Midlake, John Grant, Jason Lytle.

When:
7th Nov 2010

Where:
Vickers Street, Dublin

The Gig:
What a line up! I've been a Jason Lytle (Grandaddy) fan for years and recently have been loving John Grant's King of Denmark album. These two provided stellar support for the towering Midlake.

Jason played a combination of Grandaddy songs and solo material to a half-full (but fully devoted) crowd. Ever wondered whether it's possible to base an entire oeuve on the ephemeral nature of technology as a metaphor for the decline of human relationships? No, me neither but Jason continues to plough this rich furrow beautifully. Midlake are clearly big Grandaddy fans as their excellent, if somewhat derivative, debut album Bamnan And Silvercork will evince.

Next up was John Grant, former singer with The Czars. His solo album has been a familiar soundtrack in our house so long as I'm the only one it it. I think my wife finds it a little overblown and melodramatic. I know what she means but it's redeemed utterly to my ears by Grant's mordant wit and poetic lyricism. Live, he blew the (now three quarters full) crowd away, those sublimely acerbic songs delivered in a rich baritone. If it wasn't for the fact that WORLD'S BEST BAND were up next on a tight schedule we wouldn't have let him leave.

I love Midlake. My five year old daughter goes to sleep each night listening to The Courage of Others. After a fourteen hour shift of constant activity the music seems to enchant her into slumber and she rarely makes it past Winter Dies. A powerful tool. I'm 43 years of age and I'm insanely happy to have an absolute favourite band again. They played for an hour and a half but it flew by in a heartbeat. Their orchestral, yet trippy, arrangements washed over me and the beautiful, otherworldly lyrics made my spine tingle. Time stood still and as I stood there, sipping my whiskey, a manly tear or two may have fallen (brackishly) down my face. But that's not definite.

The Audience:
Predominantly my own age group. The guy next to me had the same shirt as me. Red check. We agreed not to tell anyone how cheap they were. Soon after, he almost got into a fight with some drunk dude in front of him. No idea why. A fight at a Midlake gig! Unthinkable.

Food & Drink:
The usual fizzy keg, hangover inducing muck we get over in Ireland. I stuck with Kingsley Amis's favourite breakfast tipple. Large whiskey (Jameson's) and water.

It Made Me Think...:
About the olden times. 1891.

Fi Fo Fi Fum

Setting : A Catholic Club, Alfred Street, Belfast City.
Timeline: Sun 24th Oct 2010, mid afternoon.
Players : Me, Him (man at door smoking), around 40 other Celtic supporters

The day of the first Old Firm game of the season. Tensions are high. I'd ordered beer which was Guinness. Celtic score I jump up and hug a complete stranger. Rangers score once, twice, thrice. Crying into 3rd beer now. I have lived and died the game and make to leave.

Me:
See yi later mate.
Him:
Aye, cheers pal, yi can start smiling now.

(exeunt to strains of Fi Fo Fi Fum ... I smell the blood of a protest-unt).

fin.

Belfast City

Setting : Morning Star, Belfast City.
Timeline: Sat 23rd Oct 2010. Early evening.
Players : Me, Barman

(It's the night before the first Old Firm game of the season. Tensions are high. I'd ordered food which was steak and mussels. It was that kind of night.)

Me:
Tell me this and tell me no more. Are you showing the match tomorrow?
Barman:
No.

Fin.

Anne Scott

This is singer songwriter Ann Scott. She's playing tonight in Galway's famous Roisin Dubh. She's really rather good. You can listen to her here.

You don't need to "poke" her.

Bless The Weather

Yesterday, I was denied one of the greatest pleasures in my life. Contemplating the mess in someone else's house. As my avenues of pleasure have narrowed over the years this one has grown.

I went to pick up the eldest daughter from a house party. I approached the house with great anticipation. This house party, I was told, had more than twenty kids present. What joys would await me there.

As is my wont at these affairs I simply walked straight in. These are busy people. They don't need to be answering door bells. As I went into the living room and then through to the kitchen I sensed that something was gravely wrong? If anything, this house was tidier than my own. I met the husband first.

