Pynchon

Hi Gang! I bring words of wisdom!

"Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak."

"He who laughs last, thinks slowest."

"Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine."

"Those who live by the sword get shot by those who don't."

"Nothing is foolproof to a sufficiently talented fool."

"The 50-50-90 rule: Any time you have a 50-50 chance of getting something right, there's a 90% probability you'll get it wrong."

"If you lined up all the cars in the world end to end, someone would be stupid enough to try to pass them, five or six at a time, on a hill, in the fog."

"If the shoe fits, get another one just like it."

"The things that come to those who wait will be the things left by those who got there first."

"Flashlight: A case for holding dead batteries."

"The shin bone is a device for finding furniture in a dark room."

"A fine is a tax for doing wrong. A tax is a fine for doing well."

"When you go into court, you are putting yourself in the hands of 12 people who weren't smart enough to get out of jury duty."

I have left some things incomplete and that is a situation that I cannot allow to stand.

I never did finish writing about "The Prestige".



"The Prestige" is based on the 1995 novel by the British writer Christopher Priest.

On 26th February 1983 I met Christopher Priest when he was doing a signing session at the legendary (in Birmingham, at least) science-fiction and fantasy bookshop Andromeda. I was 19 years old. At that time I was criminally shy, quiet and withdrawn. I looked a state. I was not cool (unlike now, NOT!) I didn't have enough money to buy whatever tome he was flogging at the time, so I hung around outside for a couple of hours trying to raise the courage to go into the shop to buy something he had written that was out in paperback, and to try to get him to sign it. I did get my act together, went into the shop, picked up a copy of his fine novel "A Dream Of Wessex" and approached the counter with trepidation. I think that I was the last customer in the shop queued to see him.

Of course there was nothing to worry about. Christopher Priest was, and I suppose still is, a lovely man. At that point he would have been about 40. Long hair. Very untidy. Freakishly tall and he was wearing cords. (Hippie!) He had something of the air of a distracted maths teacher about him.

I mumbled something about liking "Fugue For A Darkening Island" very much. He was surprised by that, but also glad. He told me that the critics thought that it was a "load of crap". We talked for a little bit. I didn't feel patronised. It was two guys having a chat about books.

Pre the time that the Internet, movies and television starting taking up all of my time, I was an avid reader. I devoured books. I still devour magazines, but not books. It is one of the biggest regrets of my life that I have managed to get out of the book reading habit. A cursory look at my sidebar will tell you that I have only read 3 books this year, and even that is a lie. I have read two books and one article out of the 3rd book. It is crap and useless, and if I do nothing else, I want to get the reading habit back.

Christopher Priest for quite a long time, along with Harlan Ellison and Stephen King, was one of my favourite writers. I read all of his books up until the mid 1980's and then other things started taking over. I have never read "The Prestige". I will have to remedy that.

"The Prestige" (movie) is really good. It's the story of the rivalry, sometimes vicious and destructive rivalry, between two stage magicians and the obsession in finding the secret of the Transported Man illusion. It's one of the best films of the year, even if I do admit that I did see one turn in the plot before it arrived. It's a gothic melodrama that becomes a gothic, steampunk fantasy and has faultless performances by Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman. Need I also say that Michael Caine is Michael Caine and Scarlett Johansson is beautiful? No. I didn't think so.

I am loathe to give anything more away, so I won't.

I read recently that after the success of "The Prestige", both "A Dream Of Wessex" and "Fugue For A Darkening Island" have been optioned for movie adaptations. I think that they are both problematic novels for adaptation ("A Dream Of Wessex" is about an experiment in creating a virtual, shared, future world from the brain power of hypnotised volunteers, and what happens when a psychopath joins the experiment; "Fugue For A Darkening Island" is about what happens when an ultra right wing government comes to power in Britain, and the effect on Britain of a million refugees, fleeing a nuclear exchange on the African continent, suddenly arriving), but if they are done right they could be brilliant. The fractured timeline of "Fugue For A Darkening Island" would suit the director of "The Prestige", Christopher Nolan, down to the ground.

I really hate Christopher Nolan. He is a genius. Bastard!

This has taken longer than I thought it would. I will be back tomorrow. "Borat". "Casino Royale". Other things.

I hate to let people down, but I am going to have to delay writing anything until Wednesday. Tonight my head is hurting me (not enough sleep, too much work, etc.) and tomorrow we are going to see "Casino Royale".

There is a lot to write about.

Wednesday, then. It's a date. I promise.

I'm here, but I'm not here, if you know what I mean. I have had an incredibly busy weekend. I'll go into it tomorrow.

