Reigs

: reigs; July 13th, 19:12

Hello,

I've recently started using Twitter as I got bored with Facebook within about a month and am now also doing the same with Twitter after only 2 weeks or so. It's not that one is any worse than the other more that being a misanthrope I'm not the target audience, but out of curiosity I gave it a try hoping also to understnd it's appeal and of course have something to rant about.

The main thing that bothers me about Twitter is not the strangers that start following you or the endless obvious phishing scams with pictures of naked oriental girls in the profiles but the way in which it gives you access into the lives of well known personalities. Now some people might see this as the whole point of Twitter and I'm not naive enough to think that all celebrities are unaware of exactly how much insight into their lives they're allowing if any, but some of them plainly are not aware (we're dealing with celebrities here remember) A few, and there are probably many more out there, are using it as a desperate vehicle to keep their star in the ascendancy long after it has plummeted to earth in the misguided belief they are not now merely wandering aimlessly around the rim of it's crater... in the rain....without shoes......crying. What's more, some Twitterers out there (Twats?) are using it as a way to try and befriend celebrities which is just creepy. It reminds me of a headline in the Onion once that said “Fan Knows Exactly What He'd Say To Christina Ricci If He Met Her”

The undoubted King of Twitter as far as I can tell at the moment is Stephen Fry, a title I'm sure he's more than aware of with his (at todays count) 649,343 followers, a fact that was not accidentally dropped into conversation by Jeremy Clarkson during Fry's his recent appearence on Top Gear. According to his Twitter profile Mr Fry is simultaneously following 54,877 people as well. Now why on earth would he claim to be following that many people? If every one of them tweeted only once in a 24 hr period he'd have 54,877 tweets to read through. Of course they all wouldn't do that but a conservative estimate would, given Twitter's current popularity, be least a several hundred or so a day right? And there's no way on earth he's going to read through all of those tweets what with his acting, writing novels, hosting TV quizzes, documentary filming, newspaper columns, gadget testing, various other TV appearances, travel, (last week he was in St Petersburg, oooOOOh didn't know that did you? Yes he visited the Hermitage and went to a concert oooOOOH) being an ibassador for Apple phones oh and presumably having some kind of private life too. He's not following these people at all he's probably just sitting there in his smoking jacket clocking his increasing number of acolytes and cackling like some kind of needy Bond Villain.

During lunch in order to escape the Shitting Forecast or BBC lunchtime news as it's more commonly known I switched to ITV and unfortunately happened on Loose Women. This daily chatalogue of umska would probably make Emmeline Pankhurst shit with rage and is as you may know aimed mainly at housewives or stay at home menopausal alcoholics as a kind of right on sista ladette laugh-a-thon in which quelle surprise they poke fun at men, husbands ex boyfriends etc whilst slyly giving each other evils and competitively shout over one another for an hour. Today's mind numbing blood speckled turdfest culminated in a non singing personal appearance by some teen boy band who's name I instantly forgot (probably something like BEEF 4 REAL) introduced by Jackie Brambles with the words “Keep calm ladies”. Now let's imagine for a minute that there was a male version of Loose Women called (make up your own name) in which lardy middle aged men talked openly about Penile dysfunction and nagging wives/girfriends that can't catch spiders and then Chris Moyles introduces a pubescent teen girl band by bellowing “Boner Alert! let's give a big right hand for JAILB8”. How long do you think that'd last?

Talking of the lunch time news. Up here on the Moon we have to suffer Midlands Today usually presided over by geriatric eye candy and champion smarmster Nick Owen, whose biography by the way is entitled, In The Time Of Nick ....yeah. As on most days not much really happens around these here parts so they desperately try to fill the slot by tenuously linking the Midlands with bigger news stories happening down there in “that London”. Today the Defence Secretary Bob Ainsworth was due to be grilled (it hadn't even happened yet) in the House of Commons over the recent deaths of British soldiers in Afghanistan, in particular the fact that the death toll was 9 in the last 24hrs. Midlands today pounced on the statistic that apparently 3 of them came from the Midlands thus poaching the story which is as weak as saying the Defence Secretary faces tough questioning today over the number of Aquarians killed in Afghanistan as 3 of the recently deceased were found to have been born between 21^st January & 19^th February. They then poke a camera in the face of a bereaved relative of course forcing them to say something like “This shouldn't happen”. I don't want to appear callous but when is someone on TV (probably Peter Hitchins) going to openly state the obvious and say that being killed in a war is an occupational hazard of being a soldier like a Fire Fighter is likely to encounter.....er things on fire?

