tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32308224411905737762024-03-05T04:26:39.714+00:00The Reticent BlogThose who speak do not know. Those who know do not speak.Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-69869338399389211532012-07-28T12:31:00.001+01:002017-06-25T21:58:11.608+01:0011 new Olympic games...1. Pinball<br />
2. Crazy Golf<br />
3. Shuffleboard<br />
4. Subbuteo<br />
5. Arm Wrestling<br />
6. Twister<br />
7. Bar Billiards<br />
8. Connect 4<br />
9. Swingball<br />
10. Dominoes<br />
11. Cribbage<br />
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Good news everybody! The Reticent Party has successfully petitioned the IOC to get the above sports added to all future* Olympic Games. The International Olympic Committee was in unanimous agreement that these were indeed Sports of the People and wholeheartedly backed our proposal to bring them into the Games in place of the universally despised toff events like rowing, sailing, equestrian, fox hunting and tax avoidance.<br />
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*We attempted to get them added, retrospectively, to all past Olympic Games as well but this was deemed to be impractical.<br />
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As far as medals go, Team GB will have a great chance in both the bar billiards and the crib and an outside chance in the shuffleboard (if anyone can remember how to play it). The nimble Japanese will more than likely run away with the twister though and the tough, angry Russians will be hard to stop in the arm wrestling. <br />
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Pinball, as a sport, is currently in the middle of a huge power shift, with the previously unbeatable Americans suddenly finding themselves second best to the Chinese (who, as well as inventing a new way of pressing the buttons, have recently mastered the previously unpredictable and highly risky strategy of 'tilting'). The only thing in Team USA's favour is the choice of machine: <i>Star Trek - The Next Generation</i>. There is a feeling amongst the camp that the Chinese simply don't 'get' Star Trek and will be, therefore, unable to get to grips with all the subtle nuances of the machine. <br />
"You try getting a multiball going on that machine without, at least, a basic knowledge of Klingon," said USA captain, Mitch Brookfield.<br />
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Crazy golf, of course, is the ultimate test of nerve and skill, but having been snubbed by all of the professional golfers (because the whole idea is 'stupid' and 'ridiculous', according to them; most believe it is actually because they are terrified of embarrassing themselves on the capricious, par 5 windmill hole), the tournament is wide open and could be won by just about anyone. Anyone who is mentally tough, that is. We all know that crazy golf is played as much in the mind as it is on the greens and the eventual champion will surely be the man who keeps his cool the best when his ball repeatedly rolls all the way back down the helter skelter and the temptation to smash everything to bits and chuck the club in the water becomes so great.<br />
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All of the talk in Connect 4 recently has been about the clash of styles between 28 times World Champion, Rick 'Brickwall' Brunswick (an ultra defensive Canadian grinder who consistently plays for stalemates and famously invented the impossible to counter 'don't let your opponent Connect 3' strategy), and exciting young Australian prodigy, Johnny 'Waterfall' Williams (an 18-year-old kid who cascades tiles down the grid at lightning fast speeds, often dropping before the previous tile has even touched down, and is so attacking that he doesn't even look at his opponent's pieces). Though Williams' suspect temperament is often called into question (he regularly upsets the grid and throws tiles at his opponent when things aren't going his way), many feel that the new 10-minute move clock plays into his hands. Brunswick doesn't like to be rushed (he once famously took 1 hr 45 mins to make, what looked like, a relatively simple opening move) and with just 10 minutes a move he will be forced to speed up dramatically. Will this quick rhythm upset his normally crystal clear thinking? Or will the fiery Waterfall self-destruct again?<br />
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Dominoes, obviously, belong to the Caribbean and it would be a major shock if they didn't bring home all 36 medals available in the men's singles, women's singles, men's doubles, women's doubles, mixed doubles and team events (indoor dominoes; outdoor dominoes; beach dominoes; water dominoes; horseback dominoes and synchronised dominoes). Incidentally, they're also pretty good at swingball... but no country seems to want to own up to being the best at that at the moment.<br />
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That just leaves the subbuteo and, as always, it's very hard to look past the Spanish with their patient, skillful and unbearably boring tiki-taka-flika passing game. Oh, and Team GB, in case you were wondering, are just as useless at penalties in table football as they are in ground football.<br />
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Oh, well. It's not the winning that counts, is it? <br />
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It's the losing. <br />
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Let the games begin...Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-36335824676163557722012-07-14T19:12:00.002+01:002017-07-20T23:42:08.540+01:00You don't have to cry...Nobody likes to see a grown man cry and when angry, homegrown hero Andy Murray lost in the final of a local tennis comp last week, defeated by some dashingly smug, Mr Darcy-type with nice hair and a slappable face, the whole nation turned away in disgust.<br />
"What a big fucking girl!" we said, in embarrassed unison. <br />
Naysayers then went on to say that the man simply 'doesn't have what it takes' and has 'about as much chance of bringing home an Olympic gold at the end of the month as Stephen Hawking has of winning the triple jump'.<br />
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But naysayers always say things like that. They are, by nature, very negative people. I, however, am a yaysayer and I think Murray can triumph at the Olympics much like I did all those years ago in Atlanta.<br />
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Now, I know what it is like to ride the emotional rollercoaster that is competitive sport at the highest level better than anyone and I know how it feels to carry the hopes and expectations of an entire nation on your shoulders. It is a well known and often cited fact that during my twenty odd years at the top of the cut-throat, dog-eat-dog world of professional air hockey, I cried on no fewer than forty occasions. I cried after matches, before matches, even during matches when things weren't going my way, and I too had to listen to people calling me a 'big fucking girl' and a 'dickhead'.<br />
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The time that sticks in my mind the most was before my first World Air Hockey Championship Final when my opponent, Brad 'The Lionheart' Donovan (a man who I have the utmost respect for but also consider to be a total bastard) intimidated me with an unnecessarily firm handshake. On that occasion I wept solidly for a good twenty minutes - caught in a perfect storm of pressure, exhaustion, inexperience and terror - and the start of the final had to be delayed until I'd calmed down a bit. Unsurprisingly, I never really recovered from that and, though I was merely whimpering by the time we pucked off, the final was a terribly one sided affair (the most one sided since 336 BC, in fact) and I could do nothing to prevent Donovan from cruising to his 38th straight world title.<br />
Looking back now, I can't help but feel that all that crying and screaming did me no favours. I must have looked like a beaten man before we'd even begun and it's hardly surprising that Donovan, a man of such legendary killer instinct, sensed blood. Indeed, he admitted as much afterwards in a rather big headed and, at times, nasty post-match interview, when he implied, and then simply stated, that I was 'there for the taking'.<br />
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The whole thing was very hard for me, at the tender age of 19, to take. I had been a warm favourite going into that match - 9 of my 10 opponents en route to the final had been forced to withdraw with various wrist, shoulder and eyelash injuries (that didn't bother me. As I always say, it's the winning that counts, not the taking part) and that had led me to believe I was invincible. I even remember arrogantly proclaiming before the match that all I had to do was turn up and I would win. So, to be swatted aside so comprehensively with the whole world watching was a bitter pill to swallow and it's hardly surprising, bearing all that in mind, that I started crying again during the trophy presentation. Nor is it surprising that I refused to officially acknowledge my opponent's victory for a full two years and spent many months trying to prove that what had happened to me during that match wasn't fair.<br />
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Of course, all this weeping and sour grapes led to suggestions from the press and my fellow pros that I was mentally weak - a bottler; a man who fell to pieces under pressure and was easily derailed by even the slightest setback; a man, they said, who had 'about as much chance of bringing home an Olympic gold at the upcoming Games as Ironside has of winning the triple jump'.<br />
As you can imagine, this really wound me up and (after a quick cry) I made it my spiteful mission to prove them all wrong. Together with my coach, the great Willie Thorne, I set to work on a rigorous mind and body enhancement programme. I would do running, swimming and weightlifting in the mornings and crosswords, word searches and fiendishly difficult riddles (composed by none other than Willie himself) in the afternoons. In the evenings I would alternate between meditation and masturbation.<br />
After three months of this I felt just about ready for anything and my detractors were already starting to eat humble pie. Before I had been the Big Baby (a nickname I never liked), now I was the Ice Man, Mr Unflappable, The Grinder, The Rock, The Robot, The Force, The Immovable Object. All of my nicknames now hinted at strength (and boredom).<br />
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At the Olympics I fought my way bravely to the final where I again came up against that cunt Donovan... only this time I was ready for him. This, I reminded myself, was what all the training was for, all those lung-busting, early morning runs and brain-busting, late afternoon riddles, it was inevitable that it would all lead to this: the moment when I would defeat my arch nemesis, Brad Donovan, on the biggest stage of them all.<br />
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Of course, you all know what happened next! That legendary final is burned into the memories of billions and I won't recount it all here. Indeed, most of that match is little more than a blur to me now anyway but one thing I know I will never forget is the way I felt at the end. The sheer elation of knowing that I had done it, I had achieved the thing I was put on this Earth to achieve, it had driven me close to madness and almost killed me on a number of occasions but I had done it! I had reached the very pinnacle of my sport - Olympic silver.<br />
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It felt like a dream. I remember shaking Donovan's hand warmly, saying 'better luck next time, pal' as he looked at me oddly and then just wandering off in some strange kind of trance. After this I remember very little but it is a fact that I wasn't seen again for over three weeks.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBQhqdsQ7AWbAjj1FXZHakYujCn_ahhzIrJ8ujuakjjxy0BetM5HMoUoLMpfDYhh9BtHhM4f1jNIrDObhueMEcL4TERvOGiwRp33JwMWHIc0GX0ZlQCkgHU3tFjRllZ_Phk1vG0lOd6tz/s1600/crying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBQhqdsQ7AWbAjj1FXZHakYujCn_ahhzIrJ8ujuakjjxy0BetM5HMoUoLMpfDYhh9BtHhM4f1jNIrDObhueMEcL4TERvOGiwRp33JwMWHIc0GX0ZlQCkgHU3tFjRllZ_Phk1vG0lOd6tz/s320/crying.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breaking down, briefly, during the Olympic Final <br />
after Donovan scored a lucky goal that went in<br />
off the back of my puck.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiszrb676rNJSV2UG_5pOjDPbVOnfGlMAuCujiIRXzAdz9iqP1EH4gxrYPUZFhciAEpNZDbAl_SSlBX7S9EQUczc0hcLlp4uBDHAAgti5hizsAWWmgE8YwIsYytFMG83tkTt-opOHvgQjLQ/s1600/willie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiszrb676rNJSV2UG_5pOjDPbVOnfGlMAuCujiIRXzAdz9iqP1EH4gxrYPUZFhciAEpNZDbAl_SSlBX7S9EQUczc0hcLlp4uBDHAAgti5hizsAWWmgE8YwIsYytFMG83tkTt-opOHvgQjLQ/s320/willie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My coach, the great Willie Thorne, spent the night of the <br />
final dancing with this local prostitute.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-61218630941776953672012-06-30T17:59:00.000+01:002018-04-01T18:50:39.237+01:00The amazing Dartman returns...Phew, what a night!! After two years of more or less constant waiting, the new Dartman & Cueball book has finally arrived and copies have been literally* flying off the shelves.<br />
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*not literally.<br />
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Just take a look at this queue outside Waterstone's in Piccadilly...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHHW9dcbBTzdmCeTYGyjmDe7-wGxXVzTu8mTiVBHXImWNxXEIg3xo4rV6KKR3X8RGIqKsdJoz5iwnT4ZsfkE8s-ixMq21sEeSCpZCzjQP4j6tdREyfFhc5ZyRod11ZZZb0mSCpk4640yz/s1600/waterstones_queue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHHW9dcbBTzdmCeTYGyjmDe7-wGxXVzTu8mTiVBHXImWNxXEIg3xo4rV6KKR3X8RGIqKsdJoz5iwnT4ZsfkE8s-ixMq21sEeSCpZCzjQP4j6tdREyfFhc5ZyRod11ZZZb0mSCpk4640yz/s320/waterstones_queue.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Apparently it stretched all the way to the Isle of Wight, with many queuers having to tread water for 13 hours just to prevent themselves from drowning.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaqAwM9uzQpUDLwXJ9aeLTVOD9UEiSiuIiRrpsrnQAWUo_ytydks6mYyHPe99uMDzTfqD6-vxXVONmYpoQRadDcpGf6vKOg6jeleE0T-sb26rXxptAr3RssGDVULSNS5kaV6mOT2nkkx0/s1600/fan+with+book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaqAwM9uzQpUDLwXJ9aeLTVOD9UEiSiuIiRrpsrnQAWUo_ytydks6mYyHPe99uMDzTfqD6-vxXVONmYpoQRadDcpGf6vKOg6jeleE0T-sb26rXxptAr3RssGDVULSNS5kaV6mOT2nkkx0/s320/fan+with+book.jpg" width="239" /></a>"It was worth it," said this determined young fan (who also took the opportunity to buy a Harry Potter book). "I almost died five times in the queue, from dehydration, starvation, hypothermia, boredom and suffocation respectively, but I wasn't about to give up!"</div>
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I have since been told that this queue was the first in human history to be visible from space. Holy mackerel!<br />
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This man, at least, had the good sense to arrive early...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5laFeDywm-WpiptFMcVy6lUBXCiXlKejen_3mrAtwGk0c5Jz2I0dQSoq_gDaQeP6R0nAV26tNwofK897pPMfP7PmTv0nv61hFbfCrXKGlmgoxPneJxqxI-jLacVgYXJcJHg6DN-I1kKav/s1600/camping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5laFeDywm-WpiptFMcVy6lUBXCiXlKejen_3mrAtwGk0c5Jz2I0dQSoq_gDaQeP6R0nAV26tNwofK897pPMfP7PmTv0nv61hFbfCrXKGlmgoxPneJxqxI-jLacVgYXJcJHg6DN-I1kKav/s1600/camping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5laFeDywm-WpiptFMcVy6lUBXCiXlKejen_3mrAtwGk0c5Jz2I0dQSoq_gDaQeP6R0nAV26tNwofK897pPMfP7PmTv0nv61hFbfCrXKGlmgoxPneJxqxI-jLacVgYXJcJHg6DN-I1kKav/s320/camping.jpg" width="229" /><br />
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He'd been camping outside his local Waterstone's for the last six months.<br />
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"Most people just assumed I was a tramp," he smiled, clutching his new copy of Dartman & Cueball (which he'd sensibly hidden behind a Harry Potter book), "but I knew what I was doing."<br />
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You would think all this waiting around in the blazing sun and/or freezing cold and/or pissing rain with nothing to eat and nothing to drink might make people miserable but Dartman & Cueball launches are nothing if not fun and, as ever, some of you crazy cunts decided to dress up for the occasion.<br />
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Here are one or two of my favourites:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWpy8Qa3xz3B18l7gsyc7JV4zoe0BT8vEOl9k6-AwiKGVkLxLowkUdcWSST8LPqiW8Zk5BVyWZ8rGwQLAljfmurBfaoyczbfbqk8pUVNqIRtl9jnvM6tAX9PFnzIeJZ7xpGra1HXGCDtbS/s1600/cwilson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWpy8Qa3xz3B18l7gsyc7JV4zoe0BT8vEOl9k6-AwiKGVkLxLowkUdcWSST8LPqiW8Zk5BVyWZ8rGwQLAljfmurBfaoyczbfbqk8pUVNqIRtl9jnvM6tAX9PFnzIeJZ7xpGra1HXGCDtbS/s320/cwilson.jpg" width="243" /></a><i></i></div>
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<i>Excellent Commissioner Wilson costume. Ardent fans will, no doubt, approve of the addition of the small child. This being a knowing nod to the Commissioner's less than wholesome reputation around kids. That's what you call attention to detail.</i></div>
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<i>This young chap decided to come as Chief of Police, Frankie Corleone. </i><i>Pretty good effort. Not sure about the pink hat, and what's happened to Frankie's pipe?! But, on the whole, not bad. Not bad at all.</i><br />
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</a><i>From left to right: Commissioner Wilson, Charlie Stanley and Dartman. Superb!</i><br />
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<i>Ok, hope I've got this right! From left to right: Frankie Corleone, Officer Maybe, Cueball, Commissioner Wilson, Dartman and King Alan. I love the way you've captured Dartman's never-say-die attitude; and check out that brooding Commissioner Wilson in the background! Magnificent!</i></div>
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Do you know that if you took every copy of <i>The Pointless Adventures of Dartman & Cueball - Forbidden Loot</i> sold last night and piled them up, one on top of the other, they would reach the outer rings of Saturn! And yet, incredibly, there are still copies available:</div>
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<a href="http://www.lulu.com/commerce/index.php?fBuyContent=12974304"><img alt="Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu." border="0" src="http://static.lulu.com/images/services/buy_now_buttons/gb/blue.gif?20120612124331" /></a><br />
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All you have to do is click on that little link and someone will actually deliver a copy right to your door - no queues, no camping and no cunts in stupid costumes. What an age we live in!<br />
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And if you haven't read the first one yet (and, believe me, there's always one), all you need to do is click on<i> this</i> link:<br />
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<a href="http://www.lulu.com/commerce/index.php?fBuyContent=12976941"><img alt="Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu." border="0" src="http://static.lulu.com/images/services/buy_now_buttons/gb/orange.gif?20120612124331" /></a><br />
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And a similar thing will happen, only with the first book (<i>The Pointless Adventures of Dartman & Cueball - Furiouser and Furiouser</i>) turning up instead of the new one.<br />
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Brilliant, eh?<br />
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Oh, by the way, the final part of the Dartman & Cueball saga will be released in Summer 2014. Let the waiting begin...Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-3508763115595335572011-10-08T12:34:00.008+01:002017-09-10T12:00:53.009+01:00Masterpiece for sale...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mHKkg30fXSzLAfRjA7bGsgufr-K3KYTPn-1kIwTZMwnidNIkpI_kDqBUH7DGsZUEFtUUQ0iPOaC0I28j0BxRLN7bXDSLKVdNWPmCf6OxdTS_jf9nhCI74uNx-AFlSAaV40RNex-mlUvp/s1600/bells+of+st+marys.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661084019111858130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mHKkg30fXSzLAfRjA7bGsgufr-K3KYTPn-1kIwTZMwnidNIkpI_kDqBUH7DGsZUEFtUUQ0iPOaC0I28j0BxRLN7bXDSLKVdNWPmCf6OxdTS_jf9nhCI74uNx-AFlSAaV40RNex-mlUvp/s320/bells+of+st+marys.jpg" style="float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 197px;" /></a>Ever heard that song When I Paint My Masterpiece?
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Not many people have actually. It’s probably a bad reference.
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<a href="http://youtu.be/wq2e7DPhyHg">http://youtu.be/wq2e7DPhyHg</a><br />
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<i>Someday everything’s gonna sound like a rhapsody... when I paint my masterpiece.
</i>
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The power that drives the song is this idea, this intense certainty, that everything’s finally going to be right with the world – peace in my mind and the girl by my side – when I paint my masterpiece… and not a second before.
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Such a poetic idea. This battle, this constant striving and pushing. Killing yourself in the pursuit of some abstract thing that only you can see or even begin to understand. Sacrificing everything else in your world for it. It might take a hundred years and it surely will be the toughest and most arduous road imaginable but eventually you’ll get there and everything will be different… when I paint my masterpiece.
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I believed it.
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Only trouble is, now I’m a little bit older I’ve come to realise something deeply depressing that neither The Band nor Dylan even hinted at in the midsts of all this romantic rhetoric.
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The something is this: painting your masterpiece is the easy bit. The real struggle begins when you start trying to get people to look at the fucking thing.
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The problem is they’re all out there struggling with their own masterpieces and they don’t have time for yours. It interests them not a jot. Why would it? Your masterpiece represents nothing to them, no struggle, no journey into the abyss and back. It’s just another pointless thing cluttering up the universe.
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<br />
I finished painting my masterpiece in January 2011. It is called <i>The Bells Of St Mary’s</i>. It is a funny, romantic, philosophical, supernatural, spiritual, fantastical play about a dead man. It is set at Christmas. You’ve all seen <i>A Christmas Carol</i> and <i>It’s A Wonderful Life</i>… well, think of it as the next one in that set.
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<b>For people who’ve only got 30 seconds of interest remaining, this is the précis:
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</b>
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Dying was by far the most interesting thing that ever happened to Jimmy
Henderson. His life had been a 0-0 draw, a dull grind, a 25-year
stalemate of few highs and few lows which neither triumph nor disaster
seemed to want to get involved with. Death was a blessed relief. Or it
would have been, were it not for the fact that there was now the little
matter of an eternal afterlife to struggle through.
Jimmy’s mediocre life was just about sufficient to scrape into the
‘paradise’ of heaven, but far from feeling blissful and free, he soon
finds himself just as awkward, out of place and useless as he did on
Earth and his numerous disappointments and failures – notably his
inability to fully capture the heart of his soulmate, the magical but
agonisingly elusive, Mary – follow him around Heaven like a black cloud.
The good news for Jimmy, though, is he now has somebody other than
himself to blame. The bad news is that somebody is the Lord God
Almighty. And he doesn't take criticism very well.
