Sparky Malarkey

Hate o'clock

2012-01-23T14:30:00.000Z

"Oh no," you say. "It's one of those posts about yoga."

Yes it is, but I promise if you bear with me I'll reward you with a kitten video or something at the end.

So I've been doing Bikram yoga now for just over two and a half years which in itself is pretty remarkable seeing as I only really planned on doing it for a month or so to sort out my neck after that ditzy girl went all smashy-smashy with her car into the back of my car. In that time I've had yoga highs and yoga lows; no two classes are ever the same, and my practice is constantly evolving.

By far my greatest yoga achievement was when I did a 30 day challenge back in 2010; it was epic, and in preparation for writing this post I've just read back through what I wrote back then (I blogged the whole thing like a complete loon). If you want to relive it, start here, although I apologise in advance for the horrific spelling in places as the 30 days progress. Clearly 30 days of yoga took their toll in ways that were not readily apparent to me at the time.

Anyway, since then I've continued to toil away with my regular practice, popping into the hot box around four times a week. I've thought about doing another 30 day challenge, but last year was just a weird old time with the incredibly busy first half of the year followed by the whole job imploding thing so I never got around to it. And to be honest, I was kind of thinking of new challenges. Some people at the studio have done 101 day challenges but, y'know, you say that to me and I'm like all kinds of WTF?!

So that left two options:

• A double class (i.e. doing one class immediately after another)
• A stupidly early class

Now, the idea of a double is interesting because, y'know, three hours of yoga would practically make you superhuman. On a purely practical level, though, it's quite difficult to work out exactly when you're up for the challenge as you can walk into a class thinking you're going to have an awesome time and then 10 minutes later just die on your mat. Tragically, the few times where I've actually thought I could quite happily do a double have conveniently coincided with occasions where I've got other plans such as meeting someone for coffee straight after class. Shame that.

So that left me with the early morning thing.

Anyone who has seen me early in the morning knows that I barely function at the best of times, let alone having to do a strenuous yoga class; I'm basically like a heavily-tranquillised sloth until around 10am or until I eat something that's packed full of sugar. I still find it quite remarkable that I manage to haul myself out of bed for a nine o'clock class on a Saturday morning. That being the case, a stupidly early class obviously presented me with a what I would call A WORTHY CHALLENGE.

The stupidly early classes at the Chiswick studio are 6:30 in the morning. You might be forgiven for thinking that's not really too bad until you realise that I've got a half hour drive to get there, so basically I have to get up at five to eat and drink something, manage to get dressed without putting my shorts on my head backwards in an adorably dazed fashion, and get over to West London's finest yoga studio for some stretchy stretchy. All in all a terrifying prospect. And yet one I let myself get talked into because I am a SHEEP.

And so last Monday I did my first stupidly early class and it was … well, just brilliant thankyouverymuch. Maybe my expectations were set ridiculously low, but I ended up having a brilliant class (although I'll admit I was a little tighter in the old hammies than I usually am, which is saying something). By the time we finished at eight I felt properly energised, and even by the time I picked up a coffee, narrowly avoided an encounter with a former colleague and got stuck in some traffic I was still home and at my desk ready for the day by just after 10.

Eager to see if last week's amazing experience was just some sort of incredibly cruel trick the universe had decided to play on me I resolved to give another stupidly early Monday morning class a whirl today. Perhaps out of sheer excitement I actually woke up a little before three and didn't really get back to sleep properly, yet I had another awesome class. As a result I'm coming to the slightly terrifying conclusion that 6:30am might just be a good time for me.

And I won't lie to you: I do feel incredibly smug afterwards.

Now, well done for making it through. Here's the kittens I promised you.

Making a dead tree book is fun!

2012-01-12T15:22:00.001Z

Longterm ~~stalkers~~ readers will remember last August how I shared the exciting story of how I made an ebook. It was a thrilling tale of swearing and adorable tiger faces before I ultimately emerged victorious. And while the ebook remains available on Amazon for the princely sum of just 77p (a great value reduction from the previous 86p that I did not authorise but which I'm too lazy to do anything about), the story doesn't quite end there.

One Friday last November, you see, I woke up one morning and made the spontaneous decision that I desperately, desperately wanted a real physical version of my book. A dead tree edition, if you will. Because however great the ebook version is, and however much the great unwashed masses are embracing digital editions, I'm old school. I love real books that I can love and hold and call George.

So that day I rushed down to my computer and furiously started googling various ways of actually printing some books. I quickly came to the conclusion that the two best options were CreateSpace and Lulu. Years ago when I first started looking at print on demand publishing I came to the very same conclusion, and although I never actually did anything about it, I decided that if I were to publish something I'd go with CreateSpace because it was an Amazon company and I trusted them. And I'll be honest, I took against Lulu based purely on the fact that I have an irrational hatred of the singer Lulu.

Back to November. So I'm sitting there once again comparing CreateSpace and Lulu (the publishing website, not the singer) and it boils down to two things: book size and ease of service. Now, I won't lie to you: my book is pretty short, and CreateSpace's smallest book size is quite big, which basically meant that if I went with them my short book would've ended up being more of a pamphlet. Plus, I like small, stocky books; what ever happened to paperbacks you could shove in a pocket? Turns out that Lulu offer a nice small, pocketable book size, and they seemed to be getting a lot of love for ease of use so I decided to give it a go with them.

Now, I'm obviously writing this two months down the line and as we all know my brain is full of images of cats doing anarchic things and Erica Durance in a star-spangled bikini so complete recollection is nigh-on impossible, but I do recall that Lulu (the publishing website, not the singer) made self-publishing a lovely simple process: I downloaded a template for the book size I wanted, pasted my text into it, then uploaded it to them. Even the cover was pretty straightforward, which was remarkable because I was being all needy and wanted a cover design that wrapped around the front, spine, and back. All in all good times. It was done in just a couple of hours, and all that was left to do was order a proof copy so I could give it the once over before unleashing it upon the world. I hit BUY and I waited.

And I waited…

And I waited…

And I waited…

And basically Christmas came and went and even when you take the annual festive postal snafu into account I came to the conclusion that yeah, it'd gotten lost somewhere along the line.

So I emailed Lulu (the website, not the singer).

I got a response back pretty quickly. Usually around now I announce how I'm using a fake name for the person I ended up dealing with because that gives me the opportunity to be brutally honest about how appalling they were without them ever finding out. But I'm not going to do that here. The person I ended up dealing with was called Tracey, and I'm using her real name because she was utterly brilliant. Tracey agreed with my assumption that the book had gone AWOL and immediately put another copy on order for me. Not only that, but she also put it on express delivery at no additional cost to me. We exchanged a handful of emails over the course of a couple of days and Tracey provided what was without doubt the best customer service experience I've had in a good long while.

What I'm basically saying here is that if anyone from Lulu (the website, not the singer) is reading this, Tracey is a genuine star and you should give her a massive bonus. Or a car.

Anyway, just a few days later this turned up.

And that, my friends, is a real, honest-to-God book.

Nothing quite prepares you for actually holding your own book. I think we shared a special moment. What's particularly impressive is that it actually feels like a real book - I always had this little bit of doubt with print on demand services, like there would be something not quite right about it, but that's not the case; it honestly feels like it could've come from a real publisher.

Still, having had the opportunity to look it over, I decided there were some things I wanted to change - nothing major, mind, and certainly nothing to do with the story itself. I just wanted to add in a copyright page, add in a bit of blank space at the beginning of each chapter, fiddle around with the alignment of the words on the spine to appease my OCD tendencies and perhaps most importantly of all, give my cover designer the credit he so richly deserves, because I left his name off the ebook by mistake and have never been arsed to go back in and add it (shame face).

So there we have it. Making a dead tree book WAS fun. And now - shameless plug - you can grab yourself a copy RIGHT HERE. Admittedly it's a tad more expensive than the ebook version, but hey! You can lick this one.

Toys!

2012-01-04T20:39:00.002Z

It's now been six years since I moved out of Sparky Ma and Pa's house and into my own tiny abode and much to everyone's surprise - myself included - I'm actually still alive to report this fact. Good times, I think you'll agree (unless you hate me). Anyway, when I moved out I obviously took with me everything I thought I needed to survive, and by that I mean books, DVDs, and clothes (although truth be told the latter is probably somewhat less vital; I'm pretty sure I could thrive here naked, though I guess the short hop, skip and jump across the road to the car park would take on a slightly more terrifying aspect for any neighbours unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of me).

Where was I? Ah, yes: so as far as I'm concerned Sparky Towers is fully outfitted with everything I need, and six years ago as I jauntily sauntered out the door I told Sparky Pa that anything he might find of mine that remained could be junked and I wouldn't give a damn. And yet, every six months or so this happens:

• Phone call from Sparky Ma:

Sparky Ma: "Dad's found some of your old [insert name of random stuff] and wants to know if you want it?"
Me: "No, you can throw it away."
Sparky Ma: "Just have a look at it next time you're over. You know what he's like."
Me: *sigh, emo-esque eye roll* "OK."

• Text from Sparky Pa:
I'VE FOUND YOUR OLD [insert name of random stuff] YOU CAN TAKE IT WITH YOU NEXT TIME YOU'RE OVER

To which I reply:
No, it's OK you can junk it.

To which he replies:
JUST LOOK AT IT YOU MIGHT WANT IT

Invariably I don't, and often I'm forced to take it away anyway. Which leads me to this point: does anyone want one of THESE?

Anyway, just after Christmas I was hanging out with Big Bro, who moved out a couple of years back and is also on the receiving end of the occasional uppercase text message offering lost wonders from his misspent youth. As we're sitting there chatting he mentions that Sparky Pa is having the loft insulated and had been up there to empty it of ~~junk~~ treasured items, apparently finding several boxes of my stuff in the process. I found this news somewhat terrifying (the boxes, I mean, not the fact they're having the loft insulated - that's quite a prudent move).

"It's stashed in the contemplation room," he added.

The contemplation room, as if you couldn't have guessed, is Big Bro's former bedroom. When I moved out Sparky Pa swooped in from the cold (and I mean that literally) and transformed my bedroom into his new office (he'd previously been exiled to a small shed in the back garden; see, I wasn't joking about coming in from the cold), complete with desk, filing cabinets, and a nice shag carpet. When Big Bro departed, the parents were left somewhat uncertain of what to do with his room. For a brief time I think they entertained the idea of making it into a walk-in wardrobe, but dismissed that as being a bit grandiose for a West London suburb. One thing they never considered, which I think you'll agree would be the obvious answer, was the notion of leaving it as a spare room with a bed for visitors; I assume this never even came up for discussion as a result of their mutual fear that one of us might surreptitiously try to move back in. Instead, they popped some new carpet down and whacked in an armchair, and thus was born the contemplation room.

So on New Year's Eve Big Bro and I go over to Ma and Pa's house and within about an hour or so Sparky Pa says "do you want to go up and have a look at what's in the contemplation room?" as if I actually have any say in the matter.

"You can chuck it," I say.

"Just go and have a look," he replies in a tone that is the verbal equivalent of an uppercase text message.

And so I trudge upstairs like a chastised child who's been sent to their room without dinner.

What I find in the contemplation room is a treasure trove of days gone by - all of it utterly useless to a manchild in his thirties, but delightful all the same. Basically, it was boxes and boxes of toys.

I was joined in the contemplation room by Big Bro, who was there primarily to gloat about the fact that none of it was his, and together we delighted in rummaging through everything for far longer than we should have; I mean, seriously, we should've just walked in there, seen the toys and done a complete 180 because we're grown-ups now. Instead we went "ooo - toys!"

The first things to catch our attention were about four or five nice Bburago cars. As kids we were nutty for these, and apparently I'd left a handful - a couple of Bugattis and Ferraris - behind, all of which were still in their boxes. As lovely as they are, however, I just don't want a load of model cars gathering dust around Sparky Towers. And to be honest the sheer amount of Star Trek stuff bunging up the place is probably off-putting enough for any potential date I might happen to invite back to mine without adding toy cars into the mix.

Next up was a box of real gems. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but I loved buses when I was younger. And when I say 'loved' I mean 'LOVED' - I genuinely had hundreds of toy buses and was eyeing-up a career as a bus driver from an early age; I used to ride around the park on my bike as a kid pulling over every 30 metres or so to let theoretical passengers off. It's all a bit sad when I think about it now.

Anyway, what we found was the mere tip of the proverbial bus-based iceberg, but I think you'll agree it was impressive enough. Well, impressive enough that Big Bro ripped the shit out of me about it.

Buses. A lot of buses. My favourite is the green one. Just to clear up any potential confusion, please note that the Batmobile and KITT from Knight Rider seen here are not buses.

Amongst that sea of primary-coloured buses you might notice a more monochromatic addition. This is, of course, the 1981 Limited Edition Prince Charles and Princess Diana Wedding Bus.

The 1981 Limited Edition Prince Charles and Princess Diana Wedding Bus, as if you hadn't guessed.

I'll be honest, I also had a limited edition bus to mark the Queen's Silver Jubilee. Corgi clearly had a nifty sideline in sparkly Royal buses designed to separate gullible young public transport aficionados from their hard-earned pocket money.

In addition to the buses, and making a cameo appearance in the first picture above, I also found a Batmobile circa 1989. As I turned 12 that year this is probably one of the last toys I ever bought. I actually seem to recall being a little bit self-conscious when I took it to the till as I feared the assistant might say something like "aren't you a bit old for this?"to which I'd shriek "NO - I HATE YOU!" in response, then start crying, vacillating between being upset about not getting a Batmobile and concerned that some girls might see me crying as a result of not getting said Batmobile and start pointing and laughing at me.

Unlike the version seen in the movie, the toy Batmobile has a massive batsign emblazoned across the roof just incase you somehow managed to mistake it for anything else lurking in the depths of your toy box.

And finally we come to perhaps the most remarkable find of the evening: Superman's … well, er… Now look: Superman is supposed to be the strongest man on Earth, right? Faster than a speeding bullet? More powerful than a locomotive? Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound? Yes, exactly! Than why did he need this?

If you squeeze a knob at the back the fists pop out a bit.

"Oh look," I said to Big Bro. "It's Superman's fist-car."

We both looked at it a bit awkwardly. Then I squeezed the knob at the back causing the fists to violently pop out a couple of centimetres.

"I don't think they'd be able to get away with something like that in this day and age," said Big Bro.

I nodded in silent agreement, put the fist-car back in the box, and went back downstairs.

Jonge

2012-01-03T19:03:00.001Z

I don't know about you, but in recent years the festive season can be condensed down to just two things for me:

1. Presents
2. Gingerbread lattes

2011 was a particularly successful festive and jonge-fuelled season (as I shall refer to ginger from here on in) because I got lots of lovely Christmas presents, and in addition to the numerous jonge lattes I awarded myself, I managed to secure one of these:

Yes, that's one entire litre of Starbucks gingerbread - I mean jonger-bread - syrup to add to my coffee or rub on my face, or basically to do whatever the hell I feel like doing with it. I genuinely thought this bottle would see me through to around April, but as I type it's down to about the halfway level, suggesting I'm going to be terrifyingly jonge-starved come the end of January.

But it's not just the jonge lattes that have made the last month so wonderfully jongey: there was also some limited edition jonger-bread porridge that I trawled around several different Waitroses in the hopes of finding. Sadly, when I did manage to get some I discovered that it tasted less jongey and more 'a-bit-like-someone-stirred-some-mercury-in-it.' Maybe I should add some jonge syrup to spice it up? If not I'm saddled with about 10 packets of the odious stuff.

Finally, there's jonge people. I'll probably get a slap for saying this, but my bro has jonge hair. He's tried fobbing it off as 'auburn' and 'strawberry blonde' over the years, but it's jonge. And after 30-odd years on the planet he finally seems reconciled to that fact.

So there we were over Christmas watching Captain America: The First Avenger on DVD, and I don't know if you've seen the film or not but there's a bit in it where some horrible Hydra agent grabs a jonge kid and uses him as a human shield before mercilessly chucking him off the side of a dock to what you assume to be a watery grave. Fortunately the kid can swim and urges Cap to go get the bad guy, but that's by the by: y'see Big Bro wasn't paying much attention at this point, so I said words to the effect of "look - he just tossed the jonge kid in the water! Don't you care about your brethren?"

"Not really," replied Big Bro absentmindedly. "We jonges are a naturally buoyant people."

Reading list 2011

2011-12-31T13:15:00.000Z

I'm not ashamed to admit that I have failed to match last year's number of books read over the course of the year; 2010 was an epic, of course, with a grand total of 44 read, but while 2011 hasn't quite reached the same giddy heights, I did manage a not to be sniffed at 38 - considerably more than 2009's 27, 2008's 33, and 2007's 34, so I think I'm still somewhat justified in calling myself a bookwhore.

Anyway, as is traditional, I'm donning my college lecturer-style tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, and accessorising this year with my fancy bow tie and braces for that authentic authoritative yet slightly geeky look; at this rate, all I need is some NHS-style glasses and my transformation into a hipster will be complete.

*ahem*

By now you know the drill: I'll be grading each book (A+ EXCELLENT, C or below, AVOID), and providing links to each title which will take you through to an appropriate online store where you can purchase your own copy to love and hug and call George; this year I'm going with Foyles where possible because they're an independent, their shops are lovely, and I was impressed by their website when I used it earlier in the year. Oh, and good times - I actually bought a decent amount of my books in actual shops this year rather than scurrying off to a certain large online retailer named after a rainforest. Yay for me!

Let's push on.

01. The Walls of the Universe by Paul Melko - Cracking novel about a teenager who encounters a version of himself from an alternate universe, but then becomes stranded across the multiverse when his duplicate convinces him to try his transfer device in order to steal his identity. Minor quibbles aside - some sentences just read a bit clunkily and the proof-reader in me recoiled at some typos - this was a thoroughly enjoyable read: A
02. Palo Alto by James Franco - This collection of inter-connected short stories (one of my favourite forms of storytelling - see Knockemstiff in 2008 and The Madonnas of Echo Park in 2010) by the famous Hollywood actor is a cracking read that brilliantly portrays what it's like to be young and disaffected. Funny, insightful, and realistic, I thoroughly enjoyed this book: A
03. Shootin' the Sh*t with Kevin Smith by Kevin Smith - The thing I find with Kevin Smith books is they're funny for the first 50 pages or so, then you realise everything that comes after is basically variations on the same theme. This collection of transcribed podcasts (yes, TRANSCRIBED podcasts!) is no different - and somewhat more redundant when you think that you can just download the podcasts themselves for free from iTunes. Fun in places, but ultimately overlong and, quite frankly, a bit of a rip-off: C
04. Life by Keith Richards - The autobiography by the legendary Rolling Stones guitarist is a remarkable look back at the life of one of rock 'n roll's most defining characters. Keith's voice shines through on every page, and his philosophy on life is fascinating, but it struck me (however truthful it might be) that there was a smidgeon too much sensationalist Mick Jagger-bashing. A worthwhile read, though: B+
05. Invincible: The Ultimate Collection Vol. 6 by Robert Kirkman; art by Ryan Ottley - The latest collection of the finest superhero comic book on the planet. This volume seems to major a little more on Invincible's epic smack-downs with supervillains than usual, at the expense of the more character-based storylines it does so well, but still: B+
06. The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud by Ben Sherwood - The story of how a young man learns to let go of the spirit of his dead brother when he falls in love with a beautiful yachtswoman. A quick and breezy read, and notably different to the film of the same name. I liked this a lot: A-
07. Chocky by John Wyndham - Classic tale of an 11 year-old boy who begins to hear the voice of an alien named Chocky in his head. I enjoyed this, but felt that it didn't quite live up to expectations or the promise of its premise: B-
08. The Universe in Miniature in Miniature by Patrick Sommerville - Cracking collection of loosely connected short stories, the last of which in particular - The Machine of Understanding Other People - I thought was just brilliant: A
09. Things I Like About America by Poe Ballantine - Wonderfully honest, beautifully written memoir about the author's travels across America that reads more like a collection of short stories than a biography or travelogue. Love this book: A
10. Mister Wonderful by Daniel Clowes - A touching and honest tale recounting the events of an evening in the lives of two people who have been set up on a date by their friends. A quick read, but like all of Clowes' work it's beautifully illustrated and wonderfully told: A-
11. The Decline of the Lawrence Welk Empire by Poe Ballantine - Brilliant novel about a college dropout trying to find the perfect life on a remote Caribbean island, but instead finds life getting somewhat more complex than he'd hoped: A
12. Tron: Betrayal by Andie Tong - A graphic novel that fills in some of the gaps between the original Tron movie and 2010's Tron: Legacy. It's a solid story, but I found some of the art was too dark and confusing to follow; worth a go if you like the films though: B-
13. So Long, See You Tomorrow by William Maxwell - Classic novel in which an elderly narrator recalls the effect a murder had on the life of, and his friendship with, another boy in the 1920s. A good story, but it didn't quite absorb me as I thought it might: B
14. Rasl Pocket Book 1 by Jeff Smith - Collecting the first seven issues of the latest title by the creator of Bone, Rasl follows the life of an art thief who travels between parallel universes. Brilliant stuff, with gorgeous art and a story that weaves together elements of real history such as the work of Nikolai Tesla and conspiracy theories including the Philadelphi experiment and the Tunguska event. Can't wait for the next book in the series: A+
15. Invisibly Yours by C.D. Payne - The latest novel from the author of Youth in Revolt tells the story of Axel Weston and the drama that unfolds when he discovers how to make himself invisible. While it never quite reaches the dizzy heights of brilliance that mark out the Nick Twisp series, Invisibly Yours is a very enjoyable tale, and Payne once again displays his mastery of taking a simple concept and spinning it out into a series of ever-escalating, increasingly ridiculous plot-lines: A-
16. Love From the Shadows by Gilbert Hernandez - The third graphic novel in the 'Fritz B-movies' series finds two siblings visiting their estranged father, intending to kill him to get their inheritance before the story spirals off on all manner of unusual, typically Beto tangents: A
17. Yeah! by Peter Bagge, illustrated by Gilbert Hernandez - Collecting the short-lived mainstream comic book from two of the underground comics scene's most popular figures, Yeah! follows the exploits of three teenage girls who make up the most popular band in the universe, except for on their home planet of Earth, that is. There's no hidden subtext here, it's just a good fun read: A
18. 501 Minutes to Christ by Poe Ballantine - Second volume detailing the author's travels across the U.S. and every bit as heart-wrenching, life-affirming, and brilliantly written as the first: A
19. Life With Mr. Dangerous by Paul Hornschemeier - Wonderful graphic novel following the mundane life of a young woman as she contemplates a string of failed romances as she turns 26. Brilliantly written and beautifully illustrated: A
20. Star Trek: The Children of Kings by David Stern - The first Star Trek novel I've read in years follows the crew of the Starship Enterprise as they attempt to discover who was responsible for the destruction of a Federation starbase - the Klingons or the Orions? This was a big disappointment: the author writes that it is supposed to be a prequel to the 2009 movie, yet it can't be as the film chronicled Christopher Pike's entire tenure as captain of the Enterprise; there are pointless cameos from established characters that serve no purpose (and in one instance ensure that this book couldn't be set in the Prime universe either); the characters are bland and one-dimensional; and the story featured scenes and concepts that I felt had been better covered by the franchise elsewhere, before ultimately coming to an unsatisfying conclusion. Not only that, but the cover, while attractive on first glance, is a poorly photoshopped mess on closer inspection: C
21. Third Class Superhero by Charles Yu - Collection of short stories focusing on issues of identity and insecurity, often with a slight sci-fi bent. I found the author's style a bit cold and distant as a reader, and nowhere near as enjoyable a collection as, say, The Universe in Miniature in Miniature. A bit disappointing: C+
22. Men, Women & Children by Chad Kultgen - The latest novel from one of my favourite authors explores the relationships between a group of a high school kids, their parents, and each other. I was a little bit disappointed with this novel; it lacks the humour of Kultgen's previous books, and it felt like some of the story lines were left unresolved by the end: B-
23. Black Jesus by Simone Felice - Wonderfully poetic tale of a blind soldier who returns home to a group of eclectic characters in Gay Paris, NY and a dancer named Gloria who has problems of her own. It's a breezy read and beautifully written: A
24. The Ne'er-Do-Well (issue 1) - A fantastic collection of short stories by previously unpublished writers. A brilliant annual literary magazine: A
25. The Ne'er-Do-Well (issue 2) - Building on the promise of the first issue, the second volume of stories from the Ne'er-Do-Well contains some wonderful tales such as The Marlboro Man and one about an unquenchable fire that brings a group of people together: A+
26. The Ne'er-Do-Well (issue 3) - Focusing on stories about workers (including one by Willy Vlautin), the third issue of the Ne'er-Do-Well is an utter joy to behold: A+
27. God Clobbers Us All by Poe Ballantine - Brilliant novel by one of my favourite authors in which Ballantine's Edgar Donahue character finds his life getting ever more complicated after he gives a middle-aged colleague LSD. I love Ballantine's writing: A
28. Everything We Miss by Luke Pearson - Short but beautifully written and illustrated graphic novel about the break-up of a couple and the unseen things that go on around them: A
29. Citizen Rex by Mario and Gilbert Hernandez - Collected edition of the comic book series focusing on robot rights and the reemergence of the titular character years after his disappearance. I enjoyed this story far more as a book than I did when it was originally published as monthly issues: A
30. Essex County by Jeff Lemire - Wonderful 500-page collected edition of Lemire's Essex County trilogy, which effortlessly weaves together the stories of a young boy, an old man, and a county nurse. Sad, uplifting, and brilliant: A+
31. Drive by James Sallis - Fantastic short novel telling the story of a Hollywood stunt driver who finds himself up against an LA crime family. Beautifully written and more intricate than the movie: A
32. Ico: Castle in the Mist by Miyuki Miyabe - Brilliant adaptation of the Ico Playstation title that went way beyond what I expected of a novel inspired by video game. Miyabe brings so much depth and additional backstory to the tale of the horned boy and young princess trapped in a mysterious castle, and in the process crafts an utterly compelling fantasy story: A
33. Love and Rockets: New Stories #4 by Los Bros Hernandez - Fourth fantastic edition of the new LnR annual series features two brilliant new Beto stories and a continuation of plotlines from Jaime's stunning Browntown and The Love Bunglers in the previous issue that left me utterly speechless at one point. Awesome: A+
34. The Death-Ray by Daniel Clowes - brilliant graphic novel by the author of Ghostworld about a teenager who discovers that cigarettes give him super-powers, and a death-ray gun gives him the opportunity to quickly and efficiently despatch anyone who stands in his way. It's a quick read, but beautifully illustrated and masterfully told: A
35. Power Pack Classic Volume 1 by Louise Simonson - Collecting the first 10 issues of the 1980s Power Pack comic books. I have fond memories of this series, but had never read the origin of the characters before. Not quite as good as the stories I loved as a kid (they're in volume 2), but entertaining nonetheless: B+
36. The Cabbie by Marti - Brilliant crime comic strip that evokes memories of Chester Gould's classic Dick Tracy strips. The story follows the driver of a taxi as he attempts to retrieve his inheritance from a family of slum-dwellers; it's a quick read, but one I thoroughly enjoyed: A-
37. Frisco Pigeon Mambo by C.D. Payne - Brilliant comic novel by the author of Youth in Revolt following the mishaps and adventures of a group of chain-smoking, sherry drinking lab pigeons released into the wilds of L.A. Another brilliant book by one of my favourite writers: A-
38. Esperanza by Jaime Hernandez - The latest collection of Locas stories in Fantagraphics' series of compact Love and Rockets editions focuses on favourite characters Maggie and Hopey as well as introducing new members of the cast including Viv 'The Frogmouth' and Angel. Wonderfully told and beautifully illustrated: A

And there you go then. Thirty eight (for the most part) incredible books. I suppose it could've been 39 because I did read my own book a couple more times this year, but there's something slightly egotistical about putting myself on the list so I won't. Although I'd just love it if you bought it and put it on your reading list. Go on - it's available here and a complete bargain. Yes, I'm utterly shameless.

Anyway, I've already got at least six new books sitting on the side waiting to hop on to 2012's list. So while I crack on with reading them, and as 2011 draws to a close, I'd just like to wish you a happy, healthy and altogether brilliant New Year! *sweeps theatrically offstage*

2011: The year in reviews

2011-12-30T14:30:00.000Z

Would you believe it? It's that time of year where I reveal what I've enjoyed most over the last 12 months (and a little bit about what I haven't, because it's always fun being a bit of a hate-bomb). To be honest it doesn't seem like a year since I wrote the last one of these, so I can only assume either someone's playing an elaborate joke on me or time is accelerating. Either way, let's press on!