"What's going on?", I asked. "Where's the mess?".
"Ah" he said. "We were blessed with the weather. Kids played outside all day".

Definition of BLESSED
1
a : held in reverence : venerated b : honored in worship : hallowed c : beatific
2
: of or enjoying happiness; specifically : enjoying the bliss of heaven —used as a title for a beatified person

"Fuck sake", I thought. "Even God is against me now".

Smithwicks Monde Selection

Credit where credit's due to the good people at Smithwicks who have won a medal at the Monde Selection. This just isn't any old bullshit product marketing award where, for example,

Applicants must fill in the entry form and product registration thoroughly before sending these two documents by fax, e-mail or post to Monde Selection who will, on receipt, provide confirmation of participation and invoice with payment being due within 30 days of receipt and all bank charges at the customer’s cost.

Further examination of their website reveals that,

Monde Selection are an international Institute For Quality Selections ... the beers jury is chaired by Mrs C. Liétar, an eminent and recognised retired lecturer & professor who used to work as an expert in the brewery industry.

Love it. She used to work as an expert in the brewery industry.

But to be fair Smithwicks didn't just win any old medal. They won, as their expensive new labelling reveals, a Gold Medal which is only awarded to,

Products obtaining an average result between 80% and 89%

Presumably they were just below average in the rest of the tastings.

Protected by Angels

You can see me reflected in the car back window taking this picture. I'd parked behind and when the woman got out and went into the church hall I dived out and took the picture. Then I noticed that she'd left a small, sleeping child on it's own in the back.

Of course, it wasn't really on it's own.

Porridge Recipe

A real conversation from this morning offering both a recipe for porridge and a cultural insight into social mores in present day India.

[09:49:18] HIM: had breakfast?
[09:49:23] ME : yes, porridge and fruit
[09:50:10] HIM: what is dis porridge?
[09:50:21] ME : oatmeal
[09:50:35] HIM: did u prepared this porridge?
[09:50:43] ME : yes, i simply added water and microwaved for 3 mins
[09:52:12] ME : then added pears and blueberries
[09:54:06] ME : and a splash of milk and a little honey
[09:55:32] HIM: ok
[09:56:23] HIM: r u staying alone?

The Leaf

I saw this solitary leaf suspended in the air like a badly judged remark in a bar room. It was supposed to fall to the ground like all the others as the season dictates. But it didn't seem to want that. It wanted a final tilt at life. There was something about the leaf that spooked me at first. It seemed to portend the end of the world. But when I touched it gently it was friendly. It was heedless to the wind and it stayed and it stayed. I thought about taking it home and letting it live in a matchbox in my kitchen. But I don't think I'm ready for that kind of responsibility.

Clouds

Three years ago Michela L went up to her internet and asked it the following question.
I wonder how she is these days.

Beans on Toast

I was eating beans on toast this morning when the waiter came over and asked me if everything was ok. I told him that the toast was good and that, so far, all the beans had been ok. I assured him that I'd let him know if any of the beans went wrong.

Mine Beer

Me : What breweries do they have in Froome?
Him: Well they have the Milk Street Brewery and Mine.
Me : Yours?
Him: No Mine
Me : Ah ok. Yours.
Him: No. It's a small town
Me : That figures.
Him: Yes.
Me :
Him:
Us :
Me : You said Mine. It was eh ... I was just...
Him: The Pitchfork's good.

Werther's Original

On the plane today the nice lady next to me offered me a Werther's Original and what's more I took it. It was very kind of her and, for some utterly unfathomable reason, I quite enjoyed the taste of butterscotch toffee as we approached Bristol.

Tokyo-Montana-Galway

The Tokyo-Montana Express by Richard Brautigan sits in the toilet to be read, not in one sitting, but in snatches, a few pages here and there, little pearls of fragmented, solipsistic wisdom plucked from that great, deceased mind. And brought back to life, not in Tokyo or Montana, but in Galway which, as the crow flies, is more than 14,000 miles away from both those places. How long are the snatches? How big the pearls. Well that depends. Any more than 15 minutes could be regarded as sinister. In his story The Closest I Have Been To The Sea Since Evolution Brautigan writes:

One morning I took a shit and it smelled just like the sea. There was no difference between the smell of my shit and walking along a beach on a wharf, staring at ships and the sun going down behind them into billions of years of water.

