THE LONG LOST LAGOMORPH

STOP

2006-05-04T08:33:00.000Z

GO HERE NOW, BECAUSE THIS SITE, THE ONE YOU ARE AT NOW, DOESN'T EXIST ANYMORE. THAT'S RIGHT, IT'S A FIGMENT OF YOUR OVERACTIVE IMAGINATION. I'M NOT KIDDING, YOU'RE REALLY IMAGINING IT. REALLY REALLY. LEMON SQUEEZY. OKAY PLEASE SOD OFF.

a new beginning!

2006-04-12T08:26:00.000Z

Well hello there, how are you, haven't I been gone a long time? Yes I have and well, I'm not really sorry, cos it was nice to have a break, so I'm back, but I don't live here anymore because I HATE BLOGGER.

You heard it right, I HATE BLOGGER.

I could go on all day, but instead I now love TypePad.

My new website is at: http://www.timtim.typepad.com/timboland/

Please go there now and admire the smooth sexy layout, the smooth sexy writing, and my smooth sexy picture of a knife and fork! Great!

I'm never coming back here ever again (apart from maybe checking the comments box) so please, don't ever come back here again either. Go there.

Bye!

year in review

2005-12-31T08:32:00.000Z

I come to the end of yet another year in the life of me - oh how they seem to be piling up all of a sudden - and what a rollockingly bastardish yet somehow satisfying year it has been.

A year full of happiness, sadness, grief, relief, frustration, love, and a bit of blogging (only a bit mind you; I've had things to do...) is almost at an end, and I for one am looking forward to 2006. Hopefully I can get something constructive done in the next 365 days.

As a nice summary I thought that I'd put together a little picture gallery which demonstrates pretty thoroughly what the last twelve months has entailed. Click on the images to enlarge them:

From top left to bottom right we first see our lovely lovely Hope (we will never forget you and your wonderful fluff), The Lick with Ralph Nelson, Hazel in an extremely unflattering position, Honey showing all and sundry his belly, a big-arse Christmas turkey (granted, it's an old photo, but it is relevant so bollocks to you...), and the most gracious of all Derek's: Derek.

This year I have:

- Been a bastard but am getting better.
- Endured having a hole in the side of our flat. A very big hole. A patio-door-size hole.
- Discovered a frisbee that doesn't hurt when you catch it.
- Had my grandad and rabbit die.
- Discovered the joys of 'Most Haunted', 'Malcolm in the Middle' and 'Futurama'.
- Learnt how to use a plane and a saw properly.
- Placed some bets and won nothing. Typical.
- Not been on holiday. Natch.
- Got very fast broadband.
- Dyed my hair (and most of my face) blue-black.
- Purchased a decent wok and roasting tray. Very important.
- Worked out how to do sit-ups properly.
- Had three fillings and a root canal.
- Blogged a lot and then not very much at all. You know how it is.
- Sold a chair and given loads of stuff to charity.
- Cooked my very first yorkshire pudding!
- Not had very much money. Oh sad day.
- Started feeling old even though I don't look it, and yes, I am grateful for that.
- Put up with a terribly shitty job, and through doing so have managed to get an ever-so-slightly better one. Joy.

Nothing particularly outlandish or startling it's true, but it's certainly been an eventful annum.
And just to top it all off I cooked the mother of all Christmas dinners, and have now been eating roast turkey and gammon for the last 7 days and still have 3 or 4 days worth of food left. Now that's a lot of nosh.

I now intend to finish work as quickly and painlessly as possible, and then get well and truly trolleyed as is the norm on occasions such as these I hear.

I bid you all a joyful and prosperous new year cos you all deserve it you lovely people you.

See you soon and thanks for reading.

Tim

we see rufu

2005-12-01T21:18:00.000Z

If I wasn't straight I could quite fancy this guy.

Last night we were treated to a downright bloody fantastic evening. I'm not being dramatic, it really was great. Rufus Wainwright is one of those special musicians who somehow doesn't seem capable of putting a foot wrong. Not one note was off key, nor any song choice unfitting, and when he needed to up the ante it was done with aplomb. I've been a late convert to his stuff, but Mrs L has been championing him for a while now, and it's not hard to see why. Not only can the bloke play guitar, piano, and quite probably any other instrument that were to be plonked in front of him, but he also has THE MOST AMAZING VOICE, in capital letters. If you were to ask me to pick a favourite song I wouldn't be able to do it. They were all great, he was great, his band was great, even the bit where they all went a bit Polyphonic Spree and started dancing around in togas was great beyond description. And all this pleasure was had while sitting down! God has obviously started work early in preparing me for the big three oh.

Robyn Hitchcock and The Minus Three are my next top gig event. I really do have such impeccable taste. If I wasn't me I would probably make myself sick.

Back

2005-11-11T12:44:00.000Z

I'm listening to Jimi Hendrix, and it's good.
It's drizzling on the rabbit a bit, which isn't quite as good.
I'm being productive and attempting to locate old friends pon de internet mun, and that's pretty good.
But I've had four hours sleep and feel like a donkey has shat on my brain, which frankly is a bit rubbish.

Welcome back Tim to your biannual blog. It wasn't like this before but it has become such.
Thankyou all and sundry for coming here to have conversations amongst yourselves. I'm a terrible host, I'm fully aware. I would have dropped off some jaffa cakes but I was far too busy doing my hair the last two/three months... you know how it is. Hair.

A question: does anyone know how to get themselves removed from the Westlife mailing list? I need to find out for a friend.

Another question: how do you tell binmen subtlely that they're fucking idiots? That one's for me.

Brilliant news! I won an auction on eBay by 1p with 7 seconds (with Neneh Cherry, who I passed on the way to waitrose a couple of weeks ago) to go. How thrilling! I would have been mightily peed off if I had been the bloke beaten by 1p instead. I hope he's crying into his Thomas the Tank Engine slippers at his schoolboy error; NEVER bid £**.99 you berk, or you will lose.
Ha!

The most important thing that's happened since I've been gone is that our rabbit populous has decreased by one, and then increased by two.
Poor lovely fluffy baby Hope (the lagomorph of the title) passed away into bunny heaven and we really really miss her. May her beautiful little hairy paws rest in peace.
In her stead we have brought in little Hazel and little Honey to keep Ralph company.
They are all very sweet but obviously completely mental being young'uns, so as of yet they haven't really been getting too friendly other than when they've been trying to kill each other through the bars of their hutches, or trying to shag each other through the bars. Ralph has been resorting to humping my arm, which as you can probably imagine is hilarious to watch, but not really that much fun for my arm (he always goes for the same arm - why?), and the other two just shit and spray everywhere, which is lovely.

They will be allowed to get to know each other properly when they've had their bollocks chopped off. Hazel is already bollockless, Ralph will be next, then Honey (or Ginge as I affectionately call him) to follow. That should calm the randy fuckers down.

Here's a picture of them all chowing down:

That's Ralph up top, Hazel in the middle, and Ginge at the bottom. Aren't they pretty?
Right that'll do you. Back with more pictures as and when.

See you in February then.

We Are Family

2005-07-30T18:44:00.000Z

Meet the newest member of the Lagomorph clan.

This beautiful ball of fluff is called Ralph, and is the most friendly and energetic little creature I think I've ever had the pleasure to meet.

Suffice to say, there are bound to be a whole heap of posts on here dedicated to him.

Also, Big Blogger is coming to a screaching halt in seven days time. It's all very thrilling, and I'm pleased to say that it's been a roaring success, especially seeing as Watski and myself didn't have a fucking clue what was going to transpire or how we were going to organise it. But organise it and transpire it we did, and 30,000 visitors in two months can't be wrong.

It has, however, turned this blog into a bit of a ghost town; random posts about not very much at all, and lots of pictures - nice pictures, but pictures nonetheless - where there really ought to be some writing.

But I shall return with more energy and youthful vim than before, you'll see!

Adieu...

Of course...

2005-07-25T20:53:00.000Z

I knew I'd seen that bloody Makosi woman before.

And yes, I do have a history of hanging around in phone boxes on Tottenham Court Road.

The Everyday & The Mundane: No. 3

2005-07-25T15:44:00.000Z

Alternative Title: 3.48% of Mr & Mrs L L Lagomorph's Music Catalogue

Finally, a list.

2005-07-20T17:00:00.000Z

This is what I get to feast my eyes upon every day when I hop and skip to work and back.

I'm reasonably lucky in that respect.

Most people get to stare at the back of someone else's head from approximately three inches away, and/or get to revel in the pungent odours emitted from that fat greasy blokes pits. But not me.

I get to walk to work.
I get to smell the grass and the flowers.
And I get to look at this brilliant yet bizarre piece of architecture.
The chap who built it (a king or some such..) clearly had more money than sense, yet despite it's downfalls and ridiculous over-the-topness it gets away with it, and fits into the town perfectly.
In doing so it supports my argument that this place is fucking weird.

Anyway.

I haven't done the whole linky linky thing for a while, so here's a whole bunch of stuff that's been twiddling my knobs in the last few weeks:

First up, films. We have seen a whole bunch of movies recently. Some good, some not so good, some positively shit. I wholeheartedly recommend that everyone go and see Batman Begins and rent out Sideways, as they are both bloody ace. Mrs L didn't like Batman too much; thought it was a bit too modern, and she says that she prefers the Tim Burton original. But I thought it was fun, exciting, and a really good re-working of the character. And the Batmobile is ruddy amazing. Sideways we both liked. It was funny, moving, clever, well written, and I actually really cared about the characters - something which doesn't happen very often.

We've also seen Sin City (looked really good, but the story was all over the place and the dialogue was laughable), The Life Aquatic (could have been good but was actually shit - seemed as if there were whole massive bits of film missing all over the place), and Birth, which was good, if a little risque with the old subject material, but worth a watch despite having Nicole Kidman in it.

I turned on the telly the other day (shock horror) and had the strangely pleasant experience of watching a decent video to a decent song on a cable tv music channel. Twice. One after the other. It was amazing.

I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't in a coma.

So I immediately went on the interweb and found the videos and songs in question and here they are for you courtesy of me because I love you all so and understand that you need guidance when it comes to matters of taste and quality.

First up is this song by Audio Bullys. It's called 'Shot You Down' (no, really) and we like the Nancy Sinatra sample. We also very much like the video, which is by some dude called Jonas Odell who works for or runs these guys, who in turn seem to be owned by these guys - it's a cut-throat confusing as buggery market out there folks! He's done loads of other stuff which looks really really stylistically simliar, but I'm going to let him off on this occasion because the bit where Nancy's face has got lots of pink starry stuff going on behind it is blimmin' great.

Second up is this tune by Tom Vek, who we like a lot, and it's called 'C-C (You Set The Fire In Me)' for some reason. The song is pretty okay but not as good as some of his other stuff, but the video is just bonkers. Are they monkeys? Aren't they monkeys? Why is he dressed like a dandy old soldier? Somebody help me out here.
All I know is that it's clever, looks good, and I haven't the faintest idea how they did it, which is always a good thing.

Lastly, I've been pointed in the direction of this geezer, who is a fellow Brightonite, and who seems to make very pretty prints and pictures, as well as having an uncanny knack of making very boring brick walls look positively sexy. We like!

Playtime

2005-07-17T11:42:00.000Z

What is so wrong about being a 28-year-old Lego lover?

Sod all, that's what! (Exclamation mark definitely and defiantly required, thankyou.)

I've been to Legoland in Denmark twice you know. The second time I cycled there. I was that desperate to go. Granted, my Lego-lust has waned somewhat in the last decade and a half - I no longer plead with my parents every Christmas for giant Technics racing cars or ridiculously humungous space monorail sets with battery powered trains and flashing lights and heaps of other fancy tosh - but I still have an ache in my soul for that piece of my youth which I never want to let go of. That little piece of the brain (or is it the heart?) that powers my imagination and which constantly wants to try new things and explore the world and everything around it. And yes, when all is said and done, it all basically boils down to Lego.

Where the fuck is the stimulation in My Little Pony??

And it gets worse.

2005-07-16T22:58:00.000Z

I'm going to keep posting this stuff, so that I never forget that people are dying for no good reason, and so that I can rationalise the hysteria that seems to preoccupy a large number of people in both the UK and the US regarding 'National Security'. Whatever that is.

Read THIS and remember that we are the lucky ones. Who is having a two minute silence for these innocent people?

The Everyday & The Mundane: No.2

2005-07-14T10:03:00.000Z

Perspective

2005-07-13T10:33:00.000Z

So you think we've got it bad?

Read this.

The Everyday & The Mundane: No. 1

2005-07-13T00:49:00.000Z

NEWS! - JonnyB Accepts Award Graciously!

2005-07-13T00:20:00.000Z

"I'm not much good at acceptance speeches, having never had to accept anything in my life.

Apart from my guilt.

I'd like to thank... no, hang on. I don't want to thank anyone. It was all me, you know. Actually I would like to thank RachelM for her logo hosting services for which I am eternally grateful. But she hasn't got a website to link to, so we can't link and she'll never see that I thanked her her. So that was a bit of a waste of time really.

Summer always brings blog ennui. Hopefully this'll be kept to a minimum. There will be new and dramatic developments in the Post Office campaign at some point in the future. That is an exclusive for the awards committee."

Beautiful. Just beautiful.

Three Things

2005-07-10T22:14:00.000Z

1st Thing

2nd Thing

3rd Thing

I wrote so much in the last post that I'm all out of things to say. So you don't have to listen to me ranting on for a change. Feel free to let me know in the comments box what you think about it all.

After a think...

2005-07-10T11:20:00.000Z

Over the last few days I've been contemplating how I feel about what happened in London on Thursday. It was a bloody horrible thing to happen, and I wouldn't wish that kind of pain or misery on anyone.

Plus it was especially meaningful for me and Mrs L because we lived in the Aldgate East area for two years from 2001, and used those tubes and that bus route on many many occasions. But despite the awfulness of it all, I can't help thinking about the reaction of the media and our politicians to this most tragic of events.

To be honest I don't know where to start. A good place is with the persistent bombardment (excuse the pun) of our senses with images and sounds of suffering, carnage and grieving. The meticulous pulling apart of evidence, footage, eye-witness accounts, and all the CG models and plans and details of how everything happened (the BBC website is particularly guilty of this). Is all this really necessary? Does the general public actually want to see every gory detail? Or are we being force fed this mountain of information to frighten us, and conversely to dehumanise what has taken place? What does this achieve? It certainly doesn't make it any easier to deal with, for exactly the same thing happened when the Madrid bombings happened last year, and also when 9/11 occurred; yet Thursday showed everyone that you can never be prepared for the unexpected, especially not in a place as busy and impersonal as London.

And for the politicians - by this I predominantly mean Blair and Bush - it is such an aptly timed and convenient thing to happen. Yes, I am cynical, and with good reason. Politicians get an easy time with this kind of thing; it deflects the attention from them, and gives them an easy opportunity to build up brownie points by using heavy-handed and emotionally charged rhetoric to 'condemn the terrible events' and 'show that we will not be defeated'. How easily we forget that Bush and Blair have sent hundreds of US and British troops to their deaths, and condemned countless thousands of innocent Iraqi and Afghan civilians to death by declaring meaningless war with Iraq, and overthrowing the corrupt Taliban regime in Afghanistan. While we're on the subject let's not forget Kosovo either. And have their overblown reactions to this imaginary threat, their 'War On Terror', achieved anything constructive at all? It certainly hasn't dulled the perceived threat to our safety at home, as illustrated beautifully be Thursday's bombings. They haven't found Bin Laden (if he is the one to blame for 9/11), and they haven't achieved anything fundamental or worthwhile in Iraq, other than unsettling the entire region and creating a situation they can't resolve. I must admit to feeling a kind of miserable pleasure about how Bush has backed himself into a corner with the Iraq debacle. It's good to see someone so evil and with such misplaced motives (no-one can tell me that Bush is interested in the safety of the American people; if he was he would sign up to the Kyoto agreement like a shot, and wouldn't have sent so many troops to their deaths needlessly) get their comeuppance.

So I hope that the attention soon turns to why the bombings happened, rather than constantly focusing on who did was responsible. I haven't seen one news report alluding to the ongoing problems in the Middle East, and the sustained western presence in the region. A possible invasion of Iran, the sustained US presence and the failure of the US-installed government in Iraq to maintain any kind of peace, aligned with consistent US support for Israel, has created the most potentially explosive climate for years - completely the opposite to what was intended. Oh well, put an idiot in charge of your country and what do you expect to happen?

I'd also like to see more attention paid to the people who die in Iraq on a daily basis. Sure, fifty people have died in London, and countless more have been injured or crippled, but dozens are killed in fighting, raids, attacks, and suicide bombings in Iraq every day, yet do we hear how terrible and awful this is? Of course we don't. It's not close to home enough. The government only wants us to worry about ourselves, as that keeps the attention on the 'good' work they do at home promoting homeland security. (I have literally just been shown this. How very very apt. And I just cannot believe that the scaremongering has begun already.) And all of this has happened because Tony Blair decided it would be in our interest, and in the world's interest, to send British troops in to back up the Americans. Well hasn't that plan backfired fantastically?

I'm sorry for ranting, but I really feel passionately about this issue. It affects us all, and if you don't pay attention to what's going on you'll never be able to make a difference, no matter how small.

For further information as well as some refreshingly different points of view visit:

Cannonfire
Michael Moore
Bush Watch
Why Are We Back In Iraq?

UPDATE: Here is a brilliant link I've nabbed from Vanessa's website. Shows all those bigots out there that it's not Muslims who are doing this, it's idiots.

Because of all this brouhaha I've been thinking about my previous travels a fair bit. So what follows is the first part of what will possibly be quite a few installments about my time in the Middle East. If I can be bothered.

Part 1

In autumn 1996 I decided that this poxy island had nothing that I wanted, or could make use of, so I packed what little possessions I had into a holdall, and bought an open return ticket to Israel.

I didn't know what to expect, had little or no prior knowledge of the country or what I was going to do when I arrived, and to be perfectly honest I didn't really care. I had always had an urge to go - probably something to do with the alluring historical and religious stories I'd heard so many of at school - and it sounded like it was a completely different place to where I was from, and to what I was leaving behind. Why go for the safe option of say, Sweden (even though I'm sure Sweden is wonderful, and being 20 years old at the time, the lure of many young Swedish girls was not lost on me), when you can go for the dangerous option of Israel. The place you always hear about on the news. The place where someone gets shot or blown up every five minutes, or at least that's what it appears like. The place that is seemingly surrounded by countries and people that don't like it very much and keep on threatening to do quite nasty things to it if they don't push off any time soon. The place your mother would really appreciate it you don't go to just in case you die. That place.

Apart from perhaps Cambodia or Antarctica, Israel was possibly the most utterly different place to Felixstowe, England that I could think of. It also had the added benefits of not being really far away from the UK (which I imagine pleased mummy a little bit), and of not being very expensive. The last one was the important one.I only had £500 saved up and the ticket cost me £230, so I had to find the cheapest way to stay out of the country for the longest period of time.

Luckily, I knew a fair amount about kibbutz's (or is it kibbutzes?), as I had purchased a book which dealt exclusively with what to do on a year out from university. It contained all sorts of bizarre things, like being a tomato-picker (been there, done that) on an organic farm in the Shetlands, or teaching people to windsurf in Afghanistan (I might have made that one up), but most importantly it had a suitably large chapter dedicated to volunteering at a kibbutz. Through this I found out that just by working five or six shortish days a week, I would get a room, three square meals every day, my washing done for me, and plenty of time left to get a nice tan. All for virtually no cost at all; it is volunteering after all.

I calculated that apart from the small cost of commission I would have to pay to some organisation in Tel Aviv on arrival to help me find a kibbutz to work at, and the cost of a couple of nights at a hostel when I got there after the flight, there shouldn't really be a lot else left for me to fork out for. And I was right. It was the cheapest year of my life. I managed to travel all around Israel, Sinai and Egypt, and have a sneaky peak into Jordan, all for the measly sum of £500. If anyone's ever done better than that please let me know, because personally, between you and me, I think that's some kind of record.

Anyhow, Israel really was the alien world that I was expecting it to be, but at the same time was completely unprepared for. For a starters it was really bloody hot, and for seconds my first point of arrival, the airport, was a total free-for-all. queuinging as such for the passport checks, more a general thronging. And absolutely no quietly ponderous waiting for my bag to appear on the conveyor belt thingy, oh no. It was best compared to a rugby scrum, with Orthodox Jews and mad old Israeli women climbing all over each other to get to their luggage. And I couldn't understand anything that anybody was saying, and none of the signs for anything were in English, which didn't really help. After the scrum had died down and the people had cleared away, I moved out of the terminal to try and work out how to get into town and find a place to stay.

As you can probably tell, I was winging it. I find this is a good way to keep oneself on one's toes.

After trundling my way from bus stop to bus stop for half an hour, and generally appearing (in case anyone was watching) totally lost, I gave up, and resorted to sitting on my bag dejectedly. It was now evening time, it was dark, and I was all out of ideas. Luckily for me though, I had happened to sit on my bag dejectedly right next to a friendly American guy who worked in a hostel in the middle of town, and who was looking for people to come and stay at said hostel as he probably got free booze for doing so. Tim's first lucky break (the first of many).

