Raging against the machine

It can't have escaped anyones attention, that apparently next week it will be Christmas, and in becoming of a festive tradition, the race for the 'Christmas Number 2' is on.

The race for the Number 1 spot has become such a formality that no bookie will offer anything but the very shortest odds on the X Factor winner being the winner, so the also rans chase for the number 2 spot.

But could this year be different? A campaign on that started on Facebook, and has spread through Twitter and Reddit has been suggesting that all right minded music fans buy a copy of Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the Name Of" this week, in an attempt to bump the evil Simon Cowell off his throne.



On the surface, it seems like a bloody good idea. How dare some smug sanctimonious cock ruin Christmas by touting vacuous empty tunes at the vacuous empty headed masses just because the know that just like sheep, they'll flock out and buy them?

After all, isn't that supposed to be Cliff Richards job?

For years the charts have been 'fixed', and even more so at Christmas my music execs, canny advertising, and heavy radio play that drives songs to be Top of the Pops - but does it matter?

What we didn't used to see was all the manipulation that it takes to do that, but now everything is on display - especially in those trousers Cowell.

Does it really affect anyone in a negative way if some shite gets to number one for Christmas? And who am I to say it is shite? If it gives some 9 year old pleasure to receive 3 minutes of mind spunk, who am I to tell them that really they should be investigating The Falls back catalogue, or maybe trying some of Thom Yorkes solo stuff?

If it gets them into listening to music, surely that's a good thing, and will give them some embarrassing 'first record' stories to tell their muso friends when older - and if not - where's the harm? I've got a friend who only owns 7 cd's. I don't understand how this can be possible, but I think no less of him for it.

I don't own a single golf club, but apparently it is just as pleasurable a pastime as listening to music - as is being number one. It just has no bearing on me.

I suppose the difference with music and golf is, golf can't be manipulated - but what about books?

For years any book mentioned on Richard and Judy, or Oprah has been pretty much guaranteed to be a best seller, but do you get militant readers up and down the country insisting we all buy Ricky Gervais' "Flanimals" just to keep Delia Smiths perennial Christmas cook book down?

No.

The Christmas number 1 single, is yesterdays news. A festive popularity contest and nothing more. In years gone by with just the Top of the Pops Christmas special and a handful of radio stations it mattered more to the consumer, because that was all you would hear for days. Now we have 14 billion radio and tv stations, so if you don't like what's being played on one, you can probably find something you do like on another. Or just make your own festive playlist on itunes, spotify, or a good old fashioned mixtape.

So if you want to spoil Simons fun, go buy a copy of Killing in the Name Of. Despite my ramblings above, I have done. Not necessarily fro the X factor thing, but because it made me realise that I didn't own a copy, and it is a truly great song. And I'm just curious is any radio station will play it (heavily bleeped) if it does succeed. So on those counts buy it.

If you really don't want to, that's fine - as RATM's front man Zack de la Rocha will testify many, many times...


"Fuck you I won't do what you tell me"

Large packet of skins please

Last week, whilst not shitting through the eye of a needle, I was also making a vague attempt at turning 37 with a degree of dignity.

Not easily done when you can't move more than a couple of rooms away from the nearest toilet. but by the afternoon I was feeling sufficiently improved to chance a trip out the house.

The original plan of cinema, Chinese, then booze went out the window, replaced with a trip to Tesco to secure provisions for one of my birthday presents.

Ladies and gentleman, I am now the proud owner of a mincer/sausage maker.

Whilst through my youth I may have spent part of my birthday searching for all manner of different 'skins', the only variety I was after now would not be rolled around or down anything, but stuffed with minced pork, and a bit of 'special stuff'.

I was rather surprised that no local butchers were prepared to sell me any - perhaps assuming that I would be doing them out of business. Fuckwits. What did they think I was going to fill them with? And where would I be most likely to find the requisite meat?

Not giving up, I found a nice website that sells all things sausage, and procured enough skin to make 60 meters of bangers.

As it wouldn't arrive until the following day, I started my great sausage experiment by making the next best thing - sausage rolls.

Four different blends later left me thinking that sage can be a bit overpowering, cranberries would be nicer if cooked and cooled before adding to the mix, you really shouldn't scrimp on salt, and a sausage lacking in brains, bollocks and bulking agents is far superior to the shit you get from supermarkets.

