An even bigger splash

I love overhearing snippets of other people's conversations. Yesterday I was getting cultured up in Nottingham Contemporary Gallery (I've seen better Hockney exhibitions, by the way. Yeah, get me, the culture vulture) and overheard two women in their mid-twenties: "The trouble with Jen is that she's like a dog on heat. She's moved back here because there aren't enough men for her in Sheffield". At which point I had to restrain myself from asking for Jen's number.

Mind you, I quite often find art galleries a sexually charged environment. Especially that Tate Modern.

May I extend Yuletide felicitations to you?

Well another year over, and 2009 was a right old bag of shite: the death of a parent, a massive disappointment selling her house (thanks a bunch Ms fucking Miller of 15 Dunghill Mansions, Newark. You knew the circumstances under which we were selling the house, you sow) and then topped off nicely with a redundancy scare (I'm still in gainful employment, unlike forty of my ex-colleagues, poor sods). So it'll be a massive relief to see the back of it. I'm not normally one for New Year's Eve but I'm going to buy the biggest firework available to let off this Dec. 31st/Jan. 1st as a final 'piss off' to a shit year.

Anyway, I know I don't normally give much away on this blog, but I've been thinking about Mum and Dad a lot these past few days. Things reached a peak when I heard this on the radio last night. It's a song I remember from my childhood and surprised myself by knowing all the words. It's lovely.

Add to that all the Alan Bennett stuff that's been on telly lately (both Mum and Dad loved him, and as a tribute I'm going with sis to see one of his plays with Alison Steadman next year, which Mum said she'd liked to have seen), Ed Stewart promoting Junior Choice on Radio 2 ("'Ello darlin'!") a general air of melancholy and the fact we won't taste her trifle this Christmas has left me feeling incredibly sad. I daren't even watch that Oliver Postgate documentary that was on last night, I'll save that till after Crimbo, I think. Postgate's voice just transports me back to the front room of our 1930s three bed semi on Elm Avenue with Mum in the kitchen making something yummy. And don't even get me started on the organ, flute and Richard Baker intro to Mary, Mungo and Midge "A town is full of buildings..."

I'm not one to burst into tears - I'm a man after all, and not given to tears - but I think Christmas has highlighted the fact that I'm now, technically, an orphan. Boo-hoo for me.

Anyway, enough of the self-pity, which I normally hate, and may I wish you a Merry Christmas and a spiffing 2010. I'll see you on the other side, hopefully a bit more regularly than of late. Sorry this post's a bit depressing. To cheer you up have this Top Tip from Viz: "Former member of 10cc Lol Creme, don't sign your name at the end of text messages conveying bad news." Aah, LOL!

Have this for Christmas too, Mark Radcliffe always used to play it at Christmas and I love it.

Thanks to Mr Clearbrook...

...I've been reminded how shit this advert it. I seem to remember blogging about the Iceland Christmas ad last year, and this year they've really surpassed themselves.
For starters they've made all the food look completely unappetising, surely not the desired effect.
Secondly, why are they still obsessed with prawns?
Thirdly, how can Coleen Nolan push all this crap food when she's been banging on in the Daily Mirror all year about how to lose weight?
Fourthly (is that a word?), why is everything miniaturised? Mini this, mini, that, mini the other. Is it so the mouth-breathers who buy this cack don't know how to eat with cutlery and so have to shove everything in whole?
Fifthly (okay, that's definitely not a word), why the aside about smoked salmon, as though it's some new innovation? Or is it because the people eating this shite regard smoked salmon as something a bit swish? I don't know why if that's the case, I can't stand the stuff.
Sixthly, chocolate-covered frozen strawberries? What sort of sick mind came up with that?
Seventhly, who'd like to give Coleen, Jason and that twat who says "Yer not kiddin'" a miniature vile of paraquat?

Enjoy:

Get me out of here. Please.

I had the grave misfortune of watching the last half hour of I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here last night. Hopefully you didn't see it. I don't know what it is but I was slightly shocked at what was happening to Katie Price during her so-called 'Bush Tucker Trial'. Regular readers will know that I don't hold her in particularly high regard but some people must surely have gained some pleasure in seeing her get a ton of cockroaches shoved down her coat, boots and hat, wretch over a beetle smoothie and tip her head into a school desk full of frogspawn and live meal worms. Surely this is just some kind of masochism for the masses watching on TV? Yes, I know it's her choice to do it and she's getting paid well blah blah blah, but quite frankly I went to bed a little disturbed about what we've become as a nation of telly watchers.

Here's something much more palatable, because it really is nice to be nice.

Another town another place/Another girl another face

I've seen all sorts when it comes to concerts. I've seen giant inflatable pigs, giant inflatable astronauts, giant inflatable lingerie-clad-winking women, a twenty-one gun salute, aeroplanes crashing into the stage, flying guitars, disappearing guitars, rotating drum kits, arty films and animations on giant screens, explosions, fireworks and enough lasers to service the CD player industry well into the next millennium.
I went to see Motorhead on Monday night and, thankfully, they didn't need any of that. Lemmy was interviewed in The Times on Saturday where he said that they can't afford a fancy stage show so they just go out and play rock 'n' roll. What more do you want? The only concession to any type of big ass show was a bit of dry ice and a ton of those old-fashioned coloured lights they had before Vari-Lites became all the rage. There's no fancy intro tape or any of that ego-inflating nonsense. Lemmy just strolls on, carved Rickenbacker bass already strapped on - to huge cheers, obviously - and addresses the crowd thus: "Are you alright?...We'll soon put a stop to that. We are Motorhead, and we play rock 'n' roll." Bang, straight into Iron Fist.