So I had a place to stay - a dingy, smelly place, granted, but a place nonetheless - and could now focus all my effort on getting some sleep, which I duly accomplished with no fuss whatsoever. In the morning I took advantage of the free breakfast (bread, tomato, and cheese.It it was free so I wasn't moaning) and then headed out, with the directions I had taken down from the barman/receptionist at the hostel, to find the nearest kibbutz placement office. I wandered around for a while, but again, everything was in Hebrew, so I found it pretty difficult to ascertain exactly what was what. I did eventually find the place however, and they were very kind to me. After I'd given them the shekel equivalent of sixty quid. But I didn't care. The lady I spoke with asked me some questions; what kind of work I wanted to do (not factory work) , where I'd prefer to go (the desert please), how big a kibbutz I'd like (small to medium) - it was a bit like choosing a stereo - she then showed me some pictures of the three kibbutz she'd whittled it down to. They all looked a bit rough, apart from one which had some trees and a bicycle in the picture, so I went for that one. 'If it's got trees it can't be bad', I thought. She called the kibbutz up, spoke to Nati, the volunteer leader at the kibbutz, booked me in, then gave me a piece of paper with a phone number on it (just in case) and the number of the bus I needed to catch to get there.

I went back to the hostel, got my things, and went to catch a bus to get to the main bus station on the other side of town. The bus station was like nowhere I'd ever been before. It was chock full of soldiers. Young men soldiers. Young girl soldiers. All sorts of soldiers. All of them with big guns, M16's, Uzi's, etc, etc. And all of them just milling about waiting for buses to get to wherever the hell they were going, just like me.

I'd never really thought that what with their country being constantly at war/defending itself against attack, Israeli's have to go into the army in some way, shape or form. And they all do it at seventeen I think (correct me if I'm wrong), so seeing literally hundreds of very young soldiers, both male and female, is not such an unusual sight after all. The first five minutes was the most shocking. After two hours of waiting for my bus I was starting to get used to the guns. After three I was bored of them. But I'll never forget that feeling I felt when I first saw a group of kids, not much younger than myself, in their uniforms with their M16's casually hanging at their sides, laughing while they waited for their ride. I realised that this was not only a different country, but a different mentality, and a different take on life.

I remember sitting on the bus for the first time, and I remember that I was slightly paranoid. I sat near the middle of the bus, and the kids got on after me and sat at the back like they they always did when you were at school. Only difference is this time the kids are soldiers with big guns. I don't know why, but I worried to myself that one of them would go nuts and start shooting. I think this is what's known in the trade as culture shock. Two hours into the journey though and I'd forgotten all about the guns, and nobody had been shot yet, so I kind of figured everything was going to be okay. As it happened, when the bus got to the kibbutz, one of the soldier kids that had been sat at the back of the bus got off at the same time as me. Turns out he was just a kid going home, and that put it all nicely into perspective for me. Just because someone's got a gun and looks threatening doesn't mean that they are. And you have to consider the circumstances behind a situation before you judge the protagonists and the participants. These things are key, and I needed to take them into account on every single day of my time in that wonderful country.

For extended periods of time while I was on the kibbutz, I remember being told by the kibbutzim (the people who lived there) that Israel was the closest it had been to going to war as it had been in years. These people were properly frightened, as you would be, and I did discuss with Nati what would happen in that eventuality. It turns out that everyone who isn't an Israeli national gets flown or shipped out asap, but luckily enough that situation never arose.

Because the kibbutz was situated right in the middle of the Negev desert, and the Israeli government has strategically placed all of it's defences, ie. airbases, army barracks, etc, in the middle of the desert as far away from major towns and cities as possible, we would very often wake up to the sound of tank fire and what sounded like explosions. I did eventually get used to this alternative dawn chorus, but for the first month or so it thoroughly scared the crap out of me. I thought we were under attack.

It's funny how you react in that situation. Everyone probably reacts differently, but I seem to go quiet, then I wait for someone else to react. On a couple of occasions some fighter jets flew reasonably close to the kibbutz, maneuvers or something, and created a sonic boom by breaking the sound barrier. I had never heard a sonic boom before, but to hear one while you're sitting about in your pants after a hard days graft in the fields, in a country that is on the brink of war and which is where people regularly get blown up by suicide bombers, and where the place you're staying in not ten kilometres from Gaza City where Israeli troops quite often shoot Palestinians or blow up their houses, and so on and so on, is something else. It was possibly not the ideal environment for it. In short, I shit myself.

Everyone froze and waited. I'm pretty sure we all thought the same thing: "This is it." Then, after what seemed like an age but was probably only a matter of seconds, we all relaxed upon the realisation that we weren't being bombed.

To be continued...

Thursday Part 4

2005-07-07T11:36:00.000Z

THIS has just happened.

I hope no more people have been killed, and my thoughts are with everyone who has been injured or killed, and also with their families.

When we lived in London two years ago there were all sorts of threats about this sort of thing happening. It was just after 9/11, and paranoia was rife, but luckily for us nothing bad ever happened in the two and a bit years that we were living in Whitechapel and Hackney.

So right now I feel extraordinarily lucky, and so does Mrs L. But I also feel sick to my stomach. How can human beings do this to one another?

UPDATE: Read what those involved or nearby to the explosions have to say.

Thursday Part 3

2005-07-07T11:00:00.000Z

It's that time of the month again. and I do apologise to everyone involved for being slightly slack around these parts lately, but I am finally getting round it.

What am I talking of, I hear you ask? None other than the monthly Swampy award ceremony, that's what.

This month the lucky recipient of this most prestigious of all blogging awards, and let's face it, all the awards that ever been awarded to anyone ever before in the whole fucking history of time full stop, including all that Oscars and Baftas and Nobel Peace Prize crap. They are all just a load of pissy shit compared to this.

So anyway, the winner of this month's award for outstanding blogness, is Mister Jonny Billericay of JonnyB's Private Secret Diary, who is being recognised for the following:

1) His quest to Save The Post Office.
2) Recording a song to drum up public support for this most worthy of campaigns.
3) Through his blog, reaching all the way to Africa (although whether their post offices need saving is beside the point).
4) Prompting one gallant chap to mow ‘Save The Post Office’ into his lawn. In Hungary.
5) Simultaneously blogging on at least three other sites at the same time as regularly updating his own. Bravo!
6) Being voted into the Big Blogger house.
7) Services to humankind.
8) The Mitt.
9) Finding out that he's going to be a father. Bravo again!
10) His post about needing a poo really badly.

That last one was the clincher. As it were.

So yeah, well done young Jonathan. With any luck we should have an acceptance speech some time next week. He's on holiday this week, which isn't really much of an excuse in my book - something this important you make time for, I think - but I'm letting him off just this once because I'm awfully nice.

It is also the time of the month when I recognise a bunch (well, ten) new or not so new blogs for their brilliance and/or entertainment value. Here they are:

A Girl With A Dot Com
:anglosaxy:
Blaugustine
Brom-man
Chase Me ladies, I'm In The Cavalry
Ian Comatose
NML
Oddverse
PostSecret
Random Burblings

All absolutely brilliant the lot of them. Well done chaps! If my blog was even half as good as your little lot I might actually get some people reading it. Oh well, I can still dream...

Thursday Part 2

2005-07-07T10:45:00.000Z

I've finally managed to hook my phone up to the computer after two months of wondering whether or not it would ever happen. I picked up a neat little cable off of this here internet thing, which is just the best most useful invention there ever was, for a little under eight quid, and am now able to send pictures and photos to and from my phone, as well as putting mp3's on to it so I can listen to them in my breaks at work or when I'm on the bus or train. Bonzer.

So I've downloaded all the dodgy photos I've taken in the last eight weeks or so, and have now realised that alot of the pictures I've taken are shit. They all looked the same on the phones little screen, but in reality most of them are gash, for wont of a better word. I have henceforth been fiddling with the settings, and will no longer be taking pictures of any old shit just for the sake of it. Quality control is being introduced, and I should reap immediate rewards. I wish the sun was out though, because the dull light makes all the colours really bloody boring and washed out - it's not a digital camera after all, it's just a cameraphone.

Anyway, here is a selection of some of the not-quite-as-boring-or-shit-as-the-other-one's pictures that I've taken recently:

Thursday Part 1

2005-07-07T10:04:00.000Z

So far today we've had the man from British Gas round to check the boiler and stop it from leaking, the bloke who painted the front of the house to give an estimate on painting the back of the house and a rough idea of when he'll be able to get someone round to do the work, and the handyman chap to mastick (if that's how you spell it) around the bath, as it has yet again been going mouldy and allowing water through down the side of the bath. Not pleasant.

The gas man was extraordinarily efficient, turned up at 8.40am which in my book is amazing, and had it plugged and working within five minutes. That said, it'll probably start leaking again by this time tomorrow. The paint man didn't really do anything apart from go "oooh" and "ahhh", and then hiss through his teeth in that 'blimey this is going to cost you a bit' way that all British handymen/workmen have an unpleasant way of doing. Not that I really care seeing as I'm not the one who's paying for all this. Sometimes it is good renting, knowing that you'll never have to pay a penny for any of those annoying repair jobs that need doing. Granted, other aspects of renting are shit, but I'm going to overlook those for the time being. The other bloke, the bath guy, was very efficient too. He was going to do his masticking, then took one look at the bath, noticed some orange bits (for orange read rusty), and decided it would probably be best to get the whole thing ripped out and replaced. Result! He proceeded to remove the side of the bath to have a look, and to absolutely nobody's surprise found that all the wooden supports and joists that hold it in place are mouldy. Soaked through. So when we get in the bath the legs that the bathtub sits on sink into the wood, which is why a big gap opens up around the bath whenever anyone gets in it. All very entertaining, so thank the lord it's being ripped out and replaced with a brand spanking new bath tomorrow morning.

The outside is going to be painted before the end of summer, the bathroom and kitchen windows and the back door are coming out as well, and apparently the landlord has decided that the concrete patio is crap too, so is having that ripped out and replaced with nice new slabs.

This is all perfectly pleasing, and believe me when I say that we are very lucky to have such a conscientious landlord. Most would rather watch their own mother freeze to death than get her central heating fixed, but our chappy is ace. I won't go on about it too much or I'll jinx myself. He'll sell the house tomorrow, just wait and see.

Some Things Wot I Found

2005-07-03T08:54:00.000Z

Okay, scrap that. I was going to do a long convaluted post all about some brilliant new links I've found and all the music and videos that are pressing my buttons at the moment, plus I'd probably have found the time to wibble a fair deal about my boring life. You know, how I washed the rabbit yesterday and she still smells like a farm, and how there's a company that are literally backed on to our flat that I might like to work for, which is good news of sorts, and that THAT cricket game yesterday was amazing, as was the tennis, even though we wanted Lindsey Davenport and Thomas Johansson to win (and how I'd put a tenner on Johansson to go the whole way, and so won't be seeing that again, but ho hum..), and about how we got TWO numbers in the national lottery draw which is more than we'd got in the last two months combined but is still not enough to win us any fucking money, and probably about how I am yet again working on a Sunday becuase the money is good, and trust me, I wouldn't be working on a Sunday if I didn't have to because I do have better things to do, but at least because it's quiet I do get a reasonable amount of time to work on this blog and that other blog, although I haven't done too much today because it's actually slightly busier than normal. Who the hell does stuff on Sundays? Me, it seems.

I probably would have written about all of that, and a bit more.

Probably some stuff about Live8 and how it was all a load of middle of the road claptrap, and how fucking Keane were playing which turned it into a farce within seconds, and even though it was impressive to see millions of people all over the world united in the same cause, all I could think about was how awful it would be to be in the middle of one of those enormous crowds needing to go to the toilet and then having to stop my internal organs trying to escape out of my ears because of fucking Keane and the godawful racket they produce.

Probably all of that and some more besides, and on and on...

But I'm not going to write about that stuff. Oh no.

Instead I'm going to put a link on here to THIS. And I'd like to say thankyou to the good doctor for pointing me in it's direction and then thankyou to Birdman for pointing the good doctor in it's direction. I would thank some other people too but I don't know who they are.

This thing is fucking amazing, and is easily the third best thing in the world behind Mrs Lagomorph (at number one, obviously) and squidgie frisbees.

I don't know when I'm going to get any practical use from it, but it is just span-dabby-blimin-fabulous to zoom around and in and fly about and zoom right down so you can see cars and swimming pools and what have you. What I'm waiting for is for them to make it in realtime, so that you can see people walking around or sitting in pub gardens drinking cider. These are the only things that will make it better. That and putting the detail in for the rest of the world other than just Los Angeles or San Francisco (slight California-based bias there dear Google; wonder why that is...) but that will happen soon enough. Until then I'll just keep floating around, loitering about, and waiting for them to release Google Mars.

Little Blogger - A Smaller Version of Big Blogger

2005-06-30T12:02:00.000Z

To keep everything up to speed, I'd just like everyone to know I've been working with the template, fiddling with the html, and generally being a busy little bunny updating the Big Blogger site so that it all makes sense, looks the same in IE and Firefox, and isn't three or four days behind the actual posts.

If you haven't had a look at it please do. There's a lot of effort going in to it from pretty much everyone involved - the wheat has been seperated from the chaff it seems - and it's trundling along very nicely indeed at present. As creative writing goes, it's really good to see lots of talented and imaginative people getting into the spirit of it. In case you were worried, it's not like Big Brother. Big Brother is all about shouting, drinking, swearing and taking the piss out of people who seemingly have a complete lack of shame or dignity. Big Blogger is about writing and having fun. There might be the occasional naughty word, but that's it. No bitching, slagging, whoring, or rudeness, and the only nakedness is virtual nakedness, so it doesn't count.

Granted, for anyone who has visited the site in the last few weeks, it has probably seemed like a mad kind of free-for-all, so with Mike's help (he obviously has way too much time on his hands), and with a bit of careful organisation, you can now see quick rundowns of the last three weeks, details of all the tasks and the blogmates responses to them, as well as a day to day archive of all the goings-on in the 'house', via the sidebar.

So go and have a look. There's really no excuse not to.

I'd like to say thankyou to Vit for fulfilling her obligations and producing this quite stunning portrait of moi/Little Blogger. Aren't I gorgeous? Only problem is that it's not completely accurate - in real life I have a ginger afro and man-boobies - but you can't have everything can you? Vit is the latest recipient of a Swampy award, due to the wonderfully ramshackle nature of her site, and all the wonderful pictures she posts to it. We at Big Blogger mansions are fortunate enough to have her as a blogmate, so the site has been constantly adorned with her colourful, witty creations. I may have to add another section to the sidebar specifically dedicated to them. Whatever, they are yet another reason to go there. So what are you waiting for??

And lastly, so that I have a permanent record of it, I need to document the fact that we are famous. Ish.

Big Blogger has had write-ups in The Times, The Guardian, The Observer, LinkMachineGo (June 8th, 2005), and now in Web User Magazine! (Click on the image to enlarge)

I never imagined I'd be seeing the Big Blogger logo in print, but it's happened, and I am flabbergasted. Next stop local TV!

My Kind of Humour

2005-06-28T23:25:00.000Z

Check out this link: Interesting Poetry

He doesn't do it often enough, but when Daddykins finds something funny I'm so glad he shares it with the world. I may possibly have wet myself.

Squidgie?

2005-06-28T22:36:00.000Z

THIS is a Squidgie Frisbee. It's a frisbee. It is made of squishy stuff. It doesn't rip your hand to shreds when you catch it, or knock you out if it accidentally hits you in the face, or break your windows when you throw it in totally the wrong direction.

It is idiot-proof, and more importantly, it's Mr and Mrs Lagomorph-proof (they are possibly the same thing).

Our one is bright orangey-red, rather than the vile yellow colour you see here, so you can't miss it. And despite being wibbly and wobbly it flies like a beast; although like all frisbee's it's absolute rubbish when it's a bit on the windy side out.

Best £5.99 I ever spent.

HAYFEVER UPDATE: I'm on my new tablets, and have been okay. However, I fell asleep on the settee for four hours this evening (not normal behaviour I can assure you) so the claim that they act as a sedative may have an element of truth to it. Now all I have to do is time it so that I fall asleep at work...

UPDATE UPDATE: Do this for no particular reason. I haven't a clue what it'll achieve, and if someone can tell me I'll be mightily grateful.

Arse

2005-06-27T19:32:00.000Z

Well, that's the end of another dream. After all my proclamations to the contrary, and despite one doctor telling me one thing when actually the opposite is true (apparently he is a newbie doctor, although I'm still contemplating the lawsuit for getting my hopes up too much), it appears that yes Vince, you were right. There is no legal cure for hayfever. Well, that's not strictly true. There is a cure for hayfever, but no doctor will prescribe it because by taking it you run the risk of suffering such glamorous after effects as brittle bones, stomach ulcers, cancer, etc etc...

So. No hayfever steroid jab for me. And no hayfever steroid tablets either, because they are just as bad. I've been on them for a week and all has been well in the nasal passage department apart from the odd snort and sneeze. But the doctor I saw today was quite upset that I'd even been prescribed a weeks worth of the things. Four days of them is more than dangerous it seems, so if I suddenly disappear from the blogging radar you'll know what's happened.

I wasn't about to leave the surgery without some kind of cure under my arm, so I pestered the kind (or not so kind) doctor and after suggesting that I emigrate, which to be honest isn't such a terrible idea, he agreed to prescribe me some high dosage antihistamine fuckoff pills. They make you drowsy, or so he says, but I don't drive or operate machinery so I'm going to cane them. If I can't have the cure then I'll have to improvise the next best thing, and hopefully get slightly off my face at the same time! Should make the working week a lot more bearable, as well as possibly provide hours of entertainment for my customers and work colleagues. As if I wasn't amusing enough...

Lastly, got myself the Squidgie Frisbee. It certainly is squidgie, and a frisbee, so it more than lives up to it's title. And Mrs L doesn't have to wear gardening gloves to catch it anymore. Result!

Sunday Sun

2005-06-26T08:24:00.000Z

UPDATE!! This is practically like looking out of our front door. Except up a bit. And it wasn't taken this morning. Or by me. But you get the idea.

What a bee-utiful morning! There isn't a cloud in the sky, or the menacing threat of storm to dampen the feeling that summer really is here. It's quiet on the streets as I make my way down through town and through the pavilion gardens. One middle-aged lady has already made herself comfortable on a particularly inviting stretch of lawn, and a small group of (German?) tourists hold me up for ten seconds while trying to get that 'gang in front of local landmark' picture just right.

I pad onwards through the flowers, whispering hello to the small grey squirrel I see practically every morning - he always runs for cover up the nearest tree, but I know he's glad to see me too - and then to the pair of mistle thrushes who have no fear whatsoever, and just sit there eyeing my up suspiciously.

The local tramp has woken and has Radio 3 on his wireless. He takes no notice of me as I stride past him. He just continues rummaging through his few belongings. All I can ever think of when I see tramps is 'how do you survive without showering?' or 'doesn't that manky stubble get on your tits?'. I know I should feel some kind of pity of remorse for their situation, but it just isn't the first thing that pops in my head. Oh, I'm such a heartless bastard.

I wish I didn't have to go to work, as I could quite happily walk around town, along the prom, down to Hove, up to the cricket ground, through the backsteets, up to Seven Dials, and back round to home. I could very easily find myself plodding up to that camping shop where I saw that squidgie frisbee - my latest object of desire - and handing over the cash to the poor sod behind the counter who, like I am pensively mulling over now, knows that there are an infinite number of more constructive, positive or life-affirming things they could be doing at this very moment, rather than having to slip into robot mode, with full 'thankyou sir', 'three bags full sir', or 'is there anything else I can help you with, sir?' pleasantries option selected. Flick the switch in your brain and it's easy. Turn off thinking mode and slide into autopilot. I'm half-asleep anyway so it's not a massive problem to act this way, when I'm awake however, it's a different matter.

But that's not for now. After visiting the store in question and purchasing my new toy I shall embark on a crusade of joy, and use all the persuasive energy I can muster to move my better half in the direction of the front door, up the steps, round the square, down the road, and up to the beautiful patch of perfect-for-a-top-notch-frisbee-session grass that we have utilised much of late. After that we may head on up the prom on our pushbikes - if it's not too windy; cycling is no fun when it's windy - and find a cosy quiet spot behind some breaker or groyne.

After relaxing and soaking up the evening sunshine for a while I can see us heading back past the other Sunday strollers and perhaps setting down for a rest on one of the lawns. The footballers would probably have dispersed by then, so there would be perfect peace, and maybe even another chance for some frisbee!

Then time for home, and a half hour or so in the hammock or the deckchair with the sound of Glastonbury on the telly floating through the back window. Much better than being there, and much less muddy. I'm sure many would disagree, but I prefer being able to choose where I stand, what I'm standing in, who I'm standing with, behind or in front of, and when I can go to the toilet. I can't stand inconvenience, and it's many a time that a tiny little thing, like having a slightly weak bladder, has utterly ruined a enjoyable experience. No, not for me thanks. I'll stay right here with my creature comforts and my hammock and my frisbee and my beautiful balmy sunny Sunday evening.

Now I've said all this, it had better not bloody rain.

