Bus Stop Fairy!

Just lately I have taken notice of the people that use the same bus service as me.

Every morning at eight thirty I make my way to the stop just around the corner from my flat. Arriving just a few minutes after the same people each day. Having patiently waited for the same bus every morning for the past three years I have come to the realisation that the other would-be passengers don't seem to have mastered the art of flagging down a bus, therefore signalling to the driver that they require him to pick them up. Many's the time I have reached the stop to find myself the second or third person in a metaphorical line. And for some inexplicable reason I find myself appointed as the chief flagger. Now I'm not saying for a moment that I shouldn't do it. Just because I wasn't first in line doesn't mean I refuse to, but it seems strange that the whoever got to the stop before everyone else doesn't step up to wave the bus down as it approaches us.

In my 20 years experience of travelling on public transport I'm wondering why, suddenly, within the last few years, there seems to be a lack of control taken of ones own transportational destiny? Have people forgotten how to take the initiative with these things or are they waiting for some kind of Bus Stop Fairy to come along and hold his/her (I'm an equal opportunities theorist) hand out for them in order to get the attention of the driver. I often wonder if they wait there, at the stop, until I arrive, and with a sense of relief, think to themselves 'hurrah! Our public transport saviour hath arrived. He's sure to know what to do', or had I been given the job of Bus Stop Fairy, on the one day I missed it?

And while were on the subject of bus etiquette, most of the buses I use has 'Press once' written above and below the bell push. Why then do people seem to press it more than that, even when someone else has, not five seconds earlier, done the same? Buses also have a display informing you that the bus is 'Stopping', why then do some people still insist on pressing the bell a few million times more. Even wearing headphones on the bus doesn't stop me from knowing when the bus is approaching the next stop, and also telling me when we have reached said stop. I realise there are users of the public transport system who may be visually or hearing impaired, but these things haven't been put in place for the benefit of me alone, who seems to end up pressing bells for other people and receiving no thanks for it. Just the other day I was nudged by the woman sitting next to me, who then just looked in the general direction of the bell. I must point out here that I did in fact take my earphones out when nudged, as I thought she was going to actually ask for my assistance, but no, she just pointed at the bell. I pressed it on her behalf, and as I did so I said 'that's the trouble with earphones', in as jovial a way as I could. I even chuckled as I said it. I received no response to it, and even less as she just shoved past me and I said 'that's got nothing to do with wearing earphones, ha ha'

Deal or No Deal

As entertainment goes, Deal or no Deal does absolutely nothing for me.  However, just for my own entertainment, I decided to write the following sketch.  Well, it seemed more entertaining than the programme itself.

Noel; This is John from Croydon. Welcome John.
John; Thanks Noel.  Can we get on with this then?
Noel; Of course John, if you wish.  Do you have a strategy? You must have a strategy, everyone has to have one.  I do.
John; Yes, pick a box with a nice sum in it and get the hell out of here.
Noel; Well we want you to go away from here with something.
John; Yeah, that's why I'm going to take the first big sum that comes up and run to the boozer as quick as i can, and piss the lot up the wall.
Noel; That sounds like a great idea.  I tell you what, if i give you the number of the box that has £20,000 in it now we can all get home a bit earlier than usual. How about that?
John; I can go with that. I wont be too hasty though.  Lets have a few numbers first, for the hell of it.
Noel; OK John, its your game.
John; Damn right its my game.  This is being recorded right?
Noel; Yes John.  Which number are going to pick?
John; Right then, my first number will be 12.
Noel; Lets see whats in the box.  Please open box number 12 and reveal the value.
The person stood behind the box takes off the ribbon and a boxing glove on a spring jumps out and knocks them out.
John; That was a surprise.  I'm glad it wasn't me stood there, i hate surprises
Noel; I'm glad you said that because that's one of the tamer surprises in this episode.
John; Can you just tell me the number, I'll take the money and be on my way...to Pissville.
Noel; OK John, the number you need is...not 1. Its not even box number 20.
John; I told you I don't like surprises, so just get on with it. 
Noel; I'll be honest John I can't just tell you, I have to know your strategy, even if its just a case of selecting each box in order from 1 to 20.
John; There is no strategy.  There is never a strategy. No-one has ever had a strategy, even if they said they did. This isn't battleships you know.  I'm not even sure if the banker exists.
Noel; He does, he's my only friend.  Hearing his voice keeps me centred. Please, i really need to know your strategy, just tell me you have one and what it is, please!
John; Blimey you really do live for this crap don't you.  No wonder you're still doing it.
Noel; Its all i have.
John; You really are the sad little gnome-like goblin I always thought you were. Can i just have the box number with £20,00 and we can get out of here.  
Noel; Can I come with you to this 'Pissville'? It sounds wondrous. You get the money, I get to experience something new, is it a deal or no deal?
John; We'll see.
Noel; The box number is 14.
The person stood behind box number 14 opens it and shows that there is a ticket with £20,00 written on it.
Noel; Can i say it now?
John; If you have to.
John walks over to the person holding the ticket and starts heading towards the exit.  Noel calls to him; Deal or No Deal?
John turns back and says to Noel, "No deal, bye"

Keeping Comedy Locked Up

On a recent visit to my local W H Smith, I decided to have a look at their selection of Audio Comedy CDs. Having not checked them out for a while I was hoping to find something new and exciting to help me while away the time spent travelling to and from work. I walked into the shop and headed down toward the area normally reserved for these wondrous items. To my dismay, I discove4red that the display unit which holds them was no longer in its usual position, and had been replaced by a slightly larger area taken up by a new e-reader, named the Nook. Aimlessly I wondered around the further reaches of the shop, and after a few minutes of frantic searching, found them nestling behind the Customer Service desk.
I wanted to ask the lady behind the counter why it was necessary to subject these items, out of all the others, to such a state of incarceration. To begin with I shied away for fear of looking like an idiot. But after a few moments I realised that if I don't ask I'll probably never find out. Surely that couldn't be the silliest question that has ever been put to an assistant of a book and stationery retailers, surely. I could think of sillier questions, for example 'Do you sell bricks?' or 'When does the next train arrive?'
Not to stray from the point too much, I did find it in me to ask the lady at the counter - 'Why are the Comedy audio CDs behind the counter?' - To which she replied 'because people keep stealing them'
This was a bit of a surprising answer considering the fact that out of all the things a potential thief could take it turned out to be the least obvious. Well to me anyway. I guess they are easy to conceal, but considering the intellectual nature of the recorded material I for one would have thought that most thieves would leave well alone. That is not to say that all thieves are stupid of course, the ones that target W H Smith and other stationers may be intelligent, and for all we know wanted something clever and/or amusing to listen to on the way to their next bank heist or whatever it may be they have lined up.
I have to say out of all the things someone could steal why comedy audio CDs? Maybe they think they’re being funny!

 

We Take Remixes To Bed

Me and some friends have recently undertaken a project of remixes by Gary Numan.  These aren't club mixes, just extended mixes like those you'd find on original 80's 12" singles.

 

You can get to them, as streaming audio or downloadable, by clicking the following link;

Black Sand Remixes   

Thank you for your support.

Reality Killed the Big Issue Star

Reality Killed the TV Star

I have come to the conclusion that too much 'reality' TV can blur the lines between differing genres of television. In fact I would go as far as to say that some people are no longer able to make the distinction between them at all.

Here is an example of what I mean;

I overheard a girl telling her friend that she was watching a programme about four school girls, but as she hadn't seen the beginning of it she wasn't sure what she was watching. The girl even went as far as to say she thought it might have been a docu-soap. Maybe it’s because there are currently so many programmes that are part scripted and part improvised: Geordie Shore, Made in Chelsea, Eastenders, that the lines really have been blurred.
I haven't seen the programme they were talking about but I have seen a trailer for it and I can safely say, without a shadow of a doubt that it is definitely a comedy.

Guilt is a Big Issue

Last week, whilst walking through, my local town centre, and feeling guilty for a moment, I decided to buy a copy of the Big Issue. I hadn't bought one in a long time so I wasn't sure of the cost. I gave the vendor a five pound note, and received two pound in change. I didn't look at the price, which was displayed on the front of the magazine in quite a bold typeface, until I'd started walking away from the vendor. At this point I realised I was now down by fifty pence. Being that this magazine is in aid of the homeless I decided not to go back and challenge him for the remainder of the change that I was entitled to. It’s much less than he's entitled to, after all.

