Monday, April 27, 2009

Why do they get to be the English ones, how is that fair?

"Oi! Tosspot! Give us back our pretty flag! Who said it belonged to you all of a sudden?" *And yes, I'm aware of the difference between the England and GB flag - but are they?

You have to hand it to the people that celebrated St. George's Day/Shakespeare's birthday earlier this week: they managed to turn up on the day and do something. Even if that something was only wearing a red rose, wearing an England football shirt and drinking some ale. At least they managed that. Not like me. I can't even get a blog written until (how many?) errm 4 days later.

So, keeping it brief. Does England belong to sweaty men drinking lager outside pubs and chanting? Does the day that 'celebrates' Englishness belong to them? And if it does, should - we/I - really care?

If the skinhead & beerbelly folk want to enjoy themselves who am I to complain. In fact, I plan to be a skinhead with a beerbelly myself one day. It's an ambition. It's the inevitable future for most British males. My major heartache about the day is the the people going round saying, "We're not allowed to be English! Everyone else gets to have their celebrations, but not us!!!"

Which, y'know, fair enough if it was true, but I didn't see anyone actually stopping them from standing outside the pub and singing Inger-land, Inger-land, Inger-land. But I mean, for Shakespeare's birthday is that the best that we can do? That and articles on breakfast tv about Morris Dancing in Somerset.

England can obviously organise a piss up in a brewery to celebrate the day. But surely we could do better, if we're gonna bother at all.

And what's the betting that the next Tory government brings in 'Churchill Day/St George's Day' to replace May Day? Highly likely I'd think. Given that May Day is to celebrate errr - I'm not sure.... in fact in a class this week someone asked me what May Day was for and I said...

"..... errr, anyway, adverbial clauses... "

I know they used to like doin May Day parades in Soviet Russia. May Day was 'celebrate the workers' day as far as I know. And a bit rubbish if you haven't got any nucleur missiles to parade through Red Square. So why don't we make a Public Holiday out of St George's Day and take on the toxic far right nasty people on their own day? By all means celebrate Englishness - just give us something better to do than stand outside pubs fighting and drinking. And complaining about immigrants and the price of petrol. Where's your celebration, chaps? It sounds like you're being a bit negative, huh?

5 Notions to Improve St George's Day

1. Taking a template from Christmas - create a meal that everyone is meant to have every St George's day whether they like it on not - we could vote for it on some tv show. Although it'll probably consist of Yorkshire pudding, apple crumble, chicken tikka masala and crisps. And a Muller fruit corner for afters. Lovely. Unless there's a last minute internet voting scam to get *Spotted Dick* on the menu. Fnah, fnah.

2. Taking an idea from English cricket - God's own game as well as 'the national sport' - everyone should dress up for the day. And by dressing up I mean - wear a fancy dress costume! English people are famed for their *eccentricity* - so what better than dressing up as a giant chicken for the day. Or Britney Spears. Or a dragon. It's your choice people, just make sure you're not wearing anything flammable if you're working at McDonalds (serving the *McGeorge* - a dragon burger in a yorkshire pudding).

Even the Queen has to dress up. And she can't cheat by dressing up as 'The Queen'. That would be surreal. But I would like to see her dress up as Freddie Mercury. Just for a laugh, ma'am.

3. Can we bring back Yards of ale? I'd really like to have a go. Thanks.

4. Send all children out to the countryside for the day. England's green and pleasant land n all that. Let them look at daffodils and get some fresh air. Plus... plus... no. I've not really thought that one out. The problem with kiddiewinkles is the more you force em to do something the less likely they are to like it. But then, sometimes, if you don't force em to do something they won't do anything. Annoying aren't they, the young folk. Make them listen to English beat music from the 1960s on the coach, that's the main thing. Make them sing along. The Welsh might be famous for having great singing voices, but the English like a bit of karaoke.

I say *the English*, most of the time it's pretty hard to differentiate between the various English speaking people in this island and the one next door. Accents, obviously. But really, you often have more in common with someone from miles away than you do with your neighbours.

5. Do something that would really annoy the BNP for St George's Day. Put Konnie Huq in charge of organising it, perhaps. She's nice. No one could not like Konnie Huq, unless they were mad or from Tibet... Actually, I am running out of ideas there. We've got under a year to get something decent organised. But then, I'm English every day of the year, doing things in England.

