How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb

I lost internet for two days. Two days of the most complete isolation you could imagine. No Wikipedia to answer my constant and moronic queries. No reassuring Facebook chatter. No warm, forgiving MSN Messenger to tell me everything's okay. No soothing Tweets from Stephen Fry or Tony Hawk to keep me updated on which Californian city they're skating in next or what particular type of Twinings they're drinking. It was terrible. I resorted to watching the semi-finals of Britian's Got Talent, or rather, Britain's Got Recession. Go away Piers Morgan and never return. Please. Go away to your fantastical vision of 1950's Britain and judge their talent contests, because in ours, your only purpose is to counteract the capitalist brutality of Simon Cowell and provide a male counterpart to Amanda Holden's irrepressable Englishness. "I lovelovelovelove you" she says, with that wonderful motherly face. She's a BNP member's wet dream, let's face it.

However, not having the passive distraction of the internet's loving embrace did allow me to focus on revision. All today I went native, revised politics in the garden and drew up my very own set of reforms for Britain's political system. There are a lot and I won't list them, but they involved a second elected chamber, fixed terms, recall, iniatives. I had every possible base covered. Since I went into study-hibernation, I've not really been watching Jeremy Paxman or any political commentary; I did however, catch Question Time on thursday. It was rather ruined because my dad watched it with me - we're all on holiday meaning his bedtime is extended and this silly expenses row has awakened some mild political/extremist aspirations in him. He kept talking over Dimbleby and muttering a collection of phrases like "scum.. conmen... out of touch.. toilet... yoghurt" et cetera. It would be forgiveable if, firstly, he wasn't out of sync with the rest of the country with his rage and secondly, if he hadn't made the u-turn of Green/LibDem to UKIP.

I'm not sure where along the line he got from "environment is the most important" to ALL MP'S ARE ROBBERS to "we should leave Europe because the French don't know anything". Maybe he thinks global warming is already too far out of control (I agree, though it's still cool to be a member of Greenpeace), or that the whole political system is crap (again, agreed, though the Liberal Democrats aren't conmen, our own MP for christ's sake is LD and he's clean, and they are the only ones who want electoral reform and all that jazz) - but the French are great! Nobody can say anything against croissants, coffee or Juliette Binoche. The situation is again exasperated by the fact that many of the people in the audience of Question Time are of the same level of understanding as my dad, and keep asking the same question "I'd get prosecuted" etc. Which is all very well and good except, the expenses thing really isn't the main issue; we need constitutional reform across the board. This expenses thing isn't new; people do do this in the real world except, being even more untrustworthy and weak and sinful, they don't get caught as easily. The hypocrisy of the Murdoch-press is astounding; I saw the perfect Mail headline the other day:

"BBC MUSLIM EXPENSES ROW".

God knows what was going through Littlejohn's head, but I am sure it was akin to those pictograms infant school teachers use to cement basic numeracy in children's heads before they move onto addition and subtraction. If they'd had "Romp" on the end, it would have been heavenly. Hell, it seems that The News of the World has completley abandoned all sanity and gone BGT mad, as you'll know if you saw the adverts.

In lighter news, I downloaded the two Hush Sound albums I didn't have and completed my Tool collection. They're progressive metal, which means "weird, note for observation". Listen to Tool. Then listen to The Hush Sound to bring you back to the real world. Oh, and did you hear? North Korea is gonna blow us all up with a big bomb or something. I didn't listen properly, but the gist of it was telling me to go hide in the bunker with the shotgun.

G'night kids.

Ban This Filth

So 'cos my parents have abandoned me to go holiday in Cornwall, Sam's existence has devolved into a beery liberal mess of Guardian wit and bad television. First things first, I played poker whilst barbequeing and got a little bit of tea party on the lawn into the mix. I nearly won the poker, but as I learned today, never underestimate the decietful power of women and their ability to bluff. They are truly sirens!

Secondly, I found a wonderful little feature in the Guide today; 12 things The Mail reckonz should be banned (because this filth is making our society into a Broken Britain). Had me giggling for some time. At the same time, I had half an eye on Mission: Impossible II - I'd never seen the end before and I soon realised I hadn't been missing much. The villain, a charicteristically European (Scottish, but America won't know the difference) dude called Scott. He was trying to unleash some crazy virus shit all over the world and then blackmail everybody; Tom Cruise eventually has a 20-minute motorbike chase wherein the only dialogue was the revving of engines; unsurprisingly Tom Cruise had a bigger "motorbike" than Scott. Maybe he was making up for something - guess what?