Nowhere on his jacket did I see 'Check your change - errors can't be corrected later'
It was sometime later that I thought of saying 'oi mate, you owe me fifty pence' but even as I approached him on my way back past I thought better of it. It could have been worse, I could have told him he's 'a thieving bastard' and 'I want my five pound note back, and I'll keep the change' for the worry he's put me through. At least he'd then have an even stronger case for his poverty stricken situation. And to be fair he would have been within his rights to tell me to 'fuck off'
I admire him for the enterprise he showed and the tenacity to carry on working his way out of his situation.
I can think of worse things to be forced on me; the religious material being handed out in the same area as the Big Issue vendor for one. Actually, that’s it!
That extra fifty pence would probably only end up going on booze or fags (Cigarettes to people outside the UK) or both. Luckily for him I've given both of them up!

Metaphysical Waitresses

Whilst on a day off I went to my local convenience store, which is good, because what's the point of a convenience store if its not local.  But I digress.

I picked up the things I needed and made my way to the till.  There was a lady in front of me, and the woman serving her seemed very friendly.  For whatever reason, her attitude seemed to change the moment I got to the head of the queue.  Don't ask me why but I felt as though I'd done something.  I was polite towards her but unlike the customer before me I did not receive any of this woman's friendly customer service (is it still customer service if they treat you like shit?)
With the items placed at the till side, ready to be swiped across the scanner, she looked me up and down.  So intently in fact that I could feel her eyes burning into me.  Like the customer before she asked me if I wanted a bag - not 'would you like a bag?' or 'Do you need a bag?' but 'want a bag?' As there were far too many items for me to carry without the aid of one I thought that was obvious.  What was she expecting, that I'd magically keep everything floating in mid air, under some sort of magic spell?  Maybe she thinks all men that wear glasses are called Harry Potter.
And when she did produce a bag from under the till it looked like it had been through the mill a bit.  Mangle more like, considering the state of it. At this stage I really couldn't be bothered to challenge her, so allowed her to continue.  Unlike the way she handled the previous customer's items she just threw mine into the bag. Not literally, she did at least notice that some items were bottled.  But did she pack the items into the bag as you'd expect, in a certain order, making sure everything was tidy, thus making it easy to carry?  Put simply, NO!
She finished packing the bag, and before shoving the change into my hand (rather than lay it on a bed of roses and then handing to me, which I often find in other shops), and without giving me a chance to pick the bag up she shouted NEXT!
For all I know, she may have been having a bad day and the lady in front of me was a friend who'd come in to cheer her up.  Surely if that was the case why did she go back to being miserable within a few moments of my arrival to the till?  Could there be something about me I just don't know about?  Maybe I did something in a previous life and a  metaphysical signpost hangs above me.

Greedy Cats & Fingers

This morning our supervisor decided that, as we had all worked so hard this week, she would provide us with some edible treats.  Two volunteers were given some money and off they went to the supermarket.  They came back with cookies, crumpets, doughnuts, etc: the usual fayre! Well in our office anyway. Being situated at the end of a bank of desks it seemed appropriate that the food be laid out to the side of me; wasn’t I the lucky one.

That was fine and dandy until the hoards (all 10 of them) of people that make up the team came to collect their reward.  I suddenly realised I was the vulture that’s just finished pecking at the corpse of their one meal of the day, while the rest of his clan continues regardless.
I had this sudden urge to squawk, and flap my (metaphorical) wings in their general direction; thus intimating my disapproval.  Of course I didn’t do this but just for a moment I wanted to.  I was then reminded of the footage of Michael Buerk, reporting from Africa back in the days of Live Aid.  It made me want to shout ‘there are starving kids in Africa, leave them a doughnut at least’
It’s a sad indictment of the greedy world us westerners live in. Unfortunately though that didn’t stop me from chomping my way through a Granola Slice and informing the girl sat next to me of just how delicious it was. Like most people my guilt is only surface deep; ashamed? I should say so!

That girl sat next to me, also known as Esther, has a picture of a friend’s cat that, for all intents and purposes appears to have a thumb attached to one of its paws; when I say a thumb I don’t mean a human one, obviously: that would be ever so slightly weird, as well as implawsible See what I did there).  In the photograph it looks like the cat is impersonating The Fonz; either that or it’s hitch-hiking.  Neither of these is likely but it’s another reason why cat pictures are so popular. As much as I like them I harbour cynical thoughts about cats, as I do with almost everything else in this life: let me put it this way, if cats were born with appendages similar in size and shape to ours, what do you think they'd have? The middle finger, that’s what! Why? Because as pets go, cats expect nothing more than food and shelter.  Fair enough, but at any other time they couldn’t care less about their ‘owners’

Thurday 19th July; Polo’s and Queens of Pop

I would like to take a sideways view of the world today: by that I mean, of all the events that took place today, I looked at them with a skewed vision. When I say all the events, I don’t mean absolutely everything in the whole world, just those immediately impacting on me. 
Firstly, there was the girl at work who was talking about her Polo: as I didn’t hear the conversation from the beginning I thought she was talking about the mint…she did mention a hole after all! Instantly I began to imagine a mint with her sat behind the wheel where the hole usually resides.  Then I though of asking her if it keeps her breath fresh while she’s driving.  Not known for my attempts at surrealist humour in the work place I decided to keep it to myself.
The second thing to appear was the name of a customer, Mrs Godsave: it suddenly made me think of the Queen.  Images of her majesty appeared in my head and her singing the national anthem. I also wondered if this woman, Mrs Godsave ever thought of, or indeed ever been, called the Queen by her family for a joke.
I was in mid conversation with a younger member of my team when suddenly she said ‘I’m bored of this’. To which I responded ‘this conversation?’ I have to say I felt a little bit annoyed by this, just for the simple fact I’d only been talking for a matter of moments.  So, just to get back at her I pretended to rant at her about it. She realised what I was doing and went on to inform me that ‘it isn’t you it’s me’ Don’t get me wrong but I thought that speech was reserved for couples breaking up not a reason for telling someone they’re boring. She told me it’s a thing that happens with everyone she converses with, even her own boyfriend.  She then proceeded to suggest she had the memory span of a fish; another good reason to move onto the repeating what they’ve just said thing a few times.
In the latter half of my working day, a few other team mates were talking about the 27 club. For those that are not aware of this, it is the aptly named club for famous people that had died at the age of 27; recent entrants include Amy Winehouse.  Somehow this moved onto a contestant of The Voice U.K. who had professed to be very good friends of Ms Winehouse.  I am rather cynical when it comes to people on talent shows informing us of their ‘friends’.  For all we know this person could have simply been a member of the late Amy’s Facebook group.  So, without hesitation I said “I’m friends with Madonna” and then said “If I ever think of having kids I’ll ask my good friend Madonna to pick one out of her Malawian adoption catalogue” I was awarded with stony silence for a few moments and then the question came “why Malawian?”

Wednesday 18th July; Speaking in Tongues

This morning I was told to “shut the front door” by a colleague.  This was aimed in a very light hearted manor, however, it was the first time I have heard this expression.  When I asked her what the f*ck she was talking about she responded by saying exactly that: changing expletives to more sedate words in order for her to get out of the habit of using foul language.  As a returning joke, I told her to “get the funk outta here”.  We all laughed and she told me to go screw myself!  Not really, she didn’t say that at all. In fact, I praised her for taking such bold steps to change her speaking habits.  As much as I am all for equality I do sometimes think women use foul language more than men, but maybe that’s just the kind of women I associate myself with.  As a kid, growing up on a council estate, the use of expletives in every day language was common place:  maybe that’s why people from those estates are seen as common people (like the ones Jarvis Cocker sang about in his song of the same name). With reference to that, when I was around 16 or 17 bad language would account for 90% of the words used in everyday conversation. My parents were appalled by this because they insisted that wasn’t the way they brought us up.  It’s a shame the same could not be said of my mother these days, she now uses almost as many swear words as I did back in my teens and twenties.  One day, whilst sat around the dinner table I seemed to be using the word f*ck at an alarming frequency: my Mum made had obviously had more than enough f*cking for one day, and rather loudly, said “we’ll have no f*cking in this house” to which I replied “its too late for that”, as I looked across the table in the general direction of my sister. I think you know what I’m getting at!  I’m not saying I have become an angel in the intervening years, that’s not true at all; what I am saying is that expletives aren’t as prominent in my vocabulary as they once were.