On a lighter note I have an idea for a re-working of Cash In The Attic – Slash In The Attic – in which instead of trying to flog worthless tat in a depressing auction room somewhere that you'll make a mental note never to visit, you have to follow a trail of clues around a really posh house eventually leading to the attic and the 1st contestant to get up there and take a slash in it then race triumphantly back to the presenter (Stephen Fry?) bearing some sort of piss drenched litmus paper as proof gets to wipe their arse on the curtains.
This would of course ultimately spawn it's more popular sister show - Aristocraps - in which a similar but more messy competition takes place in various stately homes....... "Join us next week when we'll be crapping all over Longleat House & Safari Park home to multi-coloured mentalist Lord Bath, the interior of which was inspired by the colours of a Mandrill's arse." It could only be presented of course by the aptly named Paul Heiney.

Lord Bath

A Mandrill

Other annoyances -

People that start sentences with “Yeah No” or "No Yeah"

TV Chefs – some of you please f**k off there are too many. No wonder there's an obesity crisis.

Those plastic charity sacks put through the letter box that try to guilt you into filling them. Today's bore the banner “We believe in children DO YOU?”

Young people of Britain here are your choices -

(a) Set your sights unrealistically high i.e. become a Pop Star or David Beckham

(b) Get pregnant & live on benefits because the media would have you believe there are no others.

One thing that is making me laugh a lot though is when Murder She Wrote pretends to be filmed somewhere other than a back lot in LA like "Oirland" or Australia. with suitably hilarious accents. Apparently Angela Lansbury is the highest paid TV actress in history, wtf?

Current music, The Eels - Hombre Lobo. This is my favourite track which sounds like Whatever You Want by Staus Quo weirdly.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fLQ9ATx7n8

remember we're all just flies on a Banana.

Vote Summer.

: reigs; June 29th, 21:10

Alright?

Well that's another Glastonbury over then. I didn't go, I never do, but decided as I do every year to have a mini Glastonbury at home instead with the telly which basically involves drinking too much while watching it and shouting at the bands I don't like.

The BBC though for some reason decided to make it as difficult as possible for the millions of music fans who aren't there, for whatever reason – apathy, work, £, hatred of younger skinnier happier people etc to achieve said rantathon by making us jump through hoops in order to get anything like constant coverage of the shenanigans unfolding down in Pilton.

There was the usual telly coverage on the Beeb for a few hours each night but it went on until 2AM! (yeah cos all music fans are nocturnal aren't they? It goes without saying.) Now I'm not so fussed about the transmission time more the contempt within which the BBC seems to constantly hold music fans. They screwed around with Later with Jools which didn't work and now with Glastonbury they're making me flit between BBC2, and BBC3 & 4 (the latter in my case being on-line as we don't have cable or a dishes in Medieval Stratford Upon Avon and necessitates me having to fire up the pc etc like Rod Hull wrestling with his TV ariel on the roof) at wildly differing times every night and that's if the stupid BBC iPlayer doesn't crash on you and then inform “This content doesn't seem to be working at the moment because we're useless. Please try later” (Did you know you can now pay your licence fee online? yes) I had to jump between 4 BBC website links just to get to see a bit of Nick Cave's set and the same for The Prodigy but not the complete sets, oh no we can't have people enjoying ALL of the sets. Why can't they just broadcast it throughout the evening as it happens for the duration? After all we have to suffer hour after hour of Wimbledon daily FOR TWO WEEKS! Yet they won't do the same for one weekend of Glastonbury? The UK music industry is one of our biggest exports and one in which we have historically and still continue to excel in and which makes a damn sight more money for the economy than fucking Tennis. Still at least Glastonbury wasn't on Channel 4 with its interminably long ad breaks (more about ads later) during which you forget what you were watching - you'd probably be able to pair up your odd socks, alphabtise your cd collection and still have enough time for a really long wank before the programme came back on again it's ridiculous.