The weekend saw my first attempt proper at sausages in skins, and I was very pleased with the honey and mustard variety, but more mustard powder next time me thinks.

Today I have moved one step nearer to the Christmas sausage. This year my esteemed siblings and I are giving mother a break from Christmas dinner by all doing a course. As Mrsslippy and I will be staying over, it seemed only right and fair we volunteered to do the main, rather than having some other poor soul have to come round at 7 in the morning to start the turkey off.

So in the Christmas Banger Mark II (Mark I went in sausage rolls) we have

• 200g belly of pork
• 400g shoulder of pork
• 4 large tablespoons cranberry sauce (cranberries simmered in sugar water until coats the back of a spoon/sets when chilled
• 2 teaspoons sea salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoons freshly pummeled black pepper
• zest and juice from 1 orange
• 75g fresh breadcrumbs

I've made them 2 different lengths so I can test which is better when wrapped in bacon.

Now they just have to rest overnight before they can be cooked.

Sausage sandwiches for breakfast.

And lunch..

And dinner..


Until I've filled and eaten the remaining 57 meters of skin that's sat on the kitchen worktop waving at me.

Fuck I love sausages.

The Shits

I'm not very well today.

It all started with not feeling very well yesterday, but then I wasn't supposed to feel well yesterday.

I went out on Saturday for early birthday drinks, which started at 4pm with Gingerfeck, with Mrsslippy and the rest arriving later, what with them having to have worked..

So I was fully expecting to feel headachey, with an unsettled stomach - or just plain hungover if you want to call it that.

But it didn't feel like a classic hangover, and rather than feeling better as the day progressed, I just felt worse. My suspicions were aroused that there might be something else going on when I noticed that as we watched TopGear, Mrsslippy (who wears a jumper in the summer), was happily sat on the bed in just a post bath towel, I (who break into a sweat at the merest glimpse of sunlight), was curled up under the duvet shivering.

Out came the thermometer, and as suspected, I wasn't cold, I had a temperature of 39 degrees.

Today, I still feel like shit, and more annoyingly, I feel like shitting all the time. It's probably not the dreaded swine flu, but there is a definite ambiance of farmyard in the toilet.

It's bad, but I've had worse.

I've seen more than my fair share of shit back when I was nursing. It never ceased to surprise me with either the volume or force that a patient could evacuate their bowels. My personal favourite was a gentleman in a standing aid, who had such sudden and explosive diarrhoea as he was being stood up that he blew down his pyjamas, and proceeded to create a toxic puddle so wide that we had to put plastic bags on our feet in order to wade through the effluence and rescue him from the mechanical contraption.

I've told tale here before of a nasty episode of the shits whilst on holiday, but messy as that was, it's still not the worst case of blowing mud...

Several years ago, while I was still living and working at the Hospital, I picked up a nasty little winter diarrhoea an vomiting bug. After a day of lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, only interrupted by frequent trips to the toilet, I decided I would feel better if I had a bath.

Indeed, after a nice long soak I was feeling a little better, and started to climb out. It was at that point that I heard the taps being run on full blast.

Only I could see the taps.

And they were off.

So where was the noise coming fro......OH SWEET JESUS!!!!

Looking down I could be a rapidly expanding brown puddle around where my one leg still in the bath was balanced. Whenever a patient had explained away their feacal incontinence in the past with "I didn't know I was doing it nurse", I was always slightly sceptical.

"You must've known" I would think. "You can't possibly shit yourself without knowing".

But apparently you can.

I had no idea it was coming out of me. It seemed my sphincter had failed, and the only thing that was keeping the contents of my bowels in my bowels was the pressure of one arse cheek against the other.

The very act of spreading my legs to step out the bath had broken the seal, and a gallon of effluence had very suddenly, and without sensation emptied itself into the bath.

I rather embarrassingly rinsed it out and showered off, then dipped into the bathroom next door for a repeat exercise in an unsullied tub, and this time promising myself to take greater care when stepping out.

So as bad as I feel now, I know it could be worse, and that I will get better. I'm just glad that the only time in adulthood that I've shat myself I was naked, on my own, and standing underneath a shower head.

And on that note, I'm off to the toilet again. Cleaning a bath out is a lot easier than cleaning a mattress....