So I don't think he'd mind a few of his pearls residing here in this little toilet under the stairs.

Poetic Champion Composes

This week I've been listening, almost exclusively, to Villagers. Villagers are a band from Dublin but really they're just Conor O'Brien. When I first heard (let's call them) him supporting Wild Beasts in Galway I thought he was pretty good. Then I got the record and I thought it was merely decent. Someone told me it was a bit patchy so I figgered that it must be a bit patchy. Like so many others this record was destined for THE PILE. I caught the start of his set at Latitude and left, not due to ambivalence but, because the kids were hungry again. I think I have a tendency to assume that stuff, and not just music, is going to turn out average. Most stuff really does.

But I was wrong about this. A week's immersion has shown that the record isn't patchy. It's damn close to perfect. It's really got under my skin and, in the words of Elbow's Guy Garvey, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT. Conor O'Brien strikes me as a very serious, poetic young man. I heard him play live on the radio last night and he's already deconstructing, simplifying the form of his songs. Letting the poetry out.

Another serious, poetic young Irishman had the supreme confidence to do this at a similar age back in the early seventies. I'm talking about Van Morrison. And that's not just by way of shoehorning a clever reference to title of this 'piece'. Honest it isn't.

Here he is on Other Voices.

это может быть верным?' 'Это может быть верным?

Irish internationalist Aiden McGeady was in shock last night after his Spartak Moscow side's one-nil away victory to Marseilles. According to insiders the former Celtic winger was suffering from "euphoric shock syndrome" and was given oxygen by the Russian medical team. Spartak goalkeeper Andrei Dikan told me " Aiden продолжал спрашивать, 'это может быть верным?' 'Это может быть верным?'"" ("Aiden kept asking 'Can it be true?' 'Can it be true?'"). Later, the 24 year old had recovered sufficiently and was able to board the flight back to Moscow with his team mates. This morning, he is described as being comfortable and is currently coming to terms with the achievement.

Bee Specialists

The best-known bee species is the European honey bee, which, as its name suggests, produces honey, as do a few other types of bee. Human management of this species is known as beekeeping or apiculture.

The Rain

At the playground today when the rain started all the adults put on raincoats and magically produced umberellas and complained about the rain. Then they took all their kids home and then the rain stopped.

ATM Stalemate

Yes, I'd like a hundred euro please.
No, it's not incorrect.
No, I don't want to correct it.
Dum de dum di dum...

Arrive'n'Jive

The main prerequisite of this dance competition, it would seem, is that you have to physically turn up. It doesn't appear that simply frolicking around your kitchen to the unparalleled, joyous soul-funk of Earth Wind and Fire whilst striking wooden spoons against various percussive surfaces will be given any special consideration by the judges this year. Harsh.

Timotei Shampoo

I find myself more than usually troubled by the new Timotei adverts that seem never to be off the telly. Which, in turn, these days, never seems to be off Nick Jnr.

I'm guessing that these ads are aimed squarely at mothers who will well remember the original, inexplicably famous, campaign. This, coupled with the likelihood that a day's childminding is unlikely to have left Mum's hair at its most "volumised" or "voluptuous", will render the demographic as particularly "ripe for the picking" (to use a marketing term).

Talking of which, here's the thrust of the ad. The good people at Timotei care so much about your hair that they literally scour the world to steal nature's finest edible ingredients like:

Pink grapefruit from Spain
Acai berry from Brazil
Avocado Oil from South Africa
Pistachio Seed from Persia
Macadamia from Australia

Then, they take all these mouthwatering treats and they simply tip them into a big industrial vat full of the original Timotei they couldn't sell back in the seventies. In short the bastards make shampoo.

Shame on them!

