Just some stuff

I really don't have anything all-encompassing and exciting to say today, so I'm just going to fling some stuff at you and we'll see what sticks. Don't worry - there's no poopy!

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Just seen Shrek the Third. Opinion? Well, I'd hate to put you off going to to see it, but I noticed that Yaz was yawning an awful lot throughout.

"Why were you yawning so much?" I asked when the movie finished.

"S'what happens when you have to sit through a shite movie," she replied.

Make of that what you will, but I think the producers will come to regret titling it Shrek the Turd. I mean Third!

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One bonus of a trip to the cinema was the fact that they had a cool life-size Simpsons diarama thing (for the Simpsons movie, you'll be surprised to find) that you could sit alongside and have your photo taken with. I didn't have my photo taken with it, but I did take a photo of it.


But I totally stood in front of Lisa and recreated the London 2012 Olympics logo, if you know what I mean!


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So I was thinking I should give you an update on my friend from a while back - you know, the one who was having lady troubles. Well, he was, er, telling me that he decided to cave a little, and sent her a text saying that he thought maybe they could catch up at some point. She, however, did not reply!

A couple of days later, he saw her briefly and she basically said that she'd got the text, but had sort of forgotten to reply to it. Which, y'know, seemed a bit rude. Anyway, she's not contacted him in any way, shape, or form since, so the other night he sat around thinking about what he should do. Should he make more of an effort, or should he draw a line under the whole thing and move on? After much pondering, he decided to sleep on it.

The next morning, he tells me, he awoke to find that the Backstreet Boys song 'Quit Playing Games with my Heart' was playing in his head. Even more surprising, though, was the fact that he was somehow able to recall all the dance moves from the video.

Thus he decided that any girl who makes him think of bad teeny-bopper pop songs with accompanying dance moves was probably not the girl for him. The line, I've been assured, has been drawn HERE.

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Ha. This'll make you laugh. I was chatting to Mr. Chunt the other day, and passed onto him some info about this cycling thing in London on September 30th. Basically, they're shutting off a load of roads to all traffic except bikes, and both me and BSH, my colleague in all things Star Trek, have signed up to do it. I think it could be quite a good day out.

Anyway, somehow the topic of conversation twisted round to London's annual nudey bike ride, which I jokingly said I might think about doing next year. Chunty agreed with me, and suggested I put it to a vote here. I laughed it off, but bizarrely I'm coming round to thinking that I might do it - not because I really want to get my wang out in public, but because I think it'd be quite funny (after the event) to say that I'd done it.

And I can't believe I'm even saying that.

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Here's a little plea. Are you from Americaland? Have you bought an iPhone? If you match both of those criteria, please let me know what you think of the wonderous new Apple creation. We don't get it over here in Britland until the end of the year, and I REEEEEALLY want to know what it's like. Or, erm, feel free to send it to me…

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Right, I'm off to watch some more episodes of The OC. I've just hit the midway point in the fourth season DVD boxset, and it's every bit as good as it was on first viewing when it was shown on t'telly. Better, in fact. I've decided I really do love Autumn Reeser (that's Taylor Townsend) with my dying breath. Just the way she uttered the phrase "slutty alien" in the episode 'The Earth Girls are Easy' made me go all funny.

She's lovely.

Fly-swatter

I've got a theory that we need to have a certain number of despicable people in our lives, people who are universally hated by our circle of friends, but who you can't shake out of your life - like dog poopy stuck on your shoe. And I think there's a good reason you can't get rid of these people – because if you did, you and your friends would end up turning on each other (and by 'turning on each other' I mean 'turning against one another,' rather than arousing each other). Case in point is my Nemesis, who is without doubt the most loathsome human being I've ever encountered, and remains to this day a lurker on the periphery of my life. But in a way I've come to think that's a good thing, because he is something to channel all my bad energies toward - a receptacle for hate, if you will (at least that's how I'm justifying his existence). Another plus point about having a nemesis is that they actually make you a better person by highlighting specific character flaws that you can then strive to avoid. My Nemesis is a knowitall; I find that trait undesirable, and so strive not to be a knowitall, thus becoming a better person in the process (I hope).

He's also an arse, but I digress.

Unfortunately, I have recently found myself in a position where I am in contact with an individual who appears able to annoy me merely by being in close proximity, in a way that could possibly only compare to Robbie Williams singing 'I know a song that will get on your nerves' over and over and over while standing about 30 centimetres away from my face. It's the sort of thing that makes me want to reach for the Stewie Griffin soundboard and fire off a few well-timed "SILENCES!" or even a "WHAT ABOUT SHUTTING THE HELL UP?"

