So this week was my first two days back at college. It would have been more enjoyable if I had had money to garnish the wearisome experience of icebreakers and writing in too-small boxes, incredibly concise answers to questions on the importance of the checks and balances on the US bicameralised federal system or something WHATEVER!
My world consists of thus: catch bus, find seat among elderly persons. Try not to get run over crossing A6, try not to be late to class. Explain to teacher why I'm late to class, find seat amongst young people. Take equipment out of bag, explain to teacher why I don't have the nessecary equipment. Explain to teacher why I haven't done the homework. Escape glares and feeble sarcasmic quips as break comes; navigate way through painfully eager lower-sixth students; most of whom look like they were dragged at breakneck speed through Topman. Fall through door into form too early - it's still a films studies class. Apologise, wait for tutor to come - he forgets and I give up. Walk in canteen; walk out in shame when I find nobody in the canteen. Avoid creepy maths-metalheads (the ultimate recluse's combination), claim a table with friends. Scurry off to class, repeat previous example. Laugh nervously at new teachers awful jokes. Politics is the one subject that shouldn't ever be funny unless the opposition just got ceremoniously executed and you voted for the government. Wait around for twenty minutes for girlfriend; set up camp on a table close to the water fountain in canteen. Say goodbye - promise to text/call/(insert communication preference here) later. Keep head low while walking past Funky Monkey's - with my current cash flow I wouldn't be welcome in there. Asking to open a tab not wise. Wait at bus stop a comfortable distance from phlegm-spewing ruffians. Get on bus, make best efforts to appear unwelcoming so nobody sits next to me. Leap off bus, walk home in rain. Fin.
Now there may be some inaccuracies there; I always do my homework. But the rest of it is true. And the first-years are all taller than me, so I feel like the newcomer. My bus stop is now populated by a group of lads who all look like the proud owners of an ASBO and are well on their way to buying a Renault Clio simply to wrap it around a tree a week later. The old people smell worse than last year, and the Stagecoach drivers have redoubled their contemptual "scum-stare" now I've got a Unirider and therefore don't need cash. "You bastard, how dare you not pay!" their eyes say.
Moving on from the hordes of teenagers who have both stolen my college and are better-looking than me, I was watching the X Factor before, and thinking. Now I always thought that a). It's a crock of shit and b). It's beneath me - but with the addition of the live audience, the auditions are no longer funny unless you're a loyalist. Before, you could hear the ultrastardom-hopefuls' hearts audibly breaking when Simon Cowell told them to commit suicide before he did it for them. Before, Cheryl Cole didn't have to go and touch the plebeian bawlers - now her PR man texts her under the table to go and give the cute ones a hug. The judges used to really let loose on them - no-holds barred insults. But with a cacophany of musically-challenged devotees behind them, as well as the contestants familes waiting in the wings to accost Cowell when he brings their daughter to the point of nervous breakdown ("But it's MY DREAM" weeps Chantelle, 16 from Essex), the judges are pre-empted or shouted down.
The additional fact that the X Factor never had any, or produced any talent whatsoever, that the judges and fans never seem to notice that the winners stay in the charts for a week leading up to christmas and then go back to working in the laundrette - is a given. Reality TV's time in the spotlight is waning. The whole thing has turned from being a bluntly obvious scheme for ITV to monopolise the music world with Mariah Carey lookalikes, to being one massive popularity festival for Kylie's sister, a footballer's wife, and two ageing music producers. Louis' achingly vomit-inducing niceguy act is particularily desperate.
It's all like that scene from Gladiator where Proximo examines his new "stock". Cowell's eyes gleam and his ears pick out some glimmer of a tuneful note. Yes, she has potential. Get me Heat magzine.