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<b>For people who’ve got about 5 minutes of interest remaining, here's a few random scenes:</b><br />
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</b><br />
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
What the? Where…</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GAZ:
Let me guess, where am I?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Um… yeah.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GAZ: (<i>sighs</i>)
Every single person, the same bloody question. I mean, is it really that ’ard
to figure out? Open your eyes. What does it look like?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Some sort of waiting room?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GAZ:
Bingo! Some sort of waiting room. Well done.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
But… what am I doing here?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GAZ:
Waiting. Same as everyone else. You got your ticket?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jimmy
looks down and sees he is holding a ticket. It reads:</span></i><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jimmy Henderson</span></span></b></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Born 23/05/1984
16:04 – Died 18/12/2009 08:09</span></span><span lang="EN-US"></span></b></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">please retain
this receipt as proof of death</span></i></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
No, no… this can’t be right. There must be some sort of mistake, you see…</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GAZ: (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shakes head</i>) Why are you newly-deads
always so bloody confused?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
I really don’t think that I’m…</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gaz
hands Jimmy the roll of parchment.</span></i><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
What’s this?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GAZ:
Your obituary.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
(<i>turns</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> parchment over</i>) It’s
blank.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GAZ:
’Course it is, pecker’ead. You ’aven’t written it yet.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gaz laughs and walks over to his desk.</span></i><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
You mean I have to write my own obituary?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GAZ: (<i>rummages</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> in desk drawer</i>) Well, it’s not gonna
write itself, is it? Besides, who in the world’s better qualified to do it than
you?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
No one, I guess, but…</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GAZ: (<i>returns
</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with pot of ink and quill</i>) There
you go then. Get cracking.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">—</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY:
(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">agitated</i>) So, we’ve sledged down
Everest, hung out in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, dived off Rainbow Falls…</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">LOGICAL
MAN: Have you taken him sky-fishing yet?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY:
Yep, day one. We sky-fished off the edge of Cloud 9.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY’S
DAD: (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">proudly</i>) I caught a 20-pound
bald eagle.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">LOGICAL
MAN: Wow.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY’S
DAD: Big as a mountain lion, it was.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY:
We’ve done everything. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to Jimmy</i>)
You’ve experienced every last glorious thing that Heaven has to offer and you
still haven’t cracked a smile.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">—</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
So let me get this straight. You’re accusing me, the Lord God Almighty, of
providing you with an incompatible soulmate.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
In so many words, yes.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
What nonsense. It’s physically impossible for you not to love your soulmate.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
And I do love her! I love her with every ounce of my heart and soul and I always
will. The problem is she didn’t love me.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
The very notion is absurd.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
You tell me then. Why weren’t we together?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Ask yourself.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
I have been asking myself! I’ve done nothing but ask myself for the past ten
years and I’m sick of it. That’s why I’m asking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>!</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Ok, fine. If that’s the way you want to play it, I’ll get the tapes.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
What tapes?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
The tapes of your life, of course.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">God reaches under his desk and produces a
cardboard box full of dusty, old VHS tapes.</span></i></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Here we are.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">peers into box</i>) You mean to say
you’ve got my entire life on tape?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD: (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">proud</i>) Every second of every life that
ever walked the Earth.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
And you’re still using VHS?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Actually, I’m still in the process of converting to VHS. Half the library’s
still on Super-8. And now I’ve got Magic Alex telling me VHS is passé and I
should go over to DVD. Whatever that is.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
That’s on its way out too. It’s all Blu-Ray now.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Ray Who?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Blu-Ray. It’s like DVD but just a tiny bit sharper.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD: (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shakes head</i>) You humans just can’t stop
tinkering with things, can you?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">—</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Don’t believe everything you read, Jimmy. And before you ask, I didn’t build
the Universe in seven days either.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
So how long did it take?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Considerably longer than that. I think it was about four and a half billion
years, give or take.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Bloody hell! That is a long time.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
And I suppose you could have built a whole universe quicker, could you?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
No, but…</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD: (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">suddenly angry</i>) It’d take you that long
to build a flipping Wendy house.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Sorry.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Just look at what you did to my cakes.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
So where did they get seven days from?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
How should I know? You know what Christians are like. Bunch of liars and
cheats. I tell you, some of the stuff they’ve said about me down the years;
stuff that could have been very damaging to my reputation, I might add. Floods
and plagues, vengeance and wrath. Smite this, smite that. Sacrifice your son.
It’s downright libellous, that’s what it is. The Holy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Libel</i>, that’s what they should call that book. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pause</i>) Nothing proves the obvious
insanity of the human race better than religion. They’re all mental. All those
stories, all those rules. Don’t cut your hair; don’t covet thy neighbour’s ass;
don’t eat meat on a Tuesday… or whenever it is; don’t use contraception; don’t
drink; don’t have abortions; don’t masturbate. For crying out loud, I thought
that was one of the greatest gifts I gave you people! Animals don’t impose any
of these rules upon themselves, you know. They just live.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
But their lives are devoid of meaning.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD: And
yours isn’t?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">—</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Don’t worry. I’m working on another plan.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY:
(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sighs</i>) Why do you always have to
have a plan? Just ask her out. Look, I’ll show you. You just say: Mary, would
you like…</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Yes, thanks Johnny. I do know how to ask a girl out, you know.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY:
Come off it, Jim. If I had a penny for every girl you’ve asked out, I wouldn’t
have enough to rub two pennies together. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pause</i>)
In fact, I wouldn’t have enough to rub one penny together.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Just because I don’t ask out every bit of ankle in a hundred-mile radius.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY:
You don’t ask out <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any</i> bit of ankle in
a hundred-mile radius.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
There’s more than one way to cook an egg. You just go diving in like a bull in
a china shop, whereas me, I lurk in the shadows, biding my time, ready to
pounce…</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY:
Like a rapist.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
No. Like an assassin!</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY:
Why do you want to assassinate them?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
It’s a metaphor, you idiot. It means I set my sights first, do my research,
work out a plan and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">then</i> I make my
move.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JOHNNY:
Only, by the time you do, the entire human race has gone extinct.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">—</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
I wasn’t scared. </span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
No, of course not.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
I was thinking about our friendship. </span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD: I
know.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
And I didn’t want to put her in an awkward position.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
That’s very admirable.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
I was trying to figure out a way of asking her…</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
That didn’t involve actually asking her.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Precisely! Anyway, Ben Foster asked her while I was thinking about it and…</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
The rest is history.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Pause.</span></i></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">angry</i>) She bottled it too! She could
have asked <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i> to the prom just as
easily. Why is all the onus on me to make things happen?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Because you’re the man and it’s the man’s job to do these things.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Ooh, that’s a very old-fashioned sort of attitude.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Well, what do you expect? I’m 100 billion years old! I’ve got a right to be
old-fashioned. I like a man to be a man, not a big, yellow-bellied wimp.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Maybe if you’d given me the tools.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
What more tools could I have given you? I gave you eyes, ears, a brain in your
head, two arms to hold her with, legs to chase her with, lips to kiss her with
and something nice to fill her up inside. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God
winks at Jimmy</i>) Perfect fit, by the way. No sex like soulmate sex. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jimmy sighs</i>) Made to measure… literally.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
You’re disgusting.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">God chuckles.</span></i></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">—</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD: (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dejected</i>) Why is it that everything you
humans make turns to shit?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
That’s a bit harsh.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Nothing works properly. Now take the things I make. The sun, for example.
Imagine if that kept fucking up every twenty minutes. Or the atmosphere. If the
atmosphere failed as often as a Ford Escort, say, the human race would be wiped
out every other day.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Some of the stuff we make’s pretty impressive. What about the iPod?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Bah! iPod? That’s just a gimmick, that is. Magic Alex got me one of them and it
broke after ten minutes. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God pulls his
iPod from a drawer and slams it down on the coffee table</i>) Cheap, human
crap. Nothing’s built to last.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jimmy looks at it, flips a switch and hands it
back to him.</span></i></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
You had it on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hold</i>.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
What? Don’t talk sh–</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
It’s working now.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">God stares at it sceptically.</span></i></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Well… I’ll warrant it’ll be knackered again in a couple of hours. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the screen goes blank</i>) There you go,
see? The screen’s gone.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
It’s just switched itself off. Press one of the buttons.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
There aren’t any buttons.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
In the wheel.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
What’s the wheel?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
This bit in the middle.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Oh, that stupid thing. I could never get the hang of that.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
It’s easy.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
You need a bloody degree in computer programming to operate the bloody thing.
I’d only just got used to the cassette. Now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i>
worked.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
But a cassette can only hold ninety minutes of music. Don’t you think it’s
amazing that this tiny thing (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">holds up
iPod</i>) that’s no bigger than a cigarette packet, can hold 40,000 songs on
it. Just think of that. All that music, trapped in that tiny little box.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
You think that’s good. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God rummages
around in his drawer</i>) Take a look at this. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he produces a conker</i>) What do you think that is?</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
It’s a conker.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Wrong. It’s not a conker, it’s a horse chestnut tree! Just think of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i>! A wooden structure, 40 ft high,
covered in tens of thousands of energy-storing, food-providing leaves,
supporting the lives of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">millions</i> of
creatures. And it all comes from this little brown ball. Makes your iPod look a
little bit sick, don’t you think?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Let’s just say they’re both good, shall we?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
You see, what you humans don’t understand is that you can make things, sure.
You have made many useful and practical things that have stopped you having to
work so hard, but they all have one thing in common, these things.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
What’s that?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
They lack soul. You see, only the Lord God Almighty – and that’s your name, not
mine – can make things with soul. Go and have a look at the Pyramids and then
go and have a look at Ayers Rock and tell me which one’s better.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Alright. The Pyramids are quite good as well though.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
Symbols of power, that’s all they are. All my stuff is love, all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> stuff… (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he pokes Jimmy in the chest</i>)</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Hey! I didn’t build the Pyramids.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
All <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> stuff is about power and
hate. Every bit of incredible technology you create, sooner or later, is used
to kill people. You start off with stones and arrowheads and you end up with
hydrogen bombs and cruise missiles. You already have the ways and means to blow
up the Earth and every living thing on it; pretty soon you’ll find a way to
blow up Heaven as well… and me too, I daresay.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Not necessarily.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD: I
should have intervened when I had the chance. I should have stopped it. The
very first time I saw a monkey crack open a nut with a rock I should have been
in there, all wrath and vengeance. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pause</i>)
Next universe I build I’m gonna remember that. Tools are bad news.</span><span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
Next universe?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
That’s right. Just as soon as your lot finally knacker this one, I’m gonna
build a new one, a better one. And it ain’t gonna be run by humans either.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JIMMY:
No?</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">GOD:
No. You had your chance. The new universe is gonna be run by dogs. They never
let me down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b></b><br />
<div align="left">
<b>And for those of you with a whole hour to spare, this is where you can buy the whole masterpiece and read it in its entirety as the artist originally intended:</b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.lulu.com/commerce/index.php?fBuyContent=12984474"><img alt="Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu." border="0" src="http://static.lulu.com/images/services/buy_now_buttons/en/blue.gif?20170802111542" /></a>
<br />
<br />
It will cost you £6.99 but that’s cheap for a masterpiece. Nobody knows how much the Mona Lisa is worth but I’ll warrant it would cost you at least twice that… maybe more.
<br />
<br /></div>
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661084254525756610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUqcRNWnhK_vcSY7GTPaJVmvYEd6BiqB4io2sDrlmb_t7HaQAnWuV6f98tHaM_aAkmpzxXiGkPftkULuQvR_0T6eHhSim7YsfxRIGqV9ZSqXpH3CFH1vauhLYkgyPxmhpHDY6D_8U8zt2/s320/masterpiece.jpg" style="display: block; height: 226px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1jKvgzIRYs">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1jKvgzIRYs</a></div>
Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-33709794387687064352011-02-26T13:29:00.002+00:002017-06-20T13:54:05.028+01:0011 good band names still up for grabs...1. Mr Natural<br />
2. The Communists<br />
3. See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil<br />
4. The Plain Janes<br />
5. Chop Wood, Carry Water<br />
6. Perpetual Motion<br />
7. The Cowboys & The Indians<br />
8. The Mathematicians<br />
9. We Hold These Truths To Be Self-Evident<br />
10. The Human Beings<br />
<br />
And finally, one for gangster rappers...<br />
<br />
11. MC SquaredHenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-18456686014250316912010-12-12T13:21:00.009+00:002017-07-19T23:09:39.235+01:00Big Things come in Small Packages...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXNPRMrBVENyIFJOHkPU4z4EcumpqsphJpJfyrEKAEKfjiXJaOPA-VaJXamyhxEF9vMGWLjyczse9lAkA3NJ-sdpPvVCN7G9Z4y4LaWQrJq_nl5IvDG5zuXLOUlqUvbm1ot7z62K75XSA/s1600/bookcover.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549786505242235666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXNPRMrBVENyIFJOHkPU4z4EcumpqsphJpJfyrEKAEKfjiXJaOPA-VaJXamyhxEF9vMGWLjyczse9lAkA3NJ-sdpPvVCN7G9Z4y4LaWQrJq_nl5IvDG5zuXLOUlqUvbm1ot7z62K75XSA/s320/bookcover.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 224px;" /></a>I would hereby like to offer you, loyal readers, a once in a lifetime opportunity to join one of the most exclusive clubs in the universe. All you have to do is buy and read my novel, <i>The Next Big Thing</i>, in its entirety and you’re in. I give you my word that more people have walked on the surface of the moon than have read this book.<br />
<br />
Just think how special that will make you!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.lulu.com/commerce/index.php?fBuyContent=9563141"><img alt="Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu." border="0" src="https://static.lulu.com/images/services/buy_now_buttons/gb/blue.gif?20101207125550" /></a><br />
<br />
Go on, buy one. It’ll be good for the economy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Synopsis</b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";">The Next Big Thing is a comedy following a young, hard-working rock band through the dizzying highs, terrifying lows and pointless middles of their first ever UK tour, tracking their progress from local nobodies to national heroes over the course of one exhilirating summer. The story is split roughly into two parts, contrasting the gritty and sometimes bleak realism of life in an unsigned band with the glossy surrealism of superstardom.The adventure begins on the eve of summer when the four band members, their middle-aged manager, Paul, and lightheaded roadie, Lipstick, buy an old ambulance (cheaper than a tourbus, cooler than a van) and head to Brighton. Over the course of the tour they lock horns with the NME, encounter their first groupies, offend the good people at Radio One and learn a few lessons about life on the road from their more experienced touring partners, The London Underground (or the <i>Ex</i> Big Thing, as they've taken to calling themselves), before eventually arriving in Somerset for a potentially career defining slot at the legendary Glastonbury Festival where they will learn, once and for all, whether they really have what it takes to call themselves The Next Big Thing.</span><br />
<br />
<i>Praise for The Next Big Thing:</i><br />
<i><br /></i>"I don’t like it."<br />
Sheridan J. Twagthorn<br />
<br />
"Take the absurdity of <i>Spinal Tap</i>, the gritty realism of <i>Extras</i>, the soul of <i>The Commitments</i> and the magic of <i>A Hard Day's Night</i>, boil them all up together and you'll get the book that this book is trying to be."<br />
Chester Cleft<br />
<br />
Author's Note:<br />
<br />
Some of you may be aware of a book called <i>Death Of An Unsigned Band</i> by a bloke named Tim Thornton. I feel it necessary to point out at this juncture that my hilarious book about an unsigned band was completed a full four years before his hilarious book about an unsigned band and if anyone ripped off anyone then he ripped off me. Probably using some sort of telepathic apparatus.<br />