We are going to be watching "Bad Santa" on Sky Movies and 8pm and then "Lost" on Sky One at 10pm, so if we are going to be eating anything before then, I need to get cracking now.

... And I say that TV doesn't rule my life.

Hang on. I've never said that.

Very quick post as I am on Lorraine's laptop and my big, fat fingers are too large for the tiny little keys on the keyboard. Thank God for spell checkers.

The house is very quiet. It is raining outside. The TV is not on. Moon is asleep in the kitchen. I keep imagining that I can hear dripping from inside of the house, but it is my imagination. I am a looooooooneyyyyyy!

I have been helping Sister 3 over the phone to setup a Google Mail account. It has been a nightmare, but it is now done and dusted.

I'm now going to get some mince out of the freezer so that I can make some chilli and rice for Lorraine, when she gets back tomorrow. After that I am sit going to sit down and write out a list of everything else that I need to do. I will be in bed by 23:10.

I may be back sometime tomorrow, or I may not. Whatever.

Have a nice Saturday, people.

I've been reading blogs. It's taken time. I have a fair few on my favourites, these days. I've also been commenting when the urge struck me. There is a whole world of stories out there and I've realised how much I missed being a part of it over the last week or so.

Never again.

The senior managers returned today from the off site planning session. (Basically it is a jolly boys outing where they decamp en masse to Portugal, or wherever, to drink, eat, play golf and run strategy meetings in the evenings. Nice work if you can get it, not that I would ever, personally, play golf.)

James Cunt was back in his office this afternoon. At one point I heard him tearing a strip off one of his team leaders, over some minor toss that had not been sorted while he was away getting a tan. Cunt was very loud. Unreasonably loud. When team leader came out of the office he looked pretty shamefaced and shown up. I felt comforted by the fact that if he ever tried that stunt on Lorraine, she would probably kick him in the balls and walk out. She will talked to at work with respect and there is no compromising that.

Anything else? Not really. Lorraine is still away. She called. She said that she missed me. It was nice to hear.

I watched a great Australian film on DVD called "The Monkey's Mask". I had seen it years ago at the Midlands Art Centre and it had stayed in my mind. In the most simplistic terms "The Monkey's Mask" could be described as a modern film noir. You know the kind of thing. A girl goes missing. The worried parents hire a private detective. The private detective gets ensnared by a femme fatale. So far, so typical, except the twist here is that the private detective is a lesbian.

Very sexual. Very in your face. Great performances by Suzy Porter and Kelly McGillis (who was 42/43 when she made this film, but was still a thousand times braver and sexier as an older siren than Sharon Stone was in that "Basic Instinct 2" bollocks). I never realised that Abbie Cornish played the missing girl. How old was she when she made this film? 17? 18? I'm glad I finally got around to buying it. Very good.

Here I am again. 12:33am. I should be in bed.

I'm going. I'm going.

Lorraine went away this afternoon for her work visit. She will be back on Saturday.

I got home, fed Moon The Cat (who looked at me accusingly because I had obviously killed his Mom and buried her in the back garden) and went upstairs and got changed. For half an hour I lay on the bed listening to the house creak and wobble. I imagined light bulbs blowing, radiators bursting, power cuts...er... cutting and water leaks leaking. After awhile I slapped myself in the face, told myself to stop "acting like a basket case", got up cooked myself some tea, washed up and did some ironing.

Lorraine rang me. She asked if I was OK. I told her that I was.

I watched "Blade: Trinity" on Sky Movies. It starts well enough, but is not very good. I should have watched "The Constant Gardener" or (eeek!) "Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo". (Hey! I don't criticise any film that I have not seen. It might be a comedy masterpiece.)

Bit late now. I should have been in bed an hour ago. Plenty of time tomorrow to catch up with blog reading.

I am blessed to know such good people. Thank you for all of the comments.

Honesty is important, yes? Yes. I think it is.

The fact is that since my first blog was found by somebody that I work with in October 2005, and I had to quickly reinvent myself, this new blog has not been nearly as truthful, or as interesting, or as blunt. True, I still have my moments, but to me at least they are increasing few and far between. I think that I have been unconsciously (or is that consciously?) holding back in case somebody that I know has manages to track me down and spills the beans.

Ah... Know what I think, now? Life's too short. Fuck 'em. If they don't like what I have to say, then they can brace me on it.

Names will still be changed to protect the innocent and the guilty. I will not paint myself in a good light. I will try to be honest and I will appreciate honest comments. I will not delete any comments except obvious spam. If you think that I am a cunt, fair enough and good luck to you. I can be good and I can be bad.