Now if I lived in Saudi Arabia or Australia - I'd be well up for celebrating Englishness and eating a boiled egg with Marmite soldiers and drinking plentiful cups of Earl Grey tea. But living here, all I have to do is go to Asda, come home - make me food. It doesn't seem that special, it's too easy. I guess that's why the exiles and immigrants celebrations are more successful - they're missing something, getting together for a day to pretend they're back home. We already are home and aren't quite sure what all the fuss is about. Apart from the complaining people standing outside the pub - but then we're English, we like complaining - and we like standing outside of pubs. It's just what we do. 365 days a year. We either need to think of something new and exciting or else give up on the national day idea all together. When I were a lad we had a Spring Fair at this time of the year. Can't we just go back to the Pagan rituals instead? Slaughter a few baby lambs and worship the Sun God? That'd be a very English thing to do...

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Why no women watch films on ITV4, like ever.

So. Nudity. Television - anyone would think I was obsessed. It's nudity week on NAKANTF. Let's use that as an excuse. But have you ever tried to watch a film on ITV4? And okay, it's a *bloke* channel, but aren't they perhaps putting off some viewers with their advertising policy?

You're trying to watch some ropey old war film or even The Outlaw Josey Wales. A proper decent film - then up comes the adverts. You're expecting bloke products like hair gel, Lynx aftershave and lovely new cars. Hurrah! That's what men like. Perhaps an advert for some new shiny spanners. Then some trailers for car crash programmes and motorcross motorbiking. That's what I want. Except no. You rarely get that. You get repetitive adverts for The Professionals, Minder & The Sweeney - which is fair enough. That' what ITV4 does.

But what you also get are repetitive adverts for *Text a Lady - and indulge in a string of Saucy Messages at £1.50 a go*. Which wouldn't be so bad if it was mixed in with some car adverts. But instead it's mixed in with other adverts for sexy lady texting.

How embarrassing is that when you've said to a lady person, "You really should watch this film, it's dead good." And then every 15 minutes up they pop again, the blonde haired ladies of various ages *If you'd like to meet women over 60 text 089xx ... If you'd like to meet old dears over the age of 80 text 098xxx*

It's just a wee bit embarrassing is that. There's a time and a place for bikini clad ladies and it's in French films from the 1960s.

Who - second point here - who - on God's green and concrete earth - is actually paying £1.50 to TEXT that bikini clad lady in the advert???? Is she - actually her really - with her smiley face or one of her bra wearing friends - going to answer my text? Or is it going to be someone in a weird call centre who gets to choose from a variety of reply options at £1.50 per text. Probably something like:

Hello sexi. My name is Chloe. I am wearin pink undies & a pair of slippers. I look rite sexi in my cardigan. tell me about your self. Lol.

I mean. I have nothing against sexy ladies wearing pink knickers and cardigans but clearly - oh clearly - it's all a pack of lies. Aimed at stupid 13 year old boys. At £1.50 a text.

I sound like someone who has indulged in a text conversation with one of these ladies and became bitter when I found out it was actually a man named Gordon based in a call centre in Harrogate. I'm not. I like men called Gordon and if they want to tell me about their underwear, I'd be happy to listen. And then call the police if they didn't go away. But I'm not gonna pay £1.50 a text to read his crappy words. If I want to read idiot text messages I'll log onto the Twitter Public Timeline and watch the live feeds of idiot brain burps. But that's not really the point.

I don't understand how this High Cost *Dating Bikini Ladies of All Ages* malarky works as an profitable business model. How do they get away with it? And is this the only advertising revenue that ITV4 can get? Don't people want to waste their phone credits on that squeaky frog motorbike thing any more?

I don't understand how stupid people (13 year old boys) are. And I think ITV4 are daft cos they'll have no women viewers watching. And what if you want to introduce your children to The Professionals or the original Minder? Okay, maybe you never would. But your 13 year old son might like those shows. But then he would like the *text a lovely girl - she's waiting for you now in her bikini* adverts as well, so that's probably the idea.

ITV4 have worked this out. I clearly haven't.