(Although there's always the possibility I could be swayed over to the Homer Simpson soundboard. Ooo - erotic cake…)

I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character; I think I generally know when people are genuinely being nice, or if they just appear nice because they want something from me. Unfortunately, I also know when I really don't like someone. OK, I know it's really not nice to turn round and just blurt out that you don't like someone, but I've learnt from experience that you can't be everyone's friend, and sometimes you just need to step back from the people you don't like, and put some distance between you and them for the good of *everyone*. Unfortunately, said individual seems to want to ingratiate themself upon me, and takes every opportunity to try and be my friend when really it would be better for everyone if they just left me alone.

To be honest, this isn't another nemesis situation - I view this person as more of a fly that I could twat out of the sky. But I like to think that it would be easier if I could direct the fly out of the metaphorical door so that it can fly away, rather than battering it into oblivion with a rolled-up newspaper.

Don't get me wrong though; I have a newspaper rolled and ready, baby.

Um, rawr!

Punch the air!

So the results are in – and I didn't do too badly! Yes, proof at last that I was only nine seconds slower at the 10k than last year, which I'm quite pleased about because a) I barely did any training, b) there was the knee conundrum, c) I was ill the week before, and d) did I mention it was muddy?

(Is that enough excuses for being nine seconds slower? I think so)

In contrast, though, checkout the winning time - a smidgeon over 32 minutes! Geez! I'd only just started my second lap by that time! I'm not suggesting there was anything untoward going on there, but I hope someone took a urine sample at the end.

Anyway, my goal now is definitely to keep training in order to build on my apparent consistancy around the 56 minute mark. By this time next year I aim to be, like the Bionic Woman, Better. Stronger. Faster.

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The only casualty of the run from my point of view was - holy surprise, Batman - my awesome new knee support! It had started tearing around the open patella section (that's the bit where me knee pokes through). Maybe I was hulking out during the run and my muscley kneecap just burst through? Rawr! On the plus side, it did a good job before sacrificing itself for the needs of the few, or the one - my knee feels fine. Better than fine, in fact: it's a miracle - I'm healed! At least that's how it feels. Maybe six-and-a-bit-miles of senseless running knocked something back into place? Whatever happened, it tore (the support, not my knee), and I'd only used it, like, four times. So I took it back and exchanged it for another one.

Probably should've washed the mud and possible dog poo off it first, huh?

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I must say, in the immediate aftermath of the run I felt great, then a few hours afterwards I felt very sleepy. But yesterday - why, I felt bloody awesome yesterday! The run had left me in one of those strangely euphoric moods which kinda made me feel like I could do anything. I even considered going out for a run, but heeding Sweatband's running advice I've decided to put my feet up for the next couple of days. And what am I going to do with all this spare time I now find myself with? Season Four DVD boxset of The OC, baby. Oh, yeah!

Taylor Townsend is *so* going to see me through this recovery period!!

Me shine so bright me light up the dog-gone night, oh!

Hurrah! The 2007 Dysart Dash 10k run is done and dusted! Oh yes - and guess what? I finished it in almost the exact same time as I run it last year!! This is amazing for a couple of reasons - those being that a) I felt woefully under-prepared this year because my buggered knee meant that I haven't done half as much training as last year, and b) it was *pissing* down with rain and the entire towpath section along the side of the Thames was a huge muddy mess; it was like Glastonbury but without the music and hippies.

And, wonder of wonders, my knee held up damn fine, and even feels good now, three hours after finishing. The only downside is that I've just discovered that my awesome new knee support didn't quite survive the race and appears to have partially self-destructed; that being the case I'll dig out the receipt and take it back in the next couple of days - I've only had it a week! Failure is not an option! Rawr!

Anyway, having just showered the mud off I'm now in that really chilled-out post-run bliss where I actually feel like I could go for another run. A better idea, though, is to retire to bed for the afternoon. Mmmmm… bed. And maybe in the next week I'll start to think about Sweatband's idea of doing another run. Seriously, we literally crossed the finish line and she began harping on about some 10 mile thing in October - the woman's insane! So yes, off to lie on the bed now.

Here's some post-run pics.

My super-awesome running trainers got caked in mud. They're filthy as anything, but I suppose it's like a badge of honour or something. As long as there's no dog poo on them. I don't think I could handle knowing there's dog poo on them.