I said that things have been building up and on Sunday night I cracked. Very true. The following might ramble a bit; I've not planned what I'm going to write, but I want to get it out of the way.

I love Lorraine with all of my heart. I really do. She was my first girlfriend. I hope that she will be my last. I lost my virginity to her at the age of 32. I do regret that it took so long to lose my virginity, but I was a cripplingly shy boy, teenager and young man, and I didn't have the confidence to ask anybody out. My sex education was through pornography and I think that that has caused problems because my expectations maybe do not match Lorraine's.

Lorraine and I have not had penetrative sex since Christmas Day 2005. There has been the odd bit of masturbation by me with her participating, but that has been the extent of it. She does not like me to touch her except for the most innocent cuddle. I have asked, cajoled, bought presents, told her that she is beautiful (she is beautiful), but it makes no difference. I have asked bluntly what I can do to make things the way that they were (we once had a fantastic carnal life), but all she says are variations on

"This relationship has got more wrong with it than the fact that you are not getting any sex. I won't be your sex object or your tit wank fantasy. I am a person."

Yes, she is a person. She is a very smart person. I love that person, as infuriating as she can be. What's wrong with a boyfriend or a girlfriend being a sex object, so long as that is not all they are. As for a tit wank fantasy? Yes, I enjoyed that very much. Rude, dirty and pornographic. It made me feel like a porn star. It was never all of our sex life.

I'm not aware that I have changed very much in the last couple of years, but I probably have. Lorraine has changed a hell of a lot. The hysterectomy changed her, but I was ready for that. We did have a limited sex life after that operation. Lorraine now has a lot more responsibility in her job. She works longer hours. She sees a future in management. She has prospects. She is becoming a winner. I am becoming a loser. Lorraine is always tired. It's a real problem.

Can sex being withdrawn drive a partner mad? I think that it can. I think that I have gone a little bit mad. It's quite pathetic, really, but it's how I feel.

Vicky Sunshine. What if's and might have beens and empty nothingness.

I have never believed in the concept of the Winter Blues. Not really. There is enough evidence to prove that it is real, but it has never been anything I have considered very much. I remember that towards the end of last year Graham wrote very eloquently about depression and the way that Autumn/Winter affected him. Not for me. I find the Autumn/Winter seasons quite comforting. The nights draw in. The curtains get closed earlier. The big coats come out. The heating gets switched on. The good stuff appears on the TV. When I was a little boy I loved Autumn/Winter time.

I've been thinking about my Dad a lot. I miss my Dad. He has been gone since 13th August 1978. He was 43. Massive heart attack. He died in my arms. I don't think that he would have recognised me, the way that I am now. I am probably everything that he would have despised. On January 11th 2007 I will be, to the day, exactly the same age that my Dad was when he died. I have tried not to think about it, but it is in the back of my mind all the time. I shouldn't be older than him. No, that's not right.

I never really cared much about anything except making my Dad proud of me. I think that I have floundered ever since he died.

The house is a mess. I have no inclination to do anything about it. Weirdly enough, Lorraine's sister's visit made us do a massive tidyup and it now looks fine. I freak out when the thought of decorating comes up. I hate the smell and the noise and the disruption. It upsets me.

I have (low level?) mental problems. I am more like Sister 2 than I would like to think I am. The TV has to be turned to the right channel before it is turned off. It upsets me to turn the TV off when it is on the wrong channel. (The right channel? ITV1, of course.) I compulsively check water taps. I compulsively check the ceilings of every room for water leaks (4 years ago we had a water leak in the kitchen ceiling. The obsession started from there. Last year we had a leak in the bedroom ceiling. That sealed it.) I don't like leaks. There are other things. I've mentioned them before. I function. I have never been that bad that I cannot leave the house.

My job. Ah... My job. I am bored beyond belief every day. I talk drivel all day. I hate a good half of the people that I work with. Lazy, stupid, awful people. Managers who cannot supervise the distribution of paperclips, programmers with only a passing knowledge of structure or logic, testers who would have difficulty in turning on a light switch, the same mistakes being made over and over again. Time servers. Clock watchers. Fuckers. Fuckers. Fuckers. (Good news today, by the way. One of the most useless cunts has just handed in her notice and is going to work for one of our rivals. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Fucking scum sucker.)