Naturally, my intense fury at being the victim of such blatant plagiarism was the driving force behind my decision to publish this rubbish in the first place. Without you, Mr Thornton, this book would have stayed on the shelf forever... where it undoubtedly belongs. Now, because of you, it's out there. I hope you're pleased with yourself.<br />
<br />
It’s not the first time I’ve been beaten to the market by someone with better connections either. The exact same thing happened to me a few years back with the clockwork radio. My prototype had been sitting on the shelf, ready to go for years before my nemesis, Trevor Baylis, crept in and shafted me at the last minute. I also fear there’s a very real danger that the same fate might befall my perpetual motion machine too if I don’t pull my finger out. That snake Baylis is bound to have his inferior model on the shelves in time for Christmas.<br />
<br />
<i>Baylis sent me this smug picture of himself posing with his radio at Christmas '97. On the back he'd written 'Better luck next time, pal'. I was unable to think of a suitably pithy reply so was forced to burn his house down.</i><br />
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549790932320217010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeciEOXxm5uRnLWyNyvxefzgxhVlwziCBvKBxczVzlf4bSHvfpgQ4bn80YyTcYfZBBWJjze-4xf-Z-TRbN2YsDkGdh-rPtQEwVuPZBazeju6wjBJmezyruB6M2CdI6fNh1Lur_xYhbJFuJ/s320/Trevor-Baylis_1451349c.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 200px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" />Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-40272618490399424652010-11-14T13:56:00.011+00:002017-06-19T16:47:16.121+01:00Call out the instigators...I know you're too reticent to actually say it but you've all been wondering why I haven't posted anything in such a long time.<br />
There are two reasons for this, the first of which, the smartest amongst you will have already figured out: I have been in Alice Springs, Australia, competing at the 48th World Air Hockey Championships. There, after six weeks of gruelling matchplay, I successfully defended my title as undisputed king of the floating baize, beating that cocky left-handed Australian 'prodigy', Shane 'Bombshell' Brannigan 1099-1087 in a memorable final.<br />
<br />
Brannigan, of course, was the people's champion. He had confidently swaggered through the first 48 rounds of the tournament like he didn’t have a care in the world, but the pressure of being on home turf and carrying the hopes of a nation on his young shoulders proved too much for him in the end and his flashy, crowd-pleasing game of power-serving and audacious shot-making disintegrated in the face of my steady and determined grinding. Indeed, Brannigan was so disappointed in himself by the end that he lashed out at me, claiming that I had sucked all the joy out of the game for him. Poor lad. He had cracked under the weight of everyone else's dreams.<br />
<br />
I knew just how he felt. I had to deal with similarly high expectations when the Championships came to Bognor in '98, and came close to a meltdown of my own in the semi-finals when I accused my opponent Pedro Remigio, the Great Portuguese Man O'War, of striking a non-oscillating or 'dead' puck. Later on in the game, when he repeatedly bamboozled me with his mesmerising use of the angles, I called him a cunt.<br />
<br />
So, you see, I know how it feels to be in that pressure-cooker situation, and I know how it feels to be taught a lesson from a more experienced player. What Brannigan mustn't do is 'give up and get a job watching paint dry' as he rashly declared he would after the match, but learn from it, as I did, and come back stronger.<br />
<br />
<i>A poster from the final. I was affectionately known as The Slimy Limey.</i><br />
<br />
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539404604388992546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXk1c3HhbjBm-dKwqGBh5GdOee84DqXuKdEx6rDFFUSiX8QM9X116hp0oEIm9Ie0gVP9p8bjqXMG6Eb-ILgKvva4mIBoR1WKK0WDaW4uJIIgkhRCNYcBbYLEuBaYdz0U0eKhDUgVn2vrBj/s320/final.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 286px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /> <i>The unorthodox 'Eastern grip' as demonstrated (badly) by Westerner, Phil Michigan. He was whitewashed in the first round, ironically, by a Chinese player using the more natural, and better, 'Western grip'.</i><br />
<br />
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOL7EBrUkjMopHdl8-O4TQoSse9EfYXd0QSIejs2g6YRKjLOexfs2HoiCZqH_GueDCZOUNUdBiTIcno9PS7yXXB6WtIGBR6Bz4H__PUOoevMB1155Erz7KiVANbCCpko-k3p4rMybUT5iQ/s1600/qualifying.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_YGAL8GEYdXWn4XcTz1qbI6u90q0s-L1MEFrk4-gX3vjOmR-nSSldPMqoJYGtrNJIDg2bo16tg1Gp8vsiW1_H4RKASI65x9zCumfC56yIxXoz52iy-nAx3H9ylUnpaL7zgJVdBazzMCbt/s1600/Air_Hockey_Grip1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539405012650692722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_YGAL8GEYdXWn4XcTz1qbI6u90q0s-L1MEFrk4-gX3vjOmR-nSSldPMqoJYGtrNJIDg2bo16tg1Gp8vsiW1_H4RKASI65x9zCumfC56yIxXoz52iy-nAx3H9ylUnpaL7zgJVdBazzMCbt/s200/Air_Hockey_Grip1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidBmuo7A2jPDfTNhyC83kyoBUci88yl1Cnv6qxyblFFNEd7GExYc7LNw-B71g3O_OzW6v0Qg78qvOlUsIo9-vAycOJL4ysNbjJmRoJTzOPZanW7rwv40-z3VvGFr2sFVp09ng8XQocxL9V/s1600/Air_Hockey_Grip1.jpg"></a><br />
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<i>Pre-qualifying in Adelaide. Over 80 million people from across the globe entered the tournament.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqsbCZ25DwbUEWEGLcQu5i5xemb0iIooxY3gKZR4p3an56SllceTD85x7KMqKY_9gdoORdpy71H2Be4PPdLyzMnuYkIWRRTWlfBL1koWgbFzwyPa1iYVK0EI1lWZpKXWMtCzhGXvxSqXW/s1600/qualifying.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539407299975312466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqsbCZ25DwbUEWEGLcQu5i5xemb0iIooxY3gKZR4p3an56SllceTD85x7KMqKY_9gdoORdpy71H2Be4PPdLyzMnuYkIWRRTWlfBL1koWgbFzwyPa1iYVK0EI1lWZpKXWMtCzhGXvxSqXW/s200/qualifying.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
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<br />
My triumph in Alice Springs, however, was soon forgotten when I learned of the terrible events back home. I had been out of the loop for over a month in Oz (due to a sudden and unexpected Southern Hemisphere newspaper shortage) and heard no news from Westminster until I arrived in Tibet for a meeting with the Dalai Lama. The meeting was intended to be little more than a quick photo-op, a chance for the World Air Hockey Champion to have his picture taken with the Dalai Lama and a chance for the Dalai Lama to have his picture taken with the World Air Hockey Champion (air hockey and Buddhism having gone hand in hand for over two thousand years). But the look on Mr Lama's face immediately told me that something was wrong. I soon discovered that the Tories had seen my temporary absence from the political arena as the perfect opportunity to strike. They had launched Phase One of their dastardly plan: <i>Blame The Poor For What The Rich Fucked Up</i>.<br />
And knowing that, even if news had reached me, I was in no position to respond (I was, at the time, locked in a titanic quarter-final struggle with Jurgen 'BrickWall' Mertesacker, which had already been going on for 94 hours) they immediately ploughed into Phase Two: <i>Punish The Poor For What The Rich Fucked Up</i>.<br />
'Tighten your belts, folks,' Mr Lama read from The Times. 'These could be the biggest cunts since the Great Depression.'<br />
<br />
As always, the Tories had moved to protect their fellow Normans and decided to heap the blame for the current recession onto the shoulders of honest benefit cheats and scoundrels.<br />
<br />
A little perspective: the amount of money that Norman Overlord Philip Green (a man who actually 'works' for the government) 'avoided' in tax on one single payment in 2005 would be enough to keep one of these 'benefit cheats' in fags and drink and crack and whatever else they choose to spend their money on for 180,000 years (roughly the same amount of time that the human race has existed).<br />
<br />
A little benefit swindling is a drop in the ocean. The state of the economy is fuck all to do with the poor. The poor don’t have the power to fuck up the economy any more than we have the power to fuck up the sun. It was solely the work of Norman fat cats.<br />
<br />
People like this: </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539405320057426962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheSfkhOhwDur4sG7Uw61khV7M6PQ9aV2tJ0cKz4eNXxEc9CPp5Lggds3e7bk_xxMn5o-VC8yKpkFym6d9eaZiCM8MBEAKlaaBYDXciyT7tR4Crrrq5G6Vwtwex6iO6Rifs2a-ZohI9Euz2/s320/fat-cat2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 246px;" /></div>
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I took my leave of the Lama and returned to Westminster post-haste. There, at Reticent Party HQ, I announced that the revolution had been moved forward from July next year to tomorrow. I reminded my fellow peasants: 'Scum are not your enemy. We are all scum and we are scum because they make us scum. We have endured a thousand years of being stomped into the ground by these lizards and still they lord it over us with their castles of stone and crowns of gold. Why do we stand for it? We outnumber them thousands to one! It’s time for the workers and drug dealers and benefit cheats and all other Angles, Saxons and Jutes, to stand united and send these fucking Normans back home!'<br />
A muted cheer was faintly heard. We Reticents are uncomfortable with cheering. 'Now let’s show them we mean business by smashing this window in…'<br />
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539405543687422002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwiyF65PnXEAlDpiwqnFydCRsPwSCLwrw87_Sep5KsHPkh1cBr42lUruWjll4qkmwMybmwWIIwDJhrD924628G3HozMJfJSNjSFW2ebWkXcBGHz3Nz9TWkufq4802dMJQfKAMBpewubWl/s320/protest.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 218px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" />And so this brings me neatly on to the second reason for my lengthy absence: prison.<br />
<br />
The Establishment, fearful of further unrest, decided to make an example of me by locking me in the Tower for 4 days and 4 nights without bread, water or pornography.<br />
<br />
But I endured and now, a free man once more, I am here to tell you that the Reticent Party will not be silenced! Or, rather, we will be silenced but only because that is our wont. This is just the tip of the iceberg, my friends. In a few months parliament will fall and the monarchy with it and a golden age of Reticence will begin where everyone will be encouraged to shut up and be quiet.<br />
<br />
One last thing:<br />
During my time in Tibet, the Lama and I decided to write down Every Problem In The World on a big piece of parchment and then solve them all. This we did. In one big, amphetamine-fuelled orgy of problem solving, and by the end of the evening we held in our hands the document that would shortly become The Reticent Party Manifesto, which will be posted here next week.<br />
<br />
Write this in your diaries, folks: this time next week all the world’s problems will be solved.Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-57226099404735559182010-08-21T19:05:00.004+01:002017-09-10T12:36:18.077+01:00Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book? It took me years to write. Will you take a look?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPjfByQi2j6cdsGS8p4iYxY1omffMzRk9N3sBB70hgUzFLKDxq935dpj5sPzEMZLkSGhSz38cJUJA-brnFuE4QNf8uCtkaxgOvQUdJnN7JisY52nlNzSv8lYlrnAx9Li-du6wQv-PxYI3j/s1600/D&C+Cover+2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507926676053745026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPjfByQi2j6cdsGS8p4iYxY1omffMzRk9N3sBB70hgUzFLKDxq935dpj5sPzEMZLkSGhSz38cJUJA-brnFuE4QNf8uCtkaxgOvQUdJnN7JisY52nlNzSv8lYlrnAx9Li-du6wQv-PxYI3j/s320/D&C+Cover+2.jpg" style="float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 224px;" /></a>I have been told to promote my book.<br />
<br />
I have been told to do this by my (fool of an) agent; a man who, evidently, seems to believe that I possess the tools and know-how to perform such an operation.<br />
<br />
- Start off by telling everyone you know, he says.<br />
<br />
That didn’t take long. I only know eight people (and that includes me) and not a single one of them is a major player in the world of advertising <i>or</i> public relations. Useless tossers.<br />
So I counted up all my money and worked out that I could afford to hire the services of the great Max Clifford for 7.6 seconds! I duly hired Max and was halfway through telling him the title of my book when the time ran out. He said ‘good luck’, snatched my money and was out the door quicker than you could say ‘if you're so good at PR, how come everyone thinks you're a cunt?’ In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have wasted four of my precious seven and a bit seconds on a pointless getting-to-know-you ice-breaker session, where I tried to guess the name of a famous celebrity he was thinking of. Still, live and learn.<br />
<br />
- What about the blog? says the agent. Last I looked it was up to four followers!<br />
<br />
I explained that the four followers made up exactly half of the aforementioned ‘eight people I know’ and he kicked a table over in disgust. I was forced, at this point, to remind him that the blog was wholly his idea and, that it had failed in so spectacular a fashion, was nobody’s fault but his own… certainly not the table’s anyway.<br />
<br />
- Well, you’ll just have to start selling it then, he says. Get on that blog and tell everyone you’ve written the greatest book ever written. Shout it from the rooftops…<br />
<br />
I told him, in no uncertain terms, that this sort of behaviour would clash horribly with all the noble principles of reticence and he promptly replied that he ‘couldn’t give two shiny shites about reticence’.<br />
<br />
- How about I get you on <i>the One Show</i>? he says. They’ve got Chris Evans now, you know?<br />
<br />
- But Chris Evans is the living antithesis of reticence, I cried. Never in all humanity has any one man talked so much and said so little.<br />
<br />
- These are the choices you make, he says. If you want more than eight people to ever read this thing…<br />
<br />
- I’ll stop you there, I said. Only two of those eight people will actually read the book. And one of those will somehow find a way to read it even slower than I wrote it. About three words a day, last time. He’s the reading equivalent of continental drift.<br />
<br />
- Whatever! he says, blowing his cool. The book’s being published in a month and if you have any desire whatsoever in it doing anything then it’s up to you to sell it!
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Ok, so the book is called <i>The Pointless Adventures of Dartman & Cueball</i>. Every time I tell someone that title I wince a little inside because I know what it conjures: <i>oh, how original. Yet another ‘hilarious’ superhero parody</i>. Recently, it’s gotten so bad that any conversation I’ve had of the ‘I’ve written a book’ variety has always ended with me refusing to tell them the title of the book and leading them to the inevitable conclusion that not only have I not, in fact, written a book but that I lack even the wit to make up a pretend title to keep the charade ticking over a few minutes longer. I tell you, it’s hard and tiring work being me sometimes. Anyway, it <i>is</i> a superhero parody and it <i>is</i> hilarious but I swear to you it’s unlike anything you’ve ever read before. Whether that is because it’s brilliant or awful, I no longer know. I have been inside it too long now to judge it in any way and the more I read it the less I know. I would love it if <b>you</b> could tell <b>me</b>.<br />
<br />
Synopses are hard and tend to rip the heart and soul out of any book so I won’t bother to write one here (the story is ridiculous anyway), but I will attempt to explain the spirit of it.<br />
<br />
I think of this, not as a novel, but as a <i>cartoon</i> novel. It is funny (I hope) and its single most important objective is to make the reader laugh. It is concerned with reality only up to the point that an episode of <i>the Simpsons</i> or <i>Family Guy</i> is concerned with reality. It is set in the real world but the real world is flexible and bendy and can move in more or less any direction required for the purpose of a joke. It is not to be taken seriously. I have written gritty reality stuff before and will almost certainly do so again but this is not it. This is my light relief and I hope that’s what it provides for the reader. Unfortunately, I can’t help thinking that the range of people who will enjoy this book is rather narrow: young adult boys (geeks) aged between 15-25 are my only certain audience, though I hope that it will appeal to all men with an open mind and a sense of humour. Girls, I fear, will hate it. That’s a shame because the only reason I do anything, ever, is on the off chance that girls or <i>a</i> girl somewhere in the world will be impressed by it, but alas! no girl will be impressed by Dartman & Cueball. Still, never mind. The next book I write will be as romantic as a moonlit picnic by the Seine on midsummer night and will make any woman that reads it want to shag me (until they see me).<br />
<br />
The last thing I will say about Dartman & Cueball before I leave you to make up your own mind about it is this: read it in small chunks rather than at a single sitting. This is something I’ve found to be true of virtually all ‘funny’ books. They are great for 10-15 minutes but, like a comedian just cracking one-liners for ninety minutes or <i>Naked Gun</i> films, joke overload sets in pretty quickly and they can go from funny to irritating before you know it. So, if you’re reading <i>The Pointless Adventures of Dartman & Cueball</i> and you find yourself getting irritated or angry in any way, please put it down and return to it later. Hopefully, by then, it will be funny again.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Here are a few extracts from the first couple of chapters:-<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Charlie Stanley sat quiet and motionless at his desk. His face bore no
expression. His body was drained of fight and spirit. All hope had left him. His numerous failed attempts to “get rich, quick”
– his lottery predicting machine, his lottery fixing machine and his lottery
ticket forging machine, to name but a few – surrounded him, taunted him and
battered his self-esteem with their uselessness. All these get-rich-quick
schemes had done was help him get-more-poor. His shares in Enron were currently
worth <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">less</span> than the paper they were
printed on, and his box of 100,000 lottery scratch cards (excitedly bought
after working out the odds and realising he simply couldn’t lose) had turned
$100,000 into $4000 overnight. This $4000 was then quickly converted into 4000
more scratch cards and before you could say “you’ve got to lose money to win
money”, Charlie Stanley had lost the lot.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Now all he had to show for his efforts was a
nickel, eroded away almost to nothing, and a thin lining of dust-like silvery
shavings that covered just about everything he still owned in the damp and musty,
half-converted garage he ambitiously referred to as a lab.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The whole place reeked of failure. It was on
the walls, on the ceiling, on the lightbulbs, windows, curtains, and now,
finally, it was on him. He couldn’t fight it any more. He’d given up.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>“Charlie Stanley,” came a voice from behind. “Welcome to the
first day of the rest of your life.”</span></i></div>
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Before he had a chance to turn around a trigger
was squeezed, a shot was fired, and Charlie Stanley – crackpot inventor and bad-decision
maker – fell face down on his desk with a hole in his head.<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></i></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">–</span></i> </span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Commissioner Wilson may not have actually seen it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> before but he’d sure as hell seen most of it. He’d been on the
planet for 81 long years and had devoted 52 of those years to the noble fight
against crime. The other 29 were devoted, in no particular order, to learning
to walk, riding a bike, losing his virginity, going to college, building up a
decent collection of screws and washers, getting married, and going slowly but
surely bald as a coot.<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He often told people he didn’t look like an 80-year-old man –
and out of politeness they usually agreed with him – but he did. Every gruelling
day of his 81 years clung to his wrinkled face like rust on an old Datsun and
his colleagues in the force were constantly asking when he was going to retire.</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“The same day every criminal in Topham City retires,” he’d
reply.<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></i></span></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">–</span></i></span><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></i></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nobody seemed to have noticed, but this average-sized middle-American
city had produced more super villains down the years than the rest of the
country put together. Possibly the reason nobody had noticed was because the
super villains had the good sense (or was it simply good manners?) to not all
cause chaos at once. While one villain would be out robbing banks, hypnotizing
people and blowing things up, the rest of them would slip into hiding and
patiently wait for their turn. It was almost like they had some sort of rota
drawn up.</span></i></span></i><br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And it was a good thing for Topham that they did because if they’d ever
all come out to play at the same time the city would have been destroyed quicker
than you could say: “You’ll never get away with this”.</span></i></span></i><br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In the north-east corner of town there was Jumping Jack Flash: a man
whose face had been horribly scarred in his youth by a stray firework, leaving
him warped and deranged and hell-bent on exacting a bloody and terrifying
revenge on the whole world. Every 4<sup>th</sup> July, regular as clockwork, he
would appear and attempt to launch one huge homemade rocket into the sky. A
rocket that would blow Topham City and its neighbours to smithereens and plunge
most of America into a nuclear winter.</span></i></span></i><br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The west side of the city was patrolled by the mysterious Knights In
White Satin. Of this gang of reticent strangers, nothing was known except that
they dressed head to toe in white robes and roamed the streets after dark like
ghosts, occasionally carrying burning crosses to light their way.</span></i></span></i><br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Down south, on the weird side of the tracks (Topham technically didn’t
have a “wrong” side of the tracks but it was certainly true that south of the
railway everything suddenly got really weird for no apparent reason), lived the
Man With The Child In His Eyes. This was a man who had somehow managed to
capture a small living child within his own eyes. It was unknown whether this
had happened by accident or by design but it was clear for all to see that the
Man With The Child In His Eyes was just as freaked out about it as everyone
else. “Get it out! Get it out!” he would scream, as he ran around town
terrifying anyone who came near. Calling him a super villain was, perhaps, a
bit of a stretch though as there was no obvious way to see how having the child
in his eyes would lead him to either of the two WDs (World Domination or World
Destruction), which were generally considered to be prerequisites for super
villain status.<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></i></span></span></i></span></i></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">–</span></i></span></span></i></span></i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span><br />
<br /></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
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<i><i><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Dartman’s costume, which he’d designed himself and the Mayor had had
made for him after his homemade one fell apart, was mostly black with a large red