Saturday, 12 September 2009
Sunday, 6 September 2009
On The Subject of Amateur Detectives, Musical Genres, Film and Tins
I find Miss Marple somewhat intimidating. Other fictional detectives; Morse, Holmes and Poirot - are professional types, who have private agencies and are asked specifically to solve a case. But Miss Marple just invites herself to suspiciously empty houses, or turns up at a dinner party and pokes her nose into everyone's business. She fulfills the nosy-old lady stereotype of the spinster and looks a little bit like a Victorian-era witch. I've got a theory that she actually uses voodoo spells to cause the deaths - it surprises me that the characters don't react to her in the same way that Denethor reacts to Gandalf - "The old conjuror is a bearer of bad news" et cetera. Considering that 90% of the characters (excluding the Vicar and the Inspector - whose respective territories cover wherever Ms Marple visits) are young and voluptuous, it's a wonder they allow this strange wizened crow to sit in at their "wild" dinner parties. Maybe they tell her all the clues because she reminds them of their grandma, or maybe it's her gyspy charms. One will never know.
Moving on from my fear of Queen Victoria (post-Alfred mourning)-esque visitors, I've been thinking hard about music genres. iTunes, for example, just bangs "alternative" onto anything it can't classify, "hiphop/soul" onto anything with a non-white person and "indie" onto all songs with non-metal guitar riffs. But of course music is infinitely diverse and constantly morphs from form to form by nature - labels mean nothing. Alternative music, really applies only to rock music that leaps off the beaten track, that defines a non-mainstream scene; pre-success Nirvana and the Seattle circuit of the early nineties is the best representation of this definition. Indie, in parrallel, can apply to anything un-commercial and outside of the influence of popular opinion - it shouldn't mean any old band that uses clean guitars and unconventional lyrics.
It is less a genre and more a state of being; the Arctic Monkeys are only "indie" in the sense that they still use the musical style they had when they were writing their first album in Sheffield. It needn't apply to an artist without a record company behind them either; Elbow have produced three albums before they truly hit the mainstream, as did Kings of Leon before they truly stormed the charts. And, did anyone notice how NME adopted them after this phenomenal chart success? Magazines and the media seek to control the idea of independant music in the same way that they control the flow of exposure for other artists; as soon as an artist is featured in such an outlet, their days in the shadowy world of creative nebulae are finished.
Indie music is essentially anti rock-establishment - so I was pleased to see a similar movement evolving within other genre-trees too. Until now, I had my Regina Spektor/Laura Marling/Emmy the Great collection labelled as simply "alternative/folk" for lack of a better word. I was searching for more albums by the aforementioned Regina on Wikipedia when I got linked to "anti-folk". I had no idea about this, being "musically challenged" as my lovely girlfriend put it earlier this week - but this revolution within folk music basically takes the bare bones - the rejection of mainstream music, the politically charged lyrics and the classical influences - and subverts them into fun, happy-go-lucky, senseless songs that sound fantastic. It describes music that celebrates the sunny side of life, and I like it.
But that's enough of me being pretentious about music - I'm not very good at it. I've started to really enjoy black and white films; I don't mean Schindler's List or those post-modern films that use the monochrome to add effect, I mean proper film noir. I went to watch Some Like It Hot at the Cornerhouse on sunday morning and it was genuinely funny. Hilarity did ensue. Plus, I now see what the big deal about Marilyn Monroe was about - she was hot! I watched one this morning about a boxer who dies before his time and goes into a millionaire's body and probably caused the Wall Street Stock Crash single-handedly. I like the pure frivolity of the script - the way that the characters were completely absorbed in their own private dramas - in this way, it retained the exclusivity and interaction that exists in theatre-plays. I'll confess that I have no idea what the film was called because I missed the start and got hungry before the end; I'd make a terrible movie critic. It had a sort of magical watchability about it; that same element of storytelling which enables you to sit down with an old film and just pick up the storyline from any point (they tend to repeat the key themes a lot, so it's made for simple minds). A final note here - go see (500) Days Of Summer. It's out now and is brilliant. My new second-favourite film, it's got Zooey Deschanel and a killer soundtrack (admittedly, my music collection). What more could you want?