I should leave, except that I feel that cannot do anything else. I feel like I am a stinky, piece of awful crap. I suppose that I fit into that awful, stinky piece of crap Company perfectly well, because I am too lazy and I cannot be bothered. Lorraine is my Boss and she knows perfectly well how I feel. If I were to leave, it would not suit her anyway, because she would have to replace me and that would be difficult.

I joined my first Company in 1982 as a junior Computer Operator. I was on the massive salary of 3000 quid a year. I was rich, man! A couple of months after joining the Company, the senior lecturer at Bournville College contacted me about a University course that I could apply for. I thought about it and chose to stay in the job. I chose the money. I have never chosen anything but the money since. For a long time I have felt that that was the worst mistake of my life.

In 1978 I was a very promising kid. One day my English teacher took me to one side and told me that I was the cleverest kid in the school and that I should be thinking seriously about college and then university. Obviously I wasn't the cleverest kid in the school, and it all fell apart anyway in August of that year when my Dad died. I sometimes wonder what happened to that kid. He was good and he was enthusiastic and he had a future.

I did go to College a couple of years later to do a Computer course. I have been involved in Computers ever since.

I have no real life friends. Not really bothered about having any, if I'm honest. Friends get in the way. You have to spend time with them and they take up time that you could spend going to the cinema or watching TV or going to gigs. In the last 6 years I have met more people over the Internet that I consider to be real friends than I have met in the previous 37 years in real life. It's a good job that I am not rich because my name would probably be Howard Hughes.

I sometimes think that I have missed out not socialising with people. (See the age at which I lost my virginity.)

Got all that? All of the above has been going around in my head over and over again, over the past few weeks. I have felt like I had a steel band around my head that was getting tighter and tighter.

I feel better now. I exploded on Sunday night. I punched the wall. I started tearing up old magazines and comics (some real collectables) because I couldn't stand the mess any more. Lorraine manhandled me out of the room. She's a very strong girl. She held me very tight and said that she loved me.

Changes will come. I will not have a nervous breakdown. Bollocks to that.

Take a deep breath. Carry on.

Changes next year or next week or tomorrow. Oh, yes.

Normal service will resume tomorrow. I will be on my own. Lorraine will be away for a couple of days on work business. I'm dreading being on my own, but I will cope. That's what life is all about, isn't it? Coping.

Goodnight. You're my friends and I love you. I really mean that.

I don't know where the time has gone. Suffice to say, I'll be back tomorrow as I have a lot to write about. I am just very tired this evening.

Thanks for the comments, everybody. It is much appreciated.

Restarting the blog has been more difficult than I had imagined it would be.

I was ready to go back online on Friday evening, but visitors (Lorraine's Sister Ellen and Niece Abbie) got in the way. When we have guests visit (or should I say, when Lorraine has guests visit, because you can count on one hand the amount of times I have had people visit me at the house in the 5 years we have lived here - Hi Di! Hi Troy! Hi Sister 1, 3 and my Niece!), I am very conscious that I must try to be a good host. I do what they want to do. I eat what they want to eat. I watch what they want to watch. My Dad used to be a great, larger than life and accommodating host. I am nothing like him, not really, but I want to try to keep up that tradition.

I suppose that not being able to get back online was for the best. I was dreading what I was going to say, because I cannot explain exactly what happened, but something definitely did.

Last Sunday night I decided that I was never going to write again, because it was pointless. I was going to disappear forever. I was going to ignore all emails, comments and queries. I was going to shut the door and go. (Fucking dramatic, yes?)

On Sunday night I was writing away. Not happily writing away, I might add. I was having problems. The post was flat and dull. I couldn't get any words. I wasn't interested, but I felt obligated to write something, because it had been two days.

My feet hurt me. My back hurt me. I had had an argument with Lorraine about sex (again) and lack of communication. My head started to hurt me. I started sweating. I had a prickly feeling in my scalp. I couldn't breathe. I got really angry. Spitting angry. Strangle cat angry. (Moon is still here, by the way.)

... And then I wrote

"I'll tell you what. I've just completely lost interest in this. Nothing to do with "The Prestige". It was one of the best films I have seen this year. It's just me. No more. I've had enough. Not good enough."

I cannot say that it came out of nowhere, because a number of things had been building up, but there was a blackness and a rage and a kind of release.

After I had finished on Blogger,I surfed porn, had an unsatisfactory wank, shut the computer down, went to bed and told Lorraine that I had wanked off because she was a fucking drudge and a prude and that she ought to join a monastery, and that I had decided we may as well finish because I hated her.

It's been a week. It's been a tough week. We are still together. I don't hate her. I love her and I think that she loves me.

I will write more tomorrow. I am running out of time. Sorry.