Books!
I think we all know that I love a good book, and once again I've read a fair few of them this year which once again made my task here a smidgeon more complicated than it would otherwise be. My full reading list for the year will be up tomorrow as is traditional, but in the meantime, this is my top three:

03 Black Jesus by Simone Felice

I actually won this book, but that in no way influenced its position in my top three. This short novel was written by a singer/songwriter, which from my past experience with Willy Vlautin's novels can only be a good thing, and helps explain the almost poetic flow of words that craft this lovely little tale. Black Jesus follows the life of an injured soldier returning from war to his small hometown full of a unique cast of characters and a troubled young woman named Gloria who is escaping from her past. It's a quick read - I got through it in just over a day - but to be fair it's not so much the book's length that contributed to this, but the fact that I was utterly absorbed by the story and couldn't put it down. I thoroughly enjoyed Black Jesus, and can't wait to see what Felice delivers next.

02 The Universe in Miniature in Miniature by Patrick Sommerville

I've made it clear in the past that I love short story collections, and this was one of the finest I've read in recent years. The Universe in Miniature in Miniature is a collection of tales that seem to share some sort of link, but one that only really becomes apparent in the final story, the almost novella-length The Machine of Understanding Other People, which ties everything together brilliantly and is itself a fantastic tale of epic scope. In fact, it was the way The Machine of Understanding Other People connected everything together so well - so much so that it actually had me zipping back to earlier stories to confirm the link - that helps elevate Sommerville's collection from merely very good to gobsmackingly brilliant. Highly recommended.

01 Things I Like About America by Poe Ballantine

Poe Ballantine is by far my greatest literary find of the year, so thanks to Foyles in Westfield for putting this collection of essays and biographical tales on display so prominently earlier in the year. Things I Like About America collects together some of Ballantine's real life stories from the years he spent wandering around the United States, moving from town to town and job to job. Some are downbeat, others inspiring and uplifting, yet all are utterly absorbing and heartfelt. Ballantine paints a wonderful picture of the people and places he encountered on his travels, and the result is a book I enjoyed from the first page to the very last. Not only that, but I was so engaged by Ballantine's work that I immediately picked up his other books - a second collection of true-life stories entitled 501 Minutes to Christ, and two novels, The Decline of the Lawrence Welk Empire and God Clobbers Us All - all of which I cannot recommend highly enough.

(Honourable mentions go to Invisibly Yours and Frisco Pigeon Mambo by C.D. Payne which both employed a similar sense of anarchic humour as the author's earlier Youth in Revolt series; Love and Rockets: New Stories Vol. 4 in which Jaime Hernandez wrapped up one ongoing storyline with perhaps the most shocking conclusion I've ever read in 30 years worth of LnR; The Essex County Trilogy, an epic 500 page graphic novel by Jeff Lemire that told a wonderful story involving multiple characters across multiple decades; Ico: Castle in the Mist, a frankly astonishing work of fantasy based on the old PlayStation game; and RASL, the new work from Bone author Jeff Smith that is without doubt the most enthralling science fiction tale I've read in years and didn't make the top three purely because the story is left incomplete at the end of this volume)

Movies!
Y'know what? I thought this was an awful year for movies. With each passing year I'm growing more and more tired of big budget blockbusters and the belief that CGI spectacle is a worthy substitute for a decent story and interesting characters. That said, there were some movies I enjoyed the hell out of in 2011:

03 Thor
Having just moaned about blockbuster movies, I begin my top three with … a blockbuster movie. I'll be honest: I went into Thor with a sneer of derision safe in the knowledge that I'd leave the cinema with plenty to complain about - after all, I've always *hated* the character in comics. But y'know what? I enjoyed the shit out of this movie. I'd probably go so far as to say it's my favourite Marvel comics film so far. So what did I like? Well, first of all, I loved how the Norse mythology was weaved together with a storyline on Earth that made sense, and also tied in with the greater Marvel Universe plot that's been unfolding across the studio's previous films and culminating in next year's The Avengers. I thought it was cast brilliantly - Chris Hemsworth in particular - and I appreciated the nice line in humour that played out over the course of the film. Most of all, though, I liked how the filmmakers took a character I'd always considered a bit dorky and pointless and made me care about him. Basically: GOOD JOB MARVEL.

02 Super 8
I was intrigued by the Super 8 teaser trailer that was released in 2010, and wandered into a cinema in August 2011 not really knowing what I was going to be watching aside from the fact it was supposedly reminiscent of the old Amblin movies of the 1980s. And by God, it was. Super 8 is undoubtedly cut from the same cloth as movies such as ET and The Goonies, which made it by far my favourite film of the summer. I loved the 1970s small-town setting, the unfolding sense of dread as we and the main characters realise something untoward is happening, and I REALLY loved the fact that their was actual dialogue between the characters and emotion and depth - all things that are lacking from a lot of contemporary movies. This was a joyous, heartfelt, engrossing film told the old-school way with some new-school tricks, and I loved it.

01 50/50
Films about cancer aren't generally a barrel of laughs, but 50/50 managed to be just that: a comedy about someone who is diagnosed with cancer - and the result is my favourite film of the year. Let's not exaggerate the word comedy, though; 50/50 isn't a slapstick movie, but there are moments of genuine hilarity in this film - and moments of genuine emotion. I remember one scene in particular being so sad that I almost began crying when I saw it; seconds later, however, the funniest thing happened and my attempts to choke back tears were replaced by a desire to laugh very loudly. Unfortunately, the confusion of my emotions meant that I just ended up honking like a seal. There's not many films that can make me do that, but 50/50 is one of them. So it's a great film with a brilliant story, and perhaps most of all, a sterling performance from Joseph Gordon-Levitt. 50/50 is also worthy of praise for actually making me like Seth Rogen, who for a change is not his usual annoying Seth Rogen-y self. A wonderful movie.

(Honourable mentions go to Captain America: The First Avenger - another brilliant Marvel Studios film, and one that took the brave move of telling a story set entirely in World War II; Rise of the Planet of the Apes, which was a brilliant sequel/prequel/reimagining of the long-running Apes franchise; The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn which brought Herge's famous character to life in a brilliantly authentic way for the big screen that was just pure fun; Another Earth, which was a lovely little character drama based around the idea of a parallel Earth appearing in the sky, and which I had the pleasure of interviewing its director about; Final Destination 5, which I just thoroughly enjoyed; and Drive, which was by far the coolest and most stylish movie of the year)

TV Shows!

While I thought there were a lot of sucky movies around this year, I'm spoilt for choice with TV shows - so much so that as I'm writing this I'm still dithering as to what exactly I'm going to put where, so…

03 Smallville
A long-time favourite of mine and a regular sight on these Year in Reviews posts over the years (it claimed the number 1 spot in both 2009 and 2010), Smallville takes third place here for its tenth and final season. Unlike many long-running shows, Smallville's done a tremendous job of evolving over the years, changing from the small-town villain of the week series it once was to a show with a grand scope and season-long story arcs. For me, Season 10 didn't quite reach the giddy heights of the last few years - the eighth season in particular remains a significant highpoint for me, one which I cite as a prime example of how a television show can and should use a season-long story to great effect - but it nevertheless remained a compelling show. The main story arc for this final year was Clark Kent coming to terms with his destiny and becoming the main the world needs him to be: Superman. This - together with the writers' knowledge that they were wrapping up the show's storyline - led to some lovely moments of nostalgia: a homecoming episode that saw Lois and Clark return to Smallville High, the return of some old characters (Jonathan Kent, Lionel Luthor, and even Lex in the season finale), and some gentle flashbacks to earlier moments in the series' run. The big news, of course, was the finale, and for the most part I thought it lived up to expectations. OK, some characters didn't really get an appropriate send-off (Green Arrow, for example, is last seen looking up into the sky), but this was a show about Clark Kent and I thought it wrapped up his storyline perfectly. You could complain that we didn't really get to see Tom Welling as Superman that much, but all things considered I thought an appropriate balance was achieved in how much we saw of the Man of Steel, and that on the whole one of my favourite television shows ever was brought to a satisfying conclusion.

Now, where's that Green Arrow spinoff I've been demanding these past few years?

02 Franklin and Bash
Another long-standing favourite in my Year in Review posts was Boston Legal, but when that show finished back in 2008 I was left with nothing to fill the anarchic legal drama void - until now. Franklin and Bash is essentially a younger, sexier version of Boston Legal focusing on the characters of Jared Franklin and Peter Bash, two rebellious yet charming young lawyers who come to the attention of a legendary attorney called Stanton Infeld (Malcolm McDowell basically playing William Shatner's Denny Crane from Boston Legal) and are subsequently hired to work at his firm. It's a short season - only 10 episodes in the first year - but there's plenty of stuff crammed in here, made all the more fun by Franklin and Bash's penchant for taking on unusual cases and a cast of eccentric characters. Definitely one to checkout ahead of 2012's second season.

(For a longer insight into what I like about Franklin and Bash, checkout my review over on HeyUGuys)

01 Justified
If there's one show I've just gone on and on about this year, it's Justified. My God, this is a brilliant show made even more wonderful by some utterly fantastic performances. Justified is based around U.S. marshall Raylan Givens (a character created by author Elmore Leonard), who is sent back to his home state of Kentucky after shooting a Miami crime lord without provocation. Once there he's faced not only with a variety of redneck crime families, but also the continued fallout of his relationships with his own family and ex-wife. While I thought the first series of Justified was brilliant, it was the second year, in which Givens goes up against the Bennett clan and its matriarch Mags in a season-long story arc, that really made me realise just how great this show is. Add to that a stellar performance from leading actor Timothy Olyphant who is just the epitome of cool as Raylan, and you have a show that I'm more than happy to proclaim as the best thing on TV at the moment.

(Honourable mentions go to Archer, the hilarious animated spy comedy that I just can't get enough of; Southland, the gritty police drama that is really coming into its own and telling some wonderful stories (and was just pipped to third place by Smallville); Supernatural, the sixth season of which I thought wasn't quite as focused as previous years, but still highly entertaining; John from Cincinnati which utterly confused me while I was watching it, but remained with me long after I'd finished the DVDs; and the reimagined version of Thundercats which against all expectations does for the classic 80s cartoon what the new version of Battlestar Galactica did for its 70s predecessor)

Music!
For the last few years this category has been named Albums! but for 2011 I'm giving it the more nebulous title of Music! Why? because two of the three top spots are taken by live performances.

03 The Californian debut album
If you've read my mix CD post (and those of previous years) you'll know I'm a big fan of the surf rock inspired sound of The Californian, and this year saw the band release their self-titled debut album - and *engages caps lock* WHAT AN ALBUM. The Californian's album is that rare thing: a collection of songs that are by turn beautiful, heartfelt, melancholy, uplifting and inspiring - all of which was done without the resources and backing of a major record label. I can't say enough good things about this album, which advances the sound of the band's earlier recordings in new, increasingly more wonderful ways, and I urge you to check it out: it's available to stream on their website, where you can also buy it (or get it from iTunes). Trust me, it's a gem.

(If you want to read more of why I love The Californian's album, click HERE)

02 Panic! At the Disco live
I saw Panic! At the Disco perform live three times this year: once at Bush Hall, then at the Shepherds Bush Empire, and then a couple of weeks later in, of all places, Norwich. Each time they were just brilliant. I've written before about how I think Panic! have grown as performers ever since the band was split in two a few years back, and I genuinely believe the current incarnation is one of THE BEST live acts playing today. Seriously; I don't go to see a band play three times in the space of four months unless I think they're exceptional. And each of those three gigs is memorable for different reasons: the Bush Hall gig came at a time when I was utterly stressed out at work, and I only managed to get a ticket at the last moment; the Shepherds Bush Empire one was the first show of my epic Month of Gigs; and the Norwich show … well, I made the spontaneous decision to go to Norwich! A fantastic band and three incredible concerts: good times. And I get to see them again in February!

01 Sufjan Stevens live
Another concert in my Month of Gigs was the long-awaited opportunity to see Sufjan Stevens play live and he delivered above and beyond what I expected. The show, based for the most part around his Age of Adz album was just the most incredible two and a half hours of neon-infused insanity and awe-inspiring music that I've ever had the privilege to behold. I could go on and on about how much I enjoyed this show or what it meant to be there for that remarkable night, but let me just say this: this isn't just my number one musical highlight of the year, it was the best concert I've ever been to and an utterly unforgettable night.

(Honourable mentions go to Panic! At the Disco's third album Vices and Virtues; Trent Reznor and Karen O's cover version of Led Zeppelin's Immigrant Song for David Fincher's film adaptation of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo; and OK GO's live show at Koko which was a brilliant evening of great music and confetti cannons)

Other stuff!
Let's see … well, Bikram yoga continued to play a big part in my life, and now more than ever I can't imagine NOT going to that brilliant studio in Chiswick at least a handful of times each week. Amazingly, losing my job was also a highlight - the last project I worked on at the company really took it out of me as I worked nonstop for almost the entire first half of the year (including weekends!), so ironically it came as something of a relief to find myself being made redundant. And while I do miss the security of a monthly wage, I genuinely feel like I'm doing some brilliant and worthwhile work in other areas now that I find both challenging and exciting. Publishing my book was also a memorable moment. Has it made me rich? No, of course not, but it's nice to know that little story I worked so hard on for so long is finally out there and it seems for the most part that the people who've read it really did like it, which is always good to hear. Finally, iPhone 4S - the best iPhone yet, and it charges in my car unlike my 3GS, so it's a winner on that basis alone.

And the losers…
I'll start with a cinematic failure: Green Lantern was, for me (and virtually everyone else, it would appear) a massive missed opportunity. For one of my favourite comic book characters to be taken and made into a movie so bad was just a crying shame. I never thought I'd say this, but DC and Warner Bros. really should look at what Marvel are doing to see how they should bring their key characters (Christopher Nolan's Batman films being the exception, of course) to the big screen. Also, echoing something I said last year, can the whole 3D thing be over now, please? On TV, I totally lost interest in Doctor Who and stopped watching about halfway through the latest series (which is a real indication of how much I dislike it now as I rarely give up on shows); dull story lines, an awful attempt at shoehorning a season-long story arc into each episode, and characters I stopped caring about: after enjoying the Doctor's adventures since I was a young kid, I'm done with TV's favourite time lord.

And I think that's about it. Last year's prize giver Erica Durance did such a sterling job in her star-spangled bikini that I've invited her back again this year to hand out the 2011 trophies to the winners; the losers, meanwhile, are being shipped off to a marathon screening of every episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians as their penance *shudder*. Let that be a warning to you all for 2012…

Same time next year?

Mix CD 2011

2011-12-17T18:00:00.000Z

So I've not been feeling particularly festive of late, but then like a glove-slap to the face I found myself putting together this year's mix CD and because the mix CD has turned into a bit of a Christmas tradition (this is the sixth year I've done one don't ya know) I've suddenly found myself overcome by a smidgeon of Christmassy feeling. Just a smidgeon, mind. Anyway, I've actually been quite organised this year and have been keeping a list of songs I wanted to include on the CD, so it all came together quite easily. Which is just as well because Best Mate Jo turned to me a few months back and said "last year's mix CD was really quite good, y'know," so I feel like I'm having to pull all the stops out this year to top last year's overachieving collection of awesomeness.

And you know what? BY JOVE I THINK I'VE DONE IT!

Let's crack on.

01. Everybody Loves You by The Californian
If you're a regular reader, or a stalker, you'll know that I adore The Californian and want everyone with ears to listen to them; I've put songs by this band on the last two mix CDs and by God I'm putting them on this one as well. This track is the opening song from their self-titled debut album (which yours truly has a thank-you credit on I'll have you know, and which I reviewed HERE), and it's … well, it's brilliant. It starts all slow, as if the listener is emerging from the sea, then just kicks into this utterly gorgeous singalong chorus. It's darker and has a slightly more melancholy feel to it than some of The Californian's earlier stuff, but it totally works. I could go on about how much I love this band and this song ad nauseum, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating, or in this case the listening: head over to The Californian's website where you can stream their album, and then do yourself a favour and buy it or I'll track you down and thump you.

02. Memories by Panic! At the Disco
Aaaah, memories. I saw Panic! At the Disco play live three times this year and they were brilliant every time. This track is from their latest album Vices and Virtues, and while it's by no means my favourite (that'd be Let's Kill Tonight), it's a wonderful song and actually makes me think of certain happy memories; during the Shepherds Bush Empire gig that Yazzle Dazzle and I attended we were highly amused by two young chaps pogo-ing around to this song, so much so that whenever we talk about the gig or mention the word memories we spontaneously begin jumping around and howling the chorus like loons. So there we go. Anyway, it's a cracking example of what I think a real pop song should be - fun, energetic, melodic, and with a wonderfully soaring chorus. And look, here's a video of it from the gig I went to in Norwich.

03. Starfish and Coffee by Prince
I'd like to think I'm a pretty big Prince fan, but somehow this awesome little song passed me by until I heard it on 6Music earlier this year. Taken from Prince's Sign 'O' the Times album, it's a short track about a young girl who has, um, Starfish and coffee for breakfast each day. Odd, yes, but it works. And it's just classic Prince: utterly bonkers and completely brilliant. Anyway, I can't find any live performances of official videos for this on youtube, but look: here's Prince performing Starfish and Coffee WITH THE MUPPETS!

04. Negative by Project Jenny, Project Jan
I wrote at the end of last year's mix CD post that I already had a song in mind for the 2011 edition - and that song is this song: Negative by Project Jenny, Project Jan. This track is just mad; it's kind of hip-hop-ish, and almost verges on being a parody as it tells the story of a guy taking saucy photos of his girlfriend and then losing the negatives. It's one of those songs that *shouldn't* work but it does. It's also really rude. And it's the one track that I think Best Mate Jo will turn round to me and say "yeah, loved the mix CD EXCEPT for *that* song." Equally, she could think it's the best thing evah. I, obviously, lean towards the latter.

05. Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge
I found out about this song via The Californian funnily enough, as they toured with She Wants Revenge earlier in the year and posted a video of them performing this song. It's a really great track, very Talking Heads-ish, very sinister, and with possibly the creepiest chorus you'll ever hear on one of my mix CDs (probably best not to sing it aloud in public unless you want to be arrested). Basically this song is just gagging to be used in a serial killer movie, and I mean that in the nicest way possible.

06. Love at First Sight by The Brobecks
Here's another song that I came to via another band that I like. Basically The Brobecks is Dallon Weekes' band, and he's the bass player in Panic! At the Disco. I can't remember how I found this out, but I did and I'm so pleased that's the case because The Brobecks album is a delight and this is by far the best song on it. Why? Well, it's just a lovely, sweet little song about falling in love. It's utterly heartfelt and honest, and it tells a beautiful little story. If you don't like this song I'm just going to go ahead and call your time of death because you're evidently lacking a pulse or a heart or whatever. Anyway, there's no official video of Love at First Sight, but among the various youtube clips of it from Brobecks gigs I found this spontaneous performance of it at an airport. Ignore the sound of looming aeroplanes and enjoy this wonderful song.

07. In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel
I experienced a sudden resurgence of love for Peter Gabriel this year brought about by this song in particular, and more specifically its use in a TV show called John From Cincinnati. In Your Eyes played a key role in that short-lived series, and it managed to worm its way into my head until I turned to iTunes and bought it, and I'm glad I did because it's awesome. Without doubt one of Gabriel's best, even after you start exploring his back catalogue and realise that, yes, you do know a hell of a lot of his songs and they're pretty much all amazing. Here's a cracking live performance of In Your Eyes from Later … with Jools Holland, made even more brilliant by some awesome side-jumping dance moves.

08. It Had Better Be Tonight (Meglio Stasera) by Michael Buble
Ahhhhh, Michael Buble. Or Bubes as I like to call him. Who doesn't like Bubes? I think my appreciation for Michael Buble began with a begrudging respect that then just caved into me acknowledging that, yes, I really like his stuff and he comes across as a genuinely top bloke whenever he's interviewed. This is by far my favourite Michael Buble song; it's got a decent rhythm that compels you to wiggle your hips to it and it gives him a chance to show his fine voice off to good effect. It's also one that I belt out without a care when I'm driving around. This song just makes me feel good.

09. I Like It by Foxy Shazam
I'll be honest: I Like It is my sole instance of exposure to Foxy Shazam, but on this basis I promise I'll explore their back catalogue - and their forthcoming album The Church of Rock and Roll from which this track is taken - as soon as possible. The best way to describe this song, and I mean it in the nicest way possible, is if I were to say that it's the sort of thing you'd expect from the bastard offspring of Queen and Led Zeppelin. It's just this raunchy, punchy instant hit of sheer over-the-top rock 'n roll, and I like it. A LOT.

10. Immigrant Song by Karen O and Trent Reznor
Despite what I said above, I'm actually not a massive fan of Led Zeppelin, yet when I heard this incredible version of Immigrant Song on the trailer for David Fincher's The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, where it went hand in hand with the visuals so perfectly, I was sold. I'm probably what you'd call at most a casual fan of Trent Renor's Nine Inch Nails, but the application of that band's sound to this classic rock song, combined with Karen O's almost tortured vocals, make this nothing less than an immense success. It's darker and more menacing than the original and, dare I say it, I actually prefer it. A genuinely awesome cover.

11. Proud Mary by Ike and Tina Turner
I've long been a fan of this track; it's one of those perfect songs that really defines a certain generation of music. It starts so slowly, so soulfully, and then about halfway through just bursts into life, transforming into this incredibly potent rock. And you know what? I'm a bit of a closet Tina Turner fan and she really just nails this song. This is also one of those songs, like Memories earlier on this CD, that I'm forever going to associate with a great memory - in this instance, the yoga Christmas party that I went to at the beginning of the month. Basically, Proud Mary came on over the stereo and everyone - I mean EVERYONE - just started dancing to it in unison, as if the moves had been hardwired into their brains. It was like a scene from a movie where entire crowds spontaneously break into dance, and just a brilliant moment.

12. Impossible Soul by Sufjan Stevens
A general rule with the mix CD is that I stop at 11 tracks, but I'm going to throw that particular rule out this year because quite frankly I couldn't put this CD together without including a Sufjan Stevens track. And yes, I know he's featured quite regularly over the last couple of years, but 2011 was the year I finally got to see him live and it was quite probably the closest I've ever come to a genuinely spiritual experience. Anyway, call me crazy but I've decided to round out the mix CD with this 25 minute-long behemoth of a song because it encapsulates everything that was brilliant and bonkers and so completely wonderful and inspiring about that gig back in May. Sufjan himself referred to Impossible Soul as the "adult contemporary miniseries song," adding that it will take you through "heartache, melodrama, heartbreak, restoration, rehabilitation, a little bit of prog rock, and maybe some funky dance." And he's right: it is by turn the saddest, happiest, most heart-wrenching, most joyful, inspiring and uplifting song I've ever heard, and I'm so glad there's someone mad and brilliant enough in this world to create a track such as this. I'm also glad that some wonderful loon on youtube recorded an entire performance of it at one of Sufjan's gigs. Enjoy.

-----

So there we have it - another mix CD! But what didn't make the cut this year? Well, Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas came very close to going on there because it's another song that reminds me of the Panic! Norwich gig (they covered it), and I do love me some 70s classic rock, but it just didn't quite feel like it fit in particularly well with the overall vibe of this mix CD. Elsewhere, I've been meaning to include Duncan by the Delta Spirit for the last few years because it's just an amazing song with a wonderful story, but again it got squeezed off; maybe next year? And finally, just as I'd finalised and burnt the first copy of the CD I heard Steel Mill by David Berkeley and I completely and utterly fell in love with it. Too late for this year, perhaps, but next time round for sure. Other than that, I'm really pleased with this mix CD - all that remains is to see how Best Mate Jo rates it against last year's effort…

Working nine to five (thirty)

2011-12-05T14:59:00.001Z

Last week I went and worked in an office for the first time since I left my old company back in July. I was obviously a little nervous at the prospect, not least because it was for a company I'd never worked for before, but also because in the months I've spent working at home I've fallen into some bad habits like sitting at my computer in my pants, wandering around the house singing loudly, and taking an hour out of each day to watch Thundercats. Add in the fact that as my previous company was impossibly informal and I developed some long-standing bad habits there, and I was faced with the very real prospect of being forcibly removed from the premises while swearing loudly and wearing only my undercrackers mere seconds after settling down at my temporary desk.

Fortunately, this did not happen. In a shocking turn of events, it seems I do have a degree of self control. Who knew?

So new temporary job was in Putney, which ironically was also the location of my very first job many years ago. It was a bit weird being back in the old stomping ground after such a long gap, but equally somewhat lovely. Putney's come on a bit since the late 90s; Our Price is long gone, but there's now a rather good Topman (which would've been dangerous back when I was earning a tiny wage). It's also - THANK GOD - gained a Starbucks where in the space of just four days I developed a rather flirty relationship with one of the baristas. Never has "do you want cream on top?" sounded so euphemistic.

Anyway, the job was good. It was odd because it was actually the first time I'd worked in a proper serious grown-up office, where some people wear suits and take phone calls on headsets that look like they were stolen off Vogue-era Madonna. I dressed smartly too, at least on the first day. It was all downhill from there to be honest, though; even the guy working at the train station who I got chatting to each morning greeted me on the Wednesday by saying "oh, dressing down today, eh?"

Oh, and trains! As a result of there being no parking at the office I was forced onto public transport each day, which was actually surprisingly fine. Because I'm basically at the end of a line I was assured of a seat every morning, and trains these days are way nicer than the odious cattle haulers they were back when I last had to get them on a daily basis. I think the novelty would quickly wear off if I had a permanent job, but for four days it was, y'know, fun. And yes, I did giggle like a speshul every time the driver tooted the horn.

As for the work, well to be honest it was easy monkey work and I thoroughly enjoyed it. After the high-pressure hair-tearing stresses of the last few months at old job it was actually quite lovely just to be the person who spins round in their chair and waves their hand in the air asking for something to do rather than be the one who has to deal with deadlines and scheduling and page plans and contributors and all that crap that actually prevents you from just doing some damn editing. And do you know what? At the risk of blowing my own trumpet, it was nice to be reminded that I'm actually pretty damn good at it too.

What a difference a year makes…

2011-11-15T17:33:00.001Z

So I had a birthday do on Friday (I've, *ahem* hit my late twenties). It was all arranged pretty hastily because I was massively disorganised; as a result, planned karaoke was abandoned in favour of another evening at the lovely Drink, Shop & Do, where I had similar celebrations last year and which I highly recommend if ever you find yourself in the Kings Cross area.

Anyway, official photographer Yazzle Dazzle finally got around to uploading her photos of the evening to Facebook today, and I was struck by a remarkable similarity between one of last year's pics and one from this year's do.

Last year.

This year.

I don't know why I felt the need to recreate this look, because quite frankly it looks like I just shat my pants. Mind you, it does make a change from the suave/seductive pout I usually put on when a camera is pointed in my direction.

I could also blame it on the fact that I was actually drinking this year; yes, I put aside my teetotal tendencies for one evening and got utterly spanked on Espresso Martinis. Three of them.

I'm nothing if not a cheap date.

Bum cramp

2011-10-29T23:52:00.001+01:00

In the two and a half years I've been practicing Bikram yoga various things have happened to me at points during class; I've felt dizzy, nauseous, light-headed, experienced pins and needles IN MY FACE, and felt like time has slowed down as I'm trying to move (a bit like the wormhole sequence in Star Trek: The Motion Picture; actually, a bit like Star Trek: The Motion Picture in its entirety). Despite that, what I've never had to do is leave the room, which is basically a big no-no unless you're on the verge of spontaneously combusting.

Until today, that is (I mean leave the room, not spontaneously combusting).

Because today, at around the halfway point of class when we were practicing Locust pose, I succumbed to what I can only describe as epic bum cramp.

I knew something was up from the moment I raised my left leg into the correct position, but I thought it was just a little muscle ache and it would pass quickly. It did not, however, and I was left with a pain that felt like I'd been repeatedly punched in the left arse cheek. Now usually with a cramp the best thing to do is stretch it out. Unfortunately, though, I don't quite know how you'd stretch out your bum at the best of times, let alone when you're lying on your stomach in a room full of around 50 or so people.

Instead I did what I thought at that point in time would be the next thing: I started, um, massaging it.

In hindsight, though, what it really looked like was me lying on my front kneading my bottom like some sort of sweaty, bottom-massaging pervert. And to make matters even more unsettling, it actually wasn't doing any good. So I did the unthinkable - I stood up and walked out of class (which sounds more heroic than it actually was because have you ever tried walking with a cramping bum cheek? It's REALLY difficult). Anyway, I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do to rid myself of the cramp, so I hobbled into the men's changing rooms and walked in circles for a couple of minutes looking like I either had some weird OCD compulsion or I was practicing my Charlie Chaplin walk impersonation. Fortunately this had the dual effect of both reducing my spasming bum pain and making me miss one of my least favourite postures (erm, hurrah!).

And as if that wasn't enough of a WIN I subsequently returned to the studio and nailed the rest of the sequence *punches air*.

But that's not the end of it. Because I went back to the studio this evening for a posture clinic (which was brilliant, thanks for asking - I got to help out at one point; basically I was the Debbie McGee to my teacher's Paul Daniels), and as a result of me being rather brutally honest about my earlier ailment in reception immediately after class and subsequently across both Twitter and Facebook, it now appears that I have a new nickname. Yes, everyone appears to be taking incredible satisfaction in calling me Bum Cramp.