The other gauntlet the hapless viewer is forced to run is the inane vacuous butt clenchingly cringe making vapid presenting duo that is Jo Whiley and Zane Lowe, Jesus H Christ what a prize cunting partnership that is. I'd just be getting all into it then up pops Granny Whiley to interrupt and let us know how cool she's feeling right now or how she'd heard of some band currently popular with teenagers way before WE had. Like some kind of musical paedophile and dropping about a million names whilst desperately, and I mean desperately, trying to somehow get her new boots into the fucking shot. At one point she was squirming around with one eye on the monitor so intensely I thought she was trying to pull off some kind of Yoga move! It was vanity of unparalleled proportions. Zane Lowe (a man who talks to the camera like he's rehearsing it in front of his bedroom mirror) was having none of it though and kept ignoring the references she was making to her fabulous footwear - “These boots were made for walking” & heaving her pins into view “Good job I'm not wearing long trousers Zane!” - spoken like a true Granny. She also kept mentioning her favourite bands all the time too like we give a shit? Surely the bands must secretly worry about the trade off of being endorsed by a vacuum in designer wellingtons verses potential sales? Well if they have any self re-cocking-spect they would.

It wasn't all shit though. I enjoyed shouting at Florence And The Machine who a friend & I both discovered we hate venomously and drunkenly texted each other arranging her demise, here's a sample -

Friend: Just in from pub. Cannot stand FLORENCE AND MACHINE they won't be around next year.

Me: I'd to kill her and her Machine.

Friend: Meanwhile what's this terrible shit? Is it Paolo Nuttini? SHIT!

Me: Yes, he has an untidy mouth.

Friend: Ooh look it's yesterday's band (Franz Ferdinand)

Me: I wish someone would throw a hand grenade at THEM like their namesake.

Friend: God and now Granny (Whiley) has turned up.

Me: Uh Oh it's her.

Friend: SHE'S ON NOW (Florence) do you think there'd be room up her arse for her machine and my boot?

Me: Your boot and Pendulum yeah.

Friend: Granny enjoyed Pendulum. Woo hoo granny.

Friend: Would we be able to cram those flags up Florence's pooper too?

Me: Yeah, and fuck off Nathan and don't forget yer Flute (some guy called Nathan who'd just finished an acoustic bit in front of Granny Whiley)

Friend: Lube that Flute up Nathan, it's heading Florence's way.

Me: Let's get Eric Cantona to penalty kick Zane in the balls? They'd go so far up his arse that every time he took a shit he'd shit all over his balls.

Friend: Kick his balls up Florence's arse then grab Cantona and shove him up too.

Me: Then fire them from a medieval Trebuchet into the Swat Valley wearing “F**k the Taliban” t-shirts

Friend: No fire them from a Trebuchet BACK IN TIME UP FLORENCE'S ARSE.

Me: Fire her back in time up her arse and make her murder her parents before they can conceive her.

Friend: Fire her parents FORWARD IN TIME UP HER ARSE while they're conceiving her.

.........and so on. I told you we were drunk.

Other stuff annoying me lately,

Alastair Stewart shouting the news – it's like being called into your bosses office for a bollocking.

The BBC (again) trying to sex up Royal Ascot - yeah Horses.

Adverts for faux Chinese food that Chinese people would never eat that include bad Kung Fu (usually being demonstrated by the Chef)

Adverts with dancing in them - Fabric Softener, Beer, Phones, Breakfast Cereals, Banks/Building Society's, Aaaargh! I'm not asking.

Adverts where the product animatedly turns into something it's not and can never be - car into ice skating Transformer/giant mountain climbing metalic Spider.

The Adios advert with that nubile woman jumping around in her pants – isn't Adios just Speed?

Adverts.

Lottery winners that don't want to change their lives except “buy a new water feature for the garden” when asked by an incredulous reporter “Why not a new garden for the water feature?” the answer came “No.” Wtf? they won 25 million Euro, take the money back off them now. Do you remember that woman that worked in a greasy spoon who won millions and said she'd be back at work in the cafe asap “to keep things normal”? Yeah cos I find I can't abide a full english breakfast unless it's served to me by a multi-millionaire can you?

Old people staring – Why do they have to look at everybody younger than them in that obviously disapproving way like your mere existence is a threat to national security? Anyway there probably won't be any old people left alive soon if tonight's news was anything to go by. Yes there's going to be a heatwave (err it's called Summer) in which all old people are going to perish if we don't hose them down every 5 minutes with water cannons. Has it occurred to the media how old folks have managed to live so long, through WW2 etc without being patronised by twats? Or it was due to them remembering to occasionally HAVE A GLASS OF WATER? You just try making an oldster sit somewhere they're not comfortable and see what happens. or god forbid get between a pensioner and their bus - you'd be safer getting between a Lioness and her cubs.