dartboard stretched across the chest. The board was drawn only in outline and
so looked more like an unnecessarily precise cobweb (the kind an autistic
spider might make) than a dartboard, and it was set at a classy, three-quarter
sort of angle which meant that, either by chance or by design, the bullseye sat
smack-bang on top of his heart. It is not known whether this was some sort of
arrogant boast to his enemies, kind of a “come and shoot me in the heart if you
think you’re hard enough” sort of thing, or just an ill-conceived design. It is
known, however, that Dartman has been shot in the heart on no less than 50 occasions.</span></i></i></i><br />
<i><i><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Not content with simply having a target on his chest, he also had one on
his back. In the centre of his big, shiny yellow cape was a large, beautifully
embroidered red circle. It was another bullseye and fitted in nicely with the darts
theme but, again, probably wasn’t the most sensible thing for a crime fighter
to have stuck on his back. Completing the costume were a pair of knee-high
yellow boots; a yellow belt (containing darts, flights and all manner of other
useful darting apparatus); a pair of Marigold washing up gloves (suggesting the
Mayor’s budget had fallen just short of the whole costume) and a yellow mask to
preserve his identity. Again, budget cuts seemed to play a part in the design
of the mask, which changed suddenly during construction from a sleek and
elegant, cat-like number (so favoured by superheroes) to one of those slightly
frightening, full-face, woolly balaclavas (so favoured by bank robbers, rapists
and murderers). The balaclava covered his face all right but it was far from
perfect. The fact that it cut off most, if not all, of his peripheral vision
made it a little difficult for him to see things, and the complete lack of
earholes made it a little difficult for him to hear things. On top of that it
was also horribly itchy and brought him out in a nasty-looking rash each time
he wore it.</span></i></i></i><br />
<i><i><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nevertheless, Dartman liked his costume. He liked the yellow and black
combination because it made him look like a wasp and he liked the fact that the
suit was wipe clean because it meant he could wear it around the house without
having to worry about it getting all covered in greasy, spunky stains. He was
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<i><i><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Cueball’s suit, on the other hand, was a little more gimcrack and was
rumoured to have been fashioned by the Mayor himself in one frenzied,
amphetamine-fuelled session on a stolen sewing machine after he blew his whole
budget on Dartman’s costume. It was a simple affair, made almost entirely out of
a cheap green felt material exactly like the one that used to cover the pool
table in The Crow Bar downtown before it mysteriously disappeared the night before
the costume was completed. There was no cape, no boots, no flashy belt full of
gadgets and joodgits, not even a mask (unless you count the pair of wraparound
sunglasses that were tossed at him, almost as an afterthought, when he
complained that everyone would know who he was). The only decoration of any
note, hastily and begrudgingly added at the last minute after Cueball had suggested
that the costume was “a bit light on logo”, was a large circle of solid white
in the middle of his chest. Like Dartman’s bullseye, this huge white circle
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making him glow in the dark. This ensured that their enemies could see them
clearly and pick them off with ease, day or night.</span></i></i></i></div>
<i><i><i>
</i></i></i>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><i><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">With a view to making his costume look less like one of those cute
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people, were necessary to “break up the green”. Cueball’s sole weapon – a stocking
containing a white billiard ball – hung from his belt like one long, lone,
droopy bollock. </span></i></i></i></div>
<i><i><i>
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<i><i><i><br /></i></i></i></div>
<i><i><i>
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</span></i></span></span></i></span></i></span></span></i></span></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></span></i></span></i></span></span></i></span></span></i></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><i><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The Dartmobile was a Ford Escort. Just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill Ford
Escort. The only “weapons” it possessed were the windscreen washers which
Dartman had tampered with so they fired their feeble jets of water, not up at
the windscreen, but outwards to fend off any theoretical criminal or ruffian
who might be climbing up the bonnet towards them. Aside from that, and a roof-rack
that flew off suddenly whenever the brakes were applied, there was nothing. No
guns, no gadgets, no turbo thrust, cloaking device or hammerdrive; not even a
big dart on the roof or a personalised number plate – DART 180 would have been
good. It was just a Ford Escort.</span></i></i></i><br />
<i><i><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">While this was mostly due to laziness and a crippling lack of funds,
Dartman also reasoned, rightly for once, that having a big conspicuous car that
everyone recognised would, for a stealthy crime fighter such as himself, cause
more problems than it would solve. Much better, he thought, to creep up on them
unawares in an unassuming Ford Escort.</span></i></i></i><br />
<i><i><i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Nobody will notice me until it’s too late and then… BAM!” he would
shout, smacking the dashboard and accidentally sounding the extremely loud
horn.</span></i></i></i></div>
<i><i><i>
</i></i></i>
<br />
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<![endif]-->Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-16073541823138070292010-08-21T15:23:00.006+01:002017-07-20T23:37:44.472+01:0011 ideas I've had that would have changed the world if I'd bothered to see them through...1: <b>Multi-flavoured crisps</b><br />
Kind of like a lucky dip. You buy a packet of crisps and each crisp therein could, potentially, be a different flavour. So you’ve got all your premier league crisps: Ready Salted, Cheese & Onion, Salt & Vinegar, Smoky Bacon, Prawn Cocktail and Roast Beef, plus a few of the best Championship crisps: Roast Chicken, Barbecue, Cheese & Chives, etc. all in one packet and you never know which one you’re going to get next. Just imagine the tension! Everyone knows that food and flavours are infinitely more shocking when the palette isn’t pre-warned and prepared. Imagine getting two Ready Salteds and then WALLOP! Prawn Cocktail, all of a sudden and without a word of warning! Downside: Some people may die from the shock.<br />
<br />
2: <b>Disappearing dress iPhone app</b><br />
Basically, an iPhone app that works the same way as those pens with the attractive ladies on them whose dresses fall down when you tip them up and then fall back on when you tip them the other way. Everyone remembers those pens as they were as close as mankind had thus far come to perfection… but they did get boring quickly on account of their one-girl policy (a limitation imposed upon them by the technology of the day and the restrictive pen-based format). The iPhone, however, with its phenomenal memory and capacity to store everything in the world <i>ever</i> could hold a limitless number of different girls to undress, thus ensuring that the initial excitement we all remember from the first pen-tip would never, ever fade.<br />
Downside: Could eventually result in the end of civilization.<br />
<br />
3: <b>TV idea #1</b><br />
Special edition of hit BBC quiz show, <i>The Weakest Link</i> featuring only Chinese people, entitled <i>The Weakest Chink</i>.<br />
Downside: Racist. <br />
<br />
4: <b>51st State</b><br />
Britain to ask Barack Obama for permission to officially declare itself the 51st State of America, thereby finally putting a halt to our 100-year decline. This will mean no more crap government, no more crappy economy, no more rubbish ‘British’ films, no more BBC, no more ruling classes, no more monarchy and, hopefully, no more Jeremy Clarkson.<br />
Downside: Baseball. We would all have to watch baseball.<br />
<br />
5: <b>Pedal operated toilet seats</b><br />
Just like pedal operated bins, the seat’s default position is down. When a man uses it he simply steps on the pedal and the seat lifts while he urinates. When he finishes and walks away the seat crashes back down, leaving his wife/girlfriend with nothing whatsoever to complain about (nothing toilet related anyway). Perfect for public toilets and festivals when you don’t want to touch the seat (or anything else in there) with your hands. Further plus: women, as full-time sitters, need not operate the machine at all and, therefore, it will not get broken and should, in theory, last forever.<br />
Downside: None whatsoever. <br />
<br />
6: <b>Special cigarettes for kids</b><br />
This is still a relatively untapped market. Having done some research at a local primary school (before being unceremoniously moved on) I found this is not because children don’t want to smoke but because all the adverts and marketing and so on are aimed at adults. I predict that the first person clever enough to produce some fags specifically marketed at kids will make an absolute killing. All it needs is some colourful packaging and a clever promotion (give out a few free samples outside schools or youth clubs) and Bob’s your uncle. Could call them <i>SmokeStix</i> or <i>FunFagz</i> or something.<br />
Downside: Many millions of people will die. <br />
<br />
7: <b>TV idea #2</b><br />
In the same spirit as that horrible <i>Ladette To Lady</i> show in which honest working class girls are kidnapped by Normans and forced to conform to their insane standards of etiquette and cuntishness. In this we take four of the biggest cunts in Eton and send them to California to link up with the Oakland chapter of the Hell’s Angels. Here they will be ridiculed for their inability to spit, drink, ride motorbikes, fight and swear properly. The climax of the series will see the four cunts getting the shit comprehensively beaten out of them by the Angels while <i>All Along The Watchtower</i> blares out over the top of their girlish screams.<br />
Downside: My inability to think of a suitably pithy title.<br />
<br />
8: <b>Superior education</b><br />
Current national curriculum to be abolished and all children instead given the following works to study at their leisure over a 12-year period:<br />
TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD<br />
CATCH-22<br />
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF BOB DYLAN<br />
THE I-CHING<br />
PET SOUNDS<br />
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF KURT VONNEGUT<br />
THE LORD OF THE RINGS<br />
THE GOOD, THE BAD & THE UGLY<br />
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF LOUIS CK <br />
IMPROVE YOUR SNOOKER by CLIVE EVERTON<br />
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF LARRY DAVID <br />
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF THE BEATLES<br />
Downside: People will figure out the meaninglessness of life at a dangerously early age.<br />
<br />
9: <b>New way to sign off letters of complaint</b><br />
In order for any letter to be properly classified as a complaint it MUST be signed ‘you bunch of bastards’ as opposed to ‘yours sincerely’ or ‘yours faithfully’ or whatever other bollocks people put down. This will avoid any unnecessary confusion.<br />
Downside: Nope. <br />
<br />
10: <b>TV idea #3</b><br />
Special edition of hit BBC quiz show, <i>The Weakest Link</i> featuring only sinks, entitled <i>The Weakest Sink</i>.<br />
Downside: The sinks probably won't be able to answer any of the questions. <br />
<br />
11: <b>Revolution</b><br />
The current Tory government are setting us up nicely for this with their new <i>Undisguised Hatred of the Working Classes</i> policy and I, for one, thank them for it. We have been oppressed and shackled by the Norman yoke for the best part of a thousand years now and nothing has quite got us riled up enough to do anything about it; but the arrival of these new super cunts, at a time when the country was already ripening for revolution, could be just what we need. I hereby judge the time to be right and call upon the common man to rise up, realise your strength, kick these bunch of bastards out of office and take what’s yours. All it needs to succeed is for us all to do it at the same time (then we can enjoy the fun bit of getting into power, surrounding ourselves in gold and turning, very quickly, into the people we kicked out in the first place). Ok, I appreciate that this isn’t particularly reticent but reticence will only get you so far (even Confucius acknowledged that) and sometimes you have to say: fuck off!<br />
Downside: We'll probably all be shot. Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-61657972093848205912010-08-12T12:15:00.010+01:002017-06-20T13:47:38.723+01:00Hello, Hello, good to be back...Good news everyone! I have just signed a deal to take over the management of legendary glam-rocker and all round good egg, Gary Glitter!<br />
<br />
I have been weighing up the possibility of signing Glitter for many years now, ever since I noticed how badly he was being let down by his clueless and unproactive management. I'm sure that, like me, you have all been baffled by the great man's sudden and unexplained disappearance from the Hit Parade and I daresay you are equally troubled to see that a man of such talent and charisma can, seemingly, vanish so utterly and without trace in this fickle world we live in. After all, if this can happen to Glitter, then it can surely happen to anyone. It was obvious to me that the fault didn't lie with poor Glitter (who, to date, has never put a foot wrong in his sparkling career) but with his inept management (who, in my opinion, have fucked up big time in the last few years, taking their eyes off the ball and inexplicably allowing their client to drop off the radar of pop culture). Consider this: the man hasn't released a single in almost a decade! Why?! And when was the last time you saw him on <i>The One Show</i>? Or pressing the button that starts the lottery? Or doing something for Children In Need? Or guest starring in <i>Doctor Who</i>? Or even a pantomime? Glitter's boyish good looks and natural affinity with children would make him an obviously perfect Peter Pan!<br />
<br />
The more I thought about it the angrier I became, and when I discovered, to my dismay, that Glitter was to play no part whatsoever in the Olympics opening ceremony, I resolved there and then to do something about it. I wasn't going to stand idly by and watch them procrastinate while Glitter's career went up the shitter any longer. I flew out to Dubai the very next day and met Glitter's representatives at Gimcrack Management.<br />
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Of course they used every underhand trick in the book to try and put me off, including filling my head with poisonous lies and accusations (which I shan't repeat here) against Glitter's character, but I was not to be taken in. My mind was made up and I wasn't leaving until I'd rescued the man from these dangerous idiots. My suspicions about the general incompetence of Gimcrack Management proved to be well-founded as they, unbelievably, sold me his contract for <i>nothing</i>!<i> </i>They<i> </i>even laughed and danced around like they were happy to be shot of him. I was appalled but vindicated. No wonder the man's career has hit the skids with people like this behind him, I thought. These are the sort of fuckwits who, when the inevitable call came in for Glitter to play Wembley for £10 million, would have laughed and told them he'd play it for free! I felt bad for the man and all the wasted years but couldn't dwell on it. As I said to Glitter as he signed his new contract with Reticent Records, 'what do I care about the past? The past is history! All that matters now is the future and the future is bright! In fact, I foresee a <i>glittering</i> future for both of us!'<br />
The line was completely unplanned. It just came to me from nowhere and further reinforced my belief that we were about to create something wonderful. It just felt <i>right</i>.<br />
Glitter was grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat! His sparkle was back, as was that cheeky mischievous grin we all know and love.<br />
I was delighted. The ink was barely dry on the contract, but by restoring Glitter's (understandably) fragile confidence, I had already done more in a matter of minutes than Gimcrack Management had in a whole decade of feeble indifference. With the glint fast-returning to his eye, I gave him a further boost by reminding him that he was a God and could do as he pleased. Then I drafted up plans for a greatest hits album (<i>All That Glitters Is GOLD</i>); a world tour (the<i> Up The Gary! </i>tour); a celebratory book of his life up to this point (<i>You Can't Polish A Turd But You Can Roll It In Glitter</i>) and a new single, co-written by myself and Gary, entitled 'I Raped A Girl... (and I liked it!)'. As you may have guessed from the title, the song is a humorous parody of Katy Perry's 'I Kissed A Girl<i>' </i>and is sure to win Glitter a brand new, younger audience (something both he and myself are very keen on securing). In fact, I am at this stage in tentative talks with a number of primary schools about the possibility of getting a children's choir to sing on the <i>Up The Gary!</i> tour but up until now they have all seemed strangely hesitant. I can only logically put this down to the fact that Glitter has been so criminally under-promoted for so very long that he is deemed to be passe. The new single (with its racy accompanying video) is sure to change all that...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTob8wmr5eJRsie2JVfvWzGBOqHXqxA_scDGzdy1PpOheHQ2onKyWH0MIMxMusmAuOku-fh1I6ofyOPjFiulwEs6Wv380WGmhD7en-zLNVGBLI_4cjEgp8G0Xqge5VX9lQ7HqetC1fv0xM/s1600/glitter.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504480810012097794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTob8wmr5eJRsie2JVfvWzGBOqHXqxA_scDGzdy1PpOheHQ2onKyWH0MIMxMusmAuOku-fh1I6ofyOPjFiulwEs6Wv380WGmhD7en-zLNVGBLI_4cjEgp8G0Xqge5VX9lQ7HqetC1fv0xM/s200/glitter.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 194px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUg41p1WWQRPpMQgAU8WUwXs56OioeC7lbHuhnNF_MA6RpYmDcyl659-_pLm7OJZXwPX0OOU-OvgOtOvvhGTHFiUg00ba5Ch9mhwJCZi5IOOHtgR0RBc3AFOXdlfesKMyS_nYQPryAG9nt/s1600/Picture2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504480953101716226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUg41p1WWQRPpMQgAU8WUwXs56OioeC7lbHuhnNF_MA6RpYmDcyl659-_pLm7OJZXwPX0OOU-OvgOtOvvhGTHFiUg00ba5Ch9mhwJCZi5IOOHtgR0RBc3AFOXdlfesKMyS_nYQPryAG9nt/s200/Picture2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 193px;" /></a><br />
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In other news, a staggering six whole people voted in our poll to determine the gayest robot of all time with C-3PO winning (perhaps unsurprisingly) in something of a landslide.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKg9MBLK8ah7s7Oo9POJxTedQlfCCRuYYweuvAqX4T_-Makizdpcsi_VYfAqmBpdcIepN9BoEjwjNmOS7LQRuOzvWKw95OHbyho953A6vmCYjTNCh6OCPwdjWDMOzc8bf9huJ9KsqH9Gd/s1600/c3po.bmp"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504480676670323058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKg9MBLK8ah7s7Oo9POJxTedQlfCCRuYYweuvAqX4T_-Makizdpcsi_VYfAqmBpdcIepN9BoEjwjNmOS7LQRuOzvWKw95OHbyho953A6vmCYjTNCh6OCPwdjWDMOzc8bf9huJ9KsqH9Gd/s200/c3po.bmp" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 144px;" /></a></div>
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Next, the Reticent Party will find out who the most over-rated person in history is.</div>
Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-48520904815875371992010-07-22T11:13:00.022+01:002017-06-20T15:09:36.459+01:00Hat's entertainment...I'm sure you've noticed that the Reticent Blog has been even more reticent than usual recently. Don't worry, I'm not dead; I have simply been in South Africa for the last 25 days covering the 121st World Cup of Hats for TIME Magazine!<br />
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496671807035818818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58puNBau2zVuTSoonlGdv0NetVEOtEjLPeqPFo-da1suxAKAktRuKouGl4SGVSZ2_j17AXyUhczJCS547qxzKEiJL-cmymOajN43RYqn_Zpcyd5tU_E5vomEDiw9THRuA1QL_uIP6Bpu3/s400/worldcuphats.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 393px;" /><br />
Now I'm well aware that over the last few weeks the World Cup of Hats has been on every single channel on the planet for every second of every day and you've probably all heard enough and seen enough about it to last a lifetime (or at least until the next one in 2014) and I won't be going over it all again here (check out my 4000-page review of the tournament in TIME for a comprehensive account of all the dramatic twists and turns of that magical month), but I would like to share one or two extracts and photos from my World Cup Diary with you…<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bXjkugQMSDIXNxPoH7Bujc9oUinRFdgrP5S9ct3CwGaYnedpVrb4CHU5Ntt8GF3Mfl9SBwNSkI7spqZLEuhDzAycOBWLt46LmlyDrpn46c0AdqFpFijx7n_AEZeercULMZDUgCBYZBiz/s1600/mascot.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496672211097034082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bXjkugQMSDIXNxPoH7Bujc9oUinRFdgrP5S9ct3CwGaYnedpVrb4CHU5Ntt8GF3Mfl9SBwNSkI7spqZLEuhDzAycOBWLt46LmlyDrpn46c0AdqFpFijx7n_AEZeercULMZDUgCBYZBiz/s200/mascot.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 126px;" /></a>The official mascot for the 2010 World Cup, Hats Domino.<br />
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In retrospect, possibly a bad choice and perhaps the only mistake the South Africans made in the whole tournament. Hats Domino's uptight Victorian values and attitudes frightened children and generally put a downer on everyone's fun.<br />
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The first of what would become a series of 'savage cane beatings' occurred during the opening match when he clubbed a child close to death for blowing a vuvuzela in his ear. His reign of terror finally came to an end at the quarter final stage when he was replaced by the friendlier and altogether more cuddly, Hats Waller.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCeGAKeujgqRmsRsfTtCtY6vTIOCF_TRo4ecrnBVzTIE-qOJotU-hgggzLx3Bnjb40W6kz_RAjr87y0sZAwwzZ719_o7yjG2iNPiY0NJl460FWoMiC81Q2-Ub7YsoEAk19RCHXgQutgLti/s1600/french_beret.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496672421796419826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCeGAKeujgqRmsRsfTtCtY6vTIOCF_TRo4ecrnBVzTIE-qOJotU-hgggzLx3Bnjb40W6kz_RAjr87y0sZAwwzZ719_o7yjG2iNPiY0NJl460FWoMiC81Q2-Ub7YsoEAk19RCHXgQutgLti/s200/french_beret.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 140px;" /></a><br />
The French arrived looking like dicks as usual.<br />
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Winners in '98 and runners-up in 2006, a lot was expected of the mercurial Berets but they fell disappointingly at the first hurdle, drowning in a sea of bad vibes and hatred. By the end of the tournament the French felt nothing but contempt for each other and everyone else. None of this was helped by me asking, in the press conference after their first match, why they'd come dressed as mimes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeKkEh_MJzApWwjnUQjXtAluxOXzZZPYm7Kqptf0sbqE-BLvnXDBRRZ0hMoBG4Tnk6_uRlRtQCtRVTyvFmEi4u82ovmzSV80P40VKKATBANx-n-vk-nm9xr8ePqpk_aCkozJhSoDvWHUQ7/s1600/oz+hat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496673402105626978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeKkEh_MJzApWwjnUQjXtAluxOXzZZPYm7Kqptf0sbqE-BLvnXDBRRZ0hMoBG4Tnk6_uRlRtQCtRVTyvFmEi4u82ovmzSV80P40VKKATBANx-n-vk-nm9xr8ePqpk_aCkozJhSoDvWHUQ7/s320/oz+hat.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 240px;" /></a> This was the Aussies' first ever appearance at the World Cup of Hats and many, not knowing what the corks did but assuming they had a purpose, tipped them to go far. Turns out the Aussies didn't know what the corks were supposed to do either and they were promptly eliminated without winning a game.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidb5FB85_z7kASfFUuzDOpFxceRFA91LzlyWHXezrFznYDG4f6Ftg6eolZe5x5ZPNEYbJBWKPv5sk1Psl8cfZHYjiwUF9BE2PNtnicFt7xhGhP4wIW-xq2CphWZaMvDg4L9l21S8Wn72a4/s1600/africahat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496673256301630770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidb5FB85_z7kASfFUuzDOpFxceRFA91LzlyWHXezrFznYDG4f6Ftg6eolZe5x5ZPNEYbJBWKPv5sk1Psl8cfZHYjiwUF9BE2PNtnicFt7xhGhP4wIW-xq2CphWZaMvDg4L9l21S8Wn72a4/s320/africahat.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 242px;" /></a>Pele famously once said that an African team would win the World Cup of Hats before the turn of the century. </div>