Jack Johnson

2005-06-23T21:54:00.000Z

I can't honestly believe that Mrs L just said that Jack Johnson sounded quite good. She has to be drunk! What a fucking ridiculous statement if ever I heard it! The guy is a gimp, yet the advert on the telly says that (apparently) he is the 21st century Bob Dylan. That's a pretty serious declaration, and utter bollocks to boot. He's not, he isn't, and he's crap. That's all I have to say.

I've been pretty low emotionally due to things. Funerals and things. I haven't felt at all like blogging, and whereas normally I feel bad about neglecting my duty, on this occasion I just don't. Certain things take priority I suppose. It was an emotional weekend, one the like of which I've never experienced. It was good to have everyone close, and to be able to tell everyone that I love them, because I do. But now it's time to move on.

I also suffered terribly due to my godawful hayfever. I FUCKING HATE HAYFEVER. There are no if's or but's where the bastard pollen is concerned, and I was honking away like a bloody elephant on the train to and from Reading, and all the time in between. I probably went through £1.50's worth of Tesco value kitchen roll in three days in a valiant attempt to clear my nasal passages and make life even vaguely bearable. As soon as I returned home it was clear I had to sort out some kind of solution to this ongoing issue. I went to work on Tuesday and couldn't breathe. My job involves talking to people and I was having to blow my nose every ten seconds. It wasn't practical and I wasn't able to pull it off. So I went home sick, went to the doctors, and pleaded my case. Give me something to cease this misery, I begged! So he did. He prescribed me some amazing steroid tablet things, and some mega-antihistamines to help me sleep, and within three hours of taking the first steroid tablet I was already feeling perkier. Fucking ace! It cleared up my sinuses right good and proper! I am saved!!!! So on Tuesday I shall return to order a dose of Brighton's finest hayfever remedy in injection form. Apparently the needle-inserted variety of steroid lasts for three months. Amazing. I'd heard rumours of such a thing, but had dismissed it as pure speculation, or bollocks. But it exists, and I'm gonna have it. Yay! For two days now, I've been watching the poor souls in Boots and Superdrug purchasing their poor man's Clarityn or own brand hayfever remedy and laughing mockingly. The fools don't even realise that there is a solution to their woe! HA! Never again shall I suffer unnecessarily. Never again shall I fear the balmy summer evenings, when I can actually enjoy them. Forevermore I shall be in debt to the lovely Dr Wilson, whoever and wherever he is, for prescribing me the medicine of my dreams. Good man!

I'm into my seventh bottle of Cerveza spanish beer and it's going down a treat. Waitrose own brand. Good shit. I love summer.

Rufus Wainwright is very good.

Mrs L is gonna (with my help) put a tenner on Derek winning Big Brother tomorrow. It's a long shot we know, but he's easily the most entertaining housemate, and Mrs L has always regretted not putting money on Nadia last year at about this stage of the proceedings. He might get voted out, but so what. If he does then it's goodbye to a tenner. If he doesn't we could be looking at a windfall of £400 in two months. COME ON DEREK!!!!!!

In other news, karma strikes again: this bloke learnt the hard way why he shouldn't have bought that Jar Jar Binks figurine. The lord moves in mysterious ways..

And who else saw Tom Cruise getting squirted? I did, and it wasn't funny. His reaction however was hilarious. "You're a jerk!" Genius.

And in Big Blogger we've gotten rid of Peter, Grocerjack, and Mr Hair. It's mellowing down a bit, and all extremely entertaining. I think that if Mike gets voted out we should make him assume the role of Davina. He's got it in him that's for sure.

Right, back to my beer.

Remembering Vividly

2005-06-14T21:04:00.000Z

I had the most lucid dream last night.

I normally don't remember my dreams at all, but this one really stuck in my mind.

I was with Mrs L, and we were visiting a nuclear power plant. We had the rabbit with us. The power plant was not huge, and the side of it that we were walking around was next to quite a large hill covered in grass, but at it's base it had a swampy (hooray!) area that led into a large lake, on top of which the power plant was sitting. The water was full of reasonably sized patches of nasty glowing radioactive gunk, the kind of thing that is a typical romanticised idea of what nuclear waste looks like.

Trust me to be unimaginative in my dreams.

Anyway, we were walking along a raised metal gangway, probably only about a foot and a half wide, that had no barriers at it's sides, and was perhaps only five or six inches above the waters surface.

There was a tour guide chap in a suit, a reasonably happy fellow, who was chatting away and walking ahead of us on the gangway. The rabbit was walking along just in front of me but behind the tour guide.

I'm looking at the water and thinking 'that looks quite nice apart from all the horrid radioactive luminous yellow blogs of crap in it', and then thinking about how easy it would be to fall off the gangway, being as it's only a foot or so wide, and at any moment I wouldn't be surprised if a particularly strong gust of wind came along and blew either me, Mrs L, the rabbit, some or all of us into the water.

Then all of a sudden, the rabbit just prances forward, like she does, has a quick look ahead and then jumps to her left, off the gangway, and headfirst into the evil-looking water.

I am at first horrified, then I recoil back in shock. Then, within another second, my natural instinct kicks in and I leap into the lake after her, because she is OUR rabbit, she is part of OUR family, and I can't just let her sink and die.

So into the water I go, swimming down after her, and the water is a kind of orange hue. I can see perfectly though, and follow her as she drops down to the bottom. There are long weeds down where she is falling, and I need to get to her before she gets lost in them, so I reach forward and grab her by the head and neck - the only parts I can reach - and yank her towards me. I don't want to hurt her, but then I don't want her to drown either; the main thing is that I have hold of her.

I turn around with her at my chest, and I push up towards the surface. Through the orange water I can see Mrs L and the tour guide looking down and reaching forward ready for us. I try to avoid the radioactive sludge, and do pretty well, I think. The rabbit is unharmed, if a touch wet, and I am okay, but I have a large blob of sludge on my back, arm and hand. I shake it off my hand, and the sludge on my back and arm falls off my clothes, so I feel alright, but within moments I feel quite faint, and then I can't remember anything until I wake up in a bed, probably in a clinic in the power plant, with Mrs L and the rabbit beside me waiting for me to wake up.

I am really happy because the rabbit is perfectly okay, and that I'm not drastically injured or maimed, and Mrs L is happy that we're both okay. It's basically a really nice moment. Then I realise that my hand has been slightly rotted away in places - my middle knuckle has actually had the whole of the top skin eaten away so that the bone is visible. However, it doesn't hurt at all, it just looks awful, so because of this I am content.

I can't remember anything after that.

So. What could it all mean eh?

Officially Rushed Off Feet

2005-06-10T16:19:00.000Z

I am so very busy, and I apologise (mainly to myself) if I am neglecting this poor old blog a tad. Big Blogger: The Behemoth is taking up a fair bit of time, as you can probably imagine, and what with everything else that's been going on round here, I just haven't been able to find a slot in my schedule for this poor little baby. Not to mention Mrs L. Even this is a rush-job post as I'm supposed to meet Mrs L in some bar somewhere for a quick jar or six.

In summary, this week has so far been a heavy one. I won't go into too many details just yet, but I will at some point. The point in question being someplace that isn't even on the horizon yet.

The hayfever has officially kicked in as of today.
I was late for work this morning. Overslept. There was probably a reason but I don't know what it was.
My grandad died yesterday.

These are in no particular order of heaviness, but I'm sure you can figure out which way round they should go.

That'll do for now.

Big Blogger: An Update

2005-06-07T18:06:00.000Z

Seeing as I'm Little Blogger, I really ought to update my public on what's going on over at Big Blogger Villas.

The draw for the blogmates has now taken place, and we have the final line up, although this is subject to change, dependant upon how many people tell us to get fucked. We have a bunch of stand-by's though so all is not lost.

So feast your eyes on the lucky buggers involved:

Grocerjack
JonnyB
Mr Hair
Miss Mish
Mike
Girl
Vitriolica
Nick Barlow
Zoe
Dr Rob
Peter
NML
Clair
Vicus Scurra
Gordon

I'm almost jealous. Although it's okay cos I get to badger and harass these guys. Actually my jobs better. Ha!

Great, the rabbit just peed on the carpet for the 28th time in the last week - one is not amused.

Congratulations are in order...

2005-06-07T17:52:00.000Z

I'd like to say:

WELL DONE MRS LAGOMORPH! YOU KNOCKED 'EM DEAD! YOU ARE A STAR!!

There are great things afoot..

Swampy of the Month

2005-06-06T19:24:00.000Z

Cheers to Watski for reminding me to do this (it's only because he wants win back-to-back awards..), but little does he know that I have a clause in my award scheme - which I just made up - that doesn't allow consecutive victories. I have to spread the love, so in a break from all the techyness which seems to have taken over from raw emotion (what the hell am I talking about?) in the last week or so, I'm plumping for the blog which has whetted my taste buds the most recently.

A couple of bloggers have made me laugh alot, and a couple have made me quite sad, but only one has made me re-evaluate the way I look at blogging, and at the same time make me really want to get myself/us one of those lovely juicy little graphics tablets that is apparently way easier to use than a mouse and looks really pretty and helps you make pretty pictures but unfortunately costs quite a large amount of money which is a bit of a stumbling block when you're practically on the breadline like us lagomorphs.

That blog is Vitriolica Webb's Ite.

It's good stuff it is, and I like it. You'd probably gathered that anyway.

I'd also like to state to the world that we spent more than a tenner on two tickets for the new Star Wars film, which by the way is utter crap, and now I want my money back. Do you think I would be successful if I tried to sue George Lucas for gross negligence in firstly, making a complete sows ear out of something which seemed to me totally unfuckupable, and secondly, for lying in order to get us to see his 'piece of shit' (in Bill Hicks style) movie. No George, it is NOT a good film, it is NOT dark and deep, and no matter what anyone says, in NO WAY does it even come close to linking up to the first three films. An idiot would say I'm biased, I can hear him now, but I was yawning after half an hour, laughing at Yoda the whole way through (laughing at Yoda! I ask you...), and almost wet myself when Anakin appeared to give the funny old guy with the amazing changing voice and face a blow job. The only good bits were when he got his arms and legs chopped off, and the cool spaceship from the very first film made a cameo appearance. The rest of it was shite. Total shite. Ewan Macgregor was shite (although possibly the best of a bad bunch), Portman was shite, Christensen was shite and looked stupid as Darth Vader (not tall enough), and I was basically confused as hell by the computer graphics from the word go. It was all very impressive looking, but it would have been more impressive if I'd have known who was fighting who and what the hell was actually going on. Somebody should tell Lucas to focus on the story (trade war? what the hell is a trade war? and how is it a good basis for six films? answer = it's not) rather than the special effects.

I could go on all night but I'd wear my keyboard out, so I'll stop.

And I won't 'hotlink' any pictures either, for anyone who's interested.

Tiny Tearaways

2005-06-03T19:49:00.000Z

Is blatantly the best programme on telly, as long as you don't hate kids. Which I don't. I love them actually, and bless me if they don't always get me all smiley and teary-eyed. I think I'm getting hormonal. But that's a whole other post - where's my diary...

It's that time of the month again, ie. the beginning, where I spreadeagle my current reading list all over this here post, and provide anyone who cares to look with some extra reading material for the next 10 minutes. Here, for you, because I care so much, is my May top ten new blogs:

Virus Scurra
Mimi In NY
Trivial Pursuit
Raised By Chaffinches
Pixeldiva
Sevitzdotcom
Gordon McLean
ILX Ruined My Life
My Boyfriend Is A Twat
The Complimenting Commenter

Some big guns there. But there's always a reason why people have really popular websites; it's because they're usually bloody good at writing. And because they've been about for bloody ages. Compared to some of them I feel like a tourist, and I've been doing this for nine months give or take a week or two. Mrs L thoughtfully pointed out that right about now I should be giving birth to a little blog baby. What an incredibly worrying idea.

We went to lovely Mrs L's end-of-year show a couple of days ago, and realised why it's a really good thing that end-of-year shows only happen at the end of the year and not, say, at the end of every week. Once a year is a quite ample frequency. The work was very good, especially hers, but the sheer number of ponces that crawl out from under their highly buffed and glass-walled Conrad store decked out stones is simply staggering. Never have so many people spent so much time acting aloof and as if they're having a great time and having a rubbish time while not actually having any kind of time at all. I was in a bad mood after ten minutes, wanted to leave after twenty minutes, felt like an old man after thirty minutes, and was right about to punch someone after forty minutes. And I'd had a good day up to then. After doing the usual after show pub thing, which was where my mood grew to a fiery head, we adjourned to a quite pub with no ponces in it, and preceded to talk about seriously interesting things until we were seriously drunk and it was seriously closing time. Then we went home and argued.

But everything was alright in the morning, and that's the way it should be.
And all of Mrs L's work is brilliant and I'm so proud of her. Apparently she's got 'untapped creative potential'. I disagree. From where I'm looking it seems thoroughly tapped, so whoever said that is a berk.

The best compliment I can pay is to put some of her stuff on here, so that's what I'm going to do now.

The first is a page from a website for sushi - the lilies open up when you rollover them and deliver useful snippets of information. The second is a still from a video promo set to Radiohead's 'Idioteque'. And for anyone with a good memory, I am the eskimo (although I don't look like a drawing in real life). The third is a page from another website, one which is actually going to be published on the web. I'll link to it once it's up and running. And the fourth is a painting of a Hairy Angler. It was for a kiosk-type project, whatever that is, but I like it because it's a great painting, and because it's a Hairy Angler. Hairy Angler, Hairy Angler.

They're all bloody fantastic, and are just the tip of the iceberg. Watch Mrs L go!

And watch me and Watski go too! Big Blogger 2005 storms the blogworld... And is great fun - if only all blogging was this much fun. And if only we were getting paid for it. Surely we can make some hard cash off of this.

A lesson in humility..

2005-06-03T00:26:00.000Z

If I've ever nicked your pictures and not linked back, I apologise. Susan at 2020Hindsight has ever so slightly picked up on my lack of Bloggy etiquette, and I am now eating humble pie. It's a different world out here in Infoweb City innit?

So to be frank, I haven't got the time to go and check EVERY SINGLE PICTURE I'VE EVER USED, but I will link to her, and to some others she's picked up, and say that from now on if I use a piccie, I promise to link back to where it came from.

Never fuck with a webhead scorned. I've had other mottos, but that is my new one.

http://www.leeds.ac.uk/
http://www.igougo.com/
http://www.creativityshop.com/
http://www.bbc.co.uk/eastenders/
http://secure.www.gap.com/
http://www.intuitivewebdesigns.com/
http://www.copyright.org.au/

And there I was about to go to bed. I'm really a nice person, honest I am, so I couldn't go to bed feeling like a bastard now could I? Apologies to all and sundry...

The Next Big Thing (Already...)

2005-06-01T17:49:00.000Z

In case you hadn't seen already, this is what you're going to be reading for the next 3 and a bit months...

(Pretend you're not at my site, and that it's not written by me, and it might make some kind of sense.)

So here's the idea then. I think I'm on to something.

There's 15 people all in a house. To allieviate their boredom they are set a task every 2/3 days to fiddle about with. During the 2/3 days the people observing vote for their favourite person. At the end of the task the person with the least votes gets eliminated from the house. This carries on until there is one person left.

Sound familiar?

Rubbish. You're deluded.

In a totally original idea the like of which has never been seen before anywhere, Young Mr Lagomorph and I have set a little website up - well Mr L has done all the hard designy, shiny kind of stuff. I've just been the intellectual one standing in the middle of the room going 'can you put that there', 'err, no it's not right there - can you put it over there instead?'.

15 specially invited bloggers will get access to Mr Lagomorph's pride and joy on the first night, and the website a little later. Every other day or so they will get set a task which will involve them debating various issues, etc. At the same time as the task is set a poll will also go up on the website. The blogger with the least votes at the end of the 2 days will get eliminated and be laughed at for a while.

The blogger left at the end will be crowned the inaugural Big Blogger Champion. You never know, when I sell this to Channel 4 you may get to meet someone famous. I can see someone like, say, Davina MaCall wanting to present this.

Sounds boring? God yeah. But it's summat to do no?

Anyway, as Big Blogger I think I should have an identifiable accent. I'm thinking some kind of soft Geordie. What? It'll never catch on? We'll see. I'm off to perfect my Big Blogger voice anyway. And to try and sell the rights to Guatemala. I reckon it'll be a goer.

Please put your nominations for who you think should be in the house in the comments box. One nomination each please. I will draw them out of a hat at the end of some day in the future, ask the 15 if they would like to take part and get them to introduce themselves by way of a little spiel. Big Blogger 1 will start on Monday of next week.

Please email me with any suggestion for possible tasks for them to discuss.

You decide.

Hey I think I like that as a catchphrase.

Christ, I'm entering the mainstream. Selling out. To coin a phrase, I'm a media whore. Good though innit?

* Normal service will be resumed shortly.

No room in the schedule

2005-05-31T18:12:00.000Z

I've been busy to say the least. I always thought bank holidays were supposed to be relaxing, but seemingly this is just not even vaguely the case. We were pleasantly invaded by The Father and then The 13-Year Old Cousin, and then thrust ourselves upon The Mother and The Grandparents, who were swiftly invaded by The Great Aunts, The Aunt and The Other Cousin. It was fucking crazy. How on earth did my family get so polyglot? (I just had to use that word, god knows what it means.. or if it's a word.)

It's also been Extreme-Weather-Brighton, with blisteringly hot sunshiny loveliness on Friday, and unbelieveably windy bloody bollocks on Saturday, then crappy soddy rainy bumholes on Sunday. Now it's alright again - I hate English weather, almost as much as I hate Alfie out of Eastenders.

I've also been hard at work helping The Father fine tune his website graphics, and have been designing something rather special too..

Mr Watski and I are the brains behind the new BIG BLOGGER 2005 website. Well, he's got the brains, I've got the looks, we're gonna make lots of money.. That kind of thing.

Please go there now, read all about it, and get nominating. The idea is pretty straightforward and should be very amusing, as well as very popular. Sod Big Brother. Who needs them when we can have our own... And feel free to nominate yourself, I'm pretty sure there isn't a rule against that. Yet. I'm also not entirely sure if there's a way to nominate. Hmm. I would suggest emailing me (the link is in the sidebar under "Want Some Mail?", or alternatively leave comments in the usual place. And please spread the word! We hope to get some big name bloggers involved, and the more people that get in on the act, well, all the better and all the merrier!

I'm also supposed to be guest-blogging at Queenie's site this week, so basically I'm pretty snowed under. If I appear somewhat scatty and short on anecdote or fantastically insightful dialogue, or maybe just rather all over the place, at least I have an excuse. I hope you can forgive me.

Oh, and Mrs Lagomorph's website got chosen to be published and used in the real world! Hip hip... Hoorah!!!!

I Must Be A Country Bumpkin

2005-05-24T22:44:00.000Z

Maybe I'm just not cut out for this townie life...

What about this. The best bloody restaurant type place that I can actually afford just about and doesn't make me feel as if I'm some kind of insignificant little worm crawling up the arsehole of the maitre'd whilst maxing out all my credit cards on half an ounce of Tesco ham and a tin of baked beans dolled up as more than it actually is. In London. Amazing.

And here it is from the outside. I'm not doing PR for them, or getting some kind of sly backhander (it would be a crap backhander seeing as how many people visit this site - the word 'pointless' comes to mind). I just really like the place, and the food, and want to spread the pleasure.

Thanks to Alda for refreshing my memory.

I have Family coming to stay for the next few days, so I may be a tad quiet on the old blog front. However, I am certain that you'll all be able to cope, being the the fully fledged adults that you all are, and will probably have a great time without me.

Excuse while I adjourn to consider the pointlessness of it all.

* To finish, this is quite brilliant.

Windypops / I Fucking Hate London

2005-05-23T19:48:00.000Z

This site is turning into the Brighton Weather Report. Weekend was not long enough, and scampi does not last long enough either. I am actually applying for other jobs, which is surely a sign of how pissed off I am with the existing state of affairs. I've been honest with my manager, so she's now fully aware that I don't like my job, and I'm now fully aware that there's not really an awful lot that can be done about that unfortunately. Ah well, it's kind of what I expected. Still, at least I don't feel like a traitor, or as if I'm harbouring some guilty little secret. It's all out in the open and I feel pleasantly purged.

It's still a crap job though.

Roll on, err, anything else.

Congratulations again to Jimmy Greaves bastard son, whose dashing visage is now gracing the zenith of my sidebar. I'm going to have to have a regular competition, so some of you other chaps and chapettes have the chance to use my blog as advertising space. Yep, that's a good idea.

Looks kind of like a big boil doesn't it?

I was thinking about London over the weekend. I don't really know why as I thoroughly despise the place. Strangely though, I don't think that badly of it at present. The only reason for this is that I haven't been there for any length of time in about two years. However, thinking about it for a prolonged period of time did bring back some haunting memories, and semi-refreshed for me the hurt of my time there. So I was thinking, and I tried to catalogue some of my most horrible times there (probably in an attempt to convince my subconscious to never ever allow me, subconsciously of course, to go back there), and I came up with a meaty old list. I'm not going to go into details, as lots of things that happened are extremely personal and I would never dream of talking about them on here, but what I can do on here is compile a list of my most hated places in London. So here are my top five. If I never return to these places I will be a happy man.

