Pynchon

It's not too early to do this. I won't be going to see anything else at the cinema in 2006. In fact, I don't think that I will be doing much of anything at all for the rest of 2006.

My favourite 10 films of 2006. It's been difficult. My first list was 21 entries long.

In no particular order.

1. "Pan's Labyrinth"
2. "The Prestige"
3. "Brothers Of The Head"
4. "Atomised"
5. "The Wind That Shakes The Barley"
6. "Hard Candy"
7. "United 93"
8. "Brick"
9. "Lucky Number Slevin"
10. "Breakfast On Pluto"

And the worst? Oh, that would have to be "The Wicker Man", by a mile. I'm not going to even explain why. Experience the horror for yourself.

I must have been wound up tight after last night's post, because straight afterwards I had a couple of drinks and then started cooking the dinner. Towards the end of the cooking time Lorraine turned up in the kitchen and started making comments about about how exactly I had timed the cooking of the beef. So, I turned off the gas on the cooker and told her to "fucking do it herself".

Big argument. Obviously. In went on for a long time. She said, in part, that there were only two things wrong with me.

1. That I always had to be right.
2. That I was obsessed with sex.

Re. 1. I said that she was talking bollocks and Re. 2. I congratulated her on successfully managing to avoid being penetrated by me since Christmas Day 2005 and asked her if she considered that state of affairs to be an example of a happy sexual relationship to be held up to the world.

Lorraine then said that we should do up the house, sell it and split up. I agreed.

It's not going to happen. I hope it's not going to happen. Two hours after the argument we were watching and laughing at "Stealth" and "The Full Monty" on Sky Movies. Like flicking a switch.

Lorraine was quiet this morning, though. She was deep in thought.

I don't know where she is now. She left the house at 10am to have her hair done and then she was going into town to buy a present for her Aunt, who we are visiting on Tuesday. Before she left she told me to visit my Mom and go catch a film. I did ring my Mom, but she was going out to dinner. I was invited, but I wasn't bothered about going to a steak and chips shithole. I also wasn't bothered about going to the cinema. You won't see me write those words too often.

It's the end of the year. You get a feeling for a year. My feeling is that it has been a rough year for lots of people, for all sorts of reasons. You know who you are.

I hope next year is better.

Pynchon signing off for 2006.

This morning Lorraine chose to go to work for a couple of hours. I think that she must have told me some time ago that it was her intention to go to work today, but I was still pissed off. It just seems that recently if it is a choice between spending time with me, or spending time with The Company, then The Company will win every time.

I know that I had expressed an interest in going to the early showing of "Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer", and I don't suppose it was anything Lorraine would have been very much interested in seeing, but I would have been willing to change my plans. I would have seen anything she wanted to see at the cinema. Or we didn't have to go to the cinema. We could have gone shopping, or visiting, or anything else.

I don't suppose it matters. It's not a case that we don't communicate. I tell her exactly how I feel. It just doesn't seem to matter very much what I say and she says nothing at all.

I wonder if she is as bored with this as I am. I just want us back the way we were.

Anyway, "Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer". I did go to see it.



It's great.

"Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer" really is a beautiful looking film. Just wonderful cinematography and costume design. Truly gorgeous. Every frame constructed with the care and attention of a master artist working on a detailed canvas. (Fuck me! That was a good line. I'll use that again.) It looks absolutely stunning. It's also frequently realistic, raw, disgusting and stomach churning. A real sensory overload. It will not be for everybody and the mixed reviews have reflected that. It is also not a film to wait to see on your TV. Go and see it on the biggest screen you can and drink it in.

I had never heard of Ben Whishaw, but he gives an otherworldly performance. So otherworldly, in fact, that I'm unsure if he was actually giving a performance at all. It was all internalised, with hardly any external emotion at all. All in the eyes.

A good one to end the year with. I have no idea if I will be seeing a film tomorrow. Lorraine will be having her hair done in the morning, and I will be at home cleaning the house and waiting to see what she wants to do for New Year's Eve.

I feel like an absolute pussy whipped sap.

No excuse for this. I needed to be in bed an hour ago, because I wanted to get up reasonably early to catch the early showing of "Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer", then go to see my Mom and do various other things, but I got stuck into reading blogs, and now look at the fucking time

Ah... Mellow. Zen....

We went to see the Cole Porter Classics show last night at the Symphony Hall. It was good, but was not at all what I expected. It was almost a classical concert. A full concert orchestra, 10 singers (5 male, 5 female) with very operatic voices, a master of ceremonies explaining (formally) the stories behind the songs we were about to hear and an audience with an average age of 75.

Offputting.

It was still a gig and I enjoyed it tremendously. Cole Porter really was a genius songwriter, wasn't he? "I Get A Kick Out Of You", "Too Darn Hot", "Friendship", "Be A Clown", "Begin The Beguine", "Anything Goes", "Let's Do It", etc. Total class from a different era.

Lorraine said that the people at work feel sorry for me because I have to put up with her dragging me along to such things. She has tried to explain that it is me who is doing the dragging along of her, but don't believe her. Am I not supposed to like old and new music?

We went to the city centre today and did some present replacing and spending of vouchers. Back went one copy of the Beatles "Love" album, which was replaced with the DVD of "Over The Hedge" (because Lorraine told me that it was her second choice of DVD to buy me for Christmas after "Monster House"), Amy Winehouse's CD "Back To Black" and the "Best Of Free" on CD (I had HMV vouchers as well.) Book vouchers were spent on "Microsoft Office 2003 For Dummies", because I thought it was about bloody time I learnt how to use Word, Excel and Powerpoint properly, and a pack of "Casino Royale" playing cards, because they looked nice.

Back home we watched "Over The Hedge" (OK, but not as good a kids film as "Ice Age") and ate leftovers. Then we watched "Transporter 2" which is outrageous, but entertaining.

I'm going to bed. I'm late.

I will catch up with everybody tomorrow (and add links and correct spellings and answer emails and do everything else.) I will have no excuse.

If it should be.

