Monday, July 30, 2007
However, I have to acknowledge the three deaths that have occurred over the last couple of days, which will probably be acknowledged by loads of other bloggers with more style and decorum.
Rest in peace Ingmar Bergman, who was the fucking business. Which filmmaker is going to throw light onto the human condition now? Spike Jonze? Yeah, right.
Rest in peace Frank Butcher from Eastenders (aka Mike Reid of Runaraaaaaahhnd fame). I'm not really familiar with Frank/Mike's oeuvre, but I know he was the master of the gimlet eyed, thin lipped smile which you only ever see on men from London (preferably accompanied by hairy forearms and a large expensive watch).
Rest in peace Phil Drabble, Midlands naturalist (that's NATURALIST) who I remember from my childhood as being a frequent guest on Midlands Today, usually accompanied by his pointer Bessie (um Bessie was a dog). Phil grew up in Bloxwich, which means he may have remembered the Bloxwich to Walsall trolley buses.
The world is a darker place tonight:(
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Local weather report at 11:00 hrs GMT.
Labels: Midlands Today
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Yesterday, I asked you to spot the five differences in the two seemingly identical pictures of "Big Mo" off of Eastenders looking uncharacteristically glammed up at the 2004 TV Quick Awards.
In picture B she:
* wore black lipstick
* had one yellow eye
* had more cleavage hanging out of her dress
* had a fainter moustache
* had a cloven hoof
I'm happy to announce that the competition winner is TRACEY WIGGINS OF WIGAN. Congratulations Tracey, a box set of drippy, winsome songs by the late Jim Croce will be winging its way to you up there in Wigan!
LOOK OUT FOR THE NEXT SPOT THE DIFFERENCE COMPETITION WHICH WILL BE ALONG SOON, WITH A CHANCE TO WIN ANOTHER SINGER/SONGWRITER BOX SET!!
Monday, July 23, 2007
Not global warming. No, the blame must lay fairly and squarely with this young lady:
Rihanna has been at number one in the hit parade for about three months now with the song Umbrella, in which she invites some bloke or other to "come under (her) umbrella" for shelter.
This isn't just a saucy sexual metaphor. Oooh, no. Neither is the bit where she sings "it's raining (raining)/Ooo baby it's raining/baby come into me/Come into me."
What we're dealing with is a hex on the British climate.
I can vouch for this because when I was on holiday, we'd set off in the car for a few hours lazing on the beach, or for a hearty coastal stroll, with radio accompaniment on the journey. Inevitably, the *nation's number one* would be played within an hour or so ...
"NOW THAT IT'S RAINING MORE THAN EVER!" Rihanna would declare ...
Which would immediately result in flash floods, hurricanes, thunder bolt and lightening (very very frightening, me). Which meant our lovely relaxing summer's day was curtailed - again.
Drastic measures have to be taken. If there's any hope at all of getting something that resembles a late blossoming summer in August, the market must be (ho ho) *flooded* with songs and bands that make references to sun or summer, regardless of whether they are crap or not. It's the only way to remove the curse.
The likes of ...
Good Day Sunshine - The Beatles
Chase The Sun - Planet Funk
Sunny - Bobby Hebb
Beach Baby - First Class
Hello Summertime - Bobby Goldsboro
Sunny Afternoon - The Kinks
Summer In The City - The Lovin' Spoonful
Anything by Sunn O))) (...just the band you'd want to turn up at a beach party, plugging their guitars into the sand, after all)
Any more suggestions in the comments box, please. If we act now, the British public can go back to grumbling about the usual summer stuff: wasps; hay fever; mugginess; hosepipe bans; people who don't use deodorant and stand next to them on trains; the fumes from barbecues.
Oh, and really "well built" women who have "glandular problems" can once more say "oh, I hate this hot weather, I can't stand it, I'll be glad when there's a storm so it cools down a bit. Pass us another pork pie will ya?"
Saturday, July 21, 2007
*Paul Burnett is appearing in Mother Goose at Bicester Tivoli Theatre from December 3rd.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Well, I was asking for it because I left a comment on the aforementioned post.
As you've probably gathered, I'm approximately the third most stupid person to use the internet (I'm so stupid I don't know who the other two are). At least I can blame it on society, maan, and having to grow up surrounded by the sort of people who would garrote you if you read any sort of book.
So I can't come up with any sort of INFORMED list drawn from the millions of books I've read. Still, as, er, Max Erhmann said, even the dull and ignorant have their story ...
... and it gives me a chance to hurl gratuitous insults around.
THE FIVE AUTHORS I MUST SMASH WITH A BAT UNTIL THEY ARE MOTIONLESS
1. Jeffrey Archer. Not read anything by him. Never will. All I will say is this: never trust anyone with a cum face who gets involved in politics. The same applies to Paddy Ashdown.
2. Virginia Woolf. Look, I tried. I've read To The Lighthouse twice and a compilation of works. They bored the arse off me. From the "I've got a pair of ovaries and I'm too sensitive for this world" school of writing. Also, apparently, a complete snob who was revolted by the *lower orders*, therefore influencing the likes of Ch*vscum.com (well, probably). Face it, you'd rather be reading Sherlock Holmes, wouldn't you?
3. Helen Fielding. "no glasses of wine: v. good. Twenty seven cigarettes: v. bad". Modern women can identify with Bridget Jones, apparently, because she wants to marry a Jane Austen character. Right you are.