Meanwhile, this sort of thing would never happen in Saudi Arabia - where they take text messaging much more seriously. It is a noble form of communication which can be used to divorce your wife. Which is nice.
"A court in the Red Sea city of Jeddah finalised the split -- the first known divorce in Saudi Arabia by text message -- after summoning the two relatives to check they had received word of the husband's intention, the paper said." [Yahoo News]
Meanwhile part-two - while looking for photos to illustrate this nonsense I happened upon this deliberately non-PC joke about text dating in Afghanistan. It's very wrong. Or perhaps it's true and not actually a joke. I know not. And I only include it so that you can shake your head at its utter wrongosity:

The same applies to this joke from the same site, Free Market Fairy Tales. A site of PC baiting, Jeremy Clarkson loving extreme nasty/naughtiness. Nothing to do with anything this, and just plain wrong, but - a joke:

A man is in bed with his Thai-girlfriend. After having great sex, she spends the next hour just stroking his dangly bit, something she had lovingly done on many occasions. Rather enjoying it, he turns and asks her: 'why do you love doing that?’

She replies: 'Because I really miss mine...'

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Why when you're 13 years old watching French art films is a better way of spending your Friday evenings than downloading internet pornography

Most people would agree with that. Well, in public at least. But when I were a lad (expect more grumpy old man comments to follow) the foreign art films were watched for mainly debased reasons.

Classmate, Buzz Johnson would had scoured the TV Times and would announce that there was a French film on at 10.30 on Friday night. BBC2 or ITV. Both channels had loads of those foreign films on. I think they must have just been cheap schedule fillers.

But it caused high excitement in the playground. Buzz Johnson had some film guide book and if he said it was going to be a good film, who were we to argue? Catherine Deneuve was in this one!!!!

I didn't actually like her particularly as a lust object. And as an actress she seems to be made out of ice. Although ice that occasionally melts, which I suppose is the point of her.

But the point was that Deneuve would, inevitably be, at some stage of the film, be semi-naked!!!

In her bra and underskirt shouting at her husband and smoking a cigarette. It was like the underwear section of the Kay's catalogue come to life! Just in black & white and with the Kay's models talking French, looking angry and smoking. Not quite how I had imagined it, but still...

I grew up in the dark ages. The time before the Internet. And I was able to stay up late due to a lack of parental supervision. It can be quite good having that kind of freedom. Quite educational. If you just do what you want, you learn things. You learn not to stick your fingers in live electrical sockets for instance. You learn that dying your hair with household bleach is not a good idea and can cause your skin to burn and peel off. And you also learn that watching Foreign films can actually be quite fun. In a non-educational, non-poncey, non-film buffy way.

Cos often times you'd end up watching a film till 2 in the morning without a even a spot of random nudity. Just middle aged French people arguing, smoking and discussing death. But usually it was a bit more exciting than that. Even if there was no nudity. Usually there was some murder or weirdness to keep you awake. These were films where you couldn't tell what was going to happen next. Films that didn't fit into the easy Hollywood genres of thriller, rom-com, sci-fi, etc etc. That didn't star Chevy Chase.

But they were all watched in the first instance on the off chance that they would contain nudity of some description. Even a willy. Just for shock value and the 13 year old boys desire for *compare & contrast*.

I'm sure there were lots of duff French films but the irony is that I quite liked a lot of them at the time. Your French New Wave films can quite appeal to a young lad. Given that lots of them are about unhappy young men wandering around fighting and *not being understood*. Or else being hopelessly in love with girls that don't care - then shooting people - it's all quite adolescent and male fantasyish. And for a young male - there's nowt wrong with that. Some of them just seemed randomly plotted. They made no sense. They jumped about and broke all the rules. They could be both boring and fun. Fun because you'd never seen anything like it before, and bewildering because you had no idea what the point was.

These French films from the 50s and 60s and those of Luis Buñuel are still easy to remember years later. If it wasn't the decadent middle class lady fantasising about being a prostitute in Belle de Jour, it was the people chatting and sitting at a dining table while they had a poo in The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie. Surrealism really works for 13 year olds. Very random and odd and weird and cool. And you're not too old to still think poo is funny.

Now of course, I am too old to think poo is funny. I know that pooing is a very serious matter, nothing to be laughed about.