Being the nosey type, I pick up on all sorts of conversations: I suppose that’s why I eventually found myself writing short stories. Listening out for things is a great habit if you want to become a writer.  I find it strange writing that; probably because I am unpublished that I find it hard to come to terms with.  Most people would suggest that first you need to be published before you can give yourself a title such as ‘writer’ My ex-tutor would disagree with this, as in many conversations with him he has suggested that if you write ergo you are a writer; its only when you stop writing that you no longer have the right to the title.  What I wonder though is this: and you may disagree with me here; in the down times when I’m not writing (let’s say while I’m at work) am I not allowed to refer to myself as a writer? If anything that’s over thinking it. Over analysing things is one of my worst traits. Could that be applied to anyone who writes, or is creative? You tell me. I am agonising over it right now.  I think that is a good place to end this thought process.  

Tuesday 17th July; Going Back to Work With Celebrities

So, I went back to work yesterday, after my week long holiday. When you have been away for any length of time you expect things to have happened, news of changes in management, or even who’s been hired and who’s been fired (no, I haven’t suddenly began working for Lord Alan of Sugar) gossip in other words.  But no, for me it was a simple case (as it always is) of get back into the swing of things right off the bat.  There were the usual pleasantries of ‘morning’, in the dourest of tones (that’s Mondays for you), and then crack on with the work. I’m not suggesting that as well as myself, the guys I work with are dull but it could have felt better. I often wonder if I give off a vibe of unsociable acceptance; as in people are accepting of my presence but would rather not talk to me.  True, I am one of those people that, given the chance, I will air my opinion, depending on the topic of conversation, but I’m mostly quiet and unassuming.  I have learned to think before I speak at work because not doing so has caused me to get in to trouble once or twice; a perfect example of this is the time I decided to air my views about the recently deceased Jade Goody.  She had died just a few weeks earlier, after suffering from cancer.  I was not a fan of hers and I was annoyed that she was receiving so much attention. 

I understand that with clever editing TV companies can increase viewing figures of certain programmes; to be fair to Channel 4 no editing was necessary to clearly see she was bullying her fellow Celebrity Big Brother house mate Shilpa Shetty. This was a few years back (before I started writing) but even then I knew I had to write down my frustration; not of the Big Brother incident itself but the silence placed on me by over sensitive and worrisome management. When it came down to it I was highlighting the fact that we put ‘celebrities’ on pedestals, and for mostly the wrong reasons.  They are viewed as either saintly when they die or role models whilst alive. Timing wise, my opining may have been too close to Jade Goody’s death for some but the only reason I was shut down mid-rant was that “you may upset someone in the office who has been affected by cancer”

I was not trying, in any way, to suggest that I didn’t care about the feelings of those that had been affected by cancer; I was merely expressing my opinion that I would not get upset by the death of a so-called ‘celebrity’ So much for freedom of speech!

Sunday 15th July; Sky Net Vs Shazam

In the film The Terminator, Sky Net was defending the world against the uprising of the machines.  This was set in 2029 and seemed far off back in 1984, when it was made.  Now that its 2012 it doesn’t seem such a long way off and even seems like a prospect of reality.  I say this for one reason and one reason only, Shazam.  Not that it’s the first thing ever to be given a mind of its own and therefore likely to play its own part in the rise of the machines. This application has been designed with but one purpose, and that is to identify songs.  It doesn't need to be anything else. 

I mention it as I noticed that someone had used this and indicated it as a point of reference on their Facebook page recently.  I’m not going to say I’m annoyed to see this, because, after all Facebook is a place where people can show others what they’re doing at any given time, as identified by the recently integrated time line feature.  What I do object to is the way in which things like this appear to be showing off.  When I first heard about Shazam I thought what a great idea, for if you hear a song and don’t know who it’s by or the name of the track Shazam is perfect for solving that kind of conundrum.  It’s something that would, in my case anyway, eternally bug me if I don’t find out the answer.  I have had times where I have been unable to recall the name of a song and have nearly driven myself insane trying to dig it out from the recesses of my memory. Ok, so I’m not a machine or an application, but much like me this thing has the capacity to think for itself: the only difference between me and Shazam is that I don’t sound arrogant just because ive done something I’ve been programmed to do.  We may both have the ability to identify songs, but I don’t automatically upload my abilities onto a social network every time I do it.  I am guessing that’s how the application works: like so many other applications it tells us ‘I just viewed/uploaded, etc, and that’s really clever of it, but why does it have to sound as if its showing off about it: I know a song when I hear it, aren’t I the clever one, with all my programming and technology! I can only compare that to me saying to someone in the street ‘I’ve just been into HMV and heard a song by Lady Gaga and know what it is, aren’t I the clever one’, not that I would say that, even if I could identify one of her songs, Poker Face not included. 

Monkeys and Nuns

In the week I have been absent from work, on holiday, I have done next to nothing.  That’s not a bad thing, after all it is supposed to be a time to relax, forget about work and just do the things you enjoy: and there’s nothing I enjoy more than taking part in my writing group, even if its only once every two weeks.  Last night was that evening. Throughout the two hours or so we like to discuss writing in all of its many forms be it poetry or prose.  We all have our own styles and favoured genre.  Aside from the talking we also present a piece of work we have completed over the course of the intervening two weeks.  We are asked to produce a short story or poem as set by the leader of the group (I would have put ‘pack’ in there but we aren’t a biker gang from the 1950’s…not this week anyway) and at each meeting we read them out and then give each other feedback. It was my turn to kick things off and unfortunately received quite a lot of criticism. I think the main problem with the story I wrote was that there wasn’t enough character definition and nothing to relate to.  I sometimes struggle with that aspect of writing but the feedback was constructive and that can only help me in the long run.  To be fair I completed it at the last minute and only edited it a few hours before the meeting. That’ll teach me to go to the wire with these things.  Thankfully our next exercise is to write a five hundred word review of something, a film, a book, a play, anything really.  I will take my time with this one and hopefully get a better reaction at the next meeting.

Ideas don’t come to me all that easily and the one I had today is no exception.  It involves a Monk and a Nun. I’m not entirely sure where the idea came from but I am thinking of exploring it and see where it leads me.    I have thought of something similar to the Father Dowling Mysteries but much more violent. Imagine the scene: He was a Monk with a past, a none too pleasant one at that, an ex cop sent to a Monastery for his wayward approach to policing.  She also has a history, but hers was of a different kind altogether. They both took a vow of silence, but are allowed to communicate away from their Monastery and Nunnery respectively. It may all sound a bit familiar but doesn’t everything these days.  I have decided to give it the name Monkey & the Nun. What can I say; it’s been a bad day for ideas.  

Wednesday 11th July; Siri Men and Thespians

As this week moves towards the end of its natural tenure so too do I.  What I mean by that is I’m finding fewer things to write about as the week progresses. Nothing interesting seems to happen while I’m out.  I’m not saying nothing ever happens when I go out; the world doesn’t suddenly stop when I step out of my front door, like in some zombie disaster film.  That’s not what I mean at all: it’s just that as someone who likes to observe the world around him (some things are worth writing down for future story ideas) nothing of much interest ever occurs.  Last week must have been an exception because I was telling my Mum today about the guy sitting a few seats behind me on the bus last week; he had obviously bought an iPhone recently and wanted to show his girlfriend its clever siri function (she was with him at the time!).  So, in the course of showing her how it worked he thought it highly amusing to ask it silly things (or should that be ‘Siri’ things) such as; ‘Siri, am I a man?’ ‘From the tone of your voice I would say yes’, ‘Siri, do you have a girlfriend?’ ‘No, I am incapable of love’, and the silliest of the three had to be ‘Siri, do I have genital warts?’ Obviously it came back with a suggestion; to find a clinic ‘in your local area’.  On a puerile level this seems quite funny and yet I still found myself mumbling the words ‘what a dick!’ No sooner had this happened then he and his girlfriend got off the bus.

