Boyzgone

Another celebrity death and the vultures are circling.

On the afternoon of 10th October 2009, Boyzone member Stephen Gately was found dead at his home in Majorca at the age of 33.

I was never a Boyzone fan, and when Stephen was allowed to help Ronans weirdly affected vocalisations, he just came across as nasal and tuneless to me, but that's not going to alter the way I feel about his death.

I care, but I don't care.

I care in the sense that I needed to find out. He was in the public eye, so It's only right we should be informed if he's passed away, particularly as it was so sudden and unexpected.

I don't care to be updated as the headline news on every channel and newspaper. Ghoulish reporters hanging around airports waiting for the rest of the band to arrive so they can elbow their way into their grief so we can all have a gawp. Looking for any tell tale signs that anyone is not surprised.

That maybe there was some dark secret that we didn't know about, and it's not really a surprise to those who knew him.

But those who did know him (and there are loads on Twitter) all say he was a sweet, charming man, who didn't do drugs, and was no party animal. He was in a happy loving relationship with his long term partner. The police say there are no signs of foul play, yet still, the vultures circle closer and closer....

'He'd spent the evening at a gay club with a Bulgarian man' the media scum inform us, allowing us to fill in the blanks that it was probably some bizarre gay sex game gone wrong.

If they'd just reported that he'd spent the evening in a club with his partner and a friend, it would have been far less scandalous, but equally true. He was found in his pyjamas, not naked wearing a gimp mask.

We really don't need hourly updates as to whether Boyzones private jet has landed yet, or list in The Daily Telegraph of - and I kid you not - '10 other mysterious celebrity deaths'.

What we need to do is give his family and friends the time and privacy to grieve for a young man tragically taken before his time.

The remit of the news should be to inform us of important world events, not pray on the private misery of others because it sells papers and advertising space. If I wanted regular updates, I can get them on line from any number of websites. The 'News' should be just that. News. Not voyeurism.

There will continue to be speculation until the post mortum is carried out and results splashed over every media outlet. Irrespective of what it shows, I don't think we need to know any anymore than it was just too early.

For anyone who would argue that there's no smoke without fire, and people don't 'just die' at 33, it's a sad fact that sometimes they do, just not always people that the fucking media can make a buck out of.

R.I.P. Stephen Gately. 17 March 1976 - 10 October 2009

What would you do?

What would you do with free texts for life?

• Start a revolution?
• Organise a massive pillow fight?
• Do a conga?
• Have massive fights for days?
• Or is it just too mind boggling...

It's mind boggling for me why anyone would even want or need free texts for life (for only £10 a month....), yet this is what T-Mobile are offering an another of their piss poor irritating adverts.

And the suggestions above are what the shitty jobbing actors real people interviewed thought they would do.

Now why on earth would limitless free texts make you want to start a revolution? Maybe the twat in question already has a revolution planned, but lacks the means to co-ordinate it without exceeding his monthly tariff. Now with his massive free allocation for only £10 a month he can text his plans to everyone in the world on his SIM card, which could be either 200 or 500 potential people depending on his phone, but more realistically the 20 people he actually knows the number for, which once you discount his Mum, Takeaway restaurants and Taxi firms, is just three people. All in 160 characters or less..

'OI M8 I HAVE GR8 PLAN 4 REVOLUSHUN. MEET ME @ PUB @8. BRING LOADS OF GUNS&STUFF.L8R. PS ASK YOUR SIS TO CUM COS SHE IS WELL FIT LOLZ!!!'

It's probably why the peasants revolt failed in 1381. No mobile phones. 'RICHARD OF WALLINGFORD IS A LYING CNUT. WAT TYLER HAS NOT BEEN KNIGHTED, THEY'VE CUT HIS EFFING HEAD OFF. STORM STEPNEY!!!!'

But now all the fucking peasants have got mobile phones, so surely it's just a matter of time?

Or not.

Because I believe texting is a dying fad. A waste of time and money. How often have you got half way through typing something out only to think 'Fuck me, it would be easier to just ring them?'. 'I can't fit everything I want to put on the text any way, and depending on the response, I'll only have to text them back. This could turn a 20 second conversation into a 20 minute one, just trying to establish if a friend is coming to the pub, if so, then which pub, and when..'

Texts are restrictive in length, clog up your phone, and once you delete them to make space, they're gone for ever.

If I need to send a message that can be read (directions, shopping lists, plans for invading France etc..), I'll send an email. All modern phones come with email capability. Sending an email is free, and you can read it on your phone, or any PC. What's more, you never run out of storage space, as it's backed up for life in 'The Cloud'. And you can fill your message planning global domination with links to useful websites on how best to co-ordinate your attacks, and your clothes.

I already have a bundle of texts on my phone contact, and I never get anywhere close to using them, because I nearly always ring, or email.

But if I had free texts for life (for £10/month), what would I do with them?

Probably text T-Mobile every day to call them cunts with the shittiest adverts in the world.

What would you do?

Pull your trousers up

Walking through town yesterday evening Mrsslippy and I had the misfortune of being stuck behind some arsehole who was intent on showing it to us.

He probably thought he looked really cool, but to the 36 year old me, he just looked like a twat.

Having lost a bit of weight recently, I have found myself constantly having to hitch some trousers up. It's fucking annoying, so a belt is called for at all times.

I'm not ashamed of my pants. In fact I've got some great pants that I'd love to show everyone, but could really not be doing spending my entire time preventing them from dropping to my knees by carefully pulling them up, but only by a couple of centimeters so everyone can still see the ferocious Hulk defending my arse crack.

All this whilst walking with some affected tilt of the head, roll of the shoulders, and semi Jamaican patoire that just doesn't sound right from a whitey from Cambridge. It just screams out 'I AM A PRETENTIOUS CUNT' even louder.

I assume twats that wear their jeans like this want to emulate the gangsta style of American rappers, and are vaguely aware that it's history lies in the prison system.

'Yeah' there clothes say. 'I'm dangerous. I've done time, that's why my trousers hang half way down my arse'.

'I've spent time in the big house, and to let my fellow big housemates know that I was up for some big fun, I'd dress like this'.

'Yep, my ringpiece is an open door for anyone who wants to..........oh now just hang on a minute. Is this really what I want to say with my attire?'

Apparently so. There is the alternative camp that says the low slung trousers mean your belt was taken away in prison to stop you killing your self, but the first camp is ...well...,just more camp. Either way, if I can see your pants, it either means you're suicidal, or the local bicycle.

How can we stop arseholes from not covering their arseholes?

Two ways as far as I can tell;

Firstly, you could creep up behind them, shiv them, then violently violate them anally under the assertion that you believed they were sexually available, and therefore gagging for it.

Secondly - and probably more fun, is with chocolate Matchmakers. Any flavour will do, but if you can get hold of the new blackcurrant ones,they will probably work best. When you see a twat with trousers halfway down his buttocks, clean white Calvin Kleins on display, simply take a Matchmaker from the box and slide it down the cleft, between pant and trow, leaving a couple of inches protruding. They should be narrow enough to slip in un-noticed, and within a matter of moments the pristine stick will have transmogrified into a streak of brown sludge.

I have yet to test the melting properties of the blackcurrant ones, but am hopeful that the little crystalline fragments will create some kind of deep red stain amongst the fresh skiddy that would make it oh so more alluring on the eye.

Feel free to try with a finger of fudge, or a Twix, but I don't think the biscuit or caramel will disperse with any degree of speed or satisfaction. A Wispa might melt pretty quickly and efficiently, but could be a bit chunky to slip in without being noticed.

Or if you really want, I suppose you could go for both options, and just anally rape them with a Snickers.

Just make sure its a big one.

May Contain Nuts

I just ate a very tasty lemon mousse from Tesco.

Whilst chowing down, I noticed the 'Allergy advice' label on the side.

It came as no surprise that it contained milk, and that it was quite proud of the fact that it contained no nuts....or sort of...

Because although it says that the recipe is nut free, it cannot guarantee that the ingredients do not contain nuts, which seems a bit fucking random.

I'm not very good at following recipes myself. If I'm making a curry, I see a recipe as more of a guide, so if I want to chuck in some cashews, I will. What I don't want is some numb nuts providing their own ingredients if they're making something that really shouldn't contain them.

Where would it end? Can we expect to find sausages in our Frosties? "Yeah, they're not in the recipe dude, but I think I may have left some in the ingredients..." I sincerely hope not.