These days of course (putting on my grumpy old man hat and cardigan) if you were looking for smut all you would have to would be type *toss the salad* into Google and you'd come back with a million and one shocking images. It's the modern world. I'm not *complaining*, just commenting. Channel 4 have just done a big ole series about porn and da kidz. "Hey kids, it's not real this porn stuff, ya know! Have relationships! Be safe! Be realistic about your bits n bobs!!" Which is all fine. But it is a bit like writing 'May cause cancer' on a packet of cigarettes. I don't think it's going to stop a 13 year old boy from finding out for himself. Which, again, is fine. I guess

Anyway, years later as a pretentious wannabe film buff, I was both pleased and disappointed to find that sitting down in the cinema to watch what I thought was gonna be my first ever François Truffaut film that I'd already seen the film. In fact it was one of my favourites from my youth. The 400 Blows. The one about the mad lad that does all that nutty stuff & gets thrown out of school. Yeah, that one. No sex scenes.I had gained myself an education in foreign art films without ever even realising it. I guess your 13 year old porn hunter gains an education in how to hide his browsing history in Internet Explorer, but it's not really the same.

Oh, pretentious, moi? But of course. And in denial of the modern world? Oui. Coupable comme chargé.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Why Robinho and myself are a pair of *Do Nothing* geniuses

I think the word might actually be *geniuii* - the plural of genuis - isn't that what happens with yer Latin words? No. Maybe not.

So. Robinho and I. He is a quite famous Brazillian footballer who wears the kit of Manchester City FC (and usually a fetching little blue polo neck jumper & gloves). And used to suck his thumb when he used to score goals.

I am the fellow writing this gumpf. Both of us should probably be spending our time more wisely but aren't. We've done better things in the past...

I should probably explain the footbally chap in case an alien is reading. (If a yawny non-footy fan was reading they've probably already left.) Robinho is a friendly young man that gets paid lots and lots of money to play for my favouritest team. The Manchester team that less people have heard of. Robinho hadn't heard of em himself, but late last summer the club suddenly got v. rich when a middle eastern fella took over and footy players like Robinho suddenly got a bit interested. Some of the more rich, clever ones heard about City, but weren't that interested, but Robbie Robinho fancied a challenge. Or so he said.

Robinho: I'll be world's best at City


Where he'd get the challenge of playing for a rich but unsuccessful club. Where he would get picked every week. No matter how rubbish he played. And he could go out on his nights off to nightclubs in Leeds and get accused of sexual misconduct. But he's a footy player so that sort of thing is par for the course. And the accusations were dropped. So forget about that. Forget about Pele accusing him of being a 'drug abuser' as well. Cos there's no evidence for that either. People don't like success or something. Or something. And then he ran away from some training sessions in Tenerife cos he wanted to go home. He got fined £320,000 - which is either a week's wages or two weeks' or perhaps a day's. I'm not sure. Details, details.

Here's what you need to know about Robinho

He is most famous not for what he does with the ball, but what he doesn't do with it:
  • He's very good at *Dummies* - that's where he pretends to kick the ball but doesn't.
  • He's very good at *Running into space* - that's when he runs into a space where the ball isn't.
  • He's very good at *Looking a bit sad* - that's when he stands over to one side where the ball isn't & looks a bit sorry for himself.
  • But most of all he is known as *The Step-over King*!!!!!!! Yes. That is where he has the ball in front of him and does a bit of Irish Dancing next to the ball - magically without actually touching it. It's like what Michael Flattley does but with added running and having a ball nearby. It's a real skill. Hoppitty, hoppitty, skip - his feet go bibbly bobbly wiggly woggly over the ball. The opposition defender looks at the fast dancing legs, feels a bit seasick and has to go off for a bit of a lie down. Hurrah! Robinho's job is done. So he usually just falls over at this point.
  • He's very good at *Falling over* - this is where he falls over in the opposition penalty area and hopes that referee will feel sorry for him and give him a *Penalty kick*. He will probably step over that and let someone else take it.


So that's that. He's a virtual footballer - a meta-magician of the 4th dimension of no-ball touching football skills. He's like a 3-card Monte street hustler but with a ball & legs. He wiggles his legs so fast the defender just can't tell what's leg & what's ball. Remarkable!!!

Except. He can't really be bothered any more. He's not that fond of playing for the blues. He kinda thinks it's all a bit beneath him. That he's wasting his time. That he's too good for this terrible tortured life he is living... He's sort of on strike. (But without the terrible crushing lack of pay that a proper *strike* would involve). He's just not bothering that much any more in the hope that no one will notice. And that it will soon be the end of the season.