Then he had a big martial arts fight on the beach and shot him a lot. Real shock, that one! It made Michael Bay-movies seem like emotion fuelled directives. But back to the important things in life. If you don't already buy the Guardian on saturday then a). you need to start doing so and b). then you won't know about the really great short story supplement in this weeks issue. I'm currently devouring The Jester of Astapovo and so far it is a delectable dish. Also, I realised the scary power of the conservative press here in Britain. Polls show that two thirds of people would support a general election before Christmas; such thing would not change anything as the Tories would want constitutional reform even less than Labour; for the last two centuries they've maintained the two party status quo and we'd be naive to think that David Smugface Cameron wants to change that in the slightest. I've stopped having dreams about being violence to said politician, but my hatred is renewed for him because the only thing he seems to do is bleat "election, election!". I also realised the horrid twin-nyness between DC and Piers Morgan, the someone who is possibly more hypocritical than Littlejohn himself (see Daily Mail Dictonary from the link above). He's just as posh, only at least DC doesen't so blatently whore himself out to ITV. If you've got to give Davey C one thing, it's the fact that he has never tried to style himself as "one of us"; he just doesen't mention his mansion/servants/country estate.

Plus I'd be annoyed because it would mean I didn't get to vote for the lovely Liberal Democrats. Any Bill of Rights brought in by a Conservative government would be even more restrictive and binding than the state of flux that rules at the moment. But enough ranting; people are stupid and hypocritical and will always remain so. Mother says "you're so liberal Sam. Just like your grandpa" and although that may sound like an immediate contradiction, it's not. I keep finding little similarities, little points of contact with my late grandfather and it's getting on the uncanny side nowadays; that's not to say I don't enjoy it though.

Bradley out, roger.

P.S. I just saw the latest ad for my favourite kitchen cleaner Cillit Bang and it reminded me to link you to this. Gotta love Barry Scott's dulcet tones.

Vaderesque Tolkienfest

Hello, you. Missed me? I didn't think so, you vile worm. Yes, you, David Cameron! Come here and read your epitaph.

OK, so now the DC-hate bit is done, let's talk about something not completeley depressing and hate-filling. Television. My long-suffering friend, how I have neglected your calming glow. Last night I watched 1066: The Battle for Middle Earth. No, although it did have Ian Holm (Bilbo Baggins) narrating, it was not a Tolkienfest. More like if Time Team mated with Robin Hood; it resembled a historically correct version of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It was a pretty biased view really; the Normans were a bit villified and the Scandinavians too got a bad press. And although there was plenty of blood/tomato ketchup, the Dorset accents (apprently every Saxon came from one little home-county village) failed to convince me of the authenticity. Maybe it was the apparent caring nature of the Vikings in between bouts of beserker-rage, or the Darth Vaderesque costume of King Hadrada. Or maybe it was that there seemed to be about a dozen blokes in plastic armor hitting each other with sticks that took away the verismilitude. Maybe we were supposed to use our imagination?

Though Channel 4 wouldn't have that! Heaven forbid the flesh-drones develop sentience! Because, when the subtitle sequence told us that the barbarian who'd killed about a zillion farmers on the bridge was "pierced terribly inwards" it was already pretty obvious somone had chopped his willy off.

I won't link you to the programme because I am lazy and you are intelligent enough to do it yourself. Then again, some of you aren't clever enough to realize that Lord Numbnuts himself, Nick Griffiths, is just a lobster-faced racist. Seriously guys, its not funny. Drawing amusing cartoons on the ballot paper of David Cameron in compromising positions with a cow is funny; voting for a bunch of people who should be debagged and radished isn't. I reckon that if Nick has the political acumen he thinks he does, he'd jump off a tall, suitably British looking building, say, the Tower of London. I'm not very good at this, but Charlie Brooker is.

Finally, a new David Chandlerism: "I want a luxury tent. It'd have central heating and plumbing..." Goodbye.

A Plague Upon Both Your Houses

So today; thanks to the ridiculous positioning of my bus stop, the said public transport rushed right past me. I'm not going to complain too much about the GMPTE on here because on the whole they do a pretty good job. Either way, I was late for Media Studies revision class and David looked at me balefully disappointed. Those doe-eyes get me every time.

