Hotrod Cow

Rejected as a spin off series from the multi award winning best TV show on earth ever, Doctor Who, Hotrod Cow was planned to be the tale of a many uddered bovine superheroine, tearing around the highlands of Scotland in a souped up Austin Allegro.

Never getting past the pilot episode, we have instead the also cleverly anagramed spin off from the multi award winning best TV show on earth ever, Doctor Who - Torchwood.

And instead of a hairy polytit in a car, we have a massive tit in a trench coat.

Torchwood is supposed to be an 'adult version', of Doctor Who. If adding the odd 'piss', 'paedo', and 'fart' into the script makes something adult, then maybe it's not safe for pre watershed. But is that enough to make it an adult show, or is it just Doctor Who Light, made edgy with a big swear?

You could take the other spin off from the multi award winning best TV show etc....., The Sarah Jane Chronicles (a CBBC show - deffo for the kids), and turn it into an adult show by having her diddle herself stupid while K9 shoves his extendable eyepiece up her extended ringpiece, but it would still be just Doctor Who without the Doctor.

So is Torchwood sexy enough to make you want to touch wood? Is it scary enough to make you touch cloth? Or do you just want to torch the wooden actors?

It has returned to our screens this week in some kind of nightly extravaganza. Event television to force us into watching BBC1 every night, and play havoc with all the stuff that's already been series linked on Sky+

It started predictably enough. Grotesque lifeforms, fat and misshapen. Dribbling and spewing out words in an incomprehensible, alien guttural language.

Still, if you film in Cardiff, it is cheaper to use the locals as extras....

And yet even more terrifying than that, is the novel plot device used to creep us all out.

Never used before, except maybe in The Village of the Damned, The Omen, Children of the Corn, The Exorcist, Ringu, The Grudge.....erm.....Torchwood, and countless others....

Scary children.

Cheap, readily available, and fucking frightening without even the need for prosthetics, kids freak the hell out of me, especially when they all start doing the same pointy thing on mass, much like Donald Sutherland and his mates at the end of Invasion of the Bodysnatchers.

But the scary kids are just a precursor of bigger scarier things to come. The 456 are coming (not to be confused with Species 8472 from Star Trek Voyager), and the Government has made a special toxic gas filled tank for them to beam into, because as any self respecting Brit knows, if aliens wanted to come to earth, they would definitely come to London rather than Washington. There's more to see and do, and what with the Olympics round the corner, it's definitely the place to be.

However, interstellar travel does not seem to suit these creatures well. We've not yet been able to have a good look at them through the fug in their isolation tank, and it's not helped by the fact that they spew pea soup vomit down the glass every few minutes whilst squealing like a pig having it's neck slit open/Katie and Peters rendition of 'A whole new world'.

We'd better get a decent look at it in the next show. We're already 3 hours in, and I'm starting to suspect that the big reveal is going to be a bit of a let down. What's often scariest is what you don't see, so maybe they'll go down the 'keep it hidden' route.

And the biggest and scariest reveal we've had so far? The one thing that really should have stayed hiden? It's got to be the grainy image of John Barrowmans cock on a video monitor, then his bare arse covered in concrete dust, as he wandered naked and bewildered round a quarry in Wales.

This definitely nudges it way past adult entertainment, and well into not appropriate viewing for anyone.

So don't bother watching Torchwood. It is just Doctor Who Cares? Adult in attitude, but not in plotting or pace. A bit of swearing, gay characters, and a bit of gore doesn't make it into a grown up show, it just makes it Doctor Whos little brother trying to show off to impress his mates.

If you want to see real heroes battling hideous aliens in Cardiff, there's still another 4 days of "The First Ashes Test" there before the war moves on to London, and Lords.

Or "Fist Testes Sheather" as my hastily penned spin off series will be called. Or maybe "Te Shit Arse Thefts"I really haven't decided...All I do know is, it'll be better than Torchwood.

Big Bang Theory

Much as Mrsslippy and I enjoy watching enormously funny Big Bang Theory, I sometimes worry that she sees a little too much of me in some of the characters, particularly Sheldon.

Fair enough, I may have a few nerdy tendencies, but have conclusive proof that I am nothing like the caricatures of geekdom that grace the screen...