I'm going off now to make my last bag of green tea before I start on the real green tea - that is, the tin of loose-leaf stuff that came from Whittards. I like things that come in tins because I can re-use them and keep nice little cluttery things inside them - before I go and buy more nice little cluttery things to put in even more tins. Plus, they always have cool vintage designs on them. I've got a lunchbox with an old Charlie Chaplin film poster on it, and another with an french white absynthe advert. If you want to buy me presents, put it in a tin. It'll make me happy.
Moving on from my fear of Queen Victoria (post-Alfred mourning)-esque visitors, I've been thinking hard about music genres. iTunes, for example, just bangs "alternative" onto anything it can't classify, "hiphop/soul" onto anything with a non-white person and "indie" onto all songs with non-metal guitar riffs. But of course music is infinitely diverse and constantly morphs from form to form by nature - labels mean nothing. Alternative music, really applies only to rock music that leaps off the beaten track, that defines a non-mainstream scene; pre-success Nirvana and the Seattle circuit of the early nineties is the best representation of this definition. Indie, in parrallel, can apply to anything un-commercial and outside of the influence of popular opinion - it shouldn't mean any old band that uses clean guitars and unconventional lyrics.
It is less a genre and more a state of being; the Arctic Monkeys are only "indie" in the sense that they still use the musical style they had when they were writing their first album in Sheffield. It needn't apply to an artist without a record company behind them either; Elbow have produced three albums before they truly hit the mainstream, as did Kings of Leon before they truly stormed the charts. And, did anyone notice how NME adopted them after this phenomenal chart success? Magazines and the media seek to control the idea of independant music in the same way that they control the flow of exposure for other artists; as soon as an artist is featured in such an outlet, their days in the shadowy world of creative nebulae are finished.
Indie music is essentially anti rock-establishment - so I was pleased to see a similar movement evolving within other genre-trees too. Until now, I had my Regina Spektor/Laura Marling/Emmy the Great collection labelled as simply "alternative/folk" for lack of a better word. I was searching for more albums by the aforementioned Regina on Wikipedia when I got linked to "anti-folk". I had no idea about this, being "musically challenged" as my lovely girlfriend put it earlier this week - but this revolution within folk music basically takes the bare bones - the rejection of mainstream music, the politically charged lyrics and the classical influences - and subverts them into fun, happy-go-lucky, senseless songs that sound fantastic. It describes music that celebrates the sunny side of life, and I like it.
But that's enough of me being pretentious about music - I'm not very good at it. I've started to really enjoy black and white films; I don't mean Schindler's List or those post-modern films that use the monochrome to add effect, I mean proper film noir. I went to watch Some Like It Hot at the Cornerhouse on sunday morning and it was genuinely funny. Hilarity did ensue. Plus, I now see what the big deal about Marilyn Monroe was about - she was hot! I watched one this morning about a boxer who dies before his time and goes into a millionaire's body and probably caused the Wall Street Stock Crash single-handedly. I like the pure frivolity of the script - the way that the characters were completely absorbed in their own private dramas - in this way, it retained the exclusivity and interaction that exists in theatre-plays. I'll confess that I have no idea what the film was called because I missed the start and got hungry before the end; I'd make a terrible movie critic. It had a sort of magical watchability about it; that same element of storytelling which enables you to sit down with an old film and just pick up the storyline from any point (they tend to repeat the key themes a lot, so it's made for simple minds). A final note here - go see (500) Days Of Summer. It's out now and is brilliant. My new second-favourite film, it's got Zooey Deschanel and a killer soundtrack (admittedly, my music collection). What more could you want?
I'm going off now to make my last bag of green tea before I start on the real green tea - that is, the tin of loose-leaf stuff that came from Whittards. I like things that come in tins because I can re-use them and keep nice little cluttery things inside them - before I go and buy more nice little cluttery things to put in even more tins. Plus, they always have cool vintage designs on them. I've got a lunchbox with an old Charlie Chaplin film poster on it, and another with an french white absynthe advert. If you want to buy me presents, put it in a tin. It'll make me happy.