If it happens again I'll just lie and say it's a pulled hamstring.

Chessington world of utterly terrifying adventures

2011-10-26T17:15:00.005+01:00

A couple of weeks back Glittering Lee emailed me and asked if I wanted to go to Chessington World of Adventures with him and a few of my other favourite people. I um'd and ah'd for a couple of days because, y'know, I really should be doing some work, but then I thought bugger it, I've been working pretty consistently over the last few months (even at the weekends - outrageous!) so I figured I deserved a day off.

And so off we toddled to Chessington World of Adventures which, due to a slight miscalculation on our part was packed out with squealing children as a result of it being half term. I mean, seriously, if you're not a parent how the hell are you supposed to know this? They should put up warning signs or something. On top of that, as we entered the park and I surveyed the white-knuckle delights awaiting us I suddenly remembered that I HATE THEME PARK RIDES.

How much do I hate theme park rides, you ask? Well, put it this way: a couple of us skipped off to the log flume (or Dragon Falls as Chessington call it, as if it weren't terrifying enough already) early to get on it before a massive queue formed, and when our boat arrived I stepped in it and then straight out of it before carrying on through the exit. The boys were less than impressed, but on the plus side I did then wander back and flirt with the girl on the gate.

Having wimped out on a ride that basically little girls will merrily line up for over and over again, I obviously wasn't too interested in going on things like Rameses Revenge, Vampire, Dragon's Fury, or Kobra (seriously, what evil genius names these things?!), although I derived much pleasure from watching the boys go on them (Skip's screams on Kobra were utterly brilliant and I genuinely felt like I experienced the ride vicariously through his incessant shrieking).

By about midday the boys were really looking at me like I should man up and go on something, so I said "oh, I'll definitely go on Black Buccaneer - there's a ride like that at Thorpe Park called Mr. Monkey's Banana Ride and I used to LOVE that."

----------------------------------------

An aside:

When I was about 18 I worked at a play scheme for kids under the age of 10 - basically a two week thing in the middle of the summer holidays where parents could dump their kids on us so they could have some time off. The final friday of the play scheme was always a trip to Thorpe Park, which the kids obviously loved and the parents obviously hated because it meant they were just days away from having to take responsibility for their offspring again. During one trip to Thorpe Park I basically made my group of kids go on Mr. Monkey's Banana Ride about 10 times by telling them it was pretty much the only ride they were all tall enough to go on.

I had a thrilling time.

----------------------------------------

Turns out that I really should've paid more attention to the fact that the name Black Buccaneer sounds just a little bit more hardcore than Mr. Monkey's Banana Ride. As the queue snaked closer and closer to the ride I could feel a slight tightening effect of the scrotum that I really should've taken more notice of. Anyway, before I knew it I was settling in to the big fake pirate ship and eyeing up potential escape routes. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to act on these thoughts as by the time I decided that, yes, I think I will stand up and get off, the bars descended.

I found the following video on youtube to give you an idea of my ordeal. And to be quite honest there's no way I could've taken a video of this because my hands were clamped to the bars and my eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

Suffice to say when the torture was finally over I staggered away as quickly as I could.

To make matters worse, I was then manhandled back to the log flume where the boys surrounded me to prevent escape and sat me in the back of the boat (there was some discussion about making me go in the middle - and at one point, terrifyingly, at the FRONT - so they could keep an eye on me, but I pleaded to be allowed to go at the back so I couldn't see the horrors awaiting me). Despite having Skip wedged so close up against my gentlemanly region - something he's threatened me with several times before - I was actually quite grateful for his presence. I literally grabbed his arms (he probably still has bruises) and buried my face against his shoulder.

Here's another video I found on youtube.

If you watch right up until the end you'll see that to add insult to injury the last thing that happens on the ride is that you get pissed on by an elephant. Charming.

Anyway, it wasn't all doom and gloom. I thoroughly enjoyed the sedate monorail that takes you on a tour of the park from above and lets you see some of the animals (honking seals, gorillas, and two thoroughly bored looking lions), and I had a brilliant time on the dodgems with Skip; we identified a sweet looking mumsy lady and just kept smashing into her relentlessly. I also had a delightful chai latte in Cafe Nero, and the ferris wheel - sorry, Peeking Heights - was lovely, even if it was a bit chilly at the top.

All in all, then, it was a brilliant day. Next time, though, I'm suggesting we go to a nice stately home or a museum where the most troubling thing I'll be faced with is having to choose between the chocolate cake or the victoria cream sponge in the cafe.

Rochelle

2011-10-05T22:36:00.000+01:00

Jesus. Even the thought of what I'm about to type makes me feel a bit uneasy…

So. I was out on Saturday night with some yoga pals bidding a fond farewell to a couple of brilliant yogi people who are leaving our sweaty little corner of West london for, ironically, the warmer climes of Australia in the next couple of weeks. After a bit of a get together at the studio we headed over the road to a pub that I've driven past loads over the last 10 years (it was on my route to work) and always thought I should check out but never did. Turns out it's a lovely pub with a massive garden and free wi-fi (BONUS).

On the downside, it turns out it's also home to Rochelle.

I say 'home,' but she was actually a patron just as we were. At least I think she was. Anyway, Rochelle … well, Rochelle was a treat in the loosest sense of the word.

Basically, at some point soon after we rocked up this middle-aged, very drunk woman named Rochelle latched on to a member of our group and apparently, although I did not witness this, started ramming her tongue down his throat. At some point he fended her off, and came and sat next to me.

Rochelle, seemingly oblivious to the fact that none of us knew who she was, followed and sat on the other side of him.

From that moment on the evening pretty much consisted of three of us verbally sparring with Rochelle, from attempting to answer her shouty question "WHERE IS THE SCRIPT?!" to her singing loudly (she actually wasn't too bad), and listening to her rabbit on about how she was friends with the actor Rufus Sewell to how her hand had appeared in an episode of the television show Bad Girls. She also made jewellery and was due in the south of France the next day, apparently. Throughout this, the poor chap she'd orally assaulted earlier in the evening kept turning to me and whispering "erm, will you help me?"

At some point during the evening I turned to speak to someone to my right and when I looked back the aforementioned chap had somehow slipped away from Rochelle's side and was now sitting opposite me grinning. I turned to my left to see Rochelle staring at me. "WHA' DOOO YOU DO?!" she shoutily slurred at me.

I don't know why, but at some point between my ears picking up what she said and my mouth answering I decided I was going to lie massively to Rochelle. "I'm an astrophysicist," I said.

I think my reckoning was that she'd have no interest in this, but it actually led to her going off on some sort of extreme rant about astrology and God with massive flailing arm gestures. I tried to diffuse the situation by saying something about the Hadron Large Collider, but that only resulted in me thinking I might end up wearing her pint at some point. Around this time I turned to look at the lady sitting next to me and with a broad smile on her face she said "I've never seen you look so scared."

Anyway, between a few of us I think we coped admirably under difficult circumstances. Unfortunately, as the evening wound down my cohorts in Rochelle containment managed to say their goodbyes and skip off rather quickly. As I stood up to leave Rochelle looked at me, sneered, and said "ain't ya gonna give me a hug goodnight?"

"Er, no." I replied with no uncertainty.

"Why not?!" she shrieked, understandably so when turned down by a testosterone-infused slab of man-meat such as yours truly.

"I have personal boundary issues," I lied.

Alas, this did not deter Rochelle and the next thing I know she'd thrown her arms around me. The woman was like the human equivalent of a Boa Constrictor, crushing my manly frame more and more with each breath. And to make matters worse her unnaturally strong bear-hug went on for an uncomfortably long period of time. I don't know what expression Rochelle had on her face at this point because I'd turned my face the other way, pleading someone to pry her off me. Unfortunately, no one came to my aid, and the next thing I know one hand had released itself from my upper body. Was she about to release me?

No.

With her free hand she forced my head around and planted a massive, almost hickey inducing smacker on my left cheek (facial, I hastily add). Only then, after a further 20 seconds or so of her attempting to suck my life force out through my face did the alcohol-fueled harridan let me go before vanishing into the night.

So while the pub certainly was a lovely venue, I doubt very much I'll be going back there anytime soon for fear that I might encounter Rochelle again. The mere thought sends a shiver down my spine.

And we never did find out where the script was.

Tron Corgi, of course

2011-09-22T13:53:00.000+01:00

Don't ask me why; I can't even remember why I did this and it wasn't that long ago that I actually put it together. Regardless, may I introduce to you: Tron Corgi.

There you go, Disney; that's your merchandising opportunity for Tron 3 right there.

Spider nipple

2011-09-20T15:35:00.003+01:00

So I wake up this morning in a bit of a rush because it's half eight and I need to leave the house by nine to get to yoga for a 10 o'clock class. While getting dressed, though, I pause and find myself staring at my bed. There's something black and lumpy there.

I initially dismiss it as a piece of soil because for reasons I shan't go into here I was repotting a plant at 10 past midnight last night as you do (which probably explains why I was a bit late getting up), but on closer inspection I realise it's *not* dirt because there's … ewww … a couple of legs scattered around it.

Yes, it's a spider. Or rather was a spider. Again: Ewww.

To make a bad situation even worse, apparently when I rolled over onto the spider I did a rather marvellous job of … we'll say 'grinding' down on it, and I now have what looks like a rather fine poo smear arcing across the bottom sheet. Still, at least it didn't CLIMB INTO MY MOUTH or anything.

Having disposed of the body of my nighttime companion (and how many gentlemen in the audience have used that line before?) I grab my bag and head off to yoga.

So when I go to yoga I usually turn up early enough that I can have a ~~solid half hour nap~~ quiet moment of reflection and meditation in the studio before class begins. That being the case, and as unbelievable as this might sound, I don't sit there checking myself out in the mirror. If I had, I would've spotted … well, IT.

As it was we kick-off class with the familiar breathing exercise and that's when I notice IT: a bright red, very visible spot on my right pec that looks terrifyingly like a burgeoning third nipple. Basically, like Scaramanga from the James Bond film The Man With the Golden Gun. I'd put a picture of Scaramanga's nip here but to be honest the sight of it makes me feel a bit queasy so if you want to see it just click away to your heart's content here.

Anyway, once I've noticed this huge thing I can't take my eyes off it. We go into the first posture of the series and I genuinely wanted to drop out, step closer to the mirror and get a better look. Probably while saying something like "OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?! IT'S LIKE THE SIZE OF MY HEAD OR SOMETHING!" But then there's also another part of me that doesn't want to draw any attention to it because it's massive and people are SURELY noticing it and I don't want to admit to an entire class - or quite frankly anyone - that a spider bit me on the tit.

The first thing I do when I get home is race to the bathroom to take a closer look because while I'm massively disgusted that I was violated in this way while I slept, part of me just wants to poke it while wondering if I should go to A&E for a tetanus jab or something.

To give the spider its due, it did a bloody good job of spending its final moments somehow managing to breach my hairy chest defences as I rolled around on top of it. Kudos.

As I've now poked and prodded it ad nauseum, I can only wait and see what happens to this thing. Ignoring the two obvious options - it either just heals or I die - I can't help thinking that the spider could've at least had the good grace to be radioactive so I develop superpowers like Spider-Man or something. Although seeing as there are literally only two high-rise buildings near me I'd be pretty limited in swinging options. I don't imagine swinging between the same two buildings would be anywhere near as fulfilling as whooshing through New York.

The only other thing I can think of is that the spider had its wicked way with my face like a face-hugger from Alien and as I type there's a xenomorphic zygote thrashing around in my stomach. It's almost too much to bear; does anyone have Sigourney Weaver's phone number?

Massive swears sweary update

2011-08-29T12:54:00.005+01:00

It's been a weekend of cinema trips for me, going from VERY GOOD to UGH, WHY DID I BOTHER. In reverse order then, I have seen:

• The Inbetweeners movie. I loved the TV show but hated this film. It just felt like it was a boring episode stretched too thinly across 90 minutes or so.

• Final Destination 5 (or 5nal Destination as I believe the studio initially called it before they realised it looked like they were calling it Anal Destination). I'm a big fan of this franchise of completely dispensable but highly entertaining horror movies, and this latest one lived up to the ridiculous precedent set by its predecessors. Particular kudos for an awesome opening theme, and a fantastic and totally unexpected tie-in to the first Final Destination (or should we rename that F1nal Dest1nation now?).

• South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut. Yes, I know this movie is 12 years old, but I ended up going to a special screening of it at the Prince Charles Cinema (the brilliant cinema where I saw a couple of Star Trek movies last year). Special why, you ask?

We were even given lyric books to help us sing/swear along.

Although I'll be brutally honest, I actually didn't swear along that much as when the lights went down I couldn't read the lyrics, and I was laughing too much; there was a woman behind me with a pitch-perfect singing voice merrily singing along to songs such as 'Kyle's Mom's a Bitch' and 'What Would Brian Boitano Do?'

You'll be pleased to know I did get some singing/swearing action though; before the movie started, the guy that had organised the screening took to the stage to lead us in a quick practise. We had a loud group "FUCK!" followed by us screaming "BIG FLOPPY DONKEY DICK!" We even sang a couple of songs.

Since the screening, I've finally gotten around to putting the South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut soundtrack on my iTunes. Admittedly, I probably should've done this before seeing the film, not least because I'm incredibly amused by the fact that I now have a song in my library that is performed by Saddam Hussein.

Anyway, I can only hope that on the strength of their South Park screening, the PCC now organise a swear along to Team America, because that would be AWESOME.

-----

SWEARY UPDATE!

The PCC have posted a video of some choice, um, moments from the evening, including the aforementioned group "FUCK!" and "BIG FLOPPY DONKEY DICK!" And they're doing it all over again on October 8th; if you can, I highly recommend going along.

Making an ebook is fun!

2011-08-23T16:06:00.007+01:00

As I mentioned in my last post, one of the main things I decided I needed to do when I finished work was to finally pull my finger out and get my book (yes, that one I've been harping on about ad nauseam) on sale, or just shut the hell up and forget about the whole thing. My original idea years ago was to have 100 copies printed up and then try to find some way of flogging them to people because as I've said countless times, I do love a good ol' dead tree book. But then ebook sales exploded and while I can't say I'm a massive fan of ebooks personally, it would be arrogant and quite frankly just plain stupid of me to ignore their success.

As a result I began to look into it and discovered that Amazon just make the whole thing so damn easy for self-publishing authors, so I thought what the hell, I'll go Kindle. And before anyone says "but you're an Apple whore, what about iBooks?" yes, I am an Apple whore, but kindle is just easier, doesn't have any set-up costs, and to be honest Amazon have got the market completely collared at the moment; seriously, I read some interesting testimonials about author experiences and they all sold way more on the Kindle than on iBooks. And it's not like my book won't be available for iPads and iPhones because Amazon handily have an app for that. You can get it for free HERE. (They also do apps for Android, Mac, and PC, so you have no excuse not to get reading)

Now, when it comes to ebooks everyone always harps on about ePub, which is a file format that both Amazon and Apple will accept. Great! I thought, I can generate one file for both bookstores so if I do ever decide to go the iBooks route it's ready to go. I was even recommended a piece of free software that promised to convert a word file or PDF into an ePub file without any fuss. Yay for me, I thought; this will be piss-easy.

At this point I was feeling pretty smug.

Turns out, though, that by 'piss-easy' I actually mean 'a really rather frustrating experience.'

Basically this piece of software did generate an ePub file (it even had that cool page curling effect when I popped it on my iPad), but it also had some … Let's say ANOMALIES. Such as turning drop caps into little smiley tiger faces. Yes, TIGER FACES.

Isn't that just adorable?

As cute as that is, however, I thought it might just knock readers out of the drama of the story.

So I fiddled and farted around and tried different variations and different formats, each of which had their own peculiarities; one, for example, only put one sentence on each page, instantly transforming my breezy little novella into an 800-page epic to rival War and Peace. Eventually I just got massively frustrated, released a barrage of swears, and went for a run.

I decided to have another bash at it on Sunday afternoon, on the understanding that if I couldn't work it out I'd just pay someone to do it for me. And that's when I discovered that Amazon let's you upload your book as a word document and then preview it in a mock kindle screen. So I did that and … well, it looked quite good.

This is what the cover would look like as shown by the 16 shades of grey used by the Kindle's e-ink screen. This actually reads like a VERY SERIOUS CAPTION.

OK, so it had lost all the italics and some page breaks at the beginning, but a quick look on the Kindle community pages helped me work out how to rectify that - you just download the converted HTML file, fiddle around in the code a bit, then upload the amended version.

VOILA!

You can now purchase a little piece of me just for yourself. Look - it's cheap. Like me.

And just like that I was the proud father of an ebook, which went on sale Monday morning for the princely sum of 86p (I'm pricing low as it's short and I figure people will be more willing to take the risk of trying a new author if it costs mere pennies). It's a slightly surreal moment when you search Amazon for your own book and BOOM! there it is (also, if you look over there in the right-hand column, just under the 'about me' bit, there's an ad box. I think if you click it I get paid, so go on - give it a click, eh?). It's the culmination of years of work, and while I'd like to think I will at some point return to it for a limited physical print-run, my work on Waiting on a Friend, those characters I created and dropped into a storyline, is effectively done. How exciting is that?

Now, do be so kind as to go buy it while I get cracking on the next one, eh?

Freeloader

2011-08-11T19:27:00.002+01:00

I'm now in my third week of fending for myself as a work-shy freelancer, and I'll be honest with you: I've not been terribly busy in the traditional sense of the words. That's not to say I'm not keeping busy, because I have been: I've written what I can only describe as a shit-load of letters to various publishers, and I've actually, 100 percent, honest-to-god finished work on my book. Yes, THAT book. The one I first mentioned on here about, oh, I don't know THREE OR FOUR years ago.

Admittedly I had thought it was finished a long time ago and it was just a case of me pulling my finger out and doing something with it, but then I let a chap from yoga read it whose opinions I trust greatly (he's an actor, don't you know, so I reasoned that he reads stuff for a living and thus has a keen sense of what's good and what's not), and who made no qualms about telling me that if he thought it was rubbish he'd tell me so.

Anyway, long story short, and fortunately for my fragile little ego, he actually really liked it (I swear to god he used the phrase "potential to be a proper little indie hit," which led to me needing a bit of a sit down), although he did have a few little comments and suggestions that he thought might strengthen the narrative a bit. And to be honest, those comments just reaffirmed some niggling doubts I'd had about it. That being the case, the last week has pretty much been dedicated to sorting all that out, as well as going back through the whole thing one last time so that 33 year-old me can tighten up the bits that 29 year-old me glossed over back in the day. So, essentially what I'm saying is that - YAY! - the whole thing is ready to go now. FOR REAL. My main intention is to pop it up on the Kindle store for the world to download to all manner of digital devices, but, y'know, I *may* have sent it off to a couple of independent presses too - SO KEEP YOUR BLOODY FINGERS CROSSED OR I'LL HAVE TO POP ROUND AND CUT 'EM OFF.

Basically, then, freelancing has been a very enjoyable experience so far (although that might change when I actually have to do some proper work). What I like is that I'm pretty much free to do as I please. I popped to Richmond last week, spent an hour in Starbucks writing on my iPad like one of those insufferably pretentious tits who insists on writing in public, and then because the weather was so lovely I ended up doing some topless sunbathing on the green.

Self-portrait of a freelancer in repose.

There was another photo of my vest draped across my legs, but as everyone on Twitter said it looked like I had my underpants round my ankles I'm loathe to post it here.

It's not all sunning oneself in public spaces, though: Friday afternoons are now exclusively dedicated to going to the cinema. Week one was Captain America (good blockbustery fun), while last week was Super 8 (which I loved; the fat kid in it might go down in history as this generation's Chunk from the Goonies); this week is Rise of the Planet of the Apes, and next week is Cowboys and Aliens. Good times.

On the downside, when I'm not galavanting around the countryside I am spending a considerable amount of time just sitting at my desk. And bearing in mind that I'm no longer getting a lengthy lunchtime stroll and my commute pretty much consists of walking down 12 stairs, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm at risk of developing deep-vein thrombosis. I might have to instigate mandatory midday runs on those days when I'm not indulging in, as one of my yoga teachers dubbed it, 'job-seekers yoga.' I'll tell you something though, it is nice getting to have a bit of a cheeky lie-in every morning.

He needs TP for his bunghole

2011-08-09T12:37:00.001+01:00

Am I the only one seeing this? C'mon, he's a total shoe-in if they ever do a live-action Beavis and Butthead movie.

Lord knows beggars can't be choosers now Potter's done and dusted.

Arts and crafts

2011-08-06T21:23:00.006+01:00

So the one thing you're obligated to do when you leave a company is steal stuff, right? It's an unspoken rule. And don't sit there looking all holier than thou shaking your head - I saw you emptying boxes of propelling pencils and paper clips into your bag on your last day.

Anyway, so while the average person might raid the stationary cupboard like biro-hungry locusts (and in hindsight I should've gone straight for the post-it notes because lord knows I actually had to BUY some this week; on the plus side - tax deductable!), I pinched something a bit different.

I stole a tranny.

And no, I do not mean a transvestite. I mean a 35mm slide - you know, a photograph.

While looking through the thousands of images we had a couple of months back, I found a picture of William Shatner taken during the filming of Star Trek VI that I'd never seen before. Which is pretty remarkable because, trust me, I've seen A LOT of Star Trek pictures in my time. There wasn't anything particularly special about this image - from what I can tell it just shows Shatner chilling out between shots - but I liked it. I thought it was cool.

Here's Shatner on the set of Kirk's quarters, chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool; possibly about to go shoot some b-ball outside of the school.

So anyway, as I was boxing all the Star Trek stuff up a couple of weeks back I came across the pictures again (not literally; I don't like it *that* much). My first instinct was just to scan it in so that I could use it as a desktop image on my computer or iPad, but then when I mentioned it to a friend, who will go unnamed to protect her identity (it was Yazzle Dazzle), she said "why don't you just take it? It'll only go into storage otherwise."

She made a good point, so I stuffed it in a little bag and nicked it.

Since finishing work, however, I've been looking at the sad little tranny sitting in the bag and thinking 'what the hellpiece am I going to do with that?' I mean, it's not like I can pop it in a frame because a) it's tiny, and b) being a tranny it needs light shining through so you can actually see what's on it.

But then during one of my increasingly frequent and in hindsight somewhat ill-advised when you have no income shopping expeditions I found the perfect solution: a freestanding solid glass ~~lump~~ frame that you slot your picture in the middle of. PERFECT! So I bought one, some black card to engineer a framework to hold the tranny in, and a new scalpel to allow me to precisely cut the card.

And in BONUS NEWS FACTS, lady on the till confessed she almost asked me for ID before she let me buy the scalpel; you have to be over 21. Utter, utter WIN, I think you'll agree.

My first attempt at my arts and crafts project was mounted on Friday evening. Unfortunately I was a little bleary eyed because I was tired, so my efforts were little more than an unmitigated failure. On the plus side, I managed not to chop off any fingers with my awesome new scalpel, so there's always a positive, eh?

Attempt number two took place this afternoon, and was considerably more successful.

Admittedly there's a bit of a bigger gap around the tranny than I'd hoped (which is mystifying because I took really precise measurements; I know this because I stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth while I did it), so I might go back and have a little fiddle at some point to try and rectify that, but I think you'll agree it shows the image off way better than a manky little plastic bag ever could.

-----

In all seriousness, I think I do know why I like this image so much. There's a scene in Star Trek VI where Valeris is looking at a painting hanging in Spock's quarters and she says something along the lines of "I don't know what this painting represents," to which he replies "it's the depiction of the the expulsion from paradise - it's a reminder to me that all things end."

Dear non-Star Trek fans: yes, it's the slaggy one from Sex and The City.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record as I harp on about leaving my job, I think this image - of Shatner on the set of the last original series movie - serves as a reminder to me that, indeed, all things do end. It's healthy not to get too comfortable doing the same thing over and over, so with a bit of luck every time I look at this transparency it'll spur me on to do new things and 'boldly go' where I've never been before.

Jesus, that was such a wanky sounding sentence, wasn't it? Let's just stick with 'I thought it looked cool and I wanted to steal something,' eh?

Dapper

2011-07-25T18:03:00.004+01:00

So I went to that wedding reception I mentioned a few weeks ago at the weekend. It was lovely; awesome venue, a nice chance to catch-up with some friends I hadn't seen in a while, and an all-too-rare opportunity to throw down some phat moves on the dance floor.

And in an amazing turn of events, the lovely Em managed to get a photo of me where I look relatively normal. Seriously, chances are if you aim a camera at me I'll either gurn like a special, do the OMG Cat face, or put on some sort of allegedly sexy pout that kind of looks more like a severely-constipated James Franco.

So anyway, kudos to Em for getting the picture I'm shamelessly pasting below in anticipation of lots of ego-boosting compliments. Despite having a mid-afternoon wobble where I thought I'd just wear a regular old tie, I think you'll agree I totally ROCK that bow-tizzle.

The undiscovered country

2011-07-08T21:21:00.003+01:00

Well I'll tell you something - if the reaction to my last post is anything to go by, Star Trek fans (particularly those in the US) are *desperate* for some new non-fiction publications. In the five years or so I've been writing this blog I've quite literally never had as many hits in the space of just a handful of days as I did earlier this week.

The reaction to what I showed of Build the Enterprise was incredibly positive, which went some way toward cushioning the blow of the product's untimely cancellation. Hey, everyone likes a compliment, right? On a purely personal note, however, the ramifications of the project ending go a bit further than what I said in those videos.

Basically, I lost my job.

God, that sounds a bit dramatic, doesn't it? To be honest it was all very amicable, but the reality of the situation was that I found myself as a Star Trek editor with no Star Trek magazine to edit. In years gone by my boss - an utterly brilliant, lovely man - has done everything he can to hang on to staff when their projects come to an end; just after the Fact Files finished in 2003 I had a couple of months where I just spent my days looking at the internet and shuffling things from one side of my desk to the other. That may sound brilliant, but it was actually soul-crushingly boring. This time around the situation is a bit different - the company can't afford to have me sitting around twiddling my thumbs, and quite frankly I wouldn't want to.

That being the case I told my boss that he should let me go.

You might think that sounds crazy, but it's really not. I've been at the company for 12 years now - literally almost to the day. It's been the longest commitment of my life; in fact, I've been there over one third of my life. To quote Captain Kirk in Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, I've done my bit for king and country.

To be honest, I actually expected to be sent on my merry way soon after the Fact Files came to an end. I could never have foreseen the multitude of successful spin-off products we'd do after those 304 issues. It's been a brilliant job at a brilliant company. I once told Scanner Dave, our IT guy, that I never go to work expecting to make friends, but it's a pleasant surprise if I did. At this company I've met some of the most wonderful people you could ever imagine, and it's my privilege to count many of them as some of my closest friends. People like Yazzle Dazzle, El Deanio, Scanner, and WillowC. But they all left long ago, and now it's my turn.

And d'ya know what? I'm looking at this as one of the most positive things I could possibly do. Over the last couple of months I've developed this new kind of sensibility - don't ask me where this came from, but essentially I just break things down into 'will this have a positive impact on my life?' or 'will this have a negative impact on my life?' Bitching and moaning and worrying incessantly about losing my job would be a massive heap of negativity, so I'm just looking at it as a major positive instead. For a long time now I've thought about going freelance, and this door closing gives me the opportunity to give that a go. Being free of my day-to-day routine frees me up to go try some other things.

Sitting here writing this now, exactly one week away from leaving that office in leafy West London for the final time, I'm not nervous or worried. I'm more excited than I've felt in years. One of the things I found, particularly by the time I was running the Fact Files, was that the higher up the chain you went, the less editorial work you actually did. As an editor, then a managing editor, I found a considerable portion of my time was dedicated to administrative tasks - liasing with contributors, commissioning stuff, reams and reams of paperwork, etc. I want to get back to just writing and editing text. Playing around with words. I've already got some ideas on the boil; I'm just waiting for the time I need to get them underway.

To return to Star Trek again, the day I found out I was going to be made redundant I had the most bizarre thought about how William Shatner must have felt when the original series came to end in 1969 after just three years. The show had been his biggest role to that point … but he went on to forge a hugely successful career beyond it. When you think about it, I got four times as long out of Star Trek as Shatner ever did, so I should certainly count myself lucky in that respect.

I'm sure there will be bumps and uncertainties along the way, but I'm excited. I'm ready for what comes next.

Build the Enterprise

2011-07-03T20:25:00.005+01:00

As a rule I very rarely talk about work here, but I've decided to make an exception to that rule with this post. Basically, as anyone who's been reading this blog for a while (god help you) will know, for the last 12 years I've been working on Star Trek partworks. Partworks, for those of you who don't know, are collectable magazine series that build up week by week to form a comprehensive reference work on a particular subject - something like real-life crimes, wildlife, or aeroplanes, for example. Think of it as something like buying an encyclopedia in weekly instalments.