Rawr! I'm not posting this for any other reason except that I want some comments telling me I look hunky. I implore you to feed my ego. Oh, and I had my hair cut on Saturday to make me more 'hair-o-dynamic' for the race.

Frikkin'. Awesome. Medal. This is my third, and I think it's my favourite. Seriously, a couple more and I might be able to out-bling Mr. T. Oh, and we got a Cadburys Flake at the end too, but I ate that.

(Oh, and if you're wondering why this post has such a weird title, it's because I was listening to the Satellite Party album while I drove to the run, and this was a lyric I misheard from 'Wishing on a Dog Star')

Things that make me go: tee-hee-hee!

As you might have gathered by now, I'm a simple man who is easily amused. And recently there's been a couple of things that have amused me.

Let's review:

1: Katie Price is Satan

First up, who the hell thought that Jorda- sorry, I mean Katie Price, could be a) an author, b) an author writing books aimed at young girls, and c) a cracking role model for said young girls. I can just imagine the shock on the publisher's face when he got the first draft manuscript about a young girls 'riding' dreams as imagined by Jordan; no doubt THAT went back to the ghost writer… Anyway, so yes, Katie Price is putting away her massive boobs and writing some kids books about ponies. Aaaah. And hilariously, some enterprising young chav in Hammersmith has seen fit to modify one of the adverts at a bus stop by writing 'Satan' across her forehead. Marvellous.

What a spot-on observation. It's like we're seeing another Banksy emerging before our very eyes. And note how he put little circles around the 'a's? Banksy would be proud. (click the link and scroll along to the eighth picture)

2. Comic book-based hilarity

There I was the other night, reading my comics, when I got to the latest issue of DC's latest weekly comic book, Countdown (nothing to do with Richard Whiteley or Carol Vorderman, quiz fans). And what happens towards the end of the issue? The new Red Hood, Jason Todd, gets hit by a kokk.

Yes, among the 'whaps' and the 'kraks' there's a 'kokk.' Someone is seriously having a laugh with the sound effects. That said, it's still not as good as that infamous Captain America panel. A Brit definitely wrote THAT one…

3. Excitement beckons

My local Sainsbury's is undergoing something of a revamp, and when I rolled up there today on my way home from work I discovered big posters promising that customers will soon be enjoying a "better car park!" Now, I know in hindsight this probably just means that they're going to make it a bit bigger and easier to access and stuff like that, but my first thought was that it might have something to do with lasers and go-go dancers. I reckon you could improve a car park infinitely with lasers and go-go dancers, rather than just adding a few more spaces and a well-intentioned one-way system. Only time will tell, but I'm already looking forward to good-times car park malarkey.

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Something that is not making me giggle, though, is the forthcoming 10k run. It's this Sunday coming, y'see, and I've barely done any preparation. Last year I was a bit panicked over the whole thing and I'd been doing four runs per week. This year… well, what with my dodgy knee and then getting a cold at the weekend (a cold - seriously! What's that all about?! It's freakin' summer!), I'm feeling, well, VERY WORRIED.

I did a run last night, and am just about to go out for another one now, then there's one with Sweatband tomorrow, but beyond that it's all in the lap of the gods. Rather than aim for a decent time, I think I'm just going to hope to finish this year… I seem to remember last year I told you my run number and jokingly said that you might find me face-down in a gutter. Well this year I'm number 23, and it's a distinct possibility.

Wish me luck, people!

Mmmm… Jam: Pearl Jam at Wembley Arena

I've been a bit of a a gig whore recently; Willy Mason a few weeks back, Satellite Party last week, and yesterday Pearl Jam at Wembley Arena.

Now, I'll be honest, I'm not exactly the world's biggest fan of Pearl Jam. And by that I mean that I just haven't really paid too much attention to them, rather than I don't like them. My brother's liked them for a loooooong time, and has been trying to convert me/convince me to see them live for years, whereas I've liked the odd song here and there (and their funny stick man logo). That being the case, where I'll tell you that I decided to go to this gig because I'm more open to different sorts of music than I used to be, Simon might tell you that I went purely because I finally caved in after years of harrassment.

Accompanying us to the gig was Simon's friend Brian, who I had to constantly refrain from calling "Briiiiiiian" in the same manner as Stewie from Family Guy. I caved once, and while Simon cracked up, Brian just looked perplexed; he doesn't watch Family Guy. Victory is mine!