Friday, 21 August 2009
Commercial Break
Bonjour, mon cher. I trust you are feeling, as you english say, "tip top" today? Yes? Bien. I, for one, am feeling trés bon. And now, would you like un petit bois? Some brandy, perhaps, or maybe une gin et tonique? Voíla!
Hercúle Poirot is undoubtedly the coolest cat in Belgium. Firstly, the french accent lends itself to one's aural comfort more so than the german one - but he's also got that damn fine mustache. The man is impeccable. I just watched it for an hour, and he played monopoly throughout. "You are right, Hastings - in the end, the game does come down to skill". But sadly, ITV under-markets its products in favour of trashy talent (you can work the irony out for yourself there) shows like X-Factor, instead of making some good commercials for its programmes. I mean, Wuthering Heights, the new adaptation showing on ITV2. Firstly, why regulate it to the secondary channel? It's a classic novel for pete's sake, not Gossip Girl. And secondly, why don't they ever make good trailers? Look at the way BBC advertise Doctor Who, Torchwood or Desperate Romantics. Regardless of the content or status, at least they try. But the ITV ones all have the little logo in the corner, are too short and have a silly voiceover. There's no suspense and no care taken in the production, just a series of clips hastily glued together.
It's not as if they've got nothing to work with, because they are one of Britain's most watched networks. But it's as if they're working in a supermarket own-brand mindset - they have to have a celebrity name attached to it or it doesen't air. That documentary about the greatest cities of the world? Why does it have to have Gryff Rhys Jones? Why not just cut his name off the front, and not go to the completley obvious places? Or Piers Morgan's most expensive cities or whatever that was. You could have made that mildly interesting instead of just showcasing his face - but it seems they are only interested in promoting the personalities who dominate its schedule. I'm not chastising them for chasing viewers, because celebrity sells. They just market it badly and cheaply. It's not good business sense.
One more thing - why not change the obviously fixed-time ad breaks in favour of picking an opportune moment? Channel Four at least waits for a scene-change to show Cillit Bang commercials, but ITV just plonks them in there. The Daleks are more subtle. "But Poirot, we haven't caught the kill- HELLO I'M BARRY SCOTT BUY THIS KITCHEN CLEANER OR YOUR DAUGHTER GETS THROWN TO THE SHARKS! LIMESCALE, RUST, GROUND IN DIRT - BANG! AND YOUR CHILDREN ARE GONE!"
But I'm just an annoying media studies student who doesen't know anything, don't listen to me.
Hercúle Poirot is undoubtedly the coolest cat in Belgium. Firstly, the french accent lends itself to one's aural comfort more so than the german one - but he's also got that damn fine mustache. The man is impeccable. I just watched it for an hour, and he played monopoly throughout. "You are right, Hastings - in the end, the game does come down to skill". But sadly, ITV under-markets its products in favour of trashy talent (you can work the irony out for yourself there) shows like X-Factor, instead of making some good commercials for its programmes. I mean, Wuthering Heights, the new adaptation showing on ITV2. Firstly, why regulate it to the secondary channel? It's a classic novel for pete's sake, not Gossip Girl. And secondly, why don't they ever make good trailers? Look at the way BBC advertise Doctor Who, Torchwood or Desperate Romantics. Regardless of the content or status, at least they try. But the ITV ones all have the little logo in the corner, are too short and have a silly voiceover. There's no suspense and no care taken in the production, just a series of clips hastily glued together.
It's not as if they've got nothing to work with, because they are one of Britain's most watched networks. But it's as if they're working in a supermarket own-brand mindset - they have to have a celebrity name attached to it or it doesen't air. That documentary about the greatest cities of the world? Why does it have to have Gryff Rhys Jones? Why not just cut his name off the front, and not go to the completley obvious places? Or Piers Morgan's most expensive cities or whatever that was. You could have made that mildly interesting instead of just showcasing his face - but it seems they are only interested in promoting the personalities who dominate its schedule. I'm not chastising them for chasing viewers, because celebrity sells. They just market it badly and cheaply. It's not good business sense.