I think that I have been worrying some people.

Don't worry. I've just been having a crisis. It's a kind of a pathetic crisis, but a crisis nethertheless.

Time permitting, as this evening we will be tidying up for a visitor, I'll be back later.

Things are fine. Really.

Yesterday I did a half day at work. It was very boring. We won't go there.

Yesterday afternoon, for no apparent reason other than Lorraine thought it would be a good idea to "have a look", I found myself being dragged around the Touchwood shopping centre in Solihull. It was quite boring, but Lorraine did manage to buy some Christmas things and at one point I found myself watching a young mother breast feed her baby in a Costa's coffee shop. I know that boobies were involved in this transaction, but it was not at all sexy. Lorraine told me off for looking. It wasn't my fault!

We watched "The X-Factor" during the evening. I think that the McDonald Brothers, talentless though they may be, are probably going to go on to win the competition. People have now got to be voting for them for a laugh. Oh, well... Good on them if Simon Cowell has to give them a million pound record contract. I don't doubt that they are nice guys, but they are really so bland and inoffensive, in a Daniel O'Donnell kind of way, that you just want to smash them in the mouth.

We watched "Bewitched" on Sky Movies. I didn't think it was as bad as the critics made out, but I have no inclination to ever see it again.

We went to bed. I tried it on. I was rejected. I apologised and told Lorraine that I had forgotten I was not allowed to have sexual feelings towards the woman I love ever again, turned over, farted and went to sleep.

This morning I went over to Sister 3's for lunch, with the rest of the Pynchon clan, and also to fix her computer. Sister 3 had downloaded a whole load of software and her machine had rapidly turned to shit. I uninstalled and reinstalled practically everything and her machine is now running like a dream. When I'm good, all modesty aside, I am really fucking good.

My Nephew (10 years old) put a picture of Jessica Simpson on his desktop. (How old was I when discovered girls? 12? 13? I'm sure it was something like that. At 10 years old I was more interested in what was going to happen to Spiderman and the Fantastic Four, than in girls.) My nephew has also put a closeup picture of a giraffe's head on Sister 3's desktop. The giraffe looks like he is laughing. My Nephew told me that the picture looks like Sister 3's new boyfriend.

My family are very loud. When we are all together we all talk at once and I can never hear myself think. I love them.

This afternoon I went to see "The Prestige".



...

I'll tell you what. I've just completely lost interest in this. Nothing to do with "The Prestige". It was one of the best films I have seen this year.

It's just me.

No more. I've had enough. Not good enough.

Hi Gang! I'm back!

Last night I went to see The Flaming Lips.



First a word on the support act, a trio that called themselves Deerhoof. Actually I will give you a couple of words.

Shit. Terrible. Awful. Lamentable. Crap. Diabolical. Terrible. Dreadful. Shocking. Appalling. Horrible. Gruesome. Harrowing. Distressing. (I've bought myself a dictionary/thesaurus with the intention of trying to improve my vocabulary. I am well aware that I use the same words and phrases over and over again.)

It's quite an achievement. On and off I've been going to gigs for 28 years and Deerhoof were probably the worst band I have ever seen live.

Hypnotically bad. Deerhoof played some kind of godawful mismatch of art rock/jazz/noise improvisation wank. No tunes. No lyrics. Bad, very bad. How bad? Beyond bad. Maybe it's me? Maybe it was some kind of fucked up performance art and I'm not intelligent enough to get it?

Deerhoof got a relatively good reaction from the Flaming Lips audience. Well, at least nobody booed. (They got a better reaction than the string quartet that supported the Pet Shop Boys on their second British tour. That night things were being thrown at the stage by the audience.) I wanted to boo. I wanted to throw things.

I'll give them one thing. Their drummer was great. Obviously a student of the Stewart Copeland/Mick Fleetwood school of drumming. He was 9 foot tall and gangly with it. His drumkit was tiny. (I bought my nephew one like it when my nephew was 2 years old.)

Deerhoof. I don't think that they will be troubling the charts very soon. Good luck to them.

In comparison, The Flaming Lips were just fab. It's the second time I've seen them and they should give lessons in how to stage an entertaining gig. It was like the greatest grown up kids party in the whole world. Where else would you get balloons, streamers, laser beams, smoke machines, dancing Marvel comic characters, dancing Santa Claus', a multitude of Alien ladies, giant heads, weird films and lead singer Wayne Coyle walking over the heads of the audience in a clear plastic ball? (Actually the clear plastic ball thing I've seen before at a Peter Gabriel gig, but it was still pretty cool.)