When I joined the company it was to work on The Official Star Trek Fact Files - a partwork that built up to create a definitive reference guide to (as the title might've given away) the Star Trek universe. I think the Fact Files was originally scheduled to last around 90 issues; I joined at issue 150 or thereabouts, became editor of the thing at 200 or so, and saw it through to its conclusion at issue 304 in, I think 2002 or 2003 (I forget exactly when it ended). I think it still ranks as the world's most successful partwork.

Incidentally, while the Fact Files was never sold in the U.S. (partworks don't work in America because it's such a big market), much of the material created for it did turn up in Star Trek: The Magazine, which ran for 48 issues from around 1999 to 2003.

Following the enormous success of the Fact Files we produced a number of spin-off products; some, such as Star Trek: The Collector's Edition - a DVD and magazine series collecting the Star Trek movies and episodes of TNG and TOS - proved very successful in their own right, while others didn't and failed at test (we tested all our partworks prior to committing to a national launch to get an idea of how they would do).

What all these other products had in common, however, was that they were essentially made up of material taken from the Fact Files, albeit revised where necessary (such as if an episode of Star Trek: Enterprise added something to canon - first contact with an alien species or something like that that would make a nice trivia point).

Running in parallel with these spin-off projects, we also started producing Star Trek stuff for Japan. They got their own edition of the Fact Files, which covered several topics the original UK version missed out on such as the entire run of Enterprise and the movie Star Trek Nemesis, and as a consequence ran 10 issues longer than the UK edition, eventually stopping at issue 314. We also produced a DVD magazine series for the Japanese market called Best Episode Collection, which essentially plucked the very best episodes of all the different series, tied them together under various headings such as 'Captains,' 'Klingons,' 'Space Battles,' etc, and popped them on sale along with a magazine covering behind the scenes stuff, interviews with the cast and crew, and trivia pages. That too was a great success; originally scheduled to run 70 issues, it ultimately went on for 135. I occasionally joked that it wasn't merely Best Episode Collection, but was in fact coming perilously close to being Every Episode Collection.

So, what you can gather from all this, then, is that Star Trek has enjoyed fantastic success as a variety of different partworks.

About 18 months ago the Japanese team who I worked closely with to produce the Japanese Fact Files and Best Episode Collection came to me with an idea they'd had for a new Star Trek partwork. The project was called Build the Enterprise, and as you might guess, the idea was that you would get to build a model of the Enterprise (the TNG version) week by week. Bearing in mind I'd been working on these sorts of things for a decade by this point, I was surprised to find that my fanboy side completely and utterly pushed to the fore; I thought the idea was amazing, and I was very keen to get going on it.

What I should say here is that the Japanese team don't do things by halves. They literally threw everything bar the kitchen sink at this project. In addition to building an incredibly-detailed, highly accurate, whopping great model of the Enterprise, if you bought this thing you'd also get a magazine that would grow with every issues to form a massive 500 page reference work on the ship (think of it as a massively expanded TNG Technical Manual), with another 100 pages covering behind the scenes stuff - interviews, concept art, that kind of thing. And you'd also get a huge blueprint sheet covering the exterior of the ship from various angles, every single deck, and key rooms (many of which had never been seen on the show).

To accomplish this they'd recruited Rick Sternbach, who if you don't know (SHAME ON YOU!) was a key figure in designing a load of the technology that appeared on everything from TNG through to Voyager. He designed the U.S.S. Voyager, for crying out loud.

And rather than just pull text, images, and artwork from the Fact Files (which by this point had only just finished its run in Japan), they asked that everything to be used in this new project be newly generated.

As you can imagine, it was a MASSIVE undertaking, but an incredible one, because under Rick's guidance and watchful eye, we had the opportunity to actually add to Star Trek canon for the first time, rather than just reporting on what had been seen in the various different episodes and movies. We did this by planning out a load of previously unseen elements - lifeboats, rooms, hardware, components used in familiar items such as communicators, all that sort of stuff. It was basically all your Christmasses come at once if you were a Star Trek fan who wanted to know everything about how the Enterprise worked, and what technology (no I'm not going to say Treknology; oh, wait, I just did. *tut*) was to be found aboard a Galaxy-class starship.

As with all our other partworks, Build the Enterprise would be tested prior to a national launch later in the year. Testing almost seemed like a formality, though; there was an almost palpable buzz around this product - everyone who saw what we were doing was amazed. Jaws dropped. Even non-Trekkies wanted it. It was just - excuse my slightly fruity language - effing awesome.

And then we tested it in May and … well, it failed.

Didn't. Expect. That…

What's really upsetting about this is that there's little - nothing, really - wrong with the product; what was mainly responsible for the product failing was that we launched it in the wake of the terrible earthquake and tsunami that struck Japan back in March. After experiencing something like that, people understandably just weren't in the mood to start buying into a collectible magazine/model series. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In total seven issues of Build the Enterprise went on sale, and we'd completed work on a further four before it was shut down. Going back to that buzz I mentioned earlier, Rick had mentioned to me that a few Star Trek fans in the States had somehow heard about the project and were eager to know more so, despite the fact it's no longer in production, I thought I'd try to give Build the Enterprise its own little moment in the limelight and do a video run through of the first issue. Because, y'know, I'm extremely proud of what we did.

So, below you'll find four videos. In total, they'll take you about an hour or so to get through, so maybe skip 'em if you don't like Star Trek (seriously, though, you read this far and you DON'T like Star Trek?! What's wrong with you?). Apologies in advance for the reasonably crappy quality - these were shot very late (very, VERY late) at night on my iPhone, and I'm not, sadly, quite as talented behind the camera as JJ Abrams. Apologies also for the fact that I don't have the most interesting voice to listen to; maybe if over 1000 people watch these we could get Patrick Stewart to re-dub them. That would be cool.

Speaking of cool, watching these back it became apparent to me that I say "cool" and "um" rather a lot, so sorry also for that. Maybe you could turn it into a drinking game or something? Y'know, every time I say "cool" you have to down a shot of tequila. That would be ~~cool~~ awesome.

Anyway, enjoy the videos (no I'm not being sarcastic), and if anyone has any questions or wants to know more about the project leave me a comment and I'll do my best to answer them for you.

Hanging out with some chicks

2011-07-03T15:19:00.001+01:00

OK going, going, gone

2011-06-30T21:50:00.012+01:00

Try saying that heading 10 times in a row with an everlasting gobstopper in your mouth.

So yes, as you might gather from the title of this post, I toddled off to deepest darkest Camden last night to see OK Go live. Now, while you might know them as That Band That Did That Video With The Treadmills, I've been a fan of theirs ever since they released their first album way back in … *furiously Googles* … 2002. Wow, really? That long? Blimey. Anyway, I've wanted to catch them live for *ages* but have always been thwarted. A few years back I wandered past the Shepherds Bush Empire only to see their name out front the day AFTER they'd performed. And then last year they played a show while I was ~~balls deep~~ in the midst of my 30 days of yoga. This time around, though, I heard about the gig months in advance and booked tickets EARLY.

This was my first concert since May's epic MONTH OF GIGS, so it had a lot to live up to after the life-changing Sufjan Stevens show at Royal Festival Hall, and the adventure of Panic! At the Disco way out in the sticks of Norwich. And do you know what? I couldn't have wished for a better show. They absolutely nailed it.

Here's some buzzwords for you: Awesome tunes. Suits in primary colours. Confetti canons. A gold Ming the Mercilous costume. Hilarious banter. Swears. LED jackets. Furry guitars with lasers. Audience participation. More confetti.

Some pictures?

The massive face on the backdrop is lead singer Damian Kulash's mug, projected onto a screen from a video camera mounted on his microphone.

Kulash performed an acoustic number amongst the great unwashed masses, although he did warn them not to rip his clothes off. Remarkably, they didn't.

LED jackets. WANT.

Some videos? BECAUSE I'M NOTHING IF NOT THOROUGH.

Here's the band performing their song Return using God's own instrument: HANDBELLS.

Guitars with lasers, people; GUITARS. WITH. LASERS.

And finally, a quick video of the confetti cannons in action.

So, yeah, I think you get the idea that this was an awesome evening. OK Go officially just got added to my list of bands I will go and see whenever they're in town. Heck, I think I'd even go to Norwich to catch them given the chance.

Just one thing, though. As we entered Koko we were given a pair of old-skool 3-D glasses … and yet there wasn't any part of the show that required us to wear them. They did make me look sophisticated and awesome on the tube home, though.

SEXY.

Oh, and at the risk of sounding like Steve Jobs at an Apple keynote presentation: one more thing. Damian Kulash took a photo of the crowd that was later posted to OK Go's Facebook page, and which I have shamelessly stolen here. Bonus points if you can find me amidst the heaving throng.

From the sublime to the ridiculous

2011-06-28T18:56:00.001+01:00

A couple of weeks back I wrote about how in an effort to shake up my wardrobe a bit I threw off my trusted belt and snapped on a dapper pair of braces that I and the world around me loved (and not just for the purposes of comedy twanging). Well, buckle up, because things just got even more exciting.

So I'm now at that age where everyone around me is getting married, and in a few weeks I'm toddling off to some do at a swanky hotel in the countryside. As soon as the invite arrived my mind immediately turned to thoughts of what I would wear, not just because I'm essentially a bit of a girl but because I'm going to the reception not the actual service. If I was going to the service I would of course wear a suit, but correct me if I'm wrong but by the time of the reception isn't everyone dancing on the tables with their ties around their heads, their trousers around their ankles, and red wine all over the bridesmaids?

The fact that by the time of the reception everyone is a bit more … how shall I put this … 'relaxed' than they were earlier in the day means that while I still want to go smart, I want to bring a more relaxed, more casual vibe to my attire. I presented my dilemma to Best Mate Jo, who is herself going to a wedding in a couple of weeks and has thus been faced with a similar situation (albeit of a more lady-based attire nature).

BMJ (who doesn't like acronyms?) immediately said I should wear a white shirt with one of my waistcoats, which was a brilliant idea, although she baulked at the idea of me wearing jeans, however smart they may be. "It's a wedding," she said. "People don't want to see…" and then she waved her hands at my lower half like I'd just dropped a fart of epic proportions.

An easy solution, then, was to pop to Topman and buy a pair of trousers that perfectly match my waistcoat. But the ensemble definitely needed something else. My solution? A bow tie!

I can't say BMJ is 100 percent impressed by this idea, but she's known me long enough to indulge me in such matters. So anyway, I bought a bow tie, and subsequently spent a considerable amount of time trying to learn how to tie the bloody bastard thing (I refuse to wear a pre-tied one; it's like wearing a clip-on tie or velcro shoes).

And finally: SUCCESS!

Jaunty, I think you'll agree.

And before anyone says "oh, you look like Dr. Who!" Piss off! Like my braces, if I was influenced by anyone it was more likely Panic! At the Disco, although seeing as I read last week that their lead singer also likes shopping at Topman you could just say we're both whores to the whims of Topman's clothes buyers and seasonal trends.

Anyhoo, after all that Best Mate Jo told me that she had a present for me. At Christmas BMJ went out to Mexico to see her niece who lives over there, and I asked her to bring me back a sombrero. Turns out, though, that she couldn't get a massive sombrero in her luggage so she resorted to buying me a tiny one. It's awesome, but not terribly practical to wear.

This was taken at Christmas, obviously; I don't have decorations up in June.

Soon after, and I can't remember who mentioned it or why, someone said that she should've got me a Mexican wrestler's mask. The mere mention of those three words made my little eyes light up and I practically demanded that she get straight on a plane and go back to get me one.

Anyway, long story short, her sister went out to Mexico the other week and BOOM:

HOW AWESOME IS THIS?! It's a real Mexican wrestler's mask, from Mexico, chosen for me by a genuine Mexican!

Worryingly, though, I've just remembered that I made an off the cuff remark months ago about how if I actually got a Mexican wrestler's mask I'd pose for a new Facebook profile picture wearing only it and a pair of Speedos. I'm going to hope no one remembers that.

A sterling effort

2011-06-26T20:10:00.003+01:00

Have you ever compared yourself to a character from a television show? I guess I have in the past - I mean, Captain Kirk is a charismatic leader whose skills can be applied rather well to a multitude of office-based situations (as long as you don't send any colleagues dressed in red to their doom), while Spock's logical approach works equally well when pressed into service during those more trying times.

Elsewhere I suppose I was impressed by Lorelai Gilmore's chipper attitude in even the most trying of times, and her ability to get a small business off the ground and make it into a success. Very worthy attributes, I'm sure you'll agree.

More and more in the last couple of months, though, I've found myself bringing qualities from this character into my life:

Sterling Mallory Archer.

On the face of it, Archer has plenty of commendable qualities: he's a dashing man in his thirties with a sophisticated dress sense, a secret agent, and a hit with the ladies. On the surface he's all round awesome.

On the downside, though, he's an alcoholic man-child with an overbearing mother who frequently gets himself into trouble and who is surrounded by bumbling idiots.

Since I started watching Archer (I blitzed the season one boxset in an afternoon) I've found myself picking up on a lot of his catchphrases (as often happens with a nerd like me); it started with a chuckle and a random "awesome," progressed to a frankly outspoken "whatever" when confronted with someone telling me something I had no interest in, and has now progressed to me randomly singing "daaaaaaaanger zone!" in a falsetto voice like this:

Which can sometimes be a bit awkward when you're in the middle of Hammersmith. I said it one time and the lady sitting at the table next to me outside Secret Starbucks got up and left.

I have also started making slightly inappropriate comments about 'tips,' which I think might get me in trouble at some point if someone gets the reference.

*wonders if woman outside Secret Starbucks got the reference and thought I was one step away from making a tip comment to her*

Heh heh. Awesome.

At this rate it won't be too long before I start wearing black turtleneck jumpers.

The only way I know my transformation is not yet complete is that I haven't started daytime drinking. But, y'know, that could happen at, like, any time.

Whatever.

Yo, Warner Bros. - you can have this one for free

2011-06-10T20:08:00.004+01:00

Are we all excited about the Green Lantern movie then? No, me neither. Which is a shame because I used to love the comic. I *hope* it turns out to be one of those films that you think is going to be a bit underwhelming but which really knocks you for six when you actually see it (a bit like X-Men: First Class did when I saw it this week), but from what I've seen so far it just looks a bit too … CGI-y and … dull.

As well as the trailer not really doing anything for me, I took one look at the poster the other day and kind of just went "huh." I mean, I suppose the image is … OK, and yeah, it makes sense to use part of the Green Lantern oath as the strap line - but truth be told that oath is a bit po-faced and doesn't really mean anything to anyone who doesn't read the comic.

A strap line needs to be punchy and awesome and grab the attention of cinema-goers; 'in brightest day, in blackest night' says NOTHING. If anything it just sounds like a weather report. And so, bearing in mind how powerful and bad-ass Green Lantern is supposed to be, I thought I'd have a stab at it.

I think you'll agree this one is far more entertaining.

Brace yourselves

2011-06-06T20:36:00.004+01:00

So, last week I did something I haven't done in years: I wore a pair of braces (that's 'suspenders' to my friends across the pond). The reasons for this essentially boil down to the following:

• I've been trying to shake my wardrobe up for a while now.

• This seemed like an interesting way of doing it.

• I may have gotten the idea from having seen Panic! At the Disco several times recently.

The last time I wore braces I think I was about four years old and they were red and yellow striped with little red and yellow cars on the clasps. I distinctly remember that the cars - I believe they were VW Beetles - made me very happy; on the downside, I possessed a distinct inability to attach or detach the cars clamped to my little trousers which led to several urine-based incidents and a parental vow that the youngest son would only be wearing belts or trousers with an elasticated waist until he was old enough to know better.

Seriously, why I felt the need to undo them completely rather than just unhook them from my little shoulders I'll never know.

So anyway, yes, last week I thought I'd give braces another go. Sadly no little red and yellow cars this time, though; instead I had to make do with an all black pair (I know: DISASTER). But you know what? I loved them. They made me feel particularly sophisticated and masculine (something I doubt little cars would do, however awesome they might be). What's more, I received lots of compliments throughout the day from swooning colleagues, and only had to contend with two 'witty' remarks comparing me to Cannon and Ball, both of which came within 30 seconds of one another, and both of which I dispatched with an arched eyebrow, possibly a swear, and definitely a threat to take off my braces and beat those responsible with the metal ends.

I also managed to resist the temptation to twang them for comedy purposes, which would've no doubt resulted in a painful laceration to the nips - and even better: I didn't pee myself.

All in all then it was a successful sartorial experiment, and one I shall happily repeat.

Month of gigs: part 4 - road trip edition

2011-05-18T21:57:00.010+01:00

OK, so I've given this some more thought and I really want you to be reading the words MONTH OF GIGS like how they said PIGS IN SPACE on The Muppet Show. Got that? Right - let's crack on with the final part of MONTH OF GIGS!

(you did it, right?)

So last time we spoke I mentioned that MONTH OF GIGS was supposed to end with Monday's Cold War Kids show at the Shepherds Bush Empire, and then I mentioned the immortal words 'road trip.' What happened, basically, was that I'd just happened upon Panic! At the Disco's website one evening and noticed that after a few dates in Europe they were popping back to the UK for a few shows they'd rescheduled from April. And one of those shows - Norwich, to be precise - still had some tickets available.

Now, I never do things like spontaneously drive 140-odd miles across the country to do anything, but I found myself sitting here thinking 'that's doable,' and 'it's not actually that far,' and 'I have plenty of holiday to use,' and 'I *really* enjoyed their Shepherds Bush Empire show and who knows how long it will be before they come back again?' Then I was googling directions and finding out about nearby accommodation for the night.

And then before I knew it, I'd bought a ticket and booked a room at a Travelodge, all for less than 70 quid. I'll happily admit I surprised myself with such spontaneity.

Spontaneity personified.

So, the day after seeing Cold War Kids, I faffed about at home in the morning, bunged some stuff in a bag, and just after one in the afternoon, under the firm yet plumby guiding voice of satnav lady, set out on my little adventure.

The journey took just under three hours, and by around four o'clock I was ensconced in a comfortable Travelodge room, sipping the worst cup of tea I've ever made.

Yes, it was comfortable enough, but the TV remote didn't work, nor did three of the lights. The bed was well squishy in a 'it'll-be-exciting-for-one-night-but-I-wouldn't-want-to-live-with-it-permanently' kinda way.

With nothing better to do I spent just over two hours spread-eagled on the bed reading my book. I was half tempted to do something rock 'n roll like throw the telly out the window, but it was quite a bulky TV and the windows didn't open all the way. Plus, I was on the ground floor, so it would actually have looked more like someone had just put a telly outside, which wouldn't really be what I was going for.

Anyway, at about half six I decided to head for the venue, which was the UEA LCR - basically the student union at the University of East Anglia. Never having gone to uni, this was definitely VERY EXCITING. I was soon queuing with lots of student-type people and bizarrely not feeling at all out of place despite being an entire teenaged person older than most of them.

The queue was long but shuffled forward quite quickly so before I knew it I was handing over my ticket and I was in.

----------------------------------------

An aside:

I don't know about you, but I like to hang on to my gig tickets as a souvenir of the event; I've got a drawer full of them that I some day intend to assemble into some sort of immense ticket collage or something. Annoyingly, though, the dudes on the door of the venue took the complete tickets off everyone rather than just tear the stub off. This is actually doubly annoying, because writing this post I discovered that the LCR has a capacity of 1550 people, and my ticket was number 1550 (seriously - go back and look at the photo). Yes, it looks like I actually got THE LAST TICKET.

----------------------------------------

I soon found myself a decent spot just behind the mixing desk, and began tweeting, texting, and facebooking furiously on my iPhone so as not to look too much like Billy No-Mates.

After a short time, the support act came on. They were actually the exact same support that Panic! had at the Shepherds Bush gig just 13 days earlier, and I found it kind of weird that I'd been standing beside the guitarist outside the stage door while queuing in the alleyway alongside the Empire. Not only that, but I actually quite enjoyed their set this time round, having found it a bit ho-hum previously.

After that it was another half hour wait before the lights dimmed once more (at a surprisingly early 8:30), and Panic! At the Disco bounded onto the stage.

Bearing in mind this was the third time I've seen Panic! play this year, my enthusiasm at seeing them perform again was undiminished. And, it seems, their enthusiasm for playing to a crowd was every bit as potent as when I saw them on those two previous occasions. This was the last gig of the UK tour, and here was a band who were clearly enjoying themselves and having a great time playing - which was in turn reflected by the audience's reactions. They bantered with the crowd and with each other, and they played some unexpected and obviously spontaneous cover versions - from an uncannily accurate John Mayer track to a hilarious version of James Blunt's 'You're Beautiful' (don't ask me how Panic! knew that track, but suffice to say I preferred their version to the original). As the show went on we were also treated to versions of the Friends and Super Mario Bro. theme tunes, 'Panic' (ha, fitting) by The Smiths, and a version of the Kansas song 'Carry on Wayward Son' because they'd been playing it on Guitar Hero.

I like this picture. I know the quality is crappy, but I like the colours and the raised camera held up in front of me.

And then, just a little before 10 o'clock, they took their bows and bid us good night. Shortly after I joined the heaving throng of sweaty students as we shuffled out into the cool night air (and on the way managed to snaffle a ticket from the pile collected on the way in; it's not my original number 1550, but it's a souvenir of the evening nonetheless). To be honest, if I'd known the gig was going to end at this time I would've seriously thought about driving home instead of staying over; I mean, seriously, can't these students party late?!

Still, I'd paid for a room for the night, so I headed back there. By 22:20 I was plonked on my squishy bed, texting and tweeting mercilessly while reflecting on the gig. Oh, and posing sexily to remember my post-Panic!/end of MONTH OF GIGS face:

That's a look of slight bewilderment/over-excitement there, people.

I woke up this morning surprisingly early, so sat in the room and read my book for an hour or so while listening to two of the maids loudly discussing their sex lives while cleaning the room opposite. Then I packed my stuff, grabbed my bag, stole three sachets of coffee in an attempt to make up for not chucking the telly out the window, and checked out. Before heading home, though, I decided to grab some breakfast at the Little Chef attached to the Travelodge. For just over seven quid I got a surprisingly tasty pancake breakfast, a pot of Earl Grey (I cannot function in the morning without it), and an orange juice.

The only downside was that the pot of sauce was 'maple-flavoured syrup' rather than actual maple syrup. Not that I could tell the difference, though.

And then following the stern instructions of satnav lady, I headed home.

Sitting here now, I actually sort of can't believe I did this little road trip just to see a band play. I've never done that before - something that was highlighted when the singer of the support act shouted "good evening Norwich!"; I've only ever heard "good evening London!" before. But d'ya know what? I had an awesome time, and I got to see one of my favourite bands play somewhere totally unexpected just by acting on a whim.

And that, I think you'll agree, was a fitting end to MONTH OF GIGS.

-----

Some videos! I think I was standing next to a speaker or someone who gave off strange magnetic vibes because the sound in these videos is pretty atrocious. So, like, apologies for that. On the plus side, it should give you an idea of what the gig was like.

I got a snippet of their cover of George Michael's 'Careless Whisper' - despite appalling sound quality you can just about hear the guiter part. At one point the guitarist was playing his guitar behind his head. AWESOME.

And finally, here's 'New Perspective,' which begins with the tail end of the cover of the Super Mario Bro. theme, complete with the 'getting coins' sound effect - all done on guitar! It was good to hear 'New Perspective' played as they didn't do it at the Shepherds Bush show - possibly the only omission from that earlier gig.

Month of gigs: part 3

2011-05-17T11:55:00.004+01:00

Well. After the life-changing experience that was Sufjan Stevens at Royal Festival Hall, you really wouldn't envy the task facing the next band Yazzle Dazzle and I had lined up as part of our MONTH OF GIGS.

You know what? I really think that should be MONTH OF GIIIIIIIIIIGS but I'm really not sure that typing it like that gets across the echoing sound effect I want to convey. It just looks a bit like I suffered an aneurysm while typing 'gigs.' Could you, like, maybe just imagine there's an echo? Just on the GIGS part so it sounds all, like, "GIIIIIIIIIIIIIGS" but fading off towards the end like someone's shouting it as they're plummeting off a cliff or something. That would be grand.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so post-Sufjan (and let me tell you, I had a proper post-Sufjan funk over the weekend; it was like GRIEF), we were a little worried that nothing would be able to compare. "Cold War Kids have A LOT to live up to," Yazzle said with a serious tone in her voice as we tubed it back from Festival Hall on Thursday night, words that rang in our heads as we took our seats in the Shepherds Bush Empire, where MONTH OF GIGS had begun a little less than two weeks ago. In fact, as we walked past the seats we'd sat in at the Panic! At the Disco gig I pointed forlornly and said "Look - Panic! seats…"

Look, I'll keep it brief. The evening did not begin terribly well. We *hated* the support act. I actually have no idea who they were because they either didn't tell us, or it was mumbled so incoherently that I just didn't pick it up. Their drummer was very animated, though, which was quite exciting. Add to that the fact that the couple seated directly next to me spent a considerable amount of time in the throes of a very handsy, very slurpy makeout session and I was thinking "I'd quite like to be at home right about now."

But then Cold War Kids came on and everything was good. We've seen them a couple of times before, but after just a couple of songs Yazzle turned to me and said "whoa! They've really upped their game!" And they have. Much like how I thought Panic! had really stepped things up since their last tour, Cold War Kids were much more confident and interesting to watch, rather than just listen to. For some reason, though, the bass player kept kicking the singer in the bum which was a bit weird.

Anyway, the general consensus as we filed out of the Empire was - and although it may not sound like it, in the post-Sufjan world I live in this is intended as a compliment - that this was as good a gig as we could've hoped for just days after seeing Sufjan Stevens. And that, my friends, is praise indeed.

Here's the obligatory grainy photos and dodgy video clip.

So the idea was that MONTH OF GIGS (imaginary echo please) concluded where it began with Panic! At the Disco on May 4th at Shepherds Bush Empire. Yazzle and I both liked the synergy and symmetry of that. And for Yazzle it does. But in a stunning and somewhat unexpected (yes, I surprised myself) turn of events, I've extended MONTH OF GIGS (you know what to do by now, right?) by one more show. And two important words here are:

ROAD TRIP.

Month of gigs: part 2

2011-05-13T21:31:00.008+01:00

So, last night I finally got to fulfil a long-held ambition to see Sufjan Stevens perform live.

After last week's amazing Panic! At the Disco gig I was a little apprehensive about going to see Sufjan because I've been so utterly in love with his music for so long now that I began to fear I'd hyped myself into such a frenzy that the reality might not quite live up to expectations. Still, I was in good company (Yazzle Dazzle, the lovely Ryan, and Big Bro), and due to my quick off the mark ticket purchasing a couple of months back we were in the fourth row from the front (in fact I was so quick off the mark buying the tickets that I accidentally bought them for the Thursday gig rather than the Friday one we'd all agreed to go to), so at the very least I thought we'd have an enjoyable evening.

You know you're going to have a good evening when you can see balloons suspended from the ceiling.

What we actually had was an evening of such utter, unmitigated joy that I shall never forget it.

I don't know why, but I always had this preconceived notion that Sufjan Stevens would be quite a shy, withdrawn artist to watch on stage, but the reality was, much to my surprise, the exact opposite. He came on stage wearing vast feathered wings, and both he and his band wore what I can only describe as homemade Tron costumes: black clothes gleefully enhanced with strips of neon tape. He quickly introduced himself and announced "I’ll be singing a lot of songs about love and death and the apocalypse. But it should be a lot of fun." He giggled as he said it, and we were immediately won over by how humble and likeable he was.

Sufjan and his neon-clad band take to the stage.

Most of the set was made up of songs from his latest album, The Age of Adz, which I described in my 2010 Year in Reviews post as being "brilliantly mad, psychedelically bonkers and completely brilliant"; performed live it was even more so. Not only that, but Sufjan really took the time to engage with the audience, far more so than any artist I've seen in … well, ever. He paused about halfway through the two and a half hour-long set (telling us that now was a good time to "visit the restroom") to talk about how he put this album together, from the synthesiser samples that make it sound so radically different from his earlier work, to how he was inspired by the work of a self-taught artist named Royal Robertson.

He went on to talk about his unusual upbringing (naked family yoga anyone?), and how his parents told him that they were star-children. He also explained how his dancing - which I had previously dismissed as seeming to be a bit awkward after seeing youtube videos of earlier concerts - was actually a vital part of the music, how it was basically a language in itself, after which point I totally got it and even started doing it myself.

When he continued with the music he did so while wearing a bizarre crystalline headpiece with half a glitter ball attached to his chest. Moments later this was dispensed with in favour of what I can only describe as a neon chiffon wedding dress with a wig made of paper streamers. Oh, and some plastic wings. He then proceeded to run up and down the stage, waving glow-sticks and busting more dance moves.

Sufjan's crystalline costume made him look a little bit like a Tholian…

And here he is in his neon wedding dress.