1. They all own padded dressing up costumes based on DC Superhero 'The Flash'. My padded Superhero Costume is Batman, who is also from DC comics.
2. They spend a lot of time playing video games, and are obsessed with playing Halo. I am not. It makes me motion sick. I much prefer to play Resident Evil, Doom, any of the Lego themed stuff, Super Bros. Smash Brawl, or anything based in the Star Wars Universe.
3. They think Captain Kirk walks on water. He doesn't. Jean Luc Picard does.
4. They are such creatures of habit that they have a Chinese meal every Thursday. We don't. We have fajitas every Friday. And fish and chips every Saturday lunchtime
5. They play Boggle in Klingon, which I wouldn't be able to do. Well not win it anyway, as the only Klingon I know is HIja (yes), ghobe' (no), and Ka'Pla!
6. They have stacks of comics kept in plastic bags to protect them. Only my Fantastic Fours and V for Vendettas are in plastic bags. The rest are well thumbed, as are my graphic novels.
   
7. They've got a couple of telescopes in their flat. I only have one.
8. They have several laptops dotted around their flat, I only have three, and one is pretty dead , and another pretty unreliable (but if I need to get on the internet and Mrsslippy is on the good one, I can still use my phone, my Wii, or my DS )
9. They play World of Warcraft, which I haven't played for nearly a year (after nearly 1500 hours of game play)
10. Sheldon refuses to accept Loop Quantum Gravity theory as a method of unifying quantum mechanics, insisting on String Theory, whereas I am happy to consider both of them as possible concepts.
11. None of them have the coordination to play any team sports, whereas I am great at.......oh fuck it.....you've got me bang to rights on that one.
12. I HAVE A REAL GIRLFRIEND

Yes Mrsslippy, as if the other 11 reasons (ok, 10 because of the sport one) weren't reason enough, you are the living, breathing proof that I am not a lonely sad geek.


I'm a happily attached sad geek.

HESTVS BLVMENTHVS

Heston's back, and he's gone all Romanesque. I'm hoping he serves hors d'oeuvres a la Monty Python's Life of Brian snack seller at the Colosseum.

He's promising a feast fit for Caligula. That'll be feasting on a horses cock then...

..raw...

..and still attached...

..and twitching and throbbing...

..yum.



Tonight's guests include;
Danny Wallace(presumably still in 'Yes Man' mode, Greta Scatchi, and the posh(er) one from Armstrong and Miller - you know - the one that flogs Pimms, and rent-a-loon in loons, The Marquis of Bath.

Well the hors d'oeuvres aren't a kick in the arse from larks' tongues, wrens' livers, chaffinch brains, jaguars' earlobes and wolf nipple chips.

Nipples are on the menu. Pigs nipple scratchings. You dirty bastard. You're at it again ruining a perfectly good pub snack. I like pork scratchings, even when they're still bristly, but if the nipples were hairy, then that'd be just wrong.


Starter, calves brain custard, which at the moment he's mixing with Thai fish sauce. The one that really stinks (but I like). Strangely every unsuspecting member of the public that he cons into tasting it immediately bokes it back. Can't imagine why...

Under the belief that it's the fish sauce that's ruining the tasty brains, as it's not 'proper bo' , he's off in search of some mackerels guts to ferment, as this would be 'authentic'. We're also reliably informed that Worcester Sauce is made from fermented anchovies. No it's not, they drill for it round the back of the Cathedral, just like there's a HP Sauce well just behind the Houses of Parliament.

As if we'd put rotten fish on a nice bit of cheese on toast!

Main course is a Trojan Hog with sausages for intestines. Could be safe to eat, but who knows how he plans to defile it yet...

Just so we can be sure that the 'intestines' look realistic, we're treated to the sight of a real pig being gutted. Unnecessary. Thank god I've already eaten.

And how do you boil a whole pig? Why 24 hours in a hot tub of course! I think he's taking the whole Roman Bath thing to extremes. Danny Wallace just said on Twitter that he believes he's one of the few people in the world to have eaten a pig cooked in a Jacuzzi. I'm sure there are several people out there who've had a gobble on Michael Winner...