The hot weather always reminds me of that old advert featuring John Stalker, the ex- Deputy Chief Superintendent of Greater Manchester Police and his dog Drummer in which he begins by shouting "ARE YOU SICK AND TIRED OF THE CONSTANT GLARE OF THE SUN RUINING THE ENJOYMENT OF YOUR GARDEN?" Eh? run that by us again John. The constant glare of the Sun ruining the enjoyment of your garden? What's he going to do you think to yourself, arrest the Sun? Soon it all becomes clear though when you see that he's trying to part pensioners from their savings in order for them to purchase, wait for it, -remote controlled Sun Blinds. Which, upon closer inspection appear to be windowless corrugated metal shutters with badly stencilled flowers on them to cover your entire garden for about 2 grand a pop. The instalment and running of which would simultaneously pray upon pensioners security fears and run up a hideous electricity bill what with the stair lift and re-charging the mobility scooter. Nice one John! The weirdest bit is right at the end though when he inexplicably bellows at his dog "COME ON DRUMMER YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT." wtf?

Michael Jackson's death – who would have thought that'd be weird eh?..... Meh.

I see tonight's TV highlights includes autopsys carried out on really big animals.

Remember we're all just flies on a Banana.

Perhaps One More Wafer Thin Mint.

: reigs; May 25th, 14:43

Hello again,

Is there anything worse than bank holiday weekend TV? I just switched on hoping to find some epic film like Spartacus or maybe The Wld Geese with the visibly drunk Richard's Burton and Harris that I could veg out to whilst gorging myself on proper granny made apple pie courtesy of Lydia's gran and cups of tea but no. There's the usual T4 shitfest or Mollusc TV as I like to call it (don't you think Steve Jones and that Rick guy with the huge jaw are waaay too old to be presenting a kids programme? - creepy, and what's with that Miquita Oliver who finds everything she says so hilarious she must have permenantly cracked ribs? ) and the schedule is almost the same as a normal Monday but not quite. It's like the telly people know most of us wont be watching anyway because we'll all be poisoning ourselves at barbeques or stuck in a traffic jam in the Ford Frantic on the way to World Of Leather and so just got bored halfway through deciding what to put on and just f**ked off home instead? They didn't forget to schedule that documentary about people having LIVE SURGERY though did they? Oh no mustn't forget that vouyeuristic piece of lowest common denominator bottom feeding. Who the f**k wants to watch that? "Ooh look Derek you can see his Spleen!... pass the salad dressing." and if you turn over it's just Attenborough watching insects f**king in the Galapagos.

If they're going to dumb down telly then they may as well go the whole hog and strap a camera to Calum Best's cock for the weekend or how about my mate Conrad's idea for a new game show - Vanessa Feltz's Shotgun Saturday - contestants have to answer some really hard questions like, What do Anteaters eat? (a) Pasta Parcels (b) Termites or (c) Hamburgers, and then perform some rudimentary physical feat like a head over heels with a team of muscley helpers in track suits on hand in case fat contestants get stuck, then the eventual winner gets to blast Vanessa Feltz in the face with both barells of a shotgun - genius! There could only be one show obviously but who cares?

Talking of fat people i'm turning into a right tubster. I was telling my old friend The Peden about my increasing girth the other day and how i've become incapable of not having a pudding after every meal and get quite sulky if there isn't one. I promised myself on the way to the supermarket for the weekly shop that I wouldn't buy any but yet found myself spending 20 mins choosing one. I'd eaten half a Trifle with dinner the night before and made myself feel sick but was now eyeing up a Lemon Meringue Pie. Later that evening, after gobbling down my main course like a dog eating hot chips I dived in declaring to Lydia that it was the best Lemon Meringue ever but maybe a little doughy at the base? To which she replied "That's because you're supposed to finish cooking it first".... a half cooked pie! WTF?

Yes fat is in the air, everywhere I look around. Fat unfunny comedian pretending to be gay - James Corden. Fat shouty drunk man that wont let anyone else speak - Johnny Vegas. Fat sometimes funny man with eyebrow plucking fetish of midlife crisis proportions - Ricky Gervais. Fat daytime tv presenter with head superimposed onto younger yoga fit body in order to sell FOOD - Fearne Brittan, and so to paraphrase that annoying song - I predict a diet, that is after I return from Cornwall where i'm off to on Friday for a week of Pastie, Cream Tea and Ale abuse with some friends yaaaay! I'm taking an 8ft Flexifoil power kite to fly on the beach but scared myself watching clips on youtube of people being carried hundreds of feet into the air on gusts of wind then realised there's not much chance of that happening to me.... Belch!