OXFORD STREET - Hell on Earth. Big, horrible and ugly. Goes on forever. It really does. Too many fucking people. Too many buses. Too many shops. Just too much stuff. If I can blow it up I'll go back. But only if I can blow it up.

ELEPHANT & CASTLE - Disgusting ugly weird coloured roundabout land of scum. What is the purpose of this place?

TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD - The whole stretch from Warren Street tube to that ridiculous Queen musica l/pizza parlour corner near the Astoria (which is actually good) is, like Oxford Street, fucking awful. Except this time it's littered with crappy electrical shops. Can I blow this up as well?

CAMDEN TOWN TUBE STATION - A strange choice, you might think, but I have my reasons. Camden is rubbish anyway apart from the odd bar, the odd pub, the canal and the market, but the tube is something else. I don't know about anyone else, but every time I've ever had the misfortune to have to go there, I've either been knocked over, pushed over, thumped, whacked, robbed or manhandled. And the place is full of fucking weirdo drug-dealers (in some places a bonus, but not here).

HACKNEY - I know that this is supposed to be at the hub of the East End regeneration program, and yes, the Town Hall, the library, the Empire and Ocean (which appears to have closed. Ha!) are all very nice, and if you have £500,000 available to buy yourself a 2-bedroom townhouse in a row of 18th century listed buildings then it's probably absolutely wicked, but we lived slap bang in the middle of this craphole, and I can categorically state from personal experience that Hackney must be firebombed immediately. As well as being full of nutters (Item 1: mental patients murdering joggers, Item 2: nutbar holds longest siege in British history about 50 metres from our front door), and having the highest murder rate from shootings in this fair isle, it is also home to Brass Goods Man and the most violent tramps I've ever seen, AND it's neighboured by Bethnal Green, Dalston, Clapton, and Mile End. Never again.

I would like everyone to list their most hated places in London. If you're not from London, or you've never been to London (good for you!) feel free to pretend. I'm not giving out medals for honesty here.

I love spreading the hate!

(Nb. London does have some good bits. I just forgot all of them.)

The Build Up

2005-05-20T19:03:00.000Z

It's been raining all day again today, yet strangely it didn't smell like the sea. It could have been something to do with being stuck inside an air-conditioned building all day with my hands glued to a keyboard and my eyeballs hanging out of their sockets due to the mundanity of it all. Sometimes air-con systems magnify the smell of the outdoors, but not in this place. I think The Company have installed an artificial atmosphere and have started pumping brain-addling cow tranquilisers into the air supply. That would explain a lot.

The day that any of this makes sense to me shall be a momentous day indeed.

Things seem to be building up a bit, and I have generated a fair old backlog of things to cover, so it's best that I make a start before the backlog starts to develop a backlog. Then I'll be well and truly fucked.

So on we trudge:

A Recipe from Heaven

NB. DO STEPS 1 TO 4 AT THE SAME TIME, OR IN WHICHEVER ORDER YOU LIKE, JUST DON'T LET THE PASTA AND PEAS GET OVERCOOKED.

1.) Take some Garganelli pasta and a large handful of garden peas and chuck them into a pan of boiling water until they are cooked.

2.) Rip up a couple of generous handfuls of mint and basil, and stir them into 200ml of low fat creme fraiche in a bowl. Squeeze the juice of half a lemon in too and stir it up.

3.) Brown a handful of pine nuts on both sides in a frying pan. No oil!

4.) Cook some chopped up turkey breast in a pan and then drain off all the excess water and fat.

5.) Strain the pasta and peas, place a large bundle of fresh washed spinach in the bottom of the pan that you've just strained the pasta/peas from, then chuck the pasta/peas back into the pan on top of the spinach. Stir it all together.

6.) Put the creme fraiche/basil/mint mixture into the pan and stir it all together with everything else.

7.) Finally, add the browned pine nuts, then stir it all together again.

8.) Put loads of pepper in, let it cook up for a miunte or two, then serve and enjoy as it's bloody tasty!

My First Meme

Thankyou to Jamie, who at long last has gone and done it, and taken my Meme virginity. I am deflowered.

The Last CD I Bought Was:
Brendan Benson - Alternative To Love

I didn't buy it for myself but for the missus. It's very good, but apparently he's shite live. Shame that.

Song Playing Right Now:
King Britt vs. Michelle Shaprow - If I Lost You

This is off Good Times 3. We had it playing the other day when the sun was out and I was cleaning the patio. Bloody brilliant it were (said as if I was from Ilkley), and it might not be playing right now exactly, but it is in my head. Mmmm, head.

Five Songs I Listen To A Lot, Or That Mean A Lot To Me:
This is a good chance to get in my five top funeral songs, as Beth prompted early this week, ie. five songs that mean a heck of a lot to me. So here goes.

Ride - Vapour Trail
The Flaming Lips - Do You Realize
Radiohead - Where I End And You Begin
LTJ Bukem - Music
The Smiths - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

What a positive bunch of songs to play when I die! Nice.

Five People To Whom I'm Passing The Baton:
Difficult. You don't have to if you don't want to, but would Queenie, Watski, Bonobo, Babs, and DrD please stand up.

And finally, it's...

The Dog Wash Result

Everybody made me laugh like a demented cow (and if you've ever heard one of them laugh you'll know what I mean), and special mention must go to Witho for attacking the task from both normal and dyslexic perspectives, and to Watski for obviously being on drugs when coming up with his contribution.

But the winner is Mr Greavsie, 48, from London.

"Simple, a 'Dog Wash' is where you stand naked in a cubicle and a big St Bernard wanders in and gives you a good licking all over."

His entry (oo-er!) almost made me laugh and vomit at the same time, and that's never happened before.

Your prize, young sir, shall be an advert for your site right at the top of my sidebar. You can design your own if you want, then mail it to me here. If you don't I'll design one myself. Dimensions are 180px x 180px. I await your mail eagerly...

Oh yeah, and here is your gherkin:

And that's it. If I've forgotten anything please let me know.

I'll write something deep and meaningful tomorrow.
Perhaps.

Rain

2005-05-19T23:10:00.000Z

I walked into town today to get some food, and it was raining. I didn't notice it at first, but the air smelled strange and not quite right. It didn't smell like a 'town' should smell. It didn't smell like it usually smelled.

Then I realised. The rain was sea water. What I was smelling was the scent of being at the waters edge, skimming stones, or just looking out into the distance.

The clouds had picked the water up and were dropping it back down again on to the town.

I remember again how much I love living by the sea.

It's better than a kick in the shitter.

2005-05-17T22:15:00.000Z

I read something brilliant today, and really wanted to write about it, but didn't have my notebook to hand and so couldn't write it down and have therefore forgotten it. Drat.

Note to self: take notebook everywhere from now on you idiot.

I also had a strange experience with two young women right outside my front steps. I was casually walking home from Marks & Spencers with some nice frozen cod, about to descend the steps to my door, when someone behind me said "Err, hello?". So I said, "Err, yes? Hi?", turned to see who it was, and was confronted by two young ladies, probably not much older than myself. So I'm thinking either they want to borrow a lighter or they want to assassinate me. And then they said "Hello" again, and THEN they went COMPLETELY MENTAL and started going "Oh! Hasn't he got lovely eyes!" and "Just look at those eyes!!" and "Wow!!!!". I was of course totally scared shitless by this, so did the only thing I knew would get me out of the situation alive: I giggled uncomfortably and ran away like a jessie. I didn't have far to run, seeing as I was about four and a half foot from my front door, but it was a very traumatic experience nonetheless.

I had to go out again half an hour later, and I was still very scared and was worried that they might be hanging around to kill me or drag me back to their lair and disembowel me, but they had gone so I was okay. Phew.

Points for the day:

1) I cannot believe how godawfully shit Internet Explorer is. I have to use it at work because large conglomerate corporations can't see when something is rubbish because they have bigger and badder things to worry about, so I'm stuck with using a pile of wank! And my site looks like total pants in IE! And I can't figure out how to sort it out! And it's annoying! So if you are looking at this in IE, STOP NOW!!!!

2) How funny are you guys? The 'Dog Wash' Competition has turned out way better than I ever expected, so the pressure is on for me to produce a rollickingly good prize. The winner will get a gherkin (obviously), but there needs to be some sort of special recognition here... Leave it to me, I'll work something out.

3) Kylie has breast cancer. I used to think Kylie was better than sliced bread and had zillions of posters of her stapled all over my walls. Now however, she is little more than a performing arse, so my love for her is greatly diminished, in fact you might say extinguished. But cancer is a very very bad thing, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody, so get well soon Kylie.

4) I cooked a great dinner on Sunday. Tomorrow I'll do a Jamie (not the Oliver kind) and type up the recipe for your delectation.

5) Well done West Brom. Not that I support you (I support QPR, for my sins), but well done all the same.

6) A question: Why can I never get enough sleep?

7) Cheers Dad. I am hilarious aren't I?

Watch It

2005-05-14T23:35:00.000Z

I now know absolutely shitloads about copyright, so if anybody tries to nick anything from my site, well, let's just say "may the lord have mercy on your soul" and be done with it. I can distinguish a watermark from a digimark, compressed html code from normal html code, and ignorant right-clickers from thieving bastards.

In a nutshell, I'm your worst nightmare.

The phrase 'Dog Wash' has been on the board in the kitchen all week.

If anyone can tell me what the hell a dog wash is, or at least supply a spellbinding proposal for what one might be, then they'll win a prize. There will only ever be one winner though, so make your entry a good 'un.

In the meantime I'll be trying to figure out what to have as a prize.

Ultimate Poop

2005-05-13T18:19:00.000Z

What a crab apple of a day I've had. I outdid myself statistics-wise, and therefore pleased my manager no end, but bored myself rigid in the process, and also got kind of turned down for a different job at the same company because I've only been there five months and they've put lots of time and money into my role-specific training and blah blah blah de blah bollocks. All of which interminable dullness means that I shall probably have to grin and bear the mundanity of my existing role, and the agony of the 6.15am wake-up call, for a further five or six months. I can cope with this, after all, I've stuck far worse jobs than this before. Nine months in a giftware warehouse in Southwell was pretty bad, as was my two years worth of Saturdays at Tesco in Felixstowe when I was sixteen. And a combined total of six months as a kitchen hand in two different restaurants in Australia pretty much sucked the fat one. At least there I could go sunbaking and drinking like a fish after work. Here I do not have that luxury. Here I must hibernate indoors due to the sub-arctic temperatures us English are subjected to throughout summer. And a beer is never quite as soul-quenchingly good unless you're as sweaty as a camels knackers, and have a tongue as dry and hairy as that Keith out of Eastenders' chin. Here's a piccy.

He looks like he actually managed a bath and a shave for that picture, and so it is not an accurate reflection of his character. I may have to complain to the BBC about misrepresentation. They can't go pretending that he's a nice clean cut cad-about-town when his character is a scruffy dogsbody who wouldn't recognise a bar of soap if it twatted him in the mush. The only other picture I could find that didn't have him looking vaguely respectable was about three pixels high, so I'm not going to bother. I'm also not about to start googling for a shot of a camels knackers either, sorry to disappoint you.

Okay, I did, but all I got was a picture of a couple of old men. Not what I was expecting.

Talking of which, some total freak Yahoo-searched his (or her) way to my site by typing in "Super Dinosaur Cock".

I'll let you mull this one over for a bit.

Mrs L has bought herself this quite lovely skirt. I'm jealous. Women get to choose from loads and loads and loads of brilliant clothes at a quite staggering number of different shops, whereas men get to choose from three t-shirts and a turtleneck argyle sweater from Burtons. This just isn't fair. I know that most men couldn't give two sloppy shits what clothes they wear, and wouldn't be bothered if their pants (briefs to you Americans) hadn't been washed for a month and were full of all sorts of crusty nastiness, but I do! I like to have lots of colourful, exciting and out-of-the-ordinary things to wear. I may have a somewhat timid nature, but I love to stand out with what I wear.

Right now I have on a baggy pair of engineered Levi things, and a bright yellow t-shirt with a sky blue design on it. And my hair is superhero blue-black. Nobody could accuse me of being conservative in my stylings. And if they do they'll have me and Mrs L to deal with.

The hair is a case in point; over the last few years I've gone from mousey brown to deep red, from deep red to white-blonde, from white-blonde to orange, from orange to auburn (ooh!), from auburn to blonde, back to mousey brown, again to red, over to light brown with a blonde stripe, back to brown, and now to blue-black. Some of these, admittedly, were serious glaring errors, but I now seem to have settled into a style and don't feel as if every haircut or hair colour is a horrifically frightening risk, or akin to wrestling alligators. Lord almighty. I may actually have grown up! Now all I have to do is get rid of those pesky spots and I'll be happy.

I'm such a bloody woman.

Here is a shot of the last t-shirt I bought. It's bluer in real life, and is nice and tight on the old chest, just how I like it. And once again, I have to moan a bit, because it is so hard to find any shops that sell clothes in my size. In fact, if you were an alien and all you had to go on when trying to figure out what human beings were like, you'd quite reasonably assume that all men were six foot tall and built like Big Daddy. Nowhere sells small sizes, and if they do they're almost always not small. Why say something is small when it isn't? And if that's not enough, nine times out of ten there just won't be any small sizes left at all. Maybe some evil genius small man snuck in first thing in the morning and bought all the small clothes before I got there. The bastard. Still, I suppose it makes it all the more rewarding when I do actually find something which I like, and which fits me. Life is so hard, it really is...

So back to jobs, I'm going to send my CV off to a stack of places and see what I get back. It won't hurt to try, and I'll never know unless I give it a go. Pleasingly, in a week or so I get to apply for some courses at the friendly neighbourhood college, and can start increasing my skill base and getting back into academia. I miss it so. But this is realistically the only way that I can get to be what I really want to be. At least I know this, and don't have to spend the rest of eternity flapping around aimlessly, casting my rod in whichever pond takes my fancy, hoping for a bite.

That would be rubbish.

A new day, a new project

2005-05-12T11:33:00.000Z

I feel a bit bad. Due to the passing of time and things getting all a bit hectic and what have you, I have unwittingly neglected my responsibilities. This is going to stop, and after the drought there shall be a flood. Or at least a steady trickle.

There's not enough venom and bile about these days. I set up the I Hate Keane site as a way of expressing my utter digust of purile bollocks, but I really have dropped the ball on this one. Lethargy and complacency are simple habits to fall into, and I did so especially easily. Luckily I'm picking the ball up again, and this time it's going to be bigger and better than ever. A mighty big ball!

But more details will follow in due course.

I'm re-opening the I Hate Keane site, more as a forum for discussion than a window for my own personal vitriol. I know some of us hate them, and some of us, for some ungodly reason love them, and that in itself is enough reason for the site to exist in the first place. So let's be having you. Again.

In this vein, I feel like providing a rundown of all that I despise, musically. I went through all my favourites and Desert Island choices a little while back, so this is the total opposite. And if anyone disagrees with me, thinks I'm a twat, or adversely completely agrees with my choices, please let me know. I love comments!

So in no particular order, and with no links because that would be doing them a favour:

The Streets - Chav royalty with no talent, who can't sing, has rubbish lyrics, and has no personality whatsoever, yet is for some reason adored by many and worshipped as being 'cutting edge' and postmodern. Post-any-bloody-good more like. Crap.

Maroon 5 - Ear-crumplingly shit, brain-addlingly tits, pile of wank. Rubbish name, rubbish songs, sub jazz-pop, half-arsed or couldn't be bothered American idiots - this lot have no endearing qualities whatsoever, but once again, are adored by many, are apparently attractive, and have their songs revered as instant classics. Sad, so sad.

Athlete - This has been suggested to me. I own their first album, which does have a couple of good songs on it, but now they are the epitomy of a not-that-great band who have had way too much money thrown at them (see Coldplay for more evidence of this) and now can't write a catchy song for love nor money because they're too interested in maintaining their artistic credibility. Bland bunch of arse.

Natasha Bedingfield / Daniel Bedingfield - Morons, the pair of them. Can probably sing, but so can my arse. One made songs in his bedroom and sounded like a woman to become famous, the other rode bareback on her brother to gain fame. All a bit depressing. It's probably in everyone's interest that they be put down sooner rather than later.

Razorlight - Try and name or sing any of their songs. Can't, can you? Lead singer is a pompous arrogant twat. First against the wall and all that.

UB40 - I could never understand what people saw in this lot. At least with Wham! or Duran Duran you could never say that their songs were bad pop songs, even if they were basically shit, but this lot were, have been, and always will be completely shit. Even their most famous song is a cover of someone else's song. If you were to ask me to sum up in one word all that is wrong with the human race, I would say "UB40".

Sting - I fucking hate Sting. From The Police to today he's always been a cock. A stuck-up, arrogant, annoying, unlistenable, famous for no good reason, pile of cock. I don't care about your music, I don't care about your sex life, and I don't care about you. Please stick your head up your arse and shut up.

10cc - Personal reasons.

Robbie Williams - I don't really have to explain this do I?

Joss Stone - Oh my god. She is the epitome of shitness. Oh but she's so pretty! No! She's not! She looks like someone punched her with a bulldogs arse. Oh but she's got such a beautiful voice! Which is a carbon copy of umpteen other soul singers who were miles better anyway, and sung from the heart and from personal experience. Oh but she's only famous because she's so talented! And because her dad is fucking loaded and has paid for all the recording sessions and publicity and make-up artists. That's all. My life would be better if she got sucked into a black hole.

Anastacia - Four-eyed crock-of-shit with offensive voice and unbelievably abysmal songs. My old boss thought that Anastacia and Sunderland FC were the two best things in the world, and that says a lot. Her mouth is so big she probably threatened to eat the whole recording industry to get a record contract. Terrible taste in clothes, and her music is even worse. Plus, she seems so have inspired that woman out of The Black Eyed Peas. The bitch.

There are many more where those came from, but that's a good start.

And yeah, I'm going for the Clark Kent look.

And I'm not going to see The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy at the cinema, because a) that cock out of The Office (pile of shite) is in it, and he wore a cravat on Jonathan Ross so is obviously a wanker, b) they invented some new characters especially for it - why????, c) the Vogons look shit, d) I never imagined there being an MTV special about Hitchhikers, but that's what I was subjected to the other day, and I'm not overstating it when I say that it was top-grade suicide material, and e) I have my own idea of what the books meant to me, and the images they have left in my head, and I don't want that ruined thankyou very much.

Beverley Knight is crap as well.

Laboratoire Garnier

2005-05-10T20:23:00.000Z

Who the hell do I look like?

The Awful Truth

2005-05-09T21:18:00.000Z

You know, I was going to write a post about how terrible I am to immigrant beavers (they knaw; I get pissed off), but I just haven't got the time nor the inclination.

And I need to let somebody know about how I have this ridiculous affliction whereby every time I look in the mirror or try and fiddle with my hair, I end up biting down on my lower lip. Now would have been a good time to do this, a brilliant time in fact, but I have to bathe, and I have to sleep, and I couldn't be more tired and unblogworthy if I tried.

So I'll do some cutting-and-pasting!

Mr Watski Esq has submitted his acceptance speech on nice ruled and hole-punched A4 paper, the gent, which means I have to type it out. Shit.

"I'd like to thank Tim and the Swampy Awards Committee for bestowing this honour upon me, but the the truth is that I made it up. Yes that's right - I made the whole thing up with the aim of getting a Swampy. You see, I was so determined to get a Swampy that i racked my brains for something to write about, and what do people want to hear about more than the small guy kicking the big guy in the shins? Ask Nicky Campbell."

"So for the last year I have travelled around the world hoping that the travel agents would cock the holiday up for me so I could complain, then feature it in my blog. But alas, no one cocked it up - which ruined it for me, much more than the £20K overdraft did. So I had to make it up. There is no Opodo, there was no holiday and there was definitely no problem with the flights. I am truly sorry."

"Oh hang on. It did happen."

"The bastards."

I can never tell when people are lying. In fact, I don't think he can tell whether he's lying either. Who gives a damn; it's entertaining stuff and that's what matters. Art before fact. What a great motto.

Here's an ace picture of a woman with a gherkin:

And it's my bathtime.

Adieu.

Friggy Frig Pt. 2

2005-05-06T17:39:00.000Z

Almost forgot; there was an election yesterday.

I and we voted for the party who came third. Amusingly, they came fourth behind the Green Party in Brighton Pavilion. You may argue that these were wasted votes, but if you don't vote with your heart, well, what's the frigging point?

So much for democracy.

Friggy Frig

2005-05-06T16:55:00.000Z

The sodding seagulls just do not stop shagging! It seems like they are constantly at it. Squawk, squeak, squeal, squawk, squeak, squeal, squawk, squeak, squeal, all bloody day long. And now the rabbit has started knawing everything again! You have food you mad little fluffbag! Eat the food and not the nice cabinet from Habitat please. And now some chav or chavette in their 1984 Golf GTI has pulled up outside the pub round the corner and is playing some shite cod-R+B rubbish by Jimmy Bollock Kananga feat. Willy Wankbo. And now the people who live behind our flat have yet again begun sawing up some wood, which they seem to do ALL THE TIME, and are making a very loud and persistent wood sawing noise, surprisingly. How many kitchen units can you fit in one house? I should ask them. Maybe their house is like the Tardis, except for kitchen units. There he goes again (almost a song by The Las). Later the drunken tossers will spill out on to the high street and yell really loudly for no reason at all, and then hang around in the square out the front yelling really loudly for no reason at all, until they decide to go somewhere else a bit further up the road, maybe near to a kebab house, and yell really loudly for no reason at all until they spontaneously combust.