Anyway, what did I think of Pearl Jam? Well…

Simon had told me beforehand that Pearl Jam enjoys an incredibly close relationship with their fans. I didn't quite know what this meant at first, and seriously hoped we wouldn't all end up bonding in a wigwam* when I'd paid good money to see a concert. Fortunately, there was lots of music. And lots of music. And LOTS. OF. MUSIC.

They played for about 2 hours and 20 minutes.

Now, don't think I'm complaining about that, because I'm not (although it did mean I got home super-late on a school night). That's a whole lot of gig for your money. The thing is, while I knew the hits (like 'Evolution,' 'Alive,' and their version of 'Rockin' in the Free World') there was an awful lot of songs I didn't know - whereas everyone else did. So in that respect I felt a little bit like an outsider infiltrating the concert, almost like I sort of didn't deserve to be there. On the plus side, Pearl Jam are A VERY GOOD LIVE BAND. Eddie Vedder has a most unusual voice, at times both feral-sounding and incredibly soulful; a particular highlight for me was 'Low Light,' which is a song you should all checkout if you haven't heard it before – *just* beautiful.

They also appear to be a very generous band; the guitarist appeared to pour cups-worth of plectrums into the audience, while Eddie gave away a bottle of wine, his set list, and two tambourines he destroyed during 'Rockin' in the Free World.'

All in all, then, a very enjoyable evening. I genuinely liked Pearl Jam, and I'd definitely be up for seeing them again. Just next time, hopefully on a Friday night - it was a right bitch getting up for work this morning.

(Oh, and the support were Idlewild. They're from Scotland!)

As is customary now, here's a scattering of pics and a couple of videos I took; as with Satellite Party, the sound is a bit crappy, and because of the elaborate lighting rigs it does look a bit like the stage is exploding at times. Don't worry - it didn't! Pearl Jam are fine!

The put all the lights on for the last couple of songs - it was great, we could see everything! Why don't they put the lights on all the time?

Eddie goes acoustic!

*Wigwam, I've decided, is my new favourite word. Look for it appearing here more often.

Test detonation the second

Another Friday, another attempt at using Mentos mints to blow-up a bottle of Diet Coke!

After last week's reasonably pathetic attempt, we made a couple of changes for this latest test, including a larger bottle of coke, and multiple Mentos, which were slotted into a ring-binder spine and dropped into the bottle so that whoever delivered the payload didn't end up covered in coke. Observe!


Let's go through this clip second-by-second.

00:00 - Scanner prepares to drop the Mentos delivery system into the bottle. Note that he laughs like Betty Rubble.

00:02 - BSH, my colleague in all things Trekkie, assures us that his pioneering Mentos delivery system will fit the bottle.

00:03 - Scanner asks if we're 'GO' for launch.

00:06 - Scanner deploys the Mentos delivery system.

00:07 - The Mentos and Diet Coke react like a matter/antimatter reaction in a warp core.

00:08 - The Mentos delivery system is propelled out of the bottle. Bad times. Scanner giggles like Betty Rubble again.

00:10 - BSH asks "is that it?" then orders Scanner to put it back in. I believe he was referring to the Mentos delivery system.

00:19 - Scanner reinserts the Mentos delivery system, to little effect.

00:22 - Scanner notes that he "should've held it down." I believe this was another reference to the Mentos delivery system, rather than anything untoward.

00:26 - I state my belief that a design flaw in the Mentos delivery system has led to today's relative failure, adding, in deeply complex scientific terms that it is "bunging up the hole."

00:29 - Rob makes possibly the mosty astute observation of the entire endeavour: "It's like TFI Friday for retards."

00:35 - "It's like your anus cream - you're just bunging it up." I end the experiment with a cryptic comment related to a medical condition that one of my esteemed colleagues had shared with us earlier.

All-in-all, then, not an amazing success, but not an awful failure either; I've already suggested some design revisions for the Mentos delivery system, including a weight that should ensure it sinks to the bottom of the bottle rather than shoot out the top again, so I reckon third time could be the charm.

Stay tuned people, it could get exciting!

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I have nothing else to say today other than this:

What about yesterday, what about us?

Heh, so there was a bit I forgot to tell you about on yesterday's Satellite Party post that Simon reminded me about today that I can't not tell you about, mainly because it got us both giggling again this evening.