Perhaps most disturbing on the label, is underneath the 'Ingredients' disclaimer, where it says 'Factory - Product made in nut free area, but nuts used elsewhere'.

So the whole reason there may be nuts in the mousse, is because there are nuts elsewhere in the factory.

I assume they have a toilet somewhere in the factory, so drawing on the same logic, there is also statistically the same chance that there is some human shit in my mousse.

And a few pubes.

I realise the reason they do it is to 'protect' people with nut allergies by informing them of the infinitesimally small chance that there may be some in the food, hereby preventing them from suing if the have a reaction, or just not being able to eat anything because every single product in the world now contains a warning that there may be some nut residue in it.

Fortunately, I'm not allergic to nut products, but would have a pretty fucking serious reaction if I found out that I was consuming the product of someones nuts if they decided to have a crafty wank in the toilets on their break.

So lets just see a bit of common sense. Firstly, we don't need nut warnings on bags of nuts. Its pretty fucking clear that they may contain nuts.

And let's not have warnings on stuff that has as much chance of containing nuts as it does light bulbs, toilet paper, and the contents of the stationary cupboard, just because they are used elsewhere in the factory

The mousse I just ate had as much chance of containing nuts as it did containing shit, and I'm sure it contained neither.

My shit on the other hand probably contains mousse and nuts - just in case you were planning on eating it, because I'm not planning on labeling it....

Advert Hell

Maybe I'm just the wrong demographic, but if I'm watching a TV show, then I'd like to think that advertisers would be savvy enough to think that there is something synonymous with their product and the show, that I would be interested in their tatt, and even more so by the clever way they've pitched them at me.

But I increasingly find myself not only being bemused at the wierd stuff that is being pimped at me - why would anyone watching The Big Bang Theory be in the market for an over 50's cruise? - but also angry at the visual effluent that is being shat into my eyes.

My top offenders in worst adverts on TV at the moment are...


Glade - Poo at Pauls

Just what is it that makes Pauls toilet so fucking special? It can't be just the fresh smell. If this petulant little brat was in anyway self concious about his shitting habits, he wouldn't be so insistent as to where he parked his breakfast. Maybe we should ask Pauls Dad? Or maybe we shouldn't.....




Go Compare - Fat bloke sings

Clearly jealous that Compare the Market have a cult following for their little meerkat, they've tried to jump on the bandwagon. Only with nothing in their name to make use of, some fuckwit at the ad agency has suggested getting some fat bloke to just sing it over and over again. The joke? He's a tenor, which sounds a bit like tenner. And what has that got to do with the product? Fuck all. He just looks like a cheap Mr Creosote rip off. There's a Facebook fangroup for him, only I suspect it was made up and populated by employees of the company to try to make it look cool. It does not. FAIL.



T-Mobile - All of them

I don't think it's possible to make a mobile phone advert that I will like, and you can guarentee if I see any that contain some type of mass gathering of arseholes singing in unison, it will make me do a little bit of sick in my mouth. Phones are useful things. You can call your mates to see if they're down the pub, bring up a map to find your way there, and Google the answer to whatever useless bit of trivia you end up arguing over. They will not bring about World Peace or end poverty. Particuarly not at the rates that some of them charge for services. Ads that show groups of hip young things tearing around having fun, phones in hands should be replaced with groups sat around in silence, staring blankly at their little screens while they try to work out for to Bluetooth a shit version of Black Eyed Peas already shit song to each other.



Tampax Pearl

Gaudy Posh wannabe lounges around, all dressed in white, until Mother Nature turns up with the gift in a 'red box'.

Ha fucking ha....was that even intentional?

And why pearl? When I thingk of pearls my mind turns to oysters, not bearded clams. Or maybe pearl necklaces. Interesting fact - despite what you might think a pearl necklace is you're probably wrong. It does not refer to a glittery chain of goo around a womens throat, but playing the pink oboe. The pearls in question are the pearly whites of the giver of the gift, around the neck of a cock. Any blokes reading - if you're ever asked if you've given someone a pearl necklace - you might want to reconsider your answer.



Peugeot 308

An advert so awful that I couldn't even remember the car it was sellling. I had to Google 'shit smug car advert', and what do you know, it was hit number 6. It's supposed to be Drive sexy, but the only thing I feel driven to do is smash his smug face in. We'll take that kid from the Glade advert and have him poo all over the cunts noir car.



There are many, many more that get my goatbut these are the worst culprits.

Which adverts annoy you, and why?

Farcical Football

Canary (noun) definitions-
1) - Small yellow bird sent down mines to test the quality of the air before the big boys get going. Any sign of danger, gets in a flap, curls up and dies.
2) - Small yellow team sent down divisions to test the quality of the football. Any signs of danger, gets in a flap, pisses in goals, and curls up and dies.

Depending on what flavour you take your football, you could be anywhere between one and three games into your season.

It's early doors, but they're doors that someone has pissed on, superglued the lock, and shoved shit through the letterbox.

I really have the deepest sympathy with my Naardge friends. When you let in enough goals on the first day of the season to almost start needing to use the fingers on the other webbed hand, things are not good.

Only one thing to do when you get beaten 7-1 by Colchester. Nick their manager. I can't help but wonder if Paul Lambert will still be happy with his decision at the end of the season, with the U's continuing their undefeated start tonight, and Norwich losing again.

Elsewhere in the Premiership, we see Tottenham top after beating Liverpool in the opener, and spanking Hull 5-1 tonight, who themselves didn't look that bad against Chelsea - the only other team to have won 2 from 2. Several have still only played the once, but Man Utd somehow managed to get beaten by Burnley tonight, so no perfect start from them, nor points for me from their players.

It's playing merry hell with my Fantasy Team. Whilst picking Jolene Joleon Lescott seemed like a good idea pre season, what with him being touted by Man City, he helped Everton let in 6 goals at the weekend, has been refused a transfer, and has now been dropped following an incident involving a pram, some toys, and a passable Monty Panessar impersonation.

Most importantly of all, Grimsby have got off to a typically heroic start, with three straight defeats. This puts me in a great position to slag off or take the piss out of any other team in the league, because there is nothing that anyone can say or do that can make anything worse that what we are doing to ourselves.

Yazz would say 'the only way is up'. Not true. Okay, we can't move very far in the downwards direction for several months, but after that, there's a fucking huge drop.

At least there's still some Cricket to be enjoyed. I completely expect England to win the last Ashes Test, and therefore retain that magic little urn. And we've got tickets to one of the one dayers to look forward to as well.

But after that it's just the slow inevitability of the days getting colder, the nights drawing in, and Saturday afternoons of despair and despondency as nothing goes right.

Roll on World Cup 2010.

iDiot

I've still not got round to making any playlists for my iPod, and so can't trust it on shuffle yet, as it may play me something that's merely residing on it for a rainy day.

But I had forgotten that the newer ones come with built in 'Genius' to generate playlists for you based on the track you have selected.

It does this by comparing your library and purchasing habits with those of "other people", to suggest similar songs to the one you picked.

Other people......hmmmmm......

Other people are not to be trusted. It's "other people" that make Britain's Got Talent Britain's most watched show. It's "other people" that keep Duffy in Diet Coke and ridiculous leggings.

You've only got to go to "other peoples" houses and check out their CD collections to see what I mean. We all do it. First time we go to someones house we go straight to the music collection and start judging them - usually finding them lacking.

But iTunes reckons it knows so many other people, it must be able to use this knowledge to satisfy me on the way to work, so ok iPod, give it your best shot.

I headed out the door with Muses magnificent 'Knights of Cydonia'. I wanted wakey-wakey music, and that certainly fitted the bill. Six minutes and seven seconds later, it's time for the "Genius" to step up to the plate. 'Reptillia' by The Strokes blasts out.

So far so good. Not what I would have chosen for myself, but I like it, and it is in keeping with my general mood. So what will it throw at me next....

"'Map of the Problematique' by ..erm...Muse again." said the Genius

"Ok Genius, well worked out. It's even off the same album you fuckwit. I'll listen because I like it, but I was hoping for a bit more variety...now play me something else.."

"How about the super smashing 'Cherub Rock' from the super Smashing Pumpkins?" asked the Genius.

"Splendid" said I. "Now you're getting the idea. What's next?"

"I really think you want to hear a bit of 'Time is Running Out' said the Genius.

"Er..hang on. Isn't this just Muse again?"