Then with the aid of an endoscope he's stuffing a hollowed out spit roasted pig with the rankest sausages you've ever seen, all lubricated with some yellow/brown fluid that looks suspiciously like faecal fluid to me. I really don't want to see them slop out onto the table.

OH MY GOD...that is gross.

Dessert will be ejaculating cakes. The Romans had some kind of phallic pudding that jizzes fruit juice and saffron custard, but what he says he really wants is a 'bubbling' effect, rather than a grand spurt.

Heston, you've spent too long standing in front of an industrial microwave if your spunk gun doesn't so much shoot, as bubble out a frothy love custard. There's something seriously wrong with you.

A center piece of a statue with a gigantic cock is brought out followed by....



Chocolate sponge bell end!

Nice!

Danny Wallace is well out of his comfort zone, and who can blame him with the batty Marquis of Bath marvelling at the tables centre piece, and contemplating what he would do if he had a 2 foot cock.

'Pour your juices into the hole' says the maitre d with no sense of irony whatsoever.

And what do they like most about it? It's got space dust in it. You can't take credit for that, you can buy it in the corner shop for 10p.

Yep, Roman Heston is just as bonkers and sex obsessed as he has been in other time periods, and is a master of showmanship, but that food had better taste good, because once again, the ingredients are just plain wrong.

Heston Bloominmad

Tonight sees the latest instalment of Heston Blumenthals series of bonkers food as the culinary clown prince goes all Tudor.

The Christmas special he did was incredible, but edible gold frankincense and myrrh not too easy to replicate in the home kitchen.

The Victorians gave us absinthe and dildo jelly, Medieval England had edible tableware. What can the Tudors give us?

Bring it on!

He’s promising extravagant, flamboyant an spectacular, but can he deliver?

I’m already a little put off my own dinner by what’s on the screen, but at least we won’t be eating Cilla Black, or at least I hope not. There’s some imagery I don’t want to get into, especially not with the equally unsavoury Kelvin MacKenzie.

First off, he’s making Butter Beer in St Albans. It reminds me of the warm cider you get at the Cambridge Folk Festival. Warm, sweet and acidic, with lumps in it. Vomit in a glass. Bleugh. Pint of Broadside please landlord.

Starter - more wobbly food, frog blancmange. You dirty bastard. He’s in a Chinese kitchen in New York learning how to prepare them. I don’t think we really needed to see them get their heads cut off while still alive. As anyone who knows me will confirm I’ll eat anything, but I’m not convinced that I really want frog blancmange, although it does look very pretty with the deep fried frogs legs on lily pads.

Next, Cockentrice. A mythical creature of half pig, half capon. Easily confused these Tudors. You’d think you’d notice it just two animals sewn together. Think manbearpig from South Park, or The Beast of Royston Vasey.

“Isn’t that just a cock with the head of a pig?”. “Yes - It’s Kelvin Mackenzie. He used to edit the Sun”, I thank you…

Unhappy with the simplicity of this, he’s gone to a taxidermists to experiment with proper animashes, but is just fucking about with soft toys, which mrsslippy finds most disturbing. There’s fluff everywhere….

Cockentrice finally on the table, and as great as to looks, there ain’t a lot of meat in it, and as mrsslippy quite correctly points out - it looks like spam. Even Kelvin is finally happy. Fuckwit.

Dessert is a pudding. Rice pudding. I don’t like the stuff at the best of times, so what crazy twist is he going to put on it? If he’s using ‘special milk’ ie anything that doesn’t come from a teat, or the teats of a person, then I’m turning it off.

Nooooo - he’s defiling a sausage skin by stuffing it with rice pudding! If you gave me a sausage filled with that muck I’d punch your face in.

Fuck me it gets worse. He’s decided the sausage skin is too difficult to peel to get the goodness out. He needs something sausage shaped that is waterproof and lubricated…..

You guessed it.

You filthy fucker. He’s cooking rice pudding in condoms then trying to pass it off as a sausage. No wonder everyone in his restaurant got ill. The man is sick. Seriously sick.

All in all it’s all done with smoke and mirrors. Looks impressive, but is it style over content? Probably.

I’m off to dig the pistachio ice cream out the freezer. I might roll it into little balls and smother it in chocolate sauce so I can pretend it’s peas and gravy, but then again, I’ll probably just eat it out the tub.

