I just got in, minus hangover, dead sunny - sleeps in sun required - hi burn. One thing that I'm probably only putting on here because I'm still drunk is, that no matter how much I get ribbed by my wonderful friends about my sketch show of a life, they are still very very wonderful. Deffo still pissed. I'm glad that they realised that I'd go 100% dirty guts if I get thrown into a pool. In fact, I reserve this judgement until after holiday.

Anyway, although all these major events (yes.) have occured this week, the biggest thing happened. CRAIG DAVID ANNOUNCED FOR HANLEY PARK MID JUNE. I.AM.THERE.

ULTIMATE. and anybody who denies this song is a liar.

I'm spent (hahaahahaaa) for now but I'll probably delete this post later, because it's a load of rubbish. I can feel the beginning of a headache.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxstrng

Michael Haneke

I've just watched The White Ribbon (Das Weisse Band) and this just progresses my fondness and admiration of Michael Haneke.

The reasons I love Michael Haneke can be found here.



Not only is he technically courageous, as evidenced alone in the opening scenes of Code Unknown (Code inconnu: Récit incomplet de divers voyages) - one 8 minute continuous shot to open the film, but his stories are incredibly humanistic. Throughout the whole of The Piano Teacher (La pianiste) I can't help but feel anxious and nervy, as if the release so desired by Huppert's character is a craving inflicted on the audience too.

I won't go on too much but I just had to mention this man. This is without even going into Hidden (Caché), Benny's Video or Funny Games. Haneke's films aren't just films - they're texts, pieces and crafts. Disturbing to the core, compassionate to the verge of tears and beyond innovative, Haneke never fails to shake and move me in every sense. I would urge every single person, who doesn't class subtitled films as 'weird' to go out and experience Michael Haneke - don't blame me when you're staring at the screen catching flies but, I do need someone to talk about him with, so if you do, let me know eh.

xxx

Sunday Musings #1

Sunday. The day of rest. The sabbath. Commonly known as hangover day. The day where I'm full of musings from the past week or, night, if my memory serves me half as well as it has been doing lately. I think I may start jotting down my thoughts on a Sunday as a retrospective and, what's in my head there and then. This could be a very dull past time but I'm not really bothered, soz.

1. Roll Deep - what have you done? I remember the days of Racist People, I loved that song - now it's some bird (hahaa i never say that) in daft glasses (...) on about shopping on a Thursday. Really, Roll Deep? Try harder.

2. For the last 2 weeks I've had the line "When I was 13, I had my first love" in my head, a la Luda. I can't shift it. Every single day I must say it at least 5 times, and that's out of my mouth, aloud. It even popped out when I arrived at the hotel room in the early hours of this morning. It's becoming a problem.

3. I didn't think I liked hats. Last night I realised the true potential of a hat, they're great.

4. Kelis is beautiful isn't she?


5. I'm genuinely bored of ConDemNation. It's happened, let's all calm down.

6. In my experience, hen nights are fairly subdued compared to stag do's. I mean, the ludest thing on a hen night, that I've ever encountered, is an oversized phallic inflatable. Harmless loud vile women. Men on the other hand, think they can get.away.with.anything. This is a complete generalisation based on recent events (and 100% excluding the brothers) but, just a musing all the same and I think it's terrible!



7. My conservative name is Doreen Cotswold Waghorn - that's brilliant isn't it.
(grandparent, first street, headteacher)

8. It's nice to see some results - SoulBoy and Half Hearted.

9. Whiplash is fairly restrictive. So far it's affected pretty much EVERYTHING. Can't wash my hair properly, can't turn around to talk to people, can't reach for stuff, can't sleep on my side, can't try clothes on, you get the picture. Hmph. Drinking on whiplash isn't that wise - well, it is at the time, then the next day, cutting off your torso seems attractive.

10. I watched an album review of The Queen Is Dead yesterday morning. It's nearly 2 hours of pure unadulterated Smiths gush, my favourite. It was a toss up between that and the Nick Stockley Substitute 2nd Birthday mix to get me in the mood for a hen night in Chester. Usually, the latter would win but this was a welcome change - Alison Limerick's Where Love Lives seems to be following me.

That'll do for now, happy Sunday xxx

communism doesn't work

I, During a well earned coffee break today risked being lynched for daring to turn the TV channel over from 4Music to *gasp* BBC news. Now I'm sure this to you may seem slightly a minor thing, indeed possibly even something that , in any normal place of work, would not even cause anyone to even look up from their coffee of choice (Currently we have the choice of 5 variations of coffee available!!! only 55p a cup!!)

Sadly the murmurs of annoyance were being prepared in the throats of the assorted work-force even as I confidently stood up and paced towards the TV, now in my defence I would like to point out at the time that nobody was watching the TV, indeed nobody seemed to be listening as all that was on was some weird hybrid of an interview/advert, you know the ones, "this is an advert" in small letters across the bottom yet filmed as an authentic interview. I digress.

Since the open vote for what everyone would like to see installed in the newly refurbished canteen (nobody thought to ask about the pricing structure of the coffee), We have, as requested by the majority of the workforce, been the proud 'owners' of a large flat screen telly stood proud in the corner of the room, like some shining beacon of just how nice a firm this is, Look!! it screams. WE LISTEN TO YOU!!

'They' don't by the way, I know, as I can count myself as part of 'they' no membership fees are payable, simply work hard enough , have yourself elevated to a position in which people can assume you actually hear all the juicy gossip, indeed that they assume you actually care whether a TV or a pool table gets shoved in the canteen.

So. As I returned to my seat, picked up my 55p coffee of choice and brought it to my lips, Mutterings of annoyance were threatening to disturb my viewing of the breaking news that Gordon Brown had called some poor old lady a "Nazi" or something.