One more thing - why not change the obviously fixed-time ad breaks in favour of picking an opportune moment? Channel Four at least waits for a scene-change to show Cillit Bang commercials, but ITV just plonks them in there. The Daleks are more subtle. "But Poirot, we haven't caught the kill- HELLO I'M BARRY SCOTT BUY THIS KITCHEN CLEANER OR YOUR DAUGHTER GETS THROWN TO THE SHARKS! LIMESCALE, RUST, GROUND IN DIRT - BANG! AND YOUR CHILDREN ARE GONE!"
But I'm just an annoying media studies student who doesen't know anything, don't listen to me.
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
Is That A Deal?
OK, I'm now getting a bit worried about my exam results, which I discover tomorrow. This is probably a bit late for post-test stress, but whatever. Tomorrow is D-Day, the bit where I find out whether I'll be gunned down on the beaches or survive to storm Hitler's secret bunker.
Now there's a point. Whenever you're mindlessly flicking around the digital channels, the history programmes are always named something along the lines of "Hitler's Secret Brewery" or "Stalin's Magic Sphincter". I mean, we won, didn't we? Does it really matter to a lot of people what Adolf was up to on his summer holidays? Television in general, needs a good pep talk. Think of the potential of Deal Or No Deal - an utterly random game wherein players open up mystery boxes for various amounts of money. But what if they shook up the format a bit? Throw in a wildcard - a box filled with wasps, or starving, virile ferrets? They could have the hand-grenade booby-trap box, the proof of your illegitimate children-box, or the boiling oil box!
The banker could call up and tell Noel Edmunds to go and buy some better shirts, or reveal that the bank's been bailed out by the government and due to the new partial ownership, all deals are off. Armed robbers could come and take all the boxes - or hold Noel at gunpoint and negotiate a new deal. Just think of the possibilities!
Now there's a point. Whenever you're mindlessly flicking around the digital channels, the history programmes are always named something along the lines of "Hitler's Secret Brewery" or "Stalin's Magic Sphincter". I mean, we won, didn't we? Does it really matter to a lot of people what Adolf was up to on his summer holidays? Television in general, needs a good pep talk. Think of the potential of Deal Or No Deal - an utterly random game wherein players open up mystery boxes for various amounts of money. But what if they shook up the format a bit? Throw in a wildcard - a box filled with wasps, or starving, virile ferrets? They could have the hand-grenade booby-trap box, the proof of your illegitimate children-box, or the boiling oil box!
The banker could call up and tell Noel Edmunds to go and buy some better shirts, or reveal that the bank's been bailed out by the government and due to the new partial ownership, all deals are off. Armed robbers could come and take all the boxes - or hold Noel at gunpoint and negotiate a new deal. Just think of the possibilities!
Saturday, 15 August 2009
Shiver 'Me Timbers!
I just watched King Kong, and in the middle of thinking what a wonderfully understated masterpiece of modern cinema it was, deserving as it does to be held up there with the likes of Lord of the Rings, Matrix, Donnie Darko and 300 (I picked the last one because, although it's a trigger happy slashfest, it's the finest example of it's genre which includes Sin City, V For Vendetta and The Spirit) - Andy Serkis is Kong. Andy Serkis, the guy who plays Gollum in the aforementioned Tolkien trilogy - does he play EVERY CGI CHARACTER?!?
I mean, with Hollywood monopolies as ridiculous as Jennifer "Rachel Green" Aniston's stranglehold over the romantic-comedy industry, we shouldn't be surprised that Peter Jackson hired an old friend - but it just came as a novel shock. I hope that in the near future we can expect to see Andy taking up roles in the next Alien/Predator shockflick, doing what he does best, chewing up puny humans and hurling them off cliffs. Now, did I mention my boycott on politics? If not, I vowed myself to keeping out of any discussion as it makes me seem pretentious and stuff; especially since I can't argue cohesively. But, the recent trash talk going on about the NHS got me really annoyed. I mean, for a serious human being with a footing in sanity, how can you link the system of paying fixed-rate taxes for a nationwide, non-discriminatory health service available at any time and for any treatment to the words "death panel"?