Later on, after dodging rainclouds; I brave the 192 which is populated by a motley asssortment fo drunks and scoundrels. It seems that every time I go into Stockport it gets scummier and scummier. With the closing of Woolworths it seems that the main centre of employment in the area has disappeared: the line of smokers in baseball caps outside of Bright House was particularily amusing to watch. Also, it seems that everytime I visit my stationary outlet of choice (Ryman) it seems to get further away from the bus station. It means struggling through the increasing tide of chavs; they're less like an infestation than a biblical plague. I needed to buy paper and notebooks; I replaced the ol'ideas cache with another book (this time I'll keep it cleaner) and got some old school-style books for classes next year! Now I can feel even more like a six year-old.

So after navigating the ocean of potential muggers and drug runners that is Stockport town centre, I escaped home on a 313 bus that smelled suspiciously of eggs. I always seem to miss Newsnight these days and I really need a proper full day at home to revise; breaking it up smashes my sense of continuity! Anyway I re-did my Personal DNA test just so I could see if I had radically changed in a Jekyll/Hyde demaneur. Look into my soul, internet!

Return of the King

Yo homeslice. It's been a couple of days and I am reloaded and back for more. So English Language exam today! That was a lot of fun - I always feel that getting completley wired helps me concentrate. My efforts to this end included three black coffees and the discovery of something called Paracetamol Plus in my kitchen cupboard - an interesting combination of paracetamol coated in caffiene. So armed with this volatile combination of drugs and beverage swilling around my bloodstream, I proceeded to write the whole thing at the speed of light. This gave me some convenient thinking time which I used to read all the little messages people had written on my table; the lyrics to the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song, an ode to COD4, which had been subsequently "flamed" by later posters, and my favourite - "Fuck, my pen is leaking..", with the nice touch of the ink fading towards the end of the sentence.

After this monumental effort of writing about semantic derogation and the like, I was understandably low. It was Funky Monkey's first birthday and I had a hot chocolate to cushion the blow; the cutest baby in the world smiled at me and it was like the whole shop lit up. Aren't children delightful.

So yeah, by the time I got to politics class I was pretty sluggish. I think Will asked me how I was and I answered "June 1st", which is a new level of irrelevance for my subconscious mind. I think I drifted through the entire class, somehow actually managing to get a hell of a lot of questions right. I guess the revision (read: Babel-fish with a copy of Paxman's The Political Animal) is sinking in. Ironically politics followed me home; I returned with Beth to find a BNP propogranda leafelt smoldering like the One Ring on my porch floor. After flicking through several pages of uninformed rants about immigrants stealing our children's souls accompanied by pictures of suspiciously Aryan-looking familes I tore it up and binned it.

After Beth left, I had my tri-annual haircut at Trims (the excellent, though sometimes slightly rightwing barbers around the corner). It's the same shape and everything just shorter really. Cue applause. In a fit of soccer fervour I loaded up the ancient Championship Manager 5, a game enshrined in my memory as a complete waste of time. The years had not treated it well and it seems that this is one PC game engineered towards making the player fail. My team conceded four penalties. FOUR. We was robbed. This brings me onto another pressure-point; my PC has contracted a particularily virulent form of the disease Bacillus Chaevvus: it can't be bothered educating itself and hangs around street corners with thirteen-year old girls and a can of Strongbow.

So to the actual point of this post: I've had a couple of musical epiphanies this week. First, The Miserable Rich's album Twelve Ways To Count, although released in 2006, is in the running for my "sound of Sam's summer". It's relaxingly brilliant, a hybrid between the sublime quirkiness of Belle & Sebastian (of which said band I procured a wondrous collection of rare/live tracks not on studio albums), the simple beauty of Laura Marling and the mellowed sounds of Rumours-era Fleetwood Mac. Secondly, Ultravox's classic New Romantic 80's ballad Vienna has got me hooked. It's hauntingly addictive, a song charged with ghostly electric undercurrents that pull you under and submerge you under an ocean of melancholy. Go listen, now.

On a final note: my dream last night involved punching David Cameron's serpent face until he bled black and looked human instead of the well-fed magpie he resembles. It's become inevitable that Wormtongue will be sleazing his way into office next year but I can still have my fun. And last but not least I have decided Lady GaGa is scary. I don't trust women who look like they're from the future and the start of Just Dance sounds like an alarm. A nazi death-camp alarm. She's blonde too. Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

The Gentleman's Code

1. GENERAL THOUGHTS
i. All gentlemen are equal
- But some may be more equal than others

ii. A gentleman must never divulge the secrets of the Code to non-members
- Includes ladies and un-chivalrous fellows

iii. A gentleman is bound to the Code as he is bound to his title.

iv. These are more guidelines than rules.

v. If Ron Burgundy says it, then it's true.