And that's where I come in. I know how he feels. 3 stupid essay/assignment thingys to do. Very little desire to do em. I'm a genius! At stepping over the pile of notes on my bedroom floor. I'm the essay notes Step-over King. And I've very good at telling people that the essays are going well. That I'm trying my best. But like Robinho, I've kind of lost the will to live as far as these piddling essays are concerned. They're not hard. You don't have to be clever to do em. You just have to do em. And I canna be bothered. I should be doing something more useful! More worthy of my vast talents! I'm wasting my time - when I'm wasting my time not doing them! And I'm wasting my time when I am actually making a token effort to do em! Pah.

So I've got no right to have a go at the little Brazillian fella. We all have things we don't wanna do. No matter how easy they might seem to an outsider. In theory I could get really good marks. But if I actually try then I run the risk of failure; so much better to just avoid doing stuff and carry on thinking I'm the greatest writer in the known world (of daft essays).

But there you go, I've outted myself now. It's out there. I'm a fake and a sham and a theoretical genius - providing I never actually finish anything. So now I guess I have to do the essays and report back when I've done them. If only to try and regain some self-respect after writing such a convoluted and dull bloggage.

Whereas you Robinho are expected to score 3 goals in your next match. I will be taking a break from stepping over my pile of essay notes. I will be watching. Sitting on a cold, uncomfortable blue plastic seat, smelling of beer and shouting my mouth off.

Robinho, if you score 3 goals, I will write 3 essays in 3 days. I challenge you, sir, to challenge me. Help us both prove that we can do more than just avoid doing stuff.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Why Xan Tyler is my new hero - hurrah for Xan T - apply here for a unique and wonderful opportunity!!!

So after much idle thought about writing blogs about about Islamist goings on in Afghanistan or else or porn and why it's maybe not the world's greatest thing after all - I decided to ignore those weighty subjects and instead indulge in an orgy of congratulations and salutations to Xan Tyler - my new favouritest hero!!!

Yes, Xan Tyler. He or she is great! I admire Xan more than words can express. Although I'm going to give it a try in my own humble way. Xan - not only do you have a cool name - and a surname that's the same as Sam Tyler from Ashes to Ashes - or the first name of Tyler Durden from Fight Club - you're just basically great.

You made me laugh, and in some ways, I wish I had your gumption and chutzpah. You have become my new role model. Previously I admired Cosmo Kramer from Seinfeld above all others, but now it's you, Xan. Thanks. I will be following your example.

See, I'm a man that has more ambition than gumption. My desire to get stuff done is constantly overpowered by my need to stay in bed for an extra half hour's sleep. I need, in short, a butler, a manager or an INTERN!!!

What dictionary.com describes as "a person who works as an apprentice or trainee in an occupation or profession to gain practical experience." If I had a young helper with ambition and enthusiasm I could get so much more done. I could Twitter 10 times a day. Useful stuff like that. Write blogs about stuff. Y'know. The world would be a happier place. I've got shopping lists that need writing and I really do not have the time to write them!

Well Xan Tyler has hit on the ideal solution: advertise for an intern.

In a plot obviously directly stolen from the Seinfeld episode where Kramer takes on an intern from NYU to organise his life, before the university puts a stop to it by crazily objecting that, 'the company (Kramerica) merely “consists of one man with a messy apartment which may or may not contain a chicken”'. Come on! An apartment with a chicken in it? And? Your point is? Darren the intern was learning valuable 'life skills'. Learning to answer the phone, make tea, how to work without getting paid. These are things that young people need to learn. And, obviously most important of all: you can put your internship on your CV and basically bullshit about how you were actually doing something incredibly important. And so launch your career in PR or 'the media'.

Y'know, by doing stuff for Xan. "communicating with publishers, writers and others in the field of publishing; publicity for events; blogging; social networking; typing." I am unironically proud, jealous and admiring of Xan. I salute you, Tyler for your situationist art terrorist parody of an advert. I wish I had thought of it first! What the world needs now is blog, blog, blog. Particularly when written by an intern for a creative writing coach that hasn't got time to write it him or herself. I'm not being nasty, I'm just massively jealous. I wish you the best of luck. I might even apply myself. I have some of the required qualities, really, Xan, I do:
  • Flawless English (well, hey, who has flawless Ingerlish? Does it even exihist?)
  • The ability to get on with people (ok. Not so great at that bit)
  • Some imagination (Yeah! I have some imagination. It's not great but I have some. Cool.)
  • Absolute reliability (Ahh. That may be where I let myself down. Absolute reliability? Like an atomic clock? Come on, seriously, Xan? I mean, I can do, reasonably reliable. I'll be there - just like 10 minutes late... I've failed the interview, haven't I, Xan? O well.. Good luck, Xan. I love you.)
If you are interested in this unique opportunity, please apply via the link below. Good luck, wannabe interns - and if Xan is not interested in you, don't give up! I will shortly be posting my own advert for the position of 'unpaid volunteer butler'. Watch this space...