But then I forget, the majority of people who watch Fox News do not have a grounding in reality, and the propaganda vomit-tube that is Fox is determined to widen this gap between the accepted humanitarian norms of the day and sheer madness. Really - how can these people claim to be true Christians whilst they advocate a system that makes profit from keeping people alive - and spurns people who can't pay? It's like this is all a nefarious middle-class scheme to slowly kill off the poor and turn all the run-down neighbourhoods into large estates of Hampshire-esque parkland. And it all seems to be in the sake of rejecting socialism - a dogma formed by people who only wanted to emancipate people from the shackles of poverty and an idea soiled by McCarthy in the ultra-right, hide-behind-your-picket-fences fifties. Mr Beck, this is not 1987, and you are not Steven Seagal. Logic defies your arguments.
Ok? Rant over. That felt good, like the first cigarette of the day. In the meantime, I have offically joined the Pirate Party UK, so I do get a political badge of sorts - but they want policies implemented that are so obscure that I'm sure not to get into a nasty shouting match with anyone. They're more relevant than you think - after all, Sir David Getty said that "intellectual property will be the oil of the 21st century". And sharing is caring. If you haven't looked at the website yet you won't know what I'm on about. The link is here.
So, the conclusion of this blog is hence: there are a lot of silly, bad men in the world, King Kong is great, and I'm an actual pirate. Bye.
I mean, with Hollywood monopolies as ridiculous as Jennifer "Rachel Green" Aniston's stranglehold over the romantic-comedy industry, we shouldn't be surprised that Peter Jackson hired an old friend - but it just came as a novel shock. I hope that in the near future we can expect to see Andy taking up roles in the next Alien/Predator shockflick, doing what he does best, chewing up puny humans and hurling them off cliffs. Now, did I mention my boycott on politics? If not, I vowed myself to keeping out of any discussion as it makes me seem pretentious and stuff; especially since I can't argue cohesively. But, the recent trash talk going on about the NHS got me really annoyed. I mean, for a serious human being with a footing in sanity, how can you link the system of paying fixed-rate taxes for a nationwide, non-discriminatory health service available at any time and for any treatment to the words "death panel"?
But then I forget, the majority of people who watch Fox News do not have a grounding in reality, and the propaganda vomit-tube that is Fox is determined to widen this gap between the accepted humanitarian norms of the day and sheer madness. Really - how can these people claim to be true Christians whilst they advocate a system that makes profit from keeping people alive - and spurns people who can't pay? It's like this is all a nefarious middle-class scheme to slowly kill off the poor and turn all the run-down neighbourhoods into large estates of Hampshire-esque parkland. And it all seems to be in the sake of rejecting socialism - a dogma formed by people who only wanted to emancipate people from the shackles of poverty and an idea soiled by McCarthy in the ultra-right, hide-behind-your-picket-fences fifties. Mr Beck, this is not 1987, and you are not Steven Seagal. Logic defies your arguments.
Ok? Rant over. That felt good, like the first cigarette of the day. In the meantime, I have offically joined the Pirate Party UK, so I do get a political badge of sorts - but they want policies implemented that are so obscure that I'm sure not to get into a nasty shouting match with anyone. They're more relevant than you think - after all, Sir David Getty said that "intellectual property will be the oil of the 21st century". And sharing is caring. If you haven't looked at the website yet you won't know what I'm on about. The link is here.
So, the conclusion of this blog is hence: there are a lot of silly, bad men in the world, King Kong is great, and I'm an actual pirate. Bye.
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
La velo
I had a slight reshuffle of my under-desk items this morning; I moved the wastepaper basket to the left, got tid of most of the empty cardboard boxes and generally started cleaning out my room a bit. Anyway, because of this, I keep chucking bits of paper and rubbish into the place where my bin used to be; subsequently I've got a growing pile of crap less than a foot away from the trashcan. I look like a massive slob.