"If it be I grow frail and weak,
And pain should wake me from my sleep,
Then you must do what must be done,
For this last battle can't be won.
You will be sad, I understand,
Don't let your grief then stay your hand,
For this day more than all the rest,
Your love and friendship stand the test.
We've had so many happy years,
What is to come will hold no fears,
You'll not want me to suffer, so,
When the time comes, please let me go,
I know in time you too will see,
It is kindness you do me,
Although my tail it's last has waved,
From pain and suffering I've been saved,
Do not grieve that it should be you,
Who has to decide this thing to do,
We've been so close, we two, these years,
Don't let your heart hold any tears."

It's funny, I've always thought of Lorraine's Dad as a blunt, unsentimental Cockney, but there he goes and sends us that poem.

I think that it is beautiful.

No time now. We are going into town to spend vouchers and return presents. Back later.

Spurs 2-1 The Mighty Villa.

It has to be admitted, not exactly a demolition job by us. Shame, because we played really well. We were solid and I thought that it was going to end up as another draw. What we miss is a couple of good finishers. If the rumours are to be believed, one of those finishers might be Jermaine Defoe, who did for us yesterday. After yesterday's performance I wouldn't blame Spurs for changing their minds about selling us Jermaine Defoe, assuming that it is more than just a rumour.

Still, it was a good day, except for the racist element in the Villa end that sang anti-Jew, Black and Pakistani songs throughout the game, and continued singing the same songs for the 3 hours it took us to get back to Brum on the coach. It's old, guys. It's dated. Nobody wants you. Nobody is listening. Why don't you all just go forth and multiply?

(I read this week that the historian David Irving was released from prison early and will serve the rest of this sentence for Holocaust Denial on probation. At the time of his incarceration I argued that he should never have been jailed in the first place because of the consequences for free speech. He should be allowed to sprout his paranoid conspiracy nonsense and we should be allowed to laugh long and loudly at his theories.

The racist turds at the Spurs game got me thinking. They should have been turfed out of the ground (and off the coach, come to that), but as such would we have been denying them their right to free speech? Is it OK for an apparently erudite, intelligent man like David Irving to give lectures and write books, but not for working class thugs to spew less subtle abuse from the terraces. Where do you draw the line? Should everybody be allowed to write and say anything they like?

There were signs up at Spurs asking supporters to "Mind Your Language". They didn't, so they should have been asked to leave. Austria has a law making Holocaust Denial a crime. David Irving broke that law. He went to prison. Is one right, but not the other?

Not well argued by me, but it's the best I can do.)

Back to work today. I spent the day in a state of mild annoyance, for a reason I never expected. There were a fair few people in the office and a chunk of them were spending the day dicking about. I had things I had/wanted to do at work today and I was being distracted from doing them. I do not like The Company (you know that), but if I am being paid good money to be there, even over the holiday period, I feel somewhat of an obligation to do the best job I can (being a saintly kind of guy, of course.)

I had a word with Lorraine (my boss, after all) and she had a quiet word with various people over lunchtime. It quietened down during the afternoon. It was so quiet that not a soul spoke to me.

Poor lambs. Their fun was spoilt. Call me Scrooge. Bah, humbug, Motherfucker.

I promised a list of this year's stash. Here goes.

1. "Costello Music" by the Fratellis on CD.
2. "Monster House" on DVD.
3. "The 4400" series 1 & 2 on DVD.
4. "The Office" complete series box set on DVD.
5. A "Doctor Who" board game.
6. "Doctor Who: The Inside Story" in hardback.
7. 3 bottles of red wine.
8. 3 books by Terry Pratchett - "The Colour Of Magic", "Hogfather" and "The Light Fantastic".
9. Addidas showergel and underarm shit.
10. "Bad Santa" on DVD.
11. Sony 007 Micro Vault 1GB Memory Stick.
12. "The Spy Who Loved Me" and "The Living Daylights" on DVD.
13. A Chocolate Christmas Tree.
14. A Lemonade Making Kit.
15. Towels and Tea Towels (eh?)
16. "Love" by the Beatles (twice!)
17. Book Vouchers.
18. HMV Vouchers.
19. La Fee Absinthe Kit.
20. Dilbert Desktop Calendar.
21. A Wall Calendar with loads of pictures of Oceans.
22. "Gerald's Game" by Stephen King.
23. A Wooden Clock.
24. Dessert Glasses.
25. A jumper 3 sizes too big!

It's a good stash.

I'll be back on Friday. We will be out tomorrow night at an evening of Cole Porter music at the Symphony Hall. I am really looking forward to it.

Everybody, now!

"Some get a kick from cocaine..."

I've just read my earlier post and I need to point out that falling over and giving myself and lump on the leg had nothing to do with the phones in the house not working. They were totally unconnected incidents.

After 3 emails to Telewest (you try to get through to them on a mobile phone) the phones are now working. I don't know why. They don't seem to know why, either. The last email from Telewest was confirmation of an appointment for a technician to visit us on Friday,which they sent two hours before the phones came back on. I've cancelled that visit. If they go again, I will contact them again.

I am dissatisfied with today.

I loved my presents. (I have made a list which I will put up at some point.) It's nothing to do with that. I am disappointed that I drank so much that I was falling over. I am unhappy that I couldn't pull it together enough to put a decent post up earlier, or to leave proper messages on everybody's blogs, rather than a quite poor "Merry Christmas". I wanted to write something different for everybody. There are things that I would have liked to have said, but frankly I couldn't be arsed. I don't like not being arsed.

Lorraine says she liked her presents, but when she opened the lingerie there was a look that went something like, "Oh, here we go again with the sex stuff". It was unmistakable. I offered to take the lingerie back to the shop and get a refund, but she said that she liked it and would wear it sometime. She is a fucking liar. I feel a weight building on my head.

I need to go to bed. I am out with my Brother tomorrow. We will be down in the smoke watching the mighty Villa demolish Spurs. Most likely I will not post now until Wednesday.

Have a good 'un, people. I intend to.

Merry Christmas.

Er... Yes.

I am way too drunk to say anything else (Bucks Fizz since 9am this morning), except that I fell over a box in the living room and now have a lump the size of a small boiled egg on the front of my leg and all of the phones in the house have stopped working. I suppose I should call Telewest to complain.

Merry Christmas Everybody. That was a song, you know...

I don't intend to flog a dead horse with this whole Ben thing, but I feel the need to write a little more.