Musically they were pretty shambolic, but it hardly mattered. They were fun and mad and ridiculous and played everything that I wanted to hear. ("Fight Test", "Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots Part 1", "Vaseline", "Do You Realise?" - officially one of the most moving songs of all time - "The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song", etc.) The encore was a cover of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" (with the words on a giant screen so that you could sing along - I was magnificent) and something I had never heard before.

Well worth it. Great gig. I'll definitely be seeing them again.

Last night I copied all of my Jam albums onto my MP3 player. I forgot how brilliant "The Modern World" single was.

Nothing of any interest happened today.

I am going to see The Flaming Lips tomorrow night, so a (relatively) early night is called for.

Goodnight all.

I've just been distracted by Lorraine walking naked down the hallway.

Very nice.

So, to another lady who likes to get naked on film, occasionally. Kate Winslet.

On Saturday I went to see "Little Children".



Oh, yes. I must say that I did enjoy "Little Children". I enjoyed it a lot. I've skimmed over some reviews, but nowhere did I pick up that "Little Children" was going to be so funny. Laugh out loud funny. Jet black comedy funny. I don't know if anybody has seen Todd Solondz mighty fine movie "Happiness" , but the tone of "Little Children" reminded me a lot of that. The bad behavior of the suburbanites.

Kate plays Sarah, an upper/middle class housewife and indifferent mother, suffocated to the core by her suburban existence. She begins an affair with Patrick Wilson's Brad, a guy who was probably the most handsome and popular kid in his school, but is now a man emasculated by his own failures and by the success of his wife (played by an underused Jennifer Connolly). Mix in the story of Jackie Earle Haley as a convicted peodophile (weirdly the most sympathetic character in the film), returning to the town to live with his elderly mother, and Noah Emmerich as a traumatized ex-policeman obsessed with keeping the children safe, and you have a really provocative and challenging (I hate that word, I won't use it again) movie.

I must say that the third person narration is strange and jarring at first, but you soon forget about it. Just glory in the brilliant acting (especially by Jackie Earle Haley who by turns is repulsive, pathetic, funny and a true victim) and the brilliant script. (Too many great scenes to mention, and I'm not one for spoilers, but check out Ronalds' date. Mortifying.

Exceptional movie. One of the films of the year.

I bet you that "Little Children" is completely overlooked at the Oscars next year. Shame on them, if they do ignore it.

You'll be glad to know that Cinema Arsehole enjoyed the film a lot. On Saturday he was a huge, fat black guy, obviously having been taken to the cinema for the first time by his scared looking white girlfriend. Cinema Arsehole was very vocal in his enjoyment of the movie. Talking to the screen. Shouting. Making comments. Asking questions. I think that he thought he was in front of this TV set at home.

I asked him to "Please be quiet". So did a couple of other people. He was totally fucking oblivious to our requests. I tried to ignore him. I mostly managed it. (This is a breakthrough. Once upon a time I emptied a full beaker of Coca Cola over somebody who was pissing me off in the cinema. My Brother once told me that he is surprised I am still alive.)

I know that eventually I will stop going to the cinema. I believe that day will come when the technology is in place to allow a new film to be beamed into my living room. It'll happen one day. I hope that that day is some time off. I love going to the cinema.

Not much else to write.

I am going to see The Flaming Lips on Thursday. I am looking forward to that a great deal. I saw them at the Carling Academy a couple of years ago and they were truly magnificent.

Work is not very good at the moment. I have developed a deep and abiding hatred of some of my co-workers because of their arrogance, sloppiness and indifference. By lunchtime I got so frustrated and angry at the Technical Support team leader that I started banging the table in the canteen with my fists, until Lorraine told me to stop because people were looking at me. I really should get the fuck out of there. I broke two pens this afternoon by stabbing my desk. I cut my hand on a piece of sharp plastic from one of them. It is a wound of honour.

Lorraine is avoiding questions about when our sex life is going to resume. I'm not pushing it. Other than that, we are getting on just fine.

I am thinking about Christmas presents. I am thinking about Christmas, full stop.

Er... Anybody want to ask me anything? I'll give you honest answers, although the names might be changed to protect the guilty.

Go on. Ask me anything.

There doesn't seem to be time to do anything, least of all scribble things down in the blog. It's becoming a real problem. I am constantly tired. Maybe I'm diabetic! I was watching an advert this evening for some pharmacy or other, in which the foxy Phillipa Forrester



was explaining a bit about the symptoms of diabetes and the fact that said pharmacy were doing free diabetes tests. Overweight? Yes. Constantly tired? Check. Frequent visits to the toilet? Er... Not really.