The support act for the night was The Damned. What a great live band they are. Captain Sensible is actually quite a good guitarist and a born showman; he walked into the crowd during the elongated intro to Smash it Up, sat down in the front row and had a drink from someone's pint, all while still playing. Not only that, but you can't go wrong in my book if you come out and your first number is the first, and best, British punk song, New Rose. And Dave Vanian is, I'm convinced, an actual vampire.
Hurry along if this tour comes to a town near you, you can't go wrong for £25 a pop, and you get Girlschool thrown in too.

Compare that to this email I received the other day from Nottingham Arena:
Get ready to witness something amazing! Cesar Millan, dog trainer to the stars is coming to Trent FM Arena Nottingham on Wednesday 10th March 2010.
Oprah Winfrey, Scarlett Johansson and Will Smith have all had their dogs trained by US TV sensation Cesar Millan - and now you'll be able to witness his talents as he brings his amazing and hugely entertaining live show to Nottingham.
From Sheepdogs to Poodles, Cesar Millan will have audiences spellbound as he shares his amazing insights on dog psychology and behavioural issues.
Millan said: "If you had told me when I was growing up in Mexico that one day I would be going to the UK I don't think I would have ever believed it. I rehabilitate dogs and train people, so to be given the chance to fly across the pond and share my talents that help dog owners become calm and assertive pack leaders with their dogs really helps me fulfill my vision of making the world a better place...one dog at a time."
Using his natural gifts as an educator and as an entertainer, Cesar uses state-of-the-art multimedia accompanied by some friendly pooches to illustrate his unique concepts and ideas. Cesar will have audiences seeing the world through their dog's eyes and his 'fulfillment formula' will change their relationships with their dogs forever.
Prices start at £39 rising to £99. The £99 tickets entitle the holder to a Q&A with Cesar after the show. For £99 I'd expect a five course a al carte dinner to be thrown in along with the services of a Filipino masseuse. Now that would be 'something amazing!' Old Cesar could do with a lesson on ticket prices and what to expect of a show from Mr Ian Fraser Kilmister, I think.

Gordon Sumner. Again.

Now this really will just not do. If Sting doesn't start talking about how much he loves avant garde jazz played via the medium of banjo ukulele soon, then I'm in severe danger of becoming to like the tantric Tyneside tosspot. Get a grip, Sting, and start talking out of your arse again. Pronto!

Edit: Just watched last night's Culture Show while eating my dinner/lunch. Sting was on there singing a song called Snow That Melts the Soonest. It was lovely. Bloody hell! Time to call up Russians or Fields of Gold on You Tube I think just to get the Sting-hating levels back to normal.

Andrew Marr can probably play the guitar

There's been a lot of talk on the radio and TV this week over this new thing on Saturday night called The Impressions Show. It stars Jon Culshaw and some woman off of Coronation Street doing, you guessed it, impressions.
I hate to pour water on their flames but someone else is doing a rather good impression show over on BBC2 on a Wednesday night. Yes, it's everyone's favourite political correspondent, Andrew Marr. His show The Making of Modern Britain is jam-packed with impressions of all the major players from the turn of the 20th Century. Edward VII? Check. David Lloyd George? Check. Lord Kitchener? Check. Winston Churchill? Check. Charlie Chaplin? Check. Even PMs who nobody remembers get the Marr impersonation treatment, because, lets face it, nobody knows what the hell they sound like so he can get away with any voice he likes. An East End dockers' union leader? That's not a problem to our Andrew "Gor blimey, guvnor! These MPs are 'avin' a right 'larf! Lav a dack! Everybody aht!"

But his entertaining skills don't just stop at impressions, oh no, sir. He also likes to indulge his acting talents. Take the first episode, Lloyd George had tried to give a speech to a packed and rowdy Birmingham Town Hall but was overcome and had to disguise himself as a policeman and made good his escape from a side exit. Andrew took on this role with gusto and stormed out of one of the Town Halls exits, unfortunately he stopped short of dressing as an Edwardian policeman.
Ditto episode two when our history-loving presenter acted out a scene in a Manchester park when a load of Northern thugs decided to give those Suffragettes a bloody nose. He laps it up.
Of course, the one impression he can do with no make up is Macauley Culkin.

All this of course is a bit of dumbing down, get those who aren't really interested to watch. But they won't. On the subject of dumbing down, what about that Britain's Really Disgusting Food? If you haven't seen it it's a show on BBC Three that's actually worth watching. Presenter Alex Riley picks a foodstuff each week and shows you what horrid ingredients and shameful manufacturing processes go into it. Now, I like Mr Riley, he's got a stupid face and can be quite funny. But can't we do without the silly stunts like getting dressed in lederhosen, while standing outside the British HQ of German supermarket Lidl, to protest at them putting hydrogenated fats into their food? Something that always has to be done with a bullhorn to get their point across? I know they have to make these things entertaining but credit us with a bit of intelligence. Anyway, his programme may be having the opposite effect, as I now quite fancy the Celebrity Meat Loaf featured on last week's show. I've worked in food manufacturing for the past eight yeras and I'm pretty unshockable. It won't kill you.
And on that point, don't even get me started on Jimmy's Food Factory...