As mentioned before (two weeks to be precise) my ex-creative writing tutor (who now leads the writing group I am involved with) set the group the challenge of writing a page a day. Putting down some of my day’s thoughts and conversations while at work gave me plenty to write about. Alas, now that I am on holiday I have less to scribe about: not that I don’t have anyone to converse with, quite the opposite in fact; my brother who I live with has always got something to say (I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense), and I think we are both good at orating, and have opinions on a range of subjects.  That’s not to say we think we are right by any means but is it not better to have an opinion than to stay silent and appear not to take an interest in the world around us? 

That reminds me, we were watching the BBC adaptation of Shakespeare’s Richard II last night.  I admit to not being much of a theatre goer but as a writer I find the History plays a fascinating prospect; the ways in which Shakespeare uses rhythm is quite unique. I’m not sure I could write with such grace and poetic poise, but then I’m not him, and the language has changed since his day.  As for the cast, they are exceptional: Ben Wishaw as Richard and Rory Kinnear as Bolingbroke were extremely watchable.  It’s only now that I can truly appreciate this play, that’s growing up for you!

Monday 9th July; Miserable Faces Know Their Places

Being Monday, it’s that time of the week when I get to read some column inches from a man who knows what I’m thinking and thinks what I know to be true: Charlie Brooker.  His weekly column for the Guardian is what makes Monday’s bearable.
His take on life this week concerns the ‘dour faced’ Scot Andy Murray. Known mostly for his tennis playing temper tantrums, this is not the focus of Charlie’s attentions in his column, but rather the way in which he is used as an example of miserable faced people.  Charlie puts it to us that Andy Murray is not miserable at all, he just happens to have that kind of face.  Should he look happy anyway? He’s got more on his mind than just the way his face looks.  At least he doesn’t look like some village idiot!  Concentration is also to blame for the lack of muscles positioned in a U shape.  I can feel for him because, like him I also have the sort of face that rests in such a way that it looks like the world is upon my shoulders. Invariably it feels like it but I digress.  The only people I’ve ever met with a permanent smile on their faces tend to be a bit stupid anyway.  I wonder what Charles Atlas had to look so happy about in that photo where he literally had the world upon his shoulders. That’s something we will never know.  Maybe it was just the knowledge that it wasn’t really the world but merely a beach ball with the world printed on it.  Let me ask you this, do you walk around with a beaming smile on your face all the time? I bet you don’t.  Surely if any of us did that we would be called crazy, weird or even lunatics!  Why then, do people feel the need to come up to me, in the street, and say “cheer up, it may never happen”.  How do they know that? They don’t know if ‘it’ has happened, if ‘it’ is about to happen, or when ‘it’ will happen.  Whatever ‘it’ is I’m not sure, but if they know ‘it’ may never happen why they insist on telling me that.  If ‘it’ happens to them I won’t be telling them to cheer up, I’ll be welcoming them to my world.  Is it someone else’s place to tell others to ‘cheer up’ or ‘it may never happen’? No, I think not.  Get the hell away from me and look at your own face!  That would be like me walking up to people who are smiling and telling them that they shouldn’t do that in case the wind changes direction!

Sunday 8th July; Mums and their Suns

My Mum, in her infinite wisdom has decided, at the age of 72 that she wants to purchase both a Smart phone and a Laptop.  The reasons behind this decision are not many; in fact they are fewer than two.  Her one and only reason for suddenly, at this late stage of her life, is simply so that she can become a member of the Facebook generation.  She has this strange idea that by having either of these two items, wherein she can utilise the internet for the single purpose of subscribing to one Social Network.  Having not ever used a modern computer let alone a Laptop, it is impossible to imagine her using anything more up to date than an old school typewriter.   That is not to say she is unintelligent enough to grasp the concept of modern technology, but a lengthy process of learning would no doubt ensue.
Luckily for me, being at work all day takes me out of the ‘help’ equation.  Unfortunately the same could not be said for my brother.  If she gets her way, he will be left with the unfortunate task of showing her and re-showing her how to navigate through the many facets of social networking.  Let’s put it this way; if her land line was Pay as you go, she’d be out of credit before the Laptop was fully charged!

On the subject of charging, my Mum informs me that her next door neighbours are having solar panels fitted to the roof of their house.  Whilst I commend them for their environmentally friendly attitude it would be nice if they extended some of that friendliness to my parents.  At one time they were very friendly, and then, after one incident involving some tiles and a bit of noise they became quite hostile.  In relation to this current issue, the lady living next door asked my Dad what he thought of vans and trucks parking up outside their house, to which my Dad responded by saying he didn’t like it but put up with it.  From what my Dad has told me this appears to be the end of that conversation, only to discover a few hours later, a truck parking up outside their house containing a whole load of scaffolding poles, destined for the very neighbour who had, not two hours earlier, gauged my Dads response to the question of trucks parking outside his house.

Being the inquisitive kind my Mum had to ask me how the solar panels worked: did you need the sun to be out all the time for them to work? She asked.  I then had the arduous task of explaining (to the best of my knowledge) how the system works; I managed to furnish her with a few analogies but the one that she understood was the principal of a battery being used in a clock for a day, being removed, and then being put back in; the energy that remains only gets used once it is back in the clock, and not while it lay dormant.  I’m no expert but it is almost like explaining rocket science.  

Illegal Downloading is Killing Home Taping

Over the last few years it seems that illegal downloading has found its place within the wider world of the music business.  At a time when the music industry itself seems to be in decline, maybe it is fitting that more consumers of music are taking that path.  We are told that this decreases the earnings of the artists, funds terrorism and provides them with fewer opportunities to continue their careers.
Of course people like Madonna, Take That, or indeed Robbie Williams have no such worries when it comes to their profits, after all they have had long enough to become wealthier than us mere mortals can hope to. This is also bolstered by the record companies paying out unnecessary advances to people such as Robbie Williams.
In the same way that warnings on cigarette packets are designed to ward people away from smoking, vinyl LPs carried a skull & cross bones on the backs of the covers; this wasn’t a warning that pirates might be listening to your record collection, although Adam Ant did warn of stealing it in his song Stand and Deliver: the warning was to inform us consumers that ‘Home Taping is Killing Music’.  By the same token, we are now informed that illegal downloading is just as damaging. I suppose now the prosecutors are the Adam Ant in question! 
I put it to the music industry ‘jury’ that if such practices are so illegal why, thirty years ago, were blank audio cassettes available, and also, why tape machines were sold with a ‘Record’ button.  Surely the companies making such products weren’t under the false impression that no-one would use the function or that it was there for merely decorative reasons: seriously, how many people were using these machines just to record their voices onto?  
The main difference (and an obvious one at that) between home taping and illegal downloading was that people had no way of facilitating the distribution of copied recordings; plus the fact that the recordings could not be accessed remotely. 
Home taping was NOT killing music thirty years ago, just as downloading isn’t killing music now.  If anything, it was and still is, keeping it alive. Record companies are just taking the fun out of sharing it!
The only thing worse than being prosecuted for downloading music from the internet is the knowledge that pirates could be selling illegal copies of Jedward albums to unsuspecting kids, and making money from them; if that’s the case, let them carry on I say.