Basically, after the gig we got the tube back to Shepherds Bush. Now, if you've never got the tube in London (duh - where the hell have you been?!), it gets very windy in the tunnels when the trains go through. HI-lariously, while still pumped up after the gig, we were riding the escalator up to ground level, when a gust of wind shot through the tunnels. Now, in best trailer-trash stylee I was wearing an un-done shirt over a white wifebeater, and as this gust shot past me, I turned around to face Simon, my shirt flying out behind me like a little cape, clenched both hands in front of my chest, and yelled:

"What about yesterday
(What about us)
What about the seas
(What about us)"

In best Michael Jackson-stylee. Simon creased up big-time. Hell, we even thought about riding the escalator back down so we could ride it up again, so Simon could record me singing Earthsong, but in the end we decided we actually needed to go find a shop to get a drink.

Anyway, it was kinda like this (skip forward to around the 4:14 mark). Obviously, I look less like a white woman though.



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Last word on the Satellite Party (till they tour again, heh heh…) - super-massive thanks to Tim who was also at the gig and dropped me an email. He took some *amazing* photos that make mine look like they were taken by a bemused and somewhat retarded monkey.

Perry and Nuno!

Perry assumes the lotus position!

(Tim, I'm going to be at Wembley on Monday to see Pearl Jam - any chance you can get some quality pics there too?)

Perry Perry sauce: Perry Farrell's Satellite Party at the Mean Fiddler

So, big bro Simon and I toddled off up town last night for a gig: Perry Farrell's (yes, he who was formerly of Jane's Addiction) new band Satellite Party.

Now, to be honest I wasn't much looking forward to this gig. I'd not really wanted to go, mainly because I've not really enjoyed Perry's side-projects before, but Simon had a spare ticket and I felt bad for the fact that he'd be out of pocket if no one took it off him, and he'd be going on his own. Having seen Jane's Addiction a few years back (from a considerable distance while hanging from the roof in the Hammersmith Apollo - don't ask…) and loving them, I stumped up the cash and hoped for the best. Plus it was in the Mean Fiddler, which was the location of one of my very favourite gigs (Phantom Planet) two years ago.

Things did not start well.

The support act were The Scare; I usually don't diss bands, because someone, somewhere surely must like them, but I shan't mince words - they were rubbish. So rubbish, in fact, that I refuse to link to their inevitable myspace page because I don't want to sully your ears. Simon even referred to them as "sub-rubbish," which is harsh, but true my friends. HARSH. BUT TRUE. All their songs sounded the same. It's like they sat around one day and said "ooo, I know - we've got long hair and a quirky dress sense, we should be in a band!" Then they scrounged up some guitars while the lead singer, who looked shockingly like Laurence Llewelyn Bowen, practised his Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler impressions in his bedroom mirror. Quite tellingly, the guitarist broke a string towards the end of their set; we couldn't tell any difference.

The evening was redeemed, however, by an jaw-droppingly awesome set by the Satellite Party. They started with a Jane's Addiction song, which gives an indication of where I think this band intends to go; it was like Jane's Addiction v.2.0 - really good, catchy, honest-to-god rock. And Perry (who suddenly reminds me of Ronnie Wood and Keith Richards from the Stones, all sinewy, wiry muscle embued with the very essence of raaaawk!) was on *top* form, leaping around the stage, climbing up to the balcony to shake peoples' hands, and giving a girl in the audience a bottle of wine. And smiling - really, genuinely smiling like he couldn't believe we'd bothered to come along; it was extraordinarily infectious. There was some quality between-songs banter too - particularly when he urged us to "get a frisbee, and take a picnic with a hot chick," then, realizing it rhymed adding that he was "freestylin'," and was going to "call Snoop Dogg and lay that track down." He also made mention of his former "J.A." bandmates, saying that "they can do whatever the f**k they want to do, and we'll do whatever the f**k we want to do, and never the twain shall meet – maybe…" Perhaps that door's not completely closed…?

The rest of the band were awesome too, most notably Nuno Bettencourt ("Nuno!") from Extreme! There was a hilarious moment when Perry mocked him over some half-price cherries he was eating while sitting at the back of a bus; they did a hilarious funky little tune about it, but I s'pose you had to be there…

Perhaps the other most notable member of the band was a hot woman with big boobs who was wearing only a small sequinned bra and some very short shorts. Her role was officially backing singer, but although she had a microphone in front of her, I'm pretty sure it wasn't turned on because I certainly couldn't hear her. Her role, then, appeared to simply be to gyrate and perform slutty dance moves up against the mike stand, which she did admirably. Atta-girl! And a quick Google tells me that this slutty mover is… um, oh. Perry Farrell's wife! Well, you never got Linda McCartney doing THAT on stage.