Upon returning to the relative safety of my office I inquired further as to what the problem with changing the channel was exactly. Turns out that a rota exists which determines what channel is to be on each day, no room for a brief snapshot of news, or in the case of 4music, entertainment. No, it has been written that each week a piece of paper goes up on a notice board and people choose which channel to watch, this, so I'm told is the fairest way. I would argue that to choose simply one channel would quite possibly be the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Why on earth would you commit nearly 400 people to a day of watching QVC simply because some weirdo wants to watch "electronics hour"? Answer, you wouldn't.

My investigations proved, rather sadly, that QVC has never been chosen.

Now I have many choices to make on a daily basis, what socks to wear for example, deciding which channel the works telly should be locked on is not one I'm prepared to contribute on. I have on the other hand, had both time and will enough to find the remote for aforementioned telly and plan on creating havoc on a daily basis. you wish to watch the Jeremy Kyle show Shelly? no problem. top gear on channel Dave you say Mark? allow me.

So in summery, public ownership simply doesn't work, if only I had been consulted before we all bought a load of banks debts, never mind, maybe next time. At least I managed to complete my working day without calling a little old lady a bigot. Nice one Gordon.

SPS

x

ps

Don't get me started on why a cup of coffee is 55p, you can have no idea the levels of 5p hoarding that goes on since the machines give no change. It's barbaric. bloody bigots.

The NHS in Stoke, Ash clouds & reminders on Hanley bus station

Well this is my debut blog and I have been invited by a work colleague as she appreciates my ability for a good rant. If I enjoy it you may be reading more of my strange tales but we will see how it goes. And if my enthusiasm (Or lack of) and my addiciton to you tube halts this. Apologies for any spelling mistakes.

The NHS in Stoke-On-Trent:

My first topic. DISCLAIMER: This rant is in no way aimed at the Doctors, Nurses, Ambulance men, Support staff, Clerical staff and 1000s of other volunteers who keep this institution running on a daily basis. And obviously not everyone in Stoke is haggard,obese and unemployed although if you visit A & E or Hanley bus station you would struggle to break the myth.

PART 1: Unfortunately I have recently being involved in an accident that resulted in a broken foot we wont go into the precise details. This gave me the joyous pleasure of sitting in the fracture clinic at Hartshill for some 4 hours. A number of highlights. 1st off the initial sight of about 150 people from North Staffordshire with ailments of all kinds and plenty of stories. And it would seem relatives and friends willing to sit with them. Some up to 5 people. 90 % of which were haggard,obese and/or unemployed. No wonder the place was chaos with a 1-4 ratio taking up valuable waiting areas. As I sat on a table due to the lack of room not one of the many haggard creatures of the potteries offered me a seat. They merely looked at me as if I was the problem. My advice for which ever idiot is voted in two weeks. Please let only a 1-1 ratio in aforementioned clinic. After waiting for 2 hours I was then sent to a corridor to wait for a further 30 minutes. Again this area had god knows how many hanger onners looking for a free brew and somewhere other than the cafe on Hanley bus station or Ladbrokes to hang around. On the point of free refreshments. I ended up paying £3 for a bag of crisps and the worst cheese and tomato sandwich of all time. The look of disgust on my face must have been priceless. Although in the corner of my eye balanced on a table I could see the 3 witches of Macbeth drooling at the thought of stealing it. They would have bought one but they had no joy on the national and dole day is Thursday.

PART 2: Finally I was seen and treated by a very pleasant doctor who has a lot better things to do than treat me and 99% of the other people in the fracture clinic. By their very nature most of which are self inflicted. I then made my way to the casting room where I was met with another over crowded waiting room. This time I managed to get a seat although I wish id taken ear plugs. Sat some 4 chairs away was a Jim Davidson sound alike trying to be funny. By this I mean trying to be racist but not having the balls to say what he actually meant. I meanwhile listened getting angry with each sentence and mumbling under my breath. The conversation centred around the fact that his accident had been caused by a taxi driver to quote, "You know what their sort are like." By their sort id assumed people making a living from driving people around?!?! No it appears he meant someone of Asian ethnicity. He then went on to slag off the staff that had seen him in part 1. Apparently they couldn't speak very good English. He didn't think to thank them for fixing him after travelling 1000s of miles away from family and friends. To only be confronted by Neanderthals in the Potteries. I just hope the taxi driver does a better job next time.

Ash clouds:

How can a natural disaster cause so much chaos? Just ask the British Media. Every kind of map possible to explain that essentially they aren't flying for two reasons. One the morale panic on 9/11 Princess Diana scale that would have happened even if 1 plane had to land a little quickly. And two the cost of cleaning engines dirtied by the clouds which according to a good source would have been 10 times the cost of cancelling all flights. Plus they wouldn't have been able to bully the government and the EU into paying all the comp out. I have heard rumours of a flying disc being chased by fighter planes down the M4 but i'l leave the conspiracy theories to David Icke. (Maybe Thomas Cook is actually a reptilian that dwells beneath Buckingham palace.) I have also enjoyed the ridiculous escapades of plains,trains and automobile style stories. My particular fave a Music professor and his wife went as follows. Flight to Amsterdam. Taxi to Belgium. (Why a taxi I don't know). Train to Paris to Calais. Ferry to Britain. His quote, "Well its the British Dunkirk spirit isn't it?" Yes another pointless unplanned escapade into insanity. I note you only hear about the rich people able to take part in these stories of complete stupidity.

On a lighter note there must have been some effect. My mum wiped the outside table at hers and brought in the cloth, "Look that's that ash you know its everywhere." Showing me a cloth with a black substance not to dissimilar to ash but more likely to be non de-script dirt. Her evidence was backed up by someone from her coffee morning group. "Well she said she could taste the ash when she was cycling." Comedy gold. My mum wont be voting for David Cameron. After his egg-ceptional display at the Cornish 6th form, " Oh daft bugger what a waste of an egg." Just wish Cameron had swung at the hoody Prescott style although hes far too smug for that.

To sign off. A story donated by a friend of mine on waiting for a bus in Hanley this morning. A man holding a free pen from a betting shop you know the little blue ones. Wrote dole 1.30 on his hand. It could have been a reminder for a horse or an appointment. I'm just wondering whether it came in or not?