Remember we're all just flies on a Banana,

bye.

p.s. some guy just e-mailed me about my comments on youtube re the safety aspects of power kiting and informed me that the model I have is "Not really a beginners kite and can be pretty nasty".....oh shit look

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjNm7U63hoQ

'TEN 'SHUN!

: reigs; May 4th, 12:21

Hello again,

Oh god this is going to be hard work as I can hardly be bothered to write anything and any news I had, like my being sacked you all know about already via e-mail. I guess i'll just have to rant about the usual guffery getting on my tits at the moment.

Well one thing for a start is the adverts aimed at fooling thick people into joning the Army every time I turn the f**king telly on, in which some Ross Kemp type aggressively whispers a retarded multiple choice scenario at you in which you have to identify the correct solution for killing the terrified Iraqi/Afghan family huddled behind a wall that "Dave" in Op's thinks might be Taliban but can't be sure cos they all look the fackin same so let's kill them anyway cos we'll get away with it and it'll make you cum when you fire your cock, sorry, gun at their screaming faces. Funny how they never offer option D = Decide that signing up for this hideous shit has all been a dreadful mistake that you made when pissed and under severe peer pressure from other Troglodytes to prove you weren't a poof or anything and are now really scared and would like to go home please, and funny how the advert never goes:

"Hey average Joe, yeah you. You know how sometimes you just want to kill foreigners but people keep telling you you can't, so you have to satisfy your neanderthal urges by beating up some random guy in your local pub instead, annoying isn't it? Well imagine if there was a job where you were allowed to kill foreigners, poor foreigners, and you were given cool things to kill them with and you were given a uniform and some friends to help you and it was all legal too? Well there is it's called the ARMY."
p.s. "We wont pay you much but we'll hold a homecoming parade for those of you that don't get blown to pieces by an invisible enemy that know every rock and stone for hundreds of miles like the back of their hands, and you'll suffer horrendous PTSD and probably be sectioned then ignored forever once scary uncle Gordon decides it's not going to win him any votes and Joanna Lumley won't care either." Jesus!

I was watching the weather forecast the other day when the piercing female voice of the presenter (it was like someone ripping tin foil) informed us gleefully, but not I have to say convincingly, that this summer is going to be a "Barbeque Summer", not a warm summer or hot summer or, if it must be attached to an outdoor activity, a Picnic Summer or even a Pimms Summer, no it's going to be a "Barbeque Summer" like now we're all f**king Australian? Don't get me wrong I don't dislike Australians but on the whole we can't pull off a Barbeque in the same way they can and the words Barbeque Summer conjour up images of fat bald obnoxious sunburnt drunk blokes in shorts and flip flops (yeah you really had me fooled into thinking you were a surfer mate haha nice one) Well that's put paid to any invites for me this summer Jesus!

One final thing - we've had an "undesirable" move into the flat upstairs. From the moment I laid eyes on him I knew he'd annoy me. It wasn't the hooded sports casual attire or the rat like features, (although they were huge clues I agree), but his refusal to make eye contact or SPEAK UP and not mumble when I introduced myself in a neighbourly way to him the other day. Within hours of arriving he'd already been visited by something that I believe to be his girlfriend complete with grisly child in tow and a fully grown man on a pink child's bicycle carrying some old kitchen tiles. He then proceeded to play at full volume the kind of music that Chavs capsize their brains with skunk to at parties in tower blocks. Jesus!

Current Music; Brtish People In Hot Weather - The Fall
Duncan Browne - Duncan Browne, as recommended by The Peden.

p.s. There's a Wood Pigeon stomping around outside my french windows and it keeps coming right up to the glass and fixing me with its beady eye - what does that Pigeon want?

"Ah Mr Reeves, Mr Mortimer, your table is ready."

: reigs; March 30th, 15:36

Alright?

In my never ending quest to acquire yet more information about general random stuff i've just finished a highly informative tome entitled Napoleon's Privates, which is stuffed to the gils with odd facts about significant bods throughout history, like where Napoleon's cock is right now? (in a mahogany box under a some blokes bed in New England in case you're wondering....really) and delicious nuggets such as Hitler's Doctor was an incompetent quack who towards the end the mentalist wrongcock's life pumped him with no less than 38 different types of drugs daily, none of which were needed and which real Doctors have subsequently confirmed would have driven even Ghandi to monumental paranoid rages..... Mmmm?