Perhaps the only downside was that when Perry asked for requests as to what song they should perform at one point, he ignored my suggestion of the Jane's Addiction song 'My Cat's Name is Maceo' (if you haven't heard it, Google it - it's a treat; "My cat's names is Maceo/he's a little man in a cat's body." I kid you not). Anyway, that aside the Satellite Party were pretty funkin' awesome, and I'm super-glad I went with Simon. He liked it too. Brotherly bonding and a quality gig - good times!

Some pics!

Perry does the 'hands up if you use Right-Guard' thing.

Perry clambers up to the people in the cheap seats (OK, there weren't any seats, but you know what I mean…)

Sing to us Perry, sing!

I'm pretty sure he was looking at me here…

And thanks to my new-found power of youtube - some videos (shitty sound, I know, but just look at the moving pictures!)


This is them doing the Jane's Addiction classic 'Been Caught Stealing.'


I don't know what song this was, but Perry was super-close to us at one point.

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Before meeting Simon I went for a KFC. I walked in, and my eyes were immediately drawn towards a sign on the wall:

Anyone who violently abuses our staff will be prosecuted

That, to my mind, suggested that you could probably give them a bit of a slap and get away with it.

"Next please!" I snapped out of my reverie, and looked at the woman at the till.

"Um, I'd like a large popcorn meal to eat in, please."

"Would you like that large?"

*sigh*

"Yes."

"Eat in or takeaway?"

I rolled my eyes, and briefly considered testing my slap theory.

The young and the restless

About a year or so ago you might remember that I was offered a kitten called Smudge. Ultimately, I turned down the offer of Smudge. Today I got an email from my mate Jo.

"I got a kitten this weekend!" She said.

"Ooo!" I said. "Can I come round and play with it?"

Since Steve/Kitty's abduction I've been sorely lacking in cat-based fun.

Fortunately Jo said "yes." To be honest, though, I would've rocked up even if she'd said "no."

Anyway, the kitten is called Barney, and he's a delightful litte eight-week old bundle of kitteness, with black 'n white fur, blue eyes, and huge pink ears. And he's currently doing that insane thing that kittens do where everything makes them giddy with excitement; he attacked a door while I was there.

Mindful of Dora's current liteny of kitteny problems, I did ask Jo if she's was going to have Barney's balls lopped off, but she said she was undecided on the matter at the present time.

Also visiting Jo was another friend, Clare. Now, Clare had a baby about 18 months back, and I'd not met him yet. To be honest, I was torn between playing with the kitten, and playing with Clare's son. He's at that age where he giggles a lot and is doing that thing were he gets up to walk, and then can't quite slow the momentum he's built up unless he bashes into something. It must be said that I lost some points by telling Clare that her son looked like a monkey - not, you must understand, because he's particularly chimp-like to look at, but because he's also doing that thing where he rolls around in a monkey-like fashion, and swings his legs up in order to get onto the sofa. There are probably very few people on the planet who like their child to be compared to a monkey, though, and Clare, bless 'er, took it very well. Admittedly the little fella was a little apprehensive of me at first, mainly because there I was standing in front of him saying "hello little dude, what's going on!?" and he didn't have a clue who I was. After about half an hour, though, we were getting on like a house on fire; he even gave me his mum's car keys.

As delightful an evening as this was, the only problem with it all is that now I'm back to wanting a kitten, and I'm feeling broody. Damn, the last time I felt like this (broody, not wanting a kitten) was when I was about 18. I just thought I'd make a cracking dad. No doubt that feeling would pass the moment I was confronted with a radioactive nappy. At least with other people's kids you can give them back when they poop or start crying, or become teenagers.

Anyway, if I do find this feeling lasts, I might have to start something like The Apprentice in order to find the unknown mother of my potential future child. Ladies - take a ticket an' get in line!

*wink!*

My tube

I had quite a cool Friday peeps, which indirectly, and incidently, has led me to set up a Youtube account! Yes, I'm now bloggable, emailable, instant-messageable, myspaceable, and youtubeable!! Some might call me a media whore, and I'm not sure I'd disagree. Embrace me, people, embrace me.