Bloody Yorkshire

I've finally got round to watching the first episode of Channel 4's 'challenging' drama, Red Riding, and good as it was, fuck me it was bleak.

Not so much of a 'who done it?' as a 'how was it?', and if it's gritty realism is true, then living oop North the 70's was pretty shit. Born in Grimsby in 1972, I was over in Hull when the programme was set (1974), and moved to Chesterfield in 1976, before moving to the safety of the South a couple of years later, where I have been exiled ever since.

Whereas the 70' s of Sam Tyler in Life on Mars were rose tinted, with flared trousers, cartoon coppers, and perpetual blue skys, the spectacles worn by Red Riding were nicotine stained and smeared in stale chip fat. Brick dust and concrete blended into a murky grey sky where rain was always imminent, or already here. Policemen didn't call you a nonce and give you a slap, you were stripped, bound, gagged, tortured and tormented, and that's for trying to catch a child murderer, not being one. Tough times indeed.

I'm sure I've got some photos of me back in the day where the sun is shining, but the ones that are close to hand were all taken indoors. Probably because it was pissing down outside.

Nostalgia can play nasty tricks on you. I've probably got skewed memories of really good times in the 70's. I've already found due to the power of the internet that one of my favourite shows, Animal Kwackers, had really ropey opening titles, but I thought they were great.

And were politicians as corrupt as TV drama would have us believe? The only politician I was aware of as a Northern child was that lovely lady who stopped us from having to drink tiny bottles of milk with tiny blue straws before we were allowed to go out to play. It was always warm from being left out in a crate in the playground all morning, and absolutely rank. Such a nice, sweet lady for saving us from that. I wonder what ever happened to her? 'Thatcher' I think her name was.....

And the food was great, although I wasn't too keen on the beefy Findus Crispy Pancakes (mrsslippy still eats them! Dirty girl!!), and you couldn't get any sun dried tomatoes or ciabatta.

I used to love the Cherryade that the milkman left. I vaguely remember it being in a cool (to me ) advert, but I can't find it on Google or YouTube.

And those toys! I had a Six Million Dollar Man with a bionic eye and a bit of plastic circuitry hidden under a rubbery layer of skin on his arm that I honestly believed if I tucked it up my sleeve it would make me stronger. And an Evil Knievel that would drive for at least 2 feet before careering off to the side and falling over.

No, the 70's were ok. Sure, they weren't a patch on the 80's, but not quite as depressing as the little patch of Yorkshire I've just spent the last 2 hours watching

Tomorrow I'm going to watch part 2. Two hours of light entertainment around the hunting of the Yorkshire Ripper. How can that not be a good thing?

Lost on Lost

I'm really enjoying the latest series of Lost, and that's series as in not season. There are only three things that come in seasons - weather, football, and cricket.

So the series cracks on with more twists and turns than a Trinidadian cricket ball, although to be fair that's not saying much since another flat pitch is producing no movement on the ball, and another dull draw is on the cards.

No, the series cracks on with more twists and turns that Andy Proudlock destroying Lincolns defence to complete his hatrick, and end the game at Grimsby 5-1 Lincoln. Probably about as believable too, except the latter really did happen.

We all have our theories as to what is happening, so here goes with where we're at so far...

Richard Alpert is key. We have seen him at several times over the islands existence. He is always the same age. Last night we saw him in 1974 coming into the Dharma camp. He could cross the sonic barrier, and told Horace 'we can cross it without problems' (or words to that effect). We as in The Others, or we as in something else?

At the start of the show we saw a large statue from behind when Sawyer et al. jumped to what we assume was many,many years ago. The early inhabitants of the island worshipped a God. Was it an ancient race of Gods? Was Richard one of them? Is that why he doesn't age, and appears to wear eyeliner like an ancient Egyptian? We've seen lots of Ankh symbols. Are they red herrings?

Maybe when the islanders move back in time they don't age until they catch up with what their real age is.

The fact we don't see the statues face is clearly because it's going to be a big reveal, and probably someone we know. But the person it most resembles from behind is Sawyer.....I feel a planet of the Apes moment coming on. I think we've seen this statue again in 'present time', but only one foot remains, and it only had 4 toes. Keep an eye out for Sawyers feet....