Does anybody have a nice peaceful cottage in the middle of the countryside that they could give me, please?

Here are Mrs L and myself in South Park style. I'm looking particularly 'street', and Mrs L is looking particularly 'forest'. The likenesses are, I have to say, rather uncanny. Thanks to Rach and Southy for guidance.

I'm officially looking for jobs again. Brilliant. My new job isn't going badly, it's just that I hate it. If anyone knows of any really brilliant jobs that pay well and aren't mind-numbing, and just happen to be in the central (or even outer) Brighton area, maybe something involving creativity, intelligence and skill, then feel free to drop me a line. I'm great, and I work me socks off. Gizzajob.

Wednesday

2005-05-04T16:40:00.000Z

For that is today.

I've just been to the dentist to have three (count 'em) fillings, and am having trouble with my jaw muscles. I had to rinse my mouth out and spit into the sink thing they have there, but failed this task miserably and ended up dribbling the green mouthwash stuff down my shirt. But it's not my fault! Everything is super-floppy and would be really funny if I didn't have to talk, speak, or spit out the horrible phlegmy contents of my mouth occasionally, yet unfortunately that is part of daily life. So I'm slightly burdened, at least for the next couple of hours, by not being able to talk. This is a GOOD THING. Firstly, because I spend half my life talking to people, and secondly, because recently I've been moaning like an old man a lot. It's not very becoming of me, and I don't really know why I'm doing it; the weather's nice, I'm in love, we live by the sea, and times are good. So after careful analysis I've come to the conclusion that I may be going through, what is commonly known in the business as, a Stannard Phase.

We Stannards are generally great (we are, so bollocks to you), but occasionally subject those in our immediate vicinities to bouts of utter wankerishness, characterised by prolonged periods of rudeness, aggression, anger, moaning, sulking, groaning and most other really annoying traits that human beings are renowned for, all rolled into one. You ask anyone close to us, they'll all agree; we're lovely, but we're twats. So blogging this, getting it in print, is I feel, an extremely positive and cathartic way of dealing with my twatishness. Could I have found a cure for my hereditary bastard syndrome? I'm already feeling less moany! Oh happy day!!!

In fact I do find that writing on this here computer tends to help a lot with a great many things. I've never been one for writing down what's swirling around in the vacuous canyons of my head, and have never kept a diary, journal, or any such thing. It's never appealed to me. So to be putting it all down here is a totally new and fascinating thing to me. I'm not ashamed to say that I can quite happily sit back and read through my old posts until the cows come home (I love that phrase), even if there is probably a degree of vanity involved in the whole 'look at my me, I've got a blog' thing. That surely is a part of it, but also, isn't being able to see what you were doing and thinking the whole point of keeping a diary? You may think I'm naive, but I've never thought about this kind of thing before, so I'm still in the catch-up stage of diary-keeping. Please forgive me my juvenile ramblings.

On a more sombre note, I must relay the sad news that my Mum's cat Magic has passed away. Magic, as well as being almost as old as me, had endured at least four different house moves, living with three Stannard men (see above), as well as various hair-loss involving ailments, and had outlived all of her kittens, Jazzie, Cassie and Zorro. She'd done incredibly well to still be jumping and prowling around in 2005, and despite being pretty healthy and happy when I last saw her at Christmas, it seems that old age finally caught up with her, and she became ill very quickly and had to be put down. If I had a picture of her in the flat I would put it here, but I haven't, so I'll just have to remember her as she was: somehow sitting atop the dresser in the breakfast room, despite it being seven feet tall; ignoring the food she had just demanded for the last half an hour by squealing at me incessantly, and then shooting me a look that said "Whiskers? I'm better than fucking Whiskers mate."; walking on the dinner table, as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do; and generally being the lovely, soft, beautiful, but slightly aloof cat that she was. She'll be missed.

My mouth feels a bit less floppy now, but I still can't eat for another hour or so. Damn you dentist!

I'll have to do a whole post about the brilliance of Twin Peaks at some point. Here's another website to look at. It's easily the best TV series type thing there has ever been, and is demanding of discussion, but not today. While I'm at it, I'll probably take the time to discuss the finer points of some of David Lynch's films, not including Mulholland Drive. That film is bollocks. So, just to get it off my chest, maybe I'll discuss that too if I feel that way inclined. The reason I say this is because we were watching one of the not so great episodes from season two the other day, and one of the characters (okay, David Lynch playing Gordon Cole - I'm such a geek) said:

"The word linkage reminds me of sausage."

Any film/TV show/song/anything that has the confidence to just toss in a line as blatantly hilarious and ridiculous as that, deserves to be rewarded with a whole post in it's honour. But that's another day.

Finally, she'll probably kill me, but I have to mention that Mrs L said the word baton in her sleep the other day. Not just any ordinary baton you understand, but a wonderful French stick baton with a full French accent. I laughed, yes I did.

Time of the month

2005-05-01T22:04:00.000Z

It's the 1st of May, and I'm still in the midst of my five day sabbatical, so rather than write about anything meaningful or interesting, or take up more time out of my evening than is necessary, I'll take this opportunity to update my sidebar and celebrate the wonder of The Blog, by dishing out the second monthly Best Blog award.

For May, the award is going to Watski. He's had an episode and a half with Opodo, and has been kind enough to share the whole shitbag affair with the world, so for this I thank you! Here's your award:

Secondly, I am updating the Best New Blogs section in the sidebar. So here is the list, in case anyone can't be bothered to scroll all the way down my ridiculously long sidebar:

I'm Not Waving, I'm Drowning
Hydragenic
I'm Alright Nooooooooooooow
Musings From Middle England
Uffish Thoughts
Penguin Marginalia
Quick Story
Naughty Pundit
Spazzymoto's Revenge

I'll be back soon with a full rundown of, err, stuff, so until then have a lovely Bank Holiday Monday, and see you soon.

Rotterdam

2005-04-29T12:26:00.000Z

This has absolutely nothing to do with that shit Beautiful South song.

A couple of posts ago I included a link to the Alsop Architects website; one of the best architecture sites I've seen. It is a pretty standardly flashy site, with some quirky little bits and bobs to play around with, but what really sets it apart is the designs and ideas that these people have come up with. Will Alsop is probably most (in)famous for designing the Fourth Grace for the Liverpool docks; the Fourth Grace that won't be built. But as well as this, Alsop has been extremely busy designing entire new cityscapes - á la Corbusier and Sant'Elia - for places as diverse as Bradford and Groningen, Netherlands. He seems to have adopted a particularly modern and ethical approach to these exercises; in Bradford basing the city centre around parks, water and open enjoyable spaces; in Barnsley trying to find the best way to counter the urban spread that is affecting the surrounding countryside, as well as the soul of the community; and in Rotterdam, developing spaces that already exist and turning them into a vibrant, efficient and attractive addition to what is already a very beautiful modern city.

The general idea is to turn Rotterdam's separate travel ports - the bus, train, metro and tram stations, as well as car and bicycle parks - into one organic whole, and to integrate this with new shopping, living and recreational spaces. It's a brilliant idea, and the designs look amazing. There's also no way these designs won't fit in. If you have ever been to Rotterdam you'll know what I mean. The entire city centre was firebombed by the Germans in 1940, and after the war ended the Dutch government began a process of rebuilding and regeneration. Parts of the old Rotterdam still remain, especially in the docklands, where you can see 18th and 19th century warehouses sitting next to strange multi-coloured office spaces. But the architectural feel of the place is one of not sitting back and letting financial or official constraints get in the way. There are some absolutely beautiful structures dotted around the city: the cinema made from translucent corrugated plastic, a twenty storey office building made out of red brick, another with a slanted LCD panel (displaying various messages) taking up the whole of its frontage, schools that are the not-too-distant cousins of the Centre Pompidou in Paris, as well as many smaller yet no less extravagant buildings. And all this in an industrial town, housing the largest port in Europe.

I'm from Felixstowe, which is home to the second largest port, and apart from that there are no similarities between the two. Felixstowe is stuck in the 19th century, more concerned with it's seafront gardens than regenerating the shitty council estates and dockers housing that have been rotting for the last thirty or forty years, whereas Rotterdam is striding forward in to the new century, and embracing developments like Alsops. Brighton, where we live, is an example of how new architecture can be embraced: already we have a brand new and beautiful library, will have new living and working spaces dotted around, and are soon to see the development of a massive beachfront living complex (designed by Frank Gehry, the chap responsible for the amazing Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao) on the site of the crappy run-down King Alfred leisure centre in Hove. I know people complain about this kind of thing, but we can't keep repairing old beaten-up buildings, when there are people and architects prepared to put a great deal of thought and money into developing, what is currently an eyesore, into a piece of practical art. And why can't new architecture sit alongside old? There is no reason why. Look at London, look at Paris, look at Rotterdam. These cities are all the more fascinating and beautiful as a result of the diversity of the architecture within them, not despite of it.

And lastly, here are some examples of what Alsop wants to do with Barnsley. He wants to create a modern medieval citadel, with a wall around the city. The wall will also have a park on top of it that stretches the whole of its circumference. The idea is to stop the city eating up the surrounding rural areas, and bring the inhabitants back into the city; also to make them want to return to the city centre. The 'halo' is supposed to show where the city boundaries will be, as this whole regeneration process will take probably upwards of thirty years.

I think it's a great idea. It is kind of dependent on the city centre being made practical and livable - I'm not so sure I'd like to live in Barnsley city centre! - but as long as this can be pulled off, then there's no reason why it can't work.

(As a sidenote, a couple of the pictures above are from Amsterdam, not Rotterdam, but they show the diversity of design that the Dutch have opened their arms to, and I feel more than fit in with what I'm trying to get across here. So there.)

Finally a joke.

Why shouldn't you wear Y-fronts in the Ukraine?

Because Chernobyl fallout.

Christ

2005-04-28T11:37:00.000Z

I've gone and done it again, as Kevin Spacey once said. This has to be the final end to end all ends that there ever has been... in the end. It has to be!! I can't keep poncing about with my beautiful design forever; it's surely not that important.

So I've created the header from heaven, decided on colours that actually go together (I did like the grey and orange, but if your Dad and girlfriend think it's shit, then something can't be right), and despite realising that, to some extent, the red and blue do clash when put together, am very happy with it all as an extremely reliable source has told me that they are scientifically proven complimentary colours. So nyyahhhh.

Later on today I will do a proper post. I just have to scan some pictures in now...

Ponce

2005-04-26T19:51:00.000Z

I've changed the design again, so I'm officially the biggest ponce in this room. It's a touch more 'complete' I think, feel-wise. Christ knows. After patience and self-control, I now have to learn to stop fiddling as well.

I have one day to go until I have five (count 'em.. FIVE!) days off from work. Ace! I get to lie in, laze about, get some fresh air and some exercise, and have space to think and maybe, just maybe, write in my notebook. I will! I will!

Bumped into this bloke in Waitrose who sold us our computer. We only met him the once, and only then to say "can you do us a deal?", but every time we see him, or should I say, he sees us, he treats us like the bestest friends he never had. It's quite weird and a bit worrying. You know, I don't know this guy from Ernie, and here he is, telling me all about his Latvian whores. I ask you!

I need to get rhinoplasty or something. Make sure I can't be recognised next time.

I've added books to the sidebar so that everyone will think I'm a proper intellectual.
Which I am of course.

Notebook

2005-04-25T16:12:00.000Z

I'm going though a bit of a vapid phase today, and I'd appreciate it if somebody could tell me what vapid means. True to form, I have now got a notebook for writing down the thoughts that are in my head, and true to form as well, I haven't written anything in it yet. This doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Sods law usually comes into play in this kind of situation, and has a habit of pissing me right off. It goes something like this:

"...I really wish I had a notebook cos blimey, I have SO MANY thoughts that as soon as I think of one, another plops right out of my ear, and it makes me so upset to not be able to remember everything." "Why don't you get a notebook Tim?" "Good idea. I might just do that, if I can remember it, which might be difficult, seeing as my head is so jam-packed full of brilliant stuff all the time, but yes that would be good!" "Oh look, now I have a notebook my head is completely empty, isn't that great?" "Not really, sods law is rubbish isn't it?" "Yes Tim, it really is."

Something like that. So I'm going to be spending the rest of this week coming to terms with the fact that now that I can write things down, I really have to do so. I have to unlearn what I have learned. Kind of like trying to use an electric hob when all you're used to using is gas.

Work is absolutely rubbish. I would go in to greater detail, but I honestly believe it wouldn't do me any good at all. I'm trying to adopt a karmic approach to it, whereby the less stress and anger I pump into it, the less stress and anger it causes me. I'm hopeful that this will do the trick, and I have to say that it sounds good in principal. I now need to learn self-control. Might be hard. Patience alone took me 22 years.

We were relaxing yesterday for the second time in the week. Isn't it terrible that it has become so hard these days to find time to actually properly relax? Real energy-saving time when you can forget about all the dross and boring things and focus on recharging and enjoying life. Day 1 was spent down the beach (sheltering from a somewhat cool wind behind a wooden groyne) and lapping up the sun. It was lovely, and we watched some chap kitesurfing, which looks like loads of fun, but rather scary. I heard some guy in Wales last year got yanked up in the air by his kite - they are quite big - and twatted into a wall. Nearly died. I'd have to get comprehensive insurance before I attempted that kind of thing I think. Christ, even talking about insurance makes me feel old. This is the man who went to war-torn bombed-to-fuck woken-up-by-tankfire Israel without any travel insurance. How times change. What was I talking about anyway? Yes, we relaxed yesterday. We didn't go to the beach as it was pissing it down, so we stayed inside and listened to oldish music. Some songs that really made me remember being in my late teens and early twenties. Here is a cobbled together list of the highlights:

The Orb - Little Fluffy Clouds
Leftfield - Melt
Sabres Of Paradise - Smokebelch
Future Sound Of London - Papua New Guinea
Nuyorican Soul - I Am The Black Gold Of The Sun
Bomb The Bass - Bug Powder Dust

Great stuff. And it reminded me of how much I've changed, taste wise. I still absolutely love all of these songs. I love tons of dance stuff. I went through a phase where I wouldn't listen to anything other than drum'n'bass (lasted about 3 years, and as shown by my Desert Island Discs selection, I would still rather listen to LTJ Bukem than the majority of most other things), but I suppose what I'm getting at is how drastically my musical radar has shifted in little less than two or three years. Apart from Underworld and Orbital, I really haven't gone near my old dance records since I went to London. Have I grown out of it? Has dance music got worse? What's going on?? One thing I have found, is that there is just so much bloody music available now, it's getting really quite hard to work out what to listen to. And then I have to decide what to buy. This is so hard; I used to work in HMV and that was like being let loose in a candy store, especially when I took advantage of the 30% staff discount. Thirty percent! And now that we have ridiculously fast broadband access you'd think that I would be downloading music like there's no tomorrow, but you would be wrong. With this I really do not know where to start. There is so much EXTRA music available; so much to download; so much to sift through; just so bloody much! I'd be useless with an iPod because I wouldn't know what to listen to. It's difficult enough for me finding an album I'd like to listen to, but trying to come up with a suitable playlist of various artists? Sod that. I went through my making compilations every day phase when I was thirteen. Been there, done that, and don't want to go back thanks all the same.

Must listen to that Bukem album again sometime.

Macaroni cheese for dinner tonight, with a sprig of rocquet on the side. Mmm tasty.

Here's a cool and very cute thing I found on Caterina.net which I just have to share. Aren't penguins just sooooo lovable?

To say the least

2005-04-22T21:04:00.000Z

It's only occasionally that I wish I had the fame and adulation of, say, Marti Pellow, or more realistically, the Chuckle Brothers. I've come close once or twice. Trevor Francis trod on my leg when he was lining up a corner for QPR; I inadvertently sold Roger Moore - in cravat and jacket, but looking rather bloated (it was 8.15 in the morning) - the wrong copy of Sex & The City; I praised Pat Sharpe on the quality of his DVD selection. But these are just drops in the ocean. What I long for is to be taken seriously and admired just for being me. Being in the presence of greatness (and I don't think anyone can argue that Pat Sharpe is anything but Great with a capital G) is all well and good, but sooner or later a man has to strike for glory on his own. Spread his wings and fly.

You get the idea.

So I'm proud of my one moment in the limelight. Well actually, it was the best of three. Third best was playing cello in a string quartet in front of about two hundred people at a school recital thing. God I was nervous. Second was playing one of the penguins who danced with Bert the chimney sweep (my best mate at the time, Ross, was Bert) in my junior school performance of Mary Poppins. But topping the lot comes this little beauty:

Being in the paper is great! It was only the local shit paper, but still, I reckon on average 20,000 people (perhaps) would have at least skimmed through and glanced my picture. Some people may have even read it. I think my dad showed it to his mates (for a laugh). But it was good, and it made me proud to be in print standing up for myself. Not just for some wanky thing like donating 50p to the local Lions Club Annual Bollock Grabbing Granny Fete, for example.

If anyone can't read it (it is quite small, I know), let me know and I'll type it out in blogstyle for you.

* * * * * * * *

My favourite non-blog websites of the week are as follows:

This is THE BEST ARCHITECTURE SITE EVER. I mean, the bloke wants to build a multi-coloured blob-shaped wall around Barnsley! He gets my vote for PM! (After Blue Witch of course).

This site has loads of good vids and stuff on it. These chaps and chapettes are responsible for various Coldplay (Boo!) and REM (Hoorah!) videos. Bad Day is one of theirs, and it's on here. Check out the Gordons Gin advert too. It's tres cool.

This has to be the ponciest, and flashiest, church website ever. Who ever thought God could be so bloody trendy and user-friendly?

And Jeffrey Overcompensating says happy birthday to his dad:

"Happy birthday to Jimmy Ray Rowland; I once lived inside of this man's testicles."

* * * * * * * *

Oh my good god!! I have to do something about my bad language! It's made THIS happen!

Um.

2005-04-22T17:36:00.000Z

Maybe I'm not apathetic after all. And it would seem that I'm not the only one. I didn't think I was anyway.

But I still don't care.

(Thanks to Ben for the link)

I still don't care.

2005-04-21T18:47:00.000Z

Just to spite myself, I've done this test. The questions seem blatantly geared towards particular results - a bit too extreme for my liking - so I'm taking the results with a pinch of salt. But still, it's all really rather predictable.

Who should I vote for?

Your expected outcome:

Liberal Democrat

Your actual outcome:

Labour -11
Conservative -14
	Liberal Democrat 28
	UK Independence Party 4
	Green 26

You should vote: Liberal Democrat

The LibDems take a strong stand against tax cuts and a strong one in favour of public services: they would make long-term residential care for the elderly free across the UK, and scrap university tuition fees. They are in favour of a ban on smoking in public places, but would relax laws on cannabis. They propose to change vehicle taxation to be based on usage rather than ownership.

Blimey, I'm so new age.

Moaner Birds

2005-04-20T21:43:00.000Z

There are a pair - at least, they look the same - of seagulls who seem to have spent the last week or so constantly having sex on the roof of the house opposite the back of our flat. It's a bit of a boisterous affair; loads of squawking and AARK!! AARK!! noises, and all that seems to happen is one of the birds stands on the other ones back and squawks a bit, while the one that is getting stood on squawks a bit more. I'm glad I don't live in the house above which all of this is taking place. Plus, they seem to do it all the time. Four in the morning, eleven at night, middle of the day. There's no sleep for these randy bastards!

But what's confusing me, is how the hell do they actually, you know, manage it?

We've searched high and low on Google, and despite being a previous Young Ornithologist (they never taught us about good birdy loving), I have absolutely not got the foggiest idea how it all happens.

So could somebody please enlighten me? How EXACTLY do birds have sex?

A Colourful Future For All Of Us

2005-04-18T19:40:00.000Z

At least, that's my dream. One day we'll all have our own personalised hammocks with electronic drink-dispensing arms, beer and wine will flow from taps in the kitchen, TV's will take up whole walls, or the wall will be the TV, underfloor heating will be commonplace (the architect in me is struggling to get out), and pets will feed themselves. Trains will not cost an arm, a leg, and a vital organ, and buses will actually turn up on time and get you to where you want to go, ON TIME. Doctors will help you to get better, rather than just asking you what you'd like them to prescribe, or asking you to tell them what's wrong with you, and people who actually need help - like, now - will get help, like, now, rather than having to wait ten years in a waiting list that only exists, not because there are too many patients, but because there aren't enough doctors/nurses/people full stop. Council tax won't even be remembered (cheers Maggie - I hardly remember you, yet I still hate you), wars won't happen unless they are obviously necessary, ie. some loony dictator, very much unlike Saddam Hussein, decides to launch nuclear thingys against half the western and eastern world, and people might actually help their neighbours out of the goodness of their hearts, rather than just sitting back and watching them suffer. Animals will be treated with respect, elderly people will be treated with respect, children will be treated with respect, and children will perhaps even treat adults with respect. However I seriously doubt that politicians will ever do what they promise, say what they mean, or do anything that actually benefits the majority of the people they are supposed to be helping. The day I listen to a politician talk and believe what I'm hearing, will in itself be a great day.