This was somehow something more than just seeing a singer I've enjoyed listening to for years perform live - it was a celebration of life, and quite possibly the closest I've come to having a religious experience; she'll thump me for sharing this, but Yazzle told me that there were a handful of times during the show where she felt like she "had something in her eye."*

It was an utterly joyous and completely magical evening, which culminated in the entire audience on their feet dancing and singing along to 'Impossible Soul,' a 25 minute-long song, before an encore in which Sufjan performed two acoustic tracks from his Illinoise album, followed by a rousing version of 'Chicago' during which he stomped around the stage wearing a monkey mask as confetti and giant balloons rained down from the ceiling.

And then, to a standing ovation, he and his band were gone.

Thinking about it now sends a shiver of emotion down my spine. I half-jokingly said to Yazzle on the way home that life would forever now be split into pre- and post-Sufjan, but to be honest it actually kills me that as I type this, over in Festival Hall he's playing to another sellout crowd. I would do anything to be there now, and I can only hope that I will have the privilege of seeing him perform again at some point in the future.

-----

While it's difficult to truly convey exactly what it was like at the concert, I hope these videos I took give you at least a small idea of how wonderful Sufjan Stevens was.

I kid you not, if ever I'm feeling down I am just going to watch this last video to remember how great life is.

*she means crying

Month of gigs: Thursday tease edition

2011-05-12T19:31:00.000+01:00

So, by the time you're reading this I should be safely ensconced in London's Royal Festival Hall bouncing up and down in my FOURTH ROW SEAT with giddy expectation at the prospect of finally seeing - *le gasp!* - Sufjan Stevens!

As long time readers will know, I'm nutty for Sufjan and he's without a doubt the most prominent name on my by now very short list of artists I want to see perform live before either they or I shuffle off this mortal coil (hopefully neither of which will occur in the immediate future. Or at all, quite frankly).

----------------------------------------

An aside:

I actually had the chance to buy tickets to see Sufjan about five years ago, but passed on the opportunity because I had tickets for the same night to see The Feeling, a band I'd already seen twice that year. In retrospect, I should've sold The Feeling tickets, or quite honestly just given them away, and gone seen young Mr. Stevens instead.

For the simple fact that I didn't, I now vehemently HATE The Feeling.

----------------------------------------

Anyway, Sufjan announced two gigs at the Royal Festival Hall a couple of months back and I immediately corralled some Sufjan-loyal troops together. I actually meant to buy tickets for the Friday night show as I thought it would be a lovely lead-in to the weekend, but in my haste at the moment tickets went on sale I accidentally bought them for the Thursday night one instead.

Still, fourth row tickets, eh?

One of the faithful joining me is my Big Bro, who has been gently appreciative of Sufjan for a few years now, before exploding into crazed nuttiness after hearing his latest album, 'Age of Adz'; seriously, Big Bro described it as being something like 'Sufjan Stevens colliding with Nine Inch Nails,' which in his book is A GOOD THING. And mine, too.

Anyway, because it was Big Bro's birthday recently I told him I'd pick up the tab for his ticket as one of his presents from me (note I said 'one of'; I'm a very generous present giver, I'll have you know). My intention was to slip it inside his birthday card. Sadly, the tickets didn't arrive in time (they actually arrived the day after - tut!), which put the kibosh on that plan.

That being the case, I improvised - the result being this:

Honestly, I really don't think Sufjan speaks like that, but it made Big Bro laugh. For all I know he's laminated it and stuck it on his living room wall. Actually, I hope he has; it took a fair bit of time to do, you know.

And if by any chance Sufjan or any of his peeps come across this: NO OFFENCE INTENDED - HONEST!

So anyway, yeah, excitement levels will be going slightly off the scale tonight. And there's always the question of what he'll be wearing - will it be the stars and stripes catsuit, the angel wings, hot neon post-it notes, or an immense crystalline … thing?!

Reporting back SOON.

Month of gigs: part 1

2011-05-07T13:59:00.007+01:00

Some time ago, Yazzle Dazzle and I got talking about how we'd not been to a gig in a while, and resolved to do something about that.

And then, lo and behold, a load of people I wanted to see popped up and I ended up spending a small fortune on tickets. Somehow all these gigs fell into a short two-week period, and by some miracle of miracles there wasn't any overlap in the dates. We subsequently named this intense period 'MONTH OF GIGS,' as although strictly speaking 'FORTNIGHT OF GIGS' would be technically more correct, it doesn't sound anywhere near as dramatic or exciting.

Anyway, MONTH OF GIGS kicked off this week, with back-to-back concerts on Wednesday and Thursday. First up:

Panic! At the Disco at Shepherds Bush Empire!

I think we all know by now that I'm a huge Panic! fan, and was totally blown away by their performance at Bush Hall back in February. As a result, I was very much looking forward to seeing them again, not least because having now heard their new album, 'Vices and Virtues,' in its entirety many times I'm more familiar with the new stuff, but also because I wanted to see what Yazzle thought of them (she's only seen them play briefly at the Decaydance Festival four years ago).

The evening didn't start amazingly well because we slightly underestimated the need to get in the queue early, and ended up not getting out traditional level one balcony front row seats, instead having to go four rows back. But, as Yazzle pointed out, everything happens for a reason, and that reason swiftly became apparent when someone on the level two balcony emptied a pint of beer over the people in our usual seats. That near miss aside, our new seats still afforded us a fine view of the stage.

And how was Panic! this time round, you ask? Quite simply: awesome. As I noted in my write-up of the Bush Hall gig, lead singer Brendon Urie really seems to have upped his game since I saw them back in 2008; his voice is utterly phenomenal, and his onstage performance is a sight to behold; unlike the Bush Hall gig, however, our raised vantage point here allowed us to see Urie's dancing in its entirety - and the dude can throw some seriously incredible moves. I even went so far as to tweet after the gig that I consider him to be the "finest frontman performing today."

I read a review the day after that said Panic! is now "basically the Brendon Urie show," and I don't think that's a bad thing; I mean, look how famous frontmen such as Mick Jagger and Freddie Mercury have stolen the limelight. But the fact of the matter is that Urie's backed up by a brilliant band who all contributed to make this one of the best gigs I've been to in a long time.

Awesome moment of the night:

During the song 'Memories' Yazzle and I noticed a young couple of boys in the standing section to the left of our seats who were pogo-ing around to the music with ferocious intensity, swept up, it seemed, by everything from the brilliant music to the vibrant atmosphere of the crowd and their love for each other. We were in hysterics just watching them, although the music journalist they kept bumping into while he sternly tried to take notes seemed somewhat less impressed.

As we were leaving after the gig finished, though, who should we bump into but the very same pogo boys! And of course we couldn't help but tell them how we'd enjoyed watching them dance (which fortunately they were pleased to hear rather than thinking it was a bit weird). Bless them, we chatted for a short while before they pogo'd off into the night.

I can't hear 'Memories' now without thinking of them jumping around like loons. Good times.

Joseph Arthur at Bush Hall!

Yazzle and I saw Joseph Arthur play at Bush Hall with his band The Lonely Astronauts two years ago and were so blown away by how good he was that we vowed we'd definitely go and see him again if ever the opportunity arose. And arise it did, with a single London date the day after the Panic gig.

This time, however, Arthur was playing solo, filling the room with sound by doing that incredible laying thing he does where he records guitar parts or harmonies then puts them on a loop. It's amazing to see - and even more so to hear as it genuinely does sound like there's a full band on stage when in fact there's just one dude, and every now and then he's off to the left of stage working on a painting.

I kid you not: Joseph Arthur paints onstage, often while still singing. It's a sight to behold.

It was a mighty fine gig, slightly ruined at one point by some wench who decided she wanted to stand exactly where I was standing without fully appreciating the fact that two people can't actually occupy the same precise point in space. She moved eventually, but only after Yazzle glared at her and said something like "you're in the way of me talking to my friend."

On the plus side, like all Joseph Arthur's gigs, this one was recorded so I got to take home a CD of the entire evening. And because he's such a down-to-Earth personable chap, Joseph Arthur even manned the merch table to sign everyone's CD cover!

Which in turn led me to awkwardly ask if I could have my photo taken with him.

OK, it's a bit of a crappy photo because it was taken using my iPhone which has a bit of a crappy camera, but: PHOTO WITH JOSEPH ARTHUR! Unfortunately, the crappy camera is no excuse for the weird look on my face. And what the hell's going on with my hair?! It had been awesomely bouffy during the day, but appeared to have gone all flat and 1920s by this point.

I always feel like a bit of dick when I meet famous people.

Anyway, another brilliant evening of fine music.

Awkward moment of the night:

During the encore, Joseph Arthur played a beautiful acoustic version of 'Honey and the Moon' without microphones. Even though Bush Hall is really quite small and we were only half way back, we still had to strain to hear it. Unfortunately, midway through the song, I could hear what sounded like music coming from a phone. This went on and on, to the point where I was ready to have a go at someone. And then a lovely young lady tapped me on the arm and said "I think your phone is ringing."

Turns out when I'd checked my phone between Joseph Arthur leaving the stage and coming back for the encore I'd accidentally swiped my hand on the iPod function, and my phone had started playing a Smashing Pumpkins song. I sheepishly pulled it out of my pocket, stopped it, and slid it back in my pocket.

At which point I did it again.

This time I swore, smiled at nice lady, and hastily turned my phone OFF.

Awkward.

-----

Next time on MONTH OF GIGS: a singer I've been waiting to see live for *YEARS* and a band of Californian rockers!

A somewhat lazy post

2011-04-29T17:49:00.010+01:00

Yeah, I know: I've not blogged for, like, FUH-EVAH. Well don't get your hopes up here; this is probably the laziest thing I've written since that fateful birthday card I sent my first girlfriend.

(Hint: IT DIDN'T GO DOWN WELL)

So what have I been up to, you're probably not so excited to know? Well, y'know, this and that. Possibly most thrilling of all is the news that, following my last post, I managed to get my car insurance down from £834 to a far more agreeable £470 (which is actually cheaper than last year) just by going on Mini Cover's website and posing as a new, rather than existing, customer. Yes, it's weird that they're able to offer this fee to a newbie but not to someone who's been with them for 10 years, which does make it look like they're trying to push existing customers away, but hey-ho I won't complain too much because I saved almost £400. I did complain to them in writing though, and they were very apologetic, so I think we can put our differences aside now and just move forward with our relationship.

I'll 'ave 'em if they try it again next year, though.

What else? Oh, yeah, so I took three days off work this week which, thanks to the Easter break, assorted bank holidays, and some couple getting hitched, gave me 11 days of blissful freedom.

And how did I use those days?

Well, I got plenty of this.

Which resulted in a lot of this…

And that's a tan, not dirt, I'll have you know.

Also read some books, one of which featured this page:

Which reminded me somewhat of something that my pal Grum drew based on a story I wrote back in 2003.

I'm saying *nothing*.

Um … Ooo, saw some oven gloves that looked like a skinned dolphin!

And some classy Royal Wedding souvenirs at bargain prices!

Elsewhere, watched Tron Legacy for the second time and loved it even more than I did the first time. Seriously, I actually understood the story this time round. And I preferred it being in 2D rather than 3D. Anyway, this has of course led to me wanting a Tron costume. I would totally rock this. I would look so awesome playing frisbee in the park dressed like this.

Tron fever has also led me to consider buying a Tron iPhone dock…

… and - ooo, squeal! - light-up Tron headphones!

Right: got to go. Big Bro is coming round in a bit to watch Tron.

What? I told you this was a lazy post.

Insure-angst

2011-04-17T10:29:00.002+01:00

It's around this time every year that I brace myself for a scrotum-tightening assault on my finances. Not because I throw caution to the wind and decide to buy myself a new spring wardrobe (let's face it, I do that all year round not just seasonally), but because it's when my car insurance is up for renewal.

I won't go into my entire insurance history, but the Cliff Notes version is this:

• First car (old, slightly trampy Fiesta) + inexperienced driver = EXPENSIVE

• First car + a couple of years experience = REASONABLE

• Second car (Mini Cooper) + experience + four years no-claims bonus = EXPENSIVE

• Second car (Mini Cooper) + more experience + more no-claims bonus = REASONABLE

• Third car (Mini Cooper S - more vroom vroom) + MORE no-claims bonus = ACCEPTABLE

• Fourth car (Mini Cooper Clubman, less vroom vroom) + EVEN MORE no-claims bonus: WIN

Seriously, going from a Cooper S to a Cooper Clubman sliced something like 100-odd quid off my insurance costs, and it's more frugal at the pumps, so all in all buying Clubbie was a total financial win.

Anyway, last year I was a smidgeon distressed to find that my insurance premium had actually gone up by 100-odd quid to just above the level I had been paying for my Cooper S, which quite frankly was ridiculous. So I phoned up the insurance company, told them this, and they activated a little-known loyalty clause that dropped it back down to the previous year's level. Why they didn't just do this in the first place I do not know, but, like, WHATEVS.

And so let's fast-forward back to the present day; well, not necessarily the present day, because the following event happened on Wednesday, but you get the idea. Anyway, I get home from a delightful evening out to find a letter on my doormat: my insurance renewal documents. I tear the envelope open - which wasn't terribly difficult bearing in mind it had barely been stuck down (obviously spittle is being rationed in the fast-paced world of high-finance) - to find that…

MY INSURANCE PREMIUM HAS DOUBLED!

I shit you not. They wanted over £800 for me to renew my insurance! I remember when it used to drop every year - not go up! Anyway, I was straight on a price comparison website (confused.com if you were wondering; proof that the whole 'price the meerkat' thing did nothing except introduce the word "simples" done in a Russian accent to the nation) where I found that basically everyone would offer me cover for around £4-500.

It is around about here that I should point out that I've been with the same insurance company for 10 years, and have exclusively insured every Mini I've owned with them. I have 14+ no-claims bonus, a clean driver's licence, and have never (touch wood) been involved in an accident where I was at fault. And let's not forget Clubbie is a Cooper-spec car, which means it's peppy but hardly a Ferrari. Basically, the way I see it, I am awesome insurance customer numero uno.

So, anyway, I decided I'd give them a call about this. Rather than screaming down the phone at them like a lunatic, I decided my best approach was to play dumb, which if you've been unfortunate enough to meet me you'll appreciate as something that comes quite easily to me.

That being the case, my opening line was something like "well, I got my renewal documents and there simply *must* be a mistake because it's, like, TOTALLY DOUBLED!"

It was so convincing that the man on the end of the line, like, totally agreed with me and put me through to the customer loyalty team to "see what they could do" for me.

The answer was: NOT VERY MUCH. Basically I was put through to some bored-sounding jobsworth who gave the impression that he was doing me an immense favour by knocking it down to £790. It was at that point that I dispensed with the dumb act, told him it was ridiculous, and said there was no way in hell I'd be renewing my insurance with them. Which I feel is a great shame because this particular company have been nothing but great in the past, to the point I've even gone so far as to pay a little bit extra to them when I could've got insurance cheaper elsewhere. I won't stoop so low as to name and shame them, but if you're interested they are Mini Cover.

Any-hoo, INCENSED, I decided to have another play around on the interwebz and ended up on the website of More Th>n (yes, the '>' thing is a bit wanky, but that's how they spell it so who am I to argue), the company who Big Bro insures his car with, and who he speaks vey vey highly off. So I got a quote - a good one - and then decided that as I was at work I probably should, y'know, do some work.

Ten minutes later, though, my phone rings. I answer it and find myself talking to … well, we'll call her Debbie. Because her name was Debbie.

In contrast to the feckless jobsworth at Mini Cover, Debbie was an utter delight to speak with. She made me laugh, I made her laugh; she gave me a great quote, and then when she couldn't get it down any further threw in a personal representative thingy worth £25 that means I deal exclusively with the same person whenever I need to call them (except, I expect, if that one person is ill, on holiday, or gets another job - these are questions I will have to ask). All in all, then, Debbie was brilliant, and while I haven't accepted the cover yet, I will be calling her back at some point in the coming week to ~~ask her out~~ take it out.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to write a sternly-worded letter to Mini Cover explaining exactly why I'm leaving them. It'll probably go straight in the bin, but the mere act of writing it will doubtless prove extremely therapeutic.

-----

And as I'm writing this, I come across this blog on the Autocar website where the writer discusses the very same thing I've been harping on about, even going so far as to say "…the whole system is skewed against us. I have a 28 year plus record without blemish so really I should be paying 9p. But apparently not." It's an interesting read.

Getting my plumbing sorted

2011-04-06T17:12:00.006+01:00

So, here was an interesting problem: I was having a shower a while back (let's take a moment for you to bathe in that glorious image) and after lathering and rinsing (again, have a few seconds to reflect if you wish) I went to turn the shower off and … it stayed on. I had to twist the knob a few more times (watch it, filth-bag) before it eventually went off, but still it was a bit perturbing.

To confound matters, the issue got progressively worse over the days and weeks that followed; often the shower would continue running for something like five minutes before clicking off, which was a bit annoying because I shower quite often (when your sense of humour is as dirty as mine you need to find some way of staying clean). At one point out of sheer fury I tried punching the shower unit in the knob which, surprisingly, actually rectified the matter for a couple of days. Like the Borg, however, it subsequently adapted to my fists of fury, and I had to resort to wedging the shower head under the bath mat to prevent it from spraying all over the bathroom while I patted myself dry and toddled off to do something more exciting. Oh, and did I mention that while the knob was in the off position and the shower was still running it would do so at scorching hot temperatures? My bathroom got well steamy.

So I put up with this for … well, look, I'd like to say a couple of weeks, but I'm actually really quite lazy so it was more like a couple of months, before deciding that I really needed to call a plumber to sort it out. This revelation hit me while I was 'enjoying' a bath (and I use that term loosely because I always find the concept of a bath is better than the actual experience of having one) and staring up at the manky old shower head having gotten bored of watching fluff lazily drift out of my belly button.

That being the case I dug out an old invoice from the plumbers I called out a couple of years back to fix something to do with my boiler or something (I don't know what these things are), and gave them a ring because they were good and efficient and resolved the problem. A lovely lady emailed me back the next day, and booked me in for Wednesday.

----------------------------------------

An aside:

I don't know about you, but the mere notion of getting a plumber in just makes me think of awful seventies porn with big moustaches, lame jokes about wrenches, and - oops! - burst pipes. And while it's recently been pointed out to me that a significant proportion of my readers would consider this at worst a welcome distraction, and at best marriage material, the notion isn't quite so appealing to me. Although that said, I am sitting here writing this while amusing myself by rocking back and forth in a chair that's making slightly pervy squeaking sounds, so, y'know, each to their own.

----------------------------------------

So this morning at around half 10 this guy turns up. I show him the bathroom, and the errant behaviour of the shower unit, which in contrast to how these things usually play out when a professional comes to look at them actually did the whole not-turning-off thing, and he says "yeah, we ain't gonna get parts for THAT." I'm actually quite pleased at this turn of events because quite frankly regardless of whether it turns on or off the thing is lilac in colour which makes it stand out rather horrifically ever since I painted the entire room white, and would look even more out of place if I follow through with an idea I've had about painting half the room lime green (don't ask).

That being the case I say "yay!" and we look through some catalogues for new showers, which is initially confusing because he keeps saying "bar mixers" which I hear as "bar mitzvahs" and at least twice I say "but I'm not Jewish."

Any-hoo, we eventually select a nice chrome BAR MIXER, and then he announces that he needs to pop up into my loft to do something with my water tank (which I pray is not poo or bash one out into it like some of those horror stories you read about in the newspapers), and it is at this point that PLUMBING EMERGENCY NUMBER ONE kicks in.

Back just before I bought Sparky Towers, y'see, I had a survey done on the house - this being before the time of HIPS (that's Home Information Packs rather than the actual joints - I've not owned it that far back in human evolution). One of the things that came up - aside from a peculiar fascination that the surveyor had with limescale around the rim of the toilet – was that the wood underneath the water tank had at some point gotten damp and REALLY SHOULD BE replaced. But me being me, I moved in and quickly did nothing about it.

Having owned the house well for well over five years, it may come as a surprise to you to find that I've never actually ventured up into the loft until today, when plumber chappy said he'd really rather like to show me something up there and it seemed like I didn't really have much say in the matter and my excuse that I don't really like ladders wouldn't hold much water (unlike the bath while I'm waiting for the shower to turn off). So I follow him up the ladder, half expecting to find a decomposing body, or a wasps' nest, or a family of Albanian asylum seekers cowering in the corner. What I was not expecting, however, was a massive lump of wood under the water tank that had bowed waaaaaaay more than you'd imagine wood could possibly bow without snapping in two - so much so that instead of expressing something akin to shock, I look at the plumber and say "holy shit, is that even possible!? Look at it bend - it looks like Dawn French sat on it!" Which was, I'm guessing, not quite the reaction he was expecting.

After getting over this remarkable sight, I then realise that he's suggesting it's probably wise that I let him fix this, although the only things going through my mind by this point are the fact that this is a) going to cost a bit more than I'd anticipated, and b) the loft would be a rather awesome chill-out room if I popped a few beanbags, a lava lamp, and perhaps a teasmade up there. Eventually I snap back to the point at hand and agree that, yes, I've somehow gotten away with not having done anything about it for five years so I probably really should do something about it now instead of waiting for it to crash through the ceiling and kill me while I'm enjoying the delights of my new shower for the first time.

On a side note, as I descend the ladder, I notice that idiot girl who used to own my house actually left a Christmas tree in the loft, along with a plastic Halloween pumpkin with a scary face on it that I am going to have to go back up to retrieve and subsequently smash to smithereens because I genuinely think it looks like the sort of thing that would come to life and murder me in my sleep now that I know it's up there.

Anyway. Plumber dude ended up being round here for most of the day and did a brilliant job. I now have a water tank that's sitting on a massive expanse of well-hard, decidedly non-saggy wood, and a sparkly new chrome shower thingy that looks a bit like a Cylon from Battlestar Galactica, although I'm not allowed to use it for 24 hours because he used some silicon stuff to plug some holes where the old shower used to be and that needs to dry. Unfortunately, since he pointed this out to me I just want to go into the bathroom and touch it, which would be bad as we all know how that turned out the last time this sort of thing happened. The next 20-odd hours are going to be VERY DIFFICULT.

A night on the town

2011-03-29T20:48:00.003+01:00

A few weeks back I regaled you with the tale of how I got a little bit tiddily for the first time in, um, MANY years. As you may recall, the only dampener on an otherwise fine evening was the fact that I was suffering from THE COUGH THAT WOULD NOT GO AWAY, and my brilliant and hilarious friends kept making me laugh, which in turn kept making me cough, which in turn probably made them laugh at my plight.

It was a vicious, vicious circle, dear reader.

Anyway, having long since recovered from the vile cough, the subject of getting me drunk was raised again recently, and ~~like a lamb to the slaughter~~ seeing as I'm always up for a good time I clapped my hands and a plan was made to go out for drinks in London one Saturday evening.

And then on the day I suddenly discovered that Central London was going to be the site of a mass demonstration.

"You're going up to London? Today?" Asked my Nan when I told her what my plans for the evening were. "I wouldn't bother."

But bother I did. Eventually, because like the doofus I am I missed not one but two trains while I ~~did my hair~~ sorted some important stuff out.

So, an hour later than scheduled I found myself in a nice subterranean bar with Glittering Lee, Skip, and the lovely Ryan, sipping a fruity cocktail while a handful of miles away the Police tussled with angry balaclava'd protestors. On the subject of drinks, yes it does seem that I have a somewhat unusual taste in alcoholic beverages for a straight man, but good lord, if you'd tried that raspberry cocktail I'm pretty sure you would've pledged to give up Diamond White and/or meths in a shot. I did not, however, sample Lee's cocktail when it was offered to me, based purely on the fact that he described it as tasting somewhat like "unwashed cock."

A short time later, and for reasons I cannot quite remember because things were spinning somewhat delightfully by this point, we decided to decamp to the lovely Drink, Shop & Do on Caledonian Road. En route, adding to his tally of beating me while I'm drunk, Skip punched me in the stomach; like the previous occasion when he punched me in the head, neither of us can recall quite why he felt inclined to lash out at me so violently, but I'm assured it was done with affection.

Drink, Shop & Do was quieter than I've ever seen it because they didn't have a 'Do' on that evening, so we just got some drinks in and got snippy with one another in an affectionate fashion. Here, I combined my love of coffee with my newfound appreciation of sophisticated cocktails by ordering an espresso martini which BLEW MY TINY MIND. Once that was knocked back, we decided to decamp once again.

Things get a smidgeon blurry around here, because all I can recall is a hurried walk around St. Pancras station in search of an open branch of Marks and Spencers where pizza and more booze were purchased, and I seriously considered buying a delightful looking chocolate Easter chick. The whole thing reminded me of that brilliant eighties film 'Adventures in Babysitting.'

A short time later we were ensconced in Skip's house watching episodes of Better off Ted, which as I've mentioned before is brilliant and you really should be watching it.

By about 23:20, however, little ol' drunken me had a dilemma: wobble my way to the tube station and zip across town to catch the last train home or … stay at Skip's. Under normal, sober circumstances I would've been, well, running it a little bit close if I'm honest - so after factoring in additional wobble-time I poked Skip in the arm (note 'POKED' not 'PUNCHED') and asked if I could steal his spare room for the night.

Which leads me to the most memorable moment of the evening when Lee and Ryan decided to call it a night and Ryan innocently asked if I was going to crash at their place. When told I was staying at Skip's he turned, looked me in the eye and said "I can't believe you're staying here - will you be alright?!" as if he genuinely feared for my life.

To which Lee replied "he'll be fine - just wedge a chair under the door."

And then they were gone.

Of course, I was fine, because Skip's a lovely chap and his spare room was awesome. I fell asleep to the distant sound of Police sirens as the Met's finest mopped up the last of the protestors.

-----

I awoke Sunday morning surprisingly early, and somewhat amazingly with a distinct lack of a hangover (although when you're paying £7.50 per drink I think that's as it should be). Skip was already up and around and made me coffee (such a genial host), and after a couple of hours chatting I decided to make my way through town and head home.

Sunday London

It was a brilliant weekend, and it seems Ryan really didn't have anything to worry about when he and Lee left me alone in Skip's care because so far no pictures of me asleep in my pants have turned up on Facebook. BONUS.

Head to knee. I SAID HEAD TO KNEE! SEXY UPDATE

2011-03-18T22:06:00.006Z

So, in a remarkable and totally unexpected moment this evening, I taught a yoga class.

OK, so that's a *slight* exaggeration - I didn't teach the entire class, but I did teach a bit. This is how:

For those outside of the UK or just totally unaware, today was Red Nose Day, which is a charity thing started off by a load of comedians about 20 years ago that encourages people to buy red noses and do silly things to raise money, before culminating in a telethon of varying quality which, personally, I tend not to watch because I'm young and exciting and have much better things to do (like an early night), but mainly because it's actually a bit shit. But I'm up for doing my bit for charity, so when my yoga studio announced they were going to do a special Friday night class taught by one of my favourite teachers in aid of Comic Relief I thought 'yeah, I'll have a bit of that.'

The idea behind the whole thing was that for every person who wore something red the studio would donate half their class fee to charity, which when you bear in mind the studio can hold 60 people and a single class costs 14 quid, that's a pretty decent lump of cash. The only problem here, though, was that I don't own any red clothes. Well, apart from a couple of jumpers, but I wouldn't want to wear them in class because they'd get sweaty and, quite frankly, I'd probably die.

This led me to breeze into Westfield on Wednesday evening because there's a big sports shop there and I thought I could pick up a pair of cheap and crappy red shorts. Alas, no. The big sports shop is immense, rammed full of stuff, and very haphazardly laid-out. I had no idea whether I was in the men's bit, the ladies' bit, or the children's bit, and the closest I came to red shorts was a red hockey skirt which was confusingly hung up by the men's swimming trunks. I vetoed this, however, based on the fact that every time I did a forward bend in class I'd be flashing the person behind me.

So, I went home disappointed.

But I did have one other idea…

Basically, in addition to the little red noses that Comic Relief sells…

… (which quite frankly this year completely cut off any ability to breath through your nose, smell slightly toxic, and look a bit like a shrivelled-up old man's testicle) they also sell larger red noses that you can attach to the front of your car.

And so I bought one of these and using some lengths of elastic, fashioned it into a manly codpiece. Of course.

Photo taken at work, probably when I should've been working, shortly after completing work on what is quite possibly the sexiest thing I've ever worn.

And at half five I rocked up to the studio. I didn't don my amazing creation straight away because I wanted to expose it to maximum effect when the class was full, so I just hid it under my towel and waited for class to start. What made the whole thing even better, though, was the fact that I'd previously told the teacher what I had planned, and she bought two car red noses and fashioned them into a bikini. So, in effect, I was the Adam to her Eve.

So, as class started and we all jumped up, I pulled my codpiece on. And then everyone looked, and the whole room exploded with laughter. This might come as a surprise to you, but I've never had around 60 people staring at my groin and laughing before. It actually made me feel quite special (I'll leave you to guess which definition of the word you think I mean).