Lidl Trolley

Can we take from this that grown adults are now allowed to ride in the shopping trolleys? That's certainly not borne out by my own experience.

Traditional Butcher

By "Traditional Butcher" I'm guessing they mean that they sell dead animals. But all cut up so's that they don't look so much like dead animals any more. Then again, perhaps they mean "Please don't ask us for any of that fancy stuff you've seen on the telly".

Perhaps we'll never know.

Bellababy

I suppose we must assume that if the good people at "bellababy.ie" have gone to all the trouble of getting an expensive sign made up, they must mean what they say on it. So, in that spirit let me commend them fully to you for all your baby shopping needs. For they truly are:

Baby Shopping at it is very best!

On Lawnmowers

I bought a new lawnmower yesterday on the back of some excellent advice from Jim who, in turn, had the word HORTICULTURALIST emblazoned across his own back. Well across the back of his Woodies DIY shirt at any rate.

Jim explained the options to me clearly and with no little amount of urbanity.

They were:

1. Petrol. Too expensive. A sledgehammer to crack a nut. Out of the question. Don't be absurd.
2. Electric. Absolutely shite. Waste of time. Flymo my arse! Move on.
3. Manual. A push one. Like back in the olden times. Environmentally friendly. The wife will be pleased. Kid friendly. They can mow the lawn themselves.

"Jim", I say. "I'm gonna take the push one. In blue. It's cool".
"Good man", he replies, adding the most interesting thing anyone has ever said to me in a shop. "Be true to yourself".

As I sat in the garden last night, listening to James Taylor, a cold glass of Chablis resting on my chest, watching the kids fighing over whose turn it was to cut the grass, I felt I had been.

Carling Lager

Maybe this says much about the circles I move in (insofar as I move in any circles at all) but I don't think I've ever seen anyone, not an Irish person at any rate, sip a pint all the way. The rare time you see a sip is when a pint requires transportation from bar to table without spillage. Often a quick extract is taken just before the change is handed over. A common enough sight and a small, but vital, component of pub esoterica. Pints, certainly pints of Guinness, are gulped or sometimes, by drinkers of a certain vintage you'll note, poured directly into the gullet. A fine skill taking years to train up to. This practice slows down after the 3rd or so but never reduces to anything approaching a mere sip. My goodness, no!

The good people at Carling are suggesting that their lager has a "GREAT TASTE. EVERY SIP OF THE WAY" and who is to say they're wrong about that. I don't know anyone who drinks Carling. If I did I'd ask them about the sipping thing with academic curiosity. Is it true or yet more blue-sky hooey from pony-tail sporting marketing featherbrains with fat arses? If I drank Carling personally I'll tell you this. I'd drink it really quick. Then I'd jump in front of the nearest moving articulated vehicle. That'd learn 'em.

The Last AirBender

This is either:

• About a piss-up on a plane, or
• A modern Top Gun-esque treatment of man-on-man love in the cockpit.

I don't know which but, thankfully, it's definitely the last one. So that's encouraging.

Gay Search

The author of The Impatient Gardener is Gay Search. If that's your thing, you need look no further.

Radiohead : Amnesiac (#1)

I could easily pick The Bends or, of course, OK Computer but if I am really honest I'm on the sick side of both of these superb albums by this stage. One or two listens a year would be plenty and that wouldn't be much use if I was, quite literally, stranded on an island.

(As indeed I am for the purposes of this self indulgent exercise I've decided to bore you with).

After OK Computer came the abstract, genre-bending Kid A which just sounded plain weird. This was quickly followed by Amnesiac which, largely due to relentless exposure to Kid A, sounded only a bit weird. Now it doesn't sound any weirder than strictly necessary. It's an utterly inspiring album and it blasted joyously from Wiltshire into Somerset out the wee Citroën thing I'm driving this week.

(If it must be a ladies car then let it be a Citroën C1.)

Anyway Amnesiac is in. At a push, but not that much of a push, it would serve as my 2nd jazz choice.

Seen To Be Different

But don't, for the love of God, actually be different.