6th July; The Leaving, the Left, and the Mutton Jeff

Today was the day that Ken left: luckily it wasn’t Barbie from whom he took his cue to leave.  Ken is a member of the team I usually work with (that is when I’m not seconded).  He has been in the company for the last 18 months on a temp contract.  He was in our team for about 6 weeks, and has now moved onto pastures new.  As is customary when a member of a department’s team leaves, the rest of the team put their hands in their pockets and pull them out again with nothing…no that’s not right, I mean, they put their hands in their pockets and produce a bunch of flowers…no, wrong again; let me try this one more time…they put their hands in their pockets, take money out and put it towards a leaving present, got it that time, I knew I’d remember the chain of events leading up to the presentation and consequent humiliation of the departing individual eventually; a pity then that I was not remembered at the time of said presentation.  As I am working in a different area of the company building to normal I instructed my manager to let me know when the ritual humiliation was about to begin, and I would race round to the other side to catch sight of this awful spectacle (the giving of card & present, not Ken).  As loyal as I can be, I took time out this morning to visit my sorely missed team in order to sign the leaving card with some witty repartee.  Unfortunately I was unable to muster anything up so simply wrote ‘Great working with you Ken, good luck in your new job’.
But did I take part in this over zealous attempt to thank him for all his hard work? No, and you know why? because I was not informed of the time to go round.  Looks like Ken is not the only one that’s left: in the eyes of my other ‘team’ I may have as well. I have gone from the ‘missed’ to the ‘missed out’!
On a lighter note, I met my friend Graham for lunch today, so that we could discuss our venture into the world of music.  For the last few months we have been spending our spare time making Re-edits of songs. If you are not aware of this musical art form (it sounds better than craze), let me give you a quick guide through it;
The Re-edit is like the musical equivalent of putting an extension on the back of your house: it looks fine but a bit more might be nice!
Essentially you take a recorded song that is stored in your hard drive, place it into sound editing software (such as Audacity) and cut and paste certain parts of the song into a different order, or by repeating key phrases that fit together by corresponding notes, and therefore make it longer.
Having been created in the 1970’s as a way of playing exclusive mixes to club dwellers, the 12” single became a selling point for artists into the 1980’s and beyond.  They often contained different ‘versions’ or ‘mixes’ to the standard 7” single we spent our pocket money on as kids.  This modern tradition of creating re-mixes (or Re-edits, or sometimes known as Re-cuts) has, in the last 10 years or so crossed over into the homes of many fans of the genre.  At times it feels sacrilegious to mess around with songs that already sound perfect, but it is a fun way of enjoying them like we did the first time. We are not trying to, by any means, better the originals but simply to enjoy them in a longer format.

Feel free to check out our mixes at Soundcloud.com/Redspidermixes.  Feedback welcomed.        

5th July; Macs, Lies and Toupee Talk

We have experienced a heck of a lot of rain in the last few weeks, and due to this it has become increasingly more difficult to decide what kind of outerwear to put on in the morning.  It was dry today but even so, we could have had a downpour at any moment. With this in mind, the first subject of today’s blog is about coats and more specifically rain proof clothing.
A colleague is going to the Global Gathering festival soon, and she decided to let us know about the Rain Mac she has purchased just in case the heavens decide to open while the event is taking place.  Although she did not show us the Mac she’d bought she did proceed to tell us all about it.  Personally I’m not all that interested in what Mac she buys, especially considering she probably won’t find a use for it outside of the festival (except if she suddenly decides to keep it for her cat to lay on)
The Mac in question, she tells us is like a poncho but made out of clear plastic.  Not only that, it is also covered in blue dots.  Now I’m no doyen of the fashion world but I don’t see how a plastic rain Mac with blue spots on it can be given the title ‘stylish’.  I guess it’s down to personal taste.

Someone told me recently that they had lied to one of my colleagues in relation to their hair.  The poor lad is very young and, although very intelligent, sometimes displays a certain amount of naivety. Suffice to say, I have been harbouring a (supposed) secret about this other person for a few months now.  Today I decided it was time to let him know that he had been sold a lie about a certain female colleague (who shall remain nameless).  For you see, she had told my younger colleague that her hair was in actual fact a wig.  3 other people told the same lie to him, and he has continued to believe it:  he’s had no reason to question it but I had felt he had carried it with him for too long (not the wig, of course).  In the course of me confessing to him that I knew it to be a lie I managed to cause him to become somewhat embarrassed: to the point he didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day (it was only about an hour before he went home).  My intention was not to embarrass him but merely to right what I considered to be a wrong. This may turn out to be a good thing because he can now use it against the people that sold him the lie in the first place.

This whole story has been of great inspiration to me, not only for this blog but also for the Sit-Com I have been trying to write over the last few years.  It is still very much a work in progress and I am continuing to explore the many facets of the characters contained with it.  So, to my colleagues I say thank you.

4th July; Sketches of Independence

In the true meaning of the term independence, I spent most of today in that kind of state: quietly getting my head down and just working. There are a few things worth mentioning however;
A new comedy sketch based series is currently airing on BBC Radio 4 entitled Sketchorama.  It is a half hour show presented by one third of the Penny Dreadfuls (they’re not that bad really) Humphrey Ker.  Each week he introduces three up and coming sketch groups.  The episode I listened to last night showcased the talents of The Noise Next Door, The Boom Jennies, and Jigsaw.  All three groups had some interesting ideas, and on the whole a very funny bunch.  It has been said that the comedy sketch as a format is a dying art: on the evidence of this show and the artists featured I would have to strongly disagree with that. Being able to come up with sketches based around all sort of daily situations, especially those provided by the audience and then performed without rehearsal or preparation is still a great way of showcasing obvious talent.  All hail the new gods of sketch comedy.

Being British I found it strange to be asked if I am celebrating Independence Day today. It’s the first time I have been asked this question. What was even stranger still was the following question put to me, ‘Why not?’ I then had to go through the process of explaining as to why not.  Reading this, you may think it odd, as I did, to feel the need to explain why we Brits don’t celebrate, as our American cousins do, the signing of the declaration of independence.  To be fair, the person asking me this question is of ethnic descent and therefore lacking in that particular grasp of the difference between ourselves and the US (that’s not to say all people of ethnic minorities are unaware of that particular difference between our cultures) He related the fact that Father Christmas, as an icon is essentially a US based characterisation of St Nicholas.  If I’m not mistaken I think he believed that to be a reasonable argument for us to celebrate this day as well. I could be mistaken myself, but I may well have bridged the gap in his knowledge of this day and its meaning to the citizens of America. Long live America!

3rd July; T-Shirts and Stones

The first conversation to arise this morning was on the subject of T-shirt wearing cool kids: those 16-19 year olds who wear the shirts of iconic bands from the 1970’s and 1980’s. 

The names that instantly spring to mind for this strangest of ‘trying to look cool in front of your friends’ pursuits would include Joy Division, Iggy Pop, and the more obscure (to some) Alien Sex Fiend.
In the midst of our conversation, my friend Ian informed me that one more than one occasion he has been the exponent of such a ritual whilst attending a gig.  He informed me that the last time this happened; he was on his way to a gig in London. On arriving at the venue he was stood in line in front of a guy wearing a Black Flag T-shirt.  Some of you may remember this band as an introduction to the singer/poet Henry Rollins. My friend began to make polite conversation with this lad and asked him which albums he had of the band, to which he replied ‘I don’t have any, and never heard any of their songs’
Of course the reaction to this by my friend was of astonishment.  The only explanation I can think as to why you would wear a T-shirt of a band you have never heard before is irony. For some inexplicable reason kids of 16-19 seem to only ever explain the reasons behind this kind of fashion statement by insisting it is for ‘ironic’ purposes.  Not only does it seem odd to me, as a fan of bands, whose T-shirts I own out of pure love for their art, but also because I have invested my time and money to buy the genuine article at the time of the gigs.  What a strange new concept!

While on the subject of bands, the same friend moved onto to ask me what the fuss is all about The Stone Roses reunion, and especially the amount of money they are being paid to perform their shows. I could only agree with his lack of understanding.  I had a few friends towards the end of the eighties that were fans, but I dismissed the concept of ‘Baggy’ music, as it was known in Britain.  Other exponents of this musical sub-genre included the Inspiral Carpets, Happy Mondays, and Charlatans.
As an Indie kid (still am in my heart, even though my music tastes are much broader now) I couldn’t understand their popularity at the time;  I was only interested in music released through the independent record labels of the time: Beggars Banquet (Gene Loves Jezebel), Fiction (The Cure), and Probe Plus (Half Man Half Biscuit) to name but a few.  Technically Probe Plus was and still is the only real independent record label of those three.
I made a quick joke in relation to The Stone Roses song ‘I am The Resurrection’ by saying “I’m the resurrection and so is my wife”, thank you Monty Python, and good night!