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They’ve still got a long way to go in my opinion.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQ265JnF4o6w2i4yMuMY9iq4CWqA-rvm7xnhd9L_EFntEWLS6MJvE3EQu9B6v5G6NwWBc-uz1WCaYpJqXwcC-KguOmG8vuRv8VnEQHaiQyIFLgLeu658xRRy9MNXkr4B7oUGkZukicPg3/s1600/fez+hat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496673082262457026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQ265JnF4o6w2i4yMuMY9iq4CWqA-rvm7xnhd9L_EFntEWLS6MJvE3EQu9B6v5G6NwWBc-uz1WCaYpJqXwcC-KguOmG8vuRv8VnEQHaiQyIFLgLeu658xRRy9MNXkr4B7oUGkZukicPg3/s200/fez+hat.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 150px;" /></a><br />
The laughing stock of every World Cup of Hats since 1578, the Egyptians, in their ridiculous little Fez Hats, are yet to win a single match. This year they excelled themselves, even managing to get beaten by that stupid Jamaican Rasta Hat that everyone had assumed to be a joke.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLQBUkPSAauxCAqeJkdA4_cNGaE34pRGzSgj6s03rdDi75hDHeT0zy6S1c7o-SEkg6tj2F9PQuBgOA_TrhuCvAyjxpqE_eMn1u6d8Xu9kjwZ6K6mA7s49VhjJGSgEBjhhlgNrTFyyLpgI/s1600/dutch+hat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496672624600094082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLQBUkPSAauxCAqeJkdA4_cNGaE34pRGzSgj6s03rdDi75hDHeT0zy6S1c7o-SEkg6tj2F9PQuBgOA_TrhuCvAyjxpqE_eMn1u6d8Xu9kjwZ6K6mA7s49VhjJGSgEBjhhlgNrTFyyLpgI/s200/dutch+hat.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 196px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 172px;" /></a><br />
The Dutch have always been renowned for their beautiful hats and at times they were an absolute joy to watch at this tournament, but once again they lacked that killer instinct needed to win the thing, unlike…<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuwO7HbeX5o8zILGOYjV-Kp98YiJxqve9r8mebsJJLCG5ldd1q7nB4Y8UhMWnW1wK5z3oCdm6FWS-syJuH1j1swAl06LxL-T-Exj5ozePQEKCXBBp0EX2O5DlvoSy1Yq8WjyuoDrGoXxBu/s1600/german+hat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496672844034247618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuwO7HbeX5o8zILGOYjV-Kp98YiJxqve9r8mebsJJLCG5ldd1q7nB4Y8UhMWnW1wK5z3oCdm6FWS-syJuH1j1swAl06LxL-T-Exj5ozePQEKCXBBp0EX2O5DlvoSy1Yq8WjyuoDrGoXxBu/s200/german+hat.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 191px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a> <br />
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The Germans.<br />
This formidable looking German Hat showed its strength once again, particularly in the pasting they handed out to the English, who found that, while their top hats and bowlers work perfectly well at home, they look hopelessly old fashioned and out of their depth at international hat level.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsKXo6UdJZ562Ct-SRmklJJ_pIz2tdfmyKfgV8tGgM_-IJ8rQi2cguMiXq2bOYmrlW5uWnZU-gUz5nBny90IWwbkxuSPO29c6WqEVSeBLWhGkQvq4CT7Y9jj9Y374dUThP-6_Bfl3HADc/s1600/bowler+hat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496672947206000194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsKXo6UdJZ562Ct-SRmklJJ_pIz2tdfmyKfgV8tGgM_-IJ8rQi2cguMiXq2bOYmrlW5uWnZU-gUz5nBny90IWwbkxuSPO29c6WqEVSeBLWhGkQvq4CT7Y9jj9Y374dUThP-6_Bfl3HADc/s200/bowler+hat.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 133px;" /></a>The English are slowly coming to terms with the fact that they will never again be Hat Champions of the World.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqQhkBdyPIEGsdUoXcq3F3ONMC9LtbDlAfp5316kD0sFZFmMDuCyjaeFzFclGazV28EcOYBycpbIxRnLguiNL4Gy82gdsw50laq6sWMIr6IHoVXw10Wi7HHgRcXknw9N-RFV0ZLxKo_0o/s1600/stetson.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496683127863482338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqQhkBdyPIEGsdUoXcq3F3ONMC9LtbDlAfp5316kD0sFZFmMDuCyjaeFzFclGazV28EcOYBycpbIxRnLguiNL4Gy82gdsw50laq6sWMIr6IHoVXw10Wi7HHgRcXknw9N-RFV0ZLxKo_0o/s200/stetson.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 158px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
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The Stetson, on the other hand, is a hat that continues to punch above its weight. Another fine tournament from the Americans shows that they're finally starting to take hats seriously after so many years tossing about with baseball caps and mortar boards.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOVm2nQRFEHPmFiPLp8pu1ub46USPkbt9Sypgv4kvR1tL3SmNbm_5yspbOWeo2-AO4psERPMkz3sMfKdgGA405h7Pkdi1tmXemFqL6qMSq-nffGywenvG-ulYZqINvEUuZjlqPcKNVc83/s1600/sombrero.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496673845350551874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOVm2nQRFEHPmFiPLp8pu1ub46USPkbt9Sypgv4kvR1tL3SmNbm_5yspbOWeo2-AO4psERPMkz3sMfKdgGA405h7Pkdi1tmXemFqL6qMSq-nffGywenvG-ulYZqINvEUuZjlqPcKNVc83/s200/sombrero.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 120px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 119px;" /></a>The Mexican captain, Angel Hernandez, is one of the biggest names in the world of hats and was followed by a huge entourage of reporters, security and screaming girls everywhere he went.I thought he was a bit of an arse myself and was delighted when him and the rest of his poncey Sombrero-wearing mates were knocked out by the no-nonsense Viking Hats of the Swedes in the second round. Hernandez himself lost an eye to the hat of Swedish captain Henrik Hammersen.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8zhXIAytj1y7Kkf5h1TUS5ihNINn-WfuLgf7ndeXxTen_C9pY4vuDOs7NPRR6mjBwX1zTeV4bA84qJhEVotYRPgURKg4usesb-P2RYAgLlL2cnOOR9i9bzSTLqm5WfEW35TKDxJ5GphP/s1600/800px-Sikh_wearing_turban.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496673161323628850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8zhXIAytj1y7Kkf5h1TUS5ihNINn-WfuLgf7ndeXxTen_C9pY4vuDOs7NPRR6mjBwX1zTeV4bA84qJhEVotYRPgURKg4usesb-P2RYAgLlL2cnOOR9i9bzSTLqm5WfEW35TKDxJ5GphP/s200/800px-Sikh_wearing_turban.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a>The Turban has always been a poor hat and from the minute they arrived in South Africa you sensed that the Indian team knew it. Bereft of confidence, they lost all three group games and limped out of the tournament.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtbUZgTpsUVV9v3gmJ9Cv5b0EpnVQdAl3RXYJkTvujIx5XaL_K-QSTcrFFE_WIX9oQ3nXCR-rfObgW2WZkz75AopHru-T8TBsDi9NzGj1hls5WDcB6bNCV6vt88YL-gN4-IJ8dKrs3LHU/s1600/scot+hat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496673709505029202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtbUZgTpsUVV9v3gmJ9Cv5b0EpnVQdAl3RXYJkTvujIx5XaL_K-QSTcrFFE_WIX9oQ3nXCR-rfObgW2WZkz75AopHru-T8TBsDi9NzGj1hls5WDcB6bNCV6vt88YL-gN4-IJ8dKrs3LHU/s200/scot+hat.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a></div>
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While they have about as much chance of winning the event as I have of becoming Heavyweight Champion of the World, it is often said that the Scots bring a lot of colour and life to the World Cup party and that they are good for the tournament. I disagree. They drove everyone fucking nuts with their drinking and fighting and everything was much better after they'd gone home.</div>
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Without doubt one of the worst hats in the history of hats.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eB8qKSCZebL8-l043kiwQ-yFcZSlhViLDPpm9sgi4aFhnSf6lT_WtC2jANLbeRHSUeyDc64AZuTTcwfBfeNXJhMllcoAdEuIEfSK8PSx8BqcVXhXx2mXzpZ0RFgL0YXwxMGrpXvADdQD/s1600/russian+hat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496687694727535266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eB8qKSCZebL8-l043kiwQ-yFcZSlhViLDPpm9sgi4aFhnSf6lT_WtC2jANLbeRHSUeyDc64AZuTTcwfBfeNXJhMllcoAdEuIEfSK8PSx8BqcVXhXx2mXzpZ0RFgL0YXwxMGrpXvADdQD/s200/russian+hat.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 173px;" /></a></div>
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Many people have pointed out that if the World Cup of Hats was held in the winter, rather than the summer, the Russians, with their big, furry hats, would have won it plenty of times by now. As it is it's just too damn hot for them. Once again, the entire Russian team collapsed with heat stroke after 20 minutes of their first game.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtbUZgTpsUVV9v3gmJ9Cv5b0EpnVQdAl3RXYJkTvujIx5XaL_K-QSTcrFFE_WIX9oQ3nXCR-rfObgW2WZkz75AopHru-T8TBsDi9NzGj1hls5WDcB6bNCV6vt88YL-gN4-IJ8dKrs3LHU/s1600/scot+hat.jpg"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiH0OQ3H9xruYh3VzfiWaRilQ9MdhsBcV3-vmQFNxA6BXrph_SDC10Iv7C-eeNl_Er7eSZ8yqkFvR9f2PqkQYeKk8tFgUU49LPQHU0LS87vlNjJ22FothxIolBDpNE2_6XS368PuAJgCm/s1600/italian+fedora.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496673537397924834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiH0OQ3H9xruYh3VzfiWaRilQ9MdhsBcV3-vmQFNxA6BXrph_SDC10Iv7C-eeNl_Er7eSZ8yqkFvR9f2PqkQYeKk8tFgUU49LPQHU0LS87vlNjJ22FothxIolBDpNE2_6XS368PuAJgCm/s200/italian+fedora.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 140px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a></div>
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The Italian Fedora was as solid and as well organised as usual but struggled to break down opposition defences and suffered a shock early exit.</div>
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As we all know, it was the Spanish, with their stylish Flamenco Hats and fiery latino temperaments, who eventually fulfilled their huge potential and got their name on the famous Golden Hat. Well done boys, you deserved it. The best hats won.</div>
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Funnily enough I found out afterwards that there was another tournament going on in South Africa at the same time: the <i>FIFA</i> or <i>Hatless World Cup</i> as you will know it better. Spain won that one as well apparently. </div>
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A couple of vintage World Cup posters from tournaments gone by:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7IOTo-28cbo9GlU8kKkIGIokYjpOaz5Wrw_BfWuLVyOf3ZS-G_OpC9ZH4aGUlUwoyJB2PTfsPgbDLTr5cmL4jKOwA9AzsqebrGdP3x4q8TMLMwXb5DrEjYcu8TNYXxCx5l6puU5TNbKe4/s1600/GERMANY+2006.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496674043732952482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7IOTo-28cbo9GlU8kKkIGIokYjpOaz5Wrw_BfWuLVyOf3ZS-G_OpC9ZH4aGUlUwoyJB2PTfsPgbDLTr5cmL4jKOwA9AzsqebrGdP3x4q8TMLMwXb5DrEjYcu8TNYXxCx5l6puU5TNbKe4/s320/GERMANY+2006.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 255px;" /></a></div>
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Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-50992912623018679802010-07-19T17:58:00.006+01:002017-06-20T13:53:22.113+01:0011 questions about Flying Ant Day...<ol>
<li>Do the ants know it's going to happen?</li>
<li>If so, do they look forward to it and say things like: <i>'I can't fucking wait for Flying Ant Day this year!</i>' or does it hang over them all summer like a cloud? <i>'Fucking hell, Flying-fucking-Ant Day's coming 'round again.</i>'</li>
<li>Do ants call it Flying Ant Day or just Flying Day?</li>
<li>How do they know to all do it at the same time and who gives the green light to start?</li>
<li>Do they spend the whole day in a state of frenzy and scream things like: <i>'fucking hell, I'm flying!</i>' or do they take it in their stride. '<i>Yeah, I'm flying. What of it?</i>'</li>
<li>Do they get depressed on Flying Ant Boxing Day when they wake up and their wings aren't there any more? '<i>Only another 364 days of crawling around on our crappy little legs like cunts again. Carrying leaves and shit.</i></li>
<li>Why don't other animals do equally interesting annual role-reversals? Swimming Eagle Day? Walking Shark Day? Flying Badger Day?</li>
<li>Are there any ants that won't do it? '<i>That's a load of old bollocks, that Flying Ant Day. It gives me the shits.</i>'</li>
<li>Is it an overly ambitious attempt to invade the planet, enslave the human race and begin the dominion of the Kingdom of the Ants or is it just to impress girl ants? </li>
<li>Why is it not a national holiday? After all, it's the only 'day' that doesn't disappoint. Christmas leaves you cold, New Year's is a drag, Valentine's Day is a pain in the arse. Flying Ant Day, on the other hand, delivers exactly what it promises. Nothing more, nothing less. </li>
<li>Are there any ants that think it's become too commercial? </li>
</ol>
<i>Yesterday, I spotted an ant in my garden acting in a suspicious manner. Fearing he was up to something, I followed him home and discovered these blueprints laid out on his kitchen table: </i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheCwtgh7SeDtKGNFpw5cNI48GB4WxJEfSmFEzXULvseH-wnMLgkpSdyYN-FNh8V0s7tVps0WkzU6rHujy89FvjfpDVt-cD5kbcs-QDq5SQ66cXc-6zSA4P1MvyyReF6pCVHucr6HXotGEb/s1600/Ant.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495673394278805714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheCwtgh7SeDtKGNFpw5cNI48GB4WxJEfSmFEzXULvseH-wnMLgkpSdyYN-FNh8V0s7tVps0WkzU6rHujy89FvjfpDVt-cD5kbcs-QDq5SQ66cXc-6zSA4P1MvyyReF6pCVHucr6HXotGEb/s320/Ant.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 297px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<br />Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-44556092001409475632010-06-17T19:08:00.013+01:002017-10-01T00:02:42.740+01:00Across the alternative universe...Yesterday evening I wandered into a pretty strange part of town. In this pretty strange part of town was a pretty strange street containing a pretty strange shop. Inside the pretty strange shop sat a pretty strange man with a pretty strange beard, wearing a pretty strange hat.<br />
<br />
None of this seemed all that strange to me though, so I gave the man a cursory nod and began to browse through his dusty old records. Now, for a pretty strange shop he had a pretty good filing system, all alphabetised and sorted by genre: rock, pop, soul, northern soul, hip-hop, trip-hop, punk, indie, alternative...<br />
<br />
That last one always confuses me: <i>alternative</i>. Alternative to <i>what</i> exactly?<br />
<br />
“Alternative to everything,” said the strange man through his strange mouth. “That section contains all the music that might have been, had things been <i>different</i>.”<br />
<br />
I couldn’t help but wonder what he meant. “What do you mean?” I asked him.<br />
<br />
He just smiled a strange sort of smile and beckoned me forwards with a strange curly finger. “Check this out,” he said, unlocking a big steel trunk and producing a tatty piece of old vinyl.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483808805226739458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYB4VuvpUDzUYi90MSJohm2ONFMy5ijQ5igg_ybrmmZg9q83MHDDjY8v2JaUmF6UdPqaD093-nqrVBtuVN8kgn_qFQXjLsU7ZKkRH-jnzmGDCjkvJSTcG9IBjzUhrtAT7yq3PT9yYSjzw/s400/FRONT+COVER.jpg" style="display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" />“What in the name of Christ is that?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“This record comes from a universe in which John Lennon wasn’t shot and The Beatles reformed in 1987 to make one truly awful comeback album.” <br />
<br />
“Shit off!” <br />
<br />
“They held out longer than their peers, but in the end the lure of the money was too great.”<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483809931965235330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwwHBKQCLZ9yHyGPUao9hattFscOdUU17JEqQ7wrDo_5_o9NMx9oVwxPKSVJMrOceyf6WfJ-YIl8MsEqWzHJ_3rjl60iWbxp3oylESMgZEPvnM8Ji5CwYhUjIc8DvM2ZHxUyi_FMWWPZ6/s400/BACKCOVER.jpg" style="display: block; height: 399px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" />The strange man refused point blank to play me the album, as he had sworn to the God of the Space Time Continuum that he would never let any other mortal from our universe hear it, lest The Beatles legend be diluted and all civilisation destroyed.<br />
<br />
“If people lose faith in The Beatles, they lose faith in humanity itself,” he said. “But I will let you read this track-by-track review from <i>Rolling Stone</i> magazine if you like.”<br />
<br />
<b><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Soundwaves</span></b><br />
The Beatles<br />
<br />
1. <b>Art Beat</b> (McCartney)<br />
The most eagerly awaited album in rock history kicks off with this catchy but totally pointless pop throwaway about the ‘power’ of music. McCartney’s futuristic production (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">synths</span>, drum machines and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">vocoder</span> all feature prominently) seems an over-eager attempt to prove that The Beatles, though all firmly into their forties, are by no means old hat. Unfortunately, this approach has produced a record that sounds instantly dated and a little cheap. The repeated refrain - ‘<i>music is art with a beat, paintings never make you tap your feet. Poems and plays are an occasional treat, but rhythm and blues is the language of the street</i>’ - is McCartney at his most <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">cringeworthy</span>; desperately trying to sound cool and relevant in a world that has discarded all but the most dangerous of its rock dinosaurs. As if that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">wasn</span>’t bad enough, the ill-advised four minute sax solo which was omitted from the single version at the behest of George Martin is included here in its awful entirety as McCartney repeatedly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">skats</span> the words “art” and ‘beat” behind it.<br />
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2. <b>Maggie Thatcher, Milk Snatcher </b>(Lennon)<br />
Next comes the first of two savage attacks on the current Conservative government of Great Britain from John. Throughout the 80s, John has been most vocal in his criticism of the “Tories”, describing them as both “fascist” and “a big bunch of kid-strangling, money-grabbing cunts.” Perhaps it is no surprise that two of his three contributions to the first Beatles record in 17 years are little more than campaign messages to support his burgeoning political career. (John has set up his own party, The Pig Fuckers, and has already declared his ambitions to become prime minister before the decade is out.) This is basically a spoken-word number in which John reels off a vitriolic list of things that Maggie’s government has cut, or “snatched” as he puts it, from the budget. After four and a half minutes of this, he brings the song to a welcome conclusion with the line, ‘<i>Sorry Bob, we’re all working on Maggie’s Farm now.</i>’<br />
It’s not an easy listen by any means but one gets the impression that this “wake up call to the establishment”, as John describes it, was never intended to be easy listening. It’s supposed to be powerful. And it would have been were it not for the ridiculously chirpy, lightweight instrumental arrangement from McCartney (featuring marimbas, sleigh bells, xylophones and a whole children’s choir) that jars horribly with the dark lyrics. Rumour has it that McCartney, ever fearful of any sort of political rhetoric in The Beatles’ music that might divide their audience, was not too comfortable with this song’s inclusion on the album. As he puts it: “you can’t have universal appeal if you keep saying things.”<br />
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3. <b>Pic-A-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Nic</span> Basket </b>(McCartney)<br />
The third and (we can but hope) final part in the series that began with ‘Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Da</span>’ on the White Album and continued with ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’ on <i>Abbey Road</i>, in which McCartney attempts to write the most irritating song ever written. This sickening tale of a trip to the beach with his wife Linda is so twee and saccharine that it makes you want to stick pins in your eyes. Indeed, you can almost hear George’s disdain for the song in the delivery of his backing vocals in which he is forced to repeat the lyric: ‘<i>strawberry jam, bread, cheese and ham</i>,’ ad <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">infinitum</span>. Though the song is technically short at 2:12, by the time it finally fades away into blissful silence you feel as though it has been going on for weeks, perhaps even years.<br />
<i>Note: According to George, this song took over 4000 agonising takes to perfect, with McCartney constantly complaining that it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">wasn</span>’t </i><i><i>“</i>bouncing</i><i><i>”</i> enough.</i><br />
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4. <b>Zen Barlow </b>(Harrison)<br />
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Apparently, some time during the magical summer of 1986, George Harrison’s never-ending quest for spiritual fulfillment took him to L.A. There, he met famous jazz musician, Herbie Hancock, and the two, united by their mutual fondness of Buddhism, struck up a strong friendship and began to jam together in a series of secret but electrifying gigs around the city. It was during one of these gigs that Hancock introduced George to a strange new instrument he’d discovered and began tinkering with the year before: the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">keytar</span>. George was said to be immediately blown away, not just by the look of the thing, but by the incredible, mind-bending sounds it could produce and immediately decided that his guitars, sitars and pianos were yesterday’s news. The next day he bought a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">keytar</span> and, according to McCartney, he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">hasn</span>’t put it down since. This <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">unlistenable</span> instrumental (the title is a nod to George’s other great love, <i>Coronation Street</i> [a British soap opera], and the man he describes as “his guru”, Ken Barlow) is basically just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">keytar</span> and nothing else.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJ0EmbL5orQb9uBFMIGbWAcGK4JwYusT2cnms4rm18ZUh_Uj_OFAmqG-7oEE9R4XXRIR2zWBHSAxSAsCUcCoCnlPOnyLuRa8Fy93ajQXZK4XNE6lmACSesenPf3yluYJZN7ty83UN0IKR/s1600/keytar.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483841317640350338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJ0EmbL5orQb9uBFMIGbWAcGK4JwYusT2cnms4rm18ZUh_Uj_OFAmqG-7oEE9R4XXRIR2zWBHSAxSAsCUcCoCnlPOnyLuRa8Fy93ajQXZK4XNE6lmACSesenPf3yluYJZN7ty83UN0IKR/s320/keytar.jpg" style="float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
John: “We wanted to play on it but he insisted that the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">keytar</span> could do everything. Apparently it’s got a drum machine built in or something.”<br />
George: “I just really wanted to showcase the power of this incredible thing. I wanted to be able to say to people: you know all those crazy, far out sounds on Zen Barlow? Well, that’s just me and my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">keytar</span>.”<br />
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When asked about this song in a recent interview for <i>Butter My Arse</i> magazine, Ringo quipped that George's trusty old Gibson guitar spent the whole session “gently weeping” in the corner.<br />
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5. <b>Together, Forever </b>(McCartney)<br />
<br />
After the ponderous ‘Art Beat’ and the hateful ‘Pic-A-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Nic</span> Basket’, finally a bit of the old McCartney magic. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Ok</span>, so the lyrics are a bit cheesy, the strings tickle the puke reflex a little and there’s enough <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">reverb</span> on the vocal to make it sound as though it’s being sung in the Grand Canyon, but all in all ‘Together, Forever’ is magnificent. Pitched somewhere in between ‘Here, There and Everywhere’ and ‘The Long and Winding Road’, this is the kind of melody that only McCartney can write. His heartfelt promise to his wife Linda that they will be ‘<i>together, forever</i>’ sounds genuinely sincere and the emotion with which he delivers the final lines: ‘<i>if death should ever take you, I’ll take my life. Never could go on with another wife,</i>’ leaves the listener in no doubt that he really means it.<br />
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6. <b>Pattie Got The Clap </b>(Harrison)<br />
<br />