D'ya know what though? Aside from the first posture, where it completely destroyed my ability to perform a forward bend, and the entire belly down series for obvious reasons, codpiece was awesome. Particularly in triangle and standing head to knee I actually found it quite helpful as it kind of forced me to stand with my legs wide. I could be on to something here; I think newbies should be made to wear them so they know they're doing it right. I felt EMPOWERED.

As mentioned, wearing the codpiece in the belly-down series was nigh on impossible because it forced me to stick my arse up in the air, so I stripped out of it and wore it on my head for the rest of the class.

I'm pleased to say that it wasn't just me making a tit of myself, though. While Mandy who was teaching wore her red nose bikini, Helen, who owns the studio and was taking part in class, wore a freakishly-terrifying Simon Cowell mask. And at random points they started playing recordings of Bikram himself doing the dialogue, which was mad and brilliant. We were also made to shout "YEE-HAH!" every time we did a sit-up, but I can't remember why.

Oh, yes, and then I taught a posture.

A bit like the whole "YEE-HAH" thing, I can't actually remember how I ended up teaching a posture, but Mandy thought it would be funny, and the next thing I know I'm standing on the podium in front of 60 or so people wearing a radio mic like I'm Madonna circa 1990's Blond Ambition tour. The posture I'd been assigned to teach was head to knee pose with stretching pose, or Janushirasana with Paschimottanasana if you want to be fancy (although you try saying that with 120 expectant eyes staring back at you). The benefits of this posture are many and varied, but let's just say it's good for you ankles, knees, hips, and kidneys, and will help keep you regular.

So there I am standing in front of the class, half tempted to break into song or start voguing or something, and Mandy say "go on then - they're all yours." And I was off.

I don't mean to be big-headed, because I'm *not* a teacher, but I've been in enough classes to have heard the dialogue enough times for at least some of it to stick in my brain alongside all the Star Trek trivia, Panic! At the Disco song lyrics, and dirty jokes I've picked up over the years. There was one point where I went quiet because everyone just looked AWESOME, but then Mandy told me to say something so I started picking on Helen just to give me something to say.

In all seriousness, it was pretty amazing - and a huge responsibility - to think that everyone was relying on me to tell them what to do, and the moment when I said "change" to get everyone to swap their right leg for their left leg was just brilliant. It was like I was directing a little sweaty ballet. And then it was over, followed swiftly by the end of what was THE FUNNIEST class I've ever taken part in.

We had some photos taken in reception afterwards, where I pumped my chest up and sucked in my gut to make myself look even more amazing than usual. If you're lucky, when they're up on the studio website I'll nab copies and post them here. I'm sweaty and wearing only shorts and a codpiece - although that doesn't really sound terribly attractive, so it's probably best I don't, eh?

-----

FOR SALE:

One barely used, slightly sweaty Comic Relief red nose engineered to act as a codpiece for the respectable gentleman around town.

One careful owner; elastic still stretchy. Guaranteed to make you look and feel immeasurably more sexy. Email usual address for details.

-----

**SEXY UPDATE**

The yoga studio popped a photo up on their Facebook page. Warning: there's PARTIAL NUDITY from yours truly. Check it out HERE, then tell me I look sexy in the comments.

Putting the 'Tim' in 'victim'

2011-03-13T17:51:00.004Z

So, in an exciting turn of events this week I was the victim of some cheeky fraudsters. Basically, someone, somehow, got hold of my debit card details and withdrew the quite frankly outrageous amount of £38.53 from my account without my permission. On the plus side, I noticed pretty quickly, which was quite remarkable because I've been trying not to look at my bank account recently for fear the amount of money I've been spending in the name of retail therapy would make me cry.

Still, I got home Tuesday evening and some nagging feeling compelled me to take a look. And that's how I discovered £38.53 had vamoosed the day before. Now, initially I dismissed this as the result of some of the aforementioned retail therapy, but the name of the company didn't ring any bells, and a quick Google of it revealed that I was just one of hundreds of people who've unwittingly treated some random to a cash bonus. That being the case, I grabbed my phone and called the bank.

At half 10 at night.

Now, if I worked at a bank call centre at half 10 at night let me tell you I'd be about as excitable as Lurch from The Addams Family, but the lady I was put through to was lovely and alert and sounded more like Bubble from Absolutely Fabulous. After we'd been through some security questions because I couldn't remember my security number (I have a security number?) she believed that I was me, and promptly killed my debit card there and then. And that's when I remembered that I only had two quid in my wallet. She nevertheless assured me that I could withdraw money at the bank using multiple forms of ID and a jaunty wink, and that the missing £38.53 would be refunded to my account.

Hooray!

I went to bed that night uncertain how to feel. I had, after all, been a victim of CRIME, and I felt this meant I should do something like cry in the shower or call a counselor. Instead I just read my book for a while and then went to bed as I was awfully sleepy.

So the next morning before heading into the office I swung by the bank in Hammersmith, where on Monday I'd actually felt like the little old lady queuing behind me at a cashpoint was standing inappropriately close and I'd actually been a bit like "dude, seriously, could you not back the hell up a bit?" The woman at the counter was really helpful, and gave me enough money to keep me in coffee for a few lunchtimes, but then ruined it a bit by deciding she wanted to talk to me about my mortgage and various other accounts I've got, and calling me Timothy, which I hate, particularly when it is pronounced "Timofee" as it was here.

I eventually escaped relatively unharmed with a pocketful of cash.

Unfortunately, it turns out that a pocketful of cash doesn't really go very far these days. I took 50 quid out, and two days later I was down to about seven, a handful of coppers, and the two chocolate coins I've got left over from Christmas in my kitchen cupboard - and no new bank card in sight.

So, a couple of days later I trudged back to the bank to withdraw some more. This visit wasn't nearly as easy. First of all I went at lunchtime, which was a horrific mistake because I had to queue with random civilians. Secondly, there was an obnoxious kid running around. On the plus side, at one point I thought 'God, I'd love it if he fell over,' and two seconds later he did, so I definitely think I'm nudging closer to developing those telekinetic powers I've always wanted.

When I did finally make it to the counter the lady - a different one to the one who called me "Timofee" - launched into the whole spiel about wanting to talk about my mortgage. I don't know why they're so obsessed with this; they keep talking about new products and boring crap like that, when clearly their system shows I'm not even halfway through a fixed-rate deal and if I broke it to take up a new offer I'd have to pay a shitload of money to them.

Oh… I *see.*

Anyway, I let my eyes glaze over and she eventually realised that I wasn't going to play along. She did, however, decide to make the whole 'withdrawing cash without a bank card' thing as torturous for me as possible by basically turning into Oprah-fucking-Winfrey and wanting to ask me every bloody question under the sun. I'm pretty sure she now knows my inside leg measurement, and in hindsight could actually be a suspect in the bank card fraud that led me to this point in the first place.

Anyway, eventually she paid up, and then to my surprise and delight I got home that evening to find a shiny new bankcard which I'm so excited about that I nearly posted a picture of it before I realised that would just lead to someone ripping me off again.

So anyway, being the victim of bank fraud is a funny old thing. I actually wasn't too annoyed that the money was taken because the bank, bless 'em, refunded it in an instant. What I really wanted to know - but doubtless never will - was who took it and how they got my details. But do you want to know the most annoying part of the whole stinkin' affair? You need an active bank card to download anything from the iTunes store, including free updates.

I had to wait TWO WHOLE DAYS before I could get the latest version of Angry Birds!

-----

*adopts sheepish expression*

So, turns out today is the fifth anniversary of me firing up this inane little corner of the interwebs (which I did while waiting for an episode of The OC to start, if memory serves me correctly). I'd planned to buy a cake and stuff slices of it in jiffy bags for anyone who wanted some, but as you've just read I had some interesting financial problems this week. That being the case I'll just say heartfelt thanks to everyone who's read, commented, or mistakenly stumbled upon this blog while looking for online porn. You've made this an unexpectedly wonderful (and occasionally terrifyingly creepy) experience for me, and long may it continue.

(those are manly kisses, not an indication of anything porny)

Because kittens make everything more awesome

2011-03-10T21:42:00.005Z

So, the Space Shuttle Discovery safely concluded its final mission this week which was awesome, but also very sad because, well, it was its final mission. I generally have little interest in things that fly so long as they don't drop on my head, but the shuttle is different. First of all, it's a spaceship which is a total WIN in my book, and secondly there's just something really rather incredible about this technological beast conceived in the 60s and 70s that rides into space on a gigantic plume of fire, nonchalantly flipping the bird to any notion of environmental concerns and quite probably flambéing every woodland creature in a half mile radius.

I watched Discovery's landing online the other day, which is always fascinating because it's literally a massive glider plummeting to Earth, but doubly so this time around because as it rolled to a halt its commander could be heard over the radio to say "I'd like to thank KFC," which immediately struck me as a bit weird because as marvellous as the colonel's secret recipe of herbs and spices is, I don't see how it could be of use in putting anything in space.

I eventually realised he meant Kennedy Flight Control. Oops.

Anyway, the NASA website threw up some rather lovely hi-res images to commemorate Discovery's successful final mission and, well … look. Sometimes I genuinely do wonder if someone's lacing my grande misto with LSD because my first thought was 'that could only be more awesome if there were a bunch of kittens on it.'

And so I added some kittens.

I'm so grateful you lot humour my strange little whims. The original, 100% kitten-less version can be viewed in its stunning entirety HERE.

Sparky T and the Pervy Undertones

2011-02-25T21:24:00.004Z

Which would totally be the name of my band if I was a singer in the sixties.

For a long time now I've been meaning to go back through my CD collection and put anything I'd missed out first time round on my iTunes; I was a bit selective when I first started iTunes-ing things years ago, y'see, which led me to miss out some quality tunes. Top of the list was this CD…

…Which I missed out because being an old compilation I thought it would drive iTunes bonkers. That and the fact it's got a shiny cover, which I knew the iTunes 'find cover art' thingy wouldn't be able to find, and then I'd have to scan it in, and it wouldn't scan, so then because I'm incredibly anal about these things I'd have to make my own in PhotoShop.

In order of those events, it didn't drive iTunes bonkers, it didn't find the cover, I did scan it, it didn't come out right, and I did PhotoShop my own.

*sigh*

Anyway, what this whole exercise led to was me remembering how much I love music from the sixties. What I didn't realise until today, as I listened to the album on my iPhone, was how utterly, outrageously, inappropriately pervy some of the lyrics were back then.

Let's take a look. We'll start with 'I'm into Something Good' by Herman's Hermits, which quite frankly has a decidedly saucy title before we even get to the lyrics. What exactly is that something good that you're into, Herman? Do tell.

Herman had an interesting tooth situation going on there, didn't he?

ANYWAY.

Woke up this mornin' feelin' fine
There's somethin' special on my mind

Pervert.
Last night I met a new girl in the neighbourhood, whoa yeah
Somethin' tells me I'm into something good

I think he means her knickers.

Let's continue:
She's the kind of girl who's not too shy

Oh, a prostitute.

Anyway, this deviant continues on, culminating in the line:

I walked her home and she held my hand
I knew it couldn't be just a one-night stand

Were they even allowed to say 'one-night stand' in the sixties? I thought it was illegal or punishable by death just to say those three words in that order.

Let's move on.

Next up is 'I Get Around' by The Beach Boys.

Round round get around

I get around

Yeah

Yes. Well. I think that one speaks for itself.

Oh look - 'Itchycoo Park' by The Small Faces is a lovely song. Until you listen to the lyrics.

Tell you what I'll do (what will you do?)
I'd like to go there now with you

That's nice! A day trip - how delightful!
You can miss out school (won't that be cool)

School? Um … yeeeeeah … that will be … cool…
Why go to learn the words of fools?
What will we do there?
We'll get high

You're pimping drugs to a minor?
What will we touch there?
We'll touch the sky

He doesn't mean the sky.
But why the tears then?
I'll tell you why

Because it just got very rapey.

Moving swiftly on.

Ah, 'Young Girl' by Gary Puckett and the Union Gap - what a brilliant song!

Young girl, get out of my mind
My love for you is way out of line
Better run girl,
You're much too young girl

I think that latter statement needs defining before we go slinging accusations around.

With all the charms of a woman
You've kept the secret of your youth

Because she's a youth, Gary.

You led me to believe
You're old enough

Oh yeah, blame her.
To give me love
And now it hurts to know the truth, Oh,

Oh indeed.

Beneath your perfume and make-up
You're just a baby in disguise

I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a bit uncomfortable right about now.
And though you know
That it is wrong to be
Alone with me
That come on look is in your eyes, Oh,

No, that's just her eyes glazing over from the rohypnol.

So hurry home to your mama
I'm sure she wonders where you are

Particularly if it's a school night.
Get out of here

Run, girl, RUN!
Before I have the time
To change my mind
'Cause I'm afraid we'll go too far, Oh,

Yeah, I don't think I'm going to touch that one.

Tiddily Tim

2011-02-21T19:02:00.003Z

Not to get all 'woe is me,' but I've been working really quite hard so far this year. And by 'working really quite hard' I actually mean I've worked everyday since I returned to work after Christmas, including evenings and weekends. By my count, up to just before this weekend gone, that makes a total of 39 days straight. So, yeah, WOE IS ME. Fire up the violins.

Anyway, a couple of weeks back I mentioned this to Glittering Lee, and based off a comment I made around his birthday last year, we decided we should have an evening of cake and champagne. Which admittedly sounds nice, but sounds way more dramatic when you throw in the revelation that I've not had a proper drink in around seven or eight years. In fact, that's probably worthy of…

Exciting, huh?

So anyway an evening was planned, and it was duly entered into my iCal as 'Tiddily Tim evening.'

I kid you not.

Now the intention here was not to get smashed out of my pretty little face, but to instead chill out and have a drink with some mates. Which is exactly what happened. And despite the fact I didn't get smashed, recollection of the evening's events is somewhat fuzzy. I do remember the following, though:

• I do not like rum.

• I do like 'pink fizz.'

• I might have drunk some Taboo.

• I did drink some advocaat. It was vile.

• Skip punched me in the head. Neither of us can remember exactly why, but he claims it was 'playful.'

• I believe there is a photograph of Skip looming over me with a lascivious look on his face, and me looking petrified.

• Lee's cat, my new-found niece, is brilliant.

All in all it was a wonderful evening that hit a smidge of a downer when a cough I thought I'd shaken off made a dramatic return, and every time I laughed (which was often; these are funny people, people) I sounded like someone with a 60 cigarette per day habit.

On the plus side, I made it home without any assistance, and didn't have a hangover the next day. Regardless of that, I discovered that Sainsburys' new Chococino muffins are a brilliant remedy for said nonexistent hangover.

Available for commissions

2011-02-15T18:45:00.003Z

So a lovely colleague ~~escaped~~ left our company last week, and to commemorate the occasion another colleague asked me if I could put together a poster that we could all sign to bid her adieu. I liked this idea because a) it's a lot more personal than a shop bought card, and b) I'm running out of options in the lewd card department at the local branch of Scribbler.

Unfortunately, the commission came the evening before the day it was needed, just as I was considering having a shower and going to bed. Still, there's nothing I like more than a challenge (cash and boobs being notable exceptions), and ART THRIVES ON RESTRICTIONS!

Now, obviously when you take a commission from a client you have to cater the final product to their wishes, so there were a couple of things I was sorry to see go as the thing evolved over the course of about three hours, but really this wasn't about what I wanted and I was pretty darn pleased with the finished article anyway (about the only thing I was prepared to fight tooth and nail for was the inclusion of Lobster Dog, but she was approved with ease).

That being the case, the version I present here is my never-before-seen original incarnation.

Seriously, I'll do this shit for money if you want me to.

You shall go to the ball/disco!

2011-02-09T19:49:00.008Z

A few weeks back I found out that one of my favourite bands, Panic! At the Disco, were going to be playing an intimate (not THAT sort of intimate) gig at Bush Hall, which just happens to be my favourite venue. As you might imagine, this sort of news elicited lots of speshul claps from yours truly: it would be nothing less than AWESOME.

Knowing that Bush Hall is a very small capacity venue and Panic! At the Disco is a very popular band, and tickets were only £15, I knew that the gig would sell out pretty much immediately and I had to do everything in my power to get tickets. As an idea of just how much I wanted to go, I even abandoned Saturday morning yoga so I could be at my computer the moment tickets went on sale.

And at bang on nine o'clock one Saturday morning, I logged on to a certain ticket website, popped two tickets in my shopping cart, and furiously tapped out my credit card details. I was going to see Panic! At the Disco! Or not. Because the moment I clicked the BUY NOW button I was shown a message that basically said 'sorry, but we reallocated these tickets while you were putting your details in.'

They might as well have just thrown up a massive flashing TOUGH SHIT! animation.

Now, I was under the impression that when you put tickets in your shopping cart they held them for you for five minutes or so while you entered your details. At least that's been the case EVERY OTHER TIME I'VE BOUGHT TICKETS. So I called the ticket vendor and had a proper moan. Not that they managed to make any more tickets magically appear, but it was quite therapeutic. And of course I wouldn't be so childish to name and shame the vendor in question, but shame on you, See Tickets. SHAME. ON. YOU.

Of course, there are always other means of getting tickets to sold out gigs including ~~whoring yourself~~ another ticket vendor website that has a resale section for people who have bought tickets but then find they can't make the gig. And by that I mean touts who buy shitloads of tickets and then try selling them on there for 80 quid a pop. As much as I wanted to see Panic! I didn't particularly want to drop such an outrageous amount as that on a ticket, so I resigned myself to either a) trying Shepherds Bush's terrifying recurring cast of ticket touts on the night or b) sitting outside on the pavement crying while straining to hear the gig going on inside.

Until Sunday night, when I saw one of the online resale vendors had caved and was selling tickets for £34 (plus an outrageous £14 in handling fees that was whacked on by the website itself). Still, bearing in mind I've been working my arse off this year (not ONE day off since I went back to work on January 4th) I decided to treat myself. That and I considered it a Valentine's Day present to myself that wouldn't have the Catholics condemning me to hell.

My ticket. It arrived the very day of the gig. I was WELL GIDDY when the postman arrived.

SO. Tuesday night I rock up to Bush Hall and, as expected, the queue is basically comprised of a load of teenagers in various states of striped attire, parents escorting the under 18s who looked like they'd rather be at home watching Eastenders, and me standing there reading my copy of the Evening Standard as a result of this being only the second gig I've ever been to on my own; the first time I ever went to a gig on my own was to see Panic! At the Disco back in 2008, which makes me think there's some sort of pattern forming here…

Anyway, after about half an hour the queue began to move and I noticed that there were two people checking the stripe-adorned teenagers for ID. As the queue moved further forward I found myself looking up at this hulking dude and meekly asked if he wanted to see my ID. Against all expectations he said yes. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that he's never had anyone so enthusiastically respond to his demand to see ID before, because as I said "yes sir!" and began pulling my driving license out of my wallet he said "OK, fine, don't worry." I, however, fully intended to prove I was over 18, and held my photo ID right up to his massive face. He nodded in a 'like, yeah, WHATEVER' fashion as I wailed "gosh, you've made my day!"

In response he tutted, rolled his eyes, and wearily said "do you want a wristband?" I, of course, said yes.

My wristband. Me and about 200 sullen 15 year-old girls were wearing these. I was so proud. I almost bought a pint just because I could.

And then, against all expectation, I was in, standing in the no-man's land between the heaving throngs of teens by the stage and their indifferent parents lurking at the back.

So, let's be honest: I love everything Panic! At the Disco have done so far. Both of their studio albums and their live CD are in my top 10 albums of all time but, for those that don't know THE COMPLETE HISTORY OF PANIC! AT THE DISCO (what's the matter with you?), since I last saw them the band has, well, broken in two. Two members split off to form a new band called The Young Veins, while the lead singer and the drummer retained the Panic! name and stated their intention to carry on. I was obviously a bit excited when I heard they had a new album coming out in a couple of months, but this was tinged with a degree of uncertainty because, well, I really wasn't terribly sold on the first single they announced.

I pondered this fact as I waited for the new incarnation of Panic! At the Disco to take the stage, while also admiring their lovely wall projection.

And at around 9pm, take the stage they did - and any concerns I had just flew right out the window, because this band were ELECTRIC. Performed live, the new material sounded so good, so very Panic-esque; I was immediately won over by it. What really got me, though, was how lead singer Brendon Urie has grown as a frontman; he was always good, but to my mind, particularly during their last tour, a little hidden behind that tremendous voice of his. Here, however, it was almost like the loss of the other two band members had made him step up his game a bit. He cavorted around the tiny stage like a man possessed, a combination of Mick Jagger and Freddie Mercury at their finest; in fact, his performance brought to mind a quote I heard from The Rolling Stones' drummer Charlie Watts a few years back where he said how Mick Jagger was a brilliant front man because he could perform equally as well on a tiny stage in a dingy club as he could on a massive stage in a stadium.

Urie was THAT GOOD. He lived those songs, his facial expressions every bit as important to the story they told as the words coming out of his mouth. And his voice, so incredible last time I saw them, was even better than I remembered it being: from the very first song he was going from the deepest low notes to the highest falsetto FLAWLESSLY. It was a truly remarkable performance.

The rest of the band were great, too. The two new members admirably filling the roles of the departed band members with skill and gusto. This was one of the tightest bands I've ever seen perform live. And as much fun as the audience was having watching them, there was a moment where I looked over at the drummer and he had the broadest grin on his face. Knowing the band are having a good time is always a good sign.

They were on stage for bang-on an hour, and despite having paid over three times the face value for my ticket I definitely consider it money well spent. Apparently they're touring again in April - I'll be fighting tooth and nail to get tickets then, let me tell you.

-----

So, as I left Bush Hall some dude was handing out promotional items in support of Panic!'s new album, Vices and Virtues - little bags containing a sticker, two badges, and a playing card showing either a vice (a skull) or virtue (a flower). "I've got flowers or deer," he shouted. I took one, looked at it and saw he'd given me a flower.

"Can I swap this for a deer," I asked. After all, you never want to be too virtuous, right?

-----

Some videos! Excuse shitty sound quality; I am due a new iPhone this year…

But it's Better if You do

Northern Downpour

New Perspective (with high-pitched profanity beforehand!)

And thanks to this Youtuber, from the New York show they did last week here is their new track 'Nearly Witches,' which gives you a good idea of just how captivating Urie is on stage.

A fine vintage

2011-02-05T15:17:00.002Z

Setting fire to things wasn't the only highlight of Wednesday's Better Off Ted evening. In other news, I *think* I actually made Skip happy.

Obviously when you're a guest at somebody else's house it's the done thing to take something for the genial host. In the past I've turned up with Gingerbread Lattes (WIN) and a bottle of Cherry Lambrini (MASSIVE FAIL). This week, however, I actually bought Skip a decent bottle of wine.

And then I took advantage of the materials I have access to at work and transformed it into FUTURE WINE!

Slightly annoyingly, though, when I handed it over to him he simply remarked "you actually bought me a nice bottle of wine!" as if Chateau Picard were a real vineyard and not something from Star Trek's 24th century. I had to point out my handiwork, but on the plus side it just goes to show how authentic-looking my forgery was.

Anyway, from what I understand 2267 is a fine vintage. I just hope he doesn't leave it adrift in space - you never know what it might smash into up there.

I am man: hear me roar

2011-02-03T21:16:00.004Z

Let's get this straight: while I am a man and am currently in possession of all the prerequisite manly bits, I do have one massive manly failing. And by that I mean I lack the general ability to do some specific manly things - no, not things like wrestle a bear to the ground or punch an elephant; I mean things like put some shelves up, or hang a picture. If you'd like me to pat you on the back when some food's gone down the wrong way or hold your hair back while you're being sick I can do that, but if you ask me to do anything nudging into the general area of DIY I'll more than likely give you a blank stare then call Sparky Pa, because he usually does those sort of things for me.

Although I expect he'd think it a bit weird if I asked him to put some shelves up for you because, quite frankly, as nice as you are he doesn't actually know you.

Anyway, this being the case, you'll excuse me for blowing my own trumpet seeing as I did something I consider to be terrifically manly last night.

The evening began with no hint of the testosterone-fuelled activity that was to follow. Basically, I was off round good ol' Skip's for a chilled out evening watching Better Off Ted, which, incidentally, is brilliant and you should check it out.

Soon after arriving, however, I made what I initially believed to be my fatal error: I asked if there was "anything I could do." I expected to be told to delicately arrange some Jammie Dodgers on a plate or just to sit on the sofa looking pretty, both of which I can do (although I definitely think I'm better at the Jammie Dodger arranging). What I did not expect was to be told to "get the fire going."

Obviously I was more than a tad anxious at being given this order because there were two ways I thought it could go: the first involved me being massively berated for extinguishing the few glowing embers that were sitting in the fireplace, while the second involved us standing out in the cold watching a bunch of firemen putting out an epic blaze that threatened to knock 1666's Great Fire of London into a cocked hat. But, being as Skip questions my masculinity enough as it is I just stiffened my quivering bottom lip and positioned myself by the fire.

As it turns out I needn't have worried, because it turns out making an awesome fire is a talent I didn't know I possessed, but I'm now seriously considering adding 'pyromaniac' to my CV because I got that thing going like you wouldn't believe. Without really wanting to give away the secrets of my flame-generating success, getting a quality fire going requires knowing exactly when to give it a good poke (something I'm reasonably well versed in, fnar fnar) and knowing the appropriate time to get a log-on without quashing your fledging flames. A bit of newspaper also helps, and depending on how you feel about setting fire to a tabloid this could also be regarded as a damning indictment on the state of journalism these days.

So anyway, as the flames licked higher and higher I couldn't help but feel awe-inspiringly manly. To be honest I was tempted to strip my shirt off and bask in the glow of my handiwork like a sweaty woodsman, but I figured that might've been my genial host's intention all along so I just ate another Jammie Dodger and asked after his cat.

I'm a fire-starter, twisted fire-starter.

Syringy lady

2011-01-20T21:41:00.003Z

I can't make up my mind if syringey should be spelt 'syringey' or 'syringy.' Anyone got a clue? Ah, bugger it; I'm going to drop the 'e,' if only because it makes it easier to type.

Yeah, I'm *that* lazy. Whatevs.

SO! Longtime readers might remember about four and a bit years ago when I succumbed to waxy ear syndrome and had to go get them syringed. It was all good fun, and I found the whole experience of being syringed remarkably, some might say perversely, enjoyable. Back to the here and now, just before Christmas I noticed that my ears were a bit bunged up again, so I bought some Otex (almost bought Optrex, which would've been a CATASTROPHIC DISASTER; why aren't these things given more easily differentiated names? Like EYEtex and EARtex? And what the hell is 'tex'?!) and started popping drops in every day.

Now, I thought everything was going swimmingly with the drops; some weird shit kept coming out of my ears, which I believed to be a very encouraging sign. Last Tuesday, however, I woke up and was completely deaf in my left ear. And to make matters worse I had a pounding in my head that felt like a midget was trying to punch its way out. On the plus side, it did give me an excuse to selectively ignore various colleagues throughout the day, an excuse I am continuing to use even though normal service has been resumed (we'll get to that shortly). On the downside, however, I was meeting marvellous Lee for a quick post-work dinner that evening and I spent the entire time tugging down on my lobe, which temporarily restored some hearing ability but left me looking a bit like a slightly perplexed special ops person trying to receive orders through a faulty in-the-ear headset.

Post-dinner I raced home, hurled myself into a horizontal position, and pumped so much Otex into my head that I'm surprised it didn't start leaking out of my eyes and nose. Instead it fizzed away for about five minutes before an almighty POP restored my hearing, and I let out an orgasmic-sounding shriek that echoed around the leafy suburbs of West London for a good few minutes.

Sorry if that disturbed your tea.

But then on Sunday evening I developed a MASSIVE earache just as I was about to go to bed, which resulted in an utter failure to sleep. I survived most of Monday on coffee so strong you could stand the spoon upright in it, then foolishly went to yoga in the evening. Note to self: don't do a Bikram Yoga class when you've been awake for 33 hours straight.

Anyway, with a little bit of 'selective truth-telling' I managed to wangle myself an appointment for a good old syringing yesterday. I was very excited at the prospect, and subsequently divided the early part of the morning between editing an interview and spinning around in my office chair clapping like a speshul.

I arrived for my appointment almost bang on time, filled in a form, and then proceeded to sit in a waiting room with a crying child and some crusty old people. Reasonably quickly my name was called and I was taken to a small room by a jovial nurse. And by jovial I mean brilliant. From the word go we were firing witty banter back and forth at each other, and I liked her so much that I let it slide when she joked about shining her little medical torch in one ear and the light coming out the other; basically because it's pretty much true.

Bless her, she didn't even look perturbed when I stripped. Apparently you don't need to do that for a syringing.

Dressed once more, she fired up the little syringe machine, and by god I really need to get myself one of these things. I'm pretty sure it would be AWESOME for cleaning out my belly button (the one downside of having an 'inny'). Disappointingly, though, it turns out that the odious Otex had done a reasonably good job; my left ear was clear, with only a bit of wax wedged in the right. This leads me to suspect that I'll have a nasty brown surprise if I inspect my pillow a little too closely.