Unhappy? Strap this on your head.

It's 9:11am. Switch on BBC News and there's Beverley Callard sitting on the sofa disclosing details of her clinical depression and subsequent ECT.

"After a couple of weeks, I couldn't even remember my own name"

Since reading about Lou Reed's ECT to cure his homosexuality, it's safe to say, I'm not a big fan of this treatment. Lou Reed himself confesses that this moronic remedy left him devoid of emotion and the proceeding aim of his parents to make him normal did quite the opposite, in leaving Reed as a blank and heartless being.

When it comes to Callard, I'm not sure that much work is needed to achieve the above results. It will be interesting to see how Liz is played in the future though won't it? Instead of the lycra wearing, northern equivalent of the MILF (arguable), will we see an unimpassioned, cold-fish of a woman? I hope so. Where that is not an attack on Callard herself, sympathy for her presupposed condition is limitless, but to appear on morning news describing the positive effects? Your wool isn't covering anyone's eyes. That's the thing though. Maybe it is. She actually started off talking about the positive effects of anti-depressants and then concluded with "and you don't think the ECT is going to work, then it really does. I'm quite an imaginative person so I thought I could smell rotting flesh." Give you a clue, your imagination is working overtime if you're presuming that was down to your imagination. Come on everyone, strap this to your head, feel happy.

I for one hope this has a slight effect on the costume choice for Liz. No matter how many exercise videos you do Bev, that cleavage still doesn't sit right with me around tea time.

xxxx

Her Indoors

"It ain't so stereotypical man, not for a stereotypical man"
Professor Green, 2010


As it goes, having an obsessive personality can be quite educational. In the last few years, I seem to have developed obsessions (that usually last around 3-4 days) with powerful and/or iconic and/or stereotype defying women, ranging straight throught from Natalie Clifford Barney, to Mata Hari, to Grace Jones, to Anna Wintour. It usually goes something like this:

Day 1//
Discover said being and do ground work, this can include google images, wikipedia and your basic surface knowledge.
Day 1a, later//
Youtube. Of course.
Day 2//
Articles, searching out books, music, films etc - obsession at a deeper level.
Disclose specific obsession to others - sometimes works in favour, sometimes does quite the opposite.
Day 3//
More articles. This tends to be a day of repetition as most of the surface knowledge has been sought out and to dig deeper would equal time and effort.
Day 4//
Half hearted to say the least. All of the knowledge that I desire is usually gained by this day and I start to move on.

To keep me stimulated for 4 days, so to speak, is impressive. Says something about these women - hugely influential, fascinating and powerful people. Probably says something about me too but the less said about that the better.

With a general election going on in the UK, with these aforementioned figures in mind, as an entire race of their own, why do parties feel in order to appeal to female voters, they have to emphasise policies regarding maternity leave, parenting and community? Do female voters not care about the deficit, global warming or events in Iraq? Evidently not quite as much as having an extra week off when they don't want to leave their sprog round their mums for the first time.

It's a true insult that the only thing Miriam Gonzalez Durantez, Sarah Brown and Samantha Cameron are good for is the colour of their dresses. Perhaps this is the case in the latter (see what the blanket of tory cynicism has done? It's even turned me against his wife and encouraged me to spout ridiculous nonsense regarding her choice of dress colour, I've obviously been dragged down) - no. Surely, I hear you say, they should be yellow, red and blue, intentional choices born from support of their dear husbands. Well, I've got news for you Miriam, no matter how flattering that lovely cotton summer dress is, due to unfortunate psephological realities, it doesn't matter how darling you look.

I digress.

Back to the original. It's a little bit offensive of the parties to offer specific policies for women. Do men not care that their children are looked after properly and appropriately if and when the mothers of said spawn choose to return to work? Do men just care about money, immigration, education, curry, tits and football? What do you think David? (Again, David is to blame)

Actually David. Whilst you're here, what do you say? I've got to stay married to that bloke that I don't get on with, have nothing in common with and don't even fancy anymore just to get my tax discount? Oh, you do? I see. Living.in.a.dreamworld.

To conclude, because I think I'd better. In the world that we live in today with such influential women as Angela Merkel, Michelle Bachelet, Anna Wintour (mentioned twice because I love her), Gail Berman, Margaret Chan, Gloria Arroyo, Ho Ching, Sonia Gandhi, Anne Lauvergeon, Deborah Harry, Kathryn Bigelow, Vivienne Westwood, Jane Campion, Laura Mulvey, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, JK Rowling, Lynn Elsenhans, Ning Ying, Bette Midler, Stella McCartney, Indra Nooyi, Cristina Fernandez, Nnegest Likké, Nancy Pelosi, Hillary Clinton, Oprah Winfrey** and even VB herself (she's quite influential don't you know), it proves that girls can think too you know, and not just about fucking nappies.

The end.
xxxxxxx

**This list is exaggerated for a REASON.

He Bangs

First of all, please accept my apology for the rather Sun-like, obnoxious title to this post, I couldn't help it.


"Hoy ACEPTO MI HOMOSEXUALIDAD como un regalo que me da la vida"

That's right ladies. Ricky Martin is gay.

If you're the "what a waste" type, then please refrain. Everyone's really wondering why you think you could get him anyway. Oh what a shame, now he's gay, I'll NEVER get to have glorious vida loca sex with him Get.a.grip.

Mr Martin, you've angered me. That's right. To be frank, I've only just realised this point and, it's not down to your sexuality. Admittedly, it is your recent 'revelation' that has placed you, temporarily, back in the spotlight but no, it's not this that has rubbed me up the wrong way. So to speak. It's the fact that when I heard the echoes of 'Ricky Martin is gay!' in my office earlier on today, the first thing that happened, in my mind, was the automatic reeling off of song titles.