So I'm drinking Earl Grey tea out my Shakespeare mug(The Tempest quote complete on the side), listening to the radio show-soundtrack from GTA IV. It's quite a ridiculously funny take on right-wing politophobia, my favourite quote being "I'm better than women! I don't shop uncontrollably! If I bled for seven days I'd die! I can drive for more than 30 minutes without hitting something!". Talking of bleeding for seven days... I saw possibly the strangest tampon advert ever today. As if the use of dodgem cars wasn't surreal enough, this time it was pinball. Yes, pinball. Now I don't pretend to understand the female anatomy but I'm pretty sure that once a month there aren't flashing lights, arcade noises and accumulative scoring. I mean, why would that make you grumpy?
This is my first blog in about three weeks, besides updating the Gentleman's Code, so I apologise for the lack of content. France was astoundingly beautiful, and Lanzarote a welcome, swelteringly-hot change from rainy old England. I leave you with a nice picture of a French bicycle.
So I'm drinking Earl Grey tea out my Shakespeare mug(The Tempest quote complete on the side), listening to the radio show-soundtrack from GTA IV. It's quite a ridiculously funny take on right-wing politophobia, my favourite quote being "I'm better than women! I don't shop uncontrollably! If I bled for seven days I'd die! I can drive for more than 30 minutes without hitting something!". Talking of bleeding for seven days... I saw possibly the strangest tampon advert ever today. As if the use of dodgem cars wasn't surreal enough, this time it was pinball. Yes, pinball. Now I don't pretend to understand the female anatomy but I'm pretty sure that once a month there aren't flashing lights, arcade noises and accumulative scoring. I mean, why would that make you grumpy?
This is my first blog in about three weeks, besides updating the Gentleman's Code, so I apologise for the lack of content. France was astoundingly beautiful, and Lanzarote a welcome, swelteringly-hot change from rainy old England. I leave you with a nice picture of a French bicycle.
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
Listless
Since I'm off for about three weeks starting tomorrow, I thought I'd leave you a few parting thoughts that have been rebounding about in my head for a couple of days. In no particular order:
Discontinued Cub Scout badges
-Warmongering
-Trenchbuilding
-Theivery
-Pillaging
-Winemaking
-Ale drinking
-Jousting
-Espionage
-Wilderness exploration
-Detonation
-Field surgery
-Artillery
-Embalming
-Time travel
-Wolftaming
Things I dislike about my parents
-They never park in car parks
-They are going deaf
-And subsequently repeat everything they say
-They have irrational plans
-And have an aversion to top of the range products, even when they can afford them
-They make suggestive jokes at randomly chosen inappropriate scenarios
Extreme sports that should be given Olympic status
-Water Polo...with Sharks!
-Ultimate Razor Frisbee
-Hand Grenade Rugby
-Landmine Golf
-Clay Fighter-Jet Shooting
-Formula One (Tank league)
-Bear baiting
-Cage bull fighting
-Chainsaw fencing
Discontinued Cub Scout badges
-Warmongering
-Trenchbuilding
-Theivery
-Pillaging
-Winemaking
-Ale drinking
-Jousting
-Espionage
-Wilderness exploration
-Detonation
-Field surgery
-Artillery
-Embalming
-Time travel
-Wolftaming
Things I dislike about my parents
-They never park in car parks
-They are going deaf
-And subsequently repeat everything they say
-They have irrational plans
-And have an aversion to top of the range products, even when they can afford them
-They make suggestive jokes at randomly chosen inappropriate scenarios
Extreme sports that should be given Olympic status
-Water Polo...with Sharks!
-Ultimate Razor Frisbee
-Hand Grenade Rugby
-Landmine Golf
-Clay Fighter-Jet Shooting
-Formula One (Tank league)
-Bear baiting
-Cage bull fighting
-Chainsaw fencing
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