But these are all pipe dreams. I could try to care about the steadily approaching general election, but what difference would it make? None I expect. I could vote in a way that has meaning and relevance to me, but would it change anything meaningful? Nope, it wouldn't. Just look at America. How ridiculously crap does a president or prime minister have to be, before the majority of the population sees him for what he really is? Bush is a retard, and he STILL got voted in! Blair is a lying scumbag, who I was naive enough to vote for. At least hindsight shows us that the only reason he got voted in, was the fact that the Tories were an even worse bunch of scumbags than Labour.

Put in that kind of context it all seems like an utter waste of time, doesn't it? So I could do all these 'Who Should You Vote For' type tests that are floating about the web at present, and I could get all worked up about it (as, reading this back, I do actually appear to have done somewhat), but what exactly would I achieve by doing so? Piddly diddly squat, that's what.

So I'm not going to bother.

I'm apathetic and I don't care.

So instead, I'm going to stick some lovely pretty coloured imaginary things in this post, pretend that everything is hunky dory, and carry on with my cheery little life. As the midget (and the sidebar) says, "where we're from the birds sing a pretty song, and there's always moozik in the air." In my head, in my head...

That was really bloody pretty wasn't it? Yeah! Woo! Hazzah! Hazzah is my word of the week. Using it makes me feel great. Hazzah!! There I go again.

Those wonderful piccies are from EBOY by the way, and they rock.

I also want to include this link again, because Blogger was basically trying to fuck me over on my last post, and so didn't allow this link to look like it was a link, which as I'm sure you'll agree, is very annoying. So here is the ruddy thing again, bigger and better, and nothing Blogger can do to shit it up will work!! Or, I've just cursed myself again.

BIG LINK

The end.

The Chiropractor

2005-04-18T09:31:00.000Z

I used to have to see a chiropractor. Yes, back problems happen even to the best of us. It would have been about five or six years ago now, and the problems I was having were down a chain of events that all started with a visit to Ireland, slightly too much excess, and not enough self-awareness or brains. The usual. So anyway, I utterly rogered my neck in. So much so that one day, before I had to go to work, I couldn't actually move my head in any direction. I was pretty frightened about this, as it wasn't something that had ever even vaguely crossed my mind as being a physical possibility. But here I was, head locked in a straight ahead position, and even that was painful as hell, as my head felt as if it was too heavy for my neck. So, being a bit worried about this, as you would be, I grabbed the Yellow Pages, flicked through for something.. anything, that would help relieve this bloody horrible pain and head-not-being-able-to-moveness. I found a chiropractor that was literally right round the corner from my flat, begged (and I mean BEGGED) the receptionist to get me an appointment the same day, and within an hour was being examined, prodded, and then rather violently jerked back to some kind of normality. It was great! I could move again! Still rather gingerly of course, but it was movement all the same.

I proceeded to engage on a rather long and drawn out course of physical therapy with this kind chiropractor chap (he was dutch, and very nice), and I think, went back for approximately fifteen or twenty sessions. My injury and neck problems took ages to get even slightly better - I'm still a bit sore and clicky now - but they did help me get pretty much back to normal, flexibilty-wise.

The worst thing though was the way that I had to lie around in all sorts of weird positions while the nice chiropractor chap pulled and jerked my limbs all over the shop. I mean, having your head twisted violently to the left and then to the right, is not a fantastically appealing prospect, but it certainly seems to do the trick. Some Japanese people did a similar thing to me when I was in Australia. There fingers and thumbs and all sorts going into the base of my skull, and bloody hell it hurt. But again, the old neck really felt brilliant after it had recovered from the onslaught. But I digress.

So anyway, one time I'm lying there all prone on the chiropractic table thing, and the very nice chiropractor is once again pulling me about like some kind of skinny flesh-coloured rag doll, as he had a tendency to do. He gets hold of my leg, and gives it an ever so slightly harder than normal yank towards my head, and what happens? I only let out an almighty fart (and a loud one at that) right in his face, didn't I. It's not even as if I needed to fart! It was just one of those natural things that happens sometimes. You know, the muscles were in a particular position, the stars were in a certain alignment, that kind of thing.

As you can imagine, I was a touch embarrassed. I apologised, made rather muffled small talk, paid the bill, and then left smartish. I can't even remember looking him in the face. I was that embarrassed. And I haven't been back to that or any other chiropractor since. I appear to have developed, what some might call, and irrational fear of them. It's only natural.

I was so embarrassed.

I don't even know why I'm sharing this with the world. Perhaps it's just something I have to do; a form of emotional cleansing, you might say. Whatever, it hasn't really helped, but if it brings pleasure to others, then at least it won't have all been in vain.

So! What is your most embarrassing moment? Seeing as I've aired my dirty linen in public, it's seems only fair that you lot should too. So let's be having you...

And here are some rather strange pictures I found, apparently depicting ancient chiropractic techniques (although round here we call them something else):

And lastly, and on a completely different note (thank god), here is a really very very very good 3D animation video thing wot I found here innit. The music isn't really my kind of thang, but the animation is great, and that's all that matters, wouldn't you agree, eh?

Here it is.

So there you go then.

Surprise surprise

2005-04-18T08:05:00.000Z

Once again, Blogger has arseholed all my hard work, for the third time on the same post, and I am rather miffed. Plus, I have to use IE at work and everything always looks rubbish in that anyway. So it's all a bit tits today.

I'll sort it out when I get home.

And yet again, I have extra incentive to leave Blogger forever! Hazzah!!

The Swampy Ceremony!

2005-04-15T18:04:00.000Z

The throbbing gathered masses bay for blood!

How exciting. It's finally speech time and, most importantly, time for the winners to recieve their awards!

So first up we have Jamie, of 10 Signs Like This fame, who is the fabulous winner of the Best Blog This Month award:

*cough*

*ahem*

*surreptitiously adjusts uncomfortable dress*

What is a blog, really?

*sound of microphone feeding back*

The answer is that it can be many things, and I'm not sure my blog is any of them. There is no purity of mission; it is just a place where my scattered thoughts and (often) fattening recipes find a home in print.

Thank you to the Long Lost one for this honor, and for the opportunity to write whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want, which is (believe you me) sweet relief from writing articles about textiles and small businesses (and sometimes small textile businesses), which is what I do in Real Life.

And a big "BITE ME" to bosses everywhere who believe that anything composed on a company computer is solely the property of the company. You are not my problem anymore, but you are A Problem nevertheless. Feed your employees' creativity and they will repay you in kind.

Thank you.

Fantastic! Next up it's Martin, otherwise known as My Dad, because it's alien to me to call him Martin, graciously recieving both the Best Intellectual Blog award, and the Best Blog That Mentions This Blog award:

Here is my speech. Where is the podium?

Well, I’ll go the foot of our stairs! (For the benefit of foreigners reading this, that is an expression of great English surprise. It’s obvious, when you think about it. It’s surprising what you find at the foot of your stairs. Today I found a rabbit. I was surprised because I live in a one bedroom flat with no stairs.) Well, here I am at the foot of the stairs and what can I say? I knew I would win one thing, because my son was the judge. But two!!! He must be after something. Money, perhaps.

In some ways I am not a true pure blogger, because I run my site as a poetry magazine with blog elements and music stuff and some ramblings. But what the hell. A prize is a prize, and what do prizes mean? Points. Yes. And I have two prizes, so I am twice that. On the other hand, I bet nobody else thinks to give the rest of their speech in a foreign language, let nooit op een vreemde taal die zij niet zelfs spreken. Maar ik ben blijkbaar een intellectueel, en zodat is om het even wat mogelijk. Tot slot zou ik enkel al mijn lezers, mijn ouders, mijn kinderen, mijn ex-vrouwen, mijn ex-partners, mijn ex-minnaars, mijn ex-fantasieën, mijn existentiële vrienden willen danken wat van wie nog, de Eenzame Boswachter, Marc Bolan, Frank O'Hara, Sherlock Holmes, Mevr. Baxter, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, en alle leden bestaan, afgelopen en huidig, van de Tienerclub van de Ventilator.

Dank u. Het is geweest een genoegen.

That was... different. But oh so gracious.
Next it's... The Mighty Love, AKA The Mighty Crumb AKA Tim, and Bonobo Love AKA Rob - not confusing at all - accepting their Best Manly Blog award with a certain panache. Crumby first:

Thanks for this - I for one am honoured.

I think it's only right that the acceptance speech should be a split effort so I will put forward the first paragraph and let Bonobobobono finish it off.

''We really weren't expecting to come through in such a hotly contested category. Especially with a weblog for which inspiration was taken from Ace of Base track 'The Sign' and is essentially the brainchild of a crack-smoking, one-eared woodlice farmer from Droitwich and his estranged hairy wife. I would therefore like to take this opportunity to salute the other nominees with one figure and have a very large scotch''

Over to you gitface.

*spotlight turns on, walks out onto stage in a glittery blue tuxedo holding hands with an orangutan wearing an "I'm with Stupid" t-shirt*

*TINK!- spotlight's bulb goes*

(Ach, curses! Where am I? Where's that monkey guide! ..Ah! I can feel the microphone! Brilliant! Ok, now.. aw damn! I can't read my specially prepared speech!.. Never mind, I've remembered the best bits! Here goes;.. shit I'm so nervous I think I've followed through!)

"Good evening fellow bloggers. On behalf of myself and m'collegue Crumb, who for tax reasons could not be present at this time, we at 'The Mighty Love' thank you very much TLLO for the highly regarded title of Best Manly Blog. This all began back in-

*power cut*

Beautiful I say! Well done lads.
And I believe that it's somewhat poetic to follow that with PPQ, or Queenie, stepping up to the podium to collect her award for Best Womanly Blog:

*Wanders in wearing a pink meringue a la Gwyneth Paltrow blubbing away*

Thank you
Thank you so much...

I'd like to thank all my fans, my ma and pa and brothers, all my friends, my school teachers, my flatmates, the little green men who dance around in my wardrobe at night, I'd like to thank LLO for making me a winner....and most of all I'd like to thank Gawwwwd, because without him, this would not be possible....

Classy, tres classy.
And it's swiftly on to the award for Best Informative Blog. I proudly present to you... Blue Witch!

Erm...what can I say?

Vote for The Blue Witch Party!

And - as for a speech, I don't do those, so...

"Thank you, you are too kind."

And now for the winner of the least hotly contested award ever, the Best Funny Blog award. It's drD!!!

I'm honoured indeed - as is my pussy.
Thankyou to all who didn't vote for me - I love yous all.

Now, the proud winner of the Best Most Difficult To Contextualise Blog: the very confusingly named Beth!

It’s the first time I’ve won* anything since I came second in a Walt Disney drawing competition at Butlins when I was, oh, less than ten. The girl who won was fourteen, so I felt the moral victory was mine. I didn’t know it was called a ‘moral victory’ at the time, obviously, I wasn’t precocious or anything. I just remember how it felt – Good! I drew a picture of The Aristocats, copied from the wrapper of a Nestles “Aristocats” chocolate bar. But anyway, I may be digressing, and the light telling me I’ve only got 10 seconds left is starting to flash.

So, thank you for bestowing the great honour of an inaugural ‘Swampy’ upon Girlonatrain. I will treasure it and look forward to the challenge of remaining obscure for a further twelve months.

(*I won a Dinasour book. Some of the illustrations were so frightening I couldn’t look at them for years.)

I'm speeding up now, because a) it's Friday night, b) I'm getting hassled for taking ages, and c) award ceremonies are too long anyway.
So to cut it short, here is the wonderful human being known as Creepy Lesbo, here to collect her award for Best Most Deserving Of A Fanclub Blog:

Huzzah! Although never try to picture me unless you visualise me wearing a pirate patch with a knife in my mouth, a rabbit on my shoulder and a shout of 'Avast behind, yarrr me hearties!'

I don't know what she's going on about, but then that's probably half the appeal wouldn't you say?
Fittingly, here is her master, Big Fella, to accept the Best Rabbit-Filled Blog award - the Lagomorph's top award!

Pathetic human slaves. You do not impress me with your tiresome attempts at recieving bunny loving attention. You will not get it from me. If, however, that fluffy young lagomorph fancies sharing a sprig of dill at mine at any time in the future, they are most welcome.

Dirty bastard.

The other three award winners, for Best Self-Annalytical Blog, Best American Blog, and Best British Blog, are, as far as I can tell still working on their speeches. Joel, after initially being flushed with shock and surprise, seems to have slipped into a coma of speechlessness. As has Mike. We shall wait to see if this wears off.

As for Vanessa, well "Fuck!" can't really be all of your speech, can it?

And for all the winners, I present to you your award!

Choose your size, whack it in your sidebar html, and away you go!
WELL DONE TO THE LOT OF YOU!!!

Pressing matters

2005-04-14T18:28:00.000Z

It seems desperately wrong to me, that shit jobs pay well, while rewarding jobs don't pay at all. Why is this? Some sort of fucked-up reverse logic seems to be in place in western society, whereby practically every young and talented individual has to work themselves into their incredibly bored graves doing something they don't want to do, because there is no other way to exist in a satisfactory way, doing what you really want to be doing. The big corporations obviously worked out long ago, that the way to keep the workforce sweet is to pay them just enough to keep them 'happy'. I don't want to be on this path, but it's the one I'm on, and I have to do something about it now before I die of boredom. It kills me to see all these young people being surpressed and squeezed of all their inspiration and energy. That for me is the worst thing, and it's making me really depressed. Being almost in tears at work is not a good thing, but it is indicative of where my mind is at present.

I really have to sort my life out.

This has been apparent to me for some time now, but I feel that now, what with the age that I am - THAT IS 28, BY THE WAY - that I should be pulling my 28-year old finger out of my 28-year old arse and doing something useful with my 28-year old self. I already have the horrible experience of having to jump ship from a very exciting and enjoyable architecture degree, due to lack of funds, well and truly behind me. I loved that course, and was good at it too, but sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles. So now that myself and the lovely Mrs L have, for the most part, sorted our lives out, left London, and are now back on dry land after almost drowning, it would seem to be an optimum time for me to get back on the old career-that-I-should-be-doing wagon. I'm sick of bundling from uninspiring job to uninspiring job. It's not what I'm cut out for. I mean, don't get me wrong, I do my job to the best of my abilities, and I feel proud that I can support us both while Mrs L studies her little socks off and gets her life back on track. But I need to be doing my own thing too. One good thing is that I have some time to play with now - seeing as my new working day ends at 3.30pm - so I intend to do some evening courses in computing, web designing, and the like. I shall also apply for the carpentry courses that I spoke about a while back. And some time in the not-too-distant future, I will get into counselling (I've joked about this before, but I really think I'd be great at it) as I truly belive that it's a vocation I would thoroughly enjoy. And as well as all of these things, I definitely want to go back to university and complete that blasted architecture degree.

It sounds like quite enough to be getting on with, and I'm not misguided enough to believe that it's going to be a quick and painless process, but it's what I want to do. And, well, bugger me if I'm not utterly determined to do it.

So wish me luck. I'm going to need it.

On a more light-hearted note, thankyou all for trying to guess (or calculate) my age. The winner is Paranoid Prom Queenie, who appears to be the only person who noticed that the 1977 in my email address might equate to my year of birth. So well done. Even if it did take you two attempts. Have a plate of fossilized gherkins!

And my dear Alda (hello to the Iceland blog crew!), your guess made me laugh, so help yourself to one as well. Although I have to ask; do I really come across as a 64-year old?

And Dad, I may look like a 12-year old, but in reality would a pre-teener be quite as hairy as me? I think not. So crap memory or not, you have failed miserably.

I'm going to toss this matter to the wind by quoting Bonobo. His succinct summation of my age made me laugh my arse off, but is also deep and thoughtful:

"..And age? What of 'age?' ..About the age that you feel in your heart when you shut your eyes and dream of the most powerful fantasies that your soul could possibly imagine; those hopes and fears you once experienced on the beach as a breathless laughing kid, with your childhood friends, playing in the rain, when you fell and grazed your knee or watched a horror film for the first time and couldn't stop letting your imagination run wild.. of flying your first kite upon a hill; a mountain; a great soaring peak or having your first kiss, of your first intimate moments..

All of these rolled into one great whole..

That's how old you truly are.

..alright then, 26 at a push?"

Or maybe not. And you got my age wrong you pillock.

Tomorrow I dish out awards. Be sure to come and watch the ceremony.

Delay

2005-04-13T23:55:00.000Z

I fell asleep on the sofa tonight, so I'm sorry, but the gherkins will have to wait until tomorrow.

So this is Christmas...

2005-04-12T17:08:00.000Z

No it's not. But wouldn't it be nice if it was?

I have made a list on the whiteboard in the kitchen, of what to write about in this post. It thus follows:

Andy in Costa Rica
Bjork + Radiohead Vids
Spag Bol: I love

Earth-shattering, I know. So, from the top...

My brother, Andy, is currently in Costa Rica. Lucky sod. He's at a place called Finca Lomas, doing some kind of environmental thingummy. You know, it involves plants, animals, digging, weeding, that sort of stuff. To be honest, I haven't a clue what it involves, but it sounds better than most other stuff, even if him and the other volunteers can't currently have a wash, due to the lack of any running water. Great! I'm sure that he's having a fantastic time; I always thoroughly enjoyed the whole 'new experience' aspect of travelling, and not knowing what you might be doing the next day was bloody wonderful. I've honestly never felt so free. So, yeah, I'm somewhat jealous of the little mite, and his new adventures. If I had the choice I'd take me and Mrs lagomorph off to the other side of the globe, with only a rickety old van, a tent, and some pots and pans to keep us company. However, I don't currently have this luxury, so I'll have to cope with the monotonous-daily-grind-to-pay-the-rent, same as the majority of the western world. One day. One day...

I mean, how nice would it be, of an evening, to be checking out the local turtles like these young folk here? Very nice. That's how much. It always fascinates me to think that right now there are people who aren't bothered about how much a pint is down Weatherspoon's, or whether Chelsea got through to the semis of the Champions League, or even how much they're going to get paid come the month end. Some people just live their life to experience new things, and to always discover. I've been there, and I know I can go back, so one day, you'll see, I'll be back there, wherever there may be, and I'll have Mrs L right there beside me. This makes me think, maybe I should write a bit about my time in Israel, et al. Yeah, I should. But not tonight. That's another 56 posts entirely.

And Andy, if you ever get the chance to get to Santa Cruz, and then to an internet cafe where the internet actually works, and that you get the chance to read this, well, I hope you're having a wicked time. We miss you. I miss you. And we're really fucking jealous.

Next.
Radiohead and Bjork vids. Yeah, well, I found this stuff and it's really cool. Radiohead and Bjork are brilliant anyway, so the music's fantastic on it's own, but some of their vids are just plain top notch. So first, two Radiohead one's; Go To Sleep, and There There. And sorry to all those Mac owners: the There There vid only opens in Windows Media Player, I think. If it does open on your Mac then ignore me. I haven't a clue what I'm talking about.

And here is a whole massive shitload of Bjork's stuff, all in a long list. The quicktime screens are a bit too biddy for my liking, but they'll have to do. The Joga, Bachelorette, Army Of Me and Hyper-Ballad ones are the best ones, but that's just my opinion. What do I know?

And lastly, Spag Bol.

Yeah, I love it. It's great. Mmm. Lovely.

I shall be dispensing gherkins tomorrow.

The Swampys 2005

2005-04-09T14:58:00.000Z

Seeing as I knocked out the last post in no time at all, I think I should devote a little more gravitas to the whole Best Blog thing. Basically, I've decided that from now on - and this will be an annual thing - I shall conduct my own personal blogging version of the Oscars, sans some of the glitz, all of the glamour, the red carpet and the paparazzi, and there will definitely be no Kevin Costner.

I am adding yet another section to The Sidebar in honour of this, and that should be up and running by Monday at the latest. I would also absolutely LOVE IT if all the fabulous winners could submit acceptance speeches to me, because as we all know, half the joy of winning is the basking in the glory that follows it. I am emailing all who aren't already aware of their triumph. It'd be lovely if I could get an 100% response, so fingers crossed!

As for today, apparently there's been some sort of wedding thing going on. But seriously though, who invites Sting's wife, Jools Holland, and half of the Kumars to their wedding? Sad is what it is, very sad. Although, bless poor old Camilla, she did look lovely and yet SO uncomfortable, I wouldn't be at all surprised if it's turns out she went through the whole ceremony with a family of hedgehogs rammed up her knickers.

And lastly, a question: how old do you think I am?

A fossilized gherkin for the winner.

Ken Hom hits wok bottom!

2005-04-08T11:21:00.000Z

THIS POST IS DELAYED FROM YESTERDAY EVENING, AS BLOGGER IS A PILE OF CAMEL DUNG.

AND THAT'S ME BEING DIPLOMATIC.

Nice broccoli Ken.

I feel all bloggy today. It's a new type of groggy specifically for those who spend half their lives at pc's tapping random rubbish (I'm being specific to myself here) into it, with the idea that one day they might look back at it and cherish all the wonderful things they wrote all those years ago. At least, that's the idea.

It's also a description for the act of flicking through various and assorted blogs of all shapes, sizes, colours and creeds until you find some stuff that tickles your fancy pants.