What happened today - 2nd July 2012

What happened today? I'm not sure, you tell me, ha ha!  But seriously, the events that unfolded for me will appear a little further down the page, in the meantime, here is the news;
A hawk that went missing recently has been found. A member of the public spotted it on Wimbledon Common.  It was picking up rubbish, and looking for anything it could to recycle!
Could it have been a Womble in Hawks clothing? That was just one one news story I saw on the BBC Breakfast programme I watched before departing for work.
Whilst at work the following things were either seen, read or discussed; luckily none of them were discussting (disgusting!)
In the course of my working day I see a lot of names, some normal, like Mr Smith or Mrs Jones, some not so normal, like Mrs Havacock, and then there are the ones that sound vaguely reminiscent of other things, like Dr Moolla - he must be made of money!  For those of you that are not familiar with certain British slang terms, Moolla means money.  For example, "You see that geezer over there, he's got loads of moolla in his pocket".
Names are great things to see a lot of throughout your day, especially when you need one for a short story.  I don't just do this you know! oh no, I'm also a member of a writing group that meets twice a month.  Our beloved leader (of the group that is, not David Cameron, or the Queen, as he's better known;-) has decreed that before our next meeting we are to each write a 250 to 500 word story about a writer with writers block.  That is going to be a very empty page, methinks!
Getting back to today's events, I had a discussion with a colleague regarding the meat substitute product Quorn.  If you are not a vegetarian, or never eaten meat substitutes before, or simply hate the idea of eating something made from Fungi, you may want to ignore this bit; believe me though when I say this stuff ain't so bad.  The reason this came up for discussion was that I had just written a joke based on one of the products in their range, and wanted to make sure I had used the correct terminology in the set up.  The joke goes thus; What do you call baked goods made from Macro-biotic Fungi?  Quornish pasties!  I am convinced it doesn't sound right, especially as he then asked me if they are from Cornwall (the company not the pasties) but, alas, my colleague wasn't able to quantify this, mostly because he doesn't like the idea of eating fungi based foods: except mushrooms, of course! In the midst of this conversation he also informed me that, instead of BBC Radio 1 being the station of choice in his part of the building, he would rather listen to the Wimbledon coverage on BBC Radio 5 Live.  Being the silly and (sometimes) dirty minded kind, I suggested he just wanted to listen to the ladies as they grunted their way through their serves. He promptly dismissed this as conjecture, plain and simple. The station being played in my part of the building was Planet Rock.  Although I like rock music, it wouldn't necessarily be my station of choice; seeing as how there is no such thing as Planet Indie, I had to endure some of the songs I don't really care for.  That's okay if you believe you only need five CDs in your collection, and they all consist of the best of 70's Rock.
The working day was coming to an end, and with that in mind I will leave you with this moment of madness from my colleague Esther; she turned to me and said "I can hear voices - its almost as if someone is singing to me...oh hang on, its ok, its my phone"

Saturday 30th June 2012

Last night I ventured out to the theatre; not Shakespeare or anything quite as high brow, no, it was just a little theatre in Royal Wootton Bassett.
My friend, and one time Stand up comedy tutor, Sarah Archer was performing the last preview for her up coming Edinburgh show Constant Craving.  The concept of the show is the way in which, as a society we all crave things, beginning from a small age through to adult and and, maybe beyond that.
The purchasing of material goods becomes an ever increasing part of our lives, and as we get older the products become bigger and more expensive.  Its an ever spiralling circle of consumerism.
The first thing she talks about is the trainers she recently had bought for her as a Christmas present. Whilst they may have cost £50, that is still quite an expensive gift in the shape of footwear.  The trainers themselves are modelled on the Superhero Wonder Woman.  She goes on to explore the abilities of said hero, and specifically the golden lasso of truth.  It doesn't sound like the greatest weapon for a super hero but it would probably prove more effective in extracting a straight answer out of Tony Blair at the Levenson enquiry!
Although there is no direct corralation between the trainers and Wonder Woman, per se, there is a link to the way in which these things are produced at a fraction of the cost in some Asian sweatshop, and the pay given to the kids who make them.
As she moves through the show it becomes apparent that as a nation we are gripped by the need for all the latest advances in technology.  For example, the part that Apple play in this is overwhelming.
Sarah brought this up in the show, and by the poll that the audience took part in it does appear that the majority of people are owners of at least one product made by Apple.  I myself don't own any of their products but that is just for the simple fact I refuse to sell my soul to the devil (or Steve Jobs as Sarah referred to him).  She offered a reason as to why she believed him to be the devil, in that he lived in LA but was more often than not seen wearing a roll neck sweater.
The show wasn't all about gadgets and products made for the mass market, she also explored her fantasies and wishes as a child. 
Later in the show, Sarah returns to the theme of women using weapons to extract information from people; this time in the shape of Chesty Morgan, playing Double Agent 73.  I have never seen this film but apparently it is used as a prime example of the Sexploitation genre, dating back to the (not so) swinging 70's.  It seemed easy to make jokes at the expense of this film, especially considering the ways in which Chesty used her enormous assets in order to extrapalate information.  A camera is inserted into her left breast in order for her to take pictures of the gang members selling low grade heroin. Each time she needs to take a photo, she takes off her shirt and lifts her left breast.  This all sounds very implausible and that is where the laughs are.
Other areas of our consumer lifestyles were taken to task, not least the riots seen in British cities last summer. The highlight of this section was the photo shown of some kids looting a Pound shop.  This lack of ambition really shows the lengths people will go to, to be involved in something for the sheer hell of it: even worse when you consider one of the kids came out of the shop holding aloft packets of Haribo, and was caught on CCTV doing so.  Not only that, she had the look on her face normally only found on a Warthog that has found water for the first time in days!
Although Sarah has finished the run of previews, I think there may be some areas that need a little polishing. The overall feel of the show works, and the theme is brilliantly explored throughout.
If you attend the Edinburgh Fringe Festival at any point in August I would urge you to see the show.  Its free and will be at the The Lizard Lounge, Espionage (V53), 4 India Buildings, Edinburgh, EH1 2EX.

29th June 2012

Hewritesnowthen was supposed to be my attempt at keeping an internet based record of my writing pursuits, following on from a course in Creative Writing.  On many levels I think I succeeded in this, however, somehow I failed to keep up the momentum.
Well, that was then and this is now; I have returned to this blog with a challenge, set by my class tutor.  The challenge is simply to write a page a day for two weeks (14 days).  There are no rules..well, except for the one just mentioned. It doesn't need to be about anything in particular, it just needs to be the equivalant of an A4 page: its not beyond my capabilities but it really will be a challenge.  Right then, less of the waffle and more of the syrup...mmm syrup!

So, to begin with I will label each post with the day's date, starting from today the 29th June 2012.

This morning, on the way to work I decided to listen to some of the comedy CD that British Stand Up comedian Michael J Dolan has released as a digital download.  I have to admit I have not yet bought the CD, or in fact paid for the digital download; what I have done initially, is to follow Michael on Soundcloud, with the intention of purchasing the digital download at a later date.  For those that aren't aware of his work, Michael J Dolan is an up and coming comedian on the British Stand up circuit, who took part in the BBC Radio 2 New Comedy Award last year.  In one part of his set he talks about his dislike of kids, in particular three kids of around 13 or 14 who had followed him home whilst pelting Maltesers at him.  As he puts it, he asked them in his best School teacher voice 'please knock it off', but they carried on. I had a similar experience when I was 14; a kid of 9 or 10 that lived at the opposite end of the street to me. For some unknown reason he would try and sare me into walking another way home in order to avoid him.  I was undeterred but, every night on my way home from school, would come out from his house and pursue me down the road, thus taking me further away from home.  This went on for some months, until, finally he and his family moved away.  That was a blessed relief.  Even now though I can't walk past the house without wanting to go in the opposite direction.
Although I was at work today, not a lot really happened. Saying that, one of my colleagues had a rather funny (if a little disgusting) story to tell; whilst at college, in the middle of a lecture, one of his fellow students sat behind him and proceeded to throw up on him.  This has never happened to me but I can only imagine the feeling; somewhere between the slow trickling of Trifle, and the wetness of vegetable soup. Tom, who, at just over 18 years old, has experienced some strange things in his short life.  He has the amazing ability of retelling his experiences with humour and no hint of annoyance. I have often told him how funny it would be for him to go on stage and recount the time he walked through a park, and had a bird empty its bowels into his mouth.  It was partly his own fault, if only he could look up without opening his mouth. I will be very interested to see if anything as awful and as funny as this happens to him.

Charles Bronson film actor or prisoner, what's the difference

A few weeks ago I was talking to a colleague about a criminal known as Charles Bronson.  Having forgotten that apart from the film actor there was a second Charles Bronson who was put in prison for a crime he was unable to fully realise, or get away with, as it turned out.  What follows is a daft imagining from the recesses of my brain as to how he ended up in prison...