No prizes for guessing what this one’s about, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">ay</span>? It seems that even though it happened well over ten years ago, George still maintains a healthy amount of bitterness about his wife Pattie leaving him and shacking up with his old mate Eric Clapton. Though the contrast with McCartney’s previous song about his wife could scarcely be greater, this mid-tempo, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Pogues</span>-like rocker also makes for a very good listen with George’s chirpy, pub singalong vocal delivery assuring the listener that the lyric is more <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">humorous</span> than nasty:<br />
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“<i>Georgie fell head first into her trap, Eric slipped in like a cat through a flap.<br />He lost that grin when I gave him a slap, and Pattie? Pattie got the Clap.</i>” </div>
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It should also be pointed out that this is the first time we hear Ringo on the whole album. “It’s not the first time George Martin’s replaced me with a drum machine,” he laughed (this being a sly reference to the time he was replaced by Andy White on their first record ‘Love Me Do’).<i> </i>Happily, he, like the rest of the group, is on fine form here. It just goes to show that for all the sophisticated production techniques and studio trickery, The Beatles are still at their best when they’re playing live (though the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">keytar</span> solo in the middle is just plain weird).</div>
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7. <b>Beautiful Boys </b>(Lennon)</div>
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With the album suddenly hitting its stride, John too steps up his game with this delightful ballad. As the title suggests, it’s more or less a sequel to the original ‘Beautiful Boy’ written by John to “set the record straight” after Cynthia had told him how upset Julian was when John sang: ‘<i>beautiful, beautiful, beautiful darling Sean</i>’ at the end of ‘Beautiful Boy’.<br />
“Up until then he’d thought the song was about him,” she said. “I remember he cried for weeks and eventually asked me: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">aren</span>’t I beautiful, Mum?”<br />
So John finally acknowledges his firstborn’s existence in song with this heartfelt little ditty in which he reminds both of his “beautiful boys” how much he loves them. Nice.</div>
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8. <b>Persephone </b>(Harrison)</div>
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Another <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">keytar-</span>driven rocker from George about a mysterious ‘<i>devil woman, Queen of the underworld</i>,’ who ‘<i>tore out his heart and ripped it apart</i>’ and left him for an equally mysterious ‘<i>man with slow hands</i>.’</div>
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9. <b>Back Where We Once Belonged </b>(McCartney)</div>
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This is obviously a not-so-subtle callback to the line ‘<i>get back to where you once belonged</i>’ on ‘Get Back’ and once again illustrates just how much McCartney is in love with his own myth. According to many reports, the shadow of <i>Let It Be</i> hung over the recording of this track with John repeatedly bickering with Linda McCartney - who just sat in the corner staring at him for the whole session - and calling her “the new Yoko” and George storming out after McCartney refused to allow him to play <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">keytar</span> on the track, insisting that it was to be honest rock & roll or nothing. George said, “I’ll take the nothing option then,” and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">wasn</span>’t seen again for two days. Eventually though, the song did get finished, and it’s not a bad number all in all, even if it does feel a tad contrived. (George Martin himself described it as ‘Beatles by numbers’.)</div>
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“I don’t like going backwards,” said John, talking of the lyric. “The problem is he always wants to get back and I always want to go forward. Maybe one day we’ll meet in the middle.”</div>
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10. <b>The Wheels On The Bus </b>(trad. arr McCartney)</div>
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About three quarters of the way through listening to this record I was struck by a thought that ran all the way up and down my spine and chilled me to the bones: Ringo hasn't sung one yet.</div>
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Don't panic, I told myself. Maybe there won't be a Ringo number.</div>
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Don't be ridiculous, man! There's always a Ringo number. There always has been and there always will be. A Ringo number on a Beatles’ record is as certain as death and taxes.</div>
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Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy! No sooner had I conceived of it than it was happening... and it was even more awful than I could ever have imagined. Quite what malfunction <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">occurred</span> in McCartney’s brain to make him think the world was ready for a “disco-funk remix of ‘The Wheels On The Bus’ to get everyone dancing” (his words, not mine) is unknown, but that the others were unable (or unwilling) to talk him out of it says everything you need to know about their mindsets by this time. </div>
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“We just wanted it to be over,” said George, reflecting on the final few days of recording.</div>
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My sentiments exactly. This “epic” clocks in at a staggering 11 minutes and 26 seconds, the final 6 minutes of which are little more than a chaotic, anything-goes jam during which John shouts, among other things, ‘all you need is gloves!’ over and over again.</div>
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“That was great fun to record,” smiles Ringo. “The jam actually went on for over four hours but they decided to cut it down to 12 minutes for the album. It’s a shame because some of our best stuff got left on the cutting room floor. I was all in favour of putting the whole thing out as a historic four-disc single but it wasn’t to be.”</div>
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11<b>. 1984</b> (Lennon)</div>
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Fortunately, the record doesn’t end with ‘The Wheels On The Bus’. Instead we get John’s third (and best) composition, ‘1984’. Now, if <i><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Soundwaves</span></i> contains a masterpiece then this is surely it. Built around an eerie descending chord progression (think the verses of ‘Cry Baby Cry’ but somehow heavier and more oppressive), this paints equally as terrifying a picture of the future as the book that inspired it. </div>
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“I wanted to scare people,” said John. “I wanted to show them what could happen if we stopped paying attention.”</div>
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Once again, McCartney was said to be unhappy with the political message, preferring to end the album with his less controversial ‘Polka Dot Princess’ but John would not be denied.</div>
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McCartney: “I don’t like the idea of alienating the majority of the country; and whichever way you look at it the majority of the country voted for them.”</div>
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John’s riposte? “I couldn't think of any people I’d rather alienate.”</div>
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The funny thing is, if anything’s going to alienate the loyal Beatles’ fanbase it will be McCartney’s pandering, not John’s preaching.</div>
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VERDICT 2/5</div>
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I put down the review and looked at the strange old man, who was now occupying himself with a strange late sixties Buddy Holly album called <i>Peggy Sue’s Psychedelic Boogaloo</i> and an equally strange Velvet Underground album with an apple on the cover.</div>
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“None of that actually happened, did it?” I asked him.</div>
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“This isn’t about what is and what was,” he said, mysteriously. “But of what <i>could</i> have been.”</div>
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Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-65332607870462158142010-06-14T14:53:00.004+01:002017-06-20T15:55:34.158+01:00I Love Shite Festival 2010...Successfully wasted another couple of hours of my life last night watching the highlights of the Isle Of Wight Festival and getting all worked up about the state of modern pop music (which has now fallen behind TV adverts, radio jingles and lift music in the race to produce fresh and original new sounds for the masses).<br />
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I was reminded of my own trip to the Isle Of Wight Festival back in 2004 (when pop music was only three quarters of the way through its terminal decline and was still significantly more relevant than lift music <i>and</i> radio jingles, though still behind TV adverts) to see the remaining living half of The Who. This was during a period of my life that I now refer to as 'ambitious' (most people at the time plumped for 'deluded') when I decided that I could write just as good as, if not a little bit better than, Dylan. There doesn’t seem to be any real trick to it, I thought. Just bring out the madness in everyday life, make the ordinary seem extraordinary, keep it rhyming, toss in a few Shakespearean references, the odd Bible character, add the occasional satirical swipe here and there… easy. Turns out it's not nearly as easy as it sounds and, instead of making you appear really cool and interesting, can in fact leave you wide open to looking a bit of a twat.<br />
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This song went through many working titles - <i>Stuck Inside Of Newport With The Island Blues Again, Henry Harding's 116th Dream, Like A Standing Stone</i> - before I eventually decided to parody (rip off) another of my heroes instead:<br />
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<b>Fear and loathing at the Isle Of Wight Festival</b><br />
<i>Written June 2004</i><br />
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<i>The milkman ain’t out today, he don’t come round no more.<br />But the postman is on his way to feed a ticket to my door.<br />The neighbour drops round to say, “have fun on holiday,<br />And I’ll water your plants for you but I’ll do it my own way.”<br /><br />I mixed up some cornflakes with some milk inside a bowl.<br />It’s a common way to start your day but it lacks a little soul.<br />Then walked around the corner for my daily paper Sun.<br />To get my fill of hatefulness and sexy, topless fun.<br /><br />I arranged a meeting with my friends outside the car,<br />They said, “where are we going? I hope it isn’t far.</i><i><i><i>”</i></i></i><br />
<i><i><i> </i></i><br />Gave a pound to Michael so he’d read my horoscope.<br />He said “all men will hang themselves if you give them enough rope.”<br />Then someone with a clipboard asked me if I’m gonna vote.<br />For Labour or Conservative and as I spoke he wrote.<br />I said, “I won’t be voting, not through fear but lack of choice.”<br />When he snapped his pen and shouted at me, “Boy, you’ve got no voice!”<br /><br />I arranged a meeting with my friends outside the car,<br />They asked, “where are we going? I pray it isn’t far.</i><i><i><i><i>”</i></i></i></i><br />
<i><i><i><i> </i></i></i><br />Filled the car with petrol and then drove it off a cliff.<br />The walk will do us good you know, my joints were feeling stiff.<br />And everywhere I look I see a picture of the sea.<br />It keeps my mind from staring at the local scenery.<br />I think if I can see it I might paint one of the sky.<br />I’m not the greatest artist but I’ll sure give it a try.<br /><br />Chewing gum and waiting for the ferry to arrive.<br />When I set food on land again I hope I’m still alive.<br /><br />The ferry overcharged me when I went to get a drink.<br />I asked them if the food was free, they said, “only if we sink.”<br />Everyone was soaking up the sun as it got high.<br />But I became distracted by some pirates floating by.<br />The people on the fruit machine did not win any fruit.<br />But the man on the car boot machine very nearly won a suit.<br />Then the pirates broke the cash machine and pocketed the loot.<br />So the captain swapped the money back for a basketful of fruit.<br /><br />The boat came into port and they were shooting ducks for sport.<br />It seems this trip is going to be stranger than I thought.<br /><br />Set foot on the island it’s a maze of docks and cranes.<br />And fishermen and Coke machines and coloured aeroplanes.<br />And I’ve been told that fishermen are dignified and free.<br />Take commands from nobody, married to the sea.<br />Smoke cigarettes, learn alphabets and recite poetry.<br />Well poetry’s like music but without the melody.<br /><br />I could hear a singer floating songs into the air.<br />He was giving it his best but the people didn’t care.<br /><br />The sun was shining fierce it burnt the buckle on my belt.<br />And half an hour later my baguette started to melt.<br />It seemed I had two options that could cool my body down.<br />A glass of Pure Wight Crystal or a pint inside The Crown.<br />I sat my head into my hands to ponder on my choice.<br />When a lady told me that she thought she recognised my voice.<br />She said, “aren’t you a banker when you’re back on the mainland?”<br />And I shook my head and said, “No, I’m a singer in a band.”<br /><br />I was sucking apple cores to counteract the heat.<br />While everybody else was simply staring at their feet.<br /><br />Now I’m discussing razor blades with tattooed, racist men.<br />Who tell me that Britannia’s gonna rule the waves again.<br />I asked if it’s a statement that they never wear a shirt.<br />Or a warning to the rest of us that people might get hurt.<br />They said, “you’ve got a lot of nerve to talk with us that way,<br />And don’t think for a second that you’re not about to pay.”<br />I said, “we could talk for hours </i><i><i>’</i>bout what’s wrong and what is right.”<br />When they all put on St George’s flags and offered me a fight.<br /><br />I fell asleep and dreamed that I was on my way back home.<br />Then opened up my eyes to find I already was at home.<br /><br />What hour of the morning did I step on to the boat?<br />What time was it exactly that I registered my vote?<br />A friend of mine walked in and looked at me a funny way.<br />He said, “you should get out more.” I said, “I’ve been out all day!”<br />“It’s a pointless, useless waste to spend a day inside your head.<br />You haven’t moved a muscle, just been lying there in bed.”<br />He says imagination will only get you so far.<br />But I wrote this song on a picture of my guitar.</i><br />
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Just in case you were wondering if it works better with the music, it doesn't.Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-43514041003522375562010-06-10T15:55:00.009+01:002017-06-20T11:39:26.869+01:00United in madness...In the last few days, a fair few of my friends/colleagues/acquaintances have come down with some particularly nasty cases of this World Cup Fever that's been going round.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQzEx1ABQYWzfC-OXGWgmLtyFEEFx7wzc4f1ows5FbvV05dD_TXKP4xF_j3zzhUxsc4bJJR7iP-OdaZ4S_ndXGZv4iJ5vLSBUzFjwrLtzhNQXcHK_A3rUT3845JoORkr42jzgaClHdLFo/s1600/baboonflag.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481204812824999826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQzEx1ABQYWzfC-OXGWgmLtyFEEFx7wzc4f1ows5FbvV05dD_TXKP4xF_j3zzhUxsc4bJJR7iP-OdaZ4S_ndXGZv4iJ5vLSBUzFjwrLtzhNQXcHK_A3rUT3845JoORkr42jzgaClHdLFo/s320/baboonflag.jpg" style="cursor: hand; height: 230px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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World Cup Fever is a delusion of the brain that causes hitherto healthy and rational men to suddenly convince themselves with complete and utter certainty that England are about to win the World Cup. They paint their faces, put flags on their cars, buy new TVs and say things like: 'we've got the players' and 'Wayne Rooney's the best striker in the world' and 'remember, it's winter over there.'<br />
Occasionally, they even get science involved. Remember this list of previous World Cup winners that was rolled out to mass excitement in 1998?<br />
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1966: England<br />
1970: Brazil<br />
1974: Germany<br />
1978: Argentina<br />
1982: Italy<br />
1986: Argentina<br />
1990: Germany<br />
1994: Brazil<br />
1998: ?<br />
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<i>*That question mark was supposed to symbolise England but ended up symbolising France.</i><br />
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Sufferers of the disease seem to lose all cognitive thought (much like those under the influence of a spell or hypnosis) and are unable to understand what the rest of us all know intuitively - there is more chance of the moon turning, overnight, into a giant, floating Malteser than there is of England ever winning the World Cup.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAz1-W7ofOCWY3xhQpskmIQrlv2TgScpPD47wTYDDUT7hKXhK8C6Midn22yK_gMqMKxEEX6A2pX6wW5FJga3r1rPmi8MSmERTOib6-0Fdh78pSyxtW1-P4KtYgj6tj7C9osTH22DH9saSV/s1600/batty.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481205729012832754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAz1-W7ofOCWY3xhQpskmIQrlv2TgScpPD47wTYDDUT7hKXhK8C6Midn22yK_gMqMKxEEX6A2pX6wW5FJga3r1rPmi8MSmERTOib6-0Fdh78pSyxtW1-P4KtYgj6tj7C9osTH22DH9saSV/s320/batty.jpg" style="cursor: hand; height: 230px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
Fortunately, the disease is still rare (though experts have noticed that it seems to be on a four year cycle with particularly bad outbreaks in the summers of 1998, 2002 and 2006) and can be controlled with repeated, Clockwork Orange-style viewings of Chris Waddle's penalty, Beckham's sending off and Graham Taylor saying 'do I not like that' on a continuous loop.<br />
Now I know all about World Cup Fever having first contracted it as a mere boy in 1990 and almost dying from it in 2006 but I am now, thankfully, immune to all forms of the disease (including its domestic variants Pre-Season Optimism Disease and Our Name's On The Cup Syndrome). My immunity, of course, means I am destined to spend the next month as the 'lone voice of sanity in an ocean of madness'<i> </i>(or 'miserable prophet of doom' as the afflicted call me) but I don't mind. I'd rather be despised for my defeatist attitude than get sucked in and blown out again by that complete bunch of bastards and losers we call the England Football Team.<br />
If you, or anyone you know, is currently suffering the effects of World Cup Fever, the following clips should help to bring it back under control:<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dmws59X1cNg">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dmws59X1cNg</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGdQvqbIexk">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGdQvqbIexk</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExUX7MBk5UM">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExUX7MBk5UM</a><br />
and finally...<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37PIWoYsj00">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37PIWoYsj00</a>Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-73782733003780907372010-06-06T16:13:00.006+01:002017-07-20T23:35:25.675+01:0011 sensible ways to improve 11 sports...1. DARTS<br />
Set the board to 'rotate' as opposed to the more traditional 'stationary' option. The board will move slowly at the start of the match and get quicker with each leg until, eventually, it is nothing more than a red, black and green hypnotic blur. This will undoubtedly separate the men from the boys.<br />
Also, introduce a new 'quadruple' ring in between the treble and the bullseye. Hard to hit, being roughly the size of two gnat's cocks side by side, but, if mastered, would enable a fearless player to check out 501 in 7 darts. This will also separate the men from the boys.<br />
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2. FOOTBALL<br />
Introduce a ten minute 'multiball' period at the end of each game. Between the 80th and 90th minute there will be two balls on the pitch, both in play. This means two goals could be scored simultaneously at each end or, if one team were to take possession of both balls, two goals could be scored in the same goal at the same time. This will inevitably lead to chaos and put an end to games dribbling out in dull and predictable fashion. TV companies will have to show the action in split-screen so as to be able to focus on both balls. If that doesn't separate the men from the boys I don't know what will.<br />
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3. SWIMMING<br />
Fill the pool with all manner of 'interesting' aquatic life such as piranhas, sharks, jellyfish, seaweed, coral, seahorses, beach balls and oil tankers. This will almost certainly separate the men from the boys.<br />
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4. TENNIS<br />
Introduce two new surfaces to go alongside grass, clay and hard courts:
ice and sand. With a new grand slam on each, one in Dubai and one in
Sweden. Also, force the spoilt bastards to say 'please' and 'thank you' every time they request balls or towels from the ball boys. Each time this rule is flouted, the ball boys are permitted to throw one ball, as hard as they like, at the back of the offender's head as he serves. This will integrate the men and the boys.<br />
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5. FORMULA ONE<br />
Introduce numerous obstacles (a few tricky and a few downright dangerous) to each track. I'm talking about ramps, speed-ups, big holes in the ground, patches of oil for skidding, patches of glue for slowing you down, bags of nails for puncturing your tyres and 'tunnels' that turn out to be just painted on to solid rock. Remember, the only significant difference between Formula One and Wacky Races is one's boring and one's not.<br />
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6. GOLF<br />
Install some sort of vertical firing mechanism in the cup of each hole that shoots the ball straight up to a height of about 10ft approximately 5 seconds after being putted. The putter will then have to volley the ball as hard as he can with his driver onto the next hole and that replaces the tee shot. This will be exciting for all concerned as any spectacular long range puts will have to be accompanied by a lung-busting, heart-attack-inducing sprint to the hole in order to hit the drive. If you don't get there in time it's a dropped shot. Harsh but fair.<br />
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7. GYMNASTICS<br />
Advise that all female gymnasts perform their routines in the nude so that we can better analyse their techniques and award them the marks their talent deserves. Also, insist that all male gymnasts perform their routines in a full dress suit, complete with bowler hat and umbrella. Some discretion will be given with regards using the umbrella for balance but points will, of course, be deducted if the hat falls off at any stage.<br />
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8. CRICKET<br />
Bring in the old 'one-hand, one-bounce' rule that has been so successful in beach cricket down the years.<br />
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9. RUGBY<br />
Just get rid of it. It's rubbish.<br />
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10. SHOWJUMPING<br />
Instead of posh totty on horses, do it with Hell's Angels on motorcycles.<br />
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11. ROWING<br />
Similar. Instead of toffs pissing about in boats, do it with Hell's Angels on motorcycles.Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-49114325308602283132010-05-31T15:07:00.027+01:002017-06-20T11:35:30.573+01:00This is why we need time machines...Not a lot of people know this but in 1967 The Beatles (at the behest of John Lennon) were on the verge of buying the film rights to <i>The Lord Of The Rings</i>. The Beatles were to produce it, star in it and write the music while Stanley Kubrick had been lined up to direct!<br />