We're led to believe that timelines are fixed and you cannot change history. Maybe you can, maybe it has already been changed countless times, but as with relativity, it is shown from the characters current perspective, so it will always seem fixed as viewed by them.

But Desmond has seen the future. He has gone back in time many times, and relived his life over and over in a Groundhog Day existence. he doesn't remember everything, but each time he he changes something, fate finds a way to reset everything as it should be. He had seen Charlie die several times before he finally bit the bullet in the submarine.

When the plane crashed this time, it was another Groundhog moment. The flashbacks to characters back stories are irrelevant, hence medical histories (paralysis, cancer etc..) have not necessarily presented themselves in this version of history, hence are now gone. Fate keeps pulling them to where they need to be.

Something terrible has happened on the island in the future, and Ben, Jim Robinson, and Richard keep going back to try to stop it. The more they tinker the worse it gets. Sayer ends up going back thousands of years and becomes a God....


He's currently using the name La Fleur, as in the flower....


The flower is a hint to the Orchid station - the main control centre for moving the island through time....


Orchid come from the Greek meaning of testes...


OF COURSE!!!!


ITS ALL BOLLOCKS!!!

Evil Mastermind or Masterchef?

Never in the field of entertainment have so so many scallops bravely laid down their lives for the sake of television.

After innumerable dishes by some of the finest (and worst) amateur cooks in the country, we have a winner who doesn't strictly come from this country anyway. Suspicions are that he comes from New Zealand, but if you listen closely he gives himself away. He's from Mongo.

The 2009 Masterchef winner is none other than Ming the Merciless.

After being impaled on an Ajax war rocket, rather than dying, he relocated to Dorset with dreams of opening his own fish restaurant, which is no doubt part of some insidious plan to take over the earth.

If I were Rick Stein I'd watching my back. Already established as the nicest fish chef in the UK, Ming no doubt plans to supplicate him, enabling him to appear on every TV show going, a forum from which he will use to indoctrinate us into eating fish, which he will somehow genetically modify to fill us full of his mind control drugs.

But I'm not fooled by that 'butter wouldn't melt' smile and proclivity for the waterworks. The man is pure evil.

Take for example his starter. Rabbit and nettles. A cute little bunny rabbit, trimmed into tiny pieces that the worlds greatest vivisectionist would envy, then serve it on a bed of nettles???

His main? Spider crab thermidor with mussels, foraged sea vegetables and a
side of chips. Crabs are evil. And foraged sea vegetables? Foraged? As in rummaging through bins and stuff? And chips? For fucks sake, you can't go on the Masterchef final and cook chips, unless John Torode and Gregg Wallace are already under your control....

They must be. If they were still human, would they shout like that all the time? Or spout the same bollocky superlatives every other breath?

Clearly they are facsimiles, automatons, gollums or other such zombies under the control of Ming.

And for dessert? Creamy lavender and blackberry mousse with honeycomb and
blackberry sauce. I haven't quite worked out what his evil plan is with this one, but then that's why he's an evil Mastermind. In fact, I'd expect to see him on that pretty soon. Either him or the girl from University Challenge, who is also clearly not of this earth.

I'm going to miss Masterchef now it's finished. Ming has clearly cast his spell on me, and despite the shouting, even Torrode and Wallace will create a (large) void with their absence.

True, the best bits are really the opening rounds where you try to guess who will go through before they even pick up a knife, and be amazed at some of the shite that some people try to pass off as food.

So well done Ming, you've been a joy to watch, and a deserved winner (even if you did do it with mind control. And at least smuggy bignose or beardy can't shave properly didn't win.













Mat Follas - Deserved Masterchef winner 2009

What do you want for tea? I want crisps!

And cider.

Those cheeky scamps the Kaiser Chiefs may have penned an iconic line that captures the ennui of happy slapping, hoodie habitating Generation X-boxers, but the desire to 'do nothing' is nothing new. I've been doing it for years. I never cease to amaze myself at my ability to simply not be bothered.