It sort of went into overdrive with latino passion based melodia, if you can call it that... (HYPERLINKED for your aural pleasure)

"She Bangs"
"Shake your Bon Bon"
"Livin' La Vida Loca"
"Nobody Wants To Be Lonely"
"Un Dos Tres Maria" (alright, maybe I shouldn't admit that one)

I even went on to relish in the irony of the track "Gay Messiah" - the first wave of disgust being the fact that I knew of the song itself, second wave born from the shame of my reaction. Tee-hee GAY Messiah, GAY. Cause he's gay, get it? Oh.

I'm having second thoughts about this post. Might as well get posted, there's not much pondering going on this week. Today however, I remembered just how much I like the British seaside - I was going to do a blog post all about it, then realised it really was very boring. However, I've got this photo to share - look how happy he is.

xxxxx

Question

Hello,

For this blog post only, I'm trying out a new format. I'll ask you a question. Tell you the answer and go on to babble mindlessly consisting mostly of my own opinions and outrage at said answer.

Clear your mind and imagine you have power. Commercial, cultural and influential power. Then answer this question, if you had to save one of the following, which would it be?

1) Snog, Marry, Avoid?

"Makeunder show, which sees POD transform OTT girls and boys into natural beauties."


'POD' our main protagonist, is a rather cutting and judgemental voiceover who starts off by knocking our guest down a peg or two. Quick quips and offensive surveys make up the majority of Pod's opening gambit and then, post makeover, said voiceover goes into self congratulatory 'told you so' mode in a bid to celebrate natural beauty. Yawn.

2) BBC Radio 6 Music

"BBC Radio 6 Music brings together the cutting edge music of today, the iconic and groundbreaking music of the past 40 years."


BBC Radio 6 plays 'alternative' genres of music including indie, rock, jazz, hip hop, funk and classic dance. Does what it says on the tin, BBC Radio 6 - only available on digital media, although following the same structure as Radio 1 and 2, it avoids mainstream and showcases both new (Jonsi's live session on Lauren Laverne is a bit of a favourite) and old (archives Peel Sessions).


3) BBC Asian Network

"The Sound of Asian Britain, Bollywood, Bhangra, British Asian News & Entertainment"


BBC Asian Network is made up from music and news from the main urban areas where there are significant communities with a background in the South Asian diaspora. BBC Asian Network broadcast mainly in English, but also have programmes in five south Asian languages – Hindi/Urdu, Punjabi, Bengali, Gujurati and the Mirpuri dialect of the Potwari language.

Hello Mark Thompson, director general of the whole.of.the.BBC.

Mr Thompson may have valid points concerning audience figures and ratings. However, think back to 1922 when the BBC was first created. We may have moved on from Reithian times but the BBC was created to be a public service broadcaster. Within this, a certain responsibility to educate the masses. Again yes, we have moved on from the moral high ground of Reithianism but, it would do no harm to pay a little attention to ethics of public service.

I digress.

What I am trying to say is, the BBC has a national, if not, international responsibility to educate it's audience on a political level, socially and culturally. Of the above, assuming you're not born with pound signs for eyes (Mark Thompson), I think we're all quite aware of which two options offer a plethera of aural pleasures. Where Snog, Marry, Avoid? may be considered an altogether more visually gratifying experience, come on now, I'm trying to be serious.

This comparison of the three is unrealistic I admit, different formats, different audience sizes, different financial figures altogether. However, from an outsider's point of view, it's difficult to avoid the 'why keep this and not this' element. WHY indeed keep Snog, Marry, Avoid? but not BBC Radio 6 or BBC Asian Network, two of the most culturally prevalent channels? The answer can not be simple. Although it is isn't it. In my eyes, it is. Just don't axe them Mark, please. Thanks.

привет!

Michael.Bloody.Landy.

To start off, I'd like to point out that I'm not trying to be some inelegant, distasteful scientist (that's about as opposite to elegantly cultivated artist that I can muster up) - I appreciate art.



I appreciate thought behind pieces and I appreciate the thought behind THIS piece too. When I say this piece, I mean Michael Landy's 'artbin'. Patrons are invited to throw their unwanted (modern) art into his large glass bin, which is in fact a room. Perfect for cameras/coverage/exposures eh? Waste art has thus far consisted of pieces from Damien Hirst, Tracy Emin and Peter Blake. Pieces that in actual fact, have the potential to fetch thousands. I understand that this contributes to the ever running 'Is Modern Art rubbish?' argument, generally fought for by traditionalists and classicists the world over.

Argument 1/// What the aforementioned fail to realise is the most basic of artistic concepts, the fact that interpretation is everything. Ideology and politics are all well and good but, it's down to the individual how they are to interpret the piece. This reminds me of that bit at the start of The Da Vinci Code (a weak and vulgar comparison, but one that's amusing me all the same) - you know, where Tom Hanks is flashing those symbols on screen and the lecture theatre of students are crying out their own interpretations? To say 'Modern art is rubbish' to me, a mere social onlooker, seems a little juvenile if not infantile.

I.don't.like.that.that.is.rubbish.

I.don't.like.birds.they.are.rubbish. (True)

I.hate.sprouts.they.are.rubbish.

Yes?

Argument 2/// No matter what you feel about these pieces, isn't it a bit vulgar to create a 'bin' and dispose of anything that isn't to your own taste? I sometimes offer myself up to the argument that 'art is ego' but this seems to be that very ego's anti-fucking-christ.

Argument 3/// These pieces, some more than others, they're worth a lot of money. Wouldn't the whole effort of Landy's be far more meaningful and worthy if he found some way to make money from this first, before the chucking away. Then, taking said money and donating to charities, rendering this event as something worthier than a bunch of ego's getting together and licking yoghurt off each other's massive egos? I understand that this is probably a part of it. Maybe a pretty big part but charitable giving? Doesn't that counteract any negative feelings Landy may have about generating money from his exhibition? Saying this, I'm sure Landy isn't that adverse to a little cash on the side. Something's got to keep him in full stock of polo necks.