This discovery sent my imagination into overdrive and I immediately got to thinking about casting. Now, Nasty John himself had already bagsied the role of Gollum but who best to take the other parts?<br />
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After much deliberation and soul-searching, I believe I now have the definitive cast list (all we need to do now is travel back in time and make it happen):<br />
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Frodo: Syd Barrett<br />
Sam: Ringo Starr<br />
Merry & Pippin: Steve Marriott & Ronnie Lane<br />
Frederic 'Fatty' Bolger: Keith Moon<br />
Bilbo: Brian Wilson<br />
Gandalf: Bob Dylan<br />
Radagast: George Harrison<br />
Tom Bombadil: Van Morrison<br />
Boromir: Robert Plant<br />
Faramir: Roger Daltrey<br />
Farmer Maggot: Leonard Cohen<br />
Legolas: David Bowie<br />
Gimli: David Crosby<br />
Aragorn: There isn't one. (<i>That, ultimately, is the reason the hippy dream failed - too many wizards, elves and fairies and not enough leaders. If they'd had even <b>one</b> Aragorn to hold it all together they'd have been laughing</i>) In the absence of a suitable Aragorn from the rock world, Clint Eastwood will have to do it.<br />
Elrond: Neil Young<br />
Galadriel: Joni Mitchell<br />
Celeborn: James Taylor<br />
Arwen: Kate Bush<br />
Saruman: Jimi Hendrix<br />
Grima Wormtongue: Paul McCartney<br />
Eomer: Dave Gilmour<br />
Eowyn: Sandy Denny<br />
King Theoden: Allen Ginsberg<br />
Treebeard: Willie Nelson<br />
Lord Denethor: Roger Waters<br />
Shagrat (orc): Keith Richards<br />
Ringwraiths: Iggy Pop, Alice Cooper, Ozzy Osbourne, Frank Zappa, Dave Hill & Kiss<br />
Hobbit extras: Donovan, Ray & Dave Davies, Cat Stevens and Pete Townshend<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWw4wKe87fMzG3fj2ev03S9d7VL17ssxwrj13RyGClCU8zu2bAymK0kbXg4-FxpPO5selWSqk0uRbVBoKbkcIt0XAT-KDalfyVCfRHqtVaJvP3zWXsCbBzbRl1RLPyM0X99497qJRo4uR5/s1600/bwilson.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477444952201147794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWw4wKe87fMzG3fj2ev03S9d7VL17ssxwrj13RyGClCU8zu2bAymK0kbXg4-FxpPO5selWSqk0uRbVBoKbkcIt0XAT-KDalfyVCfRHqtVaJvP3zWXsCbBzbRl1RLPyM0X99497qJRo4uR5/s200/bwilson.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 120px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a> <b>Bilbo Baggins</b><br />
<b></b>Wilson's growing insanity gave him the edge in the competition to play Bilbo.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mZb7A8UcOfoK8NrS7mVhAhNzOE5egyBsTILqKx-dJaghGYb6MPQhuaVI-gHMCa4N2PeLqNMxZ9pbFR99JfK9HAAGNwYhsDSVFPBPyZ9yqJt8FwbH8c3JNhZP3gfxdtczgjCoowdehwkN/s1600/krichards.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477447366800932274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mZb7A8UcOfoK8NrS7mVhAhNzOE5egyBsTILqKx-dJaghGYb6MPQhuaVI-gHMCa4N2PeLqNMxZ9pbFR99JfK9HAAGNwYhsDSVFPBPyZ9yqJt8FwbH8c3JNhZP3gfxdtczgjCoowdehwkN/s200/krichards.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 186px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a><b>Shagrat</b><br />
Amazingly, Richards needed no make-up or CGI to become the orc, Shagrat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1KumSrmpEwpotaqXEqTdRSQwo5xCVR-Zg9cy1nxOOdInhuci5zkodZC0A0R0zrJD3h2yfB49naTXAckCgSo_FF2cZ9_FlORSrrav7RuXPhLPt25OXjRparkIPoreDEmHcfraADWLbkc4K/s1600/dbowie.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477446075316606130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1KumSrmpEwpotaqXEqTdRSQwo5xCVR-Zg9cy1nxOOdInhuci5zkodZC0A0R0zrJD3h2yfB49naTXAckCgSo_FF2cZ9_FlORSrrav7RuXPhLPt25OXjRparkIPoreDEmHcfraADWLbkc4K/s200/dbowie.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 122px;" /></a><b>Legolas</b><br />
Many felt Bowie was 'too much of a cunt' to play Legolas.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1vELmxjxq8bXIljHmZHUSkWp5NBM2ZMW6qM5zHGScbmB4gqkTxylv2HazZTRdenNvhp9wNFB4Svi-TjPu4HNncIfSYQugvcBjjC-2y820oxDeOzXveOKm4g8hjnkx_PJp0spZjJp7lQ8/s1600/sbarrett.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477445321885901042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1vELmxjxq8bXIljHmZHUSkWp5NBM2ZMW6qM5zHGScbmB4gqkTxylv2HazZTRdenNvhp9wNFB4Svi-TjPu4HNncIfSYQugvcBjjC-2y820oxDeOzXveOKm4g8hjnkx_PJp0spZjJp7lQ8/s200/sbarrett.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 178px;" /></a><b>Frodo Baggins</b><br />
Barrett, like Frodo, got weirder and weirder as the story progressed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7_RkqoiCAXToB7YF31laflpjxhTl9A5z0YWid5eLL-PnPTdPMFNzS3WNPSsJn0NGn_OXmJ8werEpDRo8asW5hQUMPkJ-Df9DbOWbi8ygLHP3P82tH991IWRWHiP0te29I_rDlgIJENJBP/s1600/rdaltrey.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477458975058076258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7_RkqoiCAXToB7YF31laflpjxhTl9A5z0YWid5eLL-PnPTdPMFNzS3WNPSsJn0NGn_OXmJ8werEpDRo8asW5hQUMPkJ-Df9DbOWbi8ygLHP3P82tH991IWRWHiP0te29I_rDlgIJENJBP/s200/rdaltrey.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 118px;" /></a><b>Faramir</b><br />
Daltrey was convinced that Plant ripped off his look.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhrKvvSjbpXpzzXC4XGgjMyBmtQ1B0Vw98S7RR5mMVct4P6vrGYIPkBLVygLzr5bnWUxlD9T-_LpQi3ZV2JaUSlLEsPFNA9CnN2j1JrB6AIsuLjWz2yKTyNK_JjS-D6LfNZwQXZIGQMmfq/s1600/rplant.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477446438395402946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhrKvvSjbpXpzzXC4XGgjMyBmtQ1B0Vw98S7RR5mMVct4P6vrGYIPkBLVygLzr5bnWUxlD9T-_LpQi3ZV2JaUSlLEsPFNA9CnN2j1JrB6AIsuLjWz2yKTyNK_JjS-D6LfNZwQXZIGQMmfq/s200/rplant.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 144px;" /></a><b>Boromir</b><br />
Plant was convinced that Daltrey ripped off his look.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMl6RhDhB-tOvdjUO2-bUJTZUMU96FpFmBS_-pbHFewpgJTXmwl4mcQqRN-cj2TESZOtemxvx_-Blx4EK5jR2b08iy3oxbfk3n4CFA7GoGJztImBaT63CruRaOGg2vVTSYs-l4d-XLSQAg/s1600/macca.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477459715463667410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMl6RhDhB-tOvdjUO2-bUJTZUMU96FpFmBS_-pbHFewpgJTXmwl4mcQqRN-cj2TESZOtemxvx_-Blx4EK5jR2b08iy3oxbfk3n4CFA7GoGJztImBaT63CruRaOGg2vVTSYs-l4d-XLSQAg/s200/macca.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 130px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 93px;" /></a><b>Wormtongue</b><br />
For someone who always fancied himself as a hero, playing Wormtongue came as something of a shock to Macca.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-XkYb7eCLrrpAbqPPdwXW9k9Xd_u1AP2MMGP26FWUoSefnOQDCUnidsqyDZAnD0737tSLGQIeYs-ONdpc_ody-tlUI275ng_eX-lLqd4gkxdmrpSfrs0TTON37s8UeFiPbaB0pVvYx6kg/s1600/bdylan.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477446968626974114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-XkYb7eCLrrpAbqPPdwXW9k9Xd_u1AP2MMGP26FWUoSefnOQDCUnidsqyDZAnD0737tSLGQIeYs-ONdpc_ody-tlUI275ng_eX-lLqd4gkxdmrpSfrs0TTON37s8UeFiPbaB0pVvYx6kg/s200/bdylan.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 171px;" /></a><b>Gandalf</b><br />
Dylan's legendary hat-wearing ability marked him out as a natural choice for the wizard, Gandalf.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSk06k_j9T87hTJ4pZDhVSkWcNdX-gzDyeeHjZKVs5icQSNTOxR1Gz6_ZZl8RtHka23iCHpzl8K9ei6ys1o7vf9jDiwXNc21teb6iTQIZWV76xTUQubZJ_4hvBTg9vnvd60XvpigW_nd5c/s1600/kbush.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477447645690231826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSk06k_j9T87hTJ4pZDhVSkWcNdX-gzDyeeHjZKVs5icQSNTOxR1Gz6_ZZl8RtHka23iCHpzl8K9ei6ys1o7vf9jDiwXNc21teb6iTQIZWV76xTUQubZJ_4hvBTg9vnvd60XvpigW_nd5c/s200/kbush.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 140px;" /></a><b>Arwen</b><br />
Bush brought a refreshing touch of madness to the character, Arwen.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ZnHk9ykKd_aIe47IuvjjxcupTkjn2pbJo2q4Bssh-8QFCvDjce-_ij-1h_UjWIdA3NBWM3f9uWAyiP_-G-gE8GrL_Y7r-khUxkqXoBmOwD7XEcBSbkEw7djFIJsnnnHOKdnIFVV9dZ9Q/s1600/jhendrix.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477449432025066226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ZnHk9ykKd_aIe47IuvjjxcupTkjn2pbJo2q4Bssh-8QFCvDjce-_ij-1h_UjWIdA3NBWM3f9uWAyiP_-G-gE8GrL_Y7r-khUxkqXoBmOwD7XEcBSbkEw7djFIJsnnnHOKdnIFVV9dZ9Q/s200/jhendrix.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 156px;" /></a><b>Saruman</b><br />
Hendrix impressed at his audition by conjuring fire from the ground.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqI6gVsS5EqJagkCK2nKTmfk6O6bYOOe3u4YOEu4e66C6v_e0_glMXlxvms-UhS4XA0Wx5klv0DBbY9K9Z7rslhDiMu9_M2gcfC46k08p6MB0B0qze2I7X44x6E1HVtbxGHWaLBkUrQzaQ/s1600/wnelson.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477450664882546258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqI6gVsS5EqJagkCK2nKTmfk6O6bYOOe3u4YOEu4e66C6v_e0_glMXlxvms-UhS4XA0Wx5klv0DBbY9K9Z7rslhDiMu9_M2gcfC46k08p6MB0B0qze2I7X44x6E1HVtbxGHWaLBkUrQzaQ/s200/wnelson.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 181px;" /></a><b>Treebeard</b><br />
Nelson got the part of the ent, Treebeard, by virtue of the fact that he looked most like a tree.<br />
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDDy9R2qY2D7QSIT-lLyeRh1bdkPXlO08Jr_Hjq_6KckC_mXUrvB5GXyEvvfFAujMHSWYmcV1CwcA5VPFn0WI-xF6X366EVg9h55866MIwLEfHBtGw4WnwMqddUIivoI8T91Kjr-hJ-wg/s1600/lcohen.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477451101139327106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDDy9R2qY2D7QSIT-lLyeRh1bdkPXlO08Jr_Hjq_6KckC_mXUrvB5GXyEvvfFAujMHSWYmcV1CwcA5VPFn0WI-xF6X366EVg9h55866MIwLEfHBtGw4WnwMqddUIivoI8T91Kjr-hJ-wg/s200/lcohen.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 196px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a>Farmer Maggot</b><br />
Even though he was playing a hobbit farmer from The Shire, Cohen still insisted on wearing a suit and tie at all times.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7zMRny22_jGbEyJ5el6RKG3BbfQBZCq7Wku3DLogEl3TQjcmwJ8Aj7bkpWzdCC-sw5X8RbY5WEPnmWnUYnPr8LrM1llW7xljp3Dkw3Hh2MD9yXQArANSEUmjnbhdmyr49Vol__Ah2tXX/s1600/steveandronnie.jpg"><b><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477451495484252834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7zMRny22_jGbEyJ5el6RKG3BbfQBZCq7Wku3DLogEl3TQjcmwJ8Aj7bkpWzdCC-sw5X8RbY5WEPnmWnUYnPr8LrM1llW7xljp3Dkw3Hh2MD9yXQArANSEUmjnbhdmyr49Vol__Ah2tXX/s400/steveandronnie.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 400px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 283px;" /></b></a><br />
<b>Merry & Pippin</b><br />
Marriott and Lane could never remember which one was supposed to be Merry and which one was supposed to be Pippin.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7zMRny22_jGbEyJ5el6RKG3BbfQBZCq7Wku3DLogEl3TQjcmwJ8Aj7bkpWzdCC-sw5X8RbY5WEPnmWnUYnPr8LrM1llW7xljp3Dkw3Hh2MD9yXQArANSEUmjnbhdmyr49Vol__Ah2tXX/s1600/steveandronnie.jpg"></a><br />
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One or two songs written especially for the picture:<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6LZnz0ElLc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6LZnz0ElLc</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMNrVEi54yA">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMNrVEi54yA</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91yaXXmN5kI">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91yaXXmN5kI</a>Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-55335234489883320052010-05-27T22:12:00.003+01:002017-06-23T11:45:05.705+01:00Kids say the scariest things...Now I don’t know about you but I’ve never been a big subscriber to this idea that we can learn a lot from children. All that <i>child is the father of the man </i>and <i>wisdom of innocence</i> stuff; it’s a middle-class fantasy. Kids aren’t gurus, they’re just kids. I’ve nothing against them (they’re certainly a lot nicer than grownups and generally far better company) but they’re clearly idiots.<br />
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Just listen to some of the shite they’ve come out with down the years:<br />
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<i>‘why doesn’t Granny’s skin fit her any more?’<br />‘why does the dog lick its own tentacles?’<br />‘why does that man have a dead rat stuck to his lip?’<br />‘how does the child-lock on the windows always know it’s me?’<br />‘when it rains is that God crying?’<br />‘is that a man or a robot?’ </i><br />
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Absolute drivel… and rude too, most of it. I bet if I went up to a bloke in a wheelchair and asked if he was a man or a robot no-one would say that <i>I</i> say the funniest things. And I bet if I acted like one of those smart-alecky, punk kids you see on American TV shows (the ones with the in-your-face attitudes and slick put-downs who spend their entire lives outsmarting and outsassing their dim-witted parents) I’d get my head kicked in quicker than you could say: ‘talk to the hand ’cos the face don’t give a shit.’<br />
But children, for some reason, seem to be allowed to get away with all sorts of anti-social behaviour.<br />
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The 19th-century poet, Robert Pollok, once said: children are living jewels dropped unsustained from heaven.<br />
Personally, I would say they are more like dogs that can talk. By that I mean they are fun, cute and give an awful lot of love but the only thing they can really teach you about is pissing on the living room rug. However, there is one little thing that they are able to do that has the power to unravel any adult to the point of existential annihilation in a matter of minutes and must be the envy of every shrink, psychiatrist and psychoanalyst in the world. I’m talking about The Eternal Question.<br />
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The Eternal Question is a technique that every child seems to have an intuitive mastery of from birth and, like most things that work, it is ludicrously simple. Basically, the child will ask a question – usually lulling you in with an easy one that you know with complete certainty that you have the answer to, like: why is the sky blue? – you answer quickly and confidently, thinking: <i>that’s the end of that</i> and <i>what a top quality piece of parenting</i>, and the child will immediately ask, <i>why?</i><br />
You answer again but it’s notably harder this time; the question has suddenly got deeper and more complex. You’re no longer thinking about why the sky is blue but why <i>blue</i> is blue. Eventually you stumble to some sort of satisfactory answer and the child will again ask, <i>why?</i><br />
Now you find yourself genuinely unsure. You’ve never delved so deep into anything before and from this close in everything looks like nothing. Still, you bullshit your way to an answer (one that usually involves phrases like ‘it just does, that’s why’ and ‘because I said so’) and still the response comes back: <i>why?</i><br />
This time you have absolutely nothing. You don’t know <i>why</i> anymore.<br />
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It is a scientific fact that after four whys even the simplest question in the world becomes virtually unanswerable. In seconds you can go from complete certainty to blank nothingness and not really know how or when it happened. The whole thing snowballs out of control so quickly, just like exponential growth.<br />
<i>Did you know that if it were possible to fold a piece of A4 paper in half seven times it would reach the moon? Or if you put one grain of corn on the first square of a chess board, doubled it to two grains on the second, four grains on the third, eight on the fourth, etc. there is not enough corn in the entire world to fill the board?</i><br />
The Eternal Question is like that. It's exponential growth in reverse; instead of multiplying you're dividing, dividing your life, your brain, your existence, everything. After four whys you no longer know the answer, after five you find yourself rethinking your entire outlook on the world, after six you realise that everything in life is futile and pointless and after seven (the magic seven, we call it) you reach a point that I like to think of as pure, undiluted truth and you kill yourself.<br />
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It goes a little like this:<br />
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Why do I have to go to school?<br />
Because you need to learn about stuff.<br />
Why?<br />
Because… when you grow up you’ll need to know about stuff.<br />
Why?<br />
Um… because all the other kids’ll know about stuff and you want to be on a level playing field.<br />
Why?<br />
Because you’ll be competing with them for the best jobs.<br />
Why?<br />
Because the best jobs pay the most.<br />
Why?<br />
Because we live in a world run by capitalists and that’s how they like it.<br />
Why?<br />
Because they like to keep the rich rich and the poor poor.<br />
Why?<br />
Because they’re cunts.<br />
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And then, without pausing for breath, they hit you with something like:<br />
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Why do bees like flowers so much?<br />
Because they get nectar from them.<br />
Why?<br />
Because… they need nectar for energy.<br />
Why?<br />
Um… because all living things need food to make energy or they’ll die.<br />
Why?<br />
Because they do, that’s why. Same as you, without food you’d be dead and you don’t want to be dead.<br />
Why?<br />
Oh for fu-! Because you want to be alive!<br />
Why?<br />
Because being alive’s better than being dead.<br />
Why?<br />
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Suddenly you don’t know why being alive’s better than being dead. In fact, you’re starting to doubt that it is. After seven whys you know that it isn’t and you kill yourself.<br />
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So what to do? Well, fortunately we don’t have to put up with the little bastards’ crap any longer because I have the cure and, once again, it’s stupidly simple. Basically you have to nip it in the bud early (certainly a good couple of whys before the critical seventh anyway) and give them a taste of their own medicine by shouting: why <i>not?</i><br />
In that triumphant, role-reversing moment you fire all the pointlessness of the universe back in their smug little faces and watch in delight as their puny little brains melt in the hot confusion of absolute uncertainty.<br />
Then, you can rest assured, they will either kill themselves or shut up.*<br />
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*As they grow older they will find that this choice is more or less the only choice they have with regards to anything they encounter in the world: kill yourself or shut up. Both fine choices.Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-15554406581367761502010-05-27T10:45:00.003+01:002017-06-20T11:41:34.524+01:0011 answers to 11 songs...1. <b>Travis</b><br />
Q: Why does it always rain on me?<br />
A: Because you live under a fucking cloud, mate.<br />
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2. <b>Oasis</b><br />
Q: D'you know what I mean?<br />
A: I knew what you meant on <i>Definitely Maybe</i>. Now I'm just bored.<br />
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3. <b>Elvis Costello</b><br />
Q: What's so funny 'bout peace, love and understanding?<br />
A: Nothing, I was laughing at your glasses. Specky twat.<br />
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4. <b>Van Morrison</b><br />
Q: Who was that masked man?<br />
A: No idea, but I'm guessing some sort of rapist.<br />
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5. <b>The Strokes</b><br />
Q: Is this it?<br />
A: Pretty much. A couple of mediocre follow up albums and the odd ill-advised solo project but basically, yes, it's all downhill from here.<br />
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6. <b>The Waterboys</b><br />
Q: When will we be married?<br />
A: Oh, for Christ's sake, not this again.<br />
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7. <b>Blink 182</b><br />
Q: What's my age again?<br />
A: Definitely old enough to know better. And stop wearing those stupid trousers.<br />
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8. <b>Grateful Dead</b><br />
Q: What's become of the baby?<br />
A: What ba-? Oh... shit.<br />
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9. <b>Creedence Clearwater Revival</b><br />
Q: Who'll stop the rain?<br />
A: Maybe we can if we all <i>think</i> really hard.<br />
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10. <b>The Libertines</b><br />
Q: What became of the likely lads?<br />
A: They broke up, formed two equally awful new bands, got screwed on coke, drink and smack, went to prison a few times, shagged the occasional supermodel and then had a competition to see who could piss away their talent the quickest.<br />
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11. <b>Band Aid</b><br />
Q: Do they know it's Christmas?<br />
A: They sure as fuck know it ain't Thanksgiving.Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-22359157995797572512010-05-21T19:27:00.007+01:002017-07-20T23:31:06.282+01:00England expects...I am pleased to announce that, after much undignified begging from the Football Association, I have agreed to write and record the official England World Cup song for 2010.<br />
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It is to the tune of The Who's <i>Won't Get Fooled Again</i> and goes like this:<br />
<i></i><br />
<i>(VERSE 1) </i><br />
<i>We'll be watching in the streets,</i><br />
<i>With our children at our feet.</i><br />
<i>And the first few games will tempt us to believe.</i><i> </i><br />
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<i>And the flags will fly so proud, </i><br />
<i>And the fans will cry so loud. </i><br />
<i>And the whole wide world will start to shake with fear.</i><br />
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<i>(CHORUS)</i><br />
<i>We'll get sucked in by the whole situation,</i><br />
<i>Kid ourselves with our own expectations, </i><br />
<i>Smile and grin as the final gets closer </i><br />
<i>and everything we do just clicks. Just like '66. </i><br />
<i>And I'll get on my knees and pray,</i><br />
<i>We don't get fooled again.</i><br />
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<i>(VERSE 2)</i><br />
<i>They'll be melting in the heat,</i><br />
<i>And dying on their feet. </i><br />
<i>And the hope that they have sold us will be gone.</i><br />
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<i>And the men who led us on,</i><br />
<i>Will say they knew it all along.</i><br />
<i>And the England team will always get it wrong.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>(CHORUS 2)</i><br />
<i>We'll get embroiled in a cloud of depression, </i><br />
<i>Fill ourselves with tears and frustration. </i><br />
<i>Soldier on as the summer is cancelled. </i><br />
<i>And tell ourselves it was a fix, just like '86. </i><br />
<i>And I'll get on my knees and pray,</i><br />
<i>We don't get fooled again.</i><br />
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<i>(BRIDGE)</i><br />
<i>We should be pleased just to have qualified </i><br />
<i>and be happy that we got out alive. </i><br />
<i>Take down the flags and the paint from our skin, </i><br />
<i>for we know that the England team never win.</i><br />
<i>Do ya?</i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i>(VERSE 3)</i><br />
<i>We'll be gracious in defeat, </i><br />
<i>'Cos we're good at getting beat. </i><br />
<i>We tried our best, we're just crapper than the rest. </i><br />
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<i>And with Gerrard on the left,</i><br />
<i>and Walcott on the right. </i><br />
<i>We should have known the balance wasn't right.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
(<i>CHORUS 3</i>)<br />
<i>I'll tip my hat to Capello's replacement,</i><br />
<i>The same old players in the same old formation, </i><br />
<i>Smile and grin when we beat the Albanians </i><br />
<i>and everything we do just clicks, like Euro '96. </i><br />
<i>And I'll get on my knees and pray, </i><br />
<i>We don't get fooled again.</i><br />
<br />
(I have decided that the classic Daltrey scream that usually comes at this point will be provided by Carlton Palmer. Hopefully it will feel as strange and out of place as the John Barnes rap did on <i>World In Motion</i>.)<br />
<br />
(<i>CODA</i>)<br />
<i>Meet the new team,</i><br />
<i>Same as the old team.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS7wtKvrnURtuZsFU5qjKEneHQEPFgagcpHPr5052bq7sgCFsPl5bE6ikY9YgOFlp6dn7AknGFZgFiRkH9N-uf_KsenPJ7QL1LKocSp4AAg6z8wQ3xQOAty0lxQkoFzGgIzRv3ChChwacW/s1600/england.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473795918974603570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS7wtKvrnURtuZsFU5qjKEneHQEPFgagcpHPr5052bq7sgCFsPl5bE6ikY9YgOFlp6dn7AknGFZgFiRkH9N-uf_KsenPJ7QL1LKocSp4AAg6z8wQ3xQOAty0lxQkoFzGgIzRv3ChChwacW/s320/england.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 262px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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Available from all good record shops (and at least two really shit ones).Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-89611021446081966482010-05-20T14:33:00.006+01:002017-07-20T23:31:39.464+01:0011 things the government took away and hoped nobody would notice...<ol>