"Yes, but it's off a different album. Different see? Variety!"

I was starting to suspect this Genius was a bit more Justin Hawkins than Steven Hawkin...

Yes Justin, that is a catchy tune, but isn't it just a little bit Queen rip off derivative, and basically what you just played me but ever so slightly different. Why can't you be more like Steven?

He knows what variety means, using his unique vocal stylings to maximum effect collaborating with artists as diverse as Radiohead (Fitter, Happier) and Daft Punk (Technologic) He was even Chers singing coach on 'Believe', for which I believe he also choreographed the video.

"Now do you get what I mean Genius?"

"I think so. You want something that matches the camp theatrics, killer 70's riffs and wailing vocals of Knights of Cydonia, not just lots more Muse?"

"Yes please."

"Ballroom Blitz by The Sweet?"



"Absolutely!"

That is what I want Genius to to. To take something that I would never thing of playing myself, but matches my general ambiance, and brings a little grin of guilty pleasure to my face.

My next logical step would be to see how far I could push the Genius's logic, and try to get it to generate a chain that would get me as far away from where it started.

It would be a fair assumption that anyone who liked Knights of Cydonia would also like Ballroom Blitz, but since that hails from a long gone era (released 3 years before Muse's Matt Bellamy was even born!), it probably has fans that would have turned their noses up at some of the other 24 tracks on the Knights generated playlist - particularly Tenacious D's most tender and romantic 'Fuck her Gently'.

"So Genius. I like Ballroom Blitz. Find me 24 other songs like that one."

"Right you are sir. Anyone of these rather take your fancy?"

"Yes. ELO's 'Mr Blue Sky'. Got any more like that?"

"As a matter of fact I do. And I think you'll be particularly pleased with Supertramps 'Logical Song'"

"I would. Logical Song would be a logical step. Give me 24 songs like that one."

"You're the boss. Anything tickle your fancy?"

"I like a bit of Human League. Find me more like 'Don't you want me'."

"Madonna's 'Holiday'?"

"Ok - one last jump."

"Hit me Baby one more time?"

Yes - I think I will. I think I will hit you in your silly digital face. By trusting the listening habits of those pesky "other people", I have contrived by using playlists of only 25 songs, and 6 steps, to get from what is an undeniably a classic rock tune, to Britney. If I hadn't stopped there God only knows where it would have gone...

The fact that all the above songs are even on my iPod are inconsequential........

Next up I'm going to see how many steps it takes to get me from Ace of Spades to Ace of Bass. I bet I can do it in in less than 10, especially with the fucking retard at the controls.

I would have done it on the way home, but chose to listen to Geoff Boycott on Test Match Special instead.

Now he is a Genius.

I know he is, because the fucker never stops telling us.......

The F word

F**k

F**k, f**k, f**kity f**k.

In a blatent rip off homage to the wondrously funny Tim Minchin, I could pontificate on the use of asterisks to hide letters in f**k.

Whether you print the missing letters or not, f**k still says f**k. It's what you say in your head when you see it written. It's hiding in plain site. There can't be a man or woman alive who doesn't know the true offensive nature of f**k.

So I'll type it, as offensive as it is to me.


FOLK


Yep, it's the end of July, which for residents of my little corner of the world can mean only one thing, The Cambridge Folk Festival is upon us once again.

Gates open at 12 tomorrow, which means at 12:01 MY pub will be full of cocks festival goers, clogging the place up with beards and the smell of damp cardigans. Grumbling about the lack of real ales and a variety of ciders. True, MY pub doesn't hold a great selection of ales, but it is just a suburban Green King eatery, so there isn't much call for that sort of thing the other 51 weeks of the year.

Now before you accuse me of being narrow minded, I don't have a problem with Folk music per se. I don't really have a problem with any genres of music (except jazz). If it's got a good tune, or I can sing along then I'll listen to anything - it doesn't have to be pigeon holed into a genre. It just so happens that there are more guitar led grungy tunes that I can relate to than fiddly folky ones.

My ipod favourites playlist contains music from ABC to The Zutons, and everything inbetween. There's pop, goth, emo, rap, drum and bass, classical, metal, folk, blues, soul, and lots and lots of guitars. If I want something with a bit of a fiddle, you can't beat a bit of Gogol Bordello, although they would claim their music is gypsy-punk rather than folk. I'd rather listen to a bit of Simon and Garfunkel than Scouting for Girls anyday.

What truly offends me is the folk lifestyle. To every weirdy beardy who calls me a heathen for not 'getting' folk, I ask - "Did you get Kasabians latest CD? What do you think of Jamie Ts recent single? Will you be buying his album?"

No?

Thought not. And nor will I be in the slightest bit interested in the majority of the performers at The Festival. Each to their own. I will not criticise your musical tastes, as I am not familiar with a lot of the acts who are performing, but I do know quite a few. Some of them I have even seen live, and bought music by. There are also those that I've seen on TV, whether it be Jools Holland or the Culture Show, and I just don't really like them. Wouldn't say they were shit, just does nothing for me.

So don't come round my manor, parking your camper van that's painted in flowers, and smells of something distinctly organic outside my gaffe, and "tut" at me for living so close but not taking advantage of such a "wonderful opportunity" on my doorstep.

Don't frown at me because I won't give up the table that I am hogging to myself to you and your bearded brethren just so you can warm yourselves up around a communal cup of coffee. I've been at work all day, and am enjoying a quiet, contemplative pint. If you are cold and wet, don't go fucking camping.

And stop moaning at the checkout people at Tescos Express when they run out of cider and portable barbecues. It's a local shop for local people. People who can't drive to the big Tesco rely on it for everyday provisions, so it's not going to be cleared of useful produce just so you can keep yourselves in Scrumpy and Linda McCartney sausages.

You can enjoy a type of music, or even several types of music without it becoming your raison d'etre, and then disapproving of anyone else who doen't share your touchy feely, new age olde worlde sensibilities

I did go once, many years ago and just on a sneaked under the fence day ticket. My resounding memory is of bokey warm cider. I'm not a big cider fan anyway, but this was pretty rank .

'Warm with real apple chunks' was it's alleged selling point.

If you've ever done a bit of sick in your mouth, but managed to hold it and re-swallow it, that's the experience you're looking at.

Body temperature, sweet and acidic, and little bits of food in it. Yum.

So I won't be going, but if you are, why not pass the time by playing a little game of 'I-spy at the Folk Festival'

• Man in an Australian cork hat 1pt
• 20 Men in straw hats 2pts
• Dog on a string 3pts
• Drunk person passed out on his own 2pts
• Someone wearing a Folk Festival 2008 t-shirt 3pts
• Someone wearing a pre 1972 t-shirt 10pts
  
• 10 people with leather waistcoats 5pts
  
• Skull on a stick 10pts
• Woman dressed as a fairy 15pts
• Child in spider-man face paint 3pts
• Grown adult in spider-man face paint 15pts
• Spider-man 100pts
• Gandalf (or lookalike) 10pts
• A waist length beard 5pts
• A naked child with no sun protection (if sunny) 5pts
• A clothed child with far too much sun protection (if cloudy) 5pts
• A man with his 'lucky tankard' on a string round his neck 2pts
• A woman who really should be wearing a bra under that top 3pts
• Someone playing a penny whistle 3pts
• Someone playing bongos on their own 5pts
  
• Mark (Lard) Riley 5pts
• Billy Bragg 20pts
• Mike Harding 25pts
• Slippymark 1,000,000 pts

So I'm stocked up on essentials for a weekend of seige mentality. All that's left for me to do is sprinkle some broken glass on the road outside the house, and I'm all ready for another F**k Festival.

Dawn of the (nearly) Dead

Mrsslippy worked a night shift last night, meaning our usual exciting Friday evening jaunt to the shops had to be postponed.

Her parting words were 'I'll do the shopping in the morning before I go to bed'.

'Grand' thought I. 'Add some bacon to the list and I can be woken by the sound of it gently frying',

However, since my now structured life has vanquished my ability to lay in at the weekend, when she came home to change out of her uniform, I leaped out of bed with gay abandon and offered to join her.

The car park looked pretty empty on arrival, and there was the promise of freshly stocked shelves, rather than the 'East Berlin bakers circa 1985' appearance that Tesco sometimes has on a Friday evening.

It was only upon entering the sliding doors that the true horror of what lay in store hit me.


Pensioners.


Everywhere.