Anyway, what led me to youtube was the fact that while at work Scanner, BSH, and I decided to experiment with the mythical explosive combination of Diet Coke and Mentos mints. Mentos were purchased, Diet Coke was purchased. Camera phones were set to video. Things happened.


OK, so it wasn't exactly an out of this world detonation, but I think Johnny Ball would be proud. And if you don't know who Johnny Ball is, shame on you. Click HERE to find out all about Britland's finest scientific mind (and if you do know who he is, click it anyway and join me in a wave of nostalgia as you remember Johnny Ball Reveals All).

Anyway, I think you'll agree we've proved the basic theory behind this unholy combination. We're going to try an increased payload next time (a two litre bottle of coke and an entire packet of Mentos), probably away from the office as we don't want to risk being fired by coating the windows in brown sludge. So if anyone sees a small mushroom cloud in the vicinity of Ravenscourt Park next week, that'll probably be us. Do scurry over and say "hi." And it might also help if you know CPR.

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The hilarity did not end there, however. I convinced Scanner to water the garden for a short video. Thinking about sending it into 'You've Been Framed,' the 250 quid would be nice.


Anyway, I'll pop a link up to mah youtube page over thar in the links list. No doubt I'll post all the vids I ever make here, though.
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Friday evening, Yaz (who in addition to 'Mutya' is increasingly being known by the names 'Yazzle,' 'Yazzy-bear,' 'Yazzy-poohs,' and 'Yaz-hands') and I met up with Grum (who we still occasionally call 'Gay-ham' after a Greek temp's inability to pronounce 'Graham' a few years back) to see Ocean's 13. Now, I approached this film with a little trepidation - I loved Ocean's 11, and absolutely *hated* Ocean's 12 - but I needn't have worried: it was back to the feel-good fun-times of the first film. Hurrah!

Aside from being highly entertaining, Ocean's 13 did three things to me:

1. Made me want to dance in a strutting kind of way while sitting in the cinema.
2. Made me want to buy a posh suit.
3. Made me want to learn to play card games, become a slot jockey, and pull off an incredible scam.

And this week's favourite word is:

"ARRRRRRRRRRGH!!!!!!"

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In other news, the bastards got Steve. And by Steve, I actually mean Kitty, which is Steve's real name. And she's actually a girl. And I don't know if I mentioned this, but they got her. Bastards.

Harumph.

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And in other, other news, I'm now on Microsoft messenger. Now don't ask me why I'm not on iChat or something else a million times more Mac-tastic, just nod sagely and go "ooo," and if you get the urge or a special tingling to instant message me you can now do so by using my email address, which is just over there on the bit that says 'email me, people!' I can talk like a bitch in heat, so you might eventually come to regret it, but I'll still like you anyway.

Operation: Save our Steve

WARNING: Some names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Along the road from Sparky Ma and Pa's there's this family who *constantly* cause problems. Over the years the Police have been called to their house on numerous occasions, their kids run riot (throwing stones at passing cars, and on one occasion their five year-old told me that he was going to "f**king kill me." Why I don't know; I was just getting out into my car), and they get everything paid for because they're on benefits, which disgruntles me slightly because I don't have Sky TV and a new kitchen however much I'd like it.

Perhaps most worrying of all, however, is the way they treat their animals. Last year they took to locking one of their dogs in a car all day in the height of summer. The Police came round, broke into the car and took the dog away. A few hours later they'd got it back. If it was anyone else I think they probably would've been prosecuted.

Anyway, I got a text from Sparky Ma the other week in which she informed me, in a state of some excitement, that this family were moving. Yay-ness struck - but it was followed quite swiftly by a hint of sadness. Because Steve would be going too.

Steve, y'see, is their cat. And despite the fact that Steve's tail is pulled and he is generally abused and shit-scared of the family chav, he has turned out a mighty fine cat. I know this, because Steve escapes the abuse by spending his days hiding out at Sparky Ma's. And he spends A LOT of time there. Steve's cool for many reasons; he walks out to meet me by my car whenever I pop round; he meows at you like you're having a conversation with him, and he generally is just awesomeness in feline form.

So the fact that Steve is supposed to be moving away saddens me. But I live in hope, because Steve doesn't seem to want to go…

Steve on the run, yesterday.

From what we can tell, the family chav have actually moved. But I'm elated to see that, after what I thought was an emotional farewell on Saturday, Steve is still hanging around. What's cool about this is that when I moved out of home, I actually said to Sparky Ma that I wanted to take Steve with me, because he's getting on a bit now and I thought he might appreciate actually having a house to live in. Due to a combination of the family chav abusing him and refusing to allow him in their house, y'see, means that in the frozen extremes of winter we often find him huddled under a bush in our garden, and end up inviting him in to thaw out.