The director of the Death Wish films, Michael Winner, should really be put in prison as well, just for merely being a part of such a heinous crime against film making.

But wait, did I hear you right?  Not that Charles Bronson you say!  Not even Archie Bronson (whoever he is) would have committed such unlawful acts; but I digress.
It’s the other Charles Bronson, the ‘star’ of the bio-pic Bronson, named, funnily enough after his original boxing alias.  Now I know who you mean.
Even though he is renowned as the ‘most dangerous inmate’ in Britain, it really wasn’t the case at first.  This hard man began a seven year sentence, initially for a little bit of robbing and beating up any ponces that get in the way of his newly found boxing career.
Like all criminals, Charles’s initial foray into crime was a simple robbery; what Charles didn’t account for was that he may get caught.  As fate would have it, this is exactly what happened when he decided to hold a little post office.
What he initially planned to be a breeze, ended up in farce;
‘So, there I was, all ready for an easy life and what happens?  Well, some mug comes into the Post Office and interrupts my flow, the bastard’.
Of course, when he says flow, what he really means is his robbery patoir.  This basically consisted of patiently standing in line with all the olds, waiting for their weekly pension payout, until it gets to his turn and he can explain that ‘this is a stick up!’  This was where the problem really began.  Poor Charles, and I do mean poor (why else do you think he turned to crime?), had spent days rehearsing his ‘stick-em up’ speech, and when he finally gets to put it into action he gets interrupted by some old dear behind him;
‘Are you going to be long dear?’ The old lady said.
He was right in the middle of it and by all accounts going really well (even though the old lady wasn’t available for comment).
‘It’s just; I have to get back to my George.  He’ll be wondering where I am.  Its nearly time for his lunch you know’. 
‘Don’t you worry love; this’ll be over and done with in a flash’.
‘That’s nice to know, because I can’t keep him waiting’.
 He may be a nutter in prison, but on the outside (when he’s actually there) he’s very considerate.  So said his ex-wife.
‘What you going on about, you mad old thing’.
‘I may be mad dear, but I’m not as old as you think’.
This went on for another ten minutes, and in that time the Police had been called and the lady behind the counter had put the kettle on, prepared a Pot Noodle and made a long distance call to her brother in Australia.
In the end he thought – sod this – and persuaded the few people in front of him to part with the money they had on them, including some change.
Being pension day that left him with a grand total of £73.29 and even some of the change was in pesetas and francs, and as we all know they ain’t any good to no-one, to coin a phrase.

What is love anyway?

That's not a personal question, but the name of both a song by Howard Jones and also a comedy show by UK stand up comedian and writer Richard Herring.
It was the day before my friend Christina's birthday (3rd Feb) and as a present I bought her a ticket to the show.  Myself and her brother were also in attendance. This may well become a tradition considering I did the same last year when Mark Steel was in town (those that have heard Mark Steel on Radio 4 will get the reference).
I think its fair to say that all three of us have been fans of Mr Herring since the days of Lee & Herring's Fist of Fun, but for one reason or another it isn't until now that we have managed to catch one of his shows.  This year was going to be different; I decided after the last few years of listening to his AIOTM and Edinburgh 2011 podcasts (both available to listen to at www.comedy.co.uk, and to buy from www.gofasterstripe.com), as well as buying DVDs of his past shows, I decided it was time to actually see him in the flesh (as it were).
So, what is love? That's not for me to answer, after all everyone has their own definition of love, and there are lots of ways to express love. In this case i have expressed my platonic love for my friend by giving her the opportunity to see a live show that tries to break down the mystery that is love.
The show itself ran for almost two hours with a 20 minute interval after the first hour.  Not long to crack the science or philosophy or whatever of love but in some ways Richard Herring succeeds.  The show was done in a kind of chronological order, from birth, and the love for your parents and vice versa, through to the teenage years where all of us at some point will have told our parents "I hate you", to finding love for ourselves in adulthood, and eventually to the last years spent amongst loved ones.
The illusion of domestic bliss with his girlfriend was somewhat shattered by making fun of her. By her own admission she is a little kooky and Richard managed to make light of this in a very flattering way; I’m sure she didn’t mind a little ribbing for the purposes of the show.
The deconstruction of the poem he'd written as an 18 year old, recounting the year a school friend spent sleeping with as many girls as he could, was funnier than you could imagine.
For me, the highlight would have to have been the 3 or so minutes' rant where he informs us that on the first Valentines day spent with his girlfriend he decided he would buy a single Ferrero Rocher (the gold wrapped chocolate/nut combination) and continue to do so on every subsequent Valentines Day.  This was an amazing recall of the amount of these things needed to make up a pyramid as seen on the television adverts, in which a waiter serves a tray of Ferrero Rocher to expectant guests at a dinner party, to which one of the guests comments "you are spoiling us with these chocolates".
Of course a show like this must include some darker elements of the human condition and it was so easy to see the lengths he went to in order to bring us the kind of pathos needed to make it more than just a comedy show with jokes about sexual love.  If he is due to come to your town or city in the UK, and there are still tickets available I highly recommend going to see him.

Its a laugh 'ere, innit!

I realise I haven't posted anything on here since last Monday but I have not had anything to say for myself since then. I think the idea of doing a daily blog was a task I wasn't yet up to, and also the fact that I asked myself who wants to read a daily blog of someone who really has nothing more to offer than his (dare I say it) boring work life! Maybe its as much the people I work with as it is me.
So, in reaching a decision about this, I have decided to revert to just blogging as and when I feel the need and have something a bit more substantial to say.
For the time being, here are the highlights of the last week in my life;
Tuesday and Wednesday were misnomers to be frank, as I was ill on both days; all I did on these days was languish in bed.  I went back to work on Thursday but it was a slight case of getting my head down, do the work, and come home only to start the whole process over again the next day.
I had been elected to present a quiz to my team on Friday morning, so with pen in hand I noted down some questions from the BBC show Eggheads, and ITV's The Chase.
Altogether I drafted 15 questions of a varied nature, hoping that some of them, at least, would prove easy enough for my team mates (or the majority of) to answer.  In some ways I was wrong to think in these terms because as it turned out they proved a little on the hard side in the main.
I was surprised that only one of the team was able to answer the question Who is the lead actor in BBC1's Not Going Out? I often wonder if I watch too much television or that I watch too many things that just don't appeal to the people I work with, i.e. younger by between 10 and 20 years.  It might actually mean that with the years I have on my colleagues is an advantage in quiz terms (as long as its TV and music that is).  For any of you who haven't seen 'Not Going Out' the answer to the question above is Lee Mack.  I might also point out the show has endured four very funny seasons; so I was somewhat surprised to hear some of my team mates say they had never heard of it.  My jaw dropped to the floor with a resounding thwack at this revelation; oh well, their loss!
On Saturday I decided to re-ignite my love for (and attempts at) reworking songs from the 80's into my own vision of an Extended Mix.  These are just for pleasure and nothing else. I have found many sites on the Internet where these 'Fan' mixes reside.  The best ones sound really good and as professional as if completed by a studio technician; I have been lucky enough to complete one or two that sound OK but still not to their standards' oh well my loss!
Sunday was spent at my parents, chatting (about nothing in particular), having Sunday dinner and chatting some more. My parents both have a great sense of humour and that makes it easy to crack jokes and generally have a good time; Its great having parents that are open to jokes, even though some of them are a bit racey. I'm not saying we spend our time together telling each other rude jokes but a little bit of risque humour shouldn't be dismissed as filth, because its not, its harmless and good natured.
My mum has the ability to say daft things without realising and I think that is where I gained my own sense of humour from; its also where i gleaned most of the jokes from when i did five minutes of stand up in April 2011. At one point in the proceedings my dad said he was told by doctors he had an "abnormality at the back of his head", and without hesitation my mum jumped in with "its called his wife".  I was surprised at the speed of her response but it was one of the funniest things I have ever heard her say, and you know what (in the words of Droopy) that makes me happy!