Pommelling

I always feel that if you're going to be not funny you'd be as well, at the very least, making some sense whilst doing it. This, from the otherwise excellent Old Green Tree public house in Bath, being an attempt to warn off potential smokers whilst being lighthearted and jovial at the same time. Some people I'm sure will find this hilarious. Predictably, I am simply bound to point out the following defects:

1. a pommel is the upper front part of a saddle; a saddlebow. I've no idea what pommelling means.
2. subconsciousness is a state not immediately available to your conscious mind in which you fancy your sister, hose down an elephant and run through the office naked. Generally worth avoiding.

Talking at Gigs

Talking during gigs is an absolute no-no. There was a fair bit of ill-mannered chit-chat during the Bonnie 'Prince' Billy gig last night. Such was the absolute splendour of the man's spellbinding performance, I abandoned my golden AVOID CONFRONTATION AT ALL COSTS rule and told the guy filibustering next to me to SHUT UP. He looked over at me angrily. I looked back. Then we both looked down at the guy in the wheelchair he'd been talking to. Quite possibly he'd been describing what was happening up on the stage. The bald, wild-eyed Tennessean poet holding the audience in the palm of his hand (not literally, he's not a giant and the audience weren't microscopic). His too short checked shirt, beer belly and horse-shoe moustache more suggestive of an Appalachian cotton field than the Galway races. I admit I felt a bit guilty. Chatty-boy clearly felt he was in the right. So, is it ok to talk to people in wheelchairs at gigs?

Eh, NOPE.

Click-Click

I meant to click up to 2/6 but instead I clicked down the way to 2/4. That left me 2 gears away from where I wanted to be.

So I clicked up twice making a surprisingly audible CLICK-CLICK. Predictably just as I passed a young lady. She looked round and smiled. I realised that she thought I'd made one of these patronising audible kissing noises. Or (less likely) the noise one might make if calling on or urging horses or other animals. Anyway, she smiled and her smile was strangely crooked and seemed to be painted on. She was also wearing an eye-patch and possibly a wig.

This entire incident, largely due to the nature of cycling, was over in a couple of seconds but, honestly, it felt like a bleak farce of interminable length.

Spacial Advantage

Back to St Neots museum and the display celebrating the town's sporting achievements through the ages. Slim pickings here although amongst pictures of local kids almost made good ("Geoff was once described as the best under-23 right back, outside the senior leagues, in the whole of East Anglia") we find this half-baked biography of "current Aston Villa manager" John Gregory who was, at least, a bit successful. For a while.

Let's ignore the claim that John was born in 1941 (he was born in 1954), the bit that made us laugh is in the second last paragraph.

"He was always aware of the pattern of the game and by cleverly distributing the ball created spatial advantage".

Spacial advantage! Yes we used to say precisely that about Paul Mcstay in the Jungle back in the old says. This was obviously written, in the absence of anyone who knew anything whatsoever about football, by an academic curator type. Almost certainly a woman to boot. No offence.

Mr. KarWash

That's with a kicking kay. Like in daft kunts.

Irish Peat Turf Fire

Sadly, here we have an Oirish Peat Turf Fire (with Peat Incense) for only twenty-six of your Tourist Euro. It comes with one full fire and two ambient ones. All fires will provide an "ancient presence" (carrying the memory of trees and fields and long-gone times) and are looped for continuous viewing up to and beyond actual death. This DVD will fit inside any New World telly.

The Dealer

On our estate, it's very easy to find the dealer. A child could do it.

Buy 2 Pay More

Buy one get one half price. Was there ever a bigger scam that we, poor saps that we are, unblinkingly, gratefully even buy into.

But I only want one book.
Fine then, that'll be eleven fifty.
But look, the RRP is seven ninety-nine.
Fuck off then - this is how we do things now.

So you walk around WH Smiths with the rest of the flobbing morons carrying one book you want to buy in search of another book you might at a push take as per the new book buying directive that is now written into LAW.

Perhaps the only reasonable way to make any profit from this is to simply buy two copies of the new Ben Elton and give them to people you really, really hate.