She fired it up anyway, quite possibly because I think she gets as much of a thrill out of using the syringe device as I did when she stuck it in my ear. She did it with cold water at first, which was a bit like someone shoving ice cubes down your pants and then giving everything a bit of a jiggle, but as soon as the warm water came through everything was good. I recommend it if you've never had it done, just for shits and giggles.

End of story, then? Loved nurse lady, hearing is restored, and I'm going to keep the little one-eared Space Hopper thingy that came with the Otex and use it to water my cacti (doing it with a watering can is a total bitch). All in all, everyone's a winner.

What?

The mad hallucinatory lady story

2011-01-14T23:41:00.005Z

So I found myself in Islington this evening; to be specific, at a party held by the lovely Marsha who is bidding farewell to London and is off to new and exciting things in Toronto (yes, that's CANADIALAND). It was a cracking bash, although events took a bit of a weird turn at one point.

About half an hour or so after arriving, y'see, Yazzle Dazzle decided she wanted to pop outside for a statutory ciggie break. On the way we picked up a couple of drinks, and then we head outside. The pub where Marsha was having her party has some of those lovely big picnic tables outside (my inner Yogi wants me to say pic-a-nic basket, but I shall resist), so I perched myself on one of them while my partner in crime headed off to the loo.

So there I am, minding my own business, when this reasonably well-dressed middle-aged lady with a Pomeranian on a lead in one hand and a glass of wine in the other comes walking up.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asks.

"By all means," I reply.

And so, despite the fact that the entire other side of the table is free, she proceeds to plonk herself down RIGHT NEXT TO ME. I have to shuffle up a bit because otherwise she's sitting right in my bubble, and uncomfortably close to my penis (I was sitting sideways on the bench). Unfortunately, after today's heavy downpour, shuffling up leaves me sitting in a damp patch (make your own jokes please). We sit there for a couple of seconds, and then she says:

"I should probably stop after this glass."

Now, I'm actually kind of OK talking to randoms on the street - I'd say a stranger is just a friend you've never met before, but that sounds well wanky - so I reply:

"Ah, it's Friday, enjoy yourself."

And then she says: "I can see my friends."

And I reply: "Is that them over there?" and point to a group of people on the corner.

"No," she says. "They're not really there. They're hallucinations. I'm totally hallucinating. They're so vivid and strong. I can see friends I knew in the Caribbean years ago. And my husband." She turns to look me straight in the eye. "He died 10 years ago, you know."

Funnily enough, I didn't.

I look down at her tiny fluffy dog. His name is Ollie, and he has the same wide-eyed look of terror on his little furry face that I now have descending upon my little beardy face, although unlike Ollie I'm not distracted from my terror and sent into a flurry of little angry barks every time a moped goes past. Which is often, as the pub is opposite a pizza delivery place.

At this point we are joined by the returning Yazzle Dazzle, who gives me the 'oh, yeah - you've pulled' look.

"Yeah, I can see my husband. And my daughter," she continues. "I'm having such strong hallucinations. I've been told I'm psychic. I think someone's slipped something in my drink. You look like David Beckham. Doesn't he look like David Beckham?" She looks me in the eye again. "You can shut up."

I swear: I said NOTHING.

Me and Dave. Apparently I look like him. I don't quite see it myself, but hey, if this publishing lark ever falls through it's good to know I can whore myself out as a David Beckham impersonator, right?

Now fearing every so slightly for my safety, I give Yazzle Dazzle THE EYEBROW thing that says 'we should go inside NOW,' before retreating subconsciously to my happy place. Lady's attention now transfers to Yazzle Dazzle.

"Don't think I'm weird, but I'm proper hallucinating. Do you think I'm weird?"

"I dunno what you're like normally," says Yazzle.

"This is my last drink," says lady, knocking back half a glass of wine in one mouthful. "Can I borrow a lighter?"

I give Yazzle the look that says 'don't give her the lighter, she will try to set fire to me,' but she hands it over anyway. Lady sparks up a ciggie, and for an instant I think she's going to immediately try to stub it out on my face, possibly as some sort of bizarre statement against masculine yet beautiful young chaps like me and Dave, but mostly because she's a complete mentalist.

Eventually we get up to go back inside. I'm confused and my arse is damp, but I'm otherwise remarkably unmolested and glad to be shot of lady.

"This is my last one!" she says as we head back in.

An hour and a half later as we decide it's time to make a move, we find lady still outside, another empty glass in her hand.

"Just one more!" she says to some random group of people as she reaches for the door, poor little Ollie straining against his lead in a futile attempt to drag her away from the pub - that is until he's distracted by another moped, and all we can hear as we wander off to the tube station is a series of angry little barks.

Insert TECH

2011-01-12T22:14:00.002Z

There's one thing, one silly little inconsequential fact that I've always loved about Star Trek scripts – and I literally mean the scripts, not the episodes. When the writers wanted to put in some bizarre technology or spatial anomaly, and before they'd had a chance to check in with the show's science consultants, they would literally write TECH in the script. Later on, of course, the word TECH would be replaced by something fancy like 'tetryon flux,' but I still chuckle when I'm fact-checking at work and I find something like:

"Captain, there's a TECH approaching fast off the starboard bow!"

Any-hoo, there is a purpose to me telling you that fact (which is incredibly dull now I read it back to myself, but bear with me) to cut a long story ever so slightly shorter, back around early December-ish when we had the first blast of apocalyptic snow, I decided to work from home, basically because I couldn't be arsed to drive to work. The next day was pretty much OK, though, so I decided to show my pretty face in the office. About 30 seconds into my drive a warning light flashed up on my dashboard. This alarming occurrence was almost enough to send me swerving off to the side of the road, screaming like a banshee, but as I was only doing about 12 miles per hour I thought that was a bit of overkill so just carried on driving. I did, however, call my dealer (handsfree, of course: DRIVE SAFE, KIDS!) to see if they could fit me in (*snigger*) if I drove over there immediately. They couldn't, but I had a lovely chat with the receptionist who agreed with my theory that it could just be the cold playing havoc with Clubbie's sensors.

I nevertheless booked it in for the following Friday.

The following Friday, after finding out that Clubbie also needed new brakes and my debit card subsequently needed a lie down in a darkened room, the service guy informed me that, basically, the warning light had come on as a result of an exhaust … valve … sole… solen- … a TECH error. Apparently it's not very common for a TECH to fail, so they had to order a new TECH in especially for me.

I think it might've been something to do with the … deuterium regulators…? Whatever it was, they promised me that Clubbie wouldn't explode in a cataclysmic fireball while I was merrily pootling around town, which is always nice to know.

I booked Clubbie in again for the following Monday.

Unfortunately, over the following weekend another heinous weather front dumped its load over London, and, having actually had to spend 20 minutes PUSHING Clubbie into my parking space on the Saturday, I was understandably loath to move it out again while I was still balls deep in the white stuff. I cancelled the appointment and made another one for the week after Christmas.

Good news: I actually made the next appointment and had the new TECH fitted. Bad news: on that first Friday I'd taken Clubbie in I noticed when I got it back that one of the rear doors was sticking when I opened it. It hadn't been like that when I'd dropped it off, so I asked them to take a look. Turns out someone broke something and didn't own up to it. Quite frankly I would've held the whole class back until someone took responsibility, but apparently that's not the done thing in swanky car service departments. Even more frustrating, they didn't have the TECH in stock to replace it, so I had to book another appointment.

So, today, I arranged to work from home and some jobsworth would come and pick my car up and take it to the dealership for round … three? Four…? Lord knows; I've literally lost count. Anyway, I'm up at the crack of dawn, but blokey doesn't turn up until gone 10, so already I'm moaning about the fact that I could've had a lie-in and after three cups of tea I was busting for a wee but didn't want to go in case he turned up while I was mid-stream. To make matters worse, when he asks if he can leave his car in my parking space, I then say the most innuendo-laden line I've ever spoken to a middle-aged man:

"Yeah, sure; if you just let me get mine out you can put yours in."

Inside, part of me dies, so I just quickly move my car, sign some random form he shoves at me (which probably gave him permission to do extravagant wheelies or leap through rings of fire), then watch him drive off in my pride and joy.

At around four o'clock the service guy phones up and starts asking if I need my car back today, and I'm all, like, well yes, yes I do. He sort of says "oh," then proceeds to tell me about the TECH and the TECH and how it might be the TECH but they don't have TECH in stock and TECH TECH TECH TECH ARRRRRRRRGHHHH!!! And I'm seriously all kinds of WTF?!

So in conclusion, rather like Humpty Dumpty they put Clubbie back together again and returned it to me, but I am going to have to book it in AGAIN. For two days *emo sigh and eye roll*. That being the case, I've asked for a loan car. And like Mr. Sulu, I'm counting on Excelsior. I mean, I hope I get a Countryman - now that would guarantee me clapping like a speshul.

(Incidentally, the Countryman demo car I drove back on the launch day is now for sale. Who's got a spare 30k and is happy to buy it for me. Don't be shy now)

Smart arse

2011-01-07T20:19:00.003Z

As happens every now and then, I woke up this morning and thought 'do you known what? Let's make an effort today.' And by that I mean I actually dressed nice. How nice? I put on a freakin' tie, people.

All of which means I braced myself for the inevitable sarcastic comments from my work colleagues. Hell, let's call them my scruffy work colleagues because quite frankly I was a vision of jaunty awesomeness in comparison. An hour into the day - I know, I was surprised I had to wait so long - and the first comment came.

"You look … smart today."

I almost did a comedy double take. A compliment?! Mmmm, what you say?

"You look like…" - Here we go, I thought - "Brandon Flowers from The Killers."

Oh, hang on, that actually was a compliment. Shame, really, because I had some decent witty retorts prepped and ready to go. Shit. For once lost for words, I just sheepishly adjusted the knot of my tie; if I'd been wearing a cap I would've doffed it.

But then, of course, my boss turned up.

"Oh, Tim, you do look smart today, with the… [mimes tie adjustment]. What's the special occasion?"

"No special occasion," I reply. "I just felt like it."

But because he's that sort of person, bless him, he couldn't just stop there.

"You look like…" At which point I think 'oh, here we go,' and boss lady upstairs shouts down "just stop there!" Boss man ignores her and carries on regardless because, well, he's the boss and he can do whatever he likes.

"You look like you're in a boy band."

"Oh, um, thanks," I say, rolling my eyes.

"No, sorry, I didn't mean it like that - you look like you're a member of a reformed boy band."

Boss lady comes scurrying downstairs and shouts "WHEN YOU'RE IN A HOLE - STOP DIGGING!" Boss then wanders off, leaving me standing there thinking 'I'm not even A-grade boy band material, I'm desperate reforming-for-the-money-grade boy band.' Oh the shame.

On the plus side, at least no one snapped their fingers and yelled "GARCON!" at me.

A sight for sore thighs

2011-01-06T18:37:00.000Z

For someone who professes that one of the key elements of their fitness regime is running, I've been nothing less than a spectacular failure recently. And by 'recently' I actually mean 'the last three-and-a-bit-months' because the last time I did a run was the tail end of September, apparently. I don't know why I wrote 'apparently,' because I got the information off my Nike+ page and that wouldn't lie to me.

Would it?

Anyway, on just the second day of this glorious New Year I got the urge to go for a run, so instead of sitting on the sofa hurling champagne truffles down my throat (they made me dizzy - good times) while watching a bad movie, I decided to dig out my trainers and go pound the streets.

Amazingly, it was awesome. I mean, at the point I used to slow down, wheeze a bit, and decide to walk for a few minutes I just kept going. In fact, at the point where I did feel like I could do with a bit of a rest I was virtually home - so I kept going. I was on fire (not literally; I'm pretty sure there would've been something in the local paper if I was, and perhaps a trip to burns unit for me as well). What this all added up to then, was a 6.4km run in a pretty reasonable time. Of course, when I got home and contemplated the whole thing the slight cough I'd developed over Christmas decided to join the party and I felt like I was on the cusp of either being sick or regurgitating my stomach. But I managed to keep it all together, and hey, victory sick is nothing to be ashamed of.

The one thing I used to love about running was the achy thigh muscles I'd get the day after a good one. Not because I've got latent masochistic tendencies, mind, but rather because they served to remind me of how much of an awesome run I'd had. The feeling never used to last that long anyway.

The following day, then, when I spent most of the time ~~crying~~ brooding about the fact I had to go back to work the following day, I was cheered by the fact my legs felt like fatigued tree trunks. Awesomely fatigued manly tree trunks. And encouraged by my considerable physical prowess, I decided to go to yoga in the evening. At the very least it might stretch out some of the aches.

This is the point where Mr. T should pop up and and say something like "I pity the foo'!"

"I PITY THE FOO'!"

Thanks Mr. T. Evidently the 'T' stands for 'timely.'

Anyway, everything went fine at first, no doubt because the first two postures just require you to stand there, which is pretty easy when that's all your legs want to do. But then we got to Awkward pose - specifically the third part - at which point I thought my thighs were going to explode and I'd have to apologise profusely while wiping bloody thigh meat off the mirror at the front of the studio, and possibly the lovely people to either side of me, with my slightly sweaty Batman towel. It took every fibre of my being to stop me from screaming in agony. And when the teacher said "time for second set!" I almost burst into tears. I would've done anything to have a note from my mum excusing me.

So here we are, several days later: I can still feel the burn in my thighs, and every time I stand in front of a mirror in my pants (something that doesn't actually happen as much as you might think it would) I can't help but feel like I'm in the process of turning into the cyclist from Belleville Rendezvous, albeit, thankfully, without the honking great hooter.

That said, I will be giving this running lark another bash soon.

Shoe woes

2011-01-04T21:53:00.003Z

I was a bit miffed to discover last week that some stitching had come undone on my favourite pair of shoes. It was nothing major - in fact it's purely decorative stitching - but still, you don't particularly want loose stitching to be on show if you find your self attending a social function (not that I am, but I do like to be prepared).

So, on this, the odious first day back at work after my extended Christmas break, I dropped my beloved shoe into a plastic bag and resolved to pop into a reasonably well know chain of high street shops who do shoe repairs. I shan't name them (*cough, cough: AHEM*) but I'm sure you know who I mean.

I've actually only had one experience dealing with this shop before, and it wasn't exactly an encouraging one; a couple of months back the sole of one of my awesome boots began to come away (evidently it was made in a sweatshop where the pre-teen workforce was equipped only with a spent pritt-stick and a complete disregard for the task at hand), so I scurried along thinking I could get it resoled, or simply repaired. Handing my boot to the chap behind the counter I was dismayed to see him pull the sole further away from the leather, before handing it back to me and saying "ah, you just want to dab a bit of super glue in there - that'll do the trick."

I couldn't help but feel like it was the equivalent of me taking a pair of smart trousers to a tailer and being told to hem the legs with a stapler.

Still, with the stitching coming undone on my shoe, I could see no other option but to return to this particular shop, where I was sure they'd say something along the lines of "yeah, we can sort that for you." Upon arrival, I once again handed one of my favourite items of footwear to the grubby assistant. He looked at it a bit like an orangutan looks at a banana he's chewed and then regurgitated into his hand.

"Yeah, see, it's not actually coming apart - it's just fancy stitching, like."

"OK," I said. "But you can repair it, yes?"

He handed the shoe back to me. "Nah, what you wanna do is just run a lighter along it mate - that'll sort it out."

Yes, he advised me to TORCH MY SHOE with a disposable lighter like it was a crack pipe.

I subsequently dropped my shoe back in the bag and stormed off. Then, purely by coincidence, on the walk back to the office I discovered that a local independent dry cleaners does shoe repairs. I explained the problem to the lady and she said "yeah, we can do that. How does seven pounds sound?"

I pick it up Thursday.

-----

Several hours later I undertook a particularly fruitless expedition to Westfield in an attempt to buy a) a new wallet as mine's falling apart, b) a t-shirt I'd seen that I liked, and c) a new pair of tracksuit bottoms that are sweat-proof, have zipped pockets, and non-elasticated ankles. Apparently none of these things exist in Westfield, so I decided WHAT THE HELL! I'd treat myself to a new pair of boots I'd previously seen and tried on last week.

When I tried them last week I was a bit concerned that my regular shoe size was a bit on the large side (as they're slip-on boots), so I asked the delightful assistant if she could get me the next size down. She returned a short while later only to inform me they didn't have the next size down, but they did have the one below that. I scrunched my face up and said something along the lines of "I like the flow of blood to my toes, thanks."

Then she said "oh, but we've got this in all sizes."

I looked at her condescendingly and replied "Yes, but that's a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TYPE OF SHOE."

At which point she looked at the shoe in her hand as if seeing it for the first time and said "oh, yeah…"

Reading list 2010

2010-12-31T13:15:00.001Z

Holy crap, I've read a lot of books this year. Forty-four, to be precise, which is a not too insignificant number more than 2007 (34) and 2008 (33), and quite frankly annihilates last year's pitiful 27. Admittedly, looking back over this list there are a fair number of graphic novels, but in my defence some of them were really thick; Luba (number 17 on the list), for example, was over 600 pages thick and kept cutting off the flow of blood to my lower extremities when I read it in bed.

Anyway, let's press on. As usual, I've donned my best stereotypical English Lit teacher tweed jacket (note the leather elbow pads - nice, I think you'll agree), and I'll be grading each book (A+ EXCELLENT, C or below, AVOID). Links to each title will, where possible, take you through to the appropriate Amazon page where you can purchase your own copy and impress all your friends with your startling literary taste. While I'd normally urge you to buy your books in an actual bookshop, I know you interweb kids are all about instant gratification so these links are purely for your convenience. I am, however, urging you to buy your books in an actual bookshop, despite the fact that I failed spectacularly in my 2010 New Year's Resolutions to do just that. Next year, Scout's honour, really.

Moving swiftly on…

01. I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by Tucker Max - True life stories of the author's ongoing debauchery. Tucker Max is a reprehensible human being, but he's also funny as hell and devilishly likeable: B+
02. All and Sundry by Paul Hornschemeier - Wonderful collection of previously uncollected sketches and short stories from one of my favourite graphic novelists: A
03. The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks - Comprehensive manual on how to survive an undead uprising: B+
04. Box Office Poison by Alex Robinson - Huge collected edition of the BOP comic book showcasing the lives of a group of friends living in 90s New York: A
05. The Troublemakers by Gilbert Hernandez - The second book in Hernandez's 'Fritz B-Movies' series sees a group of con artists trying to get their hands on $200k, whatever the cost may be: A
06. Lean on Pete by Willy Vlautin - Exceptional tale of a down-on-his-luck kid who steals an aging racehorse and begins a trek across the U.S. to find his aunt. A brutally wonderful, ultimately uplifting read: A+
07. Love Buzz by Len Wallace - Bittersweet graphic novel telling the story of a guy and a girl who fall in and out of love with each other over a period spanning high school to their early twenties: A
08. Welcome to Oakland - A follow-up to one of my favourite books, East Bay Grease, that picks up on the life of T-Bird Murphy as an adult. It's a good, solid, often grim read, but after a 10 year gap I didn't feel like I connected with the character of T-Bird as I had in the earlier book: B+
09. The Complete Peanuts 1973-1974 by Charles Schulz - Another cracking collection of Peanuts strips; this one features the brilliant 'Mr Sack' storyline. Loved it: A
10. Star Trek: Spock Reflections by Scott and David Tipton; art by David Messina and Federica Manfredi - Engaging if somewhat slight tale recounting defining moments from Spock's life as he goes about a mission of a most personal nature in the aftermath of the events of the film Star Trek Generations: B+
11. The Wild Things by Dave Eggers - Enjoyable novel based on Maurice Sendak's classic children's book and Spike Jonze's Where The Wild Things Are movie that is sufficiently different to the other versions of the tale to make it a worthwhile read: B+
12. Star Trek: Nero by Mike Johnson and Tim Jones; art by David Messina - Brilliantly told story of what the villain of the latest Star Trek movie did between attacking the U.S.S. Kelvin and destroying the planet Vulcan. Great stuff: A
13. Love and Rockets: New Stories #2 by Los Bros Hernandez - The second instalment in Love and Rockets' new annual format is as enjoyable as all Jaime and Gilbert Hernandez's previous work … but the year-long gap between books is almost too much to bear! As always: A
14. Love and Rockets: Penny Century by Jaime Hernandez - The eighth volume in Fantagraphics Books' series of compact editions collecting older stories from Los Bros Hernandez focuses on old favourites Maggie and Hopey and their friend Penny Century, who harbours an ongoing desire to be a superhero. Goes without saying: A
15. Locas II by Jaime Hernandez - The second epic, paving slab-sized hardcover collection of Jaime Hernandez's Maggie and Hopey stories. Magnificent: A+
16. The Call of the Weird by Louis Theroux - Fascinating tales of Theroux's attempts to reconnect with the subjects of his earlier documentaries and discover how their lives have changed: B+
17. Luba by Gilbert Hernandez - Massive collection of over 100 post-Palomar stories featuring Luba and her family and friends. Utterly absorbing: A+
18. The High Soft Lisp by Gilbert Hernandez - More stories from 'Beto,' this time focusing on the life and loves of Luba's sister, Rosalba 'Fritz' Martinez: A
19. Scott Pilgram's Precious Little Life by Bryan Lee O'Malley - First volume in the acclaimed Scott Pilgrim series sees Scott hooking up with Ramona Flowers and fighting the first of her evil ex-boyfriends. Really good fun: A+
20. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World by Bryan Lee O'Malley - Scott faces off against the second of Ramona's evil ex-boyfriends in volume 2 of O'Malley's six-part series: A+
21. Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness by Bryan Lee O'Malley - Scott fights Ramona's third evil ex-boyfriend Todd, who is a Vegan with telekinetic powers. Compared to previous volumes this one dragged juuuuuust a tiny bit in places; still awesome though: A-
22. Scott Pilgrim Gets it Together by Bryan Lee O'Malley - The fourth volume sees Scott battling the fourth of Ramona's evil exes, Roxie (a girl - Ramona had a "sexy phase"): A
23. Scott Pilgrim Vs the Universe by Bryan Lee O'Malley - Volume five pits Scott against twin brothers Kyle and Ken Katayanagi and their robots, while his relationship with Ramona takes an unexpected turn: A+
24. The Art of Jaime Hernandez: The Secrets of Life and Death by Todd Hignite - A fascinating look at the art and influence of one half of Los Bros Hernandez. I felt the text was a little slight in places, but glimpses into Jaime's sketchbooks and unpublished works more than made up for it: A-
25. Zeitoun by Dave Eggers - The true story of a man who chooses to remain in new Orleans as hurricane katrina strikes - and the unbelievable events that unfolded in the days that followed. If this were a work of fiction it would be dismissed as outlandish; that these events actually took place is nothing short of scary. Makes you want to scream in frustration at the injustices that occurred: A
26. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Other Stories by F. Scott Fitzgerald - I love the title story, but - and I know this is probably sacrilegious - I found the other stories in this collection a bit … well, dull: B-
27. Eat When You Feel Sad by Zachary German - Sparsely written yet nevertheless enthralling novella following the day-to-day life of a guy named Robert. I really rather enjoyed this: A
28. Winnie the Pooh by A.A Milne - my first ebook - or iBook in Apple parlance - is the classic tale of the bear with little brain. Utterly charming: A
29. Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour by Bryan Lee O'Malley - The sixth and final installment in the Scott Pilgrim series sees the titular hero face off against the last of Ramona's evil ex-boyfriends. Brilliantly written, wonderfully illustrated, and a fitting conclusion to the series: A+
30. Youth in Revolt by C.D. Payne - The hilarious journal of troubled teen Nick Twisp, whose life becomes increasingly more complicated after he falls in love with the girl of his dreams. Skip the disappointing movie version and read this - undoubtedly one of the funniest books I've ever read: A+
31. Revolting Youth by C.D. Payne - Picking straight up after the events of the previous book, Volume 4 of Youth in Revolt (the previous book contained volumes 1-3) charts Nick Twisp's increasingly more complex efforts to win the affections of his love by, among other things, undergoing extreme plastic surgery and adopting a new identity: A+
32. Young and Revolting by C.D. Payne - Volume 5 of the Youth in Revolt series sees Nick - or rather Rick as he's now known - and his new bride Sheeni getting into more trouble after moving to Paris. While this volume isn't quite up to the lofty standards of its predecessors, it's still an enjoyable and witty romp: A-
33. Revoltingly Young by C.D. Payne - The final Youth in Revolt novel sees Nick replaced as the narrator by his younger brother Noel, who attempts to discover exactly what happened to Nick and Sheeni in France years earlier. While I missed Nick's voice in this book, it did serve as a brilliant and fitting conclusion to a wonderful series: A
34. X'ed Out by Charles Burns - Curious tale of a young man who follows his dead cat through a hole in his bedroom wall only to find a mysterious other world. This book has all the usual wonderful hallmarks of Burns, but suffers from ending on a cliffhanger and the knowledge that I'll have to wait well over a year before the second book brings any resolution. Going on Burns' previous form I think I'll probably rate it higher when the story is complete, but for now: B
35. Love and Rockets: New Stories #3 by Los Bros Hernandez - Latest volume in the L&R annual format and, I think, the best so far; it's worth the asking price alone for Jaime's Browntown story which is brutal, heartbreaking, and utterly brilliant: A+
36. Fade In by Michael Piller - Sneakily-obtained unpublished book (why it was never published I don't know) by former Star Trek writer-producer Michael Piller detailing his experiences writing the ninth Star Trek movie, from initial story concepts to the release of the final film. A fascinatingly honest, and often humourous glimpse into the development of a big-budget motion picture from a supremely talented and sadly missed writer: A

(obviously no link for this because it was never published, but if you Google it I'm sure some enterprising individual has it available on the interwebs somewhere)
37. The Rocketeer: The Complete Adventures by Dave Stevens - Wonderful collection of the comic book stories on which the 1991 movie was based. Thoroughly enjoyable, and a great shame that Stevens is no longer around to tell more tales of his jet-powered hero: A
38. The Madonnas of Echo Park by Brando Skyhorse - Wonderful collection of inter-connected short stories that explores how the murder of a three year-old girl impacts on the lives of several seemingly unrelated characters. Absolutely brilliant (and rewards being read quickly so you can keep track of all the characters): A
39. BOP! (More Box Office Poison) by Alex Robinson - Enjoyable collection of short stories that weren't included in the gigantic Box Office Poison collected edition: B+
40. Star Trek: The Official Motion Picture Adaptation by Tim Jones and Mike Johnson; art by David Messina - Faithful and enjoyable, although curiously late, comic book adaptation of the 2009 JJ Abrams Star Trek movie: B+
41. Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan - An exhilarating tale revealing how two teenagers meet and fall in love over the course of one night in New York. Vastly different to the movie it inspired, but every bit as enjoyable. It's a quick read - I ploughed through it in one sitting - but a memorable and surprisingly inspiring one: A
42. Wilson by Daniel Clowes - The first original graphic novel from the acclaimed writer/artist of Ghostworld follows the life of a curmudgeonly fellow using the unique format of short, self-contained comic strips on individual pages - a surprisingly effective way of dipping into key events in the titular character's life: A
43. Invincible: The Ultimate Collection Vol. 4 by Robert Kirkman; art by Ryan Ottley - It's been almost three years since I read the third volume of this immensely enjoyable superhero series, but it remains every bit as enjoyable as I remember it being (even if I did have to Google some of the characters to help pick-up story threads I'd forgotten): A
44. Invincible: The Ultimate Collection Vol. 5 by Robert Kirkman; art by Ryan Ottley - More of the above; I'd pretty much say this is the best superhero title around these days: A

There you go then - 44 books, and nothing that received a grade below a B-. I'm either really easily pleased, or I've had amazing taste in books this year. Either way, you should definitely take note of my recommendations and pick up at least a couple of these titles. Go on, I dare you.

Right. That's yer lot for this year. Have a very happy, healthy, and wonderful New Year! *doffs cap, exits stage left*

2010: The year in reviews

2010-12-30T14:30:00.000Z

Oh look, it's December 30th, which means that seeing as I'm a creature of habit it must be time for my annual Year in Reviews post! Seriously, you can read me like a book. It's pretty tragic really. Anyway, let's press on, shall we?

Books!
OK, let me preface this by saying choosing my top three books of the year this year was a bit of a nightmare, not least because I read some startlingly good ones, but because, as you'll see when I post my 2010 reading list tomorrow, I read a mind-boggling number of the things. Anyway, after a fair bit of sighing and rubbing my face in exasperation, I settled on these:

03 The Madonnas of Echo Park by Brando Skyhorse
Short stories seem to get a bit of a raw deal these days (I'm looking at you, publishers who say the public don't read them), which is a bit of a shame because when they're done right, a short story can, I think, deliver more of an impact than a full length novel for the simple reason that it's so short and precise, a bit like a punch to the gut. A couple of years back I named Knockemstiff, a collection of loosely connected short stories by Donald Ray Pollock, as my favourite book of the year, and The Madonnas of Echo Park follows a similar conceptual path. In this instance, the stories that comprise this book are based around a number of people in L.A.'s Mexican community whose lives are connected to, and affected by, the shooting of a three year-old girl while she was dancing to the Madonna song 'Borderline' on a street corner. It's a bit like the movie Crash, but less Hollywood. In fact, the greatest compliment I can give to this book is that it reads a lot like a prose version of Los Bros Hernandez's Love and Rockets comic book. It's that good. And the author has an amazing name.