Within its pages I also discovered a Mr Marinetti, a Chef in 1930's Italy who plied his patrons with "futuristic food" and who quite obvoiusly had an influence on a certain celebrity Chef recently in the news for poisoning his customers and who doesn't seem to be quite the "out there" creative genius he'd like us to think he is, well at least not the first eh Mr Blumenthal? Here's a taster from Marinetti's menu -

Aerofood: A Signature dish with a strong tactile element. Pieces of olive and Kumquat are eaten with the right hand while the left hand caresses various swatches of sandpaper, velvet and silk. At the same time, the diner is blasted with a giant fan (preferably an airplane propeller) and nimble waiters spray him or her with the scent of carnation, all to the strains of a Wagner opera. ("Astonishing results" Marinetti says. "Test them and see.")

Chicken Fiat: A chicken is roasted with a handfull of ball bearings inside. "When the flesh has fully absorbed the flavour of the mild steel balls, (mmmmh yeah keep going Marinetti) the chicken is served with a garnish of whipped cream."

and my favourite - (sorry for the italics by the way I can't fucking switch them off!)

The Excited Pig: A whole Salami skinned, is cooked in strong espresso coffee and flavoured with eu de cologne.
(BELCH! ooh excuse me, well they do say it's the sign of a good meal don't they?)

Other yummy dishes were available with names such as - Italian Breasts In The Sunshine, Candied Atmospheric Electricities and Simultaneous Ice Cream.
(I couldn't thanks I'm stuffed)

Marinetti's reputation suffered eventually due to his embrace of Italian Fascism and macho posturing but he influenced the spanish goofball Salvador Dali who wrote obsessively about the connection between food and art, apparently providing recipes for a Venus de Milo made entirely of hard boiled eggs - an idea i'm sure Heston Blumenthal would have loved to have thought of. Incidentally if you've been watching Heston's Rancid Feasty or whatever it's called did you see the episode with Sophie Ellis Bextor looking like a prehistoric raptor about to let out an ear splitting screech when the food arrived? The whole thing has the feel of that Bodyworks programme in which a Freddy Kruger type chopped up cadavers whilst you watched eating your tea. Still, not quite as depressing a culinary event as a book I saw the other day - Microwave Recipes For One.

All this talk of food has reminded me of my answer to a question put to me at work the other day when I was asked "What did Ernest Borgnine look like?" to which I replied, "A startled Findus Beefburger, also famous in the 70's."

(nope still can't get rid of the italics)

I'll leave you with another bit of info from Napoleon's Privates from the section on the most badly behaved Roman Emperors and that of Commodus (180 - 192 AD) who was portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix in the fantastical 2000 epic - Gladiator (but the real Commodus didn't die in the Arena he was stabbed in a bathouse by an athlete) -

Infantile voyeur. Liked to watch private harem of 300 girls and 300 boys copulate; names them after sex organs; right-hand man Onos (ah so that's where it comes from) chosen because he has male member larger than most animals. (actually larger than most animals or larger than most animals's members isn't made clear) Sex life less notorious than his habit of appearing as a gladiator in the arena sometimes against handicapped men armed only with sponges.

p.s I notice in the listings tonights televisual delights include - Extreme Fishing With Robson Green. WTF?



hicken

GRRRR.

: reigs; March 9th, 14:36

Hello again,

I'm an angry man, I am it's true. I don't know why I just am. Always have been for as far back as I can remember. I thought about not being angry anymore but then my friend Mark reminded me that I couldn't because "It's your thing" and he's right it is. So here goes with the stuff that's been making me angry lately because as we've established i'm angry (that last sentence made me a bit angry too)