Parker Close

With no thanks whatsoever to Tommy TomTom our hapless Sat Nav who shat out directions randomly, zig-zagging us hither and thither o'er Merrie Olde England, we finally reach our destination.

"At last", said my wife. "Parker Close"
"I'll do my best", I replied.

Ah, we get through a few scrapes.

€1904.60

Let your dog run loose on the beach messing up the sand or getting the sea all hairy?
That'll be one thousand, nine hundred and four euro and sixty cent please you heartless scoundrel.

Prison Love

This being a reconstruction of a late eighteenth century prison cell at St Neots, Cambridgeshire. The intention, I'm sure, is to portray the cramped and meagre conditions under which prisoners subsisted back in them times.

What it achieves is something altogether more, well, is homo-erotic the right term? I'm a mere childe in these matters.

Shoe Time

Shoes, from the olden times, on display in a museum, about the olden times, in Manchester, England.

Latichood (ii)

Greenpeace

The sign outside the Greenpeace tent proclaimed:
"Best Sandwiches in Suffolk - Jamie Oliver".
"Best in Suffolk, Darlin'", he undoubtedly said when asked about the sandwiches. They were bits of white bread with butter and either cheese or vegemite in the middle.
~~~
In the queue for two coffees and two hot chocolates. Ten servers asked me, in turn, if they could help. I explained to nine of them that I was already being served. Nice people. Roughly a hundred piercings between them. When I got to the front two coffees but no hot chocolate. Consternation all the way down the line.

"He said he was being served"
"I thought you were getting them"
"I gave them to that lady"

Nice people. You just wouldn't want them in any sort of ... well, anything really.

Oxfam

Thirteen hundred hours. Already eighty quid gone today. Somehow. Juice, crisps, ice lollies, ice cream, burgers, chips. God knows what else. As we passed the Oxfam tent I asked the lady if she'd be interested in borrowing my kids for studies into childhood hunger. She solemnly declined but asked if I'd mind filling in a form. Then she asked me for money. Ninety.

Trespass

Being a strange logo to put on a tent. Asking for trouble.

Paul Heaton

He passed out a bottle of Cognac which was to be passed back to him empty 'cos he's a sound bloke and likes to give away hard liquor. I found myself taking a glug in the afternoon sun which, truth be told, went down rather well with the pear cider I was already drinking.
~~~
The guy next to me asked me to hold his pint and then used both hands to pull up his fly. "Thanks" he said, taking back his pint. "Welcome", I replied, thinking 'couldn't he have managed that with one hand?'. I felt used and vaguely soiled but any number of things could have been responsible for that!

Mustering

Before Midlake. The best band at Latitude. Or anywhere.

Latichood (i)

James Joyce
Very early start for the ferry. Dublin to Holyhead. In the interminable queue a large advert for Stenna encourages us to use the ferry. (There's an idea). The sign says that James Joyce chose to take the boat when he left Ireland (forever) [1] in 1902 over, one can only assume, some pretty stiff competition from hot air balloon and sea horse.
[1] ignoring his four return visits

RTE 1
Driving off the ferry surprised to find RTE radio 1 still tuned in. The Angelus clear as a bell. A call to prayer. More echoes of Joyce. That's part why he left I'm given to believe.

Goats
Or sheep, if you insist, but certainly seen through drink.

Vimpto
Among the weird and wonderful rock formations at Brimham, formed during and (to a lesser extent) after the Devensian glaciation there was a lot of ill-mannered litter. None more so than this pathetic bottle of Vimpto which I can only assume was discarded back in the old days when kids used to drink the vile "fruit" concoction.


The Beatles
Driving back listening to Revolver. My ongoing tolerance from WORLD'S GREATEST BAND severely tested by "Here There And Everywhere" being immediately followed by "Yellow Submarine". From the sublime to the ridiculous.

Hair cut
The phrase "false economy" springs into mind.


In Lancashire
But straddling the Yorkshire border. Very sexy.