I have not had to deal with grief for a long time. The last time for me was eleven years ago when my Dog, Q, died. Lorraine has had less luck than me. Since the end of the 90's she has lost her Mom, her Gran, her other cat Stalin (a poker faced, manipulative Siamese that adopted me the second I walked into Lorraine's house for the first time - I liked him a lot, but never lived with him, and was not around when he left us), and an Aunt and an Uncle (don't know their names).

It's easy to write about somebody else's grief. It's not so easy to write about your own. You can refer to somebody else as being inconsolable or heartbroken or distressed or dazed, but it's not easy to use them words about yourself without coming across as self absorbed or pretentious or just a wuss or a wimp.

I'm not too bothered at this moment about how I come across.

Yesterday, especially, I was inconsolable and heartbroken and distressed and dazed. I didn't sleep much over Friday night/Saturday morning and had to get up early to take delivery of the shopping. I sat on the settee and watched kids TV and I cried on and off for hours. It was appalling.

Various things were setting me off. I remembered how glad Ben was to see me, no matter how impatient I was with him. I remembered how he would take the food out of his bowl and eat it off the mat in the kitchen. (Cat food is as strong as glue, by the way.) I remembered how, during one Christmas, he decided to investigate behind the Christmas tree, got caught on the Christmas lights cable, panicked and brought the whole thing down.

Horrible, vile cat.

Lorraine was cool during this. She would get out of her seat, come over and sit next to me and hold me until I stopped crying. Then she would go back to her seat. Lorraine has cried a bit, but not much. I suppose one of us needs to be the functioning grown up in this relationship. I'm certainly not. I made two mistakes, yesterday.

Firstly, I mentioned that I got up early. I did. While waiting for the shopping to arrive I cleaned up around the kitchen and the bathroom. I washed and put away all of Ben's bowls and litter trays. When Lorraine finally got up, she went into the kitchen and shrieked. Then she came out and said, "There's nothing left of him". Awful. I am a stupid fucking bastard. I should have left the bowls and the litter trays until I had asked her if I could move them.

Secondly, we were on the way home from Sister 3's last night. It was quite late. I said to Lorraine that we should, "Get a move on because of the Cat".

Lorraine looked at me closely. "We don't have to get a move on for the Cat".

No, of course we don't. I had forgotten. Ben has gone.

I find myself still going into rooms and doing the "scan". The "scan", as all pet owners will tell you, is what they do when entering a room to locate their Cat, Dog, Rabbit, whatever, so that they do not trip over them. I think that it is going to take a long time to stop doing the "scan". I still check the ceiling of every room I enter for water leaks and it has been 4 years since we had that problem.

Mid afternoon I decided to pull myself together. Strangely easy. I can't explain it. Kind of like flicking a switch. Anyway, I had no choice. We were taking my Niece and Nephew to see the panto "Cinderella".

I picked up my Niece and Nephew from my Mom's. My Niece asked me if it was true that Ben had "gone to the Angels" and I told her that it was and that it was for the best. I explained about his illness and how sick he had become and how we had to make a hard decision. I also asked them to not mention it to Lorraine, because it might upset her. They were both cool about that and didn't say anything at all.



"Cinderella" was a really great night. We all enjoyed it a lot. The comedian Brian Conley is just made to front this kind of stuff and was a brilliant Buttons. He was not safe or coy or saccharine at all, but really in your face and edgy. Brilliant. The show was loud and bright and musical and very funny. Just wonderful. I love a good panto. When I was a little boy I went to one every year.

This afternoon Lorraine decided to put the trimmings up. She beat me out of the house with a broom, in case I got in her way, and I went to see "Deja Vu" starring Denzil Washington.



For a long time I could never get on with Tony Scott's movies. Loud, brash, crash edited and rubbish would be my description of most 'em, with some exceptions, "True Romance" and "Man On Fire" . Those were both great films.

"Deja Vu" is.... OK. It's not terrible, it's not a masterpiece. It is a perfectly OK movie. That's a victory for Tony Scott! It is preposterous and ridiculous, and like most time travel films is full of holes, but I enjoyed it well enough. Hardly anybody in the cinema, though. Where was everybody?

Oh, of course. It's Christmas Eve. What else is there to do on Christmas Eve but go to the cinema?

I am being called. Lorraine is cooking. I may be ill tomorrow.

All joking aside, thank you everybody. It has been a hard time, but we appreciate all of the comments, really we do. Ben was a handsome boy and we loved him. I hope he knew that.

Better times ahead for everybody, I hope.

There is no easy way to write this.

Moon The Cat is gone. We were forced to put him to sleep earlier this evening.

I don't want to write and write. Lorraine knows that I am putting this on the blog now. I have promised to be as quick as I can. She is in a world of pain and so am I. The last time I cried as much was when my Dog died in 1995. I knew it was coming, but didn't think I would cry at all. Big tough man.

So, quickly.

Last week, while Lorraine was off work ill, Moon had a fit. Lorraine rubbed honey into Moon's gums and fed him tuna. Moon recovered. Lorraine spoke to the Vet and arranged an appointment for today.

On Wednesday this week Moon had another fit. I came in from work to find him on the kitchen floor unable to move and lying in a pool of his own piss. I was fucking furious and shouted and screamed and I fed him, bathed him and cleaned up the kitchen. The next two days he spent mostly on the big settee in the kitchen. Normal sketch. No energy, not able to walk in a straight line, using the litter tray , but most of the time missing the target.

We took him to the Vet today. We were given a choice. More treatment, possibly leading nowhere, or a painless injection. The Vet went away for an eternity. Lorraine and I cried. We held each other. The Vet came back. You know what we chose.

The needle had a bright blue fluid in it. It was a really pretty blue. The Vet shaved part of Moon's leg and injected him. Moon was a cool boy. He didn't respond. He tasted something, looked at me and stuck his tongue out. His looked puzzled and then he went away. 5 seconds at most.

The Vet left us with him and we cried some more. Then Moon pissed all over the table. Good boy. His final "fuck you!" to the world. It was funny and I laughed. Horrible, vile cat.

Too many fucking words. Words are no good to me.

I need to stop now. I'll be back soon.

His name was Ben. He was loved.

My throat feels as though I have been gargling broken glass. Yes, I have a cold. I was fine when I got up this morning, but not now.