Argument 4/// "Art Bin is about failure. Either within particular art work, or more generally in artists' practice: nobody discards art which has some sort of intrinsic value, so the bin becomes a monument to creative failure". Michael Landy, 2010. Well well, I wouldn't really call anything that is representative of that Hirst skull creative failure, would you? My guess is, Hirst and Emin shoved his head down the toilet and robbed his dinner money at some snazz art do, so he's showing them. Aren't you Michael? Bloody showing them.

Argument 5/// If Michael, if this is about celebrating artistic failure, then why are you contributing to the infamity of the pieces? They not only resonate in their own right, but now, thanks to you, Landy, you crusader you, they contribute to the post modernity of collaborative, contemporary art. You seem to have shot yourself in the foot, mate.

I only actually have 5 arguments. My 6th would be something along the lines of Michael Landy chucking himself in the bin, but I won't sink. I think Jean Baudrillard has hit the nail on the head this time:

"A negative judgment gives you more satisfaction than praise, provided it smacks of jealousy."

What do you reckon, Michael?

xxxxxxx

PS. Today's greeting is Russian, this has to be my favourite.

Ciao!

"The Archbishop of Vienna today said priestly celibacy could be one of the causes of the sex abuse scandals to hit the Catholic church."

That's taken from here - which is slightly too in tune with my thought processes this week. This is because, I was planning on a blog post about just how many Vatican related sex scandals there's been in The Guardian over the last week or so. This was the opinion that I was about to conclude with but it seems they've summed it up for themselves.

So. Turns out the Pope's brother was involved in something, another Cardinal or other has been outed as quite the gentleman of the night and so on and so forth. I'll be honest, I don't think any of us were thinking "I wonder why this has happened..." or, genuinely "That's odd, for a church to be involved in a sex/paedophilia/prostitution ring scandal" - delete as appropriate, the alternatives will apply a week on anyway.

My reaction towards each of these articles (which I would list as evidence, but if you're reading this blog, still, then we'll call this a trust exercise) was the same sort of reaction when discovering the daily Princess Diana related article in the Daily Express. It's sort of anticipated.

Hang about though.
1) I'm not pinning this solely on The Guardian, although they do seem to present the facts rather than headlines such as 'SICK I-TI PAEDOS' (a la, The Daily Mail) or 'CHECK THESE SEXY KIDS' (The Sun, not quite but it gave me a laugh, soz Sun/Sun readers)
2) I'm not purposely tracking Vatican sex scandals, no matter what they say.

UN CHIEN ANDALOU

Mr Dali summed it up about right in 1929. Priests, donkeys, oppression and all of that. If that film is anything to go by, which it is, it's a bloody masterpiece, then we should've seen it coming. Salvadar Dali - Sexual Nostradamus. That sounds a bit too sexy. What I'm trying to say is, these sex scandals are no longer a shock. In fact, in such contrived environments such as the Vatican, it's pretty much expected. I had a fleeting wonder of how many games of 'Soggy Biccy' have ever been played in that St. Peters. The mind boggles. Really.

As always, these thoughts are as disjointed as ever but I don't care to be honest. Grass on me. To the Pope.

xxxxxxxxx

PS. Italian . Obvs.

Tere!

Hiya.

This is a half retrospective sort of post. My main intention was to do a post about the BAFTA's and then one about the Oscars. However, that's not the case, I'm too late to pass any relevant or contextual comment on the former and, too early for the latter.

The general concensus is, the BAFTA's are a warm up ceremony for the oh so prestigious Academy Awards, 82nd this year I believe. I tend to agree. Scanning over the nominations, they're not all that different and the only definitive category for a British film is the Outstanding British Film award.

Give me a moment to get my soapbox out from the shed.

Personally, I am the opposite to patriotic. The anti-christ of Queen Victoria herself. On a cultural level, an economic level and societal level, I quite openly welcome multiculturalism, international influence and accept that with great responsibility does in fact come great power. Which is why in fact, I have a polycentric perspective on Hollywood rather than it being the devil of all international film industries. Suffice to say, the cultural clout of Hollywood film is generally lacking in style, grace and when push comes to shove, thought... on the whole it is terribly formulaeic and if vertical integration were alive today, surely it comes in the form of the Tim Burton films? Controversial? Maybe so. Soz. Again, I find myself digressing. Anyway, I can appreciate the impeccability of the Hollywood business model just as much as I can appreciate the mise en scene of Kieslowski or the leaps and structural bravery of Haneke. My point is, I'm not against Hollywood, it does what it sets out to do, make money. I'm also, in the same breath, not an Anglophile.



When it comes to the BAFTAs however. It really does get my goat. Yes, 'get my goat' - you heard. The British film industry, as it stands and in comparison, struggles through as the grey area. Not nearly as wealthy as Hollywood yet, not quite on the same level (although it's improving, this is a generalisation and if i were to conclude this in an essay, I'd prove myself wrong) ideologically, as your typical European offering. Saying that though, British film for me is something special. Whether it's being able to relate culturally, the ability to identify with the character easily or something as simple as recognising a landmark, British film has it's own unique representations and personality. Now let's look at the BAFTA nominations for best film:

Avatar
An Education
The Hurt Locker
Precious
Up in the Air

If anyone has seen An Education, you'll realise as I did that this was a sympathy nomination as it was utter gash. Let's see the Oscar nominations for best picture:

Avatar
District 9
An Education (still gash)
The Hurt Locker
Inglourious Basterds
Precious
A Serious Man
Up in the Air
The Blind Side
Up

As the BAFTA's feature a couple of weeks prior to the Oscars, forgive me for presuming that they're some sort of warm up ceremony. The political similarities and metaphors that can be drawn are quite clear.

I admit, this post may have seemed to have lacked direction somewhat. This is a point that I can and have argued for hours/days/weeks/years? So this is just a slight fragment of how I feel on this matter. If you wish to challenge or, bait me further, feel free to sit me down with a beverage and hit me with all you have as, sadly, perhaps, I have a lot of wind left in my film reel shaped sails when it comes to this matter.

HMPH.

RJB xxxx

PS. Today is Estonian, 1. because I like the Estonian greeting and 2. Because I miss my friend Ulla from Estonia, she's pretty fucking brill.