Shuffling, mumbling, or just staring into space. It was like a scene from George A Romero's most excellent 'Dawn of the Dead', where a band of survivors from the undead outbreak that kicked off in 'Night of the Living Dead' shore themselves up in a shopping mall, while the undead denizens go about their business, unaware that their life has been snuffed out.

'Braaiiiiinns........faggottttsss'

Viewed as a satirical observation on commercialism and the impersonalisation of sprawling shopping centers and massive globalisation, it was now a harsh reality.

Aisle upon aisle of grey faced automatons. Clutching shopping lists that they may as well have had laminated 15 years ago; purchasing habits not changed since they first drew their pensions and faced the realisation that a tin of spam, a tin of corned beef, a tin of pilchards and a loaf of thinly sliced white bread was about as exciting as food was going to get for the rest of their lives.

Yet with nothing else to do until pension day, this was their big outing for the week, so no rush. They've got all day......


I treat the supermarket aisles as motorways, or busy A roads. There are three lanes; the ones at the edges next to the produce are the 'slow lanes', and have double yellow lines. The central third lane is for cruising at speed, or overtaking. It can only be used as a car park by the shelf stackers, as they know to only close off the lane in a position where the other two lanes are clear.

You can move up and down the outside lanes at a reasonably leisurely pace, and can even pull over, provided your engine is still running.

By this I mean that you know what you want from the shelf, and are either trying to locate the best 'best before date', or weighing up the options on a couple of new varieties of a product. It is not a place to stop for a chat about how your prostate is now so large that it hangs out your arse, and when pissing it takes you so long to get started that you now paradoxically have to get up to the toilet two hours before you've actually gone to bed.

And you should only be allowed to stop for a maximum of 30 seconds. Any longer than that and you should be barred from the store. I waited an unfeasibly long period this morning because an elderly couple (with a trolley each no less!), had both parked blocking the entire bacon shelf whilst they inspected every single packet. I ended up having to drive round the block, because I was then causing a jam in the middle lane whilst waiting for an opportunity to pull in.

Curiously enough, of the handful of items that they had in each trolley, the fella, who was bald, had got a tub of Brylcreme (he'd been parked in front of the hair products earlier when I was trying to get some wax).

See - so stuck in his sad shambling grey life, he'd not even noticed he'd lost all his fucking hair.

And if parking in the outside lane is a social faux pas, it can be circumnavigated provided the overtaking lane is clear - which this morning was generally filled with all manner of road blocks.

Firstly, the idiots who park in it the central lane to stop for a chat with some other twat who has parked next to the produce. This creates a bottle neck as traffic has to move in both directions in the remaining lane. It can often happen on any day of the week, but what I saw this morning was people parking side on to talk, effectively blocking the entire carriageway.

Then there are the ones that abandon their vehicle. As you then go to move it to either get through, or access a shelf, you may be met by the returning shopper, who gives you a dirty look for touching their stuff, even if they haven't paid for it yet, so technically incorrect.

Sometimes there is no sign of who the trolley belongs to, and there's a creeping suspicion that they owner has forgotten all about it and has long gone home. Either that or they're now merrily filling another trolley. They've probably been there for hours and have dozens dotted all over the store.

Lastly, it's not a trolley hazard, but human.

The recently retired gentleman.

You know the sort - no longer able to rest on his laurels after being the bread winner all his life, he's never had to assist with bread buyingBut now he's been told in no uncertain terms that he is expected to help with the shopping on a Saturday morning.

And he hasn't got a fucking clue.

Still dressed in shirt, tie and blazer, because he's never learned to dress down, he follows the wife and her trolley around, always a couple of feet behind and to the side, like some bewildered slip fielder, waiting for a tickle - but she's such a pro she's knocking everything straight into the trolley. The only time he's going to see any action is when the scorecard comes out.

So there he stands, blissfully unaware that he's standing in the middle of the fast lane. Ask him to politely move, and he gets all flustered and starts looking to his wife for help, as if he steps out of position without the captains permission he may well drop a wicket taking catch.

I know they can't help it. But they get up at 5 o'clock in the morning, can't they just do their shopping then?

Just like the Zombies in the films, they don't know they're doing it, but I know what the kindest option would be.

It's what they do in the films, and if ever show signs of becoming one of the living dead it's what I'd want - please - just fucking shoot me.

Meatus is murder

Last Saturday saw a trip to Ginger Towers with the express purpose of achieving three things.

1 ) Wishing the Ginger Ninja a happy birthday.
2) Consumption of BBQ as cooked by Gingerfeck.
3 ) Very heavy boozing.

All the safely accomplished, I am now just about back to the land of the living.

My limited bloggage output this week has probably been due to the fact that stage 3 of Saturday involved three bottles of wine, and the destruction of countless billions of defenseless little grey cells.

I've been running on autopilot all week, and unless I go to the boozer tomorrow after work (which is unlikely) then I will have been off the sauce for a week which can only be WIN of the highest order.

Saturday was great fun. It's always lovely to see the Gingers, as the Ninja is one of the finest bakers in the World, and Chinny knows how to spin a yarn. We were joined by the usual suspects, and as the booze flowed, so did the banter.

As is often the case at a BBQ, there was someone there who 'didn't do meat'. Each to their own - I dabbled with vegetarianism myself for a few years, until I remembered just how fucking lush a nice bloody steak is.

And as always, there was a little bit of the grill reserved for the soya sausages and bean burgers. When all had eaten save for Gingerfeck, I swapped places on the barbie with him so he could have a burger while I kept an eye on the remaining sausages. On seeking the location for the utensils for the veggie stuff, I was advised that he was just using the same flipper as for the meat. Fair enough. His gaffe, his rules. They would never know about the cross contamination.

This got dropped into the conversation on my return to the table (the veggie was sat on the lawn somewhere), with a small discussion on whether this was ok, then Elvis had to go and lower the tone and ask if vegetarians could give blow jobs.

Oooookaay, lower the tone and draw a line and I'm going to cross it. In fact after a couple of bottles of wine I'm going to take a running jump at that line, and hurl myself over it.

Because, as I'm sure I quite eloquently pointed out without being overly loud, repetitive or crude, it isn't as simple as just a can they or can't they.

A vegetarian will not eat meat that has been killed, but will consume animal by products. Sure, you don't see them flocking to Tesco looking for a gallon of bulls semen, but sure as eggs is eggs, if they'll eat one of them, then that's half the DNA of a new life. The spunk is just the vinegar stroke vinaigrette that completes the dish. A nice glossy Eggs Benedict.

So not only can a vegetarian gob you off, they can also swallow with a clean conscience (and chin).

But vegans are a completely different kettle of fish (or mung beans). Due to their very strict rules, they cannot 'do' any by products even if the animal is still alive, nor use the leftovers to make a nice handbag. No eggs, no dairy, no leather, and definitely no man-milk.

Yet this doesn't mean they can't put your cock in their mouth. As long as you don't shoot your load in there, they haven't broken any rules.

And you better be very careful where you do end up spraying your muck as you pull your tally whacker out. If they can't wear animal products, then you're probably not allowed to cum on their tits.

So - rules sorted, and next time your at a barbecue and some vegan checks that no meat products have come into contact with the vegan utensils, it's perfectly acceptable (and probably advisable), to check that her boyfriend hasn't spunked all over the ones reserved for the meat eaters.

Path rage

I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist this morning.

Not my fault, although she clearly thought it was, as she swerved to avoid me on the path just because I'd stopped and stepped sideways to get a clearer look at a little fluffy bird up a tree.

She lent round on her bike, and shouted "I rang my bell! Take your headphones out, or are you deaf?"

It was still too early to think of a witty response, so I just flipped the V's and carried on walking DOWN THE PATH. It was only as she peddled away that my morning brain started to rouse, and I considered the pointlessness of her question.

Why the fuck would I have headphones in if I was deaf? And if I was a deafer, would that really justify her shouting at me for not hearing her ring her bell as she charged towards me?

Can you imagine this women making her excuses to an ambulance crew if I actually had been deaf and she'd plowed into me? I doubt it. Maybe in her world deaf people should carry a big sign warning cyclists so they know to give them a wide berth.

It seems to be the general attitude of cyclists in Cambridge that they can do what the hell they like. Cyclists would maintain that it's car drivers that are to blame, and make the road so unsafe for use that they are forced to cycle on the pavements.

As I both drive and cycle (although much less of the latter these days), then I can say that they are both as bad as each other. I know if I'm in the car, I need to check all the mirrors constantly because they can come at you from anywhere, at anytime.