I returned from work enthusiastic about dinner, and whilst undecided as to what to cook for myself, was keen to whip up an omelette for mrsslippy whilst I pondered the contents of the larder. Yes, I know that's not the pinnacle of cuisine, but she's on nights, and that's what she wanted. She left me lying on the sofa with Busta, watching Rick Stein search his family tree.

Dear reader, I must confess, I fell asleep, and during my 30 minute power nap, Stein had morphed into James May.

As my addled brain tried to understand what was going on, the only thing that was apparent to me, was that he was drinking cider, and that was clearly A VERY GOOD THING

Thoughts of lightly poached eggs with some crispy bacon over some toasted bagels with rocket went skyrocketing out the window.


I should have some cider.


And what would go best with it would be some crisps.


I was sure we had some cider somewhere - god knows we have everything else (except red wine, much to my chagrin on Sunday when we were forced to open a Rose - my badmin)

The larder contains booze of all varieties, and also the 'Bag of Bad', a lucky dip of general snackage. A quick rummage produced a bag of Salt 'n' Vinegar whilst I searched for elusive cider. Bonus! I found a pear cider -nice- but unfortunately my crisps did not even survive the opening of the bottle, so I grabbed another pack to take back into the living room with me.

My cider is lovely, but May is no longer drinking it. While I've been bumbling around in the kitchen, he's got his chemistry set out and appears to be distilling a magical clear substance.

Suddenly, I'm inspired again!

Captain Slow has made his own gin! And my god that looks good.... and what would go really well with one? Why peanuts of course!

I have some delicious chilli ones that mrsslippy got me for Valentines Day (along with some pork pies, Fudge Brownie Milkshake, and other such niceties)

So what do I want for tea? Crisps and peanuts, and if that seems too lazy and lacking in my '5-a-day', I am about to go and slice a lime. And who knows, it's Masterchef after that. I may be inspired again. I wonder if anyone will cook with Tequila? Because there's a bar of 'Green & Black's' dark chocolate staring me out that would go really well with it.......

It really is cool to do nothing.

Animal Kwackers

I remember as a small child watching a TV show called 'Animal Kwackers'. I was sure it had once existed, and that I even had an LP based on the show. The premise was much like the US show 'Banana Splits', but with UK '70s production values. Men in animal suits making music.

I've often asked down the pub 'Does anyone remember Animal Kwackers?' only to be met with sorrowful shakes, and 'did I mean the biscuits?'

No

This was real. There was a lion called 'Rory', who was inexplicably blue (probably the effect of being relocated from the Savannah to Yorkshire), a Tiger called 'Boots' who wore silver tiger boots on his tiger feet - and a jaunty eye patch. He may have been a scouser. 'Twang' was a monkey, and 'Mungo' a drumming dog...or was I confusing him with the dog from Mary, Mungo and Midge, a tale of a girl living in an inner city tower block who was too small to reach the buttons on the piss stained elevator, so would rely on vermin balanced on the end of her rottweilers nose to reach them, while her single mother entertained local gentlemen to stave off the cold from power strikes, and her dad drunk his dole away down the working mans club. Probably. My memory of this is more vague.....

But Animal Kwackers WAS real. I couldn't have imagined that much detail no matter how fertile a mind a diet of Space Dust and Panda Pops gave you. (or the Cherryade that came from the milkman, but that is for another flashback).

With the advent of the interwebs, I was sure that one day I could prove existence of this fabled show, but in it's infancy, there was nowt. A few years ago I saw something on a webforum from someone with similar memories - was this the proof I needed? Not enough for my nay saying friends, so once again it slipped back into my subconscious.

Then today, out of the (lion)blue came the memories again. Stronger this time. Lyrics.

'Rory, Rory, tell us a story' and 'here we come to Popland'

I saw them descending from a flying saucer into a mythical 'Popland' where they would play poor cover versions, and even poorer stuff they'd written themselves. Then Rory would tell a story from behind his massive leering blue face. Tongue a foot long and an expression that never moved. These were football mascots from your nightmares, on acid.

The interwebs have come a long way since my last search. We have Wikipedia, and YouTube. Someone must remember. Someone must have stills, a soundtrack......moving images!



They did.



It's true.



I was right.



Legend has it that this is the only episode that remains





And I even managed to find a picure of that old album. If I ever see a copy on ebay - I'm buying it.....