Witaj!

"SeaWorld trainer dies in killer whale attack in Orlando"......if I was being kept in a tank that in comparison was the size of my bath I too would be pretty fucked off.
CDT, 2010

This is just unbelievable isn't it.

I mean really. Since 1993, the general consensus on the Killer Whale has been that of affection. Since that one step for Shamu, one giant leap for Killer Whale kind, they've taken us in. Those creatures have cast their monochrome charm over us like the flight of a rather over zealous death eater. That is, until today when SeaWorld resident/detainee Tilikum turned on his trainer, which resulted in a rather harsh yet, animated (one has to imagine) death.

I'll be honest. You would think the word 'killer' would give a hint of a clue to the nature of these animals. Things don't get dubbed 'killer' for nothing. You have your bogstandard killers, who are in fact killers - Ian Huntley, Myra Hindley and Harold Shipman, for want of a less predictable set. It must take a few nasty acts to gain that very title. Working on the basis that, you don't get branded a killer if you actually are not... especially in species terms, then why on earth was this attack such a surprise to so many?

I'll tell you why.

1993.
Free Willy.

That's right. The early nineties played host to a rather specific form of propaganda. Propaganda in favour of the 'killer whale' - it made the world forget the meaning of a whole word. This must be the 9329021st time I've said this but, 'KILLER'...

So it turns out, Tilikum had killed before, killed along with causing great bodily harm to a number of trainers. Well done Warner Bros. You worked your dreamland magic, where orphans always get adopted, fish are caught in paper every time they are thrown and animals labelled 'killers' are in actual fact, loving sloths craving the freedom of the vast Ocean.

Why don't people learn? Why don't these morons learn? This is a creature, when faced with a mere human being, a creature that remains to be seen as a threat. That's not to be sniffed at, Chuck Tomkins, Head of Animal Training at SeaWorld. You have a whale, in a pool the size of a bath and then you have a human, standing on the side of said pool, irritating the fuck out of you. We must think back to Michael Douglas in 'Falling Down' - she was obviously an absolute nobhead.

Anyway.

I feel I may have slandered the whale slightly - the repetition of the k word is evident. I have to say though, going back to the start, if someone shoved me in a room the size of a filing cabinet, I wouldn't be best pleased.

RJB XXXX

PS. Polish!

ay up duck, ow yit been?

So due to unforeseen circumstances (broken laptop charger) the author of this blog is in a bit of a pickle. Wanting to blog, yet the countdown has started, one hour charge left..no way to do anything about this until tuesday when the new charger arrives (thank-you internet shopping) SO rushing to her rescue like a knight in shining armour I.AM.HERE.

Now let me introduce myself I'm Steve (don't call me Junior)... Tonight we have mainly been watching Saturday night TV, now we are pretty sure you are all out and about getting drunk, covering your thighs in mayo (Natto) tripping the light fantastic (Christian) or scanning this blog for banned words (Becky's Mum).

Being young (ish?) happening people (Becky's words not mine) we are pretty unfamilar with Saturday night telly, what follows is our review of tonights main course in the feast offered up by ITV..

Take me out (ITV1 7:30pm Saturday nights)

Some things, when you read / hear about them, sound utter rubbish, yet when you actually watch them despite yourself, turn out in fact to be BLOODY.AMAZING. Sadly, Take me out isnt one of those, yet...here we are having just finshed watching we seem to be able to talk about little else, why is this? Is it because we have been drinking? No, though yes we are, but it's early we aren't that.drunk, or is it because of Paddy's charm and wit ("No likey no lighty!!!") unlikely. The only thing we can put it down to, is that we really like watching people being mortified at not being chosen, having nobody to choose from after all the lovely ladies turn their lights off. . It doesnt even make us feel better about ourselves, if anything it makes us feel uneasy. I for one would never dare risk my ego to the extent to apply to appear, get accepted, turn up on the evening in question say some rather generic lines, eat a bit of fire, or any other party trick I could dream up. To only get rejected by a bunch of girls I know nothing about.

We could base this blog on Becky's thoughts about how (although she deffo isnt a raging feminist, honest guv) it's all a bit tacky, the answers given by the girls for instance, are nothing short of cringeworthy....Steve, shut up and move over....HI!!! it's ME I'm reclaiming control of MY blog......

I'm not quite sure what to say. Two things. 1. I hate Take Me Out (conceptually) 2. I love Take Me Out (brutal truth)... so it's difficult to pick it apart whilst not, in part, being guilty of a multitude of sins. However, I will. We all do it.

The girls, I will leave to Stephen as I've not got much of an opinion and well, there's more of them.

The blokes. I WILL comment on.

Contestant 1: TOM
Under par Flash Harry, his VT showed him making his fortune, then losing it, then sticking to a bar he now owns and in his words 'uses to attract the ladies' or something slightly more bile inducing. He's wearing a velvet jacket. That's quite enough about Tom, I'm sure you have the full picture.

Contestant 2: Jack
Not bad looking but horrible all the same. A genuine lack of talent, in any form.. his VT just shows 'Jack' poncing around at a swimming pool and his party trick is erm, dressing up as a gladiator and pulling that generic body builder stance.

Contestant 3: Christian
Blackpool charmer. Elderly, one might say. Dressed in all black, suaaaave Mr. Or not. His party trick is swinging a stick and hitting a brick. The two main qualities that I personally look for in a gentleman. Think of Dave from Gavin and Stacey - he reminded me of him. The girls 'no lightey'd' when his VT EXPOSED Dave, sorry, Christian.. as a grandad. Enough said.

Contestant 4: Ben (the worst of all three)
Smarmy prick is how I'd describe this fellow. Not only was he greased up, smooth and pronounced his t's with d's... the Take Me Out production team introduced an interesting spin on this character. As our main protagonist, the winner with most of the ladies... Ben, it stated, on two fucking massive screens, is worth £10,000,000. Now. I've seen some vulgar things in my time. Natto, mayo. This just made me say bad things. Yes mum, bad things. Not that bad thing, don't worry. Although, that fits.