I firmly believe that if you hit a cyclist at who has not got lights on their bike, it is not only okay, it's perfectly acceptable to throw the car into reverse and back over the twat just to drive the point home that it is nigh on impossible to see them.

And if I'm on my bike, then the reverse applies. Assume every parked car is about to throw open it's door in your path. Always leave at least 2 feet of road to your left, so when someone overtakes you, but forgets he has wing mirrors, you've still got a bit of space to avoid bundling under the car when he nudges you of your bike.

But the one saving grace of motorists, is at least they stick to the bloody rules. They don't fly through pedestrian crossings because they think they can swerve round the poor souls on it.
They don't suddenly drive on the path if there's a traffic jam, or because it's safer because the road is full of big nasty lorries that are bigger than them.

But cyclists on the other hand (or the majority of at least) just do what they damn well please.

So tell me madam, if you're cycling like a lunatic on the path because the road is too dangerous, then where the hell am I supposed to go as a pedestrian?

Maybe I should just crawl in the gutter. It would probably be quite fitting.

Can you hear me?

I nearly ended up with my first cybernetic implant today.

Well almost, I got a bit of wire mesh stuck in my ear.

And in fairness, it wasn't really stuck, as a bit of head tilt and a couple of bashes on the opposite side freed the offending article.

I'm not in the nature of sticking things in my ear, but this little bastard had managed to free itself from my headphones, and was intent on burrowing it's way into my head.

It's probably (definitely) my own fault, as I'd recently taken them apart and poked and scraped at them with the pointy end of my broken, yet still functional sunglasses (the plastic ear thingies have fallen off, but I'm not going to chuck away a pair of Ray Bans with intact lenses just because I've had to bend the arms a little bit to stop them falling off).

I've got a pair of in-ear headphones, and they have a little wire mesh in them to protect the speakery bit, that would be perfect for making the worlds smallest cup of tea, or sieving flour for a teeny weeny Victoria sponge. They'd got a bit clogged up with general ear debris, so I'd pulled them apart and removed said gunk, and in the process managed to dislodge one of the filters.

I pushed it back in, but was aware that it might not be completely stable, but love the sound they make, so didn't want the inconvenience and expense of having to replace them.

Because headphones are important, and should never be underestimated for the difference they make to a good tune.

Nothing, well few things, make me more irrationally annoyed than seeing some tosser with their ipod sat on the table in front of them, or held out in front of them, with a pair of shitty apple earphones that come supplied with them.

Yes you've got an ipod. Well done for that.

Even on the bus or out in town when the ipod is in the offenders pocket, I see those cheap nasty headphones and get the urge to rip them out their ears and shove them up their arse, because that is where they belong.

The apple earphones are just a wanky status symbol that says 'No, I haven't got a generic mp3 player, mines an ipod, because I'm really cool'

Everyone's got one. Get over yourselves and learn to appreciate it for what it actually does, rather than just using it as a status symbol.

Wake up call. The headphones that came with your ipod are cheap and nasty, and that's exactly why they came with it. If there were none supplied, there would be an outcry because you wouldn't be able to use it, so Steve Jobs has tried to please everyone, by supplying a pair that are functional, and yet so cheap they are disposable.

They don't fit in your ears properly, so all the noise (which is tinny and bassless) goes straight into the skin below your ear, rather than the ear canal itself. Even if you do manage to get them balanced, if you so much as blink one of them will shift and the balance is shot to bits. And because they don't deliver the sound into your ear, you end up having to turn the volume up even louder, which fucks your battery life, increases distortion, and forces everyone else to listen to what you are, which is not necessarily a good thing if your ipod is having a hissy fit, and is also just plain rude. If I want to listen to something, I'm polite enough to realise that not everyone else will too, so please do me the courtesy of reciprocating the civilities.

Decent headphones come in a range from as little as £20 for a vast improvement on the freebies, to several hundred pounds for some noise cancelling, gold plated contacts, sweet, sweet 'phones.

Rather than bundling in a £20 pair, that the aficionado will have to pay the extra on the price of their ipod for, but still not use, you get the shit pair, then you, the consumer decides how much extra you want to pay for the listening experience, keeping the price of the ipod itself as low as possible.

I don't know what else works on a similar principle. Dress shirts perhaps? Blokes (and women who shop for their blokes because we are a bit shit at clothes shopping) will know that sometimes when you buy a double cuffed shirt, it comes with these knotted bits of string on the cuffs enabling you to do them up. Purely functional. Nobody in their right mind would go out with these pseudo cufflinks, but there are people with wrong minds that do, just as there are people with wrong minds that listen to music through the abominations that they got free with their ipod.

No, instead of bundling in an expensive pair of cufflinks, you get just enough to make the shirt work if your too stupid to realise that what your supposed to do is decide whether you want to get an attractive, and perfectly usable pair from Next, or spend a months wages on some that you swear make all the difference, but still look like the Next ones to everyone else.

So what I'm really advocating is you don't need to spend hundreds on a pair of headphones, but please spend at least £20. Mine were £30 - and I'd never pay more than that, and I don't want to have to replace them for the sake of a little bit of metal that could potentially get stuck in my brain.

But if I catch you with a pair of the one's that were bundled in the box, I'm going to cut them off, and you know where they're going. I bet the acoustics are great up there, but you know what? I bet you still wouldn't appreciate them.

There can be only one

On our last day in Rio, our flight to Manaus was not until late evening, and hotel check out was mid morning. They were kind enough to hold our main luggage in store for the day, whereas there were lockers available in the changing rooms poolside to hold our hand luggage, so we could still come and go as we pleased, with full access to any odds and sods we might need for the day.

Plans to spend late morning and early afternoon poolside were suddenly scuppered with the arrival of a tropical storm, which meant sitting in the poolside bar, gazing out the window and listening to the world being drowned out by the persistent and insistent cacophony that is guaranteed to ruin any holiday.



Fucking Americans.



Not happy with the barmans inability to control the weather, thus preventing them taking a cable car up Sugar Loaf, they screeched at each other in their nasally twang about everything, and yet nothing.

I'm sure that in the land of the free and home of the brave etc...you can not be sacked at a job interview for refusing to let your employer see your Facebook page - largely due to the fact you can't really be sacked from a job you don't yet have, and secondly, because it's just plain fucking stupid.

I know we've all heard of occasions where people have slagged off their employer on Facebook, and then they've got wind of it, but the whole 'I insist on vetting all your friends and check out photo's of you out boozing', before giving someone a job is just nonsense - as was pretty much all they had to say.

My main umbrage was when Mrsslippy went to get her bag out the locker, and couldn't find it.

Not her fault - despite the lockers being numbered, her key didn't open the locker of that number, but she'd somehow managed to circumnavigate this, and by chance locked it in the locker next to it with a different number. When she returned to the changing room and saw the locker with her keys number on it open...well...she was a bit concerned. I had both passports, but there was purse, ipod, camera, and loads of clothes that could all be replaced, but it would have been a major pain in the arse for her to have to do that.

Mother Slippy said she'd been given that locker key originally, and it wouldn't lock, so she'd had to get a different one.

It was all starting to look a bit arse.

The bar staff and pool assistant spoke enough English to provide booze and towels, and nothing more, so trying to explain to them that we had a missing bag mostly met with knowing nods and smiles, but nothing behind the eyes to give the faintest indication that they had a clue what we were talking about.

It was at that point that one of the Yanks decided to stick his oar in.

He'd been listening to our predicament, and I thought he was trying to help. Not so. It would appear his friends were bored of listening to him, but he was yet to be tired of his own voice, so thought he'd come and bother us.

"Where are you guys from?" he drawled.

"England" I mumbled under my breath, trying not to engage or make eye contact.

"I'm from America". No shit. I'd never have guessed. Now fuck off we're in the middle of something here.

"Are you from London?". Why do they always ask that? Yes we all live in London, and know the Queen, apart from a small pocket of us who come from Liverpool and used to hang out with The Beatles.

"No" seemed an appropriate response to imply that I was not interested in conversation, and would rather he disappeared up his own self important arse.

"I'm from Texas". Again, I'd kind of worked that out, and again, really not interested.

Maybe he was starting to take the hint of my disinterest, as he started pursuing this game further with Mother Slippy.

"Are you from London?"

"No, Norwich"

"I've not heard of that"

"It's in the East of England, nearly as far east as you can get."