I don't have what Lorraine has been suffering through. It's really nothing. Except for the throat I feel absolutely fine. I hope it stays that way. I have too much to do this week. (Thursday evening, the Jasper Carrott comedy and music extravaganza at the NEC. Friday, the meal out with Bobby and Lana Blue - she of the turquoise eyes. Saturday, the panto Cinderella with my Niece and Nephew.)

Feeling festive, yet? No, me neither. Not really. Maybe this will put you in the mood.

Nicked from Ginny's blog, who nicked it from somewhere else.

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? I don't think that I have ever had Egg Nog, so it'll have to be Hot Chocolate (with marshmallow bits.)

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Oh, he wraps them. Most definitely.

3. Coloured lights on tree/house or white? All the colours of the rainbow.

4. Do you hang mistletoe? Nope.

5. When do you put your decorations up? I don't. Lorraine normally goes mental with the decorating just about... Er... Now.

6. What is your favourite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? I don't really have one.

7. Favourite Holiday memory as a child? Watching Christmas Top Of The Pops with my Dad, circa 1977. Abba, the Floaters, Elvis, Macca at Number 1. It was the last Christmas with my Dad. Bittersweet memory, thinking about it.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I don't understand the question. What truth about Santa?

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Fuck off. Blasthemy!

10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree? I don't. See 5.

11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? A bit of both.

12. Can you ice skate? Nope.

13. Do you remember your favourite gift? 1970. I was 7. I had a space suit. The space helmet lasted until June. It was fantastic!

14. What's the most important thing about the Holidays for you? Spending time with Lorraine and my family.

15. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert? I am partial to Ice Cream, but that's not really a Holiday Dessert.

16. What is your favourite Holiday tradition? I insist on watching the Christmas Top Of The Pops (the last time this year, as the show has been scrapped), no matter how bad it might be, and I always go out with my Brother to the footie on Boxing Day.

17. What tops your tree? I have no idea.

18. Which do you prefer giving or receiving? It's probably more fun choosing presents.

19. What is your favorite Christmas Song? It changes, but this year it's "Merry Christmas Everyone" by Slade and "A Fairytale Of New York" by the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl.

20. Candy Canes... Yuck or Yum? Probably yuck.

It's funny. I no longer feel guilty about not blogging every day. Sometimes living a life actually gets in the way. Not that I am pigeonholing people who are able to blog every day as being the kind of people who have no life. Obviously, it does not work like that. Blogging can be a very important part of your life.

(A reminder. "Hogfather" is on at 8pm. Get on with it John.)

Er... OK. I will.

It's been a busy couple of days.

This afternoon I saw the remake of "Black Christmas".



I have never seen the original "Black Christmas", so I have no idea if the remake compares favorably to the original or not, but I did enjoy it for what it is. Gory, nasty, explotative fun. It is stupid beyond belief ("The killer's in the attic - let's go and have a look!") and the plotting is lazy (the electricity is cut to the house and a girl still manages to have a power shower - nice arse shot, though, which I suppose was the whole point of the sequence), but the girls are pretty and bouncy and director Glen Morgan has fun pointing out lots of lovely sharp objects before they are plunged in nubile, female flesh. (By the way, a guy also gets killed nastily. Equality, and all that.) There is also a whole thing about eyes...

It's very short (84 minutes) so you won't waste too much of your life if you go to see it. It's not a classic, because it has all been done before, but it filled an afternoon.

Cinema Arsehole was at the cinema. Two groups of pre-teen kids shouting at each other and commenting loudly. They carried on through the adverts and the trailer and then the start of the film. They upset the wrong person. A big, black guy stood up and asked them if they thought they were "Gangsta's" and if they would like their popcorn "shoved up their ass". They didn't. They quietened down. The big, black guy was a frightening dude. He frightened me, and the lady sitting behind me, who said to her partner, "There's gonna be trouble" and made a swift exit to get somebody from the cinema staff. But, there was no trouble. They were as quiet as lambs, and when the film finished, sprinted from the cinema in case the big, black guy decided to come after them.

Just desserts. Good on big, black guy.

This morning I spent in the garden, sweeping leaves and cutting back plants. My arms are cut to ribbons. We have some very prickly and large plants. I look like I have defended myself against ninja assassins with my bare forearms. At least that is the story I will be telling my Nephew next Saturday, assuming that my arms have not healed up too much.

Last night Leona won "The X-Factor". The right person did win, no doubt about that, but although Leona has definitely got a pair of lungs, she has got no personality. Her voice ranges from whisper to foghorn with nothing in-between. I really don't know what they are going to do with her. She hasn't got the fun of Christina Aguilera, the tits of Mariah Carey, the strangeness of Celine Dion or the power of (old) Whitney Houston, yet those were the people that she is being compared against.

Yesterday afternoon Lorraine and I went into town. Lorraine insisted because she was bored with staying in the house. Bad mistake. She got tired very quickly and we had to go home. She then spent the rest of the evening coughing her guts up before she went to bed. I think she will still be off work tomorrow. Her Doctor's note runs out on Tuesday. She may have to go back and get another one. I am amazed that I have not caught anything off her.

Friday night I went to the Company Christmas Party. As these things go, it was quite good, but drastically scaled down compared to other years. It is a reflection of the redundancies and the fact that a fair chunk of the Development is now performed by the Indian office. None of the Indian programmers attended. Bit far to come, I suppose.

Still, there were 100+ people there, and there was the traditional competition by the girls to be the one wearing the outfit that exposed the most flesh. The winner was Lucy Toad. She was wearing a deep cleavaged Cat Woman stylee leather top. My friend Danielle (nice girl), who was sharing a hotel room with her, told me that the outfit was being held together by safety pins because Lucy kept "busting out of it".

Lucy Toad is an interesting girl. I don't like her much. If you were to lookup the dictionary definition of idle, you would get a picture of Lucy Toad. Lucy is... ahem... loose with her affections. A couple of years ago, at one of the previous Christmas Party's, she gave her then boyfriend a blowjob in a cubicle in the men's toilets. I know this for a fact. I was having a piss at the time in another cubicle. She did the same at a Company party last year. Same sketch, different boyfriend. Her current boyfriend is spending money on her hand over fist. As soon as the money is gone, so will she. I know her. I wouldn't stick yours in her.