Worst.Men.Ever. That's my contribution. xxxxx

Becky, give.it.back...my turn!!!

Hi folks, sorry about that interuption....I (Steve) now have full control once again....

I would comment on the ladies 'on offer' in tonights show...but that would take too long and, as a Gemini one of my traits is my lack of an ability to work on something for more that five minutes before becoming bored and letting someone else finish it off (once I have done all the fun parts of course).

Suffice to say the ladies on offer (by the way doesnt the phrase 'on offer' make it sound like a cattle market?) were not really my cup of tea, I'm sure in their own way at least some of them are very nice, apart from that one with the crazy hair (I apologise now for lack of names here, I'm bad with names, indeed I forgot my own name when only a few minutes ago I rang someone, thought they had answered, only it turned out it was their Mum, not sure why this made me stutter nervous laugh quite so much but it did. Sorry to the person that answered, I'm not a gibbering idiot all of the time, honest) Only one of the girls featured looked like I might actually like her, she never got to speak, so I'm unsure, I'll keep the proposal on hold until I've heard her speak, it's for the best.

In summary, Take me out isnt very good, it's a glorious cacophony of a tv show... maybe deep down we really did just like to laugh at people after all.

Bye!!

SPS & RJB
xxxxxxxxxx

PS. As per my greeting, today I'm from Yorkshire. Fancy! (I'm not actually from Yorkshire, it's Lincolnshire, yes yes I know you all probably have no idea where that is..lets just say near Hull and down a bit????

PPS. I'm sure it hasn't escaped your attention that I have managed to write this without resorting to disrespectful curse words, I feel RJB should take this lesson on board and learn from it.

Përshëndetje!

Yeah I know. Two blog posts in two days, like whoa!

This is just a little un.

Last night, the charger for my laptop finally broke on me. Then my dvd failed to work. Then, the dvd that I chose to watch would not play in the other player. Technology is taking out some serious frustration this weekend. Go ahead technology, I don't care. I've resorted to cupcake baking and working on being the domestic goddess that I.know.I.can.be. Anyway. So, cupcakes coming along nicely, I flick on ITV, family film? How nice.

Richie Rich.

My first thoughts were nothing more than 'I quite like this, it can stay on', 'Oh McCauley Culkin :(' and 'it'll sort of do for 20 mins'... then, it was that bit in the film where Mr & Mrs Rich are off on a trip to visit the Queen. The quintessentially English butler 'Cad-Berry' (could be Cadbury, pronunciation is inconsistent across the pond no?) arranges for a bunch of hoodlems to visit Richie. However, get this. They're pretty good kids. This pleased me, pleased me a lot and, I didn't even consider why until writing this very post. Anyway. These non-demonised figures are exposed to the wealth of Mr Richie Rich. He has a basketball court in his office, his own McDonalds, an array of quad bikes, a 'kidapult' (imagine.) and, his very own rollercoaster. Combined, all of these things sparked something inside me. I'll be open and honest with all (2) of you, I was impressed, impressed by money. That thing inside me, that was lit... that was my basic materialistic nature roaring after being suppressed (not that well, I still like dresses) for quite a while. Richie has his.very.own.rollercoaster? Who is not impressed by that?? It stirs the same feelings as Clueless does. Hello, Cher Horowitz has that outfit choosing system which is just ay-may-zing.

Anyway, I watched a little bit more and realised yep, I'm still a tad impressed by wealth. Has to be proper though, Richie Rich hyperbolic wealth, the sort of wealth that if this was real, it'd make me quite sick. What a conundrum.

That's it for now whilst I ponder my own mixed feelings towards money, materials and well, he has his own rollercoaster for goodness sake.

RJB xxx

PS. Albania Albania!
PPS. Started off as a little un anyway.

Sawubona!

So I may not be the most enlightening offering in this so called Blogosphere and, as opposed to how things usually go, these posts are generally not usually worth the wait but, it's my blog and I'll post when I bloody well like thank you very much.

This time, I have a gripe. I have a gripe with the world. Yes.

Tiger Woods.

Why on earth should he have to apologise to the public about his record of adultery?

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a fan of these acts. I don't actually totally condone them, as everyone has their own reasons. Folk close to me in fact, have not been the most monogamous of individuals but this in my humble opinion doesn't make them the devil incarnated. Everyone has their own reasons for their life choices, each to their own, all as individual.. blah blah. Right? So why, does a mere golfer (yeah, alright) feel the need to 1. express shame for his actions to the world and 2. express apology to the world? I'm sure this has affected his world quite enough, let alone that of his wife, but as a celebrity, should these people who hog quite-so-much of the dreaded limelight accept a sort of ethical and moral responsibility to society (Heat readers) hand in hand with their celebrity status?

Personally. I can see why Woods has done this. As one of the biggest sports personalities of the last couple of decades (I think)... surely Woods is a brand rather than a human being. However, that's just it. He's a human being. Who, will make mistakes or, not make mistakes, he surely will make decisions, be quite taken over with lust from time to time which just so happens... this time, was not directed towards his 'lovely wife' - that's not sarcasm by the way. I'm sure she's lovely.

Erm, I digress.

My point is, although he's taken on this status and, in his case... not through any choice of his own, surely he's welcome to make any basic human decision as the rest of us are. Is it really up to Tiger bloody Woods to apologise for his actions? I mean, who is personally offended by one person out of billions cheating on his wife? I have no comment regarding domestic abuse as he's denied this one, but even if he wilfully admitted it, I really.could.not.give.a.fuck. I mean alright, it's not very nice for her but come on, there's worse things in life than being the wife of a cheating golf superstar? ANYWAY, ANYWAY, I'M GETTING DRAWN IN. I still really couldn't give a fuck what he does, what she does, what he's sorry for, how she'll try to spice up the relationship in the future to attempt to prevent this sordid, horrendous, mystifying, abhoring, VILE ACT from happening again...