"Really??"

"In Norfolk"

"Oh, you have a Norfolk too? I never knew that!"

OF COURSE WE HAVE A FUCKING NORFOLK TOO, WE INVENTED IT YOU CUNT!!!

And it's full of rolling hills, and beautiful coastline, little churches and big windmills, mustard, and some of the finest little pubs selling some of the best beers you will ever taste in your life. linky

It's even got it's own California, and far prettier it is too.

And for the record, we've also got a Birmingham, Boston, Plymouth, Manchester, Bristol, Lincoln, Warwick, Winchester etc.....the list goes on.

I really shouldn't be surprised that arses from a country so self obsessed that it's perception of World Geography is so poor know very little about the etymology of their own place names.

I can name, and place reasonably accurately on a map, dozens of American Towns and cities, and place an accent pretty well too, yet when the tables are turned, we all come from London.

I was so tired and emotional, I had to let fly as only an Englishman at the end of his tether could.

I did some pretty severe tutting and head shaking as he swaggered back to his friends for an update on the weather.

Cunt

Suffice to say, we did find the bag, so there is a happy ending, and at least the Yanks haven't got a Grimsby.

If they'd claimed to have invented that too, I don't think I could take it any more.

Balls and beer

Huzzah and hey nonny nonny!

Mr & Mrs Slippy are on annual leave, which means no work until at least the 27th April, and a trip to Brazil to marvel at the wonders of the rain forest, and Matts massive foreskin, which due to deforestation is apparently losing at least 10 square centimeters of excess bell end brolly every day...

And what better way to celebrate, than a trip to the boozer, followed by a trip to the Chinky.

And what better way to annoy the hell out of me that by adding more superfluous machines to an already over inundated drinking hole.

If I were to stick a quid in every machine in the Robin Hood, it would cost me £25 I would walk away with...

• nowt out the cash machine. It only takes money when you take money, and I don't want to spend £6.50 to take £5 out
• nowt out the ciggy machine. I'd need to pump in £7 for 16 tabs. Thank fuck I've given up
• a packet of Smints
• 3 johnnies
• some jam rags - according to Mrs Slippy - I've never been there.....
• around 6 chocolate minstrels
• not enough skittles
• up to £25 out of one computerised game machine, but probably not.....
• up to £50 out of the two fruities, that are now also computerised, but again, highly unlikely
• 8 plastic balls out of the 8 plastic ball machines........

Because yes dear reader, what your average pub seems to require these days is a side serving of children's toys.

You know the type of thing I mean. A dispenser of frivolity that you see parked outside supermarkets, and other such areas where you might find demanding little shites.

And not suffice to just have one of these wholly inappropriate machines, the Robin Hood feels it needs eight.

In fairness, they are double stacker's, so they really only have four.


Four.....


And they've split them up, so there are only two machines in any one area (each dispensing two different variety of ball), so they're not really that obtrusive.

And two of them are stacked next to a fruity, so they're handy enough for your pikey parents to placate the kids by just chucking coins straight out of one machine into the next without even having to get their lazy arses off their stools, an action made easier by the handy drinks holders built into the fruity.







I can see why they need eight, because if they only had the one, what would they choose as the theme? Now kids can run around my sanctuary happy in the knowledge that if they need a pounds worth of badly produced plastic to throw around, they can take their pick from;

• Pokemon
• Barbie
• Spongebob Squarepants
• Ben 10
• Hello Kitty
• Marvel
• More Pokemon
• Dragonball Z
  

I half expect to have a ball pool and some kind of crazy jungle gymnasium installed in the pub by the time we get back off holibobs.

Call me old fashioned (because I am), but the boozer is for grownups. I've already stopped smoking in them, because we had to, and now I don't smoke at all thank you very much New Labour.


I get frowned at for swearing, because I might offend young Tarquin, and before you know it I'm going to be asked to move tables because I'm in the way of someone's fucking hopscotch.


Now a pint of Speckled Hen, a Bacardi and Diet Coke, and a Mr Crabs ball please landlord. We've got drinking and ballplay to get on with.




Mr & Mrs Angry , from Chinton

Dreadlock Holiday

"I say,
I don't like cricket - oh no,
I love it,
I don't like cricket - no no,
I love it,
Don't you walk thru my words,
You got to show some respect,
Don't you walk thru my words,
'Cause you ain't heard me out yet."

Or so said 10cc back in 1978.



Once wise words, but tonight, I'm pretty sure if I don't like it, in fact I'm rather disgruntled with the whole sorry affair.

Home from work with a couple of brews on board I fancy watching a bit of the second One Day International between the proud inventors of the game, and the Windies.

And what do I find? England all out for 117, and Windies sailing on 91-0

When did we get quite so shit? (Australians need not answer, it was a rhetorical question - however you may need to look up 'rhetorical' in a dictionary)

I know we did very poorly in the Test series, but I blame the pitches (or lack of). When we could bat, so could they. The only reason we won the first one dayer was because their coach (an Aussie), failed to understand the Duckworth-Lewis system (something to do with how many Coronation Street/Inspector Morse DVD's the opposing team can get through whilst it's either pissing it down, or too dark to be able to see which part of he seam to rub grit into), and pulled the Windies off (stop sniggering at the back) before they'd seen all the directors commentaries and making of featurettes.

WICKET!!!......oh fuck, what does it matter.....98-1.....

Mrsslippy has cunningly managed to procure tickets for an England v Australia one dayer, and I am already very afraid of the potential humiliation that we will be able to witness first hand.

A quick look at the BBC website informs me that Freddie was C&B for a duck on his return from injury, and KP only made 3. If memory serves, that's 17 in the first ODI and 12 in the second. If plotted on a graph, I reckon next time he'll score -1. Good luck with that Kev.

WICKET!!!...last chance recovery! They've only got 27 overs and 8 wickets spare to beat us...

Or not. All over before I could even be arsed to look back at he keyboard.




I don't like cricket - oh no

I despise it to the very core of my blackened, disillusioned heart.

Phone rage

God I hate phones.

I can tolerate my own one a little bit, because it’s not really a phone, it’s a little computer that I can talk to people on if I want to, search the interweb, take photo's to upload to Twitter, or find my way to the nearest pub in a strange town– but God forbid you should want to talk to me, because I probably won’t answer it.

Just to be on the safe side, I prefer to leave it on silent in case it goes off during a meeting at work. And just to be doubly safe, I leave it on silent on the way home, as I probably wouldn’t hear it with my head phones in.

I might turn it on during the evening – but what if someone dialled a wrong number overnight and woke me up because I forgot to silence it again? I had a call last night at 1am from ‘Jonny’ looking for ‘Eddie’ about a job. Fortunately the ringer was off, so I slept through it.

No, best to just leave it on silent all the time.

I wonder if Jonny found Eddie? Any ‘job’ that needs doing at 1 in the morning is probably highly suspect. I don’t know if Jonny sounded like an East End gangster, as I didn’t listen to the message, I read it, thanks to a nifty but of software called Spinvox, that takes your voicemail, and turns it into a text message. Not just another handy method of call evasion – it’s far easier in a meeting to check your voicemail if you can read it under the desk rather than quite obviously holding your phone to your ear. That’s my excuse anyway.

It actually works very well. The punctuation and grammar are generally correct, and you’d suspect it was just some guy in a call centre somewhere manually typing it out if it wasn’t for the odd wildly inappropriate guess at words. ‘Myleene from Autoglass’ turned into ‘my Informotor Glass’, but other than that, job done.

Call me old fashioned, but I liked the good old days where if I was down the pub, you’d have to wait for me to get home to speak to me, and I can control that. What I can’t control is other people using their phones to crowbar into a conversation that you were already having.

How many times have you been speaking to someone, only for their phone to go off, and suddenly you’re the second class citizen?

Yeah don’t mind me, I only dragged myself out of the house to see you, bought you a pint, and was halfway through an amusing anecdote, and now some fuckwit’s pushed me out the way, and you’re going to let them? Cheers.

If they’re the sort of person that will drop anything for a phone call, ring them while they’re still talking to the other person. They’ll probably apologise to them, saying there’s another call coming through (which is more than you got), and when they answer you, just call them an ignorant cock and hang up.


And if it’s not the phone of the person your with, it’s every other fucker in the pub. Why do some people find the need to have some shite polyphonic imitation of some risible Garage/Soul/ R&B bollocks that they insist on listening to all the way through before answering so everyone can see how cool they are?