Music for the hard of thinking

Yes, back in the good old days before all the gays stole our pop stars and made them all gay. And with that the innocence of our childhood.

Is that what they're getting at here?

Celtic Polo Shirt

A major oversight on the new range of Celtic polo shirts. They appear to have omitted the (four-leafed) shamrock.
Oh hold on, sorry. There it is.

Kenneth Khoo

These emails I keep getting purportedly from the good people at Amazon.com are really starting to annoy me now.

I don't mind them referring to me by the unlikely name of Kenneth Khoo. I can also put up with the fact that they send me, Kenneth Khoo, on average twenty invoices a day for products I haven't purchased. What gets me is this. If they're really serious about trying to spam/scam me they might have the decency to at least make some rudimentary efforts with their numbers. Of course, my junk mail takes care of these or at least it would if I didn't keep checking my junk mail to gaze in wonder at the sheer arithmetical absurdity in play.

Order Grand Total : $33.99
Subtotal of Items : $11.99
Total Before Tax : $02.99
Sales Tax : $00.00
Total for this Order : $65.99
Price : $11.99

0/10 (PLEASE SHOW YOUR WORKINGS)

Speaking on behalf of Kenneth Khoo (as I feel I must) I would like to ask one question?
How much does it cost?

Turning Thirty

Inexplicably, the other week, I found myself in charge of the book stand at the school fair. There was a game coming on soon and I was keen to quit that place. The book stand just happened to be nearest the exit and that's why I was standing there.
"This any good", a man asked, holding this book.
It's called Turning Thirty and it's by Mike Gayle who is also, it would appear, the bestselling author of My Legendary Girlfriend and Mr Commitment.

"Let me see", I said, taking the book from him.
[Turning Thirty, Legendary Girlfriend, Mr Commitment, Fresh and Witty, CD in the toaster]
"Almost certainly not", I replied. "Looks like the biggest pile of self-indulgent, clichéd old vomit since the last what's his name's..."
"How much is it?" he said.
"Tony Parsons".
"How much is it?" he said.
"A euro?"
"I'll take it" he said.
Nobody can say I don't do my bit for the school.

NuYorican Fun

New York Fun used to be my very favourite kind of music. Then I discovered NuYorican Fun. Which is similar. But even funner.

Let It Rain

Let it rain. I suppose they mean after they've done your roof. Do your worst rain. All those losers who used a different roofing company or didn't bother with a roof at all are goosed but who cares? Not us. We're cosy.

At first I thought they meant Let it rain (then we can come fix your leaky roof). But that would be a bit like a cancer clinic using the strapline 'Let them Smoke'. Which would be stupid. And cruel.

Either way. Let it rain. Annoying.

The Fashion, 1977

Back in the olden times, nineteen hundred and seventy-seven, when this garden centre opened, this is how little posh gardenery kids used to dress. Apparently.

Bingo Little's Tie

I watched a documentary about life in modern day England. It followed this rich guy Bertie Wooster who, in common with most people in the Home Counties, has a butler. A chap called Jeeves who is considerably more sagacious and urbane than his master.

There was this scene in it where Bertie's pal Bingo arrives wearing a tie given to him by a waitress he's smitten with. When Jeeves sees it he visibly recoils and leaves the room to recover. The camera follows Bertie into the kitchen where he asks Jeeves what's wrong.

"Mr Little's tie. It had little horseshoes on it"

Then, in what could well be the guiding motto For The Way We Live Today, he adds:

"It's sometimes difficult to shrug these things off, Sir".

Dave's England Team

Here's the England comedy team brought to you by the good people at Dave 'cos World Cup is on.

Oh look, there's renowned Morris Dancer Frankie Boyle playing just behind lone striker and Loyal Son Of Ulster Dara Ó Briain.

Pah!

QUICK - Horse Box

Far be it from me to comment on the ways of the countryside but in this observer's opinion a QUICK turn is one of the very last things a vehicle trailing a horse box should attempt.

Stupid Suggestion

In which my increasingly ludicrous Arsebook page plummets to new levels of stupidity.