<li>Toys in cereal packets</li>
<li>Soft porn on Channel 5</li>
<li>Slush puppies</li>
<li>Elm trees</li>
<li>Bar billiard tables</li>
<li>Jim Davidson</li>
<li>Fizzy Chewits</li>
<li>Hovercrafts</li>
<li>Communists</li>
<li>Those candy sweets that looked like cigarettes and helped ease kids into smoking from a young age</li>
<li>Freedom</li>
</ol>
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Those of us who live with our eyes open will know that this is not merely a list of things that went out of fashion and faded away naturally (like brown cars and pogs) but rather a list of things that were <i>taken</i> away by our Norman overlords to keep us suitably oppressed and sedated and less inclined towards a possible uprising. You will have forgotten this but some time in the early to mid-90s, the government carried out an evil and sinister experiment to test how much the average prole pays attention to the world around him and, subsequently, find out how much they could get away with.<br />
The experiment was simple: change the colour of Walkers' salt and vinegar crisp packets from blue (as is proper) to green (as is wrong) and swap cheese and onion from green (proper) to blue (wrong) and see how many people notice. Unfortunately for us, very few people did notice at the time and those that did were quickly brainwashed into believing that Walkers' salt and vinegar had never been blue. To help with the subterfuge, pressure was quickly put on other crisps to follow suit and they all did (except Golden Wonder, which resisted admirably and has since been virtually stomped out of existence by the Norman capitalists). Then, having successfully wiped this period of crisp history from people's minds, all that remained was to wipe it from the history books (a search for this cover-up on Google yields suspiciously few results). The results of the crisp experiment were bad news for us because it gave the government cart blanche to chip away at our freedoms one by one (a process that has started but is by no means finished). This erosion happens slowly (just like coastal erosion). First they ban smoking on airplanes, then trains, then in cinemas, then restaurants, then cafes, then pubs, then public places, then your own car and eventually your own home. But it happens so gradually that we do not notice and so do not fight.<br />
Anything with the potential to excite or amuse us is quickly wiped out. Toys in cereal packets (the only thin ray of sunshine in the common man's life and the only real incentive to get out of bed in the morning) were deemed to be far too stimulating, and slush puppies, coupled with the hot summers and carefree spirit of the Britpop years, were a revolution waiting to happen. And don’t think for one minute that drugs are illegal because they are dangerous. They are illegal because they are fun and they make people happy and that is one thing that the Establishment simply cannot allow. In order for them to feel safe we need to be kept in a subdued state of tired apathy. We’re allowed to do things as long as they don’t get us too excitable and rouse us into action (that’s why mind expanding drugs are illegal and car boot sales are not). You see, the masters treat the masses like parents treat children. Give them just enough sustenance and entertainment to keep them alive but for Christ’s sake don’t give them any sugar!Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-21472879984694707552010-05-15T18:48:00.007+01:002010-05-27T11:14:35.163+01:00Long live the chevron...Saw this sign while driving on the M4 last week:
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8UboDHHUOLtbHubLIhy_kBK3dziYY6raFM5IgawCVZq_IvQHOCS8DbxnCARoos6McX5fbTaLSnWPTjFm_T-rCrTEDB05adsATX2WuOGuPd5voqy5smO1pnhEWA1aDELF7NQHD6JEcUHW/s1600/chevrons.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471555979721465522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8UboDHHUOLtbHubLIhy_kBK3dziYY6raFM5IgawCVZq_IvQHOCS8DbxnCARoos6McX5fbTaLSnWPTjFm_T-rCrTEDB05adsATX2WuOGuPd5voqy5smO1pnhEWA1aDELF7NQHD6JEcUHW/s320/chevrons.jpg" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Now I was naturally sceptical at first (<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">what the fuck is a chevron?!</span>) but changed my mind almost immediately when I noticed that my car was indeed sitting <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">exactly</span> two chevrons behind the car in front. Now, I don’t usually care for rules (that’s why the establishment fat cats fear me so much) but the pride I felt at obeying this one so effortlessly can only be compared to the pride I felt the day I first figured out I was the best Connect-4 player in the universe. Who’d have thought conformity could be so exhilarating? <?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">All of a sudden, maintaining the two chevron gap was the most important thing in the world. Everything else was blocked out – where I was, where I was going, who I was, why I was – all I cared about was keeping close to that car in front and not letting him open up a three, or perhaps even a four chevron gap. This was far from easy and was made harder still by the fact that the swine seemed determined to laugh in the face of the chevron system and kept speeding up in more and more desperate and reckless attempts to lose me. But each time he did, I floored it in the name of law and order and managed to keep and hold that magical two chevron gap for something like twenty miles (my incredible run came to an end when the chevron system ceased suddenly and without warning at junction 5 and I smashed right up his arse).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I have since decided that the chevron is as close as mankind has come, or ever will come, to perfection and should be immediately rolled out as a universal unit of measurement to be used to measure anything worth measuring. So say goodbye to the fiddly days of pounds, pence, metres, ounces, hours, minutes, Kelvins and tonnes, from now on it will be:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">How deep is that grave anyway?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">About 16 chevrons.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Are we there yet?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Just a couple of thousand chevrons to go.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">How much for the hat?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Four chevrons and fifty chevrons please.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">What the fuck’s wrong with you?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I’m tired. I only had two chevrons’ sleep last night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Why the long face?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Because I’ve been living in the same house and working in the same job and sleeping with the same wife for the best part of 50 chevrons now.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">And finally…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">The speed of light is exactly 299,792,458 chevrons per chevron.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It will be a simpler (and better) world for all of us. <span style="font-size:0;"></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br />Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-4917522827047139362010-05-11T22:42:00.019+01:002010-05-12T18:30:20.516+01:00It's just a popularity contest with you people...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpey4TjrqIA8TwL5hyphenhyphenTBBH3g33P-rb16fHoeaB77zDbm5GOZaSKtAC40Sv0kjxz_Lve4dLQ4-7cBCe1kuG_TzZpS_dXVRjwuodbn955w-3vIg4p-vXVf_umbbVUJ4qkW00lBxHGy7WpU4/s1600/soup.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470139036061151810" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 85px; height: 129px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpey4TjrqIA8TwL5hyphenhyphenTBBH3g33P-rb16fHoeaB77zDbm5GOZaSKtAC40Sv0kjxz_Lve4dLQ4-7cBCe1kuG_TzZpS_dXVRjwuodbn955w-3vIg4p-vXVf_umbbVUJ4qkW00lBxHGy7WpU4/s200/soup.jpg" border="0" /></a>How come when Andy Warhol produces a picture of a can of Campbell's Tomato Soup it's instantly declared a pop cultural masterpiece and a deliciously subversive satire on American capitalism and yet, I produce an equally striking and equally subversive can of Tesco's Baked Beans, and everyone thinks it's a pile of old arse? <div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyO-CSz2FT9NGiJSaUSxIoFiZtABtUtI4Iq-j487kgHMTHA_g3GPx-lbtvs7C3P3AaiNSo46YOCYXlf2CzvhC8KnuFjKJrAdAtktPbM3uUJnDix6sHPGD53FS9qnE399acRY-YlfTeTpVm/s1600/beans.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470140848017245106" style="width: 227px; height: 320px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyO-CSz2FT9NGiJSaUSxIoFiZtABtUtI4Iq-j487kgHMTHA_g3GPx-lbtvs7C3P3AaiNSo46YOCYXlf2CzvhC8KnuFjKJrAdAtktPbM3uUJnDix6sHPGD53FS9qnE399acRY-YlfTeTpVm/s320/beans.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjiRX49z1C2n-mgTodTJVNoq_VmkTwjehKl_-PLbzouWTyDrAUbGkGtZbtyPAXM5-_Spk0cgaoTNinTBh1xgz0eYvQg_1oD3svsP9dmOcVBP34aDF17qIejMBry8X10b4A06c5qjqdUAHP/s1600/marilyn.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470141065701600658" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 133px; height: 134px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjiRX49z1C2n-mgTodTJVNoq_VmkTwjehKl_-PLbzouWTyDrAUbGkGtZbtyPAXM5-_Spk0cgaoTNinTBh1xgz0eYvQg_1oD3svsP9dmOcVBP34aDF17qIejMBry8X10b4A06c5qjqdUAHP/s200/marilyn.jpg" border="0" /></a>And how come when Andy Warhol paints a picture of Marilyn Monroe everyone says it's iconic and beautiful and a commentary on celebrity culture and yet, I paint an equally iconic and, arguably, even more beautiful picture of the great Willie Thorne and everyone thinks it's a pile of old arse? </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470140000266575490" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 266px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4e5WkaqgfbUyWim8yBQYQ6RnFMW_E0mb2tv7rH9Zkff5OnP4F-Knyw5gMnYTVYsfwn4utGy8W2kpSx40HDiIgE3sIELMX0g8p8L6oNCIiMrIqrHq3pctI-9GBheS45Z5D-fEEN2bgTSfO/s320/willie.jpg" border="0" /></p></div><div>Once again it's one rule for Warhol and one rule for everyone else.</div></div></div></div></div></div>Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-61323514073219631982010-05-04T17:54:00.005+01:002017-06-20T12:28:09.079+01:00Doctor, doctor, there's a lime in my coconut...There are many people in the music business who claim to be doctors – Dr Dre, Dr Fox, Dr Hook, Dr Feelgood – and it is often mentioned (by hilarious wags) that none of these people actually have any qualifications nor put in the requisite amount of time at medical school to justify the title. Everyone laughs at the delightful absurdity of the concept and we move on.<br />
But is it so absurd? It seems to me that the Rock Doctor is a particularly iffy character indeed. You must have noticed that he pops up an alarming number of times throughout the course of rock history and dishes out a lot of, let's face it, crazy advice. You see, the Rock Doctor is a very different beast to the doctors you or I may be used to – the sort that carefully analyse symptoms, run tests, make diagnoses and prescribe courses of suitable treatment – the Rock Doctor seems to work purely on instinct. He makes snap, on-the-spot decisions, thinks outside the box and more often than not puts his faith in nothing more than witchcraft. He is more like an apothecary than a doctor.<br />
<br />
Ok, so for starters, there's the Harry Nilsson song, 'Coconut'.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/9nzRTZvR3M4">http://youtu.be/9nzRTZvR3M4</a><br />
<br />
Basically, Harry Nilsson goes to his 'doctor' complaining of a belly ache. A fairly standard complaint, you might think, with a fairly standard treatment. So what does our doctor prescribe for the stricken Harry? Antacids? Laxatives? A nice lie down?<br />
Not exactly. He prescribes lime in a coconut. Specifically, 'put da lime in the coconut an' drink 'em both together, put 'da lime in the coconut, then you feel better.'<br />
<br />
The doctor, you may have noticed, sounds an awfully lot like the Liltman. He thought coconuts were the answer to everything too.<br />
'So let me get this straight,' says Harry, obviously assuming this to be some kind of wind up. 'You put the lime in the coconut and drink 'em both up?'<br />
<br />
The doctor sounds a trifle irritated at having to repeat himself. 'Put 'da lime in the coconut an' drink em bo' down,' he says. 'Put da lime in the coconut an' call me in the morning.'<br />
<br />
We never find out if this experimental treatment worked, or, indeed, if the doctor was still around in the morning (though I suspect he scarpered pretty quickly) but we do know that Nilsson died of a 'massive heart attack' in 1994.<br />
<br />
I would have said the two events are almost certainly unconnected but then I remembered another doctor who crops up in a Lovin' Spoonful song with similarly suspect credentials:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://youtu.be/zFDZpzBZR6M">https://youtu.be/zFDZpzBZR6M</a><br />
<br />
In this instance, it's a lot worse than a bellyache. You see, John Sebastian has been 'down in Savannah eating cream and bananas' and has fainted from the heat. The doctor, apparently, has been brought in to check he's not dying. So, quite a serious situation to be sure. All the limes in all the coconuts in all the world won't solve this one. And what does our magnificent doctor suggest this time? A quick dash to the hospital, perhaps?<br />
Nope, jugband music.<br />
And why?<br />
Because it 'seems to make him feel just fine'.<br />
<br />
Jugband music? Flaming jugband music to save a dying man?! The only thing jugband music is a cure for is lack of jugband music! In fact, I think jugband music causes more ailments than it cures!<br />
(<i>I'm almost certain that it was the primary cause of Syd Barrett's 'Jugband Blues' in 1968.</i>)<br />
Nevertheless, our doctor seems to have gone through a phase of thinking jugband music was the answer to every possible affliction that a human can suffer from and throughout the course of this record he goes on to prescribe it for loneliness, dehydration, tiredness, weariness, depression and getting punched in the face on the beach by a cunt. Whether it works or not we don’t know, because, just like last time, the doctor has pissed off before the end of the song and isn’t heard from again.<br />
Sebastian, mercifully, is still with us but fellow Spoonful, Zal Yanovsky, died of a 'massive heart attack' (sound familiar?) in 2002, brought on, we must reasonably assume, by too much jugband music.<br />
<br />
At this stage a sudden and shocking realisation dawned on me: this doctor is the reason rock stars die young. I remembered the suspicious deaths of Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Brian Jones all within a year of each other. Who's to say the doctor wasn't called in to treat Hendrix's 'Manic Depression' or Morrison's 'Roadhouse Blues' and, feeling bitter and twisted and not in his right mind after his numerous and, frankly, feeble attempts to cure Tommy <i>('he seems to be completely unreceptive…' Of course he's un-receptive! He's deaf, dumb and blind, you twat! That's why we called you here. '…the tests I gave him show no sense at all.' What did I just say?!)</i>, did not switch from prescribing natural remedies like coconuts & homemade music to lethal cocktails of hard drugs & swimming pools with the same carefree attitude and reckless abandon?<br />
<br />
Fuelled by this terrifying revelation I began to scour my record collection for further evidence and what I found was shocking indeed. It seems that after the deaths of Messrs. Hendrix, Morrison and Jones the doctor sensibly decided to lay low for a while, changing his name from Dr Robert to Dr Jimmy and not seriously dabbling in medicine again until 1978 when he pops up in the Kinks song, 'Permanent Waves'.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dr1hj4op-xE">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dr1hj4op-xE</a><br />
<br />
So, Ray Davies has been feeling depressed, in fact he thinks he's breakin'. He can't quite explain, he can't feel any pain, but he knows that this time he's not fakin'.<br />
<br />
So the doctor, again displaying his penchant for quick thinking, takes one look at him and immediately orders Ray to go and get a perm.<br />
<br />
'Why don’t you put in some permanent waves?' he shouts. 'You'll look smooth, you'll look cool, you'll be laughing.'<br />
<br />
The interesting thing is this time the treatment seems to work… for a little while, at least. Davies, armed with his new perm, goes from strength to strength until, that is, it starts to rain and his perm got 'flushed down the drain'. This tragic event leaves him even more depressed than before. 'My neurosis returned, I'm a wreck once again.'<br />
And the doctor? Gone.<br />
<br />
Funnily enough, Ray had already had one run in with this fraud of a doctor on the <i>Muswell Hillbillies</i> album, when he was told to 'cut out the struggle and strife, it only complicates your life.' I’ve no sympathy for him. To go and see this daft quack once is bad enough but twice is damn near unforgivable. He's lucky to still be alive.<br />
<br />
Keith Moon, of course, wasn't so lucky.<br />
<br />
I can only assume that John Entwistle, who’d evidently been looking for a doctor for quite some time…<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jsAHbNAmK0">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jsAHbNAmK0</a><br />
<br />
…must have introduced Dr Jimmy to the Moon thinking he might be able to cure his alcoholism and drug addiction...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rn8p1Hrc7yI">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rn8p1Hrc7yI</a><br />
<br />
...the rest, unfortunately, is history.<br />
<br />
When I think of all the great talent that's been lost because of this doctor it makes me angry and sad and I wonder why rock stars can't go to real doctors like the rest of us. I don't know, perhaps they bring it on themselves. They do go in with the most vague and unspecific complaints:<br />
'There’s a pain where there once was a heart.' (Mick Jagger)<br />
'I can’t stand up for falling down.' (Elvis Costello)<br />
'There's a slight disturbance in my mind.' (Roy Wood)<br />
'Doctor, my eyes!' (Jackson Browne)<br />
<i>(In this case my sympathy is firmly with the doctor. You see, Browne goes in under the pretence that he's got some sort of eye complaint and then proceeds to spend the next three and a half minutes moaning about the world and his bird and life in general. I mean, he’s a doctor not a psychiatrist!)</i><br />
<i>'</i>I’m going slightly mad.' (Freddie Mercury)<br />
'Can you see the real me?' (Pete Townshend)<br />
<br />
You've got to ask yourself, what would a real doctor make of that lot? Then there's all those odd ailments that only rock stars can contract such as rockin' pneumonia and boogie-woogie flu (a shot of rhythm and blues, incidentally, is the cure for the former); only the Rock Doctor truly understands these conditions. Maybe that's why rock stars place such trust in him and are always so quick to defend him:<br />
<br />
'He's a man you must believe, helping everyone in need. No-one can succeed like Doctor Robert,' said John Lennon in 1966.<br />
<br />
Of course, that was a good couple of years before the doctor began his terrible killing spree but it still gives you some idea of just how much his patients revere him. Maybe we'll just have to let the case against the doctor lie. Ok, so he killed a few people down the years (who hasn't?) but he did cure Peggy Lee's 'Fever', Dylan's 'Tombstone Blues' and Jerry Lee Lewis's debilitating shaking problem.<br />
And at least he listens… unlike my doctor.<br />
<br />
And so I'll leave you with the one piece of good advice this doctor ever gave out. The lucky recipient? Paul Simon. And did he listen? No.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://youtu.be/bOQupBG7d2g">https://youtu.be/bOQupBG7d2g</a>Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3230822441190573776.post-27048993592469336012010-04-27T09:50:00.005+01:002017-06-20T11:23:31.697+01:00Why I hate blogs...<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Someone whose name I can't remember once described me as 'a closed book'. <o:p></o:p>Naturally, I took umbrage at this. After all, for the past two years I'd been opening up to this person like a spring flower and she hadn't even had the decency to notice. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">'I'm not a closed book,' I said. 'Just a book no-one wants to read, like War & Peace or the John Barrowman autobiography. I’m a shit book.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I stormed off in an appropriately violent rage and vowed never to communicate with anyone again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I was doing quite well at it too until last week when my agent started banging on about writing a blog.</span><br />
<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">-What's a blog? I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">-It's kind of like an online diary.<span style="font-size: +0;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">-What's the point in that then?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">-It allows your readers to get inside your head, opens up your personality a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">If my agent knew me as well as I do he'd know this to be a bad idea. My head is a dreary and pointless place and my personality? Well, if I had to describe it in a couple of words, say for an online dating site or an obituary, I'd probably plump for something like: timid but spiteful.</span><br />
<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">-My personality causes more problems than it solves, I said, speaking from experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">-Just put some opinions out there then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">-But my opinions are worthless!</span><br />
<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This is something we all have in common by the way. Our opinions ain't worth diddly-squat. This never used to be a problem - back in the days when everyone's opinions were more or less contained in the sanctity of their own heads - but now, when they're all over facebook and twitter and blogger and blabber, plastered over the internet like shit on a toilet wall, it's become a massive pain in the arse.</span><br />
<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">-But blogging is different, he insisted. Blogs are interesting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I don't know if he actually believes this or if he was just talking shite in that casual, almost instinctive way that agents do, but it took less than 30 minutes of research to discover that blogs, far from being interesting, are in fact the dullest things that have ever existed. And why wouldn't they be? Life is dull. Unless you're Bob Dylan or Dog the Bounty Hunter (and hardly anyone is) your life is as dull as ditchwater. Duller, in fact, because ditchwater is at least something you don't see every day. In fact, I'm not certain I've ever seen it. Not sure I'd know it if I did either. Anyway, your life bores me shitless and for every bungee jump or African safari you put in it only bores me more. My own life is so dull that if you made it into a movie the big climactic final scene would be me writing this blog. My life is <i>way</i> duller than ditchwater.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I explained all this to my fool of an agent and he said: do it anyway.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">So there you have it. If he wants a blog I’ll give him a blog and if everyone hates it it’s his fault and not mine. Every single one of my stupid, worthless opinions will be spewed out for all the world to see and every gloriously profound thought will be shoved down the throats of all who come here. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Reticent Blog: the only blog on the web founded on the premise that everyone would be a lot happier if we all just shut up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">In the words of Homer Simpson: 'the problem is communication… too much communication.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Henhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03264473535711821017noreply@blogger.com0