You are not cool.


You are a cunt.


Please fuck off.



And the phone that I hate the most in the whole world? It’s the one that sits on my desk at work.

If I sat in an office on my own I would happily ignore it to my hearts content, but because other people can see me, every once in a while I feel obliged to pick it up. It's not because I'm lazy, but for a multitude of other very valid reasons.

Firstly, the whole rudeness thing. I have email. People email me in an orderly fashion. Lots of people. I can look through them, prioritise them, and make sure that every thing that is still what I consider low priority gets dealt with in a reasonable time scale. Stop trying to butt in.

I've got an answerphone. Leave me a message, and if I think it's so important that I have to drop what I'm currently doing, I'll ring you straight back.

Hell, if I recognise your voice and I like you, I might even pick the phone up. But do not expect to jump the queue just because you managed to mash 5 keys on a phone, rather than several on a keyboard.

Secondly, how can I prove how busy I am if I have no proof of what I'm being asked to do? Mail me, and I can log it. I'm certainly not going to write down every phone call I get, and even if I make notes, I probably won't be able to read them, or they'll end up buried under more notes from the next call.

And most important, and most likely – I have no idea who you are. There is no caller ID, no screening, and there's a very strong possibility that you just might be as thick as shit. I can spend 20 minutes explaining to someone how to type their name into an application, and still they don't get it.

I have spent the same amount of time trying to explain how to open Task Manager to someone who swore there was no ctrl key on the bottom left of their keyboard. Apparently all it said there was Start. That'll be your monitor then love. Keyboards the thing with the keys on it.

When your password no longer works, I haven't changed it you numpty. I have better things to do than deliberately generate calls from fuckwits who cannot remember their own name.

And no, you can't log in with your NI number as a password, because that's not what I asked you to do. Read the fucking email properly before you ring me.

And yes, If I sound like I'm being patronising when I speak to you, it's because I still have the 4 previous emails I've sent you when you've forgotten your password. If you go through life with the apparent IQ of a brain damaged donkey, then I will speak to you as such.

So please don't phone me. I won't answer it. Email me so I can pull stupid faces at the monitor to express through the power of performance art just how stupid I think you are.

Unless it's you dear reader. I'll always pick up for you.

That is as long as you haven't forgotten your password.

Then you can fuck off.

itunes is rubbish

Today I was teaching offsite, and due to mrsslippy being on an early, and me needing the car, the most sensible thing to do meant dropping her off, and going to Magog Court at 7am to catch up on some work in peace rather than come home again and fight the traffic later.

Teaching wasn't due to start until 9.30, so that meant some quality headphones in, sing-a-long time in an empty, isolated building.

But this morning, nothing seemed to please me musically. My ipod is set with multiple playlists. I have things hand picked to suit certain moods. I have rated everything in my library to make smart playlists such as 80's Gold (all 5 stars, 167 songs), 90's gold (all 5 stars, 396 songs), best of certain years, anything above 4 stars for certain years, decades etc..., or just anything 5 stars (966 songs).

You'd think if something was 5 stars that would mean it never got skipped, but skippy I was. And I don't think it's because my scoring is off, for these are all great songs. The good songs are just 4 stars. There are 3 star songs that I will listen to in the right frame of mind, or in the context of an Album. Bad songs are 2 stars, and I reserve 1 stars for audiobooks, soundclips etc.. so they never end up being played on random.

But there are some songs that never get skipped, no matter what mood I'm in. Unfortunately the ipod couldn't tell me what they were on it's own - I've had to wait to get home and have it talk to itunes to see what I play the most.

There is some debate on t'internet as how a song gets 'counted'. Some say you have to listen to it in it's entirity, others say its the last 5 seconds that matter, so in theory you can fast forward through a song, listen to the end, it it registers, but if you loved a song so much you skipback to the beginning before the last notes are played, it won't.

Being as I never do the former, and only occasionally do the latter, my play count should tell me what my favourite songs are. True, there is a large element of randomness due to the way the ipod shuffles what it wants to play you, and my predisposition for smart playlists means something will be at an unfair advantage.

But if I take this top 40, will it create me the ultimate playlist, or just a big pile of random shite that will be self perpetuating as the most played tunes.

Deep breath - here goes pop pickers, its my top 40....

40-31

40) All of my heart - ABC. Cracking start! I love this song. Just read those 80's lyrics, and remember Martin Frys gold lame suit.
39)The sun always shines on TV - a-ha. Another top tune. I was only thinking last year that it needed revisiting for a film soundtrack. Danny Boyle, you are spot on.
38)Empire - Kasabian. I honestly though this would be higher. At least it made the cut, if only just. Everybody now...la la la lahh, la la la lahhh,la la la lahhh.....
37) Standing in the way of control - The Gossip. Go girl. Beth Ditto - not too easy on the eye, but what a voice. Welcome to my top 40 Beth, now just budge over a bit and make room for.....
36)Times like these - Foo Fighters. Every chart should have some Foos. Dave Grohl is officially the nicest man in Rock, but still knows how to Roll.
35) Red Hill mining town -U2. I used to really like U2, and get a bit nostalgic about this one. Not their most pompous, and not even a single. I find it quite uplifting. It can stay.
34)Running to stand still - U2. Oh shit. More U2. Despite my protestations am I going to be revealed (or reviled) as a middle age MOR fanboy? I've also just noticed that the second last line isn't 'suffer unto me little children' - it's 'suffer the needle chill'. How odd. I prefer my version.
33)Wonderboy - Tenacious D. Pure, unadulterated, juvenile delight. "How 'bout the power to kill a yak, from 200 yards away... with mind bullets! That's telekinesis, Kyle" . Lyrically fantastic, and tuneful too, Jack Black is so much more than a gurning fool. I dare you to listen to it without singing along.
32)Crash -Primitives. Proper old school. I wonder what Tracy Tracy looks like now? She was mighty fine when I was an adolescent...
31)Lost Weekend - Lloyd Cole. More old school! I really am a child of the 80's aren't I? And yet still quite sophisticated. What will the rest of the countdown hold?

30-21

30) A new England - Kirsty MacColl. Better than Billy Braggs version (which is also 5 stars!), Kirsty is sadly missed. If you watched the video for Fairytale of New York with her and Shane McGowan in front of The Twin Towers back in the 80's and had to put a bet on which would be the only one still standing today, who'd have put money on Shane?
29)Town called Malice - The Jam. Joyous, and guaranteed to put a swagger in your step. I'm a bit dubious of Pauls hair at his age, but the modfather really knows how to lay down some lyrics.
28)Brilliant mind - Furniture. How odd for this to slip in? How avant guard. I certainly like it, but do I never skip it, or does the ipod just squirt it into my ears at every opportunity? Who knows? I wonder what didn't make the cut because of this?
27)This song - The Enemy. Yeah , they may look about 12, but this is great. Great song from a great album. It might be a more than a little derivative of Mr Wellers early stuff. I just hope they keep the under produced sound for their new album and don't go all polished and poncy.
26)Hungry like the wolf - Duran Duran. I'd have rather bathed in pus than admit to liking these nancy boys when I was at school, but ..shhhh...the singles were actually rather catchy and good. Ridiculous lyrics! I suspect (hope!) this isn't the only entry for them, just don't tell the cool kids.
25)Rock the Casbah - The Clash. Of course it's here! If it's not in your top 40, what ever are you doing? You shouldn't even own an mp3 player, as you are clearly deaf.
24)Never Never - The Assembly. Hmmm. It's ok. Ok enough for 5 stars, but as I've already established there are nearly 1000 5 star songs on my ipod, and I can think of several more that I'd rather listen to than Feargals nasally whinging.
23)Flourescent adolescent - Arctic Monkeys. Finest wordsmith of our generation. Except he's not my generation. Alex is only 23. Jammy git. Fantastic tune though, and well worthy of the top 40.
22)Step on - Happy Mondays. Shaun Ryder -Scoundrel, poet, God. Get baggy and twist your melons man. For every time I catch myself walking like Bez when I'm out in public, Madchesters finest, I salute you.
21)Stronger - 30 seconds to Mars. The Kanye West song covered as you've never heard it before, unless you already have, then go and listen to it again. The link is a YouTube jobby. Beautiful and haunting - didn't Jared Leto just use to be a shit actor?