Maybe I'm jealous. Promiscurity is never something that has ever been an option. To be promiscuous, don't you have to be attractive to the opposite sex? I'm not even attractive to Lorraine.

Poor sad me...

Bit of a rubbish post. I will do better tomorrow.

Drink! Feck! Arse!

I am descended from white trash Irish bogtrotters (actually not offensive, because... er... it's true!) and I have finally wiped out the veneer of sophistication bred into me by living in Brimingham for 43 years. ;-) Last night I saw the fecking Pogues!



I suspect that Shane McGowan likes a drink. (No shit, Sherlock.) He took to the stage with a bottle in one hand, a pint in the other and a cigarette in his mouth. Other than "Fecking shambles" and "It's really great to be here" I can honestly say that I didn't understand a single word he spoke or sang all evening. It hardly mattered. It was a great gig.

The band were as tight as a drum. They had to be, to cope with the digressions of the lead singer. Shane would do a couple of songs and then he would wander off, leaving the microphone to one of the others. Then he'd return, clutching a bottle, and the crowd would roar for the returning hero.

Songs. Lots that I didn't know, but others that I know very well. "Dirty Old Town", "A Pair Of Brown Eyes", "The Irish Rover", "Fiesta" and, of course, "A Fairytale Of New York" (there was a girl who sang that song with the Pogues, and she was good, but she wasn't Kirsty MacColl - nobody could be.)

Some random thoughts.

I have never seen a crowd as large as the one that they managed to squeeze into the standing section at the NIA last night, and they were all pogoing to the fast songs.

I have never seen so many drunk people in one place. (Sadly?... I was not one of them. Being a dangerous boy I had a diet coke and a twix. I would have liked to have had a drink, but I didn't think it would be a good idea with Lorraine being as unwell as she is. She might have needed me. I told you, I am a saint. Anyway, I have decided that I don't need to have a drink to enjoy myself.)

I have never seen so many Republic Of Ireland football shirts in one place. (I support the Republic Of Ireland for my Dad and England for my Mom. I can reconcile that. If England are playing the Republic Of Ireland, I support England. My Mom is here, my Dad isn't. It makes sense to me.)

I have never seen so much crowd surfing in one place. Actually, nor such rough bouncers. Fucking hell! There were some hard bastards pulling people out of the crowd!

I have never sat in a seat at a concert venue as uncomfortable as the one I sat in at the NIA. (Yes, I was in a seat. It's not normal for me to be in a seat at the NIA. Actually it was a perfect view, because most people around me had dropped over the barriers into the standing section. I normally like to go into the standing section because the seats at the NIA are just awful. Lorraine refuses point blank to go to that particular venue because of the awfullness of the seats. I left it very late buying a ticket, and a seat was all they had. I didn't mind too much.)

A guy at work, who has seen the Pogues on their last few tours, decided not to see them this time. His reason was the NIA was a cold and un-atmospheric venue and that it wouldn't suit the Pogues at all. He was wrong. It was really warm and it was a really up concert and the crowd were (excuse the phrase) mad for it.

I watched a blonde, middle aged lady at the edge of the crowd, clutching a pint and dancing. She was lost in the music.

On the way out a drunken teenage girl asked if she could borrow my coat, because it was cold. (I was wearing my big, black goth coat.) I sadly declined. She said that I was a "mean man", but said it a twinkle in her eye. It was an Irish twinkle kind of night.

A mention for the DJ who played a fine selection of 60's garage pop, ska and reggae. The Saw Doctors, who were supporting, also played a storming set. I know very little about the Saw Doctors, but a fair selection of the crowd knew their songs very well and sang along to everything.

Hmm... I've just reread what I've just written. It's not a well written review, but I'm tired. I got home quite late. I'll be out late again tomorrow. It's the work Christmas Party and Lorraine has told me that I must go. I don't intend to stay until the end, but I will show my face, eat their food and drink (some) of their beer.

Lorraine says thank you to everybody who has wished her well. She was vomiting last night when I came home, and was vomiting this morning when I got up, but this evening she feels better, despite the fact that she coughed so much she managed to piss herself. Hey, kids! Illness isn't cool!

I'll probably back on Saturday. I'll catch up with what everybody is up to, then.

Remember. Vote for Ray on "The X-Factor"!

Quick post, because I need to go to bed.

All yesterday's joking aside, Lorraine really isn't very well. She went to the Doctor's this morning and was diagnosed with Viral Tonsillitis or Laryngitis. One of those two. She has been signed off work for a week starting today, but has been told that she could be off for two weeks depending on how she gets on. Lorraine looks bad and feels worse.

Sunday night she banished herself to the front bedroom. (We sleep in the back bedroom.) Last night she started coughing at 2am and kept it up until 7am, when is when I got up. I heard every single cough through the wall. That's why I am so tired. She wasn't doing it on purpose. (Or maybe she was? It could be a cunning plan to drive me mad...)

I won't be here tomorrow night. I am going to the NIA to see The Pogues. I was quite looking forward to it, but I'm not now. I am a bit unkeen about leaving Lorraine on her own, but she has insisted that I go out. I know. I'm a saint, but the bloody halo is a pain!

Later.

Lorraine's home, but she's not very well. She's managed to pick up some kind of chest infection from one of her Brother's nippers. Serves her right for abandoning me and that evil monster of a cat for four and a half days.

She arrived just after I had finished Blogging. She appeared out of the wind and rain; stepdad Ian and missus Penny trailing in her wake. She was flustered, wet, red faced, sniffling, coughing and harassed.

"I'm not well!", she cried.

"What's up with you?", sez I.

"Are you deaf? Can't you hear my voice? I sound like Donald Duck."

"But, you always sound like Donald Duck."

Rapier wit! Fuck you Oscar Wilde!

Silence from Lorraine. It spoke volumes. Don't fuck with me when I'm dying.

I ran to the kitchen. I made tea for everybody.

Ian and Penny didn't stay long. They were just passing through this way and had given Lorraine a lift. When they had gone I cooked some food for Lorraine, who had collapsed into the big armchair and was helping herself to a big box of hankerchiefs. I smiled at her.

"Maybe later I can rub some Vic into your chests?"