2. FISCAL FIASCOS
i. A gentleman must never ask for the repayment of a borrowed sum under the amount of five sterling pounds.
- Or an equal amount in another currency.

ii. A gentleman must always pay for his lady companion.

iii. A gentleman must consent to the purchase of at least one “round” when in the proper environment.

iv. A gentleman must never hoard or miser; spend liberally when you can.
-On occasions when the said gentleman has no cash, exceptions are made.

v. A gentleman must never allow a lady to
repay him, any amount.
-Under any circumstances.

vi. A gentleman does not squander.

vii. Cheapness is no excuse for poor quality.

viii. A gentleman always honours his bets.

ix. When the chips are down, there is no going back.



3. KNIGHTS, NOT KNAVES
i. A gentleman must always hold the door open, offer to carry the lady's bags, and in the event of cold weather, offer his coat.
-The last addition is only valid when the lady has no coat of her own;

ii. A gentleman must tip his hat and/or stand when a lady enters the room.
-He should also sheath any weapons.

iii. A gentleman is always polite to ladies, though this does not stop him from swearing when appropriate i.e. during a sporting event or in consequence of anger/pain.

iv. If there are no seats to be had, a gentleman should offer his to the lady in peril.

v. A gentleman greets his fellows with a nod, or a handshake. Hugs are permitted only with long-term friends, and then only a light one.
-”Large” people should not hug anyone for fear of suffocating the recipient.

vi. Women & children first.



4. KNOWLEDGE IS POWER
i. A gentleman must have competent knowledge of the government of the day in order to hold his own in a political conversation.
-If you have only limited understanding, at least keep up the pretence of knowledge.
- Gentlemen should try to keep the subject away from politics lest the discussion becomes too heated and uncomfortable.

ii. A gentleman must have competent understanding of the rules of popular sports, in order to hold his own whilst watching said sport.
-Even if said sport is not your Game
-A gentleman must be able to competently play Texas Hold ‘Em, Blackjack and Solitaire.

iii. A gentleman must have visited the Continent on at least one occasion, and more than seven times to the same country to be acknowledged as a Traveller.
-To be counted as Bohemian, one must have spent time in either San Francisco, Paris or Barcelona.

iv. A gentleman must be a connoisseur of fine beverages and of fine cuisine.
-Either the ability to cook without aid of a toaster or a microwave, or having tried many foods qualifies the last addition. See Rule 6.



5. DRESS TO IMPRESS
i. It’s good to stay abreast of the latest trends; a gentleman should remain informed about “what not to wear”.

ii. A gentleman should have a wide selection of ties.

iii. A gentleman should have a pair of shoes for every occasion.

iv. A gentleman should only keep a beard if it is either trimmed properly or he is lost in the wilderness.
-Untrimmed beards or beards trimmed to resemble wizarding folk are unwieldy and unnerving. There are several reasons why barbarians and magick people keep to themselves, and their beards are one of these reasons!

v. A gentleman is always clean.
-T-shirts last one day, jeans last three with a break, or four if they are not dirty and it’s a lazy day. Jumpers last two days with a break, but cardigans do not. Winter coats, jackets last as long as you want them to, though suit jackets last as long as the trousers. The t- shirt rule applies to the shirt.



6. FOOD MATTERS
i. A gentleman must be able to cook and clean to a high standard. He must use the finest ingredients and always cook properly.
-This rule extends to the type of supermarket a gentleman shops in. Tesco, Waitrose and Co-Op are in, but everything else is Out. Sainbury's and Morrison's are out because of their annoying television ads.

ii. When drinking; do not complain about the host’s chosen brand if you have not brought an offering yourself. Recommend, but do not chide.
-The same applies to food.

iii. A gentleman must have a fully stocked larder.

iv. A gentleman must have a wide selection of alcoholic treats. Whiskey, his chosen lager, and vodka/rum are a must. If the gentleman is having a lady companion to his abode for dinner, wine is essential.

v. If a gentleman is having a takeaway from his local
establishment, then he should exploit his “regular” status to full effect

vi. In the coffee shop, there is special etiquette. Should you have a “usual”, being a “regular”, you are the king of the coffee house. Nobody can mock you.
-This only applies to non-chain shops; being familiar with the staff in Starbucks is unacceptable. A gentleman must never be seen to support large corporations.