Whooping and Cheering causes Coughing and Jeering

The Health Protection Agency has today confirmed that cases of whooping and cheering are on the rise.
A report has found that people in their own homes that take it upon themselves to make these noises whilst watching their favourite reality shows are more likely to contract symptoms not unlike those found in children suffering from whooping cough.
Since the advent of the ‘red button’ audience participation has been steadily growing.  It is now believed that these levels are now at an all time high.
A spokesman for Guerillascope, the agency that processes the overnight viewing figures suggested that this is the first time they have seen these figures in this quantity since Big Brother began in 1999.  The spokesman also suggested that “with the arrival of newer programmes such as Desperate Scousewives and Made in Chelsea, it is not surprising to see these figures sky rocket as they have”
In a bold move to contain this outbreak of the condition, GPs have been instructed to issue patients complaining of the disorder with prescriptions of Eastenders to be taken three times weekly, with one added omnibus, in extreme cases.  “This is the only course of action we can recommend at this time”, said Dr Legg of Albert Square, Walford.
The reality show makers are well aware of the hysteria their programmes create but they have no way of stopping it until their contracts run out.
The head of ITV was quoted as saying “without this interaction we could not survive another season of The Only Way is Essex, or Desperate Scousewives.  As it is the majority of our viewers find it difficult to comprehend anything that resembles a real plot”

Monday 16th Jan - Charlie & The Film Factory

Like all human beings I am a creature of habit.  For at least the last 5 years I have reserved Monday lunch times for my weekly dose of cynicism courtesy of one Mr Charlie Brooker.  What I love the most about Charlie Brooker's weekly Guardian column is that almost nothing escapes his barbed view; he has the same outlook on life as me and that's why I enjoy the way he expresses himself.  I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate me saying this but he just seems to say what i'm thinking.  It's fair to say I was brought up in a house full of cynicism, which mainly stems from my dad; not a bad person to get it from to be honest! He was a major influence in my world view, and the cynicism gradually became part of my outlook on life. I have tried to move away from viewing the world in this way but once I latched onto Charlie Brooker it all came flooding back! I guess its just a flaw in my personality; I'm glad its not just me but I also realise its probably got something to do with the fact that myself and Charlie are exactly the same age bar for 3 days, which he holds over me.
In this week's column Charlie looked at ways to save the British film industry.  I shan't attempt to condense this down, no i'll let you read it for yourselves;
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/jan/15/charlie-brooker-british-film
Suffice to say, he makes for a great argument against the way David Cameron believes the British Film industry should move forward.
As for the rest of today, there was a real lack of conversation in the office; that, of course could be down to the fact of how much work we had to do today.  I was asked to tell a few jokes today but in a lot of ways i wish i hadn't; some people are less receptive to jokes than others!  And they do say comedy is subjective. The jokes I told are my own, so maybe that had something to do with it. I'll let you be the judge...
Joke 1- Russell Brand has followed up his Bookey Wook with My Divorcey Worce...Katy Perry is thrilled to be getting the only signed copy!
Joke 2 - I read that 1/3rd of children in Italy are overweight...Just one Cornetto obviously isnt enough!
I am at home as I write this and am currently watching The One Griff; a one-off stand up and sketch show dedicated to Griff Rhys Jones.  The sketch I am watching right now is about the office worker who can only talk about football, while his colleague has no interest in it whatsoever...I completely relate to this as I am one of those men who does not care one jot about football.
(In the words of Charlie Brooker) now go away!

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Saturday 14th Jan - A Devil of a Fist of Fun

This morning I woke up at around 9am.  I have never really taken to early mornings at the weekend but when you don't sleep very well and awake before 10am I think that counts as a lie-in.
Rather than just get up out of bed, I decided to sit and read for an hour or so.  At the moment I am reading a novel by one of the writers of the BBC series Sherlock, Mark Gatiss. The novel is called The Devil In Amber and although I am only 60 pages into it I am really enjoying it.  It centres on a character called Lucifer Box, and is set in the 1920s.  Lucifer Box is a charismatic spy who has been ordered to infiltrate the fascist organisation FAUST.  As a long time fan, I have enjoyed his work, from The League of Gentlemen, Dr Who, and now Sherlock.  I also enjoyed the BBC Radio 4 series Nebulous, which he starred in a few years ago, written by another favourite, Graham Duff.
At around 10 am I put my PC on, and became ensconced in the world of music blogs. I jumped from one site to another; I believe this is known as leapfrogging.  As well as comedy I also have a kind of obsession for 12" singles from the 1980's.  I love looking for sites of people that have done their own 12" mixes in the same style of the 80s originals.  I have attempted a few of these kinds of mixes with some success.  Although the people doing these 'Fan' mixes say you can use Audacity to make them and its simple and easy, I haven't found it the easiest thing in the world to do.  Maybe I just haven't spent enough hours learning how to use the program first before attempting to create a mix.  Having said that I have managed to do a few mixes that sound OK.  Personally though I prefer to use a program called Acid, made by Sony, only for the simple reason that I have been using it for about 10 years on and off.
In the early evening I made a poor attempt at a chicken casserole from a recipe on the label of a soup can.  I'm no chef and I think I'll stick to writing and reading music blogs!  After that I sat back and watched a few DVDs; the first was the TV series Lee & Herring's Fist of Fun, which has only been out for a few months.  It was first broadcast in 1995 and have not seen it again until now. As you may or may not know this programme was written by and starred Stewart Lee & Richard Herring.  As I have become a Richard Herring convert recently I have begun to collect all of his DVDs (and books of which I have one so far). He will be visiting Swindon in the next few weeks and am really looking forward to seeing his new show What is Love Anyway. The second DVD was the first series of the Australian show Kath & Kim. We really don't get to see enough antipodean television in the UK but this was one of a handful that I am lucky enough to have seen.  If you haven't seen it, it is half mockumentary and half sit-com about a mother and daughter.  The daughter (Kim) is estranged from her husband and moves back in with her mother (Kath), while Kath is gradually making arrangements for her upcoming wedding to Kel, a local butcher.  There is also Kim's best friend Sharon, who seems to be put upon by Kim in every way imaginable.  While this programme may be seen as something that should be exclusively aimed at women I feel it has enough going for it that anyone with an understanding for good comedy can enjoy it.

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Friday 13th Jan Funny but not funny

To some people Friday the 13th can mean only one thing; bad things are bound to happen. Luckily for me I'm not superstitious and therefore it means nothing worse than any other day to me. That's not entirely true though; as far as myself and my team mates were concerned it did mean saying goodbye to one of our Senior Advisers.  She has moved onto to pastures new within the company.  Obviously the previous Manager of the team I work in couldn't bare to work without her, and so she has joined him at our Head office.
In order for us to commiserate this change it was decided we should all go for an Italian meal at one of the many restaurants in our town centre.  I had a lovely pasta dish known as Penne Al Salmon; it literally translates as Salmon in Penne pasta.  I've had it before and it was a safe bet to go for the same thing again.  I like to try different things whenever I go to an Italian restaurant but it had been so long since I went for an Italian meal that I forgot.  Its funny how, when it arrived on the table, it triggered the memory of the last time I had it.  I told myself this was an expensive lunch but it was worth it, because I love fish and pasta. I was asked if I had any jokes to tell the team, and even though I have written a few jokes the day before I wasn't really comfortable telling them; not that i thought they were bad or rubbish but because I knew they could be funnier.
In the afternoon a few of us got onto the subject of stand up comedy, sit-coms and all things funny.  It has to be said that this subject is probably my favourite talking point and one that is close to my heart.  I have always prided myself on my knowledge of comedy on TV.  If I was to be asked if I had any obsessions it would have to be this.  Somehow I am able to recall the names of writers of TV shows, and people who write material for or with comics on various comedy panel shows.  I have to admit this is more likely to be confined to the UK than other countries, such as the USA; this is only because the US tends to have pools of writers whereas in the UK this isn't really the case;  much like British sit-coms, which are predominantly written by one or two people.  In the case of Graham Norton, he has most of his scripts written by Will Ing and Dan Gaster.  These are two people who instinctively know how to write for him. Panel shows are the only thing I know of in the UK that are written by 'Programme Associates' (seen in the credits list) as opposed to the guests and hosts themselves.  Obviously in the case of Mock The Week the guests perform their own material in the stand up segments but may not necessarily write the 'gags' in the general rounds.  This isn't a bad thing because it probably makes it quicker to record the show.

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