20-11

20) With every heartbeat - Robyn. Bear with me! OK, the single is a bit dancy for my usual tastes, but this is acoustic for Radio 1's Live Lounge and it is another beautiful, haunting track. I'm a sensitive soul, OK?
19)Tribute- Tenacious D. See, sensitive....More bombastic sing-a-long from the D. Go on. Sing along, or at least do Dave Grohls devil bits while sticking your nose up like Tubbs and Edward Tattsyrup.
18)Fans - Kings of Leon. The latest album is winning awards left right and centre, but this earlier effort is a real doozy. Particularly the Live Lounge version, which is the one that made my top 20.
17) Pretty in pink - The Psychedelic Furs. One hit wonders from a shit film, but a timeless classic. Personally, I thought she was prettier, and a damn sight more interesting, in black.
16) Knights of Cydonia - Muse. Huzzah! Yet it still should be higher. Maybe it's because it's so long I can be nearly at work before the lyrics even kick in. But it's that riff that makes it just so god damn kick ass. I swear one day my head will fall off on the bus when I just have to headbang along.
15)Life on your own - Human League. What the fuck? Did I even give this 5 stars? Apparently I did (amends itunes). And yet somehow it still managed to get itself played more times than Knights of Cydonia??? I am befuddled. itunes is fucking with me.
14)Take a bow - Muse. More good stuff from Mat and the boys. I fairness, this is one album that I return to time and again and listen to in it's entirety.
13)Supermassive blackhole - Muse. Lordy there's even more of it! I should either remove them from some playlists, or stop listening to the album. They're making me look like a stalker.
12)Learn to fly - Foo Fighters. Yay for more Foos. I think I love this song because when I hear it it makes me think of Dave G dressed as a school girl. That's not how I get my kicks, it's just the video is a hoot, and it's a look that kinda suits him.
11)Heavyweight champion of the World - Reverend and the Makers. Great stuff, and highly deserving of a top 20 spot, even if John has gone a bit weird, as has his hair. The 3rd Sheffield band to hit my chart (name the other two for a bonus point!). Is it a mecca for great music, or are my northern roots just showing. There are still 10 spots to go, and so there may be room for more, with Pulp and the Thompson Twins noticeably absent. But then so are Def Leppard......

10-2

10)Martha's Harbour - All About Eve. I make no apologies for this winsome, pseudo-goth pop lullaby. I like her voice, and I stand by it's appearance.
9)Umbrella - Biffy Clyro. Another fantastic cover version from Radio One's Live Lounge. Stripped down to it's basics, it's a welcome alternative to the Rhianna version that was so inescapable for so long.
8)F.E.A.R - Ian Brown. Fantastic enigmatic artist reigns. Fabulously entertaining alliterative record. Do you see what I did there? But I'm not worthy to wipe Ian Browns arse for this clever word play over a strings and beats trip out. If the Planet of the Apes really is the future of mankind, then this ex Stone Rose is king of the monkey men.
7)Steady as she goes - The Raconteurs. Starts out reminiscent of Joe Jacksons 'Is she really going out with him', then turns into a thrashy killer track, from a stand out album of 2006, but where is the rest of it?
6)Starlight - Muse. Even more from Black Holes & Revelations. I am a sad fanboy....
5)Rio - Duran Duran. I knew there'd be more. And so high! Great song, great video, more ridiculous lyrics. The top 10 is looking pretty good so far.
4)Oblivious - Aztec Camera. Now we've gone weird. It's a catchy little tune, but surely not number 4. Something is going pear shaped.
3)Don't tell me - Blancmange. Even more from the world of wrong. Yes it's a good song, but no, it's not number 3. It's not even their best song, which for me will always be their electro synth cover of Abba's 'Day before you came'
2)L.S.F. - Kasabian. Thank god for that, we're back on track with more swagger than you can wave a shitty stick at. The dance/rock cross over with psychedelic lyrics and a shout along chorus rules supreme.

So we're nearly there. What is the track that itunes chooses to throw at me more times than anything else, and in return I say, why thank you itunes, I thank I'll have a little listen to that.

There's so much good music, so many good bands that haven't even had a mention yet.

Where are you White Stripes, Nirvana, Green Day, Jamie T? Jarvis? Where have you hidden Pulp?

You guilty pleasures of my youth - yes Wonderstuff, NEDs, Carter USM, I'm talking to you, I know you're about somewhere.

Come on you clever sensitive boys, I know I sometimes knock you, and you're terribly shy, but you can shuffle forwards Radiohead, Coldplay, Keane, Snow Patrol.

The Cure, Pixies, Gorillaz, Embrace, Blur, Blink-182, Supergrass, Ash, Oasis...Girls Aloud... I could go on...one of you must be my top played song.


So I can reveal that the proud number one spot goes to...


Slippys Number 1




Mirror Man - The Human League.





itunes has fucked me over big time. Not even their best song, which for the record would be 'Together in Electric Dreams', not 'Don't you want me.

I believe my favourite song to be Life on Mars by David Bowie. I've loved it long before the TV show of he same name raised it's public awareness again, but I wouldn't use it's popularity to wilfully snub it, but it would appear itunes would. Not only not in the Top 40, it actually comes in at a woeful 127th!!

itunes claims to have Genius software that predicts what I should be listening due to my playcounts and whats in my library. And being as it has already stitched me up with what it thinks I should listen to, what does it now think I should buy to complement this?

Albums by Bucks Fizz, The Offspring, and Northside.

Well thanks, but no thanks itunes. You can fuck off. Tomorrow, I'm just going to listen to Chris Moyles.

Facebook Fatigue

I think I'm suffering from Facebook fatigue.

I'll be the first to confess that I was one of those people who used to be dumbfounded to be told by a friend that they weren't on it.

'But it's great', I would protest. 'You can keep in touch with people really easily'.

Too easily....

How many friends have you got? Not Facebook friends, but real ones, that you genuinely care about?

And how many Facebook friends? I've got 129 at the moment. Not an enormous amount by a lot of peoples standards, but still probably more than I need.

There are people I went to school with, people who I know from work, and people who I don't really know why I know. It's nice to hear from folks you haven't heard of in ages and to read their news, but what I really don't need is to be asked to join any more causes, and the more friends you have, the more invites you get....

To me, Facebook Causes are the online blight of an apathetic society. It's wearing your heart on your sleeve and claiming the moral high ground whilst doing fuck all about it. A token gesture that says, 'yeah, I agree'. The self affirming nod of the self righteous.


There are currently 11,250 causes in the environment section on Facebook. The top one is 'Stop Global Warming', with 2,629,884 members, who care enough about the environment to sit at home and stick a little tab on their page that says 'I care about the environment me, aren't I nice.

I'm not dissing the concept. The philosophy of the group looks right and sensible. But what are this army of 2.6 million followers going to do other than feel smug because they believe in the principle? Why donate of course! And they feel so impassioned about supporting the initiative that between them they have donated a massive $31,018.

Shit, that's just over a cent each! They really do care!

Maybe I'm being cynical and cruel. You don't need to spend money to help cut global warming, so maybe they don't need that many donations, just help by following their advice on cutting energy use etc..

So what causes might need money? What would drive someone to say, 'I know this is not going to get fixed without some financial aid - I shall give, and let the world know I have given'.

Hmmm........ Cancer research? That's a nasty killer, that takes young and old without impunity. That's going to take more than a petition to sort. They need cold hard cash. Yes - where can I donate to Cancer research, and let the world know about it?

The biggest cause by membershipsize on the whole of Facebook is The Race to End Cancer


They have 4.7 million members


These members have donated $43k


That is not even a cent each.


Shame on you.


If you have the audacity to claim that you support a charity or cause that needs money, THEN FUCKING GIVE THEM SOME. If not, stop being a weak woolly liberal claiming to believe in everything that is good in the World, without either action, or putting your hand in your pocket.

Now if I say that I support a few charities, but don't name them, nor how much they get from me, does that mean I'm taking the smug moral high ground? Probably - I guess I'm just a hypocrite. Much like the rest of you I think cancer, poverty, and the treatment of our elderly population are all bad things, so I give what I can, when I can, and should probably give more. But what I won't do is tell everyone every time I do.

So I won't accept any of your requests to follow causes, however important they may seem to be. And believe me, if they are, then I will support them in my own way.

And if you choose to follow them yourself, then for fucks sake do it properly. It should be about helping make a difference, not just making a statement.

Now text climb 5 times to 88808, and don't tell anyone you did it....