First off, that advert for some male grooming moisturiser (the name escapes me or i've just made myself forget it) with Matthew Fox of Lost fame in it pretending to be a Boxer for Christ's sake. There he is supposedly looking all real and sweaty down at his local gym on his day off having a bit of a punch up with some guy who would in reality totally muller him in about ten seconds and leave him in a bloody yelping mess on the canvas but no, Matthew would have us believe that he's a real roughhousing, log splitting, car mending kinda guy but hey likes to take care of his skin too. Bollocks, firstly his jaw is so lanterned that a drunk blind man randomly throwing punches in the same town as him would connect with it every time and secondly take a look at the windmill of a punch he's throwing at the other guy, he couldn't have advertised it more had he placed an ad in the previous weeks local rag. I know this because I once flirted with the pugilistic art as a teenager in Croydon and one week was put in the ring to spar with a much smaller kid and before I could smugly think "this'll be easy" was subjected to a drubbing that left me shocked and bloodied (turns out he'd been boxing since he was tiny and according to the ubiquitous broken nosed old geezer hanging about at the Gym was "a natural" or should I say "natchurvul") which made me lose my temper and kick my opponent in the balls thus ending any teenage fantasies of boxing stardom. It turns out i'm just too angry to be a boxer and the quickest way to get knocked out in the ring is to lose your temper. I could take Matthew Fox any day though.

Look at this c**t

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEtIoGQxqQs

Why do famous people always recount "humorous" incidents in interviews that obvously never happened to them? I don't mean no marks like Fearne Cotton or Gary Wilmot (who I incidentally saw in the street the other day - he's quite short and has an enormous arse) appearing on one of those Stuart Maconie produced "I remember Spangles and Choppers" programmes (er, not unless you straddled one and peddled it furiously out of your mothers vagina to the sweet shop as you were born you don't Fern - you're too young) but proper bona-fide famous folk like Glenn Close? I saw her on Jonathan Ross and she embarked on some highly unbelievable yarn about how a small child in a department store somewhere became terrified after recognizing her as Cruella de Vil from 1001 Dalmations prompting Glenn to get into character and give the kid her best Cruella evils causing the child to freak out completely. Now this is clearly a lie because Glenn Close wouldn't know the child thought she was Cruella de Vil and as such wouldn't risk randomly growling or gurning like a mentalist at a small child in a dept store for no apparent reason (imagine the headlines). And even if it were true it wouldn't be because the child recognized her character but because, let's face it, Glenn close is a pretty terrifying looking horse frightener of a woman in reality. The fact that we're supposed to swallow all this guff as an anecdote worthy of prime time TV and despite it insulting our intelligence tells me that many famous people have nothing of any interest to say and probably lead pretty dull and uneventful lives which is ok but I just wish they'd stop lying.

I've just remembered an incident that happened during the recent "end of the world" snowfall that made me angry. I was walking down an un-gritted side street with Lydia when a woman dressed in what I would describe as Glastonbury Jester clothing = primary coloured fleece top and bottoms and one of those multi-coloured outdoor pursuits hats with fleece spikes on it, approached and informed us in a slightly bossy manner that "It would be far safer for you to walk in the middle of the road as it's not as icy" then stood and waited to see if we followed her unsolicited instructions! of course there was no way I was going to even if it meant looking like Todd Carty in Dancing On Ice and anyway i'll decide where to walk thank you. Anyway I grumbled and gnashed my teeth to Lydia about what an interfering attention seeking old loon she was (the Jester woman not Lydia) as why else would she have been dressed like that (it reminds me of Larry David when being accused by a busty woman in a revealing dress of staring at her breasts replies, "What, you're wearing that dress because you want people to stare at your forehead?) and had clearly upon spying the snow from her window that morning had let out a whoop and exclaimed "It's gonna be a good day annoying people today, yessireee! now where's that hat?" I was then told off by Lydia for getting angry at an old woman who was only trying to be helpful, is anyone out there on my side on this?

A couple of final things getting my goat at the moment is TV programmes with middle classed types called Monty or Jonty doing things outdoors alot and holding up a flask or stick to the camera and saying things like "this is a great bid of kit that's indespensable out here." what the fuck's a BID of kit? Is it like having a SPOD of lunch or wiping your SHIDDY BODDOM on special leaves? twats.

Oh yeah and the current craze in adverts for saying things like "This disgusting piece of crap you don't really want or need is only Four Nine Nine," instead of "This disgusting piece of crap you don't really want or need is only four hundred and ninety nine pounds." Why?

My friend Nick in Egypt reminded me of a description of Pirhanas he once heard - "Shitty fish hanging in the water like crisp packets." Brilliant!