Lorraine looked at me and I aged 20 years in a second. My hair turned white. My hands started to shake. I developed wrinkles under my eyes. My teeth fell out. My left eye filled with blood and started dripping goo onto my shirt.

Ah... Happy times. I'm glad she's home. I missed her.

She didn't go to work today. Strangely, everyone seemed kind of relieved...

I sure as hell know how to write a boring post. I mean, what was that? Sadly, there is more to come.

So, I saw "Pan's Labyrinth" (really good, a little masterpiece, go and see it, blah, blah, etc.) and headed into town. I managed to squeeze myself past the hordes cluttering up Victoria Square in search of bargains and/or food at the German Christmas market, and headed towards the Bull Ring and from there to Debenhams.

In another triumph of hope over experience I found myself on the ladies clothing floor and, again, began to browse for lingerie for Lorraine. Utter pointless, but I expected it. Debenhams is another store that only caters for ladies without tits and/or asses. They don't seem to be missing the custom, so perhaps they have made the right business decision. I did note that I was the only guy in the department at the time. Nobody made any eye contact with me. Perhaps the pretty ladies all thought that I was buying for myself? (I never have problem buying underwear for myself, but then again I do have the body of a God. Shame it's Buddah. Good joke that. I read it on a T-shirt.)

So, after Rackhams and Debenhams, M&S it was going to be. Not fashionable, but they have never let me down in the bra and knickers department. It took a long time, but I finally chose two lacy (nearly) see through sets for Lorraine. Girly pink and virginal white. They are practical enough for me to claim that they are... Er... practical choices, but also sexy enough for her to, hopefully, feel nice about herself. I want her to feel nice about herself. It has been a long time since she has felt nice about herself.

Did some food shopping and then I went home.

After feeding Moon The Cat, for tea I had the healthy single man's choice. Bacon and eggs with toast and butter and a huge mug of tea. It made me feel great. I then settled down to watch "The X-Factor".

Ben out! Ray in the final! Fuck, what? Actually, I don't mind Ray. He is an entertainer with a passable voice, but no way can he be anybody's idea of a modern pop star. I think if there are enough people who are pissed off with the idea of the completely tedious, obvious and unoriginal Leona winning, then Ray might actually steal it. Do we need another big voiced, wailing girl singer emoting her way through a song? No, we don't.

I then watched "Deuce Bigalow: European Gigalo" on Sky Movies. Yes, it's bad and coarse, but Rob Schneider is funny and I did laugh all the way through it. Nice to see Kelly Brook pop up as the lady in the painting, playing a geek boys fantasy. Ah, Kelly... And was that Rachel Stevens I spied, playing one of Deuce's clients? I think it was. Ah, Rachel...

Then I blogged. The end.

Dot dot dot.

Let me tell you a story.

A year or so ago I was in bed with a girl. She was an actress. Quite a successful actress, actually. You've probably heard of her. Anyway, we were in bed and she was tired (my fault, I'm afraid I wore her out), but she wanted to talk.

"I don't know what to choose for my next film", she said.

"You should think about lightening up", I said.

"Lightening up?"

"Yes. Lightening up. All you do are serious or challenging parts. You should try something lighter. Remember that spy film you did a couple of years ago? You enjoyed doing that, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

"And remember how pissed off you were for turning down that part in 'Love Actually'. I can't remember who did it instead."

"Keira Knightley."

"Yeah. Keira Knightley. You could have pulled that off. Nice part. Nice little comedy. You'd have been good in that."

And then she became very quiet and thoughtful.

A couple of weeks later Kate came in very excited. She had a script that she liked. A romantic comedy set around Christmas time. She asked me to read it and I did.

I didn't like it. It was way too coy, cloying, cute, sweet and predictable. The whole thing was slightly annoying and queasy. The American Girl character was awful. The British guy character was a sap and self consciously a nice man. Kate's part was OK and so was the part of the American Guy, but neither of them were particularly exciting or memorable characters. There were lots of things wrong with the script.

It was also badly researched. I'll give you an example. There was a scene when the American Girl character is in the UK and is watching a trailer that she made for an action film. (The American Girl character's job is as a film trailer maker.) Voiceover Man is giving it some welly and ends with the very deep and gruff proclamation, "Christmas Day", which I suppose was when the film is supposed to be coming out. No. Wrong. In the UK the cinemas are closed on Christmas Day. As far as I am aware this has always been the case. e.g. No films open here on Christmas Day. Family films often open on Boxing Day, but not on Christmas Day. Somebody should have picked up on that.

Anyway, Kate was very pissed at me. She said, "What the hell do you know about films, anyway?" and then, "I'm doing the film, and for your information, my ex Rufus is going to be playing my ex in the film!" and then she walked out.

I heard that she went back to her husband Sam. Probably for the best. Her husband is a film director, you know. I've liked a couple of his films.

Anyway, the film came out this weekend and I went to see it today. It's called "The Holiday". I suppose you want a picture. Here's Kate looking happy.



"The Holiday" wasn't very good, for all of the reasons I mention above. I had hoped that Jack Black might give the American Guy character a bit of oomph, but sadly not. He seemed to be acting on tranquilisers. They should have let Jack Black play Jack Black. Jack Black is very good at playing Jack Black. Nice Dustin Hoffman joke, though. That wasn't in the script that I read.

I have purchased the last of Lorraine's presents. It is a toy figure of Captain Jack Harkness from "Doctor Who" and "Torchwood" . Lorraine has often said that she would like John Barrowman to cuddle up with at Christmas, and now she will be getting the next best thing.

A weird thing happened today. Everything went according to plan.

I know. What is this madness? Surely everything couldn't have gone to plan? Surely something went wrong? A late bus delayed you? An irritating person pissed you off in the cinema? You were unable to buy something that you wanted to buy?

No, I tells ya! Everything went according to plan. I made a list last night of everything that I needed to do and I did it.

You want to hear about it? OK.

I went to bed early as I needed to get up early. (I was in bed by 10:30pm. I don't remember the last time I was in bed by 10:30. I think it might have been sometime around 1976.)

I got up early. (6:50am.)

I ate some breakfast (pecan nut crunch -yum) and watched some kids TV.