4. Any chicklit writer who rattles on about "serious retail therapy". All those books with curly gurrlly writing on the front and pink covers and little cartoons of 1950's women carrying masses of fashion store bags on the cover that have taken over the space in book shops normally occupied by proper books designed to be read by people with an IQ above ten.
5. The writers of any of those books about war that you find in budget bookshops. The ones called stuff like Great Scottish Battles Of The Late Seventeenth Century written by Major James Andrew George Edward Fitzhenry Fitzgibbon Fitzwilliam. Great Doorstop, more like.
... well, nobody said anything about having to read the authors, did they?
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Since I came back from my two week break, my comments on posts have halved.
Considering the fact that I'm going away for a two week break again in September, I should imagine that I'll be down to an audience of zero by the time I get back from East Angular. Back to where I started from, in other words.
Fair enough, the posts I've published have been shite. All that cliched celebrity mag rubbish about Posh Spice. Who am I - Carla Romano reporting on Hollywood gossip on GMTV fer farx sake?
Anyway, in an effort to get out of the rut, I pledged to visit a blog I've either lurked on or not been to before and leave a comment every day for a week.
... which was unnerving. All the worries about being frozen out, seeming like a comments whore (Har har! As if! Har har!). Well, on some blogs you definitely get the same feeling that you get when you walk into a pub where you're not a *local*.
... except you can't always tell ...
... which means I lost my nerve after a couple of days. Might pluck up the courage again. Might not.
In the meantime, if anyone comes over here wondering who the fuck that old bint was that left the comment on their blog when they've not been properly introduced, and god, she's got a nerve, and really, people will do anything to pimp their awful blogs ...
Don't be concerned. It will not harm you. It's only me pursuing something I'm not sure of.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Fifty Per Cent, the rapper
The Mother In Law: "That Danielle Lloyd is in the paper again."
Me: "Oh, everybody has had their turn with her."
The Mother In Law: "She went out with that Teddy Sherrenham, and some other footballers, now she's seeing the rapper, Fifty Per Cent."
* * * * * * *
LATER THAT EVENING
Curvy Posh lets it all hang out for the boys in America
The Mother In Law: "Have you seen those pictures of Posh Spice in The Mirror? One of them is ever so disgusting. Honestly, look at this."
(she shows us a large picture of Posh wearing a corset and knickers while sitting with legs akimbo. There is not much meat on her and, as usual, she looks like a bulldog chewing a wasp.)
The Mother In Law: "The way she's sitting is disgusting. How can she do that as A MOTHER OF THREE? It's horrible."
Geoff: "It does look, er, horrible. She's not very nice looking."
Me: "Apparently there's a picture of her without any pants on from that photo session".
The Mother In Law: "Really? But honestly ... A MOTHER OF THREE."
Thursday, July 12, 2007
So I'm sure you'll all congratulate me on my one and a half a million quid deal with Pan Books, right? After all, the blogging world is full of love and encouragement. I wish I could give both of my readers a virtual hug and a glass of Asti Spumanti by way of celebration and a big THANK YOU for your continuous support!
I sweated my metaphorical bollocks off writing my debut "arty bonkbuster" for at least two weeks and, let me tell you, it wasn't easy. Every spare minute was spent drafting, re-drafting, worrying, on the phone to my proof reader, my agent, my publisher, the editor of the Barnehurst Xtra, the 3AM Girls at the Mirror trying to whip up some publicity. Honestly, you ordinary people don't realise what hell it is to be an author! We torture ourselves every day but THE WORDS MUST COME OUT!!
My first erotica novel, Staring At The Moon, will be available for only £3.99 as part of a special promotion at W.H. Smith in Luton Airport for a month from next Monday. I'm thrilled to provide you with an EXCLUSIVE extract from the book here.
"Only her tremulous lower lip betrayed Cressida's real feelings - the torrent of thunderous desire that coursed through her blood vessels like some kind of delicious agony. She pressed the palm of her hand under Jacob's fawn coloured Gabicci cardigan and marvelled at the exquisite hardness of his nipple beneath his jersey Simon shirt. Slowly, her eyes moved down to visually feast on the contours within his Terylene worsted slacks."
There you go. I've hit the jackpot at last so I'm too important to blog anymore. Off for drinkies with Bobby Davro and Paul Potts now. Ooh, and got to get my stylist to choose a frock for the TV Quick Awards!
Be seeing you around, perhaps.
... with thanks to Garfer for this post which I in no way ripped off or anything.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
* further reading here.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Boris Johnson ...
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Virginia Wade ...
... and Lee Van Cleef ....
Monday, July 02, 2007
On Saturday night, we were planning to go up to the West End to have a meal at a place which is apparently a favourite of television's Phillllll Jupitus (of Never Mind The Buzzcocks and I Like Gogol Bordello fame). I should imagine the portions are very large.
Except that suddenly there seem to be Mercs full of nails and gas canisters abandoned in the West End. I don't fancy the idea of being blown up on behalf of George Bush. Oh, and why is it that bloody Londoners have to put up with all this crap when Britain didn't instigate the "War On Terror" and is only a bit part player in it?
Anyway, we ended up having a meal in a bogstandard local restaurant that hasn't been endorsed by anyone who appears regularly on BBC 2.
Also, there has been a postal strike. This means that there will be a backlog of post. Which means that I won't get half of my birthday cards until the middle of July.
Also, it has rained every day since our first full day in Cornwall three weeks ago, and rain is forecast every day for the foreseeable future.
Also, I can't get my Blogger html facility to work.
When will it end?
When will it end?