Deeply Dippy

: reigs; February 5th, 12:15

Current Music:: Dent May & his amazing Ukulele

On Tuesday whilst off work with "Snow" I was watching the unfolding arctic drama on the telly and congratulating myself on choosing to live in a rural town with unreliable transport links to my job and looking forward to a day of dossing at home but there was a problem. The end is nigh scenes on my TV didn't match the view outside my window which was one of just the usual mid-winter grayness but distinctly lacking in snow, none at all. What's going on I thought, maybe the town council voted on not allowing snow to clog up the pavements and had erected a dome over us all during the night or maybe it was all some kind of weird scene from The Prisoner turned real?
Later whilst on an expedition for some supplies I got chatting to a neighbour and enquired "Are we the only town in the country not to get snow then?" and was informed "Oh that's because of the dip, you know the town's dip?." I began pondering this and thought mmmmh it's because of the dip? What does that mean and how does that stop us getting snowed on? Surely snow is beholden to the forces of gravity and dip or no dip eventually has to make contact with terra firma? more importantly what other influences on my existence can "The Dip" have, is The Dip evil or benovelent, can The Dip be appeased if it gets angry? Maybe we should all get robed up with pointy hats and drown a Chav in the river at dawn as an offering or something? It might explain some of the odd behaviour i've been witnessing around here lately, like Singing Andrew not singing his random thoughts at people in whatever genre of music grabbed him that day when I passed him in Morrisons and the weird smiling that's going on like in the Soundgarden video for Black Hole Sun (incidentally don't you think Anne Hathaway, the actress not Shakespeare's missus, looks like she should have been in that video? It would have been cheaper = no special effects!). When I open the local paper soon will it proclaim, Town Suffers First Outbreak Of Plague Since 1564 "It's because of the Dip" said a spokesperson.

Anyway back to Scott of the Antarctic, I wish the media would stop bleating on about the financial loss to the economy the snow is causing. God forbid people should have a day not entirely devoted to making money and just have a bit of fun for a change with their kids outdoors. The only people losing money are people who wont miss it anyway, I mean it's not as if we were going to see any of those benjamins was it? If anyone is to blame it's the media for their boy who cried wolf reporting and constant over hyping like when a gale is suddenly a hurricane and a flurry becomes a blizzard. When one day somebody embarks on an ill fated journey in bad weather due to quite rightly ignoring unreliable sensationalist reporting will their bereaved family be able to sue? People can't be blamed for taking the day off when they're constantly told they're going to die if they set foot outside but then be accused of depleting the economys' coffers. If we weren't all so downtrodden and skint we may not jump at the first chance to have a bit of spontaneous fun, they're just annoyed because it was free. The thing that really got my goat (does anyone know where that saying originates, where's Stephen Fry?) was a live link up to a BBC reporter standing in some lay-by banging ambitiously on about it in a kind of a, today a frozen lay-by, tomorrow Afghanistan way, and then motioning the camera towards his feet whilst scraping at what looked like just a bit of not very deep ice and exclaiming "IMAGINE TRYING TO DRIVE IN THIS!" Well perhaps if they'd left the camera running we wouldn't need to have employed our imaginations we could have simply watched him drive away in it the same way he got there unless he was planning to spend the night in a lay-by the c**t!

The Humpty Dance

: reigs; January 29th, 20:34

What's with all this faux urgency with everyone these days? This woman who had just shoulder charged me out of the way to get to the edge of the pavement at a pedestrian crossing and after impatiently stabbing at the button about a hundred times (yeah that always works doesn't it?) decides that the world just isn't spinning fast enough on its axis for her liking this morning and should just get out her way and so launches her fat ass into the road presumably expecting the oncoming drivers upon noticing how massively more important she is than them to screech to a halt,.... wrong.
Firstly leaping in front of bad tempered drivers fiddling with the radio at 7am is foolhardy enough but to run into the path of a 20yr old Ford Sierra Cosworth MOT failure being driven by a big eared youth is just insane. Halfway over, realising she'd past the point of no return, she starts the "Dance of Death" you know those crazy involuntary movements that people do in front of cars that are just about to mow them down and know it's their own fault, like the legs haven't received clear instructions from the brain yet and it just goes DO THIS instead? The oncoming pod chariot swerves and I swear misses her sunday roast ankles by centimeters without slowing a fraction and roars off into the distance leaving the Mensa member to rummage in her bag for her phone in order to send a text like she's now got all the time in the world and the Grim Reaper hadn't just tapped her on the flanks, Jesus.

Flies on a Banana

: reigs; January 12th, 16:12

Hello you,

This will be shortly become my place of rant where I will err......rant, anyway we're all just flies on a Banana, see you soon.

reigs

Reigs

Flies On A Banana

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