So I'm quite happy to see Steve's little face whenever I go round Sparky Ma and Pa's, and I hope he stays there. And I think Sparky Ma does too: she bought him a big box of cat biscuits today.

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Oh look, I got myself on the 6Music website AGAIN. How so this time? Well, after all the furore over the crap-tastic new London 2012 Olympics logo (which I've heard described as both a rip-off of the Tiswas logo and Lisa Simpson going down on someone), they were appealing for what we, the listening public, would suggest as a better logo. I used the photo I'd sent them for an earlier competition as a basis, and photoshopped on a stunning new logo of my own design.

What do you think? In my opinion, I think the 'LOL!' is what really makes it a success.

Jungle Tim

Well, 'jungle' might be stretching it a bit far, but whatever way you look at it, I'm now the proud owner of two plants!

Mmmm… greenery.

The detailing section of the bathroom restoration project is now in full swing, y'see. Yesterday I bought an awesome mirror for 13 quid (!), but I haven't put it up yet. Mainly because I need Sparky Pa and his drill, neither of which have been round to chip in yet, but they've both assured me they will in the next week or so, which is awesome because I'm currently relying on one of the small mirrored doors that I ripped off the heinous bathroom cabinet. I've propped it up behind the taps, and have to keep bending down when I brush my teeth or want to pop a spot, or just stare at myself. Um, oh, and I had to shave kneeling down yesterday, which was really painful because I had a full-on beard, and it took ages to get rid of.

Aaaaaaaanyway, I also popped out yesterday to get a rather cool little bathroom shelving system/unit from argos. It was only 15 quid (another bargain - seriously, I'm thinking about going into the bargain renovation and decoration business…), and it allows me to display my manly toiletries like they're something to be proud of. Like painting, there's something quite satisfying about putting together flatpacked furniture. It took me all of about 10 minutes to slap together, which surprised the tits off me because I was rubbish at following Lego instructions as a kid.

Carrying on my completely surprising burst of enthusiasm for actually making my bathroom look halfway decent, I popped out this morning to look at some plants (a line I never thought I'd hear myself say). Inexplicable Device recommended a Birds Nest Fern, but I couldn't find one of those anywhere; dude, seriously, did you make that up?! Anyway, I kept looking around and I eventually thought I'd found something decent. But it was 10 quid, and that seemed an awful lot of money for a small plant. Then I looked closer and, much like Senator Vreenak in the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode 'In the Pale Moonlight,' I realised it was a faaaaaake!

Seriously, if I'm paying 10 quid for a plant I at least want the option of being able to kill it.

So I kept looking, and eventually found a dracea… drac… this:

That's it in situ, atop my new shelving system. The instructions assure me it doesn't like direct sunlight, does like warm rooms, and likes to be kept moist (heh heh). All of which means it'll probably be dead within the month. Not to worry though - it was only £3.99! Although I did splash out and buy it the sexy white pot it's sitting in.

Having decided to buy one plant, though, I thought I'd have a look at some others. I was instantly drawn to the bonsai trees, because I've always thought bonsai trees look pretty cool, and they had them at the bargain price of £7.99. I talked myself out of buying one though, because I know they need a lot of care (they're like the special kid of the plant world or something), and I'd no doubt get bored of it, then - BANG - I'd get home one day to find a huge oak tree bursting out the roof of my house.

Undeterred, I continued to look. I was very tempted by a venus fly trap for four quid, but I'd worry that I'd wake up one night to find it dragging itself toward me, it's little mouth snapping malevolently while I backed into a corner screaming. Eventually, I did find something else.

Yes, I bought a tiny cactus in a colourful pot. I've always liked little cacti (ooo, 'ark at me using the plural rather than just writing cactuseseseseseses); in fact, Sparky Ma bought me one when I was about 10 because she dragged me to a garden centre and I kept going on about how awesome they were. Unfortunately that one died, but I'm living in confidence that this one might survive. Hell, maybe even thrive, mainly because it has a little colourful pot with other cacti painted on it. It makes me think I'm in the Arizona desert or something. Maybe Mexico?

Either way, the little bugger's already pricked me twice, so while it might thrive, it might also go flying through an open window if it gets any ideas beyond sitting on my desk looking pretty.