I just think, he should really not have to apologise.
1. What's done is done, sort it out between yourselves.
2. Who really cares?*

*If you choose to answer this question, then surely, it speaks volumes.

The END.

RJB XXX

PS. I'm ZULU!

Salaam!

Hello Monday.

If you weren't so full of smiles and private laughs to myself, I'd curse you. However Monday, because you're treating me fairly well, you're alright with me, old friend. You are after all, only the second to worst day in our 7 day week. To confirm, good to bad, days are as follows :

Saturday
Friday
Sunday
Thursday
Wednesday
Monday
Tuesday

Probably best to leave that one there as it's 1. boring. That's it.

As some of you may or may not be aware, I have a little issue recollecting events/people/everything when I've been slightly drunk, so I'll offer a snippet of things running through my mind relating to the weekend just gone. This may include people, funnies, quotes, events, music, images, places, whatever... you know, it really depends where my thoughts go, but I'll try to go chronological at least. Try, operative word.

Car. Sleepy. Dirty Cash. Lanes. Curry. Wine. Sleeps. Early. Service stations.

Wait, let me just stop here. This list is pretty all encompassing, but the latter half of the weekend is almost GUARANTEED to offer more. In my mind anyway, as far as I erm, remember.

C's house. Tubes. Soho. Coffee. Angry fuck? Fatcats. Wine. Wine. Wheelie Bin. Takeaway waiting area/VIP room complete with MDF tables and cobwebs. New girls. Plastic cups. Wine. Taxi. You're a cow, not a human. Get him sacked. Home. Dancing. Wine. GRINDR. Electro Boy. Hip hop. Let the dog see the rabbit. Voicemails :( Nice ears. Sleeps.

Breather..

Morning. Tango. Hula Hoops. Glasses. S. Stories of street urchins and general fumbles. Wine. Cocktails. Catch ups. L! C's. Wine. Gin and juice bus. G-A-Y Bar. I wish I were a gay man. Traipse. Incidents. Phone calls. Chats. Bar. Wine. Spaniard capes. Heavy metal rickshaw. Sonia. Old cunt. Thanks Aston! Dances. Wine. Paul. C's Tom. Laughs.

(I am laughing to myself loads now.)

Geezers. DPR? DPR. There's only a certain amount of times you can hear I love you. No socks. I like your handbag - DON'T TRUST THEM. Laughs. Beers in cups. Chicken Balls? Chicken Balls. Sammink for the veggie. Want to try it on, look like more of a cunt? Sometimes I just go out with my passport and a monkey. £75. Grey haired scouser. Pie and mash? Taxi. Then my dad had a good year so he bought a house with a swimming pool. C's. Dancing. Laptops. Raps. Leopard. Foot. So I walked through the valley of the shadow of death... I gotta feelin. BOOTS :( Just don't break anything else. FIRE! RAPE! Sleeps.

That's really it. That's my inner monologue for you right there.

Boring to others isn't it? Nobody promised excitement.

If these words don't paint a picture, don't express why I've been glad to get out of Stoke, then perhaps this
goes to explain a little further. Now I'm back home. Hi Stoke.

RJB
xxx

PS. I'm Arabic today :)

Souled Out

Just one little thing as I'm very tired...

http://s227.photobucket.com/albums/dd113/brijsax/?action=view¤t=souled_out_trailerwmv.flv

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! exciting!

xxx

Mingalaba MOTHER.

It comes to something when a 24 year old English girl doesn't have freedom of expression DOESN'T IT.

As you may notice on my previous post, there's a nonsensical listing, within the reasoning why I haven't created the Menefits blog. This nonsensical entry is point 3, which originally contained the oh so dreaded C word. Now, because Jayney K is so sensitive, I've promised to remove this. Much to my dismay, much to my disdain but, whilst I'm under her roof, I shall 'abide by her rules' - Give you a clue, there's only one rule. Don't say cunt.

Oh sorry mum, it seemed to have slipped out. It's all about the context.

xxxxxx

PS. Still Burmese. Same day.

Mingalaba!

Welcome to the new and improved blog of mine. It's long since the days of Pent Friends (contributors putting forward messages in the form of iambic pentameter) and Menefits (Ok, not long since, this was never actually made, as I realised I didn't really want to blog about how to use men for your own benefit. 1. Because between us all, it could turn into some witches brew and 2. Well, it's a bit unfair isn't it really? 3. I'm really not a *the c-word that i had to remove because my mother kept mentioning it until i did

So, as fads of mine go, this could be a keeper. In the last year, I've learnt all of the States and Capitals of the USA, successfully may I add - test me. No really, do. I started to learn French with the aid of a Michel Thomas cd. The format of this was Michel and 2 pupils, you are the third. You. I'll be honest, I found him a tad harsh. He had a huge go at my new classmate Pauline for forgetting the main rule - 'don't try to remember', this really was destined to fail as new hobby wasn't it? Makes me wonder how Pauline is getting on now. I then tried to get through every Almodovar film and, was successful. This was less of a fad and more of a personal challenge, not that tough really, seeing as it was enjoyable to the very end (even 'Kika'), alright, this was the least challenging challenge. Then I said I was going to read all of the Oscar Wilde plays. Done thanks. Then, when it came to something practical and useful (sorry Oscar, I'm pandering to their judgements of how proactive one's day should be, ignore this), like driving lessons, not so well. Oh hello, money, time, effort, time, effort, time, money, what? Plus, on my first lesson I was rather close to going into a bus AND a horse, surely that's an achievement in itself?

SO. Bloggers alike, please welcome me with open arms as I attempt judgement on others, comment where my comment isn't particularly necessary and generally air my soapbox-ish views... this is pure guesswork but I predict a lot of spouting off about the demonisation of subcultures. Then again, it could just be tittle tattle (ha!) and go straight back to what I waste my not so precious time on.

Mind expanding stuff? I think so.
RJB xxx
PS. I hasten to add, I'm also learning how to say hello in as many languages as possible, so blog posts will be labelled as such. Today, I'm Burmese.