I washed, dressed and changed Moon's cat litter. (He was having a laugh, horrible, vile animal, but unknown to him, the mighty Pynchon had already factored him in. Who had the last laugh today then, Cat?)

I was on the bus at 8:30am. I was in the supermarket at 8:40am. I was out of the supermarket at 9:15am. (Everything was in stock and everything was where it should have been.)

I was in Comet at 9:20am.

I purchased a wireless laptop and mouse set for Lorraine for her laptop, for Christmas (she hates the flat keyboard and finger slidey mouse operation thingy that she uses at present) and some batteries. The girl who served me looked about 13 years old and had an expression of catastrophic boredom on her face. I asked her if it had been a bad day so far. She said that it had and that the worst thing was that the shop had only been open 25 minutes. Poor cow.

I was out of Comet by 9:30am. I was on the bus at 9:45am. I was home at 9:55am.

(Takes a deep breath.)

I had some cranberry juice and some tea. I chilled with Moon The Cat. He chilled with me back.

I was on the bus into town at 10:50am. I was in town at 11:10am.

I was in Rackhams at 11:12am. In a triumph of hope over expectation, I wanted to look for lingerie for Lorraine. (Whenever we are out together I always ask her if she would like me to buy something "nice" for her - meaning nice for me, Ha, Ha! - and she always declines, because she says that she is too fat. Utter nonsense, but that is Lorraine for you. I sometimes use Christmas to buy her some nice underwear.) I say hope over expectation because Rackhams does not stock lingerie for real women. Rackhams stock lingerie for fantasy women, who subsist on a bit of lettuce for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It didn't upset me. I had time to kill and I killed it.

I went to W H Smith and purchased various magazines (Web User, "Lost" magazine and the TV Guide magazines for next week and the two weeks after that - the Christmas edition).

After that I went to the UGC Cinema on Broad Street and saw "Pan's Labyrinth".



Oh, wow! I liked "Pan's Labyrinth" a great deal.

Not having read any reviews I somehow got it into my head, probably because the lead character is a young girl, that "Pan's Labyrinth" was a film for children. It is most definitely not a film for children. It is a very dark, violent and brutal fantasy set in 1944 during the immediate aftermath of the Spanish civil war.

A young girl moves with her heavily pregnant Mother to be with her adoptive Father, a captain in the Spanish army (a supremely cold and ruthless Sergi Lopez), who is occupied leading the fight against anti-Franco/Facist resistance. Here she discovers a fantasy world of fauns, fairies and doorways into other worlds. That is all you are going to get from me with regard to the plot. Nothing else, Jack.

Go and see "Pan's Labyrinth". It exceeded my expectations. It is a truly beautiful and melancholic piece of work and it works on all sorts of levels.

Please beware, though. "Pan's Labyrinth" is (eeek!) a subtitled movie. Do not let this upset you. You can do it. You can read and watch pictures at the same time. Be big. Don't be like the teenage couple who left 10 minutes into the film today. I waved goodbye to them, as they left. I am sure that they enjoyed "The Santa Clause 3" that was showing on the screen next door.

I am a bit tired, now. I will finish this tomorrow. Lorraine-return-day. Hurrah!

I am bad.

This evening I chose to watch "American Pie Presents Band Camp" over "Hotel Rawanda".

Horrifying. Awful. Lame. Laboured. Terrible. Useless. Unfunny. Superfluous. Moon The Cat had the right idea. He left the room in protest.

I need to severely chastise myself. (I might need a specialist magazine designed for that purpose.)

I am sorry.

That is all. Except to say that I am missing Lorraine terribly. She is a nuisance, but the house is very quiet without her.

During the trials and tribulations of recent weeks I have been to see two films. I think that it is about time I got my finger out and wrote something about them.

"Borat".



Every day in the Extra's section of the Independent newspaper they publish a quick guide to the best five movies (plus plays, exhibitions and everything else) that are playing at the moment. I'll cheat for a moment and just repeat what they have to say about "Borat".

"Better not to think too hard about how this wicked mockumentary works its tricks. Just be ready to book a seat and laugh like a hyena."

Frankly, I couldn't have put it better myself.

"Borat" really is very, very funny. I thought that it was possibly the best out and out comedy of the year. There are spoilers in the next couple of bits, if you want to skip them.

"Borat" is not perfect.

Of course some of it was simply taking aim at soft targets (the feminist group, the crowd at the football match that were upset at the mangling of the national anthem, the three pissheads in the van).

Of course Pamela Anderson was obviously in on the joke at the end. (Would her bodyguards have let her run distressed around a car park? Nope. They would have gotten her straight out of there.)

Of course the hero is racist, sexist, ignorant (his belief in the Kazakstahn scientist who had evidence that the female brain is smaller than that of a squirrel - I might use that some time, ha! ha!) and offensive (I particularly liked the traditional Kazakstahn celebration of the "Running Of The Jew" - open mouthed shock doesn't quite cover my reaction.)

Of course some innocent and well meaning people were made to look foolish (the dinner party).

And, finally, of course the legal waters here are particularly murky. Exactly by how much were the participants misled? What did the legal releases they signed (and I'm assuming that some kind of legal release was signed) actually say?

But, do you know what? Didn't matter a jot to me. I thought "Borat" was wonderful.

One question. Are all New Yorkers really as paranoid and rude as those in the film? Surely not. Or was it the best footage that the producers came up with? Very funny, though.

Spoilers over.

"Casino Royale".



It's the ridiculous to the sublime. The ridiculous being the piece of shit that was "Die Another Day". "Casino Royale" is a sublime movie. Exactly what a Bond film is supposed to be like in the 21st century.

It's a magnificent piece of work. As tough as hell. Hard, modern, particularly uncompromising (that torture scene - eek!), action all the way, with an emotional centre, and the perfect way to take the series forward. I particularly liked the way that Bond became Bond during the movie, picking up the various elements that we have become familiar with over the years (the license to kill, the Aston Martin, the tuxedo and finally that iconic catchphrase.)