So...

Today I have added a new section to The Sidebar. A section entitled New Blogtopia. This shall be the home - monthly, I think - for all the top quality new (and old) blogs that I feel deserve appreciation. So go and have a look, have a read, and enjoy. It's all great stuff.

I'm being particularly nice this evening. Normally I'd be ranting at something or other, chastising some silly sod for being a silly sod, or just moaning for the sake of it as I can't think of anything constructive to do. But right now I'm going to make a list of Top Blogs. This is unplanned so it could turn out bollocks:

Best Blog This Week: 10 Signs Like This

Best British Blog: Troubled Diva

Best American Blog: The Search For Love In Manhattan

Best Self-Analytical Blog: Sarsparilla

Best Intellectual Blog: Exultations & Difficulties

Best Informative Blog: Blue Witch

Best Funny Blog: Big N Juicy

Best 'Manly' Blog: The Mighty Love

Best 'Womanly' Blog: Paranoid Prom Queen

Best Rabbit-filled Blog: Big Fella

Best Most Difficult to Contextualize Blog: Girl On A Train

Best Most Deserving of a Fanclub Blog: Creepy Lesbo

Best Blog That Mentions This Blog Blog: Exultations & Difficulties

That's pretty definitive I think, and honours most of the blogs that have kept me thoroughly entertained for the last 6 months or so. If I missed you out, I'm sorry. Sometimes you just gotta be ruthless.

The First Post

2005-04-06T19:27:00.000Z

I thought you'd like to know that I went to the dentists today, and I only need three fillings! Score! And my gums no longer bleed. On second thoughts, you probably didn't want to know that. Oh well, I'm sure you'll cope.

On to more important things. I'm extremely happy to present to you today, what I hope will be the first of many, many more guest posts from the adorable and extremely sexy MRS LAGOMORPH!!! YAYYYY!!! (In a Kermit the Frog stylee):

Hello, good evening and welcome to my first post. I notice that Mr Lagomorph’s musings are entertaining at least 3 people on a daily basis, so I have to make this vaguely good or the readership might flag.

Right. Where to start... hmm, with a moan about chavs I think. Of late the word ‘chav’ has been added to the dictionary, of all places. Since being added to the dictionary, people throughout Britain have taken to calling everyone under the sun a chav. I find this particularly disappointing. The word chav comes from ‘chava’, which I first heard muttered over a decade ago in Kent, the garden of England, ha! A chava is a special breed of plebian. They are pretty easy to spot in a crowd, it must be said, BUT! the spread of this word is getting pretty convoluted, something like this post. The fire of my annoyance with this phenomenon has been gradually burning away but was stoked by VH1 recently. Stoke, stoke. [Check out the metaphor. ] It was showing a programme called something like ‘Ultimate Chavs’. So, I turn it on, expecting a chav or two and who do I see?? The Spice Girls. OMG, no! No, no, no, no, no! The Spice Girls are not chavs!

So, to help out the makers of VH1 and anyone else, I need to define and exemplify what makes a chav. M’kay. One great reference is www.chavscum.com but a quick list of pointers will henceforth follow…

Chavs only wear GOLD jewellery, also known as ‘bling’, they adorn themselves with copious amounts of catalogue shop crap. Earrings are mostly enormous golden hoops.
Chavs favourite hats are baseball caps, preferably with logo.
Logos also feature heavily on their clothes. Generally, it's brands such as Nike, and Kappa. Sports clothes are a chav’s favourite attire, lots of baggy tracksuits and sweatshirts. Whole outfits in one pattern, normally Burberry, are not uncommon.
Hair is gacked up with gel for the boys and scraped back into a ponytail or badly permed for the girls.
Shoes can be ugly and over-the–top trainers or stupidly large platforms for the ladies.
Girls must also wear crop tops in any season of the year, whether there’s bright sunshine or heavy snow. And crop tops can be accompanied with the protruding belly of a teenage pregnancy.
Diet constitutes of McDonalds, Wimpy, KFC or any greasy chicken shop, kebab meat, chewing gum, fizzy drink or cheap lager/cider.
Voices are of a particular pitch and frequency which cuts through you like a knife and stays with you like a haunting melody... ok, not exactly, but basically they are loud, incoherent, and annoying.
9 times out of 10 they are the person who slashed your tires, robbed your gran, pissed on your doorstep, left fag butts and rubbish all over the town, drunkenly shouted and screamed at 1am and generally annoyed the crap out of you.

Chavs are not to be confused with ‘pikeys’ or people with no taste. This is where many people fall down.

NOT a shot from the Lagomorph family album.

Pikeys can be chavs, but are generally just scruffy lookin’ nurfherders in bomber jackets. They are people who predominantly look like they don’t wash. I have been trying to think of a famous example of a pikey. Mr Lagomorph suggested Shaun Ryder from the Happy Mondays. I would agree with this.
Then there are the people with no taste. I class the Spice Girls in this category. There are a wealth of famous people with no taste; Mariah Carey, Michael Jackson, Elton John, etc, etc.

So, remember the chav rules next time you are contemptuously stereotyping the people around you! Chavs are special, let’s keep them that way.

Still Tired

2005-04-05T17:42:00.000Z

Let's get some things cleared up before we go any further. One, I am still tired. Two, I will henceforth review the gig from Sunday night which is the reason why I'm so bloody tired. And three, the guest posteeeee will have to wait until tomorrow, because the guest posteeeeeeeeee is very tired still as well.

Now that's straight, I can go into detail.

THE FALL @ CONCORDE2, BRIGHTON - 3RD APRIL 2005

Mmm, gorgeous.

We didn't go to this gig to enjoy the scenery, that's for certain. As I'm sure by now everyone is aware, this gig was postponed due to the lead singer, Mark E Smith (what is the E for?) being ill. He doesn't look like the kind of chap who'd get ill does he? Looks terribly well maintained and healthy if you ask me. But anyway, he managed to drag himself off of his deathbed for long enough to be able to yell some undiscernible things - for I'm pretty sure they weren't words - at the assembled masses. The 'masses', I have to say, were probably the oldest crowd I've ever seen at a gig. Lots of jumpers, nicely ironed corduroy slacks, and even a pair of bright red hoisty jeans - I shit you not. But despite this they were easily the rowdiest (and tallest) crowd I've encountered in many a year. Does age equate to height? It must do because there were some awfully tall fellows standing all about me. I mean, I ain't huge by any stretch of the imagination, but somebody somewhere should put limits on how high people can become. I might propose this. It's an idea, anyway.

So yeah, we got there at about 8pm. As far as I was aware, this was supposed to be an early gig (good, as I desperately require my beauty sleep) but unfortunately 'early' just meant 'more time to keep the punters around watching shit bands and drinking because that's the only vaguely interesting thing to do'. I mean, the headline act didn't arrive until 10.15! That was my beauty sleep right out the window. So we drank. Slowly. A band called 12 Stone Toddlers came and went and were nothing other than a silly name. Then some bloke called John Cooper Clarke came on. I should have done my research. We just thought he was a really boring band with no songs, when it turns out he's actually a poet. There's us sat there chastising him for not playing any songs, when really he's 'The Bard of Manchester'. We wouldn't have been any the wiser if some boring looking chap in an anorak hadn't told us. Poetry is in my blood (see my Dad for confirmation) but this did not crush my grapes, so we sat there and focused on our beers.

Eventually The Fall came on and everyone was very happy. They played lots of very short, very good songs very loud and at no point (unless you knew the words already) was it possible to sing along because nobody can ever understand what the ugly bloke says. And despite not being able to see what was going on due to all the bloody tall people, I enjoyed it very much because luckily, no matter how sticky-out peoples ears are, they'll never get in the way of my ears and I'll always be able to hear what's going on. Smith didn't talk between songs (he probably tried before and worked out quickly that no-one could work out what he was getting at, so hasn't bothered since) which was a bit upsetting, as I think the band/audience connection thing is very important, but there you go. Can't have everything can you? But overall they were very good and we enjoyed ourselves, although it would have been better if we'd have turned up at 10pm. We could have watched a DVD. Oh well.

So here's the 3D thing that Mrs Lagomorph made:

The actual finished piece isn't a JPEG and actually moves around. All the flowers twist and move into position and generally look really fucking cool.

I think it's well impressive.
And it's the start of something big, you mark my words.

Finally, there are still some top tens to be submitted. You know who you are, and this is your final warning. You have until Friday to hand them in before I send you to the headmaster's office for the slipper.

* FALL POST POSTPONED *

2005-04-04T17:53:00.000Z

At least the gig wasn't. But that can wait until tomorrow.

I'm afraid I can't post today, as I'm so tired I just might die.
Oh. Look what I just did.

Too many things!!!

2005-04-03T14:24:00.000Z

Oh my life! My head is crammed full of stuff today. I have also been stockpiling things to talk about on here, and it is rather heartening to see that the list doesn't contain anything too dodgy, risque or shit. I wonder about this kind of thing. Am I strange? Do other people think I'm weird? It can't just be me who thinks this, can it? Do I more often than not bore my readership to tears? It's thoughts like this which weigh heavily on my shoulders, so in a bid to reduce the boring/interesting ratio I have (Shock! Horror!) WRITTEN DOWN my thoughts on a piece of paper. I know. I still, as yet, haven't gotten around to walking fifty metres up the road to WHSmith to purchase myself a 50p notebook. It might be considered funny if it wasn't so sad. But yes, I, Tim, have written some things down, so in descending order (in other words from top to bottom, you know, the normal way of reading) here is my list:

STEFAN DENNIS

Finishing early has it's benefits. Firstly, I get more hours away from work to enjoy the sunshine, and to frolic amidst the daisies. Secondly, I don't have to watch every other fucker finish their work and go home before me (which I always had to do at my last job), and get demoralized. Thirdly, the shops are still open when I finish, so I no longer have to leave all my errands until Saturday or Sunday. In other words I can now relax at the weekend. A small luxury, but a pleasant one. Fourthly, and best of all, I get more time with the missus! But there are some downfalls too. Well, one actually. If I'm stupid enough to turn on the telly when I get home, I undoubtedly catch the arse end of childrens BBC, or as it is more commonly known, Neighbours. When I was but a young 'un I used to follow this crap religiously. Every day at school my friends and I discussed how Todd, Des and all the other bastards were doing. In retrospect I can dismiss this period as mere juvenile banter, and that's lucky, because basically Neighbours is a pile of shit. Even Australians think so! It's just a vehicle for untalented wannabes who want to be famous in Europe. Look at Kylie, Jason, Craig, Holly. Well, Kylie and Jason. But you see my point.
So who did I see when I turned on my ogglebox the other day? None other than the not-so-young-anymore Stefan Dennis, that's who, trying to get back on the career ladder by doing what any self-respecting failure would do. That's right. Re-join the cast of Neighbours. This move certainly has a whiff of the Leslie Granthams about it, and look how that turned out. Sometimes you just shouldn't bother, and in Stefans case, well, he wasn't even popular the first time around, so no matter how many socks he stuffs down his pants, NOBODY IS INTERESTED ANYMORE. If I was in that situation I'd do a Bill Berry and go and live on a farm in the middle of nowhere. A far more rewarding experience I'm sure.
And I'm not turning the telly on again either.

HOUSE SWAP

It just so happens that Brendan Benson (singer songwriter, very good) is touring the UK this month. Me and Mrs Lagomorph would very much like to see him, but unfortunately he's not playing Brighton, and we hate London, so Dad, we'd very much appreciate it if you could lend us your flat for a couple of days at the end of the month. Also could you please cover me at work. And feed the rabbit. Cheers in advance.

SHAVING

How crap is shaving? Really crap is the answer you're searching for. Every time I try a new way of shaving (diagonally downwards and then up a bit, pour example) it always, always goes tits up, and I end up with either shaving rash, spots, painful skin, cut skin, emotional scars or a combination of the lot. It's rubbish. So anyway, I was watching a programme on the telly t'other day, and this professional shaving bloke was showing this scruffy bloke how to shave properly. He was really methodical and exacting, and also really convincing, so being a mug, I was completely taken in with the whole idea that maybe, one day, I could shave properly and be a smooth-skinned wonder! So I tried. And it felt good for about an hour. But then it started feeling all dry and tight, and the next day my stubble felt like it was growing out all wrong and was painful, and the next day I started getting itchy and spotty. So basically, despite what the professionals may say, shaving can never be easy and painless, it will always be crap and poo, and I'm going to stick to what I know best. I don't need to be told twice.

DOCTOR WHO

I'm not interested in this. Never really was. But I was willing to watch more than 20 seconds the other night, just to give it a chance. So what do I see? An actress painted blue, acting really badly, and some CGI robot spider things unconvincingly pulling the blue-faced one into an air-conditioning pipe.
As I'm sure you can understand, I changed the channels, and will not be going near this rubbish again. And don't tell me I'm wrong about this, because I'm not.

BLOODY GOOD MULTIMEDIA STUFF

Following on from my post the other day with all the music videos and graphics things in, here as promised, is more of the same, and this lot will definitely eat up your bandwidth (sorry Vince), and should work on every computer. Yes, even Macs. Firstly, more Shynola stuff because their stuff is just really good and makes me go "uh, duh, how the hell'd dey do dat?". First up we have a short film called 'The Littlest Robo'. Most impressive, as Darth Vader once said. Next up is a Grooverider video called 'On The Double', then we have Junior Senior's 'Move Your Feet', followed by Radiohead's 'Pyramid Song', UNKLE's 'Eye For An Eye', and possibly my favourite, Lambchop's 'Is A Woman'. All top quality bananas here. Next up is the new Chemical Brothers song, 'Believe', which is a pretty decent tune with a pretty decent video by some chaps called Dom & Nic, I think. Next are a couple of things by some guys called Pleix who, like Shynola, make amazing promos, although if anything theirs are even more impressive. Here is Basement Jaxx's 'Cish Cash', Plaid's 'Itsu', and Futureshock's 'Pride's Paranoia' (I wrote Futuresock; a much better band name I think). And lastly, I suggest visiting these websites: SAW, DONNIE DARKO and REQUIEM FOR A DREAM. They are all by a bunch of webbies called Hi-Res. They're very fucking clever, and I really haven't got the faintest idea how they do this stuff. Not a clue. I'm baffled.
Which leads nicely on to...

SAW & OLD BOY

We saw (chuckle, guffaw, yuk yuk) both these films last night. The website for Saw is mad, and so is the film. It's a bit like Se7en, but not as nice. It's well made, dark and scary, and had us gripped from start to finish. Nice twist too. We recommend! Old Boy is a bit more hard work. It's Korean for a start, and tends to assume that you know what's going on, when actually it's slightly confusing and not obvious at all. I am kind of used to this, being a lover of asian classics like Akira and Ring, but Mrs Lagomorph was just plain confused. Still, it's beautifully shot, very clever, nice and violent and also, I thought, very funny. It may contain some pretty leftfield subject material, and be very violent indeed (the teeth being pulled out with a clawhammer is a good example), but overall it floated my boat and I would definitely recommend it to my nearest and dearest. Although Mrs L would probably disagree.

THE FALL

We're off to see this lot again tonight. Maybe this time the gig will actually go ahead. I shall review it in my own inimitable style tomorrow. If it goes ahead.
Fingers crossed.

And in the next post we may have a guest postee, as well as an example of Mrs Lagomorph's 3D thing.

I'd also just like to say to Dad and Queenie, where were your top ten bands/albums/films, eh? I was looking forward to seeing who you would choose, but you let me down. However, you still have time to submit your lists, so consider this your cue.
Until next time.

Turn up for the books

2005-03-31T19:23:00.000Z

I'm all loved up and I love it, even though apparently I'm a grumpy git. I'm very tired and definitely need some sleep (starting my shift at 8am has totally shafted up my bodyclock), but despite this I still have the energy left to love. Ahhhhhhh.

This post is in tribute to Mrs Lagomorph. I never fail to be astounded by your beauty and intelligence, and I am always completely in awe of how bloody annoyingly talented you are! That however, is just one of the billions of wonderful little pieces of amazingness that makes you who you are, and in case you are at all worried:

You WILL get a brilliant job that you actually want.
You WILL always have me here.
So there.

The 3D piece you have just finished, despite it being the first 3D thing you've ever done, is bloody brilliant. And the music thing you are doing at the moment, despite it also being the first music thing you've ever done, is bloody great too. I don't know how you do it. I honestly don't, because as you know, I'm thick.

But most of all, I'm the luckiest bloke in the world because I have you (you who thinks Garfield & Friends is 'sardonic'), and I feel it so strongly that I'm not afraid to let the whole wide Blog community know, even though I am quite possibly going to be lampooned to kingdom come for being such a soppy bastard.

But who cares? I LOVE YOU, WILL DO FOREVER, AND THAT, AS THEY SAY, IS THAT.

The end.

Let the lampooning commence.

.
.
.
.
As an afterthought, I also love sun-dried tomatoes. Just not in the same way, obviously.

Charts

2005-03-30T09:10:00.000Z

I was unfortunate enough to watch a rather large swathe of VH1's '500 Great British Songs' over the Easter weekend. It started honestly enough, with the hope that maybe some good songs would be anywhere near where they really should be in the grand scheme of things. But as more and more George Michael, Elton John and Robbie Williams dross grabbed said chart by the knackers and squeezed the life out of it, the more I started to lose my faith in humanity's varied and frightening boat and all who sail in her. Can this honestly be a true reflection of what the majority of the general public (whoever they are) believe is good music? The nadir was reached when Will Young's 'Leave Right Now' was found entrenched at the lofty pinnacle of number 15. Number 15! To put this travesty in a clearer light, Will was fifty places higher than 'Blue Monday' by New Order, and almost one hundred and fifty places higher than 'Space Oddity' by David Bowie. I mean, what the fuck? Who the hell compiled this list? What were the exact criteria they utilised to come to this cataclysmic conclusion?

I'm still in shock.

And so, as a form of exorcism I suppose, I sat down last night and decided to compile some charts of my own. A top five hundred was out of the question because, when all is said and done, it would take me bloody ages to come to any sort of ordered list on that kind of magnitude. I'd be lucky if I could even think of five hundred songs. So I kept it simple. Three top tens: Films, Albums, and Artists (you can take their whole back catalogue!) all looked at from the classic Desert Island Discs viewpoint. So here we go, time to put my taste in the public domain. And I must stress that these top tens are in no particular order. That's another post entirely.

Films

Se7en
Star Wars: A New Hope
Lord Of The Rings (all three)
Spirited Away
The Matrix
The Blair Witch Project
Withnail & I
Priscilla, Queen Of The Desert
Grosse Pointe Blank
Man On The Moon

Albums

Pavement - Slanted & Enchanted
The Flaming Lips - The Soft Bulletin
Ride - Going Blank Again
Queens Of The Stone Age - Songs For The Deaf
Radiohead - Hail To The Thief
Kings Of Convenience - Riot On An Empty Street
The Beatles - Abbey Road
Elliott Smith - Either/Or
Goldie - Timeless
LTJ Bukem - Logical Progression

Artists

Underworld
New Order
Bob Dylan
The Smiths
The Flaming Lips
Ride
The Stone Roses
Bjork
Neil Young
Radiohead
(REM fell off the back of this chart, let down by their last album. Upsetting.)

So there we go. That's my soul well and truly bared for all the world to see. Notice how Keane aren't in there, anywhere. Or Will Young. If anybody fancies mailing me with their top tens in no particular order fell free and I'll put them on here. It'll be nice for me to get a realistic impression of what my fellow bloggies love and cherish, so if you fancy it either chuck your lists in the comments box, or email me.

And I still haven't got a notebook.

I feel like a new man!

2005-03-28T01:26:00.000Z

Not really.

But isn't the new decor nice? I'm particularly fond of the orange. Goes just dandily with the turquoise.

There's not been an awful lot happening round here recently, apart from clocks going forward, but I think that happened everywhere, which kind of nullifies the uniqueness of the event. In regards to more intellectual matters, I think I'm going to learn about web programming as well as how to make cupboards. It's something that interests me, and there's a reasonable amount of money in it, so anything that broadens my knowledge and experience base and pays well is a good thing in my book. When I'm done I'm going to be one multi-skilled mofo.

I worked Friday, because I just can't say no. Overtime is, however, always quite useful, and this time it was extraordinarily useful as I got paid TRIPLE TIME! Can't every day be a bank holiday? Please? One day I might get paid enough to not need to do overtime. Pipe dreams, eh. Do they ever come true?

Continuing my theme of showing you lot all the bloody excellent stuff I find on this here interweb thing, I have some more cool bananas for your delectation today. Two things to be precise. But before I divulge my goods, I'd just like to say to everyone who is using a 56k modem, what the hell are you doing?? Sort it out, man! You are living in the dark ages, and unless you really get a lot of pleasure from waiting 45 minutes for a 3-minute video to download, I heartily suggest you upgrade your connection now. I mean, gaaaawd, this is, like, the twenty-first century and all that. Get a bloody move on!