Damn.

Maybe I'm not diabetic. Maybe I am just having too many late nights.

I had a busy weekend, entertainment wise. Being the wild and crazy guy I am, I will do this in reverse. Also, for a change, reviews without waffle.

Last night I went to see the Australian band Jet.



Other than a couple of singles I heard that I really liked, and a once only listen to the "Get Born" album, I know bugger all about Jet. Why go to the gig? They have a brilliant name, the idea of them sounded great and I just fancied going to a gig this weekend. Are those ridiculous reasons? Maybe. Doesn't matter.

I thought Jet were fantastic. Just magnificent. They were rock gods and they were just storming.

There are echoes of a lot of other bands in their sound. A bit of the Beatles, a smidgen of Led Zeppelin, a soupcon of Badfinger, a chunk of Oasis, a hint of Slade, a flavour of Big Star and quite a bit of AC/DC. Lucky I like all those bands, isn't it?

Seriously, Jet were very good. I will be purchasing the "Shine On" album very shortly and there is no better tribute than buying some music that you have only heard in concert.

Before the Jet gig I went to see "Candy" starring Heath Ledger and Abbie Cornish.



Simply put, it's the story of a boy and girl in love with each other and heroin. It is split into three sections - heaven, earth and hell. You can probably guess where the story of that couple go, just from the titles of those sections.

"Candy" has not had the best of reviews in the UK press, but I don't think it is a particularly bad film, just an unoriginal one. Heath Ledger is very good (but when is he not good, even in the lamest film?) and Abbie Cornish is just wonderful (proving that her brilliance in "Somersault" was not just a one off). "Candy" follows a well worn path and doesn't do anything that hasn't been done before. It's funny, but not a funny as "Trainspotting". It's harrowing, but not as harrowing as "Requiem For A Dream". It looks beautiful (is a film about drug abuse supposed to be beautiful?) and the music is great.

Saturday I went to see "Little Children", but I'll go into that tomorrow.

I'm really tired, man.

Sorry about that. I'm not too sure what happened last night. I just got very tired. Well, it was late, I suppose.

Sorry to be an anorak, but I've just remembered something else for the David Essex biog, although it is more about something he didn't do, rather than something he did do.

Apparently in 1974, when Ken Russell was mid preparation for the "Tommy" movie, there were reservations as to whether Roger Daltrey would be allowed to play the lead role, despite the fact that he had (obviously) created the role on record and onstage. David Essex was considered to be a good fall back option. I think I read that in the very good Keith Moon biography "Dear Boy" written by Tony Fletcher. I don't know if David Essex would have been good or not in that role. He has always had a good voice, but I've never thought of it as a rock voice.

Anyway, the gig.

It was... surreal. I'll tell you why.

David Essex's core audience in the early 70's would have been pre-teen and teenage girls. (Hi, Lorraine!) The way these things normally work is that the audience for a teen pop star or group eventually grows up and moves on, but if the artiste is smart, talented or lucky enough, the audience would move with them and they would enjoy an enduring fanbase. (It has happened in the last 20 years to George Michael.) My impression of David Essex has always been that his audience did not move with him and he found other things in showbusiness to do.

I experienced something at the Symphony Hall on Wednesday night that surprised me. I've never seen it before. Middle aged mania.

I knew something was up when the introduction music started, several hundred women rushed the stage and everybody else stood up. David Essex came on and the audience erupted. They went fucking mad. It was (gulp) a proper pop concert.

Middle aged ladies (I estimate that 90% of that audience were ladies between 40 and 50) are not supposed to act like that. Are they? It was as if the exact same audience that had witnessed one of this gigs at somewhere like the Birmingham Odeon in 1974 had gathered en masse to celebrate his return with exactly the same enthusiasm.

This is what David Essex looks like these days.



Still twinkly eyed. A bit older, not so much hair (and what he does have is a bit greyer) but he looked and sounded good.

He did most of the hits ("Rock On", "Gonna Make You A Star", "Lamplight", "Hold Me Close", "If I Could", etc.) but didn't do "Stardust", "Oh, What A Circus" or the magnificent weepy "A Winter's Tale", which was a shame.

I was impressed that he seems to be still trying to move forward. He did a lot of (frankly) unmemorable songs from his new album "Beautiful Day" (available from his website, fans!) and talked about a musical he had written that he intends to stage in September 2007; possibly in the West End. Strangely, considering I wasn't impressed by any of the songs from his new album, the songs from the musical sounded really good and tuneful. Maybe we will see him next year when the musical happens.