http://www.artsjobs.org.uk//index.php?id=25&ne_source=dailyjobs&ne_post_id=18353

Monday, April 06, 2009

Why is it so hard to say hello after a long time

You know that thing where you've not spoken to someone for ages and you just think, ummm, this is gonna be awkward... Your auntie, your sister, your ex-bessie mate - you haven't spoken to em for months - years - and now you have to cos a) you just feel guilty or b) they have something you want - or even c) you do quite like them and really should say hello. It's not easy.

What's even weirder is people you see every day at work or in the bakery at lunchtime, always the same person queuing up behind you. Do you continue to treat them like strangers or do you eventually give them a friendly nod. Then hopefully get talking, fall in love and marry them? It's a tough call getting started though.

But people that are your friends that you've not spoken to in a long time - do you just phone up or pop round and say hi? They're going to have a bit of a go at you, aren't they? Ask you where you've been. Where were you when Uncle Ernie had all those problems with the police? Etc. So yeah, best just to get over with it. That's what I'm doing right now. Just getting on with it. Hello, blog, long time no see. How've you been? Not busy? I bet. Feeling ignored. Umm, yeah, sorry about that. One thing and another, bla bla.

No one believes excuses, and quite rightly, they're usually hollow and unconvincing. Here are mine, and I'm sorry blog, but you can choose to scoff and ignore them, it's entirely up to you:

1. More operation time. Annoying these mystery operations. That I choose not to divulge, but I'm not dead, so that's that. Dull.

2. Here's a good reason right - this blog has my name on it - and 2 weeks ago this event happened that was, well mindblowing isn't the word - but certainly - a story worth telling. Something that doesn't happen every day. At least not to me. But I can't even allude to it without making it blinking obvious what happened. It was very funny. That's all I can say. Other than being very cryptic and expressing events in the form of a quadratic equation, this: x + y = z (lol) . You had to be there. I was. And YOU dear blog, will never know.

3. There was also the post entitled: Why Gibraltar should be turned into a penal colony and towed out into the middle of the sea. My sister was getting married over there. She lives in Tenerife, so errr, wanted a British wedding certificate thingy and Gibraltar is nearest. Apparently you only need to be in Gib for 24 hours before they'll give you a wedding licence. It's ideal for shotgun weddings. Although I'm not thinking my sister ... no, that would make no sense. But it worked for John & Yoko so it must be alright. Now that's a fact I've just learnt...

In short: Gibraltar - is where you get cheap booze and fags. It's like Netto by the sea. It's a bit pointless that we still own it. I'm sure there's a point but it must be that the navy want a port there. Why haven't Spain invaded? Or maybe they did then decided they didn't really want it. I can't blame em. Cheap booze to take away, but the most expensive beans on toast I've ever had the displeasure of suffering. Beans are meant to be in tomato sauce, not watery gloop. £3.80 in pounds sterling? Are you sure?

Lots of things happened but most of them were in-jokes and would make no sense to outsiders. I stayed in a massive and massively empty apartment complex 10km outside of Gib with my 2 nephews (20 & 21) and my neice and her friend (24 x 2). It was very funny and silly but wouldn't translate. No one would know how funny AIDs and clown cars could be. It just doesn't work. And having now seen stills from the film 'Edward Penishands' I have to say I'm very disappointed. Not as funny as I imagined it. See. Makes no sense.

4. Lame excuses continuing - how many of these am I going to do? Let's say 5 as a maximum. Number 4: school work. That's really rubbish. Oh, yeah, I did write a blog, but my dog ate it. And then I wrote another one but I left it on the bus. Yeah. Rubbish.

So where was I dear bloggy space? What did I miss? Riots, death, sport, weather - yeah, the world survived without me.

And I still haven't got a new flatmate. I'm trying to do the moving-out thing. All my energies into escape. A tunnel is being dug. Houses have been looked at. 2009 - it's gonna be my year - it's pre-ordained. It has been guaranteed to me by an oracle. So that's that then.

I'm going to find something to get angry or happy about and then return armed with some words of wiseness. Then probably bake a pie. It's about time...