02. Lean on Pete by Willy Vlautin
The third novel by the frontman of the band Richmond Fontaine didn't initially appeal to me when I first read it's premise, being set, as it is, in the world of horse racing - a passion of the author. I'm not a fan of the sport, but I needn't have worried; Vlautin's story doesn't actually focus on that world, and instead uses it as a launchpad to tell an utterly heartbreaking tale of a young boy's attempt to find his aunt - the only family he has left - after stealing an ageing racehorse. It's basically a road trip story - one that is at times dark, but filled with a sense of hope. I can't praise Vlautin's sparse, poetic writing style and unique voice enough, and the ending very nearly had me in tears. Utterly beautiful, and highly recommended.

01. Youth in Revolt by C.D. Payne
For years I've told people that my favourite book was A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. It's a masterful comic novel filled with memorable characters, not least the central figure of the story, Ignatius J. Reilly. Ask me now, though, and I might just say that my favourite book is Youth in Revolt. I first became aware of Youth in Revolt when I saw the trailer for the movie version. To be honest, I wasn't terribly sold on it, and didn't bother seeing it. A few months later I found out that it was adapted from a book - a book that scored incredibly highly in Amazon's reader reviews - so I spontaneously decided to give it a whirl. After about 30 pages I'd already decided to order the sequels off Amazon, committing myself to well over 1000 pages of reading. Put simply, Youth in Revolt is quite possibly the funniest book I've ever read, as it tells the tale, via journal entries, of how 14 year-old Nick Twisp seeks to win the heart of his beloved Sheeni Saunders. In Nick, C.D. Payne has created one of the most memorable and outlandish anti-heroes I've ever had the privilege to read about. Nick's voice is so unique and well-defined, his mastery of the English language so unlike that of any other teenager but so utterly brilliant that I found myself stealing lines and using them in everyday conversation. And the situations in which he finds himself are so outlandish, so brilliantly conceived, that I literally became so involved in the storyline that I found myself wanting to shout at Nick to warn him of the pitfalls ahead, because there were plenty of them; I loved how, for example, one of his journal entries might end with something like 'things are definitely looking up for me!' and the next would inevitably begin with something like 'UNMITIGATED DISASTER!' It's just a wonderfully written, laugh out loud book, and I loved every page of it.

(Honourable mentions go to the Youth in Revolt sequels, Revolting Youth, Young and Revolting, and Revoltingly Young, which, while not quite as memorable as the first book in the series continue Nick's story in that inimitable Twispian style; Love and Rockets: New Stories Volume 3 simply for Jaime Hernandez's amazing, funny, and ultimately heart wrenching story 'Browntown'; the Scott Pilgrim graphic novels which I loved; and Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist which I found to be an exhilarating tale of love, lust, spontaneity, and what it means to be young)

Movies!
I'll be honest with you: I thought it was remarkably slim pickings at the cinema this year, although I think we can put some of that down to my changing tastes; I really am finding myself going off the vacuous summer blockbusters, and that's something I never thought I'd write.

03. Inception
Expanding a bit on what I just wrote above, I find myself increasingly dissatisfied with Hollywood's summer output. In an age where CGI can bring anything and everything you imagine to life, it seems that the studios have, for the most part, rejected decent plots and good characterisation in favour of spectacular visuals, amazing set pieces, and more bangs for your buck. Thank god, then, for Christopher Nolan, who showed that you can do a summer blockbuster filled with spectacular visuals, amazing set pieces, and plenty of bangs for your buck while also having a complex plot and some decent characters. Of all the films I saw this year, Inception is the one that really made me THINK while I watched it, and that's something to be applauded. It's also a film that I think will reward subsequent viewings, and I can't wait to see it again.

02. Monsters
The complete antithesis of a big-budget Hollywood film, Monsters was filmed for something like a six figure sum, and is proof if it were needed that art thrives on restrictions. On the surface it's a film about gigantic alien life forms inhabiting a vast part of Mexico, but to label it a movie simply about aliens would be a disservice to this wonderful little film, because the monsters are little more than a background element to a story about two people growing close as they traverse the restricted zone in an attempt to get back to America. It's a beautifully shot, understated tale that remained with me long after I left the cinema.

01. Scott Pilgrim Vs The World
I noted in the honourable mentions for books that I loved the Scott Pilgrim graphic novels, and evidently I'm not the only one because director Edgar Wright transformed them into a brilliant, heartwarming, and visually-stunning movie. At its core, Scott Pilgrim Vs The World is essentially a story of boy meets girl, but the twist here is that to win the heart of the beautiful Ramona, Scott has to do battle with her seven evil exes. It was a great concept in the books, and it works well onscreen, helped by the fact that it's perfectly cast; I'm not really a big Michael Cera fan, but he keeps popping up in movies I really like, and the guy is beginning to win me over. Particular kudos also to Keiran Culkin as Scott's gay roommate Wallace Wells, who works wonders with such a small role and pretty much steals every scene he's in. Combine all that with a witty script and a great soundtrack, and Scott Pilgrim Vs The World is a pretty terrific little film.

(Honourable mentions go to Tony Scott's Unstoppable which although it was incorrectly titled - the train is, after all, obviously stoppable - proved to be a gripping thriller enhanced by brilliant performances from Denzel Washington and Chris Pine; Kick-Ass which I enjoyed greatly up until it turned into a superhero film-by-numbers in the second half; The Social Network which told the story of Facebook's birth but suffered slightly by being a chapter in a story that is still ongoing in real life; Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist which I discovered on DVD and completely fell in love with; and Youth in Revolt, which brutally truncated the book's story, but was saved by Michael Cera’s performance as Nick. See - two more Cera films there. WTF!? Also, it was a lovely to see Back to the Future on the big screen once again - a fantastic, timeless film that knocks many of today’s movies into a cocked hat - and while I only saw it yesterday, I enjoyed the hell out of Tron Legacy, even if I didn’t have a damn clue what the hell was going on most of the time. Ooo - neon!)

TV Shows!
Another category where I felt it was slim pickings this year; as a result, and as you'll see, with one exception I've fallen back on two old favourites.

03. Supernatural
God, I enjoy the hell out of this show. It's perfectly cast, utterly enjoyable, and even after five years and multiple long-running story arcs, totally accessible for new viewers. The fifth season, which I blitzed over the course of a week on DVD, put the Winchester boys in the line of sight of Satan himself as the apocalypse was finally unleashed on the world, and while I wouldn't say it was my favourite year of the show, it was still great fun. What I love about Supernatural is the ease with which it can go from serious, end of the world stories (‘The End’) to laugh out loud funny (‘Changing Channels’) all while remaining true to the over-arcing plot, consistent with its established universe, and without ever feeling forced; it's a trick few series can accomplish. Supernatural is a wicked little show, and long may it continue.

02. Blue Mountain State
This was an unexpected little gem: a series I bought off iTunes with little knowledge about what its premise was other than it dealt with an American university football team, and it was supposed to be funny. And it was. Very. The whole American football thing actually plays little part in the series, and instead it dwells mostly on the team's frat-house partying, of which there is much; think Animal House/Van Wilder and you wouldn't be far wrong. It works well as a half-hour comedy, with wonderful performances from Darin Brooks as the likeable Alex Moran whose only reason to be on the team is to get drunk and hook-up with as many girls as he can, and Alan Ritchson (Aquaman on Smallville, if you’re interested) as the somewhat ridiculous jock Thad Castle who captains the team. The 13 episodes that made up Blue Mountain State's first season went by too quickly, and I can't wait for the second.

01. Smallville
Yes, I know I named it my number one show in 2009, but Smallville returned to win me over with it's ninth season again this year. While I wouldn't rate this season as highly as the eighth (seriously, over a year after I watched season eight's Doomsday storyline I'm still raving about it), Smallville once again fashioned a riveting 22 episode story arc dealing with the arrival of the Kandorians - cloned versions of Kryptonian soldiers led by a young Major Zod. The season also saw Chloe take on a new role as Watchtower, overseeing the actions of the show's ever-expanding lineup of heroes, a feature-length episode that introduced classic characters from the Justice Society, and, of course, Clark's continuing growth and acceptance of his role as, Earth's greatest champion. Lord knows how they managed to fit all that coherently into one season, but they did - and it was brilliant. I'm constantly amazed that Smallville has managed to remain so consistently entertaining after so long, but it has. The question now is: can the 10th and final season maintain this incredible momentum while also wrapping up the show's many dangling storylines...?

(Honourable mentions go to It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which I continue to love even as Danny DeVito’s performance as Frank gets increasingly more vile by the episode; Family Guy, which still makes me giggle like a speshul; One Tree Hill, which I was close to abandoning after a dire first half of the season, but which then picked up dramatically, concluding with one of the most joyous and shocking season finales I've seen in a long time; and, I'm pleased to report, Doctor Who, which began its fifth season with a new head writer (Steven Moffat) and a charming and charismatic new doctor in the form of Matt Smith, and wisely dropped the over the top performances and reliance on pointless running everywhere that had come to characterise previous seasons; ‘The Time of Angels’ was without doubt one of the best things I watched on telly all year.)

Albums!
Despite having listened to a fair bit of really good music this year, picking my top three albums was a relatively easy task. Thank god, because I don’t think I could cope with having to deal with another category like books again.

03. Avi Buffalo by Avi Buffalo
I can’t remember how I came across this band - I think it was either a free single of the week on iTunes or I heard them on 6Music - but I was pretty quickly won over. Amazingly, Avi Buffalo is made up of a bunch of talented folk the oldest of whom is just 21, but you wouldn’t know that by listening to this sublime little album; it’s a dreamy, wistful, ageless collection of remarkable and beautiful songs (even if some of them have titles such as ‘Five Little Sluts’ and ‘Summer Cum’) that would make the perfect soundtrack to a hot lazy summer. This lot are pretty high up on my list of bands I want to see live in 2011.

02. The Age of Adz by Sufjan Stevens
As I mentioned in my Mix CD post, Sufjan Stevens’ latest album marked a somewhat startling change of direction for an artist previously best know for quiet acoustic offerings. Gone were the banjos and pianos of previous albums, replaced by drum beats and synthesizers; only Sufjan’s unique voice remained to provide a link to what had come before. What made the transformation even more surprising was that just a month or so before The Age of Adz hit shelves, Sufjan released an EP (although it was the length of an album) that WAS traditional Sufjan. In hindsight, you could say that it felt like he was saying something along the lines of “this is what you expect of me - and it will cushion the blow when the new album drops.” I don’t know if that was his intention, but it sure felt like it, especially as the first track on The Age of Adz, ‘Futile Devices,’ segues from the old-skool Sufjan sound to the new over the course of its 2:11 runtime. And from there on, The Age of Adz is just brilliantly mad, psychedelically bonkers and completely brilliant; ‘Too Much’ and ‘I Walked’ are classics in the making, while the title track is a dark and ominous epic that ends with an uplifting sense of hope - like the musical equivalent of driving through the heart of a fierce storm and emerging unscathed on the other side. There’s not a duff track here, which is something I don’t usually say about albums that feature a 25 minute-long finale.

01. Of the Blue Color of the Sky by OK Go
So the story here is that when OK Go first burst onto the scene I was a big fan, but then I slowly, not so much fell out of love with them as just … stopped paying attention. Yeah, I still sat up and watched when they released a new video, because who the hell didn’t after the treadmill one, but they didn’t really register terribly highly on my radar as the years passed. I subsequently ignored the release of their third album, Of the Blue Color of the Sky, not least because, well, I wasn’t paying too much attention, but because when I did bother to look at the Amazon listing, there were some pretty scathing reviews citing a change in musical direction. Big mistake, because when I did finally get the album after randomly ordering a USB stick from their website that contained two entire live gigs, a handful of videos, and Of the Color of the Sky all for just 15 quid or so, I discovered that OK Go’s latest effort was nothing less than an astonishingly awesome album. Admittedly, it did take me a couple of listens to really ‘get it,’ but I was rewarded with an album packed with joyous songs such as ‘This too Shall Pass,’ ‘All is Not Lost,’ and ‘Needing/Getting,’ and that's before we even get to the amazing ‘White Knuckles.’ Seriously, if any of those tunes come on the stereo while I’m driving you better hope to hell you’re not a passenger because I will sing along VERY LOUDLY. And as if it couldn’t get any more awesome, the band have released a new ‘Extra Nice Edition’ packed with demos and alternative versions; I’m totally going to get my grubby little mits on that, and I highly recommend you do too.

On a side note, one thing I discovered from the live gigs on the USB stick is that OK Go are an incredibly engaging band live; the between song banter at those gigs was just HILARIOUS, and I hope I get the opportunity to witness it firsthand if they tour the UK next year.

(Honourable mentions go to Flight of the Conchords who I saw up close - like, literally five rows from the stage close - in concert and were fantastic, Freelance Whales whose Weathervanes album was a lovely treat, David Bowie’s A Reality Tour which beautifully showcased a concert from the Thin White Duke’s last world tour, Screen Archives Entertainment’s wonderful expanded edition of James Horner’s score for Star Trek III, and The Californian, whose Sea of Love EP contained four utterly perfect songs that bode well for the group’s forthcoming full-length album)

Other Stuff!
Let’s see … well, joining Twitter for one. On the advice of the lovely Marsha and Lee, I finally caved and decided to give it a whirl - and since then I’ve been nothing less than addicted. I love the instantaneous nature of it, and how witty and creative people can be in just 140 characters, and even now, almost a year after joining, I still get excited by people tweeting and retweeting me. Bikram yoga continued to be a big part of my life this year, resulting in me throwing myself into a 30 day challenge, which quite frankly seemed like a crazy thing to do, but ended up being one of the most rewarding things I’ve done in a long time; plus it made me feel great and I dropped a belt-hole after just two weeks - RESULT. Other than that, buying an iPad proved an undisputed win; I had no idea what I was really going to use it for before it actually arrived, but since then it’s become a vital part of my life and has led to less hours spent sitting in front of my desktop computer (the bulk of this post was written on my iPad in Starbucks in Uxbridge, in fact). I think the writer India Knight, who I follow on Twitter, summed it up best when she said something along the lines of “computer: work, phone: convenience, iPad: JOY.” She ain’t wrong.

And the losers…
A couple of notable cinematic fails: Iron Man 2 was a noisy and charmless follow-up to one of the best superhero films of recent years, while I appear to be the only person on the planet that thought Avatar was a load of old toss; the characters were caricatures, and the aspect of it I was most interested in - Sam Worthington’s integration into the Na’vi culture a la Dances With Wolves - was glossed over in favour of a series of difficult to follow, although admittedly spectacular fight sequences. Coming from the man who brought us such stellar action films as Aliens, Terminator 2, and The Abyss, this felt, to me at least, like it was James Cameron’s Phantom Menace. While not a fail as such, I was also a smidgeon disappointed with Toy Story 3; yes it was an enjoyable movie, but after such a long gap between this and Toy Story 2 I just didn’t really feel like I really needed to revisit these characters. While we’re at it, 3D films in general? Jesus, give it a rest Hollywood; once I’ve seen one random object hurled out of the screen at me, I’ve pretty much seen them all. Please divert the money into actually paying some decent writers next year, yes? What else? Oh, yes, I kind of let running slide a bit in the wake of my 30 day yoga challenge; to be honest I felt like I’d lost my enthusiasm for it a bit and was forcing myself to do it, so it made sense to take a break and yoga suitably filled that gap. I’ll get back to it in the new year, I’m sure.

And with that, I think I’m about done for another year. Current swoon Erica Durance (Lois in Smallville, as IF you didn’t know) is handing out prizes to the winners, hopefully while wearing this little star-spangled number, while Lady Gaga is out the back fashioning something out of rancid meat for the losers. YUM!

Santa, baby

2010-12-23T01:18:00.003Z

If this isn't the face of festive fun, I don't know what is.

And if that's not £1.99 well spent in Pound Crazy in Shepherds Bush, I don't know what is. What a sec - £1.99 in a pound shop? What's that all about?!

Temporary Thor

2010-12-19T20:05:00.003Z

Well, London has ground to an icy halt thanks to what I am now calling 'bastard snow.' Seriously, I had to push my car into my parking space yesterday because there was so much of it. PUSH! I ask you.

Anyway, there's a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Good ol' Skip emailed me not too long ago to say he'd heard a rumour there might be a temporary thaw on Tuesday. I, of course, completely misunderstood what he was talking about and, well…

Mix CD 2010!

2010-12-17T18:00:00.001Z

Um, really? It doesn't seem like five minutes ago that I popped 2009's mix CD together as a freebie Christmas gift/way of imposing my musical tastes on others. And yet here we are again, so let's not procrastinate and just get on with it, yes?

01. Do I Love You (Indeed I Do) by Frank Wilson
Motown tracks have always had this instantly identifiable sound to them, and it's one I've long been a fan of. Which makes it all the more surprising that it was only this year that I got around to actually buying a Motown album (and what a doozy - 61 songs for £7.99 off iTunes). It was obviously quite a difficult task to choose just one song to represent Motown here because quite frankly a significant proportionate number of their songs were insanely awesome. I eventually settled on this 1966 track because from the word GO it embodies everything I love about Motown; it's upbeat, instantly recognisable, utterly memorable. It's two minutes 22 seconds of utter joy in which to loose yourself.

02. I Would Die 4 U by Mariachi El Bronx

One of the regular recipients of my mix CDs is Best Mate Jo, who this year is slacking of a bit in the best mate department by buggering off to Mexico for Christmas. So, in honour of her festive trip, and because I absolutely love this band, track two is Mariachi El Bronx's cover of Prince's I Would Die 4 U. Now, if you're not familiar with this band, let me refresh your memory: they're a rock band who, for their fourth album took a complete left-turn and put together an album of mariachi music. And the whole thing is utterly brilliant. This track is actually a B-side to one of their singles (but is available from iTunes) and one of the best cover versions I've ever heard. Dare I say it, I prefer it to the original.

03. Don't Let's Start by They Might Be Giants

In all honesty, I am familiar with They Might Be Giants for two reasons: their song Birdhouse In Your Soul, which I love, and the fact that they did the theme tune to the TV show Malcolm in the Middle. But earlier this year I heard this track on the radio and instantly loved it. It's bright and breezy, and if I hear it playing I'm singing along to it in an instant. I love the way the song kind of falters after he sings "don't let's start," and the fact that once you actually listen to the lyrics it's actually prettty damn dark – I mean "no one in the world ever get's what they want, and that's beautiful; everybody dies frustrated and sad, and that's beautiful"? And yet you can still dance around to it.

04. You Make My Dreams by Hall and Oates

Blame my Dad for making me like Hall and Oates; he used to play them in the car incessantly when I was a kid, and there's only so many times an impressionable youngster can hear Out Of Touch and Kiss On My List before he succumbs to their charms. Anyway, I actually wasn't familiar with this song until I saw the movie (500) Days of Summer last year, but now I've apparently listened to it 80 times according to my iTunes library, and I'm yet to tire of it. I'm of the opinion that Hall and Oates make everything better, and I can't help but wish that everyday life was a little bit more like this:

05. Take Me To The River by Al Green

LOVE Al Green, LOVE this song. Timeless, brilliant, awesome stuff. The guy's a dude. 'Nuff said.

06. Ramona by Beck

Scott Pilgrim Vs The World was one of my favourite movies of the year, and not only that but it was accompanied by an incredible soundtrack album full of some classic tracks and newly-created material by the likes of Beck and Broken Social Scene. I've always thought I should like Beck more than I actually do, and I can't quite nail why I'm ever so slightly ambivalent about him. Regardless of that, the tracks he created for Scott Pilgrim were universally awesome - so much so that I actually had difficulty working out which one I wanted to put on the mix CD. I ultimately went for Ramona because it's such an utterly heartfelt, beautiful little song. It's the sort of track that makes everything seem like it's going in slow motion where everyone looks at each other with unending, wistful looks. It makes me want a girlfriend called Ramona so it can be OUR SONG.

07. Going Down To Liverpool by The Bangles

I know - a Bangles song that's not Walk Like An Egyptian! Who knew? Anyway, like Don't Let's Start this is another song that I heard on the radio that I adored from the word go, and swiftly picked up from iTunes to enjoy at my leisure (a scary amount of times, thanks for reminding me iTunes library…). There's something about Going Down To Liverpool that reminds me of that brilliant period in the late 80s-early 90s where everyone had big hair and life seemed so easy and brilliant and chilled out. I like the harmonies and the slightly-too-electric-sounding electric guitar; they're somewhat - but brilliantly - dated, and I can't help loving everything about this song.

Oh, and not only that, but LEONARD NIMOY is in the video: AMAZING.

08. White Knuckles by OK Go

Back when they first burst on to the scene with the song Get Over It I was nutty for OK Go. When their second album came out a few years later I bought it, enjoyed it, but didn't quite rave about it as much. And when their third album came out about a year ago I pretty much ignored it based on some reviews that said it was different to what they'd done before. But, as we all know, different can be good and you shouldn't always pay attention to reviews, because when I eventually did pick up their album Of The Blue Color Of The Sky I found it to be without a doubt my favourite of their three releases so far - and this song, White Knuckles, is the standout track. It's a breezy, punchy disco track that's almost impossible not to jig along to. It also has, as I discovered during my 30 day yoga challenge, an uncanny ability to pump you up before class too.

And being OK GO, it's also accompanied by an awesome video:

09. Spin Round by The Californian

Longtime readers might remember that I discovered - and subsequently raved about - The Californian last year. Sometime around the middle of this year The Californian unleashed a four track EP of new material on the interwebs, and it not only built on the promise of the eponymous demos album, but far surpassed it. The four songs you get for a measly $4 (that's just a smidgeon over £2.50-odd) are all brilliant - which made the task of picking which one to pop on the mix CD all the more difficult. I eventually plumped for Spin Round because … well, because I got to the point where I had to pick one to be honest. But that's not the point because this song is JOY; it is wonderful, carefree, brilliant end-of-the-movie music, and I cannot recommend this band's stuff highly enough. Do yourself a favour and pop on over to The Californian's website where you can pick yourself up a download of the EP or just listen to it streaming. It will make your life immeasurably better.

10. All The Young Dudes by David Bowie

And not just any version of this classic track, I'll have you know, but a live version taken from The Thin White Duke's 2003 A Reality Tour. Listening to the A Reality Tour CD brought back so many memories of seeing Bowie perform at Wembley Arena seven years ago, and this song in particular is a highlight for me. I remember standing on the flimsy plastic chair halfway back in the arena, swaying and singing along with several thousand other people as the tiny figure of David Bowie waved his arms in the air in the distance. It was a magical moment, and you get at least a suggestion of that electric atmosphere in this recording. And if, as I fear, that tour was the last time we'll ever see Bowie headline a show again, what a way to go out.

11. Age of Adz by Sufjan Stevens

A pleasant surprise this year was the return of Sufjan Stevens, first with a new EP, which was followed little more than a month or so later by a new album. I expect I'll witter on a bit more in-depth about this in my Year in Reviews post, but the EP was basically old-skool Sufjan while the album was … well, basically it was bat-shit crazy. But I mean that in a good way, because it was so different and brilliant and yet somehow still managed to retain everything I love about Sufjan's music. Age of Adz is the title track; it's loud and bombastic, by turns sweet and sneeringly sinister. It has an epic, heavily-layered feel to it, which is aided by Sufjan's new-found use of electrics, yet it draws to a close in the most beautiful and humble way - the perfect way to end this year's mix CD. Genius.

-----

So that's your lot for this year's mix CD. But I'm never done discovering new music, and would you believe it, I've found a new band to obsess over in just the last couple of days - so here's a sneak preview, because this is DEFINITELY going on the 2011 CD.

Things to do in the dark

2010-12-06T21:45:00.003Z

I'm not usually one for Christmas parties - mainly because I'm a slightly miserable, somewhat antisocial old bugger - and as a result I've done a sterling job of avoiding the work one for about the last five years. This year will be number six; I'm hoping if I hit 10 they'll give me a watch, although the sack is more likely.

Any-hoo, when I found out that my yoga studio was having a party I immediately thought 'yes, I'll go to that,' mainly because in contrast to several other ones I get invited to I actually like everyone at yoga. Another bonus was that I thought it would be nice to actually talk to some of my fellow yogi, rather than just grimace at them in a brief moment of shared pain during class.

So on Saturday night I toddled back to the studio clutching a bottle of wine (for them) and a bottle of Pepsi (for me) – and it was awesome. They had loads of food and drink in reception, and the studio itself was transformed into a dancehall with one of the guys who works there DJ-ing, and a live singer, who was perplexingly half-naked and wrapped in what looked like a net curtain, although he was very good so I shan't question that too much. Excitingly, I also got to check out the girl's changing room without being whacked around the face.

To top it off, they'd installed UV lights around the studio, and we'd all been told to wear white so we'd look like complete glowing loons while dancing the night away. Tragically, I actually don't have any white clothes, and plans to pop to Westfield to buy something special were scuppered by bastard snow. I had actually seen a dirt-cheap pair of white jeans online, but was put off by the fact that I wasn't sure if they meant COMPLETELY WHITE clothes or just one item. And Yazzle Dazzle said they looked like leggings, which isn't exactly the sort of thing you want to hear. Anyway, I rocked up in a gingham shirt; the white squares performed admirably well.

I needn't have worried too much, though, because the lovely lady who owns the studio was wandering around the heaving masses with a pot of UV body paint, and she made a beeline for the blank canvas that was my skin almost immediately after I entered the room. I think at first she wanted to paint something on my face, but I was a bit resistant to that so she ended up daubing a heart on my arm, which was lovely. I was tempted to get her to draw a Superman 'S' on my chest because the sight of that glowing away would've been pretty damn awesome, but she'd already complained about the hair on my arms so she would probably have had a fit at the sight of my man-chest. I doubt Picasso had to put up with a hairy canvas.

My painted UV heart, sadly not glowing. By this point, towards the end of the evening, it had actually gone a bit powdery and looked a bit like a bad case of eczema; thank god I didn't have any on my face.

Anyway, as she was applying the heart I turned into the 13 year-old boy I desperately try not to be while out in public, and said "I'm going to watch you as the evening goes on."

She stopped painting for a minute and looked me in the eye.

"Why?"

"Because you're walking around with a pot of UV paint and if it was me I'd probably start drawing cocks on people after a while."

She giggled and walked off.

So as the evening wore on I got chatting to a lovely fellow yogi who was brilliant and fun and quite possibly a bit mental (in a nice way), and, more importantly, a bit drunk. And at some point she managed to get hold of the pot of UV paint, and sober old me did that thing I do where I implant an idea in someone's head and then back away from taking any responsibility for it whatsoever.

A few minutes later this young chap comes wobbling out of the UV-lit studio, looks me straight in the eyes, and says "I've got a cock on my face, haven't I?"

And I looked at him, at the massive testicles that, even in the non-UV light of reception were clearly painted on his chin, and the proud penis emblazoned straight up his face to his forehead, and I replied "why yes, yes you do."

Sparky Malarkey

Hate o'clock

Making a dead tree book is fun!

Toys!

Jonge

Reading list 2011

2011: The year in reviews

Mix CD 2011

Working nine to five (thirty)

What a difference a year makes…

Bum cramp

Chessington world of utterly terrifying adventures

Rochelle

Tron Corgi, of course

Spider nipple

Massive swears ***sweary update***

Making an ebook is fun!

Freeloader

He needs TP for his bunghole

Arts and crafts

Dapper

The undiscovered country

Build the Enterprise

Hanging out with some chicks

OK going, going, gone

From the sublime to the ridiculous

A sterling effort

Yo, Warner Bros. - you can have this one for free

Brace yourselves

Month of gigs: part 4 - road trip edition

Month of gigs: part 3

Month of gigs: part 2

Month of gigs: Thursday tease edition

Month of gigs: part 1

A somewhat lazy post

Insure-angst

Getting my plumbing sorted

A night on the town

Head to knee. I SAID HEAD TO KNEE! **SEXY UPDATE**

Putting the 'Tim' in 'victim'

Because kittens make everything more awesome

Sparky T and the Pervy Undertones

Tiddily Tim

Available for commissions

You shall go to the ball/disco!

A fine vintage

I am man: hear me roar

Syringy lady

The mad hallucinatory lady story

Insert TECH

Smart arse

A sight for sore thighs

Shoe woes

Reading list 2010

2010: The year in reviews

Santa, baby

Temporary Thor

Mix CD 2010!

Things to do in the dark

Massive swears sweary update

Head to knee. I SAID HEAD TO KNEE! SEXY UPDATE