Was he as good as he was last year, when he appeared with David Cassidy, the Osmonds and Les McKewons' (sic) Bay City Rollers at the "Once In A Lifetime" show at the Birmingham NEC? No, probably not. That show was just a greatest hits set and was distilled genius. This was a proper gig, designed to promote new material.

Lorraine loved it. That's what really mattered. I took a look at her during the gig and she was swaying and singing along. She looked really happy. I like her to be happy. I don't think I make her happy a lot of the time.

No, I don't think I make her happy.

Sour note, eh?

It occurred to me, reading Enemy Of The People's comment, that a few people might not know who David Essex is. So, before I get into the David Essex gig, a quick potted history of the man. This is from memory.

David Essex started off his showbusiness career in the early 60's as a drummer in various pop groups. (For a time he was in a group with the actor Lewis Collins - who played bass - later of "The Professionals". At one time Lewis Collins was considered a fair bet to be the actor to replace Roger Moore as Bond, but it never happened as Moore hung on too long. Shame. I think Lewis Collins would have been an interesting Bond.) David Essex was not a success as a drummer and made a swap to acting and musical theatre.

By the early 70's David Essex was appearing as the lead in the successful London stage production of "Godspell". Producer David Puttnam spotted him and cast him as the lead in the feature films "That'll Be The Day" and "Stardust", charting the rise and fall of (fictional) rock star Jim MacClaine. (They are great films, by the way. Especially "Stardust", which boasts one of the most chilling final sequences of a movie that I have ever seen. I urge you to check them out, if you can.)

David Essex's pop career took off at this point. "Rock On", from the soundtrack of "That'll Be The Day", hit number 1 in the UK in August 1973 and he enjoyed a string of hits in the UK. I think that some of them were pop gold. "Gonna Make You A Star", "Hold Me Close", "Lamplight", "Stardust", etc. He became somewhat of a teen idol during that pre-punk era.

(Lorraine would say that this was because he was kind of gorgeous. I wouldn't disagree with that. Here's a picture of him in his pomp.



Twinkly eyed, is how I would describe him.)

During the late 70's he moved back to musical theatre and created the role of Che in Andrew Lloyd Webber/Tim Rice's musical "Evita". After the 80's he didn't really trouble the charts much, but continued to work in movies, musicals and theatre. He also had a dedicated fanbase and continued to record and tour.

Which is about where we are today.

I will finish this tomorrow. It has suddenly got late. I need my beauty sleep.

I've just realised that I won't be here tonight as I am taking Lorraine to see David Essex at the Symphony Hall. (Stop laughing at the back. David Essex made some mighty fine singles... a few years ago, and hopefully he will play some of them.)

So, I'll get this out of the way now.

"Red Road".



Other than a bit of a pat ending, I thought that "Red Road" was outstanding.

Jackie works as a CCTV operator for Glasgow council, watching over a small part of the city called Red Road. She is good at her job and empathises with the people she watches. (A man with an ill dog and an office cleaner who, when nobody is looking, dances around her office to the music on her Ipod.) She is lonely and is having a sexual affair with a co-worker that is going nowhere.

One day Jackie sees a man on her monitor. It is a man she knows and his presence alarms her. Jackie starts to follow him...

As the two main protagonists Kate Dickie and Tony Curran are really good. She as Kate, a woman frozen inside due to some great tragedy that befall her, and he as the mysterious Clyde (and I'm not going to tell you anything about him.) In some ways Tony Curran's role is the most intriguing. He starts off as an almost demonic figure and then becomes something else totally different. I wouldn't say exactly that you feel sympathy for him, but you do come out feeling that he is not a total villain. Who is totally innocent anyway?

"Saw III".



Ha ha ha ha ha! Leigh Whannell and James Wan really are a pair of sick, evil bastards, aren't they?

Violence, gore, ingenious torture. A bit of philosophy. (Appreciate your life, because it might be taken away from you at any moment.) You know the sketch. Everything you need for a good afternoon, or evening, out at the cinema.

I like the "Saw" films. Sue me. They are the 2000's cinematic children of the "Nightmare On Elm Street" and "Friday The 13th" films, and I really did like the "Nightmare On Elm Street" films.

I read yesterday on Empire Online that "Saw IV" is scheduled for production shortly and will be released for Halloween 2007. True the ending of "Saw III" is setup nicely for a sequel, but maybe it will be one movie too many?

Cringe. Cover your eyes and enjoy.