I have said it before. Daniel Craig wouldn't have been my first choice as the new Bond. I would have gone for somebody like Gerard Butler. But with one small reservation, Daniel Craig is great as Bond. Really fabulous. He looks like a boxer who has lost a couple of fights (you can see it in his face), but a man you would hesitate to mess with and would not expect to beat in hand to hand combat ever again. A thug with a veneer of sophistication. (Is that the literary Bond? I don't know. It must be 20 years since I read a Bond novel.) It's a great acting performance by Daniel Craig, which let's be honest is not something that normally matters in the lead role in a Bond film.

A while ago I wrote that I was worried a massive departure from the girls, guns, gadgets, villains and action Bond formula would alienate the fans of the movie Bond as opposed to the literary Bond. "Casino Royale" is not that massive a departure. There are no gadgets as such, but everything else mentioned above is present. (Eva Green as Vesper Lynd? Oh, yes. Tasty enough to spread on toast and eat.) It's a shame there was no time to introduce a new Q or a Moneypenny. I would have liked to have seen new actors playing those characters, even in very short scenes, but no doubt they will appear in the next film. (And the next film already looks as thought it could be quite intriguing, doesn't it? Who wants to bet that the shadowy organisation at the heart of "Casino Royale" is actually Spectre and that the head of that organisation is actually Ernst Stavos Blofeld?)

A criticism. Er... I didn't like the theme song, that much. OK. I suppose it was alright, but "Casino Royale" needed a ballad and it needed a Bassey, not soft rock. Also, that reservation about Daniel Craig that I mentioned earlier? It's that Daniel Craig comes across more as a fighter than a lover. I didn't really believe him in any of the love scenes.

"Casino Royale" is the first film that Lorraine and I have seen together for ages. (A great night out at The Electric Cinema. Sofa seat, drinks, nibbles, etc.) Lorraine really loved "Casino Royale" and she most definitely was not convinced when she heard that Daniel Craig had been cast as Bond. She had her heart set on Hugh Jackman as Bond.

Go and see. You have been instructed.

Bloody hell!

Uninstalling and reinstalling Internet Security software on a laptop, takes a bloody age doesn't it?

This evening I was supposed to write up "Borat" and "Casino Royale", but the triple whammy of watching "Torchwood" on Telewest Replay (Stef - It appeared after about 48 hours, how strange is that?), then a quite interesting, if superficial, documentary on the World Wide Web hosted by Alan Yentob and then updating Lorraine's laptop, put paid to those plans.

Oh, well. There's always tomorrow. Lorraine is away until Sunday. I can do anything that I like!

It looks like I went down with a bug and not food poisoning. Another guy at work went down with the same thing I went down with. Same symptoms and everything. I don't actually remember snogging him. I'm sure he'd love it, though.

I went back to work today. I heard a rumour that the MD has decided to bin thousands and thousands of pounds worth of shelving units because they are not - wait for it - asthetically pleasing. e.g. Wrong colour.

Somebody's pay review has been cancelled in January, then. Er... Might be mine. Hang on a minute...

It's all a big laugh, isn't it? I can sit here and blase-like write about gorging myself stupid on food and drinking myself senseless. I can laugh about this and think of myself as a lad and a dude and indestructible and untouchable.

Not so indestructible. Not untouchable. Not such a lad and a dude.

About 20 minutes after I went to bed on Sunday morning I awoke suddenly and had to go to the bathroom. I got there in time and vomited copiously for about 10 minutes, while also managing to shit myself. I cleaned up, went back to bed and did the same thing an hour later. And again an hour later after that. On the fourth visit to the bathroom I didn't vomit, but stuff was still coming out of the other end.

I was ill all night. I thought I was dying.

Long story cut short. I didn't leave the house at all yesterday and could barely eat anything. I had stomach cramps and a fever. I think it was food poisoning; possibly because of something that I ate on Saturday. (I suspect some clotted cream that I had with some scones in Cafe Zest at Rackhams. It tasted... Tangy. I shouldn't have touched it.) I still have a stomach ache. I still have the reminder of the tablets that the Doctor gave me after I had a stomach bug last time and I've taken some. They seem to have stopped the shits.

Nice story. Lorraine thinks that I have a weak constitution. No. I just eat the wrong things constantly.

I didn't go to work today. Lorraine told me to forget it. Good girl. Fuck 'em. Anyway, I am still ill. The stomach cramps are still here, although not as bad as before. If I still feel like this, I will not be going into work tomorrow, either. It's a damn nuisance. Lorraine has booked 2 and a half days off work starting on Wednesday afternoon. She is going to visit family. This looks like I am skiving.

Oh, fuck 'em. I'm not making this up.

I need to eat something. Eggs, methinks.

Don't feel sorry for me. There are things that I can do to help myself and I am not doing them. I am as bored with my ill health as everybody else must be reading about it.

My legs are aching me. When my legs ache me it is either that I am sickening for something, or it is over indulgence. I don't think I am sickening for something.

It went something like this.

"What would you like to eat, Sir?"

"Oh, I'll have the largest starter you have and the fat bastard mixed grill with extra chips, please?"

"And to drink?"

"Bring me Stella Artois, young woman!"

... and she did. I have abused my gut and I have abused my liver. I blame my Brother for the liver. He kept ordering drinks. It would have been rude to have declined.

I have been in a daze all day. God knows how I managed to make two trips into town with Lorraine for Christmas shopping. I decided against the cinema, for I truly feel that I would have fallen asleep had I gone.

One day I will manage to catch up with the evens of the last couple of days, but it ain't gonna me tonight, trust me.

In other important news, the McDonald Brothers have finally been kicked off "The X-Factor". I am going to miss them. They were bad. Now, Ben to win. I cannot stand wailing female singers. Sorry Leona.

I really, really, really, really, etc. intended to post last night, but things got in the way. The main thing that got in the way was Lorraine deciding that she had an urgent need to order a case of wine online to be split between her team as a thank you for all of their hard work over the year. I pointed out that I could log her onto the website downstairs where she had a "Fucking laptop connected to the Internet!" (hey, I'm understanding!) but she fluttered her eyelashes and said that she needed help in making the right choice.

Two hours later she was done and it was very late and there was no time to post.

Lorraine did wake me this morning by sticking her tits in my face. I think it was her way of saying "thank you".

I won't be here tonight either. It is Sister 3's birthday on Monday, so she has decided to have the traditional Pynchon birthday meal and piss up tonight, being Friday and all that.

So, and I've said this before, back tomorrow.