7. FINAL MUSINGS
i. The following professions are reputable:
Cosmonaut, Ship’s Captain, Knight of the Realm, Lord Protector, Member of Parliament, Journalist/Author, Pilot, Surgeon, Tycoon, Architect, Poet, Arctic Explorer, Artist (includes musicians), Aristocrat, Constable, Sociolite and Guerrilla.

ii. Vintage cars are by far the classiest. A VW Van, 60’s Beatle or Mini will always trump whatever mechanobabble supercar “Top Gear“ comes up with.
-The ultimate in classy is a Panzer Tank or a steam train, though functionality can be limited.

iii. The “lazy day” is a day of rest and detox for the gentleman. This period lasts 24 hours, and includes cutting off contact from his fellows, except by internet and phone.
-You are bound to sleeping, drinking tea and coffee and eating constantly all day, preferably whilst watching a string of movies.

iv. A gentleman should view all world religions, fanatical cults, politicians and global conglomerates with the same universal contempt & extreme prejudice.



8. FINAL MUSINGS (ii)

i. A gentleman does not trust The Corporation.
-A gentleman does not sell out, and he ALWAYS sticks it to The Man.

ii. If a gentleman breaks three or more of the rules of the Code, he must be stripped of his titles and publically flogged.
- The proper process for Breaking A Rule, is clarified thus. If a gentleman breaks 3 rules in the same hour, or three that week, then that counts as Breaking The Rules. If a gentleman slips up once or twice on occaison than he can be forgiven; however, the Breaking of a major Rule on any occaison (for instance, reneging on a deal), is a quick trip down to Ol'Hob's place.

iii. If there is dispute over the interpretation of the rules, or another altercation between Members, then the other Members vote on the issue. If the democratic method results in a hung chamber, then the two rivals must fight to the death.

iv. Gentleman’s Duelling is separate from a normal Duel . The combatants joust in the skies, either in Spitfires or whilst riding a falcon.
-They can either use Ancien Regimé lances, or more modern implements like air-to-air missiles, machine guns or the classic favourite, medieval flails.

v. The highest ranked Gentleman is the Duke. Preceding is the Count, Viscount, Lord, Earl, Knight, Major, Brigadier, Squire and Marquis.
-At sea, the highest rank is Grand Admiral, preceded by Pirate, and Buccaneer.
- The ranks hold only symbolic importance.

vi. Never kill an albatross.

vii. A gentleman is tech-savvy but never geeky.
-Alternatively, a gentleman can be nerdy but not a Gamer.

First Blood

Wow. Isn't this novel?!

I guess this makes me part of the blogosphere. Don't expect anything too fancy mind you, I'm not that tech savvy. Then again, I might just turn out to be the Che Guevara of the blogging world. In just a few years I'll be leading my own revolutionary blogging army, knocking on the doors of the colonial palace. You'll all be first up against the wall when the battle is over. You and David Cameron .

So okay. Let's look at this week's news. Two items came to my attention; firstly, a Conservative MP apparently claimed for his Common's expenses to pay for the upkeep of his moat. I guess it needs a lot of maintainance, if you want it filled with molten lava all day. One mustn't think of what were to happen if the constituents were to get in the keep! God. Then we'd have to listen to the revolting peasants views on everything. And one certainly can't bring oneself down to their level, otherwise we'd all be spilling our semen over crinkled copies of the page 3 from The Sun (much like Jacqui Smith's husband). Perhaps my friend Jono might be able to elaborate slightly better, since he persuaded me to undertake this revision-busting activity.

Secondly, the news that Stormin' Gordon Brown, our Supreme Leader and Emperor of the United Kingdom, is to ditch his suicidally bad career as a politician to pursue his childhood dream of becoming a supermodel. How quaint. Maybe he can get himself in Silvio Berlusconi's cabinet; it seems to be populated with a bunch of half-witted (but admittedly, hot) fools. At least in Italy they do corruption the proper way, not just using a flimsy system to get a nice garden. The mafia can get you a lot more than a flowerbed, friend. They'll make you an offer you can't refuse.

So it seems that not only have Labour (Liarbore) pressed the proverbial red button, but that since all the racist/sexist/narcissist middle-england morons are selfish and will vote for the Conservatives regardless of their aristocratic self-preserving tendencies. The next decade will be a blast.