So anyway, firstly we have the new Beck video, E-Pro. This is effectively two things rolled into one, as the song is brilliant and the video is brilliant. Result! Secondly we have a modern classic (which I have been searching for for absolutely fecking ages, and had virtually given up until I stumbled upon it almost completely by accident last night. Oh thankyou God! I can die a happy man now) from Queens Of The Stone Age. It's the video to Go With The Flow, and is yet another example of how it is possible to have a great song and a great video at the same time. Take a moment to enjoy them, and make sure you turn your amp/stereo/shit computer speakers up to maximum to get the full effect. Lovely. And in case you didn't know, there is a link between the two vids. They're both by the same bunch of incredibly clever chaps/lucky bastards (delete as applicable). These fellows are known as Shynola, and are responsible for all sorts of things you've probably definitely seen but wouldn't have had the foggiest unless I hadn't just told you. They did some things for that Nathan Barley program (which I liked because for once it made me laugh at and about London, rather than cry) and have been doing some things for the Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy film. Basically, they get about. And I'm very jealous.

I sometimes feel the need for a sing-a-long, so today I shall share the lyrics of a couple of my favourite ever songs with the world. Feel free to join in.

1. Fiddlers Dram - Day Trip To Bangor

Didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor
A beautiful day, we had lunch on the way and all for under a pound you know
But on the way back I cuddled with Jack and we opened a bottle of cider
Singing a few of our favourite songs as the wheels went around

Do you recall the thrill of it all as we walked along the sea grand
Then on the sand we heard a brass band that played the Diddlely-Bump-Terrara
Elsie and me had one cup of tea then we took a Paddler boat out
Splashing away as we sat on the bay and the wheels went 'round

Didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor
A beautiful day, we had lunch on the way and all for under a pound you know
But on the way back I cuddled with Jack and we opened a bottle of cider
Singing a few of our favourite songs as the wheels went around

Wasn't it nice, eating chocolate ice as we strolled around the fun-fair
Then we ate eels in big ferris wheels as we sailed around the ground but then
We had to be quick 'cause Elsie felt sick and we had to find somewhere to take her
I said to her lad, what made her feel bad was the wheel going 'round

Didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor
A beautiful day, we had lunch on the way and all for under a pound you know
But on the way back I cuddled with Jack and we opened a bottle of cider
Singing a few of our favourite songs as the wheels went around

Elsie and me, we finished our tea and said goodbye to the seaside
Got on the bus, Flo said to us, oh isn't it a shame to go
Wouldn't it be grand to have cash on demand and to live like this for always
Oh it makes me feel ill, when I think of the mill and the wheels goin' 'round

Wasn't that pleasant? Time for some more I think.

2. Flanders & Swann - The Gnu Song

A year ago, last Thursday I was strolling in the zoo
when I met a man who though he knew the lot.
He was laying down the law about the habits of Baboons
And how many quills a porcupine has got.
So I asked him: 'What's that creature there?'
He answered: 'Oh, H'it's a H'elk'
I might of gone on thinking that was true,
If the animal in question hadn't put that chap to shame
And remarked: 'I h'aint a H'elk. I'm a Gnu!'

'I'm a Gnu, I'm a Gnu
The g-nicest work of g-nature in the zoo
I'm a Gnu, How do you do
You really ought to k-now w-ho's w-ho's
I'm a Gnu, Spelt G-N-U
I'm g-not a Camel or a Kangaroo
So let me introduce,
I'm g-neither man nor moose
Oh g-no g-no g-no I'm a Gnu'

I had taken furnished lodgings down at Rustington-on-Sea
Whence I travelled on to Ashton-under-Lyne it was actually
And the second night I stayed there I was woken from a dream
That I'll tell you all about some other time
Among the hunting trophies on the wall above my bed
Stuffed and mounted, was a face I thought I knew;
A Bison? No, it's not a Bison. An Okapi? Unlikely, Really. A Hartebeest?
When I though I heard a voice: 'I'm a Gnu!'

I'm a Gnu, ,A g-nother gnu
I wish I could g-nash my teeth at you!
I'm a Gnu, How do you do
You really ought to k-now w-ho's w-ho.
I'm a Gnu Spelt G-N-U,
Call me Bison or Okapi and I'll sue
G-nor am I the least
Like that dreadful Hartebeest,
Oh, g-no, g-no, g-no,
G-no g-no g-no I'm a Gnu
G-no g-no g-no I'm a Gnu

It's very G-nice of you.

Well that really was quite spiffing don't you think? Takes me back to the heady days of youth, the days when I wasn't afraid to admit that I thought Ivor The Engine was pretty cool, and the days when, even though I didn't have the faintest idea who Benny Hill was, I could be 100% confident in my belief that Ernie definitely drove the fastest milkcart in the west. I even remember thinking that jigsaws were a top notch way to pass the time. We live and we learn don't we?

Here's something that took my fancy.
She must go through shitloads of Pantene.

And last but not least, what does it say about you when, completely subconsciously, you redecorate your website in the same colours as your trainers?

All Change

2005-03-26T16:06:00.000Z

Check it out.

Not much different I know, but then I'm short on time.
What can you do?

Size matters

2005-03-22T20:33:00.000Z

Hello,

I need your help people.
I have suddenly been made aware (by looking with mine own eyes) of the fact that for some bloody reason my website thing that you are looking at with your googly eyes, for they are googly, does not adjust its pants accordingly to fit different monitor screen sizes.
This worries me.
At home I have a spanking great 19" monitor and everything looks just peachy, but at work I have a cruddy little 15 (or is it 17?) inch ogglebox, and with that bastard nowt fits the bleeding screen. And this worries me.
How do I fix this? Does everyone else with anything other than a 19 incher not see my site the way it should be seen?
TELL ME!!
TELL ME NOW!!!
AND IF YOU KNOW HOW TO FIX IT TELL ME THAT TOO!!!!!
Please. I'd be much obliged.
Yours sincerely,

Timothy

Be Inspired

2005-03-19T22:07:00.000Z

I'm feeling saucy and I want the whole world to be saucy too. Invariably though, the world isn't. I can't but try, eh? So seeing as I am constantly surrounded and inspired by funky, stimulating and fascinating art/music/design/film (delete as applicable), I feel that it is only right to keep bombarding whoever may care to read this shit with loads of top quality material. Aren't I nice? I recently purchased an excellent digital versatile disk for my lovely lady, which was made by a company called onedotzero. You may have heard of them, you may not. They deal in cutting edge film and animation, and seem to feel that it is their mission to let the whole world know that there are a lot of talented people out there. Well, now I'm here to help too. I'm gonna do my best to find all the stuff on the DVD for you! So firstly, check out these guys. From the link go to Nakd - Fly, then sit back and enjoy. After that, I'd like you to have a look at this. You need to search a bit, but hidden away in all the Flash mumbo jumbo (top notch mumbo jumbo, mind) is a thing called Drummachine. It's utterly brilliant, and I haven't a fucking clue how they do it. Okay, that's a lie. I do have a bit of an idea. But bugger me, it's still bloody entertaining. Next, check this out. It's called What Barry Says, it's a bit topical, political, what have you, as well as generally a bit swish. I like! Up next we have Plates Animation, whoever they are. Look at the Mogwai video. The quality of the download ain't all that, but the work is right up there, so stop your whinging. Gits.

I tried to find the Fat Bros video by +Cruz, Peng, Fan but had no luck, so have included a picture for you instead (left). This one isn't on the thingy, but I'm putting it in anyway cos I like it. For those of you who don't understand the internet, click on the thing that says WATCH MOVIE. The bloke who did it is called Dan Chambers, and he has an animation called Tube Mice on the onedotzero DVD. He's obviously a somewhat talented chap methinks.

Lastly, something not on the DVD, and yes, it's another Chemical Brothers/Michel Gondry collaboration. It's old but it's great. And again, I've really honestly not got the foggiest fuckin' idea how you would even go about starting organising this kind of thing. I mean blimey, I have trouble with Blogger and Photoshop. In this instance I'll keep doing what I do best (what is that exactly Timothy?) and leave the other stuff to the professionals. It's for the best.

Now, I don't know if you've ever seen a site called Ebola Monkey Man, but I have and it's very funny, if slightly politically incorrect (it is American, so there you go). The basic premise revolves around those ridiculously lame scam emails that get randomly sent out from somewhere deep in the heart of the Gambia, begging you to help them give you lots of money. The bloke who developed the site got sick of all these crap emails so decided to email back and lead the scammers up the garden path. It's great, it really is. Some of the funniest stuff on the net. And there's lots of it, so if you're going to have a read be warned, it's not something you can skim.

Anyway, the point of me telling you all this, is that yesterday (DRUM ROLL!!) I received my first ever scam email!! I can't tell you how stupidly happy I was. I'm still so happy I think I'll share it with you:

Dear Beloved,

Calvary greetings in the precious name of our lord Jesus christ.
Beloved, i sincerely plead with you not to take offence with me for my attitudeof asking for your assistance, i believe that the Lord will surely reward you as the bible says in Gal 6:10"As we have there fore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the house hold of faith"

I am Kodila Basungama Julien,from the republic of congo Kinshasa.
I am an orphan that grew up in kinshasa and i decided to travel to Burkinafaso for a better standard life.
I got to Burkinafaso and i began to work as a steward in the house of a great politician called pierre badiel.
My boss became very successful and finally left politics to relocate with the entire famil to Norway.
In Norway i found favor in the sight of my boss, he sent me to school and took care of me like his own biological son.
I was everybody favourite,and this was due to my commitment in fellowship with the almighty GOD, as i am a devoted Christian since i received JESUS CHRIST as my personal lord and savior in the year 1980.
My boss became very sick, and was diagnose with the cancer of the lungs,this sickness lasted for 7 years and he finally died last year on the 9th of oct.(may his soul dwell in perfect peace) On the 5th of janauary very big lawyer of my boss came from Africa, to disclose the will of my boss to everyone.
To my greatest surprise half of his will was allocated to me. He gave me his money that amounted to millions of dollars and some wonderful properties in Africa.
But i was not too happy because the money was too much for me alone, so i suggested to my boss wife that half of the funds should go for her and her children and the rest for me.
My beloved little did i know that the wife of my boss family and some other relatives of my boss are planning to kill me. All of a sudden i became there enemy.
They told me that i have bewitched my boss and that am a wizard, that i have spiritually charmed him, and that was why he gave me half of his will.
I was then advised to leave the premises for savety,the lawyer called me on the telephone and asked me if I am ready to go through the process of receiving my inheritance, I declined and i told him all that the inheritancehad caused.
The lawyer told me to be strong and courageous and advised me to stand for my right.
He made me to understand that that everything is in the power of his hands,that he can give me what rightly belongs to me, the documents of the properties and some vital informations about the funds,where they are located and all are in the power of his hands.
But the lawyer advised me to put the funds in my fathers account or in the account of my relative for a while for security reasons.
I have confessed and I told him my life history, that i dont know who my parents are nether do I know any relative, but i promised the lawyer that I will get someone and then get back to him.
I told some of my close friends to please help and receive the fund, but they are afraid and they said that the money is too much for them to keep in there account.
I therefore did not stop there, I took another step of faith to put it in writing and to send it to as many people as i can on the internet until i get someone who is ready to help.
I need someone to help keep this funds for a while, I need someone that will help me walk with the lawyer to secure this inheritance.
But i need a man full of love and sincerity, an upright man filled with the wisdom of GOD.
If you are in that category please indicate by replying my mail and if you are not, please dont reply me.

N.B please note that if i dont reply your mail after a week, it means that i have found someone to help me.

Thanks for taking your time to read my mail.

GOD bless u real good.

Julien Kodila.

A bit long isn't it? But all worth it for that closing line. GOD bless u real good! I almost wet myself. Soooooo.... Should I email him in an Ebola Monkey Man stylee? Or should I tell him to fuck off? Or is he a good honest God-fearing chap who I should help out?
Hmm.

If anyone has an opinion, I'd like to hear it.

In other news, I think we may have sold one of the TV's. Some bloke called Marvin who lives in Kemp Town wants it, and also wants me to deliver it. He said he'll pay extra if I do. Apparently he doesn't get out much and has no transport, so as it's not far, and what with me being the kind and generous pillar of the community that I am... well, it's the least I can do. But I must say that it does seem slightly weird. I mean, it's not that far away, and buses go up that way all the time. So I'm going in the middle of the afternoon when there'll actually be people about (as long as someone can hear my screams I stand a good chance of being rescued). I'm also gonna be packing my trusty pepper spray, and I'll make sure that I have snipers positioned on the roofs of the buildings opposite to take Marvin out if he tries to endanger my life. Just in case like.

I'd also quickly like to apologise to Crumb and Bonobo, AKA The Mighty Love. I'm rather slow on the uptake these days, and so am currently deliberating over when to get concerned about possibly giving a toss about updating my sidebar links. I will/may do it eventually, but can't promise anything, so here's your link lads. Anyone who hasn't read these guys yet, GO THERE NOW. It's good ganja.

Finally, the bunny had her nails trimmed, ears, eyes, tummach and teeth checked, and her bum cleaned by the vet today. She's in fine fettle (is that how you spell it?), and the vet referred to her as "a fine looking beast" which, we can whole-heartedly concur, she most certainly is. The receipt for the visit, however, did make me chuckle:

A manicure? For a bunny? Only in Brighton could this happen...

Bumear

2005-03-19T00:51:00.000Z

I really have to get myself a notebook or something. I promised myself a good couple of months back - it may have been Christmas in fact - that I would do this, and still I haven't. I'm crap, but then I knew that already. I've had some fascinating diatribes occuring to me all over the shop this week, yet can I remember them when the vital time is upon me? The moment I come to sit down and try to get in the Blogzone (I made that up) it's all gone. Stage fright I would probably naively assume. It's a curse. There must be something you can take for this kind of thing, not that I would know, me not being a Mr. Pharmacist (one for the Fall fans among us) or doctor. I could tell you loads about trailing interest though. It's REALLY INTERESTING. Honest. But I'm not a financial advisor, so before you even think about emailing me with your mortgage details, please bogwash yourself. Hands up if you ever got bogwashed. No-one? I don't believe you. I for one have never been bogwashed, and have also never been in a fight. I'm that scary.

One thing I do remember is that I found these two things when I was feeling slightly excited (don't go getting funny ideas, okay?) the other day.

Item number 1.
Item number 2.

I like them. Things that make me wonder always get the juices flowing.

This week has been animated movie week. Saw Ice Age and Monsters Inc. Both brilliant. They may be kids films, but they still rocked. In fact most kids films are amazing. Apart from Care Bears: The Movie. That did not rock. And on the same topic, if anyone hasn't seen The Incredibles, what have you been doing???? See it. Now.

I would write more and go into lengthy detail about the varied and wonderful contents of my enormously huge pulsating brain, but I can't be bothered. It's late. I need sleep.

I need to set a time to do this. A time when I'm not normally thinking "what is the point?".

And I need a notebook.

This is gonna get better, you just watch.

While I remember, Nigel Flevans, here is my email address. Here. Mail me, I'll mail you my address, and then you can send me some of your new stuff. It's a simple plan, so cheers in advance.

And look at this. It always makes me laugh. A bloke I used to work with does it. He was never that funny in the flesh though, which I find a mite confusing. People eh? You can't trust them.

NEWS FLASH!!! NEWS FLASH!!! NEWS FLASH!!! NEWS FLASH!!! NEWS FLASH!!!

2005-03-11T22:15:00.000Z

In what is an unbelievably shit state of affairs, the probably innordinately wonderful Fall gig we were due to attend this very evening HAS BEEN EFFING CANCELLED!

I am, in my own oft quoted words, not happy to say the least. I know you were all dying of anticipation to read my review, so I'm sorry. It's nothing to do with me, but someone has to be the fall guy (yuk yuk) and that someone is yours truly.

The gig has been rescheduled for April 3rd, so put a note in your diaries.

And lastly something completely unconnected. Why the hell does the postman, when trying to deliver a package to you and finding you not in so he then has to drop a note through the door for you to go and collect it, drop said note with the words "Sorry, you were out" on it through the door? Call me pedantic but what the fucking hell are the Royal Mail apologising for? I'm out. It's not their fault. Neither they, nor the afore-mentioned postman are responsible for my not being there, SO WHY THE BLOODY HELL ARE THEY SAYING SORRY??? It may appear that I'm getting rather over-emotional about this, but this kind of thing is indicative of the dogs dinner our so-called 'culture' has become. It's so annoying to me that this once great country seems to be full to the brim with, on one side, a bunch of stupid, lazy, rude, unproductive and unappreciative bumheads, and on the other side a bunch of stupidly nice, apologetic, thoughtful, kind and therefore downtrodden wimps. Why no middle ground? Either you get someone who says sorry when you hold a door open for them, as if they are imposing on you and your arm, or you get some bastard who doesn't say anything. HELP.

Rant over. I'm gonna go and watch Agent Dale Cooper eat pie in Twin Peaks.

Frigging Vandals

2005-03-08T22:03:00.000Z

This should get you in the mood:

Nice!

Some bastard brainless knobhead with the brain of a plankton which to be honest is being nasty and disrespectful to plankton took a shine to one of our plant pots out the front of the flat and lobbed it down the stairs. What a rubbish thing to do. Almost ruined my Saturday. What drives a person to do this? Is it drink? Is it drugs? Is it Mcdonalds? Or is it (NO!!!) human nature? Tell me your views.

I keep seeing birds (the ones that fly about) shagging. It's slightly worrying because they do it very near the ground and I get worried that I'm going to tread on them. I saw some green birds getting it on last week, and was extra-disorientated as I thought I knew what they were, but wasn't sure. I'm not afraid to say that I used to be in the YOC (Young Ornithologists Club, part of the RSPB - google search it if you don't know) and was once the proud owner of The Observers Book of Birds. I used to know what pretty much any bird in the UK looked like and had a vague idea what it sounded like due to the handy descriptions in the book, but now I haven't got a clue. This, for me, is upsetting. I think they were Greenfinches, but then some annoying voice in my brain says "Tim, that doesn't sound like a bird. That's a stupid name." And I don't know whether or not to believe it! Help me please! If anyone knows anything about birds or where I can get the book in question I will love you forever.

Off to see The Fall on Friday, and I'm looking forward especially to not understanding a fucking thing Mark E Smith says. I'll tell whoever cares to listen how it goes at the weekend.

I have to have a bath, but before I adjourn to the warm soapy goodness may I draw your attention to the fluffy behemoth in the sidebar. At the top. Everyone say ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Worship at the shrine of the lagomorph (Big Fella watch out, your days are numbered).

And please watch the film Elephant by Gus Van Sant. It's based on the tragedy at Columbine High School and it's really really good. Really good. I was impressed. To say the least. Right then.

Orchid

2005-02-26T14:47:00.000Z

Amazingly, despite another month not having yet passed, here I am again, writing in me dyeree. I may not have anything to say, but you have to appreciate the effort. It's all I can do just to get out of bed on a Saturday, so if you can't understand my mindset then sod you.

Anyhow, I took the mammoth step of getting rid of Sky Sports the other day. No more premier league snooker and WWE wrestling for me, no sirree. Instead we now have the Disney Channel. Utter genius it is. In a two day period we've been treated to Finding Nemo and The Gummi Bears. Fucking ace. And yesterday I found another random channel that was showing Ulysses 31! Remember that rubbish? I felt like a 12 year old again, and for a moment it was lovely. Shame the cartoon was actually crap. Strange how things you loved turn out to be a pile of shite. Growing up can occasionally grate. What the hell am I talking about? Growing up is diabolically abysmal. All that stuff with bills, deadlines, shopping, socialising, and generally not-actually-getting-on-with-anybody and also the not-having-friends-as-good-as-when-you-were-at-school. You might deny it in public but in private you all know what I'm talking about. Isn't Chile thin?

Finished a book this week (hurrah!) and once finished fell into a deep depression and couldn't read another thing. I must do something about getting emotionally attached to literature. Oh to be one of those people who can have ten books on the go at any one time. My father has the world record (135 books and pamphlets in a two hour period), and is currently having his satchel weighed down by 76 volumes of The Peoples Algebraic History of Guatemala. Clever sod.

Musically I'm rather upbeat this week. If you count The Smiths and Kings of Convenience as upbeat that is. My wonderful woman bought me a wonderful record and I haven't taken it off the discman all week. Kind of reminds me of one of the first records I ever got. It sounds nothing like it, I'm just talking about how it grabbed me and wouldn't get out of my head for months. That record was Nowhere by Ride. Remember them? I do. They're my favourite ever band, will be forever, and that's that. Even Andy Bell joining Oasis hasn't so far managed to taint my view of them, and that's saying something, because Oasis are really shit. What was I saying? You can probably pick up Nowhere for a fiver at any internet music store these days, and you really should treat yourselves because it's fucking (burp) brilliant. Shoegazers my arse. Ride rocked. Anyway, the new record I have which is stirring the memory banks is Riot On An Empty Street by Kings of Convenience. This. Record. You. Must. Buy. Now. As. Quite. Simply. It's. The. Dogs. Knackers. Do they have a website I hear you ask. Let's have a look...
Yes they do. Here it is.

In descending order:

We have the best cushions.
Your mobile phone is crap.
Does anyone know how 3DS Max works, and if so can you please show us?
Everywhere gets snowed on except here. Typical.
I'm not married even though I pretend to be. Would like to be.
I want an Observers Book of Birds. If anybody has one I will gladly pay good money for it.
I still hate Keane despite my silence.
Paul Daniels is absolutely impossible to describe